Chapter 83: Chapter 83: Bullets and Spells

Aurora Thatcher checked her watch for the third time in five minutes. The secure meeting room felt smaller with each passing second, despite being designed to host dozens.

“They’re late,” her boss muttered.

Director Helena Morrison sat ramrod straight behind the steel desk, her silver hair pulled into a severe bun that matched her expression. Twenty years in MI6 had carved permanent worry lines around her eyes, but Aurora had never seen her this tense.

“Standard operating procedure for wizards,” Aurora replied. “When you can teleport, schedules become… flexible.”

“Hmm.” Morrison’s fingers drummed against the desk. “How many agents do we have on perimeter?”

“Twelve. Plus snipers on the roof.” Aurora glanced at the security monitors. “Though if Dark Wizards show up, we call hold back for only a few minutes at most.”

“Better than nothing.”

Aurora straightened as familiar sounds echoed from outside. Multiple sharp cracks, like branches snapping in perfect synchronization.

“They’re here.”

The door opened to admit Amelia Bones, looking every inch the Head of Magical Law Enforcement despite the dark circles under her eyes. Kingsley Shacklebolt flanked her, along with three other Aurors Aurora didn’t recognize.

Aurora and Amelia made eye contact briefly—a flash of recognition between old acquaintances—before resuming professional masks.

Morrison didn’t waste time on pleasantries.

“The Brockdale Bridge.” Her voice could have frozen flame. “Twenty-seven dead. Have the perpetrators been apprehended?”

Amelia met her gaze steadily. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Morrison leaned forward. “A whole week has passed since the attack.”

“I’m aware of the timeline.” Amelia’s tone matched Morrison’s steel. “We’re tracking known Death Eater hideouts while managing a governmental transition. The perpetrators will be found.”

“Governmental transition?” Morrison’s voice rose slightly. “Terrorists destroyed a bridge in the heart of London, and you’re talking about politics?”

“Political interference is the primary obstacle.” Amelia leaned forward slightly. “The outgoing administration spent a year denying the threat existed. We’re working with depleted intelligence networks and demoralized forces.”

Morrison’s eyes narrowed. “So Voldemort has returned.”

“Yes.” Amelia didn’t flinch. “For over a year, despite official denials.”

“And your government’s response?”

“Currently? Inadequate.” Amelia’s honesty was brutal. “Which is why leadership change is critical.”

Aurora interjected, “But you’ve known for a year. Surely contingency plans—”

“I developed twelve different response scenarios,” Amelia cut in smoothly. “The previous Minister blocked implementation of every one. Declared them ’fearmongering.’ Threatened to remove me if I persisted.”

“Can the wizarding Ministry actually contain this threat? Or should we contact the International Confederation of Wizards?”

Her voice dropped dangerously low. “Because if not for the Covenant, we would have acted already. The way things are progressing, your world risks breaking that treaty very quickly.”

The threat was unmistakable. Amelia straightened, her own authority finally showing.

“Two weeks.” Amelia’s authority finally blazed through. “New leadership, emergency protocols, full Auror deployment. If we fail, call the ICW yourself.”

Morrison studied her. “You’re that confident of election?”

“I have strong support among the Aurors and neutral factions.” Amelia’s smile was sharp. “My opponents are either Dark Wizards or those who profited from Fudge’s denial. Neither plays well with a wizarding war on the horizon.”

“What are your specific plans?”

“Full mobilization of Auror forces. Wartime tribunals for captured Death Eaters—no more judicial loopholes. Enhanced wards on Azkaban.” Amelia counted on her fingers. “And coordination with your services to prevent mundane casualties.”

Morrison’s expression remained skeptical. “Can you guarantee captured terrorists stay imprisoned? No mysterious escapes or pardons?”

Aurora added, “The first war’s history doesn’t inspire confidence. Death Eaters walking free on technicalities. Imprisoned followers mysteriously escaping. It doesn’t inspire confidence.”

“You have a remarkable source,” Amelia noted dryly. “But yes, those failures haunt us. Under my administration, war criminals serve full sentences. No exceptions.”

“How is Mr. Hayes, by the way?” Amelia asked. She knew Aurora’s source could only be Arthur Hayes. “I haven’t heard anything since Hogwarts.”

“Thriving, last I saw.” Aurora kept her expression neutral. “Still secretive as ever.”

“His magic?”

“See previous answer about secrets.”

Morrison cleared her throat. “If we could return to preventing terrorist attacks? We can offer intelligence support, coordinate responses—”

“We can handle it,” Amelia insisted. “Just need—”

The air shattered.

Not a few cracks this time. Dozens.

“Were you expecting more people?” Morrison demanded.

Amelia had gone pale. “No.”

Morrison’s hand slammed the panic button. Sirens screamed to life across the compound.

Aurora was already moving, drawing her weapon as she headed for the door. Through the reinforced windows, she caught a glimpse of figures in black robes and white masks.

“Death Eaters,” Kingsley growled.

“No shit,” Aurora muttered.

—

Lord Voldemort floated above the MI6 compound like a nightmare given form. His voice carried on unnatural wind, reaching every corner of the base.

“Today, we cleanse this place of filth! Today, we show these Muggles their proper place—beneath our boots! And today, we remove a blood traitor who dreams above her station!”

Forty Death Eaters roared approval.

“ATTACK!”

They surged forward—

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

Three Death Eaters in the front rank crumpled. Blood spread across their robes from perfectly placed headshots.

“SHIELDS!” Voldemort snarled.

Stone walls erupted from the earth, blocking the sniper fire. A masked Death Eater checked the fallen.

“Dead, my lord. The Muggles… they killed them.”

Rage rippled through the ranks. Muggles killing wizards? With their muggle means?

“KILL THEM ALL!”

Curses flew like falling stars. Blasting hexes tore chunks from the building. Flames danced across walls. The compound shook under the magical assault.

But the MI6 agents had trained for this. They fell back in coordinated movements, using cover effectively. And their snipers kept working.

CRACK.

Another Death Eater down, clutching his shoulder.

CRACK.

One more, screaming as his knee exploded.

For every wall the Death Eaters created, the agents found new angles. For every curse that missed by inches, a bullet found its mark.

Voldemort watched his forces dwindle with mounting fury.

—

In the secure command center, Aurora watched the battle unfold across dozens of screens. Morrison barked orders into her headset, coordinating the defense with surgical precision.

“Team Three, Death Eaters advancing on your position. Fall back to Point Bravo.”

“Sniper Two, targets approaching the east wall.”

“All units, they’re grouping for another push. Prepare—”

Kingsley leaned toward Amelia. “Is this breaking the Covenant? Muggles killing wizards?”

Aurora answered before Amelia could respond. “Defensive action against hostile attacks doesn’t violate the Covenant. We have every right to protect ourselves.”

“If we couldn’t even defend our own territory, no nation would have signed the treaty.”

Amelia nodded agreement, then one of her Aurors suddenly drew his wand.

Before Amelia could react, Aurora’s training kicked in. Her gun swung up as the Auror pointed at the screen and shouted, “Confringo!”

The bullet fired. The curse fired.

The Auror fell with a neat hole in his forehead. The screens exploded in a shower of sparks and glass.

“BONES!” Morrison roared after recovering from the explosion. “What the hell—”

“Death Eater infiltrator,” Amelia replied tersely, her own wand now drawn. “I’m sorry. He must have been turned recently.”

“Someone that close to you was a terrorist spy?” Morrison’s voice could have frozen steel. “How many more should I be worried about?”

Before Amelia could answer, explosions rocked the building. The outer walls had been breached.

Death Eaters poured inside.

“Deal with internal security later,” Morrison snapped. “Right now, we have incoming.”

Morrison holstered her weapon. “You know the drill. Close quarters protocol. Move!”

Aurora caught Amelia’s arm as she passed. “You and yours stay separate from us. After that stunt, we need space. Friendly fire would be… unfortunate.”

The wizards had no choice but to comply. They spread out, engaging Death Eaters from separate positions.

The battle in the corridors was brief and brutal with agents having the advantage.

Death Eaters expected dramatic duels. Shouts and counterspells and dancing lights. Instead they found professionals who aimed and fired in heartbeats. No warning. No mercy.

The compound’s narrow hallways became kill zones.

“Avada Ke—”

BANG.

“Cruci—”

BANG. BANG.

Within minutes, Voldemort’s forces retreated, leaving bodies behind.

—

Outside, Voldemort surveyed his depleted forces with cold fury. Forty Death Eaters had become twenty-three. Nearly half lost to Muggle weapons.

“My lord,” Nott gasped, blood running down his arm. “Perhaps we should—”

“SILENCE!”

Voldemort’s magic lashed out, crackling through the air like lightning.

“You want to run? From MUGGLES?” His voice dropped to a whisper more terrifying than any shout. “No. We burn it all. FIENDFYRE! EVERYONE!”

Twenty-three wands rose. Cursed flame erupted—demons and dragons and serpents of fire racing toward the compound.

Voldemort himself conjured a basilisk of flame a hundred feet long.

“Let them try to shoot fire,” he hissed.

—

Inside, the temperature spiked. Through the broken walls, Aurora saw the approaching inferno and felt her heart stop.

“We need to run,” Amelia said urgently. “Now! Fiendfyre will consume everything. Your weapons are useless!”

Morrison didn’t argue. “All units, emergency evacuation! Protocol Seven! Move, move, move!”

The evacuation flowed smoothly. Practiced routes, trained professionals. Even facing magical fire, no one panicked. Aurors threw up temporary shields, buying seconds. Agents covered each other’s retreat.

They’d make it. Close, but they’d make the tunnels—

CRACK.

Aurora spun, weapon rising toward the new arrival. Every gun in sight followed suit.

Then she saw the face. Those careful blue eyes. That perpetual half-smile that suggested he knew something you didn’t.

“Don’t shoot!” Aurora shouted. “Not an enemy!”

Arthur Hayes stood amid the chaos like he’d been invited for tea. His strange robes—neither wizard nor mundane—rippled in heat currents from approaching Fiendfyre.

“Hello, Aurora,” he said pleasantly. “Am I late for the party?”

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