The Lost Horcrux

Fiddler's Bane

Disclaimers: Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

***

The Port of Dover was packed as usual. Freight lorries, coaches full of Summer holiday makers and the cars of private travellers lined up on the Kent coast to board ferries to make the short crossing into continental Europe. It hardly seemed the most auspicious place for magical people to make the same journey, too, but this was the only acknowledged route in or out of Magical Britain these days.

Hermione was eager for an explanation about this, and she had been assured that she would get one ... just as soon as they mopped up these hapless Death Eater guards, who they had stumbled upon when trying to reach the Port. The silly fools had been blocking their way, and the trio of Team Potter members were just now finishing off the last of them.

Neville drove the Sword of Gryffindor into the face of a Section Seven Agent fallen at his feet. It was a mercy, really, after Myfanwy's Blasting Curse had cracked his skull, leaving his body twitching and writhing rather disgustingly. Hermione, meanwhile, was busy transfiguring the tonsils of the Death Eater garrison commander into a large spike, which promptly burst free through a tear in his throat.

The sounds of his gargling for air, through a rush of blood, was really quite satisfying.

"I so wish I had your imagination for things like that," said Myfanwy, nodding approvingly at Hermione's handiwork as the Death Eater guard crumbled to the ground. "I'm more of a blunt force trauma, bludgeoning sort of girl myself."

"But you do it with such artistry!" Hermione grinned back, nodding at the three corpses turning cold behind her

"Well, that was fun!" Neville quirked, reaching down for a bit of Death Eater robe, which he used to clean the blood from his sword. "They actually put up a bit of a fight, too. Good for them!"

Hermione chuckled. "It broke up the monotony at least! You know, I'm surprised the crossing point is Dover. Seems too obvious, too open."

"That's sort of the point," Neville explained. "When the European Council of Magic decided to raise Movement Wards around Britain they still faced a huge problem ... the methods of travel used by Muggles. They last thing they wanted was for Dark Witches and Wizards to slip into Europe on planes and trains and ferries.

"So they decided to use the existing border controls. Airports were quite easy to police, mainly because you need passports, documentation to board flights. Most magicals don't have such paperwork. And if they managed to acquire fake documents ... or used hoodwinking magic to get around being without them ... and got into the airport proper, they wouldn't get very far.

"An elite team of Swedish wizards ... who were good at modifying Muggle technology with magic ... were tasked with getting into every airport in Britain and enchanting the security checkpoint gates with magic-detecting Charms before the Wards went up. That way, if someone passed through one, it would alert a special unit who were able to track the signal, and dispatch a Broom-Mounted Hit Team to board the flight once it left British airspace and arrest the magical before they could get anywhere.

"The Swedes were successful, but one of them was caught on the last mission. He didn't confess to what he was doing ... even after stringent interrogation ... and Riddle falsely concluded that he was simply trying to escape the country. So, as usual with his paranoia, he had his Death Eaters erect their own Wards around airports, to alert them of Magical Movement in order to prevent future escape attempts. He was convinced that there were European spies everywhere, so he made it illegal to travel abroad without his own hand-signed permission ... which he never gave out once, so far as we know."