Harry came to five minutes later when Luna shoved a vial of smelling salts under his nose. Harry opened his eyes; his vision blurred briefly but cleared up to see Luna’s blonde face with her silver –gray eyes. He looked; he appeared to be back inside the Burrow, on one of their sofas.
“Are you alright, Harry?” Luna said, sounding worried and holding out her hand to help him up.
“I’m fine,” Harry said, exasperated, grabbing the proffered hand and allowing Luna to help him. Then he saw Julie and Ken sitting on the old, red, tattered couch that occupied one side of the Weasley sitting room, wearing expressions of concern mixed with confusion, as if they thought they had done nothing stupid or wrong, and he damn near fainted again. Why the hell did they drag all those kids all the way back to Britain, why? He had a feeling they wanted to join the D.A., but he didn’t want to add yet more bodies to the carnage gripping Britain, Ireland, and the world. He looked; Ron, Hermione, and Neville were sitting in various chairs, staring at the two Americans, wondering what the hell had gotten into their heads too.
“Explain,” Harry said darkly; “Now.” As he said this, he thought to himself, you’d better have a damn good reason for bringing all these people with you.
“Well,” Julie said her tone matter of fact and explanatory. “After the attack on Marseilles, we held a meeting of the surviving relatives and their guests. We discussed offering ourselves to the D.A. for service. It took a lot of work to convince them, but they agreed unanimously that committing the whole of the young people of the Prewitts, Weasleys, and Delacours was stupid and an unacceptable risk. So we decided to have me, Ken, and the guests of every family member go on a little recruiting trip.
It was Ken who spoke next, his eyes flashing with clear pride in the work he had done. “We have three hundred and forty-one recruits from the United States, Canada, France, Australia, and New Zealand.” The number caused a ripple of shock and concern to ripple through the concerned people in the room. Harry just sat their, flabbergasted and with a look of shock and surprise on his face.
Three hundred and forty-one, Harry thought. If they follow me, many of them will die before the end. But he had to think about the good of the war effort Three hundred and forty-one extra personnel, if used correctly, could tip the balance of the war in Britain and Ireland in our favor. Or at the very least help a good deal, Harry thought.
“All right,” Harry said, sighing out his displeasure in the reluctant decision he had come to for the good of the war. “You can stay and train.” This decision caused no shortage of gasps from the people behind them, who never in a million years expected Harry to actually agree to what they were suggesting.
“Thank you,” Julie, relief painted on her face. “I’d hate to think everything we went through was for nothing.”
“Of course we did,” Ken said, indignantly.
For a moment, Harry was tempted to get on them for talking to them like that. But he decided, since they weren’t inducted into the D.A. yet, he’d let it slide.
“Well,” Harry said indignantly, wondering why they were just sitting there. “Go get them set up.”
Without a word, they got up and walked into the front yard to lead their confused recruits out back to get their tents pitched. Harry turned around to look at his friends, each one of them, even Luna with all of her dottiness, wearing mixtures of shock and surprise on their faces.
“What?” Harry said, trying their best to reassure them that he hadn’t completely lost his mind. “It’s my decision and besides we were going to need the extra manpower eventually, we all agreed to that, remember?” He said, referring to the decision they made back at the end of the school year.
“Yes,” Hermione said, trying to work out why he did this. “But we were planning on recruiting a new force once we returned to the school.”
“Uh, Hermione,” Harry said to remind her. “The school’s not opening up next year, remember?”
“Yes,” Hermione said, still determined to prove her point. “But you should have called us to the side to consult us before making this big a decision.”
This amazed him, not even Hermione dared question his decision once he put his foot down like this. “Need I remind you, Hermione that I’m in charge here, as we agreed upon?” He said, in his most serious voice to absolutely make the point that they had agreed to abide by his decisions so long as they weren’t illegal or unethical.
This display seemed to placate Hermione, who backed down, “You don’t have to remind me, Sir,” she said.
“Harry,” Ron said, still concerned. “Are you quite sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Absolutely,” Harry said. Not willing to brook any further discussion on this topic. “Now all of you come with me, we need to find Major Thomas and Mary Finch-Fletchley. We need to tell them what’s happened so we can make the necessary preparations.” And Harry promptly turned and walked towards the kitchen, Ron and the rest getting out of their seats to follow him.
The Order members on site, Remus, Tonks, McGonagall, Mad-Eye, all of them who had been at Marseilles, were sitting around the kitchen table discussing what had just taken place when they noticed them, heading for the backyard. They all immediately sat up, but the Weasley parents waved them back down, and moved to intercept them in the backyard.
“Harry,” Molly asked as, in the background, Julie led the newcomers in pitching the tents, the activity drawing the evacuees out of their tents to look, the concern in her eyes reflected in her voice. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes,” Harry said. Turning to face them he said tired of everyone questioning that decision. “I’m only going to say this once. We need these recruits. With them, we have a real chance of turning of being better able to challenge Voldemort. We have a chance to save Ginny, Hannah, Hermione’s grandmother, and everyone else swept up by the tides of battle. Don’t you understand, we need them?!” His outburst surprised everyone, Ron, Hermione, even himself, and he immediately regretted it.
“All right,” Arthur said, sighing. “Granted, we didn’t want hundreds of people on our property, most of them complete strangers, this time around, again, but if you think we need them, then all right.” They then walked off back into the house without another word. They walked over to Major Thomas’ tent to find Major Thomas, in a lime-green T-shirt and faded blue jeans, watching with concern the newcomers setting up tents all around them, along with his wife, in a red long-sleeved shirt and tan slacks, and Mary Finch-Fletchley, in a long – sleeved shirt and a black skirt. Sighing, Harry approached them.
“Hey, Harry,” Major Thomas said in a curious tone, “What’s going on?”
Harry sighed; he didn’t like to impose on him again. “Can we go inside, all of you? I’ll explain inside.” They walked inside to see four plush, beige armchairs facing each other with a small oak desk table with a white china tea seat, meaning they were clearly having tea before he sprung that load of people on them.
“Would you and your staff like some tea, Harry?” Dr. Thomas asked as Harry sat down in one of the armchairs, and his friends just stood behind him, hands clasped behind their back, just as they were trained.
“Sure,” Harry said, and as she poured the tea into the cups, Harry began.
“In a nutshell, we’ve just taken on three hundred and forty-one new recruits, they’ll need training and uniforms, we still have more than enough equipment to arm them, but can you provide the rest?”
Major Thomas’ brow furrowed in concentration as he thought about it. Finally he sighed and said, “Training for three hundred and forty-one people, I can do it, but I’ll need you too help me.”
“Uniforms for that many people,” Mary said, her eyes squinting as she calculated the logistics for such an endeavor. “That’s going to be a hassle.” At this point, Major Dr. Thomas had poured the tea, Earl Gray, and they were all sipping it.
“The question is,” Harry asked, getting straight to the point. “Can you handle it?”
“Yes,” Mary said, coming to a decision. “Yes, I can.”
“Good,” Harry said, faintly relieved. “I’ll ask Justin and Parvati escort you to Oxford. How soon can you have them done?”
“If I push my people hard,” Mary said; “A week like last time.”
“I’ll have them come get you then,” Harry said, finishing up the tea and standing up. “What do you say we break in some new recruits?”
“That we should,” Thomas said, standing up as well. “Let’s go.” Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna walked out of the tent, followed by Major Thomas, to go and confront the men and women from the United States, Canada, France, Australia, and New Zealand who’d come to help fight the war.
Over the next week, things went fairly well. The recruits training was progressing smoothly and every indication was that they were going to be a force to be reckoned with in the field. Fred and George’s team had taken the Phoenix away, and dismantled it. They back engineered every segment, poured over every note Arthur Weasley had ever written on the design, and came up with flight simulators to train on within twenty-four hours. These were rapidly being used to train sixty selected pilots. They started with sixty because it seemed to be a nice number to start with. Seamus Finnegan seemed to be taking to the Phoenix’s the most and Harry was thinking of making him Dumbledore’s Army’s senior pilot.
Meanwhile, Michael Corner, the Army’s resident artist, was hard at work designing the heraldry and insignia that the D.A. would use, Around Day Three, he walked over to the senior staff, who were overseeing some of the recruits running the obstacle course. He quietly came up to them, came to attention and saluted. Harry noticed he was carrying a folded purple flag in his left hand. When Harry returned the salute, Michael asked, “Excuse me, Sirs, do you mind if I show you something I created as a D.A. flag.
“Of course,” Harry said. He had been thinking about having a flag designed, and he was interested to see what Michael had to show them. Michael promptly unfolded the flag he had sewn.
It had a dark purple background with a generic human fist emblazoned. There was a Phoenix clutching onto the fist with its claws. It was actually a surprisingly accurate rendition of Fawkes, with his brilliant red plumage, black eyes, dark brown feet, and light brown beak. In that beak was a light brown piece of parchment bearing the black words Dumbledore’s Army. Under it, in gold, flowing calligraphy were the words, in Latin, Sic Semper Tyranis. Everyone gasped, it really was beautiful.
“Thus Ever to Tyrants,” Hermione translated, explaining to her friends. “That’s what it means. It’s the Latin motto of the US state of Virginia and, in a far less noble context, were the words uttered by Muggle actor turned assassin John Wilkes Booth when he shot the sixteenth Muggle President of the United States, Abraham Lincoln in Ford’s Theatre in the US Capital of Washington D.C. Now, normally I wouldn’t want to use the words of a murderer on our flag, but it was the Latin motto of Virginia before that so I guess its okay.” Harry tended to agree, but Hermione had a point, and it really was quite beautiful.
“Wonderful flag, Michael,” Harry said, impressed.
“Thank you, Sir,” Michael said, clearly happy as a clam. “The human palm represents humanity.” Michael remarked, beginning to blissfully explain the symbolism.
“Why the human hand?” Luna asked, curious as to all of this.
“The human form is what our earliest ancestors left on cave walls in Europe when we left Africa, Sir,” Michael said. “They left it there to let others know that other people were their. It’s a symbol universal to every human civilization. The Phoenix with its wings wrapped around the hand is an indication of Dumbledore’s mission, our mission, of defending humanity from Dark Wizards, namely Lord Voldemort.”
“And the Latin motto?,” Luna asked, twirling a finger in her hair.
“That, Sir, is meant to symbolize our ongoing against the Dark Lord’s tyranny,” Michael said. Then he smirked and a wide smile broke out on his face. “And I picked it because it looked cool.”
They all laughed at that remarked, even Harry, who hadn’t felt much like laughing since the terrible night Ginny was taken away from him. Seeing the clear amount of dedication to the cause Michael had by designing the flag had filled him with a sense of well-being he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
“So where do you suggest we fly it?” Harry asked. He could just as easily make the decision, but Michael made the flag, he should have the right to fly it where he wants.
“Well, Sir,” Michael said, putting his hand on his chin, and thinking about it. “I was thinking of flying it in the center of the camp; with your permission, of course,” he said quickly.
“You have it,” Harry said immediately. He liked the idea of flying it in the center of the camp where everyone can see it.
“Good,” Michael said. For a moment, he looked at him, and a mixture of sadness and sympathy crossed his face. “Now can I talk to you in private?” Harry and his friends looked at each other surprised, not very many of the other members asked for a private conversation with him. Harry found it odd too. Oh, well, I might as well find out about it.
“Sure, Michael,” Harry said. They walked away from the obstacle course and headed for the stand of trees at the edge of the property. Here, among the oak, poplar, and shrubbery. Michael turned to face him and said, in a voice of understanding and compassion.
“Harry,” Michael said. “I know you’ll probably show this to the rest of the senior staff, but I think it’s only appropriate that you see it first.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small square package wrapped in brown paper held together by a small piece of string. He opened it and his breath caught in his throat. It was a framed charcoal drawing of Ginny Weasley at Marseilles. The Dark Mark was in the sky and Ginny was at the head of her troops in full uniform, wand over her head in a stylized pose, that in no way reflected what it had actually looked like. And, which Harry expected, Michael knew. She and her men were firing into a huge wall of Death Eaters, equally exaggerated. Under the drawing, in large block letters were the words, Lest We Forget. Harry’s green eyes started to tear up, only he didn’t realize it until the drops had hit the frame, which was dark black and made of ebony. He immediately took off his glasses and started to wipe them impulsively. He stroked the image of his lover, realizing this was as close as he was going to get to being with her again until she was rescued.
“I didn’t animate it,” Michael said, in that same understanding voice and Harry had to wonder what had happened to Michael to generate that understanding. He looked into his blue eyes, and found no answer there.
“This is wonderful, Michael,” Harry said, his voice breaking, the sadness evident in his voice. “It really is thank you.” Than, not wanting Michael to see him like this, he managed to get out, you’re dismissed.
“Sir,” Michael said, and he saluted and walked away through the woods on Weasley property. He stood there a few minutes, thoughts running through his head. The most common of them, running over and over again, like a CD player set to repeat the same song over and over again.
What a fool I have been, Harry thought. He had realized it after Marseilles, but Michael’s gift had only driven it home for him. He had been a fool to dump her at Dumbledore’s funeral. They could have been together all this time, and yes she may still have been captured but at least they would have been happy. Then he walked off, his legs feeling like lead, to show Mr. and Mrs.Weasley and his friends, and while he did he made a silent process to his lover.
Don’t worry about it sweetheart, I’ll bring you home, I swear to God. Dead or alive, he prayed silently not dead. I’ll bring you back to us, the people that love you; Ron, Hermione, your parents, me. And if you’re still alive, I’ll wrap you in my arms, and hug you, and kiss you, and tell you what I should have told you a long time ago. I love you, Ginny Weasley. I do, and, if you want, I’ll hold onto you and never, ever, let you go again.
On Day Five, Harry had an unfortunate run-in with Ginny’s second ex-boyfriend, Dean Thomas, who was far less understanding and compassionate. For the past week, Dean seemed to be avoiding him, and when he wasn’t, giving him looks of pure spite. He suspected he blamed Harry for her capture, but he wasn’t sure about it until tonight.
Harry was taking a walk through Weasley property, after having another nightmare about what they were doing to Ginny. The camp was sleeping apart from the recruits detailed to act as sentries. It was a cloudless night, the crescent moon hanging in the sky, among the thousands of innumerable stars hanging in the sky. And through it all, the majesty of the Milky Way, the milky white band snaking through the night sky, which only shone in sparsely populated areas like the area surrounding the Burrow, with only a few scattered villages. He was walking alone, feeling confident enough not to be attacked in the camp when Dean, in full uniform, marched up to him, a look of spite and malice on his face in front of the weapons tent.
“Yes, Dean,” Harry said outwardly. Inwardly he braced for an angry outburst, blasting him for putting Ginny in danger for no reason. He didn’t expect what happened next. Suddenly, stars exploded in front of his face, and he found himself knocked to the ground, his cheek hurting like hell. He looked at Dean, anger coursing through him. He had never expected him to knock him on his ass, especially after being trained not to do that in training.
“You have gone too far,” Harry said angrily, standing up and brushing the grass of his pajamas. “It’s done. Consider yourself under arrest, awaiting charges in front of the Wizengamot; report to detention!”
“Not until I’m done,” Dean said, matching his anger with his own. “When we find and rescue Ginny, stay away from her!”
“You want her back?” Harry said, enraged. “She won’t after she finds out about this.”
“At least if she was still mine, she’d still be here,” Dean remarked. As if to say, if Harry had stayed away from her romantically, she would never have been a target. Any sane person realized that, as a Weasley, who had already been used by Voldemort once, she was a shoe-in for a second attempt on her life.
“’If she was still mine, she’d still be here,’” Harry said, mocking him out of anger. “What is she to you, property?”
“How dare you-.” Dean began angrily, his fists clenching for another punch. Their loud arguing had drawn the attention of a trainee on sentry duty. A young French woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and blue eyes came running over to the two of them.
“Everything alright, Capitan?” she asked,
“Miss Deladier, confiscate Dean’s wand and take him to detention,” Harry said, calmly.
“Sir,” she said, with a look of confidence in his eyes, ripping Dean’s wand out of his pocket and pointing her own at him.
“Let’s go, Sir,” she said, prodding him along to detention.
Ten minutes later he was in Dean’s Thomas’s parent’s tent at their table explaining what had happened. When he was done, Sally Thomas said, the shock overwhelming the tiredness in her eyes. “He hit you? He struck you, his superior officer? In any military on the planet, that’s a court-martial offense. I can’t believe this.”
“Unfortunately,” Harry said disappointed. “We’re incapable of holding a general court-martial at this point. Especially because the results of any such court-marital would be tainted by the fact that me, the man he struck would be on the tribunal by necessity. “So he’ll tried by the Wizengamot.
“Look,” Major Thomas said, trying to find a compromise between the need for discipline and the need for personnel. “You’re shorthanded on capable personnel, correct?”
“Correct,” Harry said. “Dean is quite capable, sir,” He just as a little problem with not getting his own way, which the bruise on his right cheek testified to.
“Then why don’t we just ignore the formal charges,” Major Thomas said reasonably. “Keep him in the stockade and allow him to calm down. I’ll talk to him later; see what’s gotten into him.”
Forced by the facts to concede the point, Harry sighed, “All right. I’ll release him at 1200, talk to him then. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Major Thomas said, but still with a look of shock at his son’s actions on his face.
“Now, if you excuse me, I’m going to oversee the training of the recruits,” Harry said. He had undertaken that more and more lately, as they had planned, allowing Major Thomas to take it less and less.
At 1155 hours Major Thomas walked up to the drab gray tent that housed the detention center. The handsome, well-built black man was shocked at his son’s behavior, considering the background of his family, he should have known better. The guards at the door, a Chinese-American woman and an African-American man stood aside to let him pass, no doubt informed that he was coming. His boots clanged across the drab metal floor of the prison until he finally reached his son’s cell on the upper level with only two guards on it, unlike Draco’s cell on the lower level, which had an entire squad.
The door guards opened the door to the cell for him to see his son, still in uniform lying on his bed staring up at the ceiling, having a look of utter shock on his face for what happened to him. Dean’s gaze than fell upon his father, and his expression soon changed to one of happiness.
“Thank you, Dad,” Dean said as he shot up, now sitting up on the bed. “I knew you wouldn’t let me rot in here!” He was really surprised when his angry father slapped him across the face, hard; causing him to stumble back onto the bed out of shock more than anything else.
“What is wrong with you?” Major Thomas growled, his anger at his son’s actions shining in his eyes. “You struck your superior officer, because your girlfriend, who happens to be your superior officer now, left you.” At Dean’s defiant expression, Major Thomas sighed, and started up again. “He swooped in weeks later, when she was unattached and swept her up. Anyone could have asked her out during that time. Granted he screwed up, and looked where it got them, but he loves her to death. He’d die for her, and it was the most unbelievable and unmanly thing you’ve ever done to throw his mistakes in his face just to spite them,”
In an instant, Dean’s entire expression change, shock came into his eyes and his face.
“You’re right, Dad,” Dean said dejectedly. “I’m sorry.” Dean’s father could tell he was sorry and was proud of him for it.
“Now,” Dean’s father said, hugging him, “go to your station. You’re being released without charges.” Then he said, sternly. “Don’t let it happen again.”
On Day Six, Harry, Ron, Neville, Luna were awoken in the early morning hours of June 29th, 1997 when Hermione contacted them on her comm-mirror.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” Hermione told each of them. “But Major Thomas and I have been discussing something we think you should meet us in the Burrow’s attic and see. Harry, despite his curiosity, grumbled along with everyone else grumbled dressed, and went there to see what was going on.
To their surprise, Hermione had turned the Burrow’s attic into a common room. There were six oak chairs, with the traditional blue upholstery, lined up around an ash table and there was a dull brass candlestick with six fresh candles providing light in the darkened room. Everyone was in full uniform, including Hermione who looked as though she hadn’t gone to bed either. Major Thomas was in his usual attire, and he looked to be as tired as Hermione. Harry sat in the chair at the head of the table just as he did in the Hogwarts classroom what seemed an eternity ago, when in reality it hadn’t even been a month ago. Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna sat in their usual seats, but Major Thomas didn’t take the sixth seat, acknowledging that it was Ginny’s and it should remain empty until her return. Instead he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I have trained each and every one of you to the best of my ability. I have taught you how to lead, how to think tactically, and, hopefully, how to organize and plan on a strategic level. You have aerial capability.” That was true, Fred and George had delivered thirty Phoenixes yesterday and the pilots were quite eager to get their hands on them. However Harry didn’t think they were ready to fly just yet.
“You have a formidable force in the works,” Thomas said continuing. “It’s time, and more than time, to step back, and allow you to control your own people. As my last official act as your military advisor, we,” sweeping her hands to indicate Hermione Granger as well, “came up with a little surprise, which I’ll leave to Hermione to explain,” with that he walked down the stairs without another word.
“Now,” Hermione said, beaming. “Major Thomas and I decided that it’s time the D.A. took on military ranks.” At the confused and questioning looks on their faces, Hermione looked at Harry and said, “If you agree, sir.”
Military ranks, Harry thought. Well we’ve already taken on a lot of military aspects, why not military ranks.
Because it would seem pompous, overly-officious and they would go to ourselves, another voice said.
“Say what you have to say,” Harry said cautiously. “And make it quick.”
“Well,” Hermione said, leaning back into her chair and thinking. “Major Thomas and I initially came up with using ranks from the Army and Marines but since that would make us the only officers, I suggested that we use naval ranks, but Thomas made the point that ranks like Ensign and Lieutenant junior grade don’t belong in this context…” and so Hermione explained her system. In the system she’d designed, the field officer ranks were second lieutenant, first lieutenant, lieutenant, lieutenant commander, commander and captain. The ranks would be indicated by small, square, metal tabs with red stripes arranged vertically from bottom to top. One red stripe would signify second lieutenant, one and a half would indicate first lieutenant, two full stripes would indicate lieutenant, two and a half stripes would indicate lieutenant commander, three stripes would indicate commander, and four stripes would indicate captain.
“And who would get these ‘ranks,’” Ron asked.
“Well, starting with us,” Hermione said, “Harry would of course be captain, Ron and myself would be commanders, and Ginny, Neville, and Luna would get lieutenant commander ranks.”
“Does anyone else get these ranks, Hermione?” Luna asked, taking it all in stride, though Neville seemed to be a little disappointed to not get the same rank as Hermione and Ron.
“I’m glad you asked,” Hermione said. “I believe we should each take command of an autonomous unit, with our own subordinates and squads in each unit. We’d still have our chain of command with each other of course, but we can cover more ground effectively.
“Each unit will have a commanding officer, and executive officer, and two other junior officers. This will allow us to have more than enough officers in place if and when we expand further.” Looking at Harry she took a list out of her pocket and read off it, saying, “Harry, I’ve decided that your executive officer will be Parvati Patil, and she’ll have the rank of Lieutenant Commander.”
Parvati, Harry thought. That would adequately pay her back for the Yule Ball fiasco. Besides, I consider her a friend and I’d like to get to know her better. What Hermione said next came as a shock to all of them, “Ron, I think yours should be Lavender Brown, also with the rank of Lieutenant Commander.” Immediately, everyone in the conference room started muttering confusedly. Harry couldn’t blame them, given Ron, Hermione, and Lavender’s past history, Harry expected Hermione to keep Lavender and Ron as far apart as humanly possible.
“I get Lieutenant Commander Padma Patil,” Hermione said. “I would have given Ginny Colin Creevey as her XO,” Hermione said. “But since she’s not available the poor boy will have to command it by himself until he returns it.”
Colin’s one of Ginny’s closest friends, Harry thought. I know he’ll do her proud.
“Neville, I’m assigning you Justin Finch-Fletchley and Luna you’re getting Ernie Macmillan.”
Eh, Harry thought, they’ll make good leaders, they should be fine.
“What about the other two officer positions,” Harry asked. Hermione had answers for those to. Harry would get Terry Boot, Ron would get Susan Bones, Hermione would get Michael Corner, Ginny, upon her return, would get Dean Thomas, Neville got Anthony Goldstein, and Luna got Zacharias Smith.
“The remaining junior officers would and the NCOs will have to be promoted from the ranks of the new guys,” Hermione said. “And all the pilots will be Second Lieutenants for right now with the exception of Seamus Finnegan who will be a First Lieutenant. Now, we should implement this as soon as possible and prepare them to move out… today.”
“Why?” Harry said, surprised she’d even suggest this at this point. The recruits weren’t ready, and she knew it.
“Because we’ve neglected a very serious potential consequence of Ginny’s capture,” Hermione said darkly, leaning forward in her chair and putting her arms on the table. “Right now, there is a very dangerous situation developing in the outside world. If you think the blood looked bad on our uniforms after Marseilles, imagine what it will look like when England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland are dripping with the blood of Wizard and Muggle alike.”
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