With Good Intentions

Responses to the public assault on the gravid war hero happened all at once.

From behind the Minister, two portraits cast capture charms into the chaos below them, trapping the insurrectionists within magical barricades to protect them from the returned ex-pats straining to damage the assassins aiming to kill a mother and her unborn child. Persecuted minorities recognized ethnic cleansing when they saw it.

“Is that all of them!?” Narcissa’s Disillusion’d portrait called out.

“I believe so,” Dumbledore’s sad voice confirmed as he worried over the witch laying near the base of his enclosure.

Aurors, staged in disguises within the crowd threatening to riot in the streets, spread themselves around each penned-in group of assailants to prevent vigilantees from applying street justice to M.A.D.E.’s trapped extremists.

The former refugees attacked the arbiters of exclusion despite powerful magical protections. 

“Prat,” Lucius’ chief legal strategist chastised with a wry grin, “You owe me a trip to Paris. I told you Molly would use a muggle weapon. Too many years living with Arthur-The-Tinkerer,” the witch panted out as pain sliced through her.

“You can call me a prat, an arse or anything you like, just — stay with me, love.”

Her voice strained with the struggle to master the pain — “Trying…” 

Healers and squib medics, who’d been secreted just inside the doors leading to the Minister’s balcony, lost no time in treating her. Hermione’d insisted on having squibs with muggle triage experience nearby when she’d agreed to be the bait in this gambit to end Molly and her followers once and (hopefully) for all.

Facing the loss of another life partner, Lucius snapped — “Save her, please!”

“Lucius… Stop shouting… Doing their best…”

“Stay with me, love. All of you.”

“’s too early. They won’t survive if… ‘m sorry…”

“If you leave me I will paint that nursery green and fly my sons on my Firebolt as infants!”

“Put a sock in it, husband…” the grievously injured Lady gasped out as they dug into the wound to remove the projectile, “…love you… Was worth it… You’re all free…” then she lost consciousness.

No auror, not even Harry Potter himself, could’ve changed the outcome of that much magic aimed at the deteriorating protections enclosing the fascists who hadn’t the speed or skill to Disapperate.

The Second Wizarding War ended a second time with the shattering of magical shields and the screams of people offended to be killed by those they’d tried to remove from magical Britain.