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Patron (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

Chapter 31: Hope and Regrets
Chapter 31: Hope and Regrets

The last lesson of the Hogwarts Self-defense Club before the Eostra Break confirmed Hermione Granger's worst expectations. A number of witches had copied that twit Greengrass and wore robes that would be considered daring even for a 6th year. There was so much skin showing, it looked more like some attempt at a fertility ritual than a defense lesson when they gathered for the introduction.

Although she had to correct herself - the fertility rituals of the Faithful she had read about usually were done while in the nude, and those hussies didn't go that far. Some sixth years came close though, and the witch was certain though that they'd like to try such a ritual anyway, with her Harry.

She was almost glad that Parkinson didn't try to catch Harry's attention, but was still aiming for Ron. Almost, though - Ron already had the thankless job of shielding Harry from the advances of those witches, and the Slytherin witch hitting on him was only adding to his stress. She was up to something, but so far the curse hadn't been triggered, so she didn't mean to harm Harry. And she wasn't wearing a few strategically placed scraps of fabric and illusions either.

Of course, with more competition, Greengrass was now trying twice as hard. The blonde was standing in the first row, and if she pushed her barely covered chest out any further, she'd probably break her spine. Despite years of experience in acting the dutiful, obedient retainer in public, Hermione would have had to struggle to keep from scowling openly at the twit, if not for a little detail the hussies didn't know.

"But before that, we'll start with another round of dodge and shield training," Harry concluded his speech. "Our usual instructors are unfortunately currently unavailable to help us out." Some of the slower students cheered at the announcement. The cheers died down though as Harry continued: "My wand and my friends though will be taking their place, and casting the stinging hexes during the practise."

With that, Hermione, Luna, Aicha, Neville, Ginny, Susan and Padma stepped up to face the other students.

Usually, Hermione would have resented the wording that singled her out as Harry's retainer instead of his friend. Today though the witch was barely annoyed. She smiled politely at the assembled students, and kept her expression pleasantly bland when the assorted purebloods trying to poach Harry realized just who would be hexing them. And where she'd be aiming her hexes.

Hermione glanced over at Padma, who wasn't quite used to hiding her feelings. The Indian witch was smiling ferally at Parkinson, who was looking distinctly less smug than before. Not as bad as Edgecombe though. Greengrass was still smiling, but Davis looked like a deer caught in headlights for a moment.

Oh yes, Hermione thought, raising her wand, this would be a very enjoyable lesson. Cathartic even.

*****​

Draco Malfoy smiled as he once again walked towards the empty classroom where Edgecombe would be waiting for him, ready to report on what she had seen - and done - in Potter's little club. He had a couple books in his bag, and parchment - just in case he had to claim that he was meeting her for some tutoring.

The Ravenclaw witch was there, trying to hide as expected, and looking even more uncomfortable than usual. Good.

"Good evening, Miss Edgecombe," he said while closing the door.

"Good evening, Mister Malfoy," the witch pressed out through clenched teeth. Draco smiled widely.

"Please sit down," he said, after he had let her standing for a minute while he had slowly taken out his books, parchment, and the Self-Writing Quill. Mother had asked for a more literal report, and he'd provide. He would add his insights after the transcript.

The witch was slowly sitting down, as if she expected to feel pain. She didn't seem to be in pain though. Curious.

"So, what happened in this session?" he asked. He was just a student asking for some help. It was, perhaps a bit underhanded to try to profit from a rival's tutoring like that, but by no means criminal. Another layer of deception, as befitting a Slytherin.

"We practiced dodging," the witch spat out. "Professor Lupin and Mister Black couldn't attend, so Potter's friends cast stinging hexes at us during the training."

Draco chuckled. Her attitude made more sense now. She probably hadn't been able to sit down before the Matron had treated her. That was quite amusing. And the absence of the usual tutors was something the Dark Lord would be interested in as well. "Did the mudblood hex you too?"

"Yes." Her cheek twitched as she admitted to have been abused by Granger.

Draco felt torn between enjoying the pain and humiliation the girl had gone through, and was suffering right now, and feeling outrage at a mudblood overstepping her bounds. Potter shouldn't have ordered a mudblood to hex purebloods, that simply was poor form. But what could one expect from a parchment pureblood? On the other hand, it was delightfully humiliating. To have a mudblood abuse a pureblood blood traitor… he pondered the possibilities while he let Edgecombe stew some more. Finally, he deigned to address her again: "How did the attending students perform?"

"Poorly. Granger and Patil were the worst, but all of Potters friends cast a mean hex, and were very precise with their spells. Only Potter and Weasley didn't hex anyone and stuck to instructing instead."

"Oh? Did you perform poorly as well?" Draco asked in a menacing tone. He already knew the answer from her reaction.

"I was doing better than most witches." She was trembling now.

Draco shook his head. "That's not good enough. You need to catch their attention."

"Those witches who did got hexed worse!" She was almost crying now.

"Stinging hexes are nothing," Draco sneered at the witch. Even for a half-blood, she was pathetic. He had suffered pain curses that would have broken lesser wizards! "Curses on the other hand will do worse." He smiled menacingly.

"That's what Potter said!" Edgecombe blurted out, then covered her mouth with one hand.

"Did he? Interesting." Draco leaned back. "Did anything else happen other than a few blood traitors hexing sheep?"

"No." She shook her head. "Potter still didn't react to the attempts of other witches to seduce him."

"Hm. I see." He didn't, not yet. But he would. For a moment, he missed Pansy. She had known how to interpret such gossip. Then he sneered at his own weakness. She had chosen muggle filth over him! Pansy… "What about Pan... Parkinson?"

Edgecombe hesitated.

"Out with it!" he yelled at her, slapping a hand down on the desk in front of him, and she flinched back.

"She… she was trying to get close to… Weasley!" the witch answered, cringing.

"Weasley? She … I break up with her, and she starts running after that blood traitor?" He was gaping. How low could that witch sink, to go after such scum? To think he had ever considered her a good future wife… he shuddered, revulsed. With an effort worthy of Merlin himself, he controlled his temper and glared at the shaking half-blood in front of him. "How did he react?"

"He was polite, but didn't seem to, ah, return the interest."

Hot rage was bubbling up inside him. He wouldn't be able to control his temper much longer, not after this outrageous humiliation. "Get out before I curse you!"

Edgecombe fled, shaking like a leaf and with tears running down her cheeks. Draco started blowing up desks before she had closed the door behind her. He had to vent his rage, but mere desks, mere things were not enough. He needed something that could feel pain, could bleed, could scream…

He suddenly saw something red flash at him, and before he could react, the world went dark.

*****​

Harry Potter walked out of the floo, finally home after hours on the Hogwarts Express, one of them spent patrolling. If not for Dumbledore and Sirius pulling strings, he and his friends would have had to wait even longer with the hundreds of students and parents who had to go through the Ministry's floo checkpoint. He sighed. The war, never far from his mind, seemed far closer in London than at Hogwarts.

"Already missing the school, Harry? Hermione is a bad influence on you!" his godfather teased him, grinning widely.

"I was just struck how the war changed how we travel to Hogwarts and back. King's Cross Station felt more like an armed holding camp than a station," he explained. Draco disappearing from Hogwarts probably hadn't help either, though why anyone would believe the Dark Lord had kidnapped him was beyond Harry. The foul git almost certainly had ran away to join Voldemort's forces. Or to try to - even the Dark Lord probably had standards. Although Draco would make good cannon fodder.

"There was talk about sending the students through the floos from Hogwarts instead of letting them taking the train. Easier to protect them that way. Tradition won out - this time." Sirius shrugged, as if saying he didn't expect that to last. Behind them, Hermione exited the floo, followed by Remus.

The witch sighed as well, but she sounded more relieved than contemplative. Harry saw her posture relax and her face change from a polite mask to an honest if slightly sad smile as she stopped playing his retainer and started to act as his girlfriend again.

Contrary to other vacations, her parents hadn't met her at the station. The Grangers were still on their world cruise, and would remain so for the foreseeable future. They'd meet them over the summer, but the Eostra Break was too short to justify arranging such a trip. There were simply too many security precautions that would have to be taken to keep everyone safe and to avoid blowing their cover.

A fact Harry was not unhappy about, if he was honest. As selfish as it was, he wanted Hermione near him. He reached out and took her hand to cheer the witch up.

"Kreacher has prepared the cage for Master's Godson's Slave."

And that was it for his attempt to cheer his girlfriend up. He could feel Hermione grow stiff as she forced herself to smile at the house elf. "Thank you, Kreacher, but I'll be sleeping in my usual room." The evil house elf nodded, grumbling what was certainly insults under his breath, and walked away, taking their floating school trunks with him.

Harry glanced over at Sirius and Remus, to make sure the older wizards weren't grinning. He knew they had a bet on how long it would take Hermione to stop 'understanding' the 'poor brainwashed house elf', and start cursing him, but he really didn't want to begin his vacation with an argument. And that would be inevitable, should Hermione notice their expressions. Fortunately, Valérie arrived in the entrance hall at that moment, wearing one of her usual short and flimsy 'house robes', and distracted everyone.

"'ello! I 'ope you 'ad a good trip." The veela embraced them all, with Sirius getting hugged last, but for the longest time. In fact, even after half a minute they they didn't look like they'd plan to separate anytime soon.

Harry was about to cough, to interrupt them, but the look of happiness on his godfather's face stopped him. Instead he took Hermione's hand again, and quietly led her out of the hall.

*****​

Remus Lupin entered the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. Sirius and Valérie were probably still lost to the world in the entrance hall. His friend was spending far less time as Padfoot these days. He was happy for him, but couldn't help feel a bit jealous as well. More than a bit, to be honest.

"'ello Remus," Chantal greeted him. The veela was looking at the meal Kreacher was preparing, adding some touches of her own. Remus saw the raw slabs of meat ready to be grilled, and felt his mouth water. It was too close to the full moon. He knew he could not transform, would not transform during the day, but he sure felt like he would at times. Shivering, he turned away.

Before he could leave the kitchen, Chantal stepped up to him and offered him a raw ham sandwich. At his questioning look - he felt more like growling than talking - she shrugged in that French way, as Sirius called it. "People come to the kitchen if they're 'ungry, n'est-ce pas?"

He nodded. A few bites later, he felt as if the beast lurking inside him had been sated somewhat. Then he felt embarrassed - he probably had devoured the food like an animal in the veela's eye.

If she had been offended she didn't show it though. "Are they still at it?"

"Sirius and Valérie? Yes." Remus nodded. Seeing her smile, he couldn't help but comment. "Valérie seems to have grown very close to him. And he to her."

It wasn't quite a question, but she answered what he was hinting at anyway. "You wonder 'ow the rest of us is going to react to that."

He nodded.

Chantal leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing her legs. Remus couldn't help staring - her robe barely reached her thighs. He should be used to such a display, it was quite common in Sirius's home, but it still affected him. It had to be his beast, so close to the full moon still. She had noticed, and smirked. "You expect jealousy?"

"It would be a normal reaction." Together with insults and hexes. That's how such things tended to play out at Hogwarts, both during his time as a student and as a teacher.

She giggled. "It would be. I assume you'd not be fooled by some fantastic tale of 'ow veela are looking for their chosen mates, and once found, other veela would not dare interfere with such a sacred bond?"

Remus chuckled. "No, I wouldn't." Once, he had. As a teenager. But there was no need to mention that. He knew more about magical creatures these days. And he liked to think he was less gullible.

"The truth is, Sirius is a charming, very charming wizard. And so skilled…" she trailed off, her tongue briefly wetting her lips, and Remus felt his beast stir again. "Many wizards boast like 'e did, when we met in France. Not many boast with such 'umor. And few are those who can make good their claims. We 'ad a very good time in France. Nothing more, nothing less." She giggled. "I suspect 'e wasn't entirely serious when 'e invited us to his 'ome, and we accepted in part because it seemed like a challenge."

That would explain a number of things, Remus thought. His jealousy did increase some though, upon hearing that Sirius's boasts were not just that.

"But as we spent more time 'ere, it became rather obvious that while we all grew closer, both Sirius and our youngest cousin grew more attached to each other. They seem to 'ave a sort of rapport." Chantal smiled wistfully. "Something more serious, you could say," she added with a giggle.

Remus groaned at the pun. But he owed it to his friend to ask: "But… are you sure it's healthy? Sirius is… still dealing with the effects of his time in Azkaban." As always when Remus thought of his friend's ordeal, he felt the burning shame of not having trusted him, not having cared enough to find out what had happened, not having wanted to face him. He owed Sirius so much, he had to make his friend wouldn't be hurt further.

"We are all aware of 'is issues. Is it 'ealthy, as you ask?" Once again she shrugged, the movement causing her robe to slip a bit. Remus forced himself to look at her eyes, and not at her bosom. "Valérie is the most caring of us. She claims she sees more than a very 'urt wizard in need of 'er help. I 'ope she is being 'onest - with us, and with 'erself. So far, we are still, as you might say, sharing. That might change, some of us might meet other people, we might grow apart again, or keep sharing. No one but seers can predict the future, and their prophecies are seldom clear until they 'ave come to pass already."

Remus nodded again. "I guess I can't ask for more."

"It's enough. We might die any time we 'ead out in this war. We should take what 'appiness we can find."

Remus almost winced at that comment. She must have noticed his reaction, since she leaned forward and put her hand on his shoulder. "You too, might think about this."

Remus felt his beast stir again, and fought it back. A tad stiffly, he answered: "I might." Turning away, he headed to his room until he had calmed down.

*****​

"It's getting late, Hermione"

Hermione Granger looked up from the tome on blood magic she was reading in the Black Family Library. "Hm?"

Harry smiled indulgently at her. "It's past midnight already."

She checked her watch. He was right. Time had flown, as it usually did when she was reading. Sighing she closed the tome and stood up, stretching. A glance revealed that Harry was staring, and she smiled, very pleased. In a house with four barely-clad veela, any normal girl would have some doubts about her own appearance, and seeing her boyfriend's reaction was quite reassuring as well as gratifying. And she didn't have to wear a see-through robe either.

Then she realized she had all but ignored Harry for hours while she did her research, and felt guilty. "Sorry," she said, gathering her notes. Harry knew her well enough to know what she was apologizing for; she did it often enough.

"Don't be sorry. It's important work." He waited, smiling, as she stored her notes in her enchanted book bag.

She took a last look around the library, to check she had not left anything, a habit from the Hogwarts library and other public libraries. This library certainly fit its name: Dark shelves, a thick, dark carpet, and the wooden panels visible on the few parts of the walls that were not covered with shelves had darkened with age so much, they almost looked black.

Suddenly, she was overcome with a matching mood. "Did you ever consider just leaving?"

"Hm?" Harry cocked his head.

"I mean, running away. Fake our deaths, leave Britain, leave this war," Hermione made a sweeping gesture that encompassed not just the room, but the country behind the walls.

"And leave our families?" Harry shook his head.

"We could run away with them." Hermione countered.

"And fake everyone's death?" Harry sounded almost amused.

"Blow the place up. Leave some fake bodies." There were some interesting and disturbing spells in this library that would do the job, the witch knew. Just in case there were not enough Death Eaters around to serve as decoys with polyjuice.

"And this?" Harry pointed at his forehead.

Hermione grimaced. "That I am still working on."

"We wouldn't be safe as long as he lives," Harry stated with conviction.

"Yes, and fleeing while we're fighting a war wouldn't be right," the witch agreed with him.

"But you've made some plans anyway." He knew her really well.

"Just in case." If the war went badly. Or if the war was over, and they still hadn't found a way to be together without having to live a lie.

Harry nodded, and held out his hand. "Let's head to bed. Before Kreacher blocks your door and you have to sleep in my room."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. The misguided elf might just do that, should he overhear them and decide to interpret it as an order. Kreacher could be quite creative when it came to such things. It wasn't his fault, of course. Sirius's mother was to blame for the elf's attitude.

She wanted to hex the foul creature anyway.

*****​

"Wheee!"

Harry smiled indulgently at Luna. The blonde witch was bending this way and that, trying to see how she looked in the muggle jeans and pink t-shirt she was wearing between pulling at the fabric. Apparently, she had temporarily forgotten about mirrors. Or just acted like it - one could seldom tell with her.

"Is she always like that?" Dudley asked, sharing Harry's amusement. The two of them, like Neville and Ron, were wearing jeans and various shirts. Ron had gotten an orange t-shirt, of course, but hadn't tried to get the 'Cannons' logo on it. Yet.

Harry nodded. "Yes, D, she is. Thanks again for coming with us." His cousin had heard of their plans to go out in muggle London, and had offered to show them a few nice spots. Harry had accepted the offer at once - Dudley was the same age as he and his friends, and would know more appropriate clubs than Sirius. Or, as Hermione had put it, 'less inappropriate clubs for teenagers'.

"Hey, I have to thank you. Going out with so many beautiful girls? My friends will be so jealous." Dudley chuckled, nodding towards the rest of the group. Aicha, Ginny, Neville, Susan, Ron and Padma were standing around Hermione, who was checking their appearance for 'appropriate muggleness', in Ron's words.

"Do Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon know about this?" Harry asked, in a lower voice.

"They know I'm going out with friends in London," his cousin answered.

"Technically true," Harry nodded.

"I would never lie to my parents," Dudley grinned broadly, and almost as convincingly as he had when he and Harry had been questioned about the disappearance of the cake Petunia had baked for Aunt Marge's visit when they had been six. He had lost a bit of weight since Harry had seen him last time. Boxing seemed to agree with him. Harry's cousin probably would never be slim, but he was now burly-looking rather than fat. Between Dudley and Ron, other teenagers looking for trouble would hopefully pick someone else as a target.

Of course they were not going out all by themselves. Harry glanced towards the latest addition to their group, and the most shockingly dressed - for muggles. Nymphadora, in the shape of a teenager with long, black and blonde hair, wearing fishnets and a black leather miniskirt with a leather and mesh top, noticed and grinned at him.

"So, what are you two plotting?" she asked, coming over to them. She claimed she had picked both her form and clothes with the utmost care, but Harry wasn't sure her gothic punk look had taken that much time.

"Nothing, Miss Doppleganger." Dudley answered, causing her to frown.

"I told you, I'm a metamorphmagus, not a 'doppelganger'!" she huffed, putting her fists on her hips.

Harry's cousin shrugged. "Sorry, you just look so much like one, I get confused."

Nymphadora stared at him. "I can change my body to look like anyone I want, and you say I look like a doppelganger?"

Dudley nodded. "Exactly!"

Nymphadora blinked, then stomped off shaking her head. Harry shook his head. "If she doesn't protect us as she should after this, I am blaming you."

Dudley grinned at him. "She messed with me first."

"That she did," Harry agreed. Nymphadora would get back at his cousin, he knew that, but he didn't feel like mentioning it.

Hermione had finished her inspection of their friends, and joined them for a brief respite from the hail of questions aimed at her. Judging by the look she shot Harry, she hadn't been amused by him leaving her to deal with that alone. He wasn't moved much - he knew she loved to lecture.

"Alright. Everyone is presentable, and should be sufficiently coached in teen culture so any mistakes will be blamed on being slightly drunk and from the countryside," she summarized while running her wand over her black miniskirt and white top to smooth them out. Harry knew she was missing her enchanted robes. He shared the sentiment; going out without all the convenient charms on his clothes almost felt like being naked, but they hadn't had time to get those charms and the protections they needed.

"You plan to get drunk?" Dudley asked, sounding slightly concerned.

"No," Hermione assured him, then pointed at Luna, who was lifting her shirt up to check her underwear. "But it's a better explanation for some of the stuff they'll be doing than drugs."

Dudley stared, then nodded. "I guess so."

"Picture time!" Sirius yelled, holding up a wizard camera. "Gather together so I can take your picture! It's traditional!"

Harry glanced at Hermione, who shrugged. "I've given up on trying to teach him the differences between an American prom and a night in town in London. As long as it makes him happy…"

Harry was rather certain Sirius knew the differences well enough, at least after Hermione's lecture, and was simply teasing the witch. He didn't say anything though. He was also rather certain Hermione had realized the same thing, but was ignoring it.

The group gathered as ordered and spent the next few minutes posing for Sirius, who was taking about a dozen pictures until he was satisfied that the 'muggle tradition' had been sufficiently upheld.

"Remember, kids - me and Moony will keep an eye on you from afar, so don't do anything we wouldn't do!" the animagus declared.

"Anything you, or anything Remus wouldn't do?" Ron asked with a grin. He earned an elbow to the side from his girlfriend for that. "Ow! Just asking for a bit of clarification."

"Me." Sirius and Remus said at the same time, then exchanged glares.

"That's what's protecting us…" Hermione muttered under her breath, but Harry saw that she was smiling.

Harry whispered back "Well, Valérie, Chantal, Laure and Eugénie will be closer." Supposedly Sirius didn't want himself and Remus to look like 'dirty old men stalking kids', and so had asked the veela to follow them into the clubs aimed at teenagers and tweens. Harry wasn't sure if that would work out well. At least the veela would draw attention away from their group, even if they were 'dressing down', as Chantal called it, for this.

They still looked like they were models clubbing in Paris, of course. Dudley had commented on that about half a dozen times so far.

"You know, Harry, you need to have one of them 'drive' you to our house this summer. Piers would die with jealousy." Make that seven times.

On the other hand, the veela's presence would help the other teenage wizards and witches to blend in. And that probably was why Sirius had organized their trip this way.

Harry snorted. His godfather was sharper and more thoughtful than he wanted to appear.

*****​

Fetching a couple of drinks in a muggle club was quite the novel thing, Ron Weasley realized. Instead of simply summoning the stuff - and showing off how well you mastered the spell so you didn't spill anything, unless of course you wanted to spill something by accident, say on a Slytherin - Ron actually had to to stand up and walk over to the bar and get them. And that meant walking through a room packed full of muggle teenagers, half of them dancing in the middle, the rest hanging around low tables and getting drunk. At least that's what it looked like to him. Fortunately, Chantal and Eugénie were not currently dancing, Valérie had gone out 'for some fresh air', meaning, she was probably keeping Sirius company, and Laure was on the loo, which meant the dance floor wasn't quite as crowded as before. You'd think the muggles had never seen a veela before! And they hadn't been wearing too revealing clothing either. Everyone was dressed rather conservatively, in his opinion. His mum would like to hear that.

He slipped between two guys standing at the bar and raised his arm until the bartender, a woman in her twenties with a nose ring and shredded clothes, looked at him. He smiled and raised his voice so she'd understand his order over the music and the buzzing sound of a roomful of talking teenagers: "One Coke, and one…" he briefly checked the list over the mirror for a drink he hadn't tried yet, "... Sprite!" That sounded even a bit magical.

A minute later, two glasses were placed in front of him, and he paid the woman. Judging by the wide smile she flashed him he probably had overdone the tip again. He didn't care - it was Sirius's money, and the head of the Black Family certainly had more than enough. Merlin, Ron had more than enough to be generous to the staff. It wasn't as if this was charity or something.

Grabbing the two glasses, he made his way back to their table, more carefully now. It wouldn't do to spill half the drinks. Padma would be annoyed, she really liked Coca Cola. Ron had drunk Cokes before, but a few of the other drinks available here he had never tried until tonight. While he found the muggle drinks still a bit weird, they were tasty. Not as good as butterbeer, but probably on the same level as pumpkin juice. He had to admit though that the ice inside the drink was a novel idea.

He reached Padma and the others without spilling anything, and his girlfriend beamed at him when he handed her her glass. The wizard briefly looked around after sitting down next to her. Harry and Hermione were curled up on one of the seats. Not quite lost in their own world, but close. Understandable - they usually didn't get to be so open with their affection in public. Ginny was talking to Neville - the poor boy hadn't gotten any rest this evening, it seemed. Ron almost shook his head at that; in Neville's place he'd have told his little sister to shut it long ago. Nymphadora was sitting next to them, watching the room. Susan was lounging next to Dudley, chatting animatedly with Harry's cousin. Ron wasn't sure what was up with that. Dudley was an alright bloke, for a muggle, but he wasn't that interesting. And Luna was… broken broomsticks! Where was Luna?

Ron started to panic. One thing everyone of their group had quickly learned: Luna Lovegood was not to be left out of their sight in muggle London. The quirky blonde had a talent for starting trouble, and one almost-riot caused by her loud observations in the first pub they had visited had been enough for Ron to last for a year. Who'd have thought so many people would react so violently to being told that red was a better color than white for their shirts? Who'd wear a cockerel on their shirt anyway? Well, a few subtle spells and some generous rounds had defused the situation, which had been related to football or something according to Dudley. He hadn't known football was so violent. And the less said about the 'Unicorn Incident' in the next pub the better. Or when Luna had discovered ripped jeans.

"Where's Luna?" he asked, louder and maybe a bit higher pitched than needed.

Padma pointed at the dance floor. And there the blonde witch was, dancing enthusiastically with Aicha. He relaxed. Dancing was fine. Nothing to worry there. He couldn't spot Aicha's genie, so the little thing was either still in her handbag, or at least invisible instead of making muggles think they were seeing things. The situation was still under control then. Leaning back, he had to laugh.

"Hm? what's so funny?" Padma asked, her glass already half-empty.

"Nothing. Just… if mum knew I was the most responsible one of the group on this trip…" he chuckled, and Padma joined him. For a bit, they simply sipped their drinks - well, he did, Padma was closer to guzzling down hers - and watched their two friends dance.

"There are so many muggles, I'd never had believed it if anyone had told me," Padma remarked. Ron knew better than to mention that Hermione had told her, repeatedly. Hermione was generally not wrong, especially not about muggles, but Padma was a bit sensitive about it.

So he agreed instead. "Yes. So many packed pubs and clubs. And none of them are afraid. They don't know there's a war going on. It doesn't concern them. They're just enjoying the night. And their biggest worry is probably if the boy or girl they like likes them back." He shook his head at the notion, then noticed Padma's frown. Uh oh. What had he said now? He continued. "And you don't have to worry about sneaky hexes from Slytherins either. Or potioned butterbeers. It's just so safe here!"

"Hermione was quite insistent that we never leave our drinks unattended though," Padma pointed out.

"Yes, she was, but again - they can't quite banish the stuff into our drinks from across the room. It's still safer than Hogsmeade, despite what the Headmaster says." Ron finished his 'Sprite'. Not bad, but he'd had better. "It's almost perfect."

"What's missing then?" Padma asked.

"Magic," Ron answered. His girlfriend nodded her agreement.

*****​

Hermione Granger was happy. Happier than she had been for quite some time. She was sharing a seat with Harry - not quite in his lap, but close enough - and out in public without having to play the obedient retainer and hide her feelings. Luna was on the loose again, but Aicha was with her, and Ron seemed to be watching the blonde as well, so the witch felt justified enough not to care, and simply enjoy the opportunity to relax and be herself instead.

She rested her head on Harry's shoulder, felt him adjust his pose a bit to make her more comfortable - and him as well - and sighed contentedly when his arm tightened around her waist. "Mh."

The only slightly troublesome part of this marvelous outing - not counting Luna's misadventures, those she had expected, if not the scale of them - was how close Susan and Dudley had gotten. And even that was a blessing in disguise - she had feared the redhead would try to butt in on her time with Harry. Still, her curiosity was aroused.

She shifted around a bit, and whispered into Harry's ear. "What do you think Susan and Dudley are talking about?"

Harry turned his head slowly towards his cousin. "Hm. He's probably asking her all sorts of questions about magic. You know how he is."

That Hermione knew. For a self-proclaimed 'bruiser and boxer', Dudley was quite curious. She didn't think it was just him asking the questions though. And while her boyfriend considered Susan a friend, Hermione wouldn't put it past the redhead to use Dudley to get closer to Harry. Or at least get inside information. "She's probably asking about all the embarrassing stories he knows about you," she whispered, adding a giggle.

"D wouldn't…" Harry trailed off. "He would. Damn!"

She felt him tense up, and put her hand on his chest. "Relax. You can prank him later, probably with Nymphadora." If Nymphadora still felt the need to - Dudley had been expecting some payback from her for the whole evening, and had chased away at least one girl when he had mistakenly assumed she was the metamorphmagus in disguise, there to prank him. The muggleborn witch closed her eyes. Of course Nymphadora would not think they were even; she was a Black after all. They didn't do even.

She looked around. The veela were still staying put, sort of, which meant the dancing floor was less crowded than when they had been dancing, even with Luna and Aicha attracting some attention. "Let's dance, Harry!" she said while standing up, and pulling on his arm. With a chuckle, her boyfriend got up again, and they walked towards the dance floor. Hopefully, they'd play some slow music soon too.

Hermione was determined to enjoy this night as much as possible. So far it had been almost perfect. The only drawback was that she had to hide her magic.

She snorted at the thought - it seemed that no matter where she was in public, among muggles or wizards, she had to hide an important part of herself. Life just wasn't fair.

*****​

"Sirius? Do you have a moment?"

Sirius Black looked up from the Daily Prophet spread on the kitchen table in his home. The picture of Fudge he had been hunting around the page with a permanent marker used the opportunity to flee to another page.

"Of course, Hermione." He smiled at the muggleborn witch. She had taken to wearing shorter, lighter robes, he noticed. Not nearly as skimpy as the attire of the other women in the house, but there was progress. He made a mental note to buy her a few robes more appropriate for her sixth year over the summer, and hoped he'd not forget it.

"It's private," she added.

"Ohhh," the animagus wiggled his eyebrows at her while his smile widened. 'Private'... he wondered what she might want to ask of him. "We can go to my study then. It's not as if I have much use for it."

She rolled her eyes at him. Apparently, he wasn't fooling her. But 'Sirius Black, hard-working head of his family', wasn't as impressive as 'Sirius Black, carefree rogue'. Not that he really needed to look and sound impressive, these days. Not with Valérie and the others still around, despite having gotten to know the real him. But appearances had to be maintained - at least the ones he liked. Summoning two bottles of butterbeer from the fridge, he led the witch to his study.

"Make yourself comfortable and tell your future godfather-in-law everything!" he said after closing the door. When she flinched at his light-hearted teasing, he realized just what he had just made fun of. "Sorry," he muttered while he sat down on his own, enchanted seat and popped a bottle open.

Hermione gave the barest nod in acknowledgement of his apology, and cast a few privacy spells at the door. Either she was far shyer than he had thought, or this was not about her and Harry's love life. She didn't touch the bottle he had floating next to her either.

The witch sat down herself, and for a moment, both of them stared at each other, their expressions growing serious.

"I need a live, marked Death Eater," she said in a very level, very cold voice.

What? He stared at her, not quite gaping.

His surprise must have shown though, since she rolled her eyes at him again and pressed her lips together before elaborating. "You know about Harry's scar."

"Yes," he nodded. He would have liked to forget that, at least at times. But he couldn't.

"You know what the Dark Marks are and do," she continued.

The young witch reminded him so much of some of his old tutors, he repressed the urge to raise his hand instead of nodding. He had to ask Harry if his godson felt the same sometime.

"I've got a plan to deal with both, but I need to know more about the Dark Mark. Much more. And for that I need to study one. On a living Death Eater." The witch met his eyes, challenging him, daring him to ask what she was planning.

Sirius didn't have to. He knew what kind of books she had been reading in his library, Kreacher had seen to keeping him informed. It was not too difficult for him, with his background, to deduce what she was planning. At least now. He sighed. "I assume you'd need a trip to Haiti too, sometime later?"

The girl stiffened, her eyes widening briefly. Why did everyone act so surprised whenever he revealed some knowledge? Then she nodded. "Unless I find the information I need in Britain."

"You won't. It's been banned for centuries. If my family doesn't have it, I doubt anyone else has it." He didn't like to brag, but his family had been among the most knowledgeable when it came to the Dark Arts. Still was, actually. Just because he hated to use it didn't mean he had forgotten.

"There are immigrants. Researchers. Some muggles might have inherited books, not knowing what they are," she countered.

"Yes. But you'd have a hard time tracking them down in Britain." It wasn't impossible, but it would require luck and time. Two things they might not have.

"Convincing one of the 'practitioners' to teach me is not likely to be easier," Hermione said without showing any emotion. Not even the frustration he himself was feeling when he thought about their situation.

"You've got something else in mind, as an alternative." It was not a question.

"Yes. But it's a questionable plan," she admitted.

"More questionable than a trip to the Caribbean?" He raised his eyebrows.

Hermione nodded.

"More dangerous too?" He couldn't think of anything. Maybe some of the things that had laid the foundation for his home's wards. But then, he hadn't been able to think of what Lily had done to protect Harry either. Not that he had really wanted to know what she had done in the first place.

"Maybe." Hermione's lips formed a thin line. That meant 'yes', of course.

Harry wouldn't like that. At all. "But more promising than the alternatives?"

"As far as I can tell with my current knowledge, yes. That might change as I study the subject further," Hermione admitted. The way she didn't go into details despite their privacy more than anything else told Sirius that they were talking about highly illegal research either way.

"You're doing outlawed and very dangerous research." She might die. Or worse. The Dark Arts were feared and loathed for a reason by any sane wizard.

"It's for Harry." Hermione smiled sadly.

And that was the crux of the issue. If it wasn't for Harry, he'd tell the girl to stop before she got herself jailed or killed. Or worse. But Harry was more important than either of them. Even if the boy would disagree. Vehemently. "He'll hate it." And he might hate her, and Sirius for helping her.

"He'll live though," Hermione stated with utter conviction. The older wizard realized that she would succeed, or die trying. Just like himself. He had failed Harry, had failed the boy's parents once, he'd not fail again. No matter the cost.

He chuckled. "Hopefully he'll never knew what we're willing to do."

Hermione nodded. Both of them knew though that this was unlikely. But maybe he'd not realize just what they had done, afterwards. They'd do it anyway. For Harry.

"So… capturing a Death Eater it is. Alive. And keeping him captive and alive. A tall order," he summarized. Not impossible, of course.

"And hidden from the Dark Lord. Or at least kept at a place the Dark Lord can't get to," Hermione added.

"You realize that there's only about one place that would work for that," Sirius hissed.

Hermione nodded, smiling faintly. She had known, and was counting on him to arrange it, Sirius was certain.

"I'll talk to him," Sirius sighed. "You know, I wasn't really joking, earlier. If you can do this, you can do anything."

When he saw the way her face lit up with sudden hope, before she schooled her features again, he hoped he hadn't been lying.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore smiled at young Sirius. Seeing the wizard in his office made the Headmaster feel nostalgic. The young man had been a very frequent visitor to his office, back when he had been a student. Him, and the others of his group, troublemakers extraordinaire. They had been responsible for much laughter, back in the last war. That war… it had been a desperate struggle, but he had been younger then. They all had been.

His former student didn't visit him that often anymore. Understandable, after Albus had failed him so terribly. An innocent in Azkaban, for over a decade. Albus ranked his failure to ensure the law was followed properly in that case as one of his biggest, gravest sins. One he would never be able to make up for, but would take with him to his grave.

He forced the morbid thoughts away. Sirius had asked for a meeting, in private, so it had to be important. Folding his hands, he waited for the other wizard to begin speaking.

"Albus, I need to know if you've got a secure dungeon in the school that could be used to house a prisoner." Sirius came right to the point. Or appeared to do so.

Grimmauld Place 12 had dungeons too, so Sirius didn't need a cell, but the defenses of Hogwarts. Which meant that he feared the Dark Lord would come for the prisoner. And he didn't want the Ministry to have him. The wizard could just be worried about leaks and spies, but Albus didn't think so. Sirius had plans for the prisoner then, plans he needed secrecy and privacy as well as security for. "What do you plan to do with a Death Eater?" he asked. There were a few likely answers, of course.

Sirius frowned briefly, then smiled, and once again Albus saw not a middle-aged wizard, still somewhat showing the effects of Azkaban, but a young man sent to him by Minerva for pranking someone. The impression vanished as soon as Sirius answered though. "To study the Dark Mark."

Fawkes trilled, not quite angrily, but not the happy sounds he made when he was pleased, or had just managed to steal some candy. Albus smiled at his companion, then met Sirius's eyes. Sirius was many things. An animagus. A skilled wizard. A good fighter. A good leader too, and a caring godfather. But a researcher he was not. He had shown some talent when it came to pranking, to adapt spells or potions, but he had never shown any inclination for the kind of research this task he mentioned needed. And while he might be willing to do anything for his godson, Sirius didn't seem to be that unaware of his own strengths and weaknesses. So, he was asking for someone else. Remus was more scholarly inclined, but he would have come to ask Albus himself, if he was involved. That left…

"I see Miss Granger is making progress in her quest to help her Patron," The Headmaster remarked. Sirius's hiss told him he was right. "Although we both know just how dangerous the knowledge she seeks is."

"It's for Harry," Sirius answered, as if that explained and excused everything. It did the former, but not the latter.

"Of course. But would Harry like his retainer to sacrifice herself for him? Or his godfather?" Albus asked in a mild voice.

"He wouldn't. Just as we wouldn't like him to sacrifice himself for us," Sirius answered. "But that's not the issue. This needs to be done. You know it as much as I do. Without discovering the secrets of the Dark Mark, without finding a way to ... deal with all that entails, we'll lose this war. Or the next. The Dark Lord'll have made sure to keep some of his marked Death Eaters safely away from the fighting. They're probably not even in Britain."

Albus hated to admit it, but he knew the younger wizard was correct. He had come to that conclusion already - Tom was very unlikely to risk all his horcruxes. And if he was defeated, he'd return. A year, a decade later - he'd be back. Smarter. More experienced. And Albus might be dead by then. Of old age, even. He frowned. "Yes. It has to be done. But does it have to be her?"

"Lily was not much older when she found a ritual to defeat the Dark Lord. Who would you trust as much?" Sirius asked. "Who else does Harry trust as much?" He hesitated a second, then added. "And who else will we be able to deal with as easily, should she ... fall?"

Albus stiffened. "That is a surprising argument. Correct, but very cold-blooded." As Rookwood had shown, not even the Unspeakables were immune to corruption - of either kind. And they and the likes of them had more experience and resources, which would make doing what was needed more difficult. And there was the fact that he'd get to teach again. He hadn't been able to indulge in that passion of his for a while now.

Sirius spread his hands. "Do you doubt she'd prefer that to endangering Harry herself, after losing control or her mind?"

Albus shook his head. "I am not sure if I should be happy for Harry, or pity him."

"Both, of course," Sirius answered, without any hint of levity.

Albus sighed. "I'll arrange a cell, far removed from any area students can access. And I will be present each time she visits, and involved in the research." He wasn't as foolish as to let a young witch delve into those matters without supervision. And there was no one else he trusted with the secrets of the Dark Mark. "Capturing a marked Death Eater will be a challenge though. Those known to carry the mark tend to seldom stray far from their Master's side, and the others are hiding."

"We've got a lead on someone. Just have to wait until he makes a mistake." Sirius grinned ferally.

Albus felt the urge to caution the younger wizard of making the mistake of underestimating his enemy. Sirius wasn't his student anymore, and deserved his trust, but a little reminder never hurt anyone. "Let's hope Mister Yennington will make that mistake soon."

He kept his expression bland when Sirius's slight twitch told him the animagus had been surprised again by Albus's knowledge. Surprised, and hopefully reminded not to underestimate his opponents.

When Sirius had left, Albus stopped smiling and leaned back, closing his eyes. He was preparing to study the Dark Arts with a young prodigy at his side. For the most noble of goals, they would be braving the foulest magic. Just like he had done before, with Gellert.

He could only hope that this time, no one would succumb to temptation. He didn't want to add another unforgivable sin to his soul.

The old Headmaster glanced at Fawkes, who was busy preening himself, then at his watch, and wondered when the bodies of the Malfoys would be found.


Chapter 32: Family Matters
 
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Chapter 32: Family Matters
Chapter 32: Family Matters

Kenneth Fenbrick arrived at the small clearing with his wand out and his back to his partner, Bertha Limmington. The hit-wizards guarding the location didn't bat an eye at them, but didn't let them out of their sight either - these days, everyone expected an ambush. There were too many hit-wizards around to make imperiusing them all feasible, or so Kenneth hoped, and he lowered his wand after a few detection spells.

Bertha, who would usually have been at the bodies already, had waited as well, and the two started walking towards the center of the crime scene.

Kenneth took one look at the two bodies on the ground, and closed his eyes, sighing. "Why is it that even with all the special duties we've been on, we still get sent to all of the politically sensitive cases?"

To his surprise, his partner didn't roll her eyes at him, or blame him. "I assume that's 'because', not 'despite'," Bertha answered while kneeling down next to the closest body and running her wand over it. "We'll have to wait for the results from the polyjuice testing, but so far this looks like the body of Narcissa Malfoy," she declared while taking a blood sample with a flick of her wrist.

Kenneth nodded at the second body, a few yards away. "That would make this Draco Malfoy." He peered at it. "The face matches the pictures we have." Though on the pictures, the boy was smiling, with a slight sneer. This face was frozen in an expression of surprise and horror. He summoned some blood from the corpse as well, and made it float into a vial.

Bertha pocketed both vials in a self-sealing pouch.

"Let's hope the Unspeakables find the time to run the tests," Kenneth commented.

Bertha nodded, her attention fixed on the first body still. Kenneth smiled - that was his partner as he knew her. Focused, unrelenting, brilliant.

"Cause of death seems to be a Cutting Curse," she spoke while a dictaquill recorded her words on a floating piece of parchment.

"Seems?" The heads were lying a few feet apart from the bodies.

"I don't detect any other injury, but we can't rule out poison or other options until the blood tests come back," Bertha specified.

"Beheading someone so neatly requires great skill, luck, or some immobilized target," Kenneth commented. He knew that from practise. "Since we found the bodies, they were meant to be found, but I think if they wanted to make a statement, the bodies would have been arranged more … impressively. This looks like someone simply dropped them after beheading them."

"Maybe they did. Or that is what we are meant to think." Bertha was checking the robes of the corpses. "All protective enchantments are broken. Not just suppressed or overloaded."

His partner nodded. "Sounds like the Dark Lord's handwork." It took a lot to destroy such enchantments, and few did it when suppressing or exhausting them was so much easier.

"Yes. Not in person though. He uses the Killing Curse. Probably a new recruit. Maybe it was test. See if he has the guts to kill a mother and her son." Kenneth frowned. "And he wasn't fully on board, hence he simply let the bodies drop."

"Or they were dropped without a thought, as if they were trash." Bertha looked at the site again, marking the positions of the bodies and heads with a few flicks of her wand.

"As if?" Kenneth raised his eyebrows. He knew what kind of people the Malfoys had been.

"There's a rumor that the Dark Lord was pressuring Malfoy and his mother. Maybe they tried to flee." Bertha's tone was even, but Kenneth knew her so well, he picked up her doubt anyway.

He snorted. "I believe that when the Dark Lord confirms it in person, with veritaserum. I think they failed him, somehow, and this was their punishment."

"No sign of the cruciatus. Although to find older traces, we'd have to wait for the tests from headquarters to be run."

"More parchmentwork. Joy," Kenneth sighed.

"Would you prefer another patrol instead?" Bertha's lips twitched. For her, that was almost teasing.

"Of course not," Kenneth shook his head. Patrolling was either too boring, or too dangerous. It was a task for hit-wizards, not highly-trained aurors these days.

"Let's check the other body." Bertha stood up and walked over to the headless corpse of Draco Malfoy.

She waved her wand over it. "He was reported missing before the Eostra break. I don't see any signs of torture, or wounds. Not even malnourishment. If he was kidnapped, then the kidnapper took pains to treat him very well."

"That doesn't sound like the Dark Lord." Kenneth frowned. Other victims they had found had looked far worse. This was almost... merciful. As far as murder went.

"The Malfoys were an old family. As are the Blacks. The other victims we found were of lesser status." Bertha cocked her head sideways, studying the head. It showed the same surprised and shocked expression as Narcissa's.

"A gesture of respect, for old blood?" Kenneth doubted it. Members of other old families had been treated far harsher in the last war.

"Or for family. You know the rumors about the Dark Lord and Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa's sister."

"Ah… yes. But wouldn't she have been more cruel?" he rubbed his chin. "From what the hit-wizards say, she's as crazy in combat as before her capture." Not that he associated much with the hit-wizards. But he had a sort of understanding with the veterans of them - as few as there were. Most had been released after the last war, which had resulted in a lot of resentment, and a surge in the population of British mercenaries. Kenneth didn't want to know how many of the people the Ministry was fighting had been former hit-wizards.

"Who knows what she's like, after a decade in Azkaban?" Bertha looked around on the clearing. "We don't know how she would treat her close family."

"We don't know anything. Could have been the Dark Lord, for defying, or failing him. Or some of the victims of dear imperiused Lucius, taking revenge on his family." Kenneth hated it when a case lacked a clear suspect.

"They'd have done more I think, if they were willing to kill a dead wizard's family in revenge." Bertha was casting detection spells on the clearing now.

"True." Kenneth followed her example. "How much longer until the curse-breakers manage to break the wards on Malfoy Manor?"

"They'll need a few hours at least, and that only if it's a priority." Bertha was methodically covering the clearing.

"Is it one?" Kenneth's partner would know, she had her finger on the pulse of the bureaucracy.

"Both the Minister and the Chief Warlock think so," Bertha said, almost absentmindedly. Kenneth had known that someone was putting pressure on the DMLE by the urgency they had been called in on this case, but both Fudge and Dumbledore?

Kenneth scoffed. He could do with less pressure. "I am so glad to know that our best curse-breakers have nothing more important to do than break into a dead family's house."

"You're the best, you deal with the worst." His partner knew what he was thinking, of course.

"Yeah. I guess I need to mess this case up so we will get easier ones in the future." He chuckled at Bertha's expression. For a second, she had believed he was serious. Before he could tease her though, she noticed something.

"Look at this!" She pointed at a spot near the edge of the clearing. "Spell residue. Disillusion. Vanishing Charm. And a plant restoration spell." She sounded curious, intrigued even.

Kenneth cast his own spell. "Two yards by two yards. It damaged the grass, but the soil's not noticeably depressed. Wizard tent." He grinned, both at the clue, and at the fact that the spell that had saved his third year Herbology project had been used here. "I think we found Draco's hideout."

"But why would he run away in the first place? He was the Head of the family." Bertha bent down to check the grass, and Kenneth snuck a glance at her rear.

"Maybe he didn't want to go home. Maybe he was afraid to meet his mother. Or her friends." Kenneth had heard rumors about the Malfoys. And the Blacks.

Bertha glanced at him. "You think she was involved with the Dark Lord?"

"With her sister the Dark Lord's right wand, and rumored to be his lover?" Kenneth shrugged. "Everything's possible, but I hope the curse-breakers got a lot of hit-wizards with them. Just in case the manor got visitors who stayed."

"I think we're done here." Bertha straightened up.

"So, what's next?"

"Witnesses."

*****​

"Pansy dear?"

"Yes, mum?" Pansy Parkinson looked up from the latest issue of 'Teen Witch Weekly' she was reading, causing the picture of the author of the 'How to snatch your wizard' column to pout adorably with perfectly shaped and painted lips.

"There are two aurors who want to speak with you." Penelope Parkinson stared at her, and Pansy's first impulse was to claim that she didn't do it, without even asking what she might have done.

Not that she could think of anything she had done that might cause aurors to visit. And none of her rivals at Hogwarts would frame her, that would go far too far. That meant… she paled slightly. "It must be about Draco!"

Her mother nodded, smiling. "That would be my guess as well." Pansy felt as if she had just been patted on the head. She checked her robes - not suitable for meeting every visitor, but good enough for aurors - and followed her mother down to the eastern salon. The one for visitors that were not quite on par with her own family's status.

In the room were a wizard and a witch waiting, both clad in the red robes of the Auror Corps. The wizard was handsome, with a certain roguish charm, smiling at her. "Miss Parkinson? I am Auror Fenbrick, this is my partner, Auror Limmington. We've got a few questions for you concerning Draco Malfoy." The witch nodded, smiling politely, and set a parchment with a self-writing quill up.

"Draco? Did something happen to him?" Pansy asked. Her mum put her hand on her thigh, as if to support her. Pansy felt the fingers dig into her leg though, and knew it meant to shut up, and let them ask questions without volunteering any information.

"He was found this morning. Dead," the auror said, nodding slightly.

For a moment, Pansy didn't know how to react. She was shocked, then relieved, then shocked at her relief. She tried to say something, but didn't find the words. Her mother's hand was comforting now.

"Murdered, to be exact, as was his mother." The witch's voice seemed to be devoid of any emotion, as if she was talking about the weather.

Both Pansy and her mother gasped slightly at that revelation. That meant the Malfoys were gone. Another Old Family, destroyed.

"You were his girlfriend, until a few months ago, is that correct?" the male auror sounded sympathetic.

Pansy nodded, then caught the pointed stare of the woman at her quill, and said: "Yes."

"Do you know of anyone who'd want to harm him?"

Pansy sighed, using the time to weigh her words carefully. "I think a lot of students wanted to harm him at least once." She smiled ruefully. "House Slytherin wasn't the most peaceful place under Professor Snape." The auror frowned slightly at that. He was too old to have been a student of the man himself, but he probably heard the rumors. "But to kill him? No, I don't know anyone at school who would do that." At least she hoped so. If one of her acquaintances was a murderer… Merlin! "Do you think I'm in danger too?"

"At this point I doubt that," the auror stated while smiling reassuringly at her.

The witch cut in: "But it cannot be ruled out. You were his girlfriend for years."

"But we had a rather nasty falling out," Pansy stated, almost pleadingly. Her mother patted her hand.

"Did he ever tell you about threats made to his family?"

Pansy shook her head. "No, when he was talking about his family, he didn't mention anything like that." She was still trying to come to grips with the fact that her ex-boyfriend was dead. Killed. Murdered. Who would…

Her expression must have betrayed her thoughts, since the auror asked quickly: "Did you just think of something?"

Reluctantly, she nodded. "Yes. Draco had … changed in the last year. Grown more secretive. He seemed more violent too."

"More violent?" Both aurors were staring intently at her now.

"He… he talked about fighting a lot. I think he was hiding something important. Sometimes it felt as if he wanted to tell me something, but then he wouldn't say anything." It was starting to get easier to speak. "We started to drift apart. He was always going on about Potter and his retainer. You know, 'Mudblood this, blood traitor that'." Her mum hissed at hearing that - those words were not uttered in public, usually, in this house.

The aurors didn't react to the slurs though. "Harry Potter?"

"Yes. Draco thought he was Potter's rival since our first year. They clashed a lot. Draco didn't often win." Pansy almost smiled, remembering how she set her 'boyfriend' up for many such scenes.

"Did they fight?"

"Not with wands. Not often, at least. But they were no longer paired up in Defense. Not after a few sparring duels that got out of hand."

"So, you could say they had been enemies?" The auror's voice was bland, calm, but his eyes were almost burning.

"Draco thought they were. He hated Potter and Weasley - Ronald Weasley." She hesitated, just an instant, but again they noticed. Those were experienced aurors, not fellow students. They wouldn't underestimate her, she told herself. Lying would be a very bad idea.

Pansy took a deep breath. "You know, I had started to feel a bit afraid of him, before we broke up. He was just so… intense."

"Why did you break up with him?"

"Potter had started a muggle 'Movie Night' at Hogwarts. Those are like pictures, but with sound and music, and go on for hours. Draco didn't like that I went to watch. He said I shouldn't go. I didn't like that. Everyone else from our year was going. Even Greengrass and Davis. I wasn't about to let him order me around, so I broke up with him."

"Did he threaten you?"

Pansy shook her head. "No. Not really. But he was often staring at me. Not as often as he stared at Potter, though. But when I joined the Self-Defense Club run by Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, he was really mad."

"Did he ever hurt anyone?"

"As far as I know, apart from some mishaps in Defense, no." Pansy shook her head again.

"Did he have any close friends, other than Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle?"

"Not any close ones, no." And she wasn't even sure if Draco had considered them his friends - or subordinates. Potter treated his retainer better than Draco had treated them, on occasion.

"Do you have anything to add?"

Pansy thought for a moment. "No. I think that's all."

"Thank you, Miss Parkinson."

Once the aurors were gone, Pansy started to shake. That had been a lesson in humility. She wouldn't fancy herself a superb manipulator, not for a while.

"Narcissa and Draco killed. A family going back centuries, gone." Her mother shook her head, summoning a flask and two glasses, offering one to her.

Pansy took it. The fire whiskey burned in her throat, but it did help. "Do you think we're in danger?"

"No. You distanced yourself from him." Her mother sounded reassuring, approving even. But Pansy didn't really believe her. If they could get the Malfoys, they could get anyone.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore watched as the wards on the Malfoy Manor finally fell. He felt a brief bout of guilt when he saw several of the curse-breakers collapse, their exhaustion plainly visible. The old wizard could have sped the process up considerably and taken a lot of the strain off them. But if he would have been tied up in that, and the Dark Lord arrived…

"Is it done?" Cornelius, standing next to him, asked. The Minister for Magic hadn't left his side ever since he had arrived. Albus hadn't pointed out that being close to him wasn't as safe as the other wizard believed since the Dark Lord would either come at him or try to keep him busy. And attacking Cornelius would keep the Headmaster busy protecting him.

"Yes, Cornelius. The wards are down. Though there might be other traps and defenses." Albus remembered the Lestrange Manor, after the last war. Two aurors and one curse-breaker died when one among them set off a trap that filled the entrance hall with poisoned spikes. "I'll give them a hand." With a nod to the Minister, he strode towards the Manor. Traps he could deal with more easily than wards.

"I think I should take a look at this before we proceed," he said as the aurors and the remaining curse-breakers parted in front of him. Many of them would be relieved not to have to brave the traps themselves. Cornelius followed him, but then stayed in the middle of the aurors.

There were quite a few defenses. Enchanted statues, some buried under the lawn, and hedges concealing Amazonian strangleweed. Albus would have discovered them even if he hadn't known about them from ransacking Narcissa's mind. Everything was quite easy to spot, if you knew how to look for the wards that kept children away. He smiled. Narcissa had done a great many evil things, but she would never have endangered her son. She had died for Draco too, he thought as he proceeded to render the defenses inert, rushing to her son's side when he was compelled to call her.

Sadly, Narcissa hadn't known about Lucius's traps in his sanctum, so Albus was unaware of what awaited him there. He would have to be ready to put the right spin on any discovery. A widow, pressured by the Dark Lord, following his orders until the demands grew to be impossible to endure… that might frighten some of the other Old Families into fighting the Dark Lord, instead of following him. And blaming the Dark Lord for the deaths of the Malfoys would ensure that their gold would not go to Bellatrix, or anyone else connected to Voldemort. With Andromeda emancipated, Sirius would be the closest heir then.

He reached the main entrance, and turned around, giving the waiting wizards and witches a signal with his wand that it was safe to approach now, before opening the massive, rune-covered doors and entering the manor itself.

"Mistress?" a high-pitched voice rang through the room. One of the family's house-elves had appeared. "Mistress is not at home. No visitors."

Albus smiled gently at the little creature. "Hello. I am Albus Dumbledore, the Chief Warlock. I am sad to say that your Mistress and your Master are dead."

"Oh…" The elf stared at him. "I have to inform the others then," it said, and disappeared through one of the hidden doors the elves in old mansions - and in Hogwarts - used to get around without being seen. In the last war, many elves had broken out in tears at the loss of their Masters. The rather reserved reaction to the news here said a lot about the late family's relations to their servants. Well, the Office for House-Elf Relocation would be taking care of them now. Hopefully, they'd get a better home.

The first aurors arrived then, and fanned out, covering the various doors. Behind them, Cornelius entered.

"I keep expecting Lucius to greet me, and invite me to his study for a drink…" The Minister looked slightly ill at ease, but whether that was due to him visiting the house of a dead friend, or the danger that still lurked in the house Albus couldn't tell.

"The dead live on in our memory." Albus nodded at the man. "The study should be safe, but his sanctum might still be trapped, and might require my skills to defuse. Did you ever visit that room?"

"Ah… unfortunately, no." Cornelius shook his head. Albus hadn't expected anything else - even trusted friends, and Lucius wouldn't have considered the Minister one, very, very rarely saw the sanctum of a Head of an Old Family. Too many secrets were stored there.

"Bigsy can lead you there."

House elves on the other hand tended to know a manor better than their masters. Albus smiled at the little creature. "That would be very helpful, Bigsy."

The elf nodded and led the Headmaster, the Minister and two aurors through the halls of the manor. The paintings on the walls had heard the news as well, and were gathering, crowding even, in the frames lining the path to the heart of the manor.

"Someone has cursed the family! First Lucius, now Draco!"

"Woe! Woe! The line has ended!"

"Intruders! Turn back, or a curse shall strike you!"

"Revenge! Revenge!"

Albus ignored the shouts and laments of the Malfoy ancestors. They were just paintings, and old ones at that. Narcissa had, involuntarily, revealed that they wouldn't be able to offer any insight or threat - they had been kept out of the loop by both her and Lucius. A wise precaution, given the rumors about some research into paintings by the Unspeakables he had heard.

They reached the door to Lucius's sanctum. Even without a spell to help, Albus could feel the magic guarding it, straining at its bonds, ready to lash out at any intruder. "Ah! Cornelius, Auror Fenbrick, Auror Limmington, I think it would be best if you stayed a bit back. You too, please, Bigsy. This looks to be a slightly tricky affair." Albus said while running his first detection spells.

His companions retreated quite quickly. Cornelius might have considered Lucius a dear friend, but he also knew that the traps guarding this family's secrets would be deadly.

They were, but despite the Malfoys' reputation, the family wasn't exactly in the Black's league when it came to the Dark Arts. It took some time - the layered shriveling and paralyzing curses were particularly inventive - but Albus disabled the defenses without too much of an effort. He had faced and done worse, much worse.

When the last trap was finited - a blasting curse in the floor - Albus twitched his wand at the door with a flourish, slowly opening it and revealing the sanctum of the Malfoy Manor. Shelves lined the walls and an old, ornate desk and a marble altar took up much of the floor. The desk was polished, spotless, but the altar was covered with dried blood and dust. Albus hoped that the blood dated back to the time the manor was built and the wards erected, but he doubted it.

Both were trapped as well, but those traps he could deal with rather easily. Old magic, long since replaced by new spells and designs. He briefly wondered if Lucius had stuck with them out of tradition, the misguided belief that anything old was more powerful, or simply had been too lazy to keep them more up to date. It didn't matter now.

A few minutes later, both were safe, and after a nod, the two aurors went to work. They made a good team, in Albus's opinion. The studious Ravenclaw and her analytical nature working well with the more impulsive and intuitive Gryffindor. Despite the serious occasion, he smiled - he always loved discovering that former students of his had done well in their lives.

His good mood didn't last though.

"Blood's old. Relatively. More than a year at least. Human though," Auror Fenbrick announced.

"A lot of residue from repeated spells, but not enough to single anyone out. Multiple castings over a long time would be the likeliest explanation, in my opinion," Auror Limmington added.

"Not abnormal for an Old Family," Cornelius stated. "A number of the books here are restricted or banned." He didn't have to add that grandfather clauses would have covered most of them. The Old Families controlled the Wizengamot, and knew how to protect their interests - and heritage. Even Sirius was no exception there.

"There are no clues then about the murderer," Albus summed the preliminary results up. "But this was the sanctum, restricted to the head of the Malfoy Family - who was at Hogwarts the last few months. Narcissa was the regent, but wouldn't have been able to enter. Her study might reveal more." Would reveal more.

"Excellent deduction, Dumbledore." A gravely voice with a taunting, challenging undertone suddenly sounded from the left corner. The aurors had their wands out in seconds and Cornelius was at the door an instant later. Albus and the house elf didn't react other than turning towards the speaker. Both had recognized the voice.

"Greetings, Abraxas," Albus nodded at the portrait in the small painting on the wall there. "My condolences for your loss." This was a portrait who'd know more - Lucius's father had been a skilled wizard, and had died but 20 years ago. His portrait had retained more of his mind as well, according to Narcissa.

The old, grizzled wizard portrait snorted. "Save the forms, Dumbledore. I knew this would happen."

"Do you know who ended your line?" Albus asked, his gentle tone hiding his tension. Narcissa didn't think the portrait knew much, but she could have been wrong. And with his family gone, the portrait wouldn't have much loyalty left.

"Snape."

Albus heard gasps of surprise from behind him. He raised his eyebrows. "Severus died with Lucius." And he knew his friend had not cheated death. He had embraced it.

"Yes, and he killed Lucius and thus ended my line."

"What about Draco?" the Headmaster asked, honestly curious.

"It's a miracle that idiot survived my son. He hadn't even half the wits of of his parents, who were no geniuses either." The portrait sneered, a very familiar sight. "He hadn't even the foresight to sire a bastard with a muggleborn, in between bringing muggle girls into the house."

Albus acted surprised at this, but he knew what the portrait meant. Draco's mind hadn't withstood his probes for long, and what he had seen there… the boy hadn't been the smartest or most talented wizard, but he had matched some of the worst wizards Albus had known in depravity and sadism. And, seeing as he had managed to remain undiscovered for so long under Albus's own eyes, the Headmaster couldn't deny that the boy's sorting had been on the mark.

Cornelius, of course, didn't know. "What? Draco had ... affairs with muggles?" He turned to Albus. "Do you think that was why he ran away?"

The portrait laughed before Albus could answer. "The cretin probably tried and failed to kidnap another girl, and fled."

"Kidnap?" Mister Fenbrick's tone was tense and cold. And Miss Limmington's expression would have fit a statue. Of one of the Furies.

"Yes. In my father's time, you charmed a muggle girl, if you felt the urge, then obliviated her afterwards. If she was good, she got a fitting gift, and the memory of a passionate night with a stranger. If not… she'd remember drinking too much. We were civilized." The portrait sneered at Albus. "Even if some disagreed."

Cornelius and the two aurors were staring. Albus sometimes forgot how much had changed, since Grindelwald. He addressed the portrait. "Times changed. For the better." At least in part thanks to his own efforts.

"So you say. I'd never have tolerated what Lucius and his son lowered themselves to."

Albus had seen too much, especially in the wars he had taken part in, to believe that. "And what did they 'lower themselves to'?"

"As if you'd not know!" For a moment, Albus feared he had been discovered. Then the portrait continued. "You're the smartest wizard of the century. You know already what they did."

"Kidnapping. And no obliviation afterwards." Albus's disgust was real. "The girls were killed, were they not?"

"Yes. Slowly."

More gasps sounded from behind him. And one whimpering noise that could only come from an elf.

"You are quite open with your family's secrets," Albus took a step towards the portrait. It shrugged.

"My family's gone. Draco was the last of my blood. Lucius saw to that." The portrait managed to convey some regret as well as old anger. Quite a feat for an imprint.

"Leo Winter," Albus stated, remembering the blond, talented muggleborn who had been at Hogwarts in the 70s.

"Yes. Lucius found out, and killed him. Otherwise we'd be discovering now that a pureblood child was given to a muggleborn mother to raise, in case worst came to worst in the war."

"My condolences." Albus was sincere. He knew very well how much losing family hurt.

"Save it. I died before that happened. I am but a portrait."

"A portrait whose statements are not applicable in court. Did your progeny leave any proof?" Albus doubted it. Narcissa had been thorough.

"Not to my knowledge. Lucius wasn't that stupid, and Narcissa was concerned for her son." The portrait fell silent after that.

"So, there's no way to prove all of … this?" Cornelius must have regained his wits and sounded both relieved and outraged.

Albus spread his hands. "The investigation will certainly go on," he nodded at the two aurors, "but in light of these revelations, absolute discretion is advised." Seeing the two cringe slightly as if they were still students facing the Headmaster almost made him chuckle. "As long as the murderer of Narcissa and Draco remains at large."

As they left the Sanctum, Albus stated: "At least we can now be reasonably certain that there are no other relatives to consider but Sirius Black."

Cornelius nodded. "The French branch of the family is not close enough to contest that."

The old wizard nodded. Now they just had to find the proof that Narcissa had been 'forced' to finance the Dark Lord, and the case would be neatly solved.

And he had every trust that the two aurors trailing behind him and the Minister would manage that, even after the shocking revelations in the sanctum.

*****​

"Hello Albus," Sirius Black greeted the Headmaster as he stepped out of the floo in No 12, Grimmauld Place.

"Hello Sirius," Dumbledore nodded. "I assume you have heard about the Malfoys."

"Yes, I have," Sirius gestured towards the door. "Let's move to the Salon. The rest of the family is there."

"My condolences."

Sirius scoffed. As if he'd mourn any of them. "Is it true they were killed by the Dark Lord for failing him?"

"It is still under investigation. It has been discovered that the Malfoys have been financing him though."

"No need to offer any condolences then," Sirius spat. Padfoot would have growled. Dumbledore frowned, but did not make a comment.

They entered the Salon. Everyone was there. Andromeda was sitting with Ted and Nymphadora on one couch. Harry was sitting in an armchair, with Hermione perched on the armrest. Not quite proper, but Dumbledore wouldn't mind, Sirius knew that. The Headmaster prefered less formal meetings. Remus was standing behind them, probably had just stopped pacing. And Valérie, Chantal, Laure and Eugénie were sitting on another couch. Everyone was wearing black or at least dark robes.

It was the most somber, depressing sight Sirius had seen in months. And all for an evil bitch and her worthless son. Even in death, they could ruin a wizard's day! He noticed people were staring at him, and realized he had been growling. He controlled himself. Sirius was needed, not Padfoot. He conjured a chair for himself and sat down, even though he wanted to pace around.

Dumbledore greeted everyone, then sat down in an armchair and took a deep breath. "You've heard about the murders of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy. I offer you my condolences."

Everyone nodded. Andromeda shivered briefly. Well, Narcissa had been her sister. Still… Nymphadora looked a bit torn. Harry and Hermione looked somber, but Sirius thought at least the witch was just acting. Harry… he cared for family. And he was probably aware of Andromeda's sorrow. The rest offered support, but hadn't really known Narcissa.

It was Andromeda who answered. "Thank you, Headmaster."

"I have some disturbing news though." The old wizard looked at Sirius.

The head of the Black Family didn't flinch and met the Headmaster's gaze. "We're all family here."

After a second, Dumbledore acknowledged that with a nod and a faint smile. "I see. While the murderer still has not been discovered, it has been found that Narcissa Malfoy has been financing the Dark Lord. If she had been coerced to do that, and if so, to what degree, remains unknown still."

Sirius scoffed. "Good riddance."

"Sirius!" Andromeda was glaring at him.

He stared back. "What? I am wearing mourning colors. I won't malign her in public. But among family? I'll be honest, I don't miss her. She was a bitch, her son was worse, and now that we know her family's gold paid for murders and worse… good riddance to her and hers, I say!"

The animagus looked around. Hermione nodded at him. No surprise there - the muggleborn witch knew the score, knew what would happen to her should the Death Eaters win. Harry looked uncomfortable. The boy probably didn't want to offend the Black-Tonkses. He was quite diplomatic, too.

"She was still family." Andromeda stated. "Blood."

Sirius scoffed. "She was. She stopped being family long ago, when she threw in her lot with Malfoy."

"You were her head of family!" The eldest of the three, now two, Black Sisters shot to her feet.

"I was. Not anymore, seeing as she is dead. If she had had a spine, she'd have chosen emancipation after her husband was killed!" He stood up as well and faced his cousin. "I do not owe her memory anything, anymore. She picked her side."

After several seconds, Andromeda looked away. "I still remember my little sister. The youngest of us three. How she looked up at me and Bellatrix," she said, in a low voice. Tears appeared in her eyes. "And now she's dead, and won't ever become my little sister again."

Sirius grimaced. Now he felt bad. For Andromeda, of course, not for her bitch of a sister. Ted and Nymphadora were glaring at him, as if this was his fault. Harry probably was glaring too. He didn't check. "I'm sorry." He bowed his head briefly.

Andromeda nodded, accepting his half-assed apology. He glanced back. Harry was smiling, faintly. Hermione's face didn't show anything. The Headmaster was looking sad. That didn't surprise Sirius - the animagus didn't know what exactly had happened to Dumbledore's family, but it was an open secret that the old wizard had lost all but his brother before Grindelwald's war, and that his own brother hadn't considered him family for decades. Seeing another family arguing must bring up painful memories.

Sirius almost snorted. It used to be that if there were no dark curses flying, it wasn't considered a real argument among Blacks. He felt Valérie's hand on his back, caressing it before her arm wrapped around his waist, and let himself be led to the couch occupied by the veela part of his family.

For a while no one said anything, then the Headmaster broke the silence. "While it might sound callous to talk about such matters, barring surprises in Narcissa's will, you will be inheriting the Malfoy fortune."

That surprised Sirius. "Me? What about…" he trailed off. Andromeda wasn't legally family, having been emancipated. And Bellatrix was a traitor. He should have known this. "So, there are no relatives on the Malfoy side then."

"None that are close enough to matter. The portrait of Lucius's father confirmed that." Dumbledore sighed. "The Dark Lord will not take well to losing one of his main sources of income."

Sirius waved the concern away. "As Harry's godfather, and head of my family, I already was pretty high up on his 'to-kill' list." He saw his godson flinch and Hermione put her hand on Harry's shoulder, and suddenly felt guilty - Harry was even higher on the list of Voldemort's enemies, and he had just reminded everyone of that.

No one called him on it though, even if Remus shook his head slightly when their eyes met.

"How… how did she die?" Andromeda asked hesitantly.

"From what I can tell, she was killed with a Cutting Curse. It must have been very quick," the Headmaster explained.

Sirius thought that sounded like the usual lie told to relatives. He wasn't about to ask the Headmaster for more details, not here at least. "What about Draco?" Not that he thought anyone cared much about that foul little bigot. Even the bonds of blood wouldn't reach that far.

"He was killed in the same manner."

"Are there any suspects?" Ted asked while holding his wife.

"Given the Malfoys' situation, many have had the motive to do this. One theory is that they failed the Dark Lord, somehow. Or tried to escape his clutches, and he took offense." The Headmaster didn't react to Hermione's scoffing-turned-coughing. Sirius flashed her a grin, despite the frown from Harry that earned him. "Another theory is that someone Lucius had hurt took revenge."

"So… we have no idea who did the deed," Sirius summed it up.

"That would be essentially correct, yes," Dumbledore admitted.

"I do hope that the Ministry will focus their efforts on a known threat, instead of some hypothetical culprit. In the current situation, diverting resources which should be used to fight the Dark Lord would not be a smart decision." Sirius stated, semi-formally.

Dumbledore met his eyes, briefly smiled, and nodded. "I am certain Cornelius shares your opinion. He might wish to meet you in person, to offer his condolences."

And to exchange favors - monetary or political ones. Sirius didn't like it, but that was how the game was played. And if he received the Malfoy fortune, he could afford to be generous. Very generous. "The Malfoy gold caused too much death already. Maybe it should be used to help people for a change."

Dumbledore beamed at him, as if he had just said something profound and not banal.

*****​

"So. Malfoy's dead," Harry Potter said as soon as the door to his room had closed behind himself and Hermione.

"Apparently." Hermione sat down on his bed, kicking off her shoes. A swish of her wand had them on the floor, properly aligned. He briefly waited for her to add anything, but she didn't.

Sighing, he joined her on the bed. "I don't know what I am supposed to feel about that." On the one hand, he was glad the git was gone. On the other hand, Malfoy was dead. Murdered.

"Relief?"

He glanced at his girlfriend. She looked like she was serious. "You think he was that bad?" 'To deserve death' remained unsaid, but was understood.

Hermione bit her lower lip, apparently mulling this over. "I am certain he'd have become that bad, or worse. He hasn't changed at all since first year. Not for the better, at least."

"What about Parkinson then?" Harry asked gently.

"I doubt she has changed. She's plotting something." Hermione frowned, as she often did when talking about some pureblood witches.

"Against Ron?" Harry wondered.

"Or through him against you." Hermione nodded.

"So… is she that bad too?" Harry asked in a carefully neutral voice.

He saw his girlfriend flinch slightly. After a short pause, she answered. "She didn't really do anything. A few hexes, in first year."

"She egged Malfoy on though." Harry wasn't about to let up.

"That's true. But she also tried to hold him back sometimes. I know she doesn't like me, or any muggleborn. But she's never tried anything. And she hasn't used such spells as Malfoy did, in the dueling competition." Hermione wasn't quite babbling, but close to.

"Maybe she's just better at acting." She had to be, to stand years as Malfoy's girlfriend, in Harry's opinion.

"Maybe. But we can't suspect the worst of everyone, at least we can't use that as a reason to act on it."

"I agree." Harry smiled, satisfied. Sometimes Hermione needed to be held back a bit herself. Or at least reminded of her own principles.

"You…" Hermione huffed, apparently she had just understood what he had done. He kissed her before she could say anything else. There had been enough arguments in the family for today.

*****​

Hermione Granger sighed. She was sitting in Harry's lap, her head leaning against his shoulder.

"Hm?"

"I was thinking about Sirius's reaction today." Among other things.

"Oh?" She felt Harry tense up.

"He all but said openly he'll bribe the Minister. And no one, not even Dumbledore, said anything. The Headmaster seemed to approve of it, even!" That kind of corruption was poison for any system. Approval from the highest positions for those sort of practises…

Harry held her a bit closer. "He approved of the move against Voldemort. I doubt he approves of the corruption. But you can't start a fight with the Minister in the middle of a war."

"I know that." Understood it too. In war, often the only choice was to pick the least evil course of action. It still vexed her. Even if it was hypocritical, given her own plans. But then… knowing the system banning her plans was corrupt made it a bit easier to go through with them. Hermione slowly let out her breath. It was best to drop that topic. "At least Sirius and Andromeda made up."

"Yes. Narcissa was her sister. It's understandable she'd miss her, no matter what she did. I guess she'd miss Bellatrix too."

"Unless Narcissa's gold or Bellatrix' wand cause harm to her family." Hermione could understand Andromeda's sentiments. Barely. Approve of them? Never.

"They are her family too."

"Not legally." Hermione was quite aware of those kind of legalities. Ever since she had found out what having a Patron meant. Her parents still didn't know the extent of Harry's power over her - and their own lack of power over their daughter.

"They're blood though." She didn't need to see his face to know he was pouting.

"Blood may be thicker than water, but without anything else, it's just a liquid." She should have worded that a bit better. "Love makes a family, not blood." That too.

"The purebloods would disagree."

"Sod 'em! Ask Sirius, he'll agree with me. Remus is family. Bellatrix is not. Malfoy was not family." Hermione twisted around in his lap to face Harry. Under other circumstances, this would have been a rather… naughty… position. Not now though.

"You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family," Harry quoted in response.

"Of course you can! Legally, or emotionally, some actions break the bonds of family, the same way as some actions form the bonds of family." Hermione met his eyes, chin pushed forward. "It's not easy, and it shouldn't be easy, to break it, but a family bond is not something set in stone."

Harry looked away. Something - pain, worry, or fear? - flickered over his face.

Hermione realized why he was reacting like this. She wasn't the best when it came to understanding how others felt, but she knew Harry very well. Better, on some days, than she knew herself. She cupped his cheek in her hands and gently turned his head back towards herself. "Sirius won't drop you. You won't lose your family, Harry." She wasn't about to add 'until death', even if that was true as well. Probably true, given the existence of death and souls.

"I… I know. I just…"

"Trust me, Harry. When it comes down to it, love is stronger than blood." It had to be.

Slowly, Harry nodded. She didn't pull her hands back from his face though. Instead, she kissed him again.

She'd not let Malfoy make Harry suffer. Not even through his death.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort didn't move, didn't even flinch, when his shield deflected the remains of a desk that had been reduced to a flying cloud of wood splinters. He didn't close his eyes when a wall was shattered, showering him with shards of stone. He did wince though when he saw the cuts they left on Bella's face.

Bella. She was taking her sister's death hard, though the Dark Lord couldn't tell if she was more incensed at losing her sister, or at someone daring to kill her last kin. For all her acid comments about the Malfoys, his lover could be sentimental.

He felt the loss too - at least his vaults did. And through them, his wands would feel it as well. The Malfoy gold had been financing his mercenaries for months now. With that source gone, he'd either have to cut back his attacks, or send his valuable followers in place of the curse fodder.

Bella was done with the furniture and starting on the walls. It was time to intervene. "Bellatrix."

Voldemort was pleased to see she froze at once, and fell to her knees. "Master." His lover hadn't been too far gone in her rage to forget her place then.

"I feel your loss, Bella. But I need you now, more than ever, at my side, not lost in your anger." He held out his hand, and the dark witch gripped it, pressing it to her cheek before standing up. He ran his wand over her face and body, closing the cuts, both visible and hidden behind the restored fabric of her robes. In a whisper, he added "I promise you, your blood will be avenged. A hundredfold."

Trembling, with suppressed rage or emotion, she nodded. When she raised her eyes at him, he could see her utter faith and devotion. It did help him to control his own temper. The Dark Lord could have quickly repaired the walls and furniture, but he held back. Bella might explode once more, after his next words. "My spy tells me that Black will inherit the your sister's belongings."

She gasped, and started to move away, her face contorting in a mask of rage. This time, he didn't let her go. His hand held her wand arm, fingers digging into her biceps. She hissed in pain, but stopped struggling. She didn't stop pleading silently, though.

"You cannot storm off, Bella. Black is too well-protected, and Dumbledore will be waiting. I cannot lose you."

She lowered her head, her cheeks flushed. Embarrassed and ashamed at her own behaviour, and pleased by his words. He took hold of her chin, and forced her face up, towards his.

Soon their robes dropped on the floor littered with debris.

*****​

Lying next to Bella, who had fallen asleep, physically and emotionally exhausted, on a cushioning charm, Voldemort pondered his situation. He needed gold to hire wands. He needed gold to keep his hired wands from leaving. The Malfoys hadn't been his only source of income, but they had been one of his bigger supporters. He couldn't sustain the current level of his operations without them, that much was obvious.

The question was, should he focus on acquiring more gold to continue his campaign? He stared at the ceiling. He had driven the mudbloods into the mansions of their patrons. He had bled the aurors and hit-wizards. Britain feared him, more than ever. He wouldn't need as many expendable wands to remain feared. An attack here and there would suffice. And the Ministry wouldn't be able to reduce their own efforts since they would not know if or when he'd strike again. And there was the fact that as everyone was moving into the mansions of the Old Families, attacking them would become harder and harder - and more costly.

Bleeding the Ministry's forces was difficult enough already. He had managed, but he had been bleeding his own forces almost as much as he had been theirs. Granted, most of his wands had been curse fodder, expendable - if less so, now - but so had been the Ministry's. But if the battles moved to strongly warded mansions, his losses would mount far more quickly.

Maybe it was already time to change tactics. Preparing the ritual he had planned would take time. Time he could use to recruit selected wands, instead of rabble. To weed out the weak from his own forces. Yes, there was no need to keep the pressure on. Let his enemies, let the sheep think they were safe behind their old wards. When their beliefs were then suddenly shattered, the shock would be so much bigger.

He rubbed his chin, scratching the soft stubble that had appeared before casting a silent shaving charm. But he couldn't appear to be weak, or tip his enemies off either. He'd order Keith to step up his attacks, and recruit who he could. The more of the rabble died, the less gold he'd have to pay for wands too weak to matter much. And those who survived would be stronger for it. More experienced. More valuable. And the dead wouldn't tell any tales.

He leaned back. Yes, his course of action was clear now. His enemies would not suspect his changed plans. Not until it was too late. Ironically, the deaths of the Malfoys might turn out to have been a boon for him in the end.

And yet, there still was the matter of the Prophecy. Without knowing what it said, he remained in the dark with regards to what kind of threat Potter was to him. He had to find another subject of a prophecy. Any prophecy, as long as it was stored in the Department of Mysteries.


Chapter 33: Trapped
 
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Chapter 33: Trapped
Chapter 33: Trapped

"You know, there was a time when you didn't like me spending money on gifts for you."

Hermione Granger looked up from the package she had just received - after weeks! - and at her grinning boyfriend. She huffed. "This is no frivolous gift, but a necessity!" She gently ran her hand over the cardboard box. It looked a bit banged up - she vowed that if the delivery service had damaged the contents, there'd be hell to pay. "And it was Sirius who paid for it, anyway." And Harry's godfather had the money to spare, even counting the exorbitant exchange fees Gringotts charged.

"You look like Ron when he got his new broom." Harry sounded amused.

This time she glared at him. "This is no mere broom, but something far more valuable: A custom made high-end computer with the latest software and hardware! The ultimate tool for my Arithmancy projects!"

"Well, it did cost as much as my new broom," Harry remarked. He took a step closer and drew his wand.

"No magic!" She jumped up and stepped in front of the package.

"I was only going to unpack it so the thing won't get jarred needlessly." Harry stared at her, lowering his wand.

"We can't risk any magic near it until it's safely in the rune frame." Too much was riding on this.

"We're inside the strongest wards outside Hogwarts. A little spell won't do much more." Harry shook his head at her.

"It's still an unnecessary risk," she retorted primly. "Now help me carry this to the workroom!"

"You're going to unpack it inside the frame?" Harry blinked, apparently surprised.

"Of course!" And she'd shield the case itself as soon as she had the time, as an added precaution. "And drop your robe first. The enchantments on it pose a risk as well."

"Hermione, I think you're taking this a bit too seriously..."

"Do you see me wearing my robes?" Hermione pointed at her t-shirt and shorts.

"I thought that was just because you were meeting the muggle delivery man," Harry answered, but his eyes seemed to be stuck on her legs.

"That was only part of the reason." Hermione waited, arms crossed under her breasts, until Harry slipped out of his robes. Only then was she satisfied that he'd not endanger her new computer.

"Was that just to see me strip?" Harry asked in a suspicious tone.

"Of course not!" Although he did cut a fine figure, in his t-shirt and shorts, in her opinion. "I would have said so if it was the case. Or charmed your robes to be invisible to my eyes," she added, smirking. He blushed at that, which she thought was adorable. Despite the urge to get to work as soon as possible, she bent forward and kissed him.

After making sure there was no one around who might want to help them with a levitation or even summon spell, they carried the heavy package to the room Hermione had commandeered as her working space. As close to the library as possible, it had been a smaller salon once, used for tea parties by Sirius' Mother. Hermione had had all the ornate furniture replaced with sturdy, functional pieces taken from the basement potion laboratory last week.

"If Sirius saw us struggling like this, he'd never let us live this down," Harry grumbled.

"He would, if he knows what's good for him. This might save his life." It would save Harry's life, she added to herself.

"If this is so useful for Arithmancy, how did they ever manage without it?" Harry asked, after they had set the box down inside the big cage of rune-covered beams she had erected in the workroom.

"Badly," Hermione answered, taking out a pocket knife to open the package. "While the theoretical base for Arithmancy was formed by the wizards of ancient Greece, computing the formulas was so time-consuming and difficult, Arithmancy remained a largely theoretical discipline with few practical applications. Only those with extraordinary talents for mathematics could make use of it, and those were very rare. Almost all spellcrafting was purely experimental." And very, very dangerous. "The invention of slide rules in the 17th century changed all that, and in the two centuries that followed, most of the spells commonly used were replaced by the more efficient and more elegant versions we still use today. That was when Arithmancy was introduced into the curriculum at Hogwarts as an elective too. But slide rules can only go that far. Even if you don't make a mistake, it takes a very long time to calculate a spell's formula, so most spellcrafters settle for the first formula that works, and don't bother trying to find a version that is probably only slightly better. And most 'new' spells are variants of existing spells, derived from existing formulas."

While Hermione had given her brief lecture, she had cut the cardboard panels until the box fell apart, revealing the computer inside - case, screen, and assorted peripherals. "With this though, I can run programs that will find the perfect formula for a spell - optimized for whatever I want. Power, ease of casting, speed - both casting and traveling - whatever I want." And costs and risks, but she'd not mention that. No need to worry Harry about something she had to do. She smiled brightly.

Harry nodded. "We still have to use slide rules in class though."

"Yes." Hermione frowned. She hated it - she felt crippled in class, working with the inefficient official tools - but Harry had been adamant about keeping the electronic calculator a secret. And he was suffering like her, at least.

"A number of the older families will hate this, once it gets out. And not just those following Voldemort," Harry commented.

"Hm?" she glanced up from the manual. She had read a dozen magazines about setting up a computer, but it never hurt to make sure what she had learned was applicable.

"All the spells developed and refined over generations in a family, never shared with outsiders, could be duplicated or even improved by anyone with such a machine. A number of families will lose advantages they have enjoyed for decades." Harry smiled at her.

She smiled back, showing her teeth. Anything that caused the old pureblood families to lose some of their power was a very good thing, in her opinion.

Soon she had the computer assembled. Now came the hard part - installing the operating system. If she ever met the programmers responsible for this...

*****​

"Ah, what a cruel fate has my poor godson suffered - he has been replaced by a muggle machine!"

Harry Potter glared at his grinning godfather. "I haven't been replaced. Hermione's just having a bit of a hard time installing all the programs she needs."

"Ah!" Sirius nodded, but Harry didn't think the other wizard understood what his girlfriend was doing. Or cared.

"Aren't you curious about the thing you spent so much gold on?" he asked the older wizard.

"It's an Arithmancy tool." Sirius shrugged, as if that said it all. "I am curious about the spells she can create with it, not the tool itself. I only took the class because my parents insisted."

"And for the pranks," Harry added.

"That too." Sirius grinned. "But pranking is more of an art than a science, as Hermione would say. I don't need better tools for that." He looked at the table in the kitchen Harry was standing at. "What are you doing?"

"Master's Godson is cooking," Kreacher appeared behind them, and his tone was dripping with resentment.

"I'm not cooking. I'm just making sandwiches for me and Hermione." Even though Harry couldn't really stand the miserable old elf, he felt the need to defend himself against the implied accusation that he was usurping Kreacher's duty.

"That's gourmet cooking in my opinion," Sirius cheerfully commented.

"Compared to your efforts, yes." Harry had seen his godfather's attempts at making food. Even tasted them, once.

"Master's Godson is spoiling his slave."

"She's not my slave, she's my girlfriend," Harry sighed.

"Give it up, Harry. My mother's influence is too strong," Sirius said, shaking his head at the elf.

"I'll keep trying." If he gave up faced with a stubborn elf, why would he expect to have any luck changing the attitude and views of an entire society?

"Stubborn like your mother." Sirius chuckled.

Harry nodded. "Can I ask you a question?" When Sirius opened his mouth, he quickly clarified: "Without you answering it with some tale from 6th year or a joke?"

Sirius waited for a second, with his mouth open, then nodded. "Sure."

"Had my parents any plans for their future? You know, beyond living in concubinage?"

Sirius sighed, and sat down at the table. "I know they had some plans, especially Lily, but I wasn't privy to them."

"You weren't?" Harry stared. Sirius was his godfather, and had been his father's best man at their muggle wedding.

"No. We were at war, you know, and I was at risk. More so than them, especially after they went into hiding. And while I don't know what she, they were planning, I had my suspicions. Lily loved magic, but she didn't like Wizarding Britain. Hated it, often enough. That's why she insisted on you getting raised by her sister, if anything happened to both her and James. She didn't want you be raised as a muggleborn in Wizarding Britain. She was a very opinionated witch."

Harry was briefly confused, then he got it. "You mean, Voldemort knowing about her views and plans might have hurt your side?"

"Maybe. She managed a ritual that protected you and destroyed the body of the worst Dark Lord in Britain in centuries. Can you imagine what else she could have done, had she lived?"

Harry nodded. And Lily hadn't had access to a computer. Unlike Hermione, now. Maybe his parents had had the right idea about keeping secrets, even from Sirius.

"Well, I'll go feed my girlfriend now. I wouldn't want to miss her preparing the computer's case for the runes," he said, standing up.

"You're that interested in runes?" Sirius snorted.

"No. But in order to protect the computer parts from static electricity, such work is best done while wearing as little clothing as possible." Harry smirked at his gaping godfather and left the kitchen.

"That's my godson!" he heard Sirius whoop before the door closed behind him.

*****​

Sirius Black muttered a curse under his breath when two fireballs flew at him. His shield deflected one, but broke when the next one exploded against it, and the wizard knew more were on the way. He dove to the ground and conjured an angled stone wall in front of him.

Just in time. Two more explosions shook and rattled his hastily created barricade, and flames licked around its edge. He cursed some more and conjured fog that filled the entire area around him, then jumped to the side before charging ahead, sending stunners blindly through the fog, then conjured an ice plane on the floor in front of him. If he had planned it correctly…

He slid out of the fog on his back, wand pointed at the ceiling. There! Above him was his opponent, wings spread and fire gathering in her hands. His bludgeoning curse caught her in the side though, spoiling her aim. The fireballs hit the ground next to him, vaporising most of the ice, and his stunner splashed harmlessly against her robes. "Gotcha!"

Valérie screeched petulantly in return and landed next to him while Chantal, standing at the wall next to the door, giggled. A veela in her avian form was a beautiful sight. Wings folding behind her back, her claws clicking on the marble floor, soft feathers covering her skin, the way her eyes changed, and her face… she was a magnificent, magical raptor.

Sirius stood up as Valérie changed back, her feathers fading and her beak turning into pouty lips. He ran his wand over his training robes, enchanted with special protection against fire, removing dust and some soot.

"I lost again." Valérie sighed.

"That's why we train. But I also knew what to expect, and you were forced to fly far lower and slower than you'd do in the field. That's not something the Death Eaters will be able to count on." Sirius briefly held her hand, squeezing gently.

"They'll know about us by now."

"True. But they won't be used to fighting you."

"But the Dark Lord will surely be prepared for us. So far we have only faced his hired help, not his chosen followers," Chantal cut in.

Sirius nodded, but kept smiling confidently. "True. But we're a cut above the hired help to start with, and we know how they fight as well."

"For all the good that will do. Bellatrix Lestrange is hardly predictable," Chantal countered.

"She and the Dark Lord himself are the only ones like that though. He knows too many spells to count, and she's crazy. The rest… they have certain patterns," Sirius explained. A decade in Azkaban tended to affect your mind, as he knew from painful experience. Strong personality traits lasted the longest, and stood out even more in the absence of others. After trying for years to keep a grip on your mind, to hold it together, it was hard to open up again, to change.

Hard, but not impossible, he added, pulling Valérie closer, and smiling at Chantal.

A shriek and the smell of burning feathers interrupted their discussion. Apparently, Eugénie and Laure had overdone their training match again. Well, it was better for them to be hit by fireballs in training than by dark curses in battle, and it showed just how hard everyone was working.

Chantal shook her head and summoned the burn ointment to her, then banished it at the two veela. While they tended to each other's wounds, she turned her attention back to Sirius. "My turn now."

Sirius grinned, gently pulled away from Valérie, and bowed in a manner that had gone out of style a hundred years ago.

"Your wish is my command!"

*****​

"Here!"

Harry Potter looked at his beaming girlfriend, and then at the stack of parchments she had just dropped in his lap. A very heavy, but also very familiar looking stack. "Is that…?"

Hermione nodded several times. "Yes! I finished our study plans for the O.W.L.s., including our current training schedule and leaving enough time to pursue our other projects. It is not as comprehensive as I wanted, but I guess we'll have to make up the missing parts as opportunities present themselves - I added some flexibility especially for that."

Harry had to make an effort to smile. It wasn't that he hated studying, or that he didn't understand how important good grades were for his, their life after Hogwarts, but Hermione went more than slightly nuts in the last term of each year, and now with the O.W.L.s looming… "What about Quidditch?"

"Oh, that too. Since Johnson became team captain, the training sessions have been much more reasonable than under the maniac," Hermione happily commented. Harry's girlfriend didn't seem to catch the irony of calling Wood a maniac while presenting her study session schedule from hell.

"Good." Harry knew that Hermione wouldn't try to make him stop playing Quidditch, she knew how important it was to him, but sometimes… well, she also thought it was too dangerous for him. And that was totally unjustified.

Hermione was about to turn away when he coughed. "Can I see your schedule too?"

"Ah…" Seeing his girlfriend nibble on her lower lip told him all he needed to know.

"How much sleep did you budget for yourself?"

The young witch hung her head and sighed. "I'll redo my own schedule, happy?" She pouted at him, though he could see she was feeling guilty as well.

"Very." He held her back once again when she tried to leave, and pulled her on his lap, pushing his stack of parchments - probably with lots of bullet points to cross off - to the floor. Holding her close, he waited until she stopped protesting and squirming, then laid his chin on her shoulder and whispered: "Thank you."

He felt he relax, lean against him, and heard her whisper back: "Thank you."

*****​

There were more guards in the grey robes of the hit-wizards around at the station than before, Ron Weasley thought when he boarded it. He had to pass through a mobile Thief's Downfall before he reached the platform too, and while he knew he was safe, he was still nervous - some of the guards looked rather twitchy. With all the delays the security caused, he was very glad that for a change, his family had arrived early. Even if Fred and George had been making jokes about this being a sign of the apocalypse. Rather distasteful given the situation in Britain, but that had never stopped the twins.

Inside the Hogwarts Express he saw two more guards patrolling already. Ron was rather glad when he reached the compartment Harry and Hermione were in.

"Hello mates!" He had shrunk his trunk as soon as he had set foot on the train, so he simply sat down across his two best friends. Crookshanks the hero cat jumped on his lap even before he had settled in, and demanded to be petted. Ron was happy to oblige. The two of them understood each other.

Harry looked at the door. "Where's Ginny?"

"She said she was waiting for Neville. Dunno why she couldn't wait with us in here," Ron answered, grinning slightly. First boyfriend for his kid sister. He wondered how long it would last. Probably not into their 6th year, he guessed, but maybe until the end of term.

"Ah!" Harry nodded, and Hermione smiled widely.

Ron decided against offering to bet on his sister's relationship. His friends might be taking it a bit too seriously. Understandable, seeing as both had been raised by muggles, and with their special relationship. "Did you see all the guards? Feels like an army on the move."

"Yes. But only a few of them looked old enough to have much experience," Harry commented, then gestured at a patrol of two hit-wizards passing in front of their window. Both had their wands out and were constantly looking around.

Ron studied them briefly, then nodded. "Yes. Though even the older ones might not have much experience. Dad told us that the Ministry's on a recruiting drive. They're literally taking anyone who can hold a wand, there's even been talk about 'reassigning non-crucial employes to the hit-wizard corps'." Ron quoted his father.

"Sounds like the Ministry's is gearing up for a 'Total War'," Hermione commented.

"Percy says nothing has been planned. But he also said attendance of the free self-defense lessons the Ministry is offering to employees and their relatives has been lower than before due to rumors claiming that those who do well there will be forcibly recruited," Ron continued.

"Damn!" Harry cursed. "I bet that's the work of Voldemort's spies. Sabotage recruitment with just a few words."

"Language!" Hermione admonished him. "Those who are afraid of fighting wouldn't fight well anyway."

"Still hurts morale. People think the Ministry is getting desperate. Well, some think so. Some trust the Daily Prophet, no matter what they write." Ron shook his head.

Hermione huffed at that. She hadn't been too impressed with the biggest newspaper in Wizarding Britain, Ron knew. Apart from the professional magazines, he didn't know any magazine or newspaper she actually liked. Apart from the muggle Times.

"How are things, actually?" Harry leaned forward. "We haven't heard that much during the vacation."

"I don't know. Dad says the Ministry's doing well, for the Ministry." Ron snorted. "Percy says things are progressing according to the projections. But he also assured mum that he was in an 'essential position' and would not be reassigned to the frontlines." He shrugged. "No one knows how many wands the Dark Lord has left, and the Ministry is not talking too much about their own forces. But they haven't caught any of his marked Death Eaters yet, those he broke out from Azkaban."

"The news articles focus on how many of Voldemort's men have been killed, remain vague about their own losses, and predict victory in the foreseeable future," Hermione scoffed. "Replace a few names, and it could be the press releases from Vietnam."

"Vietnam?" Ron was confused. What had the asian wizards done?

"It was a muggle war, thirty years ago," Harry explained.

"Ah. Who won?" Ron didn't know much about muggle wars. Everyone knew about Hitler's war, of course. That had happened during Grindelwald's War. But Vietnam was on the other side of the Earth.

"North Vietnam."

"Ah." So, probably a civil war. Like the ones in North America. "Well, that's a good omen, seeing as Hogwarts is in the North," he joked.

Harry and Hermione chuckled, but Ron could tell that they found it about as funny as he himself did.

No one in the compartment spoke for a while, until the door opened again, and Luna swept inside.

"Hi everyone!"

The blonde witch wasn't wearing her school robes yet, but what looked like a set of brightly-colored patches loosely held together with strings and magic. She jumped from Ron to Harry to Hermione, hugging everyone. Ron couldn't help noticing that she had started to fill out some, in the right places. Behind her Aicha entered the compartment in a more sedate manner. She was wearing her usual Arabian clothes, and her genie was circling Hermione's head, eyeing her hair. Hopefully, she wouldn't try to braid it again, or Hermione might set Crookshanks on her, as she had once threatened. The tomcat was already tensing up, he could feel it.

"What did you do last week? Daddy wanted to travel to Sweden again, to look for Snorkacks with improved bait, but he couldn't get a travel permit in time." Luna pouted. "They recently added so many steps to getting a permit, Daddy said it would be easier to travel muggle style. But he didn't have the right travel permits for that either, so we looked for elder fairies in Ireland last week. We didn't find any, but we found some wild leprechauns, and they are related to them, so it was a sort of success!"

Ron had known Luna for years, so he didn't try to answer her question until she had ran out of breath. "We spent the week at home. Mum's having Bill reinforce the wards, again. If that keeps up, we'll have the strongest wards in the area." It wouldn't be enough to withstand a dedicated Death Eater attack, though they should buy enough time for help to arrive.

"Studying and training," Harry summed their activities up. "Hermione got a new toy to play around with too." From the look Hermione shot him, she had been about to go into details when he spoke up before her.

The door was opened again, and Padma peered inside. "Hello."

Ron smiled widely and got up. "Come in!" He embraced her tightly, then nodded at Lavender and Parvati, who were standing behind his girlfriend, before closing the door again. He didn't pay attention to anything or anyone but Padma for the next few minutes.

Ginny and Neville finally arrived, right when the train was starting to move. "Oi! Couldn't cut it any closer, could you?" Ron shook his head at his sister, ignoring the glare she shot at him in return.

"Now that we're all here, here's our study schedule for the O.W.L.s!" Hermione announced with a wide smile, and with a flick of her wand, thick stacks of parchment shot out to everyone in the compartment.

Ron groaned good-naturedly - he had expected that, but it was tradition now for him to complain.

Hermione knew that as well, so she simply huffed at him. Ginny was making sympathetic noises to Neville, and Luna and Aicha were giggling. Padma though ...

"Padma?"

His girlfriend was staring at her stack in what looked to be complete puzzlement. "That's your study schedule? Shiva's sword, why aren't you all in Ravenclaw?"

"Well, that's Hermione's study schedule, and kind of the, ah, optimal case," Ron pointed out. "The essential stuff will be at the top of the lists, and the lower you get, the less important it is. The only one who actually learns everything on the lists is Hermione." That earned him another huff from the witch in question.

"And she does that for everyone?" Padma was still staring at the stacks in wonder. Well, she was a Ravenclaw.

"Only for the subjects I'm taking as well. And Ginny, Luna and Aicha got my old schedules," Hermione explained. "They are copy-protected though. Extensively." Hermione's proud smile turned a tad cruel.

Ron whispered into Padma's ear: "So you can't share them without getting cursed."

Padma nodded, slowly. "So… if my sister had been nicer to you, she'd have gotten this as well?"

Hermione looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. "Probably."

Padma grinned. "I can't wait to tell her… after our O.W.L.s."

Seeing Padma's smile, Ron thought that his best female friend might be rubbing off a bit too much on his girlfriend.

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick had thought Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody was the most demanding, cruel instructor possible. The grizzled old auror was as paranoid as one could be without ending up in the permanent mind damage ward in St. Mungo's, and had all the tact and manners of a goblin torturer with a hangover. His guest lectures in the Auror Academy were legendary, and when word had gotten out a few years ago that he was to teach a few Defense against the Dark Arts lessons per year at Hogwarts, half of the aurors had expected to be called in and arrest him after the first week.

Aberforth Dumbledore made Mad-Eye look like a sensitivity trainer. At least that was Kenneth's opinion after he had been thrown against a barely-cushioned wall for what felt the tenth time in as many minutes. He hadn't broken anything this time, at least, and so he managed to get up within a minute without any help.

A few yards away, his partner, Bertha Limmington, was still sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall and looking like a troll had used her for target practise with boulders. Judging by the glare she shot at the old wizard, she probably shared Kenneth's views.

"Come on, we don't have all night. Get up and attack again!" Aberforth growled, waving at the auror.

"Don't get your pants in a twist," Kenneth snarled. He acted as if he was still trying to regain his breath while he silently conjured a boa constrictor behind his 'teacher', then sent a barrage of stunners at the old wizard to keep him from noting the snake.

At least that had been the plan. The innkeeper ducked to the left, evading all but one stunner which splashed harmlessly against his shield, and casually cut the snake in two with a silent cutting curse. With a wave of his wand Kenneth was flung against the wall again, despite his attempts to dodge and shield.

"That would have been a cunning plan… for a first year Slytherin. If it had worked." Aberforth shook his head. "Team up against me."

Kenneth glanced at Bertha, and opened his eyes wide for a second. She gave him the tiniest nod in return. Growling, he cast the brightest Lightning Spark he could, closing his eyes at the last second and rolling to the right. When he opened his eyes again, Dumbledore was between him and Bertha. The two aurors lost no time and cast at once.

When half a dozen spells hit the older wizard, Kenneth yelled with glee. When the spells passed through what was an illusion, he started to curse, but couldn't finish before he impacted on the wall again. At the other end of the room, Bertha crashed into the wall with less grace, and he winced at the sound of her bones breaking.

"That was better. Good teamwork. But you left yourself vulnerable, and you should have been casting blindly while moving, and covered the room in darkness beforehand. Then you might have had a chance against a veteran Death Eater, if he's having a bad day." For Aberforth, that was almost high praise. Kenneth hadn't been verbally abused like that since he was caught by McGonagall trying to sneak into the girl's bathroom in Hogwarts in his fifth year. A wave of the man's wand fixed Bertha's broken leg.

Why was this wizard working as a bloody innkeeper if he could wipe the floor with two veteran aurors so easily? Kenneth wondered while he once again struggled to get up. He was frustrated, and having Miller watch and smile at the sight didn't help at all.

He looked at Bertha, then glanced up to the ceiling. Once again she nodded briefly and then exploded into action, sending spell after spell at Aberforth - an avalanche of exotic hexes and curses she had picked up from Merlin knew where. Kenneth's own spells joined hers, but both were just a distraction - in between sending another chain of spells at their opponent, Kenneth transfigured the ceiling above the man into a solid block of stone that suddenly broke free and fell down.

Aberforth was dodging and shielding wildly. It seemed their distraction was working. For a moment Kenneth was even worrying that he had overdone it, and would hurt the old wizard seriously.

But at the last moment, the man apparated away. Kenneth heard him reappear behind him, but was not fast enough before he was struck by several spells and left immobile on the ground. Bertha followed his example ten seconds later, when her shield broke under the assault.

"That was almost adequate. You're starting to think beyond the typical tactics of hired wands, curse-happy Death Eaters and aurors. Most of those think being creative means picking an exotic curse to hit your target with. They never realize that it means using your spells in creative ways, instead of simply trying to hit your target." Aberforth chuckled. "Give me another year, and we might curse your auror training out of you and turn you into decent fighters."

"We're aurors, not hit-wizards!" Kenneth defended himself and his partner.

"I'm not talking about your investigative and legal training. I'm talking about learning how to fight in a war. You're still thinking too much like an auror who wants to arrest all subjects."

"You want to turn us into hit-wizards!" Kenneth accused him.

"Oh, no! Perish the thought! I have far higher standards." Aberforth laughed.

"No you don't, or you'd not be friends with half your friends!" Miller cut in, giggling.

"Where did you learn to fight like this?" Bertha asked, standing up on shaking legs.

"I fought in Grindelwald's War, the Intervention, the First Blood War, and a few other conflicts you probably never heard of. Unlike my brother, I am not much of a show-off though, so you won't know what I have done." He chuckled. "Though if you turn out not to be too stupid, I might tell you a few tales."

As rewards went, that was not exactly much, Kenneth thought, but the prospect of being better trained for combat and getting to wipe that smirk of the old wizard's face, maybe even set his beard on fire, was enough for Kenneth to go another round or two. Even if it was hit-wizard training. Or should be.

On the other hand, being able to beat the grey robes at their own game would be a nice benefit as well...

*****​

Keith Yennington, polyjuiced into Francis Farseer, had to force himself to smile and leer when he entered the "Capricious Courtesan". He didn't want to be there, at least not in this old and ugly body. He wanted Hortensius with him, not this idiot wand for hire, Bertram Bloomer, following him. But the Dark Lord wanted him to recruit more rabble, and Hortensius had been killed in that failed attack on Fenbrick and Limmington, and so Keith had had to go.

His best wand had been killed and not captured, Keith had verified that, so his secrets should be safe. And when had visited Knockturn Alley in the last week, polyjuiced into random people, to scout for traps and ambushes, he hadn't found anything other than the usual patrols. But that didn't mean it was safe for him. He knew the enemy was after him. Well, that was why he had a dozen wands hidden amongst the crowd.

If not for the Dark Lord's orders, he'd not have gone as Farseer. But the old wizard was the only disguise available to him that wouldn't appear suspicious when recruiting mercenaries. Farseer had an established reputation as a womanizer and a coward, always taking at least one guard with him when he visited the alley. If he wanted additional wands, that would be dismissed as him not feeling safe without more bodyguards, while someone else might be recognized as a recruiter for the Dark Lord.

He smiled at the nude witch floating above him, gyrating to the music, and banished a galleon to her. She picked it out of the air with practised ease, and flashed a sultry smile back at him, all without losing her rhythm. Leering, he made his way to the bar, already looking for possible recruits.

Another advantage of being Farseer: Mercenaries who would not hire on with seedier looking wizards, much less Death Eaters, would follow him. And once they were at his supposed home, the Dark Lord's Imperius would convince them to follow his orders. The perfect curse fodder.

He spotted a likely candidate, a wizard who looked just a bit uncomfortable, his robes just a bit too shabby for this place. Probably a mercenary down on his luck, and forced to look for employment here. Before he could address him though, appearances had to be maintained.

"Fire Whiskey for me and my friend," he told the witch behind the bar, followed by another banished galleon. "Keep the change, sweetums."

"Coming right up!" She smiled back at him. Usually, a pretty witch smiling like that would have made him feel good, but since he was wearing this husk of a body, he knew her smile was a lie. All she was interested in was his gold.

The whore approaching him wore the same kind of lying smile. Not that many wizards would notice, with her chest all but exposed by her scant robes. She moved with more grace than the rest of the whores though, and she had a better figure too.

"Hello, Sir. I haven't seen you before I think…" She spoke with a hint of a French accent. "I am Florence."

"Hello," he said, with a leer. "I am Francis. I've been a bit… concerned about my safety, with all the bad news lately. Bertram here is a good wizard, but he is alone, so I've been forced to keep away from the alley." Keith pointed at his nominal guard. "But I plan to hire a few more guards, so I can safely visit more often."

He could almost see her reevaluate his wealth after this. Multiple bodyguards meant he was important, or at least rich. Probably both. To her credit, she didn't mention that. "Enchantée. That's a very smart attitude. Your experience shows, Sir." She looked pointedly at some of the mercenaries. "Some of those are eager to sign up for the war, quite a foolish notion, wouldn't you agree? Life's offering so much, and yet they are ready to throw it away..."

Keith smiled. Not only was the whore - no real courtesan would be found here - graceful and had good manners, she could also help him with his task. He could have done worse. When the bartender brought him and Bertram their drinks, he ordered another for his 'new ladyfriend'.

"To living your life, instead of risking it!" He raised his glass to hers.

"To life!" she answered.

Bertram grunted something Keith didn't catch, and didn't care to catch. When he had finished belching fire, he offered Florence his arm. "Let us retire to a more private table, dear."

The whore agreed readily, as both had known she would. As he led her towards Farseer's favorite private booth, his watch vibrated - he had a quarter of an hour left to drink more polyjuice. More than enough time to get settled at the table before he had to visit the bathroom.

*****​

Mathilda Miller let her eyes roam over the bar while the polyjuiced Death Eater was in the bathroom with his bodyguard. He was probably drinking more of his potion. The courtesan leaned back, crossing her legs, and glanced at Kenneth, who was still standing at the bar, disguised as a wand for hire down on his luck. Well, she wasn't sure if he actually had planned to look like that - slightly uncomfortable, and wishing he could be somewhere else - but it would work out.

His partner, the cold but jealous witch, was disguised and dressed up as a whore, flirting - or trying to, she wasn't exactly a natural at it, even with her training - with Aberforth at a table. Abe himself was looking 50 years younger for the evening, thanks to some alchemical concoction. It was a far more effective disguise, given his age, than polyjuice, and once the battle started, he'd not be hindered by an unfamiliar body.

The dumb bodyguard reappeared, looking briefly around, then stepped aside to let Yennington pass in front. Mathilda smiled widely at the wizard. "I've been missing you already!"

He grinned, but it felt fake to her. "I returned as fast as possible, but some things just can't be rushed too much."

She winked at him, giggling. "I also felt a bit afraid, with you and your bodyguard gone." Nodding towards the gaggle of mercenaries at the bar, she added: "Some of those ruffians kept staring at me." Among them probably a few more of the Death Eater's bodyguards.

When Kenneth pushed away from the bar and started towards her and Yennington's table, she watched who among the other guests was tensing up, or otherwise reacted suspiciously to that. And who relaxed when Kenneth turned away halfway to the table, after a last look at her. She pointed out the one she had caught to Abe with her eyes and saw him nod, then stretch. He got them all then.

Mathilda slid her foot out of her shoe and up the man's leg. He drew a hissing breath in response, tensing up, then leered at her, patting his thigh. Unless he had seen through her act, he was getting a bit impatient. She smiled, and moved on his lap, then slid her hands under his robes. She had no doubt that his clothes were enchanted to withstand the best stunner she could cast. If she wanted to hit him with a spell, it'd take time - time she wouldn't have, not with his guard so close. But she didn't need spells to take him out of the fight. Not with her hand down his pants, and her fingernails having been sharpened. She dug them in, and twisted.

Yennington started screaming as if he was getting crucioed. His wand shot into his hand, courtesy of a wrist-mounted quick-draw holster, but he was in too much pain to cast reliably and quickly enough to overwhelm the protections on her seemingly skimpy robe before she overwhelmed his with her fourth stunner.

Kenneth, who had taken out the bodyguard, slipped into the booth right after that and hit the Death Eater with a few more stunners for good measure, after raising a stone wall from the floor to shelter them from curses.

Before the wall cut off her line of sight, Mathilda saw Abe cutting two mercenaries - or disguised Death Eaters - down with a single spell that slammed them together hard enough to break multiple bones. She heard and felt his next spell - the entire room shook from the blast.

"It's the Dark Lord!" someone screamed, and pandemonium broke out as almost everyone in the room tried to escape - the Alley hadn't forgotten what the Dark Lord had done in the past.

"My Lord, I am on youArgh!"

That probably had been a sympathizer. Now everyone would flee, Mathilda thought as she pulled out a handkerchief from a hidden pocket in her robe. Dropping it on their captive, she looked at Kenneth. He shook his head at the offer and ducked around the increasingly battered wall, leading with his wand and a blasting curse. Mathilda shook her head at his back, then triggered the portkey. To her relief, it worked - the anti-portkey wards were down - and both the spy and the Death Eater were carried away to a prepared safehouse.

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick dropped to the floor, narrowingly avoiding a Killing Curse, then rolled through a puddle of wine or beer - or blood - while a series of weak Blasting Curses followed him, cratering the floor. He was almost under the cover of an upturned table and already preparing to transfigure the wood into stone when the Death Eater finally adjusted his aim, and floor around the auror blew up, throwing him up and back a few feet. He landed hard, feeling his ribs crack, and yelled in pain. His right arm, his wand arm, had protected his face, but had caught several sharp splinters as a result, and another had clipped his forehead. His robe's enchantments were gone, he realized, when the blood ran over his face and into his eyes, though they had saved his life.

He managed to get up and even cast a shield spell in time to deflect another curse, but it was shattered afterwards, and the Death Eater was already casting again, the tip of his wand glowing as it cut through the air in the well-known movements of a Piercing Curse, and Kenneth knew he'd not evade the next spell.

Then the Death Eater's head blew up in a shower of blood, bone and brain, and Kenneth felt himself getting dragged towards the back of the room - summoned. His partner stood there, slinky robes torn and blood running down her side, but with her wand out and a fierce expression on her face. Kenneth flinched when another blasting curse passed him, impacting on the floor behind him, and sending more shards of stone against the last remaining enemies.

Landing next to her, he coughed a brief "Thanks!" and quickly transfigured the remains of a table into a bit of cover for the two of them.

"There were more wands than expected and observed," Bertha explained, sending a swarm of bees at another corner.

"So I noticed." Kenneth grunted with pain and got up again. "Where's Aberforth?"

"Dealing with reinforcements in the back. They recast the anti-apparition and portkey wards."

Two enemies were left, or so he thought, from about dozen, hiding behind the bar. He was about to cast a Blasting Curse at it, then reconsidered. Instead he transfigured the large mirror behind them into alcohol - pure alcohol.

"Incendio."

The screaming from the two Death Eaters set ablaze was worse than Yennington's, and went on for longer.

"I see my lessons were not wasted," Aberforth Dumbledore stated, entering through the backdoor. A wave of his wand ripped stone fragments out of Kenneth's arm, another stopped the bleeding, but not the pain. The old wizard ignored his pained hissing as he continued, as if they were back in training: "Though it only worked because they skimped on the fire protection wards. Nevertheless, we are done here."

Kenneth nodded, not wanting, nor needing to ask what had happened out back. He pulled out his own portkey, and a second later, all three were gone.

*****​

They reappeared in the prepared safehouse, and Kenneth slumped to the ground, shaking. That had been too close. A hand dropped on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and he opened his eyes to smile at Bertha.

"Boy needs a healer. I fixed his arm, but he might have some internal injuries. Had one keel over and die like that once, in France - looked all healthy, then dropped dead. Healers said he had internal wounds I had missed when I healed him," Aberforth declared. "We'll drop him at St. Mungo's, once I've taken care of the prisoner."

"What do you mean, 'taken care'?" Kenneth managed to ask.

"He's a marked Death Eater," the old wizard answered, pointing at the exposed black mark on the man's arm. "The Dark Lord will be able to find him anywhere, and I doubt the Ministry's wards will be able to hold him off - or his spells."

"What…" Kenneth was confused.

"I see." Bertha wasn't. "I trust we'll get the results of the interrogation?"

"Amelia will get them, yes," Aberforth nodded. "Good work you two, but you might want to fix that robe, girl."

Kenneth was confused again - or still - until he noticed the large tear in Bertha's already skimpy courtesan's robe. Which was, due to their positions, right in front of his face now. He didn't notice the bound Death Eater disappearing, or the spy giggling until Bertha had repaired her robes.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore sighed, looking at the unconscious Keith Yennington. Thanks to three drops of veritaserum, the man had spilled what he knew about the Dark Lord's plans - and what crimes he had done in Voldemort's service. More than enough to deserve the Veil, vastly more. The Headmaster shouldn't feel guilty about what was going to happen to the prisoner. And yet he did.

He was alone with the man. Aberforth had not stayed after delivering his captive, and the fewer who knew about this, the better. He tapped a crystal orb on his desk with the tip of his wand, ending the recording of the interrogation. Amelia would complain about not getting to ask her own questions, no doubt, but having a complete recording would hopefully mollify her some. Worth the cost of the orb, at least. After casting an unbreakable charm on it, he stashed it in one of the expandable pockets of his favorite purple robe. Before he could deliver it, and weather Amelia's temper for using her aurors for this, he had to deal with the captive.

A flick of his wand lifted the man from his seat, a swish bound him in magically conjured ropes, and a twist disillusioned him. Despite the late hours, some students might still be out and about, and it wouldn't do to be seen carrying a captive down to the dungeons, even if such rumors might make the Weasley twins behave a bit more. As delightful as their pranks could be, especially in these trying times, they had a nasty streak, and tempers were already running too hot.

If Minerva couldn't get through to them, maybe they could be distracted by work. Banning their products should see a surge in demand, at least from the Gryffindors and even some Slytherins. And if that was not enough, then he might place some orders of his own - some of the products they were already selling through owl order had applications beyond pranking. If there were enough special orders and changes, they might be kept too busy to work much havoc until their N.E.W.T.s...

He kept thinking about possible uses for some of the WWW's stock until he had reached the dungeon cell he had prepared deep under the Gryffindor tower, hidden behind a false wall in a room behind a secret door that looked like it had been used for experiments. Cell wasn't exactly the right word, though - it was more like a vault, with walls now as thick and safe as those of Gringotts, and spells to match. Not even Voldemort's magic should be able to reach anything in that vault, not through the castle's wards, and through the special wards he had placed on the cell. The Headmaster touched the door with his wand and willed it open.

The massive door swung slowly open, revealing a laboratory behind it. Marble floors and walls, with layered spells to contain whatever experiment might run out of control. Two shelves and desks, and cabinets with supplies. And one small bed, bereft of sheets. He floated the unconscious Death Eater on the bed and pulled out the vial with the potion he had brewed for this occasion. Draught of Living Death.

Unstoppering it, he stepped up to the prisoner, still disillusioned to everyone but himself. A wave of his wand woke the man up, and while he was looking around, confused and helpless, Albus put the vial to the prisoner's mouth and forced him to drink.

When he left the laboratory again, Albus wondered if Keith Yennington had realized, in those few seconds before the draught took effect and he could see his surroundings, what his fate would be.

He doubted he would ever know, or would want to know.


Chapter 34: Changes
 
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Chapter 34: Changes
Chapter 34: Changes

Sirius Black was standing across from the entrance to Knockturn Alley, looking at the fires still going on inside, and felt a bit guilty. Just a little bit - it wasn't his fault those buildings next to the 'Capricious Courtesan' hadn't had proper fire wards. Even without a war going on, that was just criminal negligence. But then, it was Knockturn Alley. And they were at war.

"Why can't we go undercover as well?" Sirius had asked Aberforth when the operation had been planned.

"Because without polyjuice, you're too noticeable," the old wizard had answered. "And we don't have that many 'donors' anyway. And we need a reserve outside, in case things don't go well inside."

Sirius hadn't been able to say much about that - Valérie, Chantal, Eugénie and Laure were noticeable. Very much so. And he was memorable too, and handsome, if he did say so himself. "I bow to your experience then. Under protest."

"Do that, boy, and you'll live longer."

And so he and his four friends - girlfriends - had been standing on a roof, a decent distance away from the brothel, hidden by invisibility cloaks, while the two aurors and Aberforth had had all the fun.

Well, not all the fun - he had been sharing the cloak with Valérie, and while they hadn't been as irresponsible as to distract each other intimately, just being close to her had been very nice. They hadn't talked much, just held each other and waited together.

But when the coin stuck to his sleeve had vibrated, he had jumped on his broom eagerly. Capturing Yennington would be a heavy blow to the Dark Lord. The first marked Death Eater caught. And even better, Hermione and Dumbledore would be able to find a way to help Harry.

The five of them - he on his broom, the veela on their wings - had reached the brothel quickly. Guests and whores had been fleeing, trampling each other in their haste to escape, both out front and out the back. The only way to spot any disguised Death Eaters in the crowd would be to look for those trying to get in. And in the chaos below them, that had been far easier said than done.

Then the back wall had been blown out, and he had seen Aberforth cut down a few wizards staggering around in the resulting dust cloud. Obviously, the old wizard hadn't had any trouble spotting Death Eaters. Or starting fires inside.

The coin had vibrated twice shortly afterwards - Aberforth's signal that the mission had been accomplished. Without any help from Sirius's Sexy Strike Squad.

Just as he had been about to tell the girls they could go home, someone had fired a curse at them from below. More had followed, and while badly aimed, and probably cast without seeing them, some spells had come close. And then the first thug had mounted a broom, and flown up, wand out.

Sirius had known they should have simply retreated, apparated away. But they hadn't helped at all with the capture of Yennington, and whoever had been sending curses at them probably was working for the Dark Lord anyway, and so he had cast at the broom rider, and the veela had returned fire. Literally.

Things had gotten a bit out of hand after that. The broom rider had soon found that while it was hard to hit a speeding broom with a spell, it wasn't that hard to hit it with fireballs. Especially if you sent enough of them at the general area the broom was in.

And Sirius's group had found out that while this tactic resulted in a burned broom and rider, it also resulted in a dozen fireballs which had missed, and struck roofs around the brothel. Roofs which apparently hadn't been as fireproof as they should have been. Then more people had joined the fray, and more fireballs had been thrown. And more wands had been burned. Or cursed. Until they had retired from the field.

They needed more training. But they hadn't lost anyone. And hadn't hurt anyone innocent too much. He turned to Valérie, who had appeared at his side. "If anyone asks, we were not involved in that mess."

*****​

"They've captured a marked Death Eater."

Harry Potter looked up from the parchment on his desk when his girlfriend entered the abandoned classroom they had appropriated and interrupted his Ancient Runes homework. Ron was not there, he was studying with Padma. Again.

He blinked. "That was quicker than I expected." He wasn't sure how to feel about the fact that there was now a Death Eater imprisoned at Hogwarts. It was a good thing, a blow against the Dark Lord. But it meant that his girlfriend would studying the Dark Mark.

"Yes. Sirius was apparently complaining about not getting to help much with the mission." Hermione met his eyes. Waiting, Harry realized.

The young wizard almost frowned. He knew just how dangerous those abominations were. Hermione was taking a big risk, even with Dumbledore there. And yet he knew she had been waiting for the opportunity. So he smiled. "That's good."

She sighed and walked over to him, sitting down in his lap. Apparently, she had seen through his facade. "I have to do this. You know that." She ran a finger over his scar, tracing the tissue, before caressing his hair.

"I know. Doesn't mean I like you taking that risk." He could stop her. Order her not to. For a brief, weak moment, he considered it. And dropped the thought. He couldn't do that to her.

"I'm your girlfriend, your retainer, and a muggleborn. I'm already at risk. This is an opportunity we can't afford to miss."

He knew that. He still didn't like it. But Hermione needed it. Needed to be able to do something to help him with … his scar. His enemy. He nodded, and hugged her. "Who told you?"

"Sirius did. He'll be bringing the computer to Hogwarts too. I told him he couldn't apparate with it, or portkey or floo travel it." Hermione kissed his cheek, and snuggled in his lap.

"You mean…"

"Yes. His bike can handle the load."

"Aren't you, maybe, being overly cautious? A shrink spell, and Hedwig could have carried it." His owl wouldn't be pleased at Sirius usurping her position.

"I hadn't had the time to test that with a cheap computer."

Harry frowned and stared at her. "Do you really think that the computer could be affected by magic spells? You said it was the wards, not magic itself, that harmed electronics."

"Well… certain spells could duplicate some ward's effects. Or they could affect the electronics. It's energy, power, after all." Hermione fidgeted a bit. He knew that expression.

"And you like sending Sirius on an hours-long flight. After telling him he can't cast any warming charms or other spells to make it more comfortable." Harry shook his head.

"Well… I still owe him for that last prank." She grinned.

"And did we really have to carry the package without magic?"

"That might have been a bit overly cautious." She smiled at him. "But better safe than sorry, right?"

He groaned. "Aren't you supposed to be the responsible one?"

"I am. Compared to your godfather at least." She stuck out her tongue at him.

He shook his head again, then kissed her.

On second thought, Sirius deserved it, for corrupting his girlfriend.

*****​

Pansy Parkinson watched as the students filled the Great Hall in the evening, taking their seats for the evening meal. It looked like nothing had changed, and yet something should have changed, or so she thought. Draco was dead. He hadn't been the power he thought, not even within his own house, but he had been more than a common student. More than a Slytherin. His death, his absence, should be felt somehow by the entire school.

And yet, outside her own house, nothing seemed to have changed. No students stared at a spot left empty in his remembrance. Not even Potter seemed to search subconsciously for Draco. Had her former boyfriend really been that insignificant to the Boy-Who-Lived? She didn't know. But she suspected that this was the case. After all, Potter had been dealing with several attempts on his life, and was one of the Dark Lord's personal enemies. Why would he care about some silly boy claiming to be his rival?

She remembered how she had been questioned by those aurors after Draco's body had been found. It had been a rather distressing experience. A reminder that Hogwarts was just a school, a place for children to learn magic. To fool around. And to delude themselves into thinking that all the games played there mattered. The little games of one-upmanship, the pranking, even the house cup and detentions… Who cared about school feuds when a war was raging outside the school? Who cared about cliques and house points when lives, when entire families were at stake? Apart from that twit Greengrass, of course.

Hogwarts was a safe haven in the middle of a brutal war. And sooner rather than later, Pansy would have to graduate and leave the school.

She saw Crabbe and Goyle sitting down at the end of the table, a number of younger students giving them space. The two hulking wizards looked lost. Even among the Slytherins, they had been the only ones truly affected by Draco's death. They had been Draco's shadows, his bodyguards, maybe his only true friends, if he had been able to have any, and he had left them. First when he had run away, then when he had died. She knew many were wondering, privately and not so privately, what the two knew of the entire… tragedy.

Pansy snorted. If the two had known anything, then the aurors would have found out, and it would have spread through the Ministry. She knew Crabbe and Goyle better than most others. Those two hadn't the brains to hide anything. If they were a danger to anyone, they'd not be at Hogwarts.

The two Slytherins had always done what Draco ordered them to, and in turn, he had taken care of them. In his own way, at least. She blinked. For all that mattered, they had been Draco's retainers. Loyal like a Hufflepuff, and dumb as a Gryffindor. Pureblood retainers. A mind-boggling concept. Not something one could talk about without risking a duel.

And now they had lost their 'patron'. If they were retainers, Draco's heir would pick them up. But they weren't. They were purebloods, after all. Sooner or later someone would slip into Draco's old position. But for now, everyone in Slytherin was still avoiding them. Afraid of getting involved, exposed, endangered. So predictable.

There was an opportunity for her. She knew them, they knew her - or thought they knew her. And she was pretty certain they were not a danger to her. But were they in danger themselves, just for associating, having associated with Draco? If they were, then so was Pansy herself, probably. So what did she have to lose?

Her still fragile reputation among the other houses, and especially Potter's circle. Taking Draco's thugs under her wing wouldn't help her plans. A month ago, that would have been enough to drop the idea in favor of other prospects. Play some games with Gryffindors, see if she could seduce Weasley in sixth year, sabotage Greengrass's laughable attempts to land Potter.

But now? Draco's death had shown that the war wasn't just a thing that happened to mudbloods. To other people. To adults. She couldn't count on two more years of safety at Hogwarts. She couldn't count on the war ending in two years either - the last war, the one people now were calling the First Blood War, had lasted for more than a decade.

It was time to stop playing children's games, and think ahead, past Hogwarts.

Pansy stood up and walked over to the end of the table, her plate and cup floating after her. Crabbe and Goyle looked up when she was about to sit down next to them, and Goyle scooted a bit over, causing a first year to move away some more, freeing more space for Pansy.

She sat down, smiling at the two. Up close, it was clear that they were not doing well. Crabbe looked tired, and Goyle was pushing his food around. For those two, whom she had seen suffer broken bones without a whimper in Quidditch, that was almost like crying openly. Briefly she wondered if Draco would have shown such a reaction to their death. Or hers.

Then she buried that thought. Draco was dead. Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle were alive. And she'd make sure they all would stay that way.

"We need to talk. After dinner," Pansy said.

Both wizards nodded. She liked to think they'd look a bit relieved, but she was probably fooling herself. She didn't know the two that well, after all. Not yet.

*****​

"Buggering Broomsticks!"

Ron Weasley heard Hermione hiss in response to his cursing. She'd not admonish him though, even if they were under the effect of a privacy spell. It was still too public for the girl to act like that.

"Look at Parkinson! She's making a move on Draco's thugs!" he whispered.

"Oh." Hermione had missed that, probably due to her reading a book on her lap. If she was this bad already, the coming months before their O.W.L.s would be hell.

Harry glanced over, and muttered a curse of his own under his breath. "Think she wants to become Draco's replacement?"

"We'll know when she comes over to our table and sprouts insults and boasts about her family." Ron scoffed.

"Well, that's not much of a problem then. More like a nuisance," Harry sounded almost amused.

"And she'd stop pursuing you in that case," Hermione added helpfully before taking a sip from the cup hovering near her.

"That would be totally worth the added hassle," Ron smiled. Things would go back to normal. Flirting snakes were… weird. If they were back to exchanging insults instead of training together, Padma would love it. He would love it too, of course.

"It's a bit weird though," Neville cut in, "that she'd split from Draco, and now tries to get his old friends back.

"Friends? I'm not certain Draco understood the meaning of that word." Hermione scoffed.

"Tools can be a great help in the right hands," Luna commented while her fork circled around the sausage plate, before diving and spearing two at once. It returned towards her plate, slowly, and the Ravenclaw's knife rose, starting to cut the sausages apart while they were still in the air.

"Parkinson's hands are not the right hands though," Padma said, glaring at the witch in question. Ron only nodded in agreement - he didn't want another discussion about the Slytherin's supposedly wandering hands.

"Would you rather have them following Greengrass?" Aicha asked.

"Well, then they'd be looming behind her while she tries to flirt with Harry," Ron said. That would be funny. Funnier than them looming behind Parkinson while she flirted with himself.

Ginny, Aicha and Luna giggled at that. Harry looked nonplussed and Hermione scowled. Ron's muggleborn friend was almost as angry at Greengrass as Padma was at Parkinson. It made the self-defense lessons rather interesting. In the Chinese sense, as Hermione would quote some muggle saying. And not in the Japanese sense, as she corrected him often enough.

Maybe things would change now. Hermione was already far too tense, with O.W.L.s, her new project, that other project they couldn't talk about with anyone, not even their friends, and her parents in hiding. If she ever lost it…

Ron shuddered at the thought.

*****​

"Good evening, Harry, Miss Granger. You are right on time."

"Good evening, Headmaster," Harry bowed his head slightly while Hermione Granger smiled at Dumbledore. The young muggleborn witch was excited and nervous. This evening she'd finally get to analyze the Dark Mark!

She glanced at Harry. Her boyfriend was smiling politely, but his eyes showed he still didn't really approve of the whole plan. She understood him, but they had no choice.

"Miss Granger and I will proceed to the special room. My office will be sealed, if anything or anyone needs my presence, please tap this device," the Headmaster explained while pointing at a slowly rotating contraption on his desk. Usually, Hermione would have wanted to analyze the item, find out how it worked, but not tonight. Tonight she wanted to see the Dark Mark.

Harry nodded at the old wizard, then pulled Hermione into his arms, hugging her briefly. She was surprised, but hugged him back at once.

"Don't get hurt," he whispered into her ear before they separated again.

"I won't."

The young witch glanced at Dumbledore. Such a display of affection was a bit of a faux pas in in public. The Headmaster acted as if he hadn't noticed though. He didn't seem to mind either, judging by his smile.

"Keep an eye on Fawkes, please - and don't feed him, no matter how much he begs. Otherwise, feel free to peruse my office library here." The old wizard pointed at a shelf stacked with books. Hermione felt a brief surge of jealousy. She reminded herself of what she would be doing, and that those books were surely not that rare. She still felt a little twinge.

"I wish I could join you," Harry muttered.

"Unfortunately, your scar makes that a rather dangerous proposition, Harry," Dumbledore said, smiling gently. "You'll have to content yourself with 'holding down the fort', as the saying goes I believe. Not a glamorous task, but a needed one nevertheless. As far as anyone else knows, with the possible exception of Mister Weasley, you're receiving special lessons here in my office."

Hermione hoped she didn't blush at the mentioning of Ron. He was their best friend, and they'd not keep that from him.

Harry sighed, and sat down on a conjured seat.

Dumbledore nodded. "Let us go then." A swish of his wand opened a door that hadn't been there before, revealing a narrow passage. A secret passage. Before Hermione could ask, the Headmaster already answered: "It's not known to our resident troublemakers. As smart as they are, they haven't explored the castle as thoroughly as they think."

Hermione could believe that - even more when, after a few steps, they were in the dungeons. Obviously, this passage used a lot of magic. It might even be formed on demand, and not be permanent. Again, the witch suppressed her curiosity. She had more important things to find out tonight.

With a flick of his wand, the wizard revealed a secret door, and behind it, a laboratory. Well-stocked, and seemingly well-used, but… something was off. She would have expected stricter security. Better defenses. Hermione frowned while she tried to puzzle this out.

She didn't have to. Dumbledore waved his wand, and a fake wall disappeared, exposing a truly massive door - a vault door, actually. Blinking, Hermione realized it was covered with runes. To cover up her surprise and awe, she said "Gringotts must be jealous."

Dumbledore chuckled, then touched the door with his wand, causing it to slowly swing open. Behind that was the real laboratory. Marble floors and walls, etched with runes, as Hermione saw.

She followed the Headmaster inside and watched with some trepidation how the door closed behind her. Anything locked up here would never get out. Like the Death Eater who was supposed to be here… ah! He had been disillusioned.

"I trust you deem the location safe enough?"

"Yes, sir." She was already staring at the left arm of the man, where a torn sleeve exposed his Dark Mark. He wasn't moving at all, and she'd have thought he was dead, if not for the small tell-tales of … "Draught of Living Death?"

"Exactly, Miss Granger." Dumbledore beamed at her while he levitated the prisoner to the table in the center of the room, then vanished his robe. Metal bands slid into place, holding him secure and on the table. She noticed that there a few differently colored bands - Dumbledore wasn't taking any chances.

Hermione took a step towards the Death Eater. It was a sensible precaution. While the potion should keep him from waking up, or feeling pain, no one but the Dark Lord himself knew what his mark could do. Yet.

She cast a detection spell, idly noting that Dumbledore tapped his reading glasses, then focused on the black mark. It looked harmless at first. Like a mere tattoo.

"Do you see the enchantments woven into the skin? Almost hidden by the ink, it's the first layer of deception - and defense." Dumbledore sounded like he was teaching in a classroom.

"I do. It keeps the mark from fading, and restores it when damaged, or hidden." Quite clever, though at first sight nothing extraordinary.

"Exactly. Though the marks do fade and grow with Voldemort's power, so they have a connection. Hidden and buried, protected by the darkest curses. Soul magic."

Hermione took a deep breath. Soul magic was almost taboo in Wizarding Britain. Most of the known spells were banned. All rituals were. The potential for abuse was too vast. And the consequences of mistakes could literally be worse than death. Very, very carefully, she started to focus on the strands of magic she could see. Even without trying to prod, or unravel them, there was a certain danger - she had read about curses that entranced an observer, trapping them with hypnotic, shifting patterns.

But forewarned was forearmed. She forced herself to look away regularly, to let her attention wander, jump from one part to the next, instead of focusing too much on one enchantment. The Headmaster's commentary helped, of course - especially when he pointed out things she had missed. Anger at her failures was an excellent way to keep alert and distanced. Or so she told herself.

She was here to observe, to learn, anyway, not to break the curses. That was the Headmaster's task. And he was working hard, she could see that, as he unraveled, spell by spell, the first layer of the Dark Mark. The entrancing curse, and the enchantments that formed and retained the appearance of the mark. And below them…

Hermione shuddered at the vile stench that seemed to fill the room when Dumbledore's wand had stripped away the last parts of the first layer. She was choking, bile rising in her throat, until she canceled her detection spell. Panting, she fought against vomiting, retched, but did not lose her meal. It was disgusting, horrible, far worse than feeling in a Dementor's aura. Because despite all that, part of her wanted to recast her spell, to look at it again. The witch shuddered and shivered, hugging herself.

Even the Headmaster seemed affected. He sat down with his eyes closed, breathing heavily. "That was… a tad more powerful than I expected. I fear we have our work cut out for us. It is a very good thing Harry wasn't with us."

"That's… I don't know. How many layers are there?" Hermione managed to bring her stomach back under her control.

"I cannot say yet. Let us leave the premises - so close to the partially exposed mark, we'll have a harder time recovering."

"It'll take us a long time to unravel the mark, won't it?"

"Yes, Miss Granger. And we cannot rush this, or we will make a fatal mistake. Or worse, we might be affected by the more subtle effects of it."

"What do you mean, sir?" Hermione was flattered that the Headmaster was talking as if she was doing anything but observing him and the mark.

Dumbledore tapped the door, opening it, and stepped into the fake laboratory, where he conjured a seat for himself and one for Hermione. As soon as the vault door closed again, the witch felt better, happier. Cleaner.

The Headmaster sighed loudly. "All that lives has to die one day. The horcrux, preventing death, is one of the most fundamentally wrong, unnatural things. It fights against nature itself. As such, it corrupts all it touches. Tom managed to contain that effect, somehow, or all his marked followers would have been easy to spot. When I unraveled part of the mark's enchantment, part of that containment failed as well, so to speak."

Merlin! That hadn't even been the full effect of a horcrux? Hermione gaped.

Dumbledore smiled. "Indeed, Miss Granger, worse things await us. Neither I nor Harry would think ill of you if you'd prefer to…"

"No, sir. I will do and endure what it takes to solve this." Hermione met his eyes, unflinchingly.

Sighing, the old Wizard nodded, acknowledging her statement. "I didn't expect any other answer, truth be told. But heed my words: It will be a long, hard journey, and it will leave you changed."

"I expect that. It's worth it." Hermione pushed her chin up. She was no quitter.

"Even if it might cause you to lose the love of he whom you are doing this for?"

She swallowed, then nodded. As long as Harry survived, and was happy...

"I see. He is fortunate, very fortunate, to have your dedication." He looked rather sad when he said it thought.

The two remained in silence for a few minutes, resting.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Soul magic. It's practically banned in Britain."

"And in most civilized magical countries."

"Some claim a Patronus shows a person's soul," Hermione continued. Or their totem spirit, a Native American Shaman would say.

"Ah… that spell shows their spirit, their emotions. Maybe their magic itself. But it doesn't show a soul. A soul is almost impossible to display. Or to directly affect with magic."

"And indirectly?" Hermione needed to know how to affect a soul, to destroy Voldemort's.

"Through our actions, we shape our soul." Dumbledore spread his hands. "Our deeds, ill or good. Magical or not."

"And yet there is such a thing as soul magic. Magic that can split a soul, and bind it." Hermione countered.

"Yes. There are even the darkest rituals that sacrifice a soul." The Headmaster shuddered for an instant.

"Oh." That might be a way to achieve what she thought..

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes at her. "Those rituals do not just sacrifice a soul, they also demand a horrible price from the caster. That particular payment is usually delayed until they die though."

"Oh. I see. Is that the reason he fears death so much?" Was she willing to sacrifice so much for Harry? But then again, there were ways around that, Indirect ways, and not those the Headmaster had mentioned.

"Maybe. I might know Tom better than anyone else, but not even I can understand all his thoughts."

"It makes me wonder though, sir," Hermione marshalled her courage. "Otherwise, why would he fear death so much, if he knows that there is an afterlife?"

"Ah, Miss Granger. Humans, including wizards and witches, tend to fear what they do not understand. And no one understands the afterlife," Dumbledore said, nodding gravely at her.

"But… we know souls exist. We know ghosts exist. Why don't we know what happens after death?" Hermione wasn't about to ask which religion was correct. She could deduce that, after all.

Dumbledore chuckled, briefly. "Ah, but ghosts do not know what happens after death either. They are but mere copies, imprints, of the men and women they were. Like paintings. Actually, wizard paintings originated as an attempt to create a sort of artificial ghost. The ability to copy a memory and pensieves to watch it were developed as the technique was refined over the centuries."

"So… no one knows what happens when we die. Where our souls go." That was a sad state of affairs, in her opinion. Such an important question, left unanswered.

"Exactly. For all our knowledge, for all our magic, wizards are left in the same position as muggles where the afterlife is concerned: We can but have faith." The old wizard smiled. "Let us rejoin Harry in my office. I think we have recovered enough so that he will not be unduly worried."

Hermione nodded. She felt guilty about deceiving Harry like that, but it was for his own good. She needed to do this, to save him.

*****​

Ron Weasley was concerned. Hermione was much quieter than usual, even counting the fact she was studying in their room before today's Self-defense Club meeting. Some might think she had calmed down, but he knew better. Whatever she had done last night, with Dumbledore, had exhausted her. And shaken her. He looked at Harry, then nodded towards the witch. "Hm?"

Harry shook his head. "She said it's harder than she thought." He kept his voice low, then seemed to reconsider and cast a privacy spell.

"That's all?" Ron was surprised. Hermione wasn't one to brag, but that sounded like the understatement of the month. She usually was more the lecturing type. She had to be hiding something then.

"That's all she said." Harry frowned.

"She doesn't want you to worry."

"And that makes me worry even more." His friend grit his teeth.

"She's with the Headmaster though, she'll be fine." Ron tried to sound more confident than he was.

"That's what I am telling me to stop myself from…" the wizard trailed off.

"... doing something she'll make you regret," Ron finished for him. When Harry stared at him, he chuckled. "Hey, I'm not the smartest guy around, but I know you two, mate."

"If you know me and her so well, what should I do then?" Harry glared at him.

"Trust her. It's all about trust. Trust me about that." He patted Harry's shoulder.

"You sound like you speak from experience."

"Yes. Wish it was different, but… if you don't trust your girlfriend, things won't go well." Ron sighed.

"Padma still has issues?" Harry looked surprised.

"She's still insecure. Parkinson, Hermione, even Luna can set her off." Fortunately, Lavender and Parvati couldn't, anymore.

"Do you trust her?"

"I try." Ron checked his watch. "It's time to head out for the club meeting."

Harry ended the privacy spell, and went to disturb Hermione's studying. Ron got up, and cleaned up the couch they had been on with a spell. A minute later, they were on the way to the training room.

Trouble found them a corridor away from the club room. Trouble wearing tight dueling robes in Slytherin colors. Parkinson.

"Mister Potter, Mister Weasley, might I have a quick word?" The snake's voice sounded as polite as her demand required. Pretty formal, but formal had its uses. Especially when talking with a snake, when the alternative was hexing.

Ron wanted to brush her off, but that would have been rude. And Harry was all about not being rude. His friend had learned the rules very well, but he hadn't learned when those rules could be relaxed. Ron wasn't sure that could be learned without growing up pureblood.

So it came as no surprise when Harry nodded, and gestured to the closest classroom. "This should serve well. I trust this won't take long, we have a meeting to attend to."

"Thank you, Mister Potter. It's about the lesson I wanted to speak about." Parkinson smiled. "I'd like two acquaintances of mine to attend as well."

Merlin's broken balls! The snake wanted to bring Malfoy's thugs into the Self-defense Club? Ron stared at the crazy snake. Why wasn't her hair changing colour, and where were the pimples? Had she broken Hermione's curse?

"You mean Crabbe and Goyle," Harry said, and Ron saw how tense he was.

"Yes. I am aware of past … tensions… with your friends, but I spoke with both, and I'm certain they'll not cause any trouble." Parkinson smiled, trying to cover up the fact that she had been part of that "past tension" more often than not.

"I find that … difficult to believe." Harry wasn't budging. Good!

"Please," Parkinson's smile slipped a bit, just a hint of that familiar sneer shining through. "They just did what Draco told them to do, without asking questions. Or thinking twice."

Ron would have said 'or thinking', period. He wasn't sure if the two Slytherins were as smart as Fang, Hagrid's stupid dog. He was certain Crookshanks was smarter than the two put together - no one else had spotted the rat animagus, after all.

"And now, with Draco gone, they do what you tell them to?" Harry sounded doubting.

"Yes," Parkinson nodded, smiling widely.

"Will you take responsibility then, should they act out of line?"

"Yes." She nodded firmly.

Ron was still staring. His friend couldn't really consider… he saw Harry glance at Hermione. Damn. He was considering it. And Hermione? The girl was pulling out her schedules. Her cursed schedules.

Ron smiled. That would quickly end this plot. Parkinson might have broken the curse on her, but she wouldn't be able to break the curse on the two thugs. Then he frowned. If Parkinson had broken the curse on her, then she'd know about the curse, and wouldn't try to sneak Crabbe and Goyle in the club without having taken counter-measures.

Damn.

*****​

Pansy Parkinson, taking a break after several stinging hexes had broken through her shield and hit her rump, was surprised how easy it had been to get her two new… acquaintances trained with the rest of the club. Given their history, and her own, with Potter, she'd have expected a lot more opposition, even with her using the old forms Potter was so fond of. Simply stating she'd take responsibility for their actions shouldn't have been enough. She knew, now at least, she was not that convincing, and that Potter and especially his mudblood retainer, were not that dumb.

That meant they had a second wand hidden up their sleeve. And seeing as Potter was one of the Dark Lord's personal enemies, it probably wouldn't be something prepared by Granger, but something serious.

Pansy glanced at Sirius Black, Potter's godfather, head of the Black Family, and heir to Malfoy's gold if the rumors from the Ministry were to be believed. He cut a dashing figure, clad in dark duelling robes, with a veela at his side and another nearby. Charming too, especially with the witches. The Greengrass twit was fluttering her eyes at him so often, she'd float away if she was a bit less top heavy.

Pansy almost snorted. He was a Black. Underneath the charming facade, he was the head of the darkest, most feared family in Britain. The first person, ever, to break out of Azkaban. After spending over a decade in that prison. Bellatrix Lestrange's cousin.

The witch shivered. She didn't want to run afoul of such a person. Whatever measures he had taken to keep Potter safe wouldn't be aimed at pranking children, but at Death Eaters. And given his family, she'd likely have nightmares just seeing their effects.

Maybe she shouldn't have taken Crabbe and Goyle under her wing. She trusted them not to do something stupid without orders, but did she trust them with her life? How far would Black go, should they mess up, in forcing her to take responsibility? If Black followed the old laws…

She shivered. She'd better make certain, again, that her two acquaintances behaved. They were currently training with Weasley. Which meant they were getting hexed while trying to cast shield charms. That wasn't a good thing. Both were slow to anger, but if they ever got going...

*****​

"Mister Weasley, might I have a word? In private?"

Ron Weasley, waiting for the other students to leave the room after the club's meeting had ended, frowned for an instant before smiling politely at the snake. "Of course." He ignored the way she nodded at the door, and simply cast a privacy spell, enjoying the way her eyes widened in surprise and hopefully annoyance. It wasn't quite rude to deliberately miss her intention, but it wasn't exactly polite either. But not even his mother would scold him for not going somewhere private with Parkinson.

Hearing the faint buzz that indicated no one would be listening in, and after making sure his friends were keeping an eye on him - not that Padma would be leaving him out of hers - he smiled at the Slytherin. "How can I help you, Miss Parkinson?"

"You could help me by not trying to curse Crabbe and Goyle into the Infirmary," she spat out while glaring at him.

"Pardon? I've been tutoring them. Everyone got cast at. You were hexed quite often as well." Ron used his height to glower down at her.

"I can cast a decent shield charm. They can't. And they won't be learning anything if all they can do is getting hit with hexes." She didn't seem to be intimidated by his height.

"They'll learn. Stinging hexes are a great motivation."

"I know them. They won't. They'll learn how to ignore the hexes, instead of trying to shield against them."

Ron blinked. "That's stupid!" Trying to ignore pain, instead of trying to avoid it?

"That's them." She was still glaring at him, so that probably hadn't been a joke. "So, stop hexing them until they can cast a shield reliably!"

"Shouldn't they have learned that by now?" The look she shot at him told him enough.

"I'll go easy on them then." He almost added 'are you happy now?', as if he was not talking to a snake.

"Thank you." She nodded at him, a brief smile on her face, then turned away. Probably to collect the the two thugs before they got lost in the castle.

Ron dropped the privacy spell, and shook his head, grinning. He still didn't know what Parkinson was planning, but he had foiled it at least for today, and without knowing it. And she had lost her smug flirty act too.

When he noticed Padma's glare, and Harry's and Hermione's raised eyebrows, he thought that maybe, he shouldn't have grinned so much right after talking with Parkinson.

*****​

After several months of visits, Viktor Krum was getting used to muggle Britain. Or at least, muggle London. While there was no magic, and the clothes were a bit too prude for his taste, and there were too many muggles around, it offered advantages over Wizarding Britain that were very hard to beat. He could walk around without drawing a crowd of fans. He could walk around without having to fear an attack by Death Eaters. And he could walk around with Nymphadora Black-Tonks.

His girlfriend's fascination with the muggle world hadn't been a passing fancy. Almost every time he visited, they went 'clubbing' in London. Or shopping. Like today. They had just been in a 'records' shop, and were now on their way to another.

"You know, it's weird that muggles are still so prude, with that kind of advertising," he said, pointing at the picture - not a moving one, unfortunately - of a barely-clad girl that covered the part of a house.

Nymphadora looked at it, then nodded. "They only wear that on the beach, and in the movies, but they show it in the city." She ran a hand over her own clothes. "But they're making progress. This outfit isn't that bad."

Viktor had to agree - his girlfriend looked quite fetching in those muggle clothes. Mostly leather, black and glossy. And not too much of it.

"Did you know that more wizards and witches are visiting the muggle world than ever before? I've heard the Obliviator Corps is complaining about having much more work too. They apparently lay the blame on Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, even though that's just an elective." Nymphadora grinned.

"Are they genuinely interested in muggles, or simply fleeing the war?"

The grin vanished. "The latter. I hope a number will discover just how fascinating muggle culture is, but most simply want to be able to relax without fear. Gringotts is probably making a killing too, exchanging galleons for muggle paper money."

She still looked a bit sad, so he pulled her close to him and kissed her cheek. Which led to her pulling his head around and kissing him 'properly'. Later, when they heard a few teenagers whistling, they broke apart. Viktor glared at the insolent children, but they only laughed and passed them. Nymphadora giggled.

He nodded at a muggle restaurant. "Let's get something to eat."

It wasn't a McDonald's, nor a fish and chips shop, but an Italian restaurant. Which meant pasta or pizza. They chose one of each, and shared. And fed each other. Viktor loved that kind of casual intimacy. Just two lovers, eating together.

When they were waiting for their dessert - tiramisu - he addressed the manticore in the room again. "How is the war going?"

His girlfriend frowned. "Not bad, not well. We kill them, they kill us. So far we seem to be killing more of them than we're losing, but no one has any idea how many wands the Dark Lord has."

"My family owes the Dark Lord a debt of blood." Lala. The Dark Lord had been behind that attack, that much was now clear. Whether or not the man blamed for it had been a patsy, or a middleman, didn't matter. Blood called for blood.

"Are you asking if you can come over and join the war?" Nymphadora's eyes widened in surprise.

A number of his relatives, first among them is brother, wanted just that. Viktor had, so far, managed to convince them they shouldn't. "If we're needed. We're not that many, but we have many friends."

"So far we're holding out fine, and I'm not certain the Ministry would be thrilled to drag your family into the war. Fudge hates looking weak," Nymphadora explained, leaning back. "But I've heard that Dumbledore expects the Dark Lord to look to the continent for more recruits."

He understood at once. "And that means, recruiters will appear."

"Yes. Some of the Headmaster's friends are supposedly already working against them, but they are few, and the continent is big."

"I'll pass it along. My country's got a history on the Balkans." A bloody one, dating back before the wars that had bought their freedom from the Ottoman Empire.

"Thank you." Nymphadora smiled, and rolled her neck, getting rid of a few kinks. He appreciated the effect that had on her tight top.

"There's something else I'd like to ask." He had been wanting to ask for months now. Hesitating, doubting. But they were at war. Nymphadora was at the frontlines, even. Time might be running out any day.

"Yes?" she cocked her head slightly to the side, looking at him.

"I'd like to send my best friend to visit your family."

She gasped. A good sign - she knew what that meant, which meant she knew about the Bulgarian traditions. The wide smile that broke out on her face was an even better sign, as were the tears in her eyes.

But the best sign was how she grabbed his shirt, and pulled him halfway over the table to kiss him.

*****​

Gilderoy Lockhart smiled indulgently at the 6th year witch who was trying to seduce him. Not that he wasn't tempted, she was very pretty, and her robes left little to the imagination, but… he was a teacher. "I'm afraid, Miss Waters, that for tutoring, you should ask Professor Lupin. I am covering the lower years."

"But isn't it a good idea to review the basics as well? I'm sure it would help my upcoming N.E.W.T. year studies very much if I could go over what I might have missed in my earlier years. It's been a long time, after all, since I was a first year." Waters was not giving up easily, he had to admit. She was leaning forward slightly, her robes parting a tiny but more, and her eyes were big, and pleasing. And promising.

"That is true, but I wouldn't want to put my colleague out by poaching, so to speak," he began to let her down, again.

"Someone mentioned poaching? And didn't inform me?" The cheery voice of Jenny interrupted him. Waters jerked, then frowned - she didn't like Gilderoy's best friend.

The famous author smiled widely at her though. "Jenny! What news do you bring us?"

"We've finished another lesson without serious wounds. Almost boring."

He forced himself to laugh louder than usual, even though he wasn't certain she was joking.

"And who's that?" Jenny smiled at Waters, who winced in return. Gilderoy could understand that - Jenny had her toothy smile on. The kind she used to scare annoying tourists - or class XXX creatures.

"That's Miss Waters. She was asking for tutoring, and I was just about to refer her to Remus."

"Ah, good idea! But you might want to watch your robe, Miss - he might get the wrong impression if you show up like this."

"Thank you, Miss Jenny," Waters forced herself to say, and then fled his office with almost undue haste.

Jenny closed the door with a wave of her wand, then fell into the next seat, propping up her boots on the couch table. Gilderoy cast a scourgify on both boots and table. Spider ichor stains were hard to get out if left alone for too long.

"So, the chits are still trying to get in your pants." She shook her head slightly at him.

He nodded, sighing. "Mister Potter is, unfortunately, not willing to take them off my hands. Even though he would be a far more proper target for their affections and offers."

"Smart wizard." A flick of her wand summoned a bottle of beer. Her own stash, which had somehow ended up in his office. She probably had bottles of that stuff stashed all around the castle by now. "Cached" she called it, making depots with foods for an expedition.

"So, how goes the research?"

"Oh, it's going well. We've managed to cross the two spiders, and enlarge them. Now all we need to do is to create a spell that conjures the result." She must have noticed his expression, since she frowned. "Yeah, yeah, I know. That's a tall order. You wouldn't know a spellcrafter, by chance, who is taking commissions and won't sell the result to interested parties?"

"Actually, I think I can help you out there."

He loved the way her expression softened when she was truly surprised. And impressed.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort frowned when he entered the basement where Steinberg worked, and by all accounts, lived as well. He smelled fresh blood. Again. That likely meant another experiment had failed.

"My lord!" Steinberg greeted him, stepping over the mass of flesh blood and bones in the middle of the testing room that probably had been a wizard or witch a short time ago.

"Steinberg. Another failure?" He nodded at the corpse.

"Yes, but a promising one. The wand remained stable for far longer than before. A few more experiments, and they should be ready for deployment." The wandmaker smiled eagerly.

Voldemort kept his annoyance hidden. Steinberg was one of the best wandmakers he knew, and it wouldn't do to antagonize him needlessly. Even though his special wands were still not ready to be used by anyone but expendable curse fodder. Which he hadn't that many at his disposal anymore. "And when will they be as stable as normal wands?"

"Oh, that's hard to say. This is a new field of the Dark Arts, after all, and so I might need to try out several ways to reinforce them." The wizard suddenly seemed to understand the reason for the question. "Did your plans change?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. I think your masterworks shouldn't be wasted on weak expendable fodder, but used by my best followers, in a surprise strike against the heart of my enemies."

"Oh. That will take more time then. I was focusing on gaining the best results for about one week - enough for an important mission and some safety margin. For a permanently stable wand, I would… hm…" Steinberg rubbed his chin, heedless of the streak of blood that left on his pale skin.

"Do you best, wandmaker, and you will make history."

"Of course! I need more experiments though."

And that meant he needed more subjects to experiment on. Which meant another drain on his dwindling pool of hired wands. But it would be the height of foolishness to use prisoners for these kind of experiments. "I will send a volunteer down. But you'd best clean up this mess, or he might get spooked."

"Of course, of course!"

The Dark Lord left the wandmaker's realm, and returned to his study. One problem was taken care of, even if it was a minor one, and showed great promise still. That left another problem to be tackled, before he could focus on his main plan.

The prophecy. He still needed to get his hands on the prophecy. But he hadn't found any wizard or witch yet that had been the subject of another prophecy, and therefore would be allowed to enter the Hall of Prophecies. Suddenly, his eyes widened. He hadn't found one - but maybe he could create one. Fake one.

All he needed was the words of a prophecy that hadn't come to pass yet, and he could find someone who would fit.

It was time to sift through any works on Divination he could find.


Chapter 35: Preparations
 
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Chapter 35: Preparations
Chapter 35: Preparations

Bertram Kettlestock kept a smile on his face even though he wanted to sneer at the mercenaries and criminals gathered in this dingy tavern in southern Albania. Scum, all of them, willing to hire on with You-Know-Who. Most of them were from the Balkans, but more than a few hailed from all over Europe.

Near the door stood two wizards wearing the black robes of Grindelwald's Storm Wizards - but they were far too young to have been born during that Dark Lord's reign, much less having fought for him. They had the arrogant attitude though, the one Bertram remembered from his time as an auror dealing with some veterans from that war. Hopefully they'd not have the aptitude for dark curses as well. Across from them, and glaring at the pair, were three French or Belgian wizards. Nondescript robes, shifty attitudes - they looked more like thieves than mercenaries. Of course, appearances could be deceiving. Near them stood a witch wearing the robes of one of the Swiss Militia, with the canton's emblem torn off. A spaniard bravo was trying to chat the witch up, but judging by her bored expression, the wizard was not having much luck.

And there was Bertram himself, disguised as a former British hit-wizard, who had left the country after the last war. In his opinion, hit-wizards were more likely to go mercenary after a war than aurors, having trained for and knowing nothing but combat. And even though he had left the Auror Corps, he still wouldn't want to see its reputation tarnished.

But the majority of the two dozen wands in the tavern were Greeks and Albanians. Clearly separated into two groups, watching each other, hands twitching each time a wand was drawn to summon another drink from the bar. No one among them seemed to have forgotten the past, when Albanian wizards had been the Ottoman's auxiliaries in the Greek War of Independence. Not that the feuding ever had ended.

Bertram didn't know if this was normal for this tavern - a meeting spot for mercenaries - or if tonight was a special occasion. He did know though that it wouldn't take a lot to spark a fight, and ruin the recruiting that was supposed to be going on. Or at least, ruin half of the possible recruits for the You-Know-Who.

He took a sip from his ale, to mask his sneer. The scum in here deserved to die for even thinking about joining the murderer of his family. Bertram had done a lot he wasn't proud of after quitting the Ministry. But there were lines he had never crossed. He had killed, but not murdered. Least of all children.

For a moment his eyes wandered over to the young witch among the Greeks. She looked barely old enough to pass her O.W.L.s. But she was here, and therefore she wasn't a child anymore, but scum. Had to be. He emptied his glass and summoned another, after banishing a few coins to the bartender. He wasn't here to care about some foreign scum, no matter their age. He was here to foil You-Know-Who's plan. To prevent more murders in Britain. Like those that had claimed his family. His daughter… she would be studying for her N.E.W.T.s now, had she lived. His eyes wandered back to the Greek witch. She had the same hair as Seren.

The man next to the witch had noticed his staring, and was glaring at Bertram. He looked away. How much longer were the recruiters taking? He had been hunting those two wizards for two weeks now, and this was the first such meeting he had heard of. You-Know-Who must be pretty desperate for wands, if he was trying to recruit like this. Especially if they were inviting Greeks and Albanians into the same tavern. Hadn't Aberforth cautioned him that You-Know-Who was very familiar with Albania? It made no…

His blood seemed to freeze. It made no sense. Unless this was a trap. For him. His hand went into his pocket, gripping his emergency portkey. One muttered word, and he would be whisked away to a safe house. Unless wards had been erected to block that.

He withdrew his hand. He could still get away. Step out to relieve himself, then flee on a broom, if apparition didn't work. But if this was a trap, they'd be watching for that too. No, he had better chances if he stuck it out.

He banished another coin at the bartender, and summoned his next beer. He was here as a hired wand down on his luck and deep in his cups. A role he was quite familiar with, which was why he had been approached by Aberforth. He wasn't quite as familiar with the area as the older wizard - he hadn't fought in the Intervention, hadn't battled Barbary raiders and Ottoman Janissaries until the Magical Porte had finally caved in - but he was younger, and less well known.

The door opened, and everyone tensed up as wands were drawn. A figure in a dark robes entered, face hidden by the white mask of a Death Eater. Everyone stared for a second, some hissing in surprise. Even the Germans briefly lost their arrogant sneer. The wands for hire had known who was doing the hiring, but to see someone openly walk around in Death Eater garb… that was a brazen move.

The former auror wondered who was behind that mask. And who would be waiting, nearby, to spring the trap. Death Eaters never arrived alone, the cowards always came in numbers. They would be watching. Waiting for him to betray himself.

The Death Eater walked towards the bar, his wand summoning a chair from one of the Albanians who had jumped up at his entrance. Without breaking stride, the wizard used the chair as a step to stand on top of the bar, looking down at the assembled crowd.

"Greetings. I speak for the Dark Lord." The masked wizard had a slight accent - a local recruited by You-Know-Who during his 'exile', maybe?

The murderer went on to prattle about the honor of fighting for You-Know-Who - as if anyone here gave a damn about honor - and the opportunities it offered, before finally coming to the real argument: The gold offered. It was a sizeable sum. More generous than Bertram and Aberforth had expected, after the loss of the Malfoys. Far too generous, to be exact, for anyone but an actual veteran from Grindelwald's War.

Bertram stood up and sneered at the Death Eater. "What's your game? That much gold, for that kind of scum?" He glanced over at the Greeks, scoffing. They bristled, and the Albanians laughed. "That's the kind of rates people offer who don't expect to actually pay up!"

That got the attention of the wands. Among the mercenaries, there were always rumors, stories, of employers who promised gold, hoping the hired wands would die before they'd get paid. Or arranged such an event.

"The Dark Lord is generous to those who fight for him," the Death Eater said. Bertram still hadn't spotted the others who had to be around.

"The Dark Lord isn't a fool though." He walked into the middle of the tavern, facing the Death Eater - and placing himself between the Greek and Albanians. "That scum there would curse their own family for a tenth of that sum. Or sell their daughters and mothers." He leered at the witch.

As expected, that did the job. Wands were raised, and Bertram flung himself to the side, conjuring a slab of stone as a cover against the curses sent towards him. A few of the curses went wide, as he had hoped, and struck the Albanians. One of them hadn't been quick enough with a shield and must have been wearing robes with shoddy protections, since he fell down, screaming and clutching his stomach. Bertram saw the man's belly starting to swell, like a balloon, before he had to shield himself against more curses.

He didn't hear the sound the cursed man's belly made when it popped. He didn't miss the blood and worse splattering half the tavern though. Nor the screams of rage as the Albanians struck back.

As the meeting turned into a chaotic, lethal brawl, and the Greeks turned their attention to the Albanians and away from him, Bertram grinned, and shot a volley of spells at the Death Eater, who was still standing on top of the bar. The criminal was too slow to react, and Bertram felt elated when a Piercing Curse shattered the protections from the man's robes, and his Bludgeoning Curse smashed into the Death Eater's mask. The man was thrown into the mirror behind the bar, then fell down, leaving a red trail on the reinforced glass.

That had been too easy… the Death Eater had to have been expecting an attack, if this was a trap. Bertram cursed himself. The man had been bait, he realized. Expendable, maybe imperiused bait. And he had fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

He had to get out! Bertram tried apparating to the back of the room, but failed. The front door was closer, but they would be waiting there. He needed a distraction, and quickly. Pointing his wand at the center of the room, he unleashed fiendfyre.

It was a desperate move, but as expected, not even a Balkan blood feud was enough to keep the mercenaries fighting in the face of cursed fire threatening to burn them all to ashes. Yelling and screaming, everyone still alive scrambled for the door and windows. The people waiting in ambush outside would have a lot of targets to curse.

He sent a blasting hex at the nearest window and pulled out his shrunken broom. The window wasn't destroyed though. He turned around. The people were panicking now, trying to open the other windows, or the door - without any success.

Bertram and everyone else were trapped inside the tavern. Facing fiendfyre he had deliberately let go out of control. He saw the young witch lie on the ground, dead or knocked out, close to the fire, and summoned her to him.

She was already dead. He placed her body gently on the ground as the fire approached, then turned his wand on himself.

*****​

Hermione Granger stared at the little - or not so little - abomination in the unbreakable and enlarged jar on the table. The cat-sized spider was hitting the jar's transparent walls with half its legs and snapping its mandibles open and shut, as if it was trying to break through and attack her. It probably was, she realized - the cross between a Redback Spider and a Sidney Funnel-web Spider looked rather aggressive, and at least one of those spiders was known to prey on larger animals.

"How many laws were broken when you bred that?" She pointed at the jar, suppressing a shudder when the spider redoubled its effort to break out.

"None!" Miss Jenny - Jungle Jenny - declared with a wide and slightly smirking smile.

"Pardon?"

"The British Ministry for Magic only banned cross-breeding magical creatures. That's a magically crossbred and enhanced muggle spider!" Jenny grinned.

"Oh." That sort of oversight shouldn't have surprised Hermione - wizards had a tendency to underestimate muggle dangers. "Completely legal then… "

"Exactly!" Judging by the beaming smile of the Australian Witch, she either ignored or hadn't noticed Hermione's sarcasm.

"And you want me to create a spell that conjures such spiders." Quite ingenious. Conjured or transfigured animals didn't possess magical powers, so most of the most dangerous magical animals were not that dangerous if conjured. But muggle venom would work perfectly well.

"Yes." The witch nodded. She was wearing her usual robe. The witch claimed it was a gift from an Aboriginal Shaman, but Hermione had her doubts. It bore more than a passing resemblance to the outfits usually seen in Tarzan movies. To think that Luna had already wondered if she'd have more success hunting Snorkacks wearing a similar outfit...

"That way we'll avoid the danger of such spiders escaping into the wilderness", Professor Lockhart said. He was clad in teacher's robes, in a tone of blue that suited his hair nicely.

"And trouble with the ICW for threatening the Statute of Secrecy," Hermione added. The spiders would probably mistaken for the results of genetic manipulation, but there was no need to explain that - the threat of the ICW getting involved might protect Britain from suffering a magical invasive species.

"That too, yes." Lockhart nodded. Jenny shrugged - the witch didn't seem to have a high opinion of the International Confederation of Wizards.

"I'll have to observe the spiders, and probably dissect one or two." Hermione wasn't looking forward to that. But the promise of a swarm of those spiders, with their potent venom… That would be a nasty surprise for the Death Eaters.

Miss Jenny made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "Oh, no problem. We've got about four dozen of them. We'd have had more, but the spiders are cannibalistic and the older ones ate their younger siblings."

Four dozens of them! If Ron knew… Not for the first time Hermione cursed the twins and their pranks, which had traumatized her friend as a child.

"I'll see what I can do then." She was already considering how best to approach this task. The Snake Summons spell would be a nice base to build upon, but she hadn't analyzed its formula in depth so far - an oversight, given that Harry was a parselmouth, and would be able to use snakes far better than anyone else but others who shared that gift.

"Good! Me and Hagrid can then work on our next project!" Miss Jenny jumped down from the desk she had been sitting on, smiling.

"Ah, Jenny… what are you planning to create now?" the professor asked, his voice betraying the same dread Hermione was feeling.

"Nothing illegal!" came the quick reply.

That didn't sound too reassuring, not after Hermione had seen what kind of legal monsters the Australian witch and the half-giant professor had created.

"Jenny…" Professor Lockhart glared at her.

"OK, OK… we're going to cross a Saltwater crocodile with a Spitting Cobra. If all goes well, we'll have a creature as tough and strong as the crocodile, as fast as the snake, and able to spit venom more than 20 yards!"

Hermione and Professor Lockhart stared at each other with matching expressions of horror while Miss Jenny left the professor's office.

"At least it won't be flying?" the professor tried to see a silver lining.

"Not yet." Hermione said, shaking her head.

"I'm rather certain that that would require magic, and therefore would be illegal." Lockhart's smile lacked his usual confidence though.

"Professor, do you really think that will stop them? And even so… there's the example of the pteranodons."

"The what?"

Hermione hoped that if Lockhart was not familiar with the fauna of the Cretaceous, Hagrid and Miss Jenny wouldn't be either.

*****​

"Mathilda? Are you home?"

That was Aberforth's voice. Mathilda Miller stood up when she heard the call from her floo. The two aurors she was still sharing the safe house with looked up from where they were writing and reading reports together, but didn't move.

"Yes, I am, Abe. What's going on?" What would make him call at this hour?

"Can I come through?"

"Of course." She grinned a bit at how the two aurors twitched at hearing that - Aberforth had made a big impression on those two. And on the walls where he had trained them. With them, usually.

Her levity disappeared though as soon as her old friend stepped out of the floo and she saw his expression. He wasn't bringing good news. Before he could say anything, she asked "Who died?"

"No one died. But Bertram hasn't been heard of in three days." Aberforth sighed.

Mathilda closed her eyes, and shuddered. She knew well what that meant. Bertram Kettlestock, one of her closest friends. One of those lovers she remembered fondly, too.

"He could be simply out of reach of an owl," Abe said.

She looked at him until he grimaced and admitted: "I know. It's unlikely. But it's not impossible. That's why I'm heading down there."

"What?" He was leaving the country?

"I'm heading to Albania."

"But…" Mathilda trailed off. Asking what that would mean for her safety seemed petty when Bertram might still be alive, and in need of help.

"That's why I'm here. I want you three to play it safe while I'm away. No spying or skulking."

"We can't sit the war out!" Kenneth, as expected, bristled at the suggestion. His partner remained silent - so far.

"I'm not telling you to sit it out, boy. I'm telling you to take a break while I check up on Albania. It won't take long." Aberforth glared at the auror, and Mathilda winced in sympathy when Kenneth sat down.

"Do you really expect your friend to be still alive?" Bertha asked, sounding even colder than usual in Mathilda's opinion.

"If he's still alive, then he'll need help. If he's dead, then someone needs to finish his job. We can't have the Dark Lord hire all the scumbags of the continent to throw at our people," Aberforth stated. "I should have gone myself in the first place, I know the grounds there," he added in a lower voice.

"You knew the country. A few decades ago," Mathilda corrected him. The old wizard shouldn't be blaming himself - Bertram, like everyone else of their friends, had known the risks. And they all knew what they owed to Aberforth. She knew though that Abe wouldn't see it like that. He felt responsible for them all. In that he was like his brother, not that she'd ever tell him that.

"It hasn't changed that much. A number of my old contacts will still be around. And I've got a few favors to cash in as well, with some of the clan heads there," Aberforth stated.

There wasn't much Mathilda could say to that. Abe was set on going. And no one, probably not even his brother, could stop him when he was so set on something. So she nodded. "We'll sit tight. Even if I have to sit on him," she added, pointing at Kenneth.

"Good." Aberforth looked at the two aurors. "Keep her safe." He nodded at Mathilda and turned towards the floo.

"Abe!" She wasn't about to let another old friend disappear like that. He turned around, and she hugged him. "You be careful too. You have to come back, you hear?"

"I will," he whispered, patting her back.

She loosened her grip on him, and watched him step into the floo, her eyes watering.

Neither of the two aurors commented on her tears, or tried to offer condolences. They all had lost people before, friends, comrades, and knew how hollow such words were. Instead, Bertha summoned more tea for all of them.

Mathilda would start to tease the two aurors again soon. Change the topic, change the mood. But for now, she wanted to remain like this for a bit longer, remembering her friend.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort read the missive that had just been delivered by an elf, then passed it on to Bellatrix. The dark witch glanced at it, pursing her lips. "My husband and his brother seem quite optimistic about their efforts. They report the killing of an agent of Dumbledore, but do not go into many details."

"Do you think they are covering up a mistake?" Voldemort trusted the two Lestrange brother's loyalty to him. "Apart from the fact that they should have captured and interrogated the agent."

Bellatrix frowned. "Apart from that they only mention trapping the agent and baiting him with an imperiused impostor. They do not even describe their enemy."

"Indeed." Voldemort showed her a news article from Greece.

Bellatrix quickly read it, then looked at him. "A tavern in the order region was burned to the ground when Greek and Albanian mercenaries started a fight?"

"I think thats the incident Rodolphus and Rabastan refer to." Voldemort summoned the article back to him.

"In other words, they don't even know if they managed to kill their target. They just assumed it worked. Why am I not surprised?" The witch's voice dripped with contempt.

The Dark Lord was reminded of the saying 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned', and didn't mention that the Lestrange brothers were skilled wizards, even though they hadn't weathered Azkaban as well as Bellatrix. "They've hired a few promising wands already."

Bellatrix scoffed, but didn't dispute his words. Instead she looked at the book he had been perusing, before the message had disturbed him. "Did you have any success yet, my lord?"

He frowned. "No. So far I have not found any other subject of a prophecy. My … sources in the Ministry haven't yet managed to procure more information." Such as the resumes of seers applying for a job at the Ministry, which would list any prophecies they had ever made. "Although I have not given the matter my full attention."

"Oh?" Bellatrix licked her lips.

"Yes." He pointed at a tome on his desk.

The witch ran her hands over the leather cover. She looked puzzled, then her eyes widened. "That's…"

"Yes. Apparently, the author decided he didn't like to waste the skin." Peculiar, but not unexpected, given the subject of the book. And the author.

Bellatrix opened the book, with only a slight sneer showing her distaste. Soon she gasped, and once again met his eyes, smiling widely.

He nodded at her. "Yes. Once I have mastered this, the war will be won."

"Yes, Master!"

*****​

"If Ron saw that…" Harry Potter shook his head at the unnaturally large spider in the glass cage, then winced at the slight pain that caused - since it was the full moon that day, Mad-Eye had given one of his lessons in Defense. A practical one. With him as a helper. Hermione had been furious at the old auror.

"He would be out of the room in a second. So, it's a good thing he's snogging Padma," Hermione said without looking up from her notes.

"He might like to see you kill another one though." He wasn't looking at the spread out remains of the last spider his girlfriend had dissected. Watching Hermione butcher it had been unsettling enough. But he'd not let her work with such a dangerous monster by herself. Just one bite, and she might not be able to reach the bezoar in time. Sure, she said she was wearing robes enchanted against venom - and fetching robes they were, suited for her figure - but there was a reason aurors worked with a partner and pilots had wingmen.

"Maybe. You can ask him if he wants to dispose of them once the spell is finished." Hermione's tone made it clear that she didn't think their friend would want to.

"Are you certain Hagrid and Jenny will let you destroy their creations?" As far as Harry knew, they seemed rather protective of any animals, even monsters like that spider, who looked like it was trying to kill them.

"I'll ask the Headmaster for support. I'm certain he'll agree that the risk of such a spider escaping is too big. Do you remember the aurors fighting the acromantulas in our second year?" The witch raised an eyebrow at him.

Shuddering, Harry nodded. "Yes. Though those are smaller, far smaller."

"That just means they can hide even better. And their venom is worse."

Harry blinked. The spiders were even more dangerous than he had thought. "You didn't tell me that when you told me about the project."

Hermione flinched a bit. "I mentioned their venom was worse than that of the the two base spiders'."

"I'm not exactly an expert on muggle spiders. Or on Australia." Apart from assuming that everything down there was poisonous and trying to kill tourists, especially wizards.

"Sorry. Next time I'll do a lecture." She grinned, though still a bit ruefully.

He groaned. "There's a middle ground between too little, and too much information."

"That can't be true since there's no such thing as too much information!" Hermione stuck her tongue out at him.

"I think most people will…" Harry didn't get any further as pain shot through his scar, blood started running down his face and he lost his balance.

The man in front of him was struggling on the slab of marble, pulling on his bonds, ripping his ragged clothes further. He looked desperate and afraid - and with good cause. The moon was rising, and soon the creature on the altar would change into a beast.

Next to him stood his beautiful lover, Bellatrix, smiling at the doomed animal, wand ready, until the moon rose above the treeline. The man changed, then and there, fur sprouting, and bones broke as they changed shape, and changed the man's shape into a monster's. Normal restraints would have been broken, but those were magical, imbued with silver. Painful, but effective. The beast was thrashing, smoke rising from its wrists and ankles, where the bonds held it fast, and its maw was wide open - if not for the silence spell, the howling would be heard in the whole forest. It was useless, of course - the werewolf would not escape.

Around them, small lights lit up, one by one, touched by the light of the full moon, forming a circle. And between them silvery bands of runes appeared, floating just above the ground. It was a rather simple arrangement, he noted. Easy even.

Harry held out his hand, and Bellatrix handed him a silver knife. He wondered, briefly, if the beast saw it, and redoubled its efforts, or if those frenzied movements were a normal reaction to being bound by magic. It didn't matter. He carefully placed the tip of the knife on the monster's chest, causing more smoke to rise from the burning fur, and broke the skin, opening the monster up below its ribcage.

It took a while to remove the heart - werewolves were a bit more different from humans than he had expected - but after a while, the monster had stopped thrashing, and he was holding the heart up, towards the moon, and all the runes floating around were shining brighter and brighter.

Success.

"Harry! Harry!"

He wasn't in the forest clearing anymore. He was on the ground. He wasn't holding a still twitching heart in his blood-covered hands. But his hands were covered with blood - his blood. He hadn't murdered a werewolf. He had fallen down, and hurt his head.

No, that pain wasn't the result of a fall. It came from his scar. As did the blood.

Harry felt faint, and only dimly noticed more people arriving. Even the shriek and curses from Ron when he spotted the spiders sounded like some background noise. Hermione was holding him, clutching him to her chest. Crying.

Then he was floating, out of her arms, out of the room, and knew no more.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore watched Harry and Miss Granger enter his office. The boy had been treated by Poppy last night, but he still looked shaken. Not that there had been much that could be treated. The scar had stopped bleeding before they had reached the infirmary, and a potion had replaced what blood he had lost. The witch at his side was far closer than usual, holding his arm. Understandable, given the events.

"Please have a seat, Harry, Miss Granger." He smiled encouragingly at them. Once they were seated - still holding hands - he continued: "You've had another vision."

"Yes, sir." Harry sighed, then drew the memory out of his temple. Albus knew Harry didn't want to review the vision, but Miss Granger seemed torn between staying with her patron, and watching what had upset him so. But if she went, then Harry would come as well. And Miss Granger knew that. And she wouldn't want him to go through that again.

"I'll not be long. Feel free to peruse my library." Albus said, nodding towards the shelves in his office. He didn't smile when Miss Granger's eyes lit up, as expected, not until he had turned away and was walking to his pensieve.

The memory was longer than he had expected. He would have to study it in detail later, when the two children were not waiting in his office. But he got the gist of it. And he didn't like it.

When Albus returned to his desk, Miss Granger was pointing out some theorem in Marchaud's 'Foundations of Magic' to Harry. It was a fascinating work - the wizard had been ahead of his time by centuries - but Albus didn't think Harry was in a mood to appreciate it right now. Though it, or at least the young witch's enthusiasm, served to distract the boy at least. Fawkes was munching on some lemon drops - apparently his phoenix had used the distraction as well.

The Headmaster took his seat and sighed. "I think you already know that you saw another dark ritual by Voldemort." Experienced, actually, as Voldemort. But there was no need to be so precise. Even Miss Granger didn't mention that.

"Yes, sir." Harry sounded less shaken now.

"He sacrificed a werewolf. But I couldn't tell for what purpose." Which was worrying in itself. To counter magic one usually had to know what one was facing.

"It seemed to empower those runes," Harry said.

"Yes, though as far as I could tell, those were mere light runes," Albus stated, And why would Voldemort sacrifice a werewolf to merely create light? The Headmaster would have to study the runes he could see, all of them, to be certain that this was all they did. But even so, Albus knew one possible answer. The worst possible answer.

It was a test.

*****​

Be careful what you wish for, Sirius thought. When he had been told that his baby cousin was getting married to Viktor Krum, he had been overjoyed - he had barely kept the urge to have Padfoot jump around the two, barking wildly, in check. And he had been pleased to hear that Viktor's family would be involved in the war against the Dark Lord. They had already lost one of their family, and they knew what they were getting into.

But if he had known what exactly this would lead to… the tension in his home hadn't been this bad since right before he had left it for the Potters' back in his teenage years. Wizard wedding preparations were serious business.

"Nymphadora! How can you claim this is a compromise?" Andromeda sounded aghast.

"Mum! We're having a Bulgarian wedding ceremony, and a British wedding!" Nymphadora was standing, facing her mother.

"A British muggle wedding!" Andromeda shouldn't be sounding quite that dismissive, in Sirius opinion. It reminded him of his mother, and her attitude towards his friends.

"So? If it was good enough for the Potters, then it's good enough for us!" the metamorphmagus declared, standing with her hands on her hips. As if to emphasize her point she was dressed like a muggle girl, again. That wasn't helping with her mother's mood, of course.

"It wasn't good enough for the Potters, it was the only way they could have married!" Andromeda was standing now as well. For a moment, Sirius expected the air between his cousins to crackle with lightning.

"Oh really? That's not what I heard from Sirius! They would have married in muggle Britain anyway! And that's what we're doing!" Nymphadora scoffed.

"Sirius! What have you been telling my daughter?" Yes, Andromeda definitely sounded like his mother right then.

Damn! Sirius wasn't about to get dragged into this conflict. Some might doubt it, but his instinct for self-preservation was working just fine! "I've just told her how intent Lily was on marrying according to her family's traditions."

"We don't have muggle traditions!" Andromeda turned back to glare at Nymphadora.

Her daughter wasn't giving in though. "Well, maybe we'll start with me then!"

"Let's calm down!" Sirius said, wishing that it wasn't so close after the full moon, and Remus would be around. His friend was supposed to be the diplomatic one! Not that Remus would have been present anyway - Andromeda had made it clear that this was a 'Black affair'. Blood and spouses only. The wizard briefly wondered if his own wedding, should it ever come to that, would generate as much trouble. He hadn't even met Valérie's parents yet… Merlin, he was thinking about marriage! It was contagious!

The two headstrong witches didn't look like they were about to heed his plea.

"Andromeda. Nymphadora." At last, Ted spoke up.

"Ted!" "Dad!"

Sirius had enough. "Be quiet!" He roared, then glared at the two surprised witches. "What is this about, Andy? I don't recall you being that fond of British weddings."

His cousin met his eyes for a moment, then sat down, sighing. "It's not the traditions, not exactly. It's the whole impression it'll leave. We're a small family, even counting you, Sirius."

"Thank you," he answered, drily.

The witch ignored his remark, and addressed Nymphadora: "And you're marrying into an entire clan. If we're doing the ceremony the Bulgarian way as well, it'll look like we're the ones marrying into them without bringing much to the table."

"You'd mean we'd look like true muggleborns?" Nymphadora asked with a sneer reminiscent of her late aunt.

"We'd look poor!" Andromeda spat.

Sirius finally understood. He stopped Nymphadora with a silent silence spell before she could retort and make things worse.

"Sirius! What's the idea?" The young witch glared at him after ending the spell.

"Andy's concerned about the gossip this'll generate. You weren't born when she was emancipated, so you don't know what she went through," he started to explain.

"Sirius!"

He ignored Andromeda's exclamation. It was better to scourgify the dirty laundry of a family before a wedding than afterwards. "When a child of one of the Old Families choses emancipation, people usually assume something scandalous is the reason. That was the case with Andy. Especially after I had left and gone to the Potters, but hadn't chosen to be emancipated myself." And hadn't that been a scandal! Sirius was quite certain that he would have been removed from the family, if there hadn't been a war going on and his parents had feared for the continuation of the line, and decided that having a son in each camp was a good thing.

"What? Are you telling me that if we marry according to Viktor's tradition, they'll assume something is wrong with my family?" Nymphadora's tone reminded him that she was still so young. So naive in some ways, despite her brash attitude.

"That's about it." Sirius nodded.

Nymphadora sat down, muttering curses under her breath. The animagus knew the feeling - he often was quite fed up with Wizarding Britain's society himself. "So, what can we do?" she finally asked, frowning.

"Oh, the usual Black solution." Sirius answered, cheerfully.

"Which would be?" Andromeda looked at him with suspicion in her eyes.

"We'll throw money at it!" He smiled brightly at her. The other traditional Black solution, dark curses, wasn't really applicable here, after all. "Consider it a gift for my favorite cousin."

"And how will that help?" Andromeda sounded sceptical still.

"We'll come with so many friends, we'll drown out the locals! And we'll share the costs, so they can't complain!" Sirius was getting into the spirit now. "And we might as well make a spectacle out of the muggle wedding!" They could do that - he had seen some very elaborate wedding pictures in those magazines.

From the way Nymphadora's eyes lit up, she had seen the same pictures. Andromeda, bless her soul, probably didn't realize just what was in store for her, yet.

*****​

"I still can't believe Nymphadora is getting married."

Hermione Granger looked up from her notes and at her boyfriend. "Why?"

"She dresses so often like a punk, I keep assuming that she'd think marriage would be 'too conventional' for her."

"She dresses like a punk because she likes the style. She doesn't really think like a punk." Hermione knew that from talking with the witch - Nymphadora had become the closest to a 'big sister' the muggleborn witch had. And despite her pranking streak, the auror generally was a good source of information about some aspects of Wizarding Britain others, especially wizards and older witches, might not be too privy about.

"I'll take your word for it." Harry leaned back on the couch facing her.

"You'll see it at her muggle wedding. There'll be horse carriages, not punk bands." And probably dresses for the bridesmaids that cost more than dress robes. At her boyfriend's look, she added "Sirius wants an expensive wedding, and he's not exactly looking at middle-class affairs for examples."

"Great," Harry muttered.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She'd have expected a bit more enthusiasm. And deep down, she couldn't help but think of a similar wedding, in her future. And Harry's. A celebration more expensive than any wizard one would be a way to get back at a society that prevented her from marrying who she wanted. "What's wrong?"

Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Nothing… I'm just… you know, jealous."

Jealous? He was jealous? Of Viktor? For a moment, all her insecurities rose up inside her. She forced herself to calm down though. "What do you mean?" It came out just a tiny bit sharper than she'd wanted.

"They get to marry. In the Magical World." He flicked his wand almost absentmindedly, conjuring a small cube of stone, and shattering it with a piercing curse before it hit the ground.

"Oh." They hadn't talked about that part, much. After they had finally found out the truth about the Year of Discovery, this was the biggest elephant left in the room when it came to talking about their relationship.

"I should be happy for them, and I am… but…" Harry trailed off, looking slightly ashamed.

"It emphasizes just how unfair it is?" she asked, putting her notes down.

"Yes." He slid a bit to the side when he noticed her getting up.

Hermione sat down next to him, and leaned into his side. It was unfair. And she hated it. Hated that she couldn't do anything about it. Anything practical, at least. She clenched her teeth together, wishing to hurt or destroy something, until Harry slid his arm around her shoulders. They remained like that for a while.

"So, how's the work on the spider summons going?" Harry asked, blatantly changing the topic.

"Well, I've got the spider part down." Now that only left he monstrous part to be added.

"I know that. Ron pretty much confirmed that."

"I said I was sorry! He shouldn't have barged in!" Hermione flushed slightly.

"Did you really have the room covered in spiders?" Harry sounded as if he was torn between amusement and horror.

"Just the back half of it. And only the floor," she added indignantly.

"It'll probably take him a few days to enter the room again." There was the slightest hint of reproach in Harry's voice.

She sighed. "I'm sorry, but this is important. I didn't expect him to be present, or I'd have told him in advance. I thought he would be studying with Padma." According to the schedule she had made for him, he should have been!

"Apparently, there's been a bit of a row." Harry said.

"Oh? What about?" Hermione didn't like hearing that. Padma was good for Ron.

"Parkinson," Harry spat the name out.

"What did that witch do this time?" Not for the first time she thought about cursing the Slytherin.

"It's not so much what she did, but what Padma thinks Ron did, or didn't." Harry sighed.

Hermione waited, and when Harry didn't continue, she prodded him: "And what was that?"

"He doesn't know. He only knows she's unhappy with him, and it's because of Parkinson."

"Do you think she planned that?" Hermione had her doubts.

"Maybe. But why go after Ron?" Harry frowned.

"She might simply be looking for a pureblood boyfriend." Or husband, the witch added to herself. Ron was a good catch, as some pureblood witches saw it - wealthy, famous, and not in line to become head of the Weasley family.

"But why Ron? He hates Slytherins."

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe it's the challenge. Or she's just dumb. Or she wants him because Malfoy hated him."

"Or she just wants to ruin his relationship," Harry added.

"Maybe. It's hard to tell with a witch who was Malfoy's girlfriend for years." Hermione had more important things to worry about. She cared about her best friend's happiness, but she cared a lot more about her boyfriend's life. And creating the spell for Miss Jenny and Hagrid would help with that. It wouldn't help with the Parkinson problem. Well, it could, but that would be going a bit too far. And illegal too. It would be satisfying, though.

Hermione spent a few moments imagining Parkinson's reaction to the spell she was working on. It was a good motivation to continue her work.

*****​

Albania hadn't changed much, Aberforth Dumbledore thought. At least not the mountains near the border to Greece he had spent half a year in hunting down Ottoman Raiders, so long ago. And the Greek village right on the border where Lea had her shop hadn't changed at all, as far as he could tell.

The old men sitting under the olive tree in front of their house watched him, wand ready. He was in disguise, and strangers were dangerous here. Suspicious too. Aberforth nodded at the men, carefully keeping his hands free and in their sight, and continued.

He felt the wards tingle when he entered. His old friend had kept her edge, then - or at least her caution. He was greeted by a young witch though, barely out of school, and wearing rather daring robes for the region. Maybe things had changed more than he had thought.

"Welcome to Lea's, sir!" She sounded a bit more enthusiastic than she looked. No surprise - even with his beard cut, and a wide-brimmed hat on his head, Aberforth knew he didn't look very trustworthy.

"Hello, dear. Is Lea around?" He saw her smile vanish, replaced by open suspicion. Things must have been bad lately, for shopkeepers to react like that. "I'm an old friend of hers."

"What's your name?" She didn't look like she believed him. And after not having visited for so long, longer than she probably had been alive, Abe didn't feel like a good friend either. But he had a mission to accomplish.

He was certain she had her wand in hand, behind the desk. He smiled at her. "Tell her we almost became family, decades ago." He couldn't help but feel the pain again, hardly dimmed after all those years.

That seemed to puzzle her. Before she could ask another question though, the curtain behind the witch parted and he heard a voice: "Don't stand there like a lost muggle. Come in!"

"Grandmother!" The young witch sounded surprised.

"I know him, Abdera. Just tend to the shop."

The girl still glared at Aberforth as he made his way around the desk, but he ignored her.

The room behind the curtain was colder, and smelled like incense. Just as he remembered. And she looked like he remembered, just older. "Hello Lea," he said, after he had seen her throw up some privacy spells.

"Abe." She nodded at him. His old friend was wearing traditional robes. The same she and her sisters had worn in their youth. He didn't know if that meant she had never married. The girl out front had called her 'grandmother', but that didn't have to mean they actually were related. He hoped they were though - at least one of them should have been happy in her life.

She had studied him as he had studied her, and came to a conclusion: "You're back in the war."

"Another war, this time." He took a seat, his duelist robes rearranging themselves so he would not be hindered should he have to jump up at once.

"It'll be fought the same as the others. And cause the same pain," she said in a flat voice, her eyes daring him to object.

He had no answer to that, and so he simply nodded, conceding the point. She was correct - out here, feuds were a way of life, and wars just meant more feuding.

"Last I heard, your home is at war. Why are you here then?" Lea didn't sound like she was accusing him of running away. He still felt a bit stung.

"A friend of mine went missing across the border." Missing, presumed dead.

She scoffed. "That happens when you trust the dogs."

He wasn't about to discuss her views of the Albanians. That was Albus's job. He was here for Bertram. And whatever scum the Dark Lord had sent. "He had no choice but to head there. He was working against a recruiter of the Dark Lord fighting my country, and they were recruiting Albanians." Among others. But it would not serve any point mentioning that. The less he got involved in the clan feuds here the better. For a moment, he thought that that was one thing he had been spared thanks to that tragedy, and then felt guilty about it.

"And you have come to avenge him." Again it wasn't a question-

"To save him, or to continue his mission," he corrected her.

She laughed, harshly now. "That's your excuse. Just as you killed Haidee's murderer not to avenge her, but to save me and Neola."

He closed his eyes, wincing. He hadn't managed to save Neola. Her youngest sister.

"I'm sorry," Lea said. "You did your best."

"And it wasn't good enough." He scoffed. He blamed Albus, for abandoning the girl. But he blamed himself for letting her get kidnapped.

"You saved me." She frowned at him.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I know." Lea summoned a bottle and two glasses. Scottish Fire Whiskey. At his expression, she smirked. "An acquired taste, you might say."

Both lifted their glasses in a silent toast to the dead before drinking.

Lea set down her empty glass. "So, what do you need to know?"

"Any names and locations of those looking for hired wands. The Dark Lord doesn't care about nationality as long as they'll kill." He might even hire muggleborns, should any be as stupid as to hire on.

"He'd be a fool if he hired both Greek and dogs. They'll fight each other instead of the enemy." Lea grinned without humor.

Albus didn't share that view, as amusing as it was to imagine the chaos. Enough wands, both Albanians and Greeks, would not care overly much about the others, as long as the gold was good. And as long as they were away from their homes and families. "He uses his wands in small groups, isolated from each other. It would be easy enough to keep everyone separated."

She nodded. "He's not that much of a fool then. But he's still a fool for trusting dogs. And for fighting you." She smiled at that.

"Thank you." He smiled back. He might not share her flattering view of his own power, but it was good to be appreciated. As Aberforth, instead of as 'the other Dumbledore' or 'Albus's brother'.

"I've heard of offers. Family talks." She glanced at the curtain, and back to him.

So she had a family, still. He nodded, prompting her to continue.

"They talk of foreigners, and generous offers." And she had a family involved in the mercenary 'trade'. Anything else would have been a surprise of course, given the area's history.

"Do they talk of the Dark Arts, and of killing children too?" He stared at her. "That is what the gold will be paying for. Dead children and demons feeding on innocents."

She looked away first. "No, they do not talk about that."

"Someone should."

"Someone will." She filled her glass again. "Will you be hiring wands as well?"

"Yes." Albus could pay. Or he could get Black to cough up the gold. "If they're willing to follow orders."

"Yours? Yes, they will."

"Mine." After a heartbeat, he added: "And my brother's."

She hissed at that, in surprise or disgust. Or both. She did fill her glass again, and he followed her example. "It's serious then."

"Yes."

"There are two men, traveling through the country. And through the Dog's country. Foreigners, cruel ones. Quick with their wands, generous with gold, but cruel. They were last said to be heading to Macedonia. They call themselves 'Smith' or 'Brown' or 'Spencer'. We simply call them 'the British' by now."

"Thank you." He grinned. He did remember Macedonia very well. It would be fitting if he caught the two there.

"Now let's talk gold. My family doesn't come cheap."

Judging by her grin, she knew it wasn't his gold he would be talking about, but his brother's.

He didn't mind.


Chapter 36: Old and New Wounds
 
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Chapter 36: Old and New Wounds
Chapter 36: Old and New Wounds

If Magical Albania hadn't changed much, Magical Macedonia had not changed at all since his last visit, Aberforth Dumbledore thought. It was still a collection of small villages, hidden and warded in mountain valleys. Some were said to have been bastions of resistance during the Ottoman Occupation, never found or conquered while their brave wizards faced the Turks in a guerilla war before that term was coined. Aberforth, cynical as he was, thought it was more likely that the Macedonians had romanticized bandits as resistance fighters after the War of Liberation.

But whether they had fought the Turks for their country, or for their gold, it didn't change the fact that the Macedonians were good fighters. Not the most disciplined - the times of Alexander the Great's squadrons of wizards were long since gone - but hardened and generally experienced. Good mercenaries too. And good friends - once you earned their trust. Worse enemies though, if you ever betrayed that trust.

He was sitting on a boulder, in front of a cave, looking down into a valley. The village down there wasn't one of the hidden ones. Muggles couldn't see, much less enter it of course, but it wasn't warded from other wizards. It wasn't dominated by one clan either, but populated by a collection of various families, and even some foreigners. There Macedonians could meet other clans on somewhat neutral ground, and foreigners could meet Macedonians.

And it was where all sorts of shady deals were brokered. With the Ottomans driven out, the local wizards had turned back to their feuding - some of the blood feuds between clans dated back to the Byzantine Empire - and to their mercenary work. This was the place where mercenaries were recruited. The Death Eaters would be coming there to recruit Macedonians, just as Aberforth himself had once, decades ago.

He wondered if they remembered him. And if so, how. Ten wands had hired on with him, but only five had come back, covered with loot, glory and blood, as Sasha had put it. Sasha Nachev. Young, brash, and eager to test his mettle. He had been the leader of a small band, a mixed bunch even, not all from his own family. Aberforth remembered that meeting, right after the Intervention.

Full of anger and determination, he had entered the tavern of the village and marched into the center of the room, drawing the attention of everyone inside. "Greetings. My name is Aberforth Dumbledore," he had said. "I'm looking for a few brave wands for a mission against the Turks."

That had sent murmurs through the room, just as he had known it would. He hadn't liked using his brother's fame like this, still didn't like it, but with Lea's and Neola's lives and freedom at stake, he had been willing to use any means at his disposal. Especially since Albus had refused to help him, had even tried to prohibit him from doing anything 'to jeopardize the hard-won peace treaty' with the Ottoman Empire. His brother had been weighing the threat of war, of hundreds, thousands dead, against the fate of two witches. And, as if he had learned nothing from Grindelwald, Albus had made his choice. And Aberforth had made his.

Sasha had stood up then, a lad barely above 20 years old, clean-shaven still, and had walked up to him while others lowered their gazes - or were even leaving in haste; the Intervention hadn't been exclusively aimed at Ottoman slavers, after all, and Albus's role had been well-known. "Are you the vanquisher of Grindelwald?" Sasha had asked, eyes gleaming. He had twirled his wand between his fingers, as had been all the rage among mercenaries back then.

And Aberforth had stared at him, shaking his head. "No, lad, I'm his younger brother." He had barely kept his anger at Albus from erupting, but Sasha had laughed at his ire. "I'm Sasha Nachev - also a younger brother," the Macedonian had said and slapped him on the shoulder. "Come, sit down, and let's talk - about elder siblings and this mission of yours!"

Aberforth had laughed, despite himself, and shared a drink, or three. And discovered mastika, the Macedonian national drink, as Sasha had put it. He still stocked that liquor at the Hog's Head to this day. He had explained his predicament, ranted against the injustice of all, and Sasha had listened.

"Saving two maidens - even if they are Greeks, and not proper Macedonians - and avenging a third? That's a mission straight from a tale or song! Breaking into an Ottoman's harem? That's the making of a legend! Of course we'll help you!"

Aberforth had smiled, but before he had been able to thank the young wizard, Sasha had added: "But since you're getting the women, we'll get all the loot!"

That had been Sasha: young, fearless, and with a flair few could match.

Aberforth wondered what Sasha would be doing now. Would he have become a respected patriarch of his own family? Or a wizard mothers warned their sons from taking as an example? Probably both. He was famous though, at least in his village. Aberforth had seen to that. Had told his friend's family about Sasha's last stand.

Sometimes he wondered if Albus would have reacted like Sasha's brothers had, had their fates been reversed. Would his brother have mourned him, or himself for losing his last sibling? He didn't know, and doubted he would ever know.

He pulled out a flask from his enchanted pocket, mastika, and raised it to the setting sun. "To gold and witches!" he repeated Sasha's favorite toast, then poured some on the earth, before taking a sip himself.

"That's an unexpected toast, from the man who saved my grandmother."

He was glad he was facing away from the cave that the girl, the woman, had just exited, so she couldn't see his expression. Iva, Abdera's older sister, sounded so much like her grand-aunt Haidee, it brought up painful memories whenever she surprised him. Fortunately, the twenty year old witch didn't look quite like Haidee. She was taller, and more slender. She wore the same robes though.

When he turned around, his face showed the indulgent smile of a grandfather. Or granduncle. "I was just thinking of an old friend, it was his favorite toast."

"Sasha?"

He shouldn't be surprised. Of course, Lea would have told her family all about the botched rescue that left her second sister and half the wands who came to rescue them dead. He nodded.

"I would have liked to know him. Even if he was a Macedonian." She grinned, then stared down at the village. "I don't like your plan."

"I know."

"You're taking too many risks yourself. You hired us, you should let us take the risks." For a slip of a girl, she was sounding like an experienced mercenary. Then again, no experienced mercenary would volunteer like that.

"With me not used to fighting at your side, we'd endanger each other while disillusioned." More so than usual, even - there was a reason most veterans scoffed when a young wizard or witch mentioned fighting while disillusioned; any group not trained extremely well would quickly lose cohesion in that sort of fight. "I'll do much better by myself, with the others having to worry about hitting each other by mistake." And he didn't want Lea's family to risk their lives like that. If he had known just how young they were, he'd never had made the offer. Which Lea had known, of course.

Iva sat down on the boulder closest to him, a flick of her wand cutting and summoning a grass stalk to her lips she then started to chew on. "As soon as the concealing spells drop we'll move in though." Glancing at him with a challenge in her eyes, she added: "You'll certainly be able to tell us from our enemies then."

"Aye." But the villagers would only see another bunch of foreigners. He could just hope that he had arrived in time, and the Death Eaters hadn't managed to hire any Macedonians yet. Getting mistaken for raiders attacking the village would be messy. Very messy.

Iva blinked, then nodded, "Good. She probably had expected him to try and argue. But while she didn't look like Haidee, the few days spent in the company of her and the other mercenaries from her family had shown Aberforth that she had the same unbending spirit. The spirit that had made Haidee resist to the end, pushing the slavers into killing rather than capturing her. He'd not let that happen to Iva, the old wizard vowed.

"I'll tell the others," Iva continued. But she didn't get up, instead remaining seated, watching the sunset with him. "Why didn't you visit before?" Her tone was both curious and slightly accusing.

He sighed. Lea hadn't asked that. She had known. "I was ashamed."

"Why?" Iva sounded honestly puzzled. "You saved my grandmother."

"And I didn't save your grandaunt. Grandaunts."

Iva shrugged. "Haidee died defending her home and family. You weren't even there."

"I should have been. And Neola was killed in my attempt to save her and Lea." Which wouldn't have happened if Albus had helped. The wizard who had defeated Grindelwald would have sent the guards of the entire city fleeing by his mere presence.

"Two were lost, but you brought one back." Iva shrugged. She never had known her grandaunts. And she hadn't vowed to save them both.

He wasn't in the mood to argue about it though, and so he nodded, seemingly conceding her point. The girl smiled, clapped him on the shoulder - this time evoking memories of Sasha; Haidee had never acted like that - and stood up. "Good. I'll tell the others to get ready."

He nodded and stood up himself. The sun had set. It was time.

Aberforth disillusioned himself and apparated to the outskirts of the village. With the light fading, he needed to be closer to spot any intruders. That he would be further apart from the girl that brought up so many painful memories by her mere presence was just a side-benefit.

*****​

Aberforth Dumbledore watched as the last of a dozen disillusioned wizards settled in what appeared to be a decent guard spot. He had expected more from a Death Eater who had killed Bertram than disillusioning a dozen wands and spreading them around the village, half of them facing the tavern. Of course, he couldn't be sure that those were all the wands at his enemies' disposal. On the other hand, it would have been sufficient to deal with most wizards. While Aberforth wasn't on his brother's level, he was quite experienced at silent casting, and at detecting hidden enemies by means other than the standard Human-presence-revealing Spell. Having a way to spot disillusioned enemies without warning them of that fact had served him well in turning the tables on ambushers in the past.

He briefly pondered waiting a bit longer, looking a bit harder for another trap, then decided against it. He couldn't risk letting the Death Eaters finish their recruiting. And he wouldn't let Bertram's murderers get away.

Disillusioned himself, he slowly snuck up on the outermost guard, his enchanted glasses showing the man's position and silhouette thanks to Bat's Eyes. His target was leaning against a low wall surrounding a garden, staring at the road that led to the next village - if he wasn't slacking off, of course. His spell wasn't that good for details. It usually didn't need to be.

When he was close enough, he struck and quickly cast several spells. A silencing spell prevented the man from alerting his comrades and hampered his own casting. Not that he had much of a chance to try, since several Bludgeoning Curses hammered him around, smashing him against the wall hard enough to break bones while a Disarming Spell relieved him of his wand. It was over in a few seconds.

Protected by the wall from witnesses, Aberforth finited the disillusion spell on the man and looked him over. Albanian robes. No Macedonian would be caught wearing those. It had to be one of the Death Eaters' latest recruits. That made dealing with the rest of them easier. As for this one… for a second Aberforth hesitated. The man was unconscious, beaten, and no threat anymore. Then his his face hardened. He had hired on with the Dark Lord, and everyone knew what that kind of work entailed. Murder, and worse.

And if he left him there... the Macedonians didn't share the same hatred for the Albanians as Lea's people, but one of them, caught sneaking into the village? He'd be seen, probably rightfully so, as a raider looking for a victim, and he'd not die easily, or quickly.

"Diffindo," he whispered, and cut the man's throat, then vanished the corpse and the blood-soaked earth around it. No one seemed to have noticed the disappearance of the guard yet - a common problem with disillusioned forces, even those using some means to detect each other - and the old wizard grinned ferally as he took a look at his next target.

*****​

Rodolphus Lestrange sneered under his mask as he entered the hovel that passed for the tavern in this dirty village. He couldn't understand why the locals didn't have more impressive homes. Their expansion charms were first rate, as the tavern's main room attested to, and the furniture showed they were not poor either, so why were they still hiding behind the facades of poor muggle houses? It wasn't as if muggles could even see the village! If he didn't know better, he would suspect that this was the work of mudbloods. But the Dark Lord would never hire mudbloods, so that couldn't be the case.

As always, the sacred robe and mask he wore made an impression. Everyone inside stared at him, some jumped up from their tables, a few even cast shields and other spells of protection. He smiled. Rabastan had wanted to send in another imperiused local, but he had put his foot down. They couldn't afford to sacrifice the best and maybe only recruiting location in Macedonia for another trap just because his younger brother was paranoid. Not to mention that they had killed their pursuer, and that an imperiused tool wouldn't be able to hire anyone but fools. Their Lord needed more wands - skilled ones - not fools.

But to indulge his brother, he had left him and those Albanians and Greeks they had already hired outside, to watch his back. Rodolphus could handle a bunch of foreign mercenaries by himself. Not that any of them looked like they would be making trouble. Most were avoiding his gaze, not that they could see his face at all.

Another advantage of wearing the sacred robes was that everyone knew they were signing on with the Dark Lord. Weaklings who had no stomach for what fighting in a war took would know not to apply. And despite the Macedonians' reputation as fierce fighters, there were too many in this tavern who frowned or even glared at him.

On the other hand, a promising number smiled. Rodolphus slowly turned, addressing the entire room "Macedonians! I represent the greatest Dark Lord Britain, the World, has seen in centuries! He has conquered death himself, no mortal can stand against him! He offers those worthy among you the chance to fight at his side, for riches and glory!"

An older wizard wearing the traditional robes of the locals stood up. "How much gold is your Lord offering for our wands?" he asked with a lopsided grin - a dark curse scar covered half his face.

Before Rodolphus could answer, he heard screams followed by explosions from outside the tavern. His brother! He started for the door, but was caught up in a veritable surge of people as half the tavern rushed forward as well.

*****​

Aberforth stepped to the side, letting a Killing Curse pass him by so closely, his vision turned green for an instant. He had managed to kill four of the dozen mercenaries before they had noticed his actions, but to their leader's credit, they had quickly started casting anti-disillusionment jinxes all over the village, forcing him to fight them openly.

He was fine with that. The wizard who had missed him - another Albanian, judging by his robe - dodged behind a wall. Aberforth's Blasting Curse blew both wall and wizard to bits. Messy, but effective. He was already moving again, weaving through the garden of the next house. A broom rider rose behind the village's temple, scouting, or preparing to attack from the air. It didn't matter as the old wizard interfered with the man's control of his broom just enough to hit the bucking broom and its struggling rider with a fire spell. Both were set ablaze and crashed on the cobblestone square in the center of the village.

The old wizard was almost out of the garden when it and the house it belonged to started to explode around him. His shield protected him from the debris though, and the dust thrown up covered his escape. He spotted the caster, perched on the temple roof, and transfigured the shingles into almost frictionless ice. According to the high-pitched screams that followed, cut short by a crunching impact on the stone floor below, that caster had been either a witch, or a boy. Aberforth didn't care either way - anyone who signed up to fight for Voldemort was old enough to be killed.

He reached the back wall, transfiguring a hole into it that he could run through - he was too old to vault over it, as he'd have done decades ago. Just as he was about to double back to hit the enemies who'd be pursuing him now in the rear, he heard screams from the crumbling house. For a moment he was tempted to ignore them. There were still seven Death Eaters or their lackeys around. Then he snarled. That was what Albus would do. He wasn't his brother!

Aberforth went back, a wave of his wand parting the wall again but this time turning it into a shield against pursuit from his right side. The front and right side of the house had been blasted apart, and he could see a girl half-buried under the rubble, screaming with pain and fear. Above her, the first floor was threatening to cave in and crush her, or bury her alive.

Like Haidee had died.

His first spell turned the crumbling first floor into a solid arch, and his next turned the rubble and debris pinning the girl down into water, leaving her soaked, but free. And bleeding freely. Cursing his haste he rushed forward. If he could stop the bleeding…

A series of curses hit his shield, shattering it, and overwhelmed his robe's defenses. A spell clipped his shoulder, and pain surged through him as his blood started to boil. He dropped to the floor, casting a counter-curse while more spells sailed over his head, striking the back wall in a cacophony of wild colors and shaking the remains of the house. Dust and pebbles fell down from the remains of the first floor.

He cursed his foolishness as he banished a mound of debris at his attackers, then turned it into pure alcohol before it reached them. A Fire-Making Charm set it ablaze. Piercing screams told him he got at least two wizards as well, but more importantly, he bought enough time to escape with the wounded girl.

With his shoulder still hurting as if it had been burned from the inside, he crawled towards the witch, wand ready to cast. But when he reached her, he saw she had already succumbed to her wounds. A small part of him knew he wouldn't have been able to save her anyway. Not with his limited knowledge of healing spells. The rest of him felt guilt, and anger. Rage. New and old.

He recast his shielding spell and stood up. A blasting curse opened a hole in the front wall, sending shards of stone and wood at his enemies. He strode through, already casting - his glasses, stuck to his nose, showed him where his enemies were while the dust cloud thrown up by his spell hid him. Then he was out in the open.

Curses he had last used in the Intervention struck a figure wearing Death Eater garb. His opponent was good, Aberforth admitted, his protections turning away spells that would have killed lesser wizards. But he was not good enough. While the man was reeling from the battering his shield and robe were taking, Aberforth turned the stone and earth beneath the dark wizard into acid.

The man dropped to his waist into the newly-created hole, then started screaming when the acid ate away at his robes and skin and private parts. The old wizard was about to put the scum out of his misery when he heard someone scream to his left.

"Rabastan!" A barrage of dark curses flew towards Aberforth as another masked Death Eater appeared. That had to be the one who had entered the tavern before the fight started. And if the first Death Eater was Rabastan Lestrange, then this would be his brother Rodolphus. Two marked members of the Dark Lord's inner circle. No wonder Bertram had been killed! And now they were out for his blood!

He dove forward, into a roll, but his body was just too old, and too wounded, and he hit the cobblestones hard, sliding rather than rolling over them. He felt ribs breaking and his knee sent shards of pain up his leg. He had dodged the spells though, and he hadn't lost his wand. He quickly raised part of the ground as a stone wall to shield him. As curses hit the wall, shaking and shattering it, he recast his shielding spell and created a slab of marble as another barrier - and not a moment too soon. More curses shattered it almost as quickly as the first stone wall, but he had gained enough time to react now. He banished the remains at the attacker, peppering his shield, then aimed his wand at the still screaming Death Eater who was trying to crawl out of the acid pit. A flick, and the screaming man flew at the standing Death Eater.

*****​

Rodolphus was incensed. That scum had dared to hurt his brother! He would pay for this unforgivable crime with his life! The dark wizard was sending spell after spell at the man, crushing the feeble walls his foe had conjured to hide himself. Rodolphus's enemy would not escape! He was wounded, and slow, and Rodolphus was one of the Dark Lord's chosen! His spells couldn't be stopped!

A wave of rock shards flew at him, but his shield stopped them, easily. He was about to strike down the wizard who was trying to reach more solid cover when he noticed something large flying at him from the corner of his eye. Rodolphus dove to the side and cast a blasting curse at it before he touched the ground. His shield would be able to handle another hail of fragments much better than a massive… He recognized his brother's screaming face right before his spell hit and Rabastan was torn to pieces right in front of Rodolphus, blood and other remains splattering against his shield.

Rabastan… his younger brother… dead. By his own wand… no, by treachery! Foul treachery!

Screaming in rage, Rodolphus turned around to end the life of the man who had sent his brother to his death, the tip of his wand already glowing with a dark curse.

The last thing he saw were a dozen wizards and witches sending curses at him.

*****​

Aberforth lowered his wand, gulping down air despite the pain each breath caused him. That had been close, though partially it had been his own foolishness, and rash actions. But he was no Albus. He couldn't suppress his emotions, couldn't act that coldly, that calculatingly.

"Grandmother will be pleased to know you haven't changed, and still would risk your life to save a witch," Iva said, stepping closer and peering at him while the rest of her group formed a circle around them, facing the villagers and mercenaries who had arrived, at last, at the scene of battle.

"She'd still call me a damned fool," Aberforth muttered, "and she'd be right." A swish numbed his ribs enough for him to stand without too much pain. Showing a weakness would be bad now, with his group facing a village of Macedonians while standing amidst the ruins of their houses, and with at least one of the villagers dead.

"A fool you may be, but an impressive wizard," the witch whispered, smiling and patting his shoulder - his wounded one! He couldn't tell from her expression if she had done so deliberately. Lea would have.

Scoffing, he straightened and took a careful step forward, taking care not to hurt his wounded knee further, and left the circle formed by Iva's group. The villagers were watching them, him, wands out, ready to curse. One wrong step, and there would be a bloodbath. He had been in worse situations. Smiling, he repaired his damaged robe - the enchantments were already recovering - and addressed the wizards and witches: "Greetings. My name is Aberforth Dumbledore. I'm looking for a few brave wands to battle scum like those."

That sent a murmur through their ranks, as he had known it would. His brother was famous, after all, even in the far-away corners of Magical Europe. He pointed at the wrecked house behind him. "I am sorry, but I couldn't save the young witch that scum had wounded. She was dead before I reached her." An older woman gasped, and started to run towards the ruins, followed by a younger witch and wizard. He heard them wailing soon after they had entered the remains of the house. The rest of the crowd facing him and Iva's group didn't seem too concerned though - they were probably visiting, and not villagers, he realized.

An old witch stepped forward. "Aberforth Dumbledore? Sasha's friend?"

A relative of Sasha? He nodded and pointed at Iva. "That's the granddaughter of the witch Sasha and I saved. She and her family have joined me already."

More murmurs broke out. Iva shifted her weight around a bit as many took a closer look at her.

A middle-aged wizard with a badly scarred face chuckled. "There were more than half a dozen of them, and you beat them all."

"More than a dozen, disillusioned," Aberforth corrected him. The wizard nodded.

The old woman spoke again. "I'm Ruza Nacheva, Sasha's sister. Why did you attack them in our village?"

"They have killed a friend of mine, burning down a tavern full of people in the process, and were planning to kill more of my family. I saw they were preparing an ambush in the village, so I intervened." It was close enough to the truth.

Ruza nodded, accepting his explanation. "They were hiring, but they are dead now. You're hiring, and you're alive."

"Yes. Though while the pay is good, the mission will be dangerous. You will be facing the Dark Lord's worst, you will be working in a country that doesn't share your traditions and customs, and you'll be taking orders from my brother, Albus."

"Will we be saving fair maidens?" A young wizard asked, grinning wildly. The young witch next to him added: "Or handsome wizards?" Many in the crowd laughed.

"Who cares about that, will there be loot?" The scarred wizard asked, setting off another round of laughter.

Aberforth tried to ignore the wailing and lamentations from the dead girl's family. No, this village hadn't changed at all. Like Sasha, they were both used to violence and death, eager to fight and even more eager to celebrate. He wondered how his brother, who had troubles with the rougher clientele in Aberforth's inn, would handle those people.

Imagining Albus's reaction made him chuckle as they walked towards the tavern.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore had no trouble smiling reassuringly and confidently at his friends gathered in the cottage on the coast of Dover. This time he had good news to share with the Order of the Phoenix - very good news, in fact.

"My friends, please excuse my slightly late arrival. I have just received very good news." At that, even Sirius sat up straighter and paid more attention to him than to the veela Albus was rather certain would become his wife. Even Nymphadora and Viktor were less obviously enamored of each other. "Not only have the Dark Lord's recruiting attempts in the Balkans been stopped, but we have gained more wands for our cause."

"Allies?" Emmeline asked, surprised.

Alastor scoffed. "Mercenaries more likely. Cutthroats, the lot of them, but good fighters. They've got far more experience than our own hit-wizards recruits because they don't coddle their children. As long as they're paid they'll usually not turn on you, unless the situation turns desperate. But don't count on it. Keep them between you and the enemy, and never let them out of your sight lest they'll be tempted to listen to better offers."

Sirius grinned. "I'll be glad to put Lucius's gold to good use then."

"Alastor is exaggerating a bit, but yes, several mercenaries have been hired. I bid you to welcome them warmly, and be tolerant if at first they have trouble fitting in. As Alastor pointed out, they have different customs and traditions." Albus hoped that his brother had hired the more dependable, honorable ones, and not bandits in all but name. Aberforth had an unfortunate tendency to associate with the more unsavory elements of Britain, which colored his views, sadly.

"And they've got different experiences. They've got a lot of pride, and their wands sit loose in their holsters. They take insults deadly seriously, and start blood feuds over what we'd call small disagreements," Alastor said in his usual gravelly voice, his good eye looking at Molly Weasley while his enchanted one spun around.

Viktor nodded. "He is correct. They may not have attended a prestigious school like we have, but they have grown up and live with regular raids and feuds. That experience cannot be discounted, as some of our border guards tend to find out." Nymphadora patted his hand.

Kingsley, ever the auror, asked: "You said the Dark Lord's recruiters have been stopped. Permanently?"

Albus nodded. "Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange as well as a dozen wands they had hired were killed in Macedonia."

"Those beasts are dead?" Sirius grinned ferally. "Augusta and Neville will be overjoyed!"

Hestia nodded. "Whoever killed those two is certainly a welcomed addition to our ranks." Her slight glance at the four veela sitting with Sirius and Remus showed, at least to Albus, that she wasn't quite as welcoming towards those new members. The Headmaster hoped she'd get over her jealousy soon - it wasn't as if she had been serious about Sirius. She wouldn't have believed him guilty otherwise.

While the others voiced their agreement, and whispered among each other, Alastor chuckled. He probably knew who had done that deed, and that Aberforth would scoff at the thought that he would ever join the ranks of what he saw as Albus's order.

Minerva coughed, and most of the people present quickly fell silent. Not unlike her students in class, Albus thought, amused. "With his recruiting efforts in the Balkans stopped, for now, won't the Dark Lord look towards other sources of new followers?

"Dark creatures like werewolves, vampires, trolls and even giants!" Emmeline stated. Albus saw Remus wince.

Alastor snorted. "Werewolves and vampires we can handle. And giants? They're no problem. They're too afraid to leave their last hideouts, and with good cause."

Most of those present looked puzzled. Understandable, since they only knew the old reports of battles against giants. The grizzled auror chuckled.

Rubeus nodded in agreement. "Yah. Giants been scared'f muggle cannons fer centuries, and tha muggles improved them alot since. Giants're tough, but not that tough, and they make f'r awfully big targets, me'mum always said."

"If we could get those cannons..." Sirius whispered.

"It would not do us any good," Albus shook his head at the wizard. "While they are very useful to hit and kill large, lumbering giants, they would have a much harder time hitting humans." He didn't mention that learning how to use them without killing yourself or your allies by mistake was difficult as well - Sirius and even Remus might take it as a challenge. "The muggles use them to hit vehicles, not other muggles. And outside of dealing with giants and their resistance to magic, they are not as useful as a wand." Not to mention that the ICW's reaction upon discovering that anyone started to use muggle artillery in a wizarding war would be rather drastic. "But enough of that. We will need safe quarters for our new allies, and a lot of them. I have a few more such cottages prepared, but depending on how many join us from the Balkans, it won't be enough."

"I'll host Viktor's family in my home then, They'll be family soon enough!" Sirius announced cheerfully, as Albus had expected him to.

"I can expand a house or two easily. Did it enough at home," Arthur offered. William added: "And I can ward them."

Albus had hoped for such an offer as well. The Weasleys were used to doing much of what other, richer families contracted out. With Aberforth's generous hiring practises, such self-reliancy would prove quite fortunate for Albus's finances.

The Headmaster smiled at his friends. "Very well. Now, what other news is there?"

While Kingsley and Nymphadora shared the latest reports from the Ministry, Albus was already planning how best to use his new wands. Integrating those mercenaries would require a delicate touch. Maybe he should leave them to his brother…

*****​

"I offer you the hospitality of my home."

Sirius Black greeted Viktor's family - his parents, Mihail Bogomiliev and Lyubuv Radomirieva, as well as his older brother Apostol Mihailiev and his best friend and best man, Boris Stankoiev - who had just arrived through the floo.

Mihail bowed back and declared: "I accept your hospitality for myself and my family."

Grinning, Sirius took a step closer and offered his hand. "Welcome to No 12, Grimmauld Place! Ancestral home of the Black Family, and once the most cursed building in London! Don't worry though, it's almost perfectly safe now." Behind him, Valérie and Eugénie giggled.

His well-practised line didn't seem to faze the family. A quick glance at the carefully bland expression of Viktor showed the reason for that. Oh, yes, the young man would fit in just fine. His often stoic expression hid the sense of humor anyone marrying into Sirius's family would need.

"And we're glad to be here!" Mihail stated, and embraced Sirius. "To prepare for war, and a wedding!" In a stage-whisper, the wizard added: "Both are very similar when it comes to my family, you know!", then laughed while his wife scolded him.

Sirius was released, and resisted the urge to check his ribs before he introduced his girlfriends to his new guests. To his slight surprise, the four veela were greeted very politely, but a bit distantly. Probably Viktor at work again. Hopefully, that lack of the usual reaction to them wouldn't be seen as a challenge by his girlfriends to step up the flirting. While the French witches understood cultural differences, they didn't always act with those in mind.

"Now, let me give you a brief tour of the house, and show you your rooms." They had added another floor for the new guests - apart from those present, a number of Viktor's extended family would be arriving later, and Sirius thought it would be best to not mix them with his other guests, not too much at least, until they had grown used to each other. Remus had approved of that.

Thinking of his best friend made Sirius felt both guilty and relieved that Remus had chosen to stay at Hogwarts for the duration of the visit of the Krums. Revealing the man's curse to the guests would have created problems, but not revealing them would have gone against the hospitality Sirius had offered. Cursed if you did, cursed if you didn't.

Kreacher arrived at the top of the stairs, showing his teeth in what went for a friendly smile for the old elf. The little bugger was happy, of course - all of the Krums were purebloods. The wizard pointed at the elf. "That's Kreacher, my family's house elf. If you need anything, call for him, and he'll come. Eventually."

Kreacher nodded eagerly.

Sirius felt the need to add: "He's also quite deranged. Please ignore him should he start rambling about slaves and dungeons."

Judging by the looks his comment caused, Viktor hadn't been that thorough in preparing his family for their stay at Grimmauld Place.

"Oh, no, Kreacher wouldn't do that. Master made it clear that the Dungeons are a private family matter."

While the Krums now openly stared at him and his girlfriends, Sirius wondered if Hermione would believe it if he vanished the cackling elf's tongue and claimed it was an accident in the kitchen.

*****​

The room was covered with two dozen foot-wide spiders skittering around, sharp claws leaving small dents in the floor and sharper fangs clicking as they tried to reach the piece of meat dangling from the ceiling. Even after five minutes, they hadn't met with any success.

Hermione, observing from the side, shook her head. The summoned spiders were not smart enough to climb up the walls and along the ceiling to descend from above. They weren't even smart enough to climb over each other so some could reach it. She pointed her wand at them.

"Clades Araneae!"

Her spell covered the area in a flash of light, and the two dozen spiders - the result of two spells - started to twitch, trembled, then collapsed and lay still.

Hermione sighed. "I fear that's the best I could do. I can't get them smart enough to find a way around that obstacle, or to work together."

"I didn't expect them to. Neither of the parent species are social, or smart," Miss Jenny said while prodding the closest carcass with her basilisk hide boots. When she saw fluids leak out of the carapace, she nodded, apparently satisfied. "I also didn't expect you to create two spells though."

Hermione smiled. "I didn't want to create a poison without the antidote." Well, she did, sort of - she hadn't created an antidote to the spider's venom. There were potions, and beozars, but those didn't work that well with poison meant to liquify a victim from the inside.

"So… 'Bane Spider' and 'Spider's Bane'?" The Australian Witch was grinning.

"Yes." Hermione hadn't chosen those names herself. Ron and Harry had insisted that "Redback-Funnel-Web-Hybrid-Spider Summons" was not a good name for her new spell, no matter how correct it was, and had made her pick one from a list of suggestions they had come up with.

"I like it. And 'Spider's Bane' will be very popular in my home country."

"It's also very popular at Hogwarts," Hermione said in a dry voice. At least among those in the know. Ron had jumped at the chance to test that new spell, and according to Harry, was still casting it several times a day in their dorm room. As a consequence, all sorts of spiders were now an endangered species near the Gryffindor dorms.

"Does it work on magical spiders too? That would have been very useful when the acromantula nest in the Forbidden Forest was cleared out. They burned down a whole section to get all the eggs and young, or so Gilderoy told me."

"I haven't been able to test that, but it should work, though it will have trouble affecting the bigger ones." Hermione frowned. While acromantulas were dangerous and known man-eaters, they were also intelligent, the older ones even able to talk. Killing them all like that... She felt like a hypocrite, developing such a spell after her reaction to that massacre. But as that event had proven, there were already a lot of spells to kill those spiders, hers worked just a bit more selectively.

"Even better! If you can tweak the spell to include all venomous arthropods, you'll never have to pay for a drink in any pub in Magical Australia, ever again!" It went without saying that only the enclaves founded by British wizards were covered by that. The Aborigines ruling most of the continent though...

"Aren't there spells to deal with pests and such already?" Hermione couldn't imagine any magical country in an area with venomous spiders and other insects not developing spells of that nature.

"Yeah but most are ward-types which force the critters out of an area. Yours kills them. That'll be a hit." Jenny's grin seemed slightly deranged to Hermione.

"I think spreading 'Spider's Bane' should be delayed until the war's over. If Death Eaters learn it, or of it, 'Bane Spider' won't be too useful," Hermione pointed out.

"Ah, right. I guess I'll have to wait until I can get my boots enchanted with that spell."

Hermione was briefly confused about the purpose of such an enchantment, until she remembered that some animals tended to sneak into boots left on the ground during the night, leading to venomous stings or bites in the morning. Though a ward would work perfectly fine there. "I'll see what I can do about tweaking the spell, but with my O.W.L.s ahead, I won't have much time until the end of term." And she had her other research to do as well. Harry needed her.

"That's no problem. The war won't be over that quickly anyway. Thank you again! I'll teach it to Rubeus, and the others." Jenny grinned, and turned to leave.

"Good evening, Miss Jenny." Hermione thought that the war not ending quickly actually was a big, the biggest problem, but commenting on that point would have made her look pedantic.

*****​

"And one bludger goes straight for Bell, who's carrying the quaffle, but there's Fred - or George - Weasley, intercepting it and sending it back to the Slytherins. Ow! That one came from Goyle's blind side, and hit him right when he was batting at the other bludger, which caused him to miss! Double hit, and and he's off the broom! Flint is calling for a time-out as Matron Pomfrey rushes on the pitch to render first aid."

Harry Potter knew he was supposed to stop playing, in his case searching for the snitch, during the time-out, but no seeker would ever do that. So all he did was stop his broom while his eyes kept looking for the golden ball. Malfoy's successor as Slytherin's seeker, Martello Preston-Davis, did the same. If the snitch appeared now, that would lead to probably embarrassing scenes as both of them would try to get closer without looking as if they had actually spotted the snitch.

Harry grinned, then schooled his features again, and slowly, very slowly started to drift to his right. He carefully didn't look in that direction at all, but kept his eyes on the Slytherin seeker. Preston-Davis noticed, of course, and snarling, started to fly towards Harry's right. Too fast to count as a drift. And as Harry had expected, Hooch didn't miss that.

"Preston tries to hunt the snitch during the time-out, earning a penalty shot! As Goyle has returned to the pitch, Bell lines up, aims, and she scores! 140-50, Gryffindor!"

Snickering, Harry sped up. For the House of the Cunning, their Quidditch players were a rather gullible lot, at least most of them. He dove down towards the ground - not a Wronksi feint, even if Hermione would disagree, since he pulled up far too early - and did a lap on the level of the lowest rank of the spectators. He thought he had spotted something golden below the Hufflepuff stands. If it had been the snitch, then it had disappeared again though. Harry didn't really mind. He loved flying and this was the last Quidditch match of the year, the last chance to compete - at least according to the study schedule Hermione had made for him.

"Has Potter seen the snitch? Why else would he fly straight at the stands? And Weasley blocks another shot from Meadhill!"

Why would he? Because it was fun! He ducked under the stands, weaving through the support beams, then shot back to the pitch, almost colliding with a Slytherin chaser, who promptly fumbled the quaffle. Rolling his boom, Harry rose in a steep climb before leveling out 100 yards above the pitch. Preston was following him, though a bit more cautious. Too cautious, Harry thought, to have a chance to catch up with him. Meanwhile, Harry's team had scored again. 150-50.

For a few minutes, the Gryffindor seeker flew a 'standard search pattern', as Hermione had called it. He trusted his intuition and luck more, but his girlfriend had spent some of her precious time on researching such patterns from airplane searches, and so the young wizard felt obligated to at least use them a few times during a match. The witch usually didn't care at all about the game, after all.

Just as he was about to switch for a random pattern, he spotted a glint near the ground. A golden glint!

Harry banked and dropped into a dive straight down, rapidly picking up speed. The sound from the air rushing past his ears started to drown out the announcer. Harry didn't notice. He was focused on the snitch, and on the dive. Halfway there. He was still accelerating. Almost… now!

He started to pull up with both hands, straining to fight the broom's momentum. As soon as he wasn't headed straight down anymore, he reached out with his hand towards the snitch. At the last second, the ball took an extreme turn and Harry missed his grab, the tips of his fingers brushing against one of the fluttering wings.

Cursing, he pulled with both hands to turn around, Preston was right behind him, and might… he managed to duck just in time to avoid Preston's screaming body. At that height, and with that vector… Harry winced when Preston hit the cushioning charms covering the ground. Even with the charms, that hurt, as he knew from personal experience.

He had now finished pulling his own broom around and was chasing again after the snitch, which was trying to escape towards the Gryffindor stands. Snarling, Harry raced after it, once more reaching out with one hand. The thing was faster than he had expected, flying straight, not darting around as usual. It didn't matter much though. The wizard bent down, reducing drag to speed up a tiny bit more. Almost… almost… his hand closed around the snitch, then he pulled his broom up while he slowed down as much as possible.

He cleared the spells protecting the Gryffindor stands from crashing brooms and bludgers by a hand's width while the students below were jumping and cheering. Ron in his keeper armor was already racing after him on his own broom, a wide grin on his face, followed by the rest of the team.

After a group hug in the air, with lots of shoulder-clapping and cheering, the team flew the traditional victory lap, cheered by three-quarters - more or less - of the spectators. Among them a wildly waving and smiling Hermione.

*****​

"I've received confirmation of the deaths of Rodolphus and Rabastan." The Dark Lord Voldemort said. He had felt them die, of course, but it wouldn't do to spread what the Dark Mark really did. Not even to his Bella. Let her believe he needed a spell to confirm it.

Bellatrix Lestrange pursed her lips. "That will set your recruitment plans back, my lord." Otherwise, the witch didn't react much to the news of the death of her husband and brother in law. Voldemort hadn't expected her to. Their marriage had been an arrangement all involved had known was a mere fiction, a concession for her family. Neither love nor passion had been part of it, and despite both Rodolphus and Bella being among his most faithful, he hadn't seen any sign of friendship developing either. Even before Azkaban. Afterwards… they had tolerated each other, which had been the best he could have hoped for.

"That is correct. Other agents are still at work in Europe, but the Balkans are the best source for wands." Redirecting one to the area was possible, but his enemies would expect that. His wand would have to act with a good cover, and setting that up would take some time. Dumbledore had won that round.

He briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm down. Ranting or destroying something wouldn't do him any good. The ritual he was creating showed promise, great promise, but it couldn't be rushed, not without taking unacceptable risks. He still needed a diversion, and he would need more wands even once the ritual succeeded, to take over and run the country.

He would have to resort to creatures then. Vampires and werewolves. They would make useful curse fodder, given their grievances with Britain's society, and while they didn't fight for free, a promise - empty, of course - of a higher status in a country ruled by the Dark Lord would be sufficient to make them loyal. He'd have to be a bit more discreet when sacrificing werewolves, of course, but since that would only happen on a full moon, when they were reduced to mindless beasts, it shouldn't be too difficult to hide the truth about his work from the cursed beasts until it was too late.

He felt Bellatrix's arms around him and caressed her hair before returning the embrace. It was tempting to console himself in her arms. But it wouldn't solve his problems. He needed wizards, not beasts.

He took a deep breath again. He'd have to activate some of his secret followers. And check if Igor was still resisting him, or if the traitor had finally succumbed to his influence. Durmstrang would make for a good recruiting ground if its Headmaster was once again one of his. He might even let the traitor live, should he provide enough wands for the Dark Lord.

He ran his hands over Bellatrix's bare back, then kissed her. While he led her to his bed, his eyes briefly glanced at the note on his desk, the report from his spy at the Ministry. Yes, Dumbledore had won one round, but Voldemort was about to win a decisive victory. The prophecy would soon be his.


Chapter 37: The Prophecy
 
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Chapter 37: The Prophecy
Chapter 37: The Prophecy

Cyril Meadwater-Baker didn't know much about the war. He knew why he wasn't allowed to go outside anymore: It was because of You-Know-Who. The same You-Know-Who who had been defeated by the Boy-Who-Lived, as every Harry Potter novel he owned stated at least once. You-Know-Who had returned from death, though, like the Cuban Zombie Lord, and Harry Potter hadn't used the Blessed Salt on him yet. Until the Boy-Who-Lived defeated You-Know-Who again, Cyril was stuck.

But he didn't know much more about the war. His parents and grandparents didn't tell him much, and he wasn't allowed to read the Daily Prophet anymore. He wasn't allowed to visit all of his friends either - some of them, his parents said, were 'too exposed', or 'too dangerous'. He didn't know how that worked. The last time he heard that, it had been about a very small robe, and a very fast broom.

It wasn't that bad though - he was living at his grandparents' house now, the big 'Meadwater Mansion', as his mother called it, and all of his cousins were there as well. Those who, like him, were not at Hogwarts yet, at least. And the cousins who had finished Hogwarts, but those were adults, and didn't count - he couldn't play with them. Well, he could play chess with Alphons Meadwater-Tryce, but he would lose all the time unless he could play with his grandfather's set. But after his mother had heard the things the pieces said when they were taken he wasn't allowed to play with that set anymore either.

He was about to ask Meribeth Meadwater-Brown to play seeker with him again - grandfather had allowed them to fly their toy brooms indoors, provided they avoided their grandmother's rooms and the kitchen - when he saw his father enter through the door. That was weird- he usually came through the floo, and much later in the day.

"Cyril! Come here!"

"Yes, dad!" The boy trotted over to his father, who was still wearing his office robes. His mum thought they were too boring, but dad said they fit his work at the Ministry.

Dad hugged him, as he usually did when he came home, even though Cyril was almost old enough to get his Hogwarts letter, far too old to get hugged like a baby!

Pouting, Cyril asked: "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"I took the afternoon off so we can go shopping for your birthday present."

"Oh?" Cyril perked up, smiling, then frowned. "You said that was too dangerous, and we'd owl-order."

"I said that, but things have changed." His father looked a bit distracted, Cyril thought. "And I think you deserve a big gift, with the war and all."

"Oh!" His granny had said the same thing. Cyril had gotten far more dessert and gifts ever since they had moved in with his grandparents, even more so than he usually got at the big mansion. "Can I get the new Cleansweep 9 then?" Most of his cousins wanted a Firebolt, but Cyril knew they were too expensive, and the latest Cleansweep was the best overall broom on the market.

His father nodded. "Don't tell your mother though, not until the birthday."

Cyril beamed. "Let's go then!" He turned to head to the floo, but his dad held him back.

"We'll apparate. It's a surprise, remember?"

Cyril nodded, took his father's hand, and the two went outside. He'd get a Cleansweep 9 for his birthday! This was a great day!

The apparition was weird, far worse than floo travel. It felt as if a giant stuffed him into a small tube, then wrung him out again. Or so Cyril imagined. Floo travel was far better. But it was for a Cleansweep 9, so he'd not complain.

They didn't arrive in Diagon Alley though, but on some field. "Dad, did you get lost? This isn't Quality Quidditch Supplies!"

"Oh, no, Cyril. I already bought you the broom." Dad pulled out a small package in broom form.

"But…" Cyril liked going shopping. There were so many things to look at. He had heard there would be a new joke shop opening even, soon at least. On the other hand, what really mattered that he got the broom he had told his parents so much about.

Another wizard in a ministry robe appeared. Cyril hadn't heard the popping noise from apparition, so… had he been invisible? And why?

"Meadwater." The man had a harsh voice.

Dad looked distracted again, even as he nodded. "Macnair."

Cyril had heard about Macnair. His mother called him 'the butcher', and his father didn't like him either. But Cyril knew he had to be polite even to people he didn't like. Especially to people he didn't like. "Hello, Mister!"

The wizard bent down and grinned at him. He looked scary, and Cyril gripped his dad's hand tighter.

"Hello Cyril. Did you know there's a prophecy about you?"

*****​

"The Lestrange brothers are dead?" Neville Longbottom sounded as if he thought this was too good to be true. He looked hopeful though, sitting on one of the couches in the unused classroom that Harry and Hermione had taken over. The last classes for the day had finished, and if not for that news, they'd be already studying until dinner. And they'd study soon enough, if Hermione's expression was any indication.

Harry Potter nodded at his friend. "Yes. It's not been officially announced yet, so keep it a secret, but both were killed in the Balkans. Dumbledore told us so." Sirius had told him that, to be precise, but his godfather had heard it straight from the Headmaster's mouth in an Order meeting.

"I… I have to tell Gran." Nevill said. He was breathing heavily. Ginny, sitting next to him, put her hands on his shoulder and thigh.

"Of course, Neville." Harry was carefully ignoring the hint of tears in his friend's eyes. He glanced at Hermione, sitting at his side, then at Ron. Both looked as uncomfortable watching their friend's emotional reaction as he felt.

"Just don't spread it around, it'll be mentioned in the Prophet soon enoughy," Hermione cautioned the Gryffindor.

"And in the Quibbler!" Luna added. "Would you have a quote for us?" The Ravenclaw witch leaned forward eagerly, her pad and quill floating out of her enchanted bag.

Aicha rolled her eyes, grabbed Luna's collar and pulled her friend back to her seat. "There's a time for interviews, Luna. And it's not right now."

"But…" Luna pouted. "Dad said a good reporter is always working."

"And a good friend knows when not to work."

Neville made a sound that was as much a chuckle as it was a sob. "It's been months since they escaped… knowing they were out there, waiting… Merlin, I hope they died slowly and painfully." He looked up at Harry, hopefully.

Harry shook his head. "We didn't get any details. We don't even know who killed them."

Neville blinked. "But… Gran needs to know. I need to know."

"She'll have to ask the Headmaster then. But I doubt he'll tell her. It might endanger whoever did it," Hermione said.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Neville stated in a flat tone what everyone had been thinking. The dark witch would certainly attempt to avenge her family's death.

"Do you think she'll go on a rampage?" Ron asked. Padma flinched at that.

"If she did she'll likely get caught or killed," Hermione said. Harry knew she thought that this would be, overall, a good thing. Fortunately, she didn't share her opinion, nor let her expression show it. His girlfriend was sometimes a bit too ruthless for her own good.

He opened his mouth to reassure Neville that Bellatrix wouldn't go after his grandmother when his forehead erupted in pain. Bending over, he barely could hear the others gasp, barely felt the blood running down his face, or Hermione's arms around him, and then he was somewhere else, was someone else.

*****​

The boy was staring at him, tears running down his cheek. The child couldn't move his eyes due to the Full Body-Bind Curse that held him, but he could still cry. He bent down, almost gently brushing the tears away from the child's left eye. Next to the child, a muggle, tied with magical ropes and silenced, was desperately struggling. Both the boy and the muggle feared what was coming, even if neither knew what was about to happen to them. He laughed at the sight of the muggle screaming without making a sound, his feeble brain struggling to comprehend his situation as much as his body was to escape, both attempts doomed to fail.

He raised his wand at the muggle. If he had the time, he'd draw it out - the ritual worked better if the sacrifice died slowly. The more pain, the more gain. But he lacked the time to do it properly. A silent Cutting Curse cut the man's throat, and he bled out in less than a minute. A flick of his wrist had the blood float up, and gather in a golden bowl. He poured the red liquid down on the boy's forehead, the ritual magic causing the blood to form his mark on the child's skin as it dried far quicker than was natural. More blood was used to form runes all over the child's head.

A jab with his wand caused the dried blood to flare up, smoke rising from the forehead as the blood seemed to burn off over the course of several minutes, leaving unblemished, unmarked skin. The boy was still stiff, unable to do or say anything, despite the agony he had felt during the process.

Only one thing left.

"Obliviate."

Hermione Granger, shuddered as she retreated from the Headmaster's pensieve. To think that Harry hadn't just seen, but felt, lived through that… She hugged him, hard, comforting him, and herself.

It took Dumbledore a bit longer to leave the pensieve, but when he did, he looked very concerned. Almost shocked. And tired - but he had looked tired already when they had finally managed to meet him, late in the evening, after he had returned from a Wizengamot session.

"That didn't look like the horcrux ritual we saw before," Hermione said, looking at the old wizard.

"It was not." The old wizard led them back to his office. When all were seated, he conjured three glasses and floated a bottle of whiskey - muggle whiskey, Hermione noted - over. She briefly considered refusing, but decided against it. One small glass might do her good.

It didn't. The burning sensation in her throat was not quite as bad as shooting fire out from her mouth, but it came close. That was not some normal whiskey!

The Headmaster spoke up again: "It was not, and yet it was - or so I think. I will have to study that ritual in more detail, and consult a few books to check the runes he used."

"They looked like Harrapan, I think," Hermione added. "The Indus script." She didn't know much about Magical India's traditions, but she had read a book about ancient languages in her second year, to prepare for her third year.

"Oh? I do hope it doesn't involve Kali," the Headmaster looked at her with sudden interest, but didn't elaborate.

According to her muggle source, the script was still undeciphered. But if the wizards of India had kept it in use… no, if they had kept it in use, more would be known about it. The Statute of Secrecy was only a few hundred years old, after all. "Do you have experiences with Indian Magic traditions, sir?"

"Unfortunately I lack real experience. Or fortunately, given the subject matter. India's Magical Castes are very insular, and do not share their knowledge with those not born into the caste. I suspect Tom acquired the knowledge he just demonstrated through underhanded or violent means."

"To turn a child into a horcrux," Harry spat out. Hermione saw how tense he was, how angry and disgusted. She understood - she had been focusing on the academic aspects, and tried not to think of the consequences of that ritual. "Why did he do that? He has to have a reason!"

"While it is possible that he simply wanted to add another soul anchor, hidden from everyone, I do suspect another motive. Today's session at the Wizengamot was unusually long, due to several delays and obstructions of the planned proceedings. If that was done to keep me occupied and unable to interfere, then that would strongly indicate this ritual was more important than his others."

"If the delay was the work of his agents and spies, can they be exposed due to that?" Harry asked.

"I fear that they were working through unwitting pawns - something the Wizengamot sadly is not lacking in." Dumbledore sighed with a tired smile. "But I will mention this to Amelia, who can authorize an investigation." He looked at Harry and Hermione. "I do not have to stress that this needs the utmost secrecy. If Tom realizes that Harry can see what he is doing during rituals…"

Hermione nodded repeatedly. "I told our friends who witnessed it that they can't tell anyone about this, and they only know Harry's scar started bleeding."

"It would have been better if they hadn't seen anything, but it'll do for now." Dumbledore sighed again, and Hermione had the distinct impression that he was considering other measures to preserve the secret of Harry's connection to Voldemort. She didn't say anything though - she knew perfectly well how important that secrecy was for Harry's safety.

"I think that's all for now. Here is a pass in case you encounter a prefect."

Harry took the pass before he left the office with Hermione.

Outside, Hermione saw Harry sigh, and lean against the wall. He looked as tired and exhausted as the Headmaster, right then. Hermione glanced around. No one else was nearby. There shouldn't be a prefect patrol either at this hour.

She stepped up and embraced her boyfriend. If he was surprised at her breaking her act as the dutiful retainer in semi-public, he didn't show it. He just hugged and kissed her.

*****​

The early light of the rising sun shone into Albus Dumbledore's office when he closed the last book he had consulted. He had studied the memory in the pensieve for hours, all throughout the night. It had taken two Pepper-Up potions to keep going without getting sloppy. Minerva and Poppy would be incensed if they knew what he had done. But it had been needed - he was now reasonably sure what Tom was planning. But that did not mean he knew what he could, and should be doing about it.

Those Indian runes all were related to Perception and Possession. The boy had not just been turned into a horcrux, but into a vessel for Voldemort's senses. One he could control from afar, unless Albus was greatly mistaken. And one that shared part of the Dark Lord's soul. A vessel that would be able to access the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries.

The old wizard didn't know the name of the poor child, now doomed, but he was likely the subject of another prophecy stored in the Hall of Prophecies, and therefore would be allowed to enter. Unless Albus alerted Saul of the danger.

But could he do that? Voldemort would be certainly stopped, but he'd not be hurt. And he'd know that somehow, Albus had known of his plan. It wouldn't take him long to eliminate the possible leaks and spies. But would he find out that Harry could see through his eyes? That was very likely, even more so with Harry's friends, not trained in Occlumency, having witnessed that scene. Obliviation sounded more and more like the best course of action. On the other hand, if Voldemort wasn't stopped - or not by measures taken right after his ritual, there remained the possibility that Saul's current precautions would stop him - then he might assume, should he hear about Harry's reaction, that the boy simply felt pain whenever Voldemort worked ritual magic. Might - it was by no means certain, and Albus knew well how dangerous and foolish it was to hope an enemy made a mistake. He could start rumors that Harry was a seer, but that was unlikely to fool the Dark Lord. It remained a possible cover story, though. Albus would have to discuss it with Sirius and his godson.

But that didn't change the fact that no matter how he twisted it, he had to decide if protecting the prophecy was worth revealing Harry's connection.

Albus stood up and started to pace in his office, waking Fawkes up, who trilled at him in concern. "I am alright, old friend, just thinking," he told his companion.

The answer was that the prophecy wasn't worth it. The Dark Lord hadn't let his lack of knowledge about its contents hold him back much, if at all. And as he was getting more desperate by losing so many followers, he'd throw caution in the wind anyway. Further, Harry already was marked by the Dark Lord, both literally and figuratively, as the symbol of Tom's first defeat. He already wanted to murder the boy, knowing that they were destined to face each other wouldn't change that.

No, protecting the prophecy wasn't worth the possible loss of more insight into the Dark Lord's plans and rituals. Especially not with that disturbing sacrifice of a werewolf.

So Albus wouldn't inform Saul. Would hope that either the Unspeakable's protections were strong enough to stop the Dark Lord, or that Voldemort would bypass them without hurting anyone. And would hope that in the end, his gamble would be proven correct, and not turn out to be one of his many grave mistakes.

And he'd hope against hope that the unknown young boy the Dark Lord was sacrificing would survive, somehow. Even though he knew that as a horcrux, the child was doomed already.

*****​

Cyril Meadwater-Baker kept bouncing from one foot to the other. There was a prophecy about him! He was special! His dad had told him so this morning, and was now taking him to see the prophecy! Cyril was so excited, he had managed to forget all about the fight between his mum and his dad, when she had found out about his birthday gift shopping trip. Cyril hadn't understood why that had been a bad thing, just because she hadn't known about it. But that was why she shouldn't know about this, or about the new robe his dad had gotten him today as well - mum was 'too emotional'.

"If you'll follow me, Misters Meadwater-Baker," the man with his face hidden by his robe - the Unspeakable! - said, motioning for Cyril and his dad to enter into the Department of Mysteries! It was like in 'Harry Potter and the Magical Mystery'!

They were descending in a special elevator, even his father had never been in that one, and he had been working for the Ministry since before Cyril had been born!

"Welcome to the Department of Mysteries," the Unspeakable said. Cyril wondered if he was smiling, under his cowl. "I'll lead you to the Hall of Prophecies, after a quick check for curses."

The wizard - or witch, the voice was … weird … took out a wand and started casting. Cyril flinched, he didn't know why - he wasn't cursed, after all. But neither he nor dad were cursed, or under any spell, at least no spell that wasn't a normal spell. Cyril didn't know why his dad seemed embarrassed.

"You'll have to wait here, sir. Only the direct subjects of a prophecy are allowed inside the hall," the Unspeakable said, holding up his wand.

"What? I'm his father, I need to know about the prophecy concerning my son!" Dad sounded angry, but not as angry as last evening, when he had fought with mum.

"Security reasons, sir. You understand."

Dad grudgingly nodded, looking a bit like when mum had convinced him to move in with their grandparents. Cyril didn't really pay that much attention though. The other wizard led him through a door, into a room with a dozen door, a room that moved around itself!

And then they were walking down a shiny stone hallway, with lots of pillars, towards one of the biggests doors Cyril had ever seen. It was bigger than the gate back at his grandparents' house! When it slowly opened, Cyril also could see that it was thicker than their family vault door at Gringotts. It had to take powerful spells to move it at all!

When he stepped into the Hall of Prophecies, Cyril held his breath, but no spell struck him down - he was meant to be there! Just as his dad had said. Looking around, he spotted rows upon rows of shelves, all packed with blue globes. "Are those…?"

"Yes, Cyril. Those are the prophecy records. Each stores a prophecy, and only those it concerns can access it." Cyril stared at him, and he added "Only those who are mentioned in the prophecy can take one and listen to it." Ah!

Behind them, the massive door closed, and for a second, Cyril was deathly afraid. He just knew, somehow, he'd not leave this hall again.

It was his last thought, before he started to scream with pain.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort didn't take more than a second to push his consciousness past the weak resistance the boy provided and take control of the child's body. Long enough for the Unspeakable to realize something was wrong, but not long enough to do stop him before he took control and dodged the first spell, rolling behind the next shelf.

His now small hand dipped into the concealed pocket in the robe, where the wand Steinberg had provided had been hidden this morning. As soon as he touched it, he felt a rush of power. It wasn't a perfect match, like his yew wand, but it sung to him anyway.

The Unspeakable was good and smart. He was disillusioned already, and retreating. But he wasn't good enough, not when facing the Dark Lord - no matter what body he was currently using. He wasn't a mere shade anymore, not after his resurrection. A flick of his wrist had the floor around the vault door rise and seal it off. Whispered words put up anti-disillusion and apparition jinxes. Just in case the Unspeakables had found ways to ward the hall against apparition and still apparate inside it.

He could feel the wand struggle slightly with those spells. It seemed to burn with the desire to cast dark spells. Smiling cruelly, he obliged it, sending a volley of dark curses at the other wizard. None of them hit, but they forced his opponent to move where he wanted him to move to. And the spells Voldemort was using were so easy to cast… far easier than he was used to.

He didn't even feel the pain from the possession that had sent the boy into a screaming fit and had needed an effort from the Dark Lord, intimately familiar with pain in all its forms, to ignore. His smile widened as a his next barrage forced the hooded wizard further back.

The Unspeakable was not giving up though, and sent curses of his own at Voldemort. He must have realized that he wasn't facing a child, and judging by the selection of spells hitting the protective barriers around the prophecies, he was quite versed in the Dark Arts himself. The Dark Lord was forced to dodge, and conjure shields of stone and metal to absorb some of the curses.

The outcome though was never in doubt. A Head-Shriveling Curse almost hit the man, a Heartcrusher sent half his robe smoking, and an Organ-Rotting Curse made him jump back, right onto the patch of marble the Dark Lord had spelled when the fight had started. Stone vines shot up from it, twisting around the man's legs and piercing them with barbs longer and sharper than a shark's teeth.

Voldemort chuckled when he heard what a desperate scream sounded like, with the Unspeakable's voice-changing enchantment working. He had to finish the fight before help could arrive though, and couldn't enjoy himself. Floating up behind a shelf, he pointed his wand at the struggling wizard.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The Unspeakable was good. Faced with the choice of letting the stone vines crush and impale him, or letting the Killing Curse hit him, he managed to stop both by blasting the vines' base and flinging them into the path of the curse. The stone fragments that were sent flying from the resulting explosions hurt him further though, and he didn't manage to stop or dodge Voldemort's second Killing Curse.

A quick detection spell originally developed for libraries pointed the Dark Lord at the one prophecy mentioning Harry Potter. The vault door was starting to open, but was blocked by his sealing spell. It wouldn't hold out for long, but neither would his body - the damage from the possession and the feedback from Steinberg's wand was too great.

It didn't matter though. All he needed now was to listen, and both his spell and this body would last long enough. He flew to the shelf and grabbed the orb, then touched it with his wand. At once the unearthly voice of a seer caught up in a vision filled his ears.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord…"

He was laughing when the Unspeakables broke through his sealing spell, laughing as the child's body he was possessing was breaking down, bleeding from his mouth, ears and eyes, and laughing when he was back in his own body.

Bellatrix, who had waited at his side, guarding his body in his absence, smiled at him. "My lord? You succeeded?"

He nodded.

"I did. I now know the full prophecy." And he knew he had been a fool.

*****​

Harry Potter stared at the Headmaster, who had just told him that Voldemort had managed to learn the contents of the prophecy linking the two of them together. Despite the precautions taken by the Unspeakables. He stood up, anger filling him. Anger and dread. "How was that possible? You said only those mentioned in it could access it! Did they let the Dark Lord walk into the Ministry?" He barely noticed Hermione standing up as well and placing a hand on his shoulder, nor Fawkes flapping his wings.

"In a manner of speaking," was the calm reply. "He possessed the boy you had seen in the vision, who was a subject of another prophecy, and therefore allowed to enter the Hall of Prophecies."

Possession… so that had been the ritual's purpose! But… "Like Quirrell?" he asked, remembering that night when that teacher had died. Had been killed. By Harry.

"Yes. He did not burn to ashes, but he did not survive the Dark Lord possessing him."

Harry sat down, leaning forward and covering his face with his hands. Another innocent victim dead because of the Dark Lord, and he hadn't been able to do anything but watch! Hermione gently rubbed his back and pressed her thigh against his.

"Do not blame yourself, Harry. There was nothing you could have done," Dumbledore tried to console him. It didn't help much. Harry knew he couldn't have done anything, but that didn't change how guilty he felt.

"Sir?" Hermione spoke up. She sounded uncertain, nervous. Harry put his hands down and glanced at her. The muggleborn witch was biting her lower lip, and twisting a finger around a lock of her hair. She was nervous. He reached for her hand, trying to comfort and reassure her.

"Yes?"

Harry's girlfriend pushed her chin up a bit, almost defiantly. "Did you let the Dark Lord get the prophecy?"

What? Why would Hermione ask… Harry whipped his head around to stare at the Headmaster.

The old wizard sighed deeply. "You are as perceptive as always, Miss Granger. I suspected what the Dark Lord was planning this morning, after analyzing Harry's memory all night. And yes, I had decided not to inform the Department of Mysteries of my suspicion."

"But why didn't you…" Harry blinked. Why had the Headmaster let the Dark Lord get the prophecy, after all the efforts spent to deny him that knowledge?

"The price would have been too high, Harry. "If his attempt to get the prophecy had been foiled, the the Dark Lord he would have started to look for the spy that revealed his plans to me, and would have become aware of your connection. That would have led to him taking steps to sever it. Or he might have attempted to attack you through it." Dumbledore looked at them over his reading glasses.

"But he has the prophecy now!" Harry retorted.

"That he did - but he already knew half of it. Knowing it entirely doesn't change much, if anything at all. As much as I loathe to say it, he was already planning to kill you, since you're responsible for his first defeat."

Hermione's grip on his hand grew stronger, and Harry swallowed. He had known that the Dark Lord wanted to kill him for years now, but to spell it out like that…

"I understand." He did, but he still didn't like it. "But there will be a time when the price will not be too high." He met the Headmaster's gaze without flinching.

"I hope that when that day arrives, that your situation has changed." Dumbledore answered, glancing at Harry's scar. As did Hermione.

There wasn't much Harry could say to that.

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick shook his head as he entered the Auror offices in the Ministry for Magic. "And again we're getting the most volatile case! Investigating a murder in the Department of Mysteries! A murder where the main suspect is You-Know-Who himself, according to Bones! Someone must hate us!" He wasn't fond of the Unspeakables, despite the help they provided to the DMLE on occasion. Who could trust people who hid their faces from everyone?

His partner, Bertha Limmington, raised an eyebrow at him while she checked the paper aeroplanes and parchment rolls that had piled up on her desk during their most recent absence. Kenneth studiously ignored his own stack.

When she saw that her eyebrow had no effect on him - he was used to it, by now - she spoke up: "Would you rather do combat duty than run an investigation?" She didn't have to add 'like a hit-wizard'; he understood her meaning perfectly well.

Pouting, he said: "I'd like to have a simple case, for once. Not one involving the Unspeakables and the Dark Lord."

Bertha shrugged. "The better you are, the harder the cases assigned to you get."

"And the more dangerous."

"That's probably your fault," Bertha stated, in a deadpan voice, while she sorted her memos and letters with her wand.

"What?"

"The boss probably fears that without enough danger, you'll get bored." Bertha grinned when he gaped at her for a second, before he realized she had made a joke. She chuckled, briefly, when Kenneth huffed. Then she grew serious again. "It also may mean that we're the most trusted aurors in the DMLE. Especially with a case that strongly hints at the involvement of at least one covert Death Eater and the Dark Lord himself!."

Kenneth didn't know if he should be proud or worried if the two of them were the most trusted aurors. He sighed instead. "Let's check the Hall of Prophecies, before it gets lost in another dimension."

Bertha raised her eyebrows at him, and he held up his hands defensively. "Hey! I listen to the grapevine! They never found that missing Unspeakable, and that was ten years ago."

The trip down to the Department of Mysteries and then to the Hall of Prophecies didn't take long. When the door slowly opened, Kenneth quipped: "Does Gringotts know that someone stole their most secure vault?" The Unspeakable escorting them didn't say anything, but Bertha glared at him. He shrugged. He had to say something before he got creeped out by their silent escort and the rumors of what was stored in the other rooms of the department.

The hall was large and filled with shelves of those blue orbs, prophecy records. "Did the intruder and the victim fight here?" Kenneth asked their escort as they walked to where the victim - or the first victim - had been found.

"Yes." The hooded figure answered in that voice that made it impossible to even guess their gender. If it still had one.

"There's no damage visible to the shelves or the room." The auror looked around.

"Very strong protective enchantments. Non-standard ones." Bertha was studying the closest shelf. The Unspeakable didn't confirm or comment.

Kenneth sighed and studied the shelves himself while Bertha crouched down and ran her wand over the dead wizard on the marble floor. "Cause of death was the Killing Curse. Multiple stabbing wounds in the legs, though no visible source. Lots of residue from multiple dark curses," she dictated to her floating quill.

Kenneth was certain not all of those curses had been cast by the Dark Lord. There were rumors about the Unspeakables, after all. Even though he didn't believe that demonstrating all three Unforgivables was a required test to get hired, and a way to force them to keep the departments secret by the threat of a life sentence in Azkaban.

He took a closer look at the victim. "That looks like the work of an Amazonian Murdervine. But a huge one." He remembered the pictures he had seen in that Herbology lesson very well. 12 year olds were easy to impress. Or to traumatize. Sprout had stopped using that particular example for the dangers magical plants could pose even to a skilled wizard afterwards, or so he had heard.

Bertha flicked her wand. "No traces of plant matter."

"It might have been a transfigured one. But there's no sign of any changes to the environment." The shelves he could understand- they gleamed with enchantments. But the floor, or ceiling?

"The room is enchanted to restore itself." The Unspeakable informed them.

Kenneth sighed, and Bertha even glared at the wizard. "Why weren't we informed of that at once? We would have come straight here before possible evidence vanished."

"According to procedure, information about the department's organisation and layout can only be divulged with special permission."

Kenneth scoffed, but didn't press further. He had long since learned that to argue with the bureaucracy was fruitless. That didn't mean he'd not do it anyway - but he had also learned not to burn bridges, especially not during a case. "Let's look at the child." When he saw that the Unspeakable cast a bubblehead charm in response, Kenneth had a sinking feeling in his gut.

The corpse of the boy, Cyril Meadwater-Baker, looked like it had rotted for months. It probably smelled worse. "He looks like he broke apart at the seams." Kenneth peered at what had been an arm. "Did the first victim hit him with a curse?"

Bertha shook her head. "That's the effect of the possession. Though it usually takes far longer to reach that point." She looked at the Unspeakable.

"Time was not manipulated in this vault," was the answer to her unspoken question. The witch looked relieved. Kenneth knew Bertha's logical mind had issues with time turners and similar magic.

He nodded at the remains spread out over a square yard. "So, something sped the process up. By a lot." It didn't take a genius to know that the Dark Lord was probably responsible. "The question is: What did it?"

"The cause of death is deterioration of the body caused by possession. That means the second death is confirmed as another victim." Bertha summarized.

"Unless it was willing possession," Kenneth cut in.

Bertha nodded. "Unlikely, but possible. "Where's the prophecy record the possessed accessed?" His partner stood up, and Kenneth couldn't help but noticing how her new robes fit her body. She had changed her style, ever since that undercover mission they wouldn't be talking about.

"That's classified and not germane to the investigation," the Unspeakable droned.

"What? That record was the culprit's goal!" Bertha

"Yes. And all you need to know is that it was a prophecy mentioning the Dark Lord." The inhuman voice of the Unspeakable sounded even creepier right then.

"I'll lodge a protest with our superior," Bertha spat. The Unspeakable didn't answer, which Kenneth took to mean that this would be useless. Judging by Bertha's expression, she shared his impression.

"Let's go talk to the victim's father." The witch all but stormed out of the Hall of Prophecies. Or would have, if the Unspeakable hadn't taken his time to open the door.

Kenneth really didn't like the Unspeakables.

*****​

Kenneth studied the wizard sitting in the small room across from him and Bertha. Jaime Meadwater-Baker. Gryffindor, like Kenneth, but five years younger. Young enough for Kenneth to not recall ever speaking to him at Hogwarts. Meadwater-Baker looked like the broken man he probably was, after losing his son to the Dark Lord.

"My condolences for your loss," Kenneth said.

The wizard shakingly nodded. "Thank you… I don't know how this happened, but it is all my fault. If I hadn't taken him down there yesterday morning…"

"Mister Meadwater-Baker, at that point your son had already been possessed. Something must have happened earlier," Bertha explained. "Can you remember anything out of the ordinary?"

The man gave an account of his last two days, interrupted by crying fits. On the day before the incident, he had worked in the morning on expansion charm controls, and spent the afternoon broom shopping with his son.

"Your memory shows signs of having been tampered with", Bertha summarized the results of her tests once the man had finished.

"What? But…" Meadwater-Baker trailed off, gaping.

"Yes. We'll look into this shopping trip. Where did you buy the broom?" Bartha said, cool and collected.

"Quality Quidditch Supplies… Cyril wanted a toy broom as well, matching the model, but I told him he could get a real broom, or a toy, not both… at least I remember it like that…"

Kenneth fought not to wince. Losing his son, and then realizing his last happy memory with him might be a fabrication… that was terrible.

Bertha, of course, was all business. "We will check with the shop and the clerks working two days ago. Do you remember any of the staff?"

Meadwater-Baker nodded, but his description focused more on the Quidditch robes the staff wore than their actual appearance. It would be enough to check up on though.

Someone had controlled the man, and modified his memory.

Kenneth swore they'd find the bastard and arrest him.

*****​

Paige Caldwell stared at the man, the wizard, who had appeared in the garden of her current residence. It looked like a decrepit house from the outside, but she had managed to repair the inside and she had a deft hand for transfiguring furniture out of debris. A deft hand, and a lot of experience - life as a werewolf in Britain had given her ample opportunities to practise such spells, since she'd never had a place that hadn't been in dire need for repairs. She wasn't good at warding though, which was a very bad thing in the current war, and due to her curse, she wasn't welcome at her family's mansion. 'Dark creatures are a risk for the children', as the woman who had been her mother put it.

"Who're you, and what are you doing here?" she spat out, challenging the visitor. A smarter witch would have been more polite, a more cautious witch would have moved back inside her home for some cover, but she was a cursed witch. She was a decent wand at fighting, often out of necessity, and with the way she and other werewolves were always pushed around by the Ministry, with new regulations seemingly implemented each year, she was rather averse to giving ground in her home, her territory. If the wizard tried to push her, she'd push back, and worse.

"I'm Phineas Brown, and I'm here to speak to you, Miss Caldwell," the man said, politely. He didn't meet her eyes, or challenged her in any other form.

She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "What about?"

"Your life."

She gasped, and raised her wand. He raised his hands, empty of his own wand. "I'm just here to talk. I've got a proposal for you."

"Speak!" She tensed up. If he made any kind of threatening move, she'd curse him and charge forward. She knew she was faster than most, and close to the full moon, the urge to beat, tear at something, someone, was slowly growing.

"Might we talk inside? It's a private matter."

He wanted to step into her home. Her safe place… she almost growled, but then nodded. She wasn't a beast, she was a witch, and she had manners. Even if she didn't always show it.

She saw he was looking around with interest in her living room, which she'd turn into her bedroom once she was about to sleep by transfiguring the couch into a bed.

"Impressive use of charms and transfigurations, Miss Caldwell." He nodded at her, the compliment somewhat ruined by his patronizing tone. She wouldn't summon her tea set for him, that much was clear.

Paige still nodded, accepting the compliment. She knew how to conduct herself in polite society.

"And yet… for a witch of your talents, this is a rather poor venue to live in."

She snarled at him. He had to know very well why she had to live like this. "I manage."

"Oh, no one would ever doubt that. But should you be content with 'managing', or would you prefer to excel? To live in a land where being cursed with lycanthropy doesn't lead to such discrimination? Where you can live the life you deserve?"

Paige scoffed. If there was such a country, she'd already be living there. Apart from a few Scandinavian Berserker Communities - and after dating a berserker for a few months she knew all about their own brand of lunacy - there was no country that hadn't some unfair anti-werewolf laws. "There's no such thing."

"Not yet, there isn't. But it will be, and soon."

That offer… the obvious fake name… "You mean Britain."

His smile widened, flashing white teeth at her. Too white, too polished, That one never had fought for his life with teeth and claws. "Indeed."

"And you're telling me You-Know-Who would make the country a better place for me?" She didn't want to believe it. She knew how cruel, how evil the Dark Lord was. How many he and his had murdered.

And yet, she had also known that she was her parents' daughter, that they would always protect her, that they would never hurt her. One tragic event had shown her the error of her beliefs. Why should she trust those who kept harassing her with more and more rules and regulations each month?

The wizard was smiling still. "He is generous to those who are loyal to him. And he has a long tradition of appreciating your kind."

She also knew the Prophet claimed You-Know-Who had been losing wands left and right. But why would she believe that rag, given the lies it published about werewolves?

"I'm listening."

*****​

Ron Weasley should be happy. He was strolling around Black Lake with his girlfriend, Padma Patil. The sun was shining, and the weather was warm, but not yet hot, perfect even if neither of them were wearing charmed robes. He had no study session scheduled, no training awaited him, and the Chudley Cannons had won their latest game. He should be happy, but he wasn't. And the reason for that was walking at his side.

"What happened to Harry?" Padma asked, not for the first time.

"Nothing," he answered, not for the first time either.

"But…"

He cut her off. "No 'but'. Nothing happened." She pouted at him, like Parvati often did. He didn't mention that, of course. "Didn't you hear Hermione? We're not talking about this." He made sure his privacy spells were still working, just in case.

"She meant not talking to anyone else, we were both there, we can talk about it." Padma was stubborn about this. She hadn't let up for the whole time they had been walking together. That wasn't how he had imagined their stroll.

"We won't though." Padma already had seen too much, Ron knew.

"Why not? Don't you trust me?" The Indian witch wasn't quite sniffling, but Ron knew she was close.

"Of course I trust you, but this is simply too dangerous to trust anyone with it." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, trying to comfort her.

It didn't work. She didn't shrug him off, at least. "But you, Harry and Hermione know about it."

"Well, yes." As soon as he said it, he knew he had made a mistake.

This time she shrugged him off and walked a bit faster, obviously angry. His longer legs caught up to her easily. Before he could say anything though, she was talking already. Or ranting.

"I'm always the odd one out, the one no one trusts! The one not good enough! Everyone else knows so much more, can do so much more, and now I am not even trusted to talk about something I saw with you!" she sobbed, and he saw tears running over her cheek.

"I trust you!" He tried to hug her, but she took a step back.

"You don't act like it!"

"I can't talk about that. It's too dangerous!" He was getting angry himself now. Why didn't she understand that he loved and trusted her - but that this was for her own good?

"But you talk with Harry and Hermione about it!"

She knew that already. He nodded. "Of course!" they were his best friends.

"What do I have to do so you trust me as well as you trust them?" She stared at him, sobbing still, her whole body tense.

He didn't know what to say. It wasn't as if he could give her a to-do list, to earn that kind of trust. It didn't work like that. And the kind of things that did create such trust he didn't want her to go through. Or suffer through.

But he had to answer, before she ran off, hurt even more. "It takes time." That sounded lame, even to him.

And Padma stormed off anyway. Ron let her go. She wasn't taking this well, all the pressure from the O.W.L.s, the war, and from Parkinson. And, he finally realized, he didn't, couldn't trust her to stand up to that kind of pressure. To not blurt the secret out in a heated row.

He had to talk to Harry and Hermione.

*****​

"Sir?"

Albus Dumbledore looked at the young witch while he levitated Yennington's body back onto the bed in the corner. "Yes, Miss Granger?" He was tired - the session had been productive, but exhausting - but the witch might have caught something he had missed, unlikely but not impossible.

"Will you be obliviating our other friends as well?"

Albus smiled. "I think they can be trusted not to let anything slip." He didn't have to add 'unlike Miss Patil'. Harry, Miss Granger and Mister Weasley had told him about her, after all.

"It would be hard to learn Occlumency by the end of the school year though, especially with the studying needed for our O.W.L.s. I'm quite glad Harry, Ron and I learned it already."

"Quite. But memories can be removed, and later restored as well." Albus didn't know if the young witches and wizards would go along with that. He hoped they would. If not… he'd do what he had to. And had done.

"Ah." Miss Granger smiled, relief obvious on her face, and she was notably less tense during the trip back to his office, and the waiting Harry.

Once the couple had left Albus's office, he pulled out a scroll of parchment that had arrived earlier that day, carried by a nondescript owl. Saving Gerhard Steiner from a life sentence in prison, or even execution, for a mistake Albus would have made as well, at that age, had certainly turned out to have been a very wise decision. Without the Transfiguration teacher at Durmstrang Albus would have been unable to keep a close eye on Igor.

Durmstrang's Headmaster had held out against the influence from his former master for an admirably long time, but every man would break under that pressure, sooner or later. And according to the letter, Igor had reached his breaking point now.

Albus pulled out a scroll of parchment and summoned his quill. It was time to act.


Chapter 38: Breakthroughs and Betrayals
 
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Chapter 38: Breakthroughs and Betrayals
Chapter 38: Breakthroughs and Betrayals

Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute, arrived late in the Mess Hall. His students were sitting at their tables already, silently waiting for the food to arrive, waiting for him to start dinner, the stupid worms. He looked at the Bulgarian table, where Krum had sat during his time at school. Ungrateful wretch. He looked at the staff sitting at his table, saw them staring at him. Backstabbing blood traitors, whispering behind his back, plotting, hoping he'd fall. His wand slid out of his wrist-mounted holster into his hand. He wanted to blow the table, the hall up. Turn the tables into kindling, pepper the little pests with splinters, make them bleed and cry, kill the blood traitors before they opposed his…

He took a deep, shuddering breath and fought the urge down. He hadn't killed anyone in years. Not since the Dark Lord had been defeated in Britain. He wouldn't start now!

He waved his wand, and at once the dishes started to float out of the kitchen into the hall, spreading out over the tables. The students transfigured or conjured their plates and silverware - that late in the year, even the first years had learned that, and wouldn't need the very plain ones provided by the school, though not many of them would be up to conjure the kind of elaborately designed plates the older students used to show off.

"Smacznego."

As the students started to eat, Igor sank down into his chair. He ignored the looks, the glares from the staff as he summoned some food on his plate, then started to eat without tasting anything. It wasn't the food, he knew that - it was him. As soon as he had finished he stood up, nodded at the rest of the staff and left.

Back in his quarters, secure on the lowest level of the institute's basement, behind the strongest wards he could have had installed, he allowed himself to vent. Screaming with rage, he ran past his office, to his living room, and started blowing up his furniture. He only stopped when the room was a cratered mess. He was panting, but the urge to lash out at those wretches, to kill them, hadn't abated. He transfigured the wreckage into animals - wolves, stags, dogs, cats - and killed them with the darkest curses he knew, but even seeing them writhe in agony, their entrails strangling them, their flesh rotting off their bones, did not satisfy him. They were not alive. They were not even dumb animals.

For a moment he felt like visiting the pond of the Institute. Kill some of the creatures held there. He could claim they were too dangerous for the students. He shook his head. No one would believe it. Maybe if he killed the werewolves at the school… his hand started to tremble. No, they hadn't done anything. To him, or to the Dark Lord.

He slid his wand back into its holster with enough force to bruise his wrist, then went to his office. He had work to do. There were reports to read and exams to check. Before he could finish his first roll of parchment though, his door announced a visitor.

He had his wand out and ready to curse before he even bothered to look at the small crystal ball on his desk that told him the name of the visitor. Steiner. The blood traitor. His Transfiguration Master. What in the Nine Hells was the old fool up to, disturbing him in the evening?

Igor flicked his wand, closing the door to his quarters - he hadn't yet restored his living room - then opened the door to let his visitor in. Steiner entered, his eyes opening in surprise when he saw the wand aimed at him. "Good evening, Headmaster." He sounded sycophantic as always. Igor knew he was after his position. He knew the man had never really renounced Grindelwald's ideals. He was a double traitor - a blood traitor, and one of Grindelwald's wands.

Igor longed to send the wizard away, but properties had to be followed. "Good evening, professor. How can I help you?" He kept his wand aimed at the man - Igor trusted his wards, but Steiner was a few decades his senior, and who knew what a former Storm Wizard could do? The things he had seen in the Institute's archives…

"You're feeling his presence in your mind, don't you?"

Igor felt as if the blood in his veins froze. How did the professor knew about this? He glanced at the man's left arm, hidden by his seemingly modest teacher's robe.

Steiner shook his head. "I'm not one of his." The professor sneered. "I'd never be one of his."

Igor snarled at him. Of course the man'd never follow anyone but Grindelwald. "So, whose wand are you?"

Steiner frowned, but Igor went on before he could lie. "You're someone's creature. If you were not, if you were fit to lead, you'd be the Headmaster, not me."

Steiner glared at him now, but didn't deny it.

"We're both traitors, but I at least decided to stand up for myself," Igor scoffed. "So, who…" then he knew. "Dumbledore. You're his." The only one who'd know what the Dark Lord was up to. What he could do.

Steiner didn't answer, but his expression told Igor he was correct. "What does my dear colleague want then?"

"He knows that you're slowly being corrupted by your master's mark. That sooner or later he'll win, and turn you into a slave - or a mindless animal," Steiner stated as if he were talking about the weather.

Igor ground his teeth. He knew that already. Hated it, of course. "I asked what he wanted, not what he knew."

"He offers you sanctuary, until your master has been dealt with."

"The Dark Lord cannot be easily 'dealt with'," Igor said through his clenched teeth. He felt rage when the insolent wizard sneered slightly in response - as if he was not acknowledging his master's power. His former master's power, Igor corrected himself. He almost cursed the professor, but controlled himself. "Nor can he be quickly dealt with. He came back from the dead, after all."

Steiner showed that insufferable, almost invisible sneer again, though his voice was polite when he said: "If you'd prefer it, you'd be unconscious for the duration of the war."

Igor snorted. "Unconscious, unable to defend my own mind? Would Dumbledore actually try to trap me like that? He might as well offer me a quick and painless death!"

Steiner's expression didn't change, and Igor once again really wanted to curse the insolent, mocking wizard. "That's what he offers, right? He offers to kill me before the Dark Lord takes control?" As if he'd let himself be slaughtered like a dumb animal. He'd kill himself. Once the time had come.

The other wizard nodded. He looked wary now.

Igor bared his teeth. The plotting worm probably looked forward to killing him, wanted to replace him. And Dumbledore would control two schools. "I reject his 'gracious offer'," he spat out. "I'll handle my affairs myself."

"You're running out of time. The longer you're waiting, the greater the danger you're posing for our students." Steiner stared at him. The hypocrite, as if he cared about the students!

"That's what you think, right? You want to kill me. You think I'm weak, and a coward, for betraying the Dark Lord. Even though you did the same!" He was standing now, facing the traitor.

Steiner's smile was answer enough for him.

"Avada Kedavra!"

His Killing Curse flew true, but was stopped when the stone floor of his office rose as a wall in front of the professor. The wall was shattered by the spell's impact, but the Transfiguration professor had his wand out now.

Igor wasn't that worried though - they were in his office, inside his own wards. The best his gold had managed to buy! And it felt good, no, glorious, to finally cut loose, to vent his rage on a deserving target!

He sent spell after spell at the man, using curses he hadn't cast since the last war. Steiner used more transfigured walls to protect himself. The Prussian didn't even try to return spells, he had to know the wards would render them powerless! And his walls were shattering under Igor's curses! And the door was locked so he'd not be able to escape!

The Headmaster was laughing when he launched a Blighting Curse followed by an Organ Rotting Curse at his wanna-be murderer. He would kill the upstart, and then he'd show Dumbledore the folly of trying to get him killed - of offering to kill him!

Steiner had run out of walls, and his shield crumbled under the first curse, with his robe barely absorbing the next. The fight would be over in a few seconds - unless Igor decided to drag it out. He shook his head at the temptation - he couldn't afford to play around right now.

He started to move his wand when he noticed that his arm felt heavier, slower. Then the pain started. What had Steiner done? He had trouble standing, but managed to drop into his seat rather than falling to the floor. His wand clattered on the floor when he lost any feeling in his fingers.

"P-poison?" he managed to stammer, laboring to keep breathing already. But how? Why hadn't his enchantments warned him, or prevented this? "H-how?"

Steiner shook his head at him. "I'm no alchemist. I simply transfigured the poison so it would deliver itself, so to speak."

Alchemy? This was Dumbledore's poison? Igor wanted to scream, but he couldn't do anything. Not even breathe. And the pain had become even worse.

"It doesn't look painless to me. I assume that making certain you'd die was more important than doing it painlessly." Steiner looked down at him, his features showing both pity and satisfaction.

The pain had become unbearable when Igor finally died.

*****​

Ron Weasley listened to his girlfriend explain about a particularly tricky arithmancy equation she had solved. Padma was happy, despite the looming O.W.L.s and the study sessions needed for that. She was happy because she didn't remember the latest, biggest fight they had had, nor the reason for it. She had been obliviated.

And he was unhappy because he was responsible. Their other friends had volunteered to have the memories of Harry's vision removed and stored until they had mastered Occlumency. Padma hadn't been given that chance. Because he hadn't trusted her to take it.

"... and that means this can be used to analyze wards," Padma finished, beaming at him.

He forced himself to smile. "That's great! You'll get an 'O' in Arithmancy for sure!"

"I hope so. Unless the expert poses questions that haven't been answered yet, to see how we attempt to solve it." The Ravenclaw witch pouted.

"They do that?" That was the first time he had heard of that. He wondered if Hermione knew about it.

"Sometimes. There was a scandal ten years ago when the problem actually had no solution." Padma shook her head, frowning. "They fired that expert though, and had the exam redone during the vacation."

"Pressure from some Wizengamot member?" Ron could see that happen. There were always rumors about parents pulling strings for their children.

Padma shrugged, which did interesting things to her chest, distracting him. "I don't know. Maybe." She perked up. "But it's rather unlikely to be repeated. The current expert hasn't done this in five years - we've got transcripts of all his exams."

"I see." No wonder the Ravenclaws were so Ravenclaw - the only ones Ron knew who prepared for an exam like that were Hermione and Percy. And Hermione's friends, including himself, of course - she wouldn't let anyone of them escape.

"Are you done as well? Do you want to take a walk around the lake?" the Indian witch asked with a hopeful expression.

Ron froze. He distinctly remembered the last walk around the lake, the fight, and the obliviation that had followed. "Ah… I think I better study some more. O.W.L.s are important." He forced himself to smile at her, and ignore how his girlfriend briefly looked hurt before she nodded in agreement.

*****​

The Hogwarts Self-Defense Club's meetings had been turned into practise sessions for the DADA-O.W.L.s, Pansy Parkinson thought. Instead of students learning how to defend themselves from attacks they were learning how to cast spells needed for the exams. The Slytherin student wasn't sure if she liked that. Good O.W.L.s were important, but she was quite certain she'd do well on her exam already. On the other hand, Greg and Vincent were profiting, and she usually managed to dump them on someone else for tutoring in those session, freeing her to practise herself. The two lugs were loyal and brave, but trying to teach them something more complicated than cursing someone was often an exercise in frustration. She sometimes wondered how Draco had managed to stand that - or if he had ever tried teaching them anything.

The witch stretched, limbering up for some dueling training. She was one of the few outside Potter's friends who still trained dodging and shielding, fighting instead of academica. As she bent down to touch her toes with her fingertips, she noticed Weasley watching. Acting as if she hadn't noticed, she took her time to stretch, making sure he got an eyeful and would realize just how tightly her dueling robes fit her.

He noticed, she was certain, since he looked away brusquely after staring. And his girlfriend noticed too - the Ravenclaw was glaring at Pansy. The Slytherin acted as if she was oblivious to the attention, until Patil started some spell exercise with Potter's retainer. As soon as the other witch was busy, Pansy stood up and approached Weasley.

"Mister Weasley? Would you care for a duel? I think I've already gotten all the spell revising I can stomach."

She saw Ron starting to smile - as expected he was sick of the revising too - then school his features and nod at her. "Alright, Miss Parkinson. Standard rules?"

"Yes." Pansy looked around for a referee, but Professor Lupin and Mister Black were both occupied observing spell practise.

"Aicha? Would you mind refereeing?" Weasley called out. The Arabian witch nodded, and came over to them, followed by Lovegood. The blonde Ravenclaw smiled widely, rubbing her hands together. "Oh, this should be entertaining!"

Pansy wasn't sure how to answer that. The eccentric witch was an enigma for her. She seemed to be interested in Granger, but as far as the Slytherin knew, she had never made a move. It wasn't shyness - Lovegood was known to often be very blunt. But what else would keep her from trying to get what she wanted? Pansy didn't know. And so she simply nodded with a polite smile, and stepped on the slightly raised dueling platform. The wards that prevented stray spells from leaving the area - if not always successfully - made her skin tingle for a second.

Ron followed her example and faced her, wand raised. He cut a dashing figure in his customized robes. Pansy used the opportunity to ogle him, under the guise of studying her adversary.

Antar clapped her hands together.

"Bow!"

Pansy took a deep bow. She knew she was likely to lose - Weasley was very good with his wand. And he usually went all-out in duels too. Within the rules.

"Wands ready!"

Pansy's wand moved into the "guard" position.

"Start!"

Pansy dropped to the floor and rolled to the side. Three brightly colored spells flew over her head - as expected, Weasley wasn't holding back at all. She returned fire with two spells of her own, both missed, but gained her enough time to cast a shield charm.

That saved her from Weasley's next two spells. She conjured a dozen rocks - or at least ten and two pebbles - and banished them at the redheaded wizard. His shield protected him, without shattering like hers had. She wasn't beaten yet, though. A quick hex filled the dueling platform with smoke while she rolled to the other side, and when a gust of wind dispersed the smoke… she was staring right at the tip of his wand.

"Stupefy! Stupefy!"

Parkinson's duelling robes absorbed the first spell, but the second, right behind it, took her out.

She woke up - was woken - right afterward, or so she thought - the revising was still going on.

"That was quite good, Parkinson," Weasley stated, grudgingly.

"Thank you. But not good enough." Pansy didn't bother with flattering Weasley, she simply got up and nodded. "Another round?"

Again Weasley smiled for a second, before his face settled on a neutral expression, and he stepped up to the platform. "Sure."

This time Pansy didn't last as long. But she managed to make her opponent flinch at least. after the fifth round, he kept his smile when talking to her. Pansy hoped that was because she had impressed him somewhat, and not because she had been hit with all sorts of hexes, and was in considerable pain. Patil's frown pointed to the former, at least.

*****​

"Thank you for your help."

Kenneth Fenbrick smiled at the shop attendant in 'Quality Quidditch Supplies'. He was just being polite though - as expected, none of the staff of the shop recalled Meadwater-Baker visiting them the day he remembered as having spent broom shopping. As he left the shop he glanced at the Firebolt on display. Ah, if he could afford one of those! Maybe once the new model came out, and the war had ended...

Outside the auror looked at his partner, Bertha Limmington. "Polyjuice?"

The witch shrugged. "She wasn't obliviated, or confunded. We'll have to go through the list of people who bought a broom here that day, to narrow the possibilities down."

"Unless they simply imperiused someone to buy the broom for them." Kenneth wasn't quite as optimistic as Bertha. Hoping the enemy had made a mistake was a bad habit for an auror. Even though most criminals made more than one mistake.

"As unlikely as it is to give us a result, we still have to investigate, if only to eliminate it as a lead for the investigation," Bertha said while they were walking towards the Leaky Cauldron. They were under a privacy spell, but both were wearing their auror robes - these days, any auror showing his or her colors in the streets was a good thing for the country's morale.

"Do we visit each and everyone of them?" Kenneth didn't whine, even though he felt like it. That would take more than a day.

"No. We'll check first if anyone on the list recently reported a theft or a break-in. If imperiused, they'll not be able to withdraw gold from Gringotts, so they will have taken the money from the gold they keep at hand, and that might get noticed quickly - especially in shops," Bertha explained.

Kenneth hadn't thought of that. While it was often dangerous to make assumptions, this seemed sound, and wouldn't delay them much if it didn't pan out. A brief floo trip later they were back in the Ministry, and on their way to the DMLE offices.

*****​

"Mister Floxroot? Please have a seat. My name is Kenneth Fenbrick. This is my partner, Bertha Limmington. We're investigating the theft from your shop."

Kenneth smiled at Killian Floxroot, the owner of 'Prized Pets', a shop in Diagon Alley specializing in exotic animals - magical and muggle ones. A day ago he had reported the theft of a sum of gold from his shop that matched the price for the broom Meadwater-Baker had given his son.

The wizard looked surprised at facing two aurors. "When I reported the theft yesterday, I was given the impression that it wasn't a high priority."

Kenneth didn't mention that he had heard through the grapevine that Floxroot wasn't too popular in the DMLE, after a few of his stock - the kind Professor Hagrid would call 'interesting' - had escaped and caused trouble in the Alley. "Well, we're on the job now."

Bertha drew her wand. "May I quickly check you for signs of memory alterations?"

"Memory… you think I've been obliviated?" Floxroot's eyes widened in shock.

Bertha simply nodded. "Yes."

"Of… of course."

Bertha cast several charms, her expression darkening slightly with each spell. Finally she holstered her wand. "Indeed, you have been obliviated. It seems very likely that the thief compelled you to buy a broom with the missing gold, and and then removed the memory of that action."

Floxroot gaped, then shivered, hunching over. "I've been imperiused?"

Kenneth sympathized - to be mind-controlled was one of the worst things that could happen to a wizard. And having to suspect your memories, to be unable to trust your own recollections, was almost as bad. To never know, to always wonder what you had done, had been forced to do…

Bertha nodded. "That's the most likely spell, yes."

"Merlin…. who'd do such thing? It's not as I've lost a fortune…"

"Let's just say you're lucky to be still alive." Kenneth smiled at the man, ignoring the glare from his partner. When he saw the man understood what he had just hinted at, he hastily added: "You were used to buy a broom, nothing more, as far as we can tell." That seemed to reassure the wizard. A bit at least.

"Mister Floxroot, we need your memory for the entire afternoon that is suspect."

"Of course. Do you think you can restore my missing memories? Remove the fake ones?"

"We can remove the manipulated ones, but restoring obliviated memories is still impossible," Bertha stated, bluntly and coldly.

Kenneth almost sighed - she was brilliant, but sometimes she missed what impression she left on those who didn't know her as well as he did. "Do you know how to copy a memory, sir?"

It took ten minutes of coaching, but they got the memory, and the still shaken wizard left their office - presumably to head home, but Kenneth was certain he'd hit a pub first, or buy a bottle or three of Ogden's finest.

"Do you think you'll find anything in the tampered memory?" Kenneth didn't think the Dark Lord's agents would have been sloppy enough to miss something. But no one was perfect.

"I hope I can use his and Meadwater-Baker's memories to find possible witnesses who didn't have their memories erased, and then get copies of their memories," Bertha explained while labeling the vial she had stored the memory in.

Clever. Even if the culprit had erased more than just his presence, he couldn't have erased everyone's memories. And both in Diagon Alley and in the Ministry, there was a lot of people walking around at any time of the day. A lot… "Merlin! Do you know how long this will take?"

"I've reserved the pensieve for a week."

Kenneth stared at his partner. She was serious. She also had found what was probably their best chance to crack this case and find the agent. "I'll forgot how the real world looks after a week spent in memories!" he grumbled.

Seeing Bertha frown at the way he had just mangled logic was a small consolation for him - he had a very long week ahead.

*****​

Hermione Granger stared at the ugly knot of pulsating strands she saw thanks to her spell and shivered. This was it. This was the core of the Dark Mark. This was where Voldemort's soul was bound to the Death Eater's. This was how the soul was anchored.

She suppressed the growing but by now familiar nausea, the headache, and the spark of longing, as she analyzed the structure and changing patterns of the entwined strands. Forcing the bile rising in her throat down, she used her wand to very carefully prod the point where the strands disappeared into the flesh beneath. When she pulled it back to study the changes that had caused, she was shivering despite the charms on her robe. It was a warped, yet elegant construct, alluring and repulsive.

The witch finally understood the mark. And if she understood something, she could find a way to destroy it. She already had a hunch how. To tweak that strand there, and cut this one… it was only when her detection spell was suddenly and silently finited that she realized she had her wand pointed at the Dark Mark.

"I think it is time to stop for today, Miss Granger," the Headmaster stated in a calm voice.

Hermione whipped her head around, staring at the old wizard. She had forgotten his presence. Hadn't seen him either. All she had seen was the Dark Mark. The horcrux. Her head was beating rapidly and she was panting, and if not for her charmed robe, she was sure she'd be soaked in sweat as well. She certainly felt filthy. And her head… "Merlin," she muttered while rubbing her temples. While she had been focused on her task, she had been able to ignore the pain, but now it was back with a vengeance.

Dumbledore nodded gravely, his wrinkled face showing both concern and understanding.

"Thank you, Headmaster." Hermione stood up, on slightly shaky legs, and took a few steps back from the body, to lean against the wall. She would have conjured a chair or seat for her, but she'd rather not attempt that in her current state, nor so close to the horcrux.

The wizard levitated the Death Eater away, over to the cot on the other side of the vault, before turning to her.

"I'm alright, sir," Hermione pre-empted his question.

He didn't look like he shared her opinion, and Hermione briefly wondered if she wore the same expression whenever Harry told her he was fine after a rough Quidditch game or training. "Was it worth it, Miss Granger?"

She nodded, slowly.and took deep breaths until she wasn't in danger of losing the contents of her stomach anymore. "Yes, Sir. I know what I'm facing now."

Dumbledore pursed his lips. "So you do. And you know the temptation of the Dark Arts now, as well."

"Yes, Sir." Her headache hadn't abated, and she pulled out a vial and drank it. When her head started to hurt less, she sighed with relief.

"It is a constant temptation. The lure of more knowledge, an easy way to deal with an enemy. Or a danger. Or a problem. Or an inconvenience."

Hermione looked at the old wizard. He sounded as if he was speaking from personal experience. He probably was, she realized, given his experiences. "I will resist it."

Dumbledore held her gaze for a few moments longer - she half-expected him to try to read her thoughts - then nodded. "Very well. Do you require further sessions with the mark?"

"One more, I think, to double-check my findings." One she had a concept, she'd have to do some testing too.

"After the O.W.L.s then. I dare say you need a bit more rest after today."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again and nodded reluctantly. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She hadn't felt that weak, that sick, that hungry, before.

She was still shivering when the vault door closed behind them and they made their way back to Dumbledore's office. Back to Harry.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore kept a close eye on the young witch as the two returned to his office. She stopped trembling halfway there, and gained some color to her face as well, but she still looked exhausted. She didn't seem driven though - or at least not as much as he had feared. That was a good sign. He seen how easy it was to drive oneself to exhaustion and beyond, researching the Dark Arts. Seen, and done it himself, once.

He closed his eyes for an instant, remembering the days of his youth. Gellert. Their plans. Their research. And their mistakes. His fatal mistake. His shame. He saw a lot of his younger self in Miss Granger. More than he liked, if he was honest. A brilliant mind, great ideals, and a ruthless determination. Fortunately, Harry was no Gellert. He wasn't delving into the Dark Arts with Miss Granger - his connection to Voldemort would make studying the Dark Mark far too dangerous - and he would rather rein her in than spur her on. The boy was an anchor for Miss Granger. He would, hopefully, keep her from falling to the lure of the Dark Arts. And if she did… Harry had the power to control her, in extremis.

Albus was not feeling well himself - studying the horcrux took a toll on him. Both on his body, and his soul. He had done what he could to spare the young witch the same burden, but it hadn't been enough.

They entered his office, where Harry was reading a book. Albus recognized it at once. "Are you reading 'Battlefield Control'?" he asked while he sat down and summoned three glasses and one bottle.

"Yes, Headmaster," the boy answered while Miss Granger hugged him before sitting down next to him. "I thought it might be useful."

"And was it?" Albus asked, curious. The book was interesting, but more so for the historical information, these days. Some of the ideas could be adapted, of course.

"It seems rather outdated. Neither muggles nor wizards fight in the manner the book describes," Harry said while passing the book to Miss Granger, who eagerly flipped through the pages.

"It was written before the Statue of Secrecy went into effect." Albus floated the glasses over to the two students, then filled them with a flick of his wrist. "Back at the time wizards and muggles fought side by side, and their tactics reflected that. After magic was hidden from the rest of the world, warfare changed for both wizards and muggles. Muggles had no longer to worry about spells and magical beasts, but the absence of magic forced them to find other means to compensate too - especially for reconnaissance and commanding. It took them over 200 years to replace broom cavalry and communication mirrors. Wizards meanwhile saw their battles shrink to what would have been considered skirmishes before. Instead of battles involving thousands of men, small groups of highly mobile combattants became the norm." He had their attention now, though Miss Granger was still glancing at the pages.

"I wonder what would happen if we used muggle weapons in battle," Harry mused.

Albus smiled. "Not much, I would expect. We're not trained to use them, nor do we have tactics to use them effectively against magical foes. Apart from a few niches they would do more harm than good for quite some time. And the political ramifications..." The old wizard sighed. "It would be a propaganda coup for Tom to see muggle weapons slaying wizards. People would be reminded of the witch-hunts, and getting labeled as a 'blood traitor' would change its meaning."

Harry looked like he wanted to disagree, but nodded, if reluctantly. "Niches?"

"Modern muggle weapons have a far greater range than wands. Used in the right situations, enemies could be caught unaware and unprepared thanks to that. Though they would quickly adapt, and any advantage would be mostly lost," Albus explained. He missed teaching students, terribly. But he had too much work, too little time to teach classes. Too much responsibility to follow his true passion.

"Such an advantage could be decisive though, if used at the right moment," Miss Granger said.

The Headmaster nodded at her. She was probably already thinking of acquiring muggle firearms. "Indeed. And should that moment happen, rest assured that we will use them." He didn't quite grin at seeing her eyes widen in surprise - she probably didn't expect him to have thought of that. Just like him, at that age.

The young witch looked at the book again, hiding her expression. Harry chuckled a bit, which earned him a glare. Albus smiled. Young love.

He finished his own glass before addressing more recent matters. "As Miss Granger will be telling you in more detail, we've succeeded in unraveling the defenses of the Dark Mark. While we have not yet found a way to put that knowledge to use, I am confident such applications will follow."

Miss Granger nodded, exchanging a tired but proud glance with Harry, while Albus refilled his glass with his wand. The liquid formed an amber-colored arc as it rose from the bottle and fell into his glass.

Harry cleared his throat. "I've heard a rather surprising rumor. Some people think Voldemort had the Lestranges killed so they would not object to his affair with Bellatrix."

Albus met the eyes of the young wizard. "In a war, victory can rarely be achieved with your wand alone. In order to win, you need not just to beat your enemy's wands, but to prevent him from replacing his losses. In a civil war, which is what we are fighting in, the chief means to achieve that is propaganda. If Voldemort is seen as a man willing to have his loyal wands killed because he is going after a married woman, or after their family fortune, then many more traditional families will think twice about allying themselves with the Dark Lord."

"People actually believe that?" Miss Granger sounded doubtful.

The old wizard smiled. "Wizards and witches generally are more willing to believe fantastic stories, seeing as they are used to fantastic magic."

The muggleborn witch grumbled something under her breath Albus didn't catch, but judging by Harry's frown, it hadn't been a polite remark. Though the boy had some doubt in his expression as well when he agreed with Albus: "Indeed. Some students have already forgotten Draco's stance towards muggleborns, just because he was supposedly killed by the Dark Lord."

Did the boy suspect it had been Albus who had killed them? The Headmaster didn't let the worry Harry's words caused show on his face. "It is generally thought more noble to be killed fighting for people than for coin. And the Romans had a saying: De mortuis nihil nisi bene."

"'Do not speak ill of the dead'," Miss Granger said. "It's ironic that one of the biggest bigots is now seen as a hero." She scoffed. "I hope he knows this in the afterlife, and suffers more for it."

Harry nodded in agreement. Albus sighed. He hoped the afterlife wouldn't include suffering for your sins. It was a slim, probably illusionary hope, but it was all he had. He'd find out soon enough, anyway - he wasn't getting any younger. And there was the war.

"Neville's grandmother hates the rumor though - she doesn't want the Dark Lord to be the one who killed those who had tortured her son and his wife."

Albus understood that. He'd hate it himself, were he in Augusta's place. But the needs of the war took precedence over the feelings of an old witch. Or an even older wizard. "I do not think this will last overly long." Once the war was won, he would start clearing up those kind of 'misunderstandings'.

Miss Granger mumbled something. He looked at her "What did you say, Miss Granger?"

The witch met his eyes, almost defiantly. "The first casualty when war comes, is truth."

"You are correct, Miss Granger." She probably suspected him. But she also shared his views, Albus knew. He stood up. "I think it is time for you to head back to your dorms again. Before Minerva starts believing that I am exhausting two of her favorite students shortly before their O.W.L.s." He gently shooed the two out, then fell back into his seat, his body aching.

He wasn't getting any younger. And the Dark Arts and their effects were not getting any weaker.

*****​

"And those are my friends Valérie, Chantal, Eugénie and Laure Delacour," Sirius Black introduced his girlfriends to the latest guests in his home, a dozen relatives of Viktor who'd be joining the Order in the battle against Voldemort. There were a number of pretty witches among them, which probably had prompted the four French veela to stand a bit closer to him than usual at such occasions.

Boris Stankoiev, Viktor's best man, bowed with a flourish in return, and introduced his group. Including his mistress, Bisera Ivanova. A veela. Sirius had an inkling that things were not going that well when Bisera and his four girlfriends stared at each for a moment. All were smiling, but Sirius knew his lovers well enough to know it was an act.

Trying to defuse the brewing dispute, he gave the new arrivals a tour of the house. Unfortunately, it didn't work out.

Thirty minutes later, he was treated to a line-by-line recap of the discussion between the veela and he was getting a bit worried. His shy, gentle Valérie was pacing in his bedroom, her voice changing between its usual timbre and the more inhuman tone of a transformed veela as she complained about Bisera. "What does that girl think she is, looking down on me?" She threw her hands in the air, and Sirius imagined small flames sprouting from her fingers while she tried to ape the other veela's voice. "'Oh, you share a wizard? Four of you? 'ow interesting. My Boris wouldn't 'ave the energy to satisfy another woman, much less three. Not after 'e has satisfied me.'" The French witch sneered. "Stupid Bulgarian flobberworm! Acting as if 'aving a dull lover without imagination or stamina is a good thing!" Valérie was really mad - among veela, comparing someone to worms, animals that lived in the earth, was one of the worst insults.

Chantal, who was sitting on an ottoman nearby, long legs draped over another and leaning against a floating pillow, agreed. "She certainly 'ad an attitude. But I'm more worried about the other Bulgarians."

Sirius looked at her. "Did they make advances towards you?" If they did...

Chantal looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. "No, not the men. The women. Bulgarians see us as temptresses, trying to ensnare wizards. And they think we're just fit to be mistresses, not wives. Some of those witches might make moves on you." Her expression clearly showed that she'd not tolerate that.

"Well, they don't stand any chance. I'm firmly yours!" Sirius declared, with a grand gesture. "Very firmly," he added with a wink that had them giggling. They grew more serious quickly though.

Laure, spread out on the left side of his bed, cut in: "It's getting a bit crowded."

Sirius shrugged. "Well, we have to host our allies somewhere. And I'd rather have Viktor's family and friends in my house than some of the mercenaries from the Balkans." Everyone nodded at that - the things one heard from that particular spot made the Barbary Coast look like a vacation destination.

"As long as they behave!" Valérie said. Sirius nodded. Had those been flames in her eyes? He patted his lap, and she joined him on his bed, sitting between his legs. He wrapped his arms around her, and the two stayed like that for a while.

Eugénie, sitting next to them, sighed. "At least Fleur and her Beel will be back from France soon."

Sirius wasn't certain that was a good thing, given Fleur's temper and Bill's looks. And the fact that many of those witches and wizards would be fighting in the war - and everyone knew how randy soldiers were when they were not fighting.

He didn't say anything though. To think that he once had thought he could never have enough pretty girls in his house! He had even dreamed of having a harem in his youth. If he had managed to forge his father's signature, back then… he'd had his route to Constantinople planned out already when his parents had found out and stopped him. He had been young and stupid, before Azkaban.

Thinking of that place, that time made him shiver, despite Valérie's closeness. He didn't have the urge to change into Padfoot though. Not anymore.

*****​

Paige Caldwell wasn't certain her lot in life had improved. Certainly, she had better quarters now. The best expansion charms, and furniture that was not a finite away from turning into rubble. And food - real food. Meat. Rare, not burned to a crisp.

On the other hand, her company hadn't improved. Quite the contrary. Many of her new roommates were of the worst lot. Uncultured, barbaric, some were barely above beasts no matter if they were under the full moon. There were even muggles among them!

But it was just a temporary measure, for the war's duration. Once they had won, things would change. No one would ever tell her where she could live, and how. Never again! She would be free. Free and powerful. It was worth fighting for. Worth killing for. Britain declared her a dark creature? She'd show them how dark she could be!

She told herself that several times a day. Especially after hearing the bragging of those who had been in the Dark Lord's service for a while. The full moon was close, and she felt the beast in her rise, trying to take control. Urges, animal, violent ones, filled her. She slid her hand into her enchanted pocket, gripping her vial filled with Wolfsbane potion. No matter what anyone else said about the will of magic, nature, or the animal's spirit, she'd not become a mindless beast.

"Paige?"

The werewolf flinched when she heard the loud voice from the hall. Fenrir Greyback, the leader of Voldemort's pack, as he called them. The most infamous, most feared werewolf of Britain. His rampages were the stuff of nightmares. Or had been, before she had been cursed herself, and had seen the other side. Her side. It hadn't taken her long to understand how one could be driven, enraged, enough to rampage. Not after living in Britain as a werewolf.

She also knew that Greyback was as brutal, cunning and powerful as the tales made him out to be. She didn't know any werewolf who could stand up to him. But that didn't change the fact that he also was an uncouth brute who stank.

But he was her superior, and she would never get to live in a Britain where she was free if she ignored him. She wouldn't get to live, period, as one idiot boy had found out a day after she had arrived, when he had insulted the older werewolf. She stood up from the mattress she had been lying on - Greyback claimed beds were for monkeys - and opened the door with her wand. "Yes, Fenrir?" All werewolves were told to use first names, seeing as they were all one pack. Or so Greyback claimed.

"The Dark Lord's got a mission for you."

Paige's eyes widened. "The Dark Lord himself?" she asked, her voice betraying her nervosity.

"You won't meet him, but the order came straight from him." Fenrir scowled at her, but didn't go further - only idiots didn't fear the Dark Lord, and he wasn't one.

Paige nodded. "Who else is going on the mission?

Fenrir laughed. "It's just you, and some witch."

"What? So close to the full moon?" That didn't sound like the usual mission for the werewolves. Paige wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

"Yeah. They need a young werewolf who is still civilized. You fit the bill."

Paige nodded, even though that sounded ominous. Any other answer would have been a bad idea.

Fenrir gave her a small coin. "That's a portkey. It'll drop you right at the meeting spot. You'll be informed there. Do the pack proud. And if the witch is stupid, but not too stupid, bite her."

The old werewolf was still laughing at his own joke - if he had been joking - when the portkey went off and dropped her in front of a middle-aged, but attractive witch.

*****​

Dolores Umbridge saw the beast land on her carpet in a crouch. She wanted to kill the animal, but her orders were clear, and she prefered living to killing such abominations. She kept her wand out, of course. Just in case the monster lost control.

"Hello, Miss…" the animal started to talk.

Dolores cut her off with a gesture of her hand, walking around her. At a safe distance, of course. At least the werewolf wasn't dressed in rags, and didn't seem to be too dirty. Maybe she could pull this off. Provided the beast didn't growl at people like she was doing right then. "Stop that!"

"What?" The animal snarled at her. Dumb and arrogant.

"Growling. Stop it." She stared at the creature until the werewolf looked away. "You'll have to pass for a real witch for this mission, you can't be acting like an animal."

"What is the mission?" the insolent beast asked with a sneer.

"It's quite easy. There's a Wizengamot member, Trevor Fickleton. The Dark Lord wants him bitten by a werewolf tonight." The animal looked at her, surprise giving way to eagerness as the beast's bloodlust rose.

"I assume you've got a plan to get me to him."

"Yes. You'll be posing as my niece. He is very interested in meeting her."

The nostrils of the thing widened. "Do you mean that he expects me to…"

Dolores narrowed her eyes. "You'll do what he wants until the moon rises. Understood?" As if any of those animals had a problem with rutting. She should be glad to be allowed to touch a wizard.

The beast growled, showing her teeth. Dolores almost cursed her. "The Dark Lord ordered this. Are you defying him?"

Even the dumb animal wasn't that dumb, though she was still glaring at Dolores when she lowered her head.

The witch nodded, satisfied. "Good. I've gotten a decent robe for you. Put it on." It was much too good for the beast, but Dolores's niece would be wearing such a robe. She watched while the werewolf dressed. The Dark Lord had been right. If she hadn't known about the creature, she might even have been fooled into thinking this was a proper witch.

Trevor wouldn't suspect anything. He certainly would never expect Dolores to bring a werewolf to him - he knew her too well for that. Or thought he knew her. Thought he owned her. Thought he could reduce her to his concubine without her taking revenge on him.

Dolores snarled. He'd find out just how wrong he was, tonight. When the full moon reached his bedroom and the little whore shed her human skin.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort pondered the report from Umbridge lying on his desk. His plan had worked. Fickleton was now cursed, and just one revelation away from losing everything - his position, his gold, his family. The fool would do anything Voldemort ordered to avoid that fate.

The Dark Lord shook his head as he read the last paragraph on the scroll. Umbridge thought she would get to order the man around. She was almost as big a fool as Fickleton himself - with her reputation her relationship with that wizard, no matter how fake it was, tainted the man's reputation and therefore reduced his worth for the Dark Lord. The former Ministry employee would have to leave Fickleton. Voldemort had other tasks for her anyway.

He'd inform her later that week about it. In a personal meeting - just in case she didn't take it well. If she wasn't willing to obey his orders, he'd find another use for her. Such as Steinberg's experiments. His gaze fell on the wand on the other side of the desk.

He summoned it into his hand and studied it, once more. It seemed to sing in his hand, daring him, begging him to cast the darkest curses he knew. Promising him that they would be as easy as a first-year's charm. They would be, he had found that out when he had possessed the boy in the Ministry. But the price the wand demanded… A wizard using such a wand would burn brightly, but quickly, his own body, his life, fueling the wand's power. The boy he had possessed had been doomed after just one fight with such a wand.

Those wands would have been very useful, had he still a lot of expendable wizards and witches to send into combat. But in the current situation, he couldn't afford to sacrifice them. Not in a fight, at least.

But if his hunch paid out, he wouldn't have to sacrifice any of his followers. Voldemort wasn't a wandmaker, but he was the greatest practitioner of the Dark Arts in the world. He knew more about sacrifices than anyone else. And he knew that smart wizards sacrificed their enemies, not their allies.

A wand that sacrificed its wielder was of limited use. A wand that sacrificed its targets though…

Voldemort was smiling when he left his office in search of Steinberg.


Chapter 39: A Dark Day
 
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Chapter 39: A Dark Day
Chapter 39: A Dark Day

"Pensieves should be illegal!" Kenneth Fenbrick declared when he withdrew from the memory of Balthasar Brighton, co-worker of Meadwater-Baker. "They obviously were made with torture in mind!"

His partner, Bertha Limmington, ignored his outburst. "Brighton didn't spot anyone entering or leaving Meadwater-Baker's office," she summed up the latest memory.

"Yes… just like everyone else we saw. Maybe the culprit was invisible." Kenneth leaned back and rubbed his eyes. He had seen the same scene from far too many eyes during the last few days. They already had found out that the Death Eater who had manipulated Floxwood had used a disguise thanks to the memory of his neighbour, but that wouldn't have worked in the Ministry, where strangers were not allowed to roam the halls.

"Or he too was obliviated." Bertha rooted through the dozens of vials containing the memories of Ministry employees they had already watched, then pulled out another. With a flick of her wand she transferred Brighton's memory into a vial, and put the next one in the pensieve.

"If he was obliviated as well we'd never find them," Kenneth said. He would hate for the Death Eater to escape. After the last few days the auror had had, the one responsible deserved to suffer!

"Not necessarily." Bertha dove into the memory.

Kenneth sighed, then followed her. He found himself watching a corridor inside the Ministry, near the entrance to the offices where Meadwater-Baker had been working. "Whose memory are we watching?"

"Meredith Wilkens's."

"Wilkens? She doesn't even work there. What did she …" Kenneth trailed off when he saw the witch suddenly stumble and drop a stack of parchments. When she cursed and bent down to pick them up, her already daring robe slipped a bit. "Ah. Tripping jinx. A distraction?"

"Yes." Bertha paused the recording, and pointed at the watch in the background, and a man in thick robes entering the corridor leading to Brighton's office.

Kenneth narrowed his eyes. That wizard should have shown up in Brighton's memory. He walked around to look at the wizard's face. "Macnair." The butcher.

Bertha nodded.

"How did you know Wilkens was there? And how did you get her memory?" Kenneth knew they had taken the memories of all of Meadwater-Baker's co-workers, but Wilkens worked in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes - quite far from those offices.

"I heard that she was having an affair with Mackenzie from Broom Regs." Bertha was checking her watch and making notes inside the pensieve.

"Bertha! You were gossiping? You?" Kenneth stared at her.

His partner glared at him. "I couldn't exactly ask around officially, that would have tipped the suspect off."

"Of course." Kenneth agreed with her even if he was grinning widely - he couldn't think of anyone less likely to indulge in office gossip than his partner. Including the Unspeakables.

He grew serious as soon as they left the pensieve though. "Do you want to arrest him right away, or simply question him first?"

Bertha cocked her head to the side. "We don't have enough for a warrant, yet. But he might get spooked if we approach him."

Kenneth nodded. "He'll know he's been made if we start asking questions about the case. And a cornered Death Eater will flee - or fight. Both will confirm his guilt."

"He might be prepared for such an eventuality though. We'd need backup," Bertha stated. "And a curse-breaker and a healer. Just in case."

"Gathering that many might be a bit conspicuous." Kenneth didn't think there were too many spies inside the Ministry, but there was always the risk of just one mole at the wrong place.

"We don't need to involve the hit-wizards," Bertha said. "Aurors should suffice."

Kenneth nodded. Given the way they were recruiting anyone able to cast a few curses and a shield charm, there were bound to be a few spies among the hit-wizards. "Let's call Bones."

*****​

Walden Macnair was sorting through parchments, trying to reduce the stacks on his cluttered desk. He wished there was an execution scheduled - he hadn't killed anything this week yet, neither for the Ministry or the Dark Lord. And he hoped he'd get to kill a sentient creature. Butchering animals wasn't as satisfying as killing those who knew what was happening. Those who begged, cried, and pleaded. Like werewolves. If only muggles could be hunted…

His musings were interrupted when someone knocked at the door of his office. "Yes?" He drew his wand, slowly floating a cup of tea over to his desk as a cover.

The door opened, revealing two aurors. Fenbrick and Limmington. Walden knew about them - both through the Ministry's grapevine, and from the Dark Lord himself. They were among the DMLE's best, and had caused a lot of harm to the cause. What were they doing here? They could have some questions about magical creatures, he supposed. But he wasn't an expert on creatures. Just on killing them.

"Mister Macnair?" the wizard asked.

Walden almost scoffed and asked who else the idiot thought would be in his office, but he controlled himself. "Yes." He slowed the teacup down a bit more. Let them think he was a weak wizard, struggling with such a charm. Aurors always looked down on anyone else in the Ministry.

Fenbrick smiled and stepped closer to Walden while the witch apparently found the pictures of dead animals on the wall interesting. Fitting for a Ravenclaw. Unless it was an act. That would be more Slytherin. "We've got a few questions for you."

Walden looked at the auror. "Is this an interrogation?" As soon as the words had left his lips, he knew they had been a mistake. Too confrontational. He needed to act like a friendly fellow Ministry employee, not a suspect.

Fenbrick acted as if he hadn't noticed the slip. "No, just some questions. We're investigating the recent break-in at the Department of Mysteries."

Walden felt as if his blood froze in his veins. They knew… or did they just suspect? Wouldn't they have arrested him, if they had proof? He had erased all traces of his involvement, hadn't he? He managed to shrug. "Haven't heard anything about it but rumors." The teacup was now simply hovering, halfway to his desk.

"Let me," the witch said, pulling out her wand.

Walden almost dropped the act and cursed her, but she simply levitated the cup to his desk. Fenbrick had drawn his wand as well, when Walden had been focusing on the witch, and was now acting as if he was peeved at his partner being quicker on the draw. But both were looking at Walden, and they were so far apart, he couldn't keep both of them in sight.

The executioner had no excuse now to keep his wand ready. The polite thing would be to holster it. But that was what they were counting on. He'd not disarm himself. But if he pointed his wand at one of them, both would curse him, he was certain of that. But … they probably thought he couldn't do anything.

Fenbrick was the more dangerous of the two. Gryffindor, good with his wand. Not a bookworm like the witch. He smiled at the auror and said: "Oh, I need sugar as well." Walden pointed his wand at the shelf to his right, and levitated the drained Erumpent horn there - a souvenir from a raid against a ring of poachers up and towards him.

"Is that…?"

"Oops, I meant the sugar box next to it!" Walden made the horn wobble a bit, then let it drop. While the two aurors were staring at the falling horn, wands moving to stop it from hitting the floor and detonating, Walden sent a Blasting Curse at Fenbrick and slid off his chair.

His curse hit the wizard in the chest and blew him back, but his robe must have saved him - Walden saw no blood or guts. He couldn't follow up though, since Limmington was showering him with curses. For a witch with such a cold reputation, she seemed livid. Walden's desk and chair were ripped apart - Cutting Curses - and his robe had to stop a Bludgeoning Curse that still threw him back against the wall.

Walden retaliated at once. "Avada Kedavra!"

His Killing Curse missed, but the witch had dropped to the ground to dodge, and that gave him an opening. He sprinted to the door, his wand sending another Killing Curse at the aurors. It hit his desk, and Walden felt elated when it exploded, sending a hail of splinters at his enemies, and destroying the hated parchments on it. The slight blue glow told him at least one of them had managed to get a shield up in time.

It didn't matter. He was at the door, and he only had to turn right and run down the corridor to reach the department's holding area. He would be able to use his emergency portkey there, where the beasts captured by his department for disposal were transported in.

The door was thrown open before he reached it. Multiple red spells shattered his shield charm and overloaded his robe's protection. More aurors! Enraged, he charged them, about to unleash another Killing Curse but their next spells hit him first.

*****​

"Confringo!"

Kenneth hadn't looked up when he heard the spell, he had tried to jump to the side and cast a shield at the same time, but he had been too slow and Macnair's Blasting Curse had caught him right in the chest. His robe's enchantments had saved his life, but it still had felt worse than when he had tried to sneak into Beauxbatons' carriage at Hogwarts in 6th year, and an Abraxan had kicked him. He had heard and felt his ribs break as he had been thrown back and to the side, landing hard on the floor. Stunned, he hadn't been able to move, had been at Macnair's mercy.

Bertha had saved him, sending curses at the wizard with a fury Kenneth had seldom seen, forcing the other wizard to dodge and shield rather than finish him off. And then…

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green Killing Curse had flown at them, almost hitting Bertha. His partner had dropped to the ground to dodge, and that had given Macnair the opportunity to sprint to the door. Bertha had been about to intercept him, but...

"Avada Kedavra!"

Another Killing Curse had flown at them. Kenneth had flattened himself against the floor, his broken ribs causing agonizing pain, but the curse had missed both him and Bertha, and hit the desk, blowing it up. And then Kenneth had been stabbed by a dozen daggers, bleeding like a gutted pig, and Bertha had been rushing and screaming healing spells...

"What were you thinking?" Amelia Bones asked with a frown, standing at the door of the small room in St. Mungo's where Kenneth was lying in a bed, interrupting his flashback. "Risking your lives like that?" She wasn't shouting, but her glare spoke volumes.

"He was much faster than I expected," Kenneth defended himself. He could hex himself for having fallen for that cheap trick as well. That's what he got for playing games, instead of charging in.

"Prior experiences left us with misleading conclusions," Bertha, who had been sitting on a chair next to his bed, added.

"In other words, you didn't think a spy for the Dark Lord would be dangerous?" Bones raised one eyebrow and glared at them through her monocle.

"The other spies we encountered were not quite as quick," Kenneth defended himself. Yennington had been slippery, but not as dangerous. Though they hadn't met him under similar circumstances.

"Macnair has had a lot of experience. We assume he joined the Dark Lord during the last war." Their boss shook her head even though they couldn't have known that. But they could have suspected it, Kenneth knew.

"Has he been interrogated yet?" Kenneth asked.

The older witch shook her head. "He hasn't woken up yet. He was hit by multiple spells. Nothing lethal, but they took no chances after he got past you two."

Kenneth winced. That scene wouldn't look that well on his record. Even though without Berhta and him they wouldn't have found Macnair in the first place, it never looked good when a suspect almost escaped - and almost killed the aurors trying to arrest him. And in front of witnesses, and in the Ministry itself. Teasing would be the least of his worries.

"The healers claim he'll be fit to be interrogated tomorrow at the latest," Bones went on. Kenneth perked up and started to smile, earning him another glare. "You're stuck here another day."

"My robe stopped the Blasting Curse!" the auror protested. He did feel, well, not entirely fine, but well enough to interrogate the scumbag who had failed to kill him.

"It didn't prevent the busted ribs and the 'multiple puncture wounds' you suffered after that. The healers want to keep you here for a bit longer, just to make sure there's nothing they missed."

Kenneth looked away. He knew he had been hurt badly - but it had just been wooden splinters, not a dark curse. Nothing St. Mungo's couldn't handle.

"Still, excellent work on ferreting out the traitor. The exact means you used will be classified though - we don't want to let the Dark Lord know how his spy was discovered. Get healed up. If I see you out and about without having been discharged properly, you'll be healing up during a suspension. That goes for you as well, Limmington," Bones stated, then left.

Kenneth turned to Bertha. "Were you hurt?" She looked fine, but he had been out for a while. Long enough to heal others up.

His partner shook her head. "No. I cast a Shield Charm in time. To protect me at least."

The auror narrowed his eyes. She sounded off. Was she blaming herself? "You couldn't have protected me. And it was my fault for being too slow." Too overconfident.

"I should have protected you. Covered you. I should have known he'd never keep a horn that wasn't drained of the explosives in his office. And I didn't." Bertha wasn't looking at him, but down.

"I'm still alive, so you did. You saved my life too, from what the healer told me." Kenneth winced, remembering what he had heard about his wounds, how close he had come to dying.

"You shouldn't have been hurt in the first place," Bertha said.

"My plan, my fault. I acted like I was a damn hit-wizard and not an auror." Though to be honest,he had botched the hit-wizard part up as well. He had acted like a damned fool. If Aberforth ever heard about it...

The witch shook her head and stood up. Kenneth blinked. Bertha was taking this really hard. He knew he had to say something before she'd leave, but couldn't think of anything he hadn't said yet until his partner had already opened the door.

He opened his mouth, ready to blurt out what he felt, when he heard a blood-curling scream from another part of the hospital.

*****​

Walden Macnair wanted to scream, wanted to yell, wanted to spit at the healers and aurors surrounding him, but he was naked, paralyzed and held by spells, forced to listen to them discuss him as if he was not there, as if he couldn't hear them, as if he was an animal and not a wizard!

"The subject has recovered from the effects of the spells he was hit with during capture, and I don't detect any lingering wounds or damages. Not any significant ones, at least," one wizard in the white robes of the healers from St. Mungo's commented to the dicta-quill and parchment floating next to him.

"When can we start interrogating him?" an older auror asked. Walden recognized him. John Dawlish. Not exactly the cream of the crop, despite his experience, but competent enough at sucking up.

"There's something I want to check out still…" the healer answered, pointing his wand at Walden's left side.

"The Dark Mark?" Dawlish cocked his head, staring at the arm. Walden felt even more rage filling him, overwhelming him. He struggled harder against the spell binding his body, but he couldn't move any part other than his eyes.

"Yes. It seems to conceal a spell of sorts. Maybe an enchantment." The healer bent forward to look at it, and Walden knew that expression - a damned know-it-all, too curious for his and everyone else's good. That was the Dark Lord's sacred mark, the symbol of his loyalty, not some 'interesting phenomena' or whatever the current slang of the Ravenclaws was!

"That could be dangerous." Dawlish took a step back. "I've heard tales from the last war…"

"Really?" The healer beamed at him. "I've called a curse-breaker from Artefact Accidents, but if you could elaborate?" Walden wanted to growl. If he had been free he would have ripped both of them to shreds with his bare hands, a wand was too good for them!

Dawlish shook his head. "It was just rumors… that if you touched the mark, You-Know-Who marked you. That he could hear you through it."

"Oh… " The healer showed, at last, the fear Walden's master deserved, but before he could say anything else, another white-robed wizard arrived, and he smiled again. "Ah, Flowers! I'm glad you found the time to help us out here!"

"Of course I'd come - studying the Dark Mark? That's an opportunity not many have!" The two nodded at each other, then the curse-breaker greeted Dawlish.

Another eager Ravenclaw! Walden tried to keep the new arrival in his sight, but paralyzed as he was, that was impossible since the man stepped around the cot he was lying on. Walden could still hear him fine though.

"Fascinating… truly fascinating. It looks a bit like a cursed tattoo I had to deal with half a year ago… from Haiti."

Walden heard a mumbled spell, then he was filled with pain almost as bad as the Dark Lord's cruciatus. It felt as if dozens of red-hot needles were piercing his skin - and not just on his arm. He couldn't scream, couldn't move, but he could feel the excruciating pain. And hear the curse-breaker dictate notes while he tortured him, if he even noticed what he was doing.

"It looks like a hidden enchantment under the mark. Enchanted ink, but something moAAAAAH!"

The pain Walden was suffering didn't stop, but the curse-breaker was screaming now as well, stumbling back and gripping his wand arm, which was shriveling and turning black in seconds. And then he felt the spells holding him falter, and the pain went away.

The healer and Dawlish, even the two hit-wizards guarding Walden, all were staring at the flailing, screaming cursebreaker. No one was paying attention to their prisoner. Not until Walden sat up, the wand the curse-breaker had dropped in his hand, and started casting.

"Confringo!" His shouted incantation was barely audible next to the screams from the dying curse-breaker.

His Blasting Curse hit the healer. The wizard's robe didn't seem to offer any protection, and his chest blew up, showering Dawlish and the still screaming curse-breaker with blood and flesh and bone fragments. Walden jumped off the cot and rammed his shoulder into Dawlish, then grabbed the man's wand arm, jerking him around, while he aimed his wand at the left guard.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The hit-wizard collapsed, dead. The other hit-wizard was casting, but Dawlish was still standing and served as a shield, his robe's enchantments stopping several stunners. Walden laughed and jammed his wand into the auror's gut.

"Confringo!"

Dawlish gaped and made a gurgling, wheezing noise when the lower half of his body was destroyed. Walden let him drop to the floor, then stepped to the side, dodging another spell from the remaining hit-wizard. His enemy looked young and inexperienced. He'd be easy prey.

The Death Eater was already aiming at the last guard when his bare foot stepped on blood and flesh, and he slipped. His spell went wide, and he stumbled against the cot, then against the curse-breaker, whose screams were still droning out anything else.

Unbalanced, he didn't manage to either shield or dodge the next curses the guard sent at him. He felt the Cutting Curse on his arm and leg, he felt his chest cave in when a Bludgeoning Curse hit him, he felt himself fly back, towards the wall, but he didn't feel the impact that broke his neck.

*****​

"Albus!"

Albus Dumbledore turned towards the floo in his office, and saw the head of Amelia Bones peak out from the green flames.

"Yes, Amelia?" he answered. The witch looked like she was barely holding in her anger. Most would have missed it, but he had known her since she was a first year student.

"I need to talk to you."

"Certainly. Come on through." The Headmaster unlocked his floo with a flick of his wand, then sealed it up again as soon as the witch had stepped into his office. He summoned two glasses and a bottle of Ogden's finest. "Please have a seat. What happened?"

"The Dark Mark happened."

"Was there an attack?" He hadn't heard of any from his contacts, but if it had been recently discovered...

"No. We found a mole in the Ministry, the one who had arranged for the Dark Lord to possess that boy. It was Walden Macnair. The executioner. We arrested him, but during his treatment at St. Mungo's some idiot curse-breaker took a shot at unraveling his mark."

Albus winced. He knew very well just what exactly could happen when the Dark Mark's protection was triggered. He wasn't too surprised about the identity of the spy - in hindsight, Macnair fit the profile of a Death Eater very well.

Amelia didn't miss his expression. "You knew about the danger."

"Yes I did. I did not expect anyone to try and break the curses on it though." In truth, he had considered the possibility, but warning the Ministry about the dangers of tampering with the Dark Lord's mark would have warned the moles working for Voldemort about his own research.

Amelia scoffed. "The curse-breaker got cursed. His screams distracted the healer, guards and the auror present, which allowed the Death Eater to grab a wand and attack them."

"Was he not restrained?"

"He was. The spells failed when the mark's curse triggered. At least that's the most plausible explanation."

Albus nodded. That would make sense. Some of the curses he had broken might have had such an effect. Maybe they overrode the less harmful effect… he focused on the matter at hand again. "Muggle means of restraining might be needed then, for the next captured Death Eater," the Headmaster commented while making a note to do so as well with his own captive.

"I've already given orders to that effect. Macnair killed the healer who had been treating the wounds he had suffered during the arrest, then killed one of the guards and John Dawlish before the remaining guard killed him." Amelia emptied her glass and refilled it. "The curse-breaker died an hour later. His arm shriveled and rotted, and no one could help him. Even amputating it didn't stop the curse."

Albus nodded. He didn't ask if the guard would have been able to stun Macnair instead of killing him. Hit-wizards were not aurors, and the current corps was focused on fighting a war, not capturing criminals.

"Why didn't you warn us?" Amelia's eyes bore into his.

He briefly considered lying, but decided against it. She deserved to know the truth, even if it would be a burden for the witch. "If I had, the Dark Lord's spies would have informed him that I was researching his mark."

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "You sacrificed four people for that?"

"I did not expect anyone but the Unspeakables to try to unravel the Dark Mark."

"Did you warn them?"

"They would have known the risks."

Amelia's lips formed a thin line and he could see how she fought to control her temper. "Damn you!"

He sighed. "I am sorry about the deaths, but even without a warning they should have known better than to risk the Dark Lord's curse."

She stared at him, then closed her eyes. "You've got a plan for that mark."

"Yes." A different plan that she might imagine, but a plan nonetheless.

"I hope for you that it is worth four lives." She downed the whiskey, then burped flame.

"So do I, Amelia." He smiled ruefully. It was more important - it was the most promising way to stop the Dark Lord, and with him the war - and the curse-breaker and the auror should have known better, but that didn't change how guilty he felt.

"I trust you've arranged for someone to continue your plan, should anything happen to you." Amelia sniped.

"Yes." Miss Granger would continue her work, and he had prepared a note for his brother. Just in case Tom proved to be more than his match.

Amelia refilled her glass again and raised it in a mocking toast. "To bloody wars and sacrifices, and to damned leaders!"

He simply raised his glass in response. There was nothing else to say when he agreed with her judgement.

*****​

Standing in the hall serving as his throne room until he conquered the Ministry, the Dark Lord Voldemort looked at the latest wands Steinberg had crafted. The Prussian wizard stood behind the floating tray on which his work was presented, looking eager.

"I implemented your suggestions, my lord. They will perform admirably." He didn't show any sign of nervousness.

Voldemort glanced at the wandmaker and the other wizard flinched. Those hadn't been mere suggestions; the Dark Lord had provided the Prussian with detailed instructions and information about the Dark Arts so he could refine his wands and correct their main flaw, the price they made the wielder pay.

"I mean, your plans, my lord," the wizard hastily corrected himself.

Voldemort smiled, then studied the wands again. The enchantments looked like they should. He picked one up, ignoring how Bella tensed up. They felt right too.

"They have been tested," he said, looking at Steinberg.

"They have, but not as extensively as I wanted." The Prussian scowled.

Voldemort ignored his wandmaker's expression. To test the wands properly, at least according to Steinberg's standards, he would have had to provide far more test subjects than he had access to. The Ministry's efforts had made it harder to procure sacrifices, even if one stuck to muggles no one would miss. He already was slowly culling his werewolf recruits for his research, he couldn't afford to lose more wizards.

Therefore the only way to test the wands was an actual battle. It would ruin the surprise somewhat, but it was better than to hold them back only to find a fatal flaw during a crucial mission.

"Craft three dozen more of them. I need them by the end of June."

Steinberg, unfamiliar with Britain, simply nodded, even though the order meant he'd have to work hard for weeks. Bella though let slip a gasp.

"Leave us!" Voldemort ordered, and the wandmaker left, the floating tray trailing after him.

As soon as the door had closed behind the Prussian, Bella turned towards the Dark Lord. "Master, the end of June. Does that mean… ?"

He nodded at her. "Yes." Of course she would know what happened at the end of June. Everyone in Britain did.

She smiled widely, licking her lips. "May I…"

He gently shook his head. "Not you, my love."

She looked away, pouting, until he gripped her chin and made her look at him. "I will not risk you for a mere test. You are not expendable."

She shivered, biting her lower lip until it bled as she struggled with herself, then nodded, as he had known she would.

He could taste her blood when he kissed her.

*****​

Paige Caldwell left the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her and held up with a Sticking Charm. Despite spending half an hour in the bathtub she still didn't feel clean. If the bigot hadn't been sitting in the main room of the apartment they were sharing she'd have cursed, or hit something to vent her anger. But she wouldn't show any weakness in front of that witch.

Walking towards her own room, she caught Umbridge's sneer. The werewolf had to struggle not to attack the woman. It would feel so good to curse her, hit her, choke and strangle her. Smash that pretty face, break her classic nose. Paige was certain the witch would lose her arrogance before she lost her life. The only thing holding her back were the Dark Lord's orders. She didn't dare disobey them, even though Umbridge was responsible for her current situation. She smiled at the witch, even smirked - with an effort. The werewolf wasn't happy, not at all.

Paige had joined the Dark Lord's forces to fight for a better Britain. To crush their enemies. She hadn't joined to whore herself out to blackmail influential wizards. That had been Umbridge's idea. The filthy slut.

The werewolf entered her room and swept her wand in an arc to close the door. A silence spell followed, before she screamed in frustration and hit the armoire standing in the corner until the doors cracked and her knuckles were torn and bleeding. She felt better, and yet still almost as bad as right before the full moon. If only she could attack someone. Anyone.

She sat down on the floor and leaned back against the wall. She had to calm down. She had to control herself. This was just a temporary ordeal. Sooner or later this would end, and she'd be fighting the Ministry's lackeys. Then she'd be able to vent all her rage on them.

*****​

Dolores Umbridge looked up from the Witch Weekly magazine she was reading - even a beautiful witch such as her had to stay informed of the latest trends, especially given her current… assignment - when the beast returned from the room serving as its lair. Instead of cursing the animal, as she wanted and as it deserved, she sneered at the werewolf. It was all its fault. If there were no werewolves Dolores would be blackmailing her way back to power instead of seducing wizards like a common whore just to get them bitten by the cursed monster.

And she wouldn't be living together with the beast just so their cover would hold up better. If she had known what would happen she'd have never let that animal pose as a relative of hers.

The beast sat down at their table, across from Dolores, and summoned a meal from the kitchen as if it was a proper witch, and not a dark creature pretending to be human. She watched, disgusted and fascinated at the same time, as it ate, wondering if it would drop the act and simply feed like a dog. It didn't. It even cleaned the dishes and sent them back to their proper place in the kitchen. Passable manners. Apparently, Dolores was a better teacher than she had thought.

She caught the werewolf staring at her, and stared back. She knew she couldn't appear weak to an animal, or it wouldn't obey her. For a while, both were staring at each other, neither one flinching or backing down.

"Rees ap Evan has sent an invitation," Dolores said, enjoying the way the beast flinched at the mentioning of Dolores's latest target. The Welsh wizard was the heir of Evan ap Thomas, an aging but still powerful Wizengamot member who was delegating most of his work to the younger man these days.

"When does he expect us?" The werewolf was trembling slightly.

"Tomorrow evening. It's a private invitation." Dolores smiled when she saw the monster twitch. "Dress up nicely, I don't want anyone to think my 'cousin' couldn't afford proper clothes."

"The lech will rip them off or vanish them anyway." The werewolf was now sulking. Dolores felt a bit better.

"I'm certain you'll be able to protect your robe," she said with a sweet smile. "Just shed it quickly. Otherwise you'll have to repair or replace it yourself."

"You're just mad that you're not invited."

Dolores laughed at that, even though she wanted to curse the stupid beast for presuming she would ever be jealous of an animal. "He prefers his girls dumb and meek. I'm too smart and powerful for him." Her sneer added 'unlike you' as clearly as if she had shouted it.

The monster growled at her and stood up - it had understood the insult. "Whore!"

"Beast!" She had stood up as well.

Both had their wands drawn and aimed, but neither pushed further. The Dark Lord had made it extremely clear what would happen to them should their animosity cause them to fail him.
The witch just hoped the monster wouldn't lose what self-control it had, and forget.

*****​

Harry Potter leaned back in his seat and watched the countryside as the Hogwarts Express traveled towards London. His fifth year at Hogwarts was over. He had taken his O.W.L.s, and unlike Hermione, he didn't doubt that he had done well. Two months of vacation with his family awaited him. First in London, for Grimmauld Place and the Dursleys. Then the Caribbean, for the meeting with the Grangers, followed by Bulgaria, for the wedding. Probably France as well, for the beaches with veela, at least according to Sirius.

He glanced at Hermione, who was sitting next to him, fast asleep. The witch had been pushing herself far too much in the last term. Researching the Dark Mark, training self-defense, and studying excessively for the O.W.L.s. If he hadn't stepped in she'd have burned herself out. Or worse. Or she would have been cursed by their friends, for trying to make them burn out. Well, some of them - Ron hadn't complained as much as Harry had expected, probably due to having a Ravenclaw girlfriend. Padma, of course, had jumped at the chance to study with the brightest witch of her age. And Neville… well, he had endured.

"I wonder if we're going to be as exhausted after our own exams, next year," Luna said, looking at the sleeping or at least resting students in their compartment.

"It wasn't the O.W.L.s, it was the parties after them." Ginny snorted, shaking her head as she looked at her brother, sprawled out on an expanded seat with Crookshanks sleeping on his chest, next to Padma's head.

"Parties? It looked more like one very long party that only ended when the time to board the train came," Aicha commented. "And judging by some compartments we passed, it hasn't yet ended for everyone."

"Well, it is a monumental moment in their lives. They have passed from childhood to not-quite-adulthood!" Luna declared, nodding several times to her own words.

Harry blinked. "Not-quite-adulthood?"

"You're having sex now!" Luna beamed at him while Ginny rolled her eyes and Aicha frowned at her friend. "Though you're not having sex right now, unless what we are seeing is just a very convincing illusion and Hermione's actually not asleep, but busy…" An elbow from Aicha ended that sentence.

Harry sighed. He should have known better than to ask the blonde. "We're not having sex while hiding under an illusion."

"Are you sure? Maybe Hermione would like that. Did you ask her?"

"Luna!" Another elbow hit the Ravenclaw witch from the other side, where Ginny was sitting.

"Are you going on an expedition with your father during the summer?" Harry tried to change the topic. It wasn't that he was embarrassed talking about sex - well, not that much, not after two years with Sirius and Nymphadora teasing him whenever possible - but he didn't want to discuss his sex life with his friends. Such as he had one, of course.

While Luna happily started to tell them about her plans for the summer involving Snorkack hunting in Sweden or Switzerland, Harry glanced at Hermione again. A lock of her hair had fallen over her face and was moving each time she breathed. He gently brushed it back behind her ear. His love life only concerned two people - himself, and his girlfriend. Though he doubted the Grangers or Sirius shared his opinion. Hermione though did.

Before he could ask Luna which country she was headed to, the train suddenly shook violently, throwing them all off their seats. The sounds of warping metal followed, and Harry realized with horror that they had been derailed.

*****​

Hermione Granger woke up right before she was thrown into the ceiling of their train compartment. If not for the Cushioning Charms built into the train - never having been needed according to Hogwarts: A History - she'd been hurt seriously. Even with them her robe's protection were triggered since all inside their compartment were thrown around like crash dummies for several horrible seconds until the train finally stopped moving. Someone was lying on top of her, blocking her view of most the compartment and weighing her down.

"What happened?" she heard Ron ask. "Where are we?"

"Train wreck. Get up!" Harry! He was alright! Hermione turned her head and saw her boyfriend pushing a trunk that had fallen on him away. He was peering out of the window.

"Train wreck? How… Voldemort!" Ron cursed as he got up himself, joining Harry.

Her friend was right, Hermione thought, the only reason for the Hogwarts Express suffering a derailment was sabotage - an attack! The young witch levitated whoever was lying on her away - it was Padma, she saw afterwards - and checked the door to their compartment.

Thanks to the dozens of protective spells on the train, the windows hadn't broken and the doors hadn't jammed. But the students had to be panicking, even if this was just an accident and not…

She heard an explosion, and the train shook again. It was an attack!

"Death Eaters outside, attacking!" Harry shouted. "The guards are engaging them, but it doesn't look good."

Padma started to scream. Hermione cast a silencing spell on the witch. They couldn't afford to panic right now. Fortunately, the privacy spells she'd cast on their compartment were still working as well, so they couldn't hear the rest of the students screaming. That would have been distracting, at the least.

"We have to get out of here. I've alarmed Sirius already. Grab the portkey!" Harry yelled, throwing the end of a rope to her. Hermione caught it, waited until everyone was touching it - Ron grabbed Padma's hand and held it to the rope - and then activated it. Nothing happened. As she had expected.

"We had to try. Brooms it is then!" Harry decided. He pulled his shrunken Firebolt from his pocket. Ron followed his example, as did Hermione. Ever since their return from Bulgaria last year she had been carrying a broom of her own with her just for such a situation, courtesy of Sirius. Before she could check if the others were prepared as well though another explosion, rocked the entire train. Then another one followed, much closer.

"Shields!" Hermione yelled, casting one of her own and moving to cover Harry, who was jumping back, away from the window with Ron.

Then the window blew up, and once again Hermione and her friends were thrown around like rag dolls.

*****​

"Merlin's rotting underwear!" Ron Weasley cursed while he got back on his feat and summoned his fortunately still shrunken broom back to his hand. That had been a close call. If his Shield Charm had been a bit weaker, his robes a bit cheaper, then he'd be gravely wounded, or worse. As it was, he felt as if he had been his brothers' target for beater practise - his robe's protections had done what they could, but something had gone through.

He and Harry had shielded the others though. And both of them were already facing the hole that was left of their compartment's window. A second later Hermione joined them. With the train wrecked for good, the privacy spells had gone as well, and they could hear screaming from all sides. Screaming and yelling, and explosions. He saw one student on a broom take to the skies, only to drop down screaming, and aflame a second later.

"They'll be waiting for people trying to escape!" Ron yelled. The Death Eaters had flyers up.

"We can't stay in here. The train won't stand up to those spells!" Harry started to move towards the window. Before he reached it though another spell hit that area, and the remains of the window and wagon started to smoke and melt.

"Don't touch it! It's an acid curse, but I don't know what kind!" Hermione yelled. As if anyone was daft enough to touch it!

"Help has to be underway. We only need to hold out a few minutes," Harry said.

"But the attack… those spells… if Voldemort himself is out there…" Hermione didn't finish. Ron knew what she meant. What the Dark Lord's presence would mean.

"Let's get out on the other side!" Ron said, then looked back. Padma was still silenced and still trying to scream. Neville was already opening the door - or vanishing the remains. And the other girls were helping, even though the usually unflappable Aicha looked shaken, and Luna looked scared. Ginny looked mad enough to use dark spells.

They would have to climb over wrecked parts and piled up luggage, but they should reach the window on the other side, Ron thought. If no one was waiting to blow that and them up as soon as they opened it, of course.

A loud yell made him whip around. Through the hole in their compartment he saw a broom rider approach, casting curses at the train. A Death Eater! And judging by the speed of his casting, a veteran one!

For a moment, Ron was frozen. A Death Eater, probably inner circle too. What could they, what could he, do against such a foe? Then he snarled and sent a cutting curse at the broom. To his surprise, he hit it, wrecking the broom's balance and steering. The rider's loud yells turned into screams as he plowed down into the field like a seeker who had fallen for a Wronski feint.

"There's dozens of them out there, and they're wiping the floor with the aurors!" Harry yelled, moving towards the window side again.

"Wait! Don't touch the acid!" Hermione yelled again, then cast a spell Ron didn't recognize. A clear liquid splashed all over the remains of the wall, and the wreckage stopped smoking. Another spell turned a piece of metal jutting out of the mess into a mouse. Ron blinked.

"I've neutralized the acid. And the mouse shows it worked!" his best friend explained.

Ron nodded. "Next time, use a rat!" he shouted, joining Harry. Hermione followed.

The broom rider he had caused to crash was getting up. Obviously wounded, but not out of the fight. Ron hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pointed his wand at the wizard.

"Confringo!"

Harry and Hermione cast as well, three spells hitting the wizard or the ground he was standing on. Before the smoke and dust thrown up by the explosions had cleared, they had sent three more curses at the area. All that was left of their target were pieces.

Ron had to fight down a sudden bout of nausea at the sight, but he recovered quickly - the Death Eater scum had tried to kill him and his friends and family. Probably had killed a number of students. Children.

"To the right!" Harry yelled.

Ron turned his head and saw a Death Eater cursing a wounded hit-wizard. So that's what an Entrail-Expelling Curse looked like, the Gryffindor thought. He didn't have any regret killing that Death Eater.

Then he glanced back. His friends and his sister hadn't left the compartment yet. Neville met his eyes, then shook his head. It had to be too dangerous to move away. They were stuck, cornered. Like rats.

"Where are the aurors? Where is Dumbledore?" Ron spat out, aiming at another enemy.

*****​

Hermione Granger ducked her head as another dark curse flew over her. Part of her noticed that it made no sense - the Death Eaters attacking the train were using dark spells with an ease and speed she envied, but their aim was terrible. Not that she should be complaining about that.

The young witch didn't know how long they had been fighting, but it couldn't have been for more than a few minutes, or help would have arrived already. She had used the time well though - thick stone walls surrounded the remains of their compartment, protecting them and their friends but leaving some slits to look out and cast through. They were somewhat safe. Safer, at least, than the guards that had been on the train - most of the hit-wizards out there were dead or dying, she assumed, given the volume of curses sent at the train, and at them, and that she couldn't see many who were still moving.

"They should have retreated already!" Ron yelled while he blew up a small mound of earth a bit away, just in case it might have served as cover for an attacker. "If they stay any longer, they'll be caught in a pincer by Ministry reinforcements!"

Hermione knew he was right - that was how raids were conducted - but the Death Eaters didn't seem to share his opinion. Were they actually trying to stand and face whatever the Ministry sent at them? Was this the decisive battle some journalists and students were talking about? But why here, and why now? Was it about Harry? They wouldn't get him, over her dead body!

She reinforced the wall on the left side, where Luna and Aicha were crouching, trembling, but with their wands ready in case anyone got close. Each curse that hit her walls weakened them, and if they were shattered…

She spotted another attacker trying to climb over the warped roof of the train to their side. With a snarl, she transfigured the wall beneath him into spikes, then vanished the roof he was standing on. The man fell down onto the spikes and started screaming. Not for long - Ginny popped up from behind her position and silenced him with a cutting curse to the neck.

Hermione couldn't help but thinking that Voldemort's possession of the girl had not faded as much as Ron had claimed or hoped. Although they could use her right now, since the expected help still had not arrived. Where was Dumbledore?

She briefly checked if Padma was still safe in the middle of their spot. She would have stunned the witch, had the Ravenclaw not recovered her wits enough to at least be able to hide and keep silent.

*****​

Pansy Parkinson didn't know what exactly had happened. All she knew was that she had to get out of this trainwreck, get to safety. Around her the students were panicking. Screaming, yelling and trampling over each other as they tried to flee the train. Those that could still move, at least - she had seen one student, a Ravenclaw sixth year, die, her heart ripped out of her chest by some dark curse while trying to climb through a window.

She wouldn't die like that witch, Pansy swore. "Greg, Vincent! With me, we're getting out!"

Her two fellow Slytherins followed her. Pansy wasn't certain if they were too slow to panic, or simply too used to obey orders, but she wasn't complaining either way.

"Where are we going?" Greg asked, pushing a screaming second year student out of their way.

"We need a distraction so we can leave the train without getting cursed!" Pansy yelled over the screaming and crying.

"Fireworks!" Vincent grunted.

"You have some?" The boys were quite fond of anything that was loud and blew up, Pansy knew that.

"Weasley!" Vincent pointed at the rear of the train, where the loud explosions they heard were not coming from Blasting Curses, as Pansy realized. And where thick smoke obscured the area.

Just what they needed. "Let's go!"

They made their way to the rear of the train, over and through other students when needed. More were following them though, Pansy noticed. Probably thought she had a good plan, and was not simply improvising and hoping for the best. If she was not scared shitless, she'd have laughed loud.

"Parkinson! Help!"

She knew that voice. Pansy whipped her head around and saw Greengrass standing in the wreckage of a compartment. The Slytherin witch's robes were torn, but she looked unharmed. Idiots had all the luck, Pansy thought.

"Tracey is hurt!" Greengrass yelled, tears in her eyes. "I can't help her!"

For a second, Pansy was tempted to sneer at the twit and go on. But she was a fellow Slytherin. And Davis wasn't that bad. And the witch'd owe her. "Greg!"

The burly wizard nodded and climbed inside the compartment, Greengrass giving way. He returned in seconds, a blood-covered body thrown over his shoulder. Davis. The witch was still breathing, but also bleeding, Pansy noticed. A quick Episkey stopped the bleeding, somewhat, but she couldn't do anything else. She almost told Greg to float her instead of carrying her, but the girl would be safer over the wizard's shoulders. Less likely to be dropped too.

"Let's go!"

They pushed on, towards the end of the train. "Ok… we'll go out, then left, towards the forest." Pansy remembered that there had been a forest on the other side of the train. She didn't wait for the others to acknowledge her plan, but got out first.

Her eyes and throat started to hurt as soon as she entered the thick smoke and started to run. She didn't care. She had to escape!

She stumbled several times, and fell down once, the field was littered with debris from the train and transfigurations, but Vincent simply pulled her up with one hand. He was at her side when they got out of the smoke, close to the edge of the forest.

Closer to a Death Eater too. "We're Slytherins!" Pansy yelled, hoping the man would let them pass. He just laughed though, like a hyena, and pointed his wand at her.

When the glowing curse flew towards her, Pansy froze.


Chapter 40: Breaking and Recovering
 
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Chapter 40: Breaking and Recovering
Chapter 40: Breaking and Recovering

"Where is Dumbledore?" Harry Potter asked loudly, for the umpteenth time. The shelter he and his friends were hiding in was slowly giving way under the assault from what had to be half a dozen dark wizards, despite Hermione's best efforts to reinforce the walls. And she had to neutralize those acid spells twice already.

"I don't know! Even with the anti-apparition jinxes up, help should have arrived by now!" Ron said. "Confringo!" Harry's friend grinned. "Got one. Not dead, but should be hurt."

Harry nodded, then sent a Blasting Curse of his own at the earth wall protecting one attacker.

"We can't keep this up much longer," Hermione said while she crawled over towards Harry's position. His girlfriend was looking exhausted, but determined.

"We don't exactly have a choice!" Ron said, using a conjured mirror to keep an eye on their enemies without exposing himself. "We're surrounded!"

Harry glanced back, where Neville was sitting, left arm in a sling stuck to his robe. Ginny had taken over for him guarding their rear after his shield and robe hadn't managed to completely stop the debris from two exploding walls. Padma was lying next to him. Ron's girlfriend had been hurt as well, if not as badly, but the Ravenclaw was in shock, according to Hermione.

Harry focused on their situation again. Ron was right - the attackers had destroyed the car around them, denying them more cover, but at the same time, making it much harder for the dark wizards to reach their shelter. The young wizard hoped the other students who had been in the car had managed to flee. He didn't think many had, though.

Aicha was cradling her genie in her hands. The little thing had been hurt as well from exploding debris trying to find a way out - or trying to get help. Both the Arabian witch and Luna were looking more grim than Harry had seen them. Angry too, but more afraid he guessed.

"We can't stay!" Hermione exclaimed, looking from one slab of conjured wall to the next, ready to repair and reinforce or replace them.

"And we can't run. They've got anti-disillusion jinxes up as well!" Ron grit his teeth. "We'll have to chance the brooms."

"Not everyone can fly." Harry nodded at their two wounded. They'd never be able to ride a broom in their state. Ron opened his mouth, but he cut his friends off. "And if we double up, then we'll be too slow to evade their spells."

Ron closed his eyes and balled his fists. "Damn!"

Hermione didn't call him on his cursing, and if that wasn't a sign of just how desperate their situation was, then Harry didn't know what was. He looked at his girlfriend. She could fly a broom, well enough at least. He could order her to get his broom and his cloak, and escape.

Hermione looked up from where she was reinforcing their left wall, and shook her head at him. Her lips moved, and while he didn't hear her words, he knew what she was saying: "I'm not leaving you."

*****​

Before Pansy Parkinson could scream, much less try to dodge, Vincent was there, in front of her, his shield charm up and his wand pointed at the attacker. "Stu…"

Behind Vincent's hulking body, Pansy hoped for a moment that the spell had missed him. But then he stopped casting, staggered, and when he slowly turned around already falling, she saw that his chest had been ripped open. His lips moved, but nothing but blood came out, and his eyes sought hers while he fell. For one horrible fraction of a second she clearly saw the broken remains of his ribs framing the hole in his body where his heart had been, then he hit the ground, and Pansy was facing his murderer again.

Screaming, she jumped desperately to the side, and the laughing, cackling murderer's next spell went wide, disappearing into the smoke behind her. She didn't know what kind of curse that had been, but it had gone through Vincent's shield without shattering it. Her own wouldn't protect her. She had to get away before she was killed herself!

The edge of the forest was close, but she couldn't turn her back to that maniac, or he'd kill her from behind. He was tracking her with his wand, a wide grin on his face. And Greg was behind her, somewhere, with Greengrass and Davis. Unless they had become lost in the smoke. A spell flew towards her, just when she was stumbling over a root or rock. The spell hit the ground in front of her, covering it in a fine mist - that quickly started to eat away at the soil. Screaming once more, she scrambled back. Another spell splashed down behind her.

He was playing with her, she realized. Suddenly enraged, she sent a Bone-Breaking Curse at him. His shield stopped it, and he laughed louder, his next spell cutting her off from the forest. She whirled around, facing him, and aimed at the ground in front of him.

"Reducto!"

Her spell blew a small crater into the ground, showering the man with clumps of earth and rocks, and hiding him behind a cloud of dust. For a moment, she felt hope, and started to run around the acid pools his spells had left. Then she heard him laugh again.

He hadn't been fazed by her spell. His dirty robe wasn't even torn, his shield charm still up. He stared at her, licking his lips, and waved his wand, almost mockingly.

Then the murderer disappeared under a half-giant that had dropped from the sky, right on him, driving him into the ground and breaking his body. The bastard wasn't laughing anymore, but screaming - until the fist of Professor Hagrid smashed into his head and shattered his skull.

"Are ye alright, Miss?"

Pansy stared at the man's fist, dripping blood and something else.

"Miss Parkinson?"

Shaken, she nodded. "Y-yes… but Vince… Crabbe…" She pointed at his body, 20 yards away.

The professor took a look and growled. "Basterds!" When turned back to her he was smiling though. "Grab this!" He put a coin into her hand, which closed around it reflexively. "Run inna forest, it'll portkey ye ta St. Mungo's!"

With that, the huge teacher turned around, drawing his oversized wand, and ran towards the train. Pansy stared after him. Where had he come from? Looking up, she saw two dozen brooms, and something she didn't recognize. It looked muggle though.

She would have stared for longer, but then she saw Greg stumble out of the smoke, coughing and wheezing - he never had learned to cast the Bubblehead Charm, she knew. "Over here!" she shouted, waving, while more explosions went off further away, the broom riders swept down at the Death Eaters, spells flying from their wands. "I've got a portkey!"

*****​

Sirius Black yelled in triumph when his Bludgeoning Curse hit the flying Death Eater in front of him straight in the head. The dark wizard was thrown back, and started to descend towards the ground in an uncontrolled spin. He hadn't been thrown off his broom though - probably the result of a sticking spell.

It didn't help the Death Eater - Valérie hit him with two fireballs before he could recover either his wits or his control of his broom. The transformed veela screeched and banked to the left, following Sirius. Remus and Chantal were in a wild dogfight - a very fitting description for the aerial combat, even if it was a muggle expression meant for planes - a bit to his right, and Eugénie and Laure were already bombarding Death Eaters on the ground. Remus was fighting much more aggressively than usual, due to the full moon being so close, and the situation seemed under control.

Sirius didn't see any other broom riding Death Eaters around, though they might have disillusioned themselves and fled. Or the other way around, given the anti-disillusionment jinxes covering the area. Sirius didn't care. His godson was down there, facing dark wizards who wanted to kill him! He didn't want to even consider the possibility that he had been killed. Harry had to be alive!

Snarling, he dove towards the ground, his wand sending curses at a dark-robed and masked wizard sprinting towards a broken car. He didn't hit the man, but he forced him to seek cover behind a rock, allowing Valérie to swoop down from behind and fry the bastard. The veela screeched again, then screamed with pain when a curse clipped her wing. Trailing feathers, she started to fall, but Sirius was already there, catching her, then weaving around half a dozen more curses until they had gained enough altitude to be safe - relatively.

He glanced at her wing, which was smoking and sizzling, feathers turning black and dropping. For a horrible second, he was torn between helping her and Harry, then he started towards where Bill had been dropped. Harry might be in danger, but might be safe as well - Valérie though needed a curse-breaker now!

*****​

Hermione Granger was panting, struggling to keep casting, keep reinforcing the walls and roof protecting Harry, herself and their friends from the curses of the Death Eaters attacking them. Fortunately, the attackers lacked imagination, stubbornly trying to break down the stone and earth walls she was conjuring and transfiguring, instead of using more indirect means of attacking. If she had been in their place…

She shook her head, wearily. She had to focus, she couldn't let her mind wander. Harry needed her. Another wall shattered to her left. She didn't bother ducking - the earth she had conjured behind that wall absorbed the splinters and debris. If she had thought of that right away, then Neville wouldn't have… She grit her teeth, burying her guilt, pointed her wand and raised another wall in place of the destroyed one. The first spells started hitting it before she even had finished packing earth behind it.

They couldn't stay. They wouldn't hold out for much longer. She knew it, Ron knew it, Harry knew it. But there was no way out - not even on brooms. It was a veritable siege… a siege!

"Luna! Aicha! Start digging a tunnel! Use the vanishing charm!"

The two girls stared at her, blinking.

"Vanish the earth, and dig a tunnel we can escape through!"

They finally understood, and started casting. Hermione looked at Harry, exchanging tired but now hopeful smiles. They'd get out of this death trap!

Then she heard the screams from the Death Eaters closest to them.

*****​

Ron Weasley's mood had been all over the place, worse than a seeker in a whirlwind. First the shock of the attack, then the anger at the Death Eaters, rage, fear for his friends and himself, then growing desperation, and determination, suddenly replaced by hope, and now surprise. Surprise and elation at seeing the Death Eaters who had been trying to kill them getting attacked, from their rear, and from above. The help they had been waiting for had finally arrived!

Ron yelled with glee when he saw one of the mounds of earth the scum was hiding behind blow up. "Yes! Take a vial of your own potion! See how you like it!" he screamed, sending a Blasting Curse of his own at it.

Then he froze for a second, a shiver running down his spine. Another, larger mound, where according to his estimate three of the attackers had been taking cover, was suddenly swarmed by spiders the size of cats. Dozens of them! When he heard the screams of the Death Eaters, he couldn't help but shudder and think of his spider extermination spell. Hagrid had created monsters!

But at least the monsters were on their side. Ron saw one of the Death Eaters stumble out, broom in hand, with one spider clinging to his bleeding back and another wrapped around his leg. The man was trembling and shaking, and screaming like a mandrake getting pulled out of the soil. Ron silenced him with a Blasting Curse that - coincidentally - also killed the two spiders, not that they had been truly alive to begin with.

Luna and Aicha were still digging, even though they must have heard the news as well. Ron could just make out the blonde's head in the hole. He looked at Harry, then nodded towards the girls. "Shouldn't we….?"

Harry shook his head. "We're not safe yet."

Ron saw that Hermione hadn't stopped reinforcing their position. He doubted she would, not even when Dumbledore himself arrived, until the anti-apparition and anti-portkey jinxes were down and they could flee this place.

And given what they had gone through, he didn't want her to either.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore was furious when he surveiled the battlefield from above. The Death Eaters had attacked his students! Defenseless Children! When he saw the small bodies wearing the black robes of Hogwarts lying in the fields, next to shattered, smoking cars, he almost lost control of his temper. Almost - he was too experienced for that.

Instead of hot rage it was with a cold fury that he guided his broom down towards the center of the battle, a bunker in the remains of a shredded car, probably the work of survivors of the hit-wizards who had guarded the train. A flick of his wand blew up one Death Eater hiding behind a wall of earth, and he saw Miss Jenny and Gilderoy putting the new spell they had developed with Rubeus to deadly use. Miss Granger had helped as well, as he recalled. If she wasn't so busy researching...

Further ahead, the cars and the engine were in better shape, but surrounded by attackers as well. They'd need help. Albus sent a Patronus out to tell Filius and Minerva to take the rest of the teachers and look for students and Death Eaters around the area where the cars had been destroyed, then flew towards the engine. On the way he sent another to Sirius, telling him to secure the remains of the back of the train with his group as soon as the Death Eaters had been driven from the sky.

Then he hit the Death Eaters. Three were crushed beneath the wave of stone he created before he touched the ground, their shields unable to withstand tons of marble piling up and crashing on them. He dismounted and shrunk his broom before the rest managed to react. One Death Eater faced him, sending dark curses at the Headmaster that he had last seen decades ago. For a second he wondered if Tom had found a veteran of Grindelwald's army. Then he noticed that the spells were horribly aimed - no Prussian Storm Wizard using those spells would have missed so badly - half of them didn't even hit the floating marble shields that protected Albus. And none of those he had fought so long ago would have exposed themselves like that Death Eater had, standing out in the open as if this was a duel in the ring.

Then again, the man's shield was strong, matching his apparent command of the Dark Arts. Not strong enough though - Albus shattered it with a wave of his wand. And the man hadn't thought to enchant his robes against transfiguration either, which cost him his life when Albus turned the Death Eater's clothes into steel traps snapping closed around his limbs and torso with enough force to break his bones like twigs.

Two more Death Eaters rushed at him, seemingly heedless of the danger. Albus side-stepped their spells and flicked his wand. One got stuck in the swamp Albus turned the ground before them into, the other managed to avoid that trap by stepping on hastily conjured planks of wood - until Albus finited those, then turned the mud in the swamp into petrol, which he then set afire. Their protective spells didn't last long faced with such an inferno, but long enough for their bloodcurdling screams to be heard by their friends.

To Albus's surprise, the other Death Eaters didn't seem to be affected much, if at all, by their comrades' fate. Was he facing Voldemort's inner circle? He dismissed that - the Death Eaters were making too many mistakes Voldemort's experienced wands would never make. Such difficult spells, cast with so little finesse. He created a whirlwind of debris with his wand while his marble slabs deflected more dark curses, then transfigured the debris into razor blades before sending his construct at the closest Death Eaters. They were literally cut to pieces.

Yet still the men did not break. One was so focused on attacking the train car in front of him, he didn't even notice Albus until he was covered with Rubeus's spiders - quite an impressive spell indeed. Had Tom hired berserkers?

Behind Albus he heard a series of explosions. Those were not Blasting Curses, but fireballs - Sirius and his friends at work. He was very glad so many of the Order's fighters had responded since there was no sign yet of the Ministry's forces. No sign of Tom either, so far - if this was just a feint, to draw him out… he shook his head. Even if it was, he couldn't let his students be massacred.

The next Death Eater was screaming his incantations in futile rage, letting Albus know the spells he would be casting in advance. To Albus's surprise, the man never tried to fool him by casting a different spell than he shouted, not until the three dozen silver daggers Albus had conjured had pierced him like a pincushion. The screams from the man, and his rapid death, told him enough: Werewolves.

A blasting curse to the ground next to two more Death Eaters shook them up and threw up enough dust that they failed to spot the rock he had conjured above them until they were crushed beneath it.

He didn't see anyone else attacking the car, not anymore, and turned back towards the rear of the train. There were more foes to face, and hopefully more children to save.

*****​

Harry Potter stared at the destruction around him. He had known it had been bad, but he hadn't known just how bad. Too many bodies wearing the black robes of Hogwarts were lying amidst the wreckage of the Hogwarts Express. At least the engine didn't look too damaged, but the cars… and the landscape. He glanced over his shoulder. Hermione was standing a step behind him, and to his left, as usual for a retainer in public.

He reached out and took her hand, pulling her towards him.

"My…" Whatever surprised protest Hermione had been about to voice died when he took her into his arms. After this horror, he needed to hold her, reassure himself that she was not hurt, that she was safe. That they had survived.

And damn anyone who took offense at the sight of them!

"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed next to them. "It's a massacre!"

"P-Parvati? Has anyone seen Parvati?" Padma stammered, pale and shivering.

Harry was tempted to simply ignore her, and focus on holding Hermione, but the witch in his arms gently pushed him back, so he released her and looked at the Indian witch. "I haven't seen her. I don't even know in which car she was."

"She was in the second or third from the front," Padma answered, tears appearing in her eyes. About 10 yards away, an auror and a healer stood from where they had been kneeling next to a body. The auror flicked his wand, and a conjured blanket covered it up.

"Why didn't they arrive sooner?" Ron muttered, steadying Padma. The Ministry's forces had made their appearance after the battle had been over already - after Dumbledore, the Order and the teachers had routed the Death Eaters.

"I don't know," Harry said.

"Harry!"

That was Sirius! Harry turned around and saw Sirius running towards him. He barely managed to brace himself before the older wizard hugged him - harder than Hermione ever had. "Merlin, you're safe! You're safe!"

For a moment Harry feared his godfather would break down and cry as he patted his back. "I'm OK. No one of us died, but a few got hurt."

"Cursed?" Sirius pulled away and stared at the youths. "Dark curses?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, mostly splinters from explosions."

"Still, let the healers take a look! Those bastards threw around a lot of very dark curses."

Harry blinked. "Who was cursed?"

Sirius took a deep breath. "Valérie. In the wing. Bill saved her, but… they're not sure how much damage was done."

Padma sobbed. "Where is my sister?" Everyone looked awkwardly while Ron tried to console her. Harry didn't know what to say. He suddenly felt guilty.

"Let's ask an auror. They will be noting the names of those who escaped safely, and of those…" Hermione trailed off. Ron shot her a brief glare.

"Come, let's get to the healers!" Sirius started dragging him away. Harry let him - he didn't want to stay around the carnage any longer than he had to.

*****​

St. Mungo's was overflowing with patients, healers, aurors and hit-wizards. Pansy Parkinson averted her gaze when a healer rushed past her, trailing a floating, convulsing witch in tattered remains of the grey robes of a hit-wizard. The Slytherin student hadn't been quick enough though, and had seen the bleeding stumps where the woman's legs should have been, and the smoke rising from the black skin…

She felt bile rise in her throat again, and fought not to retch. A bubblehead charm kept the smell of the wounded and cursed out, but it didn't do anything against the memories. Next to her, Greengrass was sitting on the same small bench. The blonde witch hadn't said a word since they had sat down. Hadn't done anything but stare at the door behind which Davis was getting treated.

Greg was leaning against the wall next to them. The large wizard was silent as well, but he was wiping his eyes with his sleeve regularly, ever since Pansy had told him about Vincent.

Vincent. Pansy would have died if not for the boy. The dumb, brave boy. He probably had thought the shield charm he had taken so long to perfect would keep him safe, when he had stepped in front of her. But it had failed him. All that training, all that tutoring… and he had died. In front of her. Saving her. Who had failed to teach him how to defend himself properly. Who had picked the route that had led them straight to the wand of a crazed Death Eater. And who had been too slow, too stupid to react. Unlike Vincent.

His death was her fault. Her damned fault.

Pansy buried her face in her hands and wept. She didn't stop when she felt one, then another hand on her shoulders.

She was still weeping when Greengrass's mother arrived.

"Daphne!" The Head of the Greengrass rushed towards her daughter. "Hecate's blessing, you're safe! They told us at the desk, but ..."

Greengrass started to cry too, then. "I'm fine, but Tracey… she's…" The blonde witch didn't manage to say anything else.

Pansy shuddered, but sat up and cast a cosmetic spell to clean up. More parents would arrive soon, or so she expected. After a moment, she cast the spell on Greg as well. The shadow of a smile appeared on his face when he nodded his thanks.

And yet when her own mother arrived, she started to cry again.

*****​

Hermione Granger was, as perverse as it felt, glad that her parents were not around. That they were on a world cruise, cut off from wizard news. That they would only be hearing about the attack with the knowledge that she was safe. The hospital was a madhouse, with heart-rending scenes happening everywhere. Parents reuniting with their children, crying with relief. Or parents finding their children hurt, or worse.

The others in their group had left already, with their families. Parvati was safe as well, her parents had told them. They hadn't known about Lavender though. Hadn't thought to ask. It was now just her and Harry. And Sirius and his girlfriends.

The witch didn't want to be there. Each time she saw one of the wounded, saw someone cry, she remembered the battle, the desperate struggle to keep up the walls that kept them safe. The fear that she'd fail, and get her friends, get Harry killed. She just wanted to get away, to get home, grab Harry and not let go of him for the rest of the day.

But she couldn't. Not yet. Valérie had been hurt saving them, and was getting treated in St. Mungo's. And Sirius was going spare. He needed Harry nearby, and Harry needed her. His godfather was pacing in front of the door to Valérie's room, growing more and more agitated. Valérie's cousins were there as well, not quite pacing, but Hermione saw them fidget, and twitch, and jerk each time something came near them.

"What exactly happened? Why did the Ministry take so long to arrive?" Anything to distract them and especially Sirius.

The animagus stopped pacing. "I don't know. We went to the wrong spot, at first, and had to search for the train."

"Disinformation, or a mistake?" Harry was frowning. Hermione touched his back, under the guise of brushing some dust off him. She could feel how tense he was. If he was blaming himself for this...

Sirius shrugged. "I don't know. The Ministry isn't lacking in either spies or idiots." He started to pace again.

"Was that your bike I saw?" Harry asked.

"Yes. I loaned it to Hagrid. He hasn't a broom that can carry him and can keep up with others. If I had known about the spiders..."

"Well, you did, didn't you?" The wizard had been told, after all.

"I hadn't known just how bad they are." Sirius sat down next to the two. "But compared to those Death Eaters… the last time I saw so many dark curses was at the Black family reunion."

Hermione hoped Harry's godfather was joking. "Was Remus there as well?"

Sirius nodded. "He was. He's at home now." With the moon soon to rise, he'd better be.

Before Hermione could ask another question, the door opened and a tired healer stepped out. "We've managed to undo most of the curse's effect, but we can't say yet if the wing will regain functionality. You can see her now." Without waiting for an answer, the man turned away and pulled his wand out, sending a small paper-aeroplane off.

Sirius was already in the room, holding Valérie. A second later, the two were buried under the other three veela. Hermione hesitated to approach them, they looked so… intimate. She felt like an intruder, until Harry took her hand, closed the door and they joined their family.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore sighed as he read the scroll St. Mungo's had just sent him. Seamus Finnigan. Gryffindor, fifth year. Dead. Killed. He added the name to the list that had far too many names on it already. Another one followed, Vincent Crabbe. Slytherin, fifth year. Killed. Rubeus had told him about that student already. But Albus had hesitated to add the name until the clinic confirmed it. Melvin Bracken. Ravenclaw, fourth year. Killed. Maria Baytrunks. Ravenclaw, fourth year. Killed.

More were wounded. Headboy Cedric Diggory had engaged the attackers to let the other students escape. He had been joined by Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe, and all three had been gravely wounded. They were alive at least.

Not only students had been wounded. Aurora had been cursed, but was expected to recover… in time. Rubeus had caught 'a few scratches', as he had put it. Anyone else with the possible exception of Olympe would have been killed. Flitwick and Minerva hadn't escaped unscathed, but their wounds had been healed already. Gilderoy had not been hurt, unlike Jenny, though the Australian witch claimed she had had worse just visiting friends in the Outback.

He hadn't heard from his brother yet, whose 'friends' had engaged Death Eaters attacking the Breakwater family's mansion. Hopefully, that meant things had gone well there, Aberforth would have thrown any dead into his face otherwise, or so he hoped.

So much death, so much sorrow. If he had been on the train, that wouldn't have happened… if he had been faster to see through Tom's deception… if he had anticipated this… Albus closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Anger, either at Tom or at himself, wouldn't serve him now. He needed to keep a cool head, to counter Tom's plans. Something had been up with those Death Eaters they had fought, and he needed to find out what. The old wizard stood up and walked towards his pensieve.

The Dark Lord had not been seen today. He had known Albus would intervene in an attack on the Express, so where had he been while Albus had saved his students?

*****​

Amelia Bones hadn't slept either, Albus saw the next morning, when they met in Cornelius's office. She looked awake, but the Headmaster saw the signs of a Pepper-Up potion at work. Or two.

The Minister had been reading the Daily Prophet until Albus had arrived, and now threw the newspaper on the desk with a disgusted expression and enough force to have the aurors and hit-wizards depicted on the front page flee their frames. "Dozens of students dead! What went wrong yesterday? How could this happen? Where were our aurors and hit-wizards?"

Albus wasn't about to correct the number of deaths - even though there hadn't been quite as many dead students as the Daily Prophet claimed, it was, without a doubt, a horrible tragedy anyway.

Amelia spoke in a clipped voice. "The hit-wizards on the train did their duty. Without them, many more students would have been killed. They were almost wiped out, Cornelius, while protecting the children."

"But why were there so few? And why were the others too late?" Fudge looked at Albus. "We're all grateful that you and your staff arrived to fight the attackers, but you shouldn't have been alone." That was added with a glare at Amelia.

The witch didn't let the unspoken accusation stand though. "We were deceived. The first reports of the attack led us to another location. We had to search for the real location of the attack. At the same time, reports of attacks in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade came in, and alerts from a dozen homes, stretching our forces further."

Cornelius didn't look like he accepted that excuse, but he didn't press further. Smart, Albus thought, given Amelia's temper and lack of sleep. "Talking about 'our forces'... something you want to elaborate on, Albus?"

"You already know that I have a number of friends who will fight the Dark Lord's forces when they are needed," the Headmaster answered, smiling slightly.

"'A number of friends', yes. I didn't know about that army of foreigners though."

"The Dark Lord has been recruiting foreigners for some time. Asking foreign friends for help seemed an appropriate answer." Albus spread his hands. "And I have no doubt that their presence surprised the Dark Lord and disrupted his plans." He had known keeping the reinforcements from the Balkans a secret would ruffle some feathers, but there were too many spies inside the ministry. Tom would have known about the mercenaries at once, and adjusted his plans.

"You don't trust us to keep a secret?" Cornelius asked.

"I trust you and Amelia, but I fear that not everyone working for the ministry is trustworthy." Albus saw the minister's chest swell a bit with subconscious pride, then his expression fell again when he was reminded of the moles riddling the ministry.

"What are your plans for them now that we know about them?" Amelia leaned forward.

"The same as before: Keep them ready to oppose the Dark Lord's forces wherever they are needed."

"Coordinating with the hit-wizards would reduce the danger of them getting attacked by mistake and make it easier to cover more of the country," the head of the DMLE said.

"It would also make it easier for the Dark Lord to track them," Albus countered. "Further, I am not certain how well they would integrate with the hit-wizards. They come from a very different culture."

"We can't have foreign mercenaries roam Britain!" Cornelius declared.

"We need them. This attack has shown that the Dark Lord has more and better wands at his disposal than we thought," Albus calmly stated. The number of hit-wizards killed by the attackers, and the way they had been killed was proof enough of that.

"Who exactly were those Death Eaters, Albus? We haven't found a marked one among them, but according to the reports, they cast worse curses than the Dark Lord's inner circle." Amelia stared at him.

"I would not go that far, but I have personally witnessed a surprising competence with difficult dark curses among the Death Eaters we fought at the Hogwarts Express. That is a marked contrast to the other attacks."

"Those were mostly diversionary in nature," Amelia argued.

"Mostly, but not entirely. And I doubt the Death Eaters would have refrained from using such curses since their use would have made even diversions more effective." Albus shook his head. "But I also noticed a curious lack of combat experience among those dark wizards."

"They were quite effective against the hit-wizards," Amelia said, her expression darkening at what she probably saw as a slight against those brave men and women had given their lives for the students.

"Yes. But that was entirely due to the surprise, and the spells used. Actual tactics and fighting did not match the demonstrated proficiency in the Dark Arts," Albus explained. "They were rather careless, and far too fixated on attacking. Inexperienced, in a word."

"Do you mean that those were students, fresh out from a 'Dark Wizard Academy'?" Cornelius looked rather doubtful as he quoted a rather popular but entirely fictional novel set during Grindelwald's War.

"I wish that were the case. It would mean that their loss would have dealt the Dark Lord a severe blow. Alas, I fear the reason for the proficiency lies in this." With that, Albus pulled out the wand he had taken from one of the Death Eaters the day before.

"The wand?" Cornelius sounded confused for a moment.

"It is a very unusual design. It's not a normal wand, but something else. I will be conferring with Ollivander and the Unspeakables later, but I think the wand made the wizard, in this case."

No one found his wordplay amusing.

"That aside, there is still the question what we should do about dozens of foreign wizards fighting in Britain." Amelia wasn't about to let that go.

When the meeting ended, Albus had agreed to have - thoroughly vetted - liaison wizards and witches join his 'foreign friends' to improve coordination, and grant the Ministry some measure of supervision, if not actual control. It was a better result than he had expected.

*****​

Ollivanders hadn't changed in decades. The shop looked just the same as it had looked when Albus himself had bought his wand, so many decades ago, from Garrick's father. It was a welcome bit of familiarity, after Albus had walked through a Diagon Alley bereft of the usual crowds. The few people he had seen shopping were afraid and nervous, and quick to leave.

Garrick didn't show any such nervousness or surprise when Albus ended the Disillusion Charm that had his his entrance from prying eyes. "Good morning, Albus. What brings you to my humble shop? You're not in need of a new wand, are you?" The wandmaker laughed at his own words, and Albus smiled a little in response.

"No. I am here to show you something. In private though." The Headmaster waited until Garrick had closed the shop, then pulled the wand and the two others he had acquired at the Ministry earlier out.

The other wizard's eyes widened when he saw them, and even more so when he laid his hands on them. "Merlin!" He looked at Albus. "Where did you get them?"

Albus smiled, but did not answer. Garrick muttered something under his breath that he missed, and studied one of the wands more closely. The Headmaster waited patiently - he knew how masters of their craft could get when faced with something they hadn't seen before.

After half an hour filled with mutterings, notes, and swishes, Garrick put the wand down looked up. "This is an abomination!"

"You know what it is then?" That was better than what Albus had expected.

"I've never seen one like this before. But I know the style of the wand. It's Steinberg's work."

"Steinberg? He was thought to have been killed after Grindelwald's defeat." The survivors of that wizards experiments hadn't been in a merciful mood.

"Supposedly. There have been wands in the past that reminded me of his work, but they were normal. This though… it looks like he perfected his design." Garrick pushed the wand towards Albus with a sneer. "This thing is steeped in the dark arts. I doubt it is useful for anything else but killing. But that it'll do very well."

"It did, I saw that myself. The Dark Lord's men had over two dozen of those wands." Albus ignored how the wandmaker seemed startled at hearing this and stashed all three wands again. "Did you detect any weakness of the wand?"

Garrick shook his head. "I would need to study it longer to discover such flaws. With an expert for the Dark Arts. All I can say that this wand hungers for blood and pain."

"I see." That would explain the behaviour of the Death Eaters, somewhat. "Thank you, Garrick. You have done our country a great service."

Garrick smiled, though it looked forced to the Headmaster.

"Rest assured, I will keep your involvement absolutely confidential," Albus said. That seemed to reassure the other wizard. The wandmaker had done his best to stay out of the last war. Some would even claim he had done so because he expected the Dark Lord to win. He wouldn't have been the only one too afraid of Tom to take a stand though, so Albus wouldn't judge the man for that. Not everyone could be a Gryffindor, after all.

He disillusioned himself and left the shop. Hopefully, the Unspeakables would find out more about those wands. They'd have to be very careful though - who knew what traps were hidden inside those wands.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort read the Daily Prophet and smiled widely. The country was shaking in terror. Dozens of students and hit-wizards massacred, the Hogwarts Express wrecked - it was a blow to the heart of Wizarding Britain. It showed them no one, nothing was safe from his wrath. Not even children at Hogwarts.

Of course the rag tried to tout the Ministry line that the Death Eaters who had attacked the express had been wiped out, that the Dark Lord himself had fled - but that was propaganda. None of the parents who had lost a child would believe it. His plan had worked well, the diversionary attacks drawing off forces, the imperiused ministry employes sowing confusion, reporting the wrong location… and he had been able to use the opportunity to take out a thorn in his side. Jeremias Flauntroy, the head of the Flauntroy family, had died in his mansion, and would be replaced by his son - who had been bitten by the werewolf wench last week. No one would suspect him to be working for the Dark Lord.

If only the wands had worked better. He had lost more wands than he had planned - including werewolves. He needed to discuss this with Steinberg.

He heard Bella stir on his bed behind him and turned around. The witch blinked at the sun. He loved those moments, when she had just woken up, the smile that appeared when she remembered their night together. He hadn't sacrificed a werewolf that night, even though it had been a full moon.

"My lord?"

He nodded at her. "Good morning, Bella." Steinberg could wait a bit longer

*****​

Sirius Black watched Valérie transform in the hall in No 12 Grimmauld Place, and had to fight not to wince. The veela's right wing looked almost whole, with just a few less feathers than the left one, after a week of treatments, but the way it hung slightly down, didn't move quite as well as the other… it didn't look good. He smiled encouragingly though.

Valérie nodded back at him, clicking her beak, then tried to fly. She almost lost her balance when her right wing couldn't match her left one. He glanced at her cousins, and all three of them showed the same worry, and slowly growing sorrow. After a frustrated screech, Valérie apparently tried to match the left wing to her wounded one - but that didn't allow her to lift off. And when she tried harder, she lost her balance again, this time actually falling to the floor. More angry curses and screeches followed, and more attempts to fly failed.

When she collapsed, and started to transform back, Sirius rushed to her, and pulled her into his arms.

Shivering, she held him. "I… I will need a broom I think," the veela said, trying to smile and make light of her fate.

"I'll buy you the best!" he promised, but she was crying already, sobbing into his shoulder. To have lost the ability to fly… Sirius didn't want to imagine how that had to feel. Chantal, Eugénie and Laure joined the two, like in the clinic, mumbling assurances no one believed while hugging them. Valérie kept crying though, he could feel her body trembling in his arms, heard her sobs, and felt her tears on his neck.

He heard a coughing noise, and looked up. His godson was standing there, looking embarrassed and uneasy. Next to him stood Hermione, looking slightly lost in thought. They were dressed in muggle clothes.

"Did the healer say what exactly had happened to her wing?" The witch asked suddenly.

Sirius said: "They said the curse was lifted, but the damage was done. The wing's been weakened." Too much to fly. Valérie's sobs grew louder, and Sirius cursed the witch for asking, and himself for answering without a thought.

"Is it the muscle, or the bones and ligaments, or both?" Hermione asked as if she was in class. Harry glanced at her, and she elaborated. "Physiotherapy and reconstructive surgery might help recover at least part of the moving range. Maybe enough to fly."

Sirius didn't know what Harry's girlfriend was talking about, but if it could let Valérie fly again, he'd move heaven and earth to get it. And judging by the expressions on the veela, so would they.

*****​

"Do you really think muggle therapy and surgery can help Valérie?"

Hermione Granger looked up from the book she had been flipping through and met Harry's eyes. She nodded. "It's possible. It can't hurt, at least. She can still move the wing, just not as well as before. Training might overcome that."

"It was done by a dark curse though," Harry said, putting the book he had been reading the back cover of back on the table.

"That curse was lifted. Depending on how it worked, the effects, although resistant to restorative magic, might be dealt with using muggle methods." Hermione added her book to her pile. The bookstore they were in had a sale going on, and it would be a crime not to take advantage of that. Even if they had to interrupt their stroll through London for that.

"If it doesn't work out they'll be devastated," Harry pointed out as they moved towards the register. "And we'll have some trouble finding someone able to help them, without breaking the Statute. It's not as if there are lots of surgeons and therapists who know about magic."

"It's still a decent chance. And I'm certain we'll find a way." A relative of a wizard with the skills needed would be best, but if needed, they'd tell a muggle. It wasn't as if the Statute of Secrecy was in that much danger from one doctor learning about magic. And if it was, there was Obliviate. "I've written to my parents, just in case. They should know a good surgeon, and maybe a therapist too." She didn't think Sirius and his girlfriends would be waiting until they were meeting her parents in the Caribbean in a few weeks. And if that failed, she'd look into a developing a spell to compensate for the crippled wing. After she had saved Harry, of course.

Harry sighed, but nodded.

Hermione leaned against the counter as their purchases - or rather, her purchases - were rung up. She caught the glances from the clerk, and the other customers, and smirked. She wasn't dressed that provocatively, certainly not when compared to the typical attire of a witch in her year, but she had taken care to pick an outfit that looked attractive, and sexy. After a week spent visiting hurt friends and attending funerals, and dealing with nightmares, she needed a distraction. As did Harry. And her boyfriend had been quite distracted so far by her, if she did say so herself.

Harry took the bag, and the two left the store, holding hands. In the muggle world, they were just boyfriend and girlfriend, not Patron and retainer. Nymphadora was acting as their bodyguard, but she was family - they didn't have to act their roles in front of her.

The witch stepped closer to Harry, taking his arm as they strolled down the street, towards a street café. If only they could act like this and use their wands!

Hermione shook her head slightly. She wouldn't think such morose thoughts, she would enjoy the day instead!

A glance showed her that she wasn't the only one harboring darker thoughts. "What's eating you?"

Harry sighed. "I can't help but thinking that Seamus and the others would still be alive, if I had reacted differently to the attack."

"You mean, if we had reacted differently," Hermione corrected him. "And you're wrong. Parkinson tried to flee, and Crabbe got killed protecting her."

"Apparently she and Goyle also saved a few other students." Harry wasn't looking at her now, and she had the impression he wasn't looking at anyone or anything but his memories of the attack.

"By holing up, we made them focus on us, and probably allowed others to flee. Like a rearguard," Hermione pointed out.

"Probably. We can't be sure."

"No, we can't. But we can't be sure that we didn't save anyone either. And we know we saved our friends." Hermione wasn't about to let Harry torment himself with guilt.

"I know that. But…"

"You're still feeling guilty. For surviving where others did not."

"Yes."

"That's a perfectly normal reaction." She knew that since she felt the same. "It doesn't mean there's any truth to the feeling." And if she told him and herself that a few more times, she might start truly believing that as well. "Let's sit down in that café, and rest a bit."

The ice cream wasn't as good as Fortescue's, but they could share a bowl here, feed each other spoonfuls of dessert, and hold hands with no one thinking the muggleborn witch was overstepping her boundaries.

And there wasn't a war going on in this world. The people around them were enjoying the summer, not fearing for their lives. She licked a dollop of cream from her lips, then smiled at Harry. "Let's not talk about the war for the rest of the day. Not a single word."

Her boyfriend nodded in agreement. His smile didn't reach his eyes, but it was a start.

They'd get through this.

*****​

Sirius Black winced at the sight of Valérie suffering during her 'physiotherapy'. To think muggles went through such torture regularly after breaking a limb… Though from what he had heard, the Grangers had dealt out even worse to their patients - dentists were feared among muggles for their painful treatments.

Valérie was enduring this, eagerly even. To be able to fly again the veela would do almost anything. Even breaking the Statute of Secrecy. Though it was more like lightly scratching it - as Hermione had said, one more muggle knowing about magic wasn't a big deal. Especially with compulsion charms making sure she'd not tell anyone else about it.

"And that's enough for today." Cecile, the torturer, announced. After the initial shock of seeing a man transform into a dog, and a woman into a bird-like creature, the muggle woman had recovered quickly, and had taken Valérie's case as a challenge.

"I can still do more!" Valérie protested, even though she had already resumed her human form.

"Honey, you're that close to collapsing, or hurting yourself. You need rest. We'll continue tomorrow."

"But..." Valérie tried again.

"No buts! We'll continue tomorrow. You'll be flying soon enough."

Sirius had started to walk over to his girlfriend, and was close enough to hear Valérie mutter 'not soon enough' under her breath in response. Sirius ruffled her hair, which made her pout and stagger off to 'freshen up' in the locker room of Cecile's office.

Once she had left the room, Sirius handed over the money for today's session to Cecile.

"You're still sceptical that the therapy will work," the woman stated while pocketing her pay.

Sirius reluctantly nodded. He wouldn't say so in front of the veela, of course. But… "It's hard to imagine that anything will work where magic fails."

"You're paying a lot of money for something you don't trust then."

Sirius shrugged. He was rich, after all - and what use was gold if you couldn't spend it to help your family?

"I told you before: While I cannot promise results, I am positive that this treatment will work. At least for the physical disability. If that will be enough for the magic dust to kick in, then she'll fly again."

Sirius had to chuckle at the expression. "You know it's not that kind of magic that allows her to fly."

The therapist snorted. "It's as good a word as any. Even with double their strength, those wings wouldn't allow her to fly. So it has to be magic. Wasn't it you who told me of the theory that damaging a magical creature's body could influence their magic?"

"Yes." Sirius had done so - though he hadn't told anyone just how Eridanus Black had researched his theory. What his ancestor had done to creatures…

"So, healing the body should heal the magic as well."

For creatures that might work, Sirius thought. It had to.

Valérie returned from the locker room, still wearing her muggle exercise clothes, though they looked clean and fresh now. And her smile, while tired, wasn't an act anymore. She was healing.

Sirius bowed to the woman, then offered Valérie his arm.

"Let's go home."


Chapter 41: Caribbean Vacation
 
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Chapter 41: Caribbean Vacation
Chapter 41: Caribbean Vacation

"Welcome, my friends."

Albus Dumbledore wasn't smiling when he greeted the assembled Order of the Phoenix. He hadn't felt like smiling very often since the attack on his students. Though, he mentally amended, glancing at Sirius and Valérie, sitting very close together at the corner, there had been reasons to smile, even in those dark times.

"I assume you have read the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. As much as it pains me to say it, the number of deaths reported there is correct."

He waited while sharp breaths were drawn by those who had still hoped it was a mistake, and those who had already known - the teachers like Minerva, Filius, or Rubeus, as well as the aurors Kingsley and Nymphadora - nodded with grim faces. Molly was sniffling, comforted by Arthur. The witch had almost lost four children in the attack. Young William patted his mother's back. Fleur though, the curse-breaker's girlfriend and fiancée, didn't seem to know how to react. After a few seconds, she whispered something Albus didn't catch to Molly, and then held William's hand.

"So many children killed…" Dedalus muttered, shaking his head as if he still could not believe it. The Headmaster wasn't surprised - he was a very traditional man, and to see the Death Eaters breaking one of the oldest customs and traditions of Wizarding Britain, and attacking the students had shocked him to the core.

"Indeed. Wizarding Britain has suffered a blow to the heart." Albus had to control himself to not let his anger show, much less have it take over. To strike at his students, his school… Tom had gone beyond the pale. Sadly, it was still not certain if the Dark Lord would benefit more than he'd suffer for his vile deed. At least in this life. It was yet to be determined if more of Britain's wands were outraged and spurred into fierce defiance than cowed into submission. "And yet this is not the worst news I have."

That caught everyone's attention.

"Those of you who fought there, as well as those of you who helped rescue children, know about the dark curses that were cast by the Dark Lord's men."

"Aye. Curses I've not seen in that number since the days of facing the Inner Circle in the last war," Alastor commented. "And cast from wizards and witches barely out of school, judging by the bodies and pieces we found. Spells fit for a Dark Lord's right hand, cast by kids too dumb to know how to fight or even duel properly. Quite the mystery."

That caused a lot more whispering and muttering. Sirius pulled Valérie into his lap, no doubt remembering the curse that had struck her and had almost taken her life. That would have robbed her of her ability to fly, if not for the muggle means Miss Granger had apparently discovered. This 'physiotherapy' might be able to overcome the lingering effect of the curse, if Sirius's tales were to be believed. It was a fascinating thought, and Albus hoped he'd find the time soon to investigate the matter. With such curses cast by the enemy, any means to counter their effects would be in dire need soon enough.

He didn't have the time today, though. The Headmaster held up one of the wands taken from the attackers. "Indeed, a mystery - but one solved." He saw the hope on some faces, and the sudden dread on those who understood what he was about to tell them. "They could cast such difficult and dark spells thanks to special wands. Wands that are attuned to the Dark Arts." Close enough for laymen, even if Saul would frown at him for simplifying it like that.

He didn't let his friends discuss this matter, and work themselves up in a frenzy or even panic. Some still whispered, but they soon feel silent as he continued. "Those are very dangerous wands - for their wielders as well. And not just because they make them overconfident, and prone to commit fatal mistakes."

Alastor nodded at that - earlier, the old auror had given him quite the analysis of the tactical failures of the attackers. And of the mistakes the Order members had committed.

"They influence the wielder, urge them to kill, and do worse - at the expense of their own safety," he explained.

"So, if we can exploit that, we can deal with them," William said, nodding. Albus almost smiled at the youth's optimism.

"Lad, they were inexperienced, but they killed most of the guards of the Express - and those were not raw recruits. Don't underestimate them!" Alastor glared at the young curse-breaker. "And that's only as long as whoever is making those wands does not improve them."

The Headmaster nodded. "I cannot stress enough that you need to be careful. This time we were facing inexperienced new recruits drunk on the power their new wands bestowed upon them. The next time we might be facing experienced Death Eaters - or even the Dark Lord's inner circle - wielding such wands."

"But what can we do?" Molly asked.

"Train harder, prepare better," Alastor answered. "Be ready at all times to fight with all you have. Constant vigilance!" The grizzled auror glared at Nymphadora when she joined in with his last words, but the metamorphmagus simply grinned back at her former instructor.

Albus coughed lightly, to draw the Order's attention again. As nice as a bit of humor was, especially these days, they had important matters to discuss. "As you know, we have received reinforcements, friends and allies, from abroad."

"And wands for hire," Alastor muttered.

"For now and for the foreseeable future, we have the advantage of numbers. We'll train as well, both individually and in groups. Many of us already do that." He nodded at Sirius and his veela friends. "But we'll need to train to fight together with our new friends as well." That didn't go over that well. Albus knew a number of the Order members had reservations against working with mercenaries due to their past, and others because of the hired wands' sometimes questionable loyalties. Aberforth wasn't completely imagining his and his shadier friends' grievances, after all. And yet, those reservations had to be put aside if they had to have any hope of winning the war. Firmly, he continued: "This is needed. We have to work together, closely together, to defeat the Dark Lord's wands. We cannot do so without training together." And, so the Headmaster hoped, it might also cause some of the wizards and witches, both from the Order and others, to adjust their views of each other. It certainly had done so for him, back during the Intervention.

Alastor met his gaze, at least with his good eye. He was the key, Albus knew. His old friend was one of the most experienced and respected or at least feared members of the Order. And for all his eccentricities, his influence among the aurors and even the hit-wizards was considerable.

After half a minute, Alastor snorted. "Alright, I'll work with the lot. Even if most of them are criminal scum, I'd rather have them fighting the Dark Lord properly than messing up."

This time Albus smiled. Now he only had to tell them about the Ministry liaisons.

*****​

His brother looked tired, Aberforth Dumbledore thought. More tired even than he had expected, after the attack on the Hogwarts Express - or the 'Train Massacre', as the Prophet was calling it. For a moment, the old wizard felt a touch of worry about his brother's health. Just like himself, the Headmaster wasn't getting any younger, after all. Then Aberforth pushed it away. The man had a lot to answer for, and being tired was nothing compared to what had happened to those who had suffered for the old wizard's mistakes in the past. And would be suffering again.

Gruffly, he nodded at the table in the corner before Albus could greet him. The Headmaster nodded, then went ahead. Aberforth took two butterbeers, then summoned a bottle of Ogden's Finest and followed him. On the way he exchanged a glance with Iva, who was sitting at a table with a few of her wands. The girl looked at him, then back at Albus. Aberforth wondered, briefly, what she was thinking of the man he blamed for her grand-aunt's death. What Lea had told her.

It wasn't the time to dwell on that though. He and Albus had more pressing matters to discuss, or his brother wouldn't have visited. He took a seat opposite his brother. There was no real need anymore to act as if they were not working together. After the Dark Lord had sent his murderers against the students, only those too weak or too craven to fight, or those supporting him, with words or deeds, would not take a stand. And Aberforth was neither, which the Dark Lord knew well.

Albus ignored the butterbeer and filled a conjured glass with a double shot of the whiskey.

"That bad?" Aberforth asked, opening his bottle of butterbeer.

"The funerals are over, and the shock has given way to frantic activity at the Ministry and Wizengamot. Frantic, but often chaotic, lacking any plan or even direction. Keeping the Wizengamot from blindly rushing down a path to disaster takes a lot of effort," the Headmaster explained.

Aberforth shrugged. "I don't expect anything else but short-sighted stupidity from that bunch of fools." He sipped from his bottle. "Do you suspect there are some traitors at work?"

"If there are, then they are very subtle about it. Fortunately, Amelia has kept her head on her shoulders, and her position, and Cornelius can be reasoned with."

"Bribed or cowed, you mean," Aberforth couldn't help stating. It likely had taken either or both to prevent Fudge from sacrificing Bones as a scapegoat to deflect the blame from himself. Damn politicians!

Albus ignored that. "Both are concerned about our recently arrived allies from outside Britain." The old Wizard smiled wearily.

Aberforth sighed, and briefly closed his eyes. He knew that expression. "What do they want?"

"They want to have liaisons. To coordinate our forces."

"What?" Aberforth wasn't certain he had heard correctly. "The Ministry's riddled with spies, especially among the hit-wizards! Too many were recruited too fast to keep traitors out, and you want them to know about our plans and missions?"

"No, I do not want that. But we need to work together to beat the Dark Lord, especially if he manages to procure more of those dark wands. And I want to prevent tragic misunderstandings from happening," Albus said, in the kind of overly understanding tone Aberforth hated.

He knew what kind of 'tragic misunderstanding' Albus was hinting at. He hadn't dreamed of the dead Bavarian wizards in years, but he hadn't forgotten them, or how he had slain them thinking they were Grindelwald's. He snarled at his brother, but didn't, couldn't say anything right then.

Albus calmly met his gaze. He looked like he regretted his words, and Aberforth was certain he did, but he also knew no matter the regret, Albus would still do and say whatever he thought necessary. He reached for the whiskey, and poured himself a shot, then threw it back.

After he had stopped burping fire, he glared at Albus again, loathing both his brother and himself. "They can liaise with the hired wands. My other friends are not the kind of people to fight in the field." And they were not the kind of people who wanted the government to know about them, and their skills. The Macedonians and Greeks that were staying in his inn for now, until more safe houses could be set up, though… they wouldn't care, since they'd leave Britain afterwards anyway. And they hadn't done anything… questionable… in Britain before. Hopefully.

Albus nodded. "Of course. It would make no sense to expose those of our friends who do not fight. At least not in the open." Aberforth didn't comment on the fact that the existence of the Order of the Phoenix was now a very open secret, even if the name itself was still a secret.

"You'll personally choose the liaisons for my friends." Choose, and test. And if one of them turned traitor, Albus would pay. Aberforth cared about his friends, both old and new, far more than about his brother.

"Of course."

His brother was too understanding. He wouldn't even gloat, or act as if he had expected that, even if he had. And while he had noticed Iva's resemblance to her grand-aunt, he hadn't said anything. His brother knew which lines he couldn't cross. Even if it had taken him a long time to learn.

Aberforth snorted, and refilled his glass. "So, what did you find out about those 'dark wands'?" Talking about the war, as disgusting as it was, was far easier than talking about the two of them.

*****​

Ron Weasley looked at the bright, blinking Triple-W-sign that was floating in front of the freshly-painted house in Diagon Alley, together with a flashing billboard that proclaimed 'Grand Opening!', and smiled widely. His brothers had done it! Their own shop, not even three weeks after finishing their N.E.W.T.s!

"Impressive, isn't it? Like a muggle advertising neon board!" Ron's dad was beaming with pride. Mum nodded in agreement, but kept looking around the alley nervously - not even the presence of aurors and hit-wizards next to the store seemed to reassure the witch that they were safe. It was a wonder Dad had managed to convince her to travel through the alley after taking the floo to the Leaky Cauldron, instead of directly flooing to the twin's flat above the shop. But someone had to show that Wizarding Britain wasn't scared, and the more people who acted normally were seen, the more would follow their example. Though it carried a certain risk, of course.

Ron exchanged a glance with Ginny. Their mother wasn't exactly paranoid. If the Dark Lord dared to attack the Hogwarts Express, then Diagon Alley wasn't any safer. It certainly didn't look like many thought it was safer - the usual summer crowds were absent.

Urged by mum, they entered the shop. Ron shivered slightly when he felt the wards he was passing through. Security was tight. The announced 'Grand Opening' was scheduled for the next day, but family and close friends were invited a day earlier to celebrate. And given the twins' popularity as Quidditch players, that meant the store was packed. Granted, his family alone would have made for a decent crowd, but there seemed to be many current and former Gryffindor students. Wood, for one, was there, talking with the Gryffindor chasers. It probably was a good thing mum had packed more snacks for the occasion.

Padma wasn't present though, nor would she be, despite an invitation. He hadn't even seen her since the attack. She had written him, explaining that her family was still dealing with the attack, and wouldn't want to take more risks. He didn't know if he was now considered a risk as well by her family. Or by her.

"There you are!" His brother's voice cut through the noise of several conversations and interrupted his thoughts before they could turn too glum. Heads turned towards them as Fred and George waved at them, grinning from ear to ear. "What do you think of the shop?"

"It looks great. Very impressive spellwork!" Dad said. "Inspired by muggles, I take it?"

"In part. All products are wizard-produced, of course," Fred assured them. "Even if they look like they're built by muggles."

Their father nodded jovially, not inquiring further. Whether he truly believed them, or simply accepted the claim Ron couldn't tell. Since dad was the head of the department that dealt with illegally enchanted muggle items, Ron hoped his brothers weren't breaking the law.

"It looks very nice," mum agreed, after a short inspection of the ground floor, "but will you have enough customers, after…" She trailed off, unwilling to mention the attack on the Hogwarts Express. She hadn't taken the fact well that all four of her children on the train had been facing the attackers with Harry and the rest, or had been creating a distraction so others could flee. And the twins calling her out for being part of the Order of the Phoenix, fighting the Dark Lord, yet lambasting them for doing the same hadn't helped at all. Ron shuddered at the memory. That had been a terrible evening. But they had come through it stronger. Family came first.

"Our owl orders are still doing well," George assured her.

"And there's the interest from the Ministry. I dare say they'll not have to rely on customers from the street for a while yet," Percy cut in. Ron hadn't seen him arrive. He hadn't seen Ginny leave either, but she was now talking to Neville and his grandmother next to the 'Dream Drops' display case.

"What's the Ministry interested in?" Mum looked both proud and curious.

"They're probably interested in some of the products they used against the Death Eaters," Ron explained, then winced when he saw the reaction to him bringing up the attack. Too much analyzing the battle with Sirius and Remus and his friends had made him forget that his family didn't talk about it.

After a second, Fred nodded. "Yes. We've got orders for the Peruvian Darkness Powder, the Screaming Saucers, and most of our bigger fireworks."

"We might even research a few products that aren't jokes," George added, and for a moment, everyone was silent when the implications sank in.

"Everyone is doing their part, as it should be," dad stated, looking first at mum, then at the rest of his family, before changing the topic. "So, what does this box do?" He pointed at a colorful box.

"Oh, that's a Skiving Snackbox. A well-sized range of fake illnesses and their remedies, if you want to skive off school," Fred gleefully explained. "Or chores at home," he added with a wink.

Further explanations were interrupted by the arrival of what looked like everyone from No 12, Grimmauld Place.

"Harry!" Ron said. He would have greeted Hermione as enthusiastically, but they were in public since the crowd was made up of close friends of the twins, and not of the couple. So he simply nodded at the witch while his mum and dad greeted Sirius cordially, and wished there were less people around. Not for long though - he was proud of his brothers' achievements, and wished them a successful opening, after all.

*****​

"You wish to study dementors?"

Hermione Granger didn't flinch under the Headmaster's questioning gaze, but it was a close thing. "Yes, sir. Their habits and powers might provide insight into souls and soul magic."

He didn't answer right away, he simply ran his hand through his beard and summoned a lemon drop from the bowl on his desk. Fawkes trilled, trilled again, and when the phoenix didn't get any, stuck his head under his wing and apparently sulked.

"Those creatures have allied with the Dark Lord, so it might be nigh impossible to study one, much less do so safely," he finally stated.

"I know, sir. But even second-hand reports from experts might offer useful insights and ideas." That was as far as she was going to hint at her plans.

Dumbledore's gaze seemed to grow even more intense, and she defiantly raised her chin. She wasn't planning to do something unforgivable. The Ministry had used dementors to suck out the souls of criminals for centuries, and if they were allowed to do it, then she could do the same against the Dark Lord. If her idea worked.

"I see," Dumbledore briefly closed his eyes and seemed to sag a bit in his seat. When he met her eyes again, he looked tired. "Given the current problems, it might behove us to know more about those creatures." He had to know what she was planning, but it didn't look like he'd admit it.

Hermione could live with that. What mattered what that she succeeded in her task. For Harry.

"Ebenezer Renquirt is the Ministry's foremost expert on Dementors. He was compromised last year, though, and since then he has been under much closer surveillance and scrutiny. That means that approaching him would endanger the secrecy needed for this."

Hermione refrained from protesting that the risk would be worth it, and simply nodded.

"I do have some contacts with almost as much experience - or at least, an equivalent library on the topic - though. Given the fact that those creatures are among the Dark Lord's forces and how difficult casting the Patronus Charm is, it wouldn't look out of place if I asked for access to research easier counter-measures."

He had to be talking about the Department of Mysteries! Would she be able to accompany him there?

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, since the Headmaster started chuckling. "I fear I have to disappoint you, Miss Granger. While I might get access to those tomes, thanks to my position and reputation, taking you with me would be out of the question."

For a moment, anger filled Hermione. All that knowledge, hidden away! Reserved for a select few, out of the reach of a mere muggleborn witch! She controlled herself though.

Dumbledore continued: "Indeed, even making the suggestion would cause you to come to the attention of a number of people who might be a bit too zealous to understand that sometimes, the end justifies quite dark means. Trust extended towards me would not be extended towards a young witch or wizard still in school. That view is justified, somewhat, given that the most recent example of a young prodigy researching such topics was Tom Riddle."

Hermione gasped. "You mean they would…?"

The Headmaster nodded. "They do not know you as I do. And should they know that Harry carries a piece of Tom's soul in his scar, they might assume he is being corrupted, or even controlled by the Dark Lord. And through him, yourself."

Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine as she realized the danger Harry and herself would be facing should this become known by the Unspeakables. She lowered her eyes. "I didn't consider that, Headmaster." Her stupidity and ignorance could have caused Harry's death!

"Do not berate yourself, Miss Granger. The inner workings of the Department of Mysteries, their purpose even, is not known to the public. Nor is it set in stone, so to speak - depending on who makes up its staff, their goals and means can vary widely."

Hermione smiled cynically. "That description fits the entire Ministry, sir. Too much seems to depend on the whims of individuals, not on laws."

"I would not call it whims, since custom and tradition can often be much harder to change than laws, but I do agree that Wizarding Britain has been shaped by individuals ever since the time of the founders. Though - was not that the case for Muggle Britain as well? Outstanding individuals played crucial roles throughout history."

Hermione had to admit that, if grudgingly. "They did. And yet the rule of law is paramount. And muggles at least try to keep the laws up to date."

"But once again, Muggle Britain is less judicious in that than other muggle countries. Tradition and custom play a larger role than in countries with a written constitution." Dumbledore sent a few grapes towards Fawkes, which circled around the still sulking bird.

"And yet Muggle Britain's constitution is quite established, while Wizarding Britain still lacks that fundamental agreement. And given how thoroughly the knowledge of magic was erased from the muggle world, I cannot help but fear that even wizarding traditions might not be as old as they are claimed to be." Maybe that was why History of Magic was taught by a ghost and never seemed to change.

"A good point, Miss Granger. To change history means to change the present, after all. Though what magic makes possible, magic can guard against." The Headmaster smiled at her as if she had just answered a difficult question in a lesson.

"That's true, sir. But with the small size of Wizarding Britain, it takes less to affect it. Less magic, and fewer individuals. Far easier for mistakes to be made, and not get corrected." And, privately, she thought that the wizarding public was far less critical than the muggle one as well. Too prone to follow blindly whoever cried the loudest.

"It is hard to argue against that, given our current situation, and yet it's also far easier to change for the better with fewer people. I prefer to remain optimistic." Albus flicked his wand, and a lemon drop sped towards Fawkes, who reacted in an instant and gobbled it up, together with the grapes.

Hermione couldn't disagree with that. She had to hope for the best as well, given her and Harry's situation. She nodded. "Leaving that aside, if I'm not to be allowed into that library, how can I access the tomes then?"

"I'll be making copies."

"Is that allowed?" Hermione asked. The Headmaster had spoken as if copying works presumably protected by the best spells the Department of Mysteries could muster was easy. It was probably easy, for him, Hermione realized. Suddenly, focusing on curse-breaking looked a lot more appealing than focusing on spellcrafting.

"I could just as well use my pensieve to reread any tome I've read and have a dictaquill write it down. That would take more time than we can spare though," Dumbledore said with the barest hint of a sly smile.

Hermione decided that she really wanted a pensieve. Though maybe it might be possible to create a spell that allowed the caster to copy memories into a blank book. Or maybe there was a way to create a portable pensieve, like a portable television… She forced herself to focus on the topic at hand again, and blushed slightly when she noticed the gentle smile on Dumbledore's face, who probably knew all about her thoughts right then. "I see. That's quite a … pragmatic outlook."

"Indeed. I should have the books you require before you leave to meet your parents." Dumbledore pointed his wand over his shoulder and an old, thick tome flew from one of the shelves at the back of his office, landing gently on the desk. "You can take this book with you right now though. It contains a detailed report about the first appearances of the Dementors in the 1300s, up until the time they moved to Azkaban. I always found that having a solid grasp on the history of a subject both facilitated its study and helped to avoid overlooking important aspects."

"Thank you sir!" Hermione eagerly summoned the book towards her. She wanted to skim it right then, but reluctantly stashed it in one of the expanded pockets of her robe .

"Is there anything else to discuss?" The Headmaster was looking at her over his reading glasses. She couldn't tell if he meant the question rhetorically, or if he knew or at least suspect something.

"Ah… there is one more thing, sir." Hermione took a deep breath. "As you know, we will be meeting my parents in the Caribbean."

Once again his gaze grew more intense, and she realized he already knew what she was about to say.

*****​

"Alright, does everyone have all their baggage?"

"Yes." Harry Potter patted the pocket of his robe where his trunk was stored in in response to his godfather's question. He caught Hermione peering into her pocket before answering herself, and grinned. As if she would forget her trunk, after packing it so carefully, and after double-checking her lists. And yet she'd worry. Part of her charm.

Valérie, Chantal, Laure and Eugénie nodded as well. Between the four veela and himself, Sirius had deemed Harry safe enough to travel abroad. Neither Nymphadora nor Remus would be coming with them. Nymphadora because she was far too busy preparing for her wedding, scheduled for the end of July, Remus because of his furry little problem. Harry thought the man could use a vacation, especially with the increasing hostility towards werewolves after so many of them had joined Voldemort, but it was the older wizard's decision.

"Good, the portkey is scheduled to be activated in three minutes!" Sirius checked his watch.

Harry wasn't looking forward to using it. Travelling to Paris and then Sofia the previous summer had been bad enough, and it was a far longer trip to Port Royal, the capital of Magical Jamaica. If only they were flying! A plane would take even longer than a portkey, but it would be a far more agreeable ride.

But Sirius had balked at the idea of spending hours in a 'metal contraption that a bit of accidental magic could utterly wreck', and Hermione had backed him up, citing numerous ways to destroy a plane using magic. Harry didn't think the Death Eaters knew enough about muggles to pull any of those plans off - a few of them were so tricky, and would have made him wonder what Hermione had been thinking, if he hadn't known her so well - but he couldn't prevail against both his godfather and his girlfriend, not if they were thinking about his safety first and foremost.

Of course, without Dumbledore arranging for an anonymous international portkey, and fake identities thanks to his contacts abroad, taking a plane would have been safer. And Harry wouldn't have to dye his hair, muggle style, and wear makeup over his scar. Though Hermione made a nice-looking blonde, he had to admit.

So, he was facing a nausea-inducing trip. An auspicious start for their vacation, if he did say so himself. Not that he'd say that out loud - Hermione was looking forward to see her parents, who'd take a break from their cruise for a month, and he'd rather bite his tongue than make her feel guilty and ruin it for her.

"Alright, gather round! It's going to be a wild ride!" Sirius grinned as he presented the short rope that would transport them across the Atlantic. Harry shot his godfather a dark look, then touched the rope, taking a deep breath.

An instant later, he was whirling around himself.

Harry didn't know how long the portkey took. It had felt like hours, at least to him. He belly-flopped on the cushioned floor, as he had expected. At least he wasn't feeling ill enough to need the bucket that appeared in front of him, even if his legs shook some when he stood up.

Sirius, who had been whooping in apparent joy for most of the trip, was already up - if he had not arrived standing anyway - and looking around. As were his girlfriends, but as half-bird creatures, that was to be expected. Or so Harry told himself.

Hermione though, lying on the floor, was looking rather green in the face and taking deep breaths.

"Come on, get up, Miss! We'll need to clear the chamber for the next arrivals! I can levitate you if you can't stand yet!" Sirius announced cheerfully, his wand already out.

The muggleborn witch shot Harry's godfather a glare while she stood up with his help. "I'll manage," she muttered. Harry didn't mention that he had voted to take a plane - she looked a bit too miserable to rub it in. And she knew a few too many hexes to risk it.

A pair of guards awaited them outside the chamber, both wearing loose white trousers and shirts, with sashes in green, gold and black wrapped around their waists. "Welcome to Magical Jamaica. Please proceed to customs," the taller one said, with the bored air of someone who had said that far too often already to still care.

"Of course!" Sirius responded, and led the group towards the door indicated by the man's gesture.

"It really looks like a colonial building of the 17th century." Hermione had recovered enough to study the architecture on the way. "I read that the Magical Quarter survived the earthquake that officially sank Port Royal, and used it to help implement the Statute of Secrecy, which went into effect at the same time."

"Are we actually under the sea?" Laure asked.

"According to 'The History of the Magical New World', yes. Though 'Magical Sights Worth Seeing' claims that the enclave has the space warped around it, and is actually on sea level," the young witch went on.

"It doesn't really matter," Sirius cut in. "We're not staying in the town, after all!"

Harry thought it did matter if they would be drowned by the sea should the spells fail, or not, but didn't think speculating about such an eventuality was the smartest or most polite thing to do right after arriving in the town. Besides, Sirius was right - they'd meet the Grangers at a private villa Sirius had rented for the vacation.

They'd not spend all their time there, or even in muggle Jamaica, of course. They had plans for Magical Jamaica. Plans not everyone might agree with, but that couldn't be helped.

*****​

"Mum! Dad!"

Hermione Granger rushed at her parents as soon as she spotted them. It had been too long since she had seen them last! She hugged her mother, almost tackling her to the ground, then felt her father's arms close around the two of them, patting her back. She didn't keep count how long they remained like that, she simply enjoyed the reunion with her parents. "I missed you!"

"We missed you as well, honey!" her mother said, probably with as many tears in her eyes as Hermione had.

"Oh, yes. It's been so long, I forgot how you looked. I thought you had brown hair…" her father said, pointedly looking at her currently blonde and straight hair.

"Ah… that's for the disguise." Hermione smiled, but didn't let go of her mother. "We're here under fake names." Like her parents.

"Fake identities for you, for us, for everyone…" Her father shook his head. "Well, it's a decent reason to dye your hair, at least. Better than your boyfriend preferring blondes," he added with a slight smirk.

"Dad! I wouldn't do that!" Hermione protested. Well, she wouldn't, unless it was needed. Or if she liked it as well.

"Harry prefers Hermione," Sirius cheerfully cut in.

"Welcome, Sirius," her mum said, nodding at the wizard. "I'd offer to give you a tour of the house, though to be honest, it would feel weird, since you paid the rent for the villa."

"Picked it out as well - the notification of us having rented it came as a bit of a surprise," Hermione's father commented.

"Don't worry about it. Just another measure to improve our security." Sirius waved his wand in a dismissive gesture.

Her parents seemed to accept that. Well, they had accepted the paid-for World Cruise too. "Let's get you settled, and then Hermione can tell us all about her year," her dad said.

Hermione took the hint, and released her mother from her grip. She hoped she looked embarrassed about having held on like a limpet for a bit too long, instead of feeling guilty for not planning to tell her parents all about what had happened. She didn't want them to worry after all, especially not when they couldn't do anything to help her.

*****​

"... and did you know that after the Statute of Secrecy went into effect, Magical Jamaica was one of the first colonies to achieve their independence from Wizarding Britain? The wizards among the Maroons outnumbered the British wizards left on Jamaica, thanks to having served as a safe haven for fugitive wizards for decades already, and conquered the island in 1752, when a Goblin Rebellion in Britain prevented the Ministry from sending help to the garrison."

Sirius Black glanced at his godson while Hermione gave a lesson in Jamaica's history, magical and muggle, to her parents, who seemed to be listening with rapt attention. Maybe the thirst for knowledge was in the witch's blood. Harry was paying attention too, but from what Sirius could see, he was focusing more on the witch's body than her words. Maybe the two would finally do the deed during this vacation. Given the danger they all were in, it was stupid to delay what everyone knew would happen!

In Sirius's opinion, it was a perfect setup: A young couple, a month in the tropics, in a luxurious villa with a private beach… Even if the muggle bikinis were a bit conservative, as all things muggle, that, and the presence of the girl's parents, simply added a bit of a challenge, in his opinion. Maybe he should have a word with Harry, explain some things… Sirius smiled when he remembered how he had slept with Mandy Finbottom in the witch's parents' bedroom while they were at a Yule Ball… or would have, if he had been able to remember more than that he had done it.

"Troubling thoughts, cherie?" Valérie's voice interrupted his thoughts.

He turned his head, and smiled at the young veela moving towards him, a tray with a few drinks floating behind her. "Just another lost memory." He pointed his wand at the tray, and one drink flew towards him.

"Ah." Valerie sat down in his lap, one drink with a straw hovering near her head while the tray continued towards the others present at the pool. She knew what he was talking about, and she knew he wasn't quite as casual about it as he acted. But she also understood that they were on a vacation with his godson, and it wouldn't do to ruin it with his own problems. She placed a kiss on his lips - almost chaste, for her - and whispered. "We'll 'ave to make more and better memories then."

"That's a good idea." He ran his hands over her bare back. The smooth skin showed no sign of the curse damage to the wing that would grow out from there when she transformed. He was certain it would have been different if the damage had been to her arm - if Padfoot hurt his paw, Sirius's hand would be hurt as well.

His fingers must have lingered a bit too long, for he felt her stiffen some. "I'll be able to fly again, soon," she whispered.

"You will." She had to. She would. She was keeping her daily exercises up, even during their vacation, if not quite as stringently as under the supervision of her therapist.

He glanced over at his godson again, and caught Harry turning his head away. The boy had been staring at them, he knew. And not because he was ogling his godfather's veela girlfriend, but because he was concerned about the two of them.

He really had to have a talk with the boy, Sirius thought. It was his duty as Harry's godfather's to worry about him, not the other way around.

*****​

Harry Potter smiled when he saw Padfoot playing on the beach. His godfather was chasing a frisbee Valérie, Chantal, and Laure were moving around between them with their wands. Eugénie was sitting at the pool, supposedly 'resting', though Harry was certain she was keeping guard. Even with that reminder of the war at home, and the danger they were all in, he was happy to see Sirius acting so carefree.

"He's getting better," Hermione commented next to him, putting the book she had been reading down.

"Yes." Finally.

"He's still got a way to go though," Hermione added.

"Therapy wouldn't help him much, if at all. He thinks that's just for 'crazy people'," Harry glanced at the book in her lap. He knew it was about dementors. Harry shuddered just thinking about them, and he didn't know how Sirius would react, should he realize just what Hermione was studying.

Hermione frowned at him. "The Headmaster enchanted it. Sirius won't be able to read it."

"I know." And he still didn't like it. They were terrible creatures, and the thought that she was researching them filled him with dread. She was probably planning to use them. All he could think about was that moment back in third year, when a horde of the monsters had attacked them. If not for his Patronus Charm...

The witch closed the book, and slid it into her expanded bag.

Harry suppressed the sudden guilt he felt at that. He knew she was doing this for him.

The young muggleborn leaned back and met his eyes. "Did he ask you again if we have slept together?"

He grimaced and looked away. "He hasn't just asked. He has hinted rather strongly that we're 'wasting time we could be spending together'. What about your parents?"

"They haven't asked or said anything about us being intimate."

"Oh?" That sounded good.

"Which is very much unlike them. I'd have expected a lecture about safe sex, or at least some teasing comments."

"Oh." That didn't sound good.

"Yes. And Valérie wanted to give me 'tips'."

"Tips?"

"You know, about enjoying your first time. As a witch."

"That must have been embarrassing." Probably as embarrassing as Sirius's lecture.

"More informative, actually." The witch smiled at him. She had listened to the tips? Of course she had! Hermione wouldn't refuse knowledge, even that kind.

He didn't know what to say while his imagination ran wild. His face must have betrayed at least some of his thoughts though, since he noticed she was blushing.

Or, he thought, with a suddenly dry throat, she was having similar thoughts.

He coughed and said: "Let's go swimming!" They needed a distraction right now.

"Alright."

*****​

Swimming, and diving, in the warm waters of the Caribbean was vastly different from swimming in the Black Lake in Scotland, Hermione found out. The tropical sea provided much better visibility than the murky lake, and the fishes and other fauna were more colorful too.

Both herself and Harry were using Bubblehead Charms to explore the sea near their beach - under the eyes of Eugénie, who was flying above them. She wouldn't join them in the water unless there was an emergency, but whether this was to give them some illusion of privacy, or because she didn't like diving was hard to say. Fleur hadn't had any special trouble with the second task, so it wasn't something related to being a veela.

The young witch didn't care either way - she was having fun chasing small schools of fish, and playing a sort of tag game with Harry, with stolen kisses as prizes. There weren't any ruins, like in Port Royal, but the shallow sea floor here had its own hidden attractions and mysteries.

Just when she was about to swim closer to a large field of seaweed, Harry shot in front of her, using the Supercavitation spell he had used to win the second task in the Triwizard Tournament. For a moment she felt anger - that was cheating! Then she realized he wasn't playing anymore, but pointing at the seaweed. She didn't see anything, but she wasn't the youngest seeker in a hundred years. Hermione mouthed "What?" at her boyfriend, and he pushed his head towards hers until their Bubblehead Charms overlapped and they could talk to each other more easily, without shouting.

"I think I saw a siren."

Hermione almost gasped. A siren, here? Even though Jamaica did have a small population, most of them were said to be living near Port Royal, using the charms hiding the magical town from muggles for their own benefits. She drew her wand and slipped her free hand into the enchanted pocket on her bikini bottom, where she had stored a number of emergency supplies. Sirens had a reputation of luring sailors to their doom, and while that was likely overblown like so much else, the species was known to have a penchant for violence if provoked. And they didn't like veela.

Harry and herself waited, watching the field of seaweed, but apart from a few small fishes nothing else emerged from it. Still, Hermione decided to give the area a wide berth, just in case this was territory claimed by a siren. There wasn't any reason to go looking for trouble, after all. Even or especially with a veela flying as a guard above them.

"Let's return to the surface," she told Harry.

Her boyfriend nodded, then pulled her closer to him, until she was pressed against his body, and surrounded by the air bubbles providing the spell's effect. As she had expected, and Harry had told her, it was a very distracting experience without a suit covering her whole body.

Not quite as distracting as Harry shooting through the water at high speed, with her hanging onto him though.

They did reach the beach without trouble, and in record time, but Hermione needed some time to calm down afterwards.

*****​

If there was one thing Harry Potter loved most of their vacation so far, it was that his family were using fake identities, so he and Hermione didn't have to act like Patron and Retainer in public, but could be a teenage couple in love. There was no pressure from society, no one looking disapprovingly at them for being out for a stroll in Port Royal's magical quarter. Which was actually bigger than the muggle village.

After two days of grueling apparition lessons, walking around with his girlfriend on his arm was an even more enjoyable experience as well, even though both Hermione and himself had mastered it. With or despite Sirius's help. Harry could still hear his godfather's voice, telling him to be completely determined to reach the destination, and move deliberately, not hastily. Or Hermione reciting a small book's worth of instructions verbatim. And he still wasn't sure if Hermione leaving her robes while apparating away had actually been an accident, or a prank.

He had his arm wrapped around Hermione's waist and both of them were wearing robes in the local style as they were walking down the main street in the afternoon, past various shops and bars and the odd street musician and food stall. Just a normal tourist couple, exploring the old pirate town. With his 'parents' in tow.

He glanced behind him, where Sirius and Valérie were following them. His godfather was grinning widely at him. Before Harry could comment though, Hermione spoke up and tugged at his arm: "There it is!"

Harry followed her gaze, and spotted a worn sign in a narrow side alley: 'Mr. Smith's Used Books & Curiosa'. That was the bookshop Dumbledore had recommended. Hermione was already doing her best imitation of a train engine pulling him towards the shop's door.

The inside of the shop smelled like old parchment and dusty paper - and marihuana. The 'magical weed' was widely used on Jamaica, and not solely for religious ceremonies. Hermione released his arm and made a beeline to the clerk at the back of the shop. Harry followed her at a slower pace, restraining from rubbing his arm.

The witch smiled at the middle-aged wizard there. "Hello! We're looking for books on 'sympathetic magic'!" Which was commonly known as 'Voodoo', even if Hermione had explained that that was not really the same thing. Just very close.

"That would be this shelf there, Miss." The man pointed at the shelf to his right.

Hermione shook her head, her currently blond hair flying back and forth. "I'm looking for more informative and rarer books."

Harry saw how the other wizard stiffened at hearing that - and even more so when Sirius and Valérie entered right then. He was also quite certain that Hermione was rolling her eyes at the man's - in Harry's opinion quite understandable - reluctance to point them towards books which were illegal in most of the Magical World, and were considered shady even in the Caribbean. The houngans were more feared than respected, or so he had heard.

Fortunately, a small sum of galleons from Sirius made the reluctance vanish before Hermione could grow exasperated. The clerk opened a hidden door at the back, revealing another room full of books. When he saw Hermione's reaction to that, Harry was both amused and jealous - of those books.

After half an hour, Hermione had picked half a dozen books on Voodoo, and the clerk was ringing up her purchases while the witch was already happily skimming through the first one while Harry was impatiently waiting - just like normal tourists.

Before the clerk had finished handling their purchases though, a dark-skinned wizard man in a bone-white robe with short, grey hair entered, interrupting the man.

"Hello, Jebediah."

"H-Hello, M-Mister B-Blagrove."

"I'm here for my order." The man spoke in a whisper that still seemed to fill the room.

"A… of c-course, s-sir!" The clerk dropped Hermione's last purchase and rushed through another hidden door, presumably to fetch whatever the man wanted, though Harry wouldn't have been surprised if he'd have simply fled the building. He glanced at the door, and saw half a dozen people waiting outside the shop. That wasn't a good sign.

The man turned around, smiling, and seemed to notice Hermione for the first time - or rather the book she was holding. "Quite an interesting tome, Miss…?"

"Wilkinson," Hermione answered, giving her fake name.

The man nodded, a polite smile on his face. Harry was about to step up to Hermione, just to show that she was with him, under his protection, when his scar erupted with pain.

*****​

Hermione Granger whirled around when she heard Harry scream, and gasped. Her boyfriend was on the floor, blood flowing from his scar, wiping away the makeup that had been covering it, while he was thrashing in pain! Sirius was moving towards them, followed by Valérie. Her first impulse was to stun Harry. End his torment until whatever dark ritual Voldemort was doing was over. She didn't do that though. As much as she hated it, they needed to know what the Dark Lord was doing. So instead of a stunner, she cast a Body-Binding Curse and a Silencing Charm.

"We need to get home!" she yelled at Sirius, cutting off whatever he was about to say. She glanced over her shoulder at the the man in the white robes, Blagrove, who had scared the clerk so much. The wizard was staring at them, with an unreadable expression. Hermione grabbed the last book and dropped a few galleons on the counter while Sirius vanished with Harry. She vanished the blood on the floor, then focused on the villa's apparition area. An instant later, she appeared there, followed by Valérie.

While they rushed Harry to his room, she mentally berated herself. She had been so stupid - she had forgotten about the time difference between Britain and Jamaica! The full moon would have already risen back home while it was still daytime here. She should have expected that Voldemort would conduct another ritual, even if he had skipped the last full moon!

And now, not only was Harry suffering, but someone - someone rather sinister-looking - had seen him collapse and bleed! If his secret got out...

And it was all her fault! She should have known!


Chapter 42: Jamaican Affairs
 
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Chapter 42: Jamaican Affairs
Chapter 42: Jamaican Affairs

He wrinkled his nose at the stench of burning fur and flesh that rose from the bound animal on the marble altar. The restraints were cutting deeply into the werewolf's limbs, the silver they were inlaid with burning its skin wherever they touched it. He could have magically adjusted them, but why should he have bothered? The beast would be dead soon enough, and a Silencing Charm worked well enough to keep it quiet. The stench though… that hadn't been as bad during the last ritual, and he wondered why this was the case. It wasn't bad enough to warrant a Bubblehead Charm though, just… unpleasant.

The lights floating around the circle that surrounded them were lit already, shining under the light of the full moon. There were no bands of runes appearing between them though. Instead a crystal ball was floating next to the creature's head, dull and dim - so far.

The werewolf was shaking its head back and forth, spittle flying around. If not for the charms on his robe, some would have hit him. Disgusting! His Bella was already taking care of it, though - a flick of her wand had the monster gagged, and the sight of its eyes rolling around briefly amused Harry.

He smiled at his lover, then gripped the silver knife and approached the werewolf. This time he had some experience, and he cut deeply, and surely, quickly exposing and removing its heart. Instead of holding the heart up, towards the moon, he touched it to the globe, which started to glow brightly while runes appeared, floating around it.

Too brightly, he realized. Far too brightly!

He whirled around, towards Bella.

"Protego Maxima!"

The dark witch stared at him with surprise when he grabbed her arm. She shouted in alarm when the globe behind him exploded and the night was turned to day. He managed to apparate away, taking Bella with him, right before his shield was shattered by a blast fueled with the energy gathered by the ritual.

Brief relief, then anger filled him. He had failed.

Harry woke up with a gasp, drenched in sweat and panting. He shuddered, hugging himself. That had been… terrible. He didn't know what would have happened if Voldemort had died with him sharing his mind. He didn't want to know, he realized - and immediately felt guilty for being happy that he hadn't found out today. That Voldemort hadn't been killed.

"Harry!"

He felt arms wrap around him, a body was pressed against his, blonde hair flew into his face… blonde? He almost pushed the girl away until he remembered that Hermione had dyed and straightened her hair as a disguise.

Hermione! He held her, buried his face into her shoulder and neck, until he had calmed down.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I should have thought of the time difference, and the full moon… " Hermione whispered.

He pulled back and shook his head. "No. It's not your fault. No one thought of it." She didn't look like she believed him. "Not even Dumbledore." That seemed to get through his girlfriend's guilt. Somewhat at least. So he went on: "I've seen Voldemort's ritual. He sacrificed another werewolf, but something went wrong, and he was almost killed."

As expected, that kind of information served to distract Hermione from her guilt, and he was soon facing questions that made him wish for a pensieve.

*****​

Sirius Black stared at Harry after he had finished recounting what he had seen during his 'vision'. To think his godson had to live through those evil rituals as if he was the one performing them… he shook his head slightly, trying to focus on something less nauseating. "Dumbledore needs a copy of those memories."

"I wish we had Hedwig with us…" Harry muttered. Hermione, sitting next to him on his bed, patted his arm. Sirius knew the girl had stayed at his godson's side ever since they had returned from Port Royal. It was just the two teenagers and himself - Dumbledore had been quite clear on the urgent need to keep Harry's connection to Voldemort a secret, and Sirius agreed completely. Even the cover story they had prepared, of Harry being a seer, wouldn't help much if Voldemort ever found out.

"We didn't take her with us for the same reason sending her back wouldn't be a good idea: She's too conspicuous," he explained. Sales of snowy owls had increased after Harry had gotten Hedwig, but it hadn't been more than a handful. The beautiful owls still stuck out wherever they flew.

"We could rent an owl here. Or maybe hire a courier," Hermione proposed. "We could even mail it through the muggle post. Though that could take a long time, unless we pay a lot. Which might draw attention to it. The police might suspect there are drugs in the package."

Sirius didn't know much about the muggle post or police, but a rented owl was simply not safe enough. "I can contact Moony on the mirror, he can call Dumbledore, but...." The two teenagers nodded. They knew as well as he did that it was the night of the full moon, and while Wolfsbane would ensure Remus didn't lose his mind, he couldn't exactly talk in his furry state.

"I think the secrecy is more important than informing Dumbledore right now. A few hours won't make much of a difference," Harry said.

"Alright." Sirius took out his watch to check the time. It was currently 8 PM, so that meant…

"The moon will have set in London at 01:39 AM Jamaican local time," Hermione stated, closing a small leather-bound notebook.

He frowned at her briefly, which didn't impress her at all, but made Harry smile, then leaned back in his seat, summoning a drink. "Thank you. So, almost six more hours. But Moony will need some time to recover, after he transforms back." The rum burned in his throat. Not quite fire whiskey, but close.

"Best call him in the morning. Our morning." Harry looked like he could use some time to recover himself.

"I think rest is a good idea..." Sirius started.

"There's one thing…" Hermione interrupted him. "That man who saw Harry's episode… he saw the scar bleed." The young witch bit her lower lip.

"You did vanish the blood spilled." That was the first thing he had asked, after they had gotten back to the villa. "With that taken care of, there shouldn't be too much of a danger. Even if the scar has been recognized, Jamaica is not exactly a friendly country for Death Eaters." Otherwise they'd have met up somewhere else with the Grangers.

"Yes." She didn't look like she was really agreeing. "Just… his expression, right before we apparated out…"

"Who was he, anyway?" Harry asked.

"The clerk called him 'Mister Blagrove', and was very afraid of him," Hermione added.

Sirius frowned. He really didn't want the kids to worry, but he wasn't about to lie to them. "He was probably a houngan."

"Aren't those dark wizards?" Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Technically, Britain considers them dark wizards. But as I told you before, Britain's definition of 'dark' is somewhat arbitrary. They once considered all of Jamaica's wizards 'dark', right after the island had won its independence from Britain. Relations were quite strained for almost 200 years." The animagus snorted. "If not for the distance involved, and the fact that by the time Britain was able to muster enough wands to have a shot at invading, the rest of the Magical New World was not friendly towards Britain either, there might have been another war."

"And we've come here for a vacation?" Harry shook his head.

"Relations improved a lot in the last 50 years thanks to Dumbledore," Sirius explained.

"'The History of the Magical New World' claims that as well, but doesn't go into details. It only mentions 'diplomatic efforts'." Hermione pursed her lips as she looked at Sirius.

The older wizard snorted. "He defeated Grindelwald. That scared the houngans into reforming some of their more questionable practises."

The muggleborn witch had an eager glint in her eyes. "What exactly did they do?"

"Do you know what zombies are?" He took another sip from his rum.

"In the Caribbean, it generally means people under the control of a wizard. Unlike the victims of the Imperius, they are reduced to puppets, almost like golems. They lose any will of their own, and any sense of self-preservation. Unlike the Imperius, it also requires a rare potion, though it is said that the potion can be used in a ritual using sympathetic magic, so it doesn't need to be imbibed," Hermione answered as if she was in a lesson at Hogwarts. "In Europe, 'zombie' has been used lately as a synonym for inferi, probably an influence of muggle horror movies, though so far that hasn't been proven. In the Americas…"

Sirius held up a hand before she could cover the American and Asian versions. "We're in the Caribbean, your first definition applies here."

"So the houngans used to create zombies?" Harry frowned. "What scale are we talking about?"

Sirius smiled. His godson had good instincts. The ICW wouldn't have cared about a few zombies. "A massive scale. My family was very interested in the Dark Arts, as you know, and they did some research in the 19th century. Which, incidentally, led to the end of one particularly curious branch of the family." He noticed the two teenagers staring at him, and coughed. Maybe he shouldn't have grinned when he said that. But he had seen the notes of their research, and their outlines and plans in the library. "According to what they found out, ever since their independence, the houngans have kept an army of zombies ready to be activated in case there was an invasion."

"An army of muggles. It wouldn't make sense using wizards for that, they couldn't cast spells as zombies…" Hermione trailed off, her eyes wide. "But how could they…. rituals."

"Exactly. Officially, zombies are hard to create, using a rare potion and some blood or hair from the victim. A bad thing, but, like the Imperius, more of a personal threat. Unofficially? There're rumors that with the right sacrifice, the population of entire villages can be turned into zombies."

"Bloody hell!"

"Language!"

Sirius chuckled. "Anyway, with Dumbledore defeating Grindelwald despite that Dark Lord's heavy use of inferi, the houngans realized that their main threat wasn't that effective anymore. And since Grindelwald had conquered a number of countries in Magical Europe, and invaded a few more, there was a movement in the ICW to act a bit more preemptively to prevent another such Dark Lord from rising. Jamaica wasn't the only country that suddenly felt like reforming. At least enough to not look like the home for the next Dark Lord who might try his hand at invasions."

"Why didn't anyone stop Voldemort then, when he started his first war?" Harry looked angry.

"Various reasons. By the time he went active, people had slid back into isolationism again. Most of the countries outside Europe, but a number of European ones as well, had never been really happy with the thought that other countries could meddle in their internal affairs. Unlike Grindelwald, Voldemort didn't push an international agenda. At least not openly. And since Dumbledore was opposing him, most probably thought he didn't need any help. So, when everyone realized that Voldemort was a threat to Dumbledore, many were too afraid to get involved - in case the Dark Lord won. And some certainly hoped that the two would kill each other off." Sirius shook his head.

"Great. We're facing a Dark Lord for the second time because people don't learn from history." It was hard to tell if Hermione was more offended by the lack of learning, or the Dark Lord, or so the animagus thought.

"Back to the matter at hand. If that was a houngan, what does that mean for us?" Harry patted Hermione's hand as he looked at his godfather.

"Well… it depends on the individual. Port Royal may be the capital of Magical Jamaica, with the Governor's Palace and the administration, but the actual power is held by the houngan leaders of the various communities." Sirius smiled apologetically at Hermione.

The young witch was looking very frustrated. "Why isn't that in any of the books I read? Does the Magical World have an aversion towards writing down the truth? It's the same with the laws and customs in Britain!" Sirius thought only Harry's hand on her thigh and his arm around her shoulders kept her from jumping up and pacing in frustration.

"Well, houngans also have a reputation of using dark rituals to deal with their enemies from afar. Most writers wouldn't want to chance offending them by spilling their secrets in public." Sirius's explanation didn't seem to help much in calming the witch down.

He decided to leave that task to his godson, as well give him the privacy needed for it. "I'm heading to bed now, so I can get up early and call Moony." Grinning, he winked and added: "The privacy charms will last for the night, and you won't be disturbed, so take advantage of that!"

"Sirius!"

*****​

"That impossible man!" Hermione huffed. She was still angry. At the Magical World, who let books be published full of false information, while the truth was only known to a select few. At the Dark Lord, for inflicting more pain on Harry. At Sirius, for inappropriate jokes. And at herself, for failing Harry.

Harry patted her back, smiling. "He means well."

The witch felt guilty again. Here Harry's godfather managed to cheer him up, and she was ranting about it. "Sorry. I'm just… the whole thing worries me."

"It worries me too." Harry pulled her in his lap. "But as Sirius said, we're still pretty safe. You heard what he said about the houngans fearing Dumbledore."

"Yes." She sighed. "But he also said the world thinks Voldemort is a match for the Headmaster. If this houngan thinks he can ally with the Dark Lord…"

"We don't even know if it was a houngan," Harry said.

"I think it's safer to assume it was." She shuddered. Zombies were worse than she had imagined.

"Well… if you want to learn sympathetic magic, you might need to meet a houngan." Harry ran his hands over her back in circles.

"Not necessarily." She had books, some very informative ones.

"Books alone won't be enough." Harry didn't have to add 'as we just learned today again'; both were thinking it.

She pouted. "They might be enough to learn the principles. I'll have to create a ritual anyway, it's not as if I could copy an existing spell."

"And adapting a ritual would be more work than creating one from scratch, without the arithmantic formula," Harry agreed. He was taking Arithmancy as well, after all, even if he was not creating spells outside class.

"Exactly. So, maybe avoiding the houngans is a better choice, all things considered." Apart from the personal risks, there was also the risk to Harry's reputation to consider. The Boy-Who-Lived having dealings with houngans wouldn't go over well in Britain, better relations in the last 50 years or not. On the other hand, this might be the key to saving Harry's life. The Headmaster had to know what she was planning, but hadn't said anything.

"I'd rather not deal with people who turn others into zombies. European or Caribbean."

"Yes." She'd rather not deal with them either. But she would, for Harry.

"At least we now know the Dark Lord makes near-fatal mistakes as well. Imagine if he blew himself up next time." Harry chuckled.

"It's too much to hope for, I think. He won't make the same mistake twice." Hermione wasn't a pessimist, just a realist.

"So…"

"So…"

She stared into his eyes. They were alone. Sirius had said the privacy spells would last - and they would, she knew them as well. And her parents were unlikely to disturb them. She leaned forward and kissed him. He responded enthusiastically. For a while, she didn't think of houngans, or the Dark Lord. Or anything but Harry.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort looked at his sleeping lover as he contemplated what had gone wrong during the ritual that had almost cost him his life. The orb that should have absorbed the power had failed to do so. But had the runes used on it been faulty, wrong, or simply not strong enough to handle it? He would have to craft a stronger orb. Or something else to absorb the power of the curse. The ritual would be useless if he couldn't use the power of the sacrifice, which meant he needed a way to store it temporarily.

He briefly thought about using it directly, but discarded the idea. He'd have to see his target, which meant the target would be able to see him, and probably disrupt the ritual. And sympathetic magic required a sort of link to the target - which could be very hard to acquire, at least for the targets worth the ritual.

No, a stronger vessel was the answer. Or a weaker sacrifice. But the curse was as powerful on a child as on an adult. At least that was the accepted wisdom. Maybe he should test that.

He ran a few equations in his head, then summoned his arithmancy and runes material, to start. It was late, or early, and he hadn't slept yet. But anything was better than remembering, or dreaming of, how close he had come to dying, no, to losing his body once more.

*****​

"'Mysterious explosion wrecks forest' - doesn't that sound like it should be handled by the Department of Mysteries?" Kenneth Fenbrick muttered when he and his partner, Bertha Limmington, had they left the office of the Head of the DMLE. It certainly didn't sound like a report, more like a headline.

Bertha raised her eyebrows at him. "We need to investigate it first, in case it's related to a crime."

He scoffed. "Why is it always us who get the freak cases? Why can't we get the easy missions, for once?"

His partner missed, again, that he had been asking rhetorically, and answered him: "It's your fault."

"What?" He stopped walking and stared at her.

"We got the first few of those 'weird cases' because you angered Bones." She continued walking, and he had to run after her.

"That's a rumor! A baseless rumor!" It was. He never hit on the witch! Wait… maybe that was why… no. Certainly not.

"Anyway, since we handled those prominent cases, we got more of the same. We're now considered experts for those kind of cases," Bertha said with the slightest hint of mirth.

"I knew it! I knew that working so hard was going to come back to bite us in the ass! But did you listen to me? No!" He wasn't a Hufflepuff, after all.

His partner chuckled at that, and Kenneth smiled. She looked cute when she smiled. Or laughed. Or did anything. He almost reached over, to pat her on the shoulder, but held back.

"Well, let's see what the Obliviators have left for us." He took a look at the map, and concentrated on apparating.

*****​

"That's… I wonder what the department for muggle-worthy excuses will make of this," Kenneth said while staring at the scene of destruction in front of him.

"Meteor strike," Bertha said, paying attention to the torn and burned remains of grass and brush near her.

"Seriously?" He looked at the felled trees, the razed clearing, the still smoking remains of trees smashed to kindling. "I guess it could fit."

"They'll drop some duplicated meteor material, and deepen the crater."

"What about the fact no one actually saw a meteor?" Muggles had better telescopes than wizards, or so he had heard. It wasn't as if many wizards cared for Astronomy. If not for a tradition dating back to the founders of the school, it wouldn't be a subject at Hogwarts.

"It'll be presented as a small one." Bertha started to walk towards the center of the crater, her wand swishing back and forth as she cast several detection spells.

Kenneth followed her, casting some spells of his own, but mostly looking around, trying to imagine how the area had looked before the devastation. "The explosion was reported an hour after the moonrise, right?"

Bertha froze for a moment, then nodded. "Yes."

"And there was a clearing here, nothing else?"

"I didn't find any remains of a structure. Apart from marble and silver fragments, but not enough to account for a house." She didn't ask what he was thinking, she simply stared at him.

"Full moon, silver… sounds like a ritual. Probably went wrong." It wasn't really original. It sounded too easy. But it would fit the facts. Apart from the sheer force unleashed here.

"It's possible." That was as close as Bertha would get to admitting he had a point without further proof.

Of course, there was one thing that would explain the devastation as well. "Do you think it was You-Know-Who's work?" The only other wizard he could think of able to cause something like this was Dumbledore. And the Headmaster didn't do rituals.

"It's not impossible." Bertha apparently didn't like the idea any better than he did.

"If it was him, we're unlikely to unravel this mystery."

"We'll do our best," Bertha stated, her attention on the ashes near the center of the explosion.

"Didn't you learn what happens when we do our best?" Kenneth pouted. She was ignoring him.

Grumbling, he went and looked for anything that wasn't a tree, or ashes. He didn't expect to find much.

*****​

Harry Potter woke up with his arms wrapped around Hermione. His girlfriend had her head on his chest, the blonde hair looking even lighter with the morning sun shining on it. He still wasn't used to her dyed and straightened hair. It just felt off. Un-Hermione, somewhat. Luna would have a blast making all sorts of remarks about them being lost cousins, or sisters though. He chuckled at the image.

"Harry?"

"Sorry for waking you up." He slowly withdrew his arms and interlaced his fingers behind his head.

"No problem. I should probably head back to my bed." Hermione lifted her head and stared at the secret door leading to her room. Secret from her parents, at least - Sirius had cast the concealing charms personally. Harry felt a bit guilty about hiding this from her parents, but it wasn't as if they'd had sex. The two of them had just slept together. They had come close to doing it, though. He nodded reluctantly.

She must have noticed, since she smirked at him, then straddled him and bent down for a kiss. He didn't remember pulling her lacy top off, nor how her g-string had disappeared, but they technically still hadn't had sex when she left his bed and room.

But they had come much closer.

*****

"I've called Moony, who called Dumbledore, who contacted a friend of his in Jamaica, who will visit us and take the memory to send to Hogwarts."

Hermione Granger looked up from her breakfast when Sirius stepped out of the villa onto the porch overlooking the pool, where they were eating. French breakfast, since the villa hadn't come with staff and Eugénie had cooked. Her mother had mentioned a few times that she'd cook, but so far she hadn't done anything. Which Hermione was glad for. She still wanted to eat a Jamaican breakfast though, even if they had to go out for it.

"Is that the one who arranged our visit here?" Harry asked while his knife buttered up a floating croissant.

"Yes, Julius Booth. Apparently an employee of the Jamaican Government." Sirius sipped from his tea - the most British part of the breakfast, brewed by Harry.

"Ah… do you think…" Hermione began.

"Yes," Sirius cut her off with a wide grin. "Dumbledore said he'll also answer questions."

Hermione pouted while the rest of the people present chuckled, even Harry! She didn't like being so predictable. She glared at her boyfriend, who kept grinning, and patting her thigh. The witch stuck her tongue out at him, but she was already wondering how she could ask their visitor discreetly about sympathetic magic. Once he arrived.

*****​

Hermione Granger tried to study their visitor without being obvious about it when Sirius led him to the salon where everyone but her parents and Eugénie and Laure, who were out at the local market, was waiting. Julius Booth was an old wizard, with thin gray hair, dark skin, and a weathered, clean-shaven face. He was wearing a white shirt and loose matching pants, made of linen - or made to look like it. One couldn't be sure with magic. The traditional vestment of Jamaican wizards, or so her book claimed. Not that she could trust it that much, as Sirius had demonstrated.

"Good morning, Mister Potter, Miss Granger, Miss Delacour, Miss Delacour." The wizard nodded to everyone. Of course he'd know their names already, having arranged their cover identities. "I hope you are enjoying your stay on our island, despite this… episode."

"Thank you, sir, we are," Harry said, nodding back. "We're grateful you've come so quickly."

"Of course. Albus impressed the importance of the task on me." Booth sat down and a cup of tea and a plate of sweets floated towards him. "Thank you."

Hermione saw Harry pull the vial with the memory of the ritual out from his enchanted pocket and hand it over to their guest. The old wizard took it, and Hermione saw his eyes widen a bit when he looked at it. Sirius had sealed it with some spell only he and Remus knew, but she didn't think that would surprise an old friend of the Headmaster.

Booth carefully put the vial into a pocket of his own, then took a sip from his tea. "I'll send it to Albus as soon as I'm back in my office. Officially, I'm here to discuss some immigration matters with you, so I will have to stay for a bit to keep my cover." He smiled warmly at Hermione. "I've been told a conversation about my country would be welcome to pass the time."

Hermione was too eager to learn more about the island to feel put out about yet another wizard - or two, counting the Headmaster - teasing her. "Yes, sir. I've found out that the books I've read do not tell the whole truth."

"That's no surprise," Booth said, nodding. "Jamaica's wizards have traditionally kept a lot of secrets. Even before the Statute of Secrecy went into effect, we've been in hiding."

"That was in the time of the Maroons, right?" She had read up on the muggle and magic history of Jamaica, and both featured those prominently.

"Indeed. After a schism occurred among the Haitian houngans, some fled to Jamaica and founded the Maroon communities, protecting escaped slaves in their hidden enclaves. At least that's the official history. Some claim that the escaped slaves were actually enslaved by the houngans." Booth put his cup down. "Though given our nation's traditions, many will take offense at such speculation."

"Violent offense?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Mister Potter." Booth pointed at his robes. "We Jamaicans are very proud of our roots as escaped slaves who managed to win not only their freedom, but their independence as well. We were among the first magical nations in the New World to ban slavery. That's also why you will not find any house elf on our island. Their bondage is anathema to us."

"What about retainers?" Hermione asked, before she could help herself.

"Ah, our official position is that it's not slavery, despite most of us knowing that that was where it originated from." The wizard took his cup, which had been refilled by the enchanted pot, and took another sip, smiling. "My personal opinion is that it is a bit too close to the bond between a houngan and their apprentices for anyone to dare taking offense at."

"Ah." Hermione nodded, letting the pot refill her own cup while she nibbled on a scone. "How old are those apprentices, usually?"

"It depends. Traditionally, they were chosen as children, and raised in the home of their master. These days, most are chosen during their school years, and begin their apprenticeship after graduating. Though whenever a student drops out, rumors appear that he or she has been apprenticed early. A result of the secrecy surrounding the houngans."

"That's the famous School of the Waves, correct?" Valérie asked.

Booth nodded. "Yes. Officially, it's the Caribbean School of Wizardry, but everyone calls it the School of the Waves. Or the School of Fog."

"Because it's inside a magic ship that travels around the entire Caribbean, hidden by magical mists," Hermione said eagerly, then jolted a bit when Harry poked her side. "Sorry," she mouthed towards him.

Booth didn't seem to have taken offense. "Indeed, Miss Granger. I was schooled there myself."

"They don't teach voodoo there though, right?"

Booth nodded, but his easy, warm smile faded a bit. "That art is only taught from one houngan to his apprentices, said to be sworn to silence and unconditional obedience." His eyes stared past Hermione for a second, unfocused, before he smiled again.

"Ah." That meant learning sympathetic magic from a houngan was no option. No wonder the Headmaster hadn't cautioned her against her plans. She didn't doubt that her oath to Harry would not allow her to swear another oath. It looked like she'd have to content herself with books and inspiration. To cover her disappointment - and relief - she asked: "Does that mean that the houngans choose their own successors from outside their families?"

"They say that magic, not blood will determine the heir," Booth said. "Though since I'm no houngan, I'm not in a position to verify how true that claim is."

Hermione cynically suspected that a rather disproportionately large part of apprentices came from a houngan's family. She didn't say anything, but Booth's smile seemed to indicate he knew what she was thinking, and she thought he might share her opinion.

"How much influence do the houngans have on the government's policies?" She saw Sirius frown, and Harry tense up, and knew she might have made a faux-pas. But the Headmaster had let her know she could ask questions, hadn't he? His friend wouldn't take offense, would he?

Booth kept smiling, though he sounded a bit self-deprecating. "They are listened to when they make suggestions, due to their experience and knowledge. Of course, sometimes they seem to disagree among themselves about the best course of action, which can cause a bit of a tricky situation for our governor."

"Ah." So, as Sirius had said, the real seats of power were the houngan enclaves. Despite the refreshing egalitarian attitude towards muggleborns and the fact that the government and parliament was democratically elected, Jamaica didn't seem to be that much better, if at all, than Britain for an ambitious muggleborn witch to live in.

Well, she could still enjoy her vacation. And she would. Although… "We saw a wizard in the shop. The clerk called him "Mister Blagrove..." She saw Booth's smile vanish, and his grip on his teacup tighten. "Is he a houngan?"

"A rather well-known one, yes. One of the youngest houngans of Jamaica. His Master passed on unexpectedly a few years ago. He has stayed away from politics, mostly, so I haven't had much contact with him, but there have been rumors… he's not a man many dare to cross." Booth looked at Harry. "Do you think he recognized you?"

Harry coughed, his hand touching his forehead. "I think he might suspect something, at least. I wasn't exactly inconspicuous."

"I doubt he will risk doing any harm to a protégé of Albus," Booth stated. Hermione couldn't tell if he believed his words, or not. "If you meet again, be polite and respectful, and you should have no trouble."

Harry nodded. Hermione didn't think it would be that easy - it never was, in her experience. She held her tongue though.

Harry and Sirius asked a few more questions, mostly about broom flying spots on the island - of course, apart from Hermione and her parents, everyone here was obsessed with flying - but the old wizard soon checked his watch, then bid them goodbye. Dumbledore was waiting for the memory, after all.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore withdrew from his pensieve, his mind full of the ramifications of Harry's memory. Dear Julius had come through again, after arranging for the villa and cover identities. Maybe now he'd consider them even for Albus saving his family so many years ago. The old wizard shook his head. Julius probably wouldn't. Not that it mattered that much, the two were friends. But it would have been nice to be friends without that hanging over them.

He sat down behind his desk. Tom had failed in his ritual. That was good news. But on the other hand, it was now clear what he was doing: The Dark Lord was creating a new ritual. A very dark one, from what he could tell - sacrificing a werewolf under the full moon meant the curse, one of the strongest the Magical World knew, was being tapped into. If Tom managed to harness that kind of power… the preliminary report he had gotten from Amelia was quite clear on the power of that mysterious explosion. The aurors hadn't found anything else but marble shards and some silver though, and, having seen the memory, he doubted they would. The magic unleashed would have wrecked any signatures, and probably rendered most magical detection spells useless. Muggle means might work, but he already knew what had happened. On the other hand, it might serve to cover up how he knew what happened.

Albus sighed. He couldn't tell what exactly the Dark Lord was planning, not with just the record of two sacrifices, and two attempts, one successful, to channel the power of the ritual.
He hoped that the Dark Lord would be forced to proceed more cautiously, and therefore more slowly after his near fatal mistake. If that ritual needed to be performed under the full moon, then that would limit him to one attempt per month. And yet Albus feared it wouldn't slow down Tom enough. The Dark Lord was a brilliant wizard, after all. He had been a prodigy, his talent obvious even as a child. If only he hadn't turned to the Dark Arts...

He could only hope that an old man's experience, another young prodigy's talent, and a brave boy's prophesied power would be enough to defeat Tom. At least their foe had no access to a computer, to speed up his Arithmancy. That might be the edge they needed to beat him.

*****​

"You know, if we have to expect such a scene each full moon, and have to keep it secret, people might think you've become a werewolf."

Harry Potter looked up from where he had transfigured his sandals into flippers and stared at Hermione. "Do you think so? They do not seem to suspect Remus."

"Most students think he's hunting werewolves during the full moon, trying to avenge his family. A few girls think it's sooo romantic." Hermione shook her head, her expression showing clearly what she thought of such notions.

"Merlin!" Harry was both appalled that some girls thought losing one's family to a monster was romantic, and grateful that so many apparently didn't suspect Remus's secret.

"Well, using the time differences, you can be seen in the moonlight in Bulgaria, before the moon rises in England. That should prevent such rumors from cropping up."

Harry sighed. "Hopefully." He picked up his flippers. "Are you ready?"

Hermione nodded, grabbing her own flippers and goggles - both transfigured from sandals and a hairband, unlike Harry's goggles, which had been specifically made with lenses to correct his sight. One of those days he'd give contact lenses a try, but enchanting them was tricky due to the need to place runes on them - a very difficult, if not impossible task for such tiny, transparent things. Maybe after the war, when they had more time to spend on such tasks...

This time Laure acted as a guard above them as they dove into the water from the small Zodiac. Harry oriented himself quickly and waved to Hermione to follow him. His girlfriend had been talking about enchanted earplugs to communicate underwater, but nothing had come of it. No one seemed to have thought of it, and she hadn't had the time to do it herself. Harry wasn't disappointed - he rather liked the silence under water. It was peaceful. They still could touch their Bubblehead Charms together, if they wanted to talk. Harry rather liked how close they needed to be for that to work too.

Beneath them a few colorful fishes fled from their shadows. Hermione would know what species they were, Harry didn't care much. He knew what was dangerous underwater, that was enough. And those fishes weren't.

He dove deeper, towards the wreck of a ship - or rather, a boat - that they had seen earlier, from the air. A crab was making its way over the reef nearby, seemingly ignoring him and Hermione. A few more fishes sped away to hide among the corals. A manta ray seemed to eye him before continuing its path. Harry and Hermione followed the big fish for a while, then turned away, swimming towards the wreck again.

As they neared it, he spotted something golden floating in the water, behind the hull's remains, and almost rushed towards it before he realized it wasn't a snitch. Maybe Hermione was right when she said he was taking Quidditch too seriously. It looked like… strands of hair?

Then a head popped up, a girl's face, with gills. A siren!

Hermione was a few meters to his right. He slowly swam towards her, not leaving the siren out of his sight, until he could touch his girlfriend and point her at the creature. He thought he heard her gasp through the water.

For a while, they stared at each other, not moving other than to keep in place. Then the siren swam up and towards them. Unlike the merpeople in the Black Lake, she looked like a human girl with a fishtail instead of legs. As far as he knew, sirens were the result of magical chimera experiments, like centaurs. And as touchy about anyone bringing that up.

The siren stopped about three yards in front of them, cocking her head and smiling, showing a row pearly white teeth that looked just a bit off. She seemed to be a bit younger than Harry, if she aged like a human, and was only wearing some decorative pieces of coral and shells on her human half. He waved at her, slowly, and smiled in what he hoped was a friendly way for sirens. Hagrid had been talking about threat displays, and showing teeth was often part of that, but the siren didn't look threatening, despite showing her own teeth. Maybe that was the human part of her heritage.

She waved back, and he could see the webbing between her fingers, then she swam around the two of them, faster than they could move, before she started touching and poking them, apparently amused by their appearance. He glanced to Hermione. His girlfriend was staring, and trying not to squirm when the siren's hands ran through her hair.

"Hello," Harry spoke up. He didn't know if she could hear or understand him, but it seemed silly not to say anything.

The creature turned towards him, and said something he didn't understand. It didn't sound like Mermish, at least it wasn't as high-pitched. He pointed at himself. "Harry."

Hermione followed his example, or so he thought - he could hardly hear her through the two bubblehead charms.

The siren giggled, pointed at herself and said something equally unintelligible, then darted forward, tapping Harry on the head, then sped away, stopping and looking over her shoulder after about 20 yards.

Harry understood, and gave chase. The siren was far too quick and nimble to be caught though, even with him and Hermione working together. Until he cast the supercavitation spell. Then it became a high-speed game of tag, mostly between him and the siren - Hermione was a bit too cautious when using the spell to tag either of them often.

Harry didn't know how long they had been playing, only that it had been less than an hour, since his spell hadn't run out, but the game ended when the siren suddenly cocked her head, as if listening to something, then pouted before smiling, bowed to them - sort of - then waved and swam away, towards the deeper waters.

Harry and Hermione waved back, then returned to the surface themselves. Harry was smiling widely - this vacation was turning out to be perfect, even with his episode during the full moon!

*****​

Vincent stepped in front of her, and was hit by the curse meant for her. He turned around slowly, and she saw his ruined chest, broken ribs poking through shredded skin, blood gushing out where his heart had been. "Your fault!" he said, blood spewing from his mouth, as he staggered towards her. "Your fault!"

Pansy Parkinson woke with a gasp. That nightmare again. Vincent dying, and blaming her. The witch sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, shivering. If not for her enchanted night clothes, she'd be drenched in sweat, or so she thought. She closed her eyes, and tried to think of something else, anything else, than Vincent's death.

No one blamed her for it. At least not to her face. Greengrass and Davis even called her a hero, for saving Davis. Their families did it too. Her and Greg. And Vincent. A hero! She snorted. She wasn't a hero. She had just done what a good Slytherin would have done! Seen an opportunity, and used it, while saving herself! Vincent had been a hero. A damned, foolish, dead hero. He was supposed to be a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor!

Why had Vincent done that? Why had he stepped in front of her? Had he thought his shield would protect him? Had he hoped she'd owe him her life? Or had he known what he was doing, what he was risking?

Would he be alive if she had not stumbled on the Death Eater and frozen in surprise? Or if she hadn't taken Draco's place?

Was it her fault that he had died?

Pansy shook her head almost violently. It was the fault of the Death Eaters! They had attacked the Express! They had killed the students! Even the pureblood Slytherins!

She ground her teeth. The Dark Lord wasn't supposed to do that. He was supposed to attack mudbloods and blood traitors. Do what's needed to make Britain strong again. To restore the Old Families' power. That was what Draco had always said.

But Draco had been an idiot. And she'd been an idiot for believing him. No one who wanted to restore the Old Families' power would attack the children, the heirs, of those families. Nor would he stoop to using werewolves, and other dark creatures. She'd heard her mother blame Dumbledore, for failing to protect the children under his care. And the Ministry, for arriving too late. For being fooled by the Dark Lord's spies. And she had seen how afraid they were of losing her.

That was what the Dark Lord had been after, she realized. Fear, and loss of trust in Dumbledore and the Ministry. That was what the students had been killed for. What Vincent, had been killed for. They had been mere means to an end. Tools to be sacrificed, like chess pieces.

Pansy hissed, clenching her jaws together until it hurt. She was no piece to be moved around, to be sacrificed for anyone! Damn the werewolves! Damn the Death Eaters! Damn the Dark Lord!

Rage filled her. So much rage and pain, she wanted to lash out, to hit something, anything.

When she noticed that the glass on her nightstand was shaking, as was the bookshelf next to it, she forced herself to calm down. She hadn't suffered an episode of accidental magic since she had received her wand. She'd not start now.

She was a pureblood witch, and she would act like it!

And she'd train harder than ever. With Greg and anyone else who didn't want to be a sacrifice for the Dark Lord.

*****​

Henry Blagrove sat in his favorite chair, on the balcony overlooking his garden. Next to him stood a servant, with a tray of fruits and his favorite drink. As all who served him and his family in the house, the man was completely under his control, unable to even move a finger without an order - Henry's servants wouldn't be as easy to manipulate as his predecessor's.

His grandchildren were playing under one of the palm trees in the garden, but he wasn't looking at them, or at anything. He was thinking about Harry Potter. Who'd have expected that the Boy-Who-Lived would be taking a vacation in Jamaica? Or that his disguise would be broken by a curse, right in Henry's presence? It was clear that the spirits had wanted this to happen.

What wasn't clear was why they had wanted this to happen. Was he supposed to help the boy dealing with whatever ritual magic was hurting him, indebting Potter and by extension Dumbledore to him in the process? Or was he supposed to use the opportunity to forge an alliance with the Dark Lord Voldemort? Either option offered a lot of possible rewards, and risks.

Dumbledore owing him a favor would strengthen his position on the island. Just being seen on good terms with the old wizard's protégé would make his rivals wonder what his relationship to the Supreme Mugwump was. They'd be cautious, and would be less likely to move against him. The Boy-Who-Lived was a contact to be cultivated in his own right. Despite his young age, he was a Basilisk Slayer, the winner of the Triwizard Tournament, and of course the slayer of the Dark Lord Voldemort. He'd certainly leave his mark on Britain. And his retainer was interested in voodoo. Yes, there was quite the potential there. Although from what his contacts told him, Lucius Booth had visited the boy already. Booth was Dumbledore's wand on the island in all but name, and might have dealt with whatever curse had afflicted the boy already.

On the other hand, if Voldemort won he would be Dumbledore's successor. The one to be feared. And while he was not as trustworthy as Dumbledore, he'd be in need of allies among the International Confederation of Wizards. Someone who helped him during the current war in Britain, and then offered support - discreet, but substantial - in international affairs could gain a lot. But then, how likely was Voldemort's victory?

The Dark Lord had been defeated once already. Whether it had been the Boy-Who-Lived, or his parents, it hadn't taken Dumbledore to do the deed. And from what he could tell, the Dark Lord wasn't doing well in the current war either. His attack on school children smelled of a desperate tactic. To attack children was to attack a country's future. That wasn't the mark of a good ruler.

No, he didn't think the Dark Lord would prevail. But was the possible gain from helping the boy worth the risk should the Dark Lord end up winning despite the odds? Dumbledore wasn't getting any younger. Although he had been Flamel's favorite student. And The Alchemist wasn't getting any older…

He took a sip from his drink, and levitated a fruit to his hand. Decisions, decisions. Not doing anything would be the safest course of action, but to let such an opportunity slip through his fingers didn't sit well with him. And might anger the spirits.

*****​

Hermione Granger put down the notes she had been taking - from a rather dry treatise on the speculative origin of the "Ravenous Cold", but quite informative - and looked out at the sea. Not a single cloud was in sight, the sea was calm, she could spot a few bright white sailing yachts near the horizon, on one of them would be her parents… it was a sight straight out of a tourist ad. A tropical paradise. And it was real.

The young witch stood up and stepped out on the porch, transfiguring her summer robes into a bikini and a sunhat, then stretched in the sun. Valérie was sitting at the pool, resting from her latest 'therapy session'. A faint whooping sound drew her attention to the sea, where Harry and Sirius were practising crazy stunts on their brooms. She shook her head, then looked back at the veela, who had a faint look of longing and hope on her face. Justified hope - she was, if not healing, then at least adapting rather well. Hermione expected her to be flying again soon.

Walking over to the pool, she summoned her sun tanning lotion and her favorite towel. Valérie greeted her with a smile while the towel settled itself over the chair next to the veela. "Finished with studying for today?"

Hermione nodded. "For a while at least." A flick of her wrist had a dollop of lotion spread over her skin, and another changed her bikini's fabric so there wouldn't be tan lines, then she sat down next to the veela.

The young witch remembered last summer, at the Côte d'Azur. She had been so insecure, with her and Harry surrounded by all those veela. Jealous too. She glanced over at Valérie. She still was jealous. Sort of. But she wasn't insecure anymore. Harry loved her. She loved him. And neither oath nor life debt mattered.

She closed her eyes, removed the hat and enjoyed the sun for a while. After all the stress of the last year, and the horror of the attack on the Hogwarts Express, this vacation was shaping up to be perfect. Even, she thought with a twinge of guilt, the absence of their friends was perfect. It let her spend a lot more time alone with Harry. Especially in the evenings, and nights. She smiled at the memories.

Then she frowned. The two of them were still holding back. Waiting. What for? His birthday? Her birthday? The start of their sixth year? Equinox or solstice? Some sign from the gods, or magic itself?

Hermione scoffed. This was between her and Harry. Magic wouldn't influence it.

*****​

Harry Potter looked up from the book he was reading on his bed when the secret door connecting his and Hermione's room opened. She was coming over, as usual since the full moon, for some snogging, and petting. His girlfriend was wearing a sheer white camisole top, and matching panties, as he could see when she turned to close the door.

He watched as the witch slowly walked over to him, hips swaying, a smile on her face. Lessons from Valérie, he thought. And he grinned when he saw that she was forcing herself not to ask what he was reading, or to try to sneak a glance of the pages.

"It's a book about the tactics of Grindelwald's Storm Wizards during the war, written by Peter Rockhurst, a British hit-wizard who fought them," he said showing her the spine.

"Ah." Hermione climbed on the bed and straddled him. She didn't ask if she could read it when he was done. Or if it was any good. Instead she started kissing him right away. He didn't mind.

When they broke the kiss, both were panting, and his hands had slipped under her top. "Do… do you think your parents suspect what we are doing?" Sirius had told him enough stories about angry parents of his past conquests to worry about such things.

Hermione ran a hand through his hair, the other resting on his chest. "Yes. Mum asked me what wizards used for contraception when we arrived here. Since then neither she nor dad have said anything."

They hadn't said anything… that meant they hadn't said anything against what the two were doing. And Sirius clearly (and sometimes loudly) approved of it. Anyone else didn't matter.

He pulled her top off, then kissed and caressed her again. A bit later, her panties had vanished, as had his shorts, and both were flushed, and sweaty. It was time to stop before they went too far.

"Tonight we're not stopping!" Hermione said, as if she had read his thoughts, then pushed him down on his back and stared at him.

He met her eyes for a moment, both of them panting. She looked determined, but also nervous. Then he nodded, and pulled her down on him.


Chapter 43: Temptations
 
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Chapter 43: Temptations
Chapter 43: Temptations

The next morning Hermione Granger wasn't certain how she should feel about having slept with Harry. The romance novels she had read - mostly in secret - made a big deal about losing one's virginity. So did the gossip in the girls' dorms. According to those sources, she was now a woman. And a unicorn would shun her now.

She didn't feel that differently. She felt satisfied, in more than one way, at having done it. She was even proud, both for having been the one to initiate it, and for having done it when she chose to, and not when anyone else thought it would be appropriate. And while it hadn't been the mind-blowing, magical moment some novels described it as, it had been very satisfying in the end. Certainly a memory she would cherish for the rest of her life.

Though she did feel a bit guilty as well. She had been a bit pushy - though Harry hadn't seemed to offer any resistance. And she had sort of, maybe, left her parents in the dark. Though they had at least given their implied consent. Still, she wouldn't exactly blurt out 'We've done it!' at breakfast. Unless anyone asked.

Unicorns hadn't mattered in her life before, not counting that time right after she had read 'The Last Unicorn', so she didn't see how their opinions should matter at all.

She would, she decided, simply go on as before. Well, she added mentally with a smile as she looked at the dozing form of Harry, sprawled out next to her on the bed, mostly as before. She was quite certain they'd not stop or hold back as they had before, from now on.

And she was looking forward to it. Very much.

*****​

Harry Potter woke up with a weight on his chest. A by now familiar weight - Hermione's head, cocked to the side. Contrary to other mornings she was awake already, and smiling at him, close enough so he could see her clearly without his glasses.

"Good morning." The young witch was smiling widely at him while she brushed some of her currently straight hair back behind her ear.

"Good morning." He flicked his wrist and felt his wand slide into his hand, then summoned his glasses. As he slid them on he cast his usual Sticking Charm on them. Between quidditch, pranks, and hexes in the hallways, it had been one of the first spells he had mastered.

For a moment the two looked at each other without saying anything while their smiles grew. Harry was searching for something to say. Something that wasn't utterly cliche or would cheapen last night. He wasn't having much success. 'I wish you had had your natural hair' wouldn't be appropriate, or smart.

"So…" Hermione stared at him.

"So…" he trailed off, then glanced at the secret door to her room.

She had noticed, and twisted a strand of her hair around her finger while she bit her lower lip. "Do you want to keep this a secret?"

"Not really. That would feel wrong. But announcing it would feel wrong too," Harry said, reaching out to put his hand on hers. It would feel like bragging too.

"Then we don't do either. We just act as usual," Hermione said, nodding emphatically.

"Alright."

They could do that.

*****​

At breakfast, Harry found out that they couldn't.

"You look quite tired. Did you have a wild night?" Sirius greeted him as he arrived at the table on the porch.

"Of course," Harry answered, trying to sound deadpan and sarcastic. "We didn't actually sleep that much."

Judging by the way Sirius's eyebrows rose, the young wizard hadn't succeeded. Hermione blushing slightly when his godfather whipped his head around to study her didn't help, of course. He could see the moment when Sirius realized they had had sex; the wizard's eyes widened, and he was gaping for a second, before he whooped. "You really did it!" Then he apparently remembered where they were, and blinked. "Oops."

Harry wanted to hex him very much right then.

He might have, if not for the reaction of Sirius's girlfriends.

"Vraiment?"

"'ermione!"

"Ohhh!"

"Raconte!"

The four veela clustered around Hermione, squealing even, and started to bombard Harry's girlfriend with rapid questions, half of them in French, while he and the others at the table stared at them in surprise. Harry's French wasn't that good, but from what he understood, they were asking quite intimate questions about last night. Hermione's expression, a mix between shock and embarrassment, seemed to support that assumption.

Hermione's father coughed. "Well… what is planned for today?" Then he blinked, and cut off Sirius before Harry's godfather could make what would have almost certainly been a lewd remark. "I mean, do we visit Port Royal?"

"I'd love to visit the sunken town. Or not quite sunken town," Hermione's mother chimed in. After a glance at Sirius, who was now staring at them, she added. "Really, it's quite a normal for teenagers to have sex. We expected this for a while."

Harry thought she sounded a bit too nonchalant, but he'd be the last to point this out. Nonchalance was good. "I think we can visit during the afternoon," he ventured, with a glance at the the four French witches. They appeared to have calmed down, and Hermione's face had started to return to her normal color, but they seemed determined to grill her in private after breakfast.

"Oh, I have to tell Moony! He owes me ten galleons now!" Sirius grinned and took out his enchanted mirror.

"You bet on when we'd have sex?" Harry blurted out. He shouldn't have been surprised, really, but still…

"Of course!" Sirius flashed a wide grin at him, then started to call his best friend through the mirror.

Well, Harry thought, it was better than his godfather asking him for details. Or trying to give him pointers.

*****​

"Dear Ron…"

Ron Weasley threw the parchment on the table. He had read the letter from Padma twice already. She was in India, visiting family. She couldn't tell him more because her parents feared for her and her sister's safety.

He pushed his chair away from his desk, enjoying how the backrest adjusted when he leaned back. The cushioning charms were holding up as well. Who would have thought he'd actually get something useful out of the homework he had to do during the vacation?

His amusement was short-lived. He didn't expect Hermione-length letters from Padma, but something more than what amounted to 'the weather and food are fine' would have been nice. Especially after he had written a rather long letter. For his standards, at least. A rather personal letter too.

The redheaded wizard sighed, closing his eyes as he slowly spun around with his chair. What really ruined his mood was that he was actually sort of glad Padma had written that letter. It made him feel less guilty about having caused her to be obliviated. And about planning to break up with her.

He had thought a lot about it. About them. About Padma. He liked her. She was smart, she was pretty, she was nice. And she liked him. Or had liked him. And for a while, it had been great. But it hadn't been great for a while now. Padma… he didn't really understand what had changed. She hadn't been as jealous at the start of their relationship as she had been at the end of the last year. Not even when her sister had hit on him. She had liked hearing about Parvati's attempts at flirting with him.

He didn't understand why she had changed so much that she'd be jealous of Parkinson. As if he'd ever get together with a girl like her! A Slytherin to the core, and Malfoy's ex! Ron shook his head at the idea. And yet Padma had been so worked up about the snake after each session of the Hogwarts Self-defense Club, they often had a fight afterwards. Ron didn't want a girlfriend he fought with so often. Did that make him a lazy wizard?

He didn't know. He did know though that there was another reason for breaking up with Padma. The Ravenclaw witch didn't really fit in with his friends. It wasn't that they clashed - though Padma was jealous of Hermione as well - but he was the best friend of Harry and Hermione, and they had bigger problems, much bigger problems, than worrying about who was going out with whom, or who was best in class. Padma probably hadn't really understood that until the attack on the Express.

And if he was honest with himself, then he had to admit that he didn't think she could handle it. Or she'd have written a different letter.

He sighed. It looked like he'd start the Year of Exploration as a single wizard. A year ago, he'd have been happy. But a year ago, he hadn't had a girlfriend yet. Hadn't known what he would be missing. What he was already missing. Though he didn't know if he was missing Padma, or just a girlfriend.

He stood up and pulled out his shrunken broom. Maybe flying a bit would help him clear his thoughts.

*****​

"What did you and the Delacours talk about?"

Hermione Granger looked around before answering Harry's question. Her parents were still studying the Governor's Palace of Port Royal, and the animated statues in front of it that were depicting and reenacting the island's history. Though, as she understood, the history was presented in a more than slightly edited version. Laure and Chantal were nearby, but currently talking to - and probably getting propositioned by - a few locals.

"Sex," she finally said.

"Sex?"

She didn't think Harry should be as surprised as he sounded. "Yes. Apparently there's a tradition of talking about your first night among the French. Or at least among the French witches of the Delacour family." The British witch was still a bit doubtful with regards to the exact age of that tradition - the four veela had been living with Sirius for close to a year now, after all, and the man loved his pranks. Although the talk had been far more informative and comforting than what she'd have expected of a prank.

"So, you've discussed us with them?" Harry sounded almost apprehensive, and she saw him glance towards the two veela with them.

Hermione shook her head. "No. We talked about sex in general."

"Ah."

His relief was obvious, and irked her. Did he really think she'd do that? "They did have a lot of advice though."

"For…?"

"Yes." And that was all she was saying. Let him steam on that a bit. "What did Sirius say?"

Harry flinched a bit.

"That bad?" Hermione knew Sirius rather well, after several years, but he still managed to surprise her - for good or ill - regularly.

"Just very enthusiastic. And he had a lot of advice as well." Harry was staring at the slight shimmering barrier that surrounded the town and marked the end of the displacement effect that protected it from muggle eyes and lifted it above sea level.

"Well, that was to be expected. He had a lot of advice for you and me for years." Mostly of the inappropriate kind, Hermione thought.

"Yes. And he has a lot more."

"Anything good?" Hermione quipped before she could help herself, then giggled at Harry's gaping expression.

Her boyfriend shook his head, but he was smiling. "We can share the advice later."

"OK." More knowledge wouldn't hurt, after all.

"Now let's visit the ghost ship!" He slipped his arm into hers and started to steer her towards the pier ahead of them.

"It's not actually a ghost ship, you know," Hermione said while they were walking along the pier. They couldn't actually step on the ship, alas. "Just a haunted former pirate ship."

"Close enough," Harry answered, then grinned at her disapproval.

"It's more than just a haunted ship, Miss Granger."

Hermione's wand shot into her hand even while Harry moved in front of her - his wand already out and pointed at the man who had surprised them. The houngan who had surprised them, she corrected herself while dread filled her. Blagrove. He hadn't appeared from nowhere, but neither she nor Harry had recognized him until he had spoken - they had just seen a random passer-by.

The man seemed not to be concerned about Harry's wand, or hers. Or even those of Laure and Chantal, who were approaching quickly. He pointed at the ship. "It's actually a national treasure. Or a myth, if you prefer. The 'Ellen's Fortune' was originally a pirate ship whose crew had flaunted the Statute of Secrecy in the first half of the 18th Century, preying on muggle shipping with the aid of magic. The British Ministry managed to bring her up after a hunt that lasted for years, and had her crew executed at this very spot. They planned to use the ship themselves, but the ghosts prevented that. Before they could be exorcised, the War of Independence began, and to the British Ministry's surprise, the ship and her crew proved very helpful for the Maroon forces, providing essential support for the siege of Port Royal. She became the island's flagship after the war, and has held that position ever since." With a grin, the man added: "She still sorties once per year, but of course the Statute of Secrecy as well as muggle shipping are quite safe from her now." Hermione realized he had a very faint British accent, something she hadn't noticed during their brief first meeting.

"That's very interesting," Harry stated, lowering his wand. He was right, Hermione thought, even if he didn't mean it. "I'm very sorry for drawing my wand on you, but you startled us, sir," Harry added while he holstered his wand. They were in public, after all, and Dumbledore's friend had been quite clear on how to treat the houngan. At least she had felt the familiar tingle of a privacy spell.

She stuck her own wand back into its holster and stepped a bit to the side, to her usual spot slightly behind Harry, before she remembered that she wasn't in Britain. Smiling politely, she stepped forward, next to Harry. "After the recent unpleasantness in Britain, we're a bit nervous."

Blagrove nodded, smiling graciously. "All too understandable." He nodded towards the two veela, who were close enough now to have entered the range of the privacy spell. "My ladies Delacour." At least Hermione's parents were keeping their distance. "I apologize for startling you, but my curiosity overcame my manners."

A peculiar wording, Hermione thought. Had this been a sort of test? He obviously knew a lot about them already. For a moment she wondered if he had spied on them last night, then dismissed that notion. The wards on the villa had been too strong for that.

Harry must have shared her thoughts, since he spoke up. "Let us consider the matter over then, Mister Blagrove."

Blagrove smiled, flashing perfect teeth at them. "Of course. I trust you feel better after your recent accident, Mister Potter."

"It was nothing to be concerned about. Just a little mishap." Harry smiled, though Hermione knew it was forced. As was her own smile. Her worst fears about Harry's vision were coming to pass; the houngan had not only recognized Harry, he was also interested in him.

"I wouldn't make light of such an event, Mister Potter. Such magic can be very dangerous." He smiled again, friendly, but with a warning, or threatening undertone. "Julius is a capable wizard, but he's no houngan. He's not privy to the kind of magic you seem to be dealing with. Or seeking."

Hermione had to struggle not to shiver when Blagrove's gaze fell on her with his last words.

"But you are." Harry took a small step towards her.

"Yes, Mister Potter. And I do not think that it was mere coincidence that you suffered such an episode when we met for the first time. It was a sign." Blagrove wasn't smiling now, but staring at them. "Though this is not the place for such a discussion," the man added, almost casually, without elaborating further.

He was fishing for an invitation, Hermione realized. She didn't know if that was reassuring - meeting him under their own wards would grant them quite an advantage - or if inviting him would place them in more danger. Though she was quite certain that spurning the houngan was dangerous.

Harry must have come to the same conclusion. "Might I invite you to our temporary home, Mister Blagrove? Tomorrow evening, maybe?"

"I'd be delighted, Mister Potter." The man was beaming at them.

Hermione felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

*****​

Henry Blagrove was in a good mood when he apparated back to his home. Not because of the invitation by the Boy-Who-Lived. That he had expected. It would have been terribly rude, after all, not to invite one of the de facto rulers of the island, and the boy was anything but rude.

No, Henry was in a good mood because the boy had, so far, lived up to his reputation. He also had quick reflexes, courage enough to face Henry, as well as both decent training in combat and the knowledge when not to use that. Quite impressive for someone so young, but then - he was the Boy-Who-Lived, and Dumbledore's protégé.

In other words, the boy was worth the trouble of getting involved in that mess in Britain, even if only on the sidelines. And his girl was showing some promise as well - from what his contacts had gathered, she had shown remarkable potential in spellcrafting. She was very skilled already.

Even if the two turned out to be disappointing upon further testing, Henry meeting them in public - his privacy spells hid their words, nothing more - would have ensured that no one of his rivals would be contacting them for fear of provoking Henry, even though they wouldn't have recognized the boy yet. Preventing any other houngan from making inroads with Dumbledore's protégé was a success in itself, and well worth setting up the meeting at the pier.

On the other hand, whoever was cursing the boy was likely to notice him as well. Since Potter was still alive, it couldn't be a houngan. At least not one of importance. Maybe an apprentice who had managed to flee his master, and was now serving Voldemort. Most likely from Haiti - the houngans there were not quite as diligent with controlling those they taught as the Jamaicans were.

If he played his cards right Henry could both indebt Dumbledore to him, for saving the boy, and his fellow houngans, for preventing Dumbledore from blaming them for the actions of some stray apprentice.

And, maybe, get another apprentice as well.

Unless allying himself with Voldemort turned out to be more profitable.

*****​

Sirius Black was in a very good mood. Ecstatic, even. Or as close to ecstatic as he could get, without a nude woman in his arms. His godson had done it! All of Sirius's efforts in making those two loosen up some had finally paid off! Harry and Hermione were no longer wasting time dancing around each other, they were having sex! His godson was a man now! He could teach him so many things at last!

If only James and Lily could see their son and his girlfriend… Sirius sighed, melancholy replacing his joy. Their deaths still hurt, even after all those years. Damn traitorous rat! He sat down on the closest chair on the veranda and stared out at the sea, trying to remember the good times with his friends.

"You seem rather sad for a proud godfather." Valérie's voice interrupted his attempt to recollect what exactly the Marauders had done to earn themselves a full month in detention in their fourth year. It had involved the showers in the quidditch locker room, he was certain of that, but the rest was hazy - lost in Azkaban, like so many others of his memories.

He smiled at the witch, and leaned back in his seat. She accepted his unspoken invitation and sat down in his lap. "I'm just thinking of the reaction of Harry's parents," he said, holding her.

"What would they say?" She rested her head on his chest.

"James would be proud, and boasting. We'd be drinking together. Lily … Lily would have known what they were going to do beforehand. Probably before Harry even. She was just that smart."

"Like 'ermione?"

"Somewhat. Lily was brilliant, like Hermione." Less prude though, now that he thought of it. Ah, the 70s… "But she was better with people. Hermione's a bit… reserved."

"Mh."

He raised an eyebrow at her even though she wasn't looking at him. "You disagree?"

"I'd call 'er discreet, not reserved."

"Ah. Your talk." His imagination ran wild for a bit, until Valérie poked his side.

"You talked to 'arry."

"I did!" His godson had even listened, more than usual, when Sirius had gone into detailed advice. At least for a while.

"Good." She leaned back against him and shifted her weight a bit around.

The two sat in silence for a bit, watching the azure sea. Two seagulls were circling above the beach, looking for food. Sirius knew Valérie was staring at the birds with longing.

"I think it's time for your therapy," he said while squeezing her hand. It wouldn't do to slack off, not when she was getting so close to being able to fly again.

"I guess so." Sighing, she stood up and stretched. Once again Sirius was tempted to ask her to delay.

But he simply watched as his girlfriend concentrated, as feathers appeared and wings sprouted from her back, one well-formed, perfect as her human form, the other slightly crooked, and darker in spots, missing some feathers. Her robe adjusted automatically to her new body - not that the few scraps of fabric floating around her needed much adjustment to start with.

Sirius cast a few cushioning charms, earning him a slight glare. If Valérie had been in human form he knew she would have pouted.

"That's not too encouraging," she said, with the slight screeching undertone of her transformed form.

He smiled. "Habit."

"As long as you stop doing it once I am 'ole again…"

With that she started to flap her wings, sending grains of sand and even a few small pebbles flying away from her spot. Sirius could see how she was straining, fighting her own, maimed body. Earlier this week he had mentioned that according to Harry, she might have already been flying if she had taken a running start, and used thermal updrafts to help her… Valérie and her cousins had been quick and vocal, very vocal in pointing out that 'gliding was not flying'. Apparently, they had known what Harry had meant.

Now the French witch was sort of hopping, jumping up, then touching the ground again, despite her wings working hard. But each time her jumps lasted longer. It still wasn't flying…

And then Valérie jumped, and didn't get back down. Instead she was climbing, circling above the pool, into the sky.

For a moment, the animagus stared, almost frozen. She had done it! She was flying! Then he pulled out his broom, unshrunk it, and mounted it to join her in the air.

Sirius caught up to his girlfriend above the sea, where she was chasing the seagulls they had seen earlier. The poor birds were screeching in panic, even though they were easily evading the still clumsy bird-woman. Valérie herself was screeching in joy, diving at the birds, then pulling up and gaining more altitude before repeating her 'attacks'.

He stopped his broom, and simply watched her play in the wind. Could this day get any better?

Of course, that was when Valérie overdid it and failed to pull up, doing a credible imitation of a seeker who had fallen for a wronski feint, straight into the sea. He dove after her, concerned - she hadn't been that high, and hadn't been going that fast, but still…

There she was! Resurfacing, scowling and sputtering - she had transformed back - but alive and healthy! He stopped near her, and reached down to give her a hand.

Maybe he shouldn't have grinned quite so widely at her predicament. He saw her expression change into a smirk, and before he could react she had dispelled the Sticking Charm keeping him on his broom and pulled him into the water.

He hadn't felt as happy in a long time as he did right then, splashing into the Caribbean Sea. His girlfriend was flying again, and pranking him. And his godson was a man.

And he had great fun hexing the seagulls, after Valérie told him they were laughing at them.

*****​

"You did what?!"

Harry Potter, sitting on a couch in the villa's salon with Hermione, winced at the volume of Sirius's shout. "I invited Mister Blagrove, the houngan we talked about with Mister Booth, to the villa tomorrow evening."

"Why? That man's dangerous!" Sirius stood before him, hands gesticulating wildly.

"That's why I did it," Harry responded. "It was obvious that he was expecting an invitation, and I suspect he'd have felt insulted if I hadn't invited him. And I don't think insulting one of the rulers of the island is a good idea. Or safe." He met his godfather's gaze until the older wizard sighed and sank into one of the armchairs in the room.

"Merlin's balls, Harry! A houngan! They don't like British wizards. At all."

"Even if they do, Booth claimed that they still fear Dumbledore and won't anger him," Harry said.

"Unless they're allies of the Dark Lord," Sirius shot back.

"If that was the case, wouldn't he have done something when he saw us at the pier?" Hermione added.

"Houngans have a reputation for avoiding open battles, instead striking with curses from afar." His godfather hissed through clenched teeth.

"Not counting the zombie attacks," Harry responded - he had done his homework, after all. "And if he plans to curse us from the safety of his enclave, why would he want to visit us?"

"He needs a link for his magic. Blood or hair, usually." Sirius stared at him. "You aren't missing either, are you?"

Harry shook his head.

"I've vanished all his blood when he had his vision." Hermione leaned into him, a comforting presence at his side.

Sirius closed his eyes. "Damn it! Why did we pick Jamaica as a vacation spot?" He blinked, then narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "That was Dumbledore's recommendation. He said it was safer to meet the Grangers here. His friend arranged everything…"

Harry felt his girlfriend tense up. He wrapped his arm around her waist in response.

Sirius was looking from Harry to Hermione and back. "Did you expect this meeting?"

Hermione sighed, then answered: "I didn't, though I suspect the Headmaster took the possibility into account."

Sirius stood up and stared at the witch so intently, Harry fought the urge to step in front of her and shield her with his body. "What's going on? What are you planning with Dumbledore that you would meet with a houngan?"

Hermione took a deep breath, but Harry spoke before she started to explain: "They're looking for a way to remove the thing stuck in my scar without killing me." He felt a pang of guilt when Sirius paled and collapse back in his seat.

"Merlin! That's …" the older wizard trailed off. "Dumbledore thinks it'll take this?"

Hermione nodded. "We've been working on ways to deal with it. Sympathetic magic is one of the more promising options."

Sirius stared at the witch, and Harry could almost see how his godfather figured out what the plan was - the animagus was looking at Hermione as if she was a houngan. The young wizard pulled her into his lap in response, and glared at his godfather until the man smiled weakly in apology.

"We'll do what's needed," Hermione said.

Sirius rubbed his face, then nodded. "Of course."

Harry felt another pang of guilt. Those two would do anything for him, pay any price. Even if he would do the same for either of them, he didn't feel as if he was worth it.

The three remained silent for a while.

"We still need to prepare for this 'neighbourly visit'," Sirius finally declared, breaking the silence. "Even with Dumbledore's reputation protecting us, we'll have to make sure our visitor can't get his hands on any hair or blood or other link from any of us. Nor get the opportunity to tamper with our food." He sighed. "That won't be easy."

"We'll layer detection spells on all of us, to prevent him from sneaking any control potion in. And we'll have to clean the house of any of our hair and blood." Hermione said. "Bathrooms and beds especially," she added, with a slight blush.

"We could place some blood and hair, from a dog maybe, as decoys," Harry proposed. "Just in case he tries something."

"Good idea!" Sirius nodded approvingly. "Prank the houngan, sort of!"

Harry knew his godfather didn't really think this was a prank, but anything that helped lift their mood was welcome.

*****​

"Do you think I'll be next?"

Pansy Parkinson looked up at Greg's words. The two of them were studying in her family's house, and doing their homework. Or pretending to do it - she hadn't actually turned a page for the last 10 minutes. "Next?"

"To die," the boy said. Most would have missed the slight fear in his voice. Pansy though knew him better than most. "Draco died, killed by the Dark Lord. Vincent died, killed by a Death Eater. I'm the last one left."

Pansy gasped, then shook her head emphatically. "No, you won't die! And you're not the last. Did you forget me?"

Greg blinked, then nodded, smiling faintly, and returned to reading his book, apparently reassured of his survival. "Thanks."

Pansy closed her eyes. He trusted her. Probably with her life. She didn't deserve that kind of trust. No one did. She didn't want that kind of trust. She didn't want to worry about him.

And yet she did. And hoped fervently that she hadn't just lied to Greg. The boy had taken Vincent's death even worse than he had taken Draco's. As soon as their parents had allowed it, he'd come visiting her. Her parents thought he was consoling her, being a good friend. Offering support to their distraught daughter.

They didn't know him. He had lost his best friend. He might not show it, but he was hurting a lot more than she was. He needed her help more than she needed his. Sighing, she closed her book. "Let's practise some."

She didn't have to elaborate. Greg knew that when Pansy said 'practise' she meant 'dueling'. They had been practising a lot. And they'd train even more. The next Death Eater attacking them would rue the day he joined the Dark Lord.

*****​

Hermione Granger cast another cleaning charm on the salon table. She, Harry and Sirius as well as Valérie and Chantal were waiting for their guest. Her parents were on another day trip, with Laure and Eugénie to keep them safe. She didn't want to find out the hard way that the houngans didn't consider her muggle parents part of Harry's family.

Not even Sirius made a joke about her constant casting - everyone was all too aware of the reputation of houngans. And everyone was nervous as well. Harry was pacing, Sirius was fidgeting in his seat, after he had sniffed around as Padfoot for any traces of blood left, Valérie was fussing over Sirius and Chantal was checking the villa's borders and wards.

Or rather, she was setting down outside the salon. "Someone apparated nearby," the veela announced, before taking off again - to meet the visitor.

Harry took his seat next to her, wearing his best robes - his safest, most enchanted ones. As was Hermione herself. Though they'd still have to buy new robes. For Nymphadora's wedding, and for their sixth year. The first year they wouldn't have to wear the old school robes. She'd need some time to enchant them as well.

Then the door opened and she focused on their guest. Mister Blagrove was wearing the same robes he had been wearing yesterday - they looked like rough and simple white trousers and a shirt. Traditional garb for a Jamaican wizard, and apparently, a houngan as well. He was alone. Hermione wasn't certain if that was a sign that he didn't mean them any harm, or simply showed how confident the man was. Or that he didn't want them to see his usual entourage.

"Welcome Mister Blagrove. I offer you the hospitality of my home." Sirius was greeting the man with all the ease and grace expected of the head of one of the Old Families hosting a guest in his - if only temporary - home.

"I accept your hospitality, Mister Black," the houngan said, bowing with a smile.

Hermione relaxed. Only slightly though - while attacking one's host was heavily frowned upon in the Magical World, it wasn't quite unheard of, and she suspected that later using sympathetic magic through a link obtained as a guest might not be covered by that custom anyway.

"You've met Chantal Delacour already. This is her cousin, Valérie, both dear to me." The two veela bowed, greeting the man while Sirius introduced them as his girlfriends, or mistresses. Jamaican custom was not as strict about the exact status of one's lover as Britain.

"Good afternoon, sir." Harry was slightly less graceful as he bowed in greeting - he had been raised by muggles, after all, though he had had nearly five years of practise now.

"It's an honor to meet the famous Boy-Who-Lived."

"My girlfriend, Hermione Granger."

With the veela being as charming as expected, Hermione felt a bit like the ugly duckling of the family, with her own bow coming off a bit stiff - she was used to being the retainer at Harry's back in such situations, not his… girlfriend. Blagrove didn't notice, or rather, didn't show that he had noticed.

"The pleasure's all mine, Miss Granger." He bowed as deeply as he had bowed to the others, even if he had a glint in his eyes.

They took their seats around the low table, Valérie summoning a few snacks and an assortment of drinks to choose from, and they - mostly Sirius - made some small talk for a while, until Chantal and Valérie excused themselves to 'fly a bit'. Hermione knew they weren't happy about it, but even Sirius had agreed - after some arguing - that since Harry's 'condition' had been mentioned by the houngan, it was best to keep the talk as private and secret as possible.

Once the two veela had left, Blagrove raised one eyebrow, and Hermione thought his smile was looking rather more ominous than easy-going. "I take it your girlfriends are not interested in more serious matters."

"They're a bit flighty," Sirius answered with a grin. Hermione was too tense to glare at him for his joke.

The houngan nodded at the wizard, though the muggleborn witch couldn't tell what he really thought. "I trust you have been informed about my offer."

"You offered to help with the cause of my 'episode'," Harry said, leaning forward.

"Indeed I did." Blagrove touched his fingertips togethers. "Someone is affecting you from afar, through a link. It's obvious."

"We gathered that." Harry said.

"And you suspect sympathetic magic behind it," the houngan stated, with a nod towards Hermione. "Hence your purchases in that shop."

Hermione dug her fingers into her thigh as she realized that the man didn't know what was happening - he had to suspect a voodoo curse. Harry's secret was still safe.

"And the link works through your scar." The Jamaican pointed a long finger at Harry's forehead. "Through the famous mark left by the Killing Curse." The eager expression on his face made Hermione want to hex him.

"That is what we suspect, yes," Harry said, skirting the truth a bit.

"Which means Voldemort is behind this attack. Or rather, one of his followers with a rudimentary understanding of voodoo. For if he was a houngan, you'd be dead already." The man grinned smugly. "Fortunately, I'm not such a dabbler, so it should be rather easy to deal with this threat."

The houngan was getting rather close to the truth, Hermione thought nervously. And he was entirely too happy about the whole situation. Sirius seemed to share her opinion, judging by the way he tensed up. If he had been in his dog form, he'd have probably growled.

"Do you offer to kill that wizard?" Harry asked.

"It's the most effective way to ensure your safety," Blagrove claimed. "And your girlfriend's safety. You'd not be the first man controlled from afar and forced to kill his loved ones," he added casually.

Hermione put her hand on Harry's thigh, gripping it. She knew that while Harry could keep a lid on his temper very well, threatening his family, and especially her, would rile him up.

"A generous offer," Sirius cut in. "Though I expect you'd need to use Harry's scar yourself, to 'deal' with that unknown wizard."

"You'd be correct, Mister Black."

"Which would mean you might be able to use that link yourself, afterwards." Harry's godfather leaned forward. He had still a polite smile on his face, but his eyes were cold.

"Not necessarily. There are ways to protect him from any such attempt." Blagrove's smile faded a bit.

"Ways a houngan would be needed for as well," Sirius stated.

Their guest nodded.

"That seems like far too much power over me to grant anyone, much less a stranger. No offense meant, sir." Harry smiled at the man, though Hermione could see and feel his tension.

"None taken." The houngan's smile grew stronger. "It's a legitimate danger, after all - alliances, even friendships, can change, or end."

"Well, I think we'll have to decline your generous offer then." Harry bowed his head. "I'd rather be dead than a slave. I'm sure you'll understand that, given your country's history." Hermione didn't know if she should resent Harry for that comment, or not. It struck a bit too close to her own situation.

"Of course I understand. That's why I'm offering you an alternative. I could teach your girlfriend ways to deal with this threat." He stared at her, that chilling smile on his lips again.

Hermione lifted her chin in response. "Are you offering to teach me voodoo?"

"As you no doubt know, that would require oaths you'd not be willing to swear. But I'm offering to teach you sympathetic magic. As you no doubt know, houngans are the experts at that kind of magic. And our knowledge is not to be found in books."

Hermione bit her lower lip, hard. To learn what she needed, from a houngan… She knew he had ulterior motives - he had to, given his reputation and position. Anyone who had the knowledge that she needed would. She looked at her boyfriend. He didn't like it, she knew. Had known as soon as she had heard the offer. She shouldn't like it either. But this could be the best way to save Harry. And the knowledge he was offering her…

She heard Harry whisper a curse, then he looked away. He knew just as well as she did that they needed this.

*****​

Henry Blagrove kept smiling politely, not showing just how pleased he was with the meeting so far. Miss Granger would be accepting his offer. To help her boyfriend, of course. But also because she craved the knowledge he offered. He had taken her measure.

"We accept your offer to teach us about sympathetic magic, sir," the girl said. Prim and proper, as expected. He glanced at Black, whose face betrayed none of his emotions. Henry hadn't expected anything else - the man was the head of one of the Old Families of Britain. His young charges were not quite as skilled in hiding their emotions though.

The houngan looked at the Boy-Who-Lived, whose face betrayed his reluctance for a moment, before the young wizard nodded his agreement. Henry didn't miss how the witch frowned, briefly, in response. The girl didn't like to require the boy's permission for such agreements. Didn't like to be under his power. Others might have missed it, but Henry understood the feeling very well - he had been an apprentice for decades, forced to do his master's bidding, until he had finally managed to break the bindings. And his master. He knew all about facades, and resentment, and the urge to become free, to be your own master.

"We have an agreement then." He held out his hand - to the boy, first, which had the girl's eyes narrow for an instant again. He had a firm grip. Henry turned to the girl, and they shook hands as well.

"Where will we be instructed, sir?" The witch asked. She was eager, and a bit desperate, Henry thought.

"I would offer my home, as befitting a teacher, though I think your guardian would agree that this house would serve better." He glanced at Black, who nodded.

"I think that would be best."

Henry graciously nodded. Of course, the Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't be visiting Henry's enclave. Not with that scar of his offering someone a way through his wards. While the wayward apprentice working for Voldemort was no threat, a more skilled houngan was another thing. "Have you studied the books you purchased already?"

The witch nodded. "I did, though the contradictions between the books and sometimes inside the same book make forming a coherent model of their content a bit difficult. Even though the basic concepts are the same - some parallels to quantum mechanics, maybe - the details vary greatly, and the descriptions of the rituals seem to be more hearsay than actual observations." She was about to continue when the boy stopped her with a not so subtle touch, and whispered something into her ear. She blushed. "I'm sorry, I got a bit carried away."

Henry smiled indulgently. "Don't be. It's refreshing to see such enthusiasm from a foreigner. Most seem to fear our traditions, a result of many centuries of ignorance and tales told by our enemies." And of experiencing the power of the houngans. The British had many reasons to fear their magic. "Please continue."

While the girl rambled on, Henry used the opportunity to look at the boy's scar again, his interest hidden by his glasses' enchantments. He longed to properly examine the scar, but that was clearly out of the question - at least for now. Maybe the boy would come to trust him enough… Even so he had been able, thanks to the other spells on his glasses, to study the scar somewhat. And even the glimpses he had managed to catch were very interesting.

The scar was said to be the result of the killing curse, but Henry doubted that. It felt more like soul magic. Similar to certain gris-gris. Maybe it wasn't a wayward apprentice working for Voldemort, but that dark wizard himself, trying to work his dark arts through the scar? The man could have easily visited the Caribbean in the past, and gathered some of the same books the girl had purchased. Enough information to start him on that path, but not enough to master it.

Maybe Voldemort had not tried to kill the boy, but to control him, and whatever ritual he had tried had backfired? If the wizard had attempted to duplicate the voodoo ritual Henry was thinking of without proper instructions, such a failure was very likely. Of those who tried to delve into the secrets of voodoo without a master, many met such a fate - the spirits did not react well to what they perceived as slights.

And yet, the ritual, if that had been it, had not entirely failed. A link had been created. A soul had been touched. A skilled practitioner of the arts, such as Henry himself, might be able to build on that foundation.

Once the girl had reached the descriptions of rituals in those books, Henry held up his hand. "There's no need to go over those. You were correct in suspecting that those authors never observed an actual voodoo ritual." They would have been killed, if they had, or bound. "They might have observed a muggle ceremony, at best. In any case, if it's agreeable, we could start the lessons tomorrow, in the afternoon. You will not be staying too long on our island, after all."

The witch nodded, then glanced at the boy.

"Alright." Mister Potter's agreement was slightly less enthusiastic, and obviously prompted by the girl. Interesting.

Henry was looking forward to discover more about the boy's relation to the girl. And about his scar. So much potential, there. He knew now why the spirits arranged this meeting.

*****​

"... and they agreed to have daily lessons with the houngan in the rented villa."

Albus Dumbledore nodded when Remus had finished his report. "Thank you, Remus."

"Did you expect this to happen? Sirius thinks so." His Defense Teacher seemed to suspect this as well, judging by the way he held himself.

The Headmaster smiled gently. "I considered the possibility, though I did not expect Mister Blagrove to take an interest." Which would require some investigating.

"Why would they need to learn voodoo?" Remus didn't quite spit the word out, but his scowl made his opinion of that particular magical tradition clear. "I somehow doubt he's under such a spell."

"He is not. And they're not learning voodoo. Just sympathetic magic." An important distinction, Albus knew. At least for the public.

Remus narrowed his eyes. "From a houngan. He'll not exactly teach them ways to heal people from afar."

"The reputation of houngans in Britain has been a bit colored by our history with Jamaica. And a few sensational articles in the Daily Prophet." He flicked a lemon drop to Fawkes, who gobbled it up.

"There's enough truth to the reputation though, behind the legends."

Albus couldn't contradict that. Remus had always been among the most studious of his year. "I trust Harry and Miss Granger not to be lured down that particular path. Sirius will be keeping a close eye on them as well."

"I still don't see the need for those lessons. What… Merlin!" Remus stared at him. "You plan for them to use that to strike at the Dark Lord?"

He was, in a certain way, though that was not something Remus needed to know, even if the teacher suspected it. "Harry is vulnerable to this kind of magic, and understanding it better will help with protecting him. The Dark Lord has studied the Dark Arts extensively, and I am quite certain he at least looked into voodoo." The Headmaster was quite certain that Voldemort never tried to learn voodoo too. Tom would never have paid the price the houngans required to teach their magic.

"Why don't you research it then?" Remus asked. "You're the one he fears."

"He is not the only one who fears me. I am afraid, but the odds of any houngan teaching me anything are rather small." His actions in the past, those very few knew about, had ensured that.

"And the odds of any houngan teaching Harry, despite knowing how close you are, are better?" Remus scoffed.

"Yes, as your own missive proves." Albus smiled at Remus as if the other wizard was still a student asking difficult questions in class.

"The houngan will try to manipulate them. Do you trust the kids and Sirius that much?"

"Yes." He had been keeping an eye on the two children for years, after all.

Remus shook his head. "I don't like it. And Sirius doesn't like it either."

"I am quite certain that neither Harry nor Miss Granger like it." And yet they'd do what was needed. As would Albus. "I am in contact with a friend on the island. Mister Blagrove knows that as well." The man was no fool, after all, or he would have never become a houngan. And he would know the price for hurting the children. The Headmaster changed the topic. "You said Miss Delacour managed to fly again, without the help of magic?"

Remus nodded. "Yes. Sirius was overjoyed. That was before he knew about the visit."

"Remarkable. To think muggle means overcame a curse effect!" This would require further studies.

"Hermione's parents claim it's a simple matter of the body learning how to compensate. If the damage done to her wing had been just a bit worse, it wouldn't have helped."

"Ah. Still, it is a remarkable feat." And it gave him a few ideas about how this could be adapted for magical healing. He'd have to check with a friend at St. Mungo's one of those days to see how feasible his ideas were. Once he had the time.

If not for Remus's presence, Albus would have sighed. So much to do, so little time…

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort examined Steinberg's latest work while the wandmaker hovered nearby, fidgeting and waiting. It was better than the wands used in the attack on the Hogwarts Express, but it wasn't perfect yet. Probably not even good enough.

"Has it been tested?"

"Not in actual battle, my lord."

Voldemort was tempted to order a test. Curse fodder going against each other, with a prize to motivate them. But he couldn't afford it. He hadn't the manpower to spare for such. He could launch another raid, of course, but that would put even more wands at risk.

He shook his head. "The wand is still too difficult to master." Not for him, or for Bella. But the kind of scum who needed those wands to stand a chance against veterans? They were not strong enough to withstand such a wand's influence for long. Not used to wield such power.

"Reducing its strength further will reduce its power, my lord."

"Find a way around that!" He had a few ideas himself, but since he wasn't a wandmaker, he couldn't tell if they were feasible. But with how slowly the work on the ritual went, due to the need to have a full moon to test it, there would be ample time to test several possible ways to improve the wand design.

And enough time to expand the number of Wizengamot members cursed with lycanthropy.

And deal with the Boy-Who-Lived.


Chapter 44: Sympathy
 
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Chapter 44: Sympathy
Chapter 44: Sympathy

"Sympathetic magic is, in essence, a way to affect the whole through a part of it, no matter the distance between them. It's a way to target a curse."

Hermione Granger nodded to Blagrove's words as she made notes. She already knew that, of course, from the books she had read, but it wouldn't do to interrupt the houngan when he had been the one to offer to share his knowledge. A dicta-quill was transcribing the entire lesson, but she always learned better if she made notes of her own.

The witch had been torn between anticipation and dread while waiting for the man to arrive. Even though the houngan might be her best hope to save Harry, she didn't trust him too far. Neither did anyone else of their family - as before, they had removed all traces of blood and hair from the villa, though they had skipped the decoys. But they hadn't stopped there, but gone far further. She almost glanced at the corner again, where Harry's cloak hid their guardian. If the houngan tried anything to hurt Harry, he'd be stopped. So far he had not tried anything.

"Some claim that this is possible because even cut off, dead, a body part retains an echo, an imprint of the soul, and this is what links them together."

Hermione almost gasped, and only managed not to stare at Harry by focusing on her notes. This was very close to what she was hoping to achieve. But if the secret got out...

"That is blatantly incorrect. Sympathetic magic works on animals and buildings as well - both lacking souls."

That Hermione hadn't known. The books, and the tales always spoke of humans being controlled or killed from afar, never buildings. She wondered how wards on a building affected such a spell cast at it.

"For the same reason, the claim that blood is the key to sympathetic magic is wrong. The importance of blood for magic is vastly overrated anyway." Blagrove scoffed. The very faint British accent she had noticed before was now a bit stronger. She wondered where the Jamaican had picked this up - had he been in Britain, in his past? Was there more behind this statement about blood than magical theory?

"No, the key to sympathetic magic is that anything and everything is made up from small parts, all which have at least one thing in common, and that by affecting those small parts, you affect the whole. This idea, this concept, is what defines sympathetic magic. The link is not physical, but ideal."

Hermione almost raised her arm, as if she was at Hogwarts. She didn't want to speak out of turn, after all. Blagrove must have noticed her expression, and nodded at her. "Sir, if the link is not physical, why does sympathetic magic need a physical object to work?" All the books agreed on that.

"The physical object is needed as the target for the curse used with sympathetic magic. Without anything to be affected, no spell will take effect."

Hermione nodded - she should have known that. She heard Harry cough and mutter "Semantics" under his breath.

"That's the concept. The actual execution is very difficult. It requires a ritual." Blagrove met her eyes and she thought she saw a hint of amusement in his polite expression. And a challenge.

She raised her chin slightly in response.

*****​

Henry Blagrove smiled while he watched the two teenagers scribe runes on parchment. The girl was as quick a study as he had expected - and hoped - and the boy was, if not quite as quick, not much of a hindrance. As far as teaching them sympathetic magic went. He was a rather large hindrance for recruiting.

Not that Henry had serious plans to recruit the witch, no matter her potential. Or perhaps because of her potential. She would not make a good apprentice, always chafing at her bonds and quick to question instructions. Like Henry himself had been. And probably willing to employ any means to break free from her master. Like he himself had been. And had done. He'd rather not end up like his old Master.

No, trying to turn her into an apprentice wouldn't end well.

He turned his attention to the Boy-Who-Lived. The only wizard who had survived the Killing Curse. It was no wonder the boy had attracted the attention of the spirits. Both Papa Ghede and the Baron were interested in a wizard so tightly tied to death and the Dark Arts. Henry knew that from personal experience.

But what were the spirits' goals? The obvious assumption was that Papa Ghede had protected the child from dying before his time, stopping the Killing Curse, and that the Baron had resurrected the Dark Lord who had cast that very curse. Were Potter and Voldemort just pieces of a match between those two spirits?

Or was it more complicated? Should the boy have died in his crib, and the Baron had intervened, prompting Papa Ghede to revive the Dark Lord to do what he had been prevented from? It was unlikely, but not impossible that the parents of the boy had made a deal with the Baron, to save their son, sacrificing their own lives as payment.

If only he could examine the scar! He was certain that this was the clue he needed to unravel this mystery. The scar was not the result of a mere dark curse, that he knew - it was seeped in soul magic. And death. If he knew the scar's secrets, he'd know what the spirits wanted. And he'd know which spirit he'd help.

But he couldn't. Not without starting a fight. And while he was quite confident that he'd win against the boy and his guardians - unless that scar was hiding even more secrets and power that he assumed - the boy was under Dumbledore's protection. Henry had no illusions what would happen if the Supreme Mugwump arrived on the island because of his actions. His fellow houngans would cast him out, some would even attack him, just to placate the vanquisher of Grindelwald.

No one had forgotten what had happened to Brandon Whyte and Teresa Manley, forty years ago, and to all their apprentices.

But if Henry didn't do anything, he'd anger at least one, maybe both spirits. And he suspected that limiting his lessons to sympathetic magic wasn't enough to placate either Papa Ghede or the Baron.

He might have to resort to something houngans only did in dire need.

"I think that's enough for today. Study those runes some more, and consider the sacrificial aspects of the ritual. We'll go over it again tomorrow."

*****​

Harry Potter sighed with relief when Blagrove had left the villa. "I don't like that man."

His girlfriend nodded, after a second. "He's a good teacher, but…"

"He's up to something," Harry stated.

"We knew that already when he offered to teach us. No one does that without some ulterior motive." Hermione collected her notes - which were covering the salon table as well as the dining table.

Harry handed her the parchment from the dicta-quill which was still floating near them. "Is it worth the risk?"

Hermione nodded without hesitation. "Yes. This ritual we're learning should let me learn enough to design my own."

She sounded confident, but Harry remained sceptical. "Voodoo is supposed to be a secret art, only those bound by oaths able to learn it."

"Technically, it's not voodoo he's teaching us. Just sympathetic magic."

"Which is a central part of voodoo," Harry countered. It was what made the houngans so scary to most wizards, after all.

"I'd say the central part of voodoo is the religion," Hermione sat down on the couch.

Sirius and Valérie returned after having escorted their guest to the door. Or rather, Valérie returned with Padfoot, who was wandering around with his nose on the floor.

Harry blinked. "Are you playing sniffer dog?"

Padfoot bopped his head and barked once, then went back to what looked like a slightly chaotic search of the room.

"Is he actually trying to 'sniff out treachery'?" Hermione sounded as sceptical as Harry felt.

"He's trying to find anything our guest might have left," Valérie said, taking a seat at the now cleared dining table.

"Yes," Sirius said, having transformed back into a wizard. "I'd rather not have him drop a pebble, and then curse it with voodoo."

"I do not think that would work… the wards might not be able to protect the pebble, but they'd stop the curse from affecting anything else." Hermione frowned. "Though…"

"Could you enlarge and then transfigure a pebble into an animal, and take control of it?" Harry asked.

"I doubt that you can split the effect up like that. Though you could probably turn the pebble into poison, and enlarge that - but you'd do the same to the part in the ritual circle, next to you.." Hermione bit her lower lip in that familiar way that told Harry she was thinking hard about ways to get around what she had just said.

"We are already able to deal with poison," Sirius said. "I'm not too worried about possible voodoo attacks, I simply want to know if he left us anything we don't know about."

"Listening spells?" Harry threw out.

"Privacy spells would still protect us." Sirius shook his head. "Don't get too hung up on voodoo. Using voodoo to duplicate normal spells doesn't make them more powerful, or able to break through defenses - unless you're directly targeting a wizard through his blood."

"Technically, it's sympathetic magic, not voodoo," Hermione added, earning an eye rolling from the animagus.

Harry sat down on the couch and pulled her on to his lap. "So, did you find a sign of treachery?"

Sirius looked at him, probably trying to decide if Harry had been mocking him. "No. But I still don't trust the houngan. This ritual may look harmless, but could be a trap. We need to be very careful there."
"The greatest danger is Voldemort finding out about this link," Harry said, tapping his index against his scar. "Blagrove already thinks there is a link. If he is working for Voldemort, or with him, then he'd have informed him of that already."

Sirius nodded. "I doubt he'd dare angering Dumbledore without support from Voldemort."

"I'll still go over what we learned, and see if there's something we have missed," Hermione announced, standing up and spreading out her notes on the salon table. "Just because it's unlikely doesn't mean it's impossible."

Harry sighed. It looked like a long evening. And a long week, or two - not exactly what he wanted his vacation to end up like. Then he felt guilty at thinking such selfish thoughts. She was doing this for him, after all. They all were doing this for him.

He tried not to show just how much this weighed on him.

*****​

Sitting in the kitchen, holding a mug of tea, Paige Caldwell felt like blowing something up. Or ripping it to pieces. Or someone. Specifically, Wilbur Burke. That arrogant, disgusting, grabby scumbag represented just about everything that was wrong with male werewolves. Nothing in the head but sex, barely able to wield a wand, and the views of an animal.

He was easy on the eyes though, and if he tried, he could be very charming. So charming, she had fallen for him, and bedded him the very night he had arrived in the flat she was sharing with Umbridge. A decision she had regretted in the days since. Very much.

"Hey, sweetcheeks! Still sulking?"

Paige turned her head slightly and glared at Burke. The man smirked, then leered at her bare legs, and went to raid the fridge for breakfast - in his case, raw meat. And the full moon was still weeks away. The witch shook her head. The only good thing about the man's presence was that Umbridge wouldn't enter the kitchen as long as he was in there - though after two days, Paige had started to prefer the other witch's company to Burke's. And that said more than anything else just how disgusting that man was.

But his presence was required - and ordered. The next target of their group to be cursed, Wizengamot member Ethan Hathaway, prefered wizards to witches. Paige and Umbridge were just tasked with introducing Burke to the old wizard, they wouldn't have to sleep with him. It didn't do much to make her feel better - the next full moon, she'd likely be required to spread her legs for the Dark Lord's goals again.

She gripped her cup tightly, almost crushing it. As satisfying as it might be, in theory, to curse those bigots who were responsible for the plight of werewolves, she had signed up to fight, not to whore herself out. She was better than this. She would not remain a whore.

She noticed that Burke had stopped smacking, and was staring at her, almost warily, before he grinned cockily - though it looked a bit forced. "Hey… if you want some meat, I'm always in a sharing mood."

She realized she had been growling, and scoffed at the weak double-entendre before standing up without another word. In the living room, Umbridge was sitting on a seat. Burke had been sleeping on the couch since his second night here, and Paige was rather certain the other witch hadn't touched it much less sat on it during that time. The two exchanged a glance, Paige glaring at the door to the kitchen, rolling her eyes, Umbridge sneering, though more at the door than at Paige.

She sat down at the table and summoned the Daily Prophet. No news worth reading, mostly speculation, gossip, and some article about the war that said nothing with a lot of words. Paige growled at the picture of the Minister addressing the Wizengamot, and smirked when the figure tried to leave its frame.

Then she sighed. She was getting bored as well, waiting for Burke to leave. Hoping the next full moon would arrive quickly was a novel experience for Paige, and not one she enjoyed.

*****​

Henry Blagrove stared at his garden without really seeing it. He couldn't tell what wine he had just drunk. He was still, after a week of giving lessons in sympathetic magic, trying to decide what to do about the Boy-Who-Lived. Or rather, how to find out what the spirits wanted him to do.

Contrary to what other wizards thought, those who only knew muggle ceremonies, a houngan generally only asked the spirits for a specific boon. If the boon was granted, the spirits had agreed to the deal, and the houngan had a year to pay the price he had offered. Henry had done so, asking for guidance, but he had not received any. Or not any that he had seen - one had to pay a lot of attention to see how and where the spirits affected the world to nudge their faithful along. Sometimes they appeared in dreams, but seldom with a clear message. And not too rarely, they led a houngan astray, presumably because they had been angered in the past.

There was another way, of course. He could invite the spirits to possess someone, like the muggles did. But that was very dangerous when you were caught between Papa Ghede and the Baron - who would he invite first? Whose anger for not being called first would he risk? The Baron had helped him greatly, but as great as his boons had been the price he had to pay - and would still pay, unless Papa Ghede interceded on his behalf. And even if he risked this, there was no guarantee that he'd receive a clear answer - when the spirits took possession of someone, they tended to indulge in the physical pleasures that spirits without a body were denied.

He had to examine that scar.

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick was just finishing his latest - and slightly late - report when his partner, Bertha Limmington, entered their office and floated a rather thin file towards him without a word. He grabbed it from the air and opened it. It contained a set of wizarding photos of what looked like a rather luxurious 'private club'. Probably taken from a pensieve, he thought while watching the dancer in the background pivot in the air - they generally didn't tolerate cameras inside such venues. Then he recognized the witch in the background, pushing a curtain back so she could leave a booth. Umbridge. He looked at his partner. "Don't tell me we'll have to go undercover as courtesans again!"

"I doubt that will be needed. Though if needs must…"

He stared at her, then coughed, not sure if she was joking or not. "What's up with Umbridge? Last I heard she wasn't being investigated. Did that change?"

"In a way. According to the file there, she was seen with Trevor Fickleton two months ago. A month ago, she was hanging on the arm of Rees ap Evan. Last night, she was in the booth of Ethan Hathaway."

"Hathaway? He doesn't like witches." That wizengamot member liked tall, handsome wizards.

"Yes."

"You think there is more to this than a former Ministry employee working as a whore." He didn't ask - he knew his partner well enough.

"Correct. According to the file, Umbridge put a lot of effort into cultivating Fickleton as a friend when she had become persona non grata at the Ministry. She dropped him less than two months ago, and started working on Rees. Apparently successfully, but she soon dropped him as well, and is now working on an avowed homosexual." Bertha pulled another photo out of the file. "This witch here hasn't been identified yet, but is likely to be working with her."

"Not bad. She looks a bit rough on the edges though," Kenneth commented, cocking his head to check an angle. "And here, when she thinks no one can see her, she all but vomited. Not your typical courtesan."

"She might be unwilling, but there are no signs of her being controlled with magic." Bertha checked another paper. No picture there.

"She could be doing it for the money. If she flunked her exams, and can't get a decent job..." Kenneth shrugged. It happened.

"It's enough of a suspicion to warrant an investigation, apparently." Bertha sniffed.

Kenneth groaned. "Don't tell me it's a political case!"

"Then I won't." Bertha was smiling again.

He glared at her. "Funny. Who's behind it?"

"The Minister."

"Those rumors about them, then?" Kenneth had heard many variants, but none had really convinced him.

"Likely to be true." Bertha grinned. To think the Minister had been chased around his table by that witch..."

Both chuckled, even if Kenneth didn't feel like it. Another political case. More people would be meddling with the investigation. Trying to make him and Bertha present the facts in a certain manner.

"I should have joined the hit-wizards. Easier work, and you're expected to curse people each day," he muttered under his breath.

Bertha didn't react.

"That's where you tell me that I'm needed at my current job, Bertha!" He glowered at his partner..

She chuckled. "I don't think you'd make a good hit-wizard. Not enough self-discipline. Or any other discipline."

"Hey! Just for that, you can play the courtesan when we visit the club later, and I'll be the dashing rich first time visitor."

"Dashing and rich?" Bertha squinted at him in an exaggerated manner. "Have you been holding out on me?"

Kenneth closed his eyes, huffing. "Let's get to work."

"Technically, you should have been working for the last hour." Bertha was teasing, but there was a glint in her eyes.

"You know what I mean!"

*****​

Hermione Granger waited while Mister Blagrove inspected the runes she had painted on the polished marble floor. They should be perfect, according to her notes and arithmantic calculations, down to the amount of chicken blood in the paint she had used. But as with exams, she still worried while her work was tested. What if she had made a mistake? Failed? Harry's vision had shown the possible consequences of a failed ritual. Granted, they were not sacrificing anything (though the blood in the paint was required, which made her wary), and only trying to locate an object through one of its parts, but still…

She felt her hand grasped and gently squeezed. Harry. She didn't need to glance at him to know he was smiling, in that slightly teasing way he had when she worried about her grades. She pressed her lips together, pointedly not looking at him, and heard a soft snort. She wasn't wearing her robes, the enchantments on them would disturb the ritual, just a white shift that reached the middle of her thighs. She wasn't even wearing her torc - and after years of wearing that precious gift, she felt naked without it.

But teased or not, she wasn't that tense anymore when the houngan stood up and nodded at her. "This is acceptable." She still was relieved of course.

"Now, you have studied the ritual. Here is one quarter of a coin, you will find the rest of the coin." With that, Mister Blagrove handed her a slice of a doubloon.

Hermione felt the weight in her hand, then put it down in the center of the circle she had drawn. Then she sat down, her legs crossed, at the edge of the circle. Taking a deep breath, she nodded at Harry and started chanting while she remembered the instructions from the houngan.

Visualize the part as the whole, then that as the sum of its parts.

The doubloon was heavy, large, and shiny. Four times the mass of the slice in the circle. She could imagine it. She could imagine four such slices, eight, sixteen, countless slivers, pieces, forming the coin.

See the bonds that hold the whole together. The force that forms the whole. And follow it.

Her eyes were closed. And yet she was looking, searching for the thread that tied the essence of the coin together. The tiniest glow would show her… There!

She followed the tiny glowing thread she had seen, until she saw a shiny coin - missing a slice - buried in the earth beneath a palm tree. There was the rest of the doubloon!

She opened her eyes, noticing how the quarter of the coin was still slightly glowing. How her dress was clinging to her skin, soaked with sweat. How she was panting, tired. She looked up, smiling, at Harry, who smiled back, then at the houngan.

"I saw it, it's buried under a palm tree at the beach north of us."

"Indeed, Miss Granger. Congratulations," Blagrove said in a dry voice.

She didn't care - she had done it!

Harry smiled at her, offering a hand to help her stand up. She took it, and then gasped when she realized that she needed the help - she was not steady on her feet. Before she could fall, he had her in his arms.

"How long…?"

"About an hour."

An hour? She pulled her head back from his shoulder and stared at him, surprised. She'd been chanting for an hour? No wonder she felt so tired! She leaned against him again, enjoying his warmth.

"Now it's your turn, Mister Potter."

Hermione sighed, and the two separated, Harry, wearing only a pair of linen trousers, receiving another piece of a coin, then taking her former spot in the circle, closing his eyes.

When he started to chant, the runes on the floor started to glow, spreading out from the coin. Hermione watched, fascinated, as she saw the pattern she had drawn on the floor emerge, glowing. Then she looked at her boyfriend, his bare chest, his face, his reddening scar.

She gasped, taking a closer look. The scar wasn't bleeding, but it looked fresher, inflamed even.

This wasn't good! She had to stop that, but if she interrupted the ritual, the backlash would be very painful… She glanced at the houngan, and saw his eyes were glowing.

*****​

The scar had started to react as soon as the Boy-Who-Lived had entered the circle - before he had started the ritual. Henry Blagrove cast a detection spell, his potion-enhanced sight could see through disillusionment, and spot some curses, but he needed more to examine the scar. It would make it harder for Potter to finish his ritual, but the houngan had to know what was happening. He focused on the scar, which was glowing under his sight, then on whatever was affecting it… his eyes widened. Others would have missed it, easily. Or would have dismissed it as a reaction of a curse scar to magic. But he knew better.

The boy's scar was reacting to the anti-possession ward! The reaction was very weak, but clearly visible for someone with his extensive experience with both the spirits as well as the Dark Arts. The boy wasn't possessed - the reaction would have been much more violent in that case - but something was in that scar that was similar to possession. When he realized what the scar was hiding, he gasped.

Then the boy started the ritual, and the runes surrounding the teenager began to shine brightly with power, quickly obscuring the fainter traces of the anti-possession ward and the scar itself. It didn't matter - Henry had seen enough. He had been wrong, there was no wayward apprentice behind the attack through the scar!

The boy carried a piece of another's soul in his scar!

He glanced at the girl, who seemed to have noticed the scar's reaction as well. She was staring at him, now, with wide eyes. Had she seen his reaction? Did it matter? The Boy-Who-Lived had a piece of another soul in his scar! Henry knew more than enough about the Dark Arts to understand what that meant. Someone had split his soul, and anchored it in the boy. Someone had created a horcrux. And there was only one wizard who had both the means and the opportunity to do that: The Dark Lord Voldemort.

Henry knew a lot about horcruxes, even though he had never dared to make one himself; not when it meant angering both the Ghede and the Baron as well as sacrificing his afterlife. Nothing could stop Death forever. But as the Old Egyptians had shown, Death could be held at bay for a long time. Voldemort didn't have to beat his enemies in Britain, he could outlive them.

This changed the situation. It wasn't a question anymore of who would win, Dumbledore or Voldemort. It was just a question of when Voldemort would win. Unless the Boy-Who-Lived died. Didn't Dumbledore know about this? Was he planning to sacrifice Potter at just the right moment so he could kill Voldemort as well? That would assume that Potter was the Dark Lord's only horcrux… but that didn't make any sense. Who would create a living horcrux, which would die, of old age, unless killed before, as their only means of cheating death?

No, Voldemort had to have created another horcrux. His true soul anchor. Protected and hidden, well beyond the reach of even Dumbledore. It's what Henry would have done, had he decided to risk creating a horcrux.

Potter… Potter was not a means to cheat Death, he was a weapon. Sooner or later, he'd succumb to Voldemort's influence, and would be controlled by the Dark Lord. The Boy-Who-Lived defecting to the Dark Lord would be a blow to Voldemort's enemies, Britain's morale would plummet. But Potter was more than a symbol, he was a force by himself, Henry knew that. The boy might be not as brilliant as his girlfriend when it came to learning spells and unraveling the mysteries of magic, not as precise in his wand movements, but when it came to casting what he knew… the houngan hadn't seen that kind of power very often. And as Dumbledore's protégé, he'd have ample opportunities to use that talent against Voldemort's enemies.

If Dumbledore was just playing for time, waiting for the most opportune moment to deal with Potter, then there was an opportunity. Henry knew a lot more than either Voldemort or Dumbledore about sympathetic magic. And he was a houngan. With a little help from him, the right ritual, the Dark Lord could break and quickly take control of Potter, far faster than Dumbledore would expect.

It was, Henry thought, a far more advantageous outcome than supporting a doomed boy and an aging wizard against a Dark Lord who would outlive all three of them.

He realized the witch was still staring at him, her surprise and worry having been replaced with suspicion. She was smart, after all. And, sadly, still bound to the boy. Though maybe he'd get her as an apprentice, after the Dark Lord controlled Potter. He doubted Voldemort would care much about a muggleborn witch. Provided she survived the war.

But it was time to cover his tracks - it wouldn't do to arouse more suspicion, not before the deed was done. Fortunately, he had come prepared, just in case he needed a distraction. He might not have been wearing his enchanted robe, but there were other ways to be protected. More expensive, but what was gold when dealing with spirits?

"I fear Mister Potter's ritual is not going as well as yours, Miss Granger," Henry said, in as concerned a tone he managed, while he crushed a small piece of clay in his pocket. The witch's head whipped back to the boy, just in time to catch the bright flash that erupted on the middle of the circle.

"Harry!"

While the ritual went out of control, and the backlash started to hurt the boy, Henry drew his wand. He'd make it look like he attempted to help - it wasn't as if the boy would die, not from such a weak ritual.

Before he could cast any spell though, he suddenly froze. Someone had paralyzed him, despite all his protections! This was impossible - no one here was able to do that! Had this been a trap by one of his rivals? But how had they been able to hide from him? And what houngan, other than himself, would risk open battle?

He caught movement in the corner of his eyes - the only part of his body he could still move, and would have screamed in sheer terror, had he been able to. There was Dumbledore! The wizard was pulling off a cloak of invisibility that had hidden him. How had Henry failed to spot him? His detection spell should have shown any trace of magic in the room!

The old wizard turned towards the houngan with a look of anger and disappointment, even regret on his face, and Henry realized just why the spirits, or rather, one particular spirit, had arranged his meeting with the Boy-Who-Lived. It hadn't been to offer him an opportunity.

It had been the Baron's plan to claim what he was owed for granting Henry the boon of freedom, so long ago.

Henry felt like laughing at his own folly, right before he was stunned.

*****​

See the bonds that hold the whole together. The force that forms the whole. And follow it.

Harry Potter had tried to follow the instructions Mister Blagrove had given them. But it was difficult. Far more difficult than imagining the whole coin. The young wizard had grit his teeth, forcing all thoughts of failure away. He'd do this! He had to, unless he wanted to let Hermione do such rituals alone, let her risk herself.

See the bonds that hold the whole together. The force that forms the whole. And follow it.

His scar had tingled, even hurt a bit, but that had not even been a nuisance. He had focused on the slice of the coin in the center of the circle. Focused on the whole coin in his mind. It had been all in his mind. Where had been the link he had known had to be there? He had taken a deep breath, pressing on, forcing himself to focus even more. He had caught a glimpse, a tiny spark - if he hadn't been a seeker, he'd have missed it - and tracked it. Had that been a thread?

Suddenly, his vision was filled with light. Light so bright, it hurt his eyes, despite them being closed. Pain shot through his head, quickly growing worse. His skin felt like burning. The ritual was going wrong…. out of control… the power hurting him. burning him. Growing stronger, wilder.

He snarled, struggling to regain control. If he didn't, it would hurt everyone else in the room as well - Hermione. He wouldn't let her be hurt through his mistake. He wouldn't!

He wouldn't!

Suddenly, the pain was dimming. His head, his skin, felt better. He opened his eyes, and saw the runes on the floor weren't shining anymore. The piece of gold in the center had melted, and the area around it was blackened, runes smudged or burned off. His trousers had been burned as well, though his skin looked, if red, not truly hurt. Sunburned, at most.

"Harry!"

He had time to turn his head, see Hermione was unhurt, right before she crashed into him, hugging him as she pushed him to the ground. Memories of last night welled up, their positions so similar, but were quickly squashed as he felt his girlfriend tremble in his arms.

Dumbledore was there, not hiding anymore. And Mister Blagrove was… stunned and bound, on the ground? It had to have been the Headmaster's work, and he wouldn't have done that, unless...

"Did he sabotage the ritual?"

"He did, Harry," Dumbledore answered, in a grave, and slightly tired voice.

"Why?"

"That's what we will find out," the old wizard said, his expression utterly lacking his usual smile.

Then Padfoot stormed inside, changing into Sirius in mid-leap, and things went out of control for a while, again.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore stared at the bound and once again stunned Henry Blagrove. For a moment, he saw Henry Ainsworth. The boy from London who would have attended Hogwarts, if not for his muggle parents moving to Jamaica during the Second World War. Who would have grown up into a wizard, had not a houngan noticed the boy's magical talent, and taken him as an apprentice. Without giving either the boy or his parents a choice, of course.

Back then, there had been nothing Albus could have done, realistically, about the abduction. Not during Grindelwald's War. And later, after he had defeated Gellert, after he had been elected as Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, able to deal with such incidents without his wand, Henry Ainsworth had already become Henry Blagrove. A houngan apprentice. The man might have chafed at the bonds laid upon him, and would have resented becoming a retainer sworn to a Patron as well, had he stayed in Britain, but he had chosen to succeed his Master anyway, continuing the cycle.

The Headmaster felt sorry for the boy, as well as for the man whose mind he had read. Sorry for what had happened, and sorry for what he would have to do. But if Voldemort learned of his link to Harry… Henry wasn't entirely correct about the nature of the link, and it's consequences, nor did he know about the blood protection, but the Dark Lord would be able to both take precautions against Harry's 'visions' as well as use their link to hurt Harry. Or worse.

And when put against the life of Harry, and the fate of Wizarding Britain, the life of a houngan who had turned dozens of people into mindless servants and murdered innocents to hurt his enemies didn't carry much weight. Nor did his honest sympathy for Miss Granger's situation - or what Henry thought her situation was. The man had been seen himself as much as he had seen the young witch when judging her - not entirely without cause, though. Albus would rather not consider what path his brilliant student would have chosen, should she have become the retainer of someone other than Harry.

No, his course of action was clear, if not entirely honorable. But then, hiding under Harry's Cloak of Invisibility, and wielding the Elder Wand wasn't exactly 'fair' either. Not that fairness had much of a place in war. As an additional benefit, Henry's fate would likely scare his surviving peers into staying at least neutral in the current war, but that didn't make him feel better about what he had to do.

He pointed his wand at the unconscious houngan.

"Diffindo."

*****​

Sirius Black looked up when the Headmaster returned from wherever he had taken their captive. He didn't ask about the houngan's fate. He didn't need to - the old wizard's expression told him enough. Neither Harry nor Hermione asked either. Smart kids.

"What had he planned?" Sirius leaned forward. That piece of scum had tried to attack Harry. If not for the Headmaster anticipating such trouble - not that it had taken the wisdom and experience of Dumbledore to expect a houngan to double cross them - he might have gotten away with whatever he had wanted.

Dumbledore sat down in the seat opposite Sirius and the kids. "He had planned to betray Harry to Voldemort. To help the Dark Lord to attack Harry with sympathetic magic."

Sirius growled. If the houngan had been present, Padfoot would have ripped the scum's throat out. After savaging his groin.

"So, he had planned this from the start?" Harry asked, stiffly.

The Headmaster summoned a floating teacup and some sweets before answering. "He had not yet decided which side he would join when he offered to teach you. That decision was made today."

"Because of my … ?" Harry tapped his forehead.

"Yes." The old wizard sipped from his cup.

"And I thought he liked teaching us… " Harry's girlfriend looked at the floor, shoulders slumping. His godson wrapped his arm tighter around her, consoling her. Sirius smiled despite the circumstances - Harry knew how to treat a girl.

"He was impressed by you two. Especially by you, Miss Granger. He had considered to make you his apprentice, after the Dark Lord had won - if you were still alive."

Hermione gaped for a second at the Headmaster, then clenched her jaw together. For a few seconds, no one said anything. Sirius saw the young witch tremble slightly, and Harry whisper something into her ear. He almost missed the faint, sad smile on Dumbledore's face.

"So, the situation has been dealt with. Yet, should we cut our stay here short anyway?" It wouldn't be much of a sacrifice, they had a few days planned, though the kids hadn't been able to really enjoy the last week or so, with daily lessons. Although the animagus suspected Hermione might have enjoyed that more than lazing around. She was weird that way. Not weird enough to enjoy learning more than sex though, from what he could tell.

"Julius thinks there shouldn't be trouble, but…"

"Better safe than sorry?" Hermione asked when the Headmaster trailed off.

"I am loathe to recommend depriving you of more time spent with your parents, Miss Granger, yet it might be advisable to return. Julius will not be able to cover up Mister Blagrove's unfortunate demise, and the other houngans will look into the matter." Dumbledore took another sip from his cup.

Sirius agreed with the old wizard. "It might be best. If our cover won't hold up much longer, we risk attracting Voldemort's attention to this location." He didn't need to lay out that that would put the Grangers into danger.

Harry looked mulish. Sirius would have bet a hundred galleons that the boy hated to deny his girlfriend anything, but he wouldn't go against her wishes. And her wishes were centered on what was best for Harry, not herself. Like Sirius.

"We can leave tomorrow," he said when no one objected to the proposal.

"I'll have Julius make arrangements for the Grangers to return to their cruise without catching the wrong kind of attention." Dumbledore sounded both remorseful and satisfied. Sirius was tempted to ask if they had done what the old wizard had wanted. He didn't - there was no need to make the situation worse.

Harry was, after all, safe, and the vacation had accomplished what Sirius had hoped for.

*****​

Shopping for new school robes could be funny, Ron Weasley thought. Especially if you were shopping for a sixth year robe and had enough gold to not care about the price. And if your best friends were doing the same. And if it took place in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, the best tailor shop in Diagon Alley.

"They count this as a school robe?" Hermione sounded exasperated while holding up what looked like a bunch of floating strips of fabric.

Ron craned his neck to take a closer look. "Yes." He grinned at the witch. "Would look good on you too."

That earned him a glare from both Hermione and Harry. They were still somewhat prudish, despite Sirius's efforts. "I'm just being honest!" he defended himself.

"I don't see you going for a minimal loincloth," Hermione said.

"That's not fashionable anymore." He lowered his voice somewhat. "Besides, we'll be buying robes mostly for protection, right?" He was no expert, but he knew that you needed some space for the runes to enchant robes. Given the number of spells Hermione was planning to cast on their robes, skimpy wouldn't work as a base. He could always use transfiguration to adapt the style, if he felt like it.

"How's Padma doing?" Harry asked.

Ron froze for a second. His friend was just making conversation. He didn't know.

"Ron? Something wrong?" Hermione had picked up on his reaction.

He sighed. "I don't know how she's really doing. She's still in India, and her letters are both very short, and only about the weather and the food."

"How did she handle the attack on the Express?" Harry had dropped the last robe he had checked out, and was now paying his full attention to Ron, or so it looked to him.

"Not good. Not good at all." Ron shook his head. "I wanted to, well, be there for her, but apparently, her family didn't want me nearby."

Hermione drew a short, sharp breath, Harry just looked grim. Ron didn't tell them that he expected to break up with the Ravenclaw witch. Instead he changed the topic. "So… wedding clothes?"

Harry groaned and Hermione scowled. At Ron's questioning glance, she explained: "You didn't hear yet? We'll be wearing Bulgarian robes."

Ron nodded. He knew that those robes were styled differently for purebloods, half-bloods and muggleborns. And anyone who knew Hermione would know how much she hated that.

Harry shook his head. "We'll not be wearing actual Bulgarian robes. We'll transfigure ours to match them."

Ron agreed. He wasn't keen on giving up his robe's enchantments, even if only for a few hours. They were at war, and Harry had been attacked in Viktor's house before.

"If Padma is not coming, will you pick another date for the wedding?" Harry asked.

Ron shook his head. "I doubt it. Most of the girls I know are on vacation." Or locked up in their homes, afraid for their lives after the attack on the Express. Even Ginny had trouble getting their mum to let her out of the house without an escort.

Hermione had picked up another school robe for sixth years, frowning.

"You know, you could simply buy a fifth year robe, and transfigure it as needed at school," Ron offered.

"And one accidental or not so accidental finite later, people gossip about Harry not being able to buy me a new robe." Hermione shook her head. Ron decided not to follow his own advice. Malfoy was dead - and good riddance - but the Slytherins were still slimy snakes, with half of them ready to support the Dark Lord. He wouldn't be caught like this by them. To be mocked by the likes of Parkinson…

"OK, let's pick some expensive robes. We've got an image to maintain." That Slytherin was the last witch he wanted to see him in less than perfectly stylish robes.

*****​

"There you are! How do you feel? Did you have more nightmares? I wish I could help you!"

If Pansy Parkinson had known how Greengrass would react to Davis getting saved by Pansy, she'd have killed her instead. Alright, not killed her. But maybe have had her obliviated. The bloody twit was hugging her in public now, as if they were best friends. Not even Davis was going that far!

"Greengrass. Davis." She managed to utter while a blonde airhead tried to crush her ribs.

"Miss Parkinson." Davis sounded formal. Well, she had good reason to. Pansy might not have created a life debt by helping the two other Slytherins, but they owed her. Now if only Greengrass would act the part as well!

"Are you here to buy your school robes as well?" Pansy managed to ask. Clothes should distract the twit - that had always worked at Hogwarts.

"No, no. But that's a good idea! Let's shop together!"

Pansy felt herself dragged towards Madam Malkin's, blinking, with Davis following at a slightly more sedate pace. They almost ran into Potter, Weasley and Granger at the door - literally. Greengrass stopped just in time to avoid a collision, and Pansy stumbled before she could regain her balance.

When she saw their amused expressions, especially Weasley's smirk - they thought this was funny - she wondered if anyone would mind if she strangled the twit who had just embarrassed her in the changing room.

"Good afternoon, Miss Parkinson, Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis" Potter said, bowing his head, followed by Weasley and Granger. He was quite old-fashioned. It had a certain charm, she had to admit.

"Mister Potter, Mister Weasley," Pansy returned the greeting, nodding at the muggleborn witch as well, though not addressing her.

"Have you had a nice holiday so far?" Greengrass asked, making conversation. To Pansy's surprise, she didn't try to flirt with Potter. Given the glare Granger had sent at her the last time she tried, that was for the best, in Pansy's opinion.

"Yes, we did," Potter answered. "I hope your holiday is going well too."

"Since I've fully recovered from my wounds, yes." Davis stated.

Greengrass nodded repeatedly. "She was saved by Pansy and Greg! They were so brave!" Before Pansy could decide whether or not this had been a veiled insult, likening them to Gryffindors, the blonde sniffled. "And Vincent… he's dead."

That seemed to take the three Gryffindors by surprise. Had they already forgotten Vincent's sacrifice? Didn't anyone care about his death, other than his family and friends?

"I offer my condolences," Potter bowed his head again, before she could make up her mind about how to react.

"Thank you," Pansy pressed out, bowing in return. It wouldn't do to lose her manners in public.

Weasley looked at her, with a slightly puzzled expression, as he, Potter and Granger moved to the side and let Pansy and the others enter the shop. Pansy almost asked why he was staring at her, but let it slide. She had to buy new robes, after all.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort rubbed the bridge of his nose. He knew his failed ritual was under investigation - not even the worst auror could have missed it - and he needed a distraction for the next full moon. A ritual the aurors could find, to misled them. Maybe even trap them. And a corpse to be blamed for it.

The corpse was easy, but a fake ritual? That would require a lot of preparation. Unless he ordered some of his expendable wands to try a ritual without the needed training or talent. That he expected to easily find a suitable sacrifice among the ranks of his followers said more than enough about the kind of people currently making up the bulk of his forces

Speaking of rituals… He looked at the parchment on his desk again. His contact was asking for a lot of gold. But if he came through, then it would have been more than worth it. Bella would be unhappy at missing the chance to personally deal with her family, but he could handle that. And it would be worth it too.

Sooner or later, Potter's luck had to run out.

Chapter 45: Wedding Blues
 
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Chapter 45: Wedding Blues
Chapter 45: Wedding Blues

"A marching band?" Hermione Granger looked up from the bills, catalogues, brochures and notes that covered the table in the salon in No. 12, Grimmauld Place, and stared at her boyfriend's godfather. "It's a wedding, not a parade!"

Sirius Black frowned. "That wedding I saw had a marching band! So Nymphadora's wedding should have a marching band too!" He flicked his wand and a couple of pictures slipped out from underneath a carton filled with flower arrangement examples and floated to the table.

"What?" Hermione grabbed one before it could touch the table, then blinked. She knew that couple. Everyone in muggle Britain knew that couple! "Sirius! That's Prince Charles' wedding! That was a state affair!"

The pureblood wizard was just looking at her. "Yes? It's the biggest muggle wedding I found. In Britain at least."

Hermione took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and cursed the day the Black-Tonkses and Sirius had decided on having a 'big expensive muggle wedding' in addition to the wizarding wedding which would be held in Magical Bulgaria. "Did you run this past Mrs Smith-Forsythe?" She had persuaded him to hire a wedding planner just to avoid this sort of disaster.

"Oh, I didn't have to. She said we could do whatever we wanted for the trip from the church to the reception, as long as the carriage adhered to the time table provided by her!" The animagus beamed at her.

"You can't hire a marching band on such short a notice," the young witch spat out. "They need training for that."

"That's what the pilots said too, until I doubled their prices!" Sirius made a dismissing gesture with his hand.

"Pilots?"

"Yes, to drop the rose petals on the street. I just need some permit from the city, but that shouldn't be hard to get either - those muggle clerks can't be paid much, right?"

"Are you planning to bribe … " Hermione blinked suddenly, then laughed. "Ah, curse it! You got me!" She had fallen for a prank, once again!

"Huh?" The older wizard looked at her in apparent confusion. "What do you mean?"

"This isn't a prank?" Hermione asked, with a weak and forced smile.

"I promised not to do any pranks during the wedding or its preparation," Sirius said, wincing. "Andromeda threatened to neuter me if I endangered her girl's big day."

Hermione was in a mood to neuter the wizard herself. "Trying to bribe officials will lead to problems that could ruin the wedding!"

"Well, the same goes for using magic on them!" Sirius pouted.

"Which means it's probably a good idea not to do either!" Hermione took a few more deep breaths. As 'the resident muggle expert', she had agreed to help Sirius with some last-minute preparations for the wedding next week. She had expected to straighten out details, like flower arrangements, wedding dresses and suits for the guests not used to muggle fashion, maybe sort out accommodations and provide a small guide for behaving at muggle weddings - no more than five feet of parchment. She hadn't expected to deal with an attempt to outdo the Windsors! Especially not since the muggle wedding was supposed to be a rather small affair, close family and friends only. Unlike the Bulgarian ceremony.

"Well, how do you propose to get the needed permits then? The pilots said they wouldn't fly without permission," Sirius asked with a petulant expression.

"How about not hiring them at all?" Hermione snapped. If only Harry was around, but her boyfriend was training self-defense with Remus, and couldn't… she blinked. "Did you talk to Harry about this?"

"He said to ask you."

Hermione ground her teeth in frustration. It was probably payback for involving him in the struggle to show Nymphadora the difference between a luxury wedding dress and a dress fit for a punk wedding, but this was his godfather, not hers! Sirius really had too much money, and not enough sense, at least not when it came to muggle culture. Her eyes widened when she had an idea.

"Sirius," she began, waving her left hand at the pamphlets and brochures on the table, "most of that will look really tacky to muggles."

"That can't be! If it's good enough for a prince, it's good enough for Nymphadora!"

"It will look tacky because old muggle families would never try to outshine the Royal Family."

"Why not, if they have the money?"

"Tradition. If you do this, people will think you're a nouveau-riche without manners or class." She had to suppress a relieved smile when she saw that he finally understood.

"Oh."

"Yes. Now, you can trust your wedding planner, she's the expert, and she'll have organized a classy and expensive wedding for you." The woman better have, considering her rates, Hermione added to herself. Not that the Bulgarian guests the Black-Tonkses and Sirius were trying to impress would know those nuances anyway.

"Does that mean we can't use the elephant I ordered either?"

Hermione's wand was halfway out of her holster before she could control herself.

*****​

"Oh, I remember Lily's wedding… it was a much smaller affair. Not as… expensive."

Harry Potter glanced at Dudley while his aunt sighed, looking at the dress she was holding. His cousin shrugged. The two of them as well as Uncle Vernon had gotten their suits already, and rather quickly. But apparently, picking the correct dress for a wedding took more time. Much more time, even without trips down the memory lane.

"Yes, dear," Vernon said, nodding. "Though there was no magical wedding afterwards, to compete with." The big and - despite his diet - still hefty man smiled. Harry knew from his childhood that his uncle understood the wish to keep up with the neighbours very well.

"As long as this remains a normal wedding, everything will be fine," Petunia stated, putting the dress down and picking up another to try on. Harry didn't quite roll his eyes, but he shared another long-suffering look with Dudley; he had reassured his uncle and aunt several times in the last week - he was sleeping at 4 Privet Drive until their trip to Bulgaria, to renew the blood protection - that there wouldn't be any magic at the wedding.

"It's a purely normal wedding, Aunt Petunia. Nymphadora insisted; she's quite a fan of muggle culture." Harry didn't think he should add that keeping the wedding purely muggle also turned it in an exotic affair for wizards and witches not unlike those shown in the BBC documentaries. His family wouldn't appreciate that at all.

While Petunia vanished into a changing room and Vernon looked for a chair to sit down, Dudley leaned towards Harry and whispered: "Our trip to Diagon Alley's still on, right?"

"Yes." Dudley loved the Wizarding shopping area, especially Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. "Just remember not to buy anything too obvious."

"I know, I know. I wouldn't do that to my parents," Dudley said, though Harry wasn't quite certain if he could believe him. His cousin had seemed intrigued when Hermione had mentioned how irresponsible products like 'Skiving Snackboxes' were during dinner last night.

"Just don't get caught. Can't fool the wizards as easily as we fooled teachers."

Dudley chuckled and slapped him on the back. Harry didn't wince, even though he felt like it - his cousin's boxing training apparently had increased his already considerable strength some more. "I won't squeal on you, don't worry."

"Squeal on me? It's not as if I'm responsible for you."

"But you're a prefect now - the enemy."

"You sound like Fred and George!"

Dudley took that as a compliment, and his good mood lasted through the hour it took Harry's aunt to decide on a dress.

*****​

Viktor Krum fidgeted in the unfamiliar clothes. Even with discreet charms on them they felt uncomfortable - if he hadn't checked, twice, he'd have thought they were cursed. Why had he let his bride to be persuade him to have a British muggle wedding again? Ah, yes - so that the real wedding would be a traditional Bulgarian affair. In Bulgaria. His family had been so smug, sure to have gotten the better of the Black-Tonkses. They weren't looking that smug now, stuck in the muggle church. A Christian church even! His team manager had gone spare until Viktor had managed to explain that it was simply tradition to have it in a church, not a religious statement. He wasn't converting. Even so, it might cost him some fans, but he had enough of them.

He glanced at the guests to distract himself. His family looked as uncomfortable in muggle clothes as he felt. Nymphadora's family looked at ease, but he had expected that. Nymphadora's father was a half-blood, after all. And Harry's family were muggles. Quite shy though - with the exception of his cousin. Dudley had asked him for an autograph even. And of course, there were the four veela with Sirius, who attracted envious and lecherous glances from half the guests. There would be trouble in Bulgaria, he knew that.

He went over his lines in his head again, and felt himself grow more nervous. What if he made a faux-pas? Embarrassed his family? This was just a muggle event, he told himself. A show, not a real wedding. Not legally binding. It didn't help much. Legal wedding or not, he didn't want to disappoint Nymphadora. And her family - or rather, Sirius - had obviously spent a lot of gold on this. Or muggle paper. The carriages, the catering - his suggestion to use McDonald's had been shot down at once - and the elephant rides for the children (and Miss Lovegood) would have been expensive. He glanced at the blonde witch, sitting in the second row and scribbling on a muggle notepad. She was attending as Ron's date, but her father's magazine had been given the exclusive right to cover the wedding, mostly to keep other reporters from the event, but she obviously took this very seriously.

The muggle music - impressive, he had to admit, if completely different from the muggle music he had heard in the clubs of London - changed suddenly. He turned around, right in time to see the doors open.

Viktor knew that a lot of people had arrived with the bride and were now entering, but he didn't notice them. He didn't even notice the father of the bride. All his attention was captured by the sight of Nymphadora, clad in a white dress that he was almost certain had taken magic to don, walking down the aisle. Towards him.

And in that moment, it didn't matter to him at all that this was not a legal wedding.

*****​

By the time dessert was being served at the wedding banquet, Hermione Granger was finally relaxing. Things had gone well. Better than she had feared, in any case. Sirius had behaved, and consequently, Harry hadn't lost his godfather to Andromeda's wand.

"Hermione!" Luna sat down next to her, on the seat Harry had vacated to join the Quidditch discussion at the next table with Ron. The blonde witch put her big notepad on the table, toppling a half-full glass of wine. "Oops! I keep forgetting that those glasses are not charmed against spilling. Nor the tablecloths against staining."

While Luna was staring at the wine making its way to the edge of the table, seemingly fascinated by the lack of magic, Hermione reached over and used her napkin to mop the liquid up before it reached her own lap. Not that the dress she had to wear as part of Nymphadora's bridesmaids would have been a big loss. The muggleborn witch had already decided she'd not inflict such torturous clothing on her own bridesmaids. If she ever married. A muggle wedding, the only option for her and Harry, was not recognized in Wizarding Britain, after all. It would be no more than an act for her parents, at best a gesture of defiance against unjust laws. Harry's mother had taken that option, Hermione knew. Probably for the very reasons she was thinking of. And Lily had stayed a mere concubine in the eyes of Wizarding Britain even after she had been killed by Voldemort. The Wizengamot had granted a posthumous adoption of Harry by his father, making him a pureblood. Retroactively making his muggle marriage legal had not crossed anyone's mind as far as Hermione could tell. And if it had, it would have been dismissed to avoid creating a precedent, she was certain of that.

"Hermione!"

A finger poking her side interrupted her gloomy thoughts - maybe she shouldn't have drunk that second glass of wine.

"It's a wedding! Think happy thoughts! Imagine your own wedding!" Luna beamed at her.

"I did." She smiled weakly.

"Ah… but… oh!" Luna's eyes opened wide. "Do you fear you'll not have as beautiful a wedding as this? Sirius would certainly not skimp on his godson's wedding! You'll probably have an elephant as well. Maybe a flying one, if Hagrid manages to crossbreed it with a pegasus! Imagine, flying rides!"

The muggleborn witch didn't like to dampen her friend's enthusiasm - Luna had thoroughly enjoyed riding the elephant Sirius had managed to acquire through means Hermione didn't really want to know more about - but she wasn't in the mood for smiling and nodding and pretending all was well.

"I've no doubt that I'd have a great muggle wedding. But it wouldn't mean anything since unlike Nymphadora, I won't get a magical wedding." If she was marrying Harry. But at the moment, she couldn't imagine, or didn't want to, marrying anyone else.

"Oh."

"Yes, 'oh'," Hermione said, refilling her glass and waving her hand into the direction of Nymphadora, who was dancing with her father. "For her, this is just a party. A show to impress Viktor's family. Exotic dinner entertainment. What the Weasleys like to provide for their guests, just on a more grandiose scale."

Luna's face fell, and Hermione was briefly confused, until she remembered that the Lovegoods weren't exactly throwing or attending many dinner parties. They were actually seen by some as exotic dinner entertainment themselves. She suppressed her guilt though, and continued. "For me, such a wedding would be as close as I can get to marrying Harry." Close enough to hurt, she thought. And the likes of Parkinson and Greengrass would mock her behind her back for aping a real wedding. She downed her wine. "I want more than an illusion, more than a sham!"

"But does it matter how you marry, as long as you two love each other?" Luna looked like someone had just proven to her that Snorkacks did not exist. Or had died out just before she could find one.

"Of course it matters! Unless we can marry in Wizarding Britain, our children will be muggleborns like myself!" Hermione spat out.

Her friend looked utterly confused now. The ranting witch suddenly realized that Luna really didn't understand how bad this was. Sighing, she refilled her glass again. "They'd be third-class citizens. Looked down upon. Unable to marry who they want. And they'd have a patron."

"But… Harry would be their patron. He'd have the same power over them if they were pureblood anyway. That's not a bad thing; he's your patron too," Luna said, still looking lost.

"Do you think I like being his retainer? Do you think he likes being my patron?"

"You… you don't?" The blonde Ravenclaw was staring at her, with her mouth open and her lips trembling.

"No, we don't."

"But… you love each other." Luna sounded as if she couldn't bear to turn this into a question.

"Yes, we do. But that's despite him being my patron." Hermione sighed again when she saw Luna still didn't understand. "Luna… both Harry and I grew up in muggle Britain. We think people in a relationship should be equal."

"But even if you both were purebloods, Harry would be the head of the family," Luna stated.

"That's wrong too! At least the French have two heads per family." Hermione scoffed. The French also let their patrons exercise far more power over muggleborns than what would be tolerated in Britain, but that was another topic. "Not that it matters since we wouldn't be able to marry in Magical France either." She stared at her once again empty glass.

"I didn't know you felt that way." Luna had tears in her eyes now.

Hermione's guilt reasserted itself despite the wine she had consumed. "Luna…" she began.

The blonde witch shook her head, interrupting her: "But you're the most brilliant witch at Hogwarts! Even if things look gloom, you can't lose hope! You'll find a way to achieve your dreams!"

Hermione was touched, and felt her spirits lift. Luna was right - she shouldn't despair. She and Harry would beat Voldemort, and then they'd beat Britain's bigotry! If Lily had lived, she certainly wouldn't have stayed James' concubine.

"Just as I'll find snorkacks, you'll find a way to marry Harry!"

Hermione closed her eyes and resisted the urge to refill her glass again.

*****​

Watching Nymphadora and Viktor leave for their 'wedding night rehearsal', as he liked to call it, Sirius Black felt prouder than at the time he and his friends had managed to turn the entire Slytherin dorm including the students red and gold - right before the end of the 6th year feast. Viktor's family seemed suitably impressed by the ceremony, most guests were thoroughly sloshed, and the dessert buffet was as delicious as the cook had promised. In short, the wedding was a huge success. It had cost quite some galleons, but then, that prank in 6th year had cost Gryffindor the House Cup. Worth it though. So worth it.

The wizard was on his way back to his table, where Valérie and Laure were animatedly chatting with a Bulgarian witch. Chantal and Eugénie would be outside, checking the wards. They didn't trust the aurors and hit-wizards providing security - hidden from muggle eyes - that much. Well, neither did he, truth to be told, which is why he had hired some of those mercenaries Aberforth Dumbledore had brought back from the Balkans to protect the wedding.

Passing a waitress, he snatched a bottle from her tray, feeling proud for not having drawn his wand to summon it. That had taken a bit to get used to, seeing people serve food with their hands. Not too much though, once he had seen the waitresses. Now if they were wearing wizard fashion… a wizard could dream, couldn't he? And weddings inspired a certain type of dream, not only in witches, he mentally added as he saw Valérie lean back and laugh at something the Bulgarian had said. Just like Lily, back...

Instead of continuing towards her, Sirius turned to the side entrance to the banquet hall, to get some fresh air while he let his thoughts turn back to what he remembered of James' wedding. He didn't remember everything, not after Azkaban. He only knew the Dursleys had been there because Petunia had told him that, earlier. But he remembered his friends saying their vows. Remembered them kissing. He didn't remember, not really, what they had been wearing, but he had seen the pictures at the Dursleys. They had been so happy, every one of them, but especially James and Lily. The war had been very far away, then. Watching his friends, he had been certain everything would end well. Nothing would destroy their happiness.

But of course, he had been wrong. So terribly, tragically wrong. He had been young, and dumb, and careless. His own fault. And that traitor's! For a moment, he wanted to smash the bottle in his hand at the wall next to him, just to vent some of his anger. He didn't though. This was a wedding, he'd not ruin it by losing control and making a scene. Remus was probably making the rounds outside for the same reason. His best friend wouldn't be taking the memories this event brought up any better than Sirius himself.

He took a few deep breaths of the evening air, then entered the hall again. Hermione and Luna were chatting a few tables away. The brunette - she had gotten rid of the dye as soon as they had left Jamaica, even though everyone knew 'blondes had more fun' - was probably correcting some of Luna's misconceptions about muggles. Or something. Harry was chatting with the Dursleys. It looked like his godson's family was about to leave already. Sirius dimly remembered they had left the other wedding early as well, and Lily had been angry later, at him. Or something.

In a few years, at most, there would be another muggle wedding in the family, Sirius was certain. Harry and Hermione's wedding would be an even bigger affair, though. Just like James' and Lily's, it would be their only wedding, so it would have to be perfect! And this time, he'd get the permits for the planes in advance!

He walked towards his table, towards Valérie again. She was smiling brightly at him, she must have been missing him. He sat down next to her, leaning over to kiss her cheek. Under the table, he slid his hand over her thigh, enjoying how she tensed for an instant, holding her breath, before her smile turned just a shade sultry.

He imagined her, in Nymphadora's dress. Or something similar. Maybe he should start a tradition of the Blacks having muggle weddings before their magical ones. The Delacours would like to have a Magical Wedding in France, he thought. And his bigoted parents would be turning in their graves.

*****​

"Thank you for coming!"

Harry Potter smiled at his family - the muggle part of it, to be precise. His aunt and uncle had stayed longer than he had expected, even with the lack of magic so far. Overt magic, at least.

"It was great, Harry!" Dudley grinned. "Though your godfather is still crazy. Elephant rides? At a wedding?"

Harry chuckled. "You should have seen his other ideas. Hermione pretty much went spare trying to rein him in." He still didn't know, didn't want to know, how Sirius had gotten an elephant. 'Plausible deniability', his girlfriend had called it.

"I can imagine!" Dudley chuckled. "I still can't believe he didn't prank anyone."

"Andromeda, the mother of the bride, had had a word with him," Harry explained.

"Must've been quite a word, to make him behave." Dudley shook his head - he was rather familiar with Sirius's antics from Harry's tales. And from his own experience.

"It was a lovely wedding Harry," Aunt Petunia said. "And impressive. But we should be heading home now, it's already quite late."

Uncle Vernon nodded in agreement, but Harry could see that the man was warily eyeing a group of drunk Bulgarians. He could understand them - as people got drunk, they were likely to forget that they were not supposed to use magic. The muggle staff would be sent home soon.

"Of course." He shook hands with Vernon, kissed his aunt on her cheek, and slapped Dudley on the back.

His cousin returned the favor, then whispered into his ear: "Just imagine what Sirius will do for your wedding."

Harry forced himself to laugh as his family left the hall, but grew serious as soon as they had left his sight. His wedding. With Hermione. He wasn't even sixteen yet, and people were talking about marriage!

Not that he didn't want to marry Hermione. But in the future. After Voldemort was dead for good. And he wanted to marry her properly. Show everyone that she was his wife, his partner, not his retainer or concubine!

Though he'd settle for a muggle wedding, if that was all he, they could get. He just hoped Hermione would settle for a muggle wedding as well, if it came down to that. But that was a question for the future.

*****​

"Take these instructions and study them carefully - much depends on that ritual. Not least your own standing among my followers," the Dark Lord Voldemort declared as he handed over a sealed scroll to Uesli Rosier-Flens. "And breathe not a word, not even a hint, to anyone else about this."

The Ravenclaw's eyes widened when he understood what Voldemort was hinting at, and he bowed deeply. "I will perform my duty to the utmost of my ability, my lord!" he declared, bowing deeply.

"I know. Bellatrix will observe your ritual, just as a precaution, of course. I trust you," the Dark Lord said, and smiled when he saw the wizard pale some, before the man's greed overcame his fear again.

Voldemort dismissed him with a nod, and watched him leave. The fool would be thinking of advancing into the Dark Lord's inner circle, and apply himself accordingly, never suspecting that he was but a distraction. A necessary sacrifice, since Dumbledore had to be suspicious after the Dark Lord's last ritual had gone out of control. A follower of average skill from a rather poor branch of a pureblood family was a small price to pay if it kept his old foe from disturbing the real ritual.

He turned his head to look at his Bellatrix, standing at his side. "You know your task."

"Yes. I won't fail you, my lord."

He nodded. The task was easy enough for a witch of her power. He'd not even send her, if not for the need to keep it secret. His followers couldn't know about this.

He sat down at his desk, dispelling the charm that kept anyone from catching even a glimpse of it. "Did Barty's old contact send word?"

"He did, my lord. He is willing, though he demands a high price." Bellatrix sneered, clearly angry at the audacity of anyone making demands towards him.

"If he succeeds, it'll be worth it. And if he fails…" Voldemort smiled. He was not in the habit to reward failure. Not even a wizard working for the Sublime Porte was beyond his reach. Especially not when revealing the wizard's role in two attacks on Potter would see the wizard facing Dumbledore - which would cause him to spill everything he knew about Voldemort's interest in genies in an attempt to save himself. An interest the Dark Lord had taken care to fake in his dealings with Abdul al-Samar.

No matter if the attack on Potter succeeded or not, Dumbledore would have to deal with the Ottoman Empire. And Voldemort knew from personal experience just how much that would take.

Between the fake ritual and the attack on Potter, Dumbledore would be hard-pressed to find out, much less stop his real plans.

*****​

Bulgaria, or at least the customs area for arrivals by international portkey, hadn't changed since last summer, Hermione thought. A cushioned floor, buckets for those who got travel-sick, stern-faced guards in black robes brimming with enchantments guarding the door to a large hall with grey walls and pillars. If anything, the number of guards had been increased, in her impression - though that might have just been a reaction to Viktor's presence. Knowing that Bulgaria's most famous Quidditch player was counted among Voldemort's enemies would likely cause the government to increase security for his appearances. Of course, it could also be a reaction to the sheer number of British wedding guests who were expected to arrive over the next few days.

"Welcome to Bulgaria, my friends!" Viktor greeted them warmly. Boris Stankoiev, Viktor's best friend, was with him, as were a few more young wizards and witches Hermione recognized from the wedding in London.

"Hello Viktor!" Sirius smiled at the star seeker. "Are you already looking for excuses to be away from home? That's usually reserved for after the honeymoon!"

Viktor chuckled - politely, Hermione thought, it had been a really bad joke. "No, though I do confess that I don't regret getting away from the preparations at home for a bit. My mother is in a frenzy."

"Women usually are when it comes to weddings. They take them far too seriously. Everything has to be perfect, as if the marriage would fail otherwise." The animagus shook his head.

Hermione gaped for a second at the hypocrisy. Sirius had driven her almost crazy with his near-obsession about Nymphadora's muggle wedding! She managed to refrain from commenting - or hexing - Sirius with some effort.

The others, especially the wizards, seemed to find his comment funny though, and laughter accompanied them to the floo central of Sofia. A brief trip later, they arrived in the home of Viktor's parents.

That had changed, of course - the house had been completely rebuilt, after having burned down by fiendfyre last summer. The young witch shivered briefly at the memory, then felt Harry's hand slide into hers, squeezing it reassuringly. Viktor's family had chosen the same style for the new house - wood panels, carved and lacquered, on the walls, and woven carpets on the wooden floor. Everything looked new though, and more expensive. It lacked the old, lived in and welcoming impression the old house had had. Or maybe that was just Hermione's subjective impression, since the house also lacked Lala, the muggleborn witch killed during the attack last summer. That she had to play the obedient retainer again, in public, didn't help her mood any.

While Sirius and Viktor's father went through the formalities of hospitality, Hermione spotted a young witch wearing the muggleborn clothes, and the same crest Lala had worn. Obviously her replacement as representative of the family's lower house - the muggleborns.

"Welcome to the household of the Krum Family. I am Ioana Kalinieva," she said, bowing. For a moment Hermione saw Lana there, the words were identical.

"Hello. I'm Hermione."

"Let me show you your room, and the house." The witch smiled, though Hermione thought it lacked the open friendliness of Lana. Or maybe she was just feeling guilt still over the witch's death, and resented seeing her replaced.

Stepping out of the floo room, Hermione could see that the house was also larger than its predecessor. And definitely more expensive. It looked like Viktor's father had decided to use the occasion to demonstrate his family's new wealth. The witch wondered, briefly, if that had led to troubles with the rest of the clan, but didn't voice her thoughts.

"This is your room for the duration of your stay." The girl presented a cozy, decently-sized room.

"My official guest room, right?" Hermione asked, smiling slightly.

"Yes." Ioana's eyebrows rose a bit. "You'll not be sleeping in here then."

Hermione chuckled, remembering her reaction last year. "No, things changed since last year's visit."

"Ah. Viktor said you'd become the official mistress of the head of the Potter family, but his mother was not certain what that entailed. I'll show you his room."

The young British witch didn't bother to correct the other girl. Bulgarian customs were just a bit too different to easily handle the exact nature of her relationship to her patron. Like she was considered a member of the Potter family, but not allowed to use the name, it was easier to simply nod and go along with. 'Official mistress' was close enough anyway. Hopefully Sirius wouldn't make too much fun of her and Harry, once he heard about it.

Harry's room - though lacking his presence at the moment - was far larger, and far more luxurious than she remembered. Expansion charms, she assumed. Unless Viktor's family had really gone overboard and had replaced their house with a mansion. It was furnished for a couple - two armoires, two desks even, and one big bed.

She smiled at the sight. After the fortnight Harry had had to sleep at the Dursleys, she was looking forward to sleeping with him again. And waking up in his arms.

*****​

Sirius Black rarely envied his best friend. Remus hadn't much to be envious of, in his opinion. Even discounting his lycanthropy, Sirius was better looking, had four gorgeous veela girlfriends, a great godson, far more gold, and didn't have to deal with stupid children all year. On the other hand, Remus wasn't currently in Bulgaria, in a village where half the population - or more - seemed to think his four aforementioned gorgeous veela girlfriends were out to seduce the wizards and wreck families.

The villagers hadn't exactly said anything, that would have angered and shamed Viktor's family, but the looks the veela got were clear enough. Viktor's best man explaining that Sirius was so rich, none of the veela would risk losing him for a Bulgarian villager hadn't gone over well with either the villagers nor Sirius's girlfriends. It had been high time to take out a broom and do some flying.

"The village looks much better from above," Valérie, flying next to him, said. His love was still not flying as well as she had before she had gotten cursed, maybe she never would, but she could fly more than well enough now to enjoy the sky once more.

"Oh, yes. Jalouses idiotes!" Laure agreed, gliding on an updraft. "We cannot 'ear them from up 'ere, and we can barely see them."

Sirius wisely - in his opinion - did not disagree. The village did look pretty from above, what damage the raid last year had done had been repaired. At least as far as he could tell. A few more days, and then there'd be the wedding. Two days before the full moon, on a Sunday, as Bulgarian tradition demanded. Tomorrow was the day the two 'farewell to freedom parties', one for the bride, one for the groom, would be held. Another Bulgarian tradition Sirius approved of.

And after the wedding, they'd return to Britain. Just in time to avoid the full moon and to celebrate Harry's birthday at home. At least his godson seemed to enjoy his time here in Bulgaria. The boy was currently out with Viktor and Ron, who had arrived from Romania, where he had visited Charlie Weasley. The three were apparently 'broom hunting' in the forest. Wandlessly, to boot - what foolishness. Though as long as it was fun, who was Sirius to judge them? And yet, Harry would be glad to return as well. As Sirius's father had said once - one of the only pieces of advice of his sire Sirius had not rejected - a wizard couldn't be happy if his witch wasn't happy. And Hermione wasn't happy in Bulgaria. She wasn't treated like the veela were, but he knew she resented the strict caste society Bulgaria had. She had been ranting about it often enough. That the young witch had accepted the traditional Bulgarian robes for the wedding was a miracle, seeing as they'd mark her as a muggleborn. She spent the days studying in their room, sometimes not even attending meals if Harry was away. Sirius didn't know what exactly she was studying, but it wasn't school work.

Ah well… a few more days, and the wedding would be done, and everyone could return to their normal lives, and only had to deal with the weird relatives at family gatherings. Sirius smiled and started a dive, prompting the four veela to chase after him.

*****​

The duck was flying as fast as its wings allowed, so close to the water its feet seemed to drag through the water, headed to a patch of reed. It knew the area, and it had a head start. Harry Potter though was the youngest seeker at Hogwarts in a hundred years. And he was on the finest broom currently on the open market. And ducks were not exactly the best flyers, and far bigger than a snitch. He was on it in a heartbeat, his hand snatching out and gripping the bird by the neck.

"Hah!" he held the flapping, quacking bird up while Ron and Viktor caught up. "I'm in the lead again."

"By a duck," Viktor scoffed, though he was grinning. "The only game easier to catch than a duck would be a dead duck."

"LIke in Quidditch, what matters is the catch," Ron said, coming to a stop next to the two. His broom was slower than the ones of the two seekers', though far more maneuverable. A keeper's broom. Viktor had offered him one of his older brooms, but Ron had refused, claiming he wanted to fly as much as possible on the broom he'd fly in games.

Harry let the bird go, watching as it fled and disappeared into the closest patch of reed.

"Don't you want to impress Hermione with your prowess as a hunter?" Viktor asked.

Harry glared at the Bulgarian while Ron chuckled and said: "She'd not be impressed, she might not be a Quidditch fan, but she knows how easy it is for Harry to catch birds."

Harry chuckled while he nodded, though he knew Hermione might not consider the double-entendre that amusing. His girlfriend might also say something about archaic and barbaric views and outdated values - she ranted about Bulgaria's customs often enough, though he thought part of that was born from her current frustration with her research. He wouldn't mention that though - it was both a bit impolite towards their gracious hosts, and would endanger Dumbledore's plans.

A sudden movement to his left drew his attention. He turned his head and spotted a broom rider above them, flying towards them. No, half a dozen disillusioned broom riders, his enchanted glasses informed him. Then he saw the disillusioned figures flying nearby without brooms.

"Watch out!"

He was already moving, his broom accelerating, when the first spells flew towards them. He easily evaded them, pulling around, when he suddenly found himself struggling not to be swept from his broom by unnaturally violent and strong winds.

*****​

Doruk didn't know how the Boy-Who-Lived had spotted him and his wands - they should have been out of the range of any detection spells, none of the Bulgarian patrols had detected them - but he had, and spoiled their surprise attack. Fortunately, he and his men had come prepared for that. Anti-portkey and anti-apparition jinxes were already in place while the genies their employer had provided were preventing the target from escaping on his broom. No one could fly through a storm controlled by a djinn!

But the storm would also attract the attention of the Bulgarian peasants. His men were already diving towards the boys caught in the storm - the days of waiting for such an opportunity, dodging the villagers and the guests exploring the countryside had left them champing at the bit to finish the job.

A bit too eager. Emre was already casting, the fool - his piercing curse would never hit anything in the storm at that range. And Harun was rushing ahead, leaving the others on slower brooms behind. He was a good wizard, experienced, but sometimes a bit too sure of himself. Doruk hoped this wouldn't be one of those times.

He himself stayed back. He wouldn't be rushing into close combat, not even when he had double the number of wands and genies on his side. That was what he paid his men for. As his father used to say: "A leader needs to stay behind, so he doesn't lose sight of the big picture." Pity his father hadn't heeded his own advice, 30 years ago, and had been caught with his robes up by French Gendarmes magiques.

*****​

Harry Potter fought to keep control over his Firebolt while the sudden storm was doing its best to smash him into the ground. He had been in worse, back in the tournament. Or almost as bad. But back then he hadn't had a dozen enemies bearing down on him and his friends. Still, he wasn't quite panicking. A quick glance showed him that both Viktor and Ron were still flying, and seemed to manage - so far.

Then the first broom rider came at him. He must have pushed his broom to leave the others behind, Harry thought, and he wasn't slowing down. A bit further, and only a professional seeker would be able to pull up in time avoid a crash. Harry was rather certain that his attacker wasn't a professional Quidditch player.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A normal spell would have almost no chance to hit anything in a storm that pushed both Harry and his target around. His corporal patronus though wasn't affected by the wind - and could aim itself. It couldn't really hurt the man, of course - not by itself. But few could ignore a glowing, flying stag barrelling at them. Harry heard a shriek, and then saw the man crash into the ground with flailing arms.

He hesitated for an instant, then pointed his wand at the crash site. "Confringo!" The earth around the crashed broom blew up, ensuring that if the man had survived the crash he'd still be in no shape to return to the fight.

Then the other four wizards were in range, and spells started to rain down on him. Hitting a broom rider in this storm while riding a broom was almost impossible though. He started to weave, even corkscrew, to make it harder still. "Aeroarmaguttis!"

With the shield surrounding him and his broom, the noise from the wind and the force of the storm both lessened and his speed increased. He could easily escape and fly back to village, to get help. But that would mean he'd leave his friends to face the attackers alone - and the village patrols should have noticed the storm by now. Still, getting out of the storm was a good idea. He urged his broom on and banked right, to the edge of the storm.

And flew into a wall.

His aerodynamic shield shattered, but had managed to cushion the impact enough to let the enchantments on his robe save his life. Even so he was thrown off the broom, and crashed into the bushes lining the pond. He felt his left arm break - after five years playing seeker, he was quite familiar with the sensation - and rolled a few yards, stones and roots hurting him further, with the cushioning enchantments spent already. Panting and groaning with pain, he stood up, fighting the storm's fury - and saw all four broom riders shoot towards him.

"Protego!"

He dove forward, screaming in pain when his broken arm touched the ground, and almost collapsed then and there as spells hit the ground around him, throwing up dust and fragments that both hindered and hid him.

He spotted one of the attackers flying very close to the ground and pointed his wand at him, pouring as much power into the spell as he could.

"Aguamenti!"

The jet of water that spewed forth from the tip of his wand missed the man, but Harry corrected his aim, and the attacker was pushed off his broom… no, he kept on the broom, but was now flying upside down - a sticking charm's work, Harry realized. A piercing curse hit his new shield, battering it, and Harry had to drop the Water-Making Spell and evade, allowing the wizard he had hit to regain control of his broom.

A few spells flew at them from the side - Viktor had arrived! - but missed the attackers. It had given Harry some breathing room though, and he managed to raise a few walls to give him some additional protection. They weren't as good as Hermione's, but they'd do. He flicked his wand as spells started to rip into his walls, and transfigured debris on the ground into small daggers. Dozens of them. Then he banished the lot of them at the next broom rider who came at him.

Even with the storm spoiling everyone's aim, and the unsteady path the broom rider was flying, enough of the daggers hit to wound the wizard. Harry aimed his wand to try and hit him with a curse, now that the man's shield was down, but the wizard pulled up and fled before he could cast.

Another wizard dove at him, wildly casting. And from the side, a third… no! That was Ron! Harry's friend flew straight at the other broom rider, and for a moment he feared Ron would ram the wizard. But the redhead had just gotten so close that he couldn't miss anymore - and while his shield absorbed the curse sent at him, his own spell shattered the shield of his opponent, and the follow-up spell blew up the man's face.

One wounded, two down for the count. But there had been six at the start, and Harry could only see three of them around. And an unknown number of other figures, probably those controlling the storm.

His first wall shattered under the assault from an attacker, and Harry was about to replace it when Ron stopped near him. "Get up!" his best friend shouted. "We'll have to leave here!"

"There are walls around us! I crashed against one!" Harry shouted back, but he nevertheless mounted Ron's broom.

"Bloody hell!" Ron cursed, wiping some blood from his face. "They can't have walls all around us - they couldn't have entered themselves, otherwise!"

"Right. Time to hide. Take us down there, near the pond."

Ron did so. On the way, Harry cast a series of blasting curses, throwing up enough dust to obscure them from view. As soon as they had landed he pulled out his cloak of invisibility while Ron shrank his broom down. Then the two raised more walls before slipping under the cloak.

"We're not exactly first years anymore!" Ron commented as it became apparent just how much they had grown since Harry had received the cloak.

"It'll work well enough," Harry countered as the two started to make their way towards the border of the storm. After a few minutes that felt like an eternity, during which the walls they had left were reduced to rubble and the pond next to them hit with a dozen curses, and his broken arm had been bumped against Ron twice, they staggered out of the storm's area.

"Bet that's the leader," Ron said, "up there, hovering."

"Yes. Must have dropped the disillusion charm. Fool. Cast on three," Harry agreed.

"One. Two. Three."

*****​

Doruk was staring at the raging storm, trying to find his target and cursing his useless hired wands when suddenly, his shield was shattered and he was almost thrown off his broom. Before he could react or recover, more spells hit him, barely stopped by his robe's protection. Why couldn't he see the enemy? The anti-disillusionment jinxes were still working!

He started to accelerate, but knew it was too late. One blasting curse clipped his broom and destroyed the bristles, sending him plummeting down to the ground. And the spells kept coming. A piercing curse hit his shoulder, and he screamed with pain.

Then he hit the ground and didn't feel anything anymore.

*****​

"Hah!" Harry Potter spat through clenched teeth when he saw the wizard leading the attack smash into the ground.

"It doesn't look like he did control the storm though," Ron commented.

"There are flying creatures up there, they have to be the ones responsible."

"Damn. What kind of creatures?" Ron was looking at the sky, trying to spot them.

"Human looking ones. I didn't see wings." Harry couldn't see anyone either… there! "I see one. Almost transparent."

"Has to be a djinn. They're rumored to be able to turn to air." Ron shook his head. "Looks like the Ottomans."

"Does fire work on them?"

"Should work."

Before they could cast though the figure Harry had discovered fled the area and the storm started to quiet down, revealing two broom riders left - one wounded - and Viktor. Harry was wounded, and he knew he should retreat to the village. Viktor should do the same - the attackers would never catch him on his broom. But he was hurt, and angry, and fed up with getting attacked and endangering others everywhere.

He glanced at Ron. "Let's get them."

"Yes." Ron nodded grimly, raising his wand. Apparently, he was fed up with getting attacked too.

Their spells hit one attacker before the man noticed them. His defenses must have been depleted already by Viktor, Harry thought, while the remains of man and broom fell into the pond. The other one tried to flee, but neither his skill nor his broom was up to the task of escaping from the best seeker in Europe, and Viktor soon brought the man down as well.

"You know, they'll be angry with us, for this, but it was worth it," Ron said, taking deep breaths to calm down.

"Viktor's family, for ruining the area?" Harry's arm was starting to hurt too much to focus properly.

"No, Sirius and Hermione, for not fleeing when we had the chance." Ron chuckled. "They'll focus on you though."

"Damn! I'll tell them you had the only broom available, and wanted to finish them off."

"What? It was your suggestion!"

"Obviously I was not thinking straight due to my broken arm, and you failed to pull me out of harm's way," Harry chuckled, then winced when the movement caused his arm to hurt even more.

"You can't blame me for this!" Ron protested.

"I can't very well blame Viktor, can I? We're his guests."

Their host looked very surprised when he found the two of them sitting on the ground and laughing almost hysterically.


Chapter 46: Plots
 
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Chapter 46: Plots
Chapter 46: Plots

An hour later, Harry Potter and his best mate Ron Weasley were not laughing anymore. It seemed as if everyone apart from Viktor was mad at them. But Viktor wasn't there, in Harry's room. The Bulgarian was helping with organizing his family's response to the attack. Lucky him. The surviving attackers had been taken away by the Bulgarian guards, but Harry didn't expect much to come from their interrogation - Voldemort covered his tracks very well, and they wouldn't know anything important.

"What were you thinking? Outnumbered I don't know how badly, facing Ottoman raiders and genies - genies! - and you attack? Didn't we train for such a situation? If you get ambushed, the enemy has the advantage! If you can retreat, you do so!" Sirius was pacing in front of the two, gesticulating wildly. Harry's godfather was furious. Valérie, Chantal, Laure and Eugénie didn't look that happy either, standing at the wall, and Hermione… Harry winced when he remembered how she had arrived at the partially destroyed pond, sitting on the back of Sirius's broom, anger and worry etched on her face.

"We had the advantage, and we had to help Viktor," Ron put forth, then cringed when the room's attention seemed to focus on him.

Harry used the distraction to sneak a glance at Hermione, sitting next to him, and winced. His girlfriend was fuming, but he could see she was fighting not to cry again. He wrapped an arm around her, and though she stiffened - she must agree with Sirius's assessment of his and Ron's course of action in that fight - she didn't pull away.

"Viktor's three years older, and was holding his own in the fight," Sirius snarled.

"He was outnumbered and he needed our help!" Ron blurted out. "He didn't even have an invisibility cloak!"

Sirius opened his mouth, apparently gearing up to cut Ron's argument down, when Hermione spoke up: "He tried disillusioning himself, but it didn't work."

"Well, of course it didn't work. They'd have put up anti-disillusion jinxes," Sirius commented.

"Those jinxes were supposed to work against cloaks as well. But Harry's cloak wasn't affected."

Harry blinked. That was true - he hadn't thought about it, back then, he had just been glad the cloak was working.

"That was his father's cloak, right?" Hermione wasn't as tense as before, Harry could feel that.

Sirius, nodded. "Yes. A family treasure, James called it."

"Invisibility cloaks do not last that long. A few years at most." Hermione was biting her lower lip, as she often did when pondering a mystery, Harry knew. And she wasn't focusing on what he had done anymore.

"They must have had it re-enchanted regularly," Sirius said. "Dumbledore had it after … he must have done it too. That explains why it's so powerful too."

Hermione nodded, but Harry frowned. Something didn't add up. "Did he improve other cloaks too? They would grant a big advantage in combat."

"Not to my knowledge…" Sirius trailed off. "The Order could use such cloaks. Of course, protecting you is very important, since Voldemort is so focused on you, so it makes sense to make sure your cloak is the best." His godfather didn't mention the prophecy, since not everyone present was aware of it. Though Harry was rather certain that sooner or later Sirius would inform his girlfriends.

"And yet the ability to remain invisible while others can't is so useful, Dumbledore would have made more of those for the Order." Hermione had picked up on Harry's thoughts.

"Which means he can't make more," Ron added. "That means your cloak is special, Harry."

Harry pulled the cloak out of his enchanted pocket and let it slide over his hand. It had always been special, being a tie to his father. But what if it was more than that?

"Maybe there's something to it that other cloaks lack, which makes it easier to enchant… some family secret… some variant of a Demiguise that has died out since?" Hermione mumbled. Harry noticed that she was staring at the cloak with an almost hungry expression, and protectively stuffed it back into his pocket before his girlfriend could try to dissect the cloak in an attempt to understand its secrets.

"You can ask Dumbledore about it, he'll tell you," he quickly said when he noticed her expression darken.

"Yes. Now, let's go back to your utter lack of common sense." Sirius said, with a smile devoid of any humor.

"What else could we have done?" Harry asked. "We couldn't flee with just one broom - the cloak wouldn't cover us and the broom, and they would have spotted us and boxed us in."

Ron supported him. "Attacking their leader from under the cloak was the best decision." With a slight huff, he added: "And if we had gone for help, we'd have been too late for Viktor. He is good, but he can't dodge genies with invisible walls that long."

Sirius closed his eyes and sighed, then sank into an armchair he conjured right behind himself. "You may have a point there."

Harry perked up and smiled at Ron, then had to wince when Hermione dug her nails into his thigh.

"So, I think it's time for you to learn apparition," Sirius stated. "That will allow you to escape and get help quickly in a similar situation."

"They had anti-apparition and anti-portkey jinxes up as well," Harry said. "That's pretty much standard for such attacks."

"Yeah. One day everyone will be so used to that, they won't have to cast the jinxes anymore since no one will even think of trying to apparate!" Ron chuckled, but stopped as soon as half the room glared at him again.

"It'll be useful still. Jinxes can be broken, and portkeys only go to a predetermined destination." Sirius shook his head. "I should have taught you that much sooner."

"You need to be 17 to get an apparition license," Hermione mentioned, though her tone and expression told Harry that his girlfriend didn't care about that law. Not if ignoring it would make him safer. He felt the same with regards to her own safety.

"Yeah. Use it for emergencies, and if you get caught, claim it was accidental magic," Sirius said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture.

Harry glanced at Hermione, then at Ron. 'Emergencies' would be a rather flexible term, he thought with a grin that his friends shared.

"I'll act as if I don't know what you three are thinking." Sirius shook his head with a wry expression. Harry did his best to put up an innocent front.

*****
Bogdan Lyubenov Stoyanov stared at the two boxes that had been delivered to him by a brown post owl. Smaller than a cigar box - obviously expanded inside. He pointed his wand at them. All it would take to keep his honor was to get rid of them. He took a deep breath as his hand was trembling, his wand wavering. He just had to...

With a curse, he flung his wand away, sending it cluttering against the wall in his study. How could he think of saving his honor when that would doom his his daughter? Clutching the locket hanging from his neck, he stared at the picture on his desk, of a blonde girl, waving at the camera with a bright smile showing a gap in her front teeth. Nadya Bogdanova Lyubenova. His only daughter. Wiping the tears that were running down his cheeks away, he looked at the second picture, at the gently smiling witch. Maria Petrova Stoyanov. His wife, killed the day their daughter had been taken. What would Maria want him to do? Would she sacrifice their daughter for their honor?

He scoffed. He knew the answer. His wife had died to protect little Nadya. Died in vain - the raiders had taken the girl anyway. He had been away, that terrible day, more than 20 years ago. He had been working in Sofia when the raiders had struck the house. When he had returned had seen the carnage; faithful Sergey struck down by a Killing Curse at the door, where he had faced the Ottomans; his wife in a pool of her blood, struck by a cutting curse on top of the stairs. She had been too strong for them to take, too skilled with her wand to capture. And so the dogs had killed her. And had had taken Nadya. Her room had been empty. Tsveta, the maid back then, had been taken as well, he remembered. Easy prey for raiders, muggleborns.

His wife though… he had met her at Durmstrang. She had been a year below, but a fierce duelist. Better than him, he had to admit, when he had been her age. She would do, had done anything for their daughter. He leaned back in his seat, shivering. How could he betray her, and their daughter?

He looked at the box again. Lacquered wood, black and shiny. It looked almost ordinary, not even hinting at the danger it held. Like a gift, for a wedding. Or a favorite tea box. No one would suspect anything if he carried it with him. Until he opened it.

He clenched his jaw together, his hand still clutching his necklace, and glared at the parchment that had come with the box. The instructions. And the promises. His daughter's freedom. Lies, Turkish lies, he told himself, not for the first time. They wouldn't let his daughter go even if he did what they wanted. And yet… he wanted to believe them. Wanted it so badly.

His fingers opened the locket. Caressed the lock of blonde hair in it. It was his daughter's. A spell had proven that. She was still alive - a polyjuice potion he had his maid, Silviya, take, had proven that. For a moment, it had been as if Nadya had returned to him, and he had broken down crying. She had grown up into a beautiful woman since her kidnapping, like her mother had been. Silviya had understood then. Had been happy for him, the poor trusting girl.

He had obliviated her, of course. Couldn't risk her betraying that secret. Betraying his impending betrayal. But that had sealed it. Watching his daughter's form waver, turn back into his maid's had felt like losing her again. How could he go through that again? How could he sacrifice her? For strangers?

He wrapped the blonde strand of hair around his finger, ran it over his cheek. Nadya. He told himself that the Ottoman who had sent him the first letter, with the lock, wouldn't keep his word. Would betray him. But the hope… whenever he touched the lock, Nadya's hair, he knew he had to try, had to risk it, no matter how small the chance.

He couldn't fail his daughter again.

Never again.

*****
Abdul al-Samar closed his ledger, a slight frown on his face. Procuring the poison needed for this task had been more expensive than he liked. Far more. Usually, he didn't need much of it - just enough for one wizard or witch. It was a complicated poison, delivered in two parts, both of them harmless and therefore not detected by the usual spells until combined - in a body, or outside. He only knew one potioneer who knew how to brew both components, and the man charged a fortune for his services - and his secrecy.

If there had been another way to do the Dark Lord's bidding, Abdul would not have spent so much gold. But that poison in gaseous form was the best option. Spreading a disease like Dragon Pox would be deadlier, and easier - but that would bring down the wrath of the ICW. The Sublime Porte would sacrifice him in a heartbeat if there was even a hint about the deliberate use of magical diseases. Not even Grindelwald had dared to do that. The last time a country had crossed that line, the consequences had been so severe, even the memory of the country had been erased from all but a few accounts.

The Ottoman wizard had thought of using Exploding Fluid, but that was too easily detected as well. An Assassin might be able to smuggle enough of the fluid past whatever guards and spells the Bulgarians and British had put up, but the Elder of the Mountain would never allow one of his wands to move against a protégé of Dumbledore. Anyone else Abdul knew would be caught. Or was smart enough not to go.

He leaned back, wondering how Doruk had fared. The pact with the genies he had sent along with the raider and his thugs had ended, which meant Doruk was dead. As expected. And planned. He shook his head, smiling slightly. To think that man had fancied himself his rival! The fool hadn't not known Abdul was behind the mission, nor realized that even if he succeeded, he'd die - at the wand of Dumbledore, or killed by his employer to prevent Dumbledore from tracking him. All that talent for crossing borders, and no wisdom.

But Doruk's failure would make the Bulgarian barbarians tighten their security even more - and call in experts for genies. And Stoyanov was their best. It was delightfully ironic that the very thing that had caused that wizard to become an expert for genies - or as much of an expert as someone outside the Empire could become - was also the thing that allowed Abdul to control him. The man's daughter that had been kidnapped and raised in the Empire.

He frowned again. Procuring the witch had not been cheap either - she had been married to a wizard in Constantinople, and breaking into a harem wasn't common, despite all the tales told in taverns and cafés. At least her husband wasn't that influential, so there shouldn't be much trouble on that front.

He flicked his wand and a steaming kettle floated over, dipping as it filled his cup. Stoyanov was both his best opportunity, and the weakest part of his plan. Holding his daughter hostage should be enough to make the Bulgarian obey, but using such means was always a bit of a gamble. Stoyanov seemed like a sure bet though - he had no family left that could be hurt, other than his daughter, no real career to care about, and would happily die for the girl. Or woman, now.

Still, using the imperius or laying some compulsion charms on that lock of hair Abdul had sent to the Bulgarian would have insured the man's compliance, but either could be detected. Though if Abdul was honest with himself, then he liked that bit of risk, that bit of uncertainty in a plan. And he enjoyed the thought that even if Stoyanov didn't die from the poison, his daughter would return to her husband instead.

After all, Abdul had only promised to set her free, not to send her to a father she didn't remember anymore.

Just as the genies he made deals with, Abdul prided himself of adhering to the letter of his deals, not the spirit.

The cup of tea floated a bit away while his chuckling turned into a violent coughing fit. bent over, his lungs hurting, he pulled out a small vial with shaking fingers, swallowing its contents quickly. With closed eyes he waited until breathing didn't hurt anymore. As usual, it took a bit longer to bring him relief than the last time he had taken it. One day, in the not too distant future, it would simply fail. And he would die.

Unless he gained the Dark Lord's knowledge of how to cheat death. That was the real prize Abdul was after. The Dark Lord's means of immortality. And that was worth all the gold he had spent so far, and then some.

*****
Since her last visit, playing the dutiful little muggleborn in Bulgaria had become harder, Hermione Granger thought while she checked her appearance in the mirror of Harry's and hers room. Or maybe she simply wasn't used anymore to the degree of formality common here. It was different in Britain. Between the lessons at Hogwarts, where every student was treated the same, and the time Harry and she spent with close friends in their private room, where she could be herself, she only had to act as a retainer in the hallways and at the meals. Due to the war, they had few formal dinners with guests at home - at Harry's home - and when they went out, they usually stayed in Muggle London, where they could act like a normal couple. The same had been the case for their trip to Jamaica.

In Bulgaria though, they were always in public as soon as they left their room. They were wearing robes that told everyone their blood status, and while everyone knew she was his girlfriend - his mistress, actually, in their terms - she wasn't supposed to 'flaunt' it. That would be trying to 'reach above her station'. At least she had not offended anyone when she had hugged Harry after the battle he had been in.

Sighing, she ran her wand over her robe, checking with the robe floating next to the mirror if her transfigured robe matched the Bulgarian robe provided by Viktor's family. There was no way she was wearing anything but her heavily enchanted robe, so she had to transfigure it.

Her torc grew warmer, alerting her that Harry was approaching. A few seconds later, the door opened and her boyfriend entered. He was wearing his own robe, also transfigured - though since he was a pureblood, his looked far more elaborate and colorful.

"Homenum Revelio." Hermione flicked her wand, but no one was revealed.

"Moody's checking the perimeter, or so he said," Harry explained.

"He could have told you that to fool anyone listening in, and followed you inside." Hermione narrowed her eyes. She was not quite certain the old auror hadn't a way to fool her detection spells. At least the other Order members who had arrived from Britain with Moody, after Dumbledore had heard of the attack, were a bit less… eccentric.

"And then he'd assume whoever listened in would assume he was trying to fool them, and so he'd would still check the perimeter." Harry grinned.

"At least he takes your security seriously." Hermione frowned. She still wasn't completely over the attack on him. If only she had been with him! She knew that would have meant she'd have been flying - she suppressed a shudder - or an easy target on the ground, but she should have been with him, ready to protect him.

"He's paranoid. I think he has been disillusioning himself almost constantly since he arrived here." Harry stepped up to her, cocking his head sideways. "That looks like a perfect copy."

She sighed again. "It is. Not that it was that difficult to copy a plain muggleborn robe." It wasn't exactly that plain, quite the contrary. The embroidery was just more subtle, but by no means less extensive than the pureblood robe Harry wore.

"Well, all of them had to wear muggle clothes in Britain," Harry said while putting his hands on her shoulder.

"I know, it's only fair we wear their clothes for the wedding here." Hermione knew it, knew how long it had taken for the two families to compromise, and yet…

"We could still wear our normal robes. Claim we need the additional protection."

Hermione shook her head. "No. This is Nymphadora's and Viktor's great day. We shouldn't ruin it." Their excuse would be accepted, but everyone would know it was a lie.

"At least it'll be interesting, to see a Bulgarian wedding. Note all the differences…" he trailed off, pressing his lips together.

She smiled, though a bit ruefully, at him. "I can stand it. Don't worry." And if she couldn't… Witches could cry at weddings.

Harry nodded, then cupped her chin and lifted it towards him. "We'll have our own, after the war."

"Yes." She knew that, though she didn't know what kind of wedding they'd have. Would be able to have. Then their lips met and she closed her eyes, trying to forget such thoughts.

*****
Bogdan Lyubenov Stoyanov stared at the Krum family gathered in front of their home. Viktor Krum was shaking barley out of his hair - he couldn't use a wand for that, that would bring bad luck - while the rest of his family shot spells into the air. The best man, Boris Stankoiev, floated the wedding banner, a tapestry which showed the life of the groom and his family's history in short scenes. Bogdan smiled, remembering his own wedding banner. Contrary to Krum's, his had focused on his family history - he had been so young then, he hadn't had much to be proud of. Maria had chosen him anyway, over two rivals from Sofia.

While the wedding procession, led by the banner, left Krum's home and his parents and made its way to the tent that would serve as the bride's home for the ceremony, Bogdan saw his own procession, walking towards Maria's home.

"Stoyanov?"

He jerked. Who… It was Ivan Dimitariev, the head of the forces safeguarding the village and wedding. The Bulgarian forces, to be precise - the British had sent aurors of their own, and most he had talked with assumed half the guests were guards in disguise as well. "I'm sorry, I just… I remembered my own wedding."

Ivan nodded, sympathy apparent on his face. Everyone knew what had happened to Bogdan's family, after all. "Weddings do that." After a pause, he asked: "Any sign of genies?"

Bogdan shook his head. "None so far. But if they arrive, I'm ready." He patted his robe's pocket and forced a smile. Ivan smiled in return, slapped him on the back, and went to check on the broom patrols.

As soon as the other man had turned away he stopped smiling. If Ivan knew what he was about to do… He shook his head, banishing the thoughts. Nadya. He had to think of Nadya.

*****
Viktor beamed while his bride was led out of the tent, a veil on her head - as tradition demanded, she had refused it twice, before accepting it on the third time - and a long scarf floating around her. The scarf depicted her and her family's history, but where his banner was thick and solid, the scarf was sheer, and thin, dancing around Nymphadora as if it was carried by fairies.

Boris, his best friend and best man, had the wedding banner dip with a flick of his wand - the signal for Viktor to capture the scarf. As one of the world's best seekers, Viktor could have caught it in seconds, but tradition demanded he make a spectacle out of it, chasing it around the bride with exaggerated motions, almost running the bride over and generally playing the fool. According to tradition this symbolized the courtship, where the wizard chased the witch. His father claimed it showed the typical wizard making a fool out of himself over a witch. Mother had hexed him for the comment.

After enough time had passed, Viktor caught the scarf, wrapping it around his wand arm while both families present cast spells into the sky again to ward off evil spirits. Viktor noted that this time, people seemed to take this far more seriously than usual - they were not casting the usual flashy jinxes, but deadly hexes and curses. Viktor approved of this - twice his home had been attacked, and twice he had been taken by surprise. There would not be a third time!

When the spirits had been chased off, he offered his left arm to his bride - she had a tendency to stumble, and that wouldn't do today - and started leading her towards the village temple, followed by their friends and family.

*****
Bogdan Lyubenov Stoyanov remembered his instructions while he followed the wedding procession towards the temple. All he had to do was open one box during the ceremony, take out a handkerchief, then wait until the ceremony was almost over and open the other box. Simple. Easy. He could do it. He had to, for Nadya.

Halfway to the temple, the music started, and he almost stumbled. The same song as… He shivered, wiping his eyes. Maria…

"Are you sad?"

Once again he jerked, surprised. Looking around, he saw a little girl staring up at him. She couldn't be older than six and was wearing muggleborn robes. The same age his own daughter had been.

The girl tugged on one of her pigtails and cocked her head to the side. "Are you sad? You're crying. Mother said witches cry at weddings because they are happy, but wizards don't cry if they're happy."

He didn't know what to say to the child. Shaking his head, he tried to smile at her. "I'm not sad."

She rewarded his lie with a beaming smile of her own. "Good! It's the biggest wedding of the village! Everyone should be happy!" Before she could say anything else, a woman shouted from further ahead: "Dana!"

"Ooops!" Grinning, she turned around and started to run towards the witch who had shouted - one of the muggleborn families bringing up the end of the wedding procession.

Bogdan watched the girl run, reach her family, and get picked up by her mother, or older sister. He didn't know what the boxes would do. Not exactly. But he could imagine it. And he suddenly knew that Maria wouldn't have done that, not even for Nadya.

When his eyes filled with tears again, he didn't wipe them off but simply started to walk away, towards the edge of the village.

*****
When the priest was asking Tengri the Sky Father for his blessing of the marriage, Viktor felt his skin tingling and for a moment, he heard and felt the wing beats of a bird flying over his head. Nymphadora was looking at the open ceiling, seemingly startled - she had to have felt it too. "Tengri's blessing," he whispered, and saw her take a deep breath, and steady herself again. Together, they faced the priest, who was smiling widely under his thick beard.

"Raise your wands, and speak after me: I, Viktor Mihailiev, take Nymphadora Black-Tonks..."

Viktor raised his wand, and as he started to speak the words of the vow, he saw a golden eagle glide over the temple, then fly towards the sun and disappear. Was this…?

He was still wondering what he had seen when he was signing the marriage parchments, and so distracted, he was easily bested by Nymphadora in the ritual duel afterwards that tradition claimed would show who would hold the wand in the marriage.

He didn't mind though - it was still the happiest day of his life.

*****
Bogdan Lyubenov Stoyanov stared at the small clearing in the woods. The wedding would be over by now. The temple emptying as the families and friends of the couple moved to the feast. It was over.

No… he still could do it. Just at the feast. It was in the open, but that… he clenched his eyes shut and hit the tree he was standing next to so hard, all his knuckles were split. No. He couldn't. Maria would never forgive him. And neither would Nadya. The price was just too high.

But he had to ensure Nadya wouldn't suffer for his decision. No more than she already was. And only his death would achieve that. With him dead, there would be no point to punish her. But first, he had to destroy the boxes.

He pulled them from his pockets and set them down on a stone in the middle of the clearing. Fiendfyre would endanger the entire forest, so he could only hope that vanishing it would work.

Taking a few steps back, he drew his wand and aimed it at the two boxes.

"Wait, please."

For the third time this day, he jerked in surprise.

*****
The Bulgarian wizard reacted like Aberforth Dumbledore had expected, whirling around and aiming his wand, then wavering when he couldn't spot the old British wizard. He almost chuckled - throwing his voice might seem like a party trick, and yet so effective when used in the right situation.

A series of disarming spells, cast too fast for the man to react in time, removed Stoyanov's wand. Shocked, the man fell to his knees. That wasn't the expression of a man doing his duty, but a beaten man. It looked like Moody had been correct, Aberforth thought with no small amount of resentment.

Canceling his disillusionment spell, he saw Stoyanov's eyes widen.

"D-Dumbledore…"

"Indeed, though not the Dumbledore you're thinking about," Aberforth said, a bit prickly. He didn't dress like a colorblind child after eating a whole box of chocolate frogs, after all. "So… where did you get those boxes?"

The man hesitated for an instant, then seemed to shrink, his shoulders hunching. "They were sent to me… with a lock of hair from my daughter. She was kidnapped… years ago."

Aberforth stiffened and had to clench his jaws together to avoid cursing out loud. Damn that bastard of an auror! He had to have known this all along, and yet sent him to confront the man! He took a deep breath and managed to hold his temper. "And so they offered her life for the life of the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Yes, no… I don't know. I was to open those boxes, in the temple." The man was crying now. "Nadya… I couldn't do it."

"Who sent the boxes?" Aberforth looked at them. Plain, but that didn't mean anything. They could contain anything, from bound genies to molten lava. He should let Moody handle them. Give the bastard a taste of his own medicine. To think that Albus sent both of them to Bulgaria… and to think Aberforth had been fool enough to agree!

"I don't know. I never saw the man. It's an Ottoman wizard, that's all I know." Stoyanov sobbed.

Aberforth shook his head. "You assume that. You don't know." Though it was a good guess. Genies, kidnapped girls… it fit.

"Please… save her. She's innocent…"

He hissed, remembering the last time he had gone into the Ottoman Empire to save two kidnapped girls. Only Lea had survived that attempt, Neola had died. His damn fault. And Albus's, for not helping. "What's her name?" he asked, knowing he shouldn't.

"Nadya. Nadya Bogdanova Lyubenova." The man's expression was filled with so much desperate hope, it almost hurt just seeing it.

"I will do what I can." Aberforth regretted the words as soon as he said them, but knew he couldn't say anything else.

"Thank you. Thank you." The man relaxed, growing calmer. "But you'll need to find her, her kidnapper, first."

"Yes." And without a name, that would be difficult. Not impossible, but difficult.

Stoyanov nodded slowly. "I'll have to make sure they'll not punish her then."

"Don't be a fool!"

"I am a fool." The Bulgarian snorted. "If I betrayed them, then they'll hurt her to punish me. If I am killed trying to do their bidding though they have no reason to."

"If they think you betrayed them, they have a reason to keep her as leverage." Aberforth knew it was a weak argument, but they were talking about a man's, a father's life here.

Stoyanov shook his head. "If you give me my wand, I'll give you my memories. All I know about the kidnappers. And… for Nadya. To give to her, once she is safe. And a lock of her hair, so you will know how she looks."

"There's no need for that. They won't kill her." Aberforth didn't think so.

"Maybe. But if they start hurting her… I don't know if I could resist then."

There was nothing Aberforth could say against that. So he handed the man's wand over. "I'll say you looked like you were under a spell." It would make it easier for his family. Or for his daughter.

"Thank you."

Aberforth watched as silvery strands of memories were drawn out of Stoyanov's temple, ending up in a few vials. And he stood and watched as the Bulgarian wizard sent a piercing curse through the same temple.

Then he carefully stored the two boxes in two different bags, sealed them up, took the locket with the girl's hair and sent a patronus message to Moody before apparating away.

*****
"Was he a traitor?"

Aberforth Dumbledore glared at Moody without answering his question. "Did you know about his daughter?"

"Of course. Checking for such weaknesses is standard procedure." The old auror grinned.

Aberforth felt like hexing the man. Or hitting him. But if he attacked, things would end with blood and death. The history between him and Moody guaranteed that. And the man's paranoia. But he couldn't leave this unanswered. So he leaned forward and whispered: "If you ever pull this again, I'll make sure you'll regret it."

Moody sneered at him in response. "We'll see who'll regret it." After a short pause, he continued. "So, what did you do to him?"

"I spoke to him. Before he killed himself," Aberforth answered.

"What? We needed his knowledge!" Moody gaped at him.

"I've got his memories." Aberforth smiled toothily at his old enemy.

"I'll get them to Albus."

"No, I'll do it."

Moody's eyebrow rose - the one above his normal eye. "Will you be going off on a fool's quest again while we fight the Dark Lord?"

Aberforth glared at him. "Two attacks on Potter with the help of an Ottoman wizard. Three if you count the genie at the end of the tournament. Someone has to take care of that problem."

"You want to save the girl."

Aberforth ignored the comment. "Can you handle the rest of the time Potter's staying here?"

As expected, Moody was torn between his paranoia, and his desire to not rely on Aberforth. His pride won out. "I can handle it. Go and run to your brother and ask him for help. But don't get anyone killed this time. Unless they are criminals."

Aberforth apparated away before he lost his temper.

*****
"Home sweet home!" Sirius Black exclaimed when he exited the floo in No 12, Grimmauld Place and stepped over his godson, who was lying on the floor. "I thought we fixed your problem with floo travel. Did you have a relapse?"

"Someone tripped me," Harry grumbled, getting up.

"It was probably Moody, still invisible," Hermione said, grinning. "Constant vigilance, right?" she added, raising her voice just shy of yelling.

"I suspect it was some clumsy witch."

"Well, you would, but you would be wrong."

Sirius smiled while he watched the two teenagers head up to their room. His godson was safe; he could finally relax again. Two attacks in Bulgaria… part of him wanted to keep Harry in Grimmauld Place until Voldemort was dead. It would be easy… stock up on food, bribe Hermione with books until she supported the idea, hire some tutors…

He sighed. James had thought they would be safe while hiding as well. He had been wrong. And Harry wasn't the type to hide. As much as Sirius hated it, he was too much of a Gryffindor. Too brave, too ready to jump into the fray to protect others. Well, if he could make Harry believe that Hermione would be safest here…

He sighed and shook his head. It wouldn't work.

"Trouble, chéri?" Valérie was there, running a hand over his back. Behind her Chantal arrived, Eugénie and Laure right behind.

"Just wishing Harry wouldn't have to go to Hogwarts in a month."

"Will they be taking the train again?"

"Yes. It has been repaired, and they'll have doubled the guards. And broom riding escorts for the whole trip." It had been quite the discussion in the Wizengamot, but an alliance of traditionalists who'd rather risk their great-grandchildren than deprive them of the train trip, and hotheads who would not let Voldemort force them into abandoning such a symbol of Wizarding Britain had prevailed.

"You think Voldemort will use the opportunity to strike at someone else." Chantal stated rather than asked.

"Exactly." At least Harry would be safe. As safe as a boy could be when the worst Dark Lord in British history wanted him dead. "And we'll be too late again. We can't win by defending, we need to find them and strike at them."

"Finding is the main problem." Laure stretched, changing her robes to a lighter, sheerer and much shorter house robe. Or what veela considered house robes. Her cousins followed her example.

"Dumbledore says he's working on that problem, but he won't say how long it'll be until he has a solution." Sirius frowned. The Headmaster wouldn't even give him an estimate.

"Maybe 'ermione can ask 'im? She's visiting Hogwarts soon, right?"

Sirius almost glared at Valérie. Officially, Harry and Hermione were visiting Hogwarts for some lessons from Dumbledore. No one was supposed to know that it was a cover for whatever the witch was doing with Dumbledore. Sirius didn't know it himself. He just hoped it would be as effective as whatever Lily had been working on - that had saved Harry and defeated the Dark Lord. To cover his near-lapse, he chuckled. "I fear that the Headmaster is not susceptible to a pretty face."

"It'd be worth a try," Valérie said, giggling, though judging by the slightly forced undertone, and the looks from her cousins, they hadn't been fooled.

Well, the four veela had proven themselves time and again. and they were as good as family. Maybe it was time for a talk.

*****
Dolores Umbridge waved her wand, and the flagon of perfume circled around her, two drops floating up from it and flying towards her. She checked her appearance. The robe fit perfectly, framing her body and drawing attention to her figure without showing too much. Their target for this night was not interested in bedding women, but he liked the company of educated witches anyway.

She entered the main room, where the two beasts were waiting. She looked them over, then nodded. No one would suspect their true nature dressed in those robes. The female werewolf sneered at her. She still hadn't accepted her place. The male one leered and made an obscene proposition. That beast reveled in his nature. She ignored it and drew her wand. "Let's be off. Ethan Hathaway does not like to be kept waiting."

Two hours later, Dolores was cursing her luck, or lack of. The moon would rise soon, but Hathaway hadn't shown any inclination to retire to his bedroom with the male beast yet. And she had hoped to avoid seeing the monster transform. Or being nearby. Even with wolfsbane, she didn't trust the werewolf - he was driven by his base instincts far too much even in human form. Not that she trusted the female one much either, but at least this one had shown some restraint in the past.

"Dear, feel free to get comfortable with your friend." Hathaway gestured at her and the female werewolf. His hints were becoming less and less subtle with each glass he drank. The male monster laughed loudly, of course. He had claimed they were an item ever since both had refused his advances.

"Oh, we are very comfortable here," Dolores spoke up, to cover for the growl coming from the monster near her. She felt a bit vexed that the werewolf seemed to be as disgusted as herself by the proposal - the beast should feel honoured by the assumption, no matter how disgusting it was - but focused on the mission. Any time now.

*****
Albus Dumbledore withdrew his head from his pensieve. He had been watching the memories Aberforth had brought to him for the sixth time, and yet he had not made much progress. The only - vague - clues to the identity of that Ottoman wizard were the boxes and the owl that had delivered them - a plain brown post owl. Almost impossible to trace. Probably killed already. And the boxes showed no hint of their origin either - those kind of boxes could be bought almost anywhere. He could only hope that his brother would have more luck in the Empire. A lot more than during his last foray to the Bosporus.

He had found other clues though. He would have to talk to Alastor. Using compulsion charms on a little girl… he shook his head. His old friend was going a bit far. And that stunt he had pulled on Aberforth… Albus had hoped his brother and Alastor would make up, or at least, bury their feud in the face of a common enemy, but it seemed they were a bit too set in their ways. More than a bit, with Aberforth determined to save the man's daughter. He could only hope his brother would not repeat his past mistakes.

The charm on his floo alerted him, and he drew his wand as he walked to his office. His fireplace was warded, and he did expect Harry and Miss Granger, but in these trying times it was best to be prepared.

He reached his office before the two teenagers arrived. With his entire flat technically located inside his office, distances were easily adjusted to a single step when needed. Or to a hundred.

"Good evening, Harry, Miss Granger. Please have a seat."

He checked the small clock on his desk. "We have an hour until the moon rises."

Harry nodded, more than a bit stiffly. Understandable - the poor boy would, in all likelihood, have to share Voldemort's mind again during a terrible ritual this night. Miss Granger rubbed his back and he managed a smile. "Some birthday present."

Albus chuckled, even if he didn't feel it was funny. But the boy was making an effort to lighten the mood, which deserved his support. He met the glaring eyes of the young muggleborn witch, and held her gaze until she looked away. She meant well, but she was still inexperienced, and a bit too eager where more caution would be preferable. Fawkes sang, lifting the spirits of everyone present, and Albus slipped the phoenix a few lemon drops in gratitude,

"Headmaster? I was wondering…"

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Could a dementor suck a soul out of a horcrux?"

He raised his eyebrows at the calm tone the young witch used when talking about some of the foulest creatures known to man. He wasn't surprised though - he had known she would look into those matters when researching magic that affected souls.

Folding his hands, Albus leaned back. "While it would seem logical, I fear it would not work. A dementor's power only works on living, feeling people."

"But…"

He raised a hand before the witch could continue. "Without access to the body, they wouldn't be able to reach the soul. It was put to the test, so to speak, on Azkaban." Bones had put a stop to it quickly, but not before a few Death Eaters had already been 'kissed by accident'. And Tom wouldn't have chosen the dark mark as his horcruxes if a single one of his followers getting kissed would have led to his own demise.

"Oh. Would it work if his current body was captured?"

"It might, or it might not. If it is possible to protect oneself against the dementor's kiss, then Tom will have done so - he would have known he would be facing this punishment, should he get caught, before he started his first war." He sighed. "Not that it would be too practical anyway, with the dementors now serving him."

The young witch looked down, and this time it was up to Harry to console her. "Even if we can just find them through the mark it'll be enough to win the war."

Albus knew that was true. But it wouldn't be enough to save Harry, should his mother's protection ever fail. The things Voldemort could do, using the soul fragment in his scar... And judging from the look on Miss Granger's face when she stared at him, she knew it as well.

He would have to let her read some of the books he hadn't touched since he and Gellert had parted ways. The three people remained silent for a bit, listening to another of Fawkes's songs.

"I've another question, sir."

"Yes?"

"Why didn't you study sympathetic magic?"

"Ah. To be honest, it would have done me more harm than good." He chuckled at their alarmed expressions. "No, no. Not the kind of harm you are thinking of. Sympathetic magic is not dark." Though a few of the curses often used with it were among the darkest magic known to wizardkind. "But for me to be seen studying what most consider voodoo would have damaged my reputation. My political opponents would have jumped on the opportunity, and my enemies would have rejoiced at the ability to blame me for any suspicious death no matter if I was nearby or not."

"So now they will blame me, us?" Harry asked.

"I do not think anyone outside your family knows about your training on Jamaica," he tried to reassure the two teenagers. Harry seemed to accept that, but Miss Granger frowned. She didn't push the point though.

"Yes Miss Granger?" He had seen her hand twitch. She didn't raise it to ask a question, not anymore, but sometimes, old habits lingered.

"Did you do something to Harry's invisibility cloak? We noticed that it worked even against anti-disillusionment jinxes. That's not normal."

"Ah." He took a lemon drop to gain some time to study the young witch and wizard. They seemed curious, not suspicious. "The cloak is more powerful than normal cloaks - which is why it has been in your family for so long, Harry."

"Can it be duplicated?" Harry leaned forward. "If all of the Order had such cloaks, the war would be much easier."

Albus smiled. Others would have been happy to own something special, Harry though was concerned with helping others. He shook his head. "Sadly, the secret of its construction was lost. I've studied it for years."

"Oh." The two teens looked disappointed, though Miss Granger also looked intrigued. Albus had a feeling that she'd look into the matter herself, though hopefully only after Voldemort had been defeated, and then it wouldn't matter that much anymore. But if Voldemort learned that the myth was real...

He checked the clock again. It wouldn't be long now until the moon rose.

*****
When two inhuman screams filled the room and both werewolves started to shake, Dolores moved at once. Hathaway was still staring, frozen with shock and horror as he realized that he was in the same room as two werewolves, when her first spell struck his robe's protection. A robe he wouldn't have been wearing if the male werewolf had done his job.

The wizard was rich, and his robes' enchantments showed it. Dolores's first four spells were countered by them. Her fifth body-binding curse though hit before Hathaway could cast himself, and he froze as his limbs snapped stiff.

She turned to the male beast, who had just finished transforming - an ugly, violent process that sounded as if all of the bones in the human body were broken before changing. "Bite him! I'll check if the way to his bedroom is clear."

Instead of obeying, the monster took a step towards her, his long tongue lolling out of his slobbering mouth. Dolores had taken two steps back before she realized it. "Bite him, then wait at his side!"

The beast took another step, almost a jump. Her wand was already aimed at it. "Don't come closer!"

The monster's mouth opened, and she couldn't help but staring at the row of gleaming white oversized teeth. Which meant she didn't see the beast kick a chair at her.

She hadn't been too bad in DADA, and she managed to blow the chair up with a blasting curse before it hit her, but that had given the werewolf enough time to jump at her. To her horror, Dolores realized that she wouldn't be able to stop the monster before it reached her. Before it bit her, cursing her, and turning her into a monster herself. Or do even worse.

She started to scream when another furry body plowed into the jumping werewolf from the side, pushing it away from the witch who was scrambling back in near-panic. The female werewolf… had saved her?

Dolores stared, shocked, while the two monsters fought. She couldn't tell who was winning. Couldn't cast without hitting them both - which wouldn't be a bad thing, she realized. And yet she didn't cast, but waited while blood and fur flew, and growls turned into howls and then into whimpers, until one beast was on the ground, missing its throat, and the other, bleeding, but still standing, turned towards her.

Again Dolores almost cast, but stayed her wand. That was the female one. It grunted, then limped over to the still bound Hathaway, bending down to bite him in the arm.

Slowly, the witch lowered her wand. She was safe. Sort of. The werewolf who had attacked her was dead. She was not hurt. Not cursed. She started to smile.

Then she stopped. She had been saved. By a werewolf. Who had risked her life for her.

No. No. "NOOOOO!"

If not for the privacy charms her scream would have been heard in the whole house.


Chapter 47: End of Summer
 
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Chapter 47: End of Summer
Chapter 47: End of Summer

By now he was very familiar with the sight. The beast was struggling, frothing through the gagged mouth, eyes rolling. The enchanted chains dug deep into its fur, burning its cursed skin and flesh. A Silencing Charm kept the howling from disturbing him.

He was alone with the beast. His Bellatrix was far away, ready to complete the distraction he had arranged. He looked up - the full moon had risen, but clouds had so far blocked its light. The beast had transformed, of course, the curse didn't require the actual moonlight to trigger, and neither did the ritual, but the symbolism of the circle and altar actually illuminated by the moon would make it stronger.

And given what he was attempting, even that much help was welcome.

Finally, the clouds parted, and the runic circle was bathed in the silvery light. Smiling, he started the ritual, igniting the floating lights. Unlike in the disastrous second attempt, the bands of runes he had seen in the first such ritual appeared again between them, though different ones this time. They spread, and wrapped around the floating crystal globe.

It was time. He stepped over to the bound sacrifice, silver knife already drawn. The enchanted blade cut deeply, parting ribs almost as easily as it parted flesh, and soon he was staring at the exposed, beating heart of the monster. Instead of removing the heart though, he stabbed his wand into it with a whispered incantation.

"Abunda!"

When he withdrew the wand, a thin stream of blood followed the tip. The monster's heart blood. He stepped around the altar, ignoring the frantic beast, and touched the wand to the floating globe. The blood touched the crystal, and vanished into it with a sizzling noise. Smiling, he watched the beast weaken as more and more of its blood was fed into the globe, which started to shine brightly, the light rapidly growing in intensity.

Long before the beast died though he pulled the wand away again, touching the ground, and let the blood spill over the earth. While the werewolf bled out, he studied the floating globe's enchantments. If they started to weaken he'd have to act very quickly.

They didn't. They strained though. And when the monster died, they flared up, and he had to hasten to touch it with his wand, and send a cone of bright, blinding light up to the sky.

*****​

Harry woke up shuddering. When he hadn't slipped into a vision at moonrise, he had hoped that Voldemort had been scared off from another attempt at the ritual by his close brush with death. It hadn't been the case. Before he could summon his glasses, Hermione handed them to him. Putting them on, he realized he had been transported to his - and now their - bedroom in No 12, Grimmauld Place. After a glance to the clock hanging from the wall, ignoring the way the figures on the enamel dial seemed to peer at him with open curiosity, he muttered "What a way to start my birthday."

His girlfriend shook her head, but his joke seemed to have reassured her that he was, if not fine - she never used that word after his first Quidditch accident and subsequent stay in the under Pomfrey's care - at least not hurt.

"Same as before?"

"He didn't almost die," he answered.

"He's making progress again then." Hermione shook her head, pursing her lips.

"He was more careful though," Harry explained while drawing the memory out of his head and into a vial Hermione summoned. "That means he would take longer."

He didn't have to add 'long enough for you to finish your own ritual' - she knew what he meant and nodded.

"Dumbledore is waiting for this. Downstairs," the young witch said, then bent forward and kissed him.

When they pulled apart, Harry was tempted to banish the vial downstairs and lock himself in with Hermione. He didn't though - this was too important. Lives depended on his visions. "Later," he whispered in her ear, then got up.

*****​

A monster had saved her. Had gotten hurt for her. It didn't make any sense. Couldn't make any sense.

Dolores Umbridge stared at the bleeding, misshapen form of the werewolf in shock. She felt the urge to help the beast, treat her - its! - wounds, and her wand was aimed at it before she realized. It growled, and she lowered her wand, fighting the urge to make cooing noises and explain herself.

Instead she addressed the still paralysed form of Hathaway. The man's eyes were wide with fear, and darting back and forth between her and the werewolf. He too was bleeding, though just from one bite. She pointed her wand at the wound. "Episkey."

While the wounds closed she vanished the blood that had been spilled, followed by the corpse of the werewolf. The other monster was trying to bandage her, its wounds as if it was a muggle. Rolling her eyes, Dolores stepped closer.

"Stop it! I need to vanish all traces of the fight, and for that, I can't have you bleed on the carpet!" She sneered at the beast as it snarled at her. after a few seconds, she once again aimed her wand and started to close the numerous wounds the werewolf had suffered defending her. It growled some more, but didn't attack or move away while she cast.

Finishing up, Dolores muttered curses when when she realized that she had left herself open to an attack by the monster. And that she hadn't minded as long as she could help the beast.

Shaking her head as if to physically banish the thoughts from her head, she repaired the furniture broken in the scuffle, and approached Hathaway again. "My dear Ethan. By now you'll have realized what has happened: You've been bitten by a werewolf under the full moon."

The wizard's eyes managed to convey the horror he must be feeling, and she smiled sweetly at the sight. Served the arrogant idiot well. "If anyone learns of this, you'll be finished. A monster, removed from your position, driven from your family. But don't worry. As long as you do us a few favors, your secret will be safe." She patted his cheek while the werewolf growled again.

"Now let's disillusion the werewolf, and move to your bedroom. The monster needs to rest until the sun has risen again, when we can leave without trouble."

*****​

"What do you make of that?" Kenneth Fenbrick asked while prodding a marble splinter with his wand.

"Ritual gone out of control," Bertha Limmington answered curtly. Kenneth's partner was investigating what looked like a scrap of fur to him, until she turned it around and he could see the bleeding skin and flesh on the other side.

"What do you have there? Remains of an animal?"

"Werewolf."

"A werewolf? Caster or sacrifice?" Kenneth looked around on the small clearing again. It wasn't as devastated as the last clearing they had investigated. Or rather, he corrected himself, the devastation seemed to have been caused by a different effect, not simply a weaker version of whatever had caused the last incident.

"Sacrifice." Bertha flicked her wand and a broken chain link floated over to Kenneth.

He studied it briefly. "Silver inlays." That would hint at the werewolf having been chained up. Especially with the timing, right under the full moon. "So, that means the bits and pieces we found at the edge would have been the caster." Bertha opened her mouth, but he knew what she'd say and continued, grinning at her expression: "Unless they belong to another sacrifice, or were a bystander."

Glaring at him for an instant, Bertha nodded. "We haven't found a wand."

And Kenneth doubted they ever would. Anything that could reduce a block of marble to rubble would destroy a wand. "Maybe there's a splinter from it in a part the trainees collected." Ollivander might be able to identify it - the wandmaker had an uncanny memory for his work. Unless this was the work of a foreigner. "Though if the caster escaped the last disaster, he might have escaped this one as well."

"If a ritual goes out of control, then the consequences are unpredictable." Bertha looked at another, bigger piece of werewolf, levitating it in front of her and slowly turning it around itself while she cast several detection spells at it. "No spell residue."

"Looks like a divination case then," Kenneth remarked. Officially, there was no such term for investigations one needed a seer's vision to solve, just cases that were 'put on hold until further information was acquired', but every auror knew the score. And there were precious few visions to be had, with so few true seers being born.

"We still have to wait for the results from the Unspeakables," Bertha objected. "It's too early to say that." Kenneth could see she wasn't really believing her own words though.

He shrugged. "Nothing we can do then but wait."

"But work on our other case," Bertha corrected him. Her glare turned into a grin when Kenneth pouted theatrically, and both were smiling when they apparated back to the Ministry.

*****​

Harry Potter watched his friends gather around the long table in the dining room of No 12, Grimmauld Place. He could see the enormous birthday cake in the middle, slowly turning around itself, layers upon layers of chocolate and vanilla cake and enough sugar frosting to drive Hermione's parents, were they there, into a berserker rage. The faeries flitting around the room - wearing tiny witch and wizard robes and chasing Aicha's genie - certainly acted as if they had already eaten too much. Candles burning in all colors of the spectrum topped the cake - illusions, Harry knew. Real candles and Sirius didn't mix well, or so Remus had claimed before Harry's first birthday celebration at Grimmauld Place. Something about blowing out candles with magic, and blowing the cake away at the same time, all over his mother. It was one of the stories Sirius didn't want to share.

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!" Dudley started the song, and his friends joined in. That they didn't know the melody didn't deter any of them from singing as loud as they could, and Harry exchanged amused glances with his cousin and Hermione.

Dodging a particularly hyper faerie that was careening around wildly in the room, Harry approached the table, Hermione at his side.

"Usually the cake is carried to the celebrant, not the other way around," his girlfriend muttered.

Harry smiled - she still hadn't forgiven Sirius's declaration, three years ago, that that he knew best how to combine muggle and wizard custom to celebrate Harry's birthday. His godfather hadn't budged an inch, and now was claiming they had created a new tradition.

When the song had finally ended, Harry flicked his wand and dispelled the candles. Sirius quickly started to cut it up and float the slices to their guests. Luna offered crumbs of her slice to the faeries at once, and was soon surrounded by a dozen of the little creatures gorging themselves on cake, and trying to braid her hair.

Ron, his cake floating behind him on a silver plate, stepped up to Harry. "Hey! Good cake! Who made it?"

"Eugénie, though it's a recipe from Aunt Petunia," Harry answered. His aunt never quite added that much frosting though.

Ron nodded. "Think I can get it for mum?"

"Are you still grounded?" Hermione asked.

Their friend spread his hands with a rueful grin. "If only my O.W.L. results had arrived after the fight…" In a lower voice he added: "Did you sleep well?"

"As usual," Harry answered. Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

Ron nodded, a serious expression on his face. They all knew what he had been asking about. "Well… opening your gifts now?" The redhead pointed to the side table, where a variety of boxes in shimmering colors awaited, some of them changing their forms every few seconds - a new product by Fred and George, apparently.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I think I'd rather have Hermione check them for spells first."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Not even Sirius would prank you today."

"He did it last year." And the year before.

"You hadn't just been through such a violent experience back then," Hermione insisted. He stared at her, and she sighed. "Fine. I'll check them."

While the witch started to run detection spells over the various packages, Harry smiled. He didn't actually mind getting pranked. Quite the contrary - with Voldemort conducting those rituals and the recent attack in Bulgaria, a normal birthday would be nice. Glancing over at Luna, whose hair now looked like Disney had crossed a Medusa with Rapunzel, he added 'relatively normal'. The blonde seemed to enjoy her new appearance though - she was smiling widely while she looked at her reflections in three mirrors surrounding her.

"Think she'll try to get Hermione to let the faeries at her hair?" Ron asked, leaning a bit closer to Harry.

"Probably," he answered. The blonde Ravenclaw had a gift for 'loosening up' Hermione, as Ron called it. The muggleborn witch in question was still checking Harry's presents. "Padma is still in India, she couldn't make it."

Ron took a sip from his Snapple - Harry didn't know where in Britain Sirius had managed to buy that brand and didn't want to ask - and made a grunting noise. When he Harry looked at him and raised his eyebrows, his friend elaborated. "I'm not certain she'd have come even if she was in Britain. Her letters have been a bit… distant."

"Oh." Harry didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound stupid.

"Yeah. We haven't officially broken up, but… it's not the same anymore, you know? Hasn't been for a while."

"Oh."

"But, hey - we're starting the Year of Exploration! Plenty of birds to meet that way!" Ron's grin looked a bit forced to Harry, but he didn't comment.

Instead he nodded in agreement.

"Have you two talked about it?" Ron asked, nodding his head towards Hermione, who was trying to fend off Luna and her swarm of hairdressing faeries, to the great amusement of everyone else present.

"Sixth year? Yeah." He wouldn't go into details, of course.

"Ah."

They didn't talk much for a bit, while Hermione's hairstyle was ruined. The girl didn't seem to mind that too much though. Her reaction a few minutes later though, when the wrapping of Sirius's present for Harry suddenly engulfed her and turned into a giant cake, from which she emerged wearing a bunny outfit… no wonder Padfoot had already started running before the cake had fully formed.

All in all it was a perfectly normal birthday party at Grimmauld Place. Just what Harry wanted.

*****​

Paige Caldwell glared at the witch she was sharing her flat with. Dolores Umbridge, bigoted pureblood of the worst kind, kept staring at her over the breakfast table. The werewolf snarled "I didn't do it for you, you know. I stopped the son of a bitch so we'd not fail the Dark Lord."

"Of course," Umbridge answered, sneering.

Paige bared her teeth in response and stood up. The other witch rose as well, facing her. Both had their wands ready. For a few seconds, it was like before. Then Umbridge sat down again, scoffing, and grabbed the Daily Prophet on the table.

Paige felt like smashing the table, but controlled herself and sat down herself. Her body was still hurting from the transformation, and the wounds she had suffered fighting - and killing - Burke. Wounds the other witch had closed for her. Damn her.

The werewolf grabbed a few sausages and wolfed them down. She kept an eye on the other bitch, watching for a reaction to her display of werewolf pride. The witch's eye twitched, but she didn't make a comment. Sulking, Paige leaned back and summoned tea.

If she was honest with herself, she didn't know why she had attacked Burke. She had known that the other werewolf would have gone after her as soon as he had finished with Umbridge, but it would have been far better to wait with attacking him until he was busy with the witch, he wouldn't have killed her, or not right away anyway. And while it was equally true that she didn't want to fail the Dark Lord's mission, Burke would have taken the blame.

So why had she pounced on the other werewolf, risked her life like that, for a bitch that looked down on her and wanted to exterminate werewolves? They had nothing in common, other than both having to whore themselves out for the Dark Lord.

Her brooding was interrupted by hot tea spilling over her lap - she had crushed the cup in her hand without noticing. Umbridge made a clucking noise and Paige whirled around. Once again their eyes met over crossed wands, and once again Umbridge backed down.

Paige was still growling when she had finished repairing the cup and scourgifying her robes.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort should have been in a fine mood. His ritual had worked, showing that he was on the right path. He just needed to find a way to store all the power from the sacrifice, safely store long enough to use it. His Bella had completed her mission as well, and the decoy that he had created should fool his enemies until it was too late to stop him. And yet… Potter had escaped once again - no, twice again - in Bulgaria. He told himself that the attack had been just a diversion, that he hadn't really expected it to succeed, and that all that mattered was that he completed his ritual.

It didn't help. That boy was too lucky! And he was destined to face the Dark Lord. Voldemort suddenly was afraid, and suppressed the emotion at once. He was immortal! He was the most powerful wizard Britain had ever seen! No matter how much luck the boy had, it wouldn't save him! He pounded his fist on his table, then sent the parchment he had been studying away with a wave of his wand.

And yet that sliver of doubt, of fear, remained. He had been defeated once when he had faced that boy. No, not once, but twice. He remembered Quirrel burning. What would happen if they faced each other a third time? The boy's parents had defied him three times. Could the boy even be killed by anyone but the Dark Lord himself?

It would mean no one but Potter could kill Voldemort, but then… with his horcruxes, he couldn't die anyway. But he could be defeated. Could be reduced to shade. Could be caught and sealed, maybe. Who knew what Dumbledore was doing, safe in Hogwarts? No, he couldn't trust the prophecy to protect him.

But he knew the boy could be hurt by anyone. Could Potter be crippled by anyone as well? Hurt so bad, his life would be agony, his spirit broken to the point he'd welcome death at Voldemort's hand?

Tempting thoughts, but to implement such a plan was very difficult. Hogwarts remained a fortress, its wards protecting the students. And after his attack on the Express, the Ministry was bound to guard it, and Hogsmeade very well. He couldn't afford another attack, the cost in wands was too high.

Gritting his teeth, he sat down at his desk. He had to focus on his ritual, not on such brooding thoughts. If all went well, he'd have the means to beat Britain. And to kill the Boy-Who-Lived from afar. And yet the doubts remained.

When Bella entered his study, bringing news of the werewolf and the whore, the dark witch looked surprised when instead of listening to her report, he swept her off and carried her to the bed. Surprised, but pleased.

Afterwards, with the witch asleep, he felt better. More confident. He would prevail. He would succeed. He would conquer.

And yet, a sliver of doubt, of fear remained.

*****​

As expected, the case of the mysterious failed ritual had been put on hold. Indefinitely. Kenneth Fenbrick didn't like it - his gut told him that there was more to it than some fledgling dark wizard making a fatal mistake - but there was nothing he could do, or think of doing. They hadn't found even part of a wand, and the body parts didn't offer any clue to the wizard's identity either.

And so they were back to hunting down Dolores Umbridge. "You know, if we go undercover as courtesans again, we'll end up developing a reputation," he said to Bertha while the scroll with all the information they had about the woman rolled itself up.

Instead of being flustered or annoyed, his partner grinned back. "Didn't you already have a certain reputation?"

He gaped at her. She wasn't supposed to tease him! Huffing, he busied himself with sifting through the reports again. The witch Umbridge had been seen with hadn't been identified yet. Was she a partner, a co-worker, or an apprentice? The last was unlikely. And why would Hathaway, a homosexual, hire her and her friend's services? He looked at Bertha. "The pattern doesn't fit."

She met his gaze, frowning. "Hm?"

"The switching from one rich wizard to the next. If she's working as a courtesan, she'd not focus on a single wizard per month. That's what you do if you're angling to become someone's mistress. But if she's doing that, why drag another witch with her? And why doesn't she succeed? From the looks of it, neither Fickleton nor Rees look terribly fond of her." He pointed at a few wizarding pictures showing the two men glaring at the witch. Not openly though. "And Hathaway? That wizard hasn't ever touched a witch that way."

"Maybe she failed to wrap them around her finger, and antagonized them instead? Like it happened with the Minister?" Bertha hypothesized.

"Hm. I don't think so. She's smart. She wouldn't make such a blunder three times. It's not as if it's that difficult to please a Wizengamot member - just pour on the flattery and keep smiling whatever happens. Skills any Ministry employee learns easily enough," he added, cynically.

Bertha nodded, all business now. "Neither Fickleton nor Rees seem to be looking for a mistress; both have been frequenting their regular private clubs since their dalliances with Umbridge."

"She changed her modus operandi when that other witch appeared. The young one." The one that didn't act like a courtesan, Kenneth thought. "She could be the key."

"We still haven't identified her. No one at Hogwarts recognized her," Bertha said. "That makes her either a foreigner, but her accent is too perfect, or someone home schooled."

"Someone schooled at home, without a decent education." The kind of witches and wizards whores were recruited from. Or thugs. Courtesans, the real ones, generally had a better education, Kenneth knew that.

"Not someone the rich wizards she has been visiting usually bother with." Bertha had narrowed her eyes, a sign she was thinking hard.

"Unless they're interested in the kind of entertainment a courtesan wouldn't agree to," Kenneth said. "Maybe Umbridge is serving as a go-between, a door opener for that kind of clientele?"

"It sounds not too economically feasible. Not only do those wizards interested in such services already have their suppliers, but it also doesn't explain why they don't like her afterwards anymore." Bertha had pushed her scroll away.

"She's not training her as a courtesan in any case." Kenneth didn't need to explain that; neither he nor Bertha had forgotten how they had been trained for their undercover mission by Dumbledore's spy. "She's the key. If we find out why she's with Umbridge, we find out what Umbridge is up to."

"We'll have to ask the Wizarding Examinations Authority then, if they recognize her. Even if she's been homeschooled she'll have taken one O.W.L. at least." Bertha stood up and gathered the best picture they had of the witch.

"I doubt those fossils can remember their own names, much less students," Kenneth muttered.

"You'd be surprised how much gossip they know. Homeschooled students are always a good topic - has a family become too poor to afford Hogwarts, or are they too weak to attend?" Bertha shook her head. "I think there are good odds they'll remember her."

Kenneth grumbled, but followed her out of their office. He hadn't anything better to do anyway. In addition to that, these days, even the Ministry wasn't as safe as most people thought it was - they had discovered that themselves, after all - and he didn't like to leave his partner on her own.

*****​

Sirius Black recast the privacy spells for the third time. He knew he had cast them perfectly twice already, but all good things came in three. Or four, when it came to veela girlfriends. Girlfriends who were growing nervous now, it seemed.

He was nervous himself. Slightly. Taking a deep breath, he turned towards the four girls sitting on the couch. "We should be safe from eavesdroppers now."

"Do you fear 'arry or 'ermione would listen in?" Valérie asked. He couldn't tell if she was more than simply curious, but she seemed a bit tense.

"No, they already know what I'm about to share with you." He smiled a bit weakly at the veela's reaction. "I know we're alone here, but it's a good habit to ensure privacy even if you think it's not needed." And he didn't trust his house elf that much. Never had really trusted the creature.

He saw them sit straighter, which did nice things to Valérie's and the other's chests. Obviously his actions had impressed just how important this secret was he was about to share.

"Now… you remember the incident in Jamaica."

All four nodded. "The attack on 'arry by a 'oungan," Eugénie said.

"It wasn't an attack," Sirius said. "It was a vision."

That surprised the girls. "A vision?" Laure asked.

Sirius nodded, gravely. "Harry has visions of the Dark Lord. He can see through his eyes when he works ritual magic."

Valérie gasped, hands covering her mouth.

"That means Dumbledore knows what the Dark Lord is doing." Chantal said.

"Part of what he's doing," Sirius corrected her. "But it's an important source of information. It is absolutely crucial that the Dark Lord remains ignorant of that."

All four nodded.

"It's not a pretty sight, Harry having a vision. His scar starts bleeding, he is struck unconscious… it's also very obvious, which is why we need to be ready to cover such incidents up."

"That will be 'ard, seeing as we don't know when a ritual will happen." Chantal's voice changed a bit at the end, almost turning it into a question. His girls were smart.

"He's been doing a ritual on each full moon, and we expect that to continue." Sirius smiled.

"People might start to suspect 'e's a werewolf, if 'e always 'ides during the full moon," Valérie added. Smart indeed!

"We planned to have him appear under the full moon in Bulgaria, before it rose in Britain, but after the attack…" Sirius trailed off.

"We could organize a, what did Nymphadora call it, slumber party?" Eugénie smiled.

"Sadly, we cannot predict when exactly during a night a vision will take place. And those who take such rumors seriously will likely also believe that his friends are covering for him." Sirius sighed. "We'll have to make do with him handling silver a lot, and hope that will counteract such rumors. If they appear."

He answered a few more questions about how to handle the visions, watched as the girls left the room. He wanted to tell them about Hermione's secret project with Dumbledore as well, but he understood that there was no need for that - Harry's secret required a lot of help to be kept, given its unpredictable nature. Hermione's didn't.

It was only logical, and yet he hated keeping such secrets from them. He loved and trusted them. They deserved to know. And yet - it wasn't his secret to share. And if anything happened to Hermione because of him, Harry would never forgive him.

Slender arms wrapped around his chest, and he felt soft curves pressing into his back. Valérie. He heard her whisper into his ear, and felt her breath on his throat.

"You are troubled. Is it because such a connection works both ways, and could be used by the Dark Lord?"

He stiffened for a second, his worst fear exposed, then nodded. She didn't say anything else, just held him.

Smart indeed.

*****​

Aberforth Dumbledore looked like just another muggle tourist in Constantinople - Istanbul, as the muggles called it. He even had a muggle camera dangling from cheap, flimsy straps held in his hand. And, even though he'd deny it if asked, he had been seeing the sights in the muggle city. So much had changed since he had been here last, decades ago.

He had entered the Empire with the help of a Greek smuggler, down the coast. Using a fishing boat, he had disembarked at a cove or hidden beach on the Turkish coast. Just like he and Sasha and his wands had entered the country the last time. Once inside the country, past the border guards and patrols, it had been easy to apparate northwards, until he reached the capital of the Empire.

He had spent enough time gawking though - he had a scumbag to find, and a girl to rescue. Like the last time.

Ducking into a small, dark alley, he transfigured his clothes - hideous muggle fashion only tourists seemed to be wearing, he'd get some as a souvenir for his brother if he didn't hate him - into the outfit of an Ottoman wizard. A quick coloring charm changed his hair and beard, and a sip from a vial darkened his skin tone. So disguised, he continued down the alley, which grew narrower and narrower, until he suddenly was faced with a solid wall. Or what a muggle would have seen as a solid wall.

He stepped through, and found himself in Magical Constantinople. Unlike Wizarding Britain's Diagon Alley, this wasn't just a shopping street and red light district, but an entire town, hidden from the muggles in the heart of the city itself. The old wizard didn't gawk at the sight of dozens of genies walking and flying around, on tasks for their masters, or at the plethora of exotic wizards and magical creatures filling the streets. Only those new to the city would do that, and the thieves and conmen of the city liked to prey on those. Aberforth could handle either kind, but he couldn't afford to draw attention to himself. The Ottomans still hadn't forgotten what he had done.

And neither had he forgotten what they had done.

On the way to a tavern he knew, he passed the old slave market. Officially, it was defunct, the trade abolished. Unofficially, everyone, even the ICW, knew that the trade still went on, just not as obvious as in the past, and in private locations instead. According to the Ottoman Empire's official word on the matter, 'rogues and bandits' supplied the slaves, and 'foreigners' bought them. Discreetly, so the authorities could claim ignorance.

He passed a patrol of two janissaries, the bright red and gold headdress with the distinct large white flap hanging from it easily visible even in a throng of people. Officially, the elite wands of the Sultan were all recruited among the orphans within the Empire, or born to janissaries. Aberforth didn't trust that claim, just as he didn't trust the claim that they were all loyal unto death to the Sultan.

They were skilled though, and their reputation well-earned. He passed the Persian Park and almost entered - the Hanging Gardens, copies of the famous Babylonian ones, were a sight to behold, filled with all magical plants known to man - a claim Aberforth was inclined to trust, even if the Quibbler tended to disagree.

Above him half a dozen flying carpets were flitting around. Not quite as fast or agile as brooms - not even close, actually, given the latest generation of quidditch and racing brooms - they were far more suited to transport people, and far more comfortable as well. Too bad, he thought, that they had been banned in Britain after The Intervention, in a fit of pique. Albus probably had let it happen for one reason or the other.

He pushed thoughts of his brother away and continued on, his robe's protections flaring once in response to a magical pickpocketing attempt. He kept the culprit in sight and his wand out until the suddenly glowing teenager had disappeared in a side alley. While most such thieves went after distracted marks, some of them were hired to serve as distractions.

Finally he reached the tavern he had been seeking. It hadn't changed much either since his last visit. Arkan was still behind the bar. The British wizard approached him and ordered a tea. When the steaming cup floated towards him, followed by the kettle, he smiled. "I've been missing your tea, Arkan. It's been too long."

The Ottoman narrowed his eyes, but didn't seem to recognize him. Well, Aberforth wasn't the famous Dumbledore, after all, and Arkan must have known hundreds of mercenaries and other low-lives. As a fellow bartender, Aberforth would even feel a sort of kinship, if the man wasn't such an unscrupulous sort.

"Have you been here before?" The Ottoman was still looking at him.

"Once, after 'The Intervention'." He saw the other wizard stiffen. The Ottomans didn't speak of 'The Intervention'; they called it 'The Invasion'. He grinned at the man. When Arkan's eyes widened, realizing who he was at last, Aberforth smiled toothily and slid a wizarding picture taken of a polyjuiced girl over. "Nadya Bogdanova Lyubenova. The name would have been changed years ago. That's what she looks like today. I want to know where she is, and if she has been recently kidnapped."

Arkan grew just a bit paler and Aberforth's smile just a bit wider. Jackpot.

*****​

"Visualize the destination. You need to be completely certain where you want to travel."

Hermione Granger wanted to roll her eyes at Remus's instructions. She could see the circle painted on the floor in the hall in Sirius's house where she was to apparate to. How much more certain could she be?

She also wanted to appear there. Very much. So much for 'determination'.

What the young witch had trouble with was the 'deliberation' apparition apparently required. While she understood the need to be careful, lest she be splinched, she was not careful enough. She couldn't refute that - Remus had had to reattach a few body parts already.

That would have been humiliating enough, but Harry and Ron had mastered the technique already.

"Just imagine…" Ron started to say, probably trying to help her, but a glare from her made him shut up at once. She'd master this by herself! At least Harry knew better than to disturb her!

She wanted to appear there. And without leaving anything behind! She wanted it almost more than anything else. Her pride was on the line! Grinding her teeth, she tuned Remus out, tuned Ron out, tried not to glance at Harry, and willed herself to conquer space and time.

Suddenly she experienced the by now familiar feeling of getting squeezed through a tube, her whole body squeezed into a far too small box or tube. She fought the sudden panic - she wouldn't let what thousands of wizards and witches did daily scare her into losing control.

And then she stood in the circle, panting, but… a quick check confirmed it, she was whole. Beaming, she turned around.

"You did it," Remus declared, stowing his wand after checking magically. He had her repeat the feat half a dozen times before he was satisfied though.

"Finally! I was about to check if you had been replaced by a polyjuiced spy!" Ron said, snickering.

She glared at him until Harry hugged her. "We've been worried, you know."

"I can't be perfect at everything." She pouted. She wanted to be though.

"What's important is that we now can apparate. We're no longer limited to floos and portkeys."

That made her smile. They were no longer limited to Hogsmeade either, during the weekends. She could… her face fell.

"What's wrong?"

The young witch looked at Harry. "I just thought: I could visit my parents each weekend, or maybe even each evening, if I so wanted - if they were not currently hiding from the Dark Lord's murderers."

"They're hiding on a world cruise," Harry said, his voice carefully neutral.

She glared at him, but he didn't add anything.

*****​

Pansy Parkinson smiled sweetly at her guests. As a good host should. Greengrass and Davis were visiting again. The two had been over regularly during the vacation. Too often, for Pansy's taste. Well, not really. Even the blonde twit's presence was preferable to yet another attempt by her parents to lock her up in their home for her own safety. It wouldn't do to hide her when other families didn't, lest the public thought the Parkinsons were either cowards, or too weak to protect themselves outside their wards. Too bad Greg was on a family visit.

So, Greengrass was, Pansy thought, a sort of necessary evil. Davis, on the other hand, was smart and witty. It was … nice to chat with her, and gossip about others.

"What do you think about Potter beating the Dark Lord yet again?" Greengrass wasn't smart or witty, of course. The twit still seemed to think they were now friends. She probably thought all those animals the Quibbler wrote about were real as well.

"Do you mean Potter escaping yet another attack on him during his vacation in Bulgaria? The Dark Lord wasn't present there, as far as I know." Pansy summoned sweets and drinks for everyone from the tray their house elf had just put down on the table.

"He could have been there though!" The twit wasn't about to surrender to reality anytime soon, it seemed.

"He wasn't. As the year before, it was a group of hired wands, from the Balkans or the Ottoman Empire," Pansy pointed out.

"They were Ottomans this time, or so I heard," Davis added. "If that continues, then Potter will have been attacked by assassins from every continent and country before he finishes his N.E.W.T.s."

"And he'll have beaten them all! He's so brave!" Yes, Greengrass was still infatuated with Potter.

"He wasn't alone. He was with Krum and Weasley." Davis looked at Greengrass with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. Pansy had the impression that she did that very often.

"Our year's Weasley?"

"Yes," Pansy answered, "Ron Weasley."

"He's brave too!"

"They're Gryffindors. Bravery is mandatory for them. Brains, not so much," Davis smirked.

"Neither of them's a fool," Pansy said. She didn't know why - Davis words were not exactly something new, but covered the general view Slytherins had of their rival house quite well. When she saw the other witch raise an eyebrow, she knew she wouldn't back down though. "You saw them teach us. They're not as smart as Granger, but who is?"

"Not me!" Greengrass announced. Davis and Pansy exchanged a glance.

"Weasley would be a good catch. Smart, rich, and no heir," Davis said, a bit too casually in Pansy's opinion.

"He's no Potter though!"

Pansy ignored the twit and met Davis's eyes. "And unlike Potter, he doesn't come with Granger attached to his side." And only a foolish witch would assume they'd not play second fiddle behind the muggleborn even if they married the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Mh." Davis nodded.

"She's pretty though, so that's no drawback."

Pansy sighed. "Greengrass, she's a true m-muggleborn. They don't think like we do. You'll not get a threesome." She'd probably get a hex to the face for asking, even, but that was not Pansy's problem.

To her surprise, the blonde sighed. "I can dream though, can't I? It's not as if I can marry him anyway. He's a head."

"Yes. What a waste." Davis chimed in.

"Well, I just want to sleep with him!"

"You and half our year." Davis's comment sounded well-used to Pansy.

"Weasley has a girlfriend too. Patil." Greengrass pointed out.

"I heard the Patils might not even return to England from India," Davis said.

Pansy wouldn't mind that, even if Hogwarts had already lost too many students. "We'll see if that's true in a month."

"What plans do you have for the year?" Davis asked, once again deceptively causally.

"Potter!" Both ignored Greengrass's answer again.

Pansy shrugged. "There are a number of attractive students in our year I'd not mind getting to know a bit better."

"Such as Weasley?" Davis smiled again.

"Anyone going out with Weasley is painting a big target on their back," Pansy answered. That wouldn't really deter her though - not after almost getting killed by Voldemort's raiders once already.

"It would keep you on your toes though. And the Weasleys seem to be among the up and coming families. The twins' shop is doing well, considering the war. And another brother is getting known in the Ministry."

"And his sister got her hooks into Longbottom. Too bad they hate Slytherins, hm?" Pansy said.

"Boys will be boys. I haven't heard of any Gryffindor who actually refused the advances of a pretty member of our house during their sixth year." Davis grinned.

Pansy laughed, even though she was not really amused. She didn't know if she actually wanted Weasley, but she certainly wouldn't let Davis steal him away before she decided if she wanted him. Her cousin Almira had told her the most interesting stories about the Gryffindor's older brothers.

*****​

Ron Weasley stared at the Hogwarts letter he had just received. And at the badge inside. Quidditch Captain. For Gryffindor. He hadn't expected that. He had hoped for it, of course. But Harry was their star player, prefect and the Boy-Who-Lived. He was just Ron. Ron, team captain now.

Slowly he started to smile. He didn't know if Harry had refused the position, if McGonagall had decided that Harry already had too much on his plate, or if Ron's proposed plays had been so good she decided he'd be the best choice for captain.

But he knew he'd work twice as hard now, so there wouldn't be any doubt at the end of the year why he had received the position!

He had to tell his family. And Harry and Hermione.

It wasn't until much later that he realized that he had not thought about informing his girlfriend until his mum had reminded him.

*****​

"And that's the basic outline for the ritual's first part, sir,"

"Remarkable. The concept seems sound, though it needs adjustments to overcome the mark's defenses." Albus Dumbledore was genuinely impressed while he studied the notes Miss Granger had spread out on his desk.

"I know. I expect that won't take too long though. I worry about the second part though." The young witch bit her lower lip, worrying,

"The removal of the fragment in Harry's scar?" He slightly raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. All the spells I found that could succeed at that were… questionable."

He knew that if there was no better choice, the girl in front of him would use such questionable means. In a heartbeat even. "I assume you have a plan though."

"I have an idea. But to craft the spell I need more information about similar spells."

"Soul magic is banned in Britain," Albus stated.

"I'm not planning to cast any. But I need to research them for the ritual."

"Which you plan to conduct." He ran a hand through his beard.

"Yes." He raised her chin defiantly, daring him to try and change her plans.

He knew better. "Understandable. I have a number of private notes detailing some spells. Unfinished." Mostly. He and Gellert had been rather active, back in the days.

Her eyes lit up. "That's… very good, sir. Thank you!"

"It will not be easy to adapt them to a ritual though," he cautioned her.

"I'll do it." No doubt, no hesitation.

"That kind of magic might also require a price to be paid."

"I'll pay it."

He sighed. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. There were ways around some requirements, but in the end, someone had to pay the price for ritual magic. He'd rather pay it himself than have a child pay.

"I'll have the notes sent to you tomorrow."

"Thank you!"

The eager answer made him smile. The girl hadn't let the realities of war crush her. Yet. "Now, do you have any questions?"

"Oh, yes."

*****​

Constable John Brown first heard the screams. Horrible, desperate screams. His partner, Ethan Flynn, gasped, then accelerated the patrol car they were driving in the outskirts of Edinburgh. Whoever was screaming needed help. And quickly.

Before they found the victim though the screams ended. John cursed - that was a very bad sign. Then they reached the small park in the heart of the suburb - barely more than a few trees and underbrush - and Ethan hit the brakes, hard. Before them, in the middle of the road, was a man on the ground. John and Ethan got out of the car at once.

"He's alive, I've got a pulse!" Ethan cried out while John was calling an ambulance. The man wouldn't wake up though. Maybe it was an overdose.

Then he started to feel cold - really cold. His breath became visible, and he started to see some frost appearing on the ground. "Ethan?"

"John? Are you as cold as I am?"

He slowly nodded, rubbing his arms. "This is… I don't what this is. It's the middle of the summer!"

"The screams came from a w-woman. This is a m-man," Ethan started to say, his teeth chattering.

"Damn!" John shook his head. "I'll check the park out. Stay with him." He was halfway across the street before Ethan managed to answer.

The park looked even worse. Frost covered the ground and the plants. It looked as if he had stepped into the arctic. It wasn't as cold anymore though. Then he saw the people on the ground. Covered with frost. Unmoving. Like the victim they had almost run over.

"Dear Lord!" He stared at the bodies, three of them - an entire family, it looked like - for a second, then rushed forward, calling another ambulance. He checked the pulse of the three bodies. They were alive, but he couldn't wake any of them. Then he heard another scream. Ethan!

He stood up and sprinted back towards the road. When he reached the park's entrance, he saw Ethan was on the ground, unmoving and covered with frost. What had happened? He took a step towards his partner, then reeled as memories rose within him.

He was six. His sister had taken his new book and didn't want to give it back. He ripped it out of her hand and pushed her away. She stumbled, and fell - and her head landed on a metal toy car. All that blood… the trip to the hospital… his parents' reactions … he felt like crying forever.

His partner needed him. He took another step forward.

He was twenty. A fresh recruit. He had been sent to check an illegally parked and possibly abandoned car and noticed the smell coming from the trunk. He opened it, and was faced with a half-decayed corpse.

Shaking, he stumbled, and almost fell.

He was thirty-one. His father was dying. Painfully. Cancer had turned a strong man in a shadow of himself, unable to eat or talk. So many tubes, going into his body. Only the eyes were the same he remembered, but those were pleading, begging for something he didn't know he could do.

He was on the ground. Why was he on the ground? He didn't remember falling down. Something touched him. Something really, really cold. He didn't see anything.

Then his head was lifted up by an invisible hand, and his lips started to freeze, and he wanted to scream, but couldn't as his soul was sucked out.


Chapter 48: The Rescue
 
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Chapter 48: The Rescue
Chapter 48: The Rescue

"Good afternoon, Mister Asperburry."

Albus Dumbledore smiled at the leader of the four hit-wizards who had their wands trained on him in the floo room in the Ministry while he stepped through the Thief's Downfall. He didn't like to have wands trained on him, and had to still his first urge to disarm them all, but was good to see them working diligently, and not slacking off, even though no one working for the Dark Lord had been caught here in months.

"Good afternoon, Chief Warlock," Asperburry saluted him with his wand. The others were already paying attention to the next arrivals - well trained indeed, but then, Albus wouldn't have expected anything else from Asperburry; the wizard had been a strict and dutiful Hufflepuff prefect, after all. Like Amelia Bones, whom the Headmaster was meeting in the Ministry.

"Good afternoon, Albus." The witch in question nodded at him when he entered, barely looking up from the parchment she was reading as he took a seat and a tray with sweets and tea floated towards him.

"Good afternoon, Amelia." He served himself, packing a few sweets for Fawkes while Amelia refilled her own tea cup with a flick of her wand. "You have news you said?" That that meant important or urgent news - which usually was the same - was left unsaid; she wouldn't have called him for routine reports.

"Yes. Yesterday, six muggles, two of them constables, were found in a coma in Edinburgh."

He stiffened. "Dementors?" It was the most likely explanation, both for the condition, and Amelia's call.

"All symptoms and circumstances match a dementor attack, including an unnatural cold witnesses mentioned." Amelia's face showed a grim expression. Her lips were pressed so tightly together, they formed a thin line.

Albus briefly closed his eyes. Six souls lost. He took a deep breath, then met Amelia's eyes. "Was that the only such incident?"

"So far. We've kept an eye on muggle reports ever since Azkaban. The muggle authorities assume there was some sort of drug or chemical involved."

He nodded. As sick as it was, dementor attacks were easy to cover up for wizards. Far less of a problem than enchanted toilet seats. The Statute of Secrecy wasn't in danger, yet.

"Why do you think those monsters attacked now, after all those months?"

That was the crucial question, he knew. Rubbing his chin, he answered: "I do not think the Dark Lord ordered this. Attacking muggles, even as a distraction to force us to spend wands and resources on guarding muggles, is not worth the risk of the ICW intervening to protect the Statute of Secrecy."

"Do you think he's lost control over the dementors?"

"Our efforts to prevent him from smuggling in muggles who were kidnapped abroad might have started to show results." It wasn't likely though - it was just too easy to kidnap muggles. Albus didn't want to think about the numbers of muggles they hadn't been able to save, the unfortunate souls that ended up feeding the dementors - or sacrificed for dark rituals. "But if he had truly lost control over them, if whatever deal he had struck with them had been broken, then we would have had far more such reports."

"The dementors were pushing the boundaries then. Just as they were at Azkaban." Amelia sounded almost relieved.

"That is likely. They are intelligent, after all." And greedy, and cruel. A guard at Azkaban had once likened working with dementors as holding the leashes of a pack of hungry grims to keep them from feeding on a buffet - or on yourself. "They might also be testing the Dark Lord, to see if they can alter the deal."

"Should we prepare for an imminent attack on wizards and witches then?"

"I do not think he has the wands for such an attack." Dementors couldn't break into locked homes, not without help from wizards, and just about everyone in Wizarding Britain was now living behind the strongest wards they could afford - often in the mansions of the Old Families. Those protections would withstand an attack long enough for reinforcements to arrive. "Not to spare, at least. Though he might try to set the dementors on us anyway, but as a distraction for both us and them, I do not think that is likely." The Dark Lord was still working on his ritual. Not that Albus could tell Amelia that, the risk of the secret being revealed to the enemy was too big.

"We still need to be ready though." The witch sighed. "I'll have our contingencies reviewed."

"Indeed," the Headmaster said, even though he knew that whatever work was spent on that task would be missed elsewhere. Judging by Amelia's expression, she knew that as well. And yet, they had to. For there was one possible target that would be very vulnerable to a horde of dementors. "If the aurors and hit-wizards guarding the Hogwarts Express were taken by surprise by such an attack, the consequences would be too terrible to contemplate."

The sharp hiss from Amelia showed him that she had considered that as well.

"It is very fortunate that Remus Lupin has had a lot of success teaching his students the Patronus Charms," Albus said casually.

"Oh, indeed. If not for him, we'd have to keep our most experienced aurors in reserve just to guard against dementors. As it is, we can use our youngest recruits for that."

Albus smiled. He was very pleased at hearing those words, and would bring that thought up with the Minister later as well. If Remus's condition should ever be revealed to the public, being able to point at him as the wizard responsible for teaching their children to defend themselves and others against dementors would come in handy to keep him as a teacher. Coupled with support from Harry, and maybe a few heroic deeds by Remus in the war, it might even be enough to reform the werewolf laws.

Provided the werewolves serving the Dark Lord did not commit more atrocities.

"There's something else," Amelia ventured and floated a few pictures over to him. "Do you recognize this witch? My aurors are certain she's a British witch, but we haven't been able to identify her yet."

Albus studied the pictures. A young woman, in the company of Dolores Umbridge - ironically, the witch behind many of the modern werewolf laws he had just been thinking of. From what he could see of the background of the picture, they were in a private club. Courtesans, not guests according to their robes. The other witch was young enough she wouldn't look too different from what she had looked like as a student. To his great dismay, he hadn't been able to be as involved with his students as he would have liked. It was not inconceivable that he'd forget a student that had not drawn attention to her. But the girl did look familiar... his eyes widened. "Paige Caldwell! That is a surprise!"

"Why?" Amelia asked, staring at him.

"She took her O.W.L.s 8 years ago, but did not return to Hogwarts. She was attacked by a werewolf during her summer holiday." Her family had kept it quiet, though that hadn't kept him from finding out why a student left his school without taking her N.E.W.T.s.

"A werewolf with the witch behind the latest and harshest werewolf regulations?" Amelia sounded almost shocked.

"Who would have thought." Did Dolores have a change of heart after her fall from grace? It was not impossible, but another explanation was more likely - someone was forcing her to work with a werewolf. And while her views didn't quite align fully with the Dark Lord's, he could imagine her working for Tom.

"This smells like a plot from the Dark Lord." Amelia had come to the same conclusion. She snorted. "And I thought the Minister was just afraid of what his former lover might do - or reveal."

He looked at her over the rim of his glasses. "I think it is imperative to investigate this thoroughly."

Amelia nodded. "According to our information, Umbridge has been switching love interests each month, approximately, and always went for rich, influential wizards with a weakness for vices."

"That does raise some concern," Albus commented. The kind of people Amelia described would know better than to open themselves to blackmail, but Dolores was smart, if not as smart as she thought she was.

"We'll get to the bottom of this, Albus. Thank you for your help."

"I am always happy to help."

On the way back to the floo centre, Albus wished his brother was back in Britain. Aberforth had contacts in the scene Dolores frequented, and would likely be able to shed some light into the affair. Alas, he knew that his brother would not leave Constantinople until he had rescued that girl he had mentioned - Aberforth was feeling far too much guilt about his past failure to abandon what he must be seeing as a chance to redeem himself.

If only the stubborn fool would realize that he had done his best, and wasn't at fault! Albus shook his head - his brother would likely never accept that. He was far too similar to Albus himself in that regard.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort frowned, looking at the amulet on his desk. According to the deal he had struck with the dementors, it would protect its wearer against them. So far, it and the others like it hadn't failed. But the deal also stipulated that the dementors would only hunt if he told them to, as long as he'd supply them with victims to feed upon.

And the wards he had laid over the ruins those creatures were kept in had signalled that half a dozen of them had left, for hours, before returning. Had they broken the deal? That would only be possible if someone else had offered them a better deal. As far as he knew, at least - and as far as Renquirt, the Ministry's expert for the monsters, knew.

He lifted the amulet up, then let it drop on the desk's polished surface. It wasn't as if he had a written, clear and concise contract. Dementors were not human, and did not think like wizards. Though as long as he had upheld his part of the deal, they should have upheld theirs - and Voldemort knew he had delivered enough muggles to them to fulfill his obligation. He had even delivered more than the agreed-upon number, until acquiring the animals had become a bit more costly than expected, and his finances had suffered the recent reverse. Surely that wouldn't…

He shook his head. Maybe they had considered his generosity as altering the deal, and now required the new number of victims per month? There was a reason one did not tip goblins, after all, those filthy creatures would not only see that as a weakness, but raise their rates in turn.

It was just a theory, but one he could act upon, at least. Acquiring more foreign muggles through the usual channels would be costly though. At the same time, grabbing British muggles was dangerous - the Ministry would be branding him as a threat to the Statue of Secrecy as soon as they had proof. Or a reasonable suspicion.

Still, it was not impossible to avoid such calamities. Muggles, even British ones, could disappear without a trace and without raising any suspicions, under the right circumstances. Boats sank all the time, after all, many of them disappearing without a trace, for years. With a bit of planning he could acquire dozens of muggles, without anyone ever knowing he had done so.

But who could he trust with such a task? His Bella was as skilled as she was loyal, but she had no experience with muggles. Like his other followers - none of them had been raised in the muggle world. Not that he'd trust any of them otherwise. That left only hiring a specialist - with all the doubts about their loyalty hirelings brought with them, and the increased costs - or doing it himself. And his own knowledge of muggle Britain was decades out of date.

He shook his head. He had no desire, none at all, to return to that primitive, dirty and stinking world. He left that orphanage behind forever, with all the humiliation and misery he had suffered from. He could send the dementors against the wizards, in the hope they'd cause some losses before they were dealt with, but he'd rather not waste more of his resources. Not at this point at least. But once his ritual was ready, they'd serve as a fine distraction.

Decision taken, he stashed the amulet in his enchanted pockets again. He needed more gold to hire more help. It was time to make a few plans.

*****​

Aberforth Dumbledore, sitting in a café on the street, nodded his thanks at the young genie who floated a tray with a small cup of coffee towards him. A flick of his wand and a mumbled word sent a copper coin flying through the air. The little creature darted forward, grabbing the coin with both hands and saying something so quickly, he wouldn't have understood it even if he knew the genie tongue.

Taking a sip from the coffee he put a fake smile on his face - he greatly prefered tea, but his cover was better served with coffee. At least it was stimulating, even though a shot of whiskey would not have gone amiss. Sighing, let his gaze wander over the main street of Magical Constantinople. It was full of people and magical creatures, mostly genies of all sizes and kinds, a wondrous sight for anyone used to the smaller magical quarters in Europe.

Those who were on their way to the Grand Mosque were easily recognizable thanks to their robes. Lightweight and thin, made from silk, with long, billowing sleeves, those robes reached the ankles and their decorations denoted the social standing of their wearers - the more magical, the higher the person's rank. Transparent veils were worn by the witches, bashlyks by the wizards. They were followers of a branch of sufism that did not condemn sorcery, just sorcery for evil ends - or so Aberforth had been told. He was quite certain that the definition of 'evil ends' was rather flexible in practise.

In contrast, the majority of the crowd was wearing bright, colorful and often daring robes, even for wizards, usually combining a sleeveless vest with billowing pants, decorated with elemental motives - or made up from the elements themselves. Those were the Ottomans who had, after the Statute of Secrecy had gone into effect, rejected the quran and its forbiddance of sorcery, and had returned to the faith of their ancestors, revering Sky Father in a floating temple opposite the Grand Mosque. Those were the Ottomans Magical Europe was most familiar with, the masters of the genies and elemental sorcery - and the evil eye. That they were revering the same god the Bulgarians did was a topic best never mentioned in either country.

As usual at the time of prayers, the janissaries were out in force, ready to intervene should the tension between the two factions threaten to spill into violence. The Sultans had learned their lessons after the Great Schism in the last century, when religious violence had almost torn the Empire apart in a conflict so brutal, it was said the Sultan's Plaza had been covered with blood for a week. According to legend, the Sultan at the time, Adem I, had given his life in a ritual to end the violence. Aberforth didn't doubt that a ritual had taken place, but he couldn't help wondering if the Sultan had actually volunteered for the sacrifice - the janissaries, nominally followers of the Old Gods, were known to be the power behind the throne, after all.

Finishing his coffee, Aberforth frowned at himself. He was turning into Albus, idly pondering academical questions without any relevance to the matter at hand. He wasn't here to study the Ottomans, he was here to save a kidnapped girl and to track down the wizard responsible for the attack on the Boy-Who-Lived.

If only Arkan would deliver already! Aberforth hated the fact that he didn't know anyone else in the city, and that his cover would be blown quickly should he interact directly with the kind of people who knew what he sought. And that he couldn't do anything for the other victims of Ottoman and Barbary Coast raiders - 'rogues and bandits', according to the official stance - who had been kidnapped and sold as slaves, to be imprisoned behind the walls hiding the estates of the rich here, or used as curse fodder in the skirmishes with Persia.

A genie the size of his hand landed on the table, chirping what he recognized as a greeting and holding out a parcel the size of a coin towards him with an eager, bright smile. He pointed his wand at the parcel, casting a few subtle detection spells before summoning it towards him. One couldn't be too careful, after all. He fished for another copper coin in his purse while the genie investigated his empty cup of coffee before pointing at it with a questioning expression on her tiny face.

For a moment, Aberforth was confused, then he smiled, banishing the copper towards the genie, and nodding. "Feel free."

The tiny creature beamed at him, then gestured with her hand, and a drop of coffee left in the cup floated towards her wide open mouth. Fascinated, he watched as she swallowed, blinked, coughed, and then shot in the air with a trilling sound of glee, almost disappearing in the sky before returning to snatch up the coin left for her, and speeding away again.

"Give me Owls any day," Aberforth muttered, though with a smile on his face, before casting a privacy spell and unshrinking and opening the parcel. Inside was a fez with a combination of colors only Albus would love, and a scrap of parchment with a single line on it: Abdul al-Samar.

Aberforth smiled. He had the name of the man he sought. And soon he'd have the name of the girl as well. One victim would soon be free - and maybe his guilt at having failed Neola would be lessened a bit.

*****​

"Dumbledore recognized our mystery witch," Kenneth Fenbrick said to Bertha Limmington, when he entered their office, waving around the note he had just received.

"Oh?"

"Paige Caldwell. Hufflepuff. Took her O.W.L.s in 1988, then was attacked by a werewolf during the full moon." He didn't have to add that she couldn't continue school after that.

"Umbridge working as a courtesan with a werewolf? That sounds rather implausible," Bertha commented, the usually unflappable Ravenclaw looking almost shocked.

"Unless Dumbledore has gone senile, that's exactly what is going on. I'd not rule that out, of course," Kenneth joked. When his partner briefly rolled her eyes, he continued: "In any case, that's enough to arrest her."

"We would need reasonable suspicion of her being a threat to others for that," his partner said.

Kenneth scoffed. Bertha knew as well as he did that werewolves could be arrested whenever the aurors wanted. "Arresting her would tip off anyone else involved in whatever she and Umbridge are doing though." Not to mention that making an arrest in the kind of venues their mystery witch frequented needed a lot of wands to ensure the hired wands wouldn't try to interfere. And the more wands you had, the higher the chance one of them was on the take from the owner of whatever place you were raiding. Not even a civil war against a Dark Lord had stomped out that kind of corruption.

"Do you want to observe her instead then?"

"Yes. A werewolf courtesan… that's kinky." He chuckled, thinking of all the dirty jokes he could make about that.

"I doubt her clients are aware." Bertha fell silent.

Kenneth looked at her. "They change clients each month." If what he was suspecting…

"Each full moon."
"Merlin's balls! If she's been cursing them… I think this exceeds our authority."

"Technically, the Beast Division of the Magical Creatures Department is in charge of werewolves."

Kenneth gaped at her. She knew perfectly well that anyone accusing the kind of wizards Umbridge and Caldwell had been involved with of being a werewolf was very likely to ruin their career. Or lose their life. He was about to point that out when he caught the faint grin on Bertha's face. He groaned.

"Let's inform the boss."

*****​

Abdul al-Samar studied the note he had received. The men he had hired had caught the foolish foreigner asking questions about him. That had been quick, but then - foreigners tended to stick out in Constantinople. They didn't know how business was done in the city. How to avoid making waves that would disturb the peace with the janissaries.

For a moment he considered having the thugs bring the man to him. No one would disturb him here. His house was not just larger than those of his neighbors, his wards were far stronger as well. He decided against it though. Bringing that kind of business home would be a bad idea. He muttered a curse under his breath. By all rights he should be living in a better area, closer to the Sultan's Palace. He had the gold for it. More than enough. And yet he couldn't find anyone who'd sell to him, even though he knew houses were regularly sold. His gold just wasn't old enough for the notables of Magical Constantinople.

But he'd show them. Sooner or later, one of those arrogant old families would make a mistake, and need his services. And then he'd have leverage on them.

Grinning at that thought, he called his bodyguard, who was as usual waiting right outside his door. "Ahmed! Take half a dozen of my guards, the discreet ones. I have a meeting to attend."

The tall, wiry wizard bowed in return. He'd contact some of the more reliable thugs in the city while Abdul put on a disguise. Leverage wouldn't help him if he was seen with thugs.

A few minutes later Abdul and Ahmed apparated to a small, dirty courtyard where half a dozen thugs were waiting. He was familiar with most of them, all sufists,but didn't bother greeting them by name.

"I need to speak with a visitor to our city, and I don't want to be disturbed during the meeting." Abdul didn't have to say anything else; the hired wands knew their business. And they knew he paid them generously. "The meeting's in the Blue Tavern." The thugs started to grin.

The name of the Blue Tavern was supposedly a slight against the Blue Mosque, chosen by a fervent convert to the Sky Father who had founded the tavern in the 12th century - or the 19th, if you were using the European calendar. Whatever the reason, it was now known as the place to conduct your business in private. Even the janissaries trod lightly when visiting - the current proprietor, known as 'Gökhan', had a veritable army of jinn at his disposal.

Abdul nodded at the two towering genies - Daos - next to the door and pointed at the hired wands with him. "They're with me." The larger genie nodded, and the door opened. Inside, the air smelled of smoke - a dozen shishas were being passed around at any moment, he thought - and of liquor. A few girls wearing nothing but strings of coins were dancing on tables while trays bearing drinks floated through the room. Abdul briefly glanced over his shoulder, to make sure his hired wands were paying attention to him, instead of ogling the flesh on display. So reassured, he approached the bar. The genie behind it - a four-armed giant surrounded by floating glasses and bottles that whirled around him - pointed him towards the backdoor. Abdul dropped a generous tip and went to meet his contact.

He met Kasim in a rather sparsely furnished room. Easier to clean up, he guessed. The foreigner, and old man with a badly dyed beard, was sitting on a chair, securely bound with spells and manacles. He seemed to be screaming something, but Abdul couldn't hear a single word - he must be under a Silencing Charm. No one else was there. Did his contact trust him that much to meet him while outnumbered? Or had his wands already sought out company to spend their pay? He turned to the wizard. "Did he give you any trouble?"

Kasim shook his head, which surprised Abdul - the man usually never lost an opportunity to boast. And those spells securing the captive were unusual too, now that he thought of it… his eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to alert his men, but Kasim already had his wand out. A swish, and Abdul and all his men were smashed back against the walls by an overpowered Banishing Charm.

Abdul's robes absorbed most of the impact, as did those of Ahmed, which he had paid for, but next to him he saw one of his hired wands, on the ground and groaning on in pain. Ahmed didn't hesitate and was casting before he had found his footing, sending a Killing Curse and Flensing Curse at Kasim.

The traitor ducked behind the captive, and both curses missed. Abdul cast a shield and started towards the door, trampling over the groaning man on the floor. He couldn't apparate inside the tavern, nor use a portkey, but if he made it back to the main room, he'd have help - Gökhal didn't tolerate fighting in his tavern.

A whip of fire lashed through the room, cutting down two thugs who had started to cast at Kasim, and shattering his own shield before another enchantment on his robes stopped it. The rest of the thugs and Ahmed were sending spell after spell at the traitor, hough many missed, and most of the rest hit the captive or were stopped by Kasim's shield.

Abdul cast another shield and tried once more to reach the door. One of the thugs had had the same idea, and beat him to it. Before he could open it though, spikes shot up from the floor and down from the ceiling, impaling the wizard and walling off the door. More spikes were growing out of the walls, this time horizontally, and Abdul dropped to the floor just in time to avoid another banishing charm. No one else was as fortunate, and while Ahmed was still standing, though bleeding from a wound on his back, the rest of the thugs were done for.

This wasn't Kasim, he realized. Kasim wasn't half the wizard this man was. He had to be someone else who had taken the hired wand's place and appearance. Snarling, Abdul pulled a small bottle out of his robe and opened it. At once, thick smoke filled the room, reducing visibility to a few feet and a massive blue-skinned Marid appeared next to him. He asked in a booming voice "How may I serve you, mas… oh, you're in trouble!"

Abdul ignored the wide grin the genie wore, and pointed at the area the impostor was in. "Stop that…"

Once more he was interrupted when the smoke vanished and he dropped to the floor to avoid a hail of iron marbles that had appeared in the smoke's place and shot towards him. When he didn't hit the ground as hard as he had feared, he first thought that his robe's protections and recovered their power. Then he realized that someone had turned the stone ground to mud. Before he could stand up, the mud turned back to stone, capturing his wand and both legs.

A curse from Ahmed told him that his bodyguard was in a similar situation. He turned his head to check, just in time to see the man, both feet stuck in the ground, get bisected with a Cutting Curse. His bodyguard's blood hit him in the face. He turned to the marid he had freed from his bottle. The genie would be able to save him!

He opened his mouth to order the marid to get him out, but he couldn't speak.

"Master? Don't you have any orders? This looks quite dangerous, are you sure you want to handle this by yourself?" The genie was laughing openly now, enjoying Abdul's peril. He would pay for that dearly!

Then a stunner hit him, and Abdul couldn't think no more.

*****​

Aberforth Dumbledore glanced at the blue-skinned genie hovering in the middle of the room. Without orders the creature shouldn't attack him. Unless he gave it an opening. He didn't intend to.

He was still wearing the form of the boasting wizard who had fallen for his trap; the polyjuice would last another ten minutes. Using himself as bait had worked better than he had expected - the idiot, Kasim was his name, had walked straight into his ambush. The old wizard glanced at the remains of the Ottoman. Kasim, wearing Aberforth's disguised form, had died an ugly death; those thugs had been throwing very dark curses around. At least Aberforth wouldn't have to fear that he'd be identified; there wasn't much left that looked like him. And it wasn't as if the thug hadn't deserved it - Aberforth suspected he wouldn't have been the first foreigner Kasim had made disappear in the city, and that usually the victims were quite younger and prettier.

He turned the stone holding Abdul captive in mud again and levitated the man up. The marid hadn't moved, but hadn't left either. "How long are you bound to him?"

"Until I do him a service."

"And if he dies before he can give you an order?" Aberforth asked.

"Then I'm free."

Aberforth nodded. That would do. He ended the other spells he had cast, vanishing the spikes that had killed so many, then opened the door. Trailing the stunned Abdul behind, he ran to the main room, then past the bar, shouting "The captive escaped! I need to get him to a healer!" The resulting chaos allowed him to reach the door.

The marid was still behind him when Aberforth reached the border of the anti-apparition wards and apparated to a safe house he had prepared in the countryside.

*****​

Hermione Granger started at the pages she had just read and fought not to shiver. This spell… she looked up. Dumbledore was watching her with a concerned expression.

"Did anyone ever use this spell?" If someone had… It was one thing to consider the effects of a spell, but to see how it was created, how it worked… she felt more than slightly ill.

"I do not know," the Headmaster answered. "I fear I will only know the answer when both Grindelwald and myself have passed on."

"This was… Grindelwald's spell?" Hermione gasped. A lot of what she had read about the man now made more sense. If he had used such spells in his war…

"He created it, though not alone. But I think even he might have balked at paying the price for such magic. He certainly didn't use it against me when we fought."

Hermione nodded. And if Grindelwald hadn't used that spell when facing the Headmaster, on the brink of defeat, then it was not likely he had used it before, when he had been winning handily.

"I trust you will not try to cast the spell either, Miss Granger. The price is too high. Harry would certainly agree with me." His expression was colder than any Hermione had ever seen on the Headmaster's face before. "This is just an example, to help you find a solution to deal with… your problem."

She swallowed, then nodded. "Of course." Although Dumbledore was not correct - the spell would do what she needed it to. It would destroy a soul. Not unlike a dementor's kiss, which the Ministry used all the time. All she had to do was to figure out how to adapt it into a ritual and how to avoid paying the price the magic demanded. Make it… safer. Less dark.

And she had an inkling of an idea already.

*****​

Aberforth Dumbledore sent his last strand of memories from Abdul's interrogation into a vial, stoppered it and put it into the box he had prepared. The man had not only confirmed that he had been hired by the Dark Lord to attack Harry Potter and the wedding, but that he had also been the one responsible for organizing the assassination attempt by that genie in the last task of the Triwizard Tournament, over a year ago. And had been involved in dozens of slave raids over the years. Dozens of children and young witches taken from their families, sold as if they were pets.

Picking up the box, he shrunk it and then tied it to the leg of the post owl waiting on the table. Albus would get the box in a few days. Just in case his rescue of Nadya Bogdanova Lyubenova didn't go as planned - he couldn't think of anything but death that would keep him from trying until he succeeded. He had added the information about the girl's kidnapping as well, even though he was quite certain that should he fail and die, then Albus would not lift a finger, much less a wand to save the girl himself.

The girl was known as 'Nadiye Baykara', and had been returned to the harem of Rasim Baykara, the second son of a minor member of the Sultan's court. It wouldn't have been that hard to break into the harem and save the girl - if not for the fact that Abdul had hired wands to do exactly that a few weeks ago. Baykara would have certainly improved his wards as a consequence. Probably his guards as well.

Aberforth closed his eyes and remembered Lea's rescue. And Neola's death. And the deaths of Sasha and many of his wands. But that had been the harem of a high-ranking wizard of the Sublime Porte, with dozens of guards and genies. Baykara's wouldn't be protected like that. And Nadya would be alone there.

The old wizard shook his head. Contrary to the fantasies of most British wizards, Ottoman wizards didn't generally have harems filled with a dozen or more wives and concubines. Not since the 'acquisition' of muggle girls had been outlawed when the Statute of Secrecy had been implemented 300 years ago. The vast majority of the Ottomans had one wife, though her private rooms were still called a harem - it was apparently a matter of status. Muggles had haremliks, private areas for the whole family, but wizards had harems, women's quarters.

He thought of tracking down the wands Abdul had hired to kidnap Nadya and finding out how they had gained entry, then decided against it. It would only tell him what method not to use, and that was not worth the effort needed to find a bunch of criminals in Constantinople. And to persuade them to share their knowledge.

He'd find a way himself. He wasn't his brother, but it took more than a simple ward to stop him. Especially if a girl's life and freedom was at stake.

But first there was the matter of Abdul's continued existence. Something Aberforth had to rectify. He raised his wand at the bound captive. The effect of the veritaserum had ended, and the man was struggling frantically against the bindings that held him. Aberforth ignored it.

"Reducto."

*****​

Harry Potter ducked beneath a red spell - hopefully a stunner - and raised a stone wall to hip-height with flick of his wand, right in time to block a series of spells. The stone started to crack almost at once, and Harry cursed. They were pushing him too hard, boxing him in. He was limping already, and his entire left side felt like someone had taken a beater's bat and tenderized his flesh there. Another flick of his wand placed a second wall right behind the first, and a flick filled the area with thick smoke. Now all he had to do was to…

A blast above him interrupted his thoughts as he was slammed headfirst into the ground. Before he could recover, much less even think at treating himself, what felt like half a dozen stinging hexes hit him.

"Bang! You're dead," Sirius announced from behind him.

Harry groaned in response.

Ron floated a vial with a pain-relief potion over to him. Harry drank it, closing his eyes when his headache disappeared and his side stopped stinging. "Thanks Ron."

"Anytime, mate."

Harry stood up, stretching, then walked slowly over to where Ron was sitting on a low bench, a box of snacks and refreshments between his legs, next to Hermione. Harry's girlfriend was shaking her head and pursing her lips, as if it was Harry's fault that Sirius and Remus were going overboard with their training. Granted, this 'enhanced regime' was a direct result of the attacks in Bulgaria, but that hadn't been his fault either.

"You're up, Hermione," Remus said while Sirius repaired and cleared the dueling area. The young witch stood up with a huff, but when Harry moved to hug her, she kissed him. Until Sirius sent a stinging hex at her backside and she jumped out of his arms with a yelp.

"Stop wasting time! You need this training! You can snog afterwards!" The dark-haired wizard impatiently tapped his wand against his thigh.

"Sirius calling snogging a waste of time… did anyone check him for polyjuice or a confundus spell?" Harry said while glaring at his godfather.

"Hey now! I didn't say that!" the older wizard protested, while Remus and Hermione laughed.

"Well, yeah, you just did," Ron said, triggering more laughter, though Hermione's sounded a bit forced to Harry. With good cause - a second later she had to dodge Sirius's first spell. Her shield stopped Remus's spell, and an instant later, walls started to rise all around the witch.

"She's good at that," Ron said, "but defending yourself won't let you win, at best you can avoid losing."

"That's something already," Harry countered, watching as his girlfriend did her best to fight the two adult wizards in the room.

"Even that requires either an easily bored or exhausted enemy, or allies to come to the rescue. Lacking both, Hermione won't last too long." Ron shook his head as Hermione's walls were crumbling faster than she could throw up new ones.

Harry wanted to disagree, but he knew Ron was correct. "She hasn't attacked them yet. I wonder…"

Right then, both Remus and Sirius were suddenly faced with a swarm of beetles rushing them. For a moment, both disappeared in a buzzing cloud of insects, then both swarms disappeared and a cloud of dust.

"Silent finites… we need to get the hang of that," Ron commented.

"We will. Just need more training." Harry was determined to train harder. Lives were at stake, as the attacks in Bulgaria had once again proven.

"Speaking of, will we continue the Self-Defense Club?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't we?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Ah. There weren't many 6th year in the club last year, were they?"

"No, I thought they would…" Harry rolled his eyes as he trailed off. "Really?"

"Well… I guess a number of witches and wizards will use the opportunity to flirt more." Ron shrugged.

Harry rolled his eyes, then was distracted by a scream from Hermione. He had his wand out, ready to hex, before he realized she had just been hit with stinging hexes as well. "Like Parkinson."

"Hey! That's a low blow!" Ron pouted, which lifted Harry's spirit some while he dug out a Pain-relief potion for Hermione.

Hermione staggered more than she walked towards them, and he was up and at her side in a heartbeat, steadying her. "Should have waited for the potion before standing up," he whispered, handing it to her.

She scoffed in return, but drank the potion. He could feel her relax.

"They're really pushing us." He knew it was hardest on Hermione - due to her research for Dumbledore, she hadn't had as many lessons and training sessions in defense as he and Ron.

"But we're learning a lot," Hermione countered. "Even if it's a painful way to learn." She glared at Sirius and Remus, who were about to join them and Ron for a break.

Both wizards shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "As long as a potion fixes it, it's ok," Sirius stated.

"Technically, that includes Skele-Gro," Hermione said.

Harry winced - he had had to take such a potion once, after a particularly nasty Quidditch accident. Matron Pomfrey had claimed his shoulder bone had been 'pulverized', and had to be vanished to replace it.

"Well, you know what I mean," Sirius said, summoning a snack and a bottle of butterbeer for himself.

"At least we're getting better," Ron said. "And if we're together you'll have a much harder time beating us."

"We'll see. You don't think we'd face you while outnumbered when the goal of this exercise is to teach you how to fight while outnumbered, do you?" Sirius smirked, and Remus smiled widely.

Harry had a bad feeling about that. He was proven right when Sirius called his girlfriends to help out.

*****​

"As you can see, this ring glows when poison is nearby."

"I see. How much do you value it at?"

Aberforth, disguised as a Persian merchant, smiled pleasantly while he talked with Rasim Baykara about selling a few of the trinkets Abdul had carried on him. Arranging the meeting had taken a bit of an effort, but Arkan had known the right person to give him a recommendation. The Ottoman was both polite and witty. If Aberforth hadn't know he was a slave owner, he might even have been fooled into thinking of him as a nice person.

Ironically, it had been Abdul's actions that likely were the reasons for Baykara's new interest in protective items. If Nadya hadn't been kidnapped a few weeks ago, then the Ottoman wizard wouldn't feel threatened and vulnerable. And so there he was, chatting with the wizard in the very house he needed to sneak into.

It was a bit bigger than Aberforth had expected, but so far he hadn't seen too many expansion charms being used. He hoped that this would also be the case in the harem - searching through a maze of expanded rooms would be a pain. The house was also better protected than he had expected - those wards were new, and strong. Not impossible for him to beat, but the time that would have taken would have been enough for help to arrive.

Not that it mattered now, that he had been invited inside, if under guard. But that had been expected as well.

After an hour of haggling, Aberforth had sold a ring and a necklace, and a Confundus Spell followed by disillusioning himself had convinced the guards that he had left the premises. Now all he had to do was waiting until late at night, when everyone but a few guards would be sleeping.

He spent the time on the roof. It would have been pleasant, relaxing even, if not for the memories of Lea and Neola, and his fatal mistake. If only he hadn't underestimated those guards, or those genies! If he had been a bit faster, a bit more ruthless… if he had found their wands, or replacements, so they could have defended themselves…

If, if, if… he knew what Albus would say, the hypocrite. 'Do not dwell on past mistakes, past the need to learn from them.' Even though Aberforth knew Albus would take his guilt for the death of their sister to his grave.

He managed to distract himself from his wandering morbid thoughts by trying to remember his astronomy lessons, and matching the sky above him with the constellations he still knew. Which weren't many - he had barely touched that subject since he had graduated.

Finally it was time - the last light had gone out an hour ago. He stood up, wincing at the painful reminder from his body that he should not spend too much time in uncomfortable positions, and snuck downstairs, to look for the harem.

The inner courtyard was patrolled by a guard - sleepy and sloppy, from what Aberforth could tell. The man didn't even look up. It was no problem at all to reach the selamlik where he had met Rasim Baykara. To reach the private quarters though was a bit more difficult, with the entrance guarded by a genie. Once again though a Confundus Charm helped - the guard didn't notice how the door opened right behind him.

As expected the girl wasn't sleeping in the 'harem', but in the bedroom of Rasim himself. Aberforth smiled as he slowly opened the door to the chamber, and saw Baykara and Nadya lying on the bed, fast asleep. The crib in the corner though…

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. If Nadya was a mother, then this complicated things immensely. A Silencing Charm would let the baby sleep no matter how loud the room might get. A Sticking Charm would keep the the child - less than one year old, he guessed - safely inside the crib, but he thought that would be going a bit too far. But a privacy spell to keep anyone outside from hearing them inside would not go amiss.

He didn't bother with the Silencing Charm for Rasim, he simply sent half a dozen stunners at him, just in case his bedclothes were enchanted as well. It turned out they hadn't been. The Ottoman would be feeling that in the morning - unless it turned out he had abused the girl. The he wouldn't ever wake up again.

Then he tapped the girl's nose with his wand, waking her with a weak stinging hex. Nadya's eyes shot open and she yelled, ready to jump out of the bed - until she spotted the wand aimed at her, and froze.

Aberforth spoke quickly: "I'm a friend. Neither the wizard nor the baby are hurt. I'm here for your father, to rescue you."

"What? Who?" The witch blinked.

"Your father, Bogdan Lyubenov Stoyanov. Your name is Nadya Bogdanova Lyubenova."

"My name is Nadiye Baykara!" the witch shouted, and grabbed for her wand. Before she could get a grip on it though Aberforth had summoned it.

"That was the name given to you by your kidnappers. The ones who murdered your mother when she tried to protect you." Aberforth saw that his words made the girl gasp - what 'orphan' had not wondered about her parents? - but she controlled herself quickly and grit her teeth.

"That is my name, given to me when I married Risam!" She reached out and shook the man.

"He'll not wake up anytime soon," Aberforth said.

"What did you do to him?"

He hated hearing the concern for the slaver in her voice. "I stunned him. You were kidnapped and enslaved as a child."

"I was an orphan."

"You were not. You were stolen from your father." The slavers must have obliviated the girl, for her to cling to that lie so stubbornly. Aberforth was almost glad her father would never know this. If that had been done to Lea and Neola… He pulled out a picture showing her mother, father, and herself. "Look at this! It's your real family!"

She glanced at it, then pushed it back. "I don't know these people." She hadn't called for help yet - she was smart enough to realize that if her shouting earlier had not brought help, more shouting wouldn't achieve that either. "You're just trying to kidnap me! Like those men before."

"They kidnapped you to force your father to work for them." Aberforth was tempted to stun the girl, and take her with him. But the baby complicated this. "He died so he wouldn't have to betray either his country or you."

She stared at him, as if she couldn't understand him. "If my parents are dead, what do you want?"

"I promised your father I'd rescue you, and bring you home." To betray a dying man…

"I don't need to be rescued, this is my family, and my home!" She stood up, a thin shift wrapping itself around her to preserve her modesty. "Even if your story was true, why should I give up my family for a country I don't even remember? For a family that doesn't exist anymore?"

"You were kidnapped, and obliviated! Your life here is a lie." Any minute could a guard pass through, checking up on the couple.

"It is not a lie! I grew up here. I married. I have a child." She was so close now, staring straight into his eyes, that she was pushing her chest against the tip of his wand.

He wanted to tell her it was a lie - but in a sick way, she was correct. The slavers only had to obliviate her once, to wipe out the memories for her prior life, and she'd make her new memories herself. Had done so. And yet it was all based on a crime. On murder and kidnapping.

"If you drag me with you, then you're just a kidnapper. Like the others!" She crossed her arms under her breasts and lifted her chin.

"I'm not like them! I'm no hired wand working for the highest bidder!" He clenched and unclenched his left hand while he gripped his wand so strongly, the knuckles on his right hand were almost white from the strain. The urge to simply stun this silly girl for her own good was overwhelming.

"You still want to take me away from my home, my family. Destroy my life." She had tears in her eyes, though he had known witches who could fake those on command.

"We will take the baby with us," Aberforth spit out. As if he'd leave the child here!

"And deprive him of his father? And Risam of his family?" Nadya shook her head violently. "I'd rather die!"

He had his wand pointed at her, ready to end the insane argument, when suddenly, he saw Neola in her place, standing tall and proud all those years ago, as she told that slaver the same, right before she was struck down. And he just knew he couldn't take her with him. Even if leaving her here was wrong. Even if he had promised her father. He wasn't Albus, who'd sacrifice lives for his ideals.

He held out the picture again. "Please take this at least. They're your parents. You can show them to your son." After a second, he added: "And to your husband."

She took the picture hesitantly, as if she feared it might whisk her away, before she nodded.

Sighing, and feeling far older than he was, he said: "And if you ever want or need to flee the country, send an owl to Aberforth Dumbledore."

"Dumble…" She stared at him, shocked into silence.

He disillusioned himself and was gone before she could recover, dropping her wand on the shelf next to the door.


Chapter 49: Chasing Umbridge
 
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Chapter 49: Chasing Umbridge
Chapter 49: Chasing Umbridge

"The Ottoman bastard who was behind the attacks on Potter won't be helping the Dark Lord anymore. But you already know that since I sent you the memories."

Aberforth Dumbledore leaned back in his conjured seat, facing his brother's desk. He felt like he was reporting to a superior, or a teacher - he was actually! - and he hated it.

"I see. What happened to Nadya Bogdanova Lyubenova?" His brother's voice was, as usual, mild.

"She didn't need to be rescued," Aberforth stated in a flat voice, glaring at the older wizard so he understood that this was not something he wanted to talk about.

"They killed her then. A tragedy." His brother sighed, and Aberforth felt the urge to hex him for this display of fake remorse and compassion. For the girl, and for himself.

"No. She didn't want to be rescued," he spat out.

"Ah."

He waited for his brother to go on. Say something sanctimonious he could blow up at. The phoenix trilled, and swooped over to drop one of those awful confections in his lap. He glared at the bird, then at his brother, who had not even the hint of a smile on his face. His brother still didn't comment. After about a minute, Aberforth said: "She had a child."

"She was not under a spell then."

Finally! He scoffed. "Of course not. I checked."

"And she had no family to return to."

Of course Albus'd know that. Looked into it, probably, as if he'd care about an individual instead about his principles. "No. And she didn't want to leave her husband."

"Was she a slave?"

"She was kidnapped as a child. They took her memories, made her think she was an orphan." Aberforth grit his teeth. The girl had been a slave, even if she didn't know it, or didn't want to know it. Sold like cattle to her husband.

Albus nodded, his face dripping with understanding. If only he'd show some condescension!

"Knowing about her origin, she might yet decide to leave."

Aberforth scoffed. "She'll deny it and stay with her 'husband'."

"Which is her decision to take." Albus summoned a bottle of Ogden's Finest and two glasses.

Aberforth held up his hand, stopping the glass from floating towards him with a bit of wandless magic. He'd not share a glass with his brother, and get consoled for once again failing to save a girl. "You know what happened in Constantinople. What has been going on in Britain in my absence?"

"We found out that Dolores Umbridge is working as a courtesan with a werewolf." Albus said while filling one glass for himself.

"What?" Aberforth stared. That made no sense.

"Indeed. It's quite surprising."

"Surprising? Shocking! There has to be something else behind this." He didn't know that witch well, but her hatred of werewolves was deeply-rooted and widely known.

"I can only think of a few reasons for such an arrangement." His brother took a sip from his whiskey, burping fire. "None of them good."

"A plot from the Dark Lord then."

"I do not think we can afford to dismiss that possibility."

"And my friends will be involved in tracking them down." Mathilda, to be precise. The courtesan knew those two aurors well, and was a bit too brave for her own good. And she'd not listen to him if he tried to keep her safe.

Albus nodded, taking another sip.

"What about the Dark Lord?"

"He hasn't sent his wands into battle often since the attack on the Express, and never in big groups."

"He's up to something then, and I bet it's not just rebuilding his forces."

"Quite likely."

Aberforth was certain Albus knew more than he was revealing, but couldn't think of a way to make his brother spill that information. Two could play that game. He stood up. "I have to check with my friends."

Albus had an unreadable expression when he nodded, and Aberforth fought the urge to check if his brother was watching him when he flooed to his inn.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore sighed after his brother had vanished through his fireplace. He had hoped Aberforth would be able to come to terms with his past regrets in Constantinople, but it seemed that this had not come to be. On the contrary - his younger brother might even feel more guilty now, having failed to save another witch.

If one could call it failure. Certainly, the Ottomans' cavalier attitude towards and unofficial tolerance for slavery was despicable, but it wasn't as if there were no kidnappings in Britain. The things that happened in Knockturn Alley… or the treatment of werewolves.

After filling his glass again, he raised it towards his oldest companion and closest friend. "To a better future, Fawkes!"

The phoenix trilled, and started for his bowl of lemon drops, Albus let him, which prompted Fawkes to chirp at him, and offer one drop to the Headmaster. Smiling slightly, he took it. The affair with Miss Caldwell occupied his mind, more than it should probably, given the approaching full moon, and the upcoming start of the next school year. If only he could send Remus to sound out the werewolves, but that would expose his professor's secret, and ruin his life.

Putting his empty glass down, and absentmindedly petting Fawkes, he considered his options. Since it was very likely that Tom would attempt his ritual again during the next full moon, Albus could attempt to use legilimency, and read Harry's mind while he was experiencing the vision. That should allow him to apparate to the location - the Dark Lord hadn't had anti-apparition jinxes up the last time - and even a minor spell would disturb the ritual. And as he knew from Harry's vision, that would cause a deadly backlash.

It was a very tempting course of action. No one but Albus himself would be at risk, and if he succeeded then the Dark Lord's body would be destroyed, the war would quickly end without Voldemort directing his forces, and Miss Granger and himself would have ample time to find a way to deal with the horcruxes before Tom could manage to return from wherever his spirit went afterwards. Even if Albus died with Tom, he could leave a note for Saul, who would take his place and help Miss Granger finish her work.

And yet the risks were too big. Albus would have to prevent Tom from apparating away, as the Dark Lord had done the last time his ritual had went awry. And since it was very likely that he'd face both Tom and Bellatrix, this would be very difficult. Not impossible though - a powerful Blasting Curse could likely hit them both. It wouldn't hurt them much, if at all, though, given their experience, and he'd have to cast both an anti-apparition jinx and an anti-portkey jinx to trap the Dark Lord there. And if he did that, he'd be trapped there as well.

That was a sacrifice Albus would be willing to make. He was old, and he wasn't getting any younger. And while it was theoretically possible that Tom might be able to dispel one of the jinxes quickly enough to trigger a portkey, or have Bellatrix apparate them away, it was not very likely.

But what if the Dark Lord had taken precautions? Maybe he had a trusted confidante ready with another ritual to revive himself. Albus's sacrifice would have been for naught, and Britain would be left without him to counter the Dark Lord. Theoretically, the Ministry could muster enough skilled wizards to defeat Voldemort. Even a wizard as powerful as Voldemort - or Albus - could be taken down with enough wands. But such a force would, like Albus currently, have to be held in reserve, able to counter the Dark Lord's appearance. Those dozens of wizards and witches would not be available to face the rank and file of Voldemort's Death Eaters. All the Dark Lord would have to do to win was wait, recruit more, and let his wands gradually grind the aurors and hit-wizards down while keeping the bulk of them chasing him.

But even that wasn't the worst possibility. If Voldemort noticed his presence in Harry's mind, he'd know about the connection to the boy. As cunning as Tom was, he'd bolt, abandoning the ritual, and alter his plans. Albus would have lost his best source of information, and Harry would be in great danger.

No, as tempting as this decapitation strike was, Albus couldn't do it. It was simply too dangerous.

He'd have to find another way to atone for his sins.

*****​

"That looks rather simple."

Hermione Granger turned her head and frowned at her boyfriend, who was looking over her shoulder at her computer's screen.

Harry didn't seem to notice. "Not the kind of formula I'd expect from your secret work."

Hermione reflexively checked if the privacy spells protecting their room in No 12, Grimmauld Place were still working, even though she had checked them before she had started her arithmantic calculations. Relaxing slightly, she addressed the wizard. "It is meant to be. This is a formula to adapt a simple spell into a simple ritual so I can test my program. That way I'll be able to test my optimization methods before running the real formula."

"Couldn't you do that with the actual formula, for more precise results?" Harry sat down on the desk, facing her.

She bit her lower lip. Harry wasn't as skilled in arithmancy as herself, and he didn't exactly know what the Headmaster had her working on, but he was not stupid. Before she could think of an explanation, he frowned.

"You can't do that because the spell is too dangerous to test the improvements the usual way, right?"

She nodded slowly. When she heard him mutter a curse she looked away.

"There has to be another way. A better spell, ritual."

The young witch shook her head. "We haven't found a better spell. And time's running short. Each full moon, Voldemort is making progress."

"We still don't know what he's doing." Harry's tone turned it into a question.

"No," she answered, hiding her annoyance. Did he really think think she'd keep this from him if she knew?

Her face must have betrayed her reaction, since her boyfriend sighed. "Sorry. I just… I hate this."

Hermione didn't have to be told what he meant with 'this'. She knew he hated that she was taking risks for him. Just as she hated it when he was in danger. She stood up, and moved in front of him still sitting on her desk. "I hate it as well, but we don't have a choice."

"I wish I knew what you are doing with the Headmaster." He wrapped his arms around her.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, and whispered: "No, you don't."

She hoped he'd think she meant the risk of Voldemort finding out through him.

*****​

Mathilda Miller moved through the main room of the 'Milarin' with a grace born from both talent and training, her robes - a network of thin stripes of fabric wound tight around her - attracting a fair amount of attention. The private club had more customers than she would have expected, given the war that was going on. It was too high-priced to appeal to the rank and file of the aurors and hit-wizards who might die any day, and would be living it up each chance they got, and she would have thought that the kind of customers it was courting would be more inclined to stay safe behind the wards of their mansions, than risk coming to Diagon Alley.

Then she saw the two dancers on the stage, and understood. Veela. Courtesan trained ones even - rare outside Paris. The owner of the club had to have spent a fortune to persuade them to perform in Britain in these troubled times. That would attract a lot of the kind of wizards Umbridge and Caldwell were aiming for - and only a few of them would be able to hire the veela. So, a prime hunting ground for the two suspects.

Since one of them was a werewolf, that probably wasn't the best wording, she admitted to herself.

Mathilda slowly walked to the bar, where she ordered a glass of champagne and studied the audience. No sign so far of either Umbridge or Caldwell, but there was Fickleton, staring at the stage as if he had been entranced.

Wizards. Mathilda masked her cynical snort by taking a sip from her drink. Though, truth to be told, not every wizard was like that. Just most, as her teacher in Paris used to say. Watching the Wizengamot member absentmindedly drinking from his own glass, she considered approaching him, but decided against it. He had a reputation of being a tad rough with his playthings, and she'd rather not find out he was now a werewolf by discovering he had left permanent scars on her.

Leaning against the bar and letting her gaze wander, she caught the eyes of a younger wizard roaming over her body. She smiled at him while she checked him out. Expensive robes, though a bit too flashy. Young, a few years out of Hogwarts yet. Rich enough to visit the club, which meant he wouldn't be emancipated. Beholden to his Head of Family, which meant he was from an old family. Not rich enough to have a chance with the veela, and smart enough to realize it. An easy mark, then. But for the fact that he was still sitting alone. Mathilda didn't think that her fellow courtesans would miss such an opportunity, so he was either choosy, or there was something else going on.

She downed the rest of her champagne and started to walk towards his table. Finding out what exactly was going on would be a good way to pass the time. And if she needed to go further to keep her cover… the wizard looked quite handsome.

"Hello, sir. Are you looking for some company?" She smiled, going through the motions - he hadn't left her out of his eyes ever since she had noticed him.

"I am," he said, with a faint hint of a foreign accent. Balkan. He motioned to the seat next to him. "Pavlos" he introduced himself.

"Marie," she answered, using her fake Parisian accent and alias while she sat down with a smile. Up close she could see his robes were brand new, and he had an interesting scar on his collarbone. The accent and the new robes pointed at a wand for hire who had struck it rich. Greek, or Macedonian. But those rogues usually were far more forward. She'd have expected him to pat his lap. And after Aberforth's efforts, most of the Macedonians and other Greeks were working for…

She had to fight the urge to curse when the knut dropped. Still smiling, she leaned forward, cast a privacy spell, and whispered: "How much were you paid to watch over me?"

The young man blushed and tried to mask his surprise with a cough. He rallied quickly though. "I wouldn't charge to protect a beauty like you."

"Really?" she said, letting her fingers trail over his robe. Theoretically, he could have bought the robe with his own gold, to wear. She heard him hiss when she reached his lap, and withdrew her hand.

He nodded, wetting his lips. "Really."

She slid a bit closer, until their thighs touched. He was handsome, if a bit young. "Are you aware of the reasons for mine, and therefore your presence here?"

"You're looking for two dangerous witches. Cursed ones." He grinned. "I have hunted their kind before. I will not let them touch you."

She almost sighed. Aberforth was getting a bit too protective in his old age. At least he hadn't come in person, and had picked a charming bodyguard. Though that he hadn't bothered to inform her did not sit that well with her. Leaning forward, and letting her robe grow a bit looser, revealing more, she asked: "And what are your orders in case they do not appear?"

"I'm not to let you out of my sight." Other wizards of his age would have been nervous now. Pavlos wasn't. The difference, she guessed, between a young wizard with a generous appanage from his head of family and no real experience, and a young wand for hire.

"I'll hold you to that."

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick wasn't happy. At all. He should be, posing as a young and rich fool, out for a good time in an expensive club, with all expenses paid for by the Ministry. And he was surrounded by pretty witches who were flirting with him.

But they were only acting so nicely because they wanted him to hire them. He wasn't attractive, his purse was. That alone wouldn't have been enough to dampen his mood much, though. A pretty girl was a pretty girl, after all, especially if someone else was picking up the tab.

No, what was ruining his mood was the fact that his partner was undercover as well, in a different private club, posing as one of those witches currently surrounding him. You didn't split from your partner, every rookie learned that at the academy! If anything happened, he wouldn't be able to help Bertha.

If only she had gone as a guest instead of a courtesan! Witches frequented those clubs too, after all. But she had claimed that while she had had training as a courtesan, she hadn't any experience posing as one of the rich witches looking for paid company. He didn't like that, not at all, even if it made some sort of sense. His partner, wearing that very revealing robe she had picked, flirting… If one of those old rich wizards made a move on her, and she couldn't refuse him without blowing her cover and endangering herself...

Merlin's balls, he was jealous! He almost dropped his glass. Jealous of whoever flirted with his partner while she was undercover! What was wrong with him? He knew such flirting wouldn't mean a thing. Not to Bertha. She was the most professional witch he knew. Professional auror, that is. Not the other kind. Even if she had loosened up a bit in the last year.

He turned to the bartender, a gorgeous blonde witch in a robe that barely covered her curves, and ordered another whiskey. He was on a mission, on a hunt. He had no time to deal with this… discovery. And yet he barely managed to nod and smile at the redhead pawing at him, and keep an eye on the most recent arrivals.

Bertha Limmington. Brilliant, but not the most personal witch. More fond of books than people. A typical Ravenclaw. Top Auror. Like him. But very much not like him. By the book. Pretty. Beautiful even. A brilliant mind, and deadly with her wand. The best partner he could wish for. And she had a well-hidden, but keen sense of humor. And she could flirt, if she wanted. The way she walked, in that skimpy robe….

When the redhead tried to slip her hand inside his robe, he realized that she had taken his smile as an invitation. He hadn't even realized just how he had been smiling! He covered his lapse by paying for her next drink and tried to focus on his task again.

Merlin, he was in love with his partner!

Right then, the ring on his left hand grew warm - the agreed-upon signal that Bertha had spotted Umbridge and Caldwell. He made his excuses, citing a family emergency, not caring if it sounded convincing, tipped the redhead generously, and left the club. He had two suspects to catch, and a partner to catch up with.

*****​

Kenneth stepped out of the floo in 'The Nightingale', nodding at the two bouncers. They looked him over, checking if his robes matched the club's price range, but didn't look like they were expecting trouble - anyone arriving by floo had gone through the Thief's Downfall at Floo Central, after all. Anyone entering from the street though would have to endure a lot more scrutiny.

Entering the main room, Kenneth spotted his partner at once. Bertha was leaning against the bar, crowded by a pair of young wizards with more gold than taste judging by their robes. At least they weren't pawing her. He walked over to them, maybe a tiny bit faster than usual. He wanted to simply push the two idiots away, maybe hex them a bit if they didn't get the message, but that would cause too much trouble, and endanger their mission. And Bertha would be furious.

Instead he beamed at her and ignored the two men. "Darling, there you are! I was held up at work, please forgive me."

The witch smiled widely at him, and part of him hoped that it wasn't just an act. "Of course!"

The two boys apparently didn't understand that they should leave. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned work - some of the rich thought anyone who actually worked was not rich enough to matter. But one of them faced him. "Hey! We saw her first!"

"Yes!" The other, more than a bit drunk, nodded emphatically.

"Get lost. She's mine!" Kenneth growled at them and slipped his left arm around Bertha's waist. The witch leaned into him, but her right hand pinched his side. He ignored that while he stared at the impertinent boy until the idiot's sense of self-preservation finally started working and he turned to leave, pulling his drunk friend with him. The bouncer that had started to walk towards them returned to his position at the wall again.

Kenneth smiled at his partner, not releasing her waist. "Shall we get a table, darling?" They could cast a privacy charm at the bar as well, but it might catch some unneeded attention. Most people didn't talk about anything at the bar that actually required such secrecy.

Bertha nodded. "Good idea, honey."

He kept his arm around her while they walked over to the next free table, but once inside the privacy spell's effect, she pulled away. She did sit down next to him, at least, though he didn't know why she seemed amused.

"I didn't spot Umbridge or Caldwell." He was pretty certain he'd not have missed them.

"They're at that table there," Bertha said, indicating a table under a privacy spell in the center of the room. "With Simon Bragglin. Or someone polyjuiced as him."

Ah, that was his partner, always precise, always covering all the bases. "I think we can discount that possibility." Bragglin, one of the middle-aged Wizengamot members, would have arrived by floo as well.

"Theoretically, you could drink polyjuice right when entering the floo, and exit under its effects," Bertha said.

"Has that ever been tried?" Kenneth didn't think such an exploit would have been overlooked.

"Modern floos are too quick for that too work, but if you set up a slower connection, it would be theoretically possible."

"If they can set up a slower connection to their target, they probably don't need to use polyjuice to infiltrate that location." Kenneth chuckled. "Now, how do we do this? Arresting them in the middle of the main room?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "The risk of bystanders getting hurt is too big."

"Especially since a lot of those bystanders would be rich and influential," Kenneth added cynically.

"Like Bragglin. You could do without another reprimand."

"I haven't gotten a reprimand in ages," Kenneth answered. "Besides, we're at war - regulations and stuff are not quite as tight." Which wasn't always a good thing. A number of aurors might cross lines that shouldn't be crossed, secure in the knowledge that as long as results were delivered, no one would be asking them any questions.

Judging by Bertha's frown, she was all too aware of that as well. "I still do not recommend it. It would be best if they took a private room."

Kenneth agreed. "The owner won't make much of a fuss if we raid a private room, as long as we're discreet. And they'd be trapped in there."

"But if they don't take a private room here, we'll be forced to stop them before they reach the floo or the door." Bertha sighed, which did interesting things to her barely-covered chest.

Kenneth was staring, then caught himself. Fortunately, she didn't seem to have noticed, or didn't seem to mind. "We could herd them to the door, and have an ambush outside. If we're at the floo, that shouldn't be too hard."

"Yes." Bertha pulled out an enchanted mirror from an invisible pocket in her robe. "I'll go to the bathroom and contact the boss."

"Aren't the bathrooms under privacy spells as well?" Those would foil communication mirrors, like any other means of eavesdropping.

"Only the stalls."

"Ah. I'll get us more drinks." At her raised eyebrows, he added: "We have to keep up appearances."

"Of course." She chuckled and stood up.

As soon Bertha had left the table and the area covered by the privacy spell, Kenneth closed his eyes and leaned back. He had almost asked her to sit in his lap. But he had been afraid of her reaction. If she got angry, or thought it was a tasteless joke… he could handle that. But if she thought it was unprofessional...

He tapped his wand to the light at the table, summoning a waitress, and hoped that the next few hours or so, depending on how long the two witches were staying, wouldn't be awkward. Or stressful. He just knew it wouldn't be the light banter he was used to. If only he had realized that he had fallen in love with Bertha earlier, or later, and not in the middle of an undercover mission with her! And if only she'd be wearing a less distracting robe!

*****​

If anyone deserved to become a werewolf, Simon Bragglin did, Dolores Umbridge thought. The man was acting like an animal already. She'd had to rearrange her robes a dozen times so far, and the werewolf had had to repair hers even. And it wasn't as if either garment would hide much of their bodies. The man was the head of an old pureblood family - if not quite an Old Family - but he had the manners of a mudblood bastard. She had barely managed to keep herself from cursing him when he had first pulled the werewolf on his lap and had torn down her robes. Damned life debt!

When the wizard leaned over and buried his face in the exposed chest of Paige - the beast - Dolores pulled her wand and vanished the contents of her glass. She felt like drinking, but she knew she couldn't afford to dull her mind. At least one of them had to keep her wits, and it looked like her 'partner' was busy enough keeping her temper. She wasn't looking forward to the rest of the night. If only it was the full moon already!

She used her wand to order another round of drinks. At least she'd lighten the man's purse, and with a bit of luck, he'd soon be too drunk to continue molesting them. And once the full moon had arrived, he'd pay. They'd have the whole night for their revenge.

A scantily clad waitress brought the drinks. Dolores thought she looked sympathetic. She could be wrong, but she didn't think Bragglin restricted his behaviour to courtesans. That he wasn't married at his age implied enough anyway.

The man separated himself from the werewolf's chest - finally! - and leaned back in his seat, summoning his glass with a flick of his wand while Paige repaired her robes, again.

"Ah!" Burping fire, he leered at Dolores, and she had to fight to not shudder with revulsion. To think a member of the Wizengamot could sink so low…

He patted his thigh. "Come on, girl, you've had enough rest!"

Dolores glanced over at the werewolf, who winced behind Bragglin's back. Umbridge grit her teeth - to be pitied by a beast - before smiling and sliding over to to the man. "Of course!"

He'd pay. He'd pay dearly for this.

*****​

Paige Caldwell felt relief. They were finally leaving 'The Nightingale', and Bragglin had drunk enough that he'd hopefully fall asleep quickly once they were at his manor. He wasn't drunk enough to be unable to stand though - even though he had his arms around both her and Umbridge as they made their way to the floo. Maybe they'd have to make him drink some more at his home.

She glanced over at the other witch, behind the man's back. Umbridge looked livid. She must have really hated getting touched by the man, Paige thought - she hadn't been like that with the other targets. Probably something personal, even though Bragglin hadn't acted as if he knew her, other than by name.

Paige had to admit she had been surprised by the man's manners. He wasn't quite as uncouth as Greyback, but he had not displayed even a trace of the sophistication she'd expect from a Wizengamot member. Maybe this was just how he treated courtesans? She had almost marked him with her fingernails when he had torn her robes open for the first time, thinking he was attacking her. If she had drawn blood, that would have been bad. It could have compromised the whole mission.

And that would have displeased the Dark Lord. She shuddered.

Bragglin must have noticed, since he asked: "Are you cold, pet?"

Paige forced a smile on her face. "A bit… someone tore my robes up."

As expected, the man laughed. So loudly actually, that another guest and his ladyfriend frowned at the display. Once again Paige was reminded of Greyback. The werewolf leader loved to flaunt courtesy whenever he could.

They left the main room, walking to the floo behind a couple. Another rich man, and a not too experienced courtesan, or so Paige thought - she hadn't quite the provocative gait. She didn't look that young, so she probably was another witch fallen on hard times, and turning to this life to make ends meet. Those witches didn't know what hard times were. Paige knew it. Knew how it was to be torn from her family, from her country, banished and left to fend for herself. And she knew how to survive, how to live, without whoring herself out.

Paige scoffed and shook her head.

"DMLE, Aurors Fenbrick and Limmington! Paige Caldwell, Dolores Umbridge, you're under arrest!"

Paige felt as if her blood had frozen in her veins, staring at the two wands aimed at her and Umbridge. That couple was a pair of undercover aurors! She gasped - she was a werewolf who had infected several wizards, willingly even. If she was arrested, she'd be executed!

She'd rather die fighting! She was about to draw her wand when she heard Umbridge whisper: "Imperio. Attack those aurors!"

Bragglin drew his wand. The two aurors were quicker, casting at him while spreading out, but their Stunning Spells were stopped by the man's robes.

"Reducto!"

Braggin's spell missed, but tore up the teak floor, sending splinters towards the aurors and dust up in the air.

Paige, now with her wand in hand, felt Umbridge grab her arm. "Come, to the exit!" The witch whispered, trying to pull her with her.

The werewolf shook her head. "No, not the exit. They'll be waiting for us." They wouldn't cover the floo with two aurors and leave the main entrance uncovered.

Umbridge cursed, but agreed. "Main room!"

The two ran back, into the main room. Behind them, Bragglin was casting another Blasting Curse. The man wouldn't last long, but he had bought them enough time to put a few guests between them and any pursuit.

"Backdoor?" Paige asked

"They'll be waiting there too."

Front and back and floo were blocked. The werewolf felt trapped, cornered. She wanted to lash out, kill those who attacked her. Charge them and rip them to shreds. Feast on their entrails! She might have lost control, if Umbridge had not pulled her towards the stairs and shaken her out of her rage.

"What can we do?"

"The roof. We'll blast our way through the roof." The other witch was sprinting up the stairs. Paige didn't hear another explosion, which meant Bragglin had been stunned.

Another couple - no, a two witches, one wizard - was descending the stairs. Paige roared at them, and when they didn't part quickly enough, she banished the wizard into the next wall.

"Imperio! Go down and blow every table up!"

Paige glanced to the witch running slightly behind her. That was the second unforgivable the witch had cast, in front of witnesses. If she got arrested, it'd be Azkaban for her. For life. In for a knut, in for a galleon.

"Window!" Umbridge shouted when they reached the next floor. She looked like she was out of breath.

Paige hadn't any problems - werewolves had great stamina. It didn't make up for being cursed, but it could come in handy. She ran towards the window, wand out.

"Don't cast yet!" Umbridge shouted. Paige heard explosions and screaming from below while the witch pulled out a broom from her robes and unshrunk it. "Disillusion yourself, and mount up behind me!"

Part of Paige wanted to refuse. To obey was to submit. She fought that instinct down though, and did what she was told.

"Reducto!"

The window was blown away, and the broom shot through the opening before the debris had hit the ground. They almost hit the house on the other side, but Umbridge managed to pull up in time, and then simply flew straight - away from the club, away from the alley.

And with the aurors hunting them for what they had done, and the Dark Lord likely to hunt them for what they had failed to do, away from Wizarding Britain.

*****​

"Half a dozen guests seriously wounded. One Wizengamot member hurt by aurors. Five Wizengamot members protesting the 'rash, reckless and unjustified action' of the DMLE. And both suspects escaped."

Kenneth Fenbrick, standing at attention in front of Amelia Bones's desk, next to his Bertha Limmington, winced. Bones sounded angrier than right after the attack on the Hogwarts Express. Or maybe he thought that because this time, all her anger was directed at him and his partner. At least it felt like it. "I bet those protests came from Wizengamot members who were found in 'compromising situations'."

He regretted his quip right away when the head of the DMLE glared at him. "Do you deny that 'rash and reckless' fits this mess perfectly, Auror Fenbrick?"

"No, ma'am."

"So, can you explain how two whores who have never shown much skill with their wands, much less as duelists, managed to escape two of my most experienced aurors and a full team of hit-wizards?" Bones glared at Kenneth and his partner, hands on her hips.

"Ma'am, Umbridge imperiused Bragglin to attack us. We couldn't take him out quickly, not without hurting or even killing him, and that allowed them to flee back into the club's main room, full of bystanders," Kenneth said, looking past the witch. He didn't have to mention that hurting, much less killing a member of the Wizengamot who had been put under the Imperius right in front of them would have led to a terrible reaction from the Wizengamot. If only the man hadn't been wearing the best protections gold could buy! "And when we took up pursuit, we had to deal with another imperiused victim who was attacking the guests and staff - among them a few more members of the Wizengamot, ma'am," he added, earning him another glare.

"Ma'am, I have to point out that the operation failed because we were not rash enough. If we had simply entered with the half a dozen aurors and hit-wizards who had secured the building, the outcome would have been far different." Bertha met Bones's eyes without flinching.

"The building wasn't secured, Auror Limmington!"

"Sadly, we were not informed of that prior to the attempted arrest."

Bones sat down in her seat, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "The Minister's been in here already, asking for the head of the one who's responsible for this debacle. He's taking the escape of Umbridge very personally."

Kenneth tensed up. If the Minister wanted a scapegoat, it'd be him or Bertha. And it had been his plan. His fault.

"We'll blame the hit-wizards for not securing the building, and for neglecting to inform you of that fact. Our plan was, if not perfect, at least sound." Bones sighed.

Kenneth was relieved. The hit-wizards had botched their task, after all, and they would not fire anyone in the middle of the war. Demoting them maybe, but given the losses they were still taking, they'd be back in their old rank soon enough - provided they survived.

"What about the pressure from the Wizengamot, ma'am?" Bertha asked.

Bones grinned in an almost feral way. "We'll be moving on the suspected targets of Umbridge and Caldwell. If they turn out to be werewolves, then we'll inform the Wizengamot. I am certain the esteemed members will reevaluate their stance on 'rash and reckless' arrests in private clubs once they realize that there was a werewolf infecting Wizengamot members who frequent such places." She folded her hands and leaned back. "Something good may come out of this mess."

Kenneth chuckled, though Bertha didn't react other than smiling slightly. Instead she spoke up: "Will we remain in charge of this case?"

Bones shook her head. "Only as far as it concerns Caldwell and Umbridge. Others will handle the affected Wizengamot members."

Who wouldn't be Wizengamot members for long, Kenneth thought. He and his partner wouldn't get off scot-free then - others and not them would make those high-profile arrests. He could live with that - whoever made those arrests would also make some enemies. Thinking of enemies… "Did the Minister claim that his affair with Umbridge was the result of her casting an Imperius?"

Bertha glared at him, and Bones rolled her eyes. "The Minister was quite vocal in his explanation that there was no affair."

Kenneth swallowed his next remark, and Bones dismissed them.

Once out of their boss's office, he relaxed. "That wasn't as bad as I feared when I saw the carnage."

"We were quite lucky. That was sloppy planning on our side," Bertha said in a flat voice.

"Couldn't be helped. Too much secrecy. You can't plan well enough if your support can't be informed until the last second, for fear of traitors and leaks." Kenneth wasn't happy with the situation, but he didn't see what could be done about it as long as they were recruiting anyone who could hold a wand for the hit-wizards.

"We should enlist more trustworthy help in the future."

"And where would we… really? Is that even legal?"

"Yes. Civilians can make arrests by themselves," Bertha pulled out a scroll with the corresponding law on it.

"If no auror is present." Kenneth was familiar with that law himself. A kidnapper once had claimed he had mistaken his victim for a thief and arrested her. The man had died in prison when the Dark Lord had stormed Azkaban.

"In maiore minus. If they can make an arrest without an auror, they can help an auror make an arrest as well."

"I'm not quite certain that this is intended, or even legal, but I'm quite certain that no one cares as long as we get results," Kenneth stated.

He shared a cynical grin with his partner. He didn't like her plan, and he was certain she didn't like it either, but he didn't see a better way to get trustworthy help than asking certain friends and acquaintances of the Dumbledores. "Veela and rogues replacing hit-wizards. Is that a good or a bad sign?"

"And the head of the Black family," Bertha added.

"I already mentioned rogues, didn't I?"

That made her laugh, which improved his own mood greatly.

*****​

"What do you think of that?"

Harry Potter ran a finger over his chin as he looked his girlfriend over. She was wearing what looked like a strapless black cocktail dress that reached halfway down her thighs, under the open robes of a Hogwarts 6th and 7th year student. "Hm. I like it, but it looks a bit…"

"Muggle?" Hermione asked.

"Yes." He held up his hand before she could say anything. "I know it's heavily enchanted, but it doesn't look like it." It looked rather sexy - for muggle fashion. But for wizards, it was a tad too conservative. Especially for 6th year.

"And I can't afford to look like I'm wearing a muggle dress." The young witch sighed.

"We can't afford it. No matter how much we might like understatement," Harry corrected her. "It's not as if I'm that happy with the robe Sirius got for me." He glanced at the garment in question, hanging next to the armoire currently storing several other examples of wizarding fashion. If only he could simply transfigure his heavily enchanted duelling robes to look like it. But as Hermione had pointed out - one finite and people would gossip about him not having enough gold to buy new robes. So they would have to find a robe they liked, and then have it tailored, and then enchant it.

"Well… it makes you look dashing. A bit like a swashbuckler." Hermione grinned.

"It looks like it's painted on my legs, and the top part leaves half my chest down to my navel free." At least there were no ruffles. Sirius had wanted some, but Harry had put his foot down. On Sirius's.

"Mh."

He glared at his girlfriend and flicked his wand. The neckline of her robe - or dress - plunged down to her navel.

"Harry!"

"If I have to expose my navel, then so do you!"

She hadn't an answer ready for that, and he continued: "Add some moving cutouts, covered with glowing nets in distinct patterns, slit the thing on both sides up to the waist…"

Hermione added his proposed changes. "Hm." She narrowed her eyes. "Still a bit… plain."

"If you add more cutouts you might as well wear a bikini." Harry thought she looked great in a bikini, but he wasn't certain that was a fitting look for school. Some of the 6th years had gone down that route last year, and it hadn't looked that well. Although that could have just been his impression - he associated such looks with the beach.

Judging by the glare Hermione sent at him she shared his sentiments, at least in part. "Nothing like that. I'm thinking of enhancing the fabric. Add subtle ornaments to it, which are only visible up close, or from the right angle."

"Oh, that's a good idea. Subtle, but not muggle. I think that will look good on mine as well."

"If we manage to get it to work."

"We will. We have two weeks left until the year starts." And that should be more than enough to get their robes done, and enchant them. It would be better to wear transfigured duelling robes - while protection spells were not affected by the amount of fabric one was wearing, the protective qualities of the fabric itself naturally were. But walking around in them would send the wrong message, should someone dispel them

Hermione slipped out of her robe and sat down on their bed. "We've got other things to do though."

"Yes. Combat training, and … your research." Harry sat down next to her.

"Exactly."

"How is your project going anyway?" Harry asked while rubbing her back.

"I'm still calibrating my program, sort of. Should be done this week." She leaned into him and laid her head down on his shoulder.

"And then you can create the ritual?"

"Then I can start on the ritual. It'll be the most complicated formula I've ever tried." When she sighed, he felt her breath on his cheek.

"How long do you expect it to take?"

Another sigh. Frustrated this time. "I can't tell."

He decided to change the topic. "Are you looking forward to see what our friends will get up to in the Year of Discovery?"

"As long as they don't expect us to take part." Hermione wrapped one arm around him. "I'm not sharing you." Her grip tightened.

"Neither am I. Sharing you, that is."

"Good." After a pause, she added. "Do you think Ron and Padma will stay together?"

"I'm not sure if they are together anymore. If they are… " he shook his head, lightly, so he'd not disturb her.

"Poor Ron. He'll be chased by lots of witches."

"Why 'poor Ron'?" Harry didn't want to say it, but he more than suspected that Ron was looking forward to that. At least if he hadn't changed his opinion since a few years ago, when he had mentioned his plans. That had been before he had hooked up with Padma though.

"Many of them will be Slytherins." Hermione giggled, just a bit.

"Oh, right." Harry chuckled. His best friend could always tell them no, after all.

Neither one mentioned that after the attack on the Hogwarts Express, it wasn't certain just how many of their fellow students would be returning. They'd find out soon enough.

*****​

"Ron! I need your help!"

Ron Weasley looked up from the latest issue of Quidditch Weekly, and put the scroll he had been taking notes for plays on down. "Yes, Ginny?"

"You have to tell me if some witch is making moves on Neville." His sister stood in the door to his room, arms crossed under her breasts - when had she gone from the stick figure to curves, he asked himself - and a frown on her face.

"Don't you trust him?" Neville was about the last wizard Ron would expect to cheat on his girlfriend.

"I trust him. I don't trust those witches!" Ginny spat out.

"You're not planning to… do something to them?" His sister had a nasty temper, which had not improved after her first year.

Ginny didn't answer, which was answer enough.

"Ginny… " He sighed. And of course, just when he was the eldest Weasley at Hogwarts, and the one his parents would hold responsible. "You can't just start hexing witches - or wizards - for asking Neville out. It's his 6th year, people are expected to ask."

"What if some Slytherin hits on Padma?" Ginny shot back.

Ron winced. "I don't even know if Padma will return to Hogwarts, or stay in India, much less if we're still a couple. She had some trouble trusting me, even before the attack."

Ginny opened her mouth, then closed it. "I'm not like that!"

He stood up and walked over to his sister, grabbing her shoulders. "Then don't act like that. Trust Neville."

Ginny looked away. In a small voice, she asked: "And… what if he betrays that trust?"

"Then you can hex him and whoever is involved," Ron stated. "And I'll help you." Year of Discovery, or not - all his brothers had agreed on one thing after Ron's second year: Anyone who'd hurt their sister would pay.

Ginny slowly nodded. "Thank you." She turned to leave, but he held her back.

"Tell you what, let's go play some Quidditch. You, me, and the Quaffle."

"If you get me on the team! As a starter, not as reserve."

"If you're good enough, you'll be on the team," Ron answered. She was good enough, in his educated opinion, but he'd prefer it if she was a bit better still - just to make it clear that there was no nepotism.

"I'll show you!"

And he'd get better as well. He'd have to - the last keeper-captain had been Oliver Wood, who was now playing professionally. Ron knew he wasn't the keeper Oliver had been, but he'd try his best, and hope his plays would make up the difference.

Slytherin wouldn't win the cup on his watch.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort put down the Daily Prophet, then stood up and started to pace. How had this happened? How had they found out? He barely noticed Bellatrix summoning the newspaper, then cursing it after reading. Two unidentified witches… he knew them of course. What had those two whores done, fighting aurors? Just because the Ministry had tried to arrest them didn't mean they knew about his scheme, but it was more than likely. He cursed. All that work and preparation, wasted!

"My lord?"

"Go to those two whores, and bring them to me, Bella! Alive, but I don't care if they are in pain.

"At once, my lord! Thank you!" Her eyes lit up, and she hurriedly dressed before apparating away.

A few minutes later she returned, alone, and fell to her knees.

He spoke before she could berate herself for failing him: "So, they have fled, deducing correctly that I'll hold them responsible for this failure."

"Yes, my lord. The flat was empty and their possessions were gone as well."

He hadn't expected anything else. After such a blunder, they'd run. It confirmed their guilt, at least. Sitting down, he pondered how to react. He needed gold, but the wizards he had managed to blackmail would know that the Ministry was coming for them. They'd hurry, and would not be receptive to further pressure since the secret he had been holding over their heads was now common knowledge.

And soon they'd be beyond his reach. He had to act quickly, if he wanted to secure some of their fortune for his goals. And he needed more gold, to settle the affair with the dementors. And more werewolves, as sacrifices. And even if they were too late, this scandal would sow distrust in the ranks of his enemies and force them to expend a lot of resources to check for werewolves. Which would drive more werewolves to his side once the Ministry and the public lashed out against them as expected.

"Bella, we'll visit some werewolves."

Her eyes lit up. Yes, Master!"


Chapter 50: The Year of Discovery
 
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Chapter 50: The Year of Discovery
Chapter 50: The Year of Discovery

Sirius Black adjusted the golden goggles on his face. They looked gaudy, far more fitting for one over- or underdressed witch than himself, but they allowed him to see at night as if it was the full moon. They were heavy though, and pulling tight turns on his broom was sure to leave an impression on his face - literally. And he still couldn't see the damn Death Eater hiding somewhere in the forest below him.

He, his girlfriends, Remus and Fleur and Bill had been alerted an hour ago that Death Eaters were attacking several locations all over Britain. It hadn't taken them long to realise that it was a diversion - when they arrived at the Greentree Manor, the scum had already fled. Apparently, the Dark Lord's wands had cast the anti-apparition and portkey jinxes so they didn't cover much beyond the manor itself. If they had wanted to actually attack the manor, they'd have covered far more of the surrounding area, to make it harder to escape.

They had been trying to catch Death Eaters for an hour since, without success, until this group had lingered too long, and Sirius's Sexy Strike Squad had been able to cover the area with anti-apparition jinxes of their own before attacking from the sky.

Half of the Death Eaters had been killed in the opening barrage of fireballs from the five veela. Two of the three survivors, who must have had layered fire protection spells on their robes, had fallen to Remus's and Bill's curses, but one had escaped into the woods. He hadn't gone far enough to apparate away though, and Sirius's group had covered the entire forest with more anti-apparition jinxes just in time. The Death Eater couldn't run - but he could, and did hide. And he had done that for so long, Sirius was seriously considering to simply have the veela burn the entire forest down. It wouldn't drive the Death Eater out - between his robe's protections, a Bubblehead Charm and the Flame-Freezing Charm, a forest fire wouldn't harm that wizard - but they would be able to spot him in the ashes afterwards. But the Greentrees would be very angry with him - they did claim to have Dryad blood in their line, after all, and were famous for their herbology talents.

"Got him!"

To his right Remus suddenly dove down. His friend had keen eyes, one of the few good effects of his curse. Sirius turned his broom towards the werewolf, but didn't dive himself. He might have to trade altitude for speed if there were Death Eaters on brooms around. His girlfriends did the same, he noticed, two of them gliding closer while the others kept their positions.

Then Remus's spell lit up a patch of the forest, and Sirius could see a figure running between the trees, towards a denser patch of the woods. Dark robes and a white mask - a Death Eater. The two veela who had flown closer were already casting curses at the wizard, so Sirius held back, and kept an eye on the sky. Even though he really wanted to curse that scumbag himself, he had to keep his friends safe.

A scream from below told him someone's curse had found its mark. Hopefully it hadn't been a lethal one - a prisoner would be good to have. Even if every Death Eater that murderer knew had already been killed, they'd get the location of their safe house, forcing the Dark Lord to find a new one.

He glanced down. The body wasn't moving anymore, and Remus, who had landed, looked up and shook his head. Dead Death Eater then.

Well, safe houses were cheap, it wouldn't have hurt the Dark Lord much anyway.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort, disillusioned and floating high up in the night sky, was studying the activities around Ethan Hathaway's mansion from about a mile away. The aurors and hit-wizards were close to breaking the wards on the mansion, after hours of working on them. The Ministry had moved quickly. Fickleton had been arrested shortly after Umbridge and Caldwell had escaped, as had been Rees ap Evan, but Hathaway had apparently been at home, entertaining guests, last night, according to Voldemort's spies in the Ministry, and had holed up at once.

The Dark Lord pondered the situation. If he attacked the aurors now, with a third of them tied up in breaking the wards, he'd easily deal with them. The backlash from the wards would wipe out half of them. But the wards would still be holding, if weakened, and breaking them would give the Ministry enough time to send in reinforcements, even with the distractions he had ordered, and then Voldemort would be caught breaking down the wards.

No, it was better to let them break the wards, and then strike. Make Hathaway feel exposed and vulnerable, before Voldemort would demonstrate his own power. He flew down to the ground and ended his spell, landing next to his Bella, hidden behind a tree. "Get ready. We strike as soon as the wards go down."

"Yes, Master!" Her face lit up with an eager smile and she licked her lips in anticipation.

"Kill them quickly, we can't waste much time." The dark witch had a tendency to play with her opponents, a habit he had been trying to ween her off for some time now. But old habits were hard to change, and having spent a decade in Azkaban hadn't helped either.

"Yes, Master," she answered, "I will not let you down!"

"I know." She was his most loyal wand. She'd die for him, with a smile on her face, if he but asked.

He felt the tension in the air rise. The wards would crack soon. "Let's go."

He disillusioned himself again and flew off. His detection spells showed him the wards covering the mansion. Someone without experience in curse-breaking would assume the wards had been reduced to a shadow of their former strength. But that was not correct. The wards' strength had been dispersed so their anchors could be attacked. He could see the power held at bay by the aurors' curse-breakers, ready to rush back and crush the aurors.

And he could see the ties to the wardstone getting cut one after the other while he flew over the curse-breakers. Then the last tie was cut, and the wards' energy dispersed in an impressive display.

When the half-dozen wizards and witches who had been taking down the wards cheered, he struck.

"Bombarda Maxima!"

The earth erupted in the middle of the curse-breaking team, throwing them around like rag dolls. He cast another Blasting Curse before they could recover, tearing four of them apart, their robes' enchantments crafted to repel wards, not spells. The two left were battered and hurt.

The half a dozen hit-wizards and aurors who had the mansion surrounded on brooms started towards them. The inexperienced probably thought the wards had not been taken down properly. The experienced ones would know better, but they would still come - they wouldn't leave those on the ground, those wounded, at the mercy of an ambusher.

The first two reached the curse-breakers and landed. Two others took up station above them, and the remaining pair held their positions, to prevent Hathaway from escaping in the confusion. Voldemort had expected that and flew behind the closest pair. His first Killing Curse struck one before he knew what had happened, and his next killed the other right when he was about to react.

Screams from the ground told him Bellatrix had struck as well.

"They're invisible! Homenum Revelio!"

The Dark Lord singled that auror out at once and dove at him, his wand spitting curses. The auror - an older witch - dodged them all, not even straining her shield. Quite skilled and experienced indeed. And yet, when he reached the area she had covered with the Human-presence-revealing Spell, and saw him flying without a broom, she froze for an instant. "It's the Dark Lord!" she screamed, right before his curses shattered her shield and ripped through her robe. The witch was thrown from her broom, dead before she hit the ground.

Her scream, meant to warn her allies, caused them to panic instead. Her partner fled as fast as his broom could go. Laughter from below him showed Bella taking advantage of the panic, and striking more aurors and hit-wizards down. Judging by the lack of long screams though she was following his orders to the letter, and didn't use the Torture Curse.

A minute later, all the Ministry forces were dead or had fled. They'd be screaming for help - but his wands were out tonight, striking at several places in order to force the DMLE to split its forces. It'd take them a while to gather enough people to bother him and Bellatrix. Long enough to do what he had come for.

He flew towards the now open mansion, blasting apart a few animated statues that tried to attack him when he landed, and smashed the doors open with a Banishing Charm. Before he stepped into the splendid entrance hall, he ordered Bella to look out for auror reinforcements.

An Amplifying Charm later, his voice filled the whole house: "Hathaway! Show yourself if you want to live!" He had repeated it twice and was considering another demonstration of his power, when suddenly a concealed door opened under the stairs leading up to the first floor, and the wizard he was seeking stepped out.

"The Dark Lord Voldemort, I presume," Hathaway said, though under his bravado, Voldemort could sense fear - and hatred. As expected.

"Indeed. The Ministry is aware of your curse. By resisting their aurors, you'll be branded a criminal. If you join me, you'll be restored to your position and power, after my victory." Voldemort smiled at the man. There was no need to go to great lengths - Hathaway knew what his life would be like as a werewolf, and the Dark Lord knew from long experience that the higher a wizard stood in society, the more he was willing to do to avoid falling. But they couldn't wait too long for the wizard to make up his mind. "You don't have much time left though - the aurors will return in force, and then it'll be too late to flee. So, what will it be? Prison and shame?"

The man ground his teeth, almost snarling. A fitting reaction for a werewolf, Voldemort thought. He held Hathaway's eyes until the man cursed under his breath and looked away. "Alright."

"I doubt you will need to grab anything but what you already carry on you. Follow me!" Voldemort turned to the side, to keep an eye on the door, ignoring how the man jerked. Of course Hathaway would have used the the siege of his mansion to prepare to flee with as much of his fortune as he could carry, no matter how small a chance he had. But if the fool thought Voldemort had spied on him, so much the better - he'd be far less likely to try to betray the Dark Lord before his usefulness would end.

It wasn't as if werewolves were fit for the society Voldemort would be building after his victory.

Once more grinding his teeth, Hathaway passed Voldemort and left his mansion. The Dark Lord followed. Outside, his Bella waited, looking the werewolf over and pursing her lips before smiling at Voldemort.

"We'll have to move away from the mansion until we can apparate. Bellatrix will take you with her," Voldemort stated while he started to walk. It would take longer to dispel the anti-apparition jinxes, since he had left them up to keep Hathaway from escaping him.

Before they reached the edge of the jinxes though he saw movement in the woods in front of him. "Aurors." And since he had been recognized by those who had fled, the Ministry wouldn't have sent more of their wands back if they didn't think they could face him. Given that his followers should still be keeping most of the aurors busy, that left only one possibility.

"Dumbledore."

For a second he felt fear. Dumbledore had beaten Grindelwald, who had brought most of Magical Europe to its knees. The old wizard had decades of experience on him, and had to know spells Voldemort was not aware of.

And yet, he thought, with growing hatred and eagerness, Dumbledore didn't know as much about the Dark Arts as he did. Voldemort had decades of experience studying the most forbidden, most powerful spells wizardkind had ever dared to research. And Dumbledore had spent most of the last decades as a professor and politician, not on the battlefield. The Dark Lord could kill him.

And even if he failed, he would return. He was immortal. Ten, twenty years from now, Dumbledore might be weakened with age, or dead.

"Master!"

Bella's voice interrupted his thoughts. There were bound to be a dozen or two aurors, at least. If he confronted Dumbledore they would overwhelm Bella and Hathaway, and then attack him. And even if he couldn't die, he'd lose all he had built up and prepared since his return. He'd have to start anew, and very likely without his trusted followers.

No, he couldn't confront Dumbledore here, or now.

"Move!" he shouted, and flew up, disillusioning himself again before sending Fiendfyre into the woods around the mansion - and in front of Bellatrix and Hathaway. Screams from below told him the aurors there would be too busy dodging the cursed fire to attack Bellatrix.

He flew high above the building, casting more Fiendfyre into the forest hiding the aurors and his worst enemy, distracting them until Bellatrix had apparated away with the werewolf. Then he too apparated away. He had what he had come for, and the number of the Ministry's more competent aurors had been further reduced. Not a bad result for salvaging a failed plot.

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick threw up ash with each step he took. Even in the pale light of the rising sun, he could see the specks float in the wind. If not for the charms on his robe, he'd be covered with soot. And if he hadn't cast a Bubblehead Charm, he'd be coughing and wheezing in the dust. After hours of fighting against cursed fire, the auror felt dead tired, but they had finally managed to put out the last unnatural blaze, and without the obliviators having to work too hard to keep the muggle fire brigade away. He glanced at his partner, Bertha Limmington. The witch was sitting on the charred remains of a tree trunk, staring at the smoking wasteland left of the forest around Hathaway's mansion.

Someone who didn't know her as well as Kenneth did would think she was studying the area, but he could see past the mask she had put on. The witch was as exhausted as he felt. He walked over and sat down next to her.

"What a cursed mess!" he said, sighing.

Bertha nodded.

"How many did we lose?" He didn't want to know, but had to.

"A dozen total. Most from the original team, but Jefferson and Mannings were caught in the fiendfyre the Dark Lord threw down."

Kenneth muttered a curse under his breath. Those two aurors had been off-duty, technically, but had volunteered just like Bertha and himself had, when the news of the Dark Lord's attack had come in at the Ministry. Not close friends, but… in this war, you couldn't help but get to know the other veterans better. And miss them when they died.

"It could have been worse," Bertha said.

"Of course. But with Dumbledore - the Headmaster, not his brother, I mean - with us, I hoped…" He didn't finish his sentence. He didn't have to. Bertha understood.

"The Dark Lord fled from Dumbledore. That will raise morale, at least," his partner said.

Kenneth scoffed, his breath sending flakes of ash that had been drifting by spiraling through the air. "And yet the Dark Lord managed to escape with Hathaway. That will raise the morale of the Death Eaters."

"Maybe. But I think the gold they took with them will be more of a concern than the enemy's morale." When he looked at her, she frowned slightly, and continued. "Hathaway must have taken most of his fortune with him. They didn't find any gold in his mansion. The house elf isn't talking either."

"What about his vault?" Kenneth knew most people, rich or poor, didn't keep too much gold at home.

"I doubt he kept a lot of gold there, not after he was cursed."

He nodded. Bertha was right - as usual. If Hathaway had been revealed as a werewolf, his successor as head of the family would cut him off from the family fortune at once. So, the wily politician would have been prepared for that. "Joy. More mercenaries getting hired by the Dark Lord."

"And more people bribed," Bertha added.

"Yes. At least we arrested the two other werewolves before he could save them." Two out of three was not bad. It could have been worse indeed.

The witch nodded tiredly. She was a perfectionist, Kenneth knew. Still, they had done what they could. If Dumbledore hadn't managed to win the day, who could have done it? He stood up and offered her his hand. "Let's get home before you fall asleep in the ash."

She looked at him with an unreadable expression in her eyes. Usually, he'd have joked about not wanting to do the reports himself, but somehow, he couldn't. He simply waited with his hand reaching out to her.

After a moment, she took it and rose from the log. Her robes shed the ash easily, and a small breeze blew them away. He wanted to keep holding her hand, pull her closer, and … Merlin, it would be easy if she was another witch and not his partner. He knew how to make a good first impression, how to flirt, how to make a woman feel loved. Despite Bertha's sometimes teasing comments, he was popular with the witches.

But Bertha was different. She was his partner. She knew him, at his worst and his best. They trusted each other with their lives each day. And he knew her, far better than any of his past girlfriends. She wasn't just another witch to woo. He sighed as they went over to Mallory, the auror in charge of this case, to inform her they'd leave.

He loved her, but he had no idea how to tell her without endangering their friendship. If this was happening to someone else, he would have found it funny. It wasn't funny anymore if it happened to himself.

*****​

Sirius Black was sitting in the bath in No 12, Grimmauld Place, trying not to fall asleep. It had been a long night. The damned Death Eaters had been striking at mansions and other locations all over Britain, running the aurors and the Order ragged. One house in Hogsmeade had been destroyed, apparently the wards had been sabotaged in advance, so not every attack had been a diversion. And of course there had been the Dark Lord himself, at the Hathaway Mansion.

Sirius shifted his weight a bit, and winced. Even with a cushioning charm, flying on a broom for hours was not too comfortable. Or, a traitorous part of his mind whispered, he was getting old. He ignored the voice and pointed his wand at a flask at the other end of the bathtub, tipping it over and letting more of the soothing concoction drip into the water, sighing with relief when the pain disappeared.

He could simply stay in here. Sticking Charm to his head, he wouldn't drown. The water would stay warm… The door opening interrupted his plans. Valérie was there, clad in that flimsy house robe. He smiled and waved at the water. "Join me?"

"I might have strained the muscles in my back a bit." She smiled and stepped closer. With a gesture of her wand, her robe fell to floor.

Sirius took a deep breath - even after all their time together, seeing her like this still awed him.

*****​

'Werewolves among us! Hidden in the Wizengamot!'

The Daily Prophet's headline was sure to catch an audience. The news that three Wizengamot members had been revealed as werewolves had driven the articles about the attacks last night off the front page. Albus Dumbledore did not think this was a good thing. Not at all. He skimmed over the article. 'Beasts infiltrating society', 'Cabal of dark creatures', 'personally directed by the Dark Lord himself'. Speculation about how many werewolves had been among those who had attacked the Hogwarts Express. And loud, almost hysterical demands of ferreting out each and every last werewolf in Britain.

The article didn't demand that all werewolves should be killed. Others would though, and soon. Especially in the Wizengamot. Albus would oppose it, of course, but in the end, there'd be a 'compromise', further worsening the fates of the werewolves. Probably forcing all of them into special holding facilities - such had been proposed in the past.

It didn't take a genius to imagine how the werewolves would react to that. Some would flee the country, head to Scandinavia, despite the harsh life and foreign culture awaiting them there. But many would feel so hurt and angered, they'd join the Dark Lord. Something Tom certainly had taken into account already.

Albus had a more urgent problem though - he had to ensure that Remus would not be caught in the upcoming hunt for werewolves. Fortunately, he could easily and correctly claim that he had personally checked the staff and students at Hogwarts. But Remus's regular absences during the full moon were a problem - even a halfway competent auror would be suspicious of that. He had a way around that, though. He just needed to talk to Minerva.

A flick of his wand sent a Patronus to his deputy. While he waited, he let his mind wander back to last night. He had met Tom face to face, or close to, for the first time in decades. And Tom had retreated. It had been the smart course of action of the Dark Lord - he had Ethan with him already, and there had been no need to fight Albus.

And yet… if the Dark Lord had thought he could beat Albus, he certainly would have given battle. Had he fled because he thought he was currently winning this struggle, or because he knew about Miss Granger's plan, or suspected something like it? Or had he fled because he was afraid of facing the Headmaster?

Minerva's arrival interrupted his thoughts.

"Albus? You said you needed me?" His old friend was breathing a bit heavily - she probably had, while not quite run, walked quickly.

"Indeed, Minerva. Please have a seat." He conjured her favorite chair for her. "It's not quite as urgent as I may have made it appear by using a Patronus," - he smiled gently at her expression - "but we do have a problem I need your help with." He gestured at the Daily Prophet on his desk.

"Ah." His Deputy-Headmistress nodded, then narrowed her eyes. "You didn't accept a werewolf as a student without telling me?" She asked,'again' left unsaid, but clearly implied. Minerva's view of werewolves wasn't quite as enlightened as Albus's own, sadly. Not as bad, of course, as the general public's - no one as smart as her could work with Remus for years and not rethink some of their prejudices.

He shook his head. "No, of course not." He had had a young witch in mind, but the child had disappeared with her family last year. He hoped they were now in Scandinavia. "But I need your help with Remus."

He started to explain his plan. She didn't like it, but he had expected that. She'd agree to it, though, he knew.

*****​

"Typical!"

Hermione Granger slapped the Daily Prophet down on the table in the kitchen in No 12, Grimmauld Place so hard, the werewolf in the picture on the front page seemed stunned for a bit. Grinding her teeth, she grabbed her floating cup of tea. "They use every excuse to show their prejudice!"

"They're scared," Bill Weasley commented. She glared at him, but he didn't seem to be impressed.

"That's no excuse! They are all but calling for hunting all werewolves down, no matter if they are innocent, or not!" Hermione scoffed.

"It's an explanation. People who are afraid make mistakes," Bill shrugged.

"That will be a small consolation for the innocents caught up in this," Hermione huffed. "They didn't ask to be cursed. First they get discriminated against, and now they get punished for the actions of others."

"There won't be that many innocent werewolves around. Many of them have either left the country, or have joined the Dark Lord." Bill held up his hands. "Just saying how it is. Werewolves might not get treated that fairly in Britain, but there are reasons to distrust them."

"It's wrong. And it'll drive more of them into the Dark Lord's ranks." Hermione grabbed a scone and bit into it.

Harry patted her arm. "It's a vicious cycle. Werewolves are discriminated against, so some of them are radicalized and join the Dark Lord, which damages the reputation of all werewolves, making more people treat them badly, creating more recruits for the Dark Lord."

Sirius nodded, as did his girlfriends. Of course, Hermione hadn't expected anything else from Remus's best friend.

Bill looked puzzled though. "I'll say, this must be the most werewolf friendly household in Britain. Especially with Remus's family having been slaughtered ..." he trailed off, and Hermione could almost see when the knut dropped. "Oh."

Maybe now he'd reconsider his views on werewolves, Hermione thought.

*****​

Paige Caldwell wanted to hit something, or somebody. She and the witch had been hiding for two days in a small wizard tent now, and Paige wasn't taking well to spending so long in a small enclosed space. Or with Umbridge. She wanted to move around, run around, do something, anything other than hide like a scared animal. Even if she was scared.

"We need to leave the country."

Paige looked up and growled at the witch standing in the door to her room. "Fleeing?" Running from those cowards?

"The Ministry and the Dark Lord are hunting us. There's no place left for us in Britain. They already arrested Fickleton and Rees ap Evan, and the Dark Lord himself took Hathaway. If we stay we'll die. Tortured to death by the Dark Lord, or executed by the Ministry."

"I'd be executed, you'd get life in Azkaban," Paige answered. Another sign of just how badly werewolves were treated in Britain. You could use Unforgivables as much as you wanted, and wouldn't be executed, but bite one stupid wizard under the full moon, and you got killed.

"I helped you bite others. I'll be executed as well if we're caught." Umbridge stepped inside. Paige growled louder. This was her space. Her lair. The other witch stopped. "What else do you want to do? Charge the next auror and die? Keep hiding until they track us down?"

Paige growled again. "And where would I go? The entire continent hates werewolves."

"There's Scandinavia."

The werewolf scoffed at that. "You think that's a werewolf haven? The berserkers?"

For the first time Umbridge looked less than sure of herself. Paige went on. "I've met a berserker. They're crazy. And they live more like muggles than like wizards. They like being wolves, and they are as bloodthirsty as Greyback in a fight, and almost as ready to start one as he is."

"Damn." The other witch leaned against the wall. "What about Siberia?"

"I've only heard rumors about it." And she hadn't liked those rumors. Why couldn't there be a werewolf-friendly country where the inhabitants liked civilisation?

"At least it'd be far away from Britain. And if it's not good, one could travel to America from there."

Paige narrowed her eyes. "Why do you care about how werewolf friendly a country is, anyway? You can live in any country that doesn't like Britain much, and as long as I can hide my curse, so can I.".

Umbridge nodded, but didn't answer. Instead she said: "We need to leave Britain first, then we can decide where to go."

"If not for the life debt, you'd have already ditched me, right?" Probably literally.

"Of course." The witch sneered at her.

Paige snarled at her, and wished she could order her around. Life debts weren't exactly as good as she had thought.

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick looked up at the moon in the sky, and shook his head in disgust. "Who came up with the idea of hunting werewolves during the full moon? In a damn forest to boot?"

His partner, Bertha Limmington, had an answer, of course: "Amber Cottingbell remarked in the last session of the Wizengamot that it would be easiest to find werewolves during the one night they wouldn't look like humans. Apparently, Madam Bones agreed."

"You mean it's cheaper than spending gold to test suspects. I'm so glad to know we're risking our lives for the Wizengamot's purse." Kenneth snorted. "Did you notice that when a bill is proposed to increase our budget, it takes them months if not years to pass it, but a bill to hunt down werewolves passes in one session?"

"The Wizengamot obviously thinks those are the correct priorities."

Kenneth scoffed. "Of course they would." He looked around. "And we're here because a month ago, a muggle newspaper reported the sighting of a wolf in this forest."

"Exactly," Bertha answered in a bland voice. Kenneth was certain though that if had been looking at her, instead of looking out for werewolves, she'd have been grinning just a little bit.

"Well, at least we can claim we're a couple taking a romantic moonshine walk, should muggles see us." When Bertha didn't say anything in response, he turned his head towards her, and caught her smiling while still looking at the bushes on her side. He licked his lips. Maybe he should… The sudden flash of red light ahead of them made him drop his plans. "Stunner?"

"Or a Piercing Curse. Or a muggle flashlight." Bertha answered. She was moving forward too though, wand out.

Another flash of light was followed by a guttural scream. Not a muggle light then. And probably not a human either. They turned a slight corner, past a hedge, and stopped. In front of them was a stunned werewolf! And behind it stood a wizard with his wand pointed at them.

"Aurors! Lower your wand!" Both Kenneth and Bertha had their wands aimed at the unknown wizard.

The man did as he was told, and Kenneth relaxed slightly. "I'm Auror Fenbrick, this is Auror Limmington. Who're you?"

The man took a step forward, into the moonlight.

"Professor Lupin!" Bertha said, and Kenneth raised his eyebrows.

"What are you doing here, sir?" Kenneth couldn't think of a good reason to spend for a teacher to be there, at this time of the night.

"I was hunting. But I think I have been fooled," the man explained.

"Fooled?"

Lupin nodded at the werewolf on the ground. "I have reasons to believe this is not a real werewolf, but a transfigured animal."

Bertha frowned. "That would take a very experienced wizard." She sounded as sceptical as Kenneth felt. Who had ever heard of transfigured werewolves?

Lupin glared at them and pointed his wand at the werewolf.

"Finite!"

And in front of Kenneth's eyes, the werewolf changed into a German shepherd. Lupin smiled with a satisfied expression. "I thought something felt off. It wasn't quite behaving like a werewolf."

"You sound like an expert, sir." Bertha didn't quite turn it into a question.

"I think I know more about werewolves than most in Britain. My family was slaughtered by them when I was a child."

Under the cold gaze of the man, even the usually unflappable Bertha seemed to cringe. Kenneth could imagine that the lessons with this professor were as disciplined and calm as those of McGonagall.

He cleared his throat. "So, this was a hoax?"

"Maybe." The man shrugged. "It takes a very experienced wizard to do this."

"I kind of doubt that McGonagall or Dumbledore would fake a werewolf sighting these days," Kenneth said.

Lupin chuckled. "Well, I didn't catch the werewolf I hunted. And I think whoever did plan this is not around here anymore. Do you need a statement from me?"

Kenneth looked at his partner, Bertha shook her head. "If that changes we'll contact you."

"Good. Good evening." The man nodded at them, then apparated away.

"Wow. I didn't think those rumors are true." Kenneth shook his head. "He really is hunting werewolves during the full moon."

"That's not exactly legal," Bertha remarked.

"As long as he 'simply defends himself', it is," Kenneth responded. "Not that many in the Wizengamot would even think of convicting him now, if it was illegal."

Bertha frowned at that, and without thinking, Kenneth reached out and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She didn't pull away.

After a bit, Kenneth prodded the stunned animal in front of them with his foot. "So… what do we do with the dog? Do we need to call in an Obliviator to wipe his memory when he wakes up?"

Both of them laughed loudly at that joke.

*****​

Thank you again for doing this, Minerva," Albus Dumbledore smiled and ignored the glare she sent him in return.

"I'm a professor, not an actress, Albus!"

He kept smiling even while Fawkes ducked his head under his wing, and floated a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky over to his friend. Minerva kept frowning until another bottle joined the first. "I think you've proven that you have a talent for it though."

"Feh."

"Now, now, Minerva. You just saved our Defense against the Dark Arts professor from being unjustly incarcerated." Indeed, the old rumor that Remus was always away during the full moon because he was hunting the werewolves that had killed his family had come in handily. Who would suspect that such a driven man was a werewolf himself? It wasn't a perfect solution, of course - everyone knew that hunting werewolves under the full moon was dangerous. A hunter could easily become the hunted - and end up cursed himself. But such suspicions Albus was confident he could counter easily.

"Anyone else could have done that."

"No one but you could have managed the transfiguration needed." Albus nodded at her.

"Don't give me that look. You could have done it yourself. You taught me that spell, decades ago."

Albus sighed. "Sadly, if I couldn't do it myself. If there had been an emergency, I would have had to leave abruptly, causing a lot of problems for young Remus with the aurors." That was true. But having Minerva use the Polyjuice also implicated her, which would make her keep a closer eye on rumors about Remus. Otherwise she might let her prejudices, slight as they were, influence her.

Minerva shook her head, but didn't contradict him. "I hope you're satisfied now. Deceiving the law… if my students knew that!"

"I'm certain the Weasley twins be shocked ."

That earned him a chuckle. "They would, wouldn't they?" She stood up. "I'll be heading to bed now. I've got a lot of work to do still in the three days until the children arrive."

Albus kept smiling until Minerva had left, then he grew serious again, and pulled a vial out of his pocket that contained Harry's most recent memory of Voldemort.

Duty called.

*****​

Harry Potter stepped out of the floo onto Platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross Station, with Hermione right behind him. Sirius was already there, with Valérie and Chantal, acting as if they expected a dozen Death Eaters to jump out from behind a pillar any second. They weren't the only ones - all around them were wizards and witches acting in a similar manner. No one had forgotten the attack on the train this summer. Harry saw more than one student who was pale and obviously afraid - and not just the younger ones. Things had changed.

"Mister Potter!"

And some things - or people - never seemed to change, Harry thought when he saw Greengrass walking towards him, a wide smile on her face. The blonde Slytherin was wearing what looked like green silk scarves strategically wrapped around her curves. Almost transparent scarves that left little to the imagination. Davis was trailing behind her friend with an amused grin, wearing a slightly more modest robe in a similar style.

"Good morning, Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis." He nodded politely at them. Hermione was a step behind him, rigid now, he knew. And Sirius was grinning like a loon.

"Good morning, Mister Black, Miss d'Aigle." The Slytherin nodded at Harry's godfather and probably future aunt before turning back to him. "Oh, you look even more handsome in those robes. Doesn't he, Tracey?"

The brunette Slytherin nodded. "He does indeed. You too, Miss Granger."

"You flatter me," Harry said, and as manners dictated, added: "Though I'm certain next to you two, I appear rather plain."

"I don't think so!" Greengrass chirped, "Let's see!" With that she stepped up to him and turned to face her friend at his side. "How does it look, Tracey? Good?"

"Mh." The brunette witch nodded with a smirk.

"Too bad you're not in Slytherin, or the colors would match." Greengrass nodded emphatically at her own words. Harry thought he heard Hermione's teeth being ground behind him.

"I hate to cut this short, but I need to board the train, or my dear security detail will drag me off," Harry lied - probably; Sirius took his security seriously - and nodded at them. "Ladies."

"Oh we can share a compartment!" Greengrass spoke up.

"We usually have a full compartment," Hermione cut in. She sounded polite, but Harry was certain she was close to hexing the blonde.

"That shouldn't be a problem - we're rather slender, so we can fit in." As if to emphasize her claim, Greengrass turned a bit, brushing against Harry's side.

Surprisingly, the situation was defused by the arrival of yet another Slytherin 'odd couple', Parkinson and Goyle. As soon as Greengrass spotted the other witch, she was off to greet her as if they hadn't seen each other for years.

"Let's get a compartment for us and our friends," Hermione whispered behind him.

"Yes," he whispered back. The sooner they were in private again, and could drop the patron and retainer act, the better.

*****​

Hermione Granger sighed with relief when she closed the door to their compartment, hit it with a spell to seal it and a privacy spell, before sitting down in Harry's lap. "I almost hexed that twit." She wasn't certain if she was joking or not. To see Greengrass acting so… she shook her head.

"Parkinson sacrificed herself for us," Harry said, chuckling at the irony.

"Not exactly voluntarily, judging by her expression," Hermione added. Not that she cared much about Parkinson. The witch should know how to handle Greengrass, having spent five years in the same dorm as her. She leaned her head on Harry's shoulder and simply enjoyed the closeness. "You know, I didn't think that the main problem would be the flirting. You can turn down proposals without being rude, but rebuffing flirting? That's going to be difficult."

"Oh, yes," her boyfriend agreed while Crookshanks was trying to take over the entire bench across from them. The two spent the next few minutes kissing, and Hermione tried to forget about the earlier scene.

All too soon her spell signaled someone standing before the door. Sighing, she moved from Harry's lap to the bench next to him and opened the door with a flick of her wand. Luna and Aicha entered with a cheerful 'Hello'. Right afterwards though, the blonde Ravenclaw took a look at Harry and Hermione and started to pout.

"Hello you two… what's wrong?" Hermione asked as soon as the door had closed.

"Hmph!" Luna crossed her arms in front of her.

Aicha giggled. "Luna's jealous."

"Huh?" Hermione glanced at Harry, who looked as lost as she felt. Did Luna…?

"I'm not jealous, I'm disappointed! I thought you'd wear some conservative muggle-style robe! I wouldn't feel too bad next to that. Instead you wear… that!" she gestured at their robes. "It's unfair!"

Hermione smiled, relieved. "You'll be a 6th year next year."

"That's one more year of wearing the heavy robes!"

"You didn't complain about it last year," Harry remarked.

"Well, all my friends were wearing the same heavy robes. So, I was just showing some solidarity while we are almost suffocated wearing such heavy cloth."

Harry cleared his throat. "So, how was your expedition to Sweden?"

Luna changed moods at once, beaming at them. "Oh, it was great! We found tracks we couldn't identify, so they have to be Snorkack tracks! You can read all about it in the next issue!"

Hermione wasn't quite certain that this was a valid conclusion, but didn't mention it. She had started to suspect that for the Lovegoods, the chasing of legendary creatures was as important, if not more so, as the actual discovery. Life was a journey, not a destination, according to some. It would explain why Luna and her father were always so cheerful despite not having found Snorkacks yet.

She checked her watch. Still 20 minutes until the departure of the train, so 15 minutes until the Weasleys would arrive.

*****​

Ron Weasley had expected that without the twins, whose antics had always made the family late on September 1st, he'd arrive early at King's Cross. Show off his Quidditch Team Captain badge. Apparently, it hadn't been the twins' fault, but some sort of family curse. Despite him and Ginny having packed their trunks last evening, they still had to rush to be on time. Unless of course the twins had pranked them. And of course, as soon as they had stepped out of the floo, Ginny had made a beeline for Neville, who could have worn a slightly less revealing robe too, in Ron's opinion. Like his own, a short tunic that left his arms bare under the light robe, with tight pants and boots. Both top and pants were made from silk though, and could slowly change colors and patterns.

Then he saw Lavender in the crowd, wearing the kind of robe he had expected: Very tiny, very thin, very tight. But she was also wearing a prefect's badge, he realized. Which meant that Parvati hadn't returned to Hogwarts. Which meant that Padma wouldn't be there either. He felt relieved, and then guilty for feeling that way.

The witch had seen him as well, and quickly approached him. "Hello Ron."

"Hi Lavender." He nodded at her new badge. "Congratulations."

She scowled. "I didn't want it. I wanted Parvati to return for our 6th year."

"Did you know she'd not return?"

"She wrote me a letter, but the school letter with the badge arrive a day before that letter, and so I already knew, sort of." Lavender pouted. "It's so unfair! We had planned our 6th year together since we met for the first time!"

Ron nodded and made a sympathetic noise. At least she had received a letter. He hadn't.

Lavender suddenly blinked. "Merlin! I'm sorry - I forgot Padma was your girlfriend, and she's not returning either!"

"It's OK," he told her, "She seems to have forgotten that as well."

"Oh!" He could almost see her thoughts - surprise, brief sympathy, and then she saw the opportunity. "Well, if you want to talk about it, I'm listening. Parvati was my best friend."

He nodded. "Yeah." He knew she meant more than just talking, but she was pretty, and it was their 6th year.

"Good." She smiled at him. "Well, I have to go - prefects shouldn't be late." She patted his arm before she left.

On the way to his friends' compartment, he ran into Parkinson. She was wearing a less revealing robe than Lavender. Still unmistakably a 6th year, of course. The Slytherin was probably on her way to the prefect's compartment already. "Miss Parkinson." He nodded at her.

"Mister Weasley." She nodded back.

"I hope you had a nice holiday," he said, surprising himself. She was a snake, and she had been Malfoy's girlfriend for years. But… people did change, didn't they?

She seemed surprised as well. "I did. I heard you were attacked in Bulgaria."

"Yes."

She didn't ask for details, simply nodded. "Good day, Mister Weasley." Then she was on her way to the Prefect's compartment, and he was on his way to his friends.

*****​

Pansy Parkinson tried to ignore Greengrass's prattling about Potter's robes and chest, and focus on something else. Anything else. In moments like these she really envied Greg's ability to not understand anything he didn't want to. She did exchange a glance with Davis, though, her frowning at the other's smirk. She couldn't blame the girl though - she remembered how she had used Draco as a source of unwitting amusement. Before the Slytherin had changed. Before Draco had been murdered. Before the attack on the Hogwarts Express.

"So, did you talk to Weasley yet?"

Pansy looked at Davis. She was about to shake her head, then reconsidered. "Yes, I did. About the holidays." Technically true.

Davis looked surprised, then grinned. "You're a quick one!"

Pansy almost made a joke about being quick or dead she'd heard from a duelist. She shook her head instead. If she had been quicker, Vincent would still be alive. She'd probably dream of his death again. She knew a number of the students had decided to get obliviated of the worst memories. She wouldn't chose that, of course. Losing her memories was like losing part of her life.

She wondered how Weasley dealt with the memories he must have. Maybe she should ask him someday. They were in 6th year, after all, where the house boundaries became somewhat fluid. She winced at her unplanned pun.

"Didn't go as well as you wanted with him?" Greengrass leaned forward, eager to hear more. As if Pansy would humor her. Instead she shook her head. "Just remembered the attack again."

"Oh."

That shut even the twit up. The attack wasn't something one joked about. At least Pansy hoped so.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort looked at the remains of his latest globe. It had lasted a few minutes before the runes storing the power had failed, but at least the discharge had been controlled, and hadn't resulted in a massive explosion. He needed it to store more energy, and last longer so he could use it, but it was an important step. He was getting closer and closer to his goal.

And thanks to the Ministry's werewolf hunt, more of the beasts had joined his ranks, eager to avenge that latest injustice. Even better, any of them disappearing would be taken as the work of the Ministry, not himself. Like his latest sacrifice. The werewolf's blood had fueled the Dark Lord's experiments, and yet the beast's pack would fight even harder against the Ministry to avenge his death. He smiled - an almost perfect setup.

He still had to deal with Hathaway though. The former Wizengamot member was too experienced in politics, and therefore plotting, to leave him unguarded, and it was unlikely that he'd take part in an assault where he could conveniently be killed by the enemy. And yet after having almost publically rescued the wizard, he couldn't kill him or he'd undermine his followers' morale.

Well, if the werewolf grew too unruly, he could always imperius the wolf and send him to his death. Or have Greyback settle it.

And Potter was now in his 6th year, and would be too busy fucking every witch that wanted a piece of the Boy-Who-Lived to find out what power he, Voldemort, didn't know. It wasn't tantric magic - Voldemort was quite experienced in that area, as Bella could attest - so the boy's orgies wouldn't result in the Dark Lord's demise.

Soon it wouldn't matter anymore. Soon he'd be able to tear down any ward he wanted.


Chapter 51: Relationships
 
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Chapter 51: Relationships
Chapter 51: Relationships

Usually, the sorting was quite the attraction in the Great Hall. It was traditional to speculate which first year would go to what house. This time though, Hermione Granger didn't feel like watching first years tremble before the Sorting Hat. She was watching sixth years instead. Watching them watching Harry, and her to be precise. Greengrass would have probably been drooling, if that wouldn't have been showing bad manners. The blonde Slytherin made no secret of her desire to sleep with Harry.

And she wasn't the only one. But she was one of those who seemed to fixate on Harry - there was a lot of staring and ogling going on. And a lot of the robes the new sixth years were wearing were meant to draw that kind of attention. She had never been more aware of the differences between wizard fashion (and taste) and muggle fashion than right then and there.

"If this was not Hogwarts, but London, I'd wonder who drugged the water," Harry whispered, leaning towards her.

"I'd wonder who drugged my drink. With LSD," Hermione whispered back, stifling a giggle.

"Well… we're not exactly the height of muggle fashion either," her boyfriend said.

"A necessary compromise," she answered. She would rather have gone wearing nothing but some painted-on runes than to appear frumpy and prudish in front of all those witches after Harry. That might have given them ideas.

"Mh."

Ron, sitting on the other side of the table, turned so he could watch the sorting, glanced over his shoulder at them. "What are you two whispering about?"

"Just talking about fashion," Harry answered.

Ron snorted. "Lots to talk about then. Have you seen Parkinson?"

Harry looked over at the Slytherin table. The witch wasn't wearing a particularly daring robe - for a pureblood. "She's talking to Goyle and Davis. Has she been troubling you?"

Their friend sighed. "I'm not exactly certain. She's … she didn't make a pass at me, if you mean that."

Hermione frowned. "Did you want her to?" He could do much, much better than Malfoy's ex-girlfriend.

"Not exactly, but… Padma had been so jealous of her, I couldn't help but wondering if there was a reason for that."

"The Patils are not the only ones who didn't return to Hogwarts," Harry commented. He was correct - the tables had more free spaces than usual as well.

Hermione briefly wondered if that meant there would be more Gryffindors this year, proportionally, if the less brave had stayed away, then scolded herself for such petty prejudices.

Ron glanced over his shoulder. "Yes. We did better than the other houses, at least."

Not everyone who was missing had been too afraid to return to school - a far too high number had been killed in the attack on the Hogwarts Express.

When the sorting had ended - Hermione hadn't spotted a true muggleborn, but she would have to check with McGonagall to be certain she hadn't mistaken a muggle name for a wizarding one - Dumbledore stood up. The feast appeared on the tables as well, and Hermione grabbed her goblet, to give the gods their due.

When the Headmaster lowered his head, Hermione understood that this year's calling onto the gods would be different.

"Dis Pater. Watch over the dead, those cruelly taken from us by evil men and women, and guide them to the afterlife, where their ancestors await them." He held out his goblet, and poured it out, the wine disappearing before it hit the ground.

The students and teachers followed his example. Hermione thought she could feel the magic in the air, her skin tingling, but once again she couldn't tell if it was just the emotions of the people present affecting their and Hogwarts' magic. No one said a word for a minute, before Dumbledore spoke again.

"Janus." He dipped the goblet, which had been refilled. Once again wine started to fall towards the ground, vanishing in mid air. "We humbly ask for your blessing. We need your aid more than ever, in these troubled times."

"Hecate." More wine poured out. More than the goblet could hold. "Protect us from evil curses, and magic that would harm the innocent."

"Apollo. Keep us healthy, and alive." Hermione's skin was tingling all over now, and her hair had escaped the styling spells and was now floating. She could see that others were affected as well - most around her, and at the other tables.

Finally, the goblets seemed empty, and the students and teachers sat down. For a moment, no one said anything, no one seemed to touch the food either, then Dumbledore's voice sounded through the hall again. "Tuck in now!"

The excellent meal soon had the sombre mood banished. Hermione would have been happier though if a few witches and wizards had remained sombre for a bit longer.

*****​

Harry Potter looked his new room over. It was smaller than his own at No 12 Grimmauld Place, but still a far cry from sleeping in a dorm with four other boys. And the bed was larger too. A not so subtle reminder that he was now in 6th year. The windows provided a nice view of the Quidditch pitch - unless he used the enchantments on them to show him any of a variety of selections ranging from Hogwarts to several exotic locations. According to a rumor, Fred and George managed to adjust a window once to show the female dorm's bath.
The door opened and he turned his head. There was only one person who'd enter without knocking, or could enter… and one half-kneazle. Crookshanks padded inside, briefly surveyed his new territory, then jumped on the bed behind Harry and sat down.
"That's my bed. Mine and Hermione's," Harry informed the tomcat. Crookshanks, as usual ignored his words and stretched, digging his claws into the cover with an expression of utter bliss - or as much of such an expression a cat could manage.

"There you are, Crookshanks! You found our room already! Isn't he the smartest cat ever, Harry?" Hermione entered, smiling widely. With a flick of her wrist she had her trunk float inside and land softly on the wall opposite Harry's.

"He's certainly the most stubborn cat I know," Harry answered. Crookshanks yawned and appeared to fall asleep in response to his words. The young wizard turned to his girlfriend. "So, you're moving in."

"Yes," Hermione said. "It's just more practical to move in instead of visiting each night." She unshrunk an armoire she had carried in her pocket, and started to levitate her robes inside it.

"Of course," he said, with a grin as he stepped up to her. "I guess you already have repurposed your room as well?"

"Well, just using it to keep up appearances everyone knows are fake would be a waste," Hermione answered, leaning into him. "We're not in Bulgaria, after all."

"Thank Merlin for that. I'd rather not see you in those robes." He kissed her, and for the next minute neither said anything.

When they broke away, he asked: "And what are you using your room for now?"

"A closer work room."

He nodded. The unused classroom they had repurposed years ago was a bit away. "It's rather small though."

"It is. But I'm not planning to use it as a laboratory. Just for light reading and homework." Which meant, Harry knew, it would be full of books. She'd have to split her personal library though. Or rather, she'd likely simply stash the books she didn't need for her research there. It wasn't as if she didn't already carry around a whole library in her pocket.

"And as a cover for when you're working with the Headmaster, I guess." He didn't frown, even though he still didn't like what she had to do.

"Yes." She hugged him closely. He could feel her body pressed into his. She wasn't wearing her outer robe, and his hands traveled over her bare back.

"You know, I feel kind of guilty. Tom's out there, working on an evil ritual, and I'm acting like a typical 6th year, instead of working to stop him." He didn't add 'like you'. She knew what he meant.

Hermione pulled her head back from his shoulder, and looked straight into his eyes. "Don't feel guilty. You're training more than I do, and you might have to fight him."

"It still feels like… as if I'm trying to ignore him, if only for a moment." As if he was running away from his problems, instead of facing them.

"You, we need that. If we cannot forget about him and enjoy life, we'll break sooner or later. We need to be able to relax. And sex is a great way to relax." The witch smiled slyly.

Harry knew she wasn't just stressed by the Dark Lord's plans. The offers, subtle or open, from other students were taking a toll on her as well, even if she could hide it well. She wasn't just moving in with him because it was more practical, it was also a statement towards everyone else. A statement he agreed with and supported fully. "If we need to relax, does that mean we won't use tantric magic to defeat the Dark Lord then?" He grinned.

Hermione snorted. "Merlin! Remember the twins trying to claim they were studying tantric magic for extra credits in History of Magic two years ago?" There was no need to ask which twins she meant.

Harry chuckled. "I don't think anyone believed them. They had a lot of 'study partners' though."

"Well, technically, it's an exotic but valid magical tradition," Hermione said, pulling away and sitting down on the bed. He joined her, taking care not to upset the feline occupier. "It's just… to sum it up, it combines the worst aspects of normal spell casting and rituals."

He slid up behind her and started to massage her neck and shoulders. "Hm?" He hadn't really looked into the matter. Other than studying the materials Sirius had given him - but those had not really touched the ritual or magical aspects.

She sighed, and with a swish of her wand, had her robe pulled off her and flying towards her armoire. "Using tantric magic, it takes you as long as an average ritual to cast a simple spell."

"What about the legendary power of sex magic?" Harry asked while his hands moved from Hermione's shoulders and back to her side, and further.

"If there was such a thing, then Magical India would have fared far better in their conflict with Tibet. And don't get me started on what a 'virgin sacrifice' actually means!" Hermione turned around and pushed him down on his back.

"Totally useless then?" Harry asked while she straddled him.

"Not totally useless," Hermione said, then started to demonstrate what she meant.

*****​

Ron Weasley passed Harry's room - which was now Hermione's room as well, as he understood it - on his way to the Gryffindor Common Room. The door shimmered, indicating they didn't want to be disturbed. It wasn't the only door on their floor either - the door to Dean's room was showing the same shimmer, not surprising, since last he had seen the guy he had been on his way to the Hufflepuff dorms.

To his surprise, Lavender was sitting in the common room, by herself, and looking rather morose. She was just wearing her thin and slinky robe, having discarded the open outer robes like everyone else. Following an impulse, and remembering their brief chat on the platform, he walked over and sat down in the seat next to her.

She looked surprised, then smiled. "Looking for some company?"

"I could ask you the same." He nodded at her badge. "Are you on duty?"

The witch frowned. "Not officially, but McGonagall hinted rather strongly that someone should keep an eye on the common room." She nodded at the stairs. "And the other prefect is currently busy with his girlfriend."

"Ah." Ron wondered if McGonagall had spoken with Harry as well. His best friend didn't tend to think of himself first, and Hermione wasn't the type to ignore such 'hints' from teachers either.

Lavender sighed. "It's mostly to make sure the younger years don't get involved in things. I had to threaten to stick Romilda to her bed to make her stop trying to get up the stairs to the 6th year rooms."

Ron winced. "You probably saved her life, if she had managed to break into Harry's room…"

Lavender giggled. "Hermione would have hexed her good. Silly girl."

Ron forced himself to chuckle. He had meant it literally. If Vane had tried to break through the wards on Harry's room, that would have been bad. Worse though if she had succeeded - neither Harry nor Hermione would hesitate to identify an intruder before cursing, not after the last attack on Harry by the Dark Lord's minions.

"Or your sister, I guess, if Romy had gone after Neville." Lavender shook her head.

Ron nodded. Ginny wasn't having an easy time. With her in fifth year and Neville in sixth, she'd worry about older witches making advances. Such things happened, especially at the start of the year. He just hoped she'd not do something foolish. Neville was a good bloke. He'd not cheat on her, or dump her to get it off with another 6th year. Not if he knew what was good for him.

"She's not yet in her dorm though. And neither is Neville," Lavender added.

Ron really hoped Ginny wouldn't do anything stupid. But he wasn't about to discuss family matters with a witch who Hermione still called 'the gossip twit' if she was feeling particularly annoyed.

"Missing Padma, hm?" She sounded sympathetic.

"Yes." It wasn't the whole truth, but not a complete lie either.

"Parvati and I had such plans for 6th year." Lavender sighed, hunching over a bit.

"Plans to get hexed by Hermione?" Ron asked, before he could help it.

"What? No! Contrary to others, we know her. We have spent five years in the same dorm, you know?" Lavender giggled. "No, we'd have gone after someone who hasn't the scariest witch of our year as a girlfriend."

"Together?" Ron raised an eyebrow. Exceptions like his brothers notwithstanding, such things were not as common as rumors made them out to be.

"Maybe. We didn't get to make concrete plans, you know." She sighed again.

He couldn't tell if she was faking it, so he settled for a noncommittal "Ah." Hermione would make an acerbic comment about having expected the two not to be able to plan out anything, Ron knew.

"What about you?" Lavender leaned forward, propping her chin up with a fist.

"Me?" Ron leaned back. "I had expected to be with Padma. I'd have let her set the pace, you know." He thought he'd have done that - but if he was honest, he didn't know how he'd have reacted if Padma had been as distant as she had become in her letters.

"Ah." Lavender smiled, and Ron had no clue if she was amused, or touched, or thought him a fool.

"It's moot now." Padma hadn't returned to Hogwarts, not even to Britain.

"So, you're going to see if there's a snake waiting for you to check the Great Hall?" the witch asked a bit too casually.

He looked at her. He wasn't the smartest wizard of their year, but he could pick up things. Instead of answering, he asked: "Are you waiting for someone?"

"Does the curfew count?" She grinned, and laid a hand on his knee.

He covered her hand with his, and her eyes lit up. "I'd be a cad to leave you on duty here while everyone else is having fun."

It wouldn't be anything but some fun, he told himself. Nothing serious. Just what the Year of Exploration was supposed to be.

*****​

Gilderoy Lockhart didn't like Australian animals. From what he knew, even the muggle ones were all poisonous and rabid. That went double for the monstrosities Jenny and Rubeus were usually raising. If anyone thought the spiders had been horrible, then they would be shocked to discover that there were even more dangerous animals around. At least the Tasmanian Devil had been recovered from his basement, and transported back to Tasmania, so they couldn't experiment with that particular monster.

"What exactly are you planning to do with that fish?" he asked in Rubeus's workroom, pointing at a fish that looked like a spiky piece of rock or coral floating in an aquarium. He didn't really want to know, but he had to.

"It's a Stinging Stonefish," Jenny explained. "One of the most toxic muggle fishes. Some say its sting hurts worse than the Cruciatus."

Gilderoy shuddered. "I'm never going to swim in Australian waters again." If the muggles knew all about those animals, he was certain they'd evacuate the continent.

"They can survive up to a day on land," Jenny said, with that bright tone she had when talking about the deadliest animals known to wizardkind.

"Merlin's ass!" He stared at his friend. "What do you want it for? Another summoning spell?"

"Sort of. Not exactly. They're not aggressive enough, and not mobile enough. Rubeus thought of crossing them with Manticores, so they could shoot their stingers from their tails, but Manticores are hard to control," the witch, clad in her usual 'jungle girl' robes, explained.

"Not to mention that there's a ban on experimental breeding of magical creatures," Gilderoy added with as much sarcasm as he could manage.

"That too," Jenny said, her tone making it quite clear that this was at most a secondary consideration. "We tried puffskeins, but that didn't work out. They simply didn't sting no matter what we tried."

Gilderoy knew he would never look at one of the little fluffy balls again without shivering. "What exactly are you trying now?"

"We're working on a spell that shoots the poisonous spiky fins, and nothing else, at a target."

"Ah." That sounded almost reasonable.

"But since Hermione said she can't spare the time to run the arithmantic formulas for us, we decided on another approach. We're working with the Weasleys on weaponizing the fishes."

"The Weasleys… 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes'?"

"Exactly! They've got a lot of ideas on delivery systems."

Gilderoy, familiar with the two wizards from his time as a DADA professor, nodded weakly. He almost pitied the Death Eaters.

"That said… what are you doing here?" Jenny cocked her head sideways and looked at him. "You rarely visit our workshop!"

"It's the start of the year." He sighed.

Jenny looked puzzled, then the knut dropped. "Ah!"

"Yes." There were simply too many witches and wizards who thought they were suddenly all grown up and ready to seduce a teacher. Namely, him.

"So, you're hiding here from a bunch of little girls." Jenny didn't quite laugh out loud, but she came close.

"Yes. A number don't take rejections well, and can get quite creative." Gilderoy would rather not have to deal with accusations of having seduced a student again. Once had been more than enough. To think McGonagall would be so quick to believe such slander… At least the love potions were no problem, these days he routinely checked his food and drink for poison anyway.

"Oh?"

"Anyway, I'm avoiding the school in the evenings, until things calm down." He sat down on a chair, after carefully checking if anything nearby looked dangerous, or even alive.

"How long will that take?"

"No more than a few weeks, at most." At least that had been the case in the earlier years.

"I don't remember you going through that last year."

"I was a bit more subtle, maybe." And less shocked by his friends' experiments.

"Does that mean you only come to visit me to avoid trouble?" She glared at him.

"What? No, no! You know I like to visit you. But I don't like visiting the dangerous monsters you and Rubeus keep." Especially the experimental ones that might break out of their cages with new magical powers.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you!" She slung her arm around him and pulled him closer. "They don't generally bother me in my quarters."

"That's because of the drop bear rumor."

"If they're not willing to risk a violent death, then they're not the right kind of wizard for me."

"How fortunate that I'm risking death each time I visit you then, or so it feels," Gilderoy said.

"Exactly."

*****​

"They didn't come out of the Gryffindor dorms at all last night!"

Greengrass sounded like a little witch who had just been told that she wouldn't get any gift for Yuletide, Pansy Parkinson thought. No, more like one of those spoiled children who didn't get everything they wished for Yuletide, just half of it. Like Draco, for example. She pushed that thought away. "Don't tell me you waited all night for Potter," she said, summoning a basket of scones to her plate.

"I didn't!" The blonde witch responded, pouting.

"She went to bed at midnight," Davis added.

"Tracey!" Greengrass exclaimed while Greg chuckled and Pansy shook her head.

Sometimes she wondered if she was the only one from her year who hadn't gone mad. Well, her and Greg. Potter didn't count, he had probably been shagging his retainer for a long time already. And Davis… she didn't know what that witch was thinking.

Though she did notice the odd mood during breakfast. Awkward glances, jealous looks… it would be interesting if she cared for that kind of gossip. Or would still be delusional enough to think those antics mattered outside Hogwarts. Where a war was being waged. She sighed.

"Love trouble, Pansy?" Greengrass asked. "It looks like Weasley has a new girlfriend."

"What?" She looked up just in time to see Weasley take a seat at the Gryffindor table, with Brown hanging on his arm. "Ah." She studied the two. Just out of curiosity, she told herself. Weasley didn't look that smitten, and Brown looked like she was trying a bit too hard. And they were not sitting down with Potter and his retainer, and the rest of the inner circle of the Boy-Who-Lived. Just a fling then.

"She's moving in on your wizard!" the blonde sitting next to her whispered.

Pansy rolled her eyes at the dim witch. "He's not my wizard."

"He won't ever be yours unless you do something about this!"

Pansy glanced at Davis before answering. "Just focus on your own love life, Greengrass. Leave me to mine."

The blonde huffed. "I'm just trying to help you."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Pansy muttered, causing Greg to chuckle.

"She'll simply do what she did to Patil," Davis added.

Pansy glared at her. "What did I do to Patil?" If there was a rumor that she was responsible for the Patils' refusal to return to Hogwarts…

"You'll train with Weasley, showing how good you are, and jealousy and insecurity will wreck the relationship."

"I'm not training self-defense with Weasley to seduce him," Pansy corrected the brunette. She couldn't deny though that she might have been - in part only though - responsible for some problems between Weasley and Patil. But she couldn't be blamed for the overreaction of an insecure witch, could she? "I'm training with him because he's a very good duelist, and that training could save my life - again - one day." She could see Greg nod at her words.

No one at the table said much for a while after that. Pansy felt guilty for bringing up the memories of that attack on the train, but if her friends and Greengrass didn't take self-defense seriously, they might be killed in the next attack.

And she'd feel even more guilty if that happened.

*****​

"You're early."

"I'm doing well. Thank you for asking. How are you?" Sirius Black didn't quite glare at his friend while he stepped out of the other's floo, but he came close. It wasn't the full moon anymore, so there was no excuse for rudeness.

"Sorry," Remus answered, looking suitably chastised. "The start of the year is always a bit stressful, but it seems worse this time."

"What happened? Is Harry in trouble?" Sirius looked to the door. He could be in the Gryffindor tower in less than five minutes, as Padfoot. If he had the password.

"Harry is fine. Apart from his patrols as a prefect, he's been staying mostly in his and Hermione's room during the evenings," his friend said.

"Ah." Sirius was relieved, and grinned. "I guess he's been kept too busy to do anything else, hm?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "You can ask him or Hermione that yourself."

"I'll ask Harry later." When Hermione was busy somewhere else. The witch might misunderstand and overreact to some of his questions. "So, what has you in such a tizzy?"

Remus sighed. "Just too many additional patrols at night, until things grow calmer. And the whole werewolf hunt going on in Britain."

"Wasn't that solved by Albus spreading the rumor that you're out during each full moon, hunting the werewolf who killed your family?" It sounded like a good idea to Sirius.

"More or less. No one seems to suspect that I'm a werewolf now."

"Where's the problem then?" Remus was such a worrywart. Why was his friend glaring at him now?

"People are in a panic. It's truly a werewolf hunt - in the witch hunting sense." Remus frowned, making him look even older than he looked. That's what being a teacher did to a man. And a werewolf.

"The witch hunts almost never killed a real witch or wizard," Sirius commented. Remus should know this.

"Exactly. The werewolves working for the Dark Lord will be fine - they are already hiding from the Ministry. But the ones like me, wishing to simply live their life? They'll be in great danger. How many will wait to check if a werewolf has taken wolfsbane and is in control of himself? How many will even care?" Remus wasn't quite shouting, but he had grown loud.

"Ah." Sirius understood his friend's predicament now. "The answers are probably 'too many' and 'not enough'."

"Yes. 10 points to Black." Remus sounded more bitter than Sirius expected.

"It's not just that, right?" He wasn't the most insightful wizard, but Sirius wouldn't have had his success with the witches if he hadn't been able to pick up some nuances.

"No." Remus sighed and let himself fall into his seat. "With all the usual antics of the new 6th years, I'm reminded each evening that I'm not growing younger, but older."

Sirius knew what his friend really meant: He was lonely. Or to be more precise: He wanted to be in a relationship as well. It shouldn't have been a surprise, he realized. All of Remus's friends were in a relationship. Harry had Hermione - or the other way around. Andromeda and Ted were married, so were Nymphadora and Viktor. And Sirius… well, he wasn't married but he definitely was in a relationship. Four times over.

"Things will change for the better once we've dealt with the Dark Lord." It was the best Sirius could think of without lying. Remus wasn't exactly the most sociable wizard.

"Even if I find a witch who'd like me, I'd have to lie to her about my curse. And once she finds out, that'll be it. So, why even start? Can't have a relationship built on a lie." Remus eyed his bottle of firewhisky.

"Well, then look for another werewolf then. No need to keep secrets from her, right?" Sirius said without thinking. But it was a good idea even in hindsight.

"Wha…" Remus blinked. "Most of them fight for Voldemort."

"Most, not all," Sirius reminded him.

"And the rest think I hunted them for decades."

Sirius had no answer to that. "Well… it's time for today's training session, isn't it?"

Remus knew what he was doing, but nodded anyway.

*****​

"Any news about the werewolf hoax?" Kenneth Fenbrick asked Bertha Limmington as soon as he entered their shared office.

His partner shook her head. "None. No suspect, no motive." She pursed her lips. "Most likely it was a trap for Professor Lupin, and whoever laid it fled when we showed up."

"You don't think that though." He knew her well enough he didn't need to make it a question.

"No. Anyone skilled enough to transfigure a dog into a facsimile of a werewolf could have distracted us with a similar ruse, and attacked Lupin."

"True." Kenneth sat down on her desk and checked the files. Bertha briefly glared at him, but didn't say anything. He didn't find anything either. Not that he had expected anything else - the whole incident didn't make much sense. That didn't have to mean anything, but he couldn't help feeling that they were missing something important.

"Anything new about Umbridge and Caldwell?" Bertha asked.

"None of the people at the airports, at the Chunnel station, or in the ports spotted them," Kenneth said, showing the latest reports he had fetched on the way.

"They could have taken a broom and flown to France. Or they could be hiding in a safe house of the Dark Lord," Bertha pointed out.

"The French have tightened their border security. They absolutely don't want our war to spill over into their country." In a more cynical voice he added: "Of course, if the French would have used the resources they spent on border security to help Britain against the Dark Lord, then the war would be over already."

"Yes." Bertha didn't like his conclusions any better than he himself did, Kenneth thought.

"I've asked Mathilda to keep an eye out for the two fugitives." The spy would likely call in Aberforth as well.

"Ah."

"You sound as if you disapprove. Did I violate a regulation?" Kenneth wouldn't put it past the Ministry to have some weird rules about informants that no one cared about but Bertha and maybe Bones.

"No. I'm just remembering how our last mission with her went." His partner frowned at him.

"Oh. Well, we're not going undercover this time." When Bertha stared at him, Kenneth blinked and asked in a weak voice. "We are?"

Bertha nodded. "It's not as if we have a better lead to follow in this case."

"Great. If we keep this up, then we'll be lucky not to end up permanently in undercover operations," Kenneth grumbled.

"At least we'd get to wear different robes," Bertha said, chuckling. "It gets a bit boring, wearing auror robes each day."

Kenneth blinked. Bertha thought wearing regulation robes was boring? He was tempted to ask her to step through the Thief's Downfall. "I'd not call it boring. And our robes are quite dashing, in my opinion, and in the opinion of several fine upstanding citizens."

"Auror groupies, you mean," Bertha said. "Are you afraid you'll not be able to impress witches anymore unless you're wearing red?"

"I don't want to impress those witches anyway," Kenneth grumbled.

"Oh?"

It wasn't the moment to elaborate on the reasons for that. "What about you? Do you want to dress up as a courtesan?" Kenneth wouldn't mind that - his partner looked very attractive in racier robes.

"Anything for the mission, right?" Bertha cited, but her lips twitched into a faint grin. She was teasing him!

"Hmph." He glared at her, though that seemed to amuse her even more.

He didn't understand her as well as he had thought.

*****​

"Are you certain this is a good idea?" Dolores Umbridge asked, looking down at the small village at the east coast of Norfolk. A muggle village, full of dumb filthy muggles, edging out a living by fishing with primitive muggle means.

The werewolf glanced at her. "We can't use the bigger ports. That leaves the fishing villages. The Ministry cannot cover each and every village at the coast."

"We'll be taking a muggle boat. That's not safe." How could you trust non-magical transportation? Everyone knew muggles died by the hundreds each year from accidents.

"All the magical means are under surveillance. It's muggle, or nothing," the bitch told her.

Dolores ground her teeth. To lower herself to that… like a mudblood. And for a beast. But she had to, magic demanded it. She didn't say anything, just looked away.

"Let's go."

The village didn't stink as badly as Dolores had feared. She didn't even smell fish, despite a small port full of boats. A few of them even looked sturdy enough to survive on the open sea. At least in her opinion.

They didn't take long to spot a boat with a muggle in it. He didn't look like a fisherman, Dolores thought. Soft hands, and skin that wasn't aged prematurely by wind and sun. Now how to best handle this…

"Hey! You!"

The witch twitched when the werewolf simply yelled at the muggle. Fortunately, the dim man didn't seem to take offense. Few wizards did when talked to by pretty witches, why would a muggle be different?

"Hey yourself." The man stood up and put down the newspaper he had been reading.

"That's a nice boat," Caldwell smiled at him, and Dolores didn't miss how the muggle straightened with pride.

"Oh, yes. It's not the biggest, but it got the full range."

"Oh? Could you reach Norway from here?"

"If the weather holds, theoretically yes. Though it would be a long trip." The man's leer told Dolores what he was thinking.

She wanted to kill him for the presumption. As if she'd lower herself to sleeping with an animal! She was a witch! She pulled her wand out of her holster and aimed it at the muggle.

"Imperio!"

*****​

Paige Caldwell felt like dying. The boat she was on was being battered by waves that swept over its railing, and the rainstorm - a squall, the muggle claimed it was - had reduced visibility so much, she could barely see the front of the boat - which was called its bow, apparently. She would have managed to stand that, if not for the rolling, and the effect it had on her stomach.

Umbridge wasn't doing much better. Both of them had lost their breakfast and what lunch they eaten already, but Paige's stomach still tried to empty itself regularly. She hadn't cast so many vanishing spells in years.

And the muggle was acting as if this was normal! If not for the Imperius, Paige would have suspected a trap.

Another wave broke over the bow, and smashed into the windows. If they broke… they held. Paige wasn't that worried about dying - she could always apparate back to the coast, they weren't that far out yet - but to have to turn back after they had come so far… She growled, and dug her fingers into the armrest of the seat she she was strapped into.

Umbridge was staring at her with wide eyes. Did the witch fear they'd drown? Or fear she'd transform? That would be silly; they weren't even close to the full moon.

"We're making good time. We'll hit the coast of Norway on schedule!" the muggle told them, full of Imperius-induced cheer. It would serve him well, Paige thought, if they sank, and he would be the only not able to save himself. Maybe then he'd not lie to them and tell them they could make the trip easily. Or leer at them.

She felt her stomach heave again, and barely managed to lean forward enough to spit bile on the floor instead of herself. Wincing at the taste in her mouth, she grabbed her wand.

"Scourgify!"

*****​

Harry Potter sat down against the wall in the training room and closed his eyes. Sirius and Remus had stepped up the intensity of their lessons, and he felt like he had just completed a full day of Quidditch training under Oliver Wood. The stinging hexes he had endured even filled in for the bludgers.

"Hey, you still alive?" he heard his godfather ask. He opened his eyes and saw that Sirius had sat down next to him.

"Barely," he answered. "Some maniac tried his best to kill me. He looks kind of like you."

Sirius laughed. "It's for your own good, Harry!"

The young wizard scoffed. "Of course you'd say that." Though he knew it was true - he needed intensive training, if he wanted to survive this war. Despite the best efforts of Dumbledore and the Order, he had been attacked several times already, and had to fight for his life.

"Trust your godfather."

Harry snorted and summoned a coke for himself while Sirius grabbed a butterbeer from the floating cooler. They both watched Remus put Ron through his paces for a while. Hermione had left already, citing the need to continue 'important research'.

"So…" Sirius finally said, "how do you like the Year of Discovery so far?"

Harry shrugged. "I could do without the invitations and flirting; it angers Hermione." She was taking it better, and it seemed as if the rest of the school - with the exception of Greengrass - was slowly getting the message that Harry wasn't looking for 'some fun', but it was still a strain on his girlfriend's temper.

"Merlin! You're acting as if you're married already?" Sirius sounded as if he was not certain if he should be amused or appalled.

"If by that you mean I'm not cheating on Hermione, then yes," Harry said while frowning at the other wizard.

"It's not cheating if you both do it and it's in 6th year." Sirius shook his head, and muttered something Harry didn't catch.

"Neither of us would do that," Harry stated.

"What about a threesome?"

"Is that about Greengrass's invitation?" Harry wondered if and how Sirius had heard about that. It hadn't been exactly a public conversation.

"You mean you turned down a threesome? With that blonde witch? Granted, she's a Slytherin, but she looks hot!" Sirius sounded incredulous.

"She insulted Hermione too much in the past," Harry said, "and even if she hadn't… me and Hermione don't want to share."

"You really act as if you're married already. Kids these days, they grow up so fast!" Sirius theatrically rubbed the corner of his eye as if he was wiping a tear away.

Harry was tempted to retort with a crack about Sirius not growing up at all, but held his tongue. "You're not really disappointed, are you?" he asked instead. It was sometimes hard to tell with his godfather.

Sirius took a deep breath, then shook his head. "Not really. I mean, I told you that you don't have to do anything with anyone in 6th year, didn't I?"

"Yes." Far too late in Harry's opinion, but he had.

"So, I'd be a hypocrite if I then expected you not to do what you want. Or what your girlfriend wants." Sirius smiled softly, his eyes seeming to stare at something only he could see. "James and Lily were different, but they were not together during our 6th year. And even muggles knew what free love meant."

Harry didn't really want to hear what - and who! - his parents had done in their 6th year. To his relief, Sirius clapped him on his shoulder, and didn't go into details.

"Though should you and Hermione ever change your opinion about a threesome, then I expect a detailed report!"

"Sirius!"

Laughing, Harry's godfather stood up and vanished his empty bottle. He'd never change.

*****​

Sirius Black had kept up his facade, joking with Remus and teasing Harry, until he had left Hogwarts through the floor. Once back in his home though, he sighed and sat down next to the floo. Becoming Padfoot, losing all concerns, tempted him. Padfoot didn't have to think about his life. Didn't have to question his choices. Didn't have to wonder if his godson was more mature than himself. But he wasn't Padfoot. He was a wizard.

"Cherie?"

Valérie had stepped into the entrance hall. The veela looked concerned. Sirius smiled at her. "Sorry, didn't want to worry you. I'm just a bit… thinking."

The French witch nodded, and sat down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her, the thin fabric of her house robe barely felt.

"Harry and Hermione act like a married couple," he said after a while. "Which is both tragic and ironic, since they can't actually marry." Something he preferred not to think about too much.

"Yes."

"So, they're sticking to each other in the Year of Discovery. Even turned down a threesome. With a hot witch," he clarified for her benefit.

"Ah."

"Yeah, none of my friends would have done that. The turning down, that is." That he wouldn't have done it went without saying. "And yet… I wonder."

"What do you wonder about?"

"If I should be jealous of Harry or not." He felt her lift her head from his shoulder. "Sometimes I feel as if I never got out of 6th year."

"Would that be a bad thing?" Valérie asked, hesitantly.

He sighed, and shifted around, pulling her into his lap. "It depends. Without a care, passionate, free… it's not a bad way to live your life. But it's not very… responsible."

"Mh."

He buried his face in her hair for a bit, inhaling her smell. "It's a bachelor lifestyle. Something my prim and proper parents abhorred. Which may be why I found it so attractive. I didn't want to be proper, didn't want to be like my parents." He paused. "But… when all's said and done, that's a childish reason." He snorted. "I'm a grown man, closer to 40 than to 30. I shouldn't act like a child."

"Are you ashamed of your life? Of us?"

He shook his head. "Not of you, nor of us, never. But… I'm ashamed that I'm living as if I was still in school, avoiding any hint of responsibility. Doubly so since Harry and Hermione would love to be able to marry, but are not allowed to. It's as if I'm wasting an opportunity others would give a lot for."

"You're thinking of marriage?"

"Yes."

"To one of us?"

"To you."

He felt her stiffen, then turn around and wrap her arms around him. He ran his hands over her bare back and kissed her shoulder. "Perhaps after the war?"

"Yes."

*****​

The Hogwarts Self-defense Club training sessions were one occasion Luna wouldn't complain about the fashion options 6th years had, Ron Weasley knew. Everyone wore heavy robes there, for protection. Though some wore them a bit… less than others. Lavender, for example, had found or altered a duelling robe that would be more fitting to the cover of a robe-ripper novel, so much cleavage was exposed. He wondered how long her newfound interest in Self-defense would last. She noticed him looking and struck a pose that drew even more attention to her curves, winking at him. He chuckled.

The two of them weren't quite a couple, and Ron wasn't certain if they were even mere 'friends with benefits', as Hermione had put it, but they were more than just two 6th years 'exploring their options together', to quote Seamus. Or so Ron thought - he wasn't exactly an expert.

He shook his head. He was here to help the members train and learn, not to wonder about his lovelife. Or anyone else's. Even if some of the club members seemed to have misunderstood that. Ron did not grin or chuckle as he glanced at Greengrass, who was currently putting ointment on where she had been hit with stinging hexes. Some people never seemed to learn that hitting on Harry before a training session wasn't a good idea - Hermione had almost trampled over Davis to 'evaluate' Greengrass after that. A bit away Ginny and Neville were duelling each other. Neither one seemed to be holding back - Neville needed to be more aggressive, in his opinion. As long as it concerned spellcasting and duelling.

He saw Parkinson approach him, and turned to face her.

"Mister Weasley?"

"Miss Parkinson."

"Would you mind a quick bout? I've already duelled my usual sparring partners." The Slytherin was wearing a sensible duelling robe and had her wand in hand. Her bodyguard, Goyle, was looming behind her, though without the latent sneer and hostility Ron had been used to from him.

"Certainly. Mister Goyle, would you give the command to start?"

The huge wizard blinked, and then nodded. "Uh, yes." He paused a second, then nodded. "Bow! Wands ready! Start!"

Goyle spoke quite quickly, and Parkinson was obviously used to that, since she was casting before Ron, who had expected a slower introduction. He dodged her spell easily though, and retaliated with a series of hexes and jinxes, all which were stopped by the girl's shield. Her own spells fared no better, though Ron had to recast his Shield Charm.

His next salvo boxed Parkinson in, and this time he wasn't using hexes and jinxes, but stunners. Her weakened shield shattered while his resisted her own spells just long enough to stun her, and she was down for the count.

"Enervate." Goyle was quicker on the draw than expected. Ron was now quite certain the two, and maybe others, had been training over the holidays. Not as hard as Harry, Hermione and himself, though. But it was certainly more than most others had done, judging by the average performance of the students present.

Parkinson groaned when she opened her eyes.

"You did well," Ron said. He almost held his hand out to her, but she got up before he could act.

"Not well enough," she answered.

He smiled at the familiar exchange. Parkinson had the right attitude, even if she was a Slytherin and Malfoy's ex-girlfriend. A quick glance told him Lavender wasn't staring at him, ready to make a scene either.

So far 6th year had started pretty well, in his opinion.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort frowned, studying the parchment on his desk. Despite some efforts - mostly of his agents in the Ministry - he hadn't found any trace of Umbridge and Caldwell. That the Ministry had no idea either was a small consolation. He leaned back in his seat and looked out of the window. In a way, the two witches were still working for him, drawing the attention and resources of the Ministry away from his important tasks. And no one really knew they had fled from him, so his reputation wasn't in danger either.

But they continued defiance vexed him still. No one escaped the Dark Lord. Not the Potters, not the Boy-Who-Lived, not those two whores. Well, as a last resort he would be able to use Wizarding Britain's resources to track them down, after his inevitable victory.

Glancing at the latest orb he had prepared, he was certain it would be inevitable. This orb would be able to store more power. Not the whole amount released by the ritual, but significantly more than before. Soon he'd have an orb stable enough to store all of the ritual's power long enough to strike.

Now if only the wands from Steinberg would work out. They were stable enough to be used for more than a few weeks now - ample time to topple Britain's government before the wands' lethal flaws would be discovered by their wielders - but he needed a much safer wand if he wanted to confront Dumbledore directly with a good chance of success. Without more victims for his tests though Steinberg couldn't make much progress.

The Dark Lord checked his ledgers. Thanks to Hathaway's gold, he had the means again to hire more wands. Though the continent had proven to be rather hostile to his recruiters. At least the southern countries.

Scandinavia though… the latest hunt for werewolves in Britain wouldn't have been received well in those lands. Between that and gold, recruiting werewolves shouldn't be too hard. He summoned Greyback. The werewolf leader was a brutal monster, but he'd do well with the berserkers, and the less civilized werewolves there. And if he didn't… well, Greyback would have to die anyway, before he realized that Voldemort had no intention to let him spread his disease at will after his victory.

Mad beasts could be useful, but only a fool kept them around longer than they were needed. And Voldemort was many things, but no fool.


Chapter 52: Werewolves
 
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Chapter 52: Werewolves
Chapter 52: Werewolves

Standing on the shore they had apparated to from the ship, Paige Caldwell took a deep breath. Magical Scandinavia. Land of the berserkers. Paige Caldwell had never set foot in it. It was said to be the only country where werewolves were not only tolerated, but valued. Equal, if not more, to wizards and witches. She snorted. There was a reason so few werewolves actually moved there, here. And as the ex-girlfriend of a berserker, one of Scandinavia's shock troopers, she knew that reason well.

"It's not as cold as I expected," Umbridge commented. The witch was eyeing the fjord in front of them as if she thought it was an illusion.

"Did you expect snow and ice all year?" Paige asked, barely keeping the contempt out of her voice. British wizards and witches were so ignorant of Scandinavia!

Umbridge didn't answer, but her glare told the werewolf that she had hit the mark. She shook her head. "We're not that much farther north than Scotland, and it's not yet winter."

"Have you been here before?" The pureblood narrowed her eyes with suspicion.

"No. But I've known a Scandinavian wizard." Known him very well, in fact. Ejnar had seemed like her dream partner, once. Tall, muscular, handsome, with a blond mane reaching the small of his back, and a charming smile. He had told tales of Magical Scandinavia, and she had listened, in wonder. What a naive girl she had been! Until she had discovered what a berserker truly was.

She shook her head to banish those memories. "We'll have to travel a bit further, the muggle way." Even with the 'skipper', as he had called himself, obliviated and sent to the Hebrides, they had to be careful to avoid attention on the borders.

"Where are we going?" Umbridge shifted the bag she was carrying and frowned - probably at the prospect of traveling as muggles again.

"Magical Oslo. " Paige took a look up the fjord, at the muggle village. "There should be a bus."

"Why don't we go to one of the smaller villages? Hide in the countryside?" That she was talking about magical villages went without saying.

"Too dangerous. Scandinavia is not like Britain. The government isn't that strong. The villages are ruled by their gothi or gyðja, their leader. They are usually the leader of the local werewolf pack as well." Paige saw Umbridge shudder, and grinned. "There are werewolves in all of Magical Scandinavia's settlements, but the majority of them live in small villages hidden in the wilderness."

Umbridge looked like she wanted to curse something, or someone. "And Oslo?"

Paige shrugged. Ejnar had scoffed at Oslo, said it was full of weak wizards. "I don't know that much about it. But I know it's not likely to be involved in a feud with the werewolf pack in the next village. As a trade center, it's considered neutral, sort of, in their feuds."

"It's like Diagon Alley?" Umbridge sounded hopeful.

"Probably."

*****​

Magical Oslo was nothing like Diagon Alley, Dolores Umbridge found. There were similarities. Both locations were hidden in the middle of a muggle city, with a few concealed entrances. But where Diagon Alley was the heart of Britain's commerce, shops lining bustling streets and side alleys, Oslo had stalls and tents arranged around the keep, the old castle housing the local seat of the Scandinavian Ministry, as she understood.

The main difference to Diagon Alley though was the lack of magic, at least in her impression. There were glowing signs, and some of the stalls and shops sported flashy spells to attract customers, but she barely saw anyone in decent robes. Most people's clothes were lacking the elegant fashions Umbridge was used to. It was all so… so… "Muggle!"

"What?" The werewolf turned towards her.

"This looks like a muggle camp! Look at their clothes!" Dolores nodded at a couple passing them. The only thing that looked magical on them were their cloaks, decorated with embroidered runes Dolores identified as protections woven into the fabric.

"Their robes are enchanted. They just don't like to 'show off' magic."

"What?" That didn't make any sense. Why would any wizard or witch want to hide like this, instead of proudly displaying their heritage? They weren't among muggles!

The bitch was now smirking. For a moment, Dolores hated her,. wanted to curse her, but the feeling was gone at once, the life debt reasserting itself. "It's because of the werewolves."

"What?"

"Some of the werewolves were muggles before their change. They can't cast spells. And since werewolves are held in such high esteem in the country…" The bitch shrugged. "At least that was what I was told by my acquaintance."

Dolores blinked, shocked. Wizards, lowering themselves, acting like filthy muggles, in order to avoid… did they avoid shaming the filthy beasts out of pity? Or were they afraid of what those beasts would do if angered? "How long do you plan to stay here?" she asked, in a slightly shaky voice.

"Until it's safe to move on," the werewolf answered.

"How long will that be?" As if staying in a town where everyone could be a werewolf, worse, a muggle werewolf, and where the decent wizards bowed to the filthy beasts instead of driving them away would be called safe by anyone sane!

"I don't know. But it's currently the safest place in Europe for us."

Dolores doubted that - Scandinavia wouldn't extradite the bitch, they never did, but Dolores was no werewolf. Scandinavia was far less protective of normal foreigners. She muttered "It's still not safe enough."

"Oh, yes," the beast agreed with her. "You know why they are trying to get more werewolves to immigrate?"

"No?"

"Because there are so many feuds, they always need more bodies." The bitch flashed her teeth in a cynical smile. "Let's go and find an inn for the night." She looked at the keep. "I doubt they offer lodgings for travelers there."

Dolores looked at the huts and tents outside the keep's walls. They looked worse than the camp at the World Cup, two years ago. "At least it'll be cheap," she muttered. The two of them didn't have that much money, and Dolores would rather not pick up their old 'trade'. She was a witch, not a whore!

*****​

"Here are the latest formulas, sir." Hermione Granger passed the stack of paper to the Headmaster. "I think I have managed to reduce the cost of the ritual further." The equations looked correct to her, but since she couldn't really test them, Dumbledore looking them over was the second best way to check for mistakes. He had the experience and knowledge to interpret the results and pick the most promising results for her to optimize further. Experience and knowledge she wasn't certain she wanted to have, and yet longed to have.

While the old wizard studied the sheets - the white paper looked oddly out of place in his office, she realized - she busied herself with her notebook. Or tried to. Her thoughts were wandering. Thanks to Harry's visions, they knew that Dark Lord was making progress with his ritual. They still didn't know what he was planning, but the power of the failed ritual they had observed left no doubt that it would be a catastrophe if Voldemort mastered it.

And her own ritual was ready, as long as one was willing to pay the price the spell demanded. She glanced back to where Harry was reading a book - 'Wizard Wars of the 20th Century', a rather pretentious title, seeing as it was written in 1970, or so she thought. Her boyfriend was focused on it. He took the threat seriously, and he was dedicating himself to train, so he could fight if needed. When needed, she added, remembering the prophecy. She looked at his face, the ugly scar hidden by his hair, his bright eyes, the way he licked his lips before whispering a line he had just read to commit it to memory. She loved him, more than anything else. She could save him too, all the materials had been prepared by Dumbledore already, if only she was willing to sacrifice…

"It is not worth it, Miss Granger."

She whipped her head around, staring at the Headmaster. The old wizard shook his head. "I did not read your mind. Your Occlumency is as superb as ever. But it was not hard to deduce your thoughts from your expression. You are thinking about doing the ritual and paying the price."

She glanced at Harry. Had he heard? She dreaded his reaction, should he know. He would be hurt, terribly hurt...

Once again the Headmaster shook his head. "He cannot hear us."

She sighed with relief, then bit her lower lip. "I was just…"

"Miss Granger, it is not worth it."

"But…" she looked at Harry again.

"Even if it would save his life, would never meeting him again, even after death, be worth it? Would he want you to pay that price?" The Headmaster spoke softly, but intently.

She sighed and slowly shook her head. Harry wouldn't want this. Not at all.

"You are not the only one faced with such temptation. But as alluring it appears, we have to remind ourselves that some prices are too high."

"Some are paying them though. Have paid them."

"Indeed. And I am utterly convinced that they were wrong, and have regretted it ever since." The Headmaster closed his eyes for a moment, his face showing pain and regrets. She gasped. Had he?

"No, I haven't. But I knew those who did."

"The book." It wasn't in the room, of course, but she glanced to the shelves anyway.

"Yes." He sighed. "It is not worth it, Miss Granger. Even if you might consider his life worth the price - and I pray you will never be so foolish - your action would hurt him so badly, so horribly, I would dread what he would become." His eyes bored into hers. "I trust you understand."

Shaken, she nodded and wiped some tears off her face with a flick of her wand.

"Besides, your equations so far were fine in my opinion. You're on the right path - as far as such a ritual can be called 'right' - and I'm quite certain you'll manage to perfect the formula," he said, smiling encouragingly.

"But will I be done with it before the Dark Lord perfects his ritual?" she asked.

"We can but hope, Miss Granger."

She had feared that as well. For the next few hours, while Dumbledore checked her formulas, asking questions to clarify a result from time to time and giving advice for the next steps she noted down, she was once again wondering about religion, and life after death.

*****​

Harry Potter watched his lover sleep next to him while the rays of the rising sun crept closer to her face. She was mumbling something he couldn't make out, but otherwise she looked at peace. Content. Happy. As she should be. As she would be, if not for Voldemort.

He closed his eyes. The next full moon was still weeks away, but he already dreaded it. He was feeling like a werewolf, he thought. He even transformed into a monster, at least in his mind, during the full moon. And no amount of wolfsbane could make it stop. A potion of Dreamless Sleep might prevent the visions, or so Hermione had theorized, but it wasn't as if they'd ever try that out - they needed to know what the Dark Lord was up to. No matter how painful or disturbing the visions were, no matter how many nightmares he had due to them, Harry wouldn't try to avoid them. It was the least he could do when Hermione and Dumbledore, Sirius and his girlfriends, or the other Order members were risking their lives in the war.

He brushed a lock of hair that had fallen onto Hermione's face and caused her to wrinkle her nose in her sleep back behind her ear. She was risking her life, he knew that. He didn't know how dangerous the ritual she was creating with Dumbledore was, but if it wasn't dangerous, they'd have finished it by now - or tested it at least. He could ask, but…

He sighed. It was safer not to know too much, even with Occlumency, given his connection to the Dark Lord. Or at least that was a good excuse for not wanting to know what his girlfriend was doing. Because he had a feeling that if he knew, he would try to stop her. And that would hurt her worse than anything else.

"Mhh…" Hermione blinked, still half-asleep.

"Morning," Harry whispered, bending over to plant a kiss on her brow.

"Morning," she said. "What time is it?"

He was about to summon his watch when he spotted a big orange furball jumping on the bed. "Time to feed your cat," he answered instead.

"Crookshanks?"

The half-kneazle meowed loudly, and prodded Hermione's knee with a paw. The witch groaned and drew her wand. A few spells later the cat was busy emptying his bowl.

"Given his size, he might need a trough instead."

That earned him a glare from his girlfriend. "He's on a balanced diet. That's why I don't simply have the bowl fill whenever he wants to eat."

"You end up doing it yourself each time he wants to eat." Harry snorted when the cat stopped eating and glanced at him. Sometimes he wondered just how much the half-kneazle understood.

"I'm only feeding him in the morning and in the evening, and he knows that well, don't you, Crookshanks?" Hermione beamed at her cat.

"And at lunch he gets fed table scraps by Ron."

"What?" Hermione sat up at once, which caused the sheets to slide down, exposing her chest. "I told him to stop that!"

Harry chuckled while he admired the view. "Crookshanks's pleading eyes are more effective than your angry ones."

"Hmph."

He pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her. "Don't be mad at him. Ron's not having an easy time."

She scoffed. "Oh, yes. Handling Lavender must be very stressful."

"His girlfriend broke up with him without telling him. That hurt him," Harry defended their friend. Hermione still wasn't that fond of Lavender, and she rarely spoke of her former roommate without a bit of disdain.

"There's plenty of other witches he could get to know." Hermione paused. "They're not bonding over the Patils' absence, are they?" She turned to face him, which distracted him for a moment.

Harry wasn't about to spill his best friend's secrets, of course. But this wasn't really a secret. "No. They're just… not-friends with benefits, I'd say. You know, exploring sex together."

"Hm." Hermione pursed her lips. "They might think that, but they could still be falling for each other. As much as people claim it's all about free love and exploring, I can't help noticing that there are a lot of couples forming."

"Short-lived couples," Harry said. Sometimes very short-lived. Measured in hours rather than days.

Hermione frowned at him, which meant he had made a point. "But Ron's currently emotionally vulnerable. Lavender could exploit that. You know how she is."

Harry nodded. He knew how Hermione saw the other girl. Very well even, since she had explained it numerous times. He wouldn't say that, of course. "Would you prefer it if he was sleeping with Parkinson?"

Hermione chuckled. "Ron Weasley dating Malfoy's ex…" She grew serious. "I do hope that he doesn't plan to sleep with her just for that reason."

"I doubt he plans to sleep with her at all."

"That's probably true. Even though she probably would like him to, judging by how eager she is to train and duel with him." Frowning she added. "Almost as eager as Greengrass is to sleep with you."

"With us, you mean."

That earned him another glare. "If she tries to accidentally lose her robes again in training, I'll accidentally hex her hair off."

He patted her shoulder, then kissed her. "At least the rest have accepted us."

Hermione sighed. "They have accepted our relationship. For now. After we graduate, things will change again."

After Hogwarts they would be no longer children, but adults facing society's expectations. Harry knew that. "We can deal with that after we have dealt with Voldemort."

"Yes."

Both of them were all too aware that they had to survive the Dark Lord first.

*****​

Ron Weasley checked the room's decorations again. The big floating banner was perfectly placed, slowly turning around itself. Its blinking letters spelled out 'Happy Birthday, Hermione!', right over the spot where the cake would be. Colourful ribbons were strung from the ceiling to the walls, and the plates had small name signs next to them… had had small name signs next to them, he realized.

He turned to the main suspect. "Luna!"

"Yes?" The blonde witch looked down from where she seemed to be gluing glitter and cork pieces to the lamps.

"Did you take the name signs?"

"Name signs?" Luna blinked.

"The small signs with the names of the guests on them. They were next to the plates." Ron almost sighed.

"Oh. I vanished them. I thought those were stand-ins for the guests that you didn't need anymore." Luna nodded, then returned back to her task of turning the lamps in the room into… whatever she was planning.

"Why wouldn't I need them anymore?" Ron kept a lid on his temper.

"Didn't you just need them to lay out the seating?" Luna blinked again.

"Yes." Ron wondered where she was going with this.

"Now you know it, so there's no need anymore for them. They took up space we can use for more dessert instead!" The Ravenclaw beamed at him.

He should have known. "The idea was for the guests to find their own places."

"Oh. But wouldn't the name signs confuse them? Since they kind of chose their places already."

The redhead rubbed his forehead. "That was the idea."

"You want them to be confused? Why not use a Confundus?" Luna looked at him with apparent surprise.

"No… the idea is that we choose where the guests sit." By now, Ron wasn't certain if the whole idea was worth the trouble.

"Oh! If we get to choose then I want to sit next to Hermione!" Luna beamed at him.

Ron gave up. "Alright." Luna was in rare form today. There was no sense in trying to unravel this; he'd go mad before he succeeded.

"Yay!"

Ron nodded at her, and went to fetch himself a butterbeer. He felt he had earned it. Besides, he had a feeling it was better to open it and donate the cap to Luna, before the witch started to collect the caps from the other bottles.

Next to the buffet, where bottles of all kinds, muggle and magical, were floating in a big tub filled with ice cubes, he spotted Harry. His best friend was checking the selection, or so it seemed.

"So, all set?" he asked, summoning one bottle with his wand.

Harry replaced the bottle. "Everything should be set. Gifts, food and drinks. You have the seating straightened out? Luna was pestering me about it earlier."

Ron groaned. Outfoxed by Luna. If his brothers knew they'd never stop teasing him. "I've compromised," he said, in a tone that hopefully would keep Harry from asking further questions.

"You're bringing Lavender as a date?" Harry grabbed a can of Coke himself.

"Sort of. We're not really dating," Ron answered. "But she wanted to see the muggle party we're throwing." They weren't - not exclusive, at least.

"Ah." Harry managed to add a lot of meaning into this sound.

Ron frowned at his friend. "What do you mean?"

"Just wondering… you've been with her for almost three weeks now."

"We've not been 'with each other'. We're simply having fun together. She's one of the prettiest witches in our year, after all," Ron said. And he was a Basilisk Slayer.

"Will you keep claiming that you're not together in a year as well?" Harry asked, grinning.

Ron rolled his eyes. "We don't hang out much, apart from, you know. Sleeping together." Harry nodded. Ron conjured two chairs for them and sat down. "How do I explain it… it's like this: We have sex, but… I don't really wonder how we'd fare if we'd marry, nor do I think of having kids with her. I'm not planning anything." Which was the truth. With Padma, it had been different. Ron wouldn't call it a serious engagement, but when they had become a couple, he had wondered if they'd marry, how long they'd stay together, how their hypothetical kids would looks like. He hadn't done anything like that with Lavender.

Harry still looked sceptical, or so Ron thought. He clapped him on the shoulder. "Mate, we're really just having some fun, nothing more."

"Are you certain she thinks the same?"

Ron chuckled. "Harry, I'm no expert, but I've been in a relationship with the twin sister of her best friend. If she was interested in more than fun, she'd act quite differently."

"It looked like she acted differently in the last club meeting."

"Well, I needed a witch-shaped shield to keep some snakes at bay." Not his proudest moment, Ron knew, but it had been getting a bit much, lately.

Harry chuckled - he understood that plight of Ron, at least. "Parkinson didn't seem to be impressed though."

Ron snorted. "Mate, if I ever date her, check me for love potions, polyjuice, and charms."

Harry laughed, but he also promised. Then the birthday witch arrived, and both went over to greet her, and start the party officially.

*****​

"When you said 'undercover mission', I expected something else," Kenneth Fenbrick muttered to Mathilda Smith while he looked around in the living room of the cottage they were currently living in.

"What did you expect? Another night as courtesans?" The courtesan-turned-spy asked from her seat on the room's couch, where she was reading a book.

"Well, yes," the auror admitted. "Instead of playing… bait." For over a week too!

"We're not bait. We're ambushers." The witch made a swishing motion with her hand, and the book floating in front of her turned a page.

"We're pretending to be a pair of aurors guarding a valuable informant in a safehouse in order to attract a raiding party of Death Eaters. That makes us bait," Kenneth said.

"You're not pretending. You are a pair of aurors guarding a valuable informant - me!" Mathilda said, grinning. "You just wanted to see your partner in a courtesan's robe, did you?"

He didn't dignify that with a response.

Unfortunately, according to her grin, she considered his silence answer enough. "Have you told her?"

"What?"

"That you want to see her in a skimpy robe. Or out of a robe."

He glanced at the door to Bertha's room. The door was thick, so she shouldn't have heard their talk so far. He would have preferred a privacy spell, but he'd rather be able to hear screams and warnings, given that they were expecting a Death Eater attack.

Mathilda sighed. "You haven't, have you? Merlin's balls! I feel as if I'm back at Hogwarts, dealing with stuttering teenagers!"

"Hey!" He wasn't a teenager, but a veteran auror. Lots of witches could attest to his experience. And that annoying spy certainly hadn't been born all experienced and cynical.

"You two are aurors, and we're in a war. We're expecting an attack here, even. What are you waiting for?" Mathilda stood up, pushing her floating book to the side with a gesture.

"That's why. We're partners, I don't want to risk that. Certainly not in the middle of a war." Who else knew her as well as he did? Anyone else would not understand her well enough, and that could get her killed.

"Rubbish. You love her, and she loves you too. Otherwise, she'd have hexed you into a puddle long ago." Mathilda sniffed.

"Hey!" Kenneth stood up as well. There was a limit to how much abuse he was willing to take.

"I know you pretty well, Ken. You and your type." She poked him in his chest. "You spent your 6th year chasing any robe you could, and then tried to keep that going in 7th year. Just Hogwarts, nothing serious, right?"

"It wasn't exactly like that," he said.

"Close enough for a Blasting Curse. And afterwards, you always had an excuse not to settle down. First auror training, then the irregular schedules, the danger… how am I doing so far?"

She took his silence as acknowledgement, and continued. "And now, suddenly, you realize you've been a fool. And you're afraid your past will be held against you. Too many jokes about witches, hm?"

"No," he growled. It wasn't like that.

"Then why don't you tell her?"

"What's it to you?" he shot back. "Why do you care so much?"

"I like you two, and I think you shouldn't waste any more time."

"Ah." He swallowed the angry accusation he had been about to utter.

"So, are you going to tell her, or should I talk to her?"

"Ah…"

The door to the bedroom was thrown open and Bertha stormed inside. "The wards are under attack!"

Kenneth had never been so happy about people wanting to kill him.

*****​

Aberforth Dumbledore studied the cottage from his vantage point, on a broom high in the sky and disillusioned. The Death Eaters had taken the bait. Fooling the mole in the Ministry had been easy, but he hadn't been certain the Dark Lord would be fooled as well. Or consider a "valuable informant" worth the attack - though hinting at her being a werewolf apparently had done the trick. Half a dozen Death Eaters, attacking the wards.

He raised his omnioculars to his eyes and checked again. Even with the nightvision granted by the enchanted device, he couldn't see anyone else. But six wasn't enough for such an attack - the Dark Lord's wands liked overwhelming odds, usually. He'd have to lay down anti-disillusion charms over the area. Those had a rather close range, so he would have to expose himself as well. Better him though, than Iva and her family, or Mathilda. And the two aurors, maybe. They had grown on him like fungus.

He touched the pin on his robe and whispered: "Attack once you see me cast." Then he put the broom in a dive and descended on the Death Eaters, wand out. He aimed at the Death Eaters attacking the wards first - curse-breakers were a priority target.

"Confringo."

The earth under the three Death Eaters in the front erupted, throwing them around like ragdolls. While the backlash from the wards ripped into them, he was already casting anti-disillusionment charms over the area near the house. Iva and her band of broom riders were on the move as well, cutting off the escape of the Death Eaters with anti-apparition and anti-portkey jinxes while closing with them.

When he felt his disillusionment fade, he pulled up at once, corkscrewing to provide a more difficult target. Green curses cut through the night, but none came close to hitting him. Someone who could cast that many Killing Curses should be able to aim better, Aberforth thought. He shouldn't be complaining about his good luck, but something was not right here.

He sent another blasting curse towards the unknown dark wizard, followed by another anti-disillusion charm, then banked and dove down again. His spell revealed another half dozen Death Eaters, all shielded and casting madly - and faster than he had expected.

Spells flew from the cottage, ripping into the curse-breakers still twitching from the ward backlash. More flashes to the sides of the cottage told him that Iva and her wands were engaging the remains of the first Death Eater group. One of the Greek mercenaries flew a bit too low and became visible. He didn't evade quickly enough, and of the half a dozen curses shot at him, one clipped his broom, blowing it up. The man - Deion - crashed into the ground, and before he could get up or cast anything, he was hit by a Killing Curse and dropped dead.

Aberforth flew towards that second group again, sending more spells at them. One Blasting Curse exploded in their midst, but to his surprise, their shields held, and more curses flew at him. He pulled to the left, and dove behind the cottage, touching the pin again. "Be careful! They seem to be more skilled than we expected."

"I noticed," came the terse answer from Iva. "We'll get them though."

The girl was bent on avenging her cousin, Aberforth realized, and cursed under his breath. He wouldn't be able to face Lea again, if her granddaughter died under his command. But with all those killing curses thrown around, the air was rapidly becoming too dangerous.

He landed and shrunk his broom while making haste to the front of the cottage, towards the dark wizards holding out. His blasting curse had at least destroyed their cover and thrown their formation off - and they hadn't reformed yet. Again, a weird lapse for wizards able to cast so many dark curses in so little time… the Dark Lord must have improved his cursed wands again, he concluded. He addressed his allies once again: "They can cast very well, but they are not too experienced."

Then he turned around the cottages corner, left the wards, and attacked again. Three piercing curses ripped into the first wizard's shield, shattering it. The fourth was stopped by the man's robe. He was already recasting his Shield Charm, but Aberforth had managed to hit him with a curse before the shimmering blue field surrounded the Death Eater again, and the dark wizard started to boil alive inside his shield while his blood heated up. Apparently, the wands didn't bestow the knowledge of counter-curses.

His attack had given his position away though, and the remaining five Death Eaters did their best to avenge their ally. He barely managed to raise a wall made of earth to block several Killing Curses and a variety of other dark spells, and his own shield was battered by fragments from the exploding wall. He transfigured the debris into another wall, which was rapidly crumbling under the assault from dozens of spells as well. How fast could they cast?

Aberforth conjured five metal disks, each large enough to hide behind, and fell further back. If he could reach the cottage and its wards… It was a long dash behind him though, and he wasn't young anymore. He could die here, easily, he realized. Killed by a bunch of fools wielding cursed wands.

He snarled, and banished the remains of his latest wall towards the Death Eaters, peppering their shields, but more importantly, distracting them long enough to transfigure the debris around them into a dense cloud of dust. Another flick of his wand added a green gas to the mix. He wasn't the alchemist Albus was, but he knew enough to get by.

He didn't have to ignite the dust cloud - one of the Death Eaters did that himself, setting off the dust explosion. The Death Eaters vanished in a giant fireball, and the shockwave almost knocked him down. Above him, Iva's broom riders were blown back by the force of the explosion, but didn't look seriously hurt.

"Oipho! What was that?" Iva asked through their link.

"Just a bit of applied alchemy," he answered.

The fireball dissipated, revealing the remains of the Death Eaters. None of them were moving, though only one of them looked crushed and burned. Aberforth and Iva's wands lost no time ensuring that even if the dark wizards were still alive, they'd not be able to fight on. Behind them, the two aurors and Mathilda emerged from the cottage.

"Two of them are still alive, and we captured two more trying to flee," Iva reported.

Aberforth nodded. They had the prisoners Albus had wanted. He dug around for a vial of veritaserum in his robe's pocket. The scum needed to be interrogated, and fast, before their knowledge about the Dark Lord's plans and orders became obsolete.

*****​

"So, Voldemort has made even better cursed wands than he had, and Greyback has left Britain for an unknown destination, on the Dark Lord's order," Albus Dumbledore summed up Aberforth's report of the information he had gathered from their prisoners.

"Yes. He's become better at keeping his secrets - or all of his wands who knew more are hiding, or dead," his brother said. "I'm betting on the last. We hit him hard, and crippled his recruiting attempts."

Albus nodded. He wouldn't state it with such pride or certainty, but the Dark Lord had lost many of his followers. "But to send Greyback away… leaving his most dedicated followers, the werewolves, without their leader. That indicates a rather important task."

"He was pretty quick to launch an attack on the supposed location of an informant when we hinted that it was Caldwell or Umbridge. Maybe he sent Greyback to hunt the two down." Aberforth shrugged. "That monster will surface sooner rather than later. He's too violent to keep a low profile."

"Indeed. So… where would Voldemort send him? Where would Greyback fit in, and not draw our attention and subsequent attempts to neutralize him?" Albus smiled.

Aberforth scowled. "Always the teacher, are you? Even if talking to people who haven't been students in decades."

Albus would have liked to remark that wise wizards and witches never stopped learning, but his brother was already rather angry, and wouldn't appreciate such advice. Instead he spread his hands in apology. "I am sorry. Old habits die hard."

Aberforth scoffed. "Don't bother. I don't expect you to change, or care. So… you think Greyback is in Scandinavia?"

The Headmaster nodded. "Since the Dark Lord has extensively recruited werewolves, helped by the general attitude towards them in Britain, it would make sense for him to recruit more of them - especially since Scandinavia has no lack of experienced fighters among its werewolf population. Further, with them actively encouraging immigration by werewolves, a number of them have British roots, and might wish to return to fight against a country that all but threw them out."

Aberforth scoffed. "It's not as if werewolves have a monopoly of being mistreated and scorned. That's no excuse for joining the Dark Lord."

Albus didn't take the bait. His brother was a bit too protective of his shady friends, but reminding him of it would only cause a row. "It was not meant as an excuse, but as an explanation," he said instead.

"Of course," Aberforth said, his tone belying his words. "So… do you want me to hunt him down for you?"

"Have you been in Magical Scandinavia before?"

Aberforth shrugged. "Once, a few decades ago."

Albus would prefer to have Aberforth in Britain, considering the most distressing news about those new wands Voldemort was using. To think they were so powerful as to give his brother trouble… But on the other hand, letting the Dark Lord swell his ranks with werewolves, experienced werewolves even, would be far worse. Especially, if those new recruits received those new wands as well. He nodded. "Yes, please."

"Alright. Time to bag a bounty."

*****​

Paige Caldwell scowled when she returned to the tent she and Umbridge were renting. Ejnar had never mentioned just how expensive Oslo was. It was certainly far removed from the rural, simple life portrayed in all the stories werewolves heard. If not for buying muggle food and stretching it with charms, they'd have gone broke already. And they could only afford that thanks to the money they had taken from the muggle owner of the boat that had brought them here. They could keep stealing from muggles, if things became desperate, but they wouldn't be able to keep doing so forever.

She passed a werewolf on the way - the fur on his outer robe identified him as such, just as the heavy gold chain he was wearing made it very likely that he was a gothi, a village leader. Paige was wearing fur on her robes as well - it felt very nice to see others defer to her, even if they were just wizards.

"Are you looking for a place to belong?"

The question from the gothi surprised her. "Pardon?"

"You look and smell like a foreigner. Are you looking for a place to belong, a pack to join?"

When she had first met Ejnar, she had thought his direct, blunt manner was attractive. No beating around the bush, no veiled insults. She knew better now. The manners were different, but people were people.

"I'm still trying to get acclimated," she answered, in a hopefully respectful and polite tone without appearing weak. "I haven't decided yet if this is the country for me."

"You're a werewolf. We are the progeny of Odin's wolves. Where else would you be at home than here?" The man mustered her. "Our kind is persecuted in every country but this one. It's a safe haven for you, and for your children."

"I don't have children."

"You will, sooner or later. It's your nature."

Paige didn't agree, but contradicting the pompous wolf would serve no purpose. "I haven't decided yet where I want to live," she said again.

"Once you do, send me a message," the man said, "I'm Snorre Bloodclaw."

Paige acted as if the name meant anything to her. Apparently satisfied, he nodded, and walked away. Bloodclaw… she had no idea if that was a small village with delusions of grandeur, or a powerful pack. There were just too many small villages and communities in this country.

"I'm back," she said, when she entered their tent.

Umbridge looked up from the table in the middle, where she had been reading a newspaper, nodding at her. It was almost a civil greeting, considering the circumstances.

Paige saw the witch was reading the Daily Prophet though, and she growled. "Didn't we agree that buying the Prophet is too dangerous?"

"I didn't buy this issue. I found it," Umbridge claimed.

Paige wasn't certain if she believed that, but there was no way to disprove it, so she growled once more, and then started to place the food she had bought in the pantry. "We're running out of money," she said when she had finished.

Umbridge shrugged. "We will have to find work then. As primitive as the people here are, it shouldn't be too hard to find well-paid employment."

"They're not primitive. They're just different," Paige said. "They claim their customs - forn sidr - are ancient, dating back thousands of years."

Umbridge scoffed. "Everyone knows the norsemen came centuries after Merlin."

"To Britain, maybe. They did not exactly appear out of thin air," Paige argued.

"They might as well have," the witch shot back.

Paige didn't feel like arguing. "We still need money. We can't keep stealing from muggles, sooner or later the local government will catch up."

Umbridge, to Paige's surprise, nodded simply. "And what kind of work do you have in mind?"

The werewolf shrugged. Most of the work offered was menial, and badly paid - like waitressing. The better paid work was usually offered to friends and family, not foreigners. Probably, she thought with a touch of paranoia, to make more werewolf immigrants join a village. "There isn't much of a selection for us, and half of it we can't or won't do."

Umbridge nodded. The British Ministry was looking for two courtesans, after all.

"So, that leaves one kind of work, always in demand."

*****​

"Stupefy!" Pansy Parkinson shouted while dodging under Weasley's Disarming Charm. While the red spell flew towards her opponent - and would miss, she could tell - she sent a few more spells at him as well, each time shouting the incantation. She promptly followed them with a whispered Disarming Curse.

Unfortunately, her opponent had either expected such a ploy, or was lucky - Weasley's shield collapsed under the jinxes and hexes that hit it, but he was running, and the Disarming Charm went wide. Snarling, she sent another stunner at him, not bothering to shout now, but he had recast his Shield Charm already, and the stunner was absorbed.

Trusting her own shield, she suddenly charged ahead, directly at the redhead, and kept casting. The closer they were, the less they'd be able to dodge. It wasn't a valid dueling move - but in a real fight, anything went.

If that surprised Weasley, then he didn't show it. He kept casting at her, and started to circle her - or tried to. Her shield flared with the impact of another stunner, and was about to break when she jumped at him.

Both Shield Charms crashed into each other, and shattered, and then Pansy was smashing into him, just like Greg had taught her. Her left hand sought his wand while she drew her own back, to point-cast. He caught her wand hand, at the wrist, and managed to pull his own out of her reach. He couldn't cast that way though, and she kneed him in the groin - only to find out that his robe had special enchantments to protect that area. The pain flaring up in her knee made her yelp, and distracted her enough so Weasley could make her drop her own wand, and point his own at her head. He didn't cast though, just grinned.

"I win."

"You win," she answered, panting from exertion, and baring her own teeth in a grin.

For a second, the two stared at each other, still caught up in their duel. Pansy licked her lips, suddenly uncertain what to say.

"Are you going to make out here on the floor?" Greengrass's dumb question broke the spell, and Pansy rolled off Weasley.

"Good fight."

"Indeed. You surprised me and almost had me."

Pansy snorted. "I'm certain you had a few more tricks up your sleeve." She knew just how sneaky the twins were.

"Maybe." He stood up and offered her his hand. She was tempted to stand up without his help, but that would have been rude, no matter how much she wanted to.

She would duel Greengrass though, right after she had recovered from this bout.

*****​

"It's quite cold here," Dolores Umbridge commented. She wasn't freezing - her robes protected against colder temperatures - but the contrast to Oslo was surprising. Or maybe not that surprising, seeing as they were deep in the central forests of Scandinavia.

"Still no snow though," the werewolf said.

They had taken a portkey to a small village, where someone was said to be recruiting wands for a small campaign. The sums bandied around in Oslo had been enough of an incentive to visit despite the distance - someone had deep pockets. And it would allow them to see just how life was in those magical villages.

So far Dolores was not impressed. Small, wooden houses, clustered around a big one - a longhouse, Paige called it - with wooden statues depicting the norse gods in front of or at least near each entrance. Carved wooden statues, without any magical enhancement. Primitive.

"The meeting is in the longhouse. The gothi, the village leader and packleader, will be there." The werewolf said.

Dolores snorted. "And the recruiter?"

"Will be there as well. Though I suspect they are one and the same."

Dolores scoffed. "I doubt anyone living in such a hovel could afford such rates.

The bitch frowned at her. "You've been here for weeks, and you still can't see past appearances?"

Dolores glared back, then looked away. "If they have so much gold, why don't they improve their homes before conquering another?"

"Habit. Tradition. They could have improved their homes too, just not as ostentatious as you're used to."

"Hardly." She wasn't ostentatious at all, Dolores thought.

The bitch shook her head, but dropped the argument. "Let's go inside".

The longhouse looked as primitive inside as it looked from the outside. They were even cooking a deer or something over an open fire - Dolores thought she could count herself lucky they didn't expect their guests to eat raw meat.

"We won't starve at least," the witch said. Of course the beast would be hungry, especially with the full moon approaching.

Dolores scoffed again. The longhouse was filling up, and as far as she could tell, most of those inside were not from here. "I wonder why they didn't hold the meeting in Oslo."

The werewolf shrugged. "There are many possible reasons. Too public, maybe, or too close to the muggles."

"That's two, not many." Dolores said.

The bitch growled briefly, then managed to control herself and utter: "Let's sit down. It should start soon."

They sat down at the next free spot at the long table. Dolores was stared at by several wizards and witches, and stared back until they looked away. "Primitives", she muttered once again.

"Rustic and traditional," the other witch corrected her. "We're growing closer to the full moon, and we'll be quite aggressive.

"I know." Dolores was about to comment on the time when she noticed that the werewolf was sniffing the air and growing tense. "What's wrong?"

"I know this… damn! We need to get out. Now!" She got up and pulled on Dolores' hand.

"Why?"

"I know that werewolf there. He was with Greyback." The werewolf said.

Before they reached the door, it was opened from the outside, and a huge figure dressed all in black filled it out. "Greyback…." the werewolf whispered.

"Paige! And Umbridge! The Dark Lord will be so pleased!" The infamous werewolf leader crowed. "Take them!"

With mercenaries behind them, and a monster in front of them, blocking the way out of this trap, Dolores didn't hesitate. Her wand whipped up and she sent a piercing spell right at Greyback.

The old werewolf was not so easily hit though. He dropped to the floor, the spell going wide, then jumped at Paige as if both were already transformed. Dolores was about to move into a better position to hex the beast in the back, when more werewolves entered.

"Avada Kedavra!" Her Killing Curse hit the first, and he fell down, dead.

That didn't stop the next one, who cast at her. "Diffindo!"

Dolores felt the spell hit her, but her robe stopped it, before she blasted the werewolf and half the door to pieces. "Bombarda".

The door and werewolf were blown away in the explosion, but the walls and roof held. Another werewolf was on the ground, dazed. The way was free to escape!

She turned to Caldwell, who was grappling like a muggle with her foe. The two werewolves were rolling over the floor, biting and clawing at each other. And the locals, as well as other visitors were standing up and moving towards them.

They had to flee, now, or they'd be killed!

She aimed her wand at Greyback, but she couldn't cast without risking to hit Caldwell by accident - and that would have been unacceptable. Greyback had no such troubles though, and one of his blows hit Caldwell's head, driving it into the stone floor and dazing her. Then he charged at Dolores.

"Diffindo! Confringo!" The witch fought desperately, but the Cutting Curse was absorbed by the beast's robe, and he ducked under the Blasting Curse, cast at an angle so it would not threaten Caldwell.

Then he was on her, driving one fist into her stomach. Dolores was thrown back several yards and fell to the ground. Pain filled her abdomen. She saw him raise his blood-covered claws, and realized it was her blood. She was bleeding. Heavily. She couldn't die though. She had to save Caldwell!

She didn't try to get up, she simply pointed her wand at Greyback.

"Imperio! Stand still!"

The monster froze, claw still raised.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green spell hit the werewolf, and he collapsed. Dolores smiled, blood running down her lips. She was hurt worse than she thought. But Caldwell still needed her, even though she was getting up, because the mob that had been formed was still there, and might not remain passive much longer.

"Umbridge! You're bleeding!"

"I know," she managed to say, struggling to stand up. Caldwell pulled her to her feet just as the crowd started shouting.

"She used two Unforgivables!"

"She killed Greyback!"

"She violated Hospitality!"

Dolores blinked, feeling light-headed. Caldwell had to get away, had to reach the edge of the anti-apparition wards on the house. But she'd never make it with Dolores dragging her down and a mob behind her.

There was a way to solve both problems at once though. "Run!" she gasped. "Run and apparate!"

The stupid werewolf tried to grab her instead of fleeing. She had a simple solution for that as well.

"Imperio! Apparate away!"

Caldwell turned and started to run. That seemed to galvanize the mob to rush forward.

Dolores smiled while she pointed her wand at the ground next to her feet. Her debt would be paid.

"Bombarda Maxima!"


Chapter 53: Blood and Ashes
 
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Chapter 53: Blood and Ashes
Chapter 53: Blood and Ashes

The Dark Lord Voldemort was enraged. Fenrir Greyback dead! Killed by a traitor even! He threw the Daily Prophet down on his desk and took a deep breath. He couldn't let his rage rule him. He was a wizard, a genius! Not some animal ruled by emotions, like werewolves. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to calm down.

It was no catastrophe. Greyback had become far too impulsive, far too demanding lately. Far too arrogant as well. He would have had to be disposed of soon anyway. And his death at the wand of a British witch would be laid at the feet of his enemies. Especially with the way the Daily Prophet celebrated it. The werewolves would blame the Ministry, not a dead witch.

But that didn't solve his need for more people. Or Monsters. Curse fodder. The mercenaries on the continent were too cowardly, or too greedy. They thought he was losing the war, and demanded outrageous rates, and would desert him at the first opportunity. Even Hathaway's gold won't go far in those circumstances.

He could create more Inferi, but that was not just time-consuming, but required corpses. Fresh corpses. Unlike Grindelwald, he couldn't use muggle corpses either - without a muggle war in Europe to hide his actions, the ICW would become involved if he gathered enough muggles for an army of inferi. Or tried to smuggle Inferi created in Africa to Britain.

He could send the Dementors out, but that would mean they'd have less impact when he needed them to scare his enemies into hiding behind their wards. And after they disobeyed, he had lost his trust in them.

No, the Scandinavian werewolves were still his best bet. Numerous, aggressive, quick to fight, and disposable. He would have to send out one of the more reasonable werewolves in his ranks to take up Greyback's mission, but… something more might be needed to drive up recruitment. The Scandinavians were outraged at the treatment werewolves received in Britain, but so far their responses had not been much worse than in the years before the war. Harsher laws alone didn't seem enough to prod them into action, and the death of a foreigner might not be enough either. They might, in private, even welcome such measures, since it tended to drive up immigration.

Voldemort would have to create a reason to not only outrage, but enrage the beasts, if he wanted them to flock to his banner. He paced in his office, thinking. Animals were ruled by their instincts. And there was one instinct dominating them.

Smiling, the Dark Lord sat down at his desk again. He had plans to make.

*****​

The longhouse exploded behind her. Stone fragments and wooden splinters hit her, knocking her down. She tried to get up, to flee, to reach the edge of the anti-apparition wards, but her legs would not respond. Then the pain and blood came. Her left leg was crushed beneath a severed beam, pinning her in place. She was bleeding from several wounds and her right eye wouldn't open… or was gone. Her wand… she needed her wand!. It was lying on the ground just beyond her reach, no matter how much she stretched. Just when she touched it with the tip of her fingers, a boot came down on it, breaking it and crushing her hand. She was still screaming in pain when the boot smashed into her chest, breaking her ribs. Again and again, until she was coughing blood and struggling to breathe.

Then she heard the howls. Werewolves. It wasn't the full moon… But why hadn't she transformed? The howls grew louder, the wolves were coming closer. All that blood must be driving them into a frenzy. They would… they would…

Paige Caldwell woke up with a scream. Another nightmare. She was shaking, and told herself that she hadn't been caught. Hadn't been killed. The longhouse had exploded, and that had kept the others from pursuing her. She had managed to leave the village, and apparate away.

She closed her eyes, sitting up on the bed of the muggle vacation home she had broken into a few days ago until she didn't feel as if she had been running for hours anymore. She was safe, the werewolf told herself. No one knew where she was. No one would find her.

But she was hurt. The wounds she had suffered in her fight with Greyback hadn't healed yet. Despite the potions she had used. The bandages were bloody again, though less than the day before. A cleaning spell fixed them up.

She stood up and padded on bare feet to the kitchen. There was still some food left in the muggle ice box. But that was it - the house had no pantry. Sooner or later she would have to go out and find some food. But more importantly, she would have to prepare for the full moon. She had no Wolfsbane left, and if she ran free while transformed, she'd be caught.

Sitting down and munching on canned meat, she shivered. If not for Umbridge, she'd be dead. The witch had sacrificed herself for Paige. And now she was all alone.

*****​

"Good day, Mister Perriwinkle and Miss Grey." Albus Dumbledore nodded at the two Hit-Wizards standing guard outside the office of the Minister for Magic while he entered for his meeting with Cornelius and Amelia. "Hello, Cornelius."

"Albus! Have a seat. Some tea?" the Minister stood up to shake his hand, then summoned a tea service from the table in the corner of his office. He had lost some weight, Albus noted, but looked healthy otherwise. And confident.

"With pleasure." Albus pointed at one cup, and it filled and floated towards him, hovering at his side. Before he could take a sip, Amelia entered as well. The Head of the DMLE looked determined, but stressed. Unsurprising, with so much of the war effort weighing on her shoulders.

"Cornelius, Albus." The witch nodded at them both and sat down. "So, what did you want to discuss?" she asked the Headmaster, obviously unwilling to partake in idle chat.

He could oblige her. "I have concerns about the policy towards werewolves in Britain," Albus said. "The growing hostility against them, born from the rather paranoid fear of those unfortunate individuals affected by the curse, keeps driving many of them into the arms of Voldemort. The laws that were recently passed do make the situation even worse." 'Protective custody' was the term used in the proposals, but it effectively meant that any werewolf could be locked up if they represented a danger to the public - which just about everyone did, according to the law.

Cornelius lost his smile. "Albus… the public demands action. They are afraid of those dark creatures, and would lose faith in the Ministry if we ignored their concerns. The scandal in the Wizengamot shocked many people - if not even our parliament is safe, no one is safe." The Minister spread his hands. "If the Ministry does nothing, the people would hunt them down themselves. You know how ugly that would turn, especially in the middle of a war."

Albus knew that, very well, but he shook his head. "And yet those laws and policies create and perpetuate the very problem they are supposed to address. They help the Dark Lord far more than they protect the public since they facilitate his recruiting efforts."

Amelia was frowning. "Werewolves are among the most numerous followers of the Dark Lord, and responsible for many crimes and atrocities. Even before those new laws were passed, they flocked to him." She looked straight at him. "I do not deny that those new laws make the situation worse, with regards to that, but at the same time, they allow us to prevent werewolves from joining Voldemort."

"By locking them up as if they already were criminals," Albus said.

Amelia had the grace to flinch slightly, but she didn't budge. Albus hadn't expected her to. She wouldn't break or ignore the law. Not for werewolves. Cornelius was generally more flexible, but he also craved the approval of the public. The Headmaster sighed. "There's also the international situation to consider."

That made Cornelius's eyes widen. "The Scandinavians? What have you heard from your man there?"

Albus didn't bother correcting the Minister's assumption that his envoy - Aberforth would curse him, should he hear that - was responsible for the demise of Greyback. And his brother was currently in Scandinavia. "Not surprisingly, the Scandinavians are very concerned, even outraged, about the recent changes. This despite the fact that more British werewolves have started to emigrate."

"Cursed werewolf pets," Cornelius muttered under his breath. Louder, he said: "They have been 'outraged' about our treatment of werewolves for decades. Is there any chance they'll actually attack us?"

Albus shook his head. "Unless things grow even worse, I doubt it. For all their bluster and eagerness to do battle, the Scandinavians haven't been involved in a war since Grindelwald, and their forces lack the experience our aurors and Hit-Wizards have. Although individuals will be moved to join the Dark Lord in an attempt to strike back at what they see as us oppressing their kin."

"We can handle a few more werewolves fighting for the Dark Lord," Amelia stated. "More than a few, even."

Albus knew she was correct, but Britain would also lose more witches and wizards. And in battles that could be avoided. "While I do not doubt the skill and courage of our wands, I also think that it would be better if they didn't fight battles that could be avoided with a more gentle touch towards werewolves."

Amelia frowned. "Too many Werewolves swelled the Dark Lord's numbers even before the latest laws restricting them were passed. They'd still join him even if we repealed those laws right now."

"We'd be seen as weak, and animals attack the weak," Cornelius added, shaking his head. "Once the Dark Lord and his followers have been dealt with, we can take another look at those laws. With that threat to Britain gone, the people will be more receptive to such changes."

"Though we'll not let any supporter of Voldemort escape justice." Amelia's expression clearly told Albus that this time, unlike after the end of the first war, there wouldn't be much if any leniency. He couldn't help but wonder whether things would be different if the Dark Lord's followers were still mostly composed of pureblood wizards and witches. No, Amelia was not the most gentle or merciful witch, but she was no bigot. She would uphold the law, no matter what.

Sighing, he stood up. He wouldn't succeed with his proposal. "Well, I still think this is a mistake, but Cornelius is correct, we cannot afford to show division right now." The Minister had said something else, but Albus didn't think he'd correct him.

But once Voldemort was beaten, those laws would be repealed. Albus would see to it.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort, using polyjuice to disguise himself, wandered through Diagon Alley. If those sheep knew that the Dark Lord himself walked among them, able to snuff out their pathetic lives without effort… He passed two red-robed Aurors on patrol, giving them no more care than the two children staring at the Quidditch Supplies' display. They mattered about as much to him. Even if he should be revealed, the odds of the Ministry's forces being able to stop him, much less kill him, before he could leave were slim. Only one wizard was close to his equal, after all. And the old man would not rush into action, the incident at Hathaway's had shown that. Voldemort would have ample time to leave.

But he wasn't here for a mere demonstration of his power. He was here to implement his latest plan. He couldn't trust anyone else with this, of course. Not even his Bella. As devoted as she was, she was a bit too impulsive for this kind of task. Too passionate where a cool head was required. He smiled, knowing she would be waiting anxiously for his return.

Then he drew his wand. To someone looking at him, it would appear as if he was using it to levitate a snack next to his head, and playing around with it a bit. In reality, the cauldron cake was charmed to react to his wand's movement, masking his casting. Another charm would carry his whispers to a target's ear.

Smiling broadly, he started to cast.

"Imperio!"

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick watched the clock on the wall on their office. Still another 30 minutes until their shift ended. He felt a bit nervous. This evening, he'd confess - talk to - his partner, Bertha Limmington during dinner. About his feelings for her. The two had started to take their meals together more often. He didn't remember how it had begun, but lately, they ate dinner together more often than not. And they didn't talk about business nearly as often. A good sign, the Auror thought. Even or especially if Bertha made fun of him.

Ten more minutes. He wasn't quite biting his nails, but he was using his wand to banish crumpled paper aeroplanes at flying paper aeroplanes.

"Are you bored?"

He glanced over at Bertha, who was dutifully writing their report of today's investigation - nothing suspicious found in the shop they had searched and buried the slightly guilty feeling. "Just target practise," he said, with a cheeky smile. It had once impressed an instructor enough to let him get away with having slacked off, but more often, it had caused him additional trouble.

Bertha shook her head and sighed. "I'm certain that if we're attacked by paper aeroplanes, you'll rise to the occasion without trouble."

He wasn't certain if she was angry with him or not, but that had been a joke. Grinning, he answered: "Oh, some of those aeroplanes are dangerous… they carry orders, or worse, summons to a meeting!"

"You're not really using official memos for this, are you?" She asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Well…" He wasn't, of course, but it was fun to fake it.

The alert interrupted him. Bones's voice rang through the entire floor. "All Wands, report to the floo central. A mob is attacking the Werewolf Holding Center!"

"Merlin's balls!" Kenneth cursed as he jumped to his feet and ordered his robe closed with a flick of his wand. Just five more minutes… He glanced at his partner, whose earlier mirth - well-hidden of course - had been replaced by the cool professionalism everyone else thought was her real self. She briefly nodded to him while opening the door. Duty called.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort smiled when he saw the Werewolf Holding Center getting pelted with spells from several dozen wizards and witches. He hadn't imperiused even half of them; the rest had followed them on their own. That would make the whole incident look even more convincing.

Though a mob just attacking the building wasn't enough for his goals. He needed more. And he would provide it. Disillusioned, he started on the wards. The building was new, and the wards were still weak. Barely above an average home's. He broke through them in a minute, then turned his attention to the main entrance. The doors were spelled to resist damage, but once again, not strong enough. His Blasting Curse blew them away and showered the guards and employees behind them with splinters.

A roar went through the mob, and the first rank started to advance. A Hit-Wizard stepped into the breach, wand flashing. One of the first attackers fell, bleeding. Voldemort smiled widely - he couldn't have planned this any better. He killed the guard with a piercing curse, then shouted: "Get the werewolves and the werewolf lovers!"

The mob took the cry up, and surged forward. Voldemort dropped his disillusion spell and led a dozen of them to the holding cells. He had a fire to start.

*****​

When Kenneth Fenbrick stepped out of the floo in the Werewolf Holding Center, he heard screams and explosions, and smelled smoke. It looked like part of the building was burning. The Auror cursed. "How could a mob have broken through the wards so quickly? Was everyone asleep on their post?" He moved to the door, after a squad of Hit-Wizards who had, in their typical fashion, charged ahead.

"Unlikely," Bertha Limmington said, stepping to his side. Both ignored the shaking clerk at the wall. He didn't look like he could remember his own name right now, much less provide useful information.

"Which means, there's bound to be a couple of wands in this mess who know how to fight." Kenneth ground his teeth. They could either hit everyone who pointed a wand at them as hard as possible, possibly killing a few idiots who just followed the rest, or they'd risk getting killed themselves after underestimating a dark wizard or witch. Great.

They left the floo room, and entered a madhouse. He couldn't see where the Hit-Wizards in front of him had gone. Several bodies lay on the ground, Both Ministry employees and civilians. The stench of smoke grew stronger, and Kenneth realized that it smelled like burning flesh. "Merlin…"

"They have reached the holding cells then. We have to hurry." Bertha looked grim - for her.

Kenneth nodded, and turned to the aurors and Hit-Wizards behind him. "Let's go!" As expected, the Hit-Wizards behind him charged ahead. Probably trying to show up the aurors. Kenneth didn't mind. Better them than him when it came to soaking up curses.

Their ad-hoc group descended the main stairs, where another body lay. That had been a werewolf, or had been mistaken for one - at least Kenneth hoped the mob wouldn't have treated a Ministry guard like this.

The entrance to the cell block was partially covered by smoke now, and the screaming had grown louder - and more desperate. Kenneth cast a Bubblehead Charm. He didn't check if Bertha followed his example; she would have done it already. From ahead, spells flew at them, one striking the shield of a Hit-Wizard.

"Death to the werewolves and the werewolf lovers!" Someone screamed so loud, he must have used an Amplifying Charm. A dozen voices took up the scream though. Jenkins, a new auror, muttered. "Hecate have mercy! There are children in there!"

One of the Hit-Wizards fired a curse at the entrance, and muttered. "Cubs you mean." Kenneth didn't think it was funny, but half the group laughed. Then a dozen screaming civilians charged them, and no one was laughing anymore.

Kenneth cast a Piercing Curse at one wizard wildly sending curses at them, and his spell went straight through the man's shield, hitting him in the shoulder. His follow-up stunner hit as well, but so did a Cutting Curse from Jenkins.

The other charging idiots didn't fare any better. The Hit-Wizards didn't even bother with stunners, and the aurors in their group were obviously not taking any chances. "Bloody mess," Kenneth muttered. "Jenkins, try to save the ones still alive. The rest of you - charge!"

They entered the cell block, and Kenneth felt as if his blood froze in his veins. That was no ordinary fire, that was Fiendfyre! Someone had cast Fiendfyre on the cells closest to the entrance, and it was making its way through the cells. The cells holding werewolves! Children among them! They were screaming, begging for help, but Kenneth knew they couldn't stop the cursed fire in time to save them. Just then, the fire entered another cell. The two men inside pressed themselves against the bars of the door in a futile attempt to escape. The flames reached out to them, set them ablaze, and they screamed as they burned to death.

"We need to get through the wall from the other side!" Bertha yelled, shaking Kenneth out of his daze.

"Yes!" Kenneth grabbed two Hit-Wizards. They'd not be able to do anything against the fire anyway, but they'd be able to blast a wall just fine.

The small group ran up the stairs again, then towards the main entrance. It had been blasted apart from the outside and the two guards there - grey-robed Hit-Wizards - had been killed. That hadn't been the work of those idiots they had just taken down.

Kenneth was panting when they stopped at the other side of the building. Bertha glanced from one corner to the other, then pointed her wand at the wall in the middle. "Aim for this point."

Kenneth nodded. He trusted his partner to pick the right spot. She was a Ravenclaw through and through.

"Confringo!"

"Reducto!"

The two Hit-Wizards had hesitated, but followed their example.

"Reducto!"

"Bombarda!"

The wall was solid, and not all the wards strengthening it had been dissolved. It took three salvoes until it was breached. At once smoke started to rise from the hole, and they heard screams. Kenneth charged ahead this time, jumping down to the cell block's floor. The fire had claimed two more cells on each side. Eight more people dead. He didn't want to think of how many had already burned to death. He had to save the living. "Reducto!" His spell blew the door off the cell closest to the fire. The two witches there, ran out, shaking and in panic. "Levitate them up!" he yelled at the Hit-Wizards while aiming at the next door.

Bertha opened the cell on the other side. "Alohomora!"

So the cells hadn't been spelled against the Unlocking Charm. Kenneth would have complained about the lax standards, if he hadn't been busy opening the remaining cells. Soon two dozen werewolves, five children among them, were crowding the end of the cell block's hallway, trying to climb up while the Hit-Wizards pulled them up with Levitation Charms on their clothes.

And the Fiendfyre was getting closer. Kenneth could feel the heat now. "Why's it advancing through stone and metal?" he asked while casting Aguamenti. Bertha joined him. The water didn't do much, but it slowed the fire down somewhat.

"It must have been cast by an exceptionally strong wizard," Bertha explained, and Kenneth thought he detect more than a hint of fear in her voice. He took out his broom and was about to unshrink it. She stopped him though. "It'll create a stampede towards us."

"We're running out of time," he said as the fire filled another two cells. Behind them, the werewolves had grabbed the children and thrown them up. Another was pressed against the wall, giving the rest a leg up. Half a dozen remained, and the fire was closing. The hole was too small, he realized. And the wards on the wall prevented them from transfiguring it to create stairs.

Two more werewolves were pulled up, one was levitated. Three left, and Kenneth and his partner. The fire reached the last cells, and started towards them. Kenneth unshrunk his broom, grabbed Bertha, and mounted it. As he started to fly up, he saw that the werewolf at the wall was just pushing up the last one to safety. Kenneth didn't look when he raced up, to the hole, barely evading the tendrils of flame reaching for him and Bertha.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

He glanced back and saw Bertha had managed to lift the last one, the one who had pushed so many others up, right before the flames would have reached him.

For a moment, Kenneth was elated. They had done it! Then he saw the threadbare robe of the werewolf rip. The tattered remains flew towards Bertha, still pulled by her spell, while the man started to fall. He was swallowed by the blaze that was now filling the entire cell block before he could scream.

*****​

Kenneth landed on the grass, near the rescued werewolves. It was far enough from the wall that he didn't feel the heat anymore. He felt devastated. To fail at saving that man, who had saved so many others, hit harder than failing to save all those poor bastards who had burned to death, trapped in their cells. They had been so close… he was certain he'd not forget the expression on the man's face as he fell to his death for a long time.

Bertha was feeling worse though, he could tell. She was a perfectionist, she would be berating herself for not repairing the man's robes before levitating them. Even though that would have cost so much time, the Fiendfyre would have reached him before she could have cast the Levitation Charm. And yet she would still blame herself for failing to save the man.

Kenneth didn't think, didn't say anything, he simply reached out, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her into his arms. His partner made a surprised sound, but didn't push him away, or protest. She leaned into him, and shuddered.

The moment didn't last though. A shout cut through the crying from the children and the mumbled attempts of the older werewolves to console them. "Stop!"

Kenneth looked up saw one of the Hit-Wizards was pointing his wand at a werewolf who had started to walk away.

The man snarled. "What? You're going to lock me up again so I can be burned to death? Wasn't that enough for you?" He gestured at the burning building.

The Hit-Wizard blinked. "We saved you!"

"Saved us so you can lock us up again?" Another werewolf shouted. The children cried louder.

Bertha pushed away from Kenneth, her face expressionless again. This was turning ugly. Uglier.

"You can't just leave!" The other Hit-Wizard was covering the other werewolves, but they started to spread out.

"Why not? Haven't you killed enough of us?"

"We saved you, we didn't kill you!" The wizard moved towards his partner. Doctrine when faced with a wandless opponent was to gain distance. But there were a lot of wandless werewolves. And they were moving.

"Calm down! This was the work of criminals, not of the Ministry. They broke in and killed you and the guards," Kenneth said, hoping to defuse the situation.

"It was you who locked us up! We never did anything to you!" A woman spoke up, holding a girl. "And now half my family is dead!" She shouted, tears running down her cheek.

A girl started to run, away from the building. Kenneth tensed, but he couldn't cast at the girl. He glanced at Bertha. His by-the-book partner was hesitating as well. That more than anything else told him that his gut was right.

The girl didn't get far, a red spell - a stunner - from a Hit-Wizard struck her down. And set off the werewolves. Half of them started to run away as well, scattering. The other half roared and charged the Hit-Wizards - and the Aurors.

"Confringo!" Kenneth sent a blasting curse at the ground between the werewolves and him and his partner. It drove them back, but not for long.

Bertha was casting as well, stunning a young werewolf trying to flank them. There were too many though. Two more were running at them, and another was coming at Kenneth. A Stunner took that one down, and Bertha conjured a quick wall to block the two on her side.

The majority of the werewolves though rushed the Hit-Wizards who had cast at the girl. Before Kenneth's eyes the two disappeared under the mass of the attackers. He couldn't help them though - enough of the crazed werewolves were attacking him and Bertha.

The two Aurors fell back, using transfiguration, Stunners and conjured obstacles to keep the werewolves at bay. He tried to apparate, but someone must have cast Anti-Apparition Jinxes over the area. Kenneth pulled his broom out. If they could fly up, they'd be safe.

"Bombarda Maxima!"

The earth under the werewolves pursuing him and Bertha exploded. The Shielding Charms of the two Aurors protected them, but their wandless attackers were shredded. Kenneth looked up and saw two Hit-Wizards on brooms, just as another Blasting Curse hit the next cluster of werewolves. He was about to shout at them to stop, then he saw the remains of the two Hit-Wizards who had been with them and knew it would be futile. Hit-Wizards were not Aurors. They weren't trained to take risks to stun instead of kill. And after seeing two of their own dead on the ground, they wouldn't even try.

Instead he stunned the closest werewolf, and then the next. It was all he and Bertha could do.

He didn't see the reporter and the photographer covering the whole massacre until it was over.

*****​

At breakfast in the Great Hall, Remus Lupin stared at the Daily Prophet's front page. 'Werewolf Holding Center Attacked!'. The pictures in the article beneath the headline showed bodies. Lots of bodies. Hit-Wizards, Ministry employees, wizards and witches. They didn't show the dead werewolves though. He was certain they would have been shown, had they been transformed. But outside a full moon, werewolves looked like normal wizards and witches. Were normal wizards and witches. And the British public wasn't supposed to see that.

He read the article, and felt bile rise from his stomach. A mob stormed the building and set the cell block afire. Dozens had burned to death, trapped in their cells. Helpless without their wands, they would have been forced to watch their doom approach. The lucky ones would have suffocated from the smoke before the fire reached them. The others… he closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to control himself. It was still a few days to the full moon, but he felt his temper changing already. And this… there had been children in that prison too. Children whose only 'crime' had been to be bitten by a werewolf. Like he had been.

He looked at the House tables. The students were clustered around those who had subscriptions for the Daily Prophet, as usual when there was big news. He saw Harry look at him, concerned, and nodded, trying to reassure the boy that he was holding up.

It was difficult though. If his secret had been revealed, if his curse had been exposed, then he could have been in one of those cells, burning to death. Killed by a mob who saw him as a beast. He felt both anger at that, and shame that he was hiding in his own, privileged position while others with his affliction suffered.

He returned his attention to the article. 'Werewolves used the opportunity to escape from custody', 'measures taken to capture them before they endanger others'. And speculation that the 'mob' was actually made up of imperiused victims of the Dark Lord, used in an attempt to break out the werewolves so they could fight for him. Bloody fools! He was almost growling with frustration and anger before he checked himself. He couldn't lose control. Not now, not here.

The professor glanced at the editorial and ground his teeth. It was a thinly-veiled call on the Ministry to hunt the werewolves down with lethal means. He threw the newspaper down and stood up. He had to get out. Calm down. Vent his rage. Whatever. He couldn't stay there.

On the way out, he overheard one fourth year Gryffindor say: "I'm certain the Professor will hunt those werewolves down!", and he almost ran from the Great Hall to his quarters.

Sirius was already waiting there, in his favorite armchair. "Morning, Moony." His friend wasn't smiling.

Remus closed the door and cast a privacy charm on it. "You've read the Prophet."

"I did. Nasty business."

"Yes."

There was no offer to 'talk about it'. Nor did Sirius try to calm him down. His best, his only real friend, simply was there while Remus raged, vented, and hit the walls of his room with his fists until his hands bled and he was exhausted his rage spent, for now.

Just like his friend had been there for him, as Padfoot, in the Shrieking Shack.

*****​

Hermione Granger worried that her boyfriend would not be able to keep his temper under control as so many of their fellow Gryffindors ranted about 'dangerous werewolves'. She understood, of course - the bias against werewolves was a stain on Wizarding Britain. One of many, sadly. She would have called the caste system the worst stain, but with children being killed just for suffering from a curse, and the public applauding, she was hard-pressed to uphold that.

Katie Bell made a remark about being afraid with so many beasts free, and the full moon so close, and she felt Harry tense up. Maybe she should cast a privacy spell that kept outside noises out next time.

The witch leaned over, brushing her lips against his ear, and whispered: "If only they knew that one of their most popular teachers actually was a werewolf."

He turned his head, brushed his lips over hers and whispered back: "They probably would try to drive him out, or kill him."

She hated to agree with him, but did it anyway, nodding while she pursed her lips. "They'd try." They'd succeed, of course - if they formed a mob. Which was rather likely. She understood the fear of werewolves. Without Wolfsbane, they were murderous beasts under the full moon, craving human flesh and blood. And if a victim survived, they'd be cursed themselves. A truly insidious cycle. And no one could forget that werewolves were the Dark Lord's most numerous supporters, proving to be murderers even without transforming, as the Hogwarts Express Massacre had shown all too clearly.

And yet they were victims. Of a dark curse, and of society. Hermione could understand that some of them would want to lash out against a people who shunned and reviled them. But she would never excuse or forgive anyone who joined a monster who wanted to murder people just for being born to the wrong parents.

She summoned a scone from a floating basket and took another sip from her orange juice, charmed to look like pumpkin juice. At the end of the day, it was simple: Anyone who helped Voldemort was her and Harry's enemy. And she would deal with those enemies.

*****​

Harry Potter exchanged a glance with Ron. There were far more people waiting for the Hogwarts Self-Defense Club to start than usual. A product of the werewolf scare, no doubt. He didn't quite feel the urge to curse half his house as strongly as during breakfast, but he still resented them. So much ignorance! So much bigotry! As if every werewolf wanted to join Voldemort and murder people. He knew he was being unfair, somewhat at least. There had been a lot of werewolves among those who had massacred students on the Hogwarts Express, but that didn't mean every werewolf was like that. He took a deep breath. He wouldn't get angry again. If Remus could control himself, only a few days from the full moon, then he could do the same.

"Blimey! Remus will hate this." Ron shook his head. Harry shot him a glare. His friend coughed. "So many new students. He'll be swamped with work." It wasn't the best recovery, but it'd do.

"We'll be swamped too;" Harry commented. To change the mood, he added: "You'll not be able to flirt with Parkinson as much as you usually do."

"What?" Ron gaped at him.

"Did I say 'flirt'? I meant 'duel', of course." Harry grinned.

"She's one of the few witches who actually takes training seriously, and doesn't try to flirt with me," Ron said, narrowing his eyes.

Harry scoffed. "Please. You act completely different when you're duelling her than when you're duelling me. Or anyone else." If Ron were to act like that with Hermione...

"Of course! Different targets need different tactics."

"That's what you're calling it in 6th year, I see." Harry felt his mood lift a bit. Teasing his friend was helping. "And Brown has been seen with Katie lately." Who was quite scared of werewolves, he knew.

Ron rolled his eyes. "It's not as we're a couple. We've just had some fun. She didn't move in with me."

Harry coughed. "Anyway, more teaching, less 'duelling' today. At least during the session."

His improved mood was ruined again as soon as he saw Remus and Sirius arrive though - his godfather looked much too serious to be alright. Which meant, seeing as Harry himself had no real trouble, Remus was not doing well.

And Harry had no idea how he could help the man.

*****​

Ron Weasley kept glancing at Pansy, at Parkinson, while Remus explained about the best ways to deal with werewolves. He could understand why Harry thought he was flirting. Somewhat. The Slytherin witch was cute, kind of. When she wasn't sneering. And she had been brave during the attack on the Express, everyone said that. But she also had been Malfoy's girlfriend for years. Which meant she had either terrible taste, or no brains, or both. And she was a Slytherin. On the other hand, she had dumped the idiot. Eventually.

Duelling her was fun though. She wasn't quite as good as Hermione, but she knew how to fight. And she didn't try to flirt with him - she took training seriously. It still was fun though.

The witch started to look around, and their eyes met. She seemed surprised for a moment. Then she grinned, before looking away and paying rapt attention to Remus, as if she was one of the idiot girls who thought he was so romantic because they believed he was hunting the werewolves who killed his family each full moon.

Ron wondered, while Remus went over things he already knew, if he should ask the witch out. Just to mess with Harry. He wouldn't have to feel guilty about using the girl either - they were in sixth year, after all, and such things were expected. Hermione would not approve, of course. She would lecture him. Maybe - the girl was awfully busy with Dumbledore, when she wasn't studying, training, or sleeping with Harry.

And yet he hesitated. It was one thing to sleep with Lavender. Both of them knew it wasn't serious, and they were not just both Gryffindors, but also close friends to the Patils. Or had been. But to do the same with Parkinson? He couldn't say why, but he knew that was different.

And he'd duel her again, Harry's comments be damned. It was fun.

*****​

While the students started to filter out of the room, the lesson ending, Pansy Parkinson thought Ron Weasley was acting weird. First he glanced at her, then he ignored her. If he wasn't sleeping with Brown and they were not in sixth year, and a Gryffindor, she'd thought he had a crush on her and was simply shy.

In any case, the lesson - or session - had been quite informative. They learned several ways to battle werewolves. Professor Lupin was an expert in that area, and it showed. Though Pansy was not really certain if she truly believed that the mild-mannered man hunted werewolves each month. Though he had been a Gryffindor as well, and such actions would fit the mould.

But with all the werewolf drills, she hadn't managed to duel Weasley, and to her surprise, realized she had been looking forward to it more than to learning how to deal with werewolves. She frowned. She wasn't about to let some werewolves keep her from what she wanted. Instead of following the rest of her house out of the room, she made a beeline towards Weasley.

"We haven't duelled yet today," she told him right away. Not the best display of manners, but acceptable given their surroundings.

His eyes lit up, and whatever puzzlement she had seen in his eyes before vanished. "Indeed, we haven't, have we?" he answered while he drew his wand and waved to the dueling platform in the middle of the room.

Pansy smiled at him, and nodded, taking the lead. Potter mumbled "Not again!", and his retainer gave her a look that probably should have been intimidating, but Pansy didn't care. Life was too short to worry about everyone and their opinion, and she had a duel to win.

They waited until all of the students but Potter's friends, and of course Greg, had filed out. Or would have, if Greengrass and Tracey hadn't decided to stay as well. Pansy licked her lips in anticipation. She had been thinking about a few ways to pull one over on the Gryffindor.

Potter and his mistress were whispering, until Weasley and Pansy had taken up their positions. Then they quieted down. Lovegood, unsurprisingly, had to be elbowed by Antar to stop commenting on 'Nargles', and Greengrass… was sulking after her latest proposal for a threesome had been refused. Potter had become rather skilled at that, even though his lover still looked like she wanted to transfigure Greengrass into a toad each time the blonde twit made a pass at them.

Then Potter stepped forward. "Bow!"

Pansy smiled - a formal duel! Even better! They bowed.

"Wands ready!"

Her wand rose into the 'guard' position. She grinned at her opponent, and was once again matched.

"Start!"

At once Pansy conjured a wall in front of her, not to protect her, but to shield her from view. She moved to the side and managed to cast a Shield Charm and a Disillusionment Charm before the wall was reduced to cinders and dust by two Reductor Curses from Weasley. Still, she should have enough time to…

"Homenum Revelio!"

She felt more than saw herself become visible again, but she was already casting. If Weasley had taken the time to reduce her wall, he couldn't have… he could! Her stunner splashed harmlessly against his shield. In response, she was hit with a Disarming Charm that almost pushed her off her feet despite her own Shielding Charm.

Pansy shrieked as if she was scared, and mumbled "Serpensortia", conjuring a snake behind Weasley. If she could fool him… he banished the rubble of her own wall at her, and he shield shattered under the impact.

She retaliated with another stunner, but he dodged it - and he spotted her snake before it had reached him! A Cutting Curse split it in twain, but left him open for another spell. Finally, his shield went down, and she dodged his own stunner… only to suddenly slip on a patch of ice that hadn't been there before and fall off the dueling platform, on the stone floor. Hard. Then his next stunner hit.

When she was woken, she hurt much less than expected. Someone - Granger probably - had treated her bruises. Weasley offered her his hand to help get up, and she took it.

"Technically, Parkinson won, since Ron cast at her when she was already outside the ring, which in a formal duel is an immediate disqualification, if done so unprovoked," Granger said. Potter agreed with his future concubine, but Pansy simply shook her head while she looked at Weasley. She knew that their duels wouldn't be decided by technicalities.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort rose from his bed, taking care not to wake up his lover, when the Snowy Owl arrived at his window, carrying the latest newspapers from Scandinavia. He dropped a few sickles in the pouch of the owl, then let her fly off again and took a look at the headlines.

They were perfect. 'British mob massacres children!' 'Werewolves burned alive in prison!' 'Britain starting to exterminate werewolves!' The pictures were beautiful pictures too. Dead children on the ground, fleeing werewolves cut down from above and behind, ragged prisoners blown up by Blasting Curses, and horribly burned corpses. All of them werewolves. He read the articles, and chuckled. Where the Daily Prophet of the day before had focused on the dead guards and a possible plot by the Dark Lord, the Nordic newspapers focused on dead werewolves, and speculated about the government letting the mob enter the prison to kill the werewolves.

"Milord?" Bella had woken up. His lover rose from their shared bed and walked over to him, not bothering to put on any clothes.

"Good news, Bella." He handed her the newspapers. "All is going according to plan."

She glanced at them, then smiled, before her face fell. "I wish I could have helped you."

He shook his head as he lifted her chin so she'd face him. "You are the only one I can trust, my love. With my secrets, and my life." She was the last of his inner circle. The last of his old comrades. Brave, powerful, and utterly devoted. She was irreplaceable.

She would stand at his side once he ruled Britain. His Bella.

He wiped the tears from her eyes and kissed her while he guided her back to his bed.

*****​

Aberforth Dumbledore felt like cursing his brother when he glanced at the headlines of the newspapers sold in Oslo. Couldn't he keep his Ministry under control? How could a mob from Diagon Alley's flotsam storm a prison? Had the Ministry workers forgotten to guard and ward the place?

If Greyback was still alive and the news of his demise not true, then his mission just became far more difficult. Judging by the comments he overheard from passersby reading the newspapers, they were ready to form a lynch mob. At least he wasn't known as a British wizard - he was traveling incognito due to the results of his first visit, decades ago. With his beard and hair dyed, he looked younger, or so he thought. He could only hope there were no other British around; the locals' blood was up.

At the next corner, a wizard who was literally frothing at the mouth, gesturing wildly and shouting about the need to 'save our brethren in Britain from certain death' - and many seemed to agree with the sentiment. Hopefully, most of that was mere bluster, and not an actual willingness to travel and fight in Britain's civil war.

Though Aberforth knew from personal experience just how prone to violence Scandinavian werewolves were. And everyone knew how much they hated the rest of Magical Europe for considering werewolves dark creatures. And so did their part to keep the stereotype alive.

And since the idiots back home had decided to let a bunch of 'respected citizens' burn werewolves alive, the Dark Lord would have an easy time recruiting them for his ranks. He shook his head and made his way to the public floos. He needed to know if Greyback was actually dead. And if there were more agents of the Dark Lord left. Greyback hadn't been known for traveling without a pack, after all.

An hour and a few galleons later, he was standing in a small, old village surrounded by forests. The central longhouse, meeting spot for the community, was in ruins - a result of the fight between Greyback and 'British agents', or so he had heard in Oslo. The wooden statues depicting the gods supposedly watching over the communities were still or again standing, not that the gods had done a good job.

A group of locals was watching him, openly and with suspicion in their eyes. Understandable, given that apparently two foreign witches had broken hospitality and attacked Greyback. Though of course, that was simply what he had heard.

He started towards the ruins, which caused the group of 'observers' to to cut him off and stop him. He let them - for now.

"Hey! What do you want here?" the apparent leader, clad in traditional Scandinavian clothes, said.

"I've heard two witches caused this," Aberforth said, waving at the ruins. "I believe they are fugitives with a bounty on their head."

"You're a bounty hunter?" The man asked, sneering.

For a moment, Aberforth was back in 1962, when he had visited the country for the first and until this visit last time. For all their claims of worshipping some nebulous 'hunt', they hadn't taken well to him chasing one of Grindelwald's old Lieutenants through the Nordic country. And he hadn't been patient enough to avoid needless fights. It had been a rather bloody affair.

That had been decades ago though. Aberforth had changed since then, even if the culture in Scandinavia hadn't. He nodded. "I'm under contract."

The men - probably all werewolves, they looked rather uncouth, although all Scandinavians looked like that in his opinion - tensed up. The leader said, sneering: "One of them is already dead. The other's fled. We won't tolerate anyone causing trouble, do you understand?"

The old wizard nodded. "I'm not looking for trouble. Just looking to see if that article told the truth. I don't suppose the bodies are still around?"

"No."

Aberforth hadn't expected anything else. They would have been burned on a pyre too. "Did anyone see the witch who fled?"

The leader nodded. "Many did."

The British wizard pulled out a picture of Caldwell and Umbridge. "Did they look like this?"

All three peered at it, then discussed something in their native language, before one of them spoke up in English. "Yes, they did."

"And the younger witch escaped?"

"She bled, but the other witch sacrificed herself to stop us, after killing Greyback."

Aberforth's opinion of the village sunk even lower. Umbridge and Caldwell were not exactly powerful witches. "I see."

"She apparated away," the leader added, as if to excuse their failure.

The third, who had been silent so far, suddenly spoke. "You're not British, are you?"

"No." Aberforth said and glared at the man. "I'm from Greece."

"But you're working for the British. Who else would have put a bounty on the two witches?"

He didn't like the turn this talk had taken. "Would that be a problem?"

"Hell, yes! We hate the murdering British bastards!"

"Child killer!"

"Hang him from the sacred tree!"

As Wands were drawn and Aberforth was about to teach the three a lasting lesson, he still blamed his brother for this predicament.


Chapter 54: Samhain
 
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Chapter 54: Samhain
Chapter 54: Samhain

One of the three wizards charged at Aberforth Dumbledore with a yell. Definitely a werewolf, the old wizard thought, so close to the Full Moon he would have trouble thinking like a wizard instead of a beast. The other two tried to flank him, one on each side. They were used to fighting together, he realised, while he conjured a wall in front of him that blocked both the werewolf's charge and the spells from the other two.

He used the time that had won him to disillusion himself and move to his right. Not many wands expected an outnumbered opponent to move towards them, in his experience. He was just at the edge of the wall when the closest of his opponents went over it.

That was a surprise, but a welcome one. While the werewolf seemed to sniff the air, Aberforth cast a Piercing Curse to shatter his shield, and a Disarming Charm to take away the man's wand. The werewolf was screaming with rage when Aberforth vanished the ground under him, sending him falling into a pit, then closed the hole with with a conjured rock.

Right then a number of curses flew at him though - his own casting had given away his position, and the one wizard on his right had not hesitated. The other would clear the corner of the wall soon as well.

He dodged two spells, but a third hit him, causing the protections on his robe to flare up, spoiling his attempt to move out of the man's line of fire while remaining invisible. And the other was starting to cast as well now. Still, not particularly well-aimed, even considering his disillusion spells. He threw a Blasting Curse at the ground in front of the closer enemy and banished the debris at the man with a flick of his wrist, shattering the man's now weakened shield and sending him reeling.

Sadly, that had allowed the other one to hit him, and his robe's enchantments were weakened further. With the other villagers getting alerted by the sound of combat, Aberforth was rapidly running out of time - Nordic villages were almost always ready to repel raiders, given their frequent feuds. No doubt the result of letting werewolves run them.

The old wizard started to run, causing the next spells to miss widely, and cast a pair of Cutting Curses at the wizard still staggering from the debris that had battered him. One was stopped by the robe, the other cut him across the chest. He collapsed while blood splattered on the ground.

That distracted the last opponent enough so Aberforth could dispatch him with a series of Bludgeoning Curses while he was trying to reach his friend. The man was thrown into the still standing wall, then slid down in a broken heap.

The fight hadn't taken long, but it had caught the attention of the rest of the villagers, who were rushing out of their homes with wands ready and shields up. They had a better response time than some Hit-Wizards back home, Aberforth thought. And there were too many for him to deal with. Not that he needed to deal with them in the first place. After this, he couldn't expect the locals to talk to him anymore, and fighting more wouldn't serve any point. Still invisible, he started to run towards the edge of the village.

He heard barking dogs and shouts he didn't understand, but which probably meant they were trying to find him. They didn't spot or stop him though, not before he reached the edge of their wards and apparated away.

*****​

He smiled at the beast chained to the altar. She had been easy prey, a werewolf on the run, close to the full moon. No one would miss her. Not his own werewolves, in any case. The Ministry was searching for her, but they'd find her… later.

Unlike other sacrifices, she wasn't struggling, but sobbing into the gag. Tears were running down her cheeks, and he saw his lover bend down and wipe them off with a smile before caressing her hair mockingly. He smiled indulgently. His Bella had earned this, she had been so eager and grateful to help him with this part.

The moon was rising, and the animal was trembling. Bellatrix ran her wand over the beast's robe, leaving small cuts. It wouldn't do to destroy all hints to her origin, after all. Then the moon rose above the hill, and the bound beast started to transform.

He placed the orb he had prepared, then drew the knife and waited. It wouldn't be long, now, until the sacrifice was ready.

Harry Potter was panting, feeling nauseous. Despite all the rituals he had now experienced, it still sickened him to see through Voldemort's eyes, feel as if he was that monster, as if he was murdering a helpless girl. Hermione handed him a wet towel, which he rubbed over his face. Cleaning Charms only went so far in such a situation.

"Bad one?"

He winced. "It was a girl." The death of a girl shouldn't hit him harder than the death of a man, but it did. "And he had a brighter globe this time."

He regretted his words when he saw his girlfriend flinch. She hadn't finished her own ritual yet, and would feel as if she was failing him. Even though she and Dumbledore were working as hard as they could, and no one could have done it any better. But that was Hermione.

He got up from his bed, where he had waited for the ritual to start. "I'd better get the memory to Dumbledore."

"And get seen by the other students," the witch added.

He nodded. The students hadn't missed his angry reaction to the werewolf scare, and some rumors had started, that he was angry because he was a werewolf himself. Being seen under the full moon, out and about, would counter that. He looked at his girlfriend. "Shouldn't you mess up your hair some? So they think we've been shagging right now?"

Chuckling, she shook her head. "No. On the contrary, by appearing perfectly styled, we'll make them think we were shagging, but took the time to clean up again."

"That sounds very Slytherin to me."

Hermione shrugged. "It's how things work." She pointed her wand at him, and he could feel his own hair style itself. She cocked her head to the side, then nodded. "Perfect!" she declared, bending forward to kiss him.

It had been meant as a chaste kiss, Harry knew, but he grabbed her instead, and pulled her close for a passionate kiss. He needed to, after his vision he still was all riled up. By the time they separated, Hermione needed a new Hairstyling Charm.

*****​

"Are we werewolf experts now?" Kenneth Fenbrick complained while he walked on a rather narrow path through a forest. "Meet a werewolf hunter in the woods, and try to save a bunch of prisoners from a fire, and suddenly you're an expert on lycanthropy?"

"We had a rather prominent role in the Werwolf Holding Centre Massacre," Bertha Limmington pointed out. She wasn't breathing hard, but her face had a bit more color than usual.

"A far too prominent role," Kenneth grumbled. He was a veteran Auror, he had seen a lot of gruesome scenes, but the aftermath of that massacre… children had died, both in the cells, and on the ground outside. As horrible as the thought of kids burning to death was, there hadn't been anything left in the cells. But those struck by stray curses - Kenneth hoped they had been stray curses, at least - had been a terrible sight. Some had been cut, bleeding to death, others though… if Kenneth ever found out who had used the Entrail-Expelling Curse on a little girl… He clenched his jaws. Loyalty to your comrades only went so far. It had probably been a Hit-Wizard anyway.

His partner patted his shoulder, and he relaxed some, smiling at her. She hadn't taken that incident well either, though she could hide her emotions better. Not from him though.

"So, what do we have?" he asked.

"According to the Obliviator Squad that dealt with the muggle who discovered it, it's a dead werewolf, eviscerated and strung up in the forest," Bertha said.

Kenneth winced at the description. That sounded nasty.

They passed a mild muggle-repelling ward, and entered a clearing, and Kenneth knew he had been right. The dead werewolf had been hung from an Oak tree, and its guts had been strung over the branches in a sick display of gore and brutality. The scavengers had already started on the corpse. He shook his head "Merlin's balls!"

Bertha was already working, her wand waving. "No sign of a ritual here - this wasn't a sacrifice. Or it wasn't sacrificed here."

"She," Kenneth said, pointing up. He spotted a brown patch, and walked over to it. A flick of his wand, and the patch was floating in front of him. "I've found the remains of a robe. Looks like it was cut off her."

"That would mean she was captured before she transformed," Bertha deduced.

"Yes. No self-defense gone too far here." Kenneth wasn't quite certain the Wizengamot would agree with him - people had a lot of leeway in dealing with dangerous creatures, after all. "Vigilantes?"

"That cannot be excluded as a possibility," Bertha said. She was casting spell after spell at the corpse and the tree.

"Though why would they transport her to Wales to kill her? To throw us off their trail?" Kenneth asked out loud.

"There could be a religious motive too. Scandinavians were said to sacrifice people by hanging them from sacred trees," his partner explained.

"Do they still do that?" Kenneth didn't want to know what kind of sick country allowed such dark magic.

"The government denies such practices, but I think there are enough independent sources to assume the practice either never died, or was revived after the Statute of Secrecy, when the Old Norse gods were revered again."

"Well, seeing how they adore werewolves in Scandinavia, I doubt they'd sacrifice one of their own," Kenneth said. "It would kind of run counter to their ideology of offering sanctuary to all werewolves…" he trailed off. "Do you think…?"

"Yes. It's quite possible that this was done by unscrupulous werewolves to rile up more support for them. Or by the Dark Lord."

"Well, I think it's time to call in an expert. Or a suspect," Kenneth said. After all, they had met that wizard in similar woods a month ago, hunting werewolves. And according to Sarah Macmillan, who had a son at Hogwarts, the man had been so angry at the news of werewolves escaping from the Holding Centre after the attack, he had stormed out of the Great Hall.

*****​

Remus Lupin stared at the letter. The DMLE required his help with a case? He wasn't an Auror, he was a teacher! There was… Merlin's balls! It had to be a werewolf case, and due to the Headmaster's cover story, they thought he was an expert. They weren't wrong, of course, he was an expert on werewolves - though not for the reason the Ministry believed.

"Trouble?" Sirius's asked in a carefully neutral tone. His friend had been visiting so often, he might as well have stayed the night.

"The DMLE wants me to consult with them for a case." Remus handed him the letter.

Sirius read it, and frowned. "That's not about the Holding Centre Massacre, is it?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so. They don't really need an expert on werewolves to solve that case." He scoffed with familiar bitterness. "Anyone experienced in butchering children would do."

"That's the British judicial system for you," Sirius said. "Locking up innocents without trial and exposing them to monsters is how things are done here."

"I'm sorry." Remus hadn't forgotten, not really, that his friend had spent more than a decade in Azkaban, but it hadn't been on his mind when he had been enraged about the massacre.

"Don't be. It's not your fault."

Remus knew Sirius didn't mean just his own incarceration, but he nodded anyway. "I just feel guilty for…"

"Not suffering like them? Not being hunted or dead for no fault of your own?"

"Yes." Remus snarled.

"I'd tell you you shouldn't, but I'd be a hypocrite," Sirius said.

Remus blinked. "What are you feeling guilty for?"

"Being able to marry the woman I love."

"Oh." Remus didn't know what to say to that. He hadn't known what to say to James either.

"It's funny in a sad way, you know?" Sirius sighed. "We're fighting against a Dark Lord who sends his thugs to kill children and wipe out families, who sacrifices people in rituals and to Dementors, and faced with that kind of evil, we easily forget our own sins and faults. Harry's the Boy-Who-Lived, Hermione's doing everything she can to fight Voldemort - and no, I don't know exactly what they and Dumbledore are up to, but it's very important - and yet everyone expects him to keep her as a mistress and marry some pureblood witch because she's a muggleborn." He sneered. "And if Umbridge had managed to push her laws through, I'd not be able to marry Valérie either because she's a veela. Sometimes I wish the whole Ministry, the whole country would burn down. At least the ashes could be used as fertiliser by the muggles."

Remus swallowed. "You sound even more radical than when we were in school." Back then, Sirius had told James to forget about Britain, and marry Lily in the muggle world, and Remus had been scandalized. This though…

"Azkaban tends to do that to you."

"And yet, the alternative is worse. If the Dark Lord wins, he'll kill Harry, Hermione, and all our friends," Remus said. Then he did a double-take. Was he defending the British Ministry now?

"We're choosing the lesser evil then," Sirius summed it up.

"Yes," Remus said.

"But once the war's over…" Sirius bared his teeth, and for a moment, Remus was staring at Padfoot in human form.

"We'll have to win first."

"We will." Sirius snorted flippantly.

Remus could agree with that. They had to win, or all the sacrifices, all the compromises, all the things they did and tolerated, would have been for nothing.

*****​

Remus Lupin stared at the corpse hanging from the tree. It wasn't the worst he had seen - that would forever be his family, slaughtered by Greyback - but it came close.

"The victim has been preliminarily identified as Emily Cropton, a fugitive from the Holding Centre." The female Auror, Limmington was her name, stated in a clinical voice as if she was talking about a dead animal. She probably believed she was talking about an animal, Remus thought.

"We haven't done an autopsy yet," her partner, Fenbrick. He looked queasy, at least.

"An autopsy of a corpse still hanging in the air would have been quite impressive, Auror. Worth at least 10 points to Gryffindor," Remus couldn't help but commenting, before he looked the corpse over. The Auror chuckled, but didn't say anything. He had a sense of humour then, unlike his partner.

Remus pulled his broom out of his expanded pocket and flew up to take a closer look. After a few minutes, his suspicions were confirmed, and he landed again.

"She wasn't killed here. She was dead already when she was placed." He kept his temper in check. She had been killed because she was a werewolf, he was certain of that. And he was still hiding his own curse.

"How do you know that?" Limmington asked. She didn't sound as if she was doubting him - but then, it was hard to tell with her.

"There are distinctive scars on her wrists and ankles. She was bound with enchanted silver chains. The cuts that opened her belly were different from the cuts that exposed her heart. And there's not enough blood." Remus shook his head.

"The heart was exposed while she was still alive, and she was drained of her blood? That sounds like a ritual," Fenbrick said.

"Do you know any rituals that need a werewolf sacrifice?" Limmington asked. This time she sounded actually interested. She had to be a Ravenclaw.

Remus shook his head. "No. I teach Defense against the Dark Arts, not rituals using them."

"So… we have a vigilante, or a group of them, using rituals." Fenbrick winced. "I guess even dark wizards don't like werewolves."

Remus could have pointed out that the Dark Lord seemed fond of them, but he held his tongue, even though it would have helped his cover.

"So… did you catch any werewolves during the full moon?" Fenbrick asked, a bit too eagerly.

"No." Remus glared at him. "With everyone hunting the fugitives, those werewolves working for the Dark Lord have gone to ground. Or left the country."

"A night wasted in the woods?" the Auror asked, as if he was sympathetic.

"Yes."

"Do you know any other hunters?"

"No. And certainly not those who'd use the Dark Arts." Remus didn't know what was worse - being thought to be a werewolf, or a dark wizard. "Is that all? I've got a school to return to."

"Yes. We'll contact you again should we need more information, Mister Lupin," Limmington said. "Thank you for your help."

Remus simply nodded, not trusting his manners.

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick waited until Lupin had apparated away before sighing. "That's one angry wizard."

"We already knew that," Bertha answered.

"We didn't know about the ritual, though," Kenneth said. "Though an autopsy would have found it."

"Once the Unspeakables did it." Bertha looked up. "We can take the corpse down now."

Kenneth waved one of the other Aurors, one junior to him, over. "Pack the corpse up and transport it back for an autopsy." Walking away with Bertha, he asked: "Do you think he was hiding something?"

"He was rather curt. More so than when we met him for the first time." His partner pulled out her notes.

"Yes. That was before the whole Holding Centre, but still." Kenneth had a feeling that he was missing something, but no idea what. "Do you think he knows whoever did that?"

"He might suspect, and not tell us."

"Dumbledore trusts him," Kenneth added. He didn't think the Headmaster would tolerate a dark wizard at Hogwarts. But someone who knew dark wizards? Aberforth Dumbledore certainly had some rather shady acquaintances.

"Are you planning to question the Chief Warlock about his staff?"

"No," Kenneth said. He wasn't stupid. "But I'll tell the boss about this. She can feel him out." Political problems were the kind of stuff Bones took care of.

Bertha nodded.

"Let's get back. I've seen enough gore for today."

Kenneth felt both relieved and annoyed. It had been days again, now, that he had been waiting for a good opportunity to talk to Bertha about them. But he certainly wouldn't do it right after watching corpses.

*****​

Hermione Granger watched as the Headmaster went over the latest equations her computer had produced. Harry's latest vision, a week ago, had shown that Voldemort had made more progress with his ritual - as far as they could tell, at least. It still wasn't finished, Dumbledore was certain of that, but the young witch couldn't help thinking that it might soon be good enough, even if still unfinished. The Dark Lord might be willing to forego perfecting his ritual, since it involved a sacrifice to pay much of its price already.

And she wasn't making much progress. Or not as much as she wanted. Her improvements had grown smaller and smaller with each cycle. If she implemented a sacrifice in the formula though… she clamped down on that thought. That would demand, ultimately, an even worse price from her. And the most fitting sacrifice for her ritual, a Dementor, couldn't be killed anyway - at least according to their lore.

She glanced over to Harry. He was writing his Transfiguration essay. She had finished hers already. And her Potions essay. A year ago, she would have been going over both a few times, altering tiny parts, rewriting single sentences. Not this year. She had far more important things to worry about, and she'd get an 'O' for them anyway as they were. And even if she didn't… it wasn't that important.

But it meant she hadn't much to do while waiting for the Headmaster to go over her notes but worry and speculate. And watch Harry work. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened, then relaxed again, turning his head to flash her a brief smile. She knew he was still torn up over the werewolves. The massacre, the sacrifice by Voldemort, the anguish Remus must be feeling - Sirius hadn't said anything, but they knew him so well, they could tell he was worried about his best friend - and the reaction of the students… none of all that was his fault, but he still felt guilty for not being able to do much about it.

That, and it was just a few weeks to Samhain. The anniversary of his parents' deaths. He hated the day.

She sighed, then pushed her chair next to Harry's, and leaned into his side, letting her head rest on his shoulder. It made writing more difficult for him, but she was certain he would not mind.

For a while, she idly watched what he wrote, Gamp's Law, nothing new. She wanted to correct him in one point, but restrained herself. He didn't like it when she tried to write his essay for him by being too detailed with her help. To distract herself, he let her thoughts wander again, and ended up back at her work. Her most important work. A sacrifice would be perfect for it, but Dementors couldn't be killed. A pity, since parts of them would be the next best thing to improve her formula. Nothing came as close to symbolising the goal of the ritual, the destruction of a soul, as a Dementor. Too bad that… she blinked. Even if they couldn't be killed…

She stood up so abruptly, Harry and Dumbledore stared at her. The young witch didn't even notice as she marched straight over to the shelves, already summoning the books she needed. It was a crazy thought, but it might just work.

*****​

Paige Caldwell stared at the door to her new hideout's cellar. It looked far too flimsy to withstand a werewolf's rage during the full moon. Even magically reinforced, it might not be enough. And if she got out of the cellar, the large windows of the muggle vacation home overlooking a fjord would not stop her either. Nor would the walls, she realised. Her last hideout had been built far sturdier, and she had almost broken out in her rage. In fact, she had damaged the house so extensively, she had had to leave since muggles had noticed before she had managed to repair it.

She rubbed her arm, and winced. She hadn't been fully healed from the wounds Greyback had inflicted on her when she had transformed without wolfsbane, and not only had they got worse again, but she had acquired a fair share of new ones. She couldn't keep doing this. She needed wolfsbane.

But she couldn't just buy some. She was a wanted witch, after Greyback's death. Paige paced in the living room of the house. She could disguise herself, but buying that potion would mark her as a werewolf, and she knew too many would ask who she was, even if only in an attempt to recruit her. She needed someone to buy wolfsbane for her. Another werewolf, so it wouldn't look suspicious. Rich enough to buy a decent supply for her - at least a dozen vials. And weak enough to be easily controlled by an Imperius.

Not an easy order, not not impossible either. But first, she needed to heal up - bleeding wounds would attract far too much attention.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore was smiling politely at the wizards and witches he met on the way to Amelia's office, even though he didn't feel like smiling at all. It wasn't the fault of those Ministry workers though. It was his own, for failing to convince Cornelius and Amelia. So many were dead, burned alive, slaughtered with spells, hunted like animals.

And so many werewolves were now ready to join the Dark Lord, to avenge those who had been killed. Both in Britain, and abroad. Tom's plan had worked out perfectly. Scandinavia was even petitioning the ICW to take action. A hopeless but still powerful gesture, given the ICW's standing policy towards intervention in internal affairs of its members.

He entered the office of the Head of the DMLE. "Good morning, Amelia."

"Good morning Albus. Are you here to tell me you told me so?" Amelia narrowed her eyes at him, then waved at a chair. "Have a seat."

He had more or less expected that. Amelia was always more comfortable taking the initiative. He sat down. "I do not think that would help matters."

"No it wouldn't," she pressed out. "So, why are you here?"

"To discuss our current situation. We have a rather urgent problem." A problem he had warned her about.

"Nordic werewolves?"

"Yes. Scandinavia is up in wands about the tragedy at the Holding Centre. The Dark Lord will have an easy time recruiting werewolves, both British and foreign, to his banner."

"Can your friends do something about the recruiters working there?" Amelia asked. "Those who did something about the Lestranges."

"I have informed them, but even if the Dark Lord's envoys are dealt with, we can expect Scandinavians to attack Britain. Individuals, of course," he added, before Amelia could say anything, "acting without knowledge or approval from their government."

Amelia scoffed. "As if anyone would believe that, with half their government made up of werewolves."

"It will be enough for the ICW. Especially after Scandinavia already denounced us there." Albus knew that institution very well.

"Merlin's arse!" Amelia cursed, but she sounded resigned more than angry. "Dealing with them will bind a lot of personnel."

"Which the Dark Lord will do his best to exploit," the Headmaster said. "And there's still the issue with domestic werewolves."

"There shouldn't be too many of them left." When she saw his expression, she added: "I'm just stating a fact. As tragic as the events were, they did reduce the number of werewolves in Britain."

"And drove the survivors into the ranks of the Dark Lord." Albus stared at Amelia. "And given the widely publicised hunt for them, I fear we have to expect that at least some of the Scandinavians entering Britain will be targeting the civilian population for revenge."

Amelia closed her eyes for a moment, muttering another curse under her breath. "Most of them are living in heavily warded homes now, and we're already guarding Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. The problem is those joining or coordinating with the Dark Lord."

"There will be a number of them, and they will be able to recruit more from their homes. I will be trying to influence the ICW to pressure Scandinavia, and Cornelius will feel out the other European Countries to see if they might be willing to take a stance against werewolves invading us - they could be next, after all - but I am not that optimistic of our chances of success." Albus spread his hands. "Isolationism is very common, after all."

"I know."

"And a change of policy would also hamper the efforts of our own 'individual wands' acting without knowledge or approval of the Ministry in foreign countries," Albus pointed out.

"That's a small price to pay for more international support," Amelia stated. Albus knew she wouldn't mind if vigilante actions were curbed. She was a bit too inflexible in that area.

"The real problem will be the nights of the full moon. Many werewolves running free will force us to deploy, which will make us both vulnerable and spread out."

Amelia rubbed her forehead. "I'll have Scrimgeour go over the contingency plans."

"That is a good idea." Albus looked at his watch. "I don't want to keep you from your work any longer."

"Speaking of work, Albus. How well do you know Remus Lupin?"

"He's the best Defense teacher Hogwarts has had in decades," Albus stated. He was wary though - what did Amelia want? Had the cover story he had arranged been disproven?

"He's hunting werewolves during the full moon, isn't he?"

"He's known for that, yes," Albus said carefully.

"Do you think he could be involved in the latest werewolf killing? My Aurors say it was done in a dark ritual." Amelia stared at him intently.

Albus almost smiled. "I can assure you that he was not involved in that. He abhors dark rituals." Before Amelia could ask another question, or voice her doubt, he added: "While it is not proof that would hold up in court, I can assure you that I am absolutely certain he was not responsible for this crime."

"Ah." Amelia nodded. She'd think Remus had been working for, or even with Albus during the full moon.

"If that is all…?"

"Do you think he might know or suspect those who did it?"

Albus shook his head. "He was, with the exception of his closest friends, always a loner, even when he was a student of mine. He wouldn't know other hunters."

Amelia nodded. "That is all then. I hope you'll have a better day than I'm having."

"Thank you, Amelia. I wish you a good day as well."

Albus smiled, rose, and left the office. He'd have to talk to Remus, and find out what had happened.

*****​

Aberforth Dumbledore studied the building in Magical Oslo. It was the biggest Potions shop in the city, and in a real building too, not just in a tent or a stall. Though that was to be expected; brewing needed a sturdy environment, as did selling potions that could react badly should they mix. One mistake in a tent could lead to losing the tent and everything inside. Including the brewer.

He couldn't spot specialised wards though - just the standard ones to keep the shop safe. Disguised as a Bulgarian wizard and with his beard dyed, he hadn't drawn much attention from the passersby. If he had been recognised as a British wizard though… there was a crowd on the plaza in front of the seat of the government, and the wizards and witches were shouting threats and slurs against Britain. The mood was so aggressive - no wonder, of course, with so many werewolves around - Aberforth was certain any British visitor would have been killed by the mob. Someone with an Amplifying Charm was shouting about 'avenging our brothers and sisters in Britain, visiting tenfold upon those murderers what sorrow they had brought upon families', and similar lines. Those listening to him were repeating the lines, their shouts drowning out his own.

Aberforth shook his head. That was an Erumpent Horn in a building with a poltergeist, and Albus was at fault. He turned around and entered the potions shop. The clerk, a young witch, smiled at him politely, though without any warmth. "Welcome to Snorre's Potions, the best potions in Oslo. How may I help you?"

Aberforth looked around, spotting the Wolfsbane vials easily. Of course, being a werewolf was not a stigma here, so the potion would not be sold under the counter, but openly. "I need a potion of Dreamless Sleep."

While the girl turned around to fetch the potion, he drew his wand and put tracking charms on the Wolfsbane vials.

"Here, sir." The girl put a stoppered vial on the counter.

Aberforth nodded, and pulled out his purse while the girl recorded the sale with her wand on a roll of parchment. Given the threat of getting addicted to that potion, no one should suspect him if he returned each day to buy another one, instead of buying in bulk. He'd have to check daily if anyone unexpected had bought wolfsbane in bulk.

Then the tracking charms would lead him to Caldwell.

*****​

Ron Weasley watched Parkinson at her table in the Library. The room's enchantments prevented him from hearing what she was saying, but she seemed annoyed with Greengrass. Not as annoyed as Hermione and Harry had been, of course, after the girl had knocked on their room late at night, dressed in what Hermione had described as 'a little bit of illusionary silk'.

At least, judging by the blonde's expression, she might have finally understood that Harry and Hermione were not shy or wanting her to make a bigger effort, but not interested. Then the Slytherin turned her head to stare at Harry, again - and at Hermione, if he had observed correctly, and Ron just knew the girl hadn't given up yet. Greengrass was really abusing the 'can't hex people for politely asking to have sex with you' rule, at least in his opinion. But as Hermione had explained to him - reluctantly, he was certain - if you allowed people to answer propositions with hexes just because you disliked someone, then you ran counter to the very purpose of the Year of Discovery, which was 'the free exploration of your sexuality in a safe and consensual environment', as she had put it.

He saw the girl suddenly jump up and rub her rear, and pout at Pansy, Parkinson, who was putting her wand down again. That wasn't against the rules, of course. Well, it was, but it wasn't a serious infraction. Most students wouldn't bother with reporting a stinging hex, to avoid getting shamed for wearing robes that couldn't even stop such a weak spell.

Oh. Parkinson was standing now as well, and from her expression, she was reading Greengrass the riot act. The last time Ron had seen a witch as furious in the library had been when the Ravenclaws had checked out all the books Hermione had wanted to read. Harry had managed to calm her down, fortunately.

Still, he wondered what Pansy was so angry about. She couldn't be jealous, Greengrass had no chance with Harry or Hermione, and everyone but the blonde knew it. He hoped Parkinson wasn't jealous. It wouldn't fit her, he told himself.

*****​

"Greengrass!"

"Daphne," the twit corrected Pansy Parkinson. "I told you, call me Daphne."

"Daphne! Why the hell did I hit you with a stinging hex?"

"I don't know! I was just looking around, and you hexed me!"

"You were staring at Potter and mumbling something distracting. But that is not the point. The point is, why did my hex reach you, and wasn't stopped by your robe's protection?" Skimpy as it was, the Greengrass family wasn't poor, and should have bought top of the line protections for their eldest daughter.

"Oh, I'm not wearing my normal robes. I'm wearing conjured ones." Greengrass smiled as if that was anything to be proud of.

"And why would you… Merlin, is this your next scheme? You plan to have the robe vanish when you're next to Potter?" Pansy stared at her fellow Slytherin witch.

"You make it sound as if it was a bad plan!"

"It is a bad plan! And a security risk! Our country is at war, Daphne, at war with monsters who want to kill us! That means you need to be ready to defend yourself. Not wearing your robe… Merlin! Why don't you leave your wand in your room as well?" Pansy couldn't understand the other witch.

Daphne was hunching her shoulders now. "I just wanted… it's not fair! I just want to have one night with Potter! I've tried everything but polyjuice!"

Pansy rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Daphne, Potter's not sleeping with anyone but Granger. Everyone knows that now. He isn't playing hard to get, or being very discerning, he's not looking for an orgy, he's in love with Granger."

Daphne pushed her chin forward, but… were those tears in her eyes? Pansy sighed, feeling guilty for busting the blonde's illusions. Slightly only, though. "I'm sorry, but it had to be said."

Davis nodded. "If you don't move on, you'll miss out on the entire year."

The witch sat down again, and stared at the floor. "It's not fair." She wiped her eyes. "All the best wizards are taken. Potter. Weasley. Longbottom..."

Pansy interrupted her before she could continue. "What about Weasley?"

Why were the others now staring at her, like they had been staring at Greengrass?

*****​

It had taken him a week, the purchase of seven unused potions of Dreamless Sleep he was billing Albus for, half a dozen compulsion charms and dozens of tracking charms, but Aberforth had finally found a trace of Caldwell. A local had bought a dozen wolfsbane potions, without being a werewolf himself. That alone wouldn't have been too suspicious; twice Aberforth had tracked ten or more wolfsbane vials, only to find out it had been a villager buying for all the werewolf neighbours.

This time though… he wasn't looking at a magical village, but a muggle vacation home. No wards, no big garden, no walls around it, no forest nearby to run around in… no werewolf in Scandinavia would live voluntarily in such a home. Unless they had no choice, or were in hiding. Like Caldwell.

Aberforth studied the house. Wooden walls, thin and with large windows. It was more a hut, or maybe a cottage, in his opinion. It was no real obstacle for him. Shaking his head, he disillusioned himself and mounted his broom. As soon as he was done here he could go and hunt down Voldemort's agents. He pointed his wand at the hut and cast an anti-apparition jinx, followed by an anti-portkey jinx.

Caldwell would not escape now.

*****​

Paige Caldwell was feeling better than she had ever since she had set foot on Scandinavia. Her plan had worked perfectly. She had imperiused a local idiot, who had bought a dozen vials of Wolfsbane for her. She was set for a year now. She had even managed to acquire a newspaper as well - though she wished she hadn't. The British were hunting her kind down mercilessly, burning their prisoners alive as if they were witch-hunters. Even children were not spared. She shuddered. Even if the Dark Lord wanted her dead, she hoped he'd win against the Ministry, if only for the sake of those werewolves still alive in Britain. No matter what the Dark Lord did, it couldn't be as bad as what was happening right now.

At least she was safe now. If she stuck to muggle vacation homes, and left no traces, no one would find her. The muggles would be looking for a muggle thief - but not really hard, if she didn't do anything worse than stealing food and some money. Things were, finally, looking up, after Umbridge's death.

She snorted. She still couldn't believe that that witch had sacrificed herself for her. Life debts were scary. If she ever owed one…

The front door exploding into a small cloud of wooden splinters, narrowingly missing her and wrecking the kitchen door, interrupted her thoughts. That had been a Blasting Curse! She tried to apparate away, but failed. She was trapped!

Growling, she rushed to the back door, then stopped and headed to the next window. She didn't know how she had been found, but she knew that she had to escape or she'd be killed. There was no time to gather the vials, or anything else. Her life was on the line.

"Reducto!"

A Blasting Curse of her own blew the window apart, and she jumped out, landing in a crouch and diving to the side at once. The spot she had landed on erupted right when she left, showering her with clumps of Earth and small rocks. They were in the air!

"Protego!"

She rolled on her back, then her front again. She hadn't seen anyone in the sky. But they were there, she knew that. Jumping up, she started to sprint for the street, where the anti-apparition jinxes couldn't cover everything!

She didn't make it. She hadn't even cleared half the distance to the street when the area around her blew up. Her shield was shattered at once, and the spells on her robes flared when stone and earth hit her while she was still in the air. She crashed to the ground, her breath knocked out of her for a second.

Her attackers didn't need any longer. Before she could react, she was bound by magic and her wand was flying away, upwards.

Several spells were cast on her, half of them she didn't know at all, the rest she could only guess. She couldn't do anything, couldn't even talk, much less move her body. Her assailant was invisible, she realised, and flying.

Next to her, she saw an invisibility cloak being thrown back. An old Bulgarian or Romanian wizard revealed himself. At least his robes looked like they came from that region. His accent though… pure Britain. A shiver ran down her spine. If that was a minion of the Dark Lord…

The man stepped up to her, and pointed a wand at her.

"Legilimens!"

*****​

Aberforth Dumbledore frowned as he sifted through the mind and memories of the werewolf. Caldwell didn't know any secrets Albus hadn't already told him, or suspected. She wasn't on the run from the Dark Lord because she knew too much, but because she had failed him. She knew about the plan to curse Wizengamot members with lycanthropy, but nothing more. Even her knowledge about safe houses was outdated now.

In short, she was useless. All that time, wasted on a simple thug. Umbridge would have known more secrets, at least, but she was dead. Had sacrificed herself for this… Death Eater. Not a marked one, though. But - he dug a bit deeper - she had been willing enough, even eager, to do the Dark Lord's bidding. Eager to kill. Eager to spread her curse. She deserved death.

He stepped back and pointed his wand at her. A Cutting Curse would do it. Her eyes were wide, the only parts of her body she could use, and stared at him. Like her victims had, he imagined, when she had been about to bite them.

And yet he hesitated to end her life. As much as he hated to admit it, she wasn't that different from some of his friends. Scorned by society, an outcast in her own country, her former life destroyed by circumstances out of her control or responsibility… if he killed her, what would that say about himself? And about his friends? She wasn't about to rejoin the Dark Lord. She couldn't - Voldemort wanted her dead.

With a muttered curse, he lowered his wands and stepped closer. "I know you can hear me just fine, girl." Her eyes started to dart around. "I'm Aberforth Dumbledore. She stared at him, and he chuckled. "You've heard of me, then. Some older mercenary, maybe? It doesn't matter I guess. I should kill you for what you've done. I won't, though. Not unless you hurt or kill anyone else. In that case, I'll come for you, I will find you, and I will kill you. Slowly, painfully. This is your one and only chance to save yourself."

He looked around. "It won't be long until the local Obliviators arrive to check on the disturbance. I wasn't exactly subtle." He threw her wand towards the house, far enough so she couldn't grab it and attack him, then ended the curse holding her. He didn't wait for her to speak and apparated away as soon as he was ready.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort looked at the globe in his palm. It shone with a light of its own, but it was rather dim compared to the others he had created during the last rituals, especially the one in September. It lasted far longer though, but that was of no consequence to him. He needed power, and a muggle werewolf obviously couldn't deliver as today had proven.

He wouldn't waste the globe though. Even relatively weak as it was, compared to the full potential of the ritual, it was still valuable. Steinberg might be able to finally finish his project with that. It was past time already - Voldemort needed those wands for his plan.

Frowning, he reminded himself that he also needed the Werewolves. Under his command, to be exact, not doing whatever they want in Britain. So far he had not managed to recruit too many of the werewolves heading to Britain from Scandinavia. Too many of the beasts simply sneaked on the island and looked for trouble. Well, as soon as his agents sorted their troubles out, this should change.

And until then those werewolves and their friends were doing their part to keep London unstable, feeding the wish of the people of a strong leader. It would facilitate his takeover after he had dealt with the last of his enemies.

*****​

Harry Potter didn't like Samhain. He had never liked it. His parents had been killed on that day. But he'd not miss the ceremony honouring Dis Pater, the God of the Underworld, and those who had died this year.

As every Samhain, all of the Ghosts in Hogwarts had gathered in the Great Hall, on the special table for them, where food would rot in seconds so they could partake of the meal. Once the meal started, at least. It wasn't time yet,

Dumbledore rose from his seat, clapping his hands together. The Great Hall fell silent as the students and teachers stood up as well. The lights dimmed, until the Hall was shrouded in Darkness. Then the Headmaster spoke, in a sombre, grave tone.

"Dis Pater. Guardian of the Afterlife. Ruler of the Underworld. We implore you: Guide those souls who left us this year. Show them the way on their last journey. Judge them with mercy."

Dumbledore raised his wand and cut the palm of his left hand. Blood started drip from the wound but vanished in shadows before it hit the ground. Harry followed the old wizard's example, cutting his own palm with his wand, hissing at the brief pain. His blood too, disappeared before it touched the stone floor, and he felt suddenly cold.

The Headmaster started to list the names of the students and staff who had died the past year. The were far too many, several dozens, and each name prompted a sob or muttering from among the students. Harry didn't know how long he stood there, bleeding, but he didn't feel tired, or weak, but numb when Dumbledore read the last name. They said Dis Pater punished murderers. Harry hoped that was true. There were a lot of murderers in Britain that needed to be punished.

When the light went on again, he sat down, his hand - fully healed without a spell - seeking Hermione's. He needed to touch her, to reassure himself that she was fine. She squeezed his hand, and smiled at him. He started to feel better again. Warmer. Ron was craning his neck, oh so subtly sneaking glances at Parkinson.

Their friend noticed their scrutiny, and pursed his lips. "I'm just checking how she's doing. She lost a friend too."

Harry exchanged a glance with Hermione. She shook her head slightly. Ron wasn't fooling anyone but himself, and Harry doubted even that. But it was better to watch his antics than to dwell too much on the dead.

Looking at the numerous empty spots at each table, each a missing or dead student, he felt almost ill. So many students had been killed on the orders of a monster. A monster he was fated to kill. If he had managed that, all those students wouldn't be dead.

Harry vowed that next year's Samhain would be different.


Chapter 55: Berserkers
 
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Chapter 55: Berserkers
Chapter 55: Berserkers

Hermione Granger smiled while she watched Harry duel with Ron in 'their' room. It wasn't a serious duel, of course. It would have been foolish to do that outside a dueling chamber or court. The two were simply fooling around, sending hexes and jinxes at each other. They were more having fun than actually training, though one could claim they were improving their dodging. She didn't mind though - it was good to see Harry laughing again, after the sombre mood Samhain had put him in.

Even if it distracted her somewhat from her research. Though to be honest, she had exhausted her resources already. There simply wasn't enough material about Dementors in the Hogwarts Library to be useful. She had asked the Headmaster for more resources, but he hadn't come through yet with anything.

The young witch bit her lower lip. The Dark Lord was making progress, while she was… not exactly stalled, but slowing down. If this went on for much longer… An arm around her shoulders, and a kiss on her cheek interrupted her increasingly dark thoughts.

"What are you frowning about?" Harry asked, the lighter tone of his question contrasting with the worry in his eyes.

There was no point in lying. She gestured at her computer. "I need more books to continue my research, but they are hard to come by."

"Oh, Hermione needs books! What a surprise!" Ron grinned, cleaning the last spots Harry's color spraying hex had left on his face with a flick of his wand.

She pursed her lips and frowned at him, though she felt better already hearing the familiar banter.

"The Headmaster will get them," Harry said, squeezing her shoulder, then steered her towards the couch.

"I hope so." There was no alternative, not really.

Ron let himself fall into the seat next to the couch, then floated the tray with snacks over to the group. "You'll get them. Or you'll find a way to do without them." He bit into a sandwich. "Where's Dumbledore anyway? He hasn't been seen around the school in a while."

"He's dealing with the Ministry, I think" Harry said.

"The werewolves?" Ron asked.

"And the ICW trouble. Scandinavia is making waves," Hermione said.

"They try to. But they are the only ones who care about werewolves," Harry added in a bitter tone.

"Some of the enclaves in America have quite progressive policies as well," Hermione corrected him.

Harry scoffed. "They're just looking for curse fodder for their wars."

"Scandinavia is the same," Hermione countered.

"Well, if they weren't, all the werewolves would have emigrated to the North long ago," Ron said, summoning a can of Coca Cola. "Bunch of crazy wizards, always warring with each other. Like a miniature America."

"North America," Hermione said. "Central and South America are quite stable regions." They still had slaves, and had wiped out the native wizards and witches, but they were stable. She saw Ron and Harry exchange a grin, and frowned. So she liked being precise!

Harry squeezed her shoulder again, then pulled her into his lap. "It's not just that. I asked Remus about it. Scandinavia is also… too rustic for his taste."

Ron looked puzzled. "Rustic?"

Harry nodded. "They don't use as much magic as we do, at least not openly, because of the numbers of muggle werewolves. They'd take offense or something."

Ron blinked. "Blimey! No wonder no one wants to emigrate there, if you have to live like a muggle!"

Hermione snorted. "Living like a muggle wouldn't be bad. Living like a wizard without magic though… they still have wards, which renders most technology useless. The Scandinavian muggle countries have one of the highest standards of living, actually."

"Well, once you patent your invention," Ron said, pointing at her shielded computer, "That might change. Should make you rich too."

Hermione bit her lower lip, and glanced at Harry. They had thought about that.

Ron frowned. "What's wrong?"

Hermione sighed. "It'll also mean more people will be able to speed up spellcrafting."

"Like dark wizards," Ron said, looking grim. "But they already know it's possible, due to the Movie Nights."

"Yes." Some might be fooled, Hermione knew, into thinking this was some magic way to see muggle movies, but the smarter wizards would soon know, if they didn't already, that this was a way to have muggle electronics work inside wards. "But they won't yet know how. And some might never find out."

"Well, you'll be able to profit indirectly at least by developing spells," Ron said. As a son of the Weasley family, Hermione knew he was very familiar with all ways to make a good living in Wizarding Britain.

"Yes!" said Harry, "She'll create a lot of spells. She already got a few inquiries after the Tournament."

"You got them," Hermione pointed out. That slight still hurt, even more than a year later. In response he kissed her.

After a while, Ron coughed. They broke the kiss, and Hermione glared at their best friend.

"Hey!" He grinned and held up his hands. "There's a reason we have single rooms in 6th year."

"Did you tell that to the twins as well?" They certainly hadn't stuck to their rooms during their 'explorations'.

"As if telling them anything would have been of any use," Ron waved his hand dismissively.

"Well," Harry said, grinning, "you're not exactly discreet with Parkinson."

"Hey!" Ron glared at him.

Hermione giggled.

Ron sighed. "Just because she's the only one outside our friends who takes the training seriously, and a challenge to duel doesn't mean I fancy her."

Harry made an exaggerated show of being relieved. "Whew! You had me worried there, mate, since we duel so often as well."

Hermione giggled again, and added: "That doesn't mean you don't fancy her either."

Ron shook his head. "She was Malfoy's girlfriend!"

"Well, she broke up with him for muggle movies. That doesn't sound like there was much love," Harry said.

"She probably resented that he tried to tell her what she could and couldn't watch. She's got a lot of pride," Hermione said. At least Lavender and Parvati had said that, back then.

"Sounds plausible to me," Ron agreed. "She really hates losing."

"Unless it's to you." Harry smirked.

Ron growled, and grabbed another sandwich.

It wasn't nice to tease their friend like that, Hermione thought as she snuggled up to Harry, but she felt much happier already.

*****​

Ejnar Borge watched the coast of England, barely visible in the pale light of the half-moon, grow larger as the ship he was on approached the island. He took a deep breath, and for a second, he imagined he was a Viking raider, bearing down on the Anglo-Saxons to pillage their villages. In a way he was, though he wouldn't pillage, but punish. Teach those British bigots that they couldn't murder werewolves with impunity. Teach them to fear the berserkers.

He saw Afi walk up to him. The man wasn't quite as tall as he was, but had the same blonde hair. His cousin stared at the coast as well, then turned to him. "I still don't think it'll be as easy as you claim."

Ejnar snorted. "I've done it before. The British trust far too much to magic. They didn't even control the muggle traffic back then." They were weak, depending on magic. Unlike the Scandinavians. He saw the other werewolf looked unconvinced, and slapped him on the back. "Don't worry. Even if they could detect us, at night and using a muggle ship, we'd best whatever forces they'd throw at us. We're a warband, not some children and prisoners."

Afi nodded. "Truth."

They did have almost two score with them - and most of them berserkers - from five different packs. Enjar thought the expedition was worth it just for the alliance it created, sealed with blood and oath, between those packs.

They were close enough to the shore now that he could see the foam where the sea reached the beach. "Rouse the rest. We'll disembark soon."

While Afi went below decks, Ejnar went to check on the Zodiacs the crew were preparing. All experienced fishermen, they knew their work, but he was the leader of this band, and he'd have to check. Drowning would be a rather ignoble death, unworthy of Valhalla. Not that he was looking forward to Valhalla already. He still had no children, no legacy. This expedition could earn him both. Erase the stain on of his association with that traitor Paige - Caldwell.

He snarled, thinking about her. Years ago, he had thought her weak when she had not wanted to join his pack. Too civilised to stomach the life in Scandinavia. She hadn't been weak, but treacherous though. An assassin posing as a whore. He had no doubt that she was already back in Britain, getting her reward for having assassinated Greyback.

He clenched his fist, breathing deeply to calm himself. She wouldn't escape justice. For a werewolf to side with the British scum there was only one punishment. Death.

By the time he was calm enough to address others without growling, the Zodiacs were ready and his band was on deck. He looked them over. All of them were wizards. The other werewolves had volunteered as well, but for this first expedition, he wanted to restrict the members to those able to use wands. They didn't know enough about Britain, yet.

He nodded at the men and women. There was no need for speeches. Everyone knew why they were here.

"Let's go!"

The Zodiacs were lowered onto the water, and his band followed, climbing down and filling both. Two fishermen handled the Zodiacs. They were muggles, but they had relatives among the packs, and dealt with several villages. They'd not betray their own blood.

Ejnar let his hand trail through the water while they sped towards the beach. Once again, he thought, Norsemen came to make war on the British. And once again they'd vanquish them.

*****​

Sitting in the library, Pansy Parkinson mentally rolled her eyes when she saw Daphne Greengrass walking towards her. The blonde ditz took a seat next to her, the table barely expanding past the chair. Even the library seemed to know that Greengrass wasn't fond of books. Or the library had no magic left to spare after stretching Granger's table, Pansy thought with a chuckle.

"Hi Pansy," the blonde mumbled, then sat down. She had been moping ever since she had finally realised that, yes, Harry Potter really didn't want to sleep with her. She didn't look like she was feeling any better still.

"Daphne," Pansy answered, letting a hint of her annoyance at the interruption of her studying bleed into her tone.

The other witch, of course, completely missed that, and sighed theatrically. "Why's love so difficult?"

"You're not in love. You're just stubbornly in lust," Pansy said.

"There should be a law against such selfishness!" Daphne huffed.

Pansy rolled her eyes at that. "Don't be stupid. Would you sleep with McLaggen?"

The girl gasped. "I'm not sleeping with McLaggen!"

She sighed. "The point was that the Year of Exploration is about doing things you want, without regrets. Not things you don't want."

"Well, I want to sleep with them!"

"And they don't want to sleep with anyone but themselves. Accept it!"

The witch sighed, and didn't say anything for a bit. But just when Pansy had turned back to the treatise about defensive enchantments, Daphne mumbled: "I'm trying to. It's just so hard. I've been looking forward to this for years!"

"You've been looking forward to sleeping with Granger for years?"

"No! Well, not for years. She got prettier though, and do you remember how she did in the Duelling Competition?"

"Of course I do. Draco was moping for weeks." Not unlike Daphne, Pansy thought.

Neither witch said anything for a bit. Then Daphne sighed once more. "Tracey said that even if I had been nicer to Granger in first year, they'd not want to sleep with me."

"She's right." Tracey, Pansy, even Susan Bones had been telling that to Daphne, if what Pansy had heard was correct.

"It would have been easier if that was the reason, you know. Something I did, not something I am."

"Merlin, Daphne! How often do I have to tell you, it's not your fault! You're fine, There's nothing wrong with you, Potter simply doesn't sleep with anyone but Granger!" Pansy all but shouted, trusting in the privacy enchantments of the library.

Daphne gaped at her, then smiled. "Thank you!"

For a moment, Pansy considered telling her that she hadn't meant it that way. That the other witch was a twit. But the blonde had been moping for so long, she really didn't want to ruin any progress that had been - finally! - made.

"I think I'm over them now," Daphne said, though with a wistful expression straight from a robe-ripper cover.

"Thank the gods!" Pansy mumbled under her breath.

"So… what about you and Weasley?" The blonde leaned forward with an eager expression on her face.

Pansy closed her eyes. "There's nothing between me and him." Nothing she could put her finger on, in any case. There could be something, she was certain of that.

"Oh. Do you mind if I sleep with him then?" Daphne beamed at her.

Pansy's glare set the other witch running, but she was giggling as she fled.

To think that twit got the better of her… Pansy resolved to pay extra attention to Daphne in the next Defense Club session. Maybe she'd look for a stronger Stinging Hex too. As experience had shown her, the blonde needed more work to learn a lesson than most others.

*****​

Wizarding Britain had changed since he had been there the last time, Ejnar Borge thought a few days after the arrival of his warband on the shores of the island. When he had been traveling through the country, and trying to persuade werewolves to move to Scandinavia, he had visited a number of small settlements. All of those seemed abandoned now though, the houses sealed up. Like the one he was standing in at the moment, a handful of houses in the countryside, hidden from muggles. Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley would be different, but they also would be heavily guarded. Ejnar and his band were brave, but he didn't plan to visit Valhalla that soon.

"Any luck?" he asked when he saw his cousin walking towards him.

Afi shook his head. "No soul around, as far as I can tell." He gestured behind him. "We found a weakly warded house, and we could break through them."

Enjar thought that over. "We'll do it, but we'll prepare an ambush." The British Ministry would have ways to monitor such houses.

Afi grinned. "Blood or loot. Or both."

"Exactly."

Ejnar quickly had three of his band work on the wards, while the rest disillusioned and hidden, were spread out, covering the approaches to the house. If the British wizards dared to show up they'd soon discover that facing a Norse Warband was very different from facing children.

When the thugs of the British Ministry arrived, he discovered what else had changed in Britain. He had expected them to surround the house, and demand that the the men working on the wards surrender. Just like they had reacted to a bit of violence during his first visit.

Instead half a dozen spells flew at his men from above without warning, focused on one werewolf. His shield and other protections didn't withstand that sort of assault, and he was hit by a bludgeoning curse that slammed him into the ground. It didn't kill him, but it disrupted his concentration. That triggered a backlash from the wards. Fortunately those were weak, but it was still enough to kill him and throw the two others working on the wards around like rag dolls, their shields shattered.

Ejnar's warband roared with rage and spells flew at the disillusioned broom riders. Not enough had the presence of mind to cast a Human-presence-revealing Spell though - but two of the broom riders - hit-wizards, he realised when he saw their grey robes - were stripped of their concealing charms, and a dozen spells shot at them at once. One of them evaded the barrage, suffering only one hit, his shield flaring up as a spell clipped him. The other was hit with multiple curses and blown from his broom. He was still screaming when the wards of the house he was falling towards fried him.

Ejnar cast another Human-presence-revealing Spell, followed by Afi, but the British were flying away as fast as they could. He cast an amplifying charm on himself since most of his band shouted curses and taunts at the retreating hit-wizards. They hadn't been in battle long enough to go berserk, which he was very glad for. Flying enemies were the worst for a warband. "Gather our wounded and Bolli. We need to leave before they return in force."

One of the more excitable members of his band yelled "Fleeing? From those cowards?" Others who had been moving already hesitated.

Ejnar faced him. "Yes. They'll return with more wands, prepared for us. Only a fool stays after the first clash of a raid." He stared at the man until the werewolf lowered his eyes, then glanced at the rest of his band.

They were gone in a minute, to the hideout they had prepared. He looked at the houses again. Tempting, yet deadly. "We got blood, but no loot."

Afi, standing next to him, nodded. "Next time we'll be better prepared."

Ejnar nodded. He didn't say that he expected the British to be better prepared as well. Afi would know that anyway. This wouldn't be as easy as he had thought.

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick looked up when his partner, Bertha Limmington, entered their shared office, nose deep in a scroll. "Did the Unspeakables finally finish the autopsy?"

Betha nodded. "No sign of vampiric involvement. The werewolf was bled out through the heart by magical means, then cut up and disemboweled."

Kenneth sighed. "I'm not certain if I should be relieved that the bloodsuckers are not involved, or concerned that the wolf was used in a dark ritual."

"Both are valid reactions," Bertha said, rolling up the report and presenting it to him.

He shook his head. He trusted her to find anything useful in it. "Did you hear about the Felwich raid?"

The other Auror set the roll of parchment down on her desk, then shook her head. "No. What happened?"

"Six hit-wizards ran into an ambush when checking up on a ward-breaking alert. Lost one, and when they returned in force, the ambushers were gone."

"Death Eaters?" Bertha narrowed her eyes.

"Maybe. But rather clumsy ones. They lost one of them serving as bait because they were still trying to break down the wards when the hit-wizards hit them."

Bertha faintly smiled at his feeble word play. "But burglars wouldn't have had the numbers to ambush a strike team of hit-wizards."

"Nor the skill to get one of them," Kenneth agreed.

"So, when do we move out?"

Kenneth stared at her. "Did you meet the boss on the way?"

She shook her head. "No. But you knew a bit too much about this. Too much for simple gossip."

He smiled, he should have know. "You're right. We're on the case. Probably because it's another mystery."

Bertha nodded. Most would have missed her smile, Kenneth didn't.

He frowned at her. "You don't need to look so pleased about more work!"

Her next smile no one could have missed. Kenneth was still grumbling by the time they reached the apparition point.

*****​

A dozen hit-wizards were in the village - if the half a dozen houses could be called that - when they arrived. Their leader welcomed them. "Alois Fawley. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Kenneth shook his hand. "Kenneth Fenbrick. This is my partner, Bertha Limmington. We're the ones getting stuck with the weird cases." Bertha glared at him, and he grinned.

The witch addressed Fawley: "What do you know so far?"

"Follow me. I'll fill you in on the way," the hit-wizard said, gesturing towards the smallest house nearby. "We received the alert in the early evening, and sent a team out. They approached disillusioned, and on brooms, and discovered what looked like three looters. Rather plain robes, focused on the wards. The team engaged, and took out one of them, triggering the wards. That struck the other two down. Right then about two dozen more opened up from concealed positions. The got Brackton, blew him off the broom, straight into the wards there, but the rest of the team escaped."

Kenneth bit back a comment about fleeing hit-wizards. The only ones allowed to joke about a mission where people had died were the ones who had been there.

"Were any special spells observed?" Bertha asked.

"My wizards were a bit too busy dodging them to identify them," Fawley said, chuckling. When Bertha simply nodded with that stern face of hers Kenneth knew so well, the man looked taken aback.

"This was the battleground."

Kenneth nodded and checked the area and started casting detection spells, as did Bertha. The witch was as focused as usual.

"I detect a distinct lack of dark spells," Kenneth summed his results up after a quarter hour. Sadly, his partner didn't react to his contradiction.

"That would be very unusual for the Dark Lord's forces," Bertha said instead.

"Do you think it's a new group?"

The witch nodded. "Though we cannot exclude the possibility of a deception by the Dark Lord."

"They could be new recruits though, not yet long enough in his service to have adapted to his tactics," Kenneth speculated.

"In either case, Scandinavian origins would be most likely."

Kenneth groaned. It made too much sense given what he had heard about Scandinavia's reaction to the Holding Centre Massacre, and to Greyback's death.

"What?" Fawley all but shouted. "Those were berserkers?"

"Not every Scandinavian is a berserker, or a werewolf," Bertha corrected the hit-wizard.

"Just most of those who'd rush to Britain, eager to avenge their fellow werewolves," Kenneth added, pointing out why those Scandinavians were invading. He still hadn't found the name of the werewolf who had fallen into the fire at the last moment, after saving so many. And no one else but Bertha seemed to care.

"Merlin's balls! I'll have to inform the rest!"

"Just be aware that so far this is just an educated guess," Bertha said, in that cold, clinical tone of hers that sobered you up better than a potion.

Fawley was not immune to it either. "Of course," he said, once again taken aback, then left them.

"So… berserkers in Britain. That sounds like the title of a cheap novel," Kenneth commented.

Bertha didn't react to the joke. "We'll have to go over the pensieve memories of the hit-wizard team, to look for clues."

Kenneth groaned again,

*****​

"They were definitely Scandinavians," Kenneth said, hours later. "Only they would wear such unfashionable robes."

"Yes. The style is rather distinctive. Very close to muggle clothes," Bertha agreed.

"You know I wasn't entirely serious." He turned to her. They really needed a way to speed up sifting through memories.

"It's a valid observation, though a Nordic tongue being used is more solid evidence of the ambushers' origin."

"Good enough to pass to Bones then." He checked his watch. "And afterwards, we'll need to eat something. I'm starving." He hesitated a second, then added: "My treat."

Bertha nodded, acknowledging his invitation, and started to compile the report for Bones.

He studied her while he waited, occasionally adding an observation of his, enjoying the small frown the witch showed when she had to rearrange her report to include his addition.

An hour later they were finally in Diagon Alley. Bertha seemed surprised when he led her past the Leaky Cauldron, and once more when they entered the 'Marquise', one of the more expensive restaurants in Wizarding London. Fortunately, the war had scared so many people into staying in their homes as much as possible, Kenneth had managed to get a reservation easily enough. A small, intimate table, even, at a window. Then again, most people prefered not to be that exposed these days.

But he was a Gryffindor, and an Auror. He wasn't afraid of Death Eaters attacking Diagon Alley. Or of what he was about to do. Though he was a bit nervous. Maybe even more nervous than before an undercover mission involving Aberforth Dumbledore. But he couldn't wait that much longer. They were at war, and they could die any time, even when checking on a routine call, as today had shown. And he'd be rather angry with himself if he died without confessing to Bertha.

After casting a privacy spell, he took a deep breath, looked at his partner, and opened his mouth.

Before he could say anything though, Bertha spoke: "You're about to ask me out, right?"

He gaped at her. What… how....

She nodded, a smile playing over her lips. "You've been acting odder than normal for some time, you've invited me into one of the most expensive restaurants, and you seem rather nervous."

He groaned. "Yes."

"Yes, you're asking me out?" A hint of teasing colored her voice.

He wasn't certain if that was a good sign, but the kneazle was out of the bag already. "Yes."

He was about to say more, but once more she cut him off with a smile: "Finally."

Once more he gaped. Did she just…?

"Mathilda bet me I'd have to take the initiative."

What? He blinked. "You've known… why didn't you say anything?" He sounded more hurt than he wanted.

Now Bertha took a deep breath. "I wanted you to ask. I wanted you to work this out, to be certain of your feelings." She leaned forward. "You are certain, aren't you?"

Kenneth nodded.

She smiled. "It was also fun to watch you."

Mathilda Miller had a lot to answer for, Kenneth thought. She had corrupted his partner. That should have been his job!

He was far more relieved and happy than angry, of course - he had been nervous. Bertha wasn't like the girls he had known before, and he hadn't been certain that she'd return his feelings.

"Shouldn't you be kissing me now?"

He stared at her for a moment, wondering if she was once again teasing him, or serious, then decided it didn't matter. "Yes. Yes, I should," he said, as he stood up.

She met him halfway.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, smiled at Ottokar Steiner, the delegate of Magical Prussia, as the two of them ordered in a small restaurant in Geneva. "It is good to see you, Ottokar. How are things in Berlin?"

The Prussian wizard shrugged. "There's nothing of note happening. Unlike in Britain, our internal disputes are not solved with violence." Nothing the diplomat would tell Albus. Grindelwald's old followers making waves was still the boggart for many of the continental politicians.

"It is not so internal anymore," Albus pointed out. "We have had Scandinavian werewolves attack us on our soil."

Ottokar made a dismissive gesture. "A few malcontents and hotheads. Individuals, not unlike the mercenaries fighting on both sides already."

"Technically, yes," the old wizard said, nodding, "but we both know that the Scandinavian government tolerates, if not encourages such adventures."

"We may know it, but we lack any proof." Ottokar's tone left no doubt that he was certain that they would never have proof either.

"That is true. But unless you're preparing to pass quite the progressive werewolf legislation, you might be facing such incursion from 'individual malcontents' next," Albus said, meeting the Prussian's eyes. "After all, Grindelwald styled himself as a champion of creature rights as well, and your government made their stance on his ideology very clear."

Ottokar drew a hissing breath. "He just wanted cheap curse fodder."

"You and I know it. I was there and fought them," Albus said, flashes of those times running through his mind for an instant. Ottokar nodded. He had been there as well, but on the other side. A youth, as misled by Gellert as Albus had been. No, he admitted to himself - Albus's own arrogance and hubris had misled him, Gellert had simply provided some ideas. "But will they believe it? And what will happen if the Scandinavians are contacted by Grindelwald's remaining followers?"

"I would expect them to have learned their lesson and stick to their own country, once you are done with them. For the Vanquisher of Grindelwald, a bunch of werewolves shouldn't be a problem."

"Oh, I do not expect much trouble from them either, in Britain," Albus said. Not more than from Voldemort's regular forces, at least, "but there are so many little villages and packs in Scandinavia, always feuding with each other, they might not be deterred from further trips by the fate of their own rivals. Especially if that fate had befallen them in Britain, my home, and they were planning to visit the continent. After all, the internal matters of another country are none of my business, aren't they?"

Ottokar actually hissed now. "Would you really wait while Grindelwald's supporters make a bid for power?"

Albus sounded as unconcerned as possible as he answered: "Without Grindelwald, they are just another group of dark wizards. An internal matter for Prussia."

"We can't sanction another country for the actions of individuals. Not without proof that the government supports them."

"That is true. But we can expect any country to keep their dangerous creatures from attacking other countries. Magical Greece certainly was reprimanded for failing to control their creatures quite sharply when a Hydra wandered up the Albanian Coast." He didn't like lumping werewolves together with creatures, but if it helped persuade Ottokar...

"That was also because of the threat to the Statute," Ottokar said.

"Also, but not just. We have a precedent, at least." Albus smiled at the waiter who brought their meals. Magical Geneva had some of the best cooks in Europe.

"What exactly do you want from them?"

Albus hid his smile this time, though he knew he had won when Ottokar stopped being evasive or contrary. "I want them to make the same effort to keep their hotheads from bothering other countries as they do to uphold the Statute. But I will settle for an honest effort."

"You know they won't be impressed enough to make an honest effort. What are you really after?"

Perceptive. "I'm just laying the groundwork for the future." As if he'd show his cards to the Prussian just because he had asked. He had plans to deal with the problem in Scandinavia, but that wasn't something he could talk about.

Otokar snorted. "How many delegates have you talked about this with already?"

Albus smiled politely. He was meeting with the delegate from Magical France later this evening, and Russia, Austria and Poland tomorrow. If those countries agreed, the rest would fall in line. His reputation would guarantee it.

Seeing Albus wouldn't answer, Ottokar sighed. "You'll have my support, though Prussia expects support as well, should we catch the same disease as Britain."

"You will get the same support as we received, no worry," Albus said.

Ottokar understood what he was saying, judging by his sour expression. Albus smiled broadly - there were some good points to this trip. Reminding Prussia that what went around came around was one of them. It wasn't as if he expected unending gratitude for doing what was right, but favors had to be repaid in politics.

*****​

Paige Caldwell ran a hand over the bandage on her arm. Even days after that… terrifying man had caught her, she was scared of using magic. Grateful to be alive and free too, of course. But mostly scared. She was still hunted by the Dark Lord, by the Scandinavians, and by the British Ministry.

And she couldn't really use magic. Not without calling attention to the muggle hut she was hiding in. That was how Dumbledore's brother had found her, or so she thought. So she had to live like a muggle. At least she had wolfsbane for a year. By then, things should have cooled down. She could survive without magic for a year. She had to. Unless she found a way to sneak out of this godsforsaken country.

She could disillusion herself, and sneak on one of the giant muggle ships. Hide until they reached another country. One she wasn't wanted in. She clenched her fist, ignoring the pain that caused. She could do it - if she dared.

Sighing, she sat down on the cot she was using again. She had to heal up first. And without magic, that would take quite some time. Time she might not have, depending on when the muggle owner of this hut visited the next time. At least the heating had started, automatically even, so she wasn't freezing anymore. But food still was a problem. She had stolen a lot, and stored it in her bag, but that was bound to run out sooner rather than later.

Maybe she should risk stowing away anyway, no matter her wounds. Anywhere would be better than here. Even the Americas.

*****​

Hermione Granger handed another batch of notes, the results of her latest optimisation efforts, over to the Headmaster. She had had them ready days ago, not long after Dumbledore had finally procured her a useful tome, but the old wizard had been busy in Geneva the last few days.

"Thank you Miss Granger. I see you've made progress…"

When the old wizard trailed off, she knew he had seen her 'variant ritual'. He looked up, straight at her. She nodded, and he started to study her notes again. Probably more carefully now, she thought.

After a while, he put the notes down. "A remarkable idea, Miss Granger. It seems this is the breakthrough you've been striving for."

"Yes, sir."

"And yet… a Dementor?"

Hermione bit her lower lip. "I know this… very difficult to acquire. But there is nothing else that has a similarly powerful and matching symbolism for the ritual." Nothing else, so far, that would reduce the price the ritual demanded like that.

"I see. But will you be able to conduct the ritual, in the presence of such a creature?"

She wasn't certain the Dementors could be called creatures, but she nodded. "My Occlumency should allow me to function." She met his eyes, and felt him probe her defenses. In response, she concentrated on resisting him, grinding her teeth as the pain caused by his attempts grew worse and worse.

Finally he relented. "I think you might be correct, Miss Granger." He didn't look exhausted, unlike she felt, but he seemed… slightly tired, maybe. "But that leaves us with two problems."

"How to capture and store a Dementor." She had thought about this for days. Researched and planned.

"That is correct, Miss Granger. It's not as much the actual capturing - they are remarkably vulnerable, if you can withstand their aura - nor the storing, since the cell we keep our other subject in would suffice, but the transport." Dumbledore sighed. "The creature wilI have to be in a cage, so that it may not flee. But that means that the easiest mode of transportation, a portkey, will not work, since it will either transport the cage, or the creature. Apparating suffers from the same problem, and flying with a cage… I think not. Which leaves the Knightbus, whose staff is not the most secret or discreet."

"We can use muggle transportation." She knew how to drive. Theoretically. She'd have to take a few lessons; nothing a spell and some polyjuice wouldn't net her.

"That is a good idea," Dumbledore smiled. "Although I think there's a better alternative. I own a Flying Carpet, a souvenir of sorts from the Ottoman Empire. While it is illegal to use them nowadays as anything but a floor covering, they will make transporting the cage quite easy." He had looked almost contemplative when he had said that, but he had a twinkle in his eyes when he added: "Flying safely will be much easier to learn than driving safely, Miss Granger."

Hermione didn't quite blush in response to having been seen through so easily, but she came close. "Yes, sir."

He grew serious again. "But that leaves the main problem: Finding such a creature. They are in the service of the Dark Lord, who has not used them much, if at all, since he made a deal with them. And if they are around, they will travel in packs"

Hermione nodded. "I know, sir. But the Dark Lord will certainly use them sooner or later."

"I agree, but by that time it could be too late already."

Hermione blinked. "Do you know what he is trying to do with his ritual then, sir?"

"I have an inkling, nothing more. But the power he is trying to harness is very impressive. If he found a way to use such a power - and why would he be working on that ritual, if he hadn't a way in mind to use it - then we will be in a dire situation once he completes it." Dumbledore sighed.

Hermione felt a stab of fear in her guts. She squared her shoulders though, and pushed her chin forward. She was a Gryffindor. "Then we need to force him to use them by depriving him of alternatives."

"I fear that will be needed, despite the cost in lives." Dumbledore looked resigned, or so she thought.

"The cost in lives will be much higher if he succeeds." It was only logical.

"That is faint comfort, Miss Granger, trust me on this."

"Yes, sir." She didn't really believe him, but this was not the time to bicker.

"I am quite relieved that you found a ritual that will do what is needed without endangering your own soul. On the other hand, things such as this should never be that easy, or more people will be trying to do them."

"I have no intention of spreading this knowledge." She waited a second, then added: "Apart from telling Harry, of course." It would not help her plans for the time after her graduation at all.

"Of course. Where is he, by the way?"

"He's training with Sirius and Remus." And probably overdoing it, and getting hurt, Hermione thought. Not that Ron was any better. Their friend was duelling Parkinson, again, and usually came back quite battered, even if, as he was fond to mention, he always won.

*****​

Pansy Parkinson was breathing heavily. Her left arm was numb and dangling uselessly down her side. She was certain her robe was torn, but to glance down and check would invite another barrage. And she couldn't afford that. Her opponent was not showing her any mercy. She flicked her wand, and sent a dust cloud up and against him. When he moved to banish it back at her, she rushed to the side and forward, hidden from view for a second. She had her wand pointed at him before he could react. "Stupefy!"

Her spell was stopped by his Shield Charm, as she had expected. She was still running, charging him, from the side now. Her own robe stopped his spell. Almost close enough to show him the tricks Greg had taught her. Lets see his robe stop a kick. Her next spell hit and shattered his shield, and she didn't stop.

She saw his blue eyes widen when she recklessly closed into 'melee range', as Greg called it. Her foot lashed out, barely hindered by her numb arm, straight between his legs. It didn't hurt him, or her. Cushioning Charm, she realised. Before she could pull her leg back, he had grabbed it, and pulled it up.

She managed to send another hex at him which his robes stopped before he tackled her and drove her to the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of her, and before she could do anything, she felt the tip of his wand under her chin. "Yield?"

Her left arm was still numb, one hand gripped her wand arm like a vise, and she was pinned beneath him. Beneath his body. His muscular body. She breathed slowly, feeling her chest heave and touch his. She squirmed a bit, and he pressed down on her. Merlin, she wanted…

"Yield?" His voice sounded more hoarse than it should, in her opinion.

She dropped her wand and licked her lips. For a moment, he stared at her eyes, and she thought, hoped, he'd…

Then he released her hand, pulled his wand back, and started to get up. She hissed with frustration, and her good hand shot up, grabbing his hair. His eyes widened and he made a surprised sound, his wand already pointing at her again, right before she mashed her lips against his.

Then both were groaning, moaning, and he was lying on top of her again, and his hands were wandering inside her torn robe, and she bit his lips and…

Later, she was lying on top of him, barely covered with the remains of her robes. His own was not quite shredded, somehow he had managed to pull it off, and hung from the chair to the side. She could move her left arm again, and tracing his chest muscles with the tip of her finger. One arm of his was on her back

"That was some duel," he said, the first words either had said, as far as she remembered, since 'yield'.

"Mh." She smirked at him. He had that glint in his eyes, and pulled the remains of her robes away.

*****​

Aberforth Dumbledore wished that his brother had contacted him with a post owl, instead of a communication mirror. That way he would have a message to tear up and set on fire. And an owl to scare. "Have you gone crazy?"

"It is needed, Aberforth. We cannot afford to have more werewolves leave Scandinavia for Britain." His brother's voice sounded regretful, but firm. Just as it sounded when he had tried to explain why two girls would be sacrificed for politics.

"I'm not going to do it, Albus. I've still got a conscience. Hunting down the Dark Lord's agents is one thing, but this?"

"We are not talking about innocents, but violent werewolves who are used to raid their neighbours."

"Making them start feuding again will cause innocents to suffer!" Aberforth shouted, the privacy spells cast beforehand muffling his outburst.

"Yes. But not doing this will cause more innocents to suffer in Britain, and directly help the Dark Lord."

"That's it then? A numbers game?" Aberforth wanted to smash the mirror against the next wall. Wanted to leave this country.

"Effectively, yes. I am weighing all of Britain versus a few possible victims in Scandinavia." Albus met his gaze, not flinching. He hadn't changed at all.

"And that makes it right?" Aberforth was shaking with rage.

"It does not make it right, but it makes it the least evil choice," his brother said.

Aberforth spat out: "So, it's for the Greater Good, Albus?"

His brother face lost all color. He could see him tremble even - with shock, or fury. He couldn't tell. He hadn't seen his brother showing either in decades, and felt guilt fill him, pushing the rage away. He fought it, while he stared at the mirror, at his brother, but finally pressed out: "I'm sorry. That was cruel. I shouldn't have said it." Some things they didn't mention. At all.

Albus nodded slowly. When he spoke, he was slower than usual as well, as if he had trouble finding the right words. "Please. It's important. I would not ask this of you if there was another way."

Aberforth knew it was wrong, but nodded.

"Thank you." Albus had the grace not to smile, at least, when Aberforth shut the mirror off.

*****​

Ejnar Borge grinned. This time, the ambush would work as planned! Instead of caught in a village, easy prey for flying enemies, they were in an old forest. Unless you were a world-class seeker, you couldn't fly well enough to dodge spells there. And the trees provided cover and concealment for his band. It was the perfect setup to fight those British. And fight his band would.

A brief flicker of light drew his attention. Someone had arrived. The enemy, he was certain. No one else had a reason to visit this spot of the forest. A dozen of them, by his count.

"Alright, fan out and search the place. If there's a child here who has just used accidental magic, we'll know it." Ejnar heard the leader of the grey-robed hit-wizards yell and knew his ruse had worked. Now the British bastards just needed to come close enough...

He could smell them now. They were cautious, approaching under cover of others. It wouldn't help them. Almost… then he cursed under his breath. One of them had cast a Human-presence-revealing Spell. "Fawley! Here are three people hiding nearby!"

They were made! Ejnar stood up and charged ahead, out of the underbrush. The enemy leader saw him, but before he could react, Afi landed right on top of him, driving him into the soft soil on the ground. A quick pair of piercing curses finished him before Ejnar reached the two. "Good work."

"As planned."

Not everyone had been as quick though. Dverger had tried to duplicate the feat, but had missed. The young man would not get to try again. Another, Geiri, had ran straight into a Blasting Curse. Ejnar doubted the lad had noticed the spell before he had been dead.

Around him, spells flashed and shields flared in a confused mess. There were no frontlines, the enemy commander was dead. It was a chaotic affair, something that fitted his band. One by one he saw his comrades succumb to bloodlust, drawing blades instead of using their wands. Nothing but the utter destruction of the enemy would stop them now.

Ejnar howled, then let the rage fill him as well and charged at the closest grey-robed enemy, his wand disarming the boy before he smashed into him, his dagger already drawing blood from multiple cuts.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort held up the latest crystal globe, smiling proudly. Together with his latest improvement for the ritual's formula, he had managed to perfect the ritual. It was still untested, but he was confident it would work. He could do another test, the next full moon, but the full moon after that would be during Yuletide. As it was very close to the Winter Solstice it would be further empowering the ritual if he used the correct symbolism, if not by much. But at the same time the Ministry and Hogwarts would be empty. And that would not help his plans. No, he would strike during the next full moon.

He leaned back in his chair. Bellatrix, on the bed behind him, noticed. "Have you finished it my lord?"

He nodded. "It still remains to be tested, but I'm quite confident this will work out." He pointed at the globe. "This is the key. Without it, my plan wouldn't work." Well, without the globe, and without werewolves.

"It's magnificient, my lord!" Bellatrix slid from the bed and walked on bare feet over to him, her eyes seemingly captivated by the crystal.

It was magnificent. It had taken him days to compose the runes, even longer to etch them into the globe. The crystal itself had been carved by goblins, not using any magic. If the beasts knew what it, or rather, one of the next globes, would be used for… he chuckled. Doomed by their own greed, how fitting!

Bella wrapped her arms around him from behind and rested her chin on his shoulder. "How can I help you, Master?"

"By standing and fighting at my side when I use this, at the next full moon." She couldn't help with the ritual, but there was no one else he'd rather have at his side in battle.

Her ecstatic smile could have lit up the room.


Chapter 56: Monsters
 
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Chapter 56: Monsters
Chapter 56: Monsters

Ejnar Borge screamed with rage as he stabbed and slashed the hit-wizard in front of him. The boy's own screams of pain and terror were cut off by Ejnar's blade opening his windpipe, and the British wizard fell, choking on his own blood and trying to stem the bleeding from the gash in his chest with hands that had already lost fingers. The werewolf kicked the enemy in the chest, smashing him into the tree behind him, and whirled around to look for the next foe.

Next to him, Afi was on the ground, fighting with another hit-wizard. His cousin's blade was broken, as was his enemy's wand, and both were pounding each other. Ejnar left them; Afi was stronger and more experienced and would prevail. Instead he rushed towards a tree where an older wizard was standing, cursing Bjorn who was slamming himself into the man's shield.

Ejnar reached them right when the protections on Bjorn's robes failed, and saw the young werewolf fall back, his chest torn open. He roared, and shattered the man's shield with a piercing curse, then leapt at him.

"Diffindo!"

The man was quick, but his Cutting Curse was stopped by Ejnar's robes, mostly, and the taller, stronger werewolf smashed into the British wizard, driving him into the wall that had protected his back. He followed up with a headbutt that smashed the man's nose, then bit his throat, tasting blood, while his dagger sliced into his enemy's belly, disemboweling him. He relished the man's screams, laughing and yelling while the British bastard died.

Panting, he turned around to look for another opponent, another victim, but found no one. Covered with blood, British and his own, he panted while his rage started to dwindle. The battle was over. His band had won.

Over a dozen werewolves howled in triumph. It was a poor imitation of the howl of a transformed pack, but it rang through the forest where they had ambushed the hit-wizards, telling man and animals alike who this territory belonged to.

It felt good. This was why they had come to Britain - to fight them, and beat them. To avenge the murder of werewolves. Shivering, his vision seemed to clear when the last of his rage left him. They had killed a dozen hit-wizards, yes. But they had not won without cost. Dverger, Geiri, Bjorn and Hallr were dead. Everyone else was wounded, but that was to be expected - a berserker who wasn't bleeding hadn't been fighting.

Ejnar frowned. They had ambushed the British, surprised them on a battleground that played to their strengths while outnumbering them, and yet had lost four of their number. Those hit-wizards were good. When the full moon came and his band transformed, such a battle could be the end of them.

"Episkey."

His wounds closed, he sought out Afi. His cousin had just finished treating Mikel, who had been struck with an exotic curse that had started to skin him. He looked like he'd live now though.

"Afi."

When the other werewolf looked at him, Ejnar nodded to the edge of the small clearing they were in. His cousin nodded, grabbed the two pieces of his blade, and repaired it while he followed Ejnar.

"We've got a problem come the full moon," Ejnar said.

Afi looked confused. "We've got Wolfsbane for everyone. Or whatever the government's trying to call it now."

Ejnar chuckled. Some werewolves took offence to the name of the potion, claiming it besmirched the gift they had received. As if they had nothing more important to care about. He grew serious quickly though. "No, that's not the issue. But if we get into a battle under the full moon, we'll get slaughtered."

Afi opened his mouth, then closed it. "You're right. We'll not be able to deal with their spells."

Not even with Wolfsbane protecting their minds would they be able to work magic. At home, those wizards and witches not part of the pack would take up the slack, and the fights would be even more ferocious as transformed wolves went at each other, but here? The British would not meet them in an honourable melee, but fly away and send curses at them from above, protected by their shields.

Ejnar nodded. "We'll have to hide."

"The band won't like that. They have tasted blood," Afi cautioned him.

"I know. That's why we'll be holding a Sharing," Ejnar said.

Afi drew a hissing breath. "Sharing our gifts? Who in Britain would… you mean, kidnapping people?"

Ejnar nodded. Usually, the gift of the wolf was shared with volunteers, often relatives of a wolf, in a sacred ceremony under the full moon. Not all new wolves were volunteers though - people being people, accidents did happen. Some wolves liked to forego the potion, and some of them occasionally happened upon humans.

"The traditionalists won't like it."

"None of them are with us. The band will understand. And given the hatred of werewolves, anyone we share our gift with will be forced to join us, or face death at the hands of their former friends," Ejnar said.

"I hope that's true, cousin. Even so, we'll need to find a suitable place, and prepare the wards. There's not much time left." Afi sounded sceptical still.

Ejnar didn't care. The search would keep the band busy while they healed up. The search for a good spot to hold their ceremony, and for those who would receive the gift. It might not be the triumphant, bloody raid they had imagined, but it would hurt the British anyway.

*****​

"We should take the day off. Or, better, the entire week."

Kenneth Fenbrick didn't want to get up. He didn't want to work. He didn't want to do anything but spend time with Bertha Limmington. Preferably in bed, or in the bathtub, but she had proven to have a very fertile imagination, so he was certain he could add a few more locations, given time.

"Bones doesn't like it when Aurors try to take time off without advanced notice," his partner - in more than one sense of the word, now! - pointed out.

"Sod Bones! We haven't had time off in… I can't actually remember when we last had time off."

Bertha shook her head slightly. "Too much firewhiskey then."

"Hey!"

She smirked, and slid out of the bed. Kenneth forgot whatever he had wanted to say while he watched her summon her wand and walk over to the bathroom, past the heap in which her clothes had ended up last night. When the door closed behind her, he yelled "If we get another difficult case I'll tell you I told you so!"

*****​

"I told you so."

"So you did."

Kenneth grumbled. It wasn't fun if Bertha didn't care that he had told her so. "If you had listened to me we could be back home in bed, instead of knee-deep in corpses in some godsforsaken forest." But his partner thought that when duty called, Aurors had to answer. Or something trite like that.

He glanced at her. She was already running her wand over a rip in a tree's bark. The witch looked focused, cool, collected. No one who'd see her now would expect her to be a passionate lover.

He sighed. If not for the Dark Lord and those foreign werewolves, they'd be able to take a vacation right now. Once the war was over, he would cash in all his accumulated leave, and not deal with any case again until he ran out!

That vow made, Kenneth looked at the carnage they had been called to. It did look horrible. A dozen hit-wizards, three squads, butchered. Literally, or so it appeared. He waved his wand and checked the wounds on the body of a young man, practically a boy. Gutted like a fish, the poor bastard had died slowly. No trace of a curse on that wound - it had been a blade, not a spell that had killed the guy.

The two other corpses he checked next matched that profile, as did most parts of a dismembered witch. He stood up from where he had crouched next to that body, and walked over to Bertha. "Either the Death Eaters suddenly stopped using wands, or this was the work of our Nordic invaders."

"There were spells cast, on both sides," his partner said.

"Yes. But not the kind of spells the Dark Lord's minions tend to use." Not many dark spells.

The witch nodded in agreement. "That's my preliminary conclusion as well."

Kenneth looked around, trying to imagine the battle. "It was an ambush," he said. "They were surprised. The enemy managed to get right among them, scattered them, and then overwhelmed them. Not exactly the hit-wizards' finest hour."

"Their awareness and tactics were less than optimal," Bertha said, agreeing with him.

"At least they took a few of them down with them." There hadn't been corpses left, but the tracks left were enough to see that the wizards hadn't died alone. "Did you find any tracks or traces of the attackers? A clue where they went?"

Bertha shook her head. "They were very careful. Some blood was left, but nothing else."

He cursed under his breath. "Then we can't do anything but wait for their next attack. And hope whoever runs into them can call for help."

Bertha nodded. "If they are Scandinavian, then they might grow too aggressive during the full moon, and succumb to better tactics."

"The murderers have to be Scandinavians. Who else would use blades in battle? Even the muggles stopped with that long ago." Which made the debacle here doubly embarrassing, Kenneth thought. To be killed with blades…

"Someone who wants us to suspect that those were Scandinavian invaders." Bertha ignored that he had asked rhetorically.

He understood what she meant though. "You mean the Dark Lord wants us to blame Scandinavia, hoping we'll end up fighting them?"

Bertha nodded.

Kenneth sighed. It was just a theory, probably wrong, but he just knew that the Ministry wouldn't be eager to take Scandinavia to task for this. And they still needed to come up with tactics to deal with this sort of fighting.

*****​

Ron Weasley dodged another stunner by dropping to the ground and turning the debris from his opponent's last Blasting Hex into a smoke screen. As soon as he touched the floor he rolled to the left, just before another stunner flew through the smoke. He scrambled back and disillusioned himself, then moved to the right, circling around Parkinson.

He didn't see her though - she must have disillusioned herself too.

"Homenum Revelio," he whispered, aiming his wand at the other side of the smoke. If she thought he was still hiding in that…

Parkinson became visible where he had thought she'd be. His first stunner was stopped by her shield, the next by her robe, and then she was inside the smoke.

It didn't do her any good. He vanished it, exposing her once more. Then she started to cast the Human-presence-revealing Spell herself. She managed to expose him right when he tagged her with a modified Body-Binding Curse that left her spread-eagled and stuck to the nearest wall. A Disarming Charm later and the duel was over.

Ron walked over to her, limping slightly. She must have spotted it, since she smirked, and he decided to not cancel his curse until he had reached her.

"Good duel. You should have cast the Human-presence-revealing Spell earlier though," he said.

"I know. That's an interesting spell. Granger's work?"

He nodded. "An experiment, she said." Hermione hadn't explained what the purpose of the experiment had been, but the spell looked and sounded different enough to fool some opponents, or so he guessed.

"You can let me down now," she said.

He almost said he'd never let her down, but that would have been either creepy or sappy. Instead he stepped up to her.

"Yes, I could."

He leaned forward and kissed her, ending the spell before he ended the kiss. She wrapped her freed limbs around him, and they sank down to the floor.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore smiled as Ottokar Steiner, the representative of Magical Prussia finished his speech in front of the ICW. If he hadn't been the Supreme Mugwump, he'd wave his lit wand, signalling support for the man's demand, like others did.

He glanced over at Kalle Lofgren, the representative of Magical Scandinavia. The admitted werewolf was growling. He had a reason to, Albus knew - it looked like the ICW would warn his country that they would not tolerate an invasion, no matter how much Scandinavia claimed that those were individuals acting on their own. Apart from his own contacts and favours owed, the fact that Scandinavian werewolves were known to bite muggles in much greater numbers than could be attributed to accidents had been decisive. Attacking muggles always threatened the Statute of Secrecy, after all.

He knew his esteemed colleagues wouldn't really have seen a threat to the Statute of Secrecy if there hadn't been the threat of such attacks happening in their own countries, at the hands or claws of foreign werewolves. Albus didn't like painting the werewolves as a menace, though he couldn't overlook the fact that they currently were attacking Britain, and that they were Voldemort's most numerous supporters. The Dark Lord couldn't be allowed to grow stronger, not with his ritual progressing.

Albus didn't know for certain how close the Dark Lord was to succeeding in his research, but he could tell - thanks to the sins of his own youth - that Tom wouldn't take much longer. The full moon in December was so close to the winter solstice; the lure of the additional power a ritual at that time would grant him would be irresistible to the Dark Lord. Which meant Albus would have to deal with the Nordic problem before that time.

Marie Mercier, the representative of Magical France, was next to speak. The witch was young for her position, which prompted rumours of her being the lover of the Duc d'Orléans - or a lover, at least. It was said that the Ducs continued the royal tradition of having Veela mistresses when Magical France split from France in 1692. Though in her elegant robes, the dernier cri from Paris, she certainly didn't have to hide behind any Veela.

Marie had a sharp wit and a sharper tongue, and her speech was both entertaining and supportive. Unfortunately, she too raised the spectre of bloodthirsty werewolf hordes invading the European shores in the footsteps of their Viking ancestors. At least, Albus thought, they'd not be using longboats to travel up the Seine to attack Paris. He felt guilty again for having brought up the shade of Grindelwald in connection with werewolves. Although he was certain that the cause of the werewolves would suffer even more, should they continue their aggressive policy towards their neighbours. It had taken Magical Prussia decades to recover its reputation from those dark days, and they hadn't had a reputation as monsters reaching back millennia.

Elena Romanova was next, representing Magical Russia. The Tsar's eldest daughter cut a striking figure in a fur-lined Russian duelist's robe. Albus made a note that the rumours of her angling to replace the Tsarevich might not be entirely unfounded, if she had started to cultivate a more martial image compared to the revealing robes she had worn in the past. Or, he thought, she might simply be trying to scare off unwanted suitors - he had heard from Marek Pasternak that the Tsar had been hinting rather strongly that she should marry and settle down. The Polish Government kept close eyes on their eastern neighbour, and so were usually well-informed about the latest news from Russia.

Elena's statement could be summed up in two sentences: Russia feared no invader. Anyone trying to break the peace in Europe would be harshly punished. She took a quarter hour though to say it, with far too many words and far too little wit for Albus's patience. But as he had hoped after his talk with her, she too supported the motion.

Marek's speech came after hers, but Albus didn't really pay attention to the Polish delegate. He was certain of their vote already; Poland had suffered the most under Grindelwald, and honoured those who had toppled the Dark Lord.

Karl von Habsburg though needed watching. Contrary to their muggle counterpart, the Habsburg line of Magical Austria had not died out. It had been a near thing though, and the results of severe inbreeding haunted them to this day. Karl was no exception. The son of the Emperor of Magical Austria-Hungary was charming, handsome and about as smart as a Puffskein. It was said in some circles, far out of the earshot of anyone from Austria of course, that every smart Austrian Habsburg would be either abrasive or sickly. Albus had never bothered to ascertain the truth of that barb himself, but he knew that the true voice of the Emperor was Karl's secretary Anneliese, a confidant of his mother. Fortunately, Karl managed to deliver the speech Anneliese had written without stumbling or causing an incident.

Albus leaned back, relaxing. He looked at Lofgren, whose mood had worsened with each speech aimed at his country. With the support of all major powers in Magical Europe, the motion would be carried. It was merely a gesture, of course - no country would actually go to war over it, Cornelius had confirmed that by talking to the actual rulers and governments of Magical Europe - but it would put pressure on Scandinavia. And once Aberforth accomplished his mission, the Scandinavians would be as good as removed as a factor in the war against Voldemort.

He felt guilty at using his brother like this, but there was no choice. There simply were not many wizards Albus could trust with this, and none that had his brother's skill with a wand. And, he told himself again, it wasn't as if Aberforth had no experience in these sorts of matters.

As much as he justified his actions though - and they were justified, seeing as they'd save many innocents in Britain, both wizards and werewolves - he also knew that it might very well cost him what slim chance of reconciliation with his brother that he still had.

And yet, this was a price he was willing to pay. Better he suffer, than anyone else.

*****​

Aberforth Dumbledore, covered by a disillusionment charm and with his scent masked by a potion originally invented by African Wizards to sneak up on Nundus, stared at the small village hidden in one of the larger forests of of the Scandinavian peninsula. It looked nice, with the villagers just doing their daily chores. Some tending to the fields and herds - he could see the spells cast from his position easily - and others milling around. The picture of a peaceful little village.

And he'd have to break that peace. Force them to fight. He didn't want to. Though if he was honest, he didn't mind it that much. Those villagers had sent people to Britain, to raid and pillage the country. Werewolves. The village wasn't really peaceful, despite its appearance. If not for the alliance it had entered with its neighbours, they'd likely have wands out, ready to defend their own village, or attack the others. Aberforth knew how the Nordic wizards thought and fought from personal experience.

No, what he hated was that he was following Albus's orders, as if he was one of his brother's minions. Doing the dirty work for the great Headmaster. Just like his friends did the dirty work for the Ministry in this war, he reminded himself.

"Damn you, Albus!" He whispered, then mounted his broom and flew towards the field that was farthest from the village. Getting detected at this point might ruin the entire mission, despite his disguise.

No one seemed to notice him as he flew over the field, descending near a lone young man - almost a boy still - who was removing weeds from the fields with his wand. Sprout would be appalled at the state of the field, Aberforth thought, since the wizard didn't look like he was skilled, or paying much attention. Hopefully that meant he didn't like honest work, and wanted to become a great warrior - it would help his mission.

He pointed his wand at the man and cast a Compulsion Charm, causing the Nordic wizard to 'take a leak' in the nearby forest. Aberforth followed him, waited until he was out of sight of the village, then stunned him. A minute later, he was on his way to the next village.

*****​

That village looked almost identical to the one he had observed earlier, Aberforth thought. And yet they had been feuding for decades, as he had found out from his prisoner. Scandinavians! He shook his head at their folly. Between the revival of the worship of the Norse Pantheon, and the acceptance of werewolves as not only equal members of Wizarding society, but highly valued leaders, it was no surprise that they ended up ready to fight at the drop of a hat.

He studied the area, taking note of where the guards were placed. It wouldn't be too hard to attack it, even accounting for the fact that he wouldn't be able to show his full skill. He'd hit the east side. There was a lone building, and a field where cows were grazing.

Decision made, he turned back to his stunned prisoner and cut a several hairs from the man's head, dropping one of them in a vial. A swallow later, he was decades younger and looked like the man's twin. Pointing his wand at the wizard, he hesitated. The villager didn't have to die. Aberforth could obliviate him, and drop him off far away from here. Could even erase all his memories, and replace them with a fake life. He scoffed at his thoughts. His prisoner's mind would have been replaced; he'd have been killed for all purposes.

Aberforth wasn't Albus, hiding behind technicalities, trying to fool his own conscience. He knew what he was doing. And, he told himself, the prisoner had admitted under Veritaserum that he was trying to join 'the fight in Britain' as soon as he could reach a recruiter from the Dark Lord. Aberforth's wand didn't waver.

"Diffindo."

Three Vanishing Charms took care of the body, the head, and the blood. Then Aberforth marched off to start a war.

He didn't quite sneak up on the village, but he stayed away from the main road, walking slowly until he was used to his new, temporary body.

"Hey! What are you doing here?"

He turned towards the witch who had yelled at him. She didn't look much older than his body. Another warrior who had just been a bit too inexperienced for their raid to Britain, probably.

He didn't bother answering; he understood her well enough, but his accent would threaten his disguise. Instead he hit her with a Bludgeoning Curse that blew her back a few yards, and broke a dozen bones in her body. She'd live, of course, to remember his face.

He continued on, until he reached the field, and started to cut down cows and shrink their carcasses. He didn't bother to be subtle; the guard he had hurt would soon call for help anyway. Just as expected, fireworks went off behind him, and he heard yells from the village.

Turning towards the road, he saw the first of those who had been milling around arrive.

"Confringo!"

The Blasting Curse ripped a crater into the road and showered the first villagers with rocks and dirt. They stopped, and fanned out, trying to surround him. It was time to fall back. He bought himself more time and space with a couple of Blasting Hexes, mixed with silent Compulsion Charms. When he had faded into the forest and apparated away, the villagers were enraged and on their way to attack their neighbours.

He reached their target first, on his broom and disillusioned. A few more, discreet compulsion spells cast on the people in the first village ensured that there would be no talking this out.

The enraged pursuers didn't take long to reach the village, and didn't stop to talk anyway. Aberforth didn't look away when the battle started and curses flew, nor when blades met and blood was spilled. He had caused this, he was responsible, and he'd bear witness to his actions and their consequences. Only when the attackers started to retreat, with half the village burning, did he fly away.

He had two more villages to set upon each other.

*****​

Sirius Black threw the Daily Prophet down on the kitchen table in No. 12 Grimmauld Place, just missing his tea cup and the basket with the croissants, and snorted in disgust.

Valérie, wearing one of her barely-there 'house robes', picked it up before Kreacher could collect and dispose of it. The Veela skimmed through the articles on the front page. "According to this, the ICW condemns the attack on Britain by Scandinavian werewolves. Isn't that a good thing?" She asked, turning towards him.

Sirius scoffed. "It's useless posturing. Politics. We need wands, not words."

She nodded, picking up her coffee and a croissant. "But it's better than nothing, and it might give some Scandinavians pause, and keep them from joining the Dark Lord."

She was correct, but Sirius didn't want to admit it, so he grumbled. If he had changed to Padfoot, he would even have growled. Instead, he grabbed a croissant himself. He used to prefer a British breakfast, but his lovers had changed that. Padfoot still wanted meat though, so he often mixed croissants and sausages. If he made an effort, he could gross out Remus with a bit of luck.

He sighed, thinking of his best friend. The news that foreign werewolves were attacking brave British hit-wizards had driven the anti-werewolf sentiments in Britain to new heights. He was worried about the strain and stress this put on Remus. His friend was, for all his Ravenclaw-like smarts, a Gryffindor first and foremost, not a Slytherin, and Sirius was afraid that Remus might take a stand one day, revealing his secret just to do something against the hatred. And Sirius had no idea how to stop that.

"What's wrong?" Valérie asked, standing up and walking around the table to him.

He wasn't about to lie to her. Not that he could; she knew him too well now. "I'm just… worried and impatient. Mostly worried."

His fiancée stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders.

"Worried about the war, worried about Remus, worried about you."

"The war seems to be going well. Things have improved a lot compared to the start," Valérie commented.

"And that is what worries me. The Dark Lord hasn't been seen in a long time, which means he's probably preparing something truly horrible." Aimed at Harry, likely, due to that thrice-damned prophecy.

Eugénie entered the kitchen, smiling at the two of them and grabbing the coffee pot. "Chantal and Laure are still asleep."

Valérie giggled. Sirius doubted either of the two would be up before noon, not after that drinking contest with Fleur and Bill last night. Ah, to be young and foolish again… he groaned. A year ago, he'd have joined them, and done his best to drag everyone else into the contest as well. He really had become respectable. Grown up, even.

Valérie put her head on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"I'm old. I just realised it."

"You're not old!" Eugénie exclaimed. "You're in the full vigour of your prime!" He knew what she meant.

Valérie giggled, but didn't comment. She did wrap her arms around him though, and slid into his lap.

"Oh, not that. But I've become 'respectable'," Sirius explained. "Used to be, I'd be right there, suffering a hangover."

"And that's a bad thing?" Valérie asked.

"It's not," he admitted, "but … everyone told me so often to grow up, I kind of didn't want to just because."

That caused more laughter, and some muttered comment from Kreacher he didn't quite catch.

"More seriously though," he said, "I do worry. We know the Dark Lord's been recruiting, for months, and yet we haven't seen any big attack since the Hogwarts Express. We haven't seen Dementors around at all." He had checked, for Dumbledore.

"You think they are gathering their forces, and will attack en masse." Eugénie looked grim now.

"It would make sense. One big attack, or a lot of smaller attacks, aimed at overwhelming us," Sirius said, running one hand over Valérie's back. "And with the Ministry occupied and distracted by this werewolf madness, I'm afraid they're not as prepared as they should be."

Valérie and Eugénie nodded. "We will be, though," Eugénie stated. "The 'eadmaster will be prepared as well."

"'ow is Remus doing?" Valérie asked.

"He hasn't broken down yet. But I don't know how long he'll support this …" Sirius trailed off, and waved his hand towards the Daily Prophet. "All this. He has been broken up about his furry little problem since his childhood."

"I think 'is real problem is the people, not the fur," Valérie said.

Sirius nodded. "I need to keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn't … do something stupid."

"We will keep an eye on him," Eugénie said. Valérie nodded.

Sirius smiled. "Thank you."

"It's what family does."

Sirius really wanted to turn into Padfoot right then, before they saw the tears in his eyes. But with Valérie in his lap, he couldn't.

*****​

Harry Potter waited until Ron had entered the former classroom they had turned into their private lounge and laboratory, then waved his wand at him. Hermione joined him. Ron froze when various spells flew over his body.

"Hey! What are you doing?" their best friend demanded, his hair slightly frizzy from Harry's last spell.

"What you asked me to!" Harry grinned

"Are you mental? I asked you to smother me with spells?"

Harry smiled. "You said that if you ever dated Parkinson, I should check you for 'love potions, Polyjuice, and charms'."

While Ron stared at him with his mouth hanging open, Hermione added: "We just did that. You're clean, by the way."

"We're not dating!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What do you call it then? You're meeting her every second evening for some 'duelling' that ends with you two shagging."

"How… why… the map!" Ron stammered.

"Of course," Hermione said. "Did you expect we'd not keep an eye on you when you're alone with a Slytherin?" She stressed 'Slytherin', and Harry saw Ron wince.

"I didn't expect to be… not during sex!"

"You're most vulnerable during sex, naked and without your wand," Harry pointed out.

"We're usually not naked," Ron protested.

"That's interesting, but not the point," Hermione said.

Ron sat down on the couch and closed his eyes.

Harry felt a bit guilty at ribbing his best friend like this, but after years of complaints about Slytherins in general, and about Parkinson in particular, he felt entitled to it. Still, given his own relationship, and its slightly troubled start, maybe he should stop. He sat down next to Ron while Hermione took a seat in the armchair.

"So… if you're not dating, what are you doing then? Casual sex?" It was their Year of Discovery, after all.

"Yes… maybe… I guess?" Ron shrugged, with a grimace. "We just, you know, meet, fight, and f… have sex," he added with a glance at Hermione. "Not exactly a base for a relationship."

"That sounds as if you'd like one," Harry ventured.

Hermione nodded, but didn't say anything. He knew she still wasn't that fond of the Slytherin witch.

"I don't know." He leaned back. "And I don't know what she wants."

"Apart from you." Harry couldn't resist.

"Har har," was his friend's sarcastic reply.

Hermione chuckled. "Maybe you should talk to her."

"We do talk to each other!"

"Other than criticising the duel, that is." Hermione shook her head.

"Are you spying on us?" Ron stared at her.

"No, but we know how you act in the Self-Defense Club sessions," the witch said. "Not too hard to guess what you're talking about."

"We do talk about other things as well. Just not… that."

"Well, you should change that," Hermione said.

Harry coughed. His girlfriend was a bit too blunt, in his opinion. "But only if you want more than what you currently have." Otherwise, Ron might risk losing a good thing for nothing.

"Great…"

*****​

Ejnar Borge lowered the enchanted telescope, collapsed it, and slid down the hill he had been lying on top of to rejoin his band which was gathered at the hill's foot. "Hogsmeade is locked up tight. It may not look like it, but I'm certain there are dozens of Aurors and hit-wizards ready to deploy there."

"Then we won't be able to capture wizards or witches there for the ceremony." Afi frowned. His cousin had become more enthusiastic for the plan since they had first talked about it, but he still wasn't too much of an optimist.

"No. We have a few options though. We can try to lure some out of the village and kidnap them then."

"Security will be even tighter when the students are around," Vilmar pointed out.

"That is true, but we're not going after children anyway," Ejnar said. "We could go to Knockturn Alley." He had been there before, during his first trip to Britain. No one cared if a few residents there went missing.

"Share our gift with whores and thieves?" Nenne scoffed.

"Not everyone's been born into a rich family, Nenne." Ejnar growled at him until the other wizard looked away.

"Now, we also can capture enemies during our next battle."

Afi snorted, and Ejnar glared at him. Berserkers were notorious for not taking prisoners in the heat of battle, but they were not unable to control themselves. Not completely at least.

Flapping noises drew his attention, and when he looked up, he saw three owls fly towards his war band. Post owls? That was not a good sign.

Nenne was one to receive a letter, and his outraged yell strained the privacy spell keeping them hidden: "They broke the Alliance! Treachery!" He growled and drew his wand, aiming at Vilmar.

That werewolf stared at him. "Are you breaking your oath to the warband?"

"Your pack broke oath with my village!" Nenne shouted while Ove and Frans stepped up behind him, backing him up. All three came from the same village, Ejnar knew. Vilmar too was joined by three of his pack.

He stepped between the groups before something happened. "What's going on here?" he growled with as much menace as he could manage.

"His pack broke their oath and attacked my home!" Nenne said. More werewolves were gathering around them. Oath-breaking was very grave. Not for the first time, Ejnar wished that there were more magical oaths people could swear. No one would break an oath if the penalty was the loss of his life or magic.

Ejnar read the letter. It was a warning. Apparently one of those backwards villages had not adhered to the oath of alliance, and had decided to settle a few disputes with blade and wand. This could destroy his band, unless he acted quickly. "This changes nothing! You gave me your oath, all of you, and you'll keep it or I'll break you. We are one warband, bound together with oath and blood, and we'll stay one! We came here to punish the British and avenge our fellow wolves, and that's what we'll do!"

"We cannot fight if we cannot trust them!" Nenne spat.

Enjar turned to the other werewolf. "I said we're one warband, and we'll stay one band. I'll kill whoever attacks his comrade." He met the other werewolf's eyes and stared him down until Nenne looked away and grumbled his acceptance of the order.

"Let's move out. We'll find a more secure camp for the night!"

On the way to the next forest, Afi walked next to him. "Quick thinking there."

Ejnar shrugged. "I don't know what the village idiots did, but I won't let some backwards pack wreck this warband."

Afi nodded. "I just pray to Odin you'll succeed."

"So do I, Afi. So do I."

*****​

The next day, Ejnar Borge woke up to discover that Nenne, Ove and Frans were gone from their camp. "May Víðarr curse them!" he shouted.

Afi looked grim. In a low voice, he said: "Vilmar and his friends will leave as well as soon as they realise that those three are heading back to fight for their pack."

Ejnar nodded. "And those from packs in the same area will be tempted to head back as well, to protect their homes."

"Can they get back, without getting caught by the British?"

He snorted. "That depends on how much attention they paid while we travelled."

Afi ground his teeth. "We'll have to move then. If one of them gets captured, they'll find us easily."

"Yes." Ejnar started to rouse those of his warband who had not yet woken up despite the shouting. "Up everyone! We need to move!"

While his wolves packed up, he sighed. He'd lose about half his remaining force, or so he thought. Damn those backwards idiots!

He closed his eyes. He didn't want to do this, but… he pulled out a scrap of parchment from his pouch. Greyback had given this to him, some time ago.

*****​

Remus Lupin had been straining to control his temper for days, weeks now. Not just because Wizarding Britain was on a werewolf hunt in all but name, though that played a big part. As did the fact that everyone but a few trusted friends thought he was hunting werewolves during the full moon. He still hadn't forgiven the Headmaster for this 'ruse'. If the other British werewolves ever found out about this, he'd be seen as the biggest hypocrite ever. He might be the biggest hypocrite ever, come to think of it.

Here he was, a teacher at the most prestigious school in Europe, respected by staff, students and parents, and it was all a lie. He was just masquerading as a normal wizard. If they knew he was a werewolf, they'd fire him - and hunt him down.

But what really strained his patience was his best friend's machinations. He didn't know what exactly Sirius was thinking, if he was even thinking, but for days now, at least two of Sirius's girlfriends and often Sirius himself as well, had been at Hogwarts. Sirius claimed they were there to offer additional protection for Harry, and the other students, but Remus had his doubts. They were just a bit too clingy.

He frowned and dropped the essay he was grading onto his desk. 'Clingy' wasn't the right word. They were more like… a bit too ubiquitous. His friend meant well, but it irked some.

Though at least he had someone to talk to nearby, and that lovestruck 7th year, Miss Emmerson, who thought he was the 'most romantic teacher ever', had been much less pushy since she had been surprised by Chantal while trying to break into his flat.

Just as he picked the essay up again, a knock at his door interrupted him. "Yes?"

"It's me."

Lockhart? Remus flicked his wand, and the door opened.

His predecessor as DADA professor, and current assistant professor, stepped inside. "Good evening, Remus."

"Good evening, Gilderoy. How can I help you?"

"I'm here to drop off the tests from the first year classes." He held up a stack of parchments.

Remus smiled, and levitated them to a free space on his desk. "Very good."

"I'm also here to warn you about the latest 'interesting animal' Jenny and Rubeus have created."

"Ah." Remus could understand that. Rubeus was a gentle giant, and Jenny a charming young witch, but they had a blind spot the size of Britain when it came to animals. "What did they do?"

"After they managed to weaponise the Stinging Stonefishes by shrinking them and turning them into ammunition for a sort of magical crossbow, they are now trying to create smarter spitting cobras that can spew acid as well as a much stronger poison."

Remus winced, and his colleague nodded. "The debacle with the spitting 'saltwater crocobras' hasn't stopped them. They think a smarter spitting cobra will be a better match, and prevent the next hybrid from choking on rocks it mistakes for food. Or attacking everything that moves."

"Exactly. I recommend you avoid Rubeus's workshop for a while. They are still trying to tame the little monsters."

"Thank you for the warning. I will focus on dealing with poisonous creatures for the next week then," Remus said.

"That would be advisable," Lockhart said.

"If I may ask for a bit of advice…"

"Of course!" Lockhart flashed his famous smile.

"How do you deal with lovestruck students?" Remus asked. Lockhart had been a famous author when he started teaching for a year at Hogwarts, and he certainly had to have dealt with love-struck witches both at school and abroad. And after his return to Hogwarts.

"I check my food and drink for potions, I maintain my distance whenever possible, and I hope they'll find a wizard closer to their age to pursue."

"Sound advice." Remus had to admit that.

"You haven't had to deal with that before?" Lockhart sounded incredulous.

Remus shook his head. "My popularity rose following recent unfortunate events. I cannot understand how this was possible."

His fellow teacher shrugged. "You might have missed the signs before. Many witches develop crushes on teachers. The lure of the forbidden love, together with the appeal of a mature man instead of a boy, often proves very strong."

"I see. I would have thought the Year of Discovery would help with that."

Lockhart nodded. "It helps. Things should calm down soon. I would not spend any length of time alone in a room with a witch though. Some of them are very cunning."

That was a disturbing possibility. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

"My pleasure. Though you'll understand that I prefer the students lusting after you rather than after me."

Remus narrowed his eyes, but the other wizard was already leaving his office. The werewolf spent quite some time wondering whether it had been a hint that his sudden popularity hadn't been entirely a coincidence.

He might have to revisit his notes from his time at school, to remind Lockhart just who he might be meddling with.

*****​

Ron Weasley couldn't think of a better moment to talk about them than while they were relaxing after sex. It had been a 'wild ride', as his elder brothers would have called it. Some of the bruises he felt had been from the duel, some from the sex.

The moment was there, but he wasn't certain what to say. That had never prevented him from talking though.

"So… "

Parkinson raised her head up from his chest and looked at him. "Hm?"

"Dueling you is fun. You're one of the few who presents a challenge and who takes this seriously." Compliments never hurt.

"Thank you." She smirked.

"And I think it's rather clear that having sex is very enjoyable for both of us. With each other I mean."

"Mh." Her smirk turned into a smile.

"So… I wonder if there are more things that would be fun, together." There. He said it.

She wasn't smiling anymore. She didn't look angry though. More like… surprised.

"You mean… like dating?"

"Yes." He almost turned it into a question. But he was a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin.

She licked her lips. "Won't that lead to trouble with your friends?"

"They already think we are dating," he admitted. When she looked alarmed, he quickly added: "They're not watching us."

"How do they know about… us then?" Her eyes narrowed; she was suspecting something, he realised.

"They sort of followed me to the room." On the map, not in person. But the principle was the same.

"Oh." She was rather cute when she looked surprised.

"We didn't look like we had only dueled when we left." He winced.

Parkinson blushed.

"So… Call me Ron?"

"Call me Pansy."

He took that to mean that they'd be dating 'officially' from now on, and kissed her.

They definitely didn't look like they had just been duelling when they left - together - the room this time.

*****​

Aberforth Dumbledore was sick of Scandinavia. Too many werewolves, too many backwards villages, too much violence. He couldn't leave yet though, not before he had dealt with the Dark Lord's recruiter.

The information he had taken from that young werewolf at the village had led him to this cottage at the mouth of a fjord. It wasn't an ideal spot to recruit people, but it was easy to ship the recruits off from here.

Which was why he'd put a stop to this.

Usually he'd study his target, find the weak spots, then strike. Not today though. There were only a few days left until the next full moon, but the werewolves would be more aggressive already. And he didn't have the time to deal with the wards, or get a Curse-Breaker from somewhere.

He had Polyjuice though, and hair from a recruit. It should be enough to get him through the wards and into the cottage. Afterwards, he'd have to improvise. He was good at that though. A sip from his vial later, 'Hjalmar' was on his way to the cottage.

He stopped in front of the wards, and yelled: "Hello!"

He didn't have to wait long until the door opened, and a scrawny witch stepped out. She looked like a local, so she was probably the most expendable recruit. "I'm here to join," he said. "I contacted you before, but I had to wait until I grew up before I could leave my home."

She smiled at him, and he almost felt guilty for deceiving her. Then he reminded himself just what Voldemort had done, and was doing. Anyone who joined that monster knew what he was doing.

"Can I come inside?" Garden or house, either would suffice to get inside the wards.

"Ah, of course."

He stepped through the wards and smiled. The plan was working.

Right then she started to sniff. "You smell weird…. A mix of scents…"

"Reducto!"

He cut her words off with Blasting Hex to her face that almost split her head in two. One down.

He quickly cast a Shield Charm, then turned his wand on the cottage and blasted the door open. Screams of rage from inside told him he might have wounded someone else. Good. He didn't enter through the door - they would waiting for that. Instead he blew another hole into the wall, a few yards to the right. That caused more screams. He stepped up to the hole and sent a stream of fire inside, then entered through the door, behind a floating pillar of stone.

"Avada Kedavra!"

His floating shield absorbed the Killing Curse, and his barrage of spells forced the caster, a muscular, feral looking man, a werewolf without doubt, to take cover behind an upturned table after his shield had been shattered.

Aberforth grinned, then banished another werewolf who was just getting up straight into the wall. The man hit it with a sickening crunch, head first, then slid down to the ground, leaving a red stain. Two down. Another, identifiable as a recruit since he was wearing local clothes, tried to pull a piece of the door out of his leg. Aberforth hit him with a series of stunners before he realised he was being targeted. Three down.

A werewolf jumped up from behind the couch, and Aberforth was forced to defend with summoned objects and his shield while he stepped around the room. When the couch was behind the man, he transfigured it into what most biologists would call a Cave Bear.

The animal attacked the Death Eater agent with a roar, and even Voldemort's agent froze for a second in the face of such fury. Aberforth used that opportunity to shatter the man's shield, at which point the Bear's claws and fangs made short work of the werewolf.

Aberforth didn't see any other threats, and was about to congratulate himself on a job well done when he heard the cries of a baby from the kitchen. He charged inside, wand out, and found himself threatening a little boy holding a baby while hiding inside the pantry.

When the boy bent over the baby, apparently trying to protect it from him with his life, Aberforth felt like a monster himself.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort smiled when he read the note. It looked like Greyback had managed to accomplish something before his demise. Now if only Baker could manage his affairs in Scandinavia as successfully! But Greyback's replacement had sent but a few werewolves to Voldemort so far, claiming that it took so long to set up a secure way to ferry them to Britain. Cheap excuses, but then again - what could he expect from an animal, even a more civilized one such as Baker?

This Ejnar Borgen though, he had potential. He had heard of the werewolf from Greyback himself. An experienced leader of warbands, but without a pack of his own. A mercenary, at times, even though his loyalty to the werewolves of Scandinavia was supposedly unshakeable. Well, that didn't matter. Voldemort only needed him for the next offensive, during the full moon. Afterwards, Britain would be broken.

He rubbed his chin while he mused. The warband Borgen spoke of needed a secure base. He could provide that. Assigning more werewolves to his band would increase his effectiveness, though Voldemort doubted that the British beasts would work well with berserkers. Though, his Scandinavian followers would fit in well. Maybe a bit too well, even.

It didn't matter, he decided. A few more days and the full moon would rise, and Britain would be his.

"Bellatrix!"

"Yes, master?" His lover appeared at his side at once, dropping the book she had been reading. She was eager, he knew, to serve.

"I have a mission for you. Meet with this werewolf, and ascertain if he and his warband can be trusted - for the next few days, at least."

His Bella nodded, a wide smile on her face. She was even more eager than himself to finally break Britain.

Just a few more days.


Chapter 57: Bad Moon Rising
 
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Chapter 57: Bad Moon Rising
Chapter 57: Bad Moon Rising

Aberforth Dumbledore stared at the trembling, crying boy of about three years in front of him. "I'm not going to hurt you, boy."

The child cringed, and didn't seem reassured. Yellow eyes, Aberforth noted. Werewolf.

The wizard sighed. "Look, I don't hurt children." Not even werewolves, he added to himself. When the boy didn't react at all, he asked: "Do you understand me?"

The child whimpered. "Mamma."

There had only been one woman in the cottage. The werewolf whom Aberforth had killed outside. He cursed under his breath. "Where's your father?" He asked, in his less than perfect Norwegian.

The boy slowly looked at him, then pointed at the door to the living room.

"Do you have any other family?"

The child stared at him, seemingly not understanding the question.

"Do you have a pack?"

The boy shook his head and cried again. Aberforth took a deep breath. He couldn't stay much longer. The Scandinavians wouldn't take well to him killing a couple of werewolves on their soil. Especially not since he had attacked them. And if he was caught in his polyjuiced form the ruse that had set those villages against each other would be revealed. He had to leave.

Yet he couldn't leave the children here, next to the bodies of their parents. Or by themselves. He could dump them in Oslo, he thought. Someone would take care of them. Probably. They liked werewolves in this country, after all. They wanted more werewolves, even. For their feuds and raids.

He could leave them there. Should leave them there, to live with their own kind. To be raised in a pack.

He gathered the two children up. "Let's go."

*****​

Ejnar Borge sniffed the air. This close to the full moon, his senses were far sharper. Not even close to what he could smell when he transformed, of course, but given the direction of the wind, he should have smelled anyone hiding near the witch waiting for him and his warband in the clearing.

Bellatrix Lestrange. The Dark Lord's right wand, and mistress, if the rumours were true. A witch whose skill in the Dark Arts rivalled that of the Dark Lord. A witch who had spent over a decade in Azkaban, surrounded by demons whose mere presence drove lesser wizards mad and suicidal.

Ejnar was no coward, but he couldn't help but feel the hairs on his neck stand up when he walked towards the wild-haired woman. Up close he noticed that she was looking far younger than she should, especially after the years in prison. Very attractive. And very dangerous. And, he added to himself, after meeting the witch's eyes, very mad.

She nodded at him. "Ejnar Borge."

He returned the nod, curtly. To show weakness to others was an invitation for an attack. "Bellatrix Lestrange."

"You have contacted the Dark Lord with an offer of alliance. He sent me, to ensure this offer is genuine." She smiled, flashing perfect teeth in the dim moonlight.

"I'm no oathbreaker," he spat, reminding himself that outsiders, foreigners didn't understand the Norse. To break an Oath was to offend the gods, which would mean the gates to Valhalla would be closed for you.

She snorted. "You might not be. Or you might be. I'm here to find out which is the case." She slowly raised her wand and aimed it at his head.

He didn't move. He had expected this.

"Legilimens."

*****​

Albus Dumbledore looked up when the fireplace flared in his office. Who would...

"Albus. I'm coming through." His brother's voice answered his unspoken question. He had expected Aberforth to return sooner; his mission's success had already helped in curbing Scandinavia's appetite for foreign adventures.

He pointed his wand at the fireplace and unlocked the Floo connection. An instant later, his brother stepped through, carrying a bundle and … a child? No, two children. The Headmaster was baffled for the first time since… he couldn't remember, actually.

"Aberforth?" He asked, looking at the children.

"They are Mats and Letta. They're the kids of a pair of werewolves I had to kill on your orders," his brother said, casting a cushioning charm and setting the baby and the boy down. The boy stared at him, and grabbed the baby. Aberforth helped the child adjust, casting a few spells to ensure the boy wouldn't drop the baby.

"Ah." Albus said. "Voldemort's agents?"

"Helpers recruited in Scandinavia. They don't understand English."

"And you brought them to Britain." To him, actually. Albus had an inkling of the reason, but didn't want to confirm it yet.

"They've no family left as far as I know."

"The Scandinavians are known to take in orphans. Even or rather especially werewolves." The Headmaster didn't know if the children were werewolves - he hoped the baby wasn't - but it was more prudent to assume they were, instead of risking a tragic accident.

"They're also known to feud far more than any other country, and raise their children for war," Aberforth answered. "You know, and I just saw myself, how eager they are to fight."

"You took them with you so they would not be used as warriors?" It was a very touching revelation that his gruff brother still cared that much about werewolves. That he was planning to leave the children with Albus was not quite as touching.

Aberforth shrugged. "It's better than having to kill them in 20 years."

"They are a bit young for Hogwarts."

"Yes." Aberforth stared at him.

Albus met his eyes, then sighed. "You want me to take care of them, to punish me for sending you on this mission."

His brother snorted. "No. I want you to take care of them because I killed their parents." He shrugged. "That you feel you're getting punished says more about you than me."

Albus refrained from rolling his eyes. He couldn't fault him for not wanting to raise children he had made orphans. There were a lot of cautionary tales about such situations, not all of them fictional. For many, blood was more important than deeds. But he also knew his brother did not mind, not at all, the quandary he was putting Albus in. To find a good home for two werewolf children, in Britain these days… There were not many Albus knew who'd even consider this, and fewer who'd trust him. Voldemort had been very successful in widening the rift between werewolves and wizards. If only…

Albus smiled. That would be perfect. "I see. Do not worry. I already have a place for them in mind. They will be safe, be assured."

Aberforth stared at him, probably wary of Albus's acceptance, but his brother was too proud to voice his suspicions. With a brief nod, he walked over to the fireplace.

"Hog's Head!"

Albus sighed once his brother had disappeared. Aberforth was so full of resentment, against Albus, and against himself. The Headmaster couldn't dwell on him though. He had two children to take care of.

He raised his wand, and sent a Patronus Messenger away.

*****​

"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?" Remus Lupin asked, entering Dumbledore's office. To be summoned by a Patronus meant something important, something urgent had happened. That meant Harry, or Sirius. Or, he amended, seeing a baby and a boy sitting on a couch to the left of the Headmaster's desk, maybe something else.

"Yes, Remus. Thank you for coming so promptly. Please have a seat."

The werewolf sat down, but kept glancing at the children.

"Mats and Letta." Dumbledore gestured towards the children. "This is Remus."

"Hello." Remus smiled at the baby, then at the boy, Mats.

The child narrowed his eyes, frowning. "Hej." The boy's greeting sounded almost like a growl.

Remus's nostrils widened. He turned to the Headmaster again. "Are they…?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Their parents were killed recently."

"The Dark Lord? Or British bigots?"

If the old wizard took offense to Remus's bitter words, then he didn't show it. He shook his head instead. "They do not speak English. Their parents worked for the Dark Lord, and were killed in his service, in Scandinavia."

Remus didn't ask by whom. If the Headmaster was involved, then odds were it was one of his agents. "Do you need a translator?" Remus had once considered emigrating to Scandinavia, and had learned the language, before he had found out what life there really was for werewolves. And for wizards.

"In a manner of speaking."

Remus blinked. What was Dumbledore talking about… his eyes widened. "You want me to take care of them?"

"I think you are well-suited to the task. You speak the language, you are a good wizard, and you have no prejudice towards their condition. A combination that's, sadly, exceedingly rare in Britain." Dumbledore spread his hands. "They have no other family, or so I have been told, and you know what would await them in Scandinavia."

"I'm a teacher, and single. I have neither the time, nor the skills to take care of little children," Remus said. This was crazy. He, caring for children? Little children? He couldn't even care for himself!

"You are a good man, you are very skilled with children - granted, older children than those two - and the Hogwarts elves would, of course, support you." Dumbledore smiled.

"I could get killed each day we face the Dark Lord's forces, leaving them orphaned once more, Headmaster!"

The old wizard smiled. "I do not think anyone would begrudge you if you were to stop putting your life on the line if it was to care for two children. Sirius would certainly understand you."

Remus fought the urge to growl at the manipulative man. The full moon was close, and the wolf was growing stronger. "That's what you want, right? You fear I'd lose control."

The Headmaster didn't deny it. "I think you can help them, and they can help you, Remus. Before it is too late for you."

"Did Sirius put you up for this? He's been riding me about finding a witch to settle down with ever since he proposed to Valérie!" Remus was about to stand up and yell, but controlled himself when he saw Mats bend over Letta, seemingly afraid.

Dumbledore had to have seen this, but didn't react. "I did not need him to tell me that you are greatly - understandably, but greatly - troubled. I did not anticipate the effects of my ruse on you, after the recent tragedies."

"No, you did not! And yet you're doing the same again, trying to …"

"Give you the opportunity to do something against the prejudice sweeping the country? Use your reputation as a hunter, which I admit that I am responsible for, to fight bigotry?" Dumbledore asked in a mild tone.

Remus ground his teeth. He wouldn't give the man the satisfaction of agreeing.

"Can you honestly tell me that you'd not have taken the children with you, had you discovered them in a cottage in Britain on a mission for the Order, next to their dead kin?"

The teacher closed his eyes. "No, I can't."

"You are not the kind of man who would let his pride and understandable anger prevent you from doing the right thing. Not when the fate of children is at stake." Dumbledore folded his hands and looked steadily at him.

"What about the other werewolf orphans? These children are not the only ones who have lost their parents. Do we ignore their plight, since saving them won't save me?"

"Of course not. But it will be much easier to find good homes for other orphans if there is the example of a famous werewolf hunter overcoming his hatred and taking care of two orphaned werewolves." Dumbledore sighed. "As always, wizards are led by example far more than by anything else."

"You have an answer for everything I say, haven't you?"

"Not for everything. Whether or not you will take care of those two children is something only you can answer."

Remus growled, digging his fingers into the armrests of his seat. Mats cringed again, but the old wizard simply smiled, gently, and waited.

Until Remus, as he already knew he would, would agree.

Sometimes he really hated the Headmaster.

*****​

Hermione Granger had to make an effort not to frown when she handed over her latest work on the ritual formula to the Headmaster. Not that she was unhappy with her work. She had optimised her formula once more, if not by much, and was quite certain that it would stand up to the old wizard's check.

"Thank you, Miss Granger."

She nodded, and sat down, taking her notebook out, but didn't start working. She didn't want to work on creating a marginally more efficient ritual. She wanted to capture a Dementor and start the ritual.

Dumbledore must have noticed, since he said: "I've put out the word. Trust me, as soon as there is even but a hint of a Dementor sighting, I will be informed, and we will be able to take action."

Hermione nodded. "I know, sir."

She must not have sounded as if she was convinced, since he added: "He will use the Dementors, Miss Granger. He will not be able to win without them."

"I still worry," she said, biting her lower lip.

"That is only natural. But we cannot lose patience - or hope."

"Just when I wish the Death Eaters would be more active, they stop," she grumbled.

Dumbledore chuckled, then returned his attention to her formulas while she started thinking of new spells. Anything to take her mind off the worry that they would be too late.

*****​

"Remus will be a bit late today. He has to put his kids to bed first." Sirius announced, entering the training room where Harry Potter and his friends were waiting.

"Remus has kids?" Harry stared at his godfather. He must have misunderstood.

Sirius nodded, grinning. "Yes. Two. A six month old daughter, and a three year old boy." He shook his head. "That was a surprise, let me tell you. I'm his best friend, and I didn't know anything about them until he told me today."

"Why didn't he tell us?" Ron asked. "Did he hide them for their own safety? And who's the mother?"

"Did the mother get killed in the war, and now he has to take care of them?" Luna asked. She grabbed her notepad. "That needs an article!"

"Well, it's a really tragic story. Remus doesn't want to talk about it, it hurts him too much, you know, but I can tell you everything," Sirius said, conspiratorially. "It all started when…"

"... when I was called to the Headmaster's office yesterday," Remus interrupted Harry's godfather. "As you knew perfectly well."

"I was just about to tell them that," Sirius protested.

"Of course you were," Remus answered, rolling his eyes.

"So, what is the story then?" Hermione asked. When Remus stared at her, she pushed her chin forward. "It's perfectly normal and legitimate to want to know why you've suddenly got two children."

Luna nodded. "Indeed. If that is contagious, then the world needs to know!" The blonde ignored everyone's stares, just as everyone ignored Sirius's laughter.

Remus sighed. "The two children are war orphans. The Headmaster asked me to take care of them, since I speak their language."

"They're from Scandinavia then, right?" Hermione said. When Remus confirmed that, she nodded, apparently satisfied. Harry thought this was odd - usually the muggleborn witch would ask for more information.

"Oh, are they werewolves?" Luna asked.

Remus nodded. "Yes."

"Oh… that has to get into The Quibbler! Remus Lupin adopts werewolf orphans!"

"Luna…" Hermione started to say while Harry stared at their blonde friend.

"I'll need to see the article before it gets printed, Luna," Remus said firmly, surprising everyone.

"You want Britain to know that the children are werewolves?" Harry asked, surprised.

Remus nodded. "It should help oppose the hysteria against werewolves currently gripping the country."

"Of course! Adopting werewolves might become fashionable even! I'll have to ask daddy if we can adopt one too!" Luna beamed at Remus.

"Err…" Harry didn't know if Luna was serious, or what he could say to dissuade her from going through with her plan.

"That's very kind of you Luna," Remus said, smiling at the quirky blonde. "Not many will even consider adopting werewolves."

Harry felt like a bludger had hit him in the stomach. He had thought he was open-minded, but he had just been proven wrong. And he didn't know what was worse - that he had wanted to stop Luna's family from adopting a werewolf child, or stop them from adopting anyone. They might be eccentric, but they were more caring than most people he knew. A glance told him that the rest of his friends, but for Aicha, were sharing his thoughts and shame, judging by their expressions.

It didn't really make him feel better. But it made him want to become a better person.

*****​

Ron Weasley was in hell. Or close to. He was surrounded by Slytherins. The best friends of his new girlfriend, too, even though he was not quite certain if Greengrass was included in this description - Pansy had been a bit vague. He hoped so, since Greengrass was the friendliest among the bunch. Maybe a bit too enthusiastic, even though she reminded him of Lavender.

"You're going out together? I knew it! When did you start? And how?" The blonde Slytherin's squeal hit a pitch that would have shattered glass, Ron thought.

"A few days ago," Pansy said, sounding slightly annoyed.

"I told you, didn't I?" Greengrass beamed at them both.

"You told them?" Davis asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, just her." Greengrass giggled.

"You didn't tell me," Pansy said, sounding even more annoyed.

"Tell her what?" Ron asked.

"To make a move on you, or I'd make one!" The witch chirped.

"You didn't say that. You simply asked if you could sleep with him," Pansy growled.

"And you glared at me, far worse than you're glaring right now!" The other witch said, still smiling. "See?"

Davis giggled, and even Goyle, who had been silent so far, grunted in what Ron thought was amusement. The Gryffindor chuckled himself, and patted Pansy's hand until she huffed and softened her glare. The Slytherins weren't as bad as he had thought. Not too different from his own circle of friends, to be honest. Sort of.

Greengrass leaned forward with an eager expression. "So… what have you done already? How's the sex?"

"We're not telling you about our sex life, Daphne!" Pansy said. She squeezed Ron's hand hard enough so he understood the message as well. Not that he would have wanted to talk about that with the Slytherins.

"If you hurt her, we hurt you." Goyle said suddenly, glaring at Ron, before falling silent again.

"Ah…" Ron blinked, then turned towards Pansy. "Shouldn't you be telling him that you can handle yourself just fine?" At least they did that in the movies he had seen. Ginny had said that each time one of her brothers had had a talk with Neville.

Pansy looked puzzled. "Why should I? If you're hurting me, I'll take any help I can get to hurt you back."

"And then some," Davis added, while the Slytherins nodded.

Ron had been wrong. Slytherins were different. Unless they were just pulling his leg, he thought when he saw Pansy smirk.

He leaned towards her and whispered: "Remember, we'll be meeting my friends as well."

That wiped her smirk right off her face.

*****​

Bellatrix Lestrange had been terrifying, but the Dark Lord himself was far worse, Ejnar Borge thought. Tall, handsome, and casually wielding terrifying power. Where Bellatrix had given him the impression that she wanted you to attack her so she could kill you, Voldemort looked at him as if Ejnar was a bug he could squash anytime he wished. And according to everything Ejnar knew, that was the truth. It was hard not to give in to the wolf inside him, and present his throat in submission.

"Welcome, my brave warrior."

Ejnar had planned to nod, but found himself bowing deeply before he realised what he was doing. "I'm honoured to be here, milord."

"You've come to our shores to punish the British for their crimes against werewolves."

"Yes, milord."

"And you desire to 'share your gift', as you call it, with more people."

"Yes, milord."

"I can grant you both - if you join my ranks. Apart from the cowards and fools, all of Britain's werewolves serve me."

Ejnar ground his teeth and gathered all of his courage. "My warband can fight at your side, but we're loyal wolves of our country. We cannot break our oaths to our home."

The Dark Lord rubbed his chin, his cold eyes fixated on Ejnar. Bellatrix looked ready to skin him alive; her wand was trembling in her hand, but not yet aimed at him at least. Finally, the man nodded. "That is acceptable."

A glance shut Bellatrix up before she could voice her opinion, and the Dark Lord sent for a werewolf to lead Ejnar and his warband to their new quarters. Despite the successful negotiations - if one could call that brief exchange a negotiation - Ejnar couldn't help feeling as if he was making a fatal mistake.

But it was all he could think of to save his warband.

*****​

"What movie are we showing tonight?" Harry Potter asked, stepping into the enlarged room where the 'Movie Night' was held.

"'Kiki's Delivery Service'," Hermione answered, her expression showing that she had told him that before, but that she thought he had apparently not been listening.

Which was kind of true, he had to admit. Between his recently discovered bigotry and the Dark Lord, he had been distracted. "What's that?"

"It's an anime, an animated movie from Japan. Kiki is a broom-riding young witch who starts a delivery service. It's a beautiful, heart-warming movie, and it should please the purebloods, though it has nothing to do with Magical Japan. It also promotes understanding, and shows muggles and witches living together in harmony," Hermione explained.

"Wow. Why haven't we shown this movie before? It sounds like it is tailor-made for Hogwarts' Movie Nights," Harry wondered.

Hermione winced slightly. "It's an anime. I didn't know about it. Anime also had a bad reputation among my friends." She looked pensive for a moment. "I do wonder if someone who knew about the Magical World had a hand in making this movie though."

"Well, is it romantic enough for Ron's first official date in public?" Harry asked.

Hermione frowned. "It's certainly not an action movie. It should do." She shrugged. "Of course, Parkinson might prefer an action movie, if we take their first dates as an example. One with lots of fights."

Harry thought his girlfriend still hadn't really accepted Ron's new girlfriend. He had some reservations himself, but he trusted Ron. Besides, Parkinson had to have had enough opportunities to hurt their friend, if that was her plan. And while Ron wasn't exactly poor, the Parkinsons were richer, so she wasn't after his gold. And Malfoy was no longer around to make Ron jealous. And Parkinson had proven both to be brave and to have a soul during the attack on the Hogwarts Express. And he was starting to sound like Hermione in his head.

"I still don't really believe it, you know," he said.

"What don't you believe?" Hermione asked, setting up the projector.

"Ron and Parkinson." Harry looked over to the door. Ron would arrive soon, ready to screen the arrivals.

"You know the saying: 'Opposites attract'."

"I prefer 'birds of a feather flock together'. It doesn't make people think I'm dumb," Harry said.

Hermione chuckled. "Some claim men and women are as different as you can be and still be human."

"Where does that leave Veela then?" Harry shot back.

She stuck her tongue out at him. Before she could say anything, the door opened and Ron entered. Followed by Parkinson. Both were wearing fancier robes than usual. More revealing ones too.

"Hi there!" Ron said.

A bit too loudly, Harry thought. He looked nervous too. And Hermione was focusing a bit too much on checking the seats.

"Ron! Miss Parkinson!" he said, walking towards the couple.

Ron winced slightly when Harry made eye contact with him. Good. His friend probably had just now realised that Parkinson's presence meant that Hermione had to act as Harry's retainer and not as his girlfriend much earlier than usual. Which wouldn't help with her mood.

Ron mouthed 'sorry' while Parkinson bowed. "Good evening, Mister Potter. I'm looking forward to the movie tonight."

"Hermione has picked it out. It should be very entertaining," Harry answered. "It's about a young witch."

"That sounds interesting," Parkinson said. "I haven't seen a movie featuring a young witch yet." The sea witch from 'Arielle' didn't count, Harry knew.

"I'm getting us some drinks. What would you like?" Ron said, pointing his wand at the boxes in the back.

"A butterbeer please," the Slytherin said.

"Nothing yet, thank you." Harry shook his head.

A flick of Ron's wand later, a butterbeer and a coke flew towards them.

Hermione joined them. "Everything is ready, my Patron."

"Thank you, my Wand," Harry answered.

Ron winced once again, and Parkinson's smile looked a bit forced to Harry. The Slytherin gamely kept the conversation going though. "I have to admit that I expected a bit more work behind the scenes, so to speak, given that the results of your efforts are so remarkable." She gestured towards the room.

"Oh, Hermione's pretty much preset the whole room," Harry said. "A bit of wandwork, and all's ready. Most of that is stocking up on snacks from the kitchen." That, and checking the wards and other defenses.

"Impressive," Parkinson said, smiling at Hermione.

"Thank you, Miss Parkinson," Harry's retainer answered, with a slight bow.

For a moment, no one said anything. Harry was about to make some more mindless conversation when Ron wrapped an arm around Parkinson and pulled the startled witch to his side.

"Merlin, I've had fights that were less tense and awkward than this! We're supposed to be on a date, not in a diplomatic meeting!" Harry's best friend said. "So, did you hear about Scandinavia's excuses? I don't know why they bother, they are obviously lying!"

"Their excuses would not withstand closer scrutiny, but to force the issue would be undiplomatic. Everyone knows they are lying, but no one will take them to task for it," Parkinson said. "What do you think, Miss Granger?"

Asking a Patron's retainer a question directly while in said Patron's presence was not usually done, but it was not quite a faux pas, even if it was usually limited to topics a retainer was an expert in. Granted, Hermione could pass for an expert - at the very least among her peers - for just about every topic, but Harry thought this was Parkinson trying to build bridges. Or, if viewed as a more Slytherin approach, to curry favour with Hermione. Either way, it was better than some stilted, formal and awkward conversation.

"I think they are abusing customs, but it's not as if other countries have not done the same. It's obvious, for example, that our civil war has spilled over to multiple countries, and yet the Ministry can claim that those were the actions of civilians, not the government," Hermione explained. "The Scandinavians are just following the normal standards in international politics."

"The difference though is that the attacks on yourself and your Patron in Bulgaria were obviously not committed with the approval, tacit or explicit, of the Ministry, but by its enemies," Pansy said. "That is not the case with Scandinavia though, where the official stance lines up very closely with those actions taken by 'individuals outside the control of the government'."

Harry would never have expected that talking about a horrible war could be preferable to making light conversation. But as the four of them talked about politics, the awkward mood quickly faded. It would still take a long time, he thought, until Parkinson would be considered a close enough friend for Hermione to be able to act naturally around her. Assuming, of course, that Ron and she didn't break up before that point.

*****​

Hermione Granger sighed as the lights dimmed and the movie started. In the first row, Ron and Parkinson were sitting very close to each other. Closer than the seating arrangement she had prepared would allow, to be honest. Someone had to have transfigured their seats. Ron, of course - Parkinson wouldn't dare to do that, not if she knew what was good for her!

The muggleborn witch sighed again. It wasn't fair to project her anger on the Slytherin witch. Even if she hadn't been there, the Movie Night would be far too public for her and Harry to act like the couple they were. At least she could sit next to Harry in the front row. Maybe they could hold hands if she shielded them from view.

While the young witch on the screen flew over the beautiful landscape of the port city she had moved to, she noticed that Ron and Parkinson, sitting on the other side of Harry, were now almost climbing over each other. Ron had certainly adapted to muggle cinema cliches very well. Not that she begrudged him that. Certainly not after his girlfriend had broken up with him so callously. But she was more than a bit jealous that she couldn't do the same. Ron wasn't the only one who had certain ideas about things to do on a movie date.

A touch on her hand shook her from her thoughts. Harry leaned over to her and whispered. "Come with me to the back."

Surprised, but curious, she followed him. Was there a problem with the projector? Harry ignored the projector though, and instead aimed his wand at a spot next to it. With a whispered incantation, he conjured a couch, no a sort of loge. She gasped, and looked at him. Even if they were in the back row, they'd still be in public, and he couldn't afford the scandal, should anyone see them. If he had the same thing in mind as she had, of course.

He smiled at her and pulled out his invisibility cloak. It would be a tight fit to cover both of them with it, but if she sat in his lap, it would work. And sitting in his lap was kind of the point, wasn't it?

Hermione didn't really remember much of the movie afterwards. But it certainly was a perfect movie night, in her opinion.

*****​

It had been an enjoyable date, Pansy Parkinson thought as she stood up and stretched while the ending credits played on the screen. The movie had been as sweet as she had been led to believe, and Ron had been… well, she understood why such a date was so popular among muggles. Potter and Granger had left their seats quite early in the movie though, and hadn't returned. She wondered what was up with that, had they left… no, they were in the back, at the muggle device that showed the movie. Maybe Potter had been boasting about how easy it was to show a movie?

The audience started to file out, chatting excitedly about the movie. Some of the younger witches were transfiguring all sorts of things into the same ribbons for their hair that Kiki had been wearing. Ron made no move towards the door though. Insead he walked to the back of the room with her. Where Potter and his friends were waiting.

"Told you," he whispered, grinning. "Hello everyone. As you may have noticed, Pansy and I are a couple now."

"Have been a couple for a while," Potter commented.

"Oh!" Lovegood cocked her head, and stared at Pansy.

The Slytherin witch stared back, slightly unnerved. Her unease grew when the blonde started to circle around her, with her head still cocked sideways. No one else seemed to react to this though. When the Ravenclaw had completed the circle, Pansy snapped out: "And?"

Luna kept smiling, nodded, and declared to Ron: "I found no obvious faults or Nargle nesting spots. You can keep her!"

Ron chuckled, as did most of the others. Pansy dryly said: "Thank you for your approval." And to think that she hadn't been expecting this kind of treatment until she was engaged!

Antar nodded at her in a friendly, if slightly reserved, manner before pulling Lovegood with her to grab some drinks. She reminded Pansy of Tracey, especially in the way she handled the blonde witch. Ron's sister stared at her, and Pansy had to fight the urge to draw her wand to defend herself against an imminent attack until Longbottom distracted the younger witch, and even so the redhead sent a few looks over her shoulder that made it clear that they'd have words, later.

At least Potter and Granger were as polite as before, and didn't try to intimidate her. It helped that Granger obviously wanted to interrogate her, but couldn't, as a mere retainer. Pansy had to refrain from smirking at the muggleborn witch while she chatted with the group about the movie.

When Ron was finally walking her back to her dorm, she still sighed with relief. "That was…" she began, searching for a polite word for 'stressful'.

"It went much better than I thought," Ron said, beaming.

"Your sister threatened to transfigure my brain into an mongoose if I 'mistreated' you." That had been scarier than it should have been, coming from a 5th year witch.

"Oh, that's just a hyperbole. She can turn your, ah, boogers into bats that attack you though."

Pansy felt sick thinking about that. "Is your whole family like that?"

"Oh, no!" He reassured her. "We're a friendly bunch."

"I've known the twins," she reminded him.

"Ah, yes. They learned from my oldest brother, Bill."

"Great."

"That he is!" Ron said, then chuckled as she glared at him. "Seriously, you don't have to worry. Unless they think you hurt me."

She narrowed her eyes. "Is that payback for meeting my friends?"

"Maybe a little?"

Pansy groaned, then smirked. She'd get revenge in their next duelling session.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort smiled, surveilling the ranks of werewolves gathered on the empty field between two forests. It was without a doubt the biggest gathering of werewolves Britain had seen in decades, perhaps ever. And all of them were ready to fight for him. Fools.

He checked his watch. Two p.m.. The full moon would rise at a quarter to five p.m.. It was time.

He slowly rose up from the ground, until he was floating two yards above the assembled beasts. It didn't take long for all of them to fall quiet after the first had witnessed his feat. Many of them looked awed even.

"Comrades!" he said, an Amplifying Charm carrying his words to everyone. "The time has come. The time to take back the country that has driven you out, murdered your families and denied you justice! Soon the full moon will rise, granting you your power. Soon you will run and hunt all over Britain! You will prey on the weak and foolish, as you should!

"The wizards will cower in their homes, hiding. They are afraid of you, and with good reason! They know you rule the night of the full moon. This is your night. Show them your power! Show them you're the hunters, not the prey! They have taken everything from you, and now you will take everything back!

"Go, and hunt!"

The werewolves howled and screamed when he had finished. It was an inhuman, monstrous cacophony. The beasts were already close to shedding their human disguise, and showing their true nature.

He spread his arms wide. "Go!"

Beneath him, the horde broke up into packs as the wolves started to apparate away. Only Voldemort himself remained. He landed again right when Bella appeared in the clearing.

"Have you accomplished your tasks?"

"Yes, Master!" She answered, eagerly. "Everything is ready!"

That meant the sacrifices were prepared for the ritual. "Very good, my love. Gather our wands, they will be needed soon."

The dark witch apparated back to his headquarters. Voldemort himself had another destination to visit before he could rejoin his Bella. He checked that he was wearing the amulet, then concentrated and apparated to a decrepit old manor. The cold was almost strong enough to overcome his robe's Warming Charms, and the aura of the monsters battered against his Occlumency shields. Lesser wizards would have fled, or died. But he was Lord Voldemort! He stood, unflinchingly, while dozens of the monsters surrounded him, and held out the amulet until one Dementor was facing him.

He sensed the question's intent, curiosity laced with cruelty and anticipation, and focused his own mind, thinking of Dementors hunting muggles and wizards alike. The Dementor facing him hissed with pleasure, and Voldemort felt another question. Grinning, he imagined a horde of Dementors, dozens of them, if not hundreds.

Around him, the hissing grew louder as more and more of the monsters gathered, excited. They wanted to hunt, he knew. More than anything. Finally, the apparent leader nodded, and the hissing grew into a screeching noise, before the Dementors floated away, spreading out.

The hunt had begun.

*****​

"You can't stay! We'll transform!"

Remus Lupin smiled at Mats and held up a vial. "Do you know what this is?"

The boy shook his head.

"Wolfsbane."

The way the child's eyes widened made it clear that, he knew what that was, but had never seen it. His parents had to have been part of a very rustic settlement. Or a very poor one.

"Drink half the vial, and give half of the remainder to Letta;" Remus said. He watched while the boy did as he had been told. Mats was very careful with the vial, and with his sister. Not unlike Remus had been, according to his mother.

He sighed, and went to check that the door to his office was not just locked, but sealed. The full moon would rise soon, and he could not afford the smallest mistake. Not with two young children depending on him.

He had taken his potion already, so he didn't have to do anything but keep the children company and wait until he felt the familiar pain overwhelm him. When he could think clearly again, he was looking down at his two cubs. The older one growled at him, then sniffed him.

Remus couldn't remember any night the wolf inside him had been as content as at the time the two cubs snuggled up to him.

*****​

Ejnar Borge raced through the forest on all fours, long limbs carrying him towards the small village at the forest's edge. His Warband - his pack, if only temporarily - ran behind him, howling with glee. They were free! They were on the hunt! Both for prey to eat and people to share their gift with.

He reached the edge of the forest, and howled louder. In the village in front of him all the lights were on, and he heard screams and yells from inside some buildings. He smelled cows, and sheep, and chickens. And people. No sign of any magic though.

Perfect. His pack could hunt, and feed, and there would be new members come tomorrow. If they survived. He ran towards the closest door, crashing through. A woman screamed and turned around, trying to flee. He was on top of her before she had taken more than three steps, baring his fangs and teeth at her. She shrieked, and for a moment he was expecting her to faint. She didn't though. Instead she struck at him, not that her blows could harm him. But she was trying and she wasn't surrendering. She was worthy of the gift. So he turned his head, and bit into her forearm until he could taste blood, then howled again.

*****​

He stepped into the circle between the three marble altars, upon which the sacrifices were laid out, held down with chains of enchanted silver. Two men, one woman, all in the prime of their life. Young, but not too young, they had not yet been worn down by too many transformations. The sun had set already, but night had not yet fallen. But the moon was rising, and soon the three monsters would shed their human skin, and sprout fur and claws and fangs. Their lives would grant him the power to crush his enemies.

Three globes floated around him, shimmering with the enchantments he had painstakingly placed on them, the runes inlaid in their surface glowing already. They would hold the power, long enough for him to use it.

Next to him stood his lover, Bellatrix, as beautiful, loyal and lethal as ever. She would die for him, he knew, if he wanted her to. She was his right wand. His Bella. The one who would stand at his side, forever.

While the moon rose over the treetops, and its silvery light started to wander towards the bound sacrifices, he closed his eyes, savouring the moment. In a hundred years, in a thousand years, wizards and witches would remember this day. The day Lord Voldemort conquered Britain.

*****​

Hermione Granger held Harry's hand while he shook in his bed. Blood ran over his face, pouring out of his scar. He was hissing through clenched teeth, trying to say something, but she couldn't understand him. Couldn't help him, other than to Scourgify the blood away and hold him while he suffered. Tears formed in her eyes while she hugged him. She couldn't help him, but she'd stay with him.

"Miss Granger? Please come to my office at once."

She looked up when she heard the voice of the Headmaster, and stared at the glowing phoenix made of light. A Patronus… Dumbledore was calling for her. That meant…

She couldn't leave Harry alone while he suffered, and yet this was the moment she had been waiting for. The chance to save him. To sever the connection to the Dark Lord and end the danger to him that it represented. And to end the Dark Lord, at the same time.

She hated herself, but there was no other choice. After kissing Harry on the cheek, and caressing his head, she stood up, summoned the bag she had prepared, and made haste to the Headmaster's office.

Dumbledore was already waiting for her there, with Fawkes on his shoulder.

"Headmaster, Harry is having another vision!" Hermione exclaimed.

"As was to be expected," the old wizard said, looking grim. "But as cruel as it feels, this is our chance. With the Dark Lord in the middle of a ritual, we have a window of opportunity during which we can act while he is unable to stop us."

Hermione nodded. She knew what had happened the last time the Dark Lord had made a mistake during his ritual. If he tried to leave in the middle of it, the backlash would be just as bad, or even worse.

"Grab onto Fawkes, Miss Granger. We've received reports of Dementors attacking muggles in Cambridgeshire and East Anglia. Dozens of them."

Dozens of Dementors? Hunting muggles? Hermione gasped as she grasped the bird's leg. And again when she was suddenly surrounded by fire, just like during the last task of the Tournament. Before she could scream though, the flames vanished, and she found herself standing on top of a little hill, overlooking a village.

"In addition to Dementors, werewolves are running wild all over Britain. The Obliviators will be stretched beyond their limits, so we have to be discreet," Dumbledore explained. "I will handle the capture, you will keep the other Dementors away, or at least at bay."

"Yes, sir," Hermione said with more confidence than she felt, and together they walked towards the village.

They didn't have to search; they encountered a Dementor right at the entrance to the village, bent over a man lying on the ground in the middle of the street. It was kissing the muggle!

"Expecto Patronum!"

Hermione sent a glowing otter at the monster, driving it away from its prey and forcing it to flee. Then she glanced at the Headmaster. That hadn't been the plan.

He smiled reassuringly at her. "While it prevented me from capturing the Dementor, your swift action also saved this man's soul. We will find another prey, Miss Granger."

They found two comatose, soulless husks first though. A couple, from the looks of it, a few years older than Hermione herself. She bit her lower lip to not scream with anger and frustration at the sight.

Then they heard a scream. A child! Hermione started to run towards the scream at once, wand out. She turned the corner and saw a little girl, cornered by a Dementor, shaking with fear. The girl could see the monster, she realised - it had to be a witch! Once more she cast a Patronus, but before her otter could charge this monster, the soil rose from the Earth and formed a cage around it. The girl used the opportunity and scrambled on all fours away from the Dementor, and opened the door to the house.

"They cannot open doors or windows!" Hermione yelled to her, hoping she'd hear and understand. The door slammed shut, so hopefully she had.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore had pulled a rolled-up carpet out of his robe. "It is time for us to leave."

"But… the Dementors are still around." Hermione protested.

"Time is of the essence, Miss Granger. Besides, most people will be in their homes by now - or already beyond help. But if we fail here, then this tragedy will be repeated again and again."

The closer she stepped to the transfigured cage, the lower the temperature fell, and the worse Hermione felt. She almost missed two more Dementors converging on them while she was trying to keep from crying and whimpering. Hermione's otter followed Dumbledore's phoenix and drove them off.

The Headmaster levitated the cage onto the carpet, then cast a Sticking Charm, before disillusioning both cage and carpet. The Dementor was still visible, but only wizards and witches could see it anyway. "Fawkes will take you back to Hogwarts, Miss Granger. There is no need for you to suffer the Dementor's close proximity for the hours the flight will take."

Hermione was about to protest, then nodded. It made sense. But it also offered her an opportunity. "I will be patrolling the village until the Dementors are all driven away then!"

"Miss Granger, we cannot afford to lose you."

She knew that as well, but she couldn't leave the villagers to those monsters. "Fawkes will be with me, and can take me back at once, should it be needed."

Dumbledore looked at her eyes for a moment, then nodded. "I see that to try to dissuade you from this would waste too much time and would be futile. Be very careful, Miss Granger." With that admonishment, the Headmaster sat down on the invisible carpet and disillusioned himself.

Hermione saw the Dementor, struggling against the invisible bars of its cage, lift off, and disappear over the roofs of the next house. The further it flew, the better she felt. When she couldn't feel it anymore, she turned to Fawkes.

"Let's go, Fawkes. We have a village to protect."

The phoenix trilled, and the two were off.

It took four more Patronuses, and two searches of the entire area without encountering another Dementor until Hermione was satisfied that the village was reasonably safe again. She had gone through her stash of chocolate as well, but she was convinced that she still felt better than if she had left the muggles to their fate.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore was feeling every year of his long life when he finally saw Hogwarts appear on the horizon. He remembered every mistake he had made, everyone he had hurt, everything he regretted, and he was shivering, with cold and horror, after hours right next to a Dementor. But he was not done yet. He had to secure the Dementor.

He guided the carpet towards the window to his office, the monster's presence driving the owls waiting there away, and opened it with a touch of his wand. Almost there. He landed in his office, and grabbed another bar of chocolate from his pocket. He had eaten so much chocolate, Xenophilius would consider it evidence for his Rotfang Conspiracy theory. He checked the spell on the gargoyle guarding the entrance to his office. Several people had tried to reach him. He had expected that. Fortunately, his friends and the Ministry had been told that he was out, fighting Dementors. Rubbing his aching head, he levitated the cage, and started towards the secret door leading to the special room he and Miss Granger used for their project. He had to secure the Dementor before he could do anything else, much less rest.

When the Dementor was safely imprisoned in the vault, its aura blocked by enchanted metal and stone, Albus finally stopped shivering for the first time in hours, and could think clearly again. He was still tired though, and slowly climbed the stairs back up to his office.

He sent a Patronus Messenger to Miss Granger, informing her of his arrival. He was certain that the girl wouldn't have rested until he had returned. As he had also expected, both Miss Granger and Harry were already waiting in front of his office, under Harry's Cloak of Invisibility, when he finished his climb. Sitting down behind his desk, he bade them enter and rubbed Fawkes's head.

"Headmaster! You're back!" Miss Granger stormed into his office, followed by Harry.

"I've prepared the memory for you! He sacrificed three werewolves!" the young Gryffindor said, holding up a vial containing the silvery strand of a memory.

"Thank you, Harry." He smiled and pocketed the vial. "I fear I am not in a state to investigate the memory right away. Nor will I have time for it." He summoned a thick envelope bearing the Ministry's seal from the pile of letters and opened it. "As I expected - there's an emergency session in the Wizengamot, tomorrow. He checked his watch, and corrected himself. "Today."

"Sir! Can we do the ritual?" Hermione asked, trembling.

He chuckled. "Miss Granger, I am not in a state to be able to do so. I need more rest than anticipated. I would not want to risk leaving a panicking Wizengamot without counsel and advice either. Fear drives people to decisions they'd never make normally."

The girl nodded - grudgingly, he thought. But there was no other choice. If he tried the ritual in his current state, he'd end up killing himself and Miss Granger. He looked at the young witch and wizard.

"I'll give you my word though: Voldemort will not survive this day."


Chapter 58: Onslaught
 
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Chapter 58: Onslaught
Chapter 58: Onslaught

Albus Dumbledore felt every year of his long life when he sat down on his seat in the Wizengamot. The hours spent in close proximity to the captured Dementor had taken their toll, and he hadn't slept more than a fitful hour, filled with nightmares. He tried to imagine spending a decade near those monsters, and shuddered. Azkaban would never be guarded by them again.

Around him, the members of the Wizengamot filed in and took their seats. Many were chatting with their allies and friends, and Albus could see most were concerned, or even afraid. The dozens of attacks last night had shaken the general impression that the Ministry was winning the war against Voldemort. And to reassure them would be difficult.

Albus would have sighed if he hadn't had to keep up appearances and look as confident as ever. He couldn't tell them that soon, Voldemort would be dead. Merlin knew what the Dark Lord would do if he heard that - and he would. Albus was certain that Tom had at least one spy in the Wizengamot, probably more.

Arthur was already present, as Head of his Department. The Weasleys had relocated to Grimmauld Place when the news of the attacks had started to spread, and the Burrow had been attacked shortly afterwards, or so Albus had heard. The house was still standing, but there had been some damage done. He would have to ask Arthur if he could help, after this was over.

Amelia entered, looking even more stern than usual. A formidable witch, Albus knew, but she wouldn't have slept at all during the night. Not with so many attacks all over the island. Pepper-Up would see her through the session, and into the afternoon, but then she'd need to sleep. "Good morning, Amelia," he said, nodding at her.

She nodded back curtly. "Good morning, Albus." She was angry that he had not helped, as far as she knew, and the Headmaster felt guilty about using the lie that he was waiting for the Dark Lord to show up before committing himself to a battle - he had known the Dark Lord was busy with his ritual, after all - but he couldn't have risked Tom finding out about the capture of the Dementor.

Cornelius followed shortly after. The Minister for Magic looked as if he had aged a decade in the last year. The stress was taking its toll on the politician. He wasn't the greatest Minister for Magic ever to grace those halls, but so far he had held up under the pressure. More than Albus had expected, if he was honest. The Minister was putting up a good front too: cordial, friendly, steadfast. Albus was one of the few who knew it was a front. Fortunately, Cornelius wouldn't have to bear this cross much longer. A few more hours, and Albus would be able to start the ritual that would end the Dark Lord.

"Good morning, Cornelius."

"Good morning, Albus. Quite a pickle we find ourselves in, right?"

Albus smiled. "It is not quite as dire as some think. I am convinced that this was the Dark Lord's last attempt."

Cornelius raised his eyebrows, but Albus simply kept smiling until the Minister, frowning but heartened, took his place. Saul had sat down without anyone taking notice. Not that many were eager to talk to an Unspeakable anyway - few liked speaking to someone hiding his or her identity. Albus sometimes wondered how he would act if he couldn't tell them apart.

Augusta was among the last to enter. Longbottom Manor had come under attack again, and she would have spent most of the night coordinating its defenses, but she looked as formidable as ever.

Albus looked at the clock on the wall. It was time to start the session. He just hoped it wouldn't take too long to calm the frightened members of this esteemed body so he could go back to Hogwarts to win this war.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort entered his throne room, Bellatrix at his side. The hall had been expanded to fit all his wands; beasts and men alike. It was an impressive sight, the ranks and ranks of wands raised, even if many of the werewolves looked ragged still, weary from their transformations. Some were wounded, many were tired from hours of fighting. The foolish animals were as eager as the wizards and witches Voldemort had kept mostly in reserve during the night.

He could feel the power contained in the orbs in his pockets, pulsing, fighting against the magic keeping it contained. Lesser men would not have dared to brave such danger, would have been cowed by the prospect of wielding power that could annihilate them should they make a single mistake. Even Dumbledore would shy away from that. Voldemort was without peer though. Magic itself was his to master. And the animals and wands present were the instruments of his will.

"Wizards! Witches! You fought well this night! You struck fear into the hearts of our enemies. As I speak they have gathered in the Ministry, afraid and shaken, to ask themselves how they can fight us. They think we will strike again, tonight. They are wrong!"

Murmurs passed through the ranks of his followers. They yearned for combat. They had tasted blood and victory, and wanted more. He grinned. "We will strike now!"

He raised his wand. "I will tear down the wards protecting the Ministry itself, and we will storm that rotten place to cleanse it of the mudbloods and blood traitors!"

Some cheered, others, doubting, were taken aback. He had expected this. Had prepared for this. He rose from where he stood, floating, and raised his wand. "While you struck and fought last night, I completed an ancient ritual dating back to primordial times. I now wield the power that sank Atlantis!" He touched one orb, and let just a trickle of the power flow through him. It was enough to fill the hall with his might. The more sensitive among his followers fell to their knees, even, as he struggled to keep the power contained in the orb from rushing out.

When he saw them stare at him with awe, he laughed. "Stand! Stand and follow me! Victory awaits us!"

*****​

"I assure you, despite rumours, the attacks last night were, by and large, defeated."

Albus Dumbledore kept a stern expression on his face while Amelia was answering Amos Diggory, who had just asked the same question as the Wizengamot member before him.

"The followers of the Dark Lord may have struck at dozens of houses and manors, but they didn't manage to breach the wards in any but a handful places. The casualties they took doing this ensure that a repeat of such an attack will mean the end of the enemy as a credible force."

"What about our casualties?" Maximilian Selwyn shouted. "How many good wizards did we lose?"

"Our own casualties were minimal, both among civilians and Ministry forces."

Albus saw that Amelia was glaring at Maximilian through her monocle. She knew as well as he did that Maximilian had been under suspicion in the last war, though nothing had ever been proven. He had not made any waves in this war though, so to speak up like this, now, meant that he either was spooked by the attacks, or someone had told him to. What if last night's attacks had not just been distractions to ensure Tom would not be disturbed during his ritual, but if there had been another purpose behind this? Had he been too focused on finally capturing a Dementor that he had missed something crucial?

"... the DMLE has the situation in hand. As we speak, our Aurors are at work, investigating the sites of the attacks, tracking down the surviving enemy forces, while Hit-Wizards are ready …"

Amelia stopped talking when the entire room, no the entire building shook. "Earthquake?" one shouted from the back rows, among yells of fear and surprise. It wasn't an earthquake though, Albus knew that at once. He looked at Amelia and Saul, and their reaction confirmed his worst fear. The wards of the buildings had just been destroyed. And Albus knew only one wizard who could achieve such a feat.

He stood up and cast an an Amplifying Charm. "Evacuate the building at once! We are under attack!"

A few among the Wizengamot members apparated out at once. The quick and the afraid - or the smart ones, Albus thought. He didn't mind their flight - they'd do more harm than good if they stayed.

Arthur jumped up. "Percy!" The man was running to the door, together with most of the Aurors present, and the Department Heads. Amelia was shouting orders.

Saul had disappeared already - he would be down in the Department of Mysteries, ensuring that the loss of the wards had not caused something else, something worse, to break free from the vaults there.

Cornelius was slower to rise. He was afraid, Albus could see it, but the wizard was still putting up a brave front. He knew that as the Minister, he couldn't run, just as he knew he had no place in a battle.

"I assume you will handle the evacuation of the civilians on your floor, Cornelius?" Albus said.

The Minister nodded. "Yes. We can coordinate the defense from my office."

Both knew it was a fiction, but the calm exchange helped prevent the panic from spreading. Or would have, if people had not discovered that Apparition had been blocked right then.

Amelia turned to them from the door. "The enemy has overrun the atrium. I'm rallying the Hit-Wizards for a counter-attack."

She looked at Albus, and he nodded. "I will, of course, join you." Everyone knew that he was the only one able to face Voldemort. He only hoped that this was still true - but feared it was no longer the case. Not even Albus would have been able to destroy the wards of the Ministry that quickly. The prudent course of action would be to retreat from the building - there were still ways out; the Ministry had stood for centuries, and had gone through several rebuilds. But Albus couldn't let those brave people face Tom by themselves. If Tom had spent whatever he had gained from the ritual last night to destroy the wards, and this was just his desperate attempt to behead the Ministry, they stood a good chance to defeat him.

And if not… he had still a way out, even if he would hate himself for taking it. No matter what, no matter the cost, Tom would die today.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort flicked his wand, and the fountain in the atrium turned into a giant chimaera, shredding the Hit-Wizards who had taken cover behind it with claws and teeth and horns. A couple of spells impacted his Shield Charm from the second floor, where a handful of Aurors had been cut off from retreat. He turned the pillar behind them into a cloud of acid. Two of them died, one caught by surprise, the other mistaking the acid for poison and casting a Bubble-Head Charm instead of fleeing. The rest scattered, and were overrun by werewolves.

The first wave, mostly wolves, had apparated into the Ministry with him. They were expendable after all. While they fought the guards and Hit-Wizards in the Ministry, the Second Wave had apparated in, before he had sealed the building.

To his left, one red-robed Auror and three Hit-Wizards were trying to keep a pack at bay while behind them, half a dozen clerks or whatever were trying to activate the Floo Network connection. He glanced at Bellatrix, who had stayed at his side, and nodded towards the group. His love smiled wildly, and rushed forward, laughing as she slaughtered the defenders, their robes' protective enchantments already weakened from combat, with dark curses he had taught her. One Hit-Wizard was staring in horror at the lungs he had just coughed out, another was slowly being skinned alive while the Auror clutched her belly while something tore her up from the inside. Behind them, the sheep the three fools had tried in vain to protect were torn to pieces by the pack's blades.

He glanced around. The transfigured chimaera had cleared one half of the atrium by itself, bits of bodies still dangling from the horns of one head. The wolves had cleared the rest, and his wands were securing the entire floor. A hand-picked group was guarding the lifts. It was time to start the cleansing of the rest of the floors. Just as he was about to give the command to charge, the ground under the chimaera opened up, forming into spears of stone that stabbed into its body. The transfigured monster exploded right afterwards, showering the atrium with shards of stone.

Among the cries of his wands and wolves struck by the projectiles, Voldemort heard a hated voice. "You have made some progress in Transfiguration, though you are far from having mastered it, Tom."

Dumbledore had arrived.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore felt less confident than he sounded. That had been an impressive transfiguration, even though he could have done it better. The die had been cast though. Shielded by a wall of stone, he and Amelia's Hit-Wizards ascended to the atrium on conjured ramps. As soon as he reached the top, he turned more of the marble floor into a wall, dividing the room into two parts and cutting off the lifts from the Dark Lord's position. Immediately, teams of Hit-Wizards charged the werewolves and Death Eaters there, as planned. With Apparition and Portkeys blocked, and the Floo Connection broken, that was the most accessible way to evacuate the remaining civilians.

The old wizard just hoped he could hold Tom at bay long enough to accomplish it. Together with those among the Ministry's forces who had volunteered, he moved to face the Dark Lord. With his wand, he raised another wall behind them, then turned the wall in front into floating slabs of marble, to absorb Killing Curses and other Unforgivables

The green spells shattering half of the slabs were not the main threat though, that was pitch-black liquid flowing towards them. Devil's Tar, poisonous and highly-flammable, it clung to anything living it touched. Tom was proving to be more original and innovative than he had expected - a far cry from his experiences in the last war.

But Albus had studied with Flamel himself - the premiere Alchemist of the world. While the Aurors and Hit-Wizards with him engaged the Death Eaters trying to flank them, he flicked his wand and transfigured the floor into a neutralising agent, then lifted it so the whole sizzling mass flowed back towards Tom and his followers.

He thought he heard him curse, but the screams of a dark wizard who had slipped and fallen into the mass, soon turning into gargling noises while the weaker poison did its work more slowly, drowned it out. Albus didn't let up though, and had stone arms sprouting up among the ranks of Voldemort's followers, grabbing them and holding them in place so they would not escape the Devil's Tar. Predictably, the desperate wizards and witches shattered the stone appendages - releasing the phosphorous he had filled them with. The material ignited upon contact with the air, burning everything nearby. One flailing witch, her robes' fire protections overloaded, fell into the tar.

Albus canceled the transfiguration, and with the agent gone, the remaining mass of tar lit up like a nesting dragon faced with a group of poachers. An entire section of the atrium turned into an inferno. Most of those caught in it had no time to scream, but one unlucky wizard's fire protection was strong enough to keep him alive for longer.

Tom had moved to the side though, neatly escaping the area, and was rising into the air, sending curses down to the cut-off area where the first civilians were trying to escape. Their screams drove Albus on, and he focused on the Dark Lord while the remaining Hit-Wizards started to push the werewolves and dark wizards back.

He pointed his wand at Tom and sent half a dozen ice lances at him, followed by corkscrewing sparks of fire. All splashed harmlessly against the man's Shield Charm. Laughing, his enemy retaliated - two Killing Curses were stopped by blocks of stone while whirling blades dripping with poison shattered themselves against Albus's shield.

The Headmaster was already moving to the side when the ground beneath him vanished, and didn't have to do more than conjure a patch of stone to regain his footing. He sent a few Piercing Curses at Tom, as a distraction, then blew up the ground below the floating wizard, transfiguring the debris thrown up into a man-sized fist that struck the Dark Lord's shield with enough force to shatter it.

Before Albus could take advantage of that however, the Shield Charm was recast. The expected onslaught of dark curses had not happened yet though. So far, Tom had acted rather restrained, he thought. Or, maybe, weakened. Had the ritual taken that much out of him? Had he overextended himself?

Screams from the advancing Ministry forces disproved that theory. Albus glanced to the side and saw that the men and women were under attack from animated bodies and body parts. One of the grey-robed Hit-Wizards yelled "Inferi!". Albus knew the man was wrong though - he recognised the spell: Killing Hands, a favourite spell of the late Houngan Hector Williams, who had been fond of animating severed hands, though it worked on every body part, turning them into necromantic constructs. It had a rather glaring weakness though.

"They are not Inferi, use salt!" Albus yelled, right before Tom finally cut loose with curses. He stopped a Killing Curse with a conjured marble block, deflecting a Tongue-Ripper at the same time. His Shield Charm fended off another Barbed Cutting Curse, before a Sectumsempra shattered it. Two curses hit him, both stopped by his robe, and another got through, though weakened, causing him to bleed internally. He would have to do something about it in a bit, but for now he could fight on, had to fight on. Albus transfigured the air around him into a thick smoke cloud, and moved towards the Dark Lord, gambling on him not expecting that. He was tiring, but he couldn't stop, couldn't let up.

He was lucky - the ground behind him erupted from multiple blasting curses, and judging by the screams of 'Tentacles!' he heard, another of Williams's favourites was among Tom's arsenal. That would confirm his suspicion that the houngan had fallen to the Dark Lord, decades ago.

He left the smoke cloud and transfigured part of the floor under his floating enemy into a pike that shot directly upwards, shattering the wizard's shield right at the time his Piercing and Cutting Curses hit. Tom tried to dodge, but didn't quite manage it, and his robe couldn't stop that many spells either, leaving him with a deep gash in his leg. He recast a Shield Charm, but more spells flew at him, forcing him to dodge again and again as he wove through the air.

Albus glanced behind him and saw that Amelia had climbed the walls he had erected with her part of the forces, sending waves of spells at Tom. With them were several Wizengamot members, among them Augusta, as well as Ministry employees. At the same time, the surviving Hit-Wizards and Aurors who had been with Albus were advancing, and the Dark Lord's forces were almost driven out of the atrium. They could win this, Albus thought.

Then the Dark Lord started to laugh, and pulled out a glowing orb from his pocket that Albus, to his horror, recognised. He started to raise the thickest wall he could think of in front of Amelia and the others, despite knowing it would be too late, and, hating himself, cried out: 'Fawkes!'.

The entire Atrium was filled with light, followed by a thunderclap. Blind and deaf, Albus felt his shield shatter, felt his robes' enchantments flare up, felt claws dig into his shoulder as fire engulfed him.

*****​

"We should be joining the Hit-Wizards and Aurors, dad. They'll need every wand."

Arthur Weasley shook his head at his son as he made his way towards his office, past panicking colleagues running towards the lift and stairs. "We would just be two more wands, hardly a significant addition to the Ministry's forces. I've something far more promising in mind to help them."

"What are you talking about?"

"Son, we've been at war for some time. I'm not a hit-wizard, nor an Auror, much less a potioneer. But I do have talents of my own, which could come in very handy."

"You've enchanted something? Another flying car?"

Arthur coughed. That had been a scandal he was not happy to be reminded of. "Not exactly. I was talking about a part of my work."

He pointed ahead, at the locked room labeled 'Muggle Artifacts'. "I've been collecting a few items I think will be useful in this battle."

At least if he used them to save the Ministry the repercussions shouldn't be too bad. Or so he hoped. Then the entire building shook once more, and he cursed.

"Hurry!" he said as he opened the door. He feared that he was already too late.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort was laughing when the forces he had unleashed struck throughout the atrium, reducing his enemies to cinders in a fraction of a second. Bones, Longbottom, and Diggory, and another half dozen blood-traitors, gone, as well as every Hit-Wizard and Auror present. Dumbledore though… Voldemort was not certain he was dead. That flash, right before the wave struck him… He would be hurt though, and weakened.

For now, Voldemort had to finish this battle. From the sides, his followers - those who had not been too slow, or too bloodthirsty to obey his command to fall back and move into the other parts of the Ministry - appeared, led by Bellatrix. With a flick of his wand he stilled the bleeding in his leg and closed the wound, then addressed his forces: "Our enemies are dead or fled! The day is ours!"

Roars and cheers answered him. He ordered the wolves to scour the building for hidden enemies, then landed next to Bellatrix. "What about the Department of Mysteries?" He asked while the beasts under his command surged forward, spreading through the Ministry.

"Sealed up, Master. The entrance is trapped, we lost two wands." Bellatrix bowed her head. "I was not quick enough, forgive me."

He shook his head. "There's nothing to forgive. It was a slim chance from the start. We'll deal with them later, in our own time." They couldn't get away anyway - that floor had no other exit. And that Department was traditionally 'flexible'. Once he was the uncontested ruler of Britain, they'd come around.

"To the Minister's office!"

*****​

Ejnar Borge was laughing as he led his warband through the corridors of the British Ministry of Magic. Who would have thought even a week ago that his expedition to Britain would lead to this point? Last night had been good, they had struck several times, but today… this was great. The ministry that had butchered his fellow wolves, brought low by the Dark Lord himself! Its servants, hiding, cowering, pleading - and dying, by spell or blade! He loved this!

At his side, Afi was chanting an old war epic. The remaining members of his band - half a dozen, they had taken some losses, who were now waiting in Valhalla - searched the office they had entered. A shriek told him they had found another victim. He glanced over. Yngvard was pulling a young witch out from the cupboard she had been hiding in. The wolf was bleeding from a fresh cut in his cheek, and glancing back at Ejnar. The leader of the warband nodded. The witch was not old enough to be important, and not brave enough to receive their gift. Yngvard grinned, grabbed the witch's throat with one hand and drew his dagger with the other.

Ejnar was already moving to the next office, with Afi, when the witch's screams stopped. "Muggle Artifacts?" he read the sign next to the door out loud. Turning to Afi, he asked: "Isn't that a contradiction in terms?"

"Maybe it deals with enchanted muggle items," his cousin speculated, shrugging. Neither sounded like it would be good loot.

Ejnar nodded at Keld and Riborg. "Check the office for hidden prey."

The two nodded and approached the door. Afi was unlocking a desk.

"Find anything valuable?" Ejnar asked.

Afi shook his head. "Just parchments. They really love their parchment, don't they?"

Ejnar chuckled. "Yes, they do."

He was about to turn back to see how his two wolves were doing when he was struck from behind and thrown to the floor while an explosion sent his ears ringing.

Shaking his head he stood up, wand out, then cursed. The door to the office had been blown up from the inside, and the force of the explosion had shredded Keld and Riborg to pieces. Literally. He exchanged a glance with his cousin, snarling. Whoever had killed them would pay!

Before they could move forward though, a few egg-sized things flew through the smoking doorway. Acting on instinct, Ejnar cast a Shield Charm. And not a second too soon - the objects exploded, and his shield was peppered with small stones.

"They're still in there!" He shouted. "Band, to me! We'll avenge our brother and sister!"

Yngvard arrived, covered in blood, with Fryd, Diderik and Edmar behind him.

"Shields up!" Ejnar commanded. "We're facing someone using a lot of blasting curses. I want him alive!" He'd die slowly for what he had done to his band. He could hear someone, no two people, moving inside that office. A bit away from the entrance.

Edmar and Diderik were the first to charge. They reached the door and jumped inside. Ejnar and Afi followed, with Yngvard and Fryd right behind them. Another of those metal objects flew at them, bigger than the first ones.

"Ignore it, your shield can take it!" Ejnar shouted. The thing didn't explode though, but set some smoke free. "Bubble-Head Charms!" Ejnar shouted, casting one, but it was already too late for Edmar and Diderik - both were rolling on the floor in agony. He heard another explosion from the room ahead, and something shot through the smoke towards them. It hit Yngvard, despite his shield, and obliterated the young wolf. Fryd, behind and to the side of Yngvard, had been thrown into the wall, but her shield had held.

"We have to retreat!" Afi shouted.

Fryd didn't listen. The wolf screamed and charged straight ahead.

"Diffindo!"

"Reducto!"

Fryd's screams were cut off. Another one of his band dead.

More of those things flew through the air, exploding next to him and Afi. Their Shielding Charms saved them again. His cousin grabbed his shoulder "We have to retreat! We stand no chance!"

"Edmar and Diderik! We can't leave them!" Ejnar shouted back.

"They're already dead - poisoned! We can't help them. We'll inform the Dark Lord!"

Ejnar stared at the twitching bodies of his friends. He heard a faint: "Percy, hand me another of those tubes."

That was enough. He was no stupid cub anymore, he was a leader, and he knew when to cut and run, so at least part of the pack survived. He and Afi fled, sprinting down the corridor. Behind them he heard yet another explosion.

*****​

The Dark Lord casually vanished the door to the office of the Minister for Magic. Fudge was standing behind his desk, wand in hand, trembling.

"R-Reducto!"

The stammered curse was stopped by the Dark Lord's Shield Charm. He silently disarmed the coward.

"Pathetic!" He snarled. "How far has Britain sunk, if such a worm like you is Minister?" Of course the sheep would have elected a weak leader. They feared power.

Fudge opened his mouth, but didn't seem to manage to say anything. He was panting and sweating, shaking with fear. For a moment, Voldemort was tempted to end the man right there. A Killing Curse, and it would be done. Britain's leader defeated. But Fudge wasn't Britain's leader. Dumbledore was. Fudge was just a puppet. And he knew just the person who liked to play with puppets.

"Bella…" he glanced at her, smiling.

"Yes, Master!" His love beamed at him.

"Enjoy yourself!"

"Thank you, Master!"

*****​

When Albus Dumbledore opened his eyes, he found himself inside his office at Hogwarts, on the floor. Alive. Unhurt even, or close enough. He was still tired though, if no longer exhausted. And wearing the burned and torn remains of his robes. He ran his hand over his face. His beard had suffered as well. A weak trill from above drew his attention to his desk. At the edge of it sat a small chick, staring at him. The Headmaster smiled at it.

"You must have shed many tears for me, Fawkes." Otherwise he would be dead.

A trill answered him, and the phoenix chick hopped down, landing on his chest, and trying to feed him a lemon drop.

Chuckling, Albus accepted it, petting his saviour. He owed the phoenix his life, twice over.

"It was a close call, for both of us." He looked around and spotted ashes on the floor, next to his head. "Really close, indeed."

Sighing, he stood up and summoned a replacement robe. He was wasting precious time, he admonished himself. If Voldemort could destroy the wards protecting the Ministry, then he could likely breach the wards of Hogwarts as well.

He strode out of his office. He had a witch to meet, a school to prepare and an Order to rally.

*****​

Hermione Granger was in the middle of the morning Transfiguration lesson, listening to Professor McGonagall explain the intricacies of self-transfiguration. The young witch had read the relevant material months ago, but the teacher was one of the best experts, and she wouldn't want to risk missing something that she didn't know already. And it took her mind off the ritual she'd start as soon as the Headmaster returned from the Wizengamot.

The door was opened, without knocking beforehand. Whatever reprimand their teacher had been about to give remained unspoken though since the Headmaster himself entered. Many students gasped at the sight of him - his long beard was rather shorter and looked burned, as did his hair. What had happened at this emergency session?

"Minerva, I am sorry, but you will need to cancel all classes and send the children to their dorms. I shall explain on the way. Miss Granger. It is time." He looked at her without smiling.

Hermione drew a hissing breath, then stood up. Next to her, Harry stood up as well, as did Neville and Ron on the other side.

"Return to the dorms, everyone," McGonagall ordered. "Mister Potter, ensure no one gets lost on the way."

"No, Professor. I'm needed elsewhere."

"We're needed elsewhere," Ron added. Neville nodded.

"Come with me then," the Headmaster said, cutting off what scathing rebuke their teacher was about to give. They followed him out, though Hermione noticed that Ron looked back at Parkinson first. The girl looked grim.

"Albus, what is going on?" McGonagall asked as soon as they were in the hallway.

"Voldemort has taken the Ministry. Most of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards on the premises have been killed. I do not think many of the Wizengamot members escaped. I was saved from certain death at the last moment by Fawkes."

Hermione gasped.

"How was that possible?" McGonagall exclaimed. "Those wards were among the strongest outside Hogwarts!"

"The ritual," Harry spat out.

"Exactly, Mister Potter." Albus smiled grimly. "Minerva, while our situation may look desperate, we are not beaten. Voldemort is on the brink of being defeated.

"Sir, you said not many of the Wizengamot escaped…" Neville trailed off, swallowing.

Dumbledore's expression softened. "I am terribly sorry to say that your grandmother died fighting the Dark Lord, Mister Longbottom."

Neville shuddered, but nodded. He swallowed several times. Hermione wanted to hug him, but that would probably make him break down and cry, and she didn't think he wanted, or needed that right now.

"We'll avenge her, Neville. We'll destroy the Dark Lord, and all his followers!" Harry said.

Ron blinked. "My dad… Percy..."

Hermione felt as if she had been punched in the gut. As Department Head, Arthur would have been present at the session as well!

"I have no news of them, Mister Weasley. The last I saw your father was before the fighting started. He was on the way to your older brother." He sighed. "But, given the bravery your family is famous for, I do fear that they did not flee, but stayed and fought."

Ron closed his eyes, then nodded. "Yes. Yes, they would."

"Mate," Harry said. "We don't know yet…"

"That's right," Hermione chimed in.

Ron shook his head, but didn't say anything.

Dumbledore addressed McGonagall again: "Inform the other teachers and prefects: Classes are cancelled. All students are to return to their dorms. The teachers should patrol the castle."

"Do you expect the Dark Lord to attack Hogwarts?" McGonagall sounded incredulous. Hermione could understand that. Not even Grindelwald had dared to attack Hogwarts.

"Yes, Minerva. If he suspects that I survived, then he will strike as soon as he can. We have to assume that he has the means to breach our wards."

"But… you said you almost died…"

"Yes, I almost did. But simple arithmancy tells me that should he manage to breach the wards, then our fight will be quite different from our earlier encounter."

"Arithmancy, Albus?"

Hermione gasped again. "Three orbs. He used two already?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Exactly. But that still means I am needed here, to face him should he arrive. I fear no one else can face him, not for long, and the children cannot be evacuated, not with the Floo Network Authority under control of Voldemort."

Hermione felt a cold shiver run down her spine, and her stomach tried to tie itself in knots. To do the ritual alone… she knew the steps backwards and forwards, so often had she optimised it. But to do it with a dementor in close proximity.

"It will not take you nearly as long as my recent trip, Miss Granger. I have faith in you, and you should have faith in yourself as well." Dumbledore smiled, for the first time since he had entered their classroom.

Hermione felt Harry wrap his arms around her. "I'll stay with her."

"I fear that is not advisable, Harry," the Headmaster said, nodding at the young wizard's head.

Hermione was torn between wishing Harry was with her, safe from any fighting, and wishing to spare him the torture of being near a Dementor. But his connection to Voldemort might make it unsafe for him to stay with her for the ritual - who knew what would happen, with his scar so close? She hugged him, whispering into his ear. "Please… I'll be fine. You keep our friends safe."

He hesitated, pulling her closer, before he agreed.

"Gather the teachers in the Great Hall, Minerva. I've called the Order - we will need all the help we can get, should the Dark Lord attack the school. I will join you shortly, after a small but important errand."

Hermione didn't think McGonagall believed his claims, but the witch nodded and left them.

As they continued towards the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore spoke up again: "I assume asking you to stay in the dorms is pointless."

No one answered him, which was answer enough. The Headmaster sighed. "In that case, stay in my office. The way to Miss Granger leads through there."

It was also very well protected, Hermione knew. Her friends would be safe there, Harry would be safe there. He wouldn't leave, not if it meant endangering her.

The three boys nodded. "Yes, sir."

They entered Dumbledore's office, and the Headmaster went ahead, to the secret door leading down to the vault. Hermione turned around. "Harry…" They were in public, technically, but she didn't care.

They embraced, kissed. She didn't want to let him go, but she had to. Time was running out. She had tears in her eyes when she raced past the Headmaster, down towards the ritual room. And the Dementor.

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick was staring at the remains of a tree, destroyed by a blasting curse, maybe a Reductor Curse, and his partner and lover Bertha Limmington was analysing a burn mark on the ground. He stood up and stretched with a groan. "Pointless."

Bertha knew him very well, and so didn't react.

"Utterly pointless. We already know all we need to know about this incident: Half a dozen werewolves attacked a muggle village. They blew up some stuff, and kidnapped three young people. Either to eat them or turn them."

"Vampires turn people, werewolves curse them," Bertha corrected him, but she was faintly grinning.

"You know what I mean," he smiled back. "And since the Obliviators were through here, there's no point in asking for witnesses either."

"That doesn't mean we should neglect proper procedures."

A glowing goat appeared between them. A Patronus Messenger from Aberforth Dumbledore. "If you hear this you're still alive. My brother needs us. Gather at my place. Don't try to go back to work. Don't use the Floo Network."

Kenneth looked at Bertha. "That sounds like an emergency."

"A rather unorthodox emergency. Even if the request comes from the Chief Warlock, it should go through the proper channels," Bertha said.

"Well, let's go eat lunch at the Hog's Head Inn. That way, we're not abandoning our post just on hearsay, but merely taking our break," Kenneth proposed.

Bertha snorted, but stood up. She was worried, he could tell. He didn't comment, of course.

An Apparition later, they were in front of the inn in Hogsmeade. Despite the early hour, the inn was packed. And with an unusual crowd. Foreign accents and languages dominated - foreign robes and styles as well.

"Someone must have called in all the mercenaries not working for the Dark Lord," Kenneth speculated. Bertha simply nodded.

"Oy, you two louts!" Aberforth greeted them. If he was glad to see them he didn't show it. "I'll be short: The Ministry has fallen to the Dark Lord. Hogwarts is the next target. Bones is dead, the Minister probably as well, and sorting out who's legally in charge of the Aurors would take too long. So, the Chief Warlock wants us all in the school, ready to fight Death Eaters while he runs that plan of his he has told noone about but which will save us all. If it works. Head through the tunnel into the school and gather at the Great Hall!"

"What?" Kenneth was certain this had to be a joke, or a misunderstanding. The Ministry, fallen? Bones dead? The boss was dead? What about their colleagues and friends?

"Get moving. It's what I heard from the Chief Warlock."

"But…"

Bertha's finger on his lips shut him up. She shook her head. They followed the next group of hired wands into the tunnel.

*****​

Harry Potter was pacing in the Headmaster's office. Hermione was deep down in the dungeons of Hogwarts, that vault she had mentioned, where she had researched the Dark Mark with the Headmaster, about to risk her life doing a ritual to save him. A ritual she would need to do while in the company of a caged Dementor. He shuddered at the memories that conjured up, of third year.

"She'll be OK, Mate," Ron said. His best friend looked like he could use some reassurances himself, but what could Harry tell him? You still have four more brothers and your mum?

He nodded instead. "Thanks."

Neville was sitting on a chair, twirling his wand. He didn't even seem to notice Fawkes, reduced to a chick, perching on the backrest of the chair, chirping at him. Of course, the ugly, weird looking chick was a far cry from the majestic beauty of a phoenix, but still… "You know… I almost hope they will attack us, before whatever Hermione is doing works."

Harry stared at him, but Ron nodded. "I understand, mate. I want to kill some of them. All of them."

He shook his head. "I just want them to die. Before they kill anyone else."

"First my parents, now Gran…" Neville shuddered again, and stared at his wand.

"Mum will be devastated," Ron added.

Harry closed his eyes. It wasn't even nearly as bad as staying near a Dementor, but he hated it anyway, not being able to help his friends.

Someone knocking on the window had everyone aiming their wands at it before Harry slowly walked to the window. There was a broom outside, with two persons...

"It's Sirius!" Harry said, opening the window. "And with Valérie."

His godfather grinned, and flew inside. "Dumbledore called the Order to Hogwarts."

"We know," Harry said, hugging him.

"I bring good news too, for Ron at least."

Ron looked up, sudden hope clearly visible in his eyes.

"Your dad and brother are fine. They escaped through some old tunnel. Arthur said he had some artifacts stored, just in case, and used them to get himself and Percy out."

Ron hugged himself, smiling widely. "Merlin!"

Harry patted his shoulder, happy for his friend. Then he noticed Neville, trying to smile. Neville who had just lost his grandmother, and felt miserable. Fawkes had landed on his shoulder - Harry didn't know how the chick had managed to fly with its stubby wings - and pecked at his cheek.

His friend suddenly found himself engulfed in a hug from Valérie. This time he did break down and started to cry. Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, who seemed to feel as awkward as himself. In an unspoken agreement, all three wizards present ignored Neville's crying.

"You'll be heading to the Hall?" Harry asked.

Sirius shook his head. "We're covering the sky. There's enough others on the ground - Dumbledore's brother brought half an army - and there's not much that can beat four Veela in the air.

"Just be careful, damn careful, Sirius!" Harry reached out, and grabbed him in a hug.

"Of course," Sirius said.

"I mean it. No reckless charge on all fours, you know?" Harry had seen Sirius fight, and… sooner or later luck ran out.

Sirius grew serious. "I promise, Harry. I'm not going to risk my life senselessly." He glanced at Valérie, still hugging Neville, though their friend seemed to calm down, and Harry had the impression that his godfather might mean it, this time.

The Headmaster walked up to them. No one had him heard entering. Sirius quickly filled him in about the status of the school, as far as he knew, while Neville regained his composure.

"What .. I mean, how is Hermione doing?" Harry asked.

"She has a very difficult task, but I am convinced she will succeed."

With that, the Headmaster left his office again. A minute later, Sirius and Valérie left too, and the three boys and one phoenix were alone in the office once more. Harry almost wished there was an attack too, this time. Just so there would be something to do besides sit and think.

*****​

Selwyn had been killed by one of his followers, the Dark Lord Voldemort knew. Probably one of the wolves. A pity - the man had done what he had been ordered to, and succeeded. Although he might not have needed to - given the effects of the werewolf attacks, an emergency session might have been called anyway. Selwyn could have been a valuable subordinate once Voldemort was ruling Wizarding Britain. Ah well, there would be others.

The two Scandinavian wolves, Ejnar and Afi, were leading him towards the office where they had lost the rest of their warband. He must have overestimated them quite a bit, for six of them to fall to 'Muggle Artifacts'. Unless…

He stopped a good distance away, and conjured a snake to send forward. "What was the name you heard, Ejnar?"

"Percy, milord."

Percy. Percy Weasley. Muggle Artifacts. Of course.

An explosion shook the floor, and dust shot out of the wrecked door, into the hallway. His snake must have triggered a trap. He sent another. That one returned. Nothing left but dead meat and metal, or so the viper reported. And another door, leading somewhere dark and cold. Whoever had been in that storage room had fled, Voldemort knew. He still sent a poisonous mist into the room, just in case, and let it stew for a few minutes, before ending the spell and heading inside himself.

The explosion had devastated the room, but it didn't look like much had been left inside. And the door led to a tunnel, straight to the muggle sewers, he guessed. "Milord?"

"They've escaped." He turned to the two beasts. "But not for long. They'll be heading to Hogwarts, the last stronghold of the Ministry. It'll fall to us as well."

He had an orb left, which would be enough to crash the wards of the school. But if Dumbledore was still alive, and not wounded - and he had a phoenix, so odds were he was either dead, or as good as new - then Voldemort needed something… something to give him an edge.

Steinberg.

He turned to the next Death Eater. "Call all of us but the ones bottling up the Department of Mysteries to the atrium. I'll be there shortly."

Today, Hogwarts would fall, and along with it, the last of his enemies. Tomorrow would be the first day of a new era!

*****​

Hermione Granger fought to clear her mind of anything but the ritual. To push the dark thoughts out of her mind. The young witch shivered. The room was growing colder by the minute, it seemed, and her robes could only do so much. She glanced at the monster in the cage, in the center of the first pentagram. The sacrifice. It was pulling on the bars, to no avail. She briefly wondered if it knew what was going to happen to it. No one had ever done this, not to her knowledge at least.

The body of Yennington was in the other pentagram. Linked to this one through an intricate master rune. 'Body' wasn't right - he was still alive. But he wouldn't ever wake up again. And if she succeeded - when she succeeded - he'd be dead, his dark mark destroyed, with every other marked Death Eater, and Voldemort.

Could she do this? Could she withstand the Dementor's aura long enough to complete the ritual? And could she kill an unknown but large number of people, to destroy Voldemort?

It was for Harry. She thought of him, smiling, finally free of his nemesis, and started to light the candles in the points of each pentagram.

She could do this

She would do this.

She would destroy Voldemort. Whatever the cost.


Chapter 59: Their Finest Hour
 
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Chapter 59: Their Finest Hour
Chapter 59: Their Finest Hour

No one liked her. Everyone hated her. The ugly mudblood with the buckteeth and the frizzy, bushy hair, who had no manners and no taste. She had no friends, and wouldn't have any friends, ever. Even the other mudbloods hated her. Even her own house, supposedly her family, hated her. She was hiding in a bathroom, crying, all alone. Then the monster entered. Mountain troll. Over 10 feet tall. A wizard-killer. Man-eater. Strong, but dumb. Its hide was resistant to spells, though not as much as a dragon's. To subdue it, indirect means were advised - summoned or transfigured creatures. Alternatively, it could be killed by banishing sharp objects at it. It could be poisoned as well, though she'd need a strong poison, and lots of it. It would be easier to suffocate it by covering its head with a lump of impervious mud. That would blind it as well.

Hermione Granger glared at the caged Dementor. "That's not one of my worst memories. That's the day I made my two best friends! I treasure that day!"

The witch took a deep breath, and focused on her Occlumency. Her mind was behind a wall. An impenetrable, indestructible wall. Nothing and no one could penetrate it. Any attack would be absorbed, its energy used to strengthen the wall. Her mind was a behind a shield. A force shield. Impenetrable. She knew it was working - she hadn't known all that detail about trolls, back then.

Then she focused on her task again. She had to place all the candles precisely on the correct spots in the two entwined pentagrams. A mistake would be fatal once she began the ritual. She renewed the Warming Charms on her and Yennington, who was lying in the other pentagram, still dead to the world. He would die without waking up. Die, and lose his soul, most likely, she knew. Shaking her head, she cleared her mind again. She had to do this. For Harry.

*****​

"Steinberg!"

The Dark Lord Voldemort strode into the laboratory beneath his headquarters, robes billowing. Bellatrix was at his side, a smile on her face and her wand in hand.

"Milord!" The wandmaker bowed - more deeply than usual. News of the Dark Lord's triumph at the Ministry travelled fast.

"I require all the wands you have completed."

"Of course, milord."

The wandmaker flicked his wand, and dozens of cases flew towards him. He didn't mention that none of them were safe for the user. He didn't have to - Voldemort was well-aware of that fact. But with Dumbledore having escaped the battle at the Ministry, no doubt gathering the remains of the Ministry's forces as well as whatever wands he had in his Order, the Dark Lord would have to deal with his oldest foe himself, and his followers would need help to prevail against their enemies.

He counted the wands. Three dozens. Narrowing his eyes, he looked at Steinberg.

"Their wielders will last for the entire battle, and beyond," the German said.

They would have to do. The beasts would get the most of them. The werewolves were disposable anyway. A select number of his human followers would receive the rest. It was a pity that a few of his best would have to be among them, but otherwise, some might suspect what would happen to them.

"Master…"

He glanced at Bellatrix, who was staring at the ebony case containing Steinberg's latest wand. Taking a sharp breath, he shook his head. "No."

"Master, please. Just in case. I would rather die than see you fail," she pleaded.

"I will not fail, Bella," he growled. "And you will not touch that wand."

She lowered her head and looked away, and he nodded, satisfied. His love was not disposable. A flick of his own wand shrunk the cases, another deposited them in his enchanted pocket. An instant later, he apparated to the Ministry.

*****​

"That won't stop the Dark Lord."

Aberforth's gruff voice sounded next to Albus Dumbledore just as he finished transfiguring another patch of the open fields around the castle into a maze. While Pomona started seeding it with a few choice examples of her restricted greenhouse, the Headmaster turned towards his brother.

"It doesn't have to stop him. It just has to stall him. His doom is approaching quickly," Albus said. He had said that often during the last hour. Those who trusted him took heart from his conviction.

Aberforth wasn't among them. He scoffed. "You keep saying that we just have to stall him. And yet, what are you doing out here then?"

"I will do my part, of course." Albus said, as sincerely as he could.

"Here? And not in whatever ritual you have set in motion to kill the Dark Lord?" Aberforth glared at him.

"My wand will be more useful in the battle. I have utmost trust that the ritual will succeed," Albus said. His brother had divined what was happening - or part of it, at least.

"So, you're about to sacrifice yourself, drawing the attention of the Dark Lord despite your condition?"

Albus kept smiling, though he didn't feel like it. His brother knew him too well. "I do not plan to die, Aberforth."

"Why aren't you further back then? In your office, ready to direct the battle?"

"The Dark Lord will seek me out no matter where I stand. By choosing the battlefield, I gain the advantage." It was true, if not completely.

Aberforth looked around, from the entrance to the Castle to the gates of Hogwarts. "And you've chosen this spot?"

"Voldemort has a flair for the dramatic. He'll come to smash our gates, not to sneak inside." Albus knew that. Unfortunately, thanks to his own ritual, the Dark Lord could afford such grand gestures.

His brother nodded. "A good spot."

"Your friends will cover the approaches from the lake, and from the Forest. And in the air," Albus pointed out. The main entrance would be held by the Aurors and Hit-Wizards. And the teachers as the second line.

"I know."

Aberforth kept standing where he was. At Albus's side.

Neither said anything more while they reinforced the defenses.

*****​

Sirius Black was staring down at the Forbidden Forest, sitting on his broom. Next to him, Valérie flew. He couldn't see her, but he could hear the flapping of her wings, and feel the draft from them. They were all disillusioned. The wards of the school protected them, but Dumbledore didn't think they would last.

"How much longer do you think they'll take?" Valérie asked through the mirror stuck to his collar.

"They should have arrived already," he answered. "The Dark Lord knows that the longer he waits, the stronger we grow."

It was puzzling instead that Voldemort had waited so long that most of the surviving Aurors had arrived, as well as the mercenaries Aberforth had recruited. Either the Dark Lord had his sights set on another target - like the Department of Mysteries, whose vaults held things that should never see the light of day - or he wanted everyone to be gathered at Hogwarts, so he could crush them in one battle. It was a good thing though - the longer the Dark Lord was delayed, the bigger the chance that whatever Hermione was doing would be finished in time. To think that everything depended on one young muggleborn witch… he snorted. Most of the Wizengamot members would be aghast to hear this. If they were not dead already, that is. He still had some trouble accepting it himself.

"We're ready though, or almost," Valérie commented. "They're laying traps now, and the children are all holed up."

That wouldn't save them should the Dark Lord win, but they would be reasonably safe. Apart from those who would fight themselves. The students were not supposed to, Sirius was aware of that, but that wouldn't stop the older Gryffindors he knew. Or the Hufflepuffs.

"I see smoke!"

He turned his head. Smoke was rising from Hogsmeade. The Dark Lord's forces must have arrived. They'd soon be upon Hogwarts.

*****​

She was shaking, pressing her fist against her mouth to keep from screaming. She was about to become Malfoy's slave in all but name. Magically bound to him, magically controlled. Bile rose in her throat and she fought not to vomit. She couldn't run. The Aurors would find her. They would take her from her family, make her parents think she had died. There was no escape. But at the same time she owed Harry her life, and would be magically compelled to sacrifice herself for him, if needed. Between those two magical compulsions, she'd be torn apart. A slave to two masters who hated each other! She couldn't avoid becoming a slave, but she could at least pick her master. Harry was a nice boy. He'd not abuse his power. She would be his retainer, not his slave. His friend, even. She could do this.

Hermione Granger shivered while she kept chanting the words she had chosen months ago, and refined countless times since. That day had been the day she had taken her fate in her own hand. Had decided for herself who she would serve, and forced everyone to accept that. It wasn't a bad day at all.

She focused her mind again. She couldn't afford to slip now, not in the middle of the ritual. The monster in the cage was throwing itself at the bars, probably hissing under its cloak, if not for the Silencing Spell she had cast on it. The lit candles on the points of the pentagrams didn't move, only their flames flickered softly, casting an eerie glow on the whole scene.

She finished the first chant, and the candles flared, changing colours. Violet light filled the room.

*****​

Ejnar Borge kept waving his new wand around, just to feel the rush of power it gave him. It felt better than when he had received his first wand, as a child. Next to him, Afi did the same as the two werewolves advanced through the forest. Behind them, two dozen more wolves followed, half of them armed with those marvelous wands. Ahead lay Hogwarts, the last stronghold of Wizarding Britain.

Once the Dark Lord had destroyed its wards, the school would be ripe for the picking. Ejnar shivered with anticipation. The carnage they'd inflict on the defenders! The walls would be dripping with blood! His wand grew warmer in his hand, as if it too was eager to kill, to curse, to see their enemies slaughtered as they had slaughtered so many wolves.

Ejnar licked his lips. Remus Lupin, an infamous hunter, would be in the school. He was teaching his hatred and bigotry to the students there, until they gladly murdered wolves. The Scandinavian berserker felt the familiar rage well up in him at the thought of facing that monster, and fought to keep his wits. If he lost his mind while the wards were still up…

*****​

"You know… all the other Aurors are with the Headmaster at the Gate," Kenneth Fenbrick said, looking around. "And the Hit-Wizards too," he added as an afterthought.

"Aberforth is there as well." Bertha Limmington nodded.

"And he told us to stick with the mercenaries here," Mathilda cut in. The robe the courtesan and spy was wearing covered more than anything else Kenneth had ever seen her in.

Kenneth scoffed. "I'm just saying…"

"You're honorary riff-raff," Mathilda said, snickering. "That's why you're here."

She was wrong, of course. Aberforth had placed them there, with the mercenaries led by Iva, because he expected the Dark Lord to attack the gates. Everyone who knew the old wizard knew that.

Kenneth wanted to head there as well. He was a Gryffindor, and an Auror. His surviving comrades were there, and would be facing the Dark Lord's worst. But if he went, Bertha would follow him, orders or no orders.

"Someone has to guard the other approaches, you know," Mathilda said. "The Dark Lord's cunning, and will send at least some forces this way. Iva knows that as well," she added, with a nod towards the young mercenary leader, who was on a broom, directing her wands into positions behind transfigured walls.

"We're also the reserves," Bertha said. "They'll call on us once we're needed."

Kenneth sighed. He knew all that. He still felt like he was cowardly abandoning his duty. He looked over the Black Lake. The merfolk would keep anyone from coming through it, but nothing would prevent attackers from going around it. Suddenly, he felt arms wrap around him from behind. He stiffened, then realised it was Bertha. She didn't say anything, just held him.

"Heads up!" Iva shouted. "They saw smoke in the village. Expect an attack any minute now!"

Bertha released him, to take up her own position. Kenneth grabbed her hand and pulled her into his arms, for a quick, desperate kiss.

"I love you."

"I love you."

"And I love you two too! Now get into cover!" Mathilda scolded them, but she was smiling.

*****​

"Shut up!" She shut up. Closed her mouth, compelled against her will to obey. To obey him. She stared at him, shocked, hurt. He had ordered her, and magic made her obey. Tears ran down her cheek, but she didn't make a sound. She couldn't do anything but follow his order. Like a slave. He stared at her, shocked himself, as he realised what he had done, and she felt guilty for causing him pain. She knew he regretted it. Hadn't really meant it, or not like that. And he'd never do it again. Never.

Hermione Granger drew a hissing breath while she waved her wand and directed ten pinches of powdered Deep Sea Pearls towards the burning candles. She wasn't helpless, she was no slave. She was a powerful, skilled witch doing what she wanted. No one forced her to do this, not magic, not Harry. She had chosen this. And she would not fail.

The powder touched the candles, and the flames burned brighter, Indigo replacing the violet. Another step completed.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort looked at the gates of Hogwarts. He could see the wards, as if they were glowing, their intricately woven strands visible to his sight. They shone with power, interlaced and layered. The strongest wards in Britain since the days of Camelot, they had withstood every attack in centuries. Until today. He took out his last orb. The runes were glowing, and he could almost feel the shell weakening. But it would hold a bit longer, and that was all he needed. He let the power trickle into him, slowly, carefully. Enough to make him want more, not enough to make him lose control. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and he felt the air grow cooler. The wands standing behind him, having come up from the burning Hogsmeade, muttered. He smiled, and looked up. Shadows floated above him. The Ravenous Cold had arrived.

Laughing, he let the orb's power flow into him, fill him until he felt as if he was about to burst into flames. Then, and only then, he unleashed the power.

Curse-Breakers carefully probed for weaknesses when dealing with wards, to find the spots that would allow them to unravel the wards without triggering them. It was a delicate, dangerous task. He wasn't a Curse-Breaker. He was the Dark Lord Voldemort, and he didn't sneak around obstacles, he crushed them!

*****​

Harry Potter was staring out the window in the Headmaster's office. He could see the smoke rising from Hogsmeade. There was a lot of it - the entire village had to be burning. Anyone there who had not fled to the castle was likely dead. Harry ground his teeth. More people were dying while he was hiding here.

He took a deep breath. He wasn't hiding, he was guarding Hermione. Who was performing a ritual with a Dementor to kill Voldemort. To destroy the Dark Lord's soul. To save Harry. She must be suffering right now, so close to a Dementor, and he was safe here. Outside, people would soon…

The castle suddenly shook violently, throwing him against the wall. Behind him, Ron and Neville cried out when they fell from their seats to the ground.

"Shite! He crushed the wards!" Ron yelled.

Harry pressed his face against the window. The Dark Lord's mark floated above the castle. The attack would start now. People would fight, and die. Somewhere out there, Sirius was, guarding the sky above the castle, with his lovers. Harry ground his teeth in frustration. He couldn't even spot his godfather, not while he was disillusioned.

But he could see others in the air. Figures in tattered cloaks, flying towards the school. Without brooms. Dementors!

He gasped. Sirius wouldn't be able to … those monsters had tortured Harry's godfather for a decade, and it had taken him almost two years to recover enough to… if he… Harry shook his head. He couldn't watch while those creatures killed his family.

"Mate! What are you doing?" Ron yelled.

Harry wasn't listening. He pulled out his broom and his Cloak of Invisibility.

"Mate!" A hand grabbed him when he was about to open the window. Ron. "Don't be foolish! The Headmaster said to guard the office. Hermione!"

For a second, Harry was torn. He couldn't leave Hermione unprotected. Everything depended on her. But… "Ron! Neville! There are Dementors! I have to help! You two guard her!"

"Harry!"

He shook his head. The Dementors were almost at the castle. If they were not stopped, their aura would affect the defenders. From the gates, a glowing phoenix and goat were rising in the air, driving a few of the creatures away, but more, far more, had the castle encircled. He had to drive them away to protect Hermione as well. She was in a vault anyway.

He pulled the window open, straddled his broom and slipped his cloak on.

"Harry!" Ron yelled, but his friend had taken a step back.

"Thank you," Harry said. Then he shot out of the window, wand drawn, and rose above the castle.

"Expecto Patronum!

*****​

Sirius Black would have fallen to his death, if not for the Sticking Charm on his broom. Dementors! He was back in his cell. No, in Godric's Hollow, finding James and Lily dead. No, at Hogwarts, seeing Harry burn. No, in Bulgaria, seeing Fiendfyre advance towards them. No, above the Hogwarts Express, where Harry was dying and Valérie was falling, cursed…

"Nooo!" he screamed, shaking and shivering. He had to get away, had to flee, had to save them… the cold was killing him. He heard voices calling out to him, but ignored them. They were memories, nightmares. He saw the dark mark, impossibly large, float above him.

Suddenly, warmth filled him, and bright light bathed him, warmer than sunlight in the Caribbean. He stared as a glowing, flying stag tore through the sky, driving a dozen Dementors away before turning around and shooting at the next group of those monsters.

"Prongs…" he whispered, for a moment thinking that his best friend had returned from death to save him. Then he remembered.

"Harry!"

He whirled around, saw the open window in the tower he had left earlier.

"Harry! Go back!"

His foolish godson had left the safety of the Headmaster's office to save him!

"Harry! Go back at once!"

"Expecto Patronum!"

Another glowing stag appeared, a bit away, charging more Dementors. His brave, foolish godson was clever enough to hide himself, at least.

"Get back inside!" he yelled, despite knowing the boy would ignore it.

And yet, even as he cursed him, he was proud of him.

"Sirius!"

Valérie. Shame filled him. She had been calling his name for minutes, he realised.

"I'm alright," he answered. He could hear her sigh with relief, then curse him in French as another stag drove the last Dementors away. They didn't seem keen on regrouping either.

"Looks like we've weathered this wave," he said into the mirror. "Let's see if we can give the ground some support!"

Four screeching battle cries answered him.

*****​

He had chosen her as his stake in the tournament. As if she was a piece of property, like a broom or a necklace. Valuable, but not irreplaceable. He had betrayed her trust. Humiliated her. Everyone knew just how much gold she was worth now. People sneered at her. He might ransom her back, should he lose, if he could spare the galleons. If he even wanted her back, after the winner had taken their turn with her. He had a lot of girls to choose from, after all. Girls who were much prettier than her. Pureblood girls he could marry. Could have children with. Who needed an ugly mudblood anyway? Why should he care about her if he was in danger himself? Even if she could help him. Could save him. Would save him. Would invent new spells, if needed. Would do anything for him.

Hermione's mind was a wall, impenetrable. She clung to that while she walked around the pentagrams in a figure eight and wove complicated patterns into the air with her wand. Its tip trailed blue sparks as she traced runes of protection, runes of purification and sigils of retribution around her. With each movement of her wand, the candles burned brighter, and the Indigo light shifted a bit more into Blue.

Another step complete.

*****​

His Banishing Charm had torn into the gates, tearing them off their hinges and throwing them away. With the wards down, the path to the castle was clear. Above him, the Dementors swept the skies clear of defenders, and would soon descend on the castle itself and weaken the enemy's morale while feasting on stragglers and those who broke and tried to flee. Not even the patronus of Dumbledore himself would save them. He had blocked Apparition and Portkeys, and the Floo Network was down. No one would escape.

"Master! The Dementors!" Bellatrix gasped.

He looked up, and cursed. His Dementors were fleeing, driven away by a glowing, flying stag. Who would… he caught a glimpse of the open window of the Headmaster's office. Potter! That was where the boy was! Dumbledore had placed him in the most protected room in the castle. Even with the wards down, it would be hard to break into it.

His first impulse was to fly up and kill the brat. But the prophecy...

Fireballs and curses started to rain down on them. His and Bella's Shield Charms easily withstood them, though a few of the wolves with him, who had charged ahead, were not quite as skilled. He saw two of them burn screaming. The sky was clear though - disillusioned flyers. Veela.

Snarling, he waved his wand, and from the earth rose flocks of harpies. Dozens of them screeched as they took to the sky. He raised his wand, let the power from the orb fill him once more, and cast a anti-disillusion jinx on the castle and the sky above it. At once, broom riders and Veela appeared.

He sent a curse at one of the closer broom riders. The wizard's Shield Charm and robe protections failed to stop his curse, and the man started to cough his lungs out. Stuck on his broom, he slowly rolled over and veered off, crashing into the Black Lake. Around the Dark Lord, his wands and wolves followed his example, and curses flashed into the sky, some of them hitting his transfigured harpies.

"Leave the sky to the beasts! Charge the castle! Victory is in our grasp!" he yelled, and the wolves and wands stormed towards the main entrance. He turned to Bellatrix, who had stuck with him, as expected.

"Bella!" he said, "Potter is in the Headmaster's office. Take your broom, fly up there, and kill him!"

"Yes, Master!"

*****​

"Here they come!" an Auror standing on the ramparts next to Aberforth Dumbledore shouted. The old wizard heard muttered curses, and even a few prayers.

"It's just Death Eaters, same scum we fought so often before!" he yelled. Maybe that would stiffen their spines.

Albus snorted, but did not comment. From the broken gates, dozens of wizards and witches charged towards them. The spells and fireballs from the flyers hadn't slowed them down, and now the flyers were busy fending off harpies and whatever else the Dark Lord had sent up.

The first rank of the Death Eaters - probably eager werewolves - reached the maze, but before they could enter it, and get torn up by the defenses placed there, an entire section of the obstacles and walls was flattened, and the charging attackers had a clear path to the entrance. Clear but for the defender's spells.

"Will the walls resist that kind of power?" Aberforth asked while Aurors and Hit-Wizards sent spells of all kinds at the attackers. Most went wide: the range was still long.

"They should," Albus answered. "They have been strengthened by magic for centuries. A necessity, given the destructive tendencies of some students."

Aberforth snorted. The Headmaster waved his wand, and the spot behind the gate filled with stone. That told him that the gates wouldn't stand up to an attack.

"Two can play this game," Albus said, pointing his wand at the ground.

Aberforth's brother had been the Transfiguration Master before he had become the Headmaster, and he hadn't lost his skill. The earth which had just been flattened by Voldemort's spell sprouted holes. Many small ones. The attackers stumbled, some crying out when their legs got caught in such a hole. Literally caught, Aberforth realised when they started screaming and blood spurted from severed arteries.

Another spell from the Dark Lord flattened the area again, including some of the caught attackers. Aberforth tried to transfigure part of the area into a lion, but his spell failed.

"Is he?"

Albus nodded. "He's keeping the area transfigured. He won't be able to hold on to it indefinitely, of course."

"That's what you wanted." His brother still kept too much to himself.

The area suddenly rose, turning into a wide ramp that reached the top of the ramparts.

"Well, not exactly that," Albus said, dryly, when the screaming Death Eaters and werewolves charged up, their wands spewing curses.

Aberforth side-stepped a green curse. A bit away, a Hit-Wizard's head blew up from a Reductor curse. An Auror stumbled around, his face gone. Not cut off, simply gone, replaced by raw flesh. He clawed at his throat, trying to breathe. They shouldn't have been hit like this, that early into a battle. Shields and protective Enchantments seemed to fall far too quickly, Aberforth noticed.

His own Cutting Curse only hit an attacker after he had taken down the man's shield Charm with a Piercing Curse, and his robe's enchantments with a Blasting Curse. Once it hit though, the spell removed the legs of the man. The wizard, likely a werewolf, dropped to the ground and started to roll down the ramp, trailing blood. Another wizard trampled the screaming man into the ground in his eagerness to reach the defenders.

Now the barrage from the defenders started to take its toll as Shields failed and enchantments were spent. Reductor Curses blew limbs away, Cutting Curses left men and women bleeding out, Bludgeoning Curses smashed bones and skulls, and yet the Death Eaters came on. And their own barrage of spells was more effective than Aberforth had expected. Half a dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards were killed with Dark Curses, some of them he didn't even recognise. Sectumsempra though he knew, and managed to save the Auror who had been hit near him with a counter-curse before the witch was hurt too much.

"Take a step back!" Albus yelled.

Aberforth obeyed without hesitation. If his brother yelled like that, you did what he said. The front of the ramparts suddenly liquefied, and flowed down the ramp. Yells followed, and Aberforth could see most of the attackers sliding down the ramp, unable to find purchase to hold their position. Those few who managed fell to multiple curses.

Once most of the first wave of attackers were at the bottom of the ramp, Albus waved his wand and they started screaming and coughing blood. Alchemy at work. Bloody work. And tiring - Aberforth saw that his brother was panting and sweating.

The defenders on the ramparts cheered. Until the ramp turned into a dragon.

*****​

Fire engulfed her. Her clothes were burning, her hair was aflame. Her pitiful spells had failed to protect her. She had failed. She tried to push Harry away, to safety, but she set him ablaze instead, and he was screaming. It was all her fault. Her skin was blackening, turning to charcoal. Harry was still screaming. She was covered in burning liquid. Water drenched her, but that just made the flames grow even hotter! The steam boiled her lungs.

She had beaten that trap, Hermione knew. She had covered herself in earth and smothered the flames. Just as she would smother what life remained in Voldemort. She chanted the next stanza as her wand rose and fell, trailing water this time, the drops turning into small seeds, dropping down to line the pentagrams as the candles started to burn with Green light. She was shivering with cold now, her breath fogging, but she couldn't cast a Warming Charm in the middle of the ritual. She had to endure it. Not much longer though.

*****​

Sirius Black cursed as he pulled on his broom, narrowly dodging the claws of another harpy. "James always said girls would be the death of me, one day," he muttered as he blew the beast up with a Blasting Curse.

A bit away, Chantal was striking another of the creatures with her claws. She was bleeding from several scratches, but screeching triumphantly when her beak ripped out the harpy's throat. Spells flew at her, but she dodged them.

Eugénie wasn't quite as fortunate. A dozen of the beasts had swarmed her, and the Veela was screaming as her wings were shredded. Valérie and Laure were too far away to reach her before she would crash on the ground. Sirius dove after her, his shoulder smashing into a harpy. The ground seemed to be rushing at him as he reached for the tumbling, falling, screaming Veela. He grabbed her arm, slippery with blood, and yanked her to him while he tried to pull up with his broom.

He almost made it.

*****​

Ejnar roared while he, Afi and the other wolves charged over the open fields towards the castle. A few spells sped at them from the ramparts, but not enough to even slow them down. His own curses, much more powerful than he was used to, thanks to his wand, tore through their shields and left them dying, strangled by their own entrails. He laughed, drawing his blade as he closed in on the wall.

"Afi, take half of them and keep the wall free of enemies, the rest, climb with me!" he yelled, conjuring a rope and banishing one end towards the top.

A Sticking Charm later, he started to climb the wall. When he was halfway to the top, the roars and shouts behind and below him turned to screams. Turning his head, he saw some of Afi's group running around, flailing. Others were on the ground, still. They were being attacked by spiders the size of cats! Afi was screaming, three of the monsters were climbing up his legs. His cousin stabbed at them with his dagger, but more were coming, leaping at him. Afi kept screaming, even after he had fallen to the ground, until he stopped moving.

Rage filled Ejnar. Afi had been the last of his warband. The last of his family. He snarled and started to climb faster He'd kill them all! Make them bleed! Rip out their entrails and feast on them!

The werewolf to his right screamed. Ejnar looked at him, and saw he had been shot by … he didn't know what it was. But the wolf jerked, shook, and fell down. Poison, no doubt. Another reached the top of the wall, only to stumble back, clutching his eyes. His smoking, dissolving eyes, Ejnar realised.

He climbed as fast as he could while wolves left and right dropped - shot, cursed or poisoned. He was almost to the top when a man leaned over the rampart. He knew that man. Lupin! Ejnar drew his wand, but the hunter was faster - and cut his rope.

The wolf managed to cast a sticking charm on his left hand and stop his fall, even though it almost wrenched his arm out of his socket. Ignoring the pain, he looked up, aiming his wand. His shield would hold, and his curse would...

Something jerked him to the side, smashing him into the wall. He stared at the spear buried in his ribs in shock. How had…? Lifting his head, he saw a giant cocking a ballista.

Then the poison took effect and he didn't see anything anymore.

*****​

"Tha's the last one," Rubeus said, scanning the Forbidden Forest. "Nasty bunch. Killed a number o' tha hired wands." He flicked his wand, and the remains of a cut rope ignited, then fell down to the ground.

Remus Lupin nodded. "If they had stayed down and kept casting dark curses, we'd have had much more trouble." The attackers had made a tactical blunder he wouldn't have expected of such skilled dark wizards.

"Werewolves tend to prefer melee combat, no matter how much of a disadvantage it puts them at," Gilderoy added.

Neither Remus nor his colleague were looking at Jungle Jenny, who was cooing at one of the Spitting Cobras on the rampart. Or at the dead mercenaries around them. Fleur was flying the worst wounded to the Infirmary while Bill did what he could with those who had been cursed.

A roar, far louder than anything they had heard before, made them turn around just in time to see the rampart above the gate vanish in fire. Dragon fire.

"Tha's a Hungarian Horntail!" Rubeus shouted. "But far ta large fer the breed!"

"Merlin!" Remus shouted. The dragon was towering above the wall!

"Transfigured. Has to be!" Jenny said. "See how it tries to fly and fails?"

Gilderoy nodded, pale and shaking. "But who would have thought anyone could create such a thing?"

"I've got a better question: How do we destroy it?" Bill asked.

*****​

Fiendfyre was alive. Monstrous beasts formed from fire and hatred struck all around her, devouring furniture and walls, turning tapestries and portraits and people to ashes in seconds. Any minute now would the expansion charms start to fail, and they would be crushed by the remains of too many rooms for too little space. Crushed, but not dead.Trapped, stuck helplessly in the debris while the fire burned its way towards them…

Hermione Granger was shivering, but from the unnatural cold, not the memory the monster had managed to drag past her Occlumency. She should have set up a heater, she thought. But it was too late. At least Yennington was still alive. And would be alive until the ritual ended. Death from exposure was not that fast. She took a deep breath, and made circular motions with her wand, each centred around a candle while she chanted in a language last spoken when Atlantis was sunk. Each candle treated like this changed its colour to a warm yellow. She felt less cold too, as she walked around the pentagrams, and noticed that her skin was tingling, and her hair was floating. She didn't know what was happening; according to the formula, this should not be happening.

*****​

"Ron, we should close the window."

Ron Weasley turned away from the window, back to Neville. "We can't! Harry needs it to be open to come back."

"He's not coming back, or he'd have returned already! He's out there, fighting!" Neville stood up. "Close the damn window before a flock of harpies enters!"

That was a good argument, Ron had to admit. He turned to close the window when something flew past him and the floor blew up. His robe's protections shielded him from the sharp stone fragments, and he cast a Shield Charm without thinking about it.

Cackling laughter sounded from outside. Neville froze in the middle of rushing to the window.

"No…" Ron's friend said, trembling.

Another spell entered through the window, and the desk of the Headmaster blew up. Neville was thrown into the wall, crying out as he hit it. Ron flicked his wand, just in time to close the window before a broom rider crashed into it. The window wasn't even damaged from the impact - Dumbledore must have layered the strongest protections he could cast on it. Hopefully the rider had fallen to his death.

He hurried to Neville. His friend was dazed. And hurt, but alive. Ron cast a quick charm to close the bleeding wounds the splinters had left, then woke him up.

"Ugh… Bellatrix!" Neville shouted.

"What?" Ron blinked.

"That was Bellatrix Lestrange!"

Ron whipped his head around to stare at the window. If that had been Bellatrix, then she certainly wouldn't be… a spell hit the window, interrupting his thoughts and confirming them at the same time. Another spell splashed against the window.

"She's outside, on a broom," Ron said.

Neville started for the window, wand drawn. Ron held him back. "Stop! Are you daft?"

"But…"

"We're safe here. She's outside. She won't be able to get through Dumbledore's defenses. Sooner or later, she'll be killed." Hopefully sooner than later, he thought.

"But…" Neville started to say again.

Another spell was stopped by the window. It didn't look as if it had taken any damage so far.

"You may be right," Neville said, slowly.

Ron nodded. "I am. Let's just …."

The next spell left cracks in the window.

*****​

Tom couldn't keep this up, Albus Dumbledore thought. The Dark Lord had taken down the wards of Hogwarts, a feat unmatched in history. He had placed an Anti-Disillusion and Anti-Apparition as well as an Anti-Portkey Jinx on the entirety of Hogwarts. And now he had transfigured the ramp into an oversized dragon.

Tom couldn't keep this up forever. But Albus was starting to doubt that he could keep up long enough with the Dark Lord. He was still hurting and worn from the fight at the Ministry, and he was rapidly exhausting himself in this battle.

Aberforth's Shield Charm had protected him, just as Albus had been left untouched by the dragonfire thanks to his own shield. Not many of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards had been as lucky or skilled though. Most of those who had fought at the side of Albus were dead - burned to cinders. And the dragon would repeat this with each section of the ramparts, decimating the defenders.

Dragons were highly resistant to magic. Alchemy could hurt them, but a dragon this size? Too big to fly, even? There was no choice. Albus took a deep breath, activated the enchantment in his glasses, and started to undo the transfiguration. He barely noticed Aberforth stepping up in front of him with his shield up, or a broom rider of great skill trying to distract the monster. All he could focus on was the undoing of the spell that kept the thing alive. The power Tom had poured into this beggared belief. If Tom had been as skilled as Albus at transfiguration, it would have been hopeless. As it was, the Dark lord had been somewhat sloppy. And Albus had the wand he had taken from Gellert, so long ago. It gave him the edge he needed

A few seconds later, the dragon collapsed, turning back into earth and rocks. Albus felt like following its example. He was swaying on his feet, and had to steady himself against the wall. But Tom was still there. He had to face him.

"Rest for a bit, Albus. I'll take him on."

Albus shook his head, but Aberforth had stepped away already.

*****​

Harry Potter had noticed that he had been the only one still invisible in the air when the harpies seemed to ignore him. He had taken advantage of that surprising fact to cull their numbers, but there had been so many… and the dragon's appearance… he had been too slow, too late.

He saw Eugénie fall, saw his godfather race after her, and saw the two crash into the ground before he could even get close. Screaming with rage and fear, he sent a Blasting Curse into the midst of the flock that had been maiming the Veela, killing half of them and wounding the rest. Then he dove down to the ground, towards his godfather. He had to help Sirius!

He landed next to them, and saw they were moving. Sirius was alive! Wounded, bleeding, moaning, but alive! And so was Eugénie! But they were on the ground, outside Hogwarts, and enemies were already on the way! He wasn't able to save both of them, and to take Sirius and leave Eugénie…

He ground his teeth, then sent a Bludgeoning Curse at the closest enemy, shattering the man's shield and pushing him back. As he had been trained, he followed up with two quick curses, to take care of the robe's protections, and another bludgeoning curse, which crushed the man's chest.

He saw a broom dive towards him, and almost cursed the man, before he recognised him.

"Viktor!"

"Harry? How are you still disillusioned? I tried myself without success."

"Cloak. Take Eugénie, I'll take Sirius!" Harry shouted, casting a few Blasting Curses to keep the rest of the attackers at a distance before transfiguring the ground into walls to shield them.

"Alright," his friend answered, bending down to grab the Veela's arm. She was bleeding, and unconscious.

Harry levitated Sirius and was about to stick him to the broom when all the walls were levelled at once.

*****​

He had a piece of his worst enemy inside his scar, and as long as he was alive, his enemy couldn't be killed. She was shaking her head and whispering "No. No. No!", grabbing his hand. He was a Horcrux. He was doomed. He would have to die, and he would want to die, to save her. She would be responsible…

Hermione Granger ignored the tears running down her cheeks. Harry wasn't a Horcrux. It wasn't her fault. She was saving him, right here and now! That monster in the cage was powerless! she told herself.

"Diffindo!"

She cut her own palm, and stuck the tip of her wand into the wound, covering the wood with blood. Using her own blood, she drew a circle around the cage, then around the comatose Death Eater. Then she walked around the pentagrams again, letting a drop of blood fall into each candle. The light turned Orange, and the temperature grew warmer again - it was still a tad cold, but no one would die from exposure now.

Another step complete.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort gasped when he saw his Bellatrix crash into the window. The dark witch recovered quickly, and started to attack the window, to his relief. She would take some time breaking through the defenses, though.

Then his dragon fell. Dispelled, by Dumbledore - he was the only one who had the skill for such a feat. He wanted to recreate the monster, but he couldn't afford it. He couldn't leave his wands and wolves without his protection. And he needed more harpies, they were almost wiped out.

Voldemort send a cloud of acid up the wall, to keep the defenders there busy, flattened another section of the defenses and turned the carnivorous plants there into soil. He saw one broom crash a bit away, but didn't pay attention until suddenly, walls appeared around the crash site.

A quick glance confirmed that the acid cloud was diminishing - Dumbledore was busy still. A wave of his wand flattened the walls, exposing a broom rider trying to rescue the crashed one. He was about to kill him when a loud explosion drew his attention. Bellatrix had blown a hole into the tower!

Pride filled him, then confusion. How had his Bella managed that so fast? Voldemort would have had trouble with Dumbledore's defenses… he gasped. He had told her she couldn't take one of Steinberg's wand! Had that witch gone against his orders?

The spell that shattered his shield took him by surprise. He jumped to the side, dodging another spell, and cast another Shield Charm. Who…? There! Dumbledore's brother! Snarling, he pushed all thoughts of Bellatrix away. He couldn't afford to worry about her when fighting that kind of enemy.

*****​

A dozen spells - dark curses - flew at Harry Potter and Viktor. He let Sirius drop to the ground and erected another wall, which was blown up by the spells.

"Go!" he yelled at Viktor, raising yet another wall. While that one crumbled, he cast a sticking charm on his broom and touched it to Sirius. He was about to straddle his broom when the wall fell. More curses flew at him at once, and he shot straight up, the closest curse passing right under Sirius' body. Harpies attacked him - there were more of them around than before, he noticed. He blew the closest away with a Reductor Curse, then high-tailed it to the Infirmary. A few of the beasts tried to give chase, but a group of flying mercenaries cut them off and destroyed them.

Before he reached the Infirmary though, he saw part of the tower where Dumbledore's office was explode. Ron and Neville! And after them, Hermione! He dove down to courtyard, coming to a halt next to Professor McGonagall. "Professor! He needs help!" he yelled, removing the Sticking Charm. Sirius had barely touched the ground before Harry was in the air again.

*****​

Ron and Neville had almost reached Dumbledore's private quarters when most of the outer wall was blown away and they heard cackling, mad laughter. Their shields held though, and a few steps later they were gone from the office, Fawkes hopping after them.

"Potter? Where's the Boy-Who-Lived?" The cruel voice made Ron shiver, but Neville cry - from fear or frustration, he couldn't tell.

"He's not here!" Ron yelled, looking for cover in Dumbledore's flat. Which looked like the inside of an expanded bag, or how Hermione had described it. He jumped behind a floating statue of a centaur maiden while Neville chose an armoire. "Once we see her, Bludgeoning Curse!" Ron whispered.

They didn't have to wait long. A few seconds afterwards, the Dark Witch appeared in the doorway. Their two curses hit her and blew her back, but her shield had held.

"You'll pay for that!" The dark witch shouted, and sent more curses into the room. They flew by harmlessly though, and vanished in the expanded room filled with floating objects.

Ron licked his lips as he waited. There were so many possible curses the dark witch could use… "Piercing Curse next time, and keep casting," he whispered.

Neville nodded.

Another explosion shook the room, and Ron froze when he heard Bellatrix's delighted yell: "There you are, Potter!"

Harry had returned.

*****​

She was useless. Raising wall after wall, exhausting herself, just to see her work destroyed instead of killing her enemy. Around her, students, children were being slaughtered in the wreck of the train cars, and all she could do, was trying to do, was protecting her few friends. They were at least fighting, but she? She was not doing anything. She was just watching, hiding while others fought and died. Even Parkinson was doing more than she was doing! She was a coward, unfit to be a Gryffindor, or a friend.

Without her, her friends would have died, Hermione Granger told herself while she moved towards the caged Dementor. Each step she took caused the cage to shrink a bit, until the monster couldn't move at all anymore. Up close, the cold was terrible, and she was shaking again while she aimed her blood-covered wand at it and started to move it carefully around in a complex pattern, far beyond any spell she had cast so far. The captured monster was trembling, shaking, struggling, but ultimately helpless.

She finished the pattern and spoke one single word, then reached out and touched the Dementor's chest through the bars. The blood vanished with a sizzling noise, the the orange glow from the candles turned blood red, and the Dementor stiffened, then collapsed, turning to ashes under its cloak. The sudden absence of the Dementor's aura almost made her cry with relief as she gathered the ashes in a small bowl.

One step was left.

*****​

Aberforth saw that his spell had failed to take out the Dark Lord, and threw himself off the rampart, into the courtyard, seconds before the entire length of that section exploded. The shockwave pushed him away, but didn't break his shield, and he managed to use a spell to cushion his fall, but he still was battered and bruised. Groaning, he stood up again.

In front of him, the remains of the walls parted, and Voldemort strode through, followed by his Death Eaters and werewolves. Aberforth send a Blasting Curse at the ground in front of the Dark Lord. It wouldn't hurt him, but it might push his minions back.

The Dark Lord sneered, his shield unaffected. Aberforth conjured slabs of marble, just in time to absorb the Killing Curse while falling back. He needed real cover. Inside the castle.

A wounded Auror started casting at the Dark Lord from the side, but Voldemort's shield never wavered, and a flick of the wand later, the Auror was dead. Another spell turned half the courtyard into a field of spikes glistening with green poison. Aberforth just barely avoided it. Stumbling back, he dodged another spell while the last of his stone slabs was destroyed.

Still no sign of Albus. Or whatever ritual he had started.

The Dark Lord laughed, and raised his wand again.

*****​

Harry Potter had spotted Bellatrix in the middle of the ruined office and had sent a curse at her right away. The explosion had thrown her to the ground, and he had heard her shriek. He couldn't see Ron or Neville though. He flew inside and landed. Bellatrix was lying in a pool of her own blood. So much blood, some splinter had to have caught an artery.

"Ron! Neville!"

"Harry?"

Before he could answer, the corpse on the floor moved. He whipped his wand around, but was too slow.

"Crucio!"

He felt as if thousand red-hot needles stabbed into his most sensitive body parts. He was screaming while she cackled something about 'Summon blood'. He barely noticed Ron and Neville emerging from the Headmaster's quarters, wands flashing with spells that were harmlessly stopped by the witch's shield. She was cackling, laughing, while he writhed in pain, unable to move, or do anything but scream.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort was about to finish off Dumbledore's brother when half a dozen spells came at him from the side. Once again he had left himself wide open, he berated himself while he rolled over the cobblestone floor. He had grown used to Bellatrix being at his side. A few quickly conjured stone walls, he was standing up again, and facing what looked like half the staff of the school, and Mad-Eye Moody and what was left of the Auror Corps.

Their numbers didn't matter. They couldn't defeat him. Dumbledore was the only one who might have had a chance, before the ritual. And he wasn't alone.

"Slaughter them!" He yelled, and his Death Eaters and wolves surged forward. The first rank didn't get far though, but vanished when the ground abruptly opened in front of them - too close for them to stop. Half a dozen vanished in the ground, which closed up at once. The rest ended up in a crossfire. He knew who had done this. Dumbledore. Looking around, he spotted the old wizard on a balcony overlooking the courtyard.

He grinned and was about to blast the thing to pieces, when he suddenly felt pain. Had he been hit? No, he was feeling someone else's pain. Someone under the Cruciatus! How was this possible?

He caught a few glimpses. Enough to recognise Bellatrix. Potter! He had a link to Potter!

*****​

Hermione Granger carefully mixed the ashes from the Dementor with the phoenix ashes the Headmaster had given to her, and her own blood. She was feeling a bit light-headed now, but she had a duty to fulfill. Her skin was still tingling, and her hair was still floating, though not hindering her.

Stepping up to the comatose body of Yennington, she started to paint a rune around his exposed Dark Mark using the concoction she had just completed. With each stroke of her work, one candle went out. With the last stroke, she was left in darkness. Then the rune on Yennington started to glow, followed by the entire pentagram. Only one thing was left.

She sat down next to the Death Eater, and closed her eyes.

Visualise the part as the whole, then that as the sum of its parts.

She could imagine the soul, whole even if apart. A dark soul, an ugly soul, stained and dripping with blood. Like her hands, right now.

See the bonds that hold the whole together. The force that forms the whole.

She saw it. She could feel it, could almost touch it. The part of his soul inside Yennington.

And destroy it.

She raised her wand, the tip dripping with her concoction. She touched the Dark Mark, and spoke the last word of her ritual.

"Nex."


Chapter 60: Resolution
 
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Chapter 60: Resolution
Chapter 60: Resolution

The Dark Mark flared up, lit by all the colours of the rainbow. Black smoke rose from it. Yennington jerked and opened his eyes. Then he screamed. And kept screaming as he thrashed, his flailing arms and legs knocking the extinguished candles around.

Hermione Granger was grateful that she didn't catch more than a glimpse of the Death Eater's expression before his head jerked back and his face was hidden in the shadows cast by the glowing mark. When he finally stopped screaming, she was exhausted, spent. And relieved. And she felt guilty.

She didn't know how much time had passed. How long it had taken the man to die.

"L-lumos!"

The tip of her wand lit up, illuminating the room. Yennington was on his side, sightless eyes staring at the floor. His entire left arm was blackened. The Dark Mark was gone, replaced by a rotting hole down to the bone. The stench of burned flesh, and worse, hit her, and she retched, then vomited right next to the corpse, until nothing but bile came out.

Wiping her mouth, she cast a Bubble-Head Charm, then gulped down the clean air it produced until she felt better. Standing up on shaky legs, she pointed her wand at the corpse.

"Evanesco!"

Yennington's remains disappeared. It took a few more castings to remove all other traces of the ritual, and she almost collapsed at the end, but it had to be done. She couldn't leave any reminder of what she had done. Her memories were bad enough.

She had killed every marked Death Eater. She had destroyed a soul.

And she had saved Harry.

*****​

Ron Weasley screamed as he cast a Piercing Curse at the dark witch who was torturing Harry. His spell was absorbed by her shield, as was Neville's Cutting Curse. And Ron's Bludgeoning Curse. And Neville's Reductor Curse. Bellatrix was laughing, her wand pointed at their screaming friend. Her entire front was covered in blood, dripping from her robe.

"Confringo!"

His Blasting Curse hit her shield, and he saw it waver. So did the witch. She whirled around, facing Ron and Neville, and her face split in a crazy grin while her wand flew up, pointing at them. Ron jumped to the side, rolling behind the Headmaster's desk.

Neville wasn't as quick or nimble, and Ron heard him scream in pain. He popped up behind the desk and sent another Piercing Curse at the witch. Her shield shattered, but before he could cast again, a flick of her wrist threw the desk into him. His own Shield Charm shattered, but it stopped Ron from getting crushed against the wall.

Neville though, was in a bad way. His left arm was shriveling, his hand blackened and twisted, while he writhed on the floor. Ron's friend all but jabbed his wand into his arm.

"Diffindo!"

Neville cut his own arm off! Ron saw blood spurt from severed arteries.

The dark witch was cackling with glee. "Ohhh! Little Neville cut himself up! How clumsy! Do you need a hand?"

She had recast her Shield Charm, and Ron's next two spells were stopped by it. But he had caught her attention again. For a moment, Ron thought time slowed down. The dark witch was turning towards him. Behind her, Harry was stirring and Neville was casting something at his stump while the blood kept spurting out. Her wand was raising, jabbing towards him. He was about to slide down behind the desk, but knew he wouldn't be fast enough.

Then Bellatrix froze and screamed. Her left arm lit up and started to smoke.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort had a link to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived! If he had known this… and now they boy was being tortured by Bellatrix, and Voldemort could feel Potter's pain. It was just a pale shadow of what the brat was suffering, but it was distracting. As distracting, he thought, as the fact that Bella was torturing the boy instead of killing him - had she fallen that quickly to the influence from the wand?

He couldn't dwell on either thought, not in the middle of a battle with Dumbledore. A wave of his wand raised another wall, and temporarily shielded, he sent Fiendfyre at the balcony Dumbledore was standing on.

His werewolves and Death Eaters - those who had not fallen to Dumbledore's spells - had engaged the teachers and Aurors. Even without Steinberg's wands, they would provide enough of a distraction for him to finish Moody and Dumbledore's brother. With those wands… he grinned.

A quick glance confirmed that the Fiendfyre he had unleashed was still confined to the balcony. The magnificent basilisk formed out of cursed fire twisted back and forth, its gaping maw seeking more fuel, but unable to progress, held back by continuously shifting, growing stone walls. He grinned. That would keep his old foe busy while he slaughtered the worms around him.

Moody had crushed his walls in the meantime, and the old Auror was coming at him, a snarl on his mutilated face. Voldemort, in a body far younger and nimbler, sidestepped the man's first volley of curses and retaliated with some curses of his own. The man's Shield Charm shattered, and a Piercing Curse struck Moody's good leg while the Auror jumped to the side, behind debris.

The Dark Lord sent a few Blasting Curses at Dumbledore's brother, driving him into cover, then aimed his wand at the debris.

"Supra Onus!"

The charm had been developed by a follower of Grindelwald, to blind and deafen a target by overloading their senses. It had been a failure, its effect far too weak to justify casting it. But the Dark Lord had power to spare still, and Moody was famous for using an enchanted eye. Voldemort heard the tough old Auror scream, and smiled.

"Bombarda!"

The debris blew up, shredding Moody and opening a crater two yards deep. It also killed a few wolves, but taking out the veteran Auror was worth their lives, and more. The rest of the wolves and Death Eaters were pressing the enemies hard. Mostly. He saw Flitwick kill one of the wolves with a charm that was only not banned in Britain because it had been a family spell of a now extinct line. He idly wondered how the half-breed had learned it while sending a pair of Killing Curses at the diminutive teacher. They were intercepted by two walls rising from the floor - McGonagall's work.

Snarling himself, he turned the stone she was standing on into a field of spikes. She screamed when her legs were pierced, but when he sent another volley of curses at her, she changed into a cat and the spells passed her. She wouldn't escape though, another…

His shield flared when several spells hit it. He dodged to the side, only to find himself in the middle of a oil slick, which went up in flames right afterwards. Dumbledore's brother had flanked him, and taken out a few Death Eaters on his way.

Enough! He ignored the fire; his robe's protections would keep it from harming him. He didn't have to fight like those worms! He had the power to shatter the wards of Hogwarts, he could crush them like the bugs they are! He was the Dark Lord Voldemort!

He jabbed his wand at the ground.

"Terra Unda!"

A circular wave of stone and earth rose around him and rushed away, tearing up the ground and crushing everything in its path before smashing against the walls of the school, breaching them in several spots.

The wave had left broken wizards and witches and animals in its wake, many of them half-buried in the rubble that was left of the ground. He saw Dumbledore's brother had survived. The wizard was hurt though, and struggling to get up. Easy prey.

Pain. Worse than he had ever suffered. Worse than the Cruciatus. Different too… and yet familiar. This was… his soul! Something was attacking his very soul! He fell to his knees, unable to stand, unable to speak, unable to breath even. His skin was smoking, as if his body was burning from the inside! The pain! He willed a shield in place, but it did nothing. It wasn't a spell… it was a ritual! The link! They were attacking through the link!

He wouldn't die, not like this, not when he had won! He focused his will on the link to Potter.

He would possess the boy before he died!

*****​

Harry Potter was screaming. The pain was unbearable. Then it suddenly cut off. The witch was laughing still, taunting his friends, cursing them, and he couldn't do anything, couldn't even move with his limbs still jerking around.

Ron was screaming, but with rage, not pain. Harry would have smiled, had he been able to control his muscles. Then Neville screamed. With pain and horror. And the dark witch laughed. Cackled. Enraged, Harry fought to move, to get up, to help his friends. His body didn't want to obey him though. He lifted his head, turned it, excruciatingly slowly. He saw the witch, then Neville, bleeding, and Ron. She was about to kill his best friend!

Suddenly, the witch screamed, and smoke rose from her arm, and Harry felt elated. Hermione had done it! Had finished the ritual! They had won!

Then the pain hit him, through his scar. Blood flowed down his face. Another vision? He focused on his Occlumency, he didn't want to watch, much less feel the Dark Lord die!

His mind was protected by an impenetrable wall, smooth and strong, keeping the pain away… he felt a probe smash into it. Shatter it. The pain increased. He felt rage too, and desperation - and couldn't tell if it was his, or Voldemort's. Grinding his teeth, he tried to fight back. His mind was protected. It was his! Harry focused on pushing the probe away, rebuilding his wall, his shield. To no avail.

He felt the Dark Lord slice through his mental barriers, into his mind. Bringing his own rage and pain with him. Tainting him!

Harry didn't hear how he growled, screamed, didn't see how more blood poured from his scar, how his eyes started to glow, didn't feel his head smashing into the stone floor while he thrashed around. He couldn't feel or sense anything but the Dark Lord's presence in his mind.

And he wanted it gone!

He didn't try to raise walls, didn't attempt to push it back anymore. He wanted to destroy the Dark Lord before Voldemort destroyed him. He ignored the pain, knowing the Dark Lord would be suffering far worse, and struck at Voldemort, tearing at the Dark Lord's mind. That monster had killed his parents, had killed so many people, so many innocents. It would not kill anyone else. Not today. Not ever again.

He wasn't just fighting for himself, but for all his friends. And for Hermione.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort was dying. He knew it. His soul was being shredded. The pain was unbelievable. He didn't know who was doing this. It wasn't Dumbledore - the old wizard had been fighting him, not doing a ritual. And the Headmaster wouldn't have used such dark magic anyway. But whoever was doing this was using the link to Potter. If he could possess the boy, he could attack him. Disrupt the ritual. It was the only chance he had. His Horcruxes would not save him from this.

He did his best to ignore the pain and pushed on.

The boy was brave, and stubborn. And foolish. His Occlumency shields didn't stop Voldemort. And Potter's attempt at attacking him directly was pathetic. A child could not match his decades of experience, nor his will, tested and trained against the worst temptations and dangers of the Dark Arts!

To his surprise, the boy put up more resistance than he had expected. Voldemort couldn't brush his presence away, couldn't simply take over the body. Something, someone must be helping Potter. The pain was growing worse. He tried to pour it into the boy's mind, overwhelm him with it.

It didn't work. But he had sensed something. A weakness! Fending off the next attack, he struck out at Potter's memories. The brat knew who was doing this to him! It was…

… the girl? The mudblood was killing him? The shock made him falter, just for an instant, but it was enough. Potter struck at him, and the pain had grown worse. He had not much time left. He had to rally, to strike back, to…

The girl wasn't here! She was deep down in the dungeons of Hogwarts! He couldn't reach her, not in time to stop her. But if she wasn't attacking him through the link to Potter…

He pushed on, half-mad with pain from the attack on his soul and Potter's mental strikes, sifting through the boy's memories. The mudblood was attacking through the Dark Mark! Bella!

The last thing he saw was Potter's memories of his Bella screaming as the Dark Mark started killing her.

*****​

Aberforth Dumbledore had survived that terrible spell. He had even managed to recast a Shield Charm and raise his wand, despite his broken leg and arm. He would meet his end on his feet, facing the Dark Lord.

His end didn't come. The Dark Lord collapsed, screaming, as black smoke rose from his skin. Aberforth shuddered. Ritual magic. Dark Ritual Magic. He glanced to the balcony, where the Fiendfyre was still raging, if diminished. What had his brother done? Aberforth knew the price such magic demanded!

With a mixture of horror and relief he saw that the Dark Lord's body was evaporating, going up in thick, foul black smoke. And the wizard was screaming, kept screaming, was trying to scream even when there were no lungs anymore to provide the air to scream. When anyone else would have been dead already. And Aberforth stared, unable to take his eyes off him, until all that remained were the Dark Lord's robe and wand.

Merlin!

A voice loud enough to be heard in all of Hogwarts made him jerk and almost fall down when he twisted his broken leg. Albus. He was still alive then. The relief he felt was soon suppressed.

Aberforth looked up. His brother looked like death warmed over, but he was standing, and able to cast still. An Amplifying Charm, at least.

"The Dark Lord has fallen! Victory is ours!"

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick was panting and bleeding. The gash in his right side had opened up again when he had taken a dive to the ground and rolled behind the remains of a conjured wall to escape that purple curse coming at him. He was the last fool who had participated in that sally that had routed the enemy's second wave still outside the walls and alive.

"Episkey!"

The pain didn't lessen much, but it stilled the bleeding. Hopefully. He peeked over the debris providing him with cover, then ducked again when a Blasting Curse hit the ground nearby. He changed his position by crawling along the wall's remains while another curse flew over the wall. Those Death Eaters threw curses as if they were hexes.

He heard the enemies howling. They'd charge again. He had to get inside Hogwarts! But the breach in the school's walls was 20 yards away. He wouldn't make it. And Disillusionment Spells didn't work.

The howling grew in volume. They were charging. He cursed. He hadn't done this since Hogwarts, and he had been drunk at the time, and it had been a dare. But he had no choice. His broom had been shredded in the first sally.

He raised a wall. It wouldn't last more than a few seconds. But he didn't need more than that to point his wand at himself.

"Depulso!"

He shot through the air, towards the breach. His robe's protections had prevented him from breaking his own ribs, but they were spent - again - now, and the impact would hurt. Especially since he might have misjudged his aim in his haste.

"Accio Kenneth's robe!"

He was yanked off his collision course with the wall, and before he could get his bearings he collided with someone. The two of them rolled over the cobblestones, with him ending up on top when they finally stopped. Blinking, he stared at Bertha's frowning face.

"I should hex you, Ken! How stupid can you be?"

That was Mathilda, standing next to him. She looked bruised and battered, but wasn't bleeding or missing any body parts.

"He's a Gryff," Bertha said. She was unhurt as well. Fortunately.

"Stop fooling around and get in line!" Iva shouted. Her mercenaries - those still able to fight - were already sending volleys of spells at the breach. Kenneth saw one enemy jump through the breach and get bisected before he hit the ground. He cast a few spells of his own, together with Bertha and Mathilda. Auror training had never covered casting blindly, but Iva's tactics worked when faced with a horde of seemingly suicidal enemies intent on rushing your position no matter the cost.

"The Dark Lord has fallen! Victory is ours!"

Kenneth blinked as he heard Dumbledore's announcement. The Dark Lord was dead? And Dumbledore was alive? Yes!

"You're not joining another sally," Bertha said, in that tone he knew meant that she was dead serious.

Iva's mercenaries had no such orders, and charged. Or counter-charged. Kenneth wasn't an expert on such terms - he hadn't known what a sally was until today. Half the enemies he could see turned away, the rest kept coming at the defenders, casting curses until they were overwhelmed.

"They're running! Pursue them!" Iva shouted, and her surviving wands roared, giving chase.

Kenneth checked the skies. Their flyers and broom riders were still hard-pressed by the harpies, but if the Dark Lord had died and his followers were fleeing, the skies would soon be clear as well.

They had won the day, and the war. Kenneth didn't want to think at what cost though.

*****​

"The Dark Lord has fallen! Victory is ours!"

Arthur Weasley took a deep breath and started to smile upon hearing Dumbledore. They had won! The battle was still going on though. In the sky, and, judging by the sounds he was hearing, on the walls.

He looked at Percy, standing next to him, behind their transfigured barrier. In front of them, he had placed half a dozen 'Claymores', with their 'front toward enemy', as it said on the devices themselves. Or, in this case, toward the side door they were guarding. Or rather, the stone wall they had replaced it with, after a group of dark wizards had broken through.

He saw that his son was about to move, and held him back with a gesture. "Son, we still have to stay at our post. The enemy may have lost, but they are still fighting."

Percy nodded. Arthur raised his voice a bit. "That goes for you too."

Above them, on the wall, Fred and George grudgingly acknowledged the order. Arthur was certain that if half the Gryffindor seventh years and a smattering of sixth years hadn't been with his sons up there, ready to follow them, the twins would have charged off. They had grown up, finally. Some at least.

He also was certain Minerva would tear a strip off him for not sending the boys and girls back to the dorm, but he knew they'd not have obeyed. Gryffindors were brave, after all. At least this area had been rather safe, with no convenient approaches for large numbers.

Ginny would have been there too, if not for Molly gathering her daughter, and Luna and Aicha, and all but sitting on them. Arthur chuckled, thinking of the girl's reaction. Ginny had forgotten that he and Molly knew their children very well.

He worried about Ron and Bill though. He hadn't seen either during the battle. Ron should be safe in Dumbledore's office, with Neville, but Bill was with Fleur helping Rubeus and Remus. And those two wouldn't stay safe.

He wanted to go and look for them, but as he had told his sons: They couldn't leave their post yet.

"Why haven't you used those muggle devices before today?" Percy asked.

Arthur smiled. "They're not that effective, son. No more than a well-placed Blasting Curse."

"But you can stack them. And you'd need a really well-placed curse to duplicate the shrapnel."

Arthur nodded. "Right. But it's still not that big of an advantage. Using them would have been more trouble than it would have been worth, since the Dark Lord's followers would have pointed at the use of such muggle devices to support their claims of muggleborns being a danger. The political cost would have been too high."

"And after the attack on the Ministry, that was no longer a consideration."

Arthur nodded. "Too many of those who might have taken offense are now dead," he said grimly.

"Indeed. You might be the highest-ranking Ministry official still alive, dad."

Arthur sincerely hoped he wasn't. That would mean even more people than he had thought had died.

*****​

Remus Lupin watched the last of those Death Eaters who had not run scream and cast blindly after getting hit in the face by one of Hagrid's Spitting Cobras. He disarmed the wizard and caught the wand flying towards him. He didn't bother to finish the man off, the poison would kill him soon enough.

"The rest are fleeing," Gilderoy said, joining him. The author and temporary teacher looked far less disheveled than anyone who had been in such a fight had any right to be.

Remus took a closer look at the wand. He didn't recognize the style, but it felt wrong in his hand. Wrong and powerful. He shuddered. The Headmaster would want to see it, otherwise he'd have destroyed it already.

"Prussian style, unless I'm mistaken," his colleague said.

"Not Gregorovitch's work though."

"No. Someone else. And skilled, but not well-known. Or not well-known anymore," Gilderoy added.

"It feels very different. It could be a new wandmaker."

"Maybe. But the style looks a bit too… sophisticated."

"You're right."

Jenny and Rubeus joined them. "The area's clear of them now. The centaurs will be finishing off those who fled into the forest," the Australian said. Remus noticed that her boots were covered with blood. The charms on them must have failed. If she had ever cast them in the first place - the witch had sometimes peculiar ideas about clothes. Bill and Fleur were in the Infirmary, helping Pomfrey. Remus knew their expertise with foreign curses would be needed - those attackers had cast a lot of curses Remus had only recognised thanks to his extensive study of the Dark Arts.

He handed the wand over to Rubeus. As a half-giant, he'd not be affected by the wand's lure. "Please give this to the Headmaster. He might use it to find out who made it." They had recovered dozens of those wands, but this one seemed to be the most advanced Remus had seen to date.

"Yer not gonna give it ta him yerself?"

Remus shook his head. "No. I'm going to see my … the children."

Rubeus smiled widely. "Of course! The little tykes will be glad to see you!"

Jenny and Gilderoy were smiling as well at his slip of the tongue. Remus simply nodded, and left. He knew that as a teacher he should be helping as well, checking on the students in their dorms, but Mats and Letta took priority. They were his.

He found the two children in his quarters, where he had left them with a pair of house elves he had ordered to keep them company so they'd not be too scared. The two elves visibly relaxed when they saw him enter, lowering the kitchen knives they had brought with them. Remus smiled at the two. They wouldn't have stood any chance against even a single wizard, but they would have died trying to protect the children.

"The battle is over. The Dark Lord has fallen."

The elves cheered and started to talk excitedly, but Remus wasn't listening to them. He was looking at Mats, who was peeking out from his bedroom.

"Did we win?" the boy asked.

Remus nodded. A second later the boy was in his arms. He was home.

*****​

Ron Weasley had managed to stop the bleeding from the stump, with the help of a crying Fawkes too weak to fly, but Neville needed a Healer. He was stable, but unconscious. Wiping sweat and blood from his brow, he tried not to look at the shriveled, rotting remains of Neville's left arm while he made his way over to Harry.

His best friend was trying to sit up, but he was having trouble still. Harry was smiling at him, his face covered in blood. "He's dead. Voldemort is dead."

"I know," Ron said, helping his friend up and casting a Cleaning Charm. "Dumbledore announced it all over the school."

Harry's legs were not cooperating, and Ron leaned him back against the wall. He glanced at the body of Bellatrix Lestrange. Apart from the blackened spot on her left arm, where her robe had been burned off, the dark witch looked far older, far more haggard than when she had been alive.

"Make certain that she's dead. She fooled me before," Harry said.

Ron winced, but nodded and cast a Piercing Curse at her head. "She's dead."

"Good." Harry closed his eyes.

Ron was torn. Neville needed a Healer, but he couldn't leave Harry alone, not when there might still be enemies around and he was all but helpless. The redhead peered out of the window, or the hole where the window had been. A few flashes in the distance showed the fighting hadn't ended yet.

"I felt him die, you know. He tried to possess me."

"Merlin!" Ron stared at Harry.

His friend chuckled. "I just had to stall him until Hermione finished her ritual. Destroyed his soul."

Ron winced. "I don't think that's something you should talk about in public." Not everyone would think that such a ritual had been justified.

"It's just us two here, isn't it?" Harry said. His legs were still trembling, but his hands had stopped shaking.

"And Neville, but he's … out."

"He gonna be OK?"

"Yes. Just needs a healer." And a new arm.

Harry suddenly turned his head, towards the secret door, and smiled widely.

"Hermione!"

*****​

Another step. And another. And another.

Hermione Granger forced herself to focus on the next step, just the next step. Just one little step. Even as exhausted as she was, she could take the next step. Even if she had to use the wall to steady herself.

She could see the door now, and smiled. Her torc was warm - Harry was nearby. A few more steps. Her wand touched the door, and it slid back.

"Harry!"

"Hermione!"

She ignored Ron, who was hastily pointing his wand away from her, and Neville, who was on the floor, out cold, as well as the body in the middle of the room and stumbled towards her love. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, and looked as exhausted as she felt, but he was alive. He was pale and his scar was red, inflamed, and bleeding still, but he was alive.

She fell to her knees next to him, and they embraced. "It's done," she stammered, tears running down her face.

"You did it," he said, hugging her. She felt his muscles tremble, and tensed. "What happened?"

"Cruciatus," he said.

Hermione hissed. Who had… "The witch?"

"Yes. Dead now. Dark Mark."

Satisfaction filled her. She had killed the witch who had hurt Harry! Hermione smiled, then leaned forward, kissing him.

Ron spoke up: "Keep an eye out, Hermione, OK? I'm taking Neville to the Infirmary."

She felt a brief spike of anger at the interruption, then shame. Breaking the kiss, she nodded. "Alright, Ron. I'll keep watch."

She turned around in Harry's lap, leaning against him while their friend left the Headmaster's office. She knew she should be worried about their friends, whether they had been hurt, or even killed, but right then she couldn't. She was too exhausted to do anything, to feel anything but happy to be with Harry.

*****​

Pansy Parkinson was the first Slytherin out of their dorms after Slughorn had opened the door. Greg, Tracey and Daphne were right behind her though. Of course, all of them knew why Pansy was so eager to leave the safety of their dorms, no matter how dubious it might have been.

"The Gryffindor dorms are that way," Greg pointed out.

"I know," Pansy said, "but I'm going to the Infirmary." She didn't think Potter would have spent the battle in the Gryffindor dorms, which meant Ron wouldn't have been there either.

No one said anything for a while. Pansy thought they were asking themselves whether she was optimistic or pessimistic in assuming her boyfriend would have been hurt in the battle. She didn't know either.

"Merlin!"

Daphne's comment upon seeing the courtyard of the school summed up Pansy's reaction. It was devastated. Large sections of the walls had been turned to rubble, and parts of the roofs had been smashed in. And there seemed to be bodies everywhere! Pansy felt as if her heart had skipped a beat. The black robes worn by Death Eaters looked far too much like the black robes students wore at Hogwarts. Any one of those bodies could be…

She shook her head. No, it couldn't be! She hurried on, to the Infirmary, her friends behind her. Someone sobbed. She didn't know who.

The Infirmary was another horrifying sight. The wounded, many of them with open wounds or even missing limbs, were filling the hallways already. Their moans and groans and sobs formed a cacophony. The young witch was frantically looking around, searching for a familiar shade of red, feeling more and more miserable.

"McGonagall!" Tracey exclaimed.

Pansy turned around, hoping to ask the Deputy Headmistress for help, but her question died on her lips when she saw the witch being floated into the Infirmary. The Transfiguration Mistress looked so bad, Pansy would have been certain she as dead if not for the frantic attempts of a Healer to treat her wounds. Fighting back tears, she searched on. There! That was… Ron's elder brother, William Weasley. She made a beeline towards the Curse-Breaker. "Mister Weasley!" she all but shouted when she saw he was about to head out.

"Yes?"

"Where's Ron?" she asked.

"Ron? Has he been hurt?" The concern in the man's voice told her that he didn't know either.

"I don't know… I came here…"

"I need a Healer!" a familiar voice sounded from the entrance.

Pansy whirled around. That was Ron! And he looked healthy. Unhurt at least. Better than after some of their duels. He spotted her, and his face lit up in a smile. His brother beat her to him, only to get told to take care of Longbottom, who was floating next to Ron. He didn't seem to be angry about it though.

"Pansy." Her boyfriend nodded at her.

"Ron." She ignored the sniffling from Daphne behind her. She wanted to run her hands over him, check for wounds, bruises. He had been in a fight, she could tell. Before she could ask him what had happened though, he hugged her.

"You didn't stay in your dorms," she whispered, after a brief kiss.

"I was with Harry and Neville," he whispered back, next to her ear. "Bellatrix Lestrange attacked us."

She froze. Ron was here, Longbottom was alive, did that mean?

"We held her off, until Hermione killed her."

Potter's muggleborn mistress had killed the right hand of the Dark Lord, the most feared dark witch in Britain? Pansy couldn't help thinking that she was very fortunate to have mended that particular bridge.

"I have to get back to them. Hermione and Harry … they're not … they need a Healer as well."

"I'm coming with you." She wouldn't let the Gryffindor out of her sight again for quite a while.

She told herself that the others following them were coming because it beat staying in the Infirmary, and tried to ignore Tracey and Daphne whispering to each other while they walked to the Headmaster's office, where apparently Potter and Granger had killed the Dark Lord as well. Ron wasn't quite clear on that.

Pansy didn't mind. He was safe, and that was what counted.

*****​

"That's the last time I'll let you kill a Dark Lord by yourself, you hear me?"

It wasn't the best joke Sirius Black had ever made, but it made Harry and Hermione chuckle. Weakly, but given their surroundings - an infirmary packed with the wounded and cursed - that was as good as he could have hoped for. Very, very few had come through the battle unscathed. The worst cases were being transferred to St Mungo's, after a force of Aurors and Hit-Wizards scratched together from the survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts and volunteers from the Order and other civilians had secured the clinic.

"Yes, Sirius." Harry said.

His godson was occupying the bed Sirius had been lying in until a bit ago. He had vacated it as soon as he had woken up to find Harry sitting at his side, and still suffering from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus. Harry had tried to insist that he was fine, but between Hermione and Sirius, he had stood no chance and was now confined to this bed. Next to him lay Neville, with Ginny sitting at his bedside. Sirius glanced at the stump where the boy's left arm had been. If he had known what would happen, he wouldn't have left them alone there. Dumbledore's office should have been safe, curse it!

Hermione, lying next to Harry, nodded. She looked like death warmed over, and she had been safe deep in the dungeons of Hogwarts, behind a massive door. Where she had performed a dark ritual to destroy the Dark Lord's soul. On second thought, the witch looked very fine for what she had done. And she had managed to destroy a Dementor.

Valérie was standing next to him, ready to hold him up should his recently fixed leg break again. Or so she claimed. Sirius was just glad she hadn't been hurt, again. And that Eugénie's wings had been shredded by harpies, not by dark curses. She'd recover fully. Chantal had caught a dark curse, but a mild one - a gash in her leg. Unlike the poor bastard of an Auror Sirius had seen levitated towards the fireplace. That wizard had looked like someone had dropped him in a room full of knives, and then had let Peeves play inside.

Worse were those who hadn't made it to the Infirmary, of course. So many dead… But as selfish as it was, Sirius was happy none of his family had died.

"You should go home and get some rest," Harry said.

Sirius snorted. "As if. You will be lucky if I let you out of my sight before you take your N.E.W.T.s, Harry!"

"Valérie…" his godson said in a long-suffering voice.

Sirius's fiancée nodded and gripped his elbow, starting to steer him away.

"Hey!"

"Laure will keep guarding them until I return. You need to rest, cherie," Valérie said, still guiding him away.

"I can rest here!"

"No, you cannot."

Sirius protests fell on deaf ears. He was tempted to change into Padfoot and make a break for it, then blinked. Padfoot… shouldn't he want to change, just to find some rest? He didn't though. Hadn't in some time.

He was still pondering this when he was dragged into the Floo connection by Valérie.

*****​

"Iva."

Aberforth Dumbledore nodded at the young mercenary leader. He was very glad to find her alive and happy.

"Aberforth." The witch smiled at him, then looked at his leg, propped up by a conjured ottoman. She suddenly chuckled, so she probably had understood the joke then.

"I'm glad you survived," he said.

"So am I," she answered. "Can't spend your gold when dead."

Lea's granddaughter was a typical mercenary. She'd mourn the members of her clan she had lost later. Like Aberforth would mourn the friends he had lost in this war. After casting a privacy spell, he asked: "So, how much loot did you carry off after you helped take back the Ministry?"

Iva's grin grew even wider. "A lot."

He chuckled. "Good girl." The Ministry could afford it. Gold was cheap, blood was expensive - and Iva's group of hired wands had lost a number of good wizards and witches. Too many in Aberforth's opinion. "When will you be returning to Albania?"

"In the next few days. Your brother told me that we are making the natives nervous." Iva snorted. "Maybe he simply does want to save some gold?"

Aberforth chuckled. "Maybe." His brother was far too active for an old wizard who had been near death a day ago. Albus would only stop meddling when he was dead, Aberforth expected.

"You will visit us regularly, of course."

"I will?"

"Yes. Or grandmother will be mad at you." Iva nodded sagely.

"I will then." It would be good to see Lea again. He sighed. He had wasted too many years, entire decades, avoiding her. Not just her either.

"Will your local friends also be rewarded?" Iva sounded honestly curious.

"Yes. Orders of Merlin." Third Class, probably, but he'd pressure Albus to grant those among his friends who had given their lives, or their health, an Order of Merlin, Second class. Like Bertram Kettlestock and Lucrecia Browtuckle.

Iva scoffed. She obviously didn't think that would be a fitting reward. Not enough gold.

Aberforth chuckled, and started to explain to her that the Orders would be displayed in his inn, and how that would annoy the same people who wanted her gone right after they didn't need her anymore.

Iva was laughing out loud when he had finished.

*****​

So many dead. And he yet lived.

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk in his office in Hogwarts, and closed his eyes. Two days after the Battle of Hogwarts, things were still far, far from returning to normal. He had repaired the damage done to his quarters, but the school was still showing much of the destruction visited upon it, and would continue to do so for some time. Other tasks were taking priority. Reorganising the Wizengamot. Hunting down the remaining Death Eaters. Not that too many were left - all of the marked ones had perished with Tom, and most of the rest had been killed at Hogwarts, as had most of the werewolves fighting for Voldemort. But the one responsible for those abominations of dark wands was still at large. As were the Dementors. But Miss Granger had found one way to kill those fiends, if there was another, less costly, they might yet be eradicated. Saul might pursue that task, once the Ministry was in working order again and his Unspeakables could return to their experiments and research. It would do them some good, working with others again, Albus thought. Even if thanks to their isolation and secrecy, the Department of Mysteries had been the only part of the Ministry that had survived the attack without losses.

He also had to hire new teachers. Filius had been killed by the Dark Lord with one spell, together with Septima and dozens of Aurors, Hit-Wizards and Death Eaters. That Minerva had survived that carnage was a small miracle. Sybill had been killed as well when the tower she had been defending had been crushed by that transfigured dragon.

Alastor hadn't survived facing Tom. Albus didn't know if his friend had died due to the Blasting Curse that had mauled his body, or if he had been killed when his artificial eye had burned itself out. Literally. He didn't want to know either.

Hestia had been defending the approach from the Black Lake, and had been struck down by a Dark Curse that had caused her to cough out her liquefied organs before anyone could help her. A curse so difficult, it was rarely used in battle, yet many of Voldemort's followers had been casting it, and easily. All due to those cursed wands.

Far more people had been hurt by dark curses than usual in such battles. Their cursed wounds would not be easily healed. Fortunately, Sirius's fiancée had proven that muggle medicinal techniques, like physiotherapy and reconstructive surgery, could deal with wounds magic couldn't touch. It would be difficult to organise, but those who would have been maimed in the past could now look forward to a much improved fate. Not all of them, though. Muggles couldn't regrow limbs, after all.

Amelia, Cornelius, Augusta and the majority of the Wizengamot as well as many of the Ministry were dead. The Old Families had been decimated. And all of them would have to be replaced by far less experienced people. Which was both a problem and an opportunity. With most of the old guard gone, Albus didn't expect there to be any significant resistance to properly rewarding those who had saved Wizarding Britain, regardless of their background. Like his brother's friends. Who had proven him wrong about them, Albus had to admit. And would have to admit to his brother. Maybe his next attempt at reconciliation wouldn't go quite as badly as all the others.

But no one deserved a reward as much as Miss Granger. News of her killing the Dark Lord was already spreading, even if it was rather unclear on how exactly she had managed that. If he confirmed the rumour, few would dare to offend her, or Harry.

The war had been terrible. The wounds it had caused would hurt for a long time. But Albus couldn't help feeling hope. Hope that the next years would bring a lot of needed changes to Wizarding Britain.

And that a certain young couple would find the happiness together that they deserved.

*****​

Epilogue: On the Path to a new Britain
 
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