CHAPTER 1: A CALL TO ARMS

Location: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland.

Time frame: Toward the end of “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.”

What did I do now?

Jimmy O’Bannon’s lips twisted as he trudged through the stone corridors leading to Headmaster Dumbledore’s office. His mind poured over the past couple of weeks, trying to recall what could have gotten him into this much trouble.

He had helped Fred and George Weasley charm all of Mr. Filch’s buckets so every time the jagoff caretaker put water in them it would turn to ice.

Then there was the Quick-Growing Nose Hair Hex George taught him, which he immediately tried on that Slytherin ape Crabbe.

And, of course, right before the final task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, he’d helped the twins and Lee Jordan charm all the suits of armor on the third floor so they would projectile vomit every five minutes. One of them nailed a passing Professor Snape right in the face.

That had to be it, O’Bannon decided. Still, every time he got nailed for helping the Weasleys and Lee in one of their pranks, they’d always been sent to the head of their house, Professor McGonagall.

Why did this warrant a trip to the headmaster’s office?

Another thing he couldn’t figure out. Why would Dumbledore want to discipline him for a stupid practical joke in light of what he’d announced at the Leaving Feast over an hour ago?

“Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort.”

A chill gripped his spine as he replayed the old headmaster’s words in his head. It was almost too much to comprehend. The most powerful dark wizard in history back among the living. A man, a thing, who’d wiped out scores of people during the Big War. It was akin to telling Muggles Adolf Hitler had come back from the dead with a huge army and a crapload of nuclear weapons.

Surely Headmaster Dumbledore had more important things to deal with than some American exchange student pulling pranks.

O’Bannon halted in front of a melancholy-looking gargoyle squatting on a stone perch. He reached into his robes and pulled out a piece of parchment given to him by Ginny Weasley shortly after the feast.

Dear Jimmy,

Please come to my office at 8 o’clock this night.

Yours truly,

Albus Dumbledore

P.S. Cockroach Cluster

He had no idea what that last bit meant until Ginny explained it was the password to get into the headmaster’s office.

O’Bannon looked up from the parchment and stared at the gargoyle. “Um, Cockroach Cluster?”

The gargoyle suddenly leaped to the side and stood there, watching him. A gap appeared in the wall.

“Um, thanks.” He nodded to the gargoyle and went in. He stood on the foot of a spiral stone staircase, which slowly moved upward until it reached a polished oak door with a brass knocker. He grabbed it and banged the door twice.

“Enter,” Dumbledore called from behind the door.

Holding his breath, O’Bannon opened the door and stepped inside. He couldn’t help but mouth a silent, “Wow,” as he gazed around the large, circular office. Moving portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses adorned the walls. A brightly colored bird he recognized as a phoenix sat on a perch next to an enormous, claw-footed desk. Behind it was a shelf where the tattered Sorting Hat sat. A glass case next to it held a ruby-encrusted sword.

“Ah, Jimmy.”

He turned to the source of the voice, an old wizard with a long silvery beard, half-moon glasses and blue robes emblazoned with golden stars.

“Headmaster.” O’Bannon nodded to Albus Dumbledore. “You wanted to see me?”

Just as he completed the sentence, he sensed the presence of other people in the office. He turned to the left. His eyes lit up in surprise.

Six students sat on a ridiculously long, cushy red sofa. The two at the far end were tall, lanky redheaded identical twins. Another redhead sat beside to them, this one also tall, but with a narrower face and longer nose. Next was a boy with unruly black hair and glasses, then a girl with bushy brown hair. The last person on the sofa made O’Bannon’s chest tighten. She had a smooth, angular face and blond hair tied in a bun. Her pale blue robes of silk covered a tall, athletic frame.

“Please have a seat.” Dumbledore waved him toward the sofa. “We have important matters to discuss.”

O’Bannon’s forehead crinkled. He looked from the headmaster to the six students on the sofa. What the hell is going on? If it had just been the Weasley twins here, he would have known it had to do with their spate of practical jokes. But with Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and Mireet Miradeaux present as well . . .

More and more, O’Bannon doubted this had anything to do with pranks.

He sat next to Mireet, who gave him brief, warm smile. His heart sped up as his eyes traced the French witch’s elegant profile. To say Mireet was gorgeous did not do the girl justice.

Somehow, he forced himself to shift his gaze from Mireet back to Headmaster Dumbledore. The old wizard folded his hands as he spoke.

“Well, Jimmy, Mireet. This certainly has been quite a year, hasn’t it?”

“Oui,” Mireet replied in a subdued voice.

“Uh-huh.” That was an understatement, considering the year included a student being murdered by the resurrected Lord Voldemort.

“Had circumstances been . . . normal, I would have brought you both to my office to tell you that it has been an absolute pleasure and honor to have you attend our humble institution. I doubt there are many other wizards or witches who could have represented their schools, and their countries, as well as you two. Even though your time here was brief, you have left an indelible mark on the fabric of Hogwarts, and have forged bonds and friendships that I have no doubt will last a lifetime.”

O’Bannon drew his head back. “Um, uh . . . thank you, Headmaster.”

“Merci, Headmaster.” Mireet sounded almost as stunned as him. “I appreciate your kind words.”

“You are most welcome, Miss Miradeaux.” Dumbledore nodded at her. “But I wish heaping praise upon you two was the only reason I had for calling you here. As you heard just a couple hours ago at the Leaving Feast, Lord Voldemort has returned.”

Mireet noticeably shivered. Ron went pale.

“These are perilous times we face. As I’m sure you know from your history classes, Lord Voldemort’s reign of terror was not confined to our island nation. Thousands of his followers perpetrated horrendous acts in his name in every corner of the world, including America and France.”

O’Bannon noticed Mireet close her eyes and lower her head.

“Even as we speak,” Dumbledore continued. “Voldemort is marshalling his forces for a second war on the Wizarding World. But this time, it is my belief he will not move until he has gathered sufficient numbers of Death Eaters and other allies. This is time we must use to gather our own forces to put a stop to his plans. Unfortunately, the Ministry of Magic refuses to do this.”

“What?” O’Bannon blinked and shook his head.

“This . . . this cannot be.” Mireet’s jaw fell open.

“I don’t get it,” O’Bannon stammered. “Why would your Ministry not do anything to stop You-Know-Who? I thought they were supposed to protect you guys, all of us, from stuff like this.”

Dumbledore’s shoulders sagged. “That is exactly what they are supposed to do, Jimmy. But you must remember, during the last war, terrible, terrible things happened. Whole families were murdered. Unspeakable acts of torture and depravity took place. Many witches and wizards still bear the scars, physical and emotional, of that time. Some have yet to heal, some will never heal. There are those who do not want to believe those dark times can ever happen again, and some of them happen to be in positions of power, like our Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. It pains me to say that Cornelius has been scared into inaction, afraid that admitting Voldemort is back will upset the ‘relative peace’ of the Wizarding World. Afraid that taking certain steps against Voldemort will make him unpopular and jeopardize his position.”

“You gotta be kidding me,” O’Bannon’s voice rose several octaves. His face scrunched in a mixture of anger and incredulity.

“This is inexcusable,” Mireet said with breathless indignation. “How can someone in such a position be so irresponsible?”

“Honestly, I never thought much of Fudge to begin with,” Fred offered.

O’Bannon let loose a long, angry sigh. “Okay so this, pardon my French – sorry, Mireet – this dumbass doesn’t want to believe You-Know-Who’s back. Well, he’s not the only Wizarding leader out there. What about the Secretary of Magic in the U.S.? Or the French Minister of Magic? Or the Ministers or Secretaries in, like, Russia or Germany or China or Australia? At least one of them has to believe it and do something about it.”

“Unfortunately,” Dumbledore answered, “our Ministry is doing its best to control the flow of information out of Britain. No leader beyond our shores will know the truth behind Cedric Diggory’s death in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, nor will they know of the grave threat we all face.”

O’Bannon took a deep breath and held it. He stared at the lush carpet under his feet. His stomach turned into a cold ball. He couldn’t believe it. Controlling information? Suppressing information? This sort of stuff happened in places like the old Soviet Union, not in Great Britain, for God’s sake!

“That is why we need your help.”

O’Bannon’s head snapped up. He stared unblinking at Dumbledore. “Our help?”

“The Ministry of Magic will not tell the rest of the world of the threat Voldemort poses, but you two can. It will be up to you to convince as many of your fellow countrymen and women as possible of Voldemort’s return. But be prepared. You will inevitably go up against those who will refuse to believe, those who will maintain that any story of Voldemort’s return is a lie. They will be steadfast in their position. But you must be steadfast in yours as well.”

O’Bannon intertwined his fingers in his lap and chewed on his lower lip. He pondered Dumbledore’s words, especially the word “lie.” The more he thought about it, the more he only had Dumbledore’s word that Voldemort was back. What if he had been making up the whole thing for whatever reason? He thought back to the Leaving Feast, remembering the reactions of some of his friends. Seamus Finnigan and Katie Bell looked in utter disbelief. He caught Anthony Goldstein whisper to Michael Corner, “Dumbledore’s gone completely off his nut, he has.”

Working his jaw from side-to-side, O’Bannon stared down the length of the sofa. His eyes came to rest on Fred and George, who simply stared back at him. The two had become his best friends here at Hogwarts. As goofy as they were, they did seem good judges of characters. He knew from conversations with them over the past year that they thought the world of Headmaster Dumbledore. They also stood firmly behind Harry Potter no matter what. Even when most of the school turned on the poor guy for thinking he cheated to get into the Tri-Wizard Tournament, their support for him never wavered. The same with Hermione and . . . well, Ron did have problems with Harry at the beginning, but he eventually came back around to his side.

O’Bannon knew loyalty like that didn’t come easily. It had to be built up over time. It had to be earned through trials and tribulations. It was the sort of loyalty he shared with his best friends from Salem; Rosa Infante, Jared Diaz and Artimus Rand.

If Fred and George felt that way toward Harry and Dumbledore, then as far as O’Bannon was concerned they were telling the truth about Voldemort’s return.

“I’ll do whatever I can back in The States.”

“I, too, shall help in whatever way I can,” declared Mireet.

O’Bannon looked over at the French witch. He noticed her eyes, her entire face, radiating intense determination. The witch’s shoulders rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths. O’Bannon cranked an eyebrow. There seemed to be something . . . more behind Mireet’s desire to help.

“Excellent.” Dumbledore straightened in his seat. “Even though you two are still students, you will have critical roles to play when you return to Salem, Jimmy, and to Beauxbatons, Mireet. Along with convincing your fellow students of Voldemort’s return, you must also try to identify students who seem likely to join our cause, or students who may want to join the other side. Then report your observations to your respective headmistresses. Understood?”

“Oui, Headmaster.”

“Yeah.” Jolts of excitement and astonishment shot through O’Bannon. This kind of cloak-and-dagger stuff sounded like something out of a Tom Clancy novel. And he’d really be doing it!

“Now . . .” Dumbledore pressed his palms flat on his desk. “Before you two arrived, we discussed certain things.” He turned his head toward Harry, Ron, Hermione and the twins. “We agreed if you decided to help us, you should be made aware of the whole story.”

“‘Whole story?’” O’Bannon’s face scrunched in bewilderment.

“Harry.” Dumbledore nodded to The Boy Who Lived.

Both O’Bannon and Mireet turned to him. Harry sighed and fidgeted for a few moments. He then sucked on his bottom lip and looked up at them.

“Voldemort’s return,” he began. “Well, he’s tried it before over the past four years.”

For the next ten minutes O’Bannon listened in silent awe as Harry ran down one of the most incredible tales he’d ever heard. It turned out during Harry’s first year Voldemort had taken possession of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at the time, a Professor Quirrell, and tried to use something called the Sorcerer’s Stone to create a new body. But Harry, eleven-year-old Harry, stopped him because Quirrell/Voldemort couldn’t touch him without his skin burning. Something to do with the sacrifice of Harry’s mother giving him magical protection.

Even more incredible was what happened to Harry in his second year. Voldemort had transferred part of his soul into a diary and tried to suck out Ginny’s life force in order to physically manifest himself. Not only did Harry stop him, but he also fought a Basilisk. A friggin’ Basilisk. And the kid killed the damn thing!

O’Bannon tried to shake his head in astonishment. But his entire body was frozen in shock.

But Harry wasn’t done there. He revealed that during his third year, he discovered his godfather Sirius Black, whom the Wizarding World believed sold out James and Lily Potter to Voldemort, was in fact innocent. Another supposed friend, Peter Pettigrew, had actually done the deed.

Oh yeah, and Harry also saved Sirius Black from about a hundred Dementors by casting a corporeal Patronus.

Damn. I mean . . . just . . . damn. O’Bannon’s mind struggled to accept this. A kid had done all that. Okay, the kid had been the legendary Harry Potter, who survived a Killing Curse and vanquished Voldemort at one-year-old. But still . . .

He studied Harry’s face, and the faces of Ron, Hermione and the twins. He tried to find any hint that they had made up this entire tale.

Their grim expressions told him otherwise.

O’Bannon slumped back into the sofa, staring blankly ahead. He barely noticed Mireet, her jaw hanging open, frozen in disbelief.

“I can’t stress this enough,” Dumbledore said. “You are involving yourselves in something deadly serious, and I do mean deadly. Voldemort and his followers were merciless toward anyone who opposed them. But you must also realize the consequences for our world and the Muggle world should Voldemort win.”

O’Bannon swallowed. Bile swelled in his stomach. What the hell am I getting myself into? Hell’s Bells he’d come to Hogwarts because he thought it would be cool to study abroad for a year. He’d heard so many amazing stories about this place. He thought back to the first time he visited Rosa’s home and she showed him a magical picture book of the world’s most famous wizarding schools. They lingered on the page for Hogwarts for a good ten minutes, with Rosa explaining how a friend of one of her uncles actually spent a year there as an exchange student. O’Bannon then started asking what he needed to do to be an exchange student himself.

Had he known then what he knew now . . .

I didn’t come here to be a resistance fighter or something. I’m a sixteen-year-old hockey player from Boston for God’s sake.

Then he thought about Dumbledore’s last words, the consequences should Voldemort win. He knew from his History of Magic classes that one of Voldemort’s main goals was the total extermination of Muggle-borns, and eventually Muggles in general. So if Voldemort won, O’Bannon had no doubt he’d be one of the first against the wall.

He didn’t like that thought. He didn’t like the idea of just meekly accepting his death at the hands of some madman. Hell, he didn’t want to die at all! But given the choice, he’d rather go down fighting than just stand there and let some friggin’ piece of crap Death Eater Avada Kedavra him.

“I know there are risks, Headmaster. But I also know Muggle-borns like me and Hermione will be at the top of You-Know-Who’s “To Kill” List if he takes over. If I can do something to help stop that, then I’m in.”

“I feel the same as Jimmy,” Mireet said firmly. “I will not stand by and let these horrors happen again.”

“Very well.” Dumbledore nodded. “I think I can safely say both your headmistresses would be proud to know their schools have produced two exceptional students such as yourselves.”

He and Mireet shook hands with Dumbledore before leaving his office with Harry, Ron, Hermione and the twins.

“You sure about wanting to get involved in all this?” A nervous look fell over Harry’s face.

“I don’t think we have a choice with You-Know-Who back,” O’Bannon answered.

“I know. It’s just . . .” Harry looked away for a moment. “I can’t help but think of Cedric. He didn’t have any idea what he’d gotten himself involved with and he’s . . .” He closed his eyes.

Hermione reached out and gently clutched his shoulder. “This isn’t just your fight, Harry. It’s everyone’s now.”

“Hermione is right,” Mireet stated. “Even though Jimmy and I come from different countries, you accepted us. You made us feel a part of your school. I will forever cherish your kindness and friendship. If you need our help in this struggle, then you shall have it.”

O’Bannon smiled at Mireet, then looked to the Brits. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Harry’s Adam’s apple noticeably bobbed up and down. “Thanks, you two,” he spoke in nearly a whisper.

“It’s a good thing we’re not girls, eh, George?” Fred put his arm around his twin’s shoulder.

“Absolutely, Fred. Otherwise, right now we’d be hugging and crying and doing all sorts of other soppy rubbish.”

Laughter rippled through the group. O’Bannon chuckled and shook his head. Even with this dark pall hanging over them, Fred and George could still find ways to make everyone around them laugh.

Several heartfelt handshakes and hugs were exchanged. Afterward the group headed back to Gryffindor Tower.

“I’ll catch up with you guys,” O’Bannon told them. “I’m gonna walk Mireet back to the Beauxbatons carriage.” He turned to the tall French witch. “I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

“That is fine.” A smile came and went on Mireet’s face.

They waved to Harry and the others and headed for the large archway at the front of the castle. Before they started down the steps, O’Bannon said, “Mireet. Can I ask you something?”

She turned to him. “Oui.”

O’Bannon scratched the back of his neck. How should he ask this? “Well, um, I just . . . back in Headmaster Dumbledore’s office, when you offered to help, it’s just . . . I don’t know, you just seemed to take it kinda personal.”

Mireet’s jaw quivered. She looked away from him.

Dammit. O’Bannon frowned. “I’m sorry, Mireet. If you don’t want to talk about it . . .”

She continued to stare across the darkened grounds of Hogwarts for several seconds. With a slow breath, she turned back to him. “No. You are my friend. You deserve to know the truth.”

Mireet slowly stepped toward him, stopping less than a foot away. “You are right. There is something personal to all this.”

After another long pause, she went on. “I was not yet two, and we were visiting my grandparents outside Toulon. It was my parents, me, my sister Monique and . . . and my brother Markese.”

“Your brother?” O’Bannon’s brow furrowed. “You never told me you had a brother.”

Mireet nodded slightly. “One day we all went to Marche d’Fraychot, the wizarding shopping district near my grandparents’ home. While we were there, a group of Death Eaters let loose a giant to attack the market. There was a panic. Markese, he was three. He . . . he got scared and slipped from my father’s grasp and ran away. Father tried to catch him, but he ran right in the giant’s path and . . .”

O’Bannon bit his lip. His heart dropped into a pitch black abyss. His cheek twitched when he noticed Mireet’s eyes glisten with moisture.

“Father has never forgiven himself for that day. Every year, on July Seventh, Markese’s birthday, at our house, it is . . . Father hardly speaks. He spends most of the day in his study. Sometimes when I walk by, I can hear him crying. And Mother. She weeps openly. And I . . . this has gone on all my life, Jimmy. Every July Seventh. I do not know what to do. I don’t know how I can help my parents. There are times I don’t even know how to feel. I never knew Markese, but he was still my brother. Then I see what my parents go through on his birthday, and . . . there are times I get angry, sometimes at You-Know-Who and his murderers for denying me the chance to ever know my brother. Sometimes, God forgive me . . .” Her jaw trembled. “Sometimes I get angry at my father for not saving Markese.”

A tear slid down Mireet’s cheek. “When Headmaster Dumbledore offered me this chance to help, I had to take it. I want to avenge Markese in some way, and . . . I just don’t want any other families to suffer as mine has.”

She unsuccessfully tried to suppress a sniffle.

O’Bannon reached out and pulled her into a tight embrace. Mireet squeezed him to the point he feared he might suffocate. He didn’t care. He continued to hold her, wishing he could do something to take away Mireet’s pain.

Unfortunately, even in the Wizarding World, no one had come up with a spell or potion to do that.

They kept holding one another. O’Bannon closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against Mireet’s hair. Would she lose someone else she cared about in this new war against Voldemort? Would he? Would he have to do more one day than just keep an eye on his fellow students at Salem? Would he actually be called on to fight?

A cold tremor ripped through him. What did the future hold for him? For Mireet? For everyone?

TO BE CONTINUED