The announcement of the war on Ireland led to a wave of national support. The Goblin relations Secretary noted an increase in the purchase of Ministry bonds. The House of Lords had received numerous letters praising their willingness to take action. To many, it seemed Britain was awakening from its lethargy and was willing to take the lead again.

It was a rainy day on Diagon Alley. Still, that did nothing to quell the enthusiasm that those assembled felt. The Aurors were gathered for their departure to Ireland. Ranks upon ranks of Aurors dressed in red robes filled the plaza in front of the Palace of the Lords, all standing at attention. The First Auror regiment, as always on Palace duty looked in envy at their colleagues who would soon be experiencing action.

The steps that led up to the Palace were filled with personalities. The Minister of Magic, flanked by Lords Malfoy, Black, Lestrange and Macmillan and Bartemius Crouch, while Headmaster Dumbledore stood to the side. Lord Potter, currently out of favour stood forgotten in the back. There had been few actions since the Declaration of War nineteen days ago. Some reported attempts by Irish Aurors to break through the ward were reported by the Magical Transportation Department. An intervention on the western coast had been repulsed, the shady boats the Irish had used to cross the sea blasted into oblivion. Today a decisive strike would be done. Nearly two thirds of the Ministry's forces would be engaged in the action, the largest Britannia had seen since the war with Grindewald.

A powerful looking wizard left the Auror ranks, his gold trimmed robes showing his significance. A flag carrier followed in his wake, the wind furling the flag, displaying Merlin's imposing figure on a backdrop of red, emerald, blue and black. Abraxas Malfoy arose from the crowd, walking to the speaker dais that had been erected on the steps. The assembled crowd and even some of the normally restrained Aurors cheered. 'Malfoy! Malfoy! Malfoy!' This was the wizard who had helped Britain raise itself from the ashes and be reborn like the Phoenix. Abraxas raised his hands, the audience falling quiet instantly.

'Legatus Scrimgeour, have you the will and ability to do the Lords' will?' Abraxas spoke the ancient words of war to the Auror.

'I have both, my Lord, I will bring you triumph or my corpse forever rot on foreign lands,' said Scrimgeour, bowing from the waist.

'Sonorus,' casted Abraxas, this time addressing the troops and the crowd. 'I wish I were going with the brave wizards to dispense justice upon the Irish. We are Britannia and we are not to be trifled with. Attack one British Wizards and you attack them all. Behind me stands the widow of Ambassador Diggory. She wishes the Irish to pay for their most heinous crimes. Who are we to decline such divine justice?' The crowd cheered, riled up with nationalistic feeling and pride. Once the audience had calmed down, Abraxas spoke again.

'Wizards will fall in this venture,' said Abraxas, his voice toned down, causing some in the back to stretch forward to try to hear. 'Good Aurors will never live to see the sun arising on our shores. But their names will be honoured, their glory eternal!'

Applause rang from the audience, with cheers from the Aurors. The national anthem was sung, then the Aurors turned right as one and marched towards the Apparition spot.

'Excellent speech, Abraxas, endearing to the plebs,' said Cygnus.

'A few too many complicated concepts for them to understand there,' said Dimitry, joining up with the two, 'but it will have to do.'

'Let us hope this war will be short,' said Abraxas, 'I don't think we can win a prolonged fight. Thirty years have passed since the last major war. People have forgotten its horrors, but they will be reminded if this war drags out.'

'You do remember it is the Irish we are speaking about, here,' said Cygnus, 'They stand no chance against our Aurors.'

'It is not the victory I am concerned about, friends,' said Abraxas, 'it is how we handle the victory that worries me.'

Once every single Auror had Apparated to the Wizarding port on the western shores of Britain, they were greeted by another enthusiastic crowd. The small population of the port had been gathered to wish the troops well. The Port Master himself had commissioned the ceremony, and after the usual speeches and ceremonies, the Aurors were boarding the ships. Similar to Durmstrang's fabled ship, the instruments used to project British power over long distances overseas were deceivingly ornamented on the outside. The inside was increased ten fold through careful use of expansion charms, although the travel conditions were still cramped and it took a large fleet to transport two thirds of the Ministry's forces overseas.

'Enjoyed the ceremonies, did you Rufus?' asked Alastor, joining his friend in the small cabin he had aboard the flagship.

'They are an important part of our history, Alastor,' said Rufus, 'it helps motivate the Aurors and keeps the population happy.'

'Still, surely you notice how every one of the Purebloods keep telling us how they wish they were coming up with us, and yet I can't seem to notice their absence,' said Alastor.

'You say things too harshly Alastor,' said Rufus, 'you have to learn to pander to the elite.'

'That is why you are made Legatus and I am still a lowly Auror,' said Alastor, 'you do well with the upper crowd.'

'You are my second in command Alastor, I don't think that is quite a lowly position,' said Rufus.

The two were interrupted by a ruddy faced recruit bursting into the room. 'Sir we have reached Irish waters!'

'Very well,' said Rufus, standing up and drawing his wand, 'Ready the troops Alastor, we may face resistance.'

The statue of Justice on the fore of the flagship broke water first as she rose from the deep. The others soon followed, the assembled fleet spelling doom for the Irish Magi Council. It seemed as if the Irish Transportation Department had not done its work. Not a single Irish Auror awaited to do battle with their British counterparts. The shores were empty, the sand and green hills devout of enemy presence. Not willing to risk damage to the valuable vessels, as soon as the last Auror disembarked the fleet returned to the deep, far from Irish wands and their nasty Infernos.

Creidhne was under full alert since the Auror had returned with their claims refused. The already cramped walled city was overflowing as Wizards and Witches from the countryside brought their families to the one place they thought would protect them from harm. The Irish Magi Council had attempted to land on British shores, but lacking the more advanced transportation of their neighbours they had lost several shady boats filled to the brim with Aurors to the unforgiving cold waters as they were blasted from the shores. Since then, Ireland, confident in the impregnable fortress of Creidhne had stood its ground. Several Magi had called for conscription, and the Auror ranks were swelled by poorly trained militia. Lacking Auror robes, and without the means to manufacture them in large stock on such short notice, they made a colourful patch on the outer walls of Creidhne, as they patrolled. Aurors had been dispersed throughout the Militia ranks in an attempt to provide some discipline. Even now, one of them, a particularly tall Auror was yelling at two young men for being caught drinking Firewhiskey on duty.

Still wisdom was not completely lost upon the Irish Magi Council. A regiment comprised of only elite Aurors, led by veterans of the Grindewald War, was stationed inside the Fortress itself, defending the Irish elite and government. By Magi Decree, signed unanimously by the entire council the fortress was sealed for the duration of the war, refugees being forced to find housing in the cramped city outside. If one had sufficient coin and a desire to make a donation for the war effort, certain compensations applied. Often had the gates opened at night, a richly dressed family from the country making their way with Aurors escorting them. Such was the way of life after all.

The atmosphere in the British camp was far more disciplined, although their blood boiled with a desire for action. Currently the Ministry forces were behind a hill, having walked there so as to avoid triggering a response from the Irish Magical Transportation Department. Rufus paced in front of his men, a scroll of parchment with the plans of Creidhne in his hands, awaiting the words of the scouts.

'Legatus,' bowed the scout out of breath, as he had run all the way.

'Take it easy Kingsley, catch your breath,' said Rufus, rolling up the scroll. 'What have your eyes seen?'

'Militia, sir,' said Kingsley, 'they are spread over the North wall.'

'You are sure of this,' said Rufus, signalling Alastor to come closer, reopening his scroll and laying it on a table.

'Yes sir, they were dressed as militia and acted as such,' said Kingsley.

'And you weren't seen?' asked Alastor.

'No, sir, I doubt any of them could see through Invisibility cloaks,' said Kinglsey, 'None reacted to my presence.'

'You can't assume since they didn't react they hadn't seen you Kingsley,' said Alastor, 'Keep in mind that they may want to make us think we caught them unawares. It might be a trap.'

'Yes sir, I'll keep that in mind,' said Kinglsey.

'Good lad,' said Rufus, patting him on the shoulder, 'I'll make sure to mention you in my report. Take your place in the ranks now and draw your wand.'

Kinglsey walked proudly back to his place in the Second Regiment, his mates asking him for details. He was sure to embellish his mission enough to make it seem life threatening, but ensured them he had not been seen. The whispering continued until even the Thirteenth Auror Regiment had heard the details of Kingsley's exploits.

'A good Auror, that one,' said Rufus, watching Kingsley leave.

'Needs to be a bit more vigilant,' said Alastor, 'but his heart's in the right place.'

'Merlin needed to be more vigilant according to you Moody,' said Rufus, 'We attack the north wall and make our way up Freedom Boulevard to the Fortress. There are mostly shops and small buildings, if I recall correctly, so we are less likely to be casted at from houses on the way. Is that vigilant enough for your tastes?'

'What about once we reach the Fortress,' asked Moody, 'the walls there are surely to be warded far better than the North wall.'

'We shall see,' said Rufus, rolling up the scroll, 'Sound the advance.' The flag of Merlin was raised, the Regimental flags following, and then pushed forward. Auror Officers ordered the advance, the sea of Red Robes making their way silently up the hill.

The panic in Creidhne could be seen even from the British ranks as the Militia spotted the Merlin flag. Some had fled the wall, although most stood their ground, their courage bolstered by the Aurors dispersed amongst their ranks.

'Steady,' said the imposing Irish Auror, walking down the length of the wall, 'The wall is warded, you have nothing to worry about. Await my command.'

'Draw wands! At the double,' shouted Rufus, leading his wizards from the front. The Aurors increased their pace, rushing towards casting distance.

'Which regiments are Unforgivable certified, Alastor?' asked Rufus, turning his head towards Moody.

'The Second, Third, Fifth and Thirteenth,' said Alastor, 'The First Guard also is, but they are back on Palace duty, as usual. Wouldn't want the sons of nobility to dirty their boots on Irish soil.' Rufus ignored Moody's jab.

'Have those at the front, keep the rest on reserve,' ordered Rufus. An assistant rushed with the commands, the change in formation occurring slowly as the four elite regiments increased pace and the other eight slowed down. It had been a while since formations had been practised and the sluggish response showed.'

Finally the distance was covered, the adrenalin rising as the first spells would fly and their comrades would die. A deceiving quiet set on the battlefield as the British and Irish faced each other off, the second spread along the wall, the first in a checker formation on the grass outside.

'Give them a volley,' shouted the Irish Auror, raising his wand and sending a Killing Curse dead on towards the assembled British. The others had taken his cue as spells began to fly-Unforgivables from most of the Aurors and an assortment of other spells, ranging from Stunners to Blasting Charms, to Disarmament charms.

'Line formation,' roared Rufus, awaiting the Aurors to shuffle in place. While the stunned could be revived and the disarmed could collect their wands, the Killing Curses left permanent gaps in the ranks. The Aurors reacted well under fire, not a single spell flying back until ordered.

'Front rank kneel,' ordered Rufus. Upon command, the front line went down on one knee, allowing their comrades in the back a clear line of fire.

'Front rank, Reducto at the wall,' ordered Rufus, the flags cloth swirling to display the Rune for the charm.

'Second rank, Avada Kedavra volley at the enemy,' ordered Rufus, casting his own Killing Curse, striking an unfortunate Militia Wizard who fell forward, past the battlement, falling on the soft grass underneath. First blood had been drawn.

'Cast!' roared Alastor. The trails the spells left gave a glow to the grass underneath, as Irish Militia and Aurors not covered by the battlements begun to be mowed from the wall. The slower Reductos hit the wall, causing the wards to glow yellow.

'What did I tell you boys, we are safe up here,' said the Auror, moving from his place behind a stone battlement to cast a killing curse at an unfortunate British Auror. This seemed to encourage the Irish, as the Militia increased its rate of casting, while the Aurors continued their usual fast volleys of Killing Curses.

The second round of Reductos caused the wards to glow a pure white, while some stones seemed to be dislodged from the place the builders had set for them. The walls trembled, shaking those on top and sending waves of fear through the ranks of Militia. Some of the more astute Militia had noticed this and far away from the officers the ranks were thinning, both from the English Killing Curses and desertions to perceived safe places in the city.

'Steady boys,' roared the Auror, 'Let's send them back where they came from! 'Avada-' He did not get to finish his spell as the Reductos had reduced the wall section underneath him to rubble. The wards, of poor quality had not resisted the constant bombardment and the volley had demolished the wall, burying several unfortunate Aurors and Militia under rubble and making some fly unaided for the first time in their life from the force of the blast.

The tall Irish Auror was currently flying to the air, enjoying the situation in a moment of perverse fate as he was heading towards the British ranks. A trained Auror, he had a perfect grip on his wand, which remained in his hand even now. Casting a slowing charm, he slowed his descent prepared to cast the Killing Curse at whoever seemed to hold the higher rank in the vicinity of his landing. Spotting an Auror dressed in red robes with a gold trim, surrounded by flag carriers and assistants he took careful aim and steadied himself to cast the final spell of his life.

A knife slit his throat as his lips were beginning to form the words to end another's life. Alastor Moody wiped his bloodied life on the dead Auror's robes before sheathing it, as Rufus turned surprised.

'Constant vigilance, Rufus,' said Alastor.

'Thank you, Alastor, you are too kind,' said Rufus, turning his attention back to the fight. 'Regiments advance; Reserve regiments stay back and clear the wall. First Regiment to enter the city gets decorated.'

The four elite regiments moved at a run towards the gap in the wall that had been created, racing to outrun each other. The gap was quite wide, allowing the four regiments to pass abreast, stamping over rubble, Irish bodies and several torn flags from the collapsed gatehouse. The eight fresh unengaged regiments started trading spells with the remaining Irish Militia and Aurors on the wall. Soon, however, the Militia turned tail and ran, while the Aurors started a fighting retreat down the treacherous narrow little streets up to the Fortress.

The Irish Magi Council, watching the battle from the highest tower of Creidhne castle had been horrified. The Archmage was at a loss for words, his hands trembling on his staff as he saw the wall being obliterated to nothingness. The War Magi threw down his staff of office and drew his wand. The Internal Affairs Magi approached him.

'What are you doing?' said the Internal Affairs Magi, 'We are still in closed session.'

'Our session is useless,' said the War Magi, 'My place is down with the Aurors.' With that he made his way down the stairs, drawing the stares of the well to do crowd assembled outside Creidhne castle. The War Magi, dressed in fine state robes climbed the wall and took his place in the Auror ranks. The Aurors respected the wizard who would stand with them in their fight. A runner had been dispatched to the Southern Wall and reinforcements should arrive shortly, but for now a single regiment stood between the English host and the fortress.

'Wizards,' spoke the War Magi, 'friends. This Fortress is the heart of Ireland and we are its keepers. As long as I draw breath, no English will step in our most holy domain. Stand firm and remember what you fight for. Freedom!' The Aurors tightened the grips they had on their wands as the Merlin Flag could be seen on the Freedom Boulevard.

The few Aurors who had tried to conduct a fighting retreat had fallen prey to the Killing Curses of the Thirteenth Regiment, first to enter the city. Even now, with Rufus at the front, the British Aurors ran towards the fortress.

'Forward lads, to victory,' shouted Rufus as the taller walls of the Fortress could be seen. The narrow boulevard did not allow the British to deploy their superior numbers and the Thirteenth Regiment was the only one currently facing the Irish.

'Ignore the Irish,' said Rufus, 'the wall. Bring down the wall.' As commanded by officers Reductos flew, making the wards sparkle but not even touching the wall. The first rank was beginning to thin out, as the Irish killing curses made widows of British witches. Upon command the first two ranks were rotated, the Reducto barrage continuing unhinged.

'Bring it down,' swore Rufus, as the wards began to glow yellow. Shouts came up from the rear as the Militia and Aurors from the South wall had went around the fortress and struck the British in the rear. The poorly trained tenth regiment, made up of mostly raw recruits was being shredded to pieces by the Irish Aurors. The militia had taken positions on the side streets and in the shops and houses, taking whatever cover they could provide and stunned whoever they could. Fewer and fewer British Aurors were being revived as their comrades lay dying on the soiled cobblestone. As per rules of engagement, a stunned opponent was not harmed, being considered a prisoner of war as long as he remained stunned. The large numbers of British Aurors trapped in between could do nothing. Pushing forward did nothing against the warded wall while pushing backwards did nothing, there being no room to manoeuvre.

'Damned trap,' swore Rufus. The gates were being opened and the Irish were pouring out of the fortress, a richly dressed wizard leading them. Even the Thirteenth Regiment began to falter as the Irish scored hits on them without a single hit being returned. The wards were glowing a lighter yellow, but were still far off from the white that heralded their doom. Eying the situation he came to a decision. It was the time to act or to retreat. Two particularly large townhouses were propped against the wall, as the vicinity of the fortress was a fashionable place to live in for those who could not afford to live in the fortress itself.

'Alastor, do you see the houses?' asked Rufus, pointing towards the houses closest to the wall.

'Yes, what about them?' asked Alastor, 'This is not really the time to be discussing Irish Architecture.'

'Do you think they are warded?' Alastor's eyes dawned with recognition.

'Only one way to find out,' said Moody, 'Reducto!' The spell hit the townhouse on the left, ripping through a marble column and bringing down the balcony it supported.

'Regiment, fire on the houses,' ordered Rufus as he fired his own Reducto at the house. The unwarded houses were soon turned to rubble, falling quickly under the barrage, creating a mountain of debris next to the wall.

'Climb the debris, advance!' ordered Rufus, drawing a short dagger with his left hand, his wand held tightly in his right. The Thirteenth Regiment seem to gather new strength as its thinned ranks and spent Aurors charged at the gates. The Irish managed to get off another round of Killing Curses before the British were upon them. The organised volley fire had turned into a one on one duel, the spell variety increasing. Rufus himself had climbed at the top of the debris first, followed by Alastor.

An Irish Auror moved to intercept him, but a well placed Killing Curse ended his life before he had any chance of heroics. Rufus stabbed the one to his left as he pushed forward towards the stone courtyard. The Regiment was behind him, the Cruciatus Curse being heard more often than the Killing Curse as they poured their hatred and their dismay at the losses they suffered into their spells. Rufus was the first to lay step on the stone courtyard in front of the Castle. The Irish Aurors in his path were being taken care of. The right side had been nearly as successful, clearing up resistance. A small pocket of Irish Aurors still gathered around the War Magi, as they duelled the Thirteenth Regiment, still guarding the gate with their lives.

'Avada Kedavra!' Rufus casted, joined by Alastor Moody, ending the life of two Aurors guarding the rear of the War Magi. Their attention distracted, pressed on from two sides, the Irish Aurors lay dead on the cobblestone. Only the War Magi remained, his ornate robes in crass contrast with the death and destruction surrounding him.

'You have fought honourably sir,' said Rufus, 'lay down your wand and order the surrender and I shall let you live.'

'Avada Kedavra!' casted the Irish War Magi. Rufus, dropped to the ground as fast as he could, the Killing Curse ending the life of a veteran of the Thirteenth Regiment behind him who had not had the time to dodge. Alastor spoke the words that ended the War Magi's life, extended a hand to help his friend up, and then moved to the rear of the column to see to the fighting.

'Are you all right, Legatus,' asked Kingsley, coming up next to his superior.'

'Yes Kingsley,' said Rufus, 'a good wizard, he fought until the end. Hoist the flag on the gatehouse.'

The flag carriers climbed the tower, ritualistically severed the flag poles and burned the Leprechaun flags and hoisted the Merlin flag on top of the Gatehouse towers. A cry of dismay could be heard from the rear as the Irish troops saw the British flag flying above Irish soil once more, but they lay down their wands and surrendered. The fight was lost today.

Rufus made his way escorted by a few veteran Aurors to the tall doors of Creidhne castle, using his wand to blast them inwards. Inside, the Entrance Hall was filled with members of the Irish Magi Council, led by a now calmer but resigned Archmage.

'Archmage, the city is lost,' said Rufus, 'surrender the city to me and we shall avoid any further bloodshed.'

'If I do that, nearly thirty years of Irish Independence will amount to nothing,' said the Archmage regretfully. The British Aurors drew their wands to underline the point.

'It was a dream built on weak foundations,' said Rufus, 'Ireland belongs to the British, or at least it will when our Lords arrive to take ownership of it and accept your formal surrender. Will you yield or must we keep fighting?'

'I, Archmage of Ireland, Head of the Irish Magi Council surrender Creidhne to you,' said the wizard regretfully handing his ceremonial staff to Rufus.

'Kinglsey, place them under arrest, but treat them well, they are soon to be British citizens once more' said Rufus, 'I would recommend you send dispatches to let the people know. We wouldn't want any unfortunate accidents to happen.'

'Of course Legatus,' said the Internal Affairs Magi.

A couple of the younger Aurors had found some brooms and had flown up to the highest tower and replaced the Leprechaun flag with the Merlin flag, which flew proudly on what was British soil once more. The Internal Affairs Magi had sent the members of his department that he could still find with a declaration for the populace. It would be his last major act of office.

Several Aurors were now drinking in a fateful pub in Creidhne, although they were not aware of the fact. As they were toasting to dead comrades and to Legatus Rufus, the speaker could be heard detailing the Internal Affairs Office's Declaration. The population had gravitated to the speakers, listening to what was to come.

“As of today, the city of Creidhne has been surrendered informally to the Legatus Rufus in command of the British Auror Regiments on Irish soil. The bloodshed shall end and no one needs to die in vain. All acts of violence and harm against British Aurors are a crime punishable to the full extent of both Irish and British Laws. All offenders will be tried by an ad-hoc war tribunal.

I beg you to respect this law. This is the time to be with your families, not out dieing on the streets of Creidhne.

Signed,

Internal Affairs Mage”

Sobs could be heard in the city all night as loved ones were found dead or wounded, while cries and prayers went up for those who were still alive, and Ireland itself. Rufus Scrimgeour had forbidden looting and desecrating of bodies, be they Irish or British and had Auror patrols all night on rotation. Anyone caught was to be judged by a war tribunal.

The dead had been gathered by each family and an Irish state funeral was held for the fallen, both Aurors and Militia. The Irish Aurors were allowed to assemble one last time as an honour guard, while the bodies were covered with the Leprechaun flag and entombed into the Creidhne Necropolis. The ceremony had to be over by noon as representatives of Britain would be arriving. Hired labourers had been working all night to clear the Freedom Boulevard of rubble and clean the path to the fortress.

The population had assembled to see their new rulers. Fearing disorder, the Aurors formed a wall alongside both sides of the Freedom Boulevard, holding the population at bay. At exactly the established time, the British Delgation, formed out of Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold, Law Enforcement Head Bartemius Crouch, Lord Malfoy, Lord Potter and Lord Macmillan Apparated outside the former Freedom Gate, with a battalion of Auror Guards from the First Auror Regiment. The Aurors took position surrounding the delegates and marched in parade step up the ruined boulevard. The population was dead quiet as they saw the small parade. The fright of disorder had proved to be exaggerated, as some elements of society already saw the benefits to a British presence returned. Sales in pubs had tripled since the Aurors were here, and they paid well, unlike impoverished Irish patrons. Several merchants anticipated an increase in business as well. Freedom, while nice and dandy, after all did not pay for your food or your family.

The Irish Magi Council, in their last official capacity, was gathered to greet the delegates outside Creidhne castle. The negotiations would be conducted behind closed doors, however.

'Legatus Rufus,' said Abraxas, 'Let me be the first to offer congratulations for your triumphant victory. You may have ended the war in one clean stroke.'

'Thank you my lord, you are too kind,' said Rufus, bowing slightly.

'Not such a clean stroke,' whispered Alastor, 'we lost 10% of our effectives. Nobility can't be bothered with that detail, though, can they?'

'Now is not the time, Alastor,' whispered Rufus, as he accepted praise from the Minister of Magic. The Aurors were taunting the Auror Guards, looking defiant at them. The Auror Guards merely exchanged murderous glances with the regular regiments, but did not respond. Duelling was frowned upon in the Auror Corps. Duelling in front of the Minister, the Lords, and their own Department Head would have brought upon grave consequences.

'Lord Malfoy, what is your impression on the Irish surrender,' said the Minister.

'Only a complete surrender would do,' said Lord Malfoy, 'the complete transfer of power back to the British Ministry of Magic and the complete disbandment of the Irish State.'

'You are right of course,' lied Millicent Bagnold, 'that was my idea also.'

'Certainly, Minister,' said Abraxas smiling. The Minister of Magic had begun to take his advice far more often than usual, but it suited him. The Ballroom of the Palace would hold the Peace Talks, the ancient room lined with Auror Guards, adding to the pressure the Irish Magi Council felt already.

'Archmage,' said Millicent Bagnold, 'let me introduce Lords Malfoy, Macmillan and Potter and Law Enforcement Department Head Bartemius Crouch.'

'A pleasure,' said the Archmage, although the words seem to come out rather difficult.

'I am sure it is,' said Abraxas earning a scoff from Richard Potter.

'I regret we have to meet under such circumstances, Archmage,' said Richard Potter, extending his hand.

'Let us dispense with the pleasantries Minister. Ireland is at your mercy, I have allowed my staff to come up with what we believe is an appropriate solution to this conflict,' said the Archmage handing out several scrolls of parchment. The British studied it, while the Irish Magi Council appeared eager to please.

'Ireland is to maintain its national identity by turning it into a Dominion; The Irish Magi Council will remain in its current form; Irish Aurors will remain as one regiment to maintain order; Irish institutions will remain; Irish foreign policy to be handled by Britain,' read Abraxas out loud, 'Gentlemen it would seem you had not lost this war from reading this. Minister, this won't do.' The Archmage's good mood plummeted.

'Lord Malfoy is of course correct,' said Millicent, looking uncomfortable with the situation, 'the only measure we can accept is an unconditional surrender, the disbandment of all Irish Magical Institutions and the joining of Ireland to Britain, as a province ruled by a Governor of our choosing.' The Minister of Magic looked towards Abraxas who bowed his head slightly.

'That would destroy everything we have built,' protested the Archmage, 'even before we were allowed to have a say in our rule. Now you want us to be ruled by an appointed English governor?'

'Whatever goodwill you had from us and moderate self determination you lost when you decided to rebel,' said Lord Malfoy standing up, 'you will sign the agreement as dictated by us, or the war will continue until there is no more Ireland.'

'Minister?' said the Archmage.

'Lord Malfoy must have used Legilimency on me,' joked Millicent, 'that is our official position.'

The Archmage seemed reluctant, but signed the roll of parchment. After that he threw the quill down and left the room without another word. The rest of the Irish Magi Council signed their names and followed their leader into exile. After adding their signatures to the parchment, Lord Potter more reluctant than the others, the Minister handed the parchment to Bartemius Crouch.

'Barty have this placed in the safest vault in Gringotts, under all necessary precautions.'

'Of course Minister,' said Barty, 'I will look into it myself. It is after all a prized document. May I suggest we depart back for Britain?'

'We did what we set out to do,' said the Minister, taking the lead rather reluctantly.

'If I may make a suggestion, Minister,' said Abraxas, 'I recommend Rufus Scrimgeour be granted absolute powers in Ireland until we elect a governor.'

'As always Lord Malfoy, your suggestions are in line with my wishes,' said the Minister.

'If we are on that aspect, might I suggest Orion Black as governor?' said Abraxas.

'While, that is a most interesting proposal,' said the Minister, 'I will nominate him in front of the House of Lords. This is after all a proposal of External Affairs until Ireland is formally joined to Britain.'

'Naturally,' replied Lord Malfoy, much to Lord Potter's chagrin.