White Chocolate
Part 2 of The Chocolate Series
"The Stone War"
"Old men and comets have been reverenced for the same reason: their long beards, and pretenses to foretell events." -- Jonathan Swift
Prologue
There were whisperings in the streets.
It didn’t seem like much, but when the Word Lines began to vibrate, the old folks stood up and took notice. Gossip was, after all, essential to all the pockets of society that made up Wizarding Britain. Word of Mouth had been one of the most widespread modes of communications for millennia, until Owl Post became a modern, easier way of getting information to others and the use of Word Lines became obsolete.
The Word Line Charms still existed few and far between as long as wizards acknowledged they were still there. When the sun shone brightest they could almost be seen on the horizon; the air quivered with their power, midnight blue or bright as the sun, connecting England to Munich, Paris to Rome, wizard to wizard.
When Kingsley Shacklebolt settled down in his seat at the end of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement office, in his tiny excuse for a cubicle with a cup of tea, he heard it. There were mutterings from the interns here and there, and though Kingsley had been aware of an undercurrent in the streets, he’d never expected to hear it in Auror headquarters. Word Lines never got into the Ministry of Magic–age old wards set up by some of the greatest wizards and witches kept them away.
But he heard it. He felt it. The Lines themselves were almost be tasted in the air, vibrating with nervous energy, anticipation and dread. Magic of old was quivering.
Something he did not like at all.
If he’d known that he wasn’t the only one to sense that something was wrong, something terrible, horrible, dreadful was afoot, he would have panicked much more than he did.
He wouldn’t have told his superiors that he thought Lord Voldemort was rising again, men he had respected and worked with shoulder to shoulder for years, if he had known. He would have gone to Dumbledore.
If only he’d known, he wouldn’t have been tortured and murdered for his trouble.
No one took his disappearance as suspicious–he often got involved in his cases and didn’t show back up for days or weeks at a time. But when two weeks passed, then three, then four and no one knew what had become of him, the searches began.
For he wasn’t the only one who was missing. Oh, no. Not by any regard.
Minister Jack Bones, like his predecessor, believed in ... keeping things in the Ministry. Why on earth should he tell anyone? Why on earth should he let Albus Dumbledore get word of what was happening? No, no, they could deal with it, and they could handle it. Dumbledore had enough to worry about up at Hogwarts, no need to disturb the wise old man now. Besides, Dumbledore was old–and what did the old understand about what was happening here, this instant?
Nothing.
So he ignored it, made his underlings ignore it and pretended it didn’t exist even when the Word Lines could almost be heard on the edge of his hearing, begging him to listen, begging him to understand the fear that was coming. He didn’t bother realizing that Dumbledore already knew, or that the most secret of organizations was reforming right under his nose.
He ignored it. They were safe.
Or so he thought.
OR
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