Chapter 102: The Attack
"Good afternoon, Rita."
I smiled at the young woman from where I sat, settled comfortably in my armchair. She sat opposite, and between us stood a small table bearing several cups of fragrant tea.
"Good afternoon, Lord Black. I'm delighted you agreed to meet with me."
"It's rather difficult to refuse someone like you."
"Ha-ha-ha."
Rita laughed, covering her mouth with one hand, her eyes dancing with mischief.
"Though I hear you have a betrothal contract with not one but two young ladies. Aren't you worried that hearing you say things like that, on live television no less..."
She let the pause stretch for a moment, building the tension.
"...they might decide you've been unfaithful?"
"Not at all."
I shook my head, smiling at the reporter.
"My fiancées are very clever, and they won't be particularly jealous over a few compliments from me."
"You are fortunate."
"I think so too."
I gave a composed nod, confirming her words.
"Well, from what I understand, your life has been rather full of late, and wasting this precious time on talk of personal matters, fiancées, and plans for the future would be criminal."
"Not at all."
I shook my head.
"I've set aside quite enough time today to discuss whatever topics you might wish to raise."
"Truly anything?"
"Yes."
I nodded, seeing no point in being coy, particularly with Rita, who was sharp enough not to burn someone in whose district she had purchased a flat, even if she did favour sensational angles.
"Very well."
She rubbed her hands together with theatrical relish.
"You did say 'anything.' I imagine our audience from the non-magical world has by now had a chance to encounter a few of the wonders of the wizarding world, and vice versa, but I'll ask you a leading question all the same. What exactly is a living portrait?"
"A living portrait?"
I put on a thoughtful expression.
"You know, Rita, that is a genuinely difficult question, a philosophical one, even. For most wizards, I suspect the answer 'It's magic!' would be entirely sufficient."
Rita smirked and gave a little nod.
"As I said on my first program, wizards as a rule don't think terribly hard about how things work. That said, I do have an answer for those who are well-versed in either magic or technology. Our planet has an informational field, not the modern internet or anything like that, but a field that cannot be seen or detected by instruments, at least not at our current level of development in either the magical arts or technology. Its existence has nevertheless been demonstrated by us wizards through practice. How it has been demonstrated is a subject for an entire series of programs, and frankly you'd do better to discuss that with recognized masters rather than with me. But..."
I looked up at the ceiling, thinking.
"...this field preserves everything. Absolutely everything. If, as a child, you bumped your head against a tree, that information is recorded there. If someone threw a grenade during a training exercise and missed the target, that's recorded too. The details of ordinary daily life are reflected in the field as well, but..."
I shrugged.
"...against the backdrop of truly important events and individuals, they are rather dim."
"I feel as though you've wandered somewhat off course."
Rita ventured this with careful delicacy.
"Probably, yes. But the question you asked me genuinely resists a simple explanation. In any case, there is one exception. Every living person quite literally shines in this informational field of our world. And to return to your question: a living portrait is a portrait painted by an ordinary person or a wizard, over which a ritual is subsequently performed, one that binds the imprint of the soul and personality, drawn from the planet's informational field, to that portrait."
"Hmm... that's complicated."
Rita shook her head.
"I'm no master myself, so honestly, the explanation 'It's magic!' does sit rather more comfortably."
We both laughed quietly at that.
"But my question wasn't prompted simply by curiosity. As I understand it, you've been receiving requests from ordinary people to have portraits made of long-dead loved ones. Is that so?"
"Yes, I've had a few inquiries, including one from Her Majesty."
"And?"
"And I was obliged to decline."
I smiled.
"You don't wish to become famous for it? Or is there another reason?"
"There is another reason."
I sighed.
"The fact is that I am far too occupied at present. Conducting a ritual of this kind, one that transforms an ordinary portrait into an imprint of personality that can be spoken with, consulted, even argued with, is..."
I shook my head.
"...an extraordinarily complex process. It requires truly rare ingredients that cannot simply be found anywhere. So the first reason for my refusal is the sheer impossibility of meeting the demand from all who would want such a portrait. The second reason,"
"Lord Voldemort lives!"
The shout from the audience sent a jolt through me, and in the next instant a barrier of shielding charms sprang up between myself and the hall, covering not only me but Rita as well. Several spells struck it from different directions simultaneously.
A flick of my wand, already in my hand, and Rita was essentially absorbed into the floor, drawn to safety. If I didn't get her out before she ran out of air, that would be a problem, but I registered the thought only in passing, because I was already dropping flat as my shield membrane tore apart and a Killing Curse blazed through the space where my head had been a moment before.
Two more movements of my wand, and a swarm of gnats materialized around me: tiny midges, but dense enough that their bodies could absorb Unforgivables and a number of other curses besides.
"Cowards!"
I shouted it in the hope of provoking my attackers.
"Is attacking from the shadows all you're capable of?!"
But they didn't take the bait, continuing to rain spells in my direction, some sinking into the swarm and others breaking against my shields.
A sharp crack of my wand, and a wide-area Paralysing Jinx shot towards the area where one of my attackers ought to be. A muffled crack told me my bodyguards had drawn their pistols, and sure enough, after that sound, the volley of spells was reduced by one.
A few dozen more seconds, several more area Paralysers from me and gunshots from the guards, and silence fell across the hall.
"How do we stand?"
"Sir, we've taken all of them. Those who caught your Paralysers are intact. Those we dealt with ourselves are seriously wounded and may not survive without immediate treatment."
"Well done. Civilians?"
"Appear to be unharmed. You were the primary target; they paid no attention to ordinary people or the other wizards."
I nodded, then waved my wand. The floor parted, and Rita shot up out of the gap. I wasn't sure if anyone else noticed, but I clearly saw the moment she transformed from a beetle that had been flying around the chamber back into herself.
"Mr Black!"
She turned toward me with considerable indignation, though she was sensible enough not to reach for her wand.
"Rita, please, do sit down. I think we can carry on despite this unfortunate interruption. The police and Aurors will arrive shortly, our prisoners will be handed over to them, and in due course we'll learn from public sources exactly who these individuals were."
"But they said themselves..."
"Yes, but surely you wouldn't take the word of random criminals at face value? Besides, as a witch yourself, you know as well as I do that even if they are absolutely convinced they're telling the truth, it's entirely possible someone is deceiving them: an impostor who found biological material belonging to Tom and brewed Polyjuice Potion."
"Ahem."
She hesitated.
"That's true, actually. I got slightly carried away."
I shrugged.
"It happens. Now, where were we?"
"Ahem... you were saying you had no means to fulfill the commission even for the Queen."
I gave Rita a grateful nod.
"Yes, thank you, though I should correct myself slightly. The ingredients required are rare, but not so rare that they couldn't be obtained, particularly given the resources of the Crown. The current problem is rather a different one: time."
"Oh?"
"The thing is, as you rightly noted, I am the Black heir, and now that everyone else is on holiday, my workload has only increased. And it's not simply a matter of my Master-level training, which I haven't abandoned; there is also the work of reinforcing the enchantments on Hogwarts, because the next generation of witches and wizards must be able to learn in safety, as well as everything connected to the district."
"But couldn't you leave some of that to your mothers?"
"What kind of man would I be if I left everything on their slender shoulders? Particularly given that the Hogwarts boarding arrangement already means I can really only attend to the bare minimum of the district's affairs for most of the year..."
I let my shoulders drop a little, conveying genuine regret.
"...while my mothers have to work relentlessly without any rest. So I, as a good son, ought to take at least some of that burden from them during the summer."
"I see."
Rita looked thoughtfully around the hall, which was being tidied up around us.
"So you will fulfill the royal commission eventually?"
"I imagine I'll find time during the school year for two or three portrait rituals. In any case, there are limitations to these rituals, and in some instances they simply cannot be performed at all..."
"Could you say more?"
"I think not."
I shook my head.
"Because if I do, our conversation will turn into a scholarly lecture that very few people will find interesting."
"I expect you're right. In that case, perhaps we might shift the topic slightly? What can you tell us about the wizards who attacked today? I had heard rumors that incidents of this kind were beginning to happen across Britain, but..."
She pressed her lips together.
"...I didn't want to believe it."
"What can I say? Rats have always been rats."
I shrugged.
"At a time when we need to stand together in order to survive, when even such implacable rivals as the United States, Britain, and Russia have buried the hatchet, when werewolves, vampires, and other sentient beings have found common ground with wizards and ordinary people alike, understanding that none of us will survive the Convergence alone..."
I clenched my fists, using Occlumency to channel the feeling, wanting my next words to land with as much force as possible.
"...these rats have decided they can grab a little power for themselves! They don't want to work for it. They don't want to earn people's respect or care for them. They've chosen the easy road, the road of terror! They think that all they need to do is frighten people, and then they can live comfortably off the proceeds. But they seem to have forgotten that the Grimm respond first and foremost to negative emotions! They will be the first to die, swept away, because nobody will want to help them."
"Well."
Rita shook her head.
"These people have made you genuinely angry."
"Of course they have."
I shook my head.
"I have nothing but contempt for those who believe they can do as they please. In this country, there is only one person who might lay claim to that, the Queen, and even she operates within the laws she herself upholds. But these..."
I shook my head.
"People like that need to be burned out. With Fiendfyre or ordinary napalm, depending on whether or not you happen to be a wizard."
"Understood. And what would you say to those who are being pressured and threatened by these reckless elements of our society?"
"Well, you always have a choice. You can continue to endure, or you can leave. The Black Quarter, the Mungo Quarter, the Royal Quarter, the Ministry of Magic Quarter—the full list of districts being built to serve as defensive positions against the Grimm—is printed daily in the newspaper *Britain Today*, and in other papers as well, though less regularly. You can always come to one of these districts."
"And what would be expected of people who did?"
"I can't speak for everyone."
I shook my head.
"But in our district, for instance, you would be expected to work hard. You can certainly come and simply purchase an apartment, but then how would you look your neighbors in the eye, knowing they worked for the good of the district while you contributed nothing?"
"Could you give some examples of the work?"
"Men are mainly employed in construction. No need to worry about safety. There is a Healer on every site, and all workers are provided with small doses of potions that help them find the energy for their families even at the end of a full working day. Women are largely engaged in harvesting ingredients. Some also brew basic potions that are then distributed to the workers. All work is overseen by masters, and all of it is paid."
"Is it true that gold coins have come into use in your district, and that wages are paid in them?"
The question came as a shout from the audience, but I chose to answer it.
"Yes. Such coins are in use in the Royal Quarter as well, and they will shortly be adopted in all the others. We have already agreed on the gold, silver, and copper content of each denomination. Now it is simply a matter of establishing production. Though not everyone will have the right to mint them, naturally."
"I see."
Rita glanced toward the audience with mild displeasure but chose to ignore the interruption rather than make a scene, and continued to shower me with questions.
*This is what the attackers looked like.*
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