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Hermione at NATO (Harry Potter and the Two Worlds)

The Wizarding World has been exposed. The Statute of Secrecy is no more. Europe is descending into civil wars between wizards and Muggles. It is up to Harry, Ron, and Hermione to uphold peace between the recently reunified worlds, but peace comes with a heavy price.

Click here for the full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds," by Birger, AO3.

September 2019

The British Ministry of Magic headquarters beneath Whitehall had been completely fortified to sustain the influx of captured Dark Wizards who had misused their powers on Muggles. The Ministry’s temporary interrogation cells, rapidly constructed to handle the overflow from Azkaban, were completely packed with a generation of former Slytherin bullies who had taken the global Revelation as a green light to commit atrocious crimes in the open.

Harry and Ron stood outside Interrogation Room Three. Their auror robes were stained with soot and blood from their latest battle to uphold justice. They had just broken a hardline purist cell that had laid a catastrophic ambush for the Greater Manchester Police, leaving an entire squad of Muggle officers hospitalized with severe, magical trauma.

Inside the stark, torch-lit room sat Pansy Parkinson, bound in magic-dampening silver manacles. Captured alongside her in the Manchester raid were Gregory Goyle, Millicent Bulstrode, and Marcus Flint, all of them caught red-handed casting Unforgivable Curses at Muggles law enforcement.

The heavy iron door creaked open, and Harry walked inside, sliding a chair across the stone floor to sit opposite her. Ron remained by the door, staring at his former house rival with cold disdain.

"Pansy," Harry began, impatient. "Your signature was on the curse that hit the police sergeant in Salford. You used the Cruciatus on a man who didn't even have a gun to defend himself. You're looking at a life sentence in Azkaban. The Wizengamot isn't handing out pardons this autumn."

Pansy threw her head back and laughed in fanaticism. "Why should we sit in the dark and pretend we are equals to those... those animals? They are cattle, Potter. They belong in cages, serving their betters, and we are simply claiming what is naturally ours. I only regret I didn't finish the job in Manchester."

Harry leaned forward. "We know about the movement in the North, Pansy. We know Durmstrang has fallen. Are you and your cell operating under orders from Delphini?"

Pansy’s sneer faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a flash of genuine, obsessive envy.

"The daughter of the Dark Lord," she whispered with a sickening reverence. "No, Potter. We aren't fortunate enough to be in her inner circle. She is in the Arctic, building a true paradise while we are stuck in this miserable rain, fighting your blood-traitor squads. But she is the future. I wish to Merlin, I was serving at her side."

"You're going to the same cells her father's followers died in," Ron interjected. "You haven't changed a bit since you tried to hand Harry over in the Great Hall."

Pansy ignored Ron, keeping her venomous gaze locked on Harry. "Keep playing the hero, Potter. Keep shielding your precious Muggles. See how much they love you when they realize you can turn their blood to ice with a thought. They will turn on you, and you’ll die protecting a species that wants to dissect you."

Harry didn't blink. He reached into his robes, pulling out an enchanted parchment containing a list of known pureblood financial transactions. He tapped a specific name near the bottom.

"Let's talk about your associates," Harry said, his tone shifting into a colder, more calculated register. "We found records of your cell trying to access old Lestrange vaults. Did Draco Malfoy participate in the Manchester ambush? Did he provide funding or logistical support for your attacks?"

"Malfoy?" she spat. "I invited Draco to join our little crusade weeks ago. I gave him the chance to reclaim his family’s honor, to finally act like a true pureblood instead of a sniveling clerk. And do you know what he did? He threw the inkwell at my messenger. He rejected every single offer we sent him."

She threw herself back against her chair, shaking her head. "Draco is a coward, Potter. The war broke his spirit, and that little blood-traitor wife of his finished the job. I'm glad she's dead. He’s gone completely soft, hiding away in Wiltshire, terrified of his own shadow. He’s pathetic. He’s not one of us anymore."

Behind his calm, professional auror mask, Harry felt a profound, invisible weight lift from his chest. A quiet wave of relief washed over him. Ever since the global Revelation had fractured the country, he had been terrified that the escalating purist violence would drag Draco back into the darkness, shattering the fragile, hard-won peace their families had built over the last decade. Knowing Draco had firmly rejected the radicals meant that the friendship between their sons, Albus and Scorpius, could still be protected from the storm.

Harry stood up, rolling up his parchment and sliding his chair back. He looked down at Pansy, whose eyes still burned with the fanaticism that was currently tearing Europe apart.

"Thank you, Pansy. You've been very helpful," Harry said flatly. He turned toward the door, nodding to Ron. "Take her down to the holding levels with Goyle and the others. The Wizengamot will hear their case at midnight."

...

A dark shadow was looming over Europe. The NATO headquarters at Brussels had been hastily retrofitted into a surreal, hybrid fortress. Heavy tactical vehicles lined the perimeter alongside shimmering, invisible anti-intruder wards. On the manicured lawns, armed Belgian Muggle soldiers in full combat gear patrolled in tight pairs with robes-wearing Aurors from the Belgian Ministry of Magic.

The arrivals exemplified the deep cultural fracture. Hermione materialized in a secluded courtyard after seconds of portkey travel across the English Channel. Moments later, Prime Minister Theresa May’s helicopter landed on the adjacent helipad.

Inside the grand conference hall, the seating arrangement was a historical anomaly. European Heads of Government sat shoulder-to-shoulder with their respective Ministers for Magic. Yet, the vast room felt hollow. The attendance was shockingly, devastatingly low. Entire rows of leather seats remained empty. Most glaringly, the western side of the table was completely vacant; not a single American representative was present. Neither the Magical Congress nor the Trump Administration had accepted the invitation.

At the head of the table sat NATO Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg and Supreme Mugwump Babajide Akingbade.

"We are here today because the border between our societies has dissolved into violence," Stoltenberg began. "Our current containment strategies are failing. We must find a unified framework to halt the escalating attacks between magical and non-magical populations before our entire economic and social infrastructure collapses."

The Norwegian Minister for Magic, Olaf Bløtand, raised his wand. "The threat is not merely domestic, Jens. There is reasonable evidence that the Durmstrang Institute in Svalbard has fallen. The school has been conquered by former Death Eaters. They are executing civilians, using child soldiers, they have summoned creatures called Dementors, and they are establishing a sovereign dark state on our territory. Norway demands an immediate, joint ICW-NATO military intervention to liberate the archipelago."

Prime Minister Erna Solberg could only nod in confusion as her magical counterpart talked about things she couldn't comprehend.

Hermione leaned forward and spoke with absolute, desperate conviction. "Norway is entirely correct! We cannot treat this as an isolated incident. The faction at Durmstrang is being led by Delphini, the daughter of Voldemort.' She possesses wandless dark magic, she has subverted a highly militarized student body, and her explicit goal is global subjugation. If we do not mobilize every resource at our disposal, combining NATO airstrikes with Ministry Hit Wizard divisions, to crush her now, she will unleash an unholy war upon every city represented in this room!"

Beside her, Theresa May visibly cringed. To the seasoned Muggle politician, Hermione’s rhetoric sounded like the panicked ranting of a fantasy novel, entirely unsuitable for a diplomatic summit. May shifted uncomfortably, embarrassed by her counterpart's loud, emotional plea for an international war when there were enough problems to be dealt with at home.

"An arctic campaign? You cannot be serious, Minister Granger," Angela Merkel stated as she glanced at the German Minister for Magic beside her. "As we speak, Berlin is in a state of total martial law. We have violent, armed riots between nazis and rogue pureblood factions in the middle of Alexanderplatz. My police forces are completely overwhelmed. Germany cannot spare a single soldier for Svalbard."

"And what of France?" Emmanuel Macron interrupted, waving his hands. "The French military has been deployed to the streets of Paris to stop escalating riots. We have witches levitating police barricades and mobs setting fire to historical quarters. Last week, wizards broke into the Louvre and the Mona Lisa was stolen. We are fighting to preserve the republic day by day. A foreign war is out of the question."

The French Minister for Magic, Armande Dupont, raised her voice. "We cannot let Beauxbatons be dragged into another Global Wizarding War."

Mark Rutte and the Dutch Minister for Magic looked completely defeated. "Holland is drowning," Rutte said flatly. "I cannot believe I'm saying it, but Amsterdam is being flooded by mermaids, as we speak."

From across the table, Viktor Orbán, sitting awkwardly beside the Hungarian Minister for Magic, brought up an even darker horror. "Budapest cannot afford to fight globalist wars in the North Pole when the citizens of Hungary are being replaced by vampires. "

"The Vatican is under siege!" the Italian Minister for Magic, Giovanni Balla, shouted over the rising noise. "The majority of our national Auror force and carabinieri are tied up in Rome just to protect the Pope from radicalized purists who want to dismantle the Catholic Church! We have no troops to give you, Granger!"

Polish President Andrzej Duda stood up. "You wizard Spawns of Satan make me miss the time when Putin was the biggest threat to Poland! Last week, Gdansk was invaded by naked giants. The city still smells of piss and poop."

No one in the room laughed. The Polish Minister for Magic, Pyotr Kowalski, grabbed Duda by the arm in embarrassment and pulled him down to his seat.

The summit dissolved into a shouting match of competing disasters. Hermione stood at her seat, trying desperately to yell over the din, pleading for them to see that Delphini was the source of the broader coordination, that isolationism would ruin them all. But no one was listening. Each nation was retreating into its own defensive shell, terrified and blind.

Theresa May sat in the middle of the roaring chaos, staring down at her briefing papers with a quiet, profound embarrassment. She had traveled to Brussels hoping for structured, administrative crisis management; instead, she was trapped in a room where prime ministers and magical leaders bickered about vampires and mermaids while the international alliance fractured into nothingness before her eyes.

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birgerjones

The Invisible War (Harry Potter and the Two Worlds)

The Wizarding World has been exposed and forced to reunite with the Muggles. MI5 begins a top-secret program called "Division M" to recruit Muggleborns for the upcoming war.

August 2019

Across Britain, newspapers blared headlines that swung from awe to alarm. THE MAGIC WITHIN US? WITCHES IN OUR NEIGHBOURHOODS!

Television pundits argued, politicians panicked, and the streets buzzed with rumour.

Deep below the polished streets of Millbank, Westminster, Britain’s most secretive agency was already at work. Dominic Hayes and Marianne Keller had not waited for parliamentary approval. Moving entirely in the shadows, utilising unvouched black-budget funds, they had officially established a highly classified subdivision only known to them as Division M.

The walls of the secure subterranean briefing room were pinned with decades-old archival footage. Keller’s team had been ruthlessly scraping global networks, unearthing medical anomalies, unexplained disappearances, and police reports from the late 1990s.

"The intelligence was right under our noses the entire time," Keller said, her heels clicking against the concrete as she handed a tablet to Hayes. "They call them 'Muggleborns.' Biological anomalies, children born to completely normal, non-magical citizens who suddenly manifest reality-bending capabilities before puberty. The Ministry of Magic whisks them away to their boarding school in Scotland, entirely removing them from our national grid."

"And when they return, they are loyal to a hidden state," Hayes murmured, looking over a list of flagged names. "Which means they are a domestic security breach by birth. Have the acquisition teams secured a subject?"

"Subject Alpha is in holding cell four," Keller nodded, her expression clinical. "A clean snatch. No magical bystanders, no civilian witnesses."

Inside the interrogation room, Dennis Creevey sat shaking at a bolted metal table. Across the table, safely sealed behind a thick layer of reinforced, anti-ballistic glass, lay his wand beyond reach.

"This is kidnapping," Dennis shouted. "I am a British citizen! You can't just drag me off the street and lock my... my property in a box!"

The heavy steel door opened as Marianne Keller walked in, followed closely by Dominic Hayes.

"Mr. Creevey, let’s not complicate an already stressful situation," Keller said smoothly, sitting across from him. "You are here because your country requires your expertise. We know what you are. We know about the school in Scotland. We want to know your history."

Dennis glared at her, "I have nothing to say to you."

"Your file says otherwise," Keller countered, opening the folder to reveal a faded, grainy photograph of a small, hyperactive boy with a Muggle camera around his neck. "Let's talk about your family. Let's talk about Colin."

Dennis froze at the very mention of his deceased brother.

"Colin was nine when the milk bottles started floating," Dennis explained as the memories came back to him. "We didn't know what it was. Our dad thought the house was haunted. Then a woman in a pointed hat showed up at our terraced house, told us he was a wizard, and sent him off to Hogwarts. Two years later, the same thing happened to me. I thought we were the luckiest boys in the world."

"And what happened five years later, Dennis?" Hayes asked from the back of the room.

Dennis felt a cold shiver down his spine. "A civil war broke out. A group of purist terrorists... dark wizards who called themselves Death Eaters. Their leader was a monster named Voldemort. They took over the Ministry. They created a registration commission... they rounded up people like me and my brother because we didn't have 'pure' magical blood. They called us thieves."

Keller leaned forward. "And the Ministry didn't protect you?"

"The Ministry fell!" Dennis snapped. "We had to go on the run. In the end, Voldemort attacked the school. We fought back. Colin... Colin sneaked back into the castle to help. He was only sixteen. They killed him. They left his body in the Great Hall like he was nothing. Then Harry... Harry Potter killed Voldemort. The war ended. We were supposed to be safe."

In the corner of the room, Dominic Hayes felt a puzzle piece finally lock into place. His father, the former Director-General of MI5, had likely intercepted a thread of this hidden conflict, only to be snuffed out like a candle by the so-called "Death Eaters."

Hayes stepped forward, leaning his large hands on the metal table, staring directly into Dennis’s eyes.

"They brought their war into our world, Dennis. They murdered your brother, they murdered my father, and for twenty-one years, your 'hero' Harry Potter kept the weapon a secret," Hayes said. "Magic is an unregulated, mass-destruction biological anomaly. It is an existential threat to the sovereign security of this realm, and it must be placed under strict, absolute administrative control."

Dennis looked at Hayes, seeing the same fanatical, dangerous certainty he had once seen in the eyes of the Death Eaters. "You're insane. You cannot defeat us. You have no idea what we are capable of. "

"We need help from the inside," Keller said, pushing a document across the table. "We need names, Dennis. Every Normalborn living in the London metropolitan area. Every hidden entrance to their shopping districts. The tactical layout of their Ministry."

"Your father’s safety depends entirely on your compliance, Mr. Creevey, " Hayes said with a voice cold as ice. "If you cooperate, Division M will ensure he is moved to a highly secure, heavily guarded safehouse. If you refuse... well, the world is a very dangerous place for normal people right now."

Dennis looked from Hayes to the document, then back to his locked wand behind the glass, and realised that he was trapped right in the middle of the crossfire of a new war.

The second subject, Justin Finch-Fletchley, sat stiffly beneath the fluorescent lights. His wand lay on the table, sealed in a glass case.

Hayes regarded him like a puzzle he meant to solve. “How did you acquire your powers, Mr. Finch-Fletchley?”

Justin frowned. “Acquire? I didn’t. Magic isn’t something you learn. You’re born with it.”

“So it’s hereditary?” Hayes asked

“Not always. It can appear anywhere. No one knows why.”

“And it can’t be… replicated?”

Justin gave a small, nervous laugh. “You can’t just make someone magical, sir.”

Hayes tapped his pen against the folder, deep in thought. “Then those who are will have to serve in ways others can’t.”

He smiled thinly. “I trust you understand what’s at stake. Cooperation will ensure your family remains...comfortable.”

Each of the selected Muggleborns was quietly issued a government summons. Unofficially, they were being watched. Every letter and phone call was monitored, every family member “placed under discreet observation.”

When one witch, Eliza Dawes, hesitated to sign her cooperation order, an MI5 officer slid a folder across the table. Inside was a photo of her elderly father leaving his flat.

“For his protection,” the officer said mildly, “we’d prefer to keep this arrangement… harmonious.”

Eliza signed. So did the others. Within days, they were escorted into the newly established Division M prison. Not far from the high-security walls of Belmarsh Prison, Thamesmead, a network of forgotten Cold War bunkers had been reconstructed into white-lit research facilities.

Here, the tightest security protocols in the history of the British intelligence services were enforced. Armed guards in tactical gear patrolled corridors lined with reinforced glass cells. Inside these cells were low-status, disenfranchised Muggleborns, witches and wizards, who had slipped through the cracks of the wizarding economy, working as mundane clerks, laborers, or street vendors.

Stripped of their wands, which were cataloged and locked in lead-lined vaults, they were subjected to testing. Under strict supervision, the Muggleborns demonstrated spells such as levitation, warding, and minor healing for government-approved scientists. Every spell was timed, catalogued, and measured.

To Division M, the Muggleborns were no longer citizens; they were laboratory rats, stuck in an invisible war between two worlds.

...

It was raining when Agent Sebastian Denver pulled up outside Number Four, Privet Drive. The street looked painfully normal: trimmed hedges, neat driveways, and not a hint that it had once been home to the boy who’d saved the world.

Denver adjusted his tie, took a deep breath, and knocked. The door swung open with a snap. An angry Vernon Dursley stood in front of Denver. “What is it this time?”

“Mr. Dursley, I’m from the government,” Denver said smoothly. “We’re conducting a follow-up about your nephew, Harry Potter.”

Vernon's face became red with anger. “That name is not spoken in this house!”

Petunia appeared behind him. “We’ve told you, people, everything we know. Leave us alone.”

“It’s vital we understand his background,” Denver pressed. “His powers—”

Whatever he planned to say was cut off as Vernon’s fist struck his face.

“OUT!” the man roared.

Denver stumbled back down the steps, barely catching himself. Then Dudley, broader and taller than his father now, appeared in the doorway.

“You heard him, mate,” Dudley said, voice low. “You don’t want to mess with my family. Or Harry’s..”

He shoved Denver through the gate.

The agent stumbled back to his car. “So much for cooperation, ” he muttered while covering his swollen eye with one hand.

His report, though brief, reached Hayes’s desk the next morning.

Subject: Dursley Family — Uncooperative. Observation: Hostile to both magical and government authorities. Recommendation: Cease contact. Maintain surveillance.

Hayes skimmed the note and exhaled. “Fascinating,” he murmured. “Even without magic, they resisted us more than the wizards did.”

He closed the folder marked Potter and then turned to the other marked Containment Strategies.

The Invisible War had begun, not with curses or guns, but with secrets, silence, and government agencies deciding who to trust.

Click here for the full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, ao3

birgerjones

Harry Potter saves the Queen of England

The Wizarding World has been exposed. Delphini and former Death Eaters have conquered Durmstrang and transformed the school into a fortress of wizarding supremacy to conquer Europe. Now London is under attack. Now it is up to Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny to save the UK and prove that peace between wizards and Muggles is possible.

Full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, ao3

November 2019

Hermione tried desperately to hide her tears as she pushed through the heavy wooden doors of the Houses of Parliament. She looked over the River Thames and dropped her notes to the ground.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny burst onto the terrace seconds later.

"Hermione, look at me," Ron said as he grabbed her shoulders. "Don't you dare listen to those bastards. They don't know anything. They don't know who you are."

"They didn't even try to understand," Ginny muttered, grabbing Hermione’s left hand.

Harry turned away and saw a crowd of Muggle politicians whispering behind their backs. Kavita stood just behind them, trying not to smile as she observed Hermione’s distress. Harry looked at Kavita, suspecting there was something wrong with her.

Suddenly, a massive shockwave shattered every window on the street. A ball of orange fire erupted from the tower across the river, tearing through steel and stone. Big Ben, the ancient clock tower, a symbol of Britain’s endurance, splintered into a flaming rain of debris. Screams filled the night as chunks of molten iron crashed into the Thames.

Metropolitan Police officers drew their batons and firearms in sheer panic, running blindly through the smoke, while the guarding Auror squads instinctively drew their wands.

A flash of green lit the sky, forming the Dark Mark with its Augurey wings spread over the city, for every Londoner to see.

"It’s her," Harry shouted. "Delphini is here!"

“Everyone inside!” Hermione’s voice rang out through the chaos. “Back into the chamber! NOW!”

Kavita’s eyes widened in genuine horror at the sheer scale of the destruction. Swept up in the surging tide of fleeing politicians, she allowed her security aides to rush her back into the Parliament building.

Dozens of terrified MPs stumbled back into Westminster Hall. Some prayed while others shouted orders no one could follow.

Nearby, Rita Skeeter let out a sharp, undignified shriek, and in a flash of light, she vanished into the form of a tiny beetle, skittering away to save her own skin.

"With me!" Percy Weasley roared, drawing his wand alongside his father Arthur and Rolf Scamander.

Together with Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Ginny, the family formed a defensive line on the terrace. They raised their wands toward the sky, focusing every ounce of their remaining energy into a singular, massive localized defense.

"Protego Maxima!" Hermione cried out. "Fianto Duri!" Harry and Ron bellowed in unison.

A massive, shimmering dome of blue magical energy erupted from their wand tips, rapidly expanding until it blanketed the entire sprawling gothic complex of the Houses of Parliament, protecting the very politicians who, mere moments ago, had mocked and degraded their existence.

Outside, the temperature dropped sharply. A thick layer of ice spread over the River Thames. Electric lights flickered and died.

Harry froze in fear. “No...not them.”

Hundreds of hooded figures swarmed across the sky like a plague.

The non-magical populace on the Tower Bridge and the streets below began to scream, collapsing to their knees as an overwhelming, apocalyptic wave of despair and grief crushed the city.

Hermione gasped as a wave of despair hit the building. Harry staggered forward and raised his wand.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

A blinding stag burst from his wand, charging into the sky. It collided with a Dementor, dissolving it into mist. Dozens more Patronuses followed: foxes, otters, dogs, and wolves poured from every wand in nearby.

Ginny’s bright horse leapt into the air beside Harry’s stag. Ron’s terrier darted between them, snapping at shadows. Even the frightened Muggle MPs stared in awe as the silvery beasts illuminated the storm clouds, driving the Dementors back toward the English Channel.

The icy surface of the River Thames began to crack as a Durmstrang ship burst from the depths below like a killer whale. Older teenagers from all over Europe, dressed in crimson cloaks, came flying on broomsticks, hurling curses at the buildings below, turning London into a battlefield.

“Get them down!” Ron shouted, drawing his wand. “Aurors, with me!”

He and a squad of Aurors sprinted outside, joining the Metropolitan Police in the streets. Gunfire and spellfire lit the night in bursts of blue, red, and gold. Cars flipped, lampposts exploded, and curses ricocheted across the pavement.

The Metropolitan Police officers fired their guns at the flying teenagers. Bullets hit the Durmstrang students before they could raise their shield charms. One teenage girl fell off her broomstick and onto a double-decker bus as a bullet hit her in the back.

Ginny pointed her wand skyward, using her bat-boogey hex to scatter several masked invaders who lost concentration before crashing into the icy waters below. Arthur shielded several terrified Muggle tourists from blasting curses. Percy managed to set several flying broomsticks on fire, which caused the riders to scream in panic before crashing into the Tower Bridge. Rolf Scamander conjured a flock of aggressive birds to confuse the invaders.

Hermione stayed at the doors of Parliament, shielding the terrified politicians behind her barrier. Every time the golden shield flickered, she poured more of herself into it, sweat dripping from her brow. Kavita cowered in fear behind Hermione, the woman she despised.

“Stay together!” Hermione shouted. “I will defend you!”

From the south, a squadron of attack helicopters approached at high speed. The helicopters fired missiles toward the Durmstrang ship, blowing it into pieces.

Harry, seeing the Dementors and the Durmstrang students retreat, felt that this was only the beginning. He looked east.

“Ron, hold them here!” Harry shouted.

Before anyone could stop him, he disapparated with a loud crack. He reappeared inside Buckingham Palace’s courtyard, where chaos reigned. Guards shouted and fired blindly into the storm. Windows shattered as dark wizards swooped overhead. One young wizard fell off his broom as Palace guards shot him squarely in the chest. A witch flying on a broomstick conjured blue that burned several guards alive.

Over Buckingham Palace, lightning flashed, and in that light, Harry saw her. A young woman glided above the royal dome.

“Get the Queen to safety!” Harry ordered, sprinting inside, stunning every dark wizard in sight.

He reached the throne room just as Delphini crashed through the shattered windows. The air shimmered around her like a living storm.

“So this is the seat of Muggle power,” she sneered, floating inches above the floor. “How pitifully fragile.”

“Delphini!” Harry raised his wand. “It’s over. You’re done.”

She laughed, low and melodic. “Over? It’s only just begun.”

A wave of invisible force hit him square in the chest, throwing him across the room. His wand clattered away as the air left his lungs.

Delphini turned toward the Queen, who stood frozen among her guards, while holding one of her corgis tightly.

“This world will bow,” Delphini whispered. “And its crown shall be first.”

She raised her hand. Green light gathered in her palm, but before she could say Avada Kedavra, a shot echoed through the hall. Delphini screamed, clutching her arm as blood splattered across the marble. One of the Queen’s guards had fired a silver-tipped round, hitting her clean through the shoulder.

Harry, gasping for air, reached for his wand. “Stupefy!”

The red light struck her squarely in the chest. Delphini collapsed, twitching as the energy rippled through her body. Chains of glowing light snapped around her wrists and ankles, binding her magic.

Harry limped forward, eyes burning. “It’s over,” he said, panting. “You’re under arrest.”

The Queen stepped closer, her voice calm but heavy. “Mr. Potter…” she said, touching his arm gently. “You’ve saved my life and perhaps our entire kingdom. For this heroic act, you will be knighted. ”

Harry looked out the shattered window, where smoke still rose over Westminster, and the Augury mark still glowed faintly in the storm clouds.

He shook his head. “No, Your Majesty,” he said quietly. “This is just the beginning.”

The fires over London burned through the night. Smoke from the ruins of Big Ben drifted across the Thames, casting ghostly shadows over Westminster Bridge. By midnight, the battle was over.

Aurors, battered and bruised, moved among the debris, stunning the few surviving Durmstrang attackers. The London Metropolitan Police helped carry the injured to safety.

Ron and Percy helped chain the surviving Durmstrang students in rigid lines outside the Palace of Westminster. Older teenagers of all nationalities cried and whispered prayers in German, Russian, and Swedish, among other languages.

Ron wiped a streak of blood and rain from his forehead while listening to the frantic, foreign pleading. "Can't understand a bloody word," he muttered. "Percy, what are they even saying?

Percy didn't answer. He only looked at the students who had been deceived by a tyrant promising glory. Ginny locked eyes with a terrified Estonian girl.

"Ron..." Ginny whispered as she stepped closer to her brother. "Look at them. They’re kids. They’re barely older than James and Albus. They’re just children."

Ron looked down at a young boy clutching a broken arm and felt disgusted by the very sight of teenagers being used as child soldiers.

Hermione stood before the Houses of Parliament as the fading shimmer of her Protego Maxima dome dissolved into the night.

“It’s over,” she said. “The battle is won.”

The remaining MPs and soldiers stared at her in shock. Kavita stepped forward and extended her hand to Hermione.

“Minister Granger,” she said smoothly, “you’ve done Britain a great service tonight. You’ve saved countless lives, including mine.”

Hermione smiled faintly. “We did what we had to do. Wizards and Muggles, together.”

“Yes,” Kavita said softly. “Together.” But in her heart, the words tasted like venom.

After every wizard and witch had left the area, Kavita picked up her phone, eager to say the words she had been waiting months to say.

"Hayes. Contact every agent. The time has come. "

Battle of the Multiverse (Harry Potter and the Two Worlds)

The Statute of Secrecy has ended, and war has broken out between wizards and Muggles. Hermione has been captured by the MI5. The Metropolitan Police have invaded the Ministry of Magic with the help of coerced Muggleborns. As the police break into the Department of Mysteries, the Unspeakables unleash armies from other universes such as Middle-Earth, Narnia, the Land of Oz, and Westeros.

Click here for the full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, AO3

November 2019

The carnage of the Atrium bled rapidly down into the lower levels. The mechanical elevators screeched as Division M tactical officers and Metropolitan Police cut the cables, sliding down the shafts into the Department of Mysteries.

Inside the shifting, circular hub of the department, three senior Unspeakables, Gareth Greengrass, Regina Rowle, and Albert Sallow, stood surrounded by the locking doors. Gunfire and explosions could be heard from beyond the walls.

Gareth turned toward the most restricted vault, the Chamber of Space and Realities, and knew exactly what he was about to do.

"Open them," Gareth commanded. "Open the dimensional thresholds. All of them."

Regina gasped, "Gareth, have you lost your mind? Those are containment vectors! We don't know what's on the other side of the veil, the cosmic fallout—"

"The Ministry has fallen, Regina!" Gareth roared as he saw the red laser sights of Muggle rifles on the walls. "We either become laboratory rats for the Muggles, or we tear down the walls of reality. Open the portals!"

The Unspeakables grabbed a handful of keys and ran toward the doors that led to entirely different dimensions. Gareth slid one key into a portal marked as "Middle-Earth. " He opened the door, revealing the dark landscape of Mordor. Regina opened the door to Narnia and saw a flock of wolves running toward her. Albert opened the door to the Land of Oz, and out came flying monkeys. The Unspeakables kept sliding keys into enchanted doorways, tearing fabric or reality and space.

From the portal of Westeros, a freezing, unnatural frost blanketed the floor as skeletal White Walkers stepped through. From the rift of Middle-earth came a roaring, bloodthirsty horde of armored Orcs and two Nazguls riding on horses. From the desert landscape of Tatooine came a squadron of stormtroopers who fired their blasters into the new, unfamiliar world; from the Four Nations, rogue firebenders unleashed roaring torrents of flame; and from a metallic, dystopian void, bronze-armored Daleks glided into the hall, shrieking "Exterminate!"

The heavy, rune-protected doors of the Department of Mysteries blasted inward with a thunderous explosion.

"On the ground! Drop your—" the tactical commander began, but the order died in his throat.

"What the hell is that?! Open fire! Open fire!"

The Department of Mysteries dissolved into an unimaginable, cross-dimensional warzone. The police completely panicked, unloading full magazines of automatic rifle fire into the encroaching monsters. Bullets tore into Orc flesh and shattered White Walker ice, but the counter-assault was instantaneous and devastating. Fireballs incinerated tactical gear, mechanical death-rays vaporized charging officers, and the howling beasts ripped the throats of terrified officers.

As the chamber turned into a bloody, chaotic vortex of magic, lead, and alien violence, Gareth Greengrass looked back at his colleagues one last time. The world they had sworn to protect from the shadows was gone, erased by the arrogance of the surface world.

"Save yourselves!" Gareth shouted over the deafening screech of a Dalek weapon.

Without looking back, Albert Sallow sprinted forward and dove headfirst into the shimmering, green portal leading to the forests of Narnia. Regina Rowle, dodging a stray burst of gunfire from a terrified police officer, threw herself through the icy rift of Westeros, vanishing into the snowstorm.

Gareth Greengrass drew his robes tightly around himself, glanced at the burning, ruined heart of the British Ministry, and leaped blindly into the portal toward Middle-earth. One by one, the keepers of the secrets abandoned their world, leaving the invading forces of the British state to be utterly consumed by the multi-dimensional apocalypse they had unwittingly provoked.

...

Far across the stormy sea, a Portkey activated in the dark. In a flash of blue light, Harry and Ron appeared in the Portkey office, exhausted from their interrogations of Delphini's followers. Once they stepped out of the office, they realized that what had happened the time they had been gone at Azkaban.

Suddenly, a jet of red light flew past the two friends, shattering a statue. Screams echoed. An explosion shook the upper levels. Ron dragged Harry inside the Portkey office again.

"What the hell is that?" Ron breathed. "Did Delphini's people launch a second wave?"

"Only one way to find out," Harry said grimly, moving toward the heavy oak door.

He gripped the brass handle and pulled it open just an inch. The sight that met his eyes shattered his sanity. Sprinting down the corridor was a heavily armored Metropolitan Police officer screaming in absolute terror. Chasing him with terrifying, predatory speed was an eyeless and sharp-tailed alien creature from another world.

Harry slammed the door shut. "That wasn't a wizard, Ron. And that definitely wasn't one of Scamander's creatures."

Realizing they couldn't stay trapped in a corner, Harry threw the door open again. They sprinted through the corridors, only to discover that the Ministry of Magic had been transformed into an apocalyptic, multi-dimensional battlefield.

The Muggle government had launched a full-scale invasion of the Ministry, but the police and Task Force M tactical units weren't just fighting Aurors and Hit-Wizards. Instead, they were locked in a desperate, three-way war of survival against an influx of nightmares from entirely different worlds.

As Harry and Ron ran past the departmental sub-levels, the chaos was absolute. It was everyone against everyone. In one corridor, a squad of police officers was unloading automatic rifle magazines into a roaring horde of armored Orcs and a towering Minotaur. Across the hall, a squadron of stormtroopers in white armor fired their laser guns at two Aurors, missing them with a large margin. On the upper levels, a giant Wookiee roared in fury, throwing a tactical enforcer entirely over a balcony.

"Harry! Look out!" Ron yelled, tackling his friend to the floor.

A massive torrent of flame from a rogue Firebender washed over their heads, instantly followed by a volley of black-fletched arrows fired by a column of medieval archers. Above them, the ceiling was a swirling vortex of chaos as screeching flying monkeys tore at the wires of the Ministry elevators, and a freezing, unnatural frost crawled up the walls, heralded by the slow, silent march of skeletal White Walkers.

"What happened?!" Ron shrieked over the deafening din of an exploding grenade. "We were gone for an hour! How did the Muggles get here? What are these things?!"

"The Department of Mysteries," Harry grimmed, pulling Ron up as they dodged a stray burst of gunfire that peppered the obsidian wall behind them. "Someone must have broken the dimensional vaults!"

They broke into a sprint toward the main elevator bank, desperate to reach the Atrium to find Hermione, completely unaware that she was already sitting in a concrete cell miles away.

Suddenly, the ambient temperature in the corridor dropped to a bone-chilling zero. The chaotic sounds of gunfire and alien shrieks seemed to muffle, replaced by a deep, suffocating dread that gripped Harry's chest like an iron fist.

Out of the smoke at the end of the hall, two massive, coal-black horses emerged, their hooves striking the stone with an unnatural, heavy rhythm. Straddling them were two towering figures cloaked entirely in tattered, midnight-black robes. Their faces were hollow voids beneath their hoods, and they radiated an aura of pure, unadulterated malice.

"Dementors!" Ron gasped as the soul-crushing despair washed over him. "They've breached the upper levels!"

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry roared, stepping forward and slashing his wand through the air, channeling the memory of Ginny and their children.

A blinding, magnificent silver stag erupted from the tip of his wand, charging down the corridor toward the black riders. Beside him, Ron unleashed his own silver Jack Russell terrier.

But to their absolute horror, the magic didn't work.

The two robed figures didn't recoil or wither away under the sacred light. Instead, the lead rider drew a long, gleaming steel broadsword that hissed with a dark, ancient power. The silver Patronuses merely washed over them like harmless mist, providing absolutely no barrier against the cold terror they carried. The horses reared back as the riders let out a piercing, high-pitched shriek that threatened to crack the stone walls.

"They aren't Dementors! Run!" Harry yelled.

Harry and Ron turned, running away from the robed riders, and dove into a nearby elevator shaft. Harry slammed his hand onto the golden control panel, and the elevator car lurched upward with a mechanical screech, narrowly escaping the dark blades of the ancient kings, leaving the two Aurors ascending straight into the heart of a war they had no hope of understanding.

The Phone Booth elevator burst up on the streets of Whitehall. Harry and Ron stepped out of the Phone Booth, horrified at what had become of London.

The sound of helicopters and sirens filled the sky. Police vans blocked every road. And in the center of it all, surrounded by armed men, stood Ginny with her hands bound behind her back. One officer pressed a pistol to her temple.

"Break your wands! Now!"

Harry froze. Ron went pale.

"Ginny…" Harry whispered.

She looked at them, her expression fierce, defiant, even as her captor jerked her closer.

"Do it," she said quietly. "They'll kill you otherwise."

Harry's wand trembled in his hand. Then he broke it in two. The sound of his wand snapping felt as if his soul was splitting in pieces. Ron hesitated for a second, but then he looked once more at his captive sister and followed suit, and broke his wand.

"On your knees!" barked the officer.

They knelt. Then, from above, came a whistling sound. Smoke bombs crashed onto the street, erupting into thick purple mist.

"Go, go, go!" shouted a familiar voice.

Through the haze, George and Angelina Weasley appeared on broomsticks, hurling more bombs and sparks. The police stumbled, coughing, blinded by smoke.

Ginny twisted, kicked her captor between the legs, broke free, and ran towards her brother and husband. Harry grabbed her wrist, then reached for Ron.

"Hold on. Hold on tight!"

Harry closed his eyes, focusing harder than he ever had in his life. Apparating three people without a wand was nearly impossible, but he had no choice. The world folded in on itself, his magic screamed in his veins, then with a pop, the smoke and sirens vanished.

They reappeared in an empty parking lot at the outskirts of London.

A sign read: DURSLEY MOTORS — FAMILY YOU CAN TRUST

Harry nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Ron caught him just before he fell.

A side door opened, and Dudley stepped out dressed in a tieless suit, holding a mug of coffee. His eyes widened as he recognized the bloodstained, panting figure in front of him. He dropped the mug to the ground in shock at the sight of his cousin, now Britain's most wanted man.

"Harry?" he breathed. "What the hell—?"

He looked at Ginny, then at Harry, his hands hovering as if unsure whether to hug his cousin or shield him.

Ron pushed himself up from the ground. He glared at Dudley, torn between the desperate need for a sanctuary and the decades-old stories of how this man had treated Harry in the cupboard under the stairs.

In the distance, the low, rhythmic thumping of police helicopters and the overlapping wails of sirens echoed over the highway. The state was locking down the perimeter.

"I've been watching the telly," Dudley said as he pointed toward the showroom where a flat-screen TV was broadcasting a live loop of Whitehall. "It's all over the news, Harry. Prime Minister Patel... she just held a press conference. She's labeled you Britain's Enemy Number One. They're calling you a threat to national security. They're offering a massive reward for anyone who turns you in."

Harry staggered forward.

"We need a car. Now. And maybe… a miracle."

Dudley looked away from the trio to the distant glow of London burning. "Take the Range Rover," Dudley said instantly, pulling a set of keys from his pocket without a second thought. "It's got a full tank and untraceable trade plates."

Ron stepped forward. As the only one in the trio who had actually learned to drive a Muggle vehicle during the Ministry's modernization phase, he reached out his hand. "I'll take the wheel. I can handle a Muggle box."

"Not a chance, mate," Dudley replied smoothly, tossing the keys in the air and catching them. "Every copper from here to Edinburgh is looking for anyone matching your descriptions. If a civilian pulls us over, I can talk our way out of it. I'm coming with you."

"You don't have to—" Ginny began.

"Yes, I bloody do," Dudley said firmly. "You're family. Now, where are we going?"

"Home." Harry said, exhausted, "To Scotland. To Hogwarts."

They piled into the car. Dudley took the driver's seat and started the engine. Ron sat beside him. Harry and Ginny took the backseat. Within minutes, the car pulled out onto the highway heading north, as the city behind them gleamed with fire and sirens.

Wizarding World Exposed (Harry Potter and the Two Worlds)

The Statute of Secrecy ended in 2019. Hermione Granger-Weasley and Harry Potter reveal the existence of magic at Buckingham Palace for the entire world to see.

Click here for the full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, AO3

August 2019

The sun was setting over London. Outside Buckingham Palace, every major news outlet in Britain and dozens from abroad had gathered on the lawns and pavements. Thousands of cameras were directed at the balcony. Helicopters circled over a crowd that stretched as far as the eye could see.

For hours, rumors had raced through the internet: something monumental was about to be announced by the Crown and the Ministry of Defence. However, those who stood there could sense it was something stranger, deeper, as though London itself was waiting for an old secret to surface.

At last, the palace doors opened. A ripple went through the crowd. Out stepped Her Majesty, The Queen, the Prime Minister, and beside them, two figures the world did not yet know but soon would, Hermione Granger-Weasley, British Minister for Magic, and Harry Potter, the world's most famous wizard.

Harry glanced at Hermione. "Ready?" he asked.

Hermione smiled. "Not remotely."

Floodlights blazed brighter as the Queen moved to the microphones.

"My people," she began, "tonight I speak not only as your sovereign, but as a witness to history. There exists a community among us, unseen, yet ever-present, who have lived alongside us for centuries. A people, with gifts and powers beyond the natural, guided by laws of their own. They have watched us grow, fight, and build this nation… while remaining hidden."

A ripple moved through the crowd. What was the Queen talking about?

"There exists," she continued, "a community living among us, unseen, though they have shared our island, our history, and our wars. A community of witches and wizards, governed under their own laws. They have remained hidden for centuries, out of fear and tradition. Today, that concealment ends."

For a heartbeat, London was silent. The only sound was the distant whir of helicopter blades and the faint tolling of Big Ben in the distance.

The Queen inclined her head to Hermione. "Minister Granger."

Hermione stepped forward. Her hands were trembling slightly, but her voice was clear.

"Good evening," she said, her voice amplified through a dozen microphones. "My name is Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley, and I am the British Minister for Magic. For over three hundred years, our two worlds have lived apart under a law called the Statute of Secrecy. That law has now been repealed. We come not to frighten you, but to extend our hand in trust, in understanding, and in hope."

The words hung in the air, met with murmurs, camera flashes, and disbelief.

Then Harry nervously stepped up beside her. "My name is Harry Potter," he said. "You won't have heard of me, but I've spent my life fighting to protect both our worlds, magical and non-magical alike. We know this will take time. We know there will be fear. But I promise you: we are not your enemies. We are your neighbors, your co-workers, your friends, and we always have been."

From somewhere in the press section, a journalist called out, "Can you prove it?"

Hermione hesitated. The Queen glanced toward her. Then Harry raised his wand. The crowd stirred in laughter and disbelief.

"Expecto Patronum!"

The spell burst forth in a blaze of silver light, dazzling against the twilight. A magnificent stag, radiant and spectral, was conjured from the tip of his wand and galloped into the darkening sky.

The audience gasped, screamed. Then a thunderous applause came. Some clapped wildly, convinced it was some projection or holographic trick. Others fell to their knees. Children pointed and laughed in wonder.

Even the Queen's eyes softened slightly.

Beside her, May leaned close to Hermione. "You'll regret this," she muttered. "You'll regret every bit of it."

Hermione didn't reply. She only stared up at the silver stag and felt the weight of what they'd unleashed.

When the crowd quieted, the Prime Minister forced a brittle smile and stepped up to the microphone. "The government of the United Kingdom acknowledges the existence of this… magical community," she said, each word carefully chosen. "We urge calm. The Crown, the government, and the Ministry of Magic will work together to ensure peaceful coexistence. There is nothing to fear."

Across Britain, the speech played live on every television, every phone, every streaming feed.

Inside the living room at Number 4, Privet Drive, the Dursley family stared in shock and disbelief at what they were seeing on television.

On the screen, Harry Potter, the boy they had spent sixteen years trying to beat the "nonsense" out of, stood on the balcony of Buckingham Palace, dressed in fine, sweeping robes, looking over a crowd of millions with the calm authority of a world leader.

"The cheek of him," Vernon roared. "The absolute, unadulterated gall! On the BBC! Right in front of the Queen! I knew he’d bring his... his freakishness right to our doorsteps eventually!"

"Vernon, quiet," Petunia whispered, staring at the ethereal silver stag that had just leaped from Harry's wand, soaring majestically over the London crowd. Despite the wonder displayed on television, she felt hollow on the inside. She remembered Lily. She remembered the letters. She remembered everything they had hidden from, everything she had spent a lifetime pretending didn't exist.

Sitting on the sofa across from them, Dudley stared at the screen with an entirely different expression. The years had changed Dudley, and his relationship with his cousin had been carefully rebuilt over awkward holiday cards and occasional, quiet tea visits. He wasn't angry. He was just utterly and profoundly stunned.

Beside him, his two children were practically bouncing off the cushions.

"Dad! Did you see that? Did you see the deer?" his son cried, pointing a finger at the television. "Is Uncle Harry a superhero? Can he really do that?"

"Is it a movie, Dad? How did he make the light fly?" his elder daughter asked with pure, uncritical wonder.

"I... I don't think it's a movie, kids," Dudley murmured, rubbing the back of his neck, completely out of his depth. He looked over at his mother, seeing the ghost-white pallor of her skin. Dudley knew Harry was an Auror, some kind of magical policeman, but seeing him stand before the entire world, announcing the existence of a hidden reality, was something Dudley’s mind could barely process. The world of "freaks" wasn't a hidden family shame anymore. It was the evening news.

...

At The Burrow, Arthur Weasley was sobbing uncontrollably in front of a floating, enchanted screen tuned to the BBC broadcast.

"Molly!" he cried. "Do you see it? They're showing magic on the Muggle channels! Magic! On the news!"

Molly bustled in. "Oh, Arthur… it is beautiful." But there was fear in her voice, too. "I only hope the Muggles will take it well."

Arthur wiped his eyes and grinned through tears. "They will. They must! Oh, Merlin's beard, I've waited my whole life to see this day!"

...

Meanwhile, across London, the atmosphere inside the secure subterranean briefing room at Thames House was entirely devoid of wonder. It was thick with malice.

Dominic Hayes stood before a massive tactical wall map of the United Kingdom, which was rapidly lighting up with red digital markers indicating where international and domestic magical activity had been logged over the past forty-eight hours. Beside him, Marianne Keller typed furiously on an encrypted terminal, feeding the live feed of the Buckingham Palace broadcast into MI5’s facial recognition databases.

"Look at them," Hayes said as he watched Harry Potter step back from the palace microphones on the main monitor. "They stand next to Her Majesty, they smile for the cameras, they tell the public they're here to 'help improve society.' It’s a textbook pacification campaign."

"Our data servers are melting down, Dominic," Keller said without looking up. "The public response is splitting exactly down the middle. Half the population thinks it's a massive, coordinated PR stunt. The other half is buying survival gear and demanding the government lock down the borders. And the Prime Minister's office is refusing to answer our secure lines."

"Of course she is," Hayes sneered, turning his back on the monitors. He felt the sting of betrayal burning fresh in his chest. The elected government had compromised the security of the realm, bowing to a class of people who held a monopoly on reality-bending weaponry. "May is terrified. She thinks if she plays nice with this Granger-Weasley woman, they won't turn her into a toad. She’s compromised. Buckingham Palace is compromised."

He walked over to a secure corkboard where a timeline of his father’s mysterious death in January 1998 was pinned next to pictures of dark-robed wizards flying on broomsticks.

"They have a standing army, Marianne. They can wipe a man's mind with a word, and they can execute the Director-General of MI5 without leaving a single trace on a coroner's report," Hayes whispered, his hand coming down hard on the desk. "They aren't our neighbors. They are an occupying force that just decided to stop hiding. If the Prime Minister won't protect this country from them, then we must. Increase surveillance on every known associate of Potter and Granger. I want to know where they sleep, where they eat, and exactly how to kill them if the need arises."

...

The heavy glass doors of the balcony closed behind them, muffling the roar of the crowd, but the silence inside the drawing room of Buckingham Palace was deafening.

Waiting for them was an assembly of the Royal Family, frozen in a collective state of profound, absolute shock. Prince Philip stood with his hands gripped behind his back, glaring at Harry and Hermione as if they had just smuggled an invading army into the palace. Beside him, Prince Charles was pacing nervously while looking at his mother with complete disbelief. Even the Princess Anne and the rest of the family looked utterly paralyzed, unable to process the reality of what they had just witnessed on the television monitors.

The Royal Guards stationed at the doors, usually the epitome of unblinking British stoicism, had forgotten their posture entirely.

Prime Minister Theresa May didn't say a word. She gave Hermione one final, ice-cold look of warning before walking straight past the royals. Her security detail rushed to keep up as she left to face a Cabinet that was undoubtedly in freefall.

Before Hermione could speak to address the silent, staring royals, a sharp, electronic ringtone shattered the tension.

She reached into her robes and pulled out her smartphone. The caller ID flashed a number she knew by heart, originating from half a world away in Brisbane, Australia. Hermione stepped into a quiet alcove near the window.

"Mum? Dad?"

"Oh, Hermione... sweetheart," Jean Granger’s voice came through the line, thick with emotion. "We saw you. We just watched the whole thing on the news."

Hermione felt her heart drop and her eyes stung with tears. Twenty years had passed since she had traveled to Australia to undo the memory charm she had placed on them during the darkest days of the war. They had chosen to remain in Brisbane, but the bond between them had been fiercely restored.

"You were magnificent, darling," Wendell Granger’s voice joined the line. "To stand up there, before the entire world, and tell them who you are... it was incredibly bold, Hermione. But it was inevitable, wasn't it? The world has gotten too small for secrets."

"I... I just hope I've done the right thing, Dad," Hermione whispered, letting a single tear slip down her cheek. "There's so much panic."

"Change is always terrifying, love," Wendell replied reassuringly. "But it's happening everywhere now. Just a few minutes ago, they cut to a live broadcast from Canberra. Prime Minister Scott Morrison was standing right there on television with the Australian Minister for Magic. And Hermione, you won't believe it, they had Robert Irwin with them at the zoo, presenting a live Billywig and a Yowie to the cameras. "

Hermione let out a breathless, tearful laugh. "Trust the Australians to turn magical creatures into a zoo exhibit. Dad, Mum... I have to go. Things are chaotic here. But I promise I’ll visit you both very soon. I love you."

"We love you too, Minister," Jean whispered proudly before the call disconnected.

Hermione took a deep breath and walked back into the center of the room. She looked over at Harry, expecting him to be analyzing the room or planning their next administrative move.

"Harry?" Hermione asked softly, stepping beside him near the window.

Harry didn't look at her. He watched the flashing blue lights of the police cruisers down on the street below, and the thousands of smartphones still glowing in the dark. The Boy Who Lived knew with cold certainty that the world he had sworn to protect would never be the same.

#harry potter #hermione granger #weasley family #muggles #AO #ao3 fanfic #next generation #petunia dursley #dudley dursley #ronmione #hinny #UK #hp fanfic #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #death eater #robert irwin

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Regulus Black joins the Death Eaters (First Wizarding War AU)

Young Severus Snape is forced to watch as his former schoolmate Regulus Black joins the Dark Lord's cause without knowing the price of loyalty.

Click here for full story: "Lord Voldemort and the Lost Decades, " by Birger, AO3

July 1978

A year as a Death Eater had hollowed Severus. The promises of power, control, and the Dark Lord's great vision had long since faded into the murky reality of failure, infighting, and whispered mockery behind masked faces.

Voldemort, once a figure of unimaginable power and ambition, now felt more like a hollow shell, a man too obsessed with bloodlines and twisted ideals to see the cracks in his own reign. The great Dark Lord had not conquered the Ministry of Magic. The Statute of Secrecy remained intact, and the Muggles remained unaware of the civil war that was waged in the shadows. The Dark Lord had not expanded his influence beyond the British Isles, which infuriated Antonin Dolohov and Igor Karkaroff, who wished to see their home countries conquered. Now, Bellatrix was the only one who still looked at Voldemort with the same unwavering devotion.

Severus found himself trapped, tethered to the Dark Lord by the threat of discovery by the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix, but also because he had nowhere else to go. His mother's death had freed him from the suffocating prison of his childhood home. His status as a fugitive had severed all ties with Lily. She would never forgive him, no matter what path he took. It had been one year since he had joined the ranks of the Dark Lord, and the frustration in the air was palpable.

The Death Eaters gathered inside the grand hall of Malfoy Manor for an inauguration. Severus stood among them, a silent observer of their discontent. Lucius and Narcissa were clearly not pleased with having their ancestral home turned into the Dark Lord's headquarters. Now they felt like prisoners inside their own home.

The crowd parted as a young man walked into the hall. Severus recognised him instantly as Regulus Aracturus Black, one of his younger schoolmates from Hogwarts. He remembered Regulus from the Slytherin common room, always the golden boy of the house, surrounded by a court of admirers, fiercely proud, and blindingly ambitious.

Voldemort looked at the boy with sharp, piercing eyes.

"Regulus," Voldemort murmured, tilting his head. "The noble House of Black continues to bear fruit for my cause. Tell me, child... why do you wish to join us?"

Regulus looked up with nervous pride. "I want to see the wizarding world restored to its rightful glory, My Lord. I want us to come out of hiding, to conquer the Muggles who force us into the shadows. I want to build a world like the one Gellert Grindelwald envisioned. I have always admired his ambition."

A sudden, freezing silence dropped over the drawing room.

Severus caught Lucius’s brief, panicked glance. Beside them, Avery and Mulciber shifted on their feet. Every seasoned Death Eater in the room knew the terrifying truth: they were nowhere near as powerful, organised, or globally influential as Grindelwald’s army had been at its peak. They were a localised terror cell by comparison.

Voldemort perked at the name. "Hush, boy," he said softly. "Do not speak to me of Grindelwald. He was a sentimental fool who allowed himself to be blinded, and I intend to become far greater than Grindelwald ever dreamed. And I assure you, I have absolutely no intention of being defeated by Albus Dumbledore and imprisoned for life."

A lie, Severus thought, practising the Occlumency that kept his mind alive. We are failing, and you know it.

"Are you willing to serve me until death, Regulus?" Voldemort asked, leaning forward.

"I am, My Lord," Regulus replied instantly.

"And are you willing to kill for the glory of our cause?"

Regulus hesitated. Then he spoke again. "Yes, My Lord."

Severus watched the boy from the shadows, a heavy lump of pity settling in his stomach. He saw too much of his younger self in Regulus. The desperate need to prove oneself, the foolish belief that dark magic was a game of strategy and glory, and the utter ignorance of the butchers they were truly serving.

"Very well," Voldemort said, smiling. "But the Dark Mark is not given freely. It must be earned. You must prove your loyalty before you bear my brand."

"My Lord. What must I do to prove myself worthy of your noble cause?" Regulus asked bravely.

Before Voldemort could speak, Bellatrix sprang to her feet, her dark eyes flashing with manic delight. "Let him hunt the blood traitor!" she cried out loudly. "Let him capture his own dear brother, Sirius! Prove to the Dark Lord that the House of Black purges its own filth!"

Regulus’s face went pale at the very mention of his brother. He looked suddenly stripped of his adulthood, appearing like a terrified child caught in a nightmare. His mouth opened slightly, but looking into the red, reptilian eyes of the Dark Lord, he didn't dare object.

Across the room, Evan Rosier, Mulciber, and Avery let out low, mocking laughs, amused by the boy's sudden terror.

Severus felt a curl of disgust in his chest. He despised Sirius Black with every fiber of his being, the arrogant, cruel bully who had nearly gotten him killed in the Shrieking Shack, but seeing the trap close around Regulus made him sick.

"A fitting test," Voldemort mused, his gaze drifting across the assembled followers until it locked onto Severus. "But the boy cannot do it alone. Sirius Black aligns himself with Dumbledore’s pets. He is never far from the Potter boy."

Severus froze as Voldemort’s red eyes pierced through him.

"Severus," Voldemort commanded. "You know these boys. You know their habits, their weaknesses. You will assist young Regulus. You will ensure he captures Sirius Black and James Potter. Bring them to me."

The room seemed to spin. James Potter. The very mention of the name sent a spike of pure hatred through Severus, closely followed by a wave of cold terror. If he helped capture Potter, Lily would know. She would know he was responsible, and any lingering shred of hope he held of ever earning her forgiveness would die. But Voldemort was watching. The whole room was watching.

Severus bowed his head and reluctantly said what his master wanted to hear. "It shall be done as you wish, My Lord."

When he looked up, his eyes met Regulus’s terrified, pale face.

A moment later, one by one, the Dark Lord and his followers left Malfoy Manor, leaving Severus and Regulus alone in the hallway.

Regulus remained frozen in the centre of the room, staring at the spot where Voldemort had just stood. Before the boy could even look up, Severus crossed the room in three sharp, furious strides. He grabbed Regulus by the shoulder, spinning him around and shoving him back into the shadows of a window alcove, away from the lingering eyes of any house-elves.

"Are you completely insane?" Severus hissed. "Grindelwald? You stood before him and prattled on about glory and ambition like a coddled child reading fairy tales!"

Regulus blinked, shocked by the sudden assault. "Snape, unhand me—"

"Look at me!" Severus snarled. "Look at what you just did. You think there is glory in this? You think you are joining a crusade of knights? There is no glory here, Regulus. None. We are not his equals. We are his possessions. His prisoners."

Severus leaned in closer. "The great pureblood houses think they are aligning with a saviour. But the moment that mark touches your skin, you belong to him body and soul. You will spend your nights doing his butchery, and your days forced to hide your identity behind a mask and a hood, paranoid of your own shadow. You will never be free again."

The harsh words seemed to strike Regulus like physical blows.

"I... I didn't know," Regulus whispered. "Bella always made it sound... and my mother..." His eyes were wide with the sudden, sharp realisation of what he had gotten himself into. "He wants me to kill Sirius, Severus. He expects me to hunt my own brother. I can't. I hate his betrayal, I hate that he walked away from the family, but... I don't want to kill him."

"The Dark Lord does not wish to spill pure blood needlessly," Severus remarked. "Not yet, at least. He explicitly said to capture them. We only need to bring them in."

Regulus felt slightly relieved hearing Severus's words. "And if we do? What will happen to Sirius if we bring him here alive?"

"He will not be executed right away, " Severus explained. More likely, the Dark Lord will break his mind. He will place Sirius under the Imperius Curse. Your brother will be stripped of his free will, turned into a mindless puppet, and forced into permanent servitude for the cause he despises."

Regulus realised, with a sickening certainty, that he was bound to this darkness for the rest of his life. "How do I explain this to mother?"

"Your mother is a fool who stays safe at Grimmauld Place while you offer your neck to the axe," Severus said quietly. "Wipe your face, Black. Prepare yourself. We have a hunt to plan."

Defenders of Hogwarts (Harry Potter and the Two Worlds)

The Wizarding World has been exposed and forced to reunite with the Muggles. After months of riots, the UK government outlawed magic and carried out nationwide persecution of wizards and witches. The British Army is about to invade Hogwarts to cure every student and teacher of magic. Harry Potter and Luna Scamander head for Dumbledore's Grave to get the Elder Wand and save their friends and families before the magic dies.

Click here for the full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " Birger, AO3

November 2019

The first wave of helicopters passed low over the landscapes surrounding Hogwarts. Their searchlights were now sweeping across the dark expanse of the Forbidden Forest. Ropes were dropped from the helicopters as battalions of British soldiers descended into the forest.

None of them had ever seen a place like this. The forest loomed like a living thing with trees older than civilization.

"Bloody hell," one of the privates muttered, clutching his rifle tighter. "Feels like walkin' into hell itself."

"Stay sharp," their captain hissed. "Eyes open. Anything moves, you shoot."

They advanced in formation, heading into the unknown. The air was thick, humid, and alive with whispers. Suddenly, the whispering stopped.

An arrow flew out of the darkness and buried itself in the nearest soldier's shoulder. He screamed and collapsed to the ground. Before anyone could react, a dozen more arrows followed, striking from the shadows of the trees.

"CENTAURS!" someone shouted.

Shapes emerged from the mist: tall, fierce beings, half man and half beast. Their leader, Bane, stood in the front.

"Leave this place, men of iron and smoke!" he thundered. "The forest does not answer to your queen or your false gods!"

The captain raised his rifle.

"OPEN FIRE!"

Gunfire split the night. The forest exploded into chaos. Bane fell to the ground screaming in agony as waves of bullets tore him apart. The other centaurs retreated behind the trees.

The soldiers fired wildly into the trees, cutting down branches and splintering bark. But the centaurs were fast. They moved like shadows and struck the soldiers with deadly precision.

Hundreds of centaurs charged toward the soldiers and fired their arrows. The front line of soldiers fell under the onslaught.

Then came the sound no human ear should ever hear. A thousand skittering legs approached. From the deeper shadows of the forest, Acromantulas poured forth. Giant spiders as large as horses descended from the treetops. The soldiers screamed as the creatures engulfed their vans and armored trucks, wrapping them in thick silk. Gunfire tore through the webs, but for every spider that fell, three more replaced it.

A soldier fired a grenade launcher, the explosion lit the forest in a blinding flash. The shockwave sent spider limbs flying and the smell of burning web filled the air.

The centaurs fought alongside the chaos, loosing arrows at both spiders and soldiers, caught in the madness of war. For the first time in centuries, the Forbidden Forest truly lived up to its name.

...

The distant thunder of helicopters had grown into a constant roar. The sky above Hogsmeade glowed an eerie orange, lit by the burning edges of the Forbidden Forest.

Aberforth Dumbledore shouted orders while running past Hogsmeade's fortified buildings. "Get everyone to cover! Lock the doors, seal the windows!"

Beside him, Madam Rosmerta rallied the terrified villagers; shopkeepers, students who had stayed behind, and old witches too stubborn to flee.

From the misty hills surrounding the village, military trucks appeared with headlights cutting through the darkness. A voice shouted over loudspeakers:

"By order of the Prime Minister, all citizens possessing magical abilities are under arrest! Lay down your wands and surrender immediately!"

Aberforth felt that the end was near.

"They've come for the children."

Rosmerta stood her ground.

"Then they'll have to get through us first."

With a wave of his wand, Aberforth conjured a barrier of blue flame across the High Street; a shimmering wall of heat that rippled in the wind. Spells from dozens of villagers arced through the air, striking the advancing soldiers. Stunners, disarming charms, and hexes burst like fireworks but to their horror, the soldiers barely flinched.

"They're resistant!" Rosmerta cried out. "Our spells aren't working!"

The soldiers returned fire. The sound of gunfire split the air. Sparks flew as bullets tore through the protective charms around buildings. The Shield Charms shattered like glass.

A villager screamed and fell. Then another.

Aberforth ducked behind a fountain. "Merlin's beard..." he muttered to himself. "They've made weapons to kill wizards."

Rosmerta pulled him toward the Three Broomsticks while dragging a bleeding witch by the arm. The tavern's wooden sign swung wildly in the storm as they burst through the door, slamming it behind them.

Inside, chaos reigned. Tables had been overturned as wounded villagers took cover. Rosmerta raised her wand and cast a series of protective charms over the windows.

"We can't hold them off much longer!" she shouted.

Aberforth's eyes blazed with fury. "Then we'll give them something to remember."

Outside, the pounding of boots echoed through the streets. The soldiers had reached the door, guns raised, flashlights cutting through the broken glass.

Rosmerta grabbed Aberforth's arm. "Don't do it—"

But it was too late. Aberforth thrust his wand toward the ceiling.

"Incendio Maxima!"

A roaring wave of fire exploded from his wand, engulfing the entire tavern in an inferno. The flames spread like a living creature, devouring curtains, tables, and beams in seconds. The soldiers stumbled back as the windows burst outward in a spray of molten glass. The firelight painted the sky crimson.

Rosmerta screamed as the heat surged around them. Aberforth seized her hand.

"HOLD ON!"

With a crack of displaced air, they apparated, vanishing just as the roof of the Three Broomsticks collapsed in flames.

From the hillside above, they reappeared, coughing from smoke, watching as the tavern burned.

Rosmerta fell to her knees, tears streaking down her face. "My tavern... my home..."

Aberforth stood beside her, heartbroken to see what had become of their home. Perhaps, Grindelwald was right about the Muggles.

"Better burned than taken," he said quietly. "We'll rebuild when this is over, if there's anything left to rebuild."

Below them, the soldiers advanced through the smoldering ruins of Hogsmeade. Gunshots echoed by the second, indicating that the soldiers were no longer taking any prisoners.

The first assaults had begun on land, but now the second wave came by water. Military boats roared across the surface of the Black Lake. Their engines echoed off the cliffs of Hogwarts like thunder. Inside the lead vessel, the soldiers sat tense and silent with their weapons ready.

"Orders are to reach the shore, breach the gates, and establish a perimeter," the commander shouted into his radio. "No mercy for armed resistance."

Nature itself had other plans, however. Beneath the dark surface, something stirred, something ancient and vast. The soldiers didn't notice the water bulging outward on either side of their boats until it was too late. A shadow the size of a house rose beneath them.

Then, with a sound like a mountain breaking, the Giant Squid erupted from the depths. Its enormous tentacles wrapped around the nearest vessel, crushing steel like tin foil. Soldiers screamed as the boat tilted violently, throwing men and gear into the icy water.

"OPEN FIRE!" the commander shouted. Gunfire echoed through the mist, but bullets disappeared uselessly into the waves.

The squid's massive eye glimmered with cold intelligence as another tentacle smashed through a second boat, splintering its hull. One by one, the invading craft were seized, capsized, or dragged beneath the water.

From the depths below, a haunting melody rose. The Merpeople had joined the fight. Armed with coral tridents and jagged spears of bone, dozens of mermaids and mermen burst from the waves, attacking the floundering soldiers. They shattered propellers with magic-infused nets, pulled men from the water, and dragged them down into the dark abyss. Some soldiers tried to swim for the shore, but shimmering hands reached from beneath and pulled them under.

The last surviving military vessel tried to retreat but a massive whirlpool formed at the center of the lake, sucking it down. In seconds, it was gone, leaving only silence and rippling waves. Only floating wreckage, helmets, crates, and burning fuel marked where the invaders had been.

The mermaids resurfaced briefly, raising their tridents in silent salute toward the castle's towers. Then they vanished beneath the depths once more.

The wind howled across the Hogwarts Bridge, carrying with it the acrid scent of smoke and the faint echo of distant explosions. Beneath the shimmering folds of the Invisibility Cloak, Harry and Luna moved quickly but cautiously toward the resting place of Albus Dumbledore.

Every few seconds, Harry glanced back toward the castle. The towers glowed faintly blue, encased in the Protego Maxima barrier that shimmered like glass against the black clouds above.

"Almost there," Harry muttered. His right hand clutched the cloak around them, the other holding Luna's arm to guide her through the darkness.

Then a low, unnatural hum filled the air. Luna's dreamy eyes tilted upward, and her expression turned grim.

"They're coming," she whispered.

From above the treeline, the night sky filled with attack drones meant to kill enemies from long distances. A moment later, missiles streaked down toward the castle in glowing trails of fire.

Harry and Luna ducked behind the bridge's stone archway as the missiles struck the shimmering dome over Hogwarts.

Each explosion sent a shockwave rolling across the valley. The Protego Maxima flared blindingly bright and then cracked like glass, and splintered into a thousand fragments of blue light before vanishing altogether.

For a single breath, there was silence. Then, from within the castle walls, came the screams. The wards had fallen.

Inside, teachers and students alike felt the world unravel around them. The floor of the Great Hall quaked; chandeliers shattered. McGonagall and Neville braced themselves as debris rained from the ceiling. Ron held Ginny tightly. The portraits wailed, the ghosts screamed warnings.

Inside the Room of Requirement, Dudley held Lily close, as the sound of distant explosions echoed through the stone. All the children panicked, fearing the worst. Albus Severus and Scorpius held each other tightly. Hugo hugged Rose. who looked like she might faint. James Sirius had dropped any impression of courage and was now pissing in his pants.

"It's all right," Dudley said. "It's... it's just noise, yeah? Just noise."

Lily buried her face in his chest, and he tightened his arms around her, desperate to protect the niece he'd only just met.

Above the castle, helicopters ascended like birds of prey. A massive helicopter hovered above the Astronomy Tower, floodlights cutting through the smoke as soldiers prepared to rappel down into the castle grounds.

However, the castle itself was not silent. A chilling chorus of laughter and wails rose from the walls. Out of the tower's highest windows poured a legion of ghosts led by the Bloody Baron. His eyes burned with cold rage, determined to defend the castle even while dead. The Grey Lady and Nearly Headless Nick followed close behind.

They swooped through the air toward the helicopter. Their screams pierced through the pilot's headset, causing him to scream in pain. Instruments flickered and died. The rotors slowed down.

"What the—? Controls are gone!" the pilot shouted.

The helicopter spun out of control, tilted sideways, and then plummeted, crashing into the Black Lake below, drowning every soldier.

Harry and Luna stood frozen on the bridge. However, more and more helicopters flew above them, towering over the castle.

"Merlin's beard..." Harry whispered.

Luna looked toward him.

"They're frightened, Harry. Everyone is. But you can't help them from here."

Harry watched the smoke rise above the castle towers.

"My family's in there, Luna... Ginny, the kids, Ron... What if—"

"If you falter now," Luna interrupted softly, "then Dumbledore's grave will be for nothing. You need the Elder Wand. It's the only thing that can end this."

Harry knew she was right and nodded, forcing the panic back down. The castle's cries echoed across the valley like a wounded beast, but he turned away from it, reminding himself to stay focused on the mission.

"Let's finish this," he said.

Together, cloaked in shadow, Harry and Luna pressed on across the bridge, heading toward Dumbledore's grave and the last hope Hogwarts had left.

birgerjones

Gellert Grindelwald vs Lord Voldemort (First Wizarding War AU)

In this timeline, Lord Voldemort won the First Wizarding War in 1979. The Order of the Phoenix was disbanded and the Marauders were forced into servitude. Ten years later, Nymphadora Tonks freed Gellert Grindelwald from Nurmengard to avenge the death of Albus Dumbledore and topple the Dark Lord’s regime.

Click here for the complete story: "Lord Voldemort and the Lost Decades, " by Birger, ao3

February 1989

London woke up beneath a sky it had never known. Above Whitehall, burning like a wound torn into the clouds, hovered the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, visible to every Muggle and wizard alike. Traffic screeched to a halt. People fled into the streets, pointing upward in terror, not knowing why they were afraid, only that something ancient and catastrophic had arrived.

Gellert Grindelwald stood alone at the center of Whitehall. With a single, deliberate motion of his wand, he struck the ground.

The street split open as earth and concrete were torn apart as though the city itself were screaming. A crater hundreds of feet wide yawned open, revealing the impossible beneath London: the Ministry of Magic, its enchanted ceilings shattered, atriums exposed to daylight for the first time in centuries. Wizards inside scattered in panic. Muggles stared down into a world they had been told did not exist.

A ripple of magic tore through the air. High above the crater, Lord Voldemort appeared, flying without a broom.

For a long moment, the two greatest dark wizards in history stared at one another.

Grindelwald laughed softly.

“So,” he said, voice carrying unnaturally across the ruins, “this is what you became.”

Voldemort’s red eyes burned. “And this,” he replied coldly, “is what you failed to remain.”

They struck at the same time. Green light split the sky as two Killing Curses collided, detonating midair with a thunderclap that shattered nearby buildings. The shockwave hurled cars like toys. Windows exploded for miles.

Voldemort moved first, faster, his body twisting unnaturally through the air as he unleashed a storm of curses: jagged spears of emerald light, chains of living fire, serpentine spells that screamed as they flew.

Grindelwald met them all. Walls of golden flame rose at his command. Lightning crackled from Grindelwald’s wand, arcing upward, tearing through Voldemort’s shields and forcing him back for the first time in decades. The ground buckled again as Fiendfyre erupted, dragons and beasts of living flame clashing in the air, devouring spells, buildings, and civilians.

For the first time since Dumbledore’s death, Voldemort was truly challenged. They fought all over Whitehall as their magic tore the sky apart.

From a rooftop nearby, a terrified Muggle sniper, shaking and half-mad with fear, fired his weapon. The crack of the rifle was almost lost in the chaos.

Voldemort reacted instantly, flicking his wand. The bullet curved away from him and struck Grindelwald squarely in the chest.

For a heartbeat, everything went silent. Grindelwald looked down at the spreading red on his coat. His wand slipped from his fingers, tumbling end over end toward the ruined street below.

He looked up at Voldemort one last time and smiled.

“Albus,” Grindelwald whispered, voice already fading, “I’m coming.”

His body fell, vanishing into the crater, and into the Ministry Atrium.

Voldemort hovered above Whitehall for everyone to see. Below him, London had become a single, roaring organism of panic and motion.

Sirens wailed from every direction, police cars screeching to a halt, ambulances forcing their way through traffic that no longer obeyed lanes or lights. Soldiers poured in behind them, rifles raised, fingers trembling on triggers. Searchlights snapped on, harsh white beams slicing through the smoke, fixing on the impossible figure suspended in the sky.

Cameras flashed. Journalists shouted. Helicopters thundered overhead, circling like mechanical birds of prey. Their rotors battered the air, whipping loose papers and debris into spirals. From rooftops and windows, muggles stared upward, some frozen in awe, some screaming, and some falling to their knees in terror.

Whitehall was broken open like a wound. Stone and earth had been torn away to reveal the hidden levels beneath: staircases spiraling into darkness, shattered fireplaces, cracked lifts, and the unmistakable architecture of the Ministry of Magic was visible for the non-magical world to see. Wizards trapped inside the exposed corridors stared up in horror, realizing that secrecy, centuries of careful lies, had ended in a single morning.

Voldemort’s red eyes swept across the scene. The police, the soldiers, the helicopters, the screaming civilians, the journalists had already immortalized him in photographs that would circle the globe within hours.

Guns cracked. Bullets tore through the air. Voldemort flicked his wand, spells blooming around him in translucent shields. Metal flattened, curved, and fell harmlessly to the streets below. As a helicopter veered too close, Voldemort turned his head, eyes flashing, and the engine screamed as it seized, forcing the pilot into a desperate retreat.

For a fleeting moment, he allowed the world to see him fully: the pale, inhuman face, the red eyes, the figure that would haunt their nightmares forever. With a crack like reality snapping shut, Voldemort vanished.

Police and soldiers stared at the empty sky where the flying man had been. Journalists lowered their cameras with shaking hands, already knowing history had just been rewritten.

Lucius stood frozen at the edge of the Atrium, staring upward through the shattered ceiling into the open sky, smoke, and falling debris. Sirens wailed above, dozens of them, then hundreds, an alien, relentless sound that did not belong to the wizarding world. The thunder of helicopter blades beat against the broken stone like a war drum.

Umbridge clutched the edge of a fountain. Yaxley whispered curses under his breath. Barty Crouch Jr., still wearing his Auror insignia, felt fear for the first time in many years.

Then the first Muggles appeared. They poured into the crater in organized waves, Metropolitan Police, armed units in dark uniforms, rifles raised, faces set with grim determination. They had expected terrorists, cultists, anything human. What they found instead was a vast underground hall of marble, statues, green firelight, and robed figures staring back at them in equal disbelief.

Someone shouted an order. The battle began.

Barty reacted on instinct. “Forward!” he screamed, raising his wand. “Protect the Ministry!”

Aurors surged ahead, only to be met with deafening cracks of gunfire. Bullets tore through enchanted air, ripping into robes and flesh alike. Magic had never prepared them for this speed and brutality.

Barty didn’t even see the shooter. A single shot rang out, and a bullet hit his chest. He felt the impact before the pain, a crushing force in his chest that knocked the breath from his lungs. He looked down in confusion at the spreading red across his robes, at the wand slipping from his fingers. Then the floor rushed up to meet him.

Around him, chaos consumed the Atrium. Aurors fell screaming. Police officers collapsed under unseen curses. Spells rebounded wildly, shattering statues and igniting fires that licked up the Ministry walls. Protective charms cracked under sustained gunfire. Metal proved disturbingly effective against magic when wielded in numbers.

Then the air grew cold. Dementors swept in from the lower levels, drawn by fear like sharks to blood. They descended upon the police ranks, sucking warmth and hope from the air. Officers dropped their weapons, clawing at their own faces as the Kiss was administered in full view of their comrades. Screams echoed, raw and inhuman.

Umbridge laughed hysterically as she ordered the wolf-men released. The cages burst open, and grey, twisted figures surged forward on all fours, eyes wild with hunger. They tore into the police lines, forcing rifles aside, dragging men down into the rubble. The Ministry became a slaughterhouse.

However, the Muggles did not break. More officers poured into the Ministry, determined to face their new enemy, whom they didn't know existed an hour ago.

Across the Atrium, Death Eaters clutched their arms as the Dark Mark flared white-hot. One by one, with cracks of displaced air, they vanished, fleeing, abandoning the battlefield, abandoning the Ministry they had ruled only hours before.

Lucius hesitated. His hand shook as he looked once more at the carnage, at the broken bodies, at two worlds clashing. With a final crack, he disappeared.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world #voldemort wins #voldemort #slytherin #gellert grindelwald #grindeldore #lucius malfoy #dolores umbridge #barty crouch jr #werewolf #ministry of magic #first wizarding war #marauder era #muggle #tom riddle

Delphini's Dementors (Harry Potter and the Two Worlds)

The Wizarding World has been exposed and forced to reunite with the Muggles. Durmstrang has been conquered by former Death Eaters led by Delphini. Now, Delphini is reaching out to the banished Dementors of Svalbard to begin her conquest of Europe.

Click here for the full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, AO3.

Through the Arctic, moved Delphini without touching the ground. Around her walked a handful of her most loyal Durmstrang followers. Behind them, bound by enchanted chains, stumbled a smaller group of students who had dared question her new order. Their eyes were wide with fear, and their breaths were visible in the frigid air.

“Where are you taking us?” one of them stammered in Swedish. “Please, Headmistress, my Lady, Supreme Leader”

Delphini did not answer.

"Crucio!" A Polish teenage girl loyal to Delphini, cursed, and the bound Swede began to scream in pain. No one questioned Delphini again for the rest of the journey.

They descended from the cliffs into the frozen caverns by the sea, where salt and ice fused into shimmering walls. The deeper they went, the more the air changed.

Shapes moved in the dark, gliding between the icy columns.

For years, the Dementors had lived here after being banished from Azkaban following the fall of Voldemort. They had been feeding on polar bears, seals, and the souls of lost wanderers who ventured too far north.

Dozens of them circled Delphini’s group like vultures around a dying flame. Even her loyal students trembled. One collapsed to his knees, sobbing. None of them could conjure a Patronus; their wands shook uselessly in their hands.

Delphini, however, stood still.

“You remember me,” she said softly. Her voice echoed in the cavern, strangely melodic. “You remember him.”

The air seemed to vibrate as the Dementors drew closer.

“I am Delphini,” she said. “Daughter of the Dark Lord, whom you served. His blood runs in me. His will continues through me.”

A sound rolled through the cave like the rustle of ancient wings. It wasn’t language, but Delphini understood. It was recognition.

“You are dying,” she whispered. “The Muggles know you only as myth. The wizards you once guarded have turned their backs. You feed on beasts now, scraps of what you once had.”

She walked closer to them, unfazed by the cold that made the others gasp.

“But follow me, and I will give you souls again. Not scraps but feasts. I will remake the world in shadow. ”

The Dementors hovered, uncertain until Delphini raised her hand. Her chained prisoners whimpered in terror.

“You will have proof,” she said, voice like silk over steel.

Her eyes flashed violet. With a gesture, the chains dissolved. The students tried to flee, but the Dementors descended like a storm. Screams tore through the icy air as souls were ripped from bodies-

The students turned away. One vomited. Another pissed his pants while others were transfixed by awe. Delphini did not flinch.

“Eat,” she whispered. “Feed and grow strong. The world will soon need you.”

The Dementors circled her, recognising Delphini as their new master. She extended her arm, and one brushed its decaying hand against hers. Frost crept up her skin, but her eyes only glowed brighter.

“We are bound,” she said. “My father ruled through fear. I will rule through despair.”

The cavern erupted with a cold wind that extinguished every torch. When it cleared, the Dementors were gone, spreading outward into the world once more

“Let the world remember fear again,” Delphini murmured. “And let it start with me.”

The mining town of Barentsburg had so far remained completely unaware of the Revelation and the existence of magic.

Inside the miners’ canteen, a handful of Russian and Norwegian workers sat huddled around a battered table, their laughter echoing through the dimly lit room.

“Magic?” one of them scoffed, raising his glass. “My wife reads too many fairy tales.”

“Same with mine,” said another, shaking his head. “Wizards, spells! Pah! If they were real, they’d have come here long ago. Can’t be much gold in Svalbard for witches.”

“Aye,” muttered another. “We’ve got rifles, not wands. Let’s see them try.”

Hours later, the wind howled softly through the narrow streets. The last ship had left the harbor days ago. Barentsburg was alone. That night, the air changed.

Then it appeared: A green spectral bird, vast and blazing, spread across the sky above Barentsburg. Its wings shimmered like emerald flame, its cry a sound that froze blood.

Dogs began to bark. The miners woke up from their beds.

“Что это?!”

“Hva i helvete!”

By the time the first rifle shots cracked through the air, it was already too late.

Figures in blood red robes moved through the streets. Sadistic teenagers cursed everyone in sight.

They broke through the wooden doors of the workers’ houses with spells that shattered locks and splintered walls.

“Stay back!” a miner shouted, firing a rifle, blowing the head off one young wizard.

"THAT WAS MY BOYFRIEND MUGGLE SCUM!!" A girl shouted in Estonian. "CRUCIO!"

The man fell on the ground, screaming in unimaginable pain.

Screams echoed across the harbor as the invaders herded the survivors into the square beneath the statue of Lenin. The miners’ wives clutched their crying children.

Delphini arrived last, descending from the cliffs with her cloak snapping like a banner in the wind. Around her floated the Dementors, rising from the fog, drawn by the promise of souls. Even the Durmstrang students faltered as the creatures approached.

Delphini raised her hand.

“These,” she said softly, “mock what they cannot understand. Let them learn what true power is.”

The Dementors swooped forward.

The screams lasted only moments, then stopped, replaced by a silence so vast it swallowed the sound of the sea.

When the creatures rose again, they hovered before Delphini like a dark army.

“Remember this night,” she whispered to her followers. “The world will forget Barentsburg, but you will not. This is the dawn of our dominion.”

The Dementors scattered across the coast. By morning, the town was empty, houses torn apart, and lamps flickered over streets lined with frost. A few arctic foxes picked at what remained. High above, against the pale Arctic dawn, the Dark Mark Augurey still shimmered faintly, refusing to fade.

#delphini #cursed child #next generation #durmstrang #dementor #prisoner of azkaban #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world #muggle #norway #russia #svalbard

Death Eaters conquer Durmstrang (Harry Potter and the Two Worlds)

The Wizarding World has been exposed and forced to reunite with the Muggles. Delphini, Antonin Dolohov, Rodolphus Lestrange, and other former Death Eaters conquer Durmstrang, turning it into a fortress of wizard supremacy.

Full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, ao3

The Arctic winds howled across the black waters of the Barents Sea as one massive and ancient ship cut through the ice-laden waves. The crimson sails of the Durmstrang fleet snapped in the wind, each embroidered with the school’s sigil: A raven and a wand crossed over a sword.

In the shadowed lower cabins, Delphini stood before a cracked mirror. The candlelight flickered against her silver-blonde hair as she whispered incantations under her breath. Flesh shimmered. Bone reshaped. Within moments, the infamous witch had become someone else, a tall, dark-haired student with forgettable features and a neutral accent. Around her, Antonin Dolohov, Rodolphus Lestrange, Augustus Rookwood, and what remained of their followers performed the same human transfiguration, disguising themselves as teachers and older students.

“Keep your heads low,” Dolohov muttered in Russian, his new face lined but unrecognizable. “The guards on these ships see everything.”

“They see only what I allow them to,” Delphini replied coolly. Her blue eyes, even behind a false face, gleamed with restrained violence.

"Now I'm going to find some handsome boys to play with. This is going to be a long journey, " Delphini said, dancing away from her elderly followers.

The voyage lasted a week. Through endless fog and sleet, the ship pressed north, past the ghostly fjords of Norway and into the freezing waters surrounding Svalbard. Hidden behind perpetual mist, stood Durmstrang Institute. The castle grounds roamed with Draugr, undead beings, serving as the school's guardians.

It was tradition that every year, on the first day of term, all two thousand students and staff of Durmstrang, from all over Northern, Central, and Eastern Europe gathered in the great duelling arena, an enormous, circular courtyard carved from black rock and open to the sky.

At the center stood Headmaster Silas Lange, a century-old Danish wizard in crimson robes lined with wolf fur.

“The world beyond these mountains has gone mad,” he began, his breath misting in the cold. “The Statute of Secrecy is gone. Wizards and Muggles now stare at each other across a gulf of fear. Many call it freedom. I call it folly.”

His words rippled through the ranks of students. Some nodded while others shifted uncomfortably.

“Remember who we are,” Silas continued. “Durmstrang does not bend to chaos. The world will need discipline, strength and vigilance.”

From the crowd, a young woman with black hair and green eyes, Delphini in disguise, raised her hand.

“Headmaster,” she called softly, her voice cutting through the murmur. “What of those who believe the old ways should return? Those who believe Grindelwald was right?”

The crowd gasped. The mere name of Grindelwald still carried the weight of heresy. Silas’s sharp gaze found her immediately.

"How dare you interrupt me. Leave immediately, as you'll await your punishment. "

Two older students, one boy and a girl, grabbed Delphini and led her out of the arena.

“Those who follow that ghost,” he said coldly, “chase madness. I knew the man. I fought for him once, and I watched him turn our ideals into tyranny.”

Delphini smiled faintly.

“Then perhaps he simply lacked the right heir."

Moments later, as the arena emptied, Silas walked the long stone corridor toward his office.

He froze when he saw the rebellious girl sitting in his office with two dead students on the floor.

Delphini, no longer disguised. Her silver hair spilled over her cloak like liquid moonlight, her eyes burning with serpentine fire.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said without turning.

“Oh, but I am,” the girl responded. "And I intend to make this place reach its full potential. "

“Delphini,” Silas whispered. “By the gods… you were expelled before you ever graduated.”

“And yet I learned more than this place ever taught me,” she said softly. “You taught obedience. I learned power.”

Silas’s expression hardened. “You are playing with forces you cannot control.”

“On the contrary,” she hissed, raising her wand. “I am the control. And I have come to reclaim what you and your kind lost. Grindelwald’s dream.”

With a flick, she struck. Silas’s wand met hers mid-air, a blinding clash of light destroying the headmaster's office. The floor split apart. and windows shattered in shockwaves. All over the castle, students screamed, and teachers rushed toward the sound, but Dolohov, Rodolphus, and Rookwood and his followers were already there, blocking their path. Within seconds, Durmstrang had become a battlefield.

Stone walls cracked as spells ricocheted through the halls.

Silas fought with ferocious precision as he conjured fire, lightning, and chains of binding magic. For a moment, it seemed the old man might prevail.

He caught Delphini’s wand in midair with a twisting curse. The wood burst into flame.

“It ends, Delphini!” he shouted, raising his wand for the killing blow.

However, Delphini only smiled as her eyes glowed with violet light.

“I need no wand.”

She raised her hand.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Emerald light exploded from her fingertips. The Killing Curse hit Silas square in the chest. The old wizard fell, lifeless, before his students’ horrified eyes.

The sky above the arena cracked open as Delphini rose into the air. The clouds themselves turned violet as she conjured the Dark Mark: a skull with Augurey wings. Behind it, a massive Deathly Hallows symbol appeared.

“Durmstrang is reborn!” she cried, her voice echoing over the mountains. “This will be the fortress of the new world where witches rise and Muggles kneel!”

The students stared, stunned. Then, slowly, many began to applaud. Others shouted, their cheers echoing like thunder. Centuries of militaristic pride, of discipline and superiority, flared into fanatic devotion.

Dolohov stepped forward, bowing deeply.

“Hail Headmistress Delphini,” he said. “And long live Durmstrang.”

“No,” Delphini corrected. “Headmaster Dolohov. I have greater worlds to conquer. "

#delphini #antonin dolohov #rodolphus lestrange #bellamort #gellert grindelwald #durmstrang #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #dark mark #death eater #muggle #norway #russia

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#MagicIsReal (Harry Potter and the Two Worlds)

After a devastating attack at the 2019 Quidditch World Cup Final by former Death Eaters, the International Confederation of Wizards votes to end the Statute of Secrecy and reveal the existence of magic to the non-magical world.

Click here to read the complete story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, AO3

August 2019

The summer of 2019 had been unusually fine in Scotland. The weather was perfect for Quidditch, and for the first time in history, the World Cup had come to the shadow of Hogsmeade.

Tens of thousands of witches and wizards filled the enormous new stadium, its stands soaring higher than the towers of Hogwarts in the distance. Banners flashed and rippled with charmed light: SCOTLAND VS. USA. Below, the emerald pitch gleamed like a jewel.

A low roar swept through the stands as Oliver Wood, captain of the Scottish national team, soared onto the field in his blue robes. The crowd thundered its approval. Behind him flew the rest of the Scottish squad, circling the field in tight formation.

Across the pitch, the United States team emerged. Robes of deep red and white stripes, stars shimmered faintly as they took to the air. Their captain, Samantha Cole, lifted her hand in salute before wheeling her broom into a dive that drew an appreciative “Oooooh!” from the stands.

“Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards of all nations!” boomed a magically amplified voice. British Minister for Magic Hermione Granger-Weasley stood beside her husband Ron and their children, Hugo and Rose.

Nearby stood Hermione's American counterpart, Celestia Picquery, President of MACUSA, along with her Aurors, who quietly looked out for potential threats.

Hermione raised her wand to her throat. “Welcome to the 2019 Quidditch World Cup Final!”

The crowd erupted, and flashes of light and confetti burst from wands all around.

“And now,” Hermione continued, “please welcome our mascots: symbols of unity, power, and good sportsmanship!”

A massive shadow passed over the pitch. A Hebridean Black dragon, Scotland’s chosen mascot, beat its mighty wings and let out a roar that made the enchanted barriers tremble. Across from it, materializing from a swirl of cloud and lightning, came the Thunderbird, the great North American spirit bird, wings flashing with stormlight.

The crowd gasped in awe as the two creatures circled one another in the sky.

High above in the VIP box, Harry and Ginny Potter watched with their children. James and Lily were on their feet, shouting encouragement, while Albus Severus sat beside Scorpius Malfoy, the two boys deep in conversation about something that was most certainly not Quidditch.

The whistle blew, and the game started. It was fast, brilliant Quidditch. Oliver divied through Bludgers. Cole weaved like smoke around her Chasers. Scotland scored once, then twice, and the stands shook with the roar of approval.

Then everything changed as a blinding green light flashed over the arena. A gigantic Dark Mark blazed above the stadium: the skull and serpent combined with two massive wings sprouting out from behind the cranium.

The crowd’s scream rose like a wave.

Masked figures, former Death Eaters, appeared in bursts of dark smoke. Spells arced through the air, exploding against the stands. Aurors in scarlet robes rushed forward, ready to fight the masked intruders.

“Protego Maxima!” shouted one Auror, forming a shimmering barrier.

One Death Eater raised his wand and shouted the forbidden words. "Avada Kedavra!"

Green light shattered the shield charm, and the Auror fell lifeless down the stairs, causing widespread panic among the crowd of terrified spectators. The American Aurors grabbed their president and Disapparated away in an instant.

“Dad! What?” Scorpius gasped, but Draco shoved him toward Ron and Ginny.

“Go! Both of you! Take them!”

James, Albus, and Lily clung to Gunny in fear while Hugo and Rose grabbed Ron's arm.

Ginny seized her children’s hands. “Ron!”

“I’ve got them!” Ron bellowed. He grabbed Scorpius’s arm. “Hold on tight!”

With a thunderous crack, they vanished. Hermione and Harry were already vaulting the barrier, ready to fight.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry said as he disarmed two Death Eaters at once in a burst of red light.

Hermione pointed her wand at one masked witch who tried to sneak up on Harry from behind.

"Petrificus Totalus! "

The female Death Eater froze, unable to move a muscle, and fell rolling down the stairs.

Two other masked wizards cornered Hermione, but Draco rapidly came by her side as his protective instincts took over.

"Stupefy!"

The two Death Eaters fell on the floor and were instantly crushed by the panicking crowd of wizards and witches.

Parents grabbed their children and apparated away in panic, ending up in public places all over the UK. They ended up on bridges, in public parks, on roads, and in subway stations right in front of confused Muggles who raised their phones at the strange, robed figures, who had appeared out of nowhere. Within seconds, videos were being uploaded on the internet that instantly went viral all across the globe.

Back at the arena, the battle intensified. Aurors and Death Eaters clashed as red, blue, and green jets of light filled the air.

Oliver Wood, furious at his big moment ruined, hexed a Bludger, making it fly into a Death Eater’s back, sending him spiraling into the pitch, screaming in agony.

Hermione was dueling two masked attackers at once, moving with fierce precision. Draco fought beside her, deflecting curses with a grim determination.

The dragon, freed by a burst of shattered wards, screamed and ascended, trailing fire. The Thunderbird panicked, flying up in the air, causing a literal storm. Lightning ignited the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. Centaurs, unicorns, wolves, and Acromantula fled the flames and ran out on a highway and crashed into cars.

A young woman hovered in the air, above the broken pitch. She held no broom, nor wings. She flew, carried by sheer will alone.

Draco went rigid. “No. No, it can’t be...”

Harry turned sharply. “Who is she?”

Draco’s voice was barely a whisper. “Delphini.”

Harry blinked. “Who?”

“The daughter,” Draco said, “of Voldemort. And Bellatrix.”

"Impossible, " Hermione responded, terrified.

The woman lifted her hand, and a pulse of power radiated outward. Witches and wizards were thrown backward like leaves in a gale.

Above the burning pitch, Delphini drifted down like a ghost. Aurors fired curses toward her, but they fizzled, bent, and dissolved in the air.

“Expelliarmus!” Harry shouted, sending a jet of red light. She deflected it lazily with her hand.

“Potter,” her voice echoed. “Still fighting battles that aren’t yours.”

Hermione’s voice cut through the wind. “Who are you?”

Delphini smiled. “The end you all postponed.”

She lifted her arms, and a shockwave of raw magic rippled outward, flinging Aurors, wreckage, and flame into the air. Delphini smiled and then shot into the clouds, vanishing with a crack like thunder. One by one, the remaining Death Eaters vanished in smoke.

Hermione lowered her wand. “What in Merlin’s name... have we just seen?”

Harry turned to Draco. “Tell me everything you know.”

“When The Dark Lord found out you were destroying his Horcruxes, he got paranoid and decided to have a baby with Bellatrix. He hoped that in case he would be killed, their child would find a way to resurrect him in the future.” Draco explained. “I swear to you, Potter. I’ve had nothing to do with her. Not since the war. I’ve renounced it all.”

Hermione pulled a small device from her robes, a Muggle smartphone. Its screen was already flashing with notifications. She tapped it and began scrolling.

“They’re seeing everything,” she said faintly. “Muggles have filmed it all.”

She held up the phone. Across the screen, images scrolled by: The dragon and thunderbird flying in the sky, centaurs and giant spiders crashing into cars on a highway, wizards Disapparating away from public places. A bold white line of text was now trending on the internet.

#MagicIsReal

Ravenclaws on the Run (Voldemort wins)

In this timeline, Voldemort won the Second Wizarding War after Harry Potter's sacrifice during the Battle of Hogwarts. One year later, the Statute of Secrecy ended, and Voldemort was forced to declare war on the Muggles.

Full story: "Dumbledore's Army and the Serpent King, " by Birger, AO3

May 1999

Rain streaked across the cracked windshield as the stolen Vauxhall rattled down an empty motorway. The fuel light had been on for thirty miles. Cho kept both hands tight on the wheel while looking out for potential threats on the road.

They never stayed anywhere longer than a few hours anymore. Too many things hunted at night and too many things hunted during the day now.

Padma sat curled slightly into herself in the passenger seat, arms wrapped tight around her stomach. She hadn’t spoken for hours, and that made Cho worried.

In the distance, another column of smoke rose into the grey sky. Somewhere to the west, jets screamed past low and fast. A second later, dull thunder rolled across the land. Cities were being flattened daily now, sometimes by Muggle forces trying to destroy Death Eater strongholds, sometimes by dark wizards retaliating, and sometimes by things neither side controlled anymore.

Cho stopped at the sight of an abandoned petrol station. Half the roof had collapsed. Windows had been shattered. The forecourt was empty except for one burned-out car.

Cho pulled in anyway.

“We need fuel,” she said quietly. “Or at least somewhere to rest for an hour.”

Padma nodded.

They got out carefully. The air smelled like wet concrete and old smoke. Somewhere far off, something howled, not quite human, but not quite animal.

Inside the station shop, shelves were mostly stripped. Cho found two dusty bottles of water and a crushed packet of biscuits.

“Still edible,” she said, forcing a small smile.

Padma didn’t respond.

After a long silence, Cho spoke. “We need to leave Britain.”

Padma’s head snapped up. “No.”

Cho flinched “Padma—”

“No,” she said again, sharper now. “I’m not leaving.”

Cho set the biscuit packet down carefully. “Padma… listen to me. Please.”

Padma shook her head violently. “Parvati is alive. Somewhere. I know she is.”

Her voice trembled. “They took her. That means she’s alive. Or she was.”

Cho moved closer. “I want to find her too.”

Padma looked at her even though her eyes were swollen.

“I do,” Cho said softly. “You know I do.”

She hesitated. “But we don’t know where she is.”

Cho ticked off on her fingers. “Azkaban. London. Some Death Eater mansion. Some place we’ve never even heard of.”

Padma’s breathing got faster.

“We don’t even have wands,” Cho said, voice breaking slightly now. “We can barely protect ourselves. How do we save her like this?”

Padma pressed her hands to her face.

“She’s my sister,” she whispered.

“I know.”

Padma made a broken sound.

“If I leave… if I leave and she’s still here… what if she’s waiting for me? What if she thinks I abandoned her?”

Cho moved forward and pulled her into a hug. Padma resisted for a second. Then she collapsed into Cho.

“I can’t lose her,” Padma cried. “I can’t. She’s all I have left.”

Cho held her tighter.

“You haven’t lost her,” she whispered. “Not yet.”

Cho stroked Padma’s hair.

“We get out,” she said quietly. “We get help. We get wands. Allies. Information.”

Her voice hardened slightly. “And then we come back for her.”

They stayed like that on the dirty shop floor, two girls holding onto each other while the world burned outside.

After a long time, Padma whispered:

“Promise me… we won’t stop looking for her.”

Cho hesitated for a second.

“I promise.”

...

The closer they drove, the greener the sky became. By the time Cho and Padma crossed into Greater London, daylight barely existed anymore. A permanent Dark Mark hovered above London, blocking the sun, turning the sky green.

London was unrecognisable. Whole districts had been flattened into grey dust. Others still stood, but were in complete ruins. Several buildings were on fire.

Dozens of Inferi staggered across abandoned roads, some still wearing police uniforms, army fatigues, and business suits.

Padma covered her mouth.

“Oh my god…”

Above them, the sky was alive. Dementors drifted like storm clouds, hundreds, maybe thousands, circled endlessly. The air felt wet and freezing at the same time.

Thestrals perched along rooftops and shattered billboards. Between skyscrapers, massive silver webs stretched trembling slightly in the wind. Giant Acromantulas moved along the threads.

Cho gripped the steering wheel harder.

“Don’t look up,” she whispered.

They turned onto a wider road heading south toward the river. Toward the harbor. Toward escape or so they thought.

Something slammed into the side of the car. Padma screamed as grey and rotting hands smashed against the windows. Faces pressed against the glass. Dead eyes stared inside. Inferi swarmed from between abandoned buses and burned-out taxis.

“GO!” Padma shouted.

“I AM!”

Cho slammed the accelerator.

The car burst forward but crashed into a lamppost. The engine sputtered then died.

“No, no, no —”

More bodies closed in around the car.

“RUN!” Cho shouted.

They threw the doors open and bolted into the street. Behind them, hands clawed at the car, rocking it violently.

Padma almost slipped on something wet but didn’t look down and just kept running.

They didn’t stop until they saw glass doors ahead. The entrance was barricaded with overturned shelves, metal carts, wooden boards.

People inside saw them. For a moment, no one moved. Then someone pulled part of the barricade aside.

“GET IN!”

They dove through and the barricade slammed shut behind them.

Hundreds of people hid inside what had been a shopping mall.

Families huddled in shop fronts. Children cried quietly into their parents’ clothes. Battery lanterns hung from railings. The smell of sweat, fear, and stale food filled the air.

Former police officers and soldiers patrolled with pistols and rifles. Two armed officers approached immediately.

“Hands where we can see them.”

Cho and Padma obeyed instantly.

“Names,” one officer said.

“Cho,” she said automatically, then hesitated. “Cho Chang.”

“Padma Patil.”

The officers exchanged a look.

"Ching Chong, " one of them muttered with a smug smirk on his face.

Cho's look hardened in frustration but she was way too exhausted to say anything.

Then the older one stepped closer.

“Question,” he said quietly.

His eyes were exhausted but sharp.

“Are you… witches?”

Padma’s mouth opened. Cho felt her heart slam against her ribs. She thought of Hogwarts, Quidditch, and of magic that once felt normal.

“Do you work,” the officer continued, “for the red-eyed flying man? The man who calls himself the 'Serpent King'?”

Padma inhaled, but Cho spoke first.

“No,” she said. “We’re normal...just like you. We have fled all the way from my home in Glasgow.”

The officer studied her face looking for lies. Finally, he lowered his weapon slightly.

“Alright,” he said. “For now.”

He nodded toward the interior.

“Welcome to what’s left of London.”

Cho nodded. Padma didn’t speak.

As they walked deeper into the mall, Padma whispered, barely audible:

“We just lied to them.”

Cho stared straight ahead. “I know.”

The temperature dropped so suddenly that everyone felt like the air itself had died. People began rubbing their arms, and every breath turned faintly visible.

Then the screaming started. The civilians didn’t know why. But Cho did. Her stomach dropped.

“Padma,” she whispered. “They’re here.”

The mall’s fragile order shattered instantly. People shoved past each other, knocking over barricades, knocking over supplies, children crying as parents dragged them blindly toward exits that no longer mattered.

Former police and soldiers raised their guns toward nothing.

The first officer collapsed as his soul was torn away by something no one else could see. Another officer fell. Then another.

Padma grabbed Cho’s arm. “We have to go!”

They ran toward a side corridor but the cold deepened. Hope drained out of Cho’s chest like water from a cracked glass. Memories blurred and faces faded.

“No…” Cho gasped, stumbling.

From shattered skylights above, shadows poured in.

Behind them came the inferi, smashing through side entrances and emergency exits. Grey bodies came crawling, running, and climbing over escalators and storefronts. The mall had become a slaughterhouse in a matter of seconds.

Cho pulled Padma forward.

“We keep moving. Don’t stop —”

Three figures appeared in a burst of displaced air.

Cho and Padma recognised them instantly as the gang of Slytherin bullies from their school years. Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, and Blaise Zabini.

Pansy’s eyes locked onto them instantly with recognition.

“Well,” she said softly, stepping forward through the chaos, “look who survived. ”

Cho felt rage explode inside her chest. Padma staggered back in fear.

Pansy raised her wand casually.

“Incarcerous.”

Ropes burst from thin air. They slammed into Cho and Padma, wrapping arms, legs, torsos, wrenching them off their feet. They hit the tile floor hard. Padma cried out.

Cho tried to fight, trying to force wandless magic to break herself free, but nothing came. Pansy stepped closer and crouched in front of Cho. For a moment, the mall around them was only noise.

“You always thought you were better than us,” Pany said quietly. "So much for 'Dumbledore's Army'..."

Cho stared back, watching her former school rival with utter contempt. If looks could kill, Pansy would already be ash.

Behind her, Nott and Zabini moved efficiently. They hauled Cho and Padma upright like luggage.

“Time to go,” Zabini said calmly, glancing toward the approaching inferi.

“His Majesty will be very interested in this,” Pansy said.

Cho felt her heart beating faster. No. No no no —

The world folded inward, and then they were gone.

The mall was left behind filled with the dying, the soulless, and the monsters feeding on both.

The world snapped back into existence with a violent crack. Cho hit polished stone flooring hard enough to knock the air from her lungs. Padma crashed beside her, both still bound tightly in conjured ropes that burned like iron against their skin.

They were inside Vauxhall Cross, which used to be the headquarters of the Muggles' Secret Intelligence Service, known as MI6.

Now it was something else entirely. Dark banners hung between steel pillars. Inferi guards armed with Muggle weapons stood motionless along the walls. The distant echo of boots and screams carried through the vast corridors.

“Move,” Nott said, hauling Cho upright.

Zabini dragged Padma to her feet.

Pansy walked ahead like she owned the building. They were pulled down a long hallway and shoved through heavy black doors into a large office overlooking the Thames.

Behind a massive desk sat Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass, who held each other tightly.

Draco looked up, irritated. Then he saw Cho.

Pansy smiled thinly.

“Found them hiding with the Muggle resistance,” she said.

Draco stepped closer, studying Cho’s face.

“…Chang,” he said quietly. “Potter’s girlfriend.”

The words hit like a curse. Cho’s vision blurred instantly.

For a few seconds she wasn’t there. She was back at Hogwarts, during her fifth year when a younger Harry attempted to ask her out for the Yule Ball. Then she remembered their first kiss inside the Room of Requirement. Then her memories shifted to a year ago when she saw Hagrid sobbing with Harry's body in his arm at Hogwarts courtyard.

Tears slipped down her face before she could stop them.

“Oh, look,” she said sweetly. “Still grieving the Chosen One, her ex—”

Behind her, Nott shifted uncomfortably. Zabini looked away toward the window.

Something inside Cho broke. She lifted her head and stared straight at Draco.

“You were always a coward,” she said loudly. “Always.”

The room went very still.

“You hid behind your father. Behind teachers. Behind Voldemort. You bullied anyone weaker than you just to feel important.”

Her voice cracked, but she didn’t stop.

“Now look at you. Still hiding. Still someone else’s weapon.”

Pansy scoffed. “Merlin, spare us—”

Cho didn’t even look at her. She stared only at Draco.

“You’re not a leader,” she said. “You’re just Voldemort’s lapdog.”

The office fell silent.

Draco froze. His hand twitched near his wand, but he didn’t speak. Because somewhere deep down, buried under fear, grief, rage, and years of lies, he knew that the girl bound before him was right.

Beside him, Daphne stood very still. Her face stayed composed. But her fingers trembled slightly against her sleeve.

Padma suddenly surged forward against her restraints.

“Where is she? Where is my sister?” she shouted, voice breaking. “WHERE IS PARVATI?”

Everyone looked at her.

Her eyes were wild. Desperate and terrified.

Draco exhaled slowly. “She’s alive.”

Padma froze with hope and horror colliding in her face.

“She’s being held at Belmarsh,” Draco continued. “You’ll be joining her.”

Padma made a choking sound.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “How touching.”

Cho exhaled in relief out of sympathy for Padma.

At least she’s alive. At least she’s alive.

#voldemort wins #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #cho chang #padma patil #draco malfoy #daphne greengrass #blaise zabini #theodore nott #slytherin boys #dementor #ao3 fanfic #post deathly hallows #au canon divergence

Lily, Severus, and Regulus are arrested

After wild night out at the club, Lily Evans, Severus Snape, and Regulus are arrested by the police and interrogated by the MI5.

Full story: ”Lord Voldemort and the Lost Decades, ” by Birger, AO3

July 1979

Fluorescent light hummed above Severus’s head as he sat alone in the MI5 interrogation cell. He kept perfectly still, breathing slowly, ignoring the ache in his ribs and the sting of the metal cuffs. He had no wand but he did have discipline. Voldemort had taught him enough wandless magic to survive a crisis. And this certainly qualified.

He closed his eyes. Alohomora.

It came out as a whisper in his mind, a push of will rather than sound. A click echoed in the tiny room. Severus rose immediately. The cell door swung open.

He slipped into the corridor and moved to the next cell.

Regulus was sitting on the floor, pale and shaking. The moment the door creaked open, he stood upright.

“S-Severus?” he whispered.

“Quiet. Come.” Severus touched the lock, and once again summoned the focused pressure of wandless magic. The latch jolted open. Regulus scrambled out, clutching Severus’s sleeve as though it were a lifeline.

“We… we’re not leaving Evans, are we?” Regulus asked.

Severus closed his eyes briefly. “We are getting her,” he said. “Whether she comes is another matter.”

They hurried down the dim hall toward Lily’s cell. Severus pushed his palm against her lock and forced it open.

Lily sat on the bench looking at her former childhood friend with sheer resentment.

“Come on,” Severus whispered. “We’re leaving.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Lily said sharply. “Dumbledore will come. I’m not trading one prison for another.” Her voice trembled with fury. “And I hope Voldemort skins you alive for this failure.”

Regulus flinched. Severus didn’t move.

“Lily,” he tried one last time, pleading in a way he hated himself for. “If they learn the truth—”

“They won’t believe a word I said,” she snapped. “And even if they did, I am not running with Death Eaters.”

Footsteps thundered down the corridor.

Two Muggle guards turned the corner, guns raised. Their faces showed more fear than authority.

“Don’t move!” one shouted.

Severus turned to Regulus. “Hold on.”

Then he focused, gathering every shred of his strength. Wandless apparition was unstable and dangerous. Voldemort had forced him to practice it, mercilessly, until he could at least attempt it under duress.

With a sound like air collapsing into itself, Severus and Regulus vanished.

They reappeared outside Malfoy Manor on the lawn, collapsing to their knees. Regulus retched. Severus staggered upright, vision spinning—just in time to see the great doors burst open.

Voldemort strode out, flanked by Death Eaters. His red eyes burned in the darkness.

“So,” the Dark Lord hissed, “failure.”

Severus opened his mouth. “My lord—”

But the words never formed.

“Crucio!”

The world became fire. Severus hit the ground, writhing, screaming as every nerve shrieked. Beside him, Regulus shrilled in agony, fingers clawing the dirt.

Voldemort stepped closer, voice silk over venom.

“You let the girl live. You let her speak to Muggles. You return without Potter or his wretched godbrother. And you dare to stand before me?”

The curse intensified. Even the other Death Eaters averted their eyes.

At last, Voldemort lifted his wand. The curse ceased, leaving the two young men twitching in the grass like shattered marionettes.

Voldemort smiled thinly.

“You will not fail me again.”

Dumbledore arrived with a sharp crack of displaced air, inside the cramped, dimly lit cell.

For the smallest moment, Dumbledore simply stared at Lily.

She looked utterly exhausted but still defiant.

“Professor,” she whispered.

Dumbledore’s looked at her with sorrow. “Lily… I came as soon as I heard.”

Lily straightened, trying to look composed. “I didn’t tell them anything,” she said quickly, far too quickly. Her voice shook. “Nothing important. Nothing they’ll remember.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, reading the lie without needing Legilimency.

“You told them the truth,” he said gently.

Lily’s lip trembled. “They asked. And I— I couldn’t stand there while they talked about extremists and foreign terrorists and… and thought we were all mad. I just wanted someone to listen for once. To believe that we’re not monsters.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Oh, Lily. Your compassion is a strength. But sometimes, compassion can also be dangerous.”

She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he said, calmy. “And I forgive you.”

Before she could answer, footsteps echoed from down the corridor. Lily could hear the guards coming closer.

“—they're gone!”

“—cell’s torn open—”

“—they vanished, vanished, right in front of us—”

Three MI5 security officers burst into view with their guns raised. Lily saw the fear in their eyes at the sight of an elderly man in shimmering robes standing in a locked cell with the prisoner. One began shouting into a radio.

Dumbledore lifted a hand, wandlessly and nonverbally, causing the guards to freeze. Then their eyes glazed. Their arms lowered. Their memories folded in on themselves like soft paper.

“Sleep,” Dumbledore said softly.

They slumped harmlessly to the floor.

Lily felt guilt twisting inside her. “I really did make a mess of things.”

“It is not the first mess the Order has mended,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “Nor will it be the last.”

He reached out a hand. Lily stood, took it, and together they vanished. They reappeared in the dim warmth of the Hog’s Head Inn. surrounded by the entire order.

James leapt to his feet the moment she materialized. “Lily!”

He nearly knocked over the table in his rush. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her red hair. “Thank Merlin! Are you hurt? Did they touch you? Did Snape—”

“I’m fine,” Lily murmured, though she clung to him just as tightly.

Sirius stood nearby, furious at the thought of Regulus in Death Eater robes. He couldn’t even say his brother’s name.

Behind him, Mad-Eye Moody slammed his mug down with a thunderous thud.

“This is exactly why she shouldn’t have joined the Order in the first place!” Moody growled. “Telling Muggles about magic? Letting herself get arrested? Nearly handing over the whole blasted Statute of Secrecy?”

Lily flinched. James stepped protectively in front of her. “Back off, Moody.”

“I will not!” Mad-Eye’s magical eye whirled, fixing on Lily. “This kind of recklessness gets people killed. She should be expelled from the Order.”

The room erupted in protests. Dumbledore raised a hand. and silence snapped over the room like a spell.

“Alastor,” he said quietly. “Lily stays.”

Moody’s real eye narrowed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“WHY?”

“Because Voldemort has already marked her,” Dumbledore replied. “Because she has proven courage beyond measure. And because, like it or not… he will be coming for all of them. Soon.”

Lily felt James tighten his hold on her. Across the room, Sirius looked away, staring into the fire while thinking of his brother, of the fight, of the mask that now separated them forever.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #marauder era #first wizarding war #voldemort #severus snape #regulus black #lily evans #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #mad eye moody #albus dumbledore #muggles #the marauders #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #jily

Gellert Grindelwald and the Lost Future

Young Gellert Grindelwald makes himself ready for another year at Durmstrang Institute in Svalbard. Unfortunately, he keeps getting visions from a distant future that serve as warnings for an upcoming war between wizards and Muggles.

Story: "Gellert Grindelwald and the Lost Future, " by Birger, ao3

August 1897

The harbor was not marked on any map. To Muggles, the stretch of water along the Elbe was empty. To the wizarding world, it was a place of quiet ceremony.

Gellert Grindelwald stood at the edge of the quay with his hands in his pockets. At fifteen, he was tall for his age, pale-haired and sharp-featured. A crimson Durmstrang robe hung from his shoulders.

Around him gathered dozens of red-robed students, boys and girls aged thirteen to seventeen, most speaking German, their accents shifting from Prussian to Austrian to Swiss. Laughter rose in bursts, quickly subdued by sharp looks from older students already trying to assert their authority.

Beside Gellert stood Lyra Ollivander. She was from South Tyrol, her Italian lilt softened by years among German-speaking witches and wizards. Her hand brushed Gellert’s as they stood together, close enough that neither felt alone in the crowd.

“Still think it looks like a floating fortress,” she murmured.

Gellert smirked. “That’s the point. Durmstrang doesn’t believe in comfort.”

“Or joy,” Lyra added, though she smiled as she said it.

Behind them stood Gellert’s parents.

Heinrich Grindelwald was an imposing figure in dark green Ministry robes that marked his rank as German Minister for Magic. This was a man accustomed to rooms falling silent when he entered them.

At his side was his wife, Eszter Grindelwald. She wore simpler robes, and her dark hair was pulled back in a loose knot. Eszter looked anything but comfortable among the crowd of pureblood parents and students.

She noticed the sneers first. Several parents cast sidelong glances her way. Their whispers were subtle but unmistakable. Eszter met none of their looks directly, but her shoulders stiffened all the same.

“I still don’t understand why,” she said softly to Heinrich, “Germany has schools. Good ones. Places where he wouldn’t be judged for blood status.”

Heinrich did not turn to her. “Durmstrang is where our family’s legacy lies.”

“Our?” Eszter echoed. “Or yours?”

Gellert pretended not to listen, though every word landed. He had heard this argument before, many times, always ending the same way.

“He is talented,” Heinrich continued. “And Durmstrang will sharpen that talent. It is the only institution worthy of his potential.”

Eszter’s gaze shifted to her son. “Potential isn’t everything,” she said. “He’s still a boy.”

Gellert felt Lyra’s hand tighten around his fingers.

Before Eszter could say more, Heinrich checked his pocket watch and frowned. “I’m late. The Kaiser will not wait for me.”

“Kaiser Wilhelm?” Lyra asked.

Heinrich nodded once. “State matters.” He placed a firm hand on Gellert’s shoulder. “Write. Focus on your studies. Remember who you are.”

Gellert nodded, unsure what answer was expected of him. “Yes, Father.”

Without another word, Heinrich stepped back. Eszter moved forward immediately, pulling Gellert into a fierce embrace.

“Be kind,” she whispered. “Even when they aren’t.”

“I will,” Gellert said, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

She kissed his forehead, then Lyra’s cheek, smiling at her. “Look after each other.”

“We will,” Lyra promised.

With a sharp crack, Heinrich apparated away. Eszter lingered half a second longer, her eyes lingering on her son, before disappearing as well.

The harbor fell suddenly quieter.

A deep horn sounded from the ship. At once, older students straightened, voices dropped, and staff members emerged along the quay.

“Formation!” a barked voice echoed.

Students snapped into lines with military precision. Their trunks floated obediently behind them. Gellert felt a strange thrill as he fell into place beside Lyra, the weight of the moment finally settling on him.

This was it. Another year. Another journey north, farther from home, closer to something he couldn’t yet name. The ship loomed ahead, its iron hull etched with runes that glowed faintly in the mist. As the gangplank lowered, Gellert glanced once more at the empty harbor behind them.

He felt no grand ambition stirring in his chest. No visions of power or destiny. Only the nervous excitement of a fifteen-year-old boy, standing at the edge of a long voyage, with his girlfriend’s hand in his and the unknown stretching endlessly before him. Together, they stepped aboard, and the ship began its slow, inevitable turn toward the Arctic Circle and a future none of them could yet see.

The North Sea was restless. Gray waves battered the iron sides of the Durmstrang ship as it cut steadily northward. Below deck, the ship was alive with voices, footsteps, and the sharp echoes of instruction.

The older students had been given their assignments the morning after departure.

“Discipline is learned by teaching,” one of the instructors had said flatly. “You will instruct the first-years. They will obey you as they would us.”

So the cabins became classrooms.

Gellert found himself standing at the front of a narrow, iron-walled room that smelled faintly of seawater and polish. Twelve first-year students, most of them barely thirteen, stood in two neat rows before him. Nearly all bore the unmistakable confidence of children who had never been told no and the nervous tension of children who were about to be.

“Wands out,” Gellert said.

They snapped into motion, a fraction too slow for his liking.

Lyra stood to his left, arms folded, her expression calm but watchful. She had a way of observing that made even older students straighten unconsciously.

“Again,” she said coolly. “Together.”

Gellert lifted his wand. “Lumos.”

“Lumos!” the first-years echoed.

Several wand-tips flickered to life. One produced sparks. Another glowed weakly, then went dark.

Gellert sighed not loudly, but enough.

“No,” he said. “Again. And this time, breathe. You’re not stabbing the spell out of the air.”

A blond boy in the front row scowled. “At Rosenheim, we only practiced charms twice a week.”

“Welcome to Durmstrang,” Lyra replied before Gellert could. “Here, you practice until you don’t fail.”

Her tone wasn’t cruel. It was factual.

They repeated the charm over and over again.

The ship rocked gently as they moved on to levitation. Feathers floated unevenly across the room, bumping into the ceiling, drifting sideways, or plummeting to the floor.

“Control,” Gellert said, pacing slowly between the rows. “Not force. If you overpower it, it fights you.”

“Wingardium Leviosa,” Lyra commanded.

The words were spoken like an order, not a suggestion.

This time, the feathers steadied—hovering at chest height, trembling but aloft. A few students smiled before quickly schooling their expressions flat, glancing nervously to see if smiling was allowed. It wasn’t.

Outside this cabin, the same scene repeated across the ship. Older students drilled younger ones relentlessly basic charms, wand posture, spell pronunciation—over and over, until mistakes blurred into muscle memory. There were no praise-filled lectures, no gentle encouragements. Only correction, repetition, and expectation.

Gellert discovered, to his own surprise, that he was good at it.

Not brilliant. Not inspired. Just… effective.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t threaten. He simply expected competence and waited until it appeared. The first-years responded to that far better than to anger. Even the spoiled ones learned quickly when they realized excuses earned them nothing.

Between lessons, Gellert leaned against the bulkhead, rolling his shoulders as the ship lurched.

“Do you ever think it’s strange?” he asked Lyra quietly. “That we’re barely older than them, and they already expect us to act like officers?”

Lyra shrugged. “Durmstrang doesn’t care how old you are. Only whether you can enforce order.”

She glanced at the first-years, now standing silently with their wands lowered, waiting.

“They’re not stupid,” she added. “They’re just unused to being challenged.”

Gellert nodded. That much, at least, he understood.

Most of these students came from money, old houses, new fortunes, families who wanted their children sharpened into something formidable. Just like him. Just like his father had wanted.

The horn sounded again, signaling rotation.

“Dismissed,” Gellert said.

The first-years snapped into a bow, awkward but sincere and filed out in tight formation.

When the cabin was empty, Gellert exhaled and slumped briefly against the wall.

“I feel like I’ve said Lumos a thousand times,” he muttered.

Lyra smiled faintly. “By the time we reach the Arctic, you’ll say it in your sleep.”

The ship pressed onward through the gray expanse of the North Sea, carrying with it rows of disciplined children, tireless instructors, and one ordinary fifteen-year-old boy unaware of his destiny.

Night came heavily upon the ship. The lamps in the third-year cabin dimmed to a dull amber glow as the North Sea rolled endlessly beneath them. Trunks were secured, boots lined with near-military neatness, and the constant hum of enchantments settled into something almost like a lullaby. One by one, the boys climbed into their bunks, two stories of iron frames and thin mattresses, until only the sound of breathing and distant waves remained.

Gellert lay on the upper bunk, staring at the dark ceiling, exhausted after a long day of duty. His limbs ached from hours of discipline. Eventually, sleep claimed him, and Gellert fell deep into his mind.

Cold, sucking mud that clung to his boots and dragged him down with every step. The air was thick and foul, reeking of rot and smoke. Gellert stood in a narrow trench, its walls reinforced with splintered wood and iron. Barbed wire twisted above him like thorny serpents.

Men screamed. They were not students or teachers. They were soldiers. Some wore uniforms he recognized vaguely. Wizards, he knew they were wizards, scrambled beside ordinary men, clutching both wands and guns that thundered when fired. Bullets ripped through the air alongside curses and hexes, sparks colliding with lead in flashes of sickening light.

“Charge!”

“Avancez!”

The sky erupted. A choking yellow-green fog spilled over the trenches, crawling like a living thing. Gellert tried to breathe and couldn’t. His lungs burned. Around him, men collapsed, clawing at their throats, eyes wide with terror. Above, witches soared on broomsticks only to be torn from the sky by streams of bullets. Their bodies fell, robes aflame, vanishing into the smoke below.

Something roared, and a dragon burst through the clouds, scales blackened with soot, ripping apart a massive floating structure of metal and fabric, its screams of tearing steel echoing like a death cry. Fire rained down as the great beast vanished into smoke.

Then came the machines. Flying things, not brooms, screamed through the sky, wings rigid, unnatural. They dropped dark shapes that whistled as they fell, exploding against shimmering shield charms below. The shields shattered. The ground shook. The world dissolved into fire, iron, and madness.

Gellert screamed. He woke up with a shock, thrashing, and fell from his bed. The impact knocked the air from his lungs as he hit the cabin floor with a clang of iron and wood. Pain flared through his shoulder. Shouts followed instantly.

“What in Salazar—?”

“Are you mad?”

“Quiet!”

Lanterns flared to life. Lyra was upright in an instant.

“Gellert!” She kneeled beside him. “Are you hurt?”

His heart hammered so hard it felt like it might break through his ribs. The images still burned behind his eyes: mud, gas, fire.

“I—I’m fine,” he said hoarsely.

A boy from the far bunk snorted. “Nightmare? Fell out of bed like a first-year.”

Laughter rippled weakly through the cabin.

“Keep your voice down,” someone muttered.

Lyra ignored them. “What did you see?” she asked quietly.

Gellert swallowed. “Nothing,” he said too quickly. Then hesitated. “Just… a nightmare. War, I think. Or something like it.”

Another student scoffed. “You’ve been drilling kids all day. No wonder your head’s full of nonsense.”

“Maybe Durmstrang finally scared him,” another added.

Gellert forced a smile. “Yes,” he said. “That must be it.”

The lanterns dimmed again. One by one, his classmates settled back into sleep.

Lyra lingered.

She touched his arm lightly. “If it happens again,” she whispered, “wake me.”

He nodded, though he wasn’t sure why.

Gellert climbed back into his bunk. He lay staring into the darkness. His body was exhausted, but his mind painfully awake.

The nightmare clung to him not like a dream, but like a memory. It was too detailed and too vast to be meaningless. He did not know what trenches were. He did not know what flying machines dropped bombs. He did not know why wizards would carry rifles alongside their wands.

But deep inside, something cold and unsettling stirred. Whatever he had seen was not fantasy. As the ship carried him farther north, toward Durmstrang and the years ahead, Gellert lay awake, haunted by a future he could not yet name, only knowing that it had looked straight at him and screamed.

The journey north seemed endless until, suddenly, the sea changed. After two weeks of gray horizons and cold wind, the Norwegian Sea gave way to something almost unreal. Jagged mountains rose from the water like broken teeth. The ship slowed as it entered the fjords of Svalbard, gliding through narrow passages where the water turned a deep, icy blue.

Students crowded the rails despite repeated orders to remain in formation.

“There! Look!” a first-year gasped.

A massive white shape moved along the shoreline. A polar bear lifted its head to watch the passing ship before disappearing behind rock and ice. Further along, a cluster of walruses lounged on a low shelf. Orcas cut through the water in sleek black arcs.

The first-years whispered in awe, their earlier stiffness forgotten entirely.

Even Gellert leaned forward, resting his hands on the cold rail. The world here felt unfinished, raw, untouched by cities, or ministries, or polite rules. It was beautiful in a way that made his chest ache.

Then Lyra inhaled sharply. Durmstrang's fortress rose ahead of them. Other ships were already docked at the harbour beneath the fortress, indicating that the Nordic, Baltic, Slavic, and British students had already arrived.

A horn sounded.

“FORMATION!”

The German-speaking students snapped into line instantly. Gellert and Lyra made themselves ready. Together with the others, they marched down the gangplank onto the stone pier, boots striking in perfect rhythm. Trunks floated behind them in disciplined rows.

As they advanced, figures emerged near the gates. They were Draugrs, tall and armored undead beings with hollow eyes that glowed faintly blue. They did not breathe. They did not blink. Each held massive weapons from the Middle Ages.

A first-year whimpered in fear.

“No talking,” barked an older student.

Gellert felt a chill crawl up his spine as he passed between the draugrs. Unlike ghosts, these were not echoes or memories. They were guards enslaved to a purpose.

He thought, briefly, of Hogwarts, of the stories his great-aunt Bathilda Bagshot loved to tell. Living portraits that argued and gossiped. Friendly ghosts drifting through corridors and a poltergeist who loved to cause mischief. Durmstrang had none of that. No laughing faces in frames. No cheerful spirits floating by. Only stone, iron, and silence.

Inside the fortress walls, students from other regions paused to watch them pass. Nordic students with pale hair and blue eyes smiled at the sight of their German comrades. Slavic witches and wizards stood in tight-knit groups. A small number of British students who were noticeably uncomfortable in the cold stared with open curiosity.

The march did not stop until they reached the heart of the fortress: the duelling arena. It was vast and circular, carved deep into the fortress, with tiered stone seating rising steeply around a central stage marked by scorched runes and impact scars from centuries of combat magic. The air smelled faintly of ozone and old spells.

At a silent command, the students took their seats in unison. The murmuring died, and the temperature dropped.

With a crack of displaced air, a blond woman dressed in blue robes apparated at the center of the stage. She was tall and unmistakably commanding. Her presence radiated control, not cruelty, not warmth, but absolute certainty.

She surveyed the assembled students with calm, assessing eyes.

Then she spoke. "Willkommen.”

Her German was flawless.

“I am Freya Bernadotte,” she continued loudly. “Headmistress of the Durmstrang Institute. You arrive at the beginning of a new year and the continuation of an old tradition.”

Her gaze swept over the German-speaking section, lingering just a moment longer there.

“Durmstrang does not exist to comfort you,” Freya said evenly. “It exists to prepare you. The world beyond these walls is not kind. Power, discipline, and control are not optional. They are essential to survival.”

No one in the audience dared to speak.

“You are here because you were chosen,” she went on. “What you become… that is your responsibility.”

Gellert felt something stir in his chest, not ambition, not fear, but a strange sense of inevitability.

Lyra sat beside him, watching the new headmistress with admiration.

Freya Bernadotte raised her wand. The air above the duelling arena shimmered. Gasps rippled through the students as the space before them filled with living visions, if the memories themselves had been pulled from her mind and given form.

“This,” Freya said, her voice steady, “is who I am.”

The first vision resolved into a younger version of the headmistress, barely older than Gellert, standing beneath the same jagged towers of Durmstrang. Snow whipped around her crimson robes as she faced a duelling opponent.

“I stood where you sit now,” Freya continued. “Over thirty years ago. I was trained here. Tested here. Broken and reforged here.”

The image shifted.

Freya, older now, strode through the grand halls of the Swedish Ministry of Magic, clad in dark Auror leathers. She duelled a fleeing criminal through frozen forests, bound dark wizards in chains of light, and stood unflinching before shattered buildings and terrified magical families.

“After graduation,” she said, “I served as an Auror for the Swedish Ministry of Magic. I learned what happens when magic is weak and when it is unprepared.”

The vision changed again and now showed dense jungles, sun-scorched villages. and crumbling ruins overtaken by vines. Wizards and witches huddled in fear as mobs of Muggles surged forward with torches, rifles, and iron chains. The sound of shouting and terror filled the arena.

Freya stood among a group of witches and wizards from many nations, their robes marked with the sigil of the International Confederation of Wizards. Together, they cast protective enchantments, Disillusionment Charms, and evacuation spells.

“I was called to serve beyond Europe,” Freya said, “Latin America. Africa. South Asia. Regions where the Statute of Secrecy is not an abstract law, but the thin line between survival and extinction.”

The visions darkened and showed a wizard dragged from his home by angry Muggles. A witch struck down as she shielded her child. A crowd roared as magic flared helplessly against bullets and fire.

“Muggles fear what they do not understand,” Freya said coldly. “And fear turns quickly to violence. To domination. To enslavement. They have done it to each other for centuries, and they would do it to us, if given the chance.”

Gellert’s fingers curled slightly against the stone bench.

Freya’s gaze swept the arena.

“Durmstrang does not educate children,” she declared. “It forges the wizarding elite of Europe. Those strong enough to protect our kind. Those disciplined enough to act when others hesitate.”

The vision shifted once more, this time to a lone witch standing atop a windswept cliff, dark hair whipping in the storm. Ancient robes. Burning eyes.

“Nerida Vulchanova,” Freya said, reverent now. “Founder of Durmstrang.”

The scene showed fire and chaos, spellfire ripping through streets, armored soldiers bearing the insignia of the Byzantine Empire. Wizards fleeing. Homes destroyed.

“In the year 1267,” Freya continued, “Nerida fled her homeland after brutal persecution. The Byzantine Empire sought to control magic, to chain it. and to use it for imperialist purposes.”

The vision showed Nerida carving runes into stone and shaping the fortress from rock and will alone.

“She founded this school at the edge of the world,” Freya said, “so that no wizard would ever kneel to a Muggle again.”

The visions faded, and the arena fell silent.

“You are her legacy,” Freya said. “As the Muggle world expands, its empires stretching across continents, the Statute of Secrecy is more vital than ever. Not because we are weak,” she added sharply, “but because restraint is the difference between rulers and monsters.”

Her wand lowered.

“Durmstrang will teach you strength,” she finished. “And it will teach you why that strength must be guarded.”

Gellert sat very still. The visions replayed in his mind. Yet something twisted uneasily in his chest. The trenches from his nightmare. The rifles beside the wands. The sky filled with machines and death. Freya spoke of protection. Of secrecy. Of defense.

However, Gellert could not shake the feeling that she had carefully avoided something else, something darker, something unspoken: a truth buried beneath discipline and duty.

Lyra leaned slightly toward him. “What do you think?” she whispered.

Gellert hesitated.

“I think that she’s right about many things,” he said slowly, “but not about everything.”

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Draco Malfoy vs the Muggles (Harry Potter and the Two Worlds)

The Wizarding World has been exposed and forced to reunite with the Muggles. Unfortunately, peace between the two worlds doesn't come easily, and all of Europe is descending toward civil war as riots break out all over the continent.

Click here for the full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, ao3

October 2019

The Leaky Cauldron had never seen such chaos.

Once a cozy crossroads between two worlds, it now stood under siege. From the street outside, a furious mob of Muggles shouted and jeered, men and women clutched placards scrawled with “NO MORE WITCHES!” "DEVIL' SPAWN" and “KEEP MAGIC OUT OF OUR WORLD!”

Inside, Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott stood between the mob and the frightened patrons. Tables had been overturned, glasses smashed, and the air reeked of firewhisky and fear.

“Stupefy!” shouted Neville, his spell flashing red as it struck one of the intruders climbing through the broken window. The man crashed to the floor, stunned.

“Get back!” Hannah cried, shielding a group of terrified witches huddled near the bar. “This is private property!”

Unfortunately, the mob didn’t care. They surged forward with ropes, bats, and torches in hand. Their rage drowned all reason. One grabbed Hannah’s arm, wrenching her wand from her grasp. Two other Muggles wrestled Hannah down on the floor, trying to restrain her while she desperately struggled to break free.

"HANNAH!" Neville shouted as he pointed his wand at the attackers.

"Avada..."

Before Neville could finish the forbidden words, another Muggle ripped his wand away and snapped it in two.

“No!” Neville gasped before a blow caught him across the face.

Then came the sound that froze everyone, a single, sharp crack, followed by several more.

Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Daphne Greengrass materialized right outside the tavern.

“Get away from them!” Draco shouted, raising his wand.

A few of the Muggles screamed. Others spat and hurled stones. One bottle shattered near Draco’s feet.

“They’re animals!” Nott snarled. “They’ll never accept us.”

Draco’s eyes burned with fury. “Then we remind them who we are.”

Before Neville could protest, spells filled the night.

“Expulso!” “Sectumsempra!” “Crucio!”

Leaky Cauldron became a battlefield. The Muggles screamed and scattered. Some fled while others struck back blindly with metal pipes and knives. The clash had become a riot. Terrified bystanders picked up their phones and started filming and uploading photos on social media.

Daphne made one Muggle levitate by the wrists. Draco stunned three Muggles at once while Nott used a purple curse to make one intruder scream in agony on the floor.

Wailing sirens suddenly drowned out the screams. Blue and red lights strobed through the shattered storefront as a tactical unit of the Metropolitan Police breached the entrance. Armed officers swarmed into the smoke-choked rubble of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Armed police! Drop the weapons! Drop the sticks! Put your hands on your heads and stop fighting now!" the lead police officer screamed, his hands trembling over the trigger of his Glock.

“Drop your weapons!” one shouted.

Zabini froze in fear. “They’re pointing guns at us!”

“BLAISE! DON'T” Draco tried to stop his friend from doing something he would regret for life.

Zabini’s hand trembled as he pointed his wand at the police.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A jet of green light shot through the smoky air. An officer fell lifeless before he hit the ground. Bystanders lowered their phones in shock. For one terrible heartbeat, no one moved. Then, cracks of Apparition echoed again as Harry, Ron, and half a dozen Aurors appeared near the entrance.

Harry froze as he saw the dead policeman. Then he looked at Draco and his friends. Zabini looked down in shame. Daphne looked furious while Nott's expression was unreadable.

“Merlin’s sake…” Ron muttered. “What have you done?”

Draco stepped forward.

“We were defending ourselves, Potter! They attacked us! They broke in, they took Neville’s wand...”

“An officer is dead!” Harry shouted. “You think the Muggles will see this as defense? You’ve just handed them their war!”

Zabini dropped his wand. “I didn’t mean.. I panicked, ”

Harry’s voice went hollow. “I’m sorry. You’re all under arrest.”

"Potter! You coward!" Nott screamed as Aurors lunged forward, forcefully pinning his arms behind his back and snatching his wand.

Ron stepped toward Draco, his expression a mask of profound, reluctant sorrow. With a heavy hand, he forced Draco’s arms down, locking his wrists in heavy anti-apparition cuffs. "I'm sorry, Malfoy," Ron muttered under his breath. "But there's no way out of this one."

Neville and Hannah stood together behind the ruined bar, clutching each other in absolute horror. They watched silently as Harry Potter—the Boy Who Lived, the symbol of their world's survival, led his oldest school rivals out into the flashing blue lights of the London night in chains

The next morning, the Wizengamot convened in the Ministry of Magic’s Grand Courtroom. In the center of the room, chained to the heavy iron chairs, sat Draco, Daphne, Nott, and Zabini. Their expensive wizarding robes were torn and stained with the soot and blood of the Leaky Cauldron brawl. Anti-apparition cuffs gleamed on their wrists.

On the front rows of the spectator gallery, Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched the proceedings. None of them looked remotely comfortable about seeing their former school bully and rival in chains. A few feet away at the press desk, Ginny nervously tapped her quill on her notepad while trying to maintain a mask that covered her internal dread. In stark contrast, Rita Skeeter sat beside her, smiling in predatory delight.

Percy Weasley, now Chief Warlock, presided over the session. His secretary, Penelope Clearwater, sat beside him, locking eyes with Daphne. Percy began to speak.

"The evidence presented by the Auror Office is absolute," Percy’s voice boomed. "The use of Dark Magic against non-magical citizens is a severe violation of the Emergency Public Safety Act. More gravely, the deployment of the Killing Curse by the defendant Blaise Zabini against an officer of the Metropolitan Police represents an act of unmitigated lawlessness that threatens the survival of our entire society."

Percy raised his heavy wooden gavel. "Therefore, this court sentences Blaise Zabini to life imprisonment in the fortress of Azkaban without the possibility of parole. For the unlawful use of classified Dark hexes and the severe injury of civilians, Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass, and Theodore Nott are hereby sentenced to ten years each in the high-security wing of Azkaban. The Ministry must show that our laws apply to all, regardless of blood or status."

"This is madness! They saved our lives!"

Neville roared from the back of the gallery, stepping over the benches. Behind, Hannah was weeping. "The Muggle mob broke into our home! They were going to kill us! Draco and his friends did what the Ministry containment squads failed to do!"

"Silence in the court!" Percy barked, slamming his gavel down. "Mr. Longbottom, you are out of order! Any further disruptions will result in your immediate arrest for obstruction of justice. Sit down." Two Ministry warlocks moved in, physically forcing a protesting Neville back into his seat.

Daphne looked directly at Penelope, pleading for her to intervene. Penelope wanted to say something as Daphne began to cry, struggling against her chains, but she couldn't find the words.

Draco's eyes blazed with fury.

"Look at them!" Draco’s voice shrieked through the courtroom. He pointed his chained hands toward the front row. "Potter! Granger! Weasley! Traitors to your own blood! Every single one of you!"

The Aurors grabbed Draco’s shoulders, but he violently wrenched himself forward, screaming directly at Harry.

“We protected them!” he shouted. “We stood by while they spat on us, hunted us, burned us in the streets! And now you arrest us for defending our kind?”

Harry looked down, unable to meet his gaze. Ron and Hermione held each other's hands tightly. Percy’s expression didn’t waver.

"Move them out! To the Portkey Office immediately!" Percy commanded.

The chains tightened. Zabini sobbed quietly. Nott stared blankly ahead. Daphne shouted in protest. Draco’s fury only grew.

He turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who looked at him with shame and regret.

“You’ll regret this, Potter. Both you and Granger. You think you’re saving them, but all you’ve done is doom us.”

Harry said nothing as the Aurors led the convicts away to the portkey that would take them to Azkaban. Deep inside, he knew his former bully and rival was right.

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Bellatrix's Sacrifice (Bellamort)

In this timeline, Lord Voldemort won the Battle of Hogwarts and declared war on the Muggles in pursuit of world conquest.

However, NATO proved to be a much greater rival than either Albus Dumbledore or Harry Potter for the Dark Lord. The UK was bombed into oblivion by both magical and non-magical forces, leaving Voldemort to rule a kingdom of ash.

As the US Army and MACUSA advance to "liberate" Hogwarts, Bellatrix Lestrange learns the costs and sacrifices of motherhood.

Full story: "Dumbledore's Army and the Serpent King, " by Birger, ao3

January 2001

Along the shores of the Black Lake, towering Durmstrang ships creaked against the frozen water. Hundreds of students and civilians, what remained of the Serpent Kingdom, were being rushed aboard in frantic desperation.

“MOVE! MOVE!” the Carrows shouted, herding terrified teenagers forward.

Children cried. Parents clutched them tightly. No one spoke of hope anymore—only escape.

At the edge of the chaos stood Bellatrix, her wild eyes scanning the horizon, one arm wrapped tightly around little Delphini.

Nearby, Andromeda held young Teddy close, whispering softly to calm him. Draco and Daphne stood together with Scorpius cradled between them. No one said it aloud, but everyone knew that without Voldemort, they could not win the war.

Then came the sound of distant thunder. Over the mountains, hundreds of military helicopters and Aurors flying on broomsticks appeared, flying closer and closer toward the heart of the Serpent Kingdom.

“Get inside the castle!” Draco shouted, panic breaking through his voice. “NOW!”

Before anyone could react, a missile screamed through the air, striking one of the Durmstrang ships. The explosion tore it apart in a burst of fire and splintered wood, sending bodies and debris crashing into the freezing lake.

Screams erupted everywhere. Panic consumed the shoreline. People ran in every direction, toward the castle, toward the forest, toward nowhere. Daphne turned and ran, clutching Scorpius tightly as she disappeared toward Hogwarts.

Bellatrix didn’t run. She stepped forward, holding her crying daughter with her left hand. Fury twisted her face into something inhuman.

“HOW DARE THEY!”

She raised her wand, and the sky split open as lightning shot upward like divine wrath. It struck two helicopters instantly, tearing them apart midair. Flaming wreckage spiraled down into the lake.

Around her, the remaining Death Eaters joined in lighting up the sky with curses of every color. The sky became a battlefield of magic and steel. Helicopters burned, and Aurors fell.

One Auror broke through the chaos, dodging every curse. He aimed for Bellatrix and Delphini and raised his wand.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A flash of green tore through the air straight toward the mother and daughter. Bellatrix turned around as the curse struck her in the back. The spell deflected, ricocheting wildly and striking the Auror midair. He fell instantly from his broom, lifeless before he hit the ground. Bellatrix staggered, and then she fell to the frozen ground, motionless.

“No… NO!” Narcissa screamed and rushed forward.

She dropped to her knees, pulling Delphini away from the mother's corpse just as the child began to wail uncontrollably.

The moment was shattered in an instant. From the edge of the Forbidden Forest came a new sound. Military vehicles burst from the treeline, crushing branches and earth beneath armored wheels. Hundreds of soldiers poured out with their weapons raised, shouting orders.

“DROP YOUR WANDS!”

“SURRENDER NOW!”

Red laser sights cut through the smoke. The surviving helicopters hovered above, and Aurors regrouped in the sky. The Death Eaters stood surrounded: outnumbered and overwhelmed.

The air twisted, and the sky darkened unnaturally as a figure appeared above the battlefield, flying unaided. Lord Voldemort had returned. All eyes turned upward. Even the wind seemed to stop.

Voldemort said nothing at first. His red eyes fell upon Bellatrix’s body, and something broke inside him. He raised the Elder Wand, and a pulse of magic erupted outward in a violent shockwave, tearing through the battlefield like an invisible tidal wave.

Metal twisted and melted. Rifles drooped in soldiers’ hands like wax. Tanks groaned as their armor liquefied. Vehicles collapsed into burning slag. Screams of horror spread through the No-maj ranks. Above, helicopters shuddered midair and exploded. Fireballs and burning bodies rained down into the lake and forest.

“RETREAT!” soldiers shouted in panic.

Without weapons and without any way to fight back, they fled in every direction.

“NOW!” Draco Malfoy shouted, seizing the moment.

The Death Eaters surged forward with renewed fury. Green flashes erupted across the battlefield.

The Carrows cast waves of blue fires, consuming twenty Aurors at once. Pansy, Zabini, and Nott fired curse after curse into the chaos. Rodolphus and Yaxley advanced without hesitation. Greyback launched forward, biting one Auror in the face. Even Umbridge joined the assault.

Above it all, Voldemort hovered like a god of war, setting every Auror in sight on fire. The invading forces fell from the sky, landing on the ground with broken bones.

However, chaos did not choose sides. In the frenzy, a single green flash went astray and struck Greyback. The werewolf froze mid-stride and collapsed heavily onto the ground.

Umbridge lowered her wand slowly.

“Whoops…” she muttered, almost to herself.

The battle continued until every American Auror and Muggle soldier had fled or fallen. Silence replaced chaos.

Above it all, Lord Voldemort hovered, motionless, the Elder Wand still raised in his hand. Below him stood what remained of the Serpent Kingdom. Death Eaters, students, and families looked at him while frozen in fear.

Bellatrix's body lay lifeless on the frozen ground. Delphini cried next to her, waiting for her mother to wake up.

Narcissa fell to her knees beside her sister. “No… no…”

Her voice broke as she reached for Bellatrix’s hand. Nearby, Andromeda held little Teddy tightly as tears streamed down her face. Delphini screamed in confusion and grief, reaching toward the mother who would never answer. Teddy cried in Andromeda’s arms, sensing the sorrow around him.

Nearby, Draco stood rigid, holding Scorpius close as the child sobbed against his shoulder. Daphne clung to them both.

Voldemort descended downwards until his feet touched the scorched earth. He looked at Bellatrix for a long time. Then he spoke.

“Bellatrix Lestrange… did not die in vain.”

No one dared move.

“She died… as all who are loyal should. Her sacrifice… will be remembered.”

His red eyes swept across the crowd.

“And she… will be avenged.”

He raised the Elder Wand once more, and the ground trembled. Stone tore itself upward from the earth, forming a black and jagged tomb. Bellatrix’s body lifted gently from the ground and lowered into the tomb. The stone sealed shut with a deep, final echo.

Then Voldemort turned toward the child. Little Delphini sobbed in Narcissa’s arms, reaching blindly for a mother who was gone.

Voldemort approached. For a moment, Narcissa hesitated and took a step backward. Then, trembling, she allowed him near. Voldemort looked at his daughter.

“Delphini…”

He reached out, placing a pale hand lightly against her cheek. Her crying faltered.

“You are my heir.”

The words sent a ripple through everyone present. No one had ever heard him speak like this before.

“You will grow. You will become strong. You will remember. And one day…”

His red eyes burned with something far darker than grief.

“You will avenge your mother.”

Cho Chang vs the Chinese Communist Party

The Wizarding World was exposed in August 2019 and forced to reunite with the Muggles. Months later, war broke out between wizards and Muggles in almost every country, including the UK, USA, Russia, and India. Cho Chang, living in Hong Kong with her husband and daughter, must flee her home as the Chinese Communist Party declares a People's War on Magic.

Full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, ao3

January 2020

The bells of Fenghuang Academy, the Cantonese wizarding school, rang across the misty peaks of Lantau Island as Cho Chang paced between rows of attentive students, including her own daughter.

“Today,” Cho announced, “we continue with the Patronus Charm. A valuable defense for any witch or wizard facing despair. Back in Britain we used it to defend ourselves from dementors who served Voldemort but here in China we can use it against lethifold. ”

She tapped her wand lightly on the desk.

“And,” she added with a sly smile, “I learned Patronus Charm from my ex-boyfriend, Harry Potter, when we were in Dumbledore’s Army.”

Half the class perked up at the name.

Olivia Chang, sitting in the second row, covered her face with her textbook.

“Mum. Please,” she muttered.

Cho ignored her and raised her wand.

“It is a spell born from memory. A memory precious enough to shine through darkness. Watch carefully.”

She closed her eyes. At the moment, she thought of Olivia. Tiny, newborn, curled on her chest. Cho’s breath hitched.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Light blossomed from her wand. A luminous swan swept across the room, and the students gasped in awe.

“Your turn,” Cho said, warmth returning to her voice.

Olivia inhaled deeply. She pictured her first kiss with her boyfriend Alex, beneath a street lamp in Mong Kok.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Her wand glowed as a silver crane soared upward. The class applauded. Olivia hid another blush.

After classes ended, the sun dipped behind Lantau’s hills, and ferries moved like lanterns across the water. Cho and Olivia apparated toward Victoria Harbour, waiting for Olivia's boyfriend to arrive.

Olivia lingered with worry, scrolling through WeChat.

“Mum… look.”

Her hands trembled as videos filled the screen: Magicians in Shanghai conjured storm spells at riot police. Fire spells ignited barricades in Chengdu. Flying swords, old Daoist magic, clashed with Auror shields. Crowds shouted that the Communist Party is suppressing magic, while others demanded that Magicians be “re-educated.”

Across the screen, President Bo Xilai and Minister for Magic Zhang Mei-Ling stood stiffly at podiums giving scripted assurances about peaceful coexistence, stability and harmony between the two worlds.

Cho shook her head.

“They’re terrified,” she said quietly. “And they should be. When two governments share one land and no common truth… the cracks show.”

“Mum,” Olivia whispered, “you think… China might fall? Like Britain?”

Cho placed a steadying hand on her daughter’s cheek.

“I think China is a lake of oil, and people keep lighting matches. But listen to me no witch, no muggle, no government will ever harm you. I promise.”

Olivia nodded.

A tram clattered by, neon reflecting off the darkening water. Olivia waited by the railing until Alex, her Muggle boyfriend, came smiling.

“Liv! Sorry, I came straight from cram school.”

He grabbed her hand, and she squeezed back.

Cho stepped away, giving them space. She remembered being seventeen. She remembered fear and she remembered hope, too.

“Have fun,” Cho said gently. “And text me when you’re heading home.”

Olivia nodded, distracted by Alex’s arm slipping around her.

Cho smiled at the moment, at her daughter’s innocence inside a world edging toward catastrophe.

Then she stepped behind a pillar and turned. With a soft crack, she disappeared.

Cho reappeared in a dim, modest flat overlooking Nathan Road. The glow of street signs bled through the curtains. Books on human rights theory and ancient Chinese enchantments were stacked on the coffee table.

Her husband, Liang Wei, looked up from his chair.

“Cho? You’re home early.”

She crossed the room and hugged him tighter than usual.

Liang paused. “Bad day at school?”

“No,” she whispered into his shoulder. “Bad day for the world.”

He exhaled, brushing a thumb over her cheek.

“Is it starting?”

“Tensions everywhere,” Cho murmured. “Viral videos of duels with police. Rumors the Party might demand wand registration. The Ministry of Magic refusing.”

Liang closed his eyes.

“I’ve seen this before,” he said softly. “Different eras. Different enemies. But the same arrogance. Authorities who think fear will keep people quiet.”

Cho held him closer, heart aching with every memory of pulling him from that secret prison in Chongqing twenty years ago. A prison run by men now advising Beijing on what to do about wizards.

“Whatever comes,” Liang said, “we face it together. Magic or no magic.”

Cho nodded. She was a mother first and she could feel it like pressure behind a storm wall: China was a week, a day, maybe a single spark away from its own magical civil war. And she would burn the world down before she let it touch her family.

Night had fallen over the walled compound of Zhongnanhai. Inside the West Building, the air was cold as steel.

Chinese Minister for Magic Zhang Mei-Ling stood alone before a long table.

At one end sat Paramount Leader Bo Xilai. Beside him sat former President Jiang Zemin, who still radiated authority nearly two decades after his presidency had ended. Neither looked pleased.

Bo slammed a stack of papers onto the table.

“Two months, Minister Zhang. Two months of wizard mobs attacking police in Shanghai, blasting holes in Guangzhou subways, conjuring storms over Tianjin. Chaos! Panic! China was stable before magic crawled out of its cave and threw the world into fire!”

Madam Zhang did not bow, having lost all respect for her non-magical counterpart.

“Respectfully, Chairman Bo, the Party can't blame us for refusing to be your puppets. Our people must stand up to your oppression.”

Bo bristled. “You think this is about control? This is about survival! If radicals continue abusing their powers, the Party cannot protect the people.”

Jiang Zemin tapped his cane sharply.

“In my time,” he rasped, “we had Falun Gong, Tibetan and Uyghur separatists, Western-backed liberal imperialists. But you magicians… you magicians are far more dangerous. A threat greater than cults or spies. Your kind must be contained before you destroy the nation.”

Zhang felt fury boil inside.

“‘Contained’? Is that what your officers were doing when they blackmailed muggleborn wizards into ‘cooperation’? Threatened their families? Seized their wands? Ordered Aurors to swear loyalty oaths to the Communist Party?”

Bo’s patience snapped.

“Magic must serve the country. Serve society. Serve the Party. If wizards refuse responsibility, we will make them learn it.”

Zhang understood the meaning beneath his words. Re-education. Indoctrination. Control. Camp walls and electric collars around necks.

Her hand tightened around her wand.

“Then you leave me no choice.”

Security burst into the room elite bodyguards, rifles raised, boots striking the polished floor.

“Minister Zhang Mei-Ling, by order of the Central Committee, you are to be taken into protective—”

They never finished. Her bones crackled, reshaping. Arms elongated into serrated limbs as she transformed into her animagus form: a praying mantis.

The security officers fired the guns aimlessly at floor as the insect sprinted between their legs leaping into the ventilation then into the trees surrounding the compound.

Within minutes, alarms blared across the capital. Armored vehicles rumbled down Chang’an Avenue. Drones swept the skies in search patterns.

The Forbidden City, home to the Chinese Ministry of Magic, was surrounded by Beijing SWAT. Armed officers raised their weapons, aimed at enchanted pagodas.

“Move! Breach teams forward!”

The first explosions shattered the stillness of the historic courtyards.

Inside, terrified Ministry staff scrambled. Aurors abandoned offices. Archive scrolls scattered. Enchanted artifacts sparked as anti-magic grenades detonated.

Zhang Mei-Ling’s voice boomed telepathically through every mind attuned to her signal:

“All Ministry personnel, retreat immediately. Do not engage the no-magical forces. Fall back to Badaling. We hold the mountains.”

Ministry officials obeyed and fled into portals leading to safe spots all over China, as armed police stormed the headquarters.

An hour later, every screen in China flickered to life: televisions, phones, billboards, and station monitors.

Bo Xilai appeared behind a podium at the National People's Congress.

He looked tired. There was something like regret tugging at his expression just for a heartbeat. Then it was gone.

“Citizens of the People’s Republic of China,” he began, “peaceful coexistence with the magical community has failed.”

The words echoed like thunder.

“Recent attacks, insubordination, and violent uprisings show that certain wizards place themselves above law and nation. Effective immediately, all magical activity is classified as counterrevolutionary.”

He paused, letting the weight settle like a guillotine.

“All wizards and witches must register with local Party authorities. Any unregistered magical action must be reported. Failure to comply will be considered collaboration with enemies of the state.”

Jiang Zemin nodded approvingly beside him.

Bo’s final words were cold as winter:

“China will be safe. Order will return. Those who threaten our harmony, magician or no magician, will be dealt with.”

The broadcast ended.

Across China, from Beijing’s high-rises to Sichuan’s valleys, from Guangzhou’s markets to Xinjiang’s plains, the air felt suddenly heavier. A nation of 1.4 billion had entered a new era and a new civil war between Magicians and Commoners. Somewhere beyond the Great Wall, in the moonlit mountains of Badaling, Minister Zhang Mei-Ling prepared her resistance.

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