Chapter 1

The Lost Boy and the Envoy

"It was General William Tecumseh Sherman who spoke the words 'War is cruelty.' He was right."

General (ret.) Jigme Dorji Wengshuk

The hot sun beat down on the boy as he lay on the dusty ground. He had stumbled over an old barbed wire fence he hadn't seen in the tall grass. He just lay there for a while, his eyes closed, trying to think. At least he was face down so the sun was beating on the back of his head and not his face. He didn't know where he was, and he didn't care. All he knew was he was away from… whomever he was running from.

He couldn't remember much; at least not why he was really running. He remembered his name, he remembered how old he was, and he remembered his life prior to yesterday, so that was good. Or did he?

He was twelve, or was he thirteen already? No, he was twelve going on thirteen. His name was Jackson, but was that his first name, or his last name? He remembered his mother calling him Jackson, so it must be his first name. What was his last name then?

He also remembered people calling him Lee. But then he heard people call his father Lee too. Maybe he was Lee Junior? Lee could be a first name or a last name, couldn't it? But so could Jackson. But if his mother called him Jackson, and people called both him and his father Lee; that meant his name was most likely Jackson Lee, didn't it?

His head hurt and he groaned trying not to think so much anymore. He was very thirsty. He remembered being told how people couldn't go very long without water. His mother was always the one who told him that every time he wanted to go out and play with the other kids. At least it wasn't winter.

Why was he running? What had happened? He remembered lots of lights, lots of screaming. He rolled onto his side and something heavy thudded to the ground behind him. He reached back for whatever it was instinctively. His arm felt a lot heavier than it normally did.

He touched something cool and metal. That seemed strange. It was really hot, why would metal be cool? He took hold of it. The part he grabbed was thin and round, but there was a heavy bulk hanging off it, so heavy it was hard to pick up. He grunted as he pulled the object around in front of him, opening his eyes to look at it. He jumped in surprise and dropped it.

It was a gun.

Where had he got a gun? As he looked at it, he recognized it. It was his dad's gun. It was an old-style revolver, well-worn from years of use. He reached down to his hip and felt a leather holster. That was why the gun was still cool; it had been in the holster out of the sun. He was remembering more now. His parents ran a re-enactment show, showing how people lived a hundred years ago out west. That was pretty much all the town did; re-enactments for tourists. And then they came… the Secessionists…

He buried his face in his hands. It was as if each new memory was a little knife stabbing into his brain. They came into the town and said they needed to hide. They were being chased. They needed food and water. Everyone was scared. No one knew what was going on. No one else was magical like the invaders were. He was the only wizard in town; a Muggle-born.

Wizard. Muggle-born. Those words stabbed him too. He curled up but winced again. It wasn't his head hurting this time. It was his side. He reached down and felt a broken stick poking against him. He rolled over enough to pull it from his pocket and inspect it. It was a very straight, polished stick, snapped forcibly in half.

Wand, he thought. Why was he calling it a wand? Oh that was right, he was a wizard. Wizards used wands. Not guns. But the wand was broken. That must have been why he took the gun. But how had his wand been broken?

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" He screamed as loud as he could and dropped the wand, clamping his hands down tight over his eyes, as if he could block out the visions. The Unionists, they had come too. He remembered seeing their lines of trenches circling the town, cutting off all escape.

The Secessionists had forced the townspeople all inside their homes while they prepared defences. According to one of the Secessionist soldiers, the regiment their unit belonged to had been ordered to attack some towns in the neighbouring state of North Dakota. The attack had got out of hand and the soldiers got carried away. The towns had been completely destroyed.

He remembered hearing about that attack the previous summer. It had made him even more afraid. The soldiers in the hills surrounding them wanted revenge. The Secessionist soldiers barricading themselves in his town were all that was left of that regiment. First they had destroyed three towns on purpose, now they were trying to use Jackson's town as a shield. He hated them.

Jackson cried out again, this time in rage. He hated the Unionists too. Now he remembered why he had run. They had attacked. They had come at first light, wearing special armour and firing spells indiscriminately at anything that moved, lobbing things that looked like grenades which exploded with great force, tossing wreckage and people into the air. And that was all he remembered. He didn't remember anything after that. He remembered the Unionists attacking, and then lying here in the dirt and tall grass, foot draped over a barbed wire fence with a broken wand and his dad's revolver.

He heard something in the distance. It was a rumbling. It seemed distant, but it was getting closer. It was more like he could feel it through the ground at this point. He wasn't afraid this time; it was a very different rumbling than the attack. This was steady, as if hundreds of feet pounding the ground at once. It was a comforting sound somehow.

He heard a whiny in the distance. Horses? There weren't any wild horse herds around here, were there? Mustangs were further west, it couldn't be. Maybe it was pronghorn, but these sounded heavier than pronghorn. And pronghorn didn't whiny.

There was a very heavy footstep nearby and he jumped a little in surprise, but didn't move or look around.

Human?

He jumped again. It had been a very deep voice, but somehow, he felt as though he could have just been imagining it. He groaned. Somehow he felt as though the voice was asking him the question.

Yes, human.

That was a different sounding voice. Or thought. He still wasn't exactly sure what was happening. He was so tired and thirsty. Yes, I'm human, he thought in reply. Suddenly, he heard a whole outbreak of thought-voices, but none of them seemed to be in response to his own thought.

What's it doing out here?

I don't know… looks half dead. Should we leave it?

It's a wizard, I see a wand.

But I also see one of those Muggle killing things… I don't like those things much…

Maybe we should just let nature take its course?

I'll take the boy.

There was a pause as Jackson tried to open his eyes. He managed it and found himself nose to nose with the long face of a chocolate-brown horse. Its eyes were alert, looking into his. The sunlight hurt his eyes and he closed them again.

You'll take the boy, Epeius? What will you do with it?

Take him back to his own kind.

Jackson moaned. He heard the frustrated grunts of a horse lowering itself to its knees.

Grab my mane, boy, pull yourself up.

"Hurt…" Jackson finally managed to say. He was surprised he could understand himself, his voice came out sounding more like a croaking frog.

I have a very strong mane, now come on… pull yourself on…

Jackson grunted and tried to lift a hand up to the horse's neck. He felt its wide nose gently nudging his head.

That's it boy… you'll get it. Take your time.

Jackson pulled, and managed to get himself closer to the horse's warm body. There was something very comforting about its presence.

Where will you take it? We heard the attack this morning, can't be many safe places for it to go, asked another deep voice. The voices still seemed to be in his head. They were so deep and booming they made the ground tremble.

I will take him to the north-lands.

That's at least three hundred miles!

Am I an Areion, or not?

Jackson grunted and pulled himself up more onto the horse. He paused, looking back down at the ground. The revolver and broken wand were still there. He reached out a trembling hand.

It's going for the gun! A thought/voice whinnied in fright and anger. There was the sound of many stamping feet.

Oh shut up, the lot of you, does he look like he's about to shoot anyone? Now he was on the horse, Jackson became aware of something else. The horse's body had trembled as he heard the voice. He was greeted by an insane thought. Was the horse actually talking?

He felt the horse's nose nudge him again.

Go on boy.

Jackson didn't know why, but he nodded, and picked up the pistol. He stuck it into the holster, and then picked up the wand as well.

I don't know when or if I'll be back… it'll be a long time.

You don't have to do this, Epeius, there are closer towns.

The horse's shoulders moved strangely under him. Jackson was struck by another strange thought: had the horse just shrugged?

It struggled to its feet but Jackson didn't feel as though he was going to fall off. In fact, he felt more secure just draped over the horse's back then he ever had sitting properly in a saddle on the horses back in town.

Ready, boy?

Jackson's tongue felt too heavy to talk. He simply nodded. The horse snorted and with a roaring thunder of hooves, the horse began to run. But this was different. This was nothing like any other horse he had ever ridden. Hills and fences and random trees whipped past him as the horse rocketed across the ground. Wind whipped his hair and he couldn't keep his eyes open to look where they were going anymore.

Exhaustion was taking over again. His eyelids felt heavier as he kept them closed. Slowly, despite riding on a horse running many times faster than a normal horse should, that could either talk through thoughts, or could actually speak, Jackson fell asleep.

The clock ticked steadily on the wall. Cornelius Fudge, Minister or Magic for Great Britain, glanced at it and drummed his fingers impatiently. He didn't like waiting for people, particularly for meetings of this level of importance.

In his head Fudge gave a mirthless snort of laughter. It was almost one year ago to the day that the troubles in America had first wound up in his office, when Dumbledore showed up with one of his professors, requesting he bring over a few handfuls of refugees to attend Hogwarts as a show of good faith. He should have suspected something like this would happen. Nothing with Dumbledore was ever as simple as it seemed.

Fudge forced his face into a smile as he heard the soft knock on the door from his senior under-secretary, Dolores Umbridge.

"Enter," Fudge called.

The door opened and Dolores beamed at Fudge and said in her most simpering voice. "Mister Solomon Kinney, Envoy from the Free State of North Dakota, to see you, Minister."

"Thank you, Dolores," Fudge said and rose from his seat to greet Kinney as he stepped into the room. He did not look at all how Fudge had expected. He looked to be in his early thirties. He had long jet-black hair tied back into a ponytail. He was wearing a snow-white suit with a matching long white coat draped over his arm. He was also holding a white fedora and a shiny brown briefcase. He had a round face but a long thin nose and bright blue eyes.

Kinney bowed deeply to Fudge before he rose and shook Fudge's outstretched hand. "Good afternoon, Minister. Please accept my warmest gratitude for taking such a personal interest in this case. I must admit I had not expected to be given an audience with Britain's Minister of Magic himself!"

Well, he's friendly enough, Fudge thought as he shook.

"Well, it was on my orders, after all, that these children were brought to our nation and given quarter," Fudge said trying to sound as casual as he could. "Needless to say it has become a personal interest of mine."

Fudge gestured to the chair in front of his desk and sat. Kinney sat as well and continued to smile pleasantly at Fudge.

"So, if you could be so kind as to tell me the exact nature of your visit, I shall do my utmost to see how well we can accommodate your requests," Fudge said. He monitored his tone closely as he spoke, trying to find the balance between pleasant and professional. He did not want to show his own hand just yet, not before he got Kinney to show his.

"Well, it is a rather sticky matter, Minister," Kinney said. "The problem, it seems, is some children who have been sent here have family back home who would like them back."

Fudge raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?"

"Indeed, yes, Minister," Kinney said.

"Do you have a list of the students in question?" Fudge asked.

Kinney's eyes narrowed but Fudge didn't change his expression. Fudge was hard pressed to hide his smile, but he managed it. So, you don't like me calling them students and laying my claim on them, do you? Fudge thought as he leaned forward.

"Of course, Minister," Kinney said and opened the briefcase. He pulled out a sheet of parchment and handed it to Fudge.

Fudge took the sheet and leaned back in his chair. He pulled out his reading glasses and put them on, making a show of reading the list thoroughly. Despite trying to keep his cool exterior, Fudge was having trouble as he processed the names.

Megan Esther Eastman

Tori Alice Hoffman

Adele Ladybird Jackson

Benjamin Thomas Jackson

Mable Ladybird Jackson

Avery Anne McGee

Ellery Anne McGee

Ari Elizabeth Miller

Peyton Holly Riseman

Kaitlyn Marie Tyler

Kenley Rose Tyler

So that's the game, is it? Fudge thought.

"Well, goodness there does seem to have been a few, doesn't there?" Fudge said, sounding incredulous. "Though I suppose in the panic over such an attack mistakes most certainly could have—"

"Well they're not all really mistakes, Minister," Kinney said pleasantly. "Many of these poor children did lose their parents in the attacks, but they do have other family that would like to see them returned."

Fudge nodded, looking as though he was thinking hard. He wanted to make Kinney sweat now. He decided to test him.

"Yes, I imagine so… the Johnsons for instance…" Fudge said tapping on the names of the three Jackson children.

Kinney's eyes narrowed. "Jacksons," he said flatly.

Well, you passed the test, but you still failed the class, Fudge thought.

"The thing is… there's a distinct problem that I see with this list," Fudge said. He removed his glasses and laid the list on the table, tapping it with a finger.

"I assure you, Minister, the list is perfectly accurate," Kinney said.

Fudge sighed, "Oh I'm sure it's perfectly accurate from your point of view, Mister Kinney. However, from my point of view there are several problems with this list," he said gravely. "The first, it was clearly compiled by someone with an agenda. And not an agenda I approve of. The second is that it was compiled by someone who clearly believes my staff, including myself, to be completely incompetent."

Kinney's face turned to stone as Fudge picked up the list again. "Kaitlyn and Kenley Tyler… the poor dears… must have lost everything mustn't they? Never mind the fact I have personally spoken with their still very much alive parents. Charming folk, Muggles you know? And I believe at this very moment they are touring Unionist states speaking out against the Secessionist states aren't they?"

Kinney again gave no reaction, but to Fudge that was an even bigger indicator he had Kinney caught than if he had reacted. Kinney clearly knew he was caught, what more was there for him to do or say?

"The really amusing one, which was the biggest give-away, by the way, was the inclusion of Miss Hoffman," Fudge went on setting the parchment back down on the desk and sliding it across to Kinney. "Really, did you think I wouldn't remember the name of the mayor of Rollen, one of the three towns destroyed that summer? The man who led all those poor people to safety?"

Kinney's face still looked as though it was made of stone as he reached up and took the parchment. He simply placed it back inside his briefcase and closed it with a snap.

"I'll give you credit on your homework though, slipping in Miss Riseman. I suppose she was an attempt to give the list credibility?" Fudge asked, looking at Kinney shrewdly. "Yes, slipping in an orphan was a nice touch, except per my information, her parents abandoned her at the age of seven when she first began to show magical powers and were informed of her true nature as a witch. As a result, despite being fully adopted and cared for since then by the Riseman family, the poor dear has had serious trust issues as I have been told by the Hogwarts matron. The Risemans, incidentally, are in one of your camps that we keep hearing about, is that correct?"

The only movement Kinney made was to narrow his eyes further. "The Jacksons were a nice touch as well, weren't they?" Fudge added. "Family originally from Texas I believe? Had the list just been them I may have been inclined to believe you."

Fudge leaned forward on his desk once more, studying Kinney. "What are you really after? To silence these families? Blackmail? Con us into turning these children over to your custody so you can hold them hostage? Kill them as a threat to others who may attempt to follow their parents' lead maybe? Clever, but not clever enough."

Kinney made to rise from his chair but Fudge glared. "You will remain in your seat until I dismiss you, Mister Kinney," Fudge barked.

Kinney sat again.

"I do not take kindly to these sorts of actions, Mister Kinney. Nor do I take kindly to being thought so low of. You should have suspected something the moment I requested you speak to me on this matter personally, rather than a lower office."

Fudge rose from his seat, leaning down on his desk to look down on Kinney. "I will permit you to leave our shores back to your country just this once, Mister Kinney. Should I, or any of my staff, hear of you being seen in this country again, it will not end well for you."

Kinney did not look intimidated. "Very well then, Minister, our business is concluded."

"Very good," Fudge said, still leaning down over Kinney. "Auror John Dawlish will accompany you on your way out of our country. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course, Minister," Kinney said. He rose and put on his hat.

Almost on cue, the door to the office opened and Dawlish stepped inside.

"Thank you, Dawlish," Fudge said.

Dawlish nodded. "At your service, Minister. Come, Mister Kinney, your flight awaits."

Kinney turned. He walked to the door but paused on the threshold. "One last thing, Minister?"

Fudge didn't react, just kept looking at Kinney.

"Since my side fired first, you may think you're on the right side, supporting the Unionists," Kinney said. He opened his briefcase one more time and drew out a newspaper. He tossed it onto Fudge's desk. "But maybe you'll think more carefully now?"

He stepped from Fudge's office and Dawlish closed the door after them. Fudge finally sat down and looked at the newspaper on his desk. The headline made his jaw clench.

Massacre! Hundreds dead! Unionist Forces Slaughter Innocent Muggles!

Fudge sighed. What had Dumbledore really got him into?

"Well done, Minister," a voice said from Fudge's fireplace. Fudge closed his eyes.

"Thank you, Howe, for alerting me," Fudge said. He looked over to see the trim figure of Sherrod Howe rising from one of Fudge's high-backed armchairs by his fireplace where he had been sitting and listening in.

"But of course, Minister," Howe said striding towards Fudge's desk.

Fudge held up the newspaper for him.

"I hope you and Dumbledore know what you're doing getting wrapped up in this?" Fudge asked.

Howe took the paper and read the headline as well. "Funny how that works, isn't it?"

"What?" Fudge asked frowning.

"Secessionists attack three Unionist towns, destroy them all, kill thousands, and the papers treat it as though it was bound to happen. Unionist forces attack a town of a couple hundred and suddenly it's a catastrophe. Everyone wants to stick up for the underdog, I guess," Howe said dropping the paper back on Fudge's desk.

"That's not the point, Howe," Fudge snapped. "I was on the side of the victims, now I'm on the side of the retaliators who killed a town full of Muggles."

Howe looked at Fudge disapproving. "This is a war, Fudge, people die… you should remember that."

Fudge glowered. "True…"

Howe picked up the paper again and perused the article. "Lot left out of this… the unit that was in the town was the 47th… the same unit that attacked Rollen, Belview and St James… apparently they commandeered the town as a last line of defence against the Unionist forces pursuing them."

Fudge glowered at Howe as Howe replaced the newspaper on the desk. He hated how Howe always knew so much more than he did. If possible, Howe was worse about it than Dumbledore. And that was saying something.

"Well… still… I'll have to answer for this to the Prophet tomorrow… 'How can you throw in your lot with those barbarians?'" Fudge said. "Rita Skeeter will be beside herself with delight."

He sighed. "All the same, thank you. As much as I am… we shall say displeased with this recent turn of events," Fudge said, tapping the article. "I was not about to allow innocent children be turned over to the likes of Kinney… whatever his plot was."

Howe smiled. "Glad to hear it, Minister."

Fudge looked up at him shrewdly. "I suspect you want something for bringing this information forward? You and Dumbledore always do."

Howe's smile did not falter. Instead, from nowhere he produced a newspaper of his own. "Oh just a trifling matter. A favour really. Not even a repayment."

Fudge sat back in his chair. "Really?" It was impossible to hide the scepticism in his voice.

"Oh yes," Howe said holding out the paper to Fudge. "I believe tonight is your annual inspection of Azkaban Prison?"

Fudge shivered. As if he needed reminding. "It is."

"Well then, would you mind passing this along to Sirius Black?" Howe asked, still holding out the paper.

Fudge blinked. "You want me to deliver a newspaper to Sirius Black?"

"Not deliver, really, just, as long as you're heading that way," Howe said smiling warmly.

Fudge took the paper but didn't look at it. He was thinking hard. He remembered some connection between Black and Howe. Nothing sinister, but somehow it sparked his memory. Then he remembered. He looked up to see Howe was almost to the door.

"Didn't you resign over the Black case?" Fudge asked.

Howe paused. "What do you mean Black case…? There has to be an investigation for there to be a case, Minister."

Howe turned and looked back at Fudge one last time. "I just recall he liked crosswords. The one in today's Prophet was particularly good. I just thought he'd like it."

Howe turned back to the door and walked out, closing it gently behind him. Fudge looked down at the paper. In spite of all that had happened, the photograph on the front page made him smile. It was a photograph of the Weasley family.

He never saw Arthur Weasley very often. He only held a minor role in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. But Fudge understood him to be a polite man who took his job very seriously and had a large family. He had even written the recent Muggle Protection Act which Fudge had just signed last week.

Apparently Arthur Weasley had won the Daily Prophet's Grand Prize Galleon Draw. It was a wonderful thing to happen to a family who only a few weeks ago had come so close to suffering a serious tragedy during the Heir of Slytherin fiasco at Hogwarts. Their youngest daughter it seemed had been taken by the Heir's monster, which turned out to be a basilisk.

The girl, Ginny was her name, had been saved from death by none other than Harriet Potter herself. The whole story had seemed rather far-fetched to Fudge at first. However, on his return visit to Hogwarts that day, after arresting and bringing in Gilderoy Lockhart for at least ten counts of illegal memory-modification and identity theft, Fudge had indeed been shown the body of the basilisk, killed in a way that complied perfectly with Potter's account of the events.

Fudge looked back down at the photograph. They did seem a good family. Every one of them were smiling warmly and waving at the camera. The second youngest girl even had her pet rat on her shoulder. In spite of himself, Fudge simply smiled, opened up his own briefcase, and slid the newspaper inside.