Patron (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

[Starfox5]

I figured that it meant that giving the mark required a ritual sacrifice, and I thought that was an interesting departure from the common idea that getting the mark required a sacrifice performed by the recipient. I didn't guess that it was a Horcrux, mostly because of the canon facts that each Horcrux created splits the soul further and that Voldemort sought to create exactly 6 of them (and thus 7 soul pieces in total).

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Well, treating the soul like an apple pie doesn't sit well with me. For something so important in the story, it surely was quite trivialized. I also consider the idea that cold-blooded murder is the worst thing you can do incredibly silly and stupid, given that there is an afterlife in Harry Potter. There are far worse crimes than instantly killing someone - torturing someone into insanity and feeding a soul to a dementor come to mind.

 

[Andrew Greaves]

I saw the "Voldemort is dying, starts to drain his followers through the marks to sustain himself" idea used a number of times, but it wasn't usually connected to a horcrux.

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I never actually got to the point of figuring out exactly why Voldemort's followers started getting drained. Whether it was deliberate, reflexive, accidental, or something else.

Perhaps it was an unexpected consequence of the Dark Mark Horcrux being the final piece of Voldemort's soul. Experimental magic, especially dark magic, can be unpredictable.

I probably would've just left it as the opening ploy for a variety of stories anyways. I think the original Marriage Law challenge came out at about the same time, for one, and it'd be a good way to dump some people in another universe.

Well, treating the soul like an apple pie doesn't sit well with me. For something so important in the story, it surely was quite trivialized. I also consider the idea that cold-blooded murder is the worst thing you can do incredibly silly and stupid, given that there is an afterlife in Harry Potter. There are far worse crimes than instantly killing someone - torturing someone into insanity and feeding a soul to a dementor come to mind.

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Oddly enough, the first thing that came to mind regarding Horcruxes was the fetters in Wraith: The Oblivion that keep them anchored to the living world.

Also, considering that Riddle had intended in advance to create six Horcruxes, wouldn't it be more likely that he'd set things up to split his soul into seven equal segments, rather than simply chopping the soul in his body in half each time he made a new Horcrux, as most fics seem to state?

Of course, there's also the possibility that soul isn't actually split, in some metaphysical sense, and that the size of the 'segments' would be equal regardless. -- In pretty much the same way I had the idea above for all of the Dark Marks to be a single Horcrux.

 

[Starfox5]

Of course, there's also the possibility that soul isn't actually split, in some metaphysical sense, and that the size of the 'segments' would be equal regardless. -- In pretty much the same way I had the idea above for all of the Dark Marks to be a single Horcrux.

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In this story, as mentioned by Dumbledore, the soul remains the same "size", not matter how often it is split, and how many of the split parts are destroyed.

 

[Starfox5]

Chapter 22: Preparations and Diversions

Ron Weasley winced when he saw his best friend, Harry Potter, get thrown back more than a yard by one of Sirius's bludgeoning spell combos. Hermione had noticed it as well, and was distracted just long enough for Remus to hit her with a stunner that broke her shield followed by another that knocked her out.

Harry's godfather and their Defense against the Dark Arts teacher didn't pull many punches these days. They had known about the Dark Lord's return, of course, but now that it had been all but announced in the Daily Prophet, everyone feared he'd send his followers out to attack and murder again, after the need for secrecy was gone. Or almost everyone - apparently, Dumbledore thought that the Dark Lord might still try to hide that he was back. But he was preparing as well, just to be safe.

Remus ennervated Hermione while Sirius helped Harry to get up again. The cushioned floor had prevented any real injury (bruises didn't count according to their tutors), as Ron knew from personal and far too frequent experience, but the two older wizards were already talking about training 'a bit more realistically', which meant more painfully and with less safeguards. Ron didn't see the point in training to survive if said training could cause you to die, but they'd not go that far - or so he hoped.

"Ron, your turn. Those two need a break, so you'll get to practise dodging for a while." Sirius waved at him, and Ron put down the bottle he had been drinking from, and got up. He was just a tiny bit slower than at the start of the lesson, or so he'd guess. The teenager was wearing an unenchanted robe, which meant he'd be hindered somewhat in his movements, but it was better than having to reenchant a robe with a protection spell that didn't survive the training. Or to ask Hermione to do it, and suffer some scathing remarks about taking care of his robes - she seemed rather stressed lately. Understandably so, given the circumstances.

Remus and Sirius were about 20 yards away, lined up close together, and shot stinging hexes at him as soon as he turned to face them. Not that he had left them out of his sight while walking to his starting spot - he had learned that lesson rather quickly at the beginning of the training sessions. Ron jumped to the side, into a roll, and dodged the first few spells. He almost cast a shield spell then and there, but if he did, their two teachers would step up their game as well, so he sent two stinging hexes back at them while he kept moving, running and dropping to the floor in an irregular pattern on his way to cover.

Remus and Sirius were closing though, and spreading out. He tried to keep Sirius back with a series of hexes while he ducked behind a pillar, but the wizard changed into a grim - a dog, Ron told himself, just a big black dog - and jumped over his salvo. The animagus changed back before he hit the ground, and started casting right afterwards, so Ron found himself stuck in a crossfire. The pillar should provide cover against Remus though, as long as… the Gryffindor started yelping when his back was hit by three stinging hexes.

"If you lose sight of your opponent, you generally lose the battle, Ron." Remus stated. He must have charged forward to the pillar as soon as Ron had taken cover behind it, when Sirius had drawn Ron's attention to him.

Rubbing his back, Ron shook his head. "If I can see you, you can hit me. And I can't dodge that well."

"You should have anticipated such a move though and hit Moony right when he rounded the pillar," Sirius added, grinning.

"We should do some aiming training too. Us three against two old, moving targets." Ron muttered while he took up his old position for the next round. A flick of Remus's wand had the pillars move around. Sirius started hexing before Remus had finished, but Ron had expected that, and was already moving.

He hadn't expected Remus to lay traps though, and found himself stuck to the floor near a pillar. He was stung several times before he managed to free himself.

"Conjured glue, one of our specialities. Hermione created the disillusioned conjured glue spell though." Sirius laughed.

Ron turned to glare at his two friends - couldn't they have shared that spell before this session? -, only to notice that the witch in question was fussing over Harry, who must have taken some lumps during his training bout, and hadn't even been looking at the three other wizards. From Ron's angle he could see Hermione running her wand over Harry's face, removing dust and some small cuts, while frowning and probably cursing Harry, Sirius, or both. When Harry reached up to cup her face, and the scowl transformed into a shy but radiant smile, Ron felt a pang of envy. He and Padma didn't look like that before they kissed. He knew that. Not many couples were like his two best friends. It was hard to be so… intense… about a relationship before their Year of Exploration. Or during it. He shook his head, slightly, when the two kissed and closed their eyes. Lost to the world.

"Like James and Lily." Sirius had come to stand next to him, watching the couple. He had a wistful smile on his face, and Ron couldn't tell if it was nostalgic or envious. It said a lot about a couple if a man who had four veela lovers might be envious of them.

"Yes." Ron could not disagree, even if he had never met Harry's parents.

Their silent contemplation was interrupted by Remus. "We're not yet finished, Sirius!"

The other wizard grinned, slapped Ron on the shoulder, and walked over for another round of dodge traning.

Ron didn't discover that the cheating wizard had stuck an invisible line to his back that tied him to the floor until he tried to dodge the next volley of hexes coming at him.

*****​

"Hermione?" Harry addressed his girlfriend in the refurbished classroom which granted them and their friends the sort of privacy that was scarce at Hogwarts before their 6th year. Without this room, Harry was certain, the pressure on them would have been impossible to stand. Not because they wouldn't have been able to kiss, and maybe go a bit further, but because they would have been forced to act as Patron and retainer almost all the time. Harry didn't think their relationship would have lasted under such conditions.

"Yes, Harry?" The young muggleborn witch looked up from the book she was studying.

"What exactly are you researching?" Harry got up from the couch he had been reading on and walked up to her, peering over her shoulder.

"Ways to deal with the Dark Mark," Hermione answered. Neither she nor Harry called them horcruxes, not even in private.

"What do you have in mind?" Sometimes Hermione went a bit too far.

"I've got nothing concrete yet, but Fleur mentioned that her family can track their members through a magical tattoo, and I think something similar might be possible with the Dark Mark as well." Hermione explained.

"You think we can track the Death Eaters through their own marks?" That would provide a very big advantage in the war with Voldemort. To know their safe houses, attacks, and rally spots...

"That would be the goal, yes." Hermione answered.

"Wouldn't Voldemort have his marks protected against such attempts?" Harry did not think it would be that easy to find Death Eaters, or someone would have done it before in the Last War. Dumbledore wasn't a fool, after all.

"It is possible that he was too arrogant to think of that possibility when he created the Dark mark." His friend didn't look as if she believed that herself though.

"Do you believe that?"

Hermione sighed. "No. He's too smart for that."

"How do you think you can succeed then?" Harry asked. That his girlfriend wasn't telling him all her plans and thoughts in details was a bad sign, in his opinion. Usually she jumped at such a chance to explain or lecture.

Hermione sighed again. "I think that by using a Dark Mark as a target, one can bypass most of the protections of the Dark Mark." She didn't look at Harry.

"Most." Harry's voice was flat. "You know what it is. It will be protected by the darkest curses he can think of."

"Every curse can be defeated or avoided, given enough time and preparation," his girlfriend answered, quoting Bill Weasley.

"And luck," Harry grimly completed the quote, "which runs out sooner or later." As Sirius was fond of telling him.

"If you prepare enough, you don't need luck." Hermione stood up, turned around and sat down on her desk, facing him.

"Can you prepare enough to match Voldemort? He's been studying the Dark Arts for decades." Harry stepped closer to her and reached out to brush a strand of hair that had escaped her fading styling charm back behind her ear.

"Yes." Hermione sounded confident. "If it's just one area, then yes."

Harry wasn't an expert in Curse-Breaking, but he had heard enough about it from both Hermione and Bill Weasley. "That means you'll have to study the Dark Arts."

"Just to know how to defeat them." Hermione answered quickly.

"And you need a Dark Mark. To study, and then, later, as a target."

"Yes." She was avoiding his eyes again.

"Hermione." She didn't look up. "Hermione." Harry cupped her chin and met her eyes. "How do you think you can study a Dark Mark without the Dark Lord noticing?"

"I am still working on that. I am focusing on ways to track magical marks first, or to be more precise, I am working on ways to hijack Protean Charms. Theoretically, the protections on a Dark Mark can be dealt with by someone else, and then the detection spell I am working on can be cast on it. Testing that with a simple Protean Charm won't be dangerous at all." She smiled at him. "And it won't require studying any Dark Arts either."

Harry was not much mollified. "But you will still study the Dark Arts, won't you? Even if you could let Dumbledore do the rest once you have created your new detection spell?"

Hermione bit her lips, then slowly nodded. "Yes."

It was Harry's turn to sigh. Her answer was no surprise - he knew her too well. She'd not let others complete her task, nor let a mystery or challenge half-solved. "Will you try to duplicate Tom's breaking of the Patron Oath as well?" This time he was avoiding her eyes.

"No." Hermione's flat answer made Harry feel relief - and guilt at the same time.

"You hate the oath though."

"Not all of it. A small part of it sounds a bit like a wedding vow. A very old-fashioned muggle wedding vow though."

Harry stared at her, mouth open, and she grinned, then giggled until he pouted, but for a moment she had a wistful smile on her face. He put his hands on her sides and stepped between her thighs. "Could a wedding vow replace the Patron Oath?"

Sighing, she shook her head. "No. Wedding vows are not magical vows. Otherwise I am rather certain the ministry would not have been able to outlaw marriages between a muggleborn and a pureblood. Outlawing something magic obviously allowed and condoned would have gone against the very foundation of the principles Wizarding Britain's society claims to be following."

"Could you create a magical wedding vow?" For a moment Harry imagined throwing that in the Wizengamot's faces.

"The Patron Oath was the last magical oath created, and Fytherley Undercliffe never revealed just how he managed that. Based on his comments, most scholars think it was derived from an older ritual of binding, but no one ever found that ritual either." Hermione spoke in the vexed tone she always had when talking about lost knowledge.

"How many have looked for it?" Harry thought a 'ritual of binding' was something a great number of less scrupulous wizards would like to know.

"Not many. The Imperius worked better and was far easier to cast." Hermione smiled cynically - Harry knew she shared his view of their fellow wizards and witches.

"I could just release you, and not tell anyone. No one would know." And Hermione would be free. Free to love him, or leave him.

"Until people spot the lie when I name you my Patron." Hermione shook her head. "It's not worth it; we'd be living every day in fear of someone discovering the lie." Harry grit his teeth, and Hermione slid down from the desk, put her hands on his shoulder and leaned against him. "We'll find a way, Harry. But dealing with Voldemort takes priority. Dealing with him, and his Death Eaters. And that link of yours to him. Whatever it is."

That link. Harry didn't know what it was. The Headmaster had been vague - either he too didn't know what the link was, or he didn't want to tell Harry. Or he didn't want to know. "You'd be the first, Hermione. No one really has looked into that, as far as I know."

"Which is weird. The most famous event of the last few decades, and no one is investigating it?" Hermione sounded perplexed.

"I think everyone left that for Dumbledore." More or less voluntarily, Harry thought. It wasn't as if someone could have investigated his link anyway, with him protected by the blood wards, and of course Dumbledore. "Would you expect people who still speak of 'You-Know-Who' to investigate his death?"

"True. And now, with his return all but confirmed…" Hermione smiled grimly.

"People are afraid again. They might even start to avoid me." Harry said in a gloomy mood.

"No they won't. At least no one who matters." Hermione looked into his eyes, then grabbed his head and kissed him.

When they broke the kiss, he had pushed her back against the desk and both of them were breathing heavily. Harry smiled, and leaned forward while his arms started to slide up the young witch's side.

Indeed, without that room they'd be much more stressed. At least before their 6th year.

*****​

"'Controversy about muggle pictures shown at Hogwarts'?" Hermione Granger quickly read the article in the Daily Prophet under that headline, then looked at her friends at the Gryffindor table. "Have you read this? What a bunch of hide-bound ignorant …" She trailed off with a huff.

"That's the Prophet's staff for you," Luna nodded sagely. "They say the same things about the Quibbler's discoveries."

"What are they thinking? 'Muggle Indoctrination', 'A crude imitation of magical pictures', 'Obviously a prank spell'." Hermione snarled at the offending text with so much anger, one of the pictures of an 'expert' attempted to flee from his frame. "It's not a spell, it's muggle technology!"

"We know that, but they don't know it." Harry said, trying to calm her down. "All they ever heard was that technology doesn't work at Hogwarts."

Hermione didn't want to be calmed down. This the first truly important achievement of hers, and hers alone, and those cretins were trying to discredit her! "They are just afraid of the Dark Lord and think that speaking out against muggles will make him spare them! Or they don't want to admit that a muggleborn witch managed that!"

Her friends made various agreeing noises while eating. Hermione glared at them. This was important!

"It doesn't matter much. The students love the movies. Every screening so far has been packed." Aicha said.

"But for the exclusive press screening!" Luna piped up.

"You're the only member of the press at Hogwarts, Luna. Of course no one else can attend those but you."

"Mh! And I have you for me alone at every such screening!" Luna beamed at Hermione.

"Of course - I have to use the projector."

"Exactly!" The blonde witch nodded, grinning.

"Anyway. They even accuse me of trying to falsify historical documents - didn't they get that all the movies we have shown were animated movies with a fictional plot? We made certain everyone in the audience knew that!" Hermione imagined hexing the staff responsible for the article. Maybe with a babbling curse that made it impossible for them to not speak the truth. Only adjusted so they couldn't write lies either.

"Those are people who never saw the movies," Harry stated. "And so far they just saw Disney cartoons. Just wait until they see Star Wars!"

Hermione still wasn't certain it was a good idea to show that movie. If some wizard or witch tried to create a lightsaber afterwards… She didn't say anything though - that particular choice had been extensively discussed, and her friends simply hadn't seen her point after Harry had made it clear just how much of a fan of that franchise he was.

"Don't worry, Hermione. I'll write an article to show them their mistakes!" Luna cheerfully announced.

Hermione didn't feel that reassured.

*****​

"I think the possibility of the Dark Lord's return had a bigger effect than we expected."

"Hm?" Hermione interrupted her rearranging of the conjured seats for the Movie Night at Hogwarts and looked at Harry.

"There's a smaller crowd waiting outside than usual," Harry stated.

"Despite Luna's article, and the buzz from the Gryffindors?" Hermione was disappointed. "Do you really think it's fear of Voldemort?"

"Yes. But it's probably fueled by some students who share their parents' views." Harry added.

"You mean Malfoy." Hermione knew that bigot would be jumping on the bandwagon as soon as possible.

"And some others, but mainly him. He's started to throw his new weight as head of his family around, or so I heard." Harry rearranged some of the floating snacks.

"Who did you hear that from?" Hermione knew Harry had not many contacts among House Slytherin.

"From me," Ron answered, closing the drink containers he had checked.

"Ron?" Their friend was more than slightly biased against Slytherins. "Did you hear it from Padma?"

"Yes. She heard Professor Sinistra seems to have had a very good reception after Snape's reign this year, but there are some trouble makers."

That was interesting. Without Professor Snape, the House might yet turn out less snobbish. But then - they had a lot of students from rich families, and Hermione knew that being richer than everyone else often came with its own brand of bigotry, magic or not. She had experienced that while looking for a good secondary school. "Well, we'll see. If they like Star Wars so much, then those who stayed away out of fear might ask for a rerun."

"They will!" Harry smiled widely. "No one can resist Star Wars!"

"Hmph." Sometimes Hermione wondered if Harry saw just a bit too much of himself in Star Wars. "We're ready, and it's time."

Ron nodded at her and went to open the door. To Hermione's surprise, among the first students to enter was Parkinson, and without her charming boyfriend and future husband, Malfoy. The Slytherin witch was looking almost giddy, and even beamed at the scowling Ron - which threw Hermione's friend so off that he gaped for a second.

Hermione glanced at Harry and Ron and nodded - it was obvious that Parkinson was up to something. For Malfoy, of course. But they'd keep an eye on her - no Death Eater Spawn would ruin this night.

*****​

Pansy Parkinson almost smirked at the expression on Weasley's face while she selected her seat. She was one of the few Slytherins of her year to attend, next to that simpleton Greengrass and her friend Davis. The others of her year, as most of her House, had decided not to attend this Movie Night, after the rumors of the Dark Lord's return had grown stronger with each day following that article in the Prophet. Draco, who had watched every movie shown so far, had lapped the drivel up, and had ranted against the 'corruption' of Hogwarts. Which meant attending this night was the perfect opportunity for Pansy to show that she was unsuitable as the girlfriend of the new Head of the Malfoy Family. Too easily lured by novelties, too simple to understand the ploys behind them, too stupid to see that the Dark Lord's return had changed things even at Hogwarts. It would be a challenge to appear enamored of those muggle movies but avoiding to be seen as a muggle-loving blood traitor, but Pansy was reasonably sure she'd be able to pull that off. It shouldn't take more than a few choice remarks about 'mudbloods'.

What she really needed, though, was someone else making a move on Draco as soon as it was obvious he was unhappy with her. Among the upstarts and social-climbing witches of her house, at least one witch should be dumb enough to think Draco was a good catch just because he was now the head of his family. Greengrass would fit the bill - how Davis could let the twit attend a 'Movie Night' and keep her company was beyond Pansy - but the dumb blonde probably still had her eyes set on Potter. Which made her even dumber than Pansy had thought, since Potter and his friends and family would be some of the Dark Lord's main targets.

Pansy noticed Granger staring at her, and smiled at the muggleborn with her best "be polite to the servants" expression. Best to let the girl know her place - judging by the witch's strained smile she had understood. The Slytherin grabbed a drink - pumpkin juice and a piece of treacle tart, of course, none of that muggle junk for her - and leaned back in her seat to enjoy the movie.

When the lights dimmed and the movie started, Pansy quickly realized this was not an animated movie. She briefly wondered what a 'galaxy' was, before the 'DEATH STAR' sent a few of the audience gasping because of the associations with Death Eaters. Pansy couldn't help but shuddering herself. Then the fight between… flying ships started. One was sending killing curses at the smaller one, who returned fire with stunners. Or so Pansy thought at first. Weird wands too. Then the Dark Lord of the Sith appeared, and she stared at the screen, captivated, snack and drink forgotten, until the heroes received their Orders of Merlin.

Not everyone had been as courteous as she was. There had been loud cheering, shrieking - not from her, she had gasped, but certainly not shrieked - and laughter. Once the lights went on again, Pansy shook her head. That had been different from the other movies. Very different. But… Oh, she wouldn't have to fake enthusiasm for Draco's sake, if the next movie was as great as this one! A whole trilogy!

*****​

There she was! Draco Malfoy, Head of the Malfoy Family, jumped, no stood up from his seat in the Slytherin commons room, and strode toward his wayward girlfriend, his trusted friends trailing behind him. "Where have you been?"

The somewhat dim girl turned to him, a vacant smile on her pretty face. "Ah, Draco! I have just seen the most marvelous movie ever!"

So the rumors had been true. He had not wanted to believe it, but Pansy had gone to that seductive but corruptive 'Movie Night'. The article had been all too correct - Draco had caught himself humming some of those insidiously captivating songs for weeks! "Pansy! You cannot attend those … screenings! They are a threat to our culture! They weaken our nation!"

"Pishposh, Draco. It's simple entertainment. How could anything muggles create be a danger for wizards and witches?" Pansy made a dismissive gesture.

"Didn't you read the article in the Daily Prophet?" Draco knew Pansy had read the article. "Such displays of muggle fancies will lure the weak-willed away from proper wizard pastimes! Soon those unfortunates will spend all their time watching those movies, instead of doing magic!"

"Well, I am not weak-willed, so I am in no danger!" Pansy smirked.

Draco suppressed the urge to sigh. She was usually such a pliable girl, but sometimes she was more stubborn than a chameleon mule - and those were infamous for their ability to not budge an inch if they did not want to. Legend had that a tower of Hogwarts had such an animal as a foundation stone, and the animal has not moved ever since. "Think of the impression others will have!" He gestured towards their commons room. "What will everyone think of you if you are seen with the weak-willed blood traitors?"

Pansy sneered. "They will be envious of course, that I can safely watch a movie and they cannot!"

Draco grit his teeth together. "Pansy! As my girlfriend, you have to conform to certain standards!"

"Exactly! I am a pureblood witch, of impeccable ancestry, beauty and grace, and strong enough to resist what would corrupt others!" Pansy preened. Merlin, that girl had delusions!

"Pansy, that may be so..." Draco began trying to reason with the witch again.

"What do you mean, 'may be'? You said so yourself, numerous times! Were those words just lies?"

"Of course not! What I am trying to say is that the girlfriend of the Head of the Malfoy Family does not just have to be impeccable, but also has to appear so to everyone. Surely you know that not everyone will be able to accept the truth, no matter how obvious. They will compare you to Greengrass!" That should make her see reason - she hated the eldest daughter of the Greengrass Family.

Pansy huffed. She was digging her heels in, Draco knew that even before she spoke again. "I refuse to give up a harmless hobby just so some stupid gossips do not wag their tongues!"

He felt his temper rise, and tried again to reason with the dimwit. "In the current climate anyone watching those movies runs the risk of being seen as a muggle-lover. I cannot afford to risk that myself, not with the fate of my dear father showing me the dangers of such slander!"

"You are not your father, Draco. I want to watch the next part of tonight's movie, and I will watch it! If you cannot accept that, you will have to look for a weaker girlfriend!"

Draco glared at her. Did she really believe she was the best witch he could get, and could bend him to her will? He was Draco Malfoy, not some weak-willed fool! Now that he was the Head of the Malfoy Family, he'd have witches throw themselves at him. And he'd have a whole year to see who would please him best. "Then I will do so, Miss Parkinson!" He sneered at her, then raised his chin, as befitted such a statement, and turned on his heel. Gregory and Vincent parted in front of him as he left his former girlfriend standing.

To his gratification, he heard her gasp, and then quickly leave - that would have shown her her place. No one tried to control a Malfoy!

*****​

"Have you heard the latest?" Hermione heard Parvati's excited voice even in the bathroom. That half of the gossip twins probably had another baseless rumor to spread, for those who had nothing more important to do than speculate about the relationships of other students.

"No, what did you hear?" Lavender's eager voice was almost as loud. Hermione could imagine the two, sitting on Lavender's bed, heads together yet speaking so loud, she would need a silencing charm on the bed curtains to be able to sleep and she still would have to struggle with the urge to cast the charm on both of them.

"Malfoy and Parkinson split up!"

"No!" Lavender clapped her hands together.

"Yes!"

Hermione froze. It was just gossip, pointless gossip at that, and yet… Parkinson had been up to something tonight, she had been certain, but the silly witch had not done anything she, Harry or any of their friends had spotted. That didn't mean nothing had happened - she could have been a diversion. But if she and Malfoy had broken up…

"How did that happen? She was his girlfriend since our first year!" Lavender, of course, knew more about the different relationships at school than anyone else. What a waste for her mind to focus on such silly things instead of real knowledge!

"I've heard it from Padma, who heard it from Turpin, who was told by Davis, who saw and heard it herself: Malfoy wanted Parkinson to stop watching muggle movies, and she refused. He told her she'd have to choose between the movies and him, and she picked the movies over him!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

Hermione blinked. If that was true … While one couldn't really trust the gossip twins to correctly remember everything they had heard, if the information came from Padma, who was generally reliable, then it was likely to be mostly correct. Well, good for Parkinson to finally develop a sort of brain and and enough taste to go with it. But the muggleborn witch was certain some other idiot would jump at the chance to become Mrs Malfoy. Probably Greengrass, as soon as that idiot finally realized she had no chance with Harry and stopped making cow eyes at Hermione's boyfriend.

The young witch finished checking her appearance and schooled her features - it wouldn't do to let her dormmates think she cared about such silly gossip - and left the bathroom to head to bed. Internally she was sighing though - if Star Wars was the cause of the breakup of the Malfoy-Parkinson relationship, then Harry would never let anyone forget it.

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick stared at the meal the innkeeper of the Leaky Cauldron had just levitated over to the table he was sharing with his partner, Bertha Limmington. "I am sure serving whatever this is supposed to be breaks at least one law."

"It's stew." Bertha was already eating with apparent gusto.

"It looks like slop. Or something left after a particularly challenging Potions lesson where the worst students have been told to be creative." Kenneth poked the mass with a spoon as if he feared it might attack him.

"It's stew. We had the same two weeks ago."

"I know. That was my subtle attempt to tell you that it's bad stew." Kenneth stared at his partner.

"Just because you do not like something doesn't make it bad. Besides you always complain until I have finished eating, and then you eat it anyway."

She was correct of course - she usually was - but it was the principle of the thing! If Kenneth just complained enough, then Bertha might finally stop choosing the Leaky Cauldron for their shared lunch. That was the theory, at least.

The auror started eating himself, grumbling under his breath, then narrowed his eyes when he thought he caught his partner smirking. Before he could say anything though a shout caught his attention.

"Death to Purebloods! Confringo!"

Kenneth whirled around, his wand appearing in his hand from his wrist-mounted quick-draw holster, but an occupied table exploded before he could spot the attacker. He managed to cast a shield though, stopping the mass of wooden shards and splinters headed towards him and Bertha. Other guests hadn't had the reflexes and training of an auror, and Kenneth could see half a dozen wounded apart from the three unfortunate whose table had literally been blown up in their face.

The one responsible for it, a man wearing a rather drab robe, was about to cast again, wildly moving his wand - no point-casting there, Kenneth noted - when Bertha's stunner took him down.

"Thanks for the shield." Bertha sounded as collected as ever.

"My pleasure." Kenneth smiled at her, briefly. There was work to do.

Both aurors kept their wands out, but no other attacker appeared. Bertha went ahead, bound the attacker and dropped a portkey to the holding cells on him while Kenneth watched over her. Such mindless attacks could be a distraction, or a precursor to more. Around them, the screaming, bleeding guests who had been wounded were floating towards the floo thanks to a few of the pub's staff. St. Mungo's would be busy today. At least two of the victims Kenneth saw were beyond help though, torn apart by the spell's effect.

He pressed his lips together as he watched the scene. Yes, there was work to do.

*****​

"Who is that spawn of a goblin whore who tried to blow up the Leaky Cauldron?"

Nymphadora Black-Tonks heard auror Fenbrick bellowing before he even placed a foot in the auror offices. Fenbrick was a jerk and a womanizer, hitting on anything female apart from his partner - according to rumors he had even hit on Madam Bones - but he was a veteran auror, with lots of experience with political or just plain horrible cases. And since Nymphadora was neither a veteran auror nor had much experience, she stood up at once and reported what the office had found out in the hour since the captured attacker had arrived in the holding cells: "Francis Dengeroth. Muggleborn, works in construction, specialist for expansion charms."

"Why would a construction wizard attack the Leaky Cauldron? Any ties to radical groups? Did he lose family in the last war?" Fenbrick started walking towards her, followed by his much less loud partner.

"He said 'to strike a blow against the purebloods oppressing us' when we asked." Nymphadora didn't jump to attention, aurors didn't do that once the graduated the academy, but she stood straight. "He claims his Patron gave his blessings."

"Who's his Patron?"

"Angela Barrowdale."

"Wizengamot member since 1965," auror Limmington added. "Among the richer Wizengamot members, widowed. Her husband was killed in the last war."

"Yes." Nymphadora stated, then felt foolish. Of course it was correct - this was Bertha Limmington, the living library.

"A Wizengamot member? Why do we always get the political cases? We were just eating slop in that pub, we were not even on duty!" Fenbrick complained.

Limmington seemed to ignore her partner's rant and addressed Nymphadora: "Any signs of the Imperius or memory modification?"

"We're still checking, but it looks like it'll take a while - if there was either or both involved, then it was done with a lot of skill." Nymphadora was glad it wouldn't be her who'd have to take apart the memories of Dengeroth second by second to find the tiny inconsistencies that would indicate a fake memory. As a Metamorphmagus, her talent was too valuable to be wasted on such tasks.

"We will be talking to Madam Barrowdale then." Limmington stated. "Provided she is amenable to answering a few questions."

Nymphadora nodded. It looked like it would be a long day for everyone involved - but she didn't mind too much. Viktor was not in Britain anyway, he could only visit sporadically during the season; his new trainer was worse than what she had heard from Harry of Oliver Wood.

"Everyone able, floo to Diagon Alley! We've got reports of random attacks in the middle of the street!" Another auror, Middleton, shouted from the door before rushing away.

Nymphadora cursed while she started to run after the man, drawing her wand on the way. Wasn't that a job for the hit-wizards? You didn't need aurors to take down people casting curses at a crowd!

A minute later she exited the floo in the Leaky Cauldron. The entrance to Diagon Alley was already open, and she could hear more screaming from the street, but no explosions. Behind her Fenbrick loudly said: "See? I bet it's all over and there was no need for us to head here, much less run!" Neither Limmington nor Nymphadora answered him while they were entering Diagon Alley.

It was over - in as much as no one was hexing anyone anymore. But there were about ten wizards and witches on the ground, wounded, many screaming or moaning, and a few more who did not move or scream.

"She attacked us! She did it! Started screaming about killing purebloods, and then hexed us. Blew up half the street!" A wide-eyed older man shouted, pointing at the corpse of a young witch lying in a big pool of blood in the middle of the street. Nymphadora saw a small crater, barely half a meter wide, but otherwise the street looked undamaged.

"Hit by at least six spells from five different wands," Limmington stated, running her wand over the corpse. "Five piercing curses, one stunner. Died from blood loss."

"She attacked us, we were just defending ourselves!" The wizard who had pointed the corpse out exclaimed.

"Pretty one." Fenbrick shook his head. "First the Cauldron, then this. Looks like an organized attack. By unorganized people. Doesn't make much sense."

"Unless they were under the Imperius." Limmington stood up and holstered her wand.

"Exactly. That's going to be messy. I hope the boss has plans for that ready." Fenbrick looked rather grim, Nymphadora noticed. Like Sirius and Remus did, when they were talking about old friends who were no longer with them.

Nymphadora hoped that in a few years, she'd not have the same kind of stare.

*****​

Mathilda Miller, dressed in the skimpy robes an English lady of the night would wear when trying to imitate a French-trained courtesan, sat on a stool at the bar in what passed for the best tavern in Knockturn Alley. Usually it would be full of boasting wizards and witches, drinking, gambling and looking for some paid company for the night. Wands would be crossed often, but most would consider that entertainment.

Not so this night. Everyone was clustered at tables, glancing and glaring at the other guests with suspicion in their eyes and their wands ready. Mathilda glanced at the bartender, a pretty but not beautiful witch, a bit too young for such a position in her opinion, then dropped a sickle on the bartop, acting as if she had just dropped a small fortune. Without taking her eyes off the main room, she asked "What's got all the hired wands so antsy? I feel like trying to find a client would be asking for a curse to my face."

The girl pocketed the sickle with a flick of her wand. "It's the attacks in Diagon Alley, ma'am. Rumor is, muggleborns are planning to kill the purebloods wherever they find them."

"So everyone expects the other to either attack them, or attack them preventively?" Mathilda theatrically sighed, which seemed to strain her robe over her chest - an effect sadly wasted on a tavern full of thieves and thugs ready to curse each other.

"Yes, ma'am." The bartender didn't sound very concerned - she probably trusted the protection spells on the bar. They wouldn't stop a killing curse, of course.

Mathilda also noticed that none of the wands hired by Finnegan Greenbrand whom she had cultivated as 'regulars' were present. In fact, she didn't spot any of the more prominent wizards or witches in Greenbrand's service.

She dropped another sickle. "Have you seen my friend Peter Bonsen? He is usually celebrating his latest pay at this time of the night." Peter fancied himself a gentleman, and took care to only frequent what passed for the most expensive bars and other venues in Knockturn Alley. He had jumped at the chance to bed the classiest and most expensive-looking girl.

A flick and that sickle too vanished into the girl's robes. "No, ma'am, not since four days."

"I see. He's probably avoiding the Alley until things settle down. Something I believe would be a smart course of action for myself."

Mathilda stood up and walked through the main room to the door. She walked as provocatively as her cover would, with a smile on her lips and a half-lidded glance for anyone who'd meet her eyes, but once outside, she was relieved. She could have cut the tension inside with a knife. It wouldn't be long before things would escalate - despite, or maybe because, the fact that Dark Lord's most recent recruits had not been around. They probably had not been in Britain at all, since days.

Mathilda apparated to a flat she had rented in muggle London, to change her robe and look - she had a report to make in Hogsmeade. She was grinning though - it was almost like she was in Paris again, spying on the local thugs and gendarmes, trying to ferret out their secrets for blackmail, or just for fun.

*****​

"Hello Amelia," Albus Dumbledore smiled at the head of the DMLE. "I am grateful you found time for me so promptly."

"Spare me the empty words, Albus. We've had three attacks in broad daylight on innocent diners and shoppers by what I strongly suspect were imperiused wizards and witches." Amelia sounded both angry and tired, and her desk was covered with more parchment than usual. Two paper planes circled around her, waiting for her to acknowledge them.

"There is no proof or hint at all?" Albus didn't expect any - Tom was quite careful, and both skilled and experienced in the application of memory charms.

"Plenty of hints, nothing solid - yet. The memory spells were done very well, but we have found some traces of them." That surprised him. Either Tom was getting sloppy, or the quality of the criminal investigation had improved more under Amelia than Albus had expected.

"Will that be enough to prove that the arrested are as much victims as the unfortunate targets of their spells?" Albus wouldn't condone prosecuting them for a crime they were forced to do. It was a tragedy already that two of the attackers had been killed by citizens defending themselves. As if people had never learned how to stun!

"Enough for a 'reasonable doubt' verdict. But that might not sway the Wizengamot members who feel personally threatened by what appears to be a muggleborn front out for pure blood." Amelia frowned. "People are panicking, they want something done so this does not repeat itself.

"That is why I am here." Albus pulled out a thick scroll from a slim pocket. "I have a proposal to prevent at least a few of those attacks in the future."

Amelia scanned it quickly, then looked up. "Thief's Downfall?"

"Exactly." The Headmaster beamed at her. This should not take much time then.

"Too expensive for our budget, or I'd have one in front of every floo in the Ministry."

"One or two in the Ministry, and traffic gets re-routed through them. I think a number of the Wizengamot members would gladly contribute for such an effective way to protect them." The Wizengamot had their own, protected floo, of course, but they were aware of the danger imperiused Ministry employees posed even for them.

"That would help the Wizengamot, and the Ministry, but what about the rest of Britain?" Amelia still sounded sceptical.

"All floo travel could be re-rooted through such checkpoints. It would not do much to prevent apparating assassins, but people could at least trust whoever arrives through the floo." That had been the height of terror, back in the last war - home invasions by imperiused friends and family. To deal with the horror and fear such attacks caused had almost been beyond the Ministry at the time.

"That will make travel times a lot longer too." Amelia objected, but she seemed to warm up to the plan.

"A small price to pay for security." Albus nodded sagely. It wouldn't hurt at all if people were taking things a bit more slowly, anyway - maybe they'd think more before they spoke and acted.

"You seem to have covered most of my objections. Have you spoken with the Wizengamot already?"

Dumbledore carefully didn't smile. She was sharp. "I have mentioned the idea to a few of my colleagues. Enough to be certain of the idea's acceptance. The Ministry will be seen to be doing something. Something effective, even."

The head of the DMLE glared at him. The witch didn't like some of the more cynical jokes Dumbledore knew about the Ministry. "Why do you come to me then, rather than go directly to the minister?"

"To hear your thoughts, and inform you so you can plan in advance. Cornelius might be tempted to, ah, pad the project if it takes a more time than absolutely necessary to be completed."

Amelia nodded. "I am sure he'll find a way no matter what. He's very good at that."

"I hope his skill will translate into a more effective and funded Ministry." Cornelius wasn't a bad man, Albus thought, just weak and a bit too easily led when he should be leading. Though there were advantages as well to having a minister who was easily guided by him.

"That'll happen right after dragons become vegetarians." Amelia snorted.

"I've more news too. Exclusive and secret news." Albus took a deep breath while Amelia recast a few privacy spells. "Voldemort has either gone to ground with most of his hired help, or left the country."

"Not for good I bet."

"No. I assume he's trying to acquire custom-fitted wands for his recently liberated followers." It was what Albus would do in the same situation.

"Who'd sell to the most wanted Death Eaters? Even those with sympathies will think twice before risking that one of their wands ends up as proof of their support.

"I've informed some of my colleagues so they can have people keep an eye on the most prominent and best wandmakers of their countries, but …" Albus wasn't sure if they had believed him. It had been decades since the Intervention, and even longer since Grindelwald.

"If it's truly him, they won't be able to stop him. Unless it's really close to Britain and you could apparate there." Amelia stared at him, but fortunately not with the expression of those who saw Albus as Merlin's successor, able to right all wrongs and defeat all evil.

"Unfortunately, he'll have taken this into account. But at least Ollivander and the other British wandmakers are safe." Albus spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"Let's hope so. Imagine - young witches and wizards not being able to get their first matched wands!" Amelia shook her head. "That would be as great a blow to the Ministry as people going hungry."

Albus gravely nodded at the idea. "I've also been talking to Croaker. His people have found a way to detect polyjuice even hours after a body died."

"Do I want to know how they managed that?"

"It's a fascinating mix of magic and muggle concepts. They noticed that certain substances leave distinctive traces in a man's blood, many of them lingering for quite some time. Those can be detected, and the lingering traces can be isolated and identified. The rate of degradation even allows them to judge the quality of the potion. Why, the applications beyond this case…"

"A simple 'No, you don't want to know' would have sufficed, Albus." Amelia glared at him before grinning.

Albus chuckled, and he and Amelia shared a brief moment of levity. Albus had a feeling laughter wouldn't be common in the future.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort stared at the small village in Northern Greece. As far as wizard enclaves went, it was pitiful - half a dozen houses, not counting the barns. The inhabitants grew various plants and herbs and sold them as potion ingredients. There was nothing of note in this hole - unless one knew who exactly 'the Prussian' was who had come to live here decades ago. If one asked around a bit, one would find out that it was a former mercenary named Karl Klugmann, who had fought in the Intervention and then had decided to retire with what he had looted from the Ottomans. Nothing remarkable, really.

But if one had asked around in Magical Prussia in the years after the fall of Grindelwald, one might have heard of 'Siegfried Steinberg', a talented wandmaker who had been responsible for a number of experimental wands during Grindelwald's reign. One might have even met him, before he had to flee from Prussia. And one might have, decades later, heard of a shop in a hovel with quite the interesting selection of wands, the type even Ollivander would call the aurors for.

Voldemort looked back at the twenty hired wands with him. "Wait here until I return."

"Yes, Sir!" their leader, Flynn Smithersen, answered. If he performed well, Voldemort would mark him next.

The Dark Lord slowly walked down the hill, towards the village. He was wearing the body and face of a thug from Albania who had led them here. A young woman gathering shrieking grass - carefully, to avoid startling it before she cut it - looked at him and Voldemort smiled back with a nod and a greeting. She'd have gotten a good look at him, as he had planned.

After knocking on the door to the the cottage of 'Klugmann', Voldemort looked around while he waited. It really was a boring hamlet, not even a village.

"Yes?" An older man opened the door and stared at him.

"Mister Klugmann? I require your services. I need a lost wand replaced."

"I may have a wand or two, which I picked up during the Intervention. Though it wouldn't be cheap, it's a memento, you understand." Klugmann smiled apologetically.

"Of course, I understand," the Dark Lord answered, despite knowing that if that cover story were true, Klugmann would have spent the entirety of the Intervention picking up wands, so many had he sold so far with the same story.

"Come inside." the wizard stepped to the side and waved him through.

For a fugitive and former follower of Grindelwald, Steinberg seemed far too trusting. Or maybe he was too arrogant to think he could be bested in his own warded home. Some wizards had tried to steal from him, none had succeeded. Few had survived, even. And he had strong wards. An ordinary wizard would be hard-pressed to even cast there.

Voldemort was no ordinary wizard. His stunner was weakened by the wards, almost deflected by the shield, and yet strong and well-aimed enough to send Steinberg to the ground. A wave of his wand had the man bound and gagged. Another restored a small figurine into the Albanian who had led him there. The man screamed and cursed as soon as he woke up. The Dark Lord waited a few seconds, then body-bound and silenced him. Another figurine turned into a relative or friend of the Albanian - the Dark Lord had not particularly cared what the exact relationship was. A hair from Steinberg and a potion later, an unconscious double of Steinberg was dropped on the floor.

The Albanian wizard's eyes glared at Voldemort when the Dark Lord showed him his wand, taken from him earlier. They widened in terror when Voldemort used the wand to cast fiendfyre before apparating away with Steinberg.

"We're done here. Return to camp!" Voldemort ordered as soon as he had rejoined his mercenaries. He could imagine the report this event would leave: An Albanian mercenary tries to rob a wizard who dabbles in wand making. One of them cast Fiendfyre and lost control over it. The entire house burned down. He doubted the Greek authorities would care much more about the whole affair, not with a nice witness describing a rather notorious bandit, whose corpse would be found in the ruins of the cottage - next to the one of 'Klugmann'.


Chapter 23: Dangerous Research

 

[steamrick]

Heh. I was beginning to think that Pansy would never manage to get free of Draco.

 

[Starfox5]

It might have been a bit quick for a break-up, but Draco just lost his father, and his head grew bigger from being head of his family now, and he's not used to Pansy not doing what he wants, or at least fooling him into thinking she does.

 

[Ack]

It might have been a bit quick for a break-up, but Draco just lost his father, and his head grew bigger from being head of his family now, and he's not used to Pansy not doing what he wants, or at least fooling him into thinking she does.

Click to shrink...

I've actually seen this happen. Not just in relationships either; in any situation where two people are going along together (this even happens with employer and employee). They think all is fine because neither is disagreeing with the other; this is because neither has a reason.

But the moment that a point of divergence comes up, where neither one is willing to give in or even compromise; each one assumes that the other has been going along because "I wanted you to". Tries to influence the other one to follow the 'right' point of view. Gets angry because the other person is being 'unreasonable'. Aaaaaand ... split. Leaving both of them utterly certain that the other is at fault, and everyone else around, who was sure that they were such good friends or whatever, wondering what happened.

Of course, in this case, Pansy deliberately set it up, but all she had to do was stand her ground and Draco would engineer the breakup all by himself.

Clever girl.

 

[Starfox5]

She stil has to survive the break-up long-term though.

 

[Prince Charon]

She stil has to survive the break-up long-term though.

Click to shrink...

Well, she's smarter than Draco, so I give her better than even odds.

Not vastly better, but better.

 

[Starfox5]

She also and still underestimates him.

 

[steamrick]

She also and still underestimates him.

Click to shrink...

His intelligence or his ruthlessness?

 

[Ack]

His intelligence or his ruthlessness?

Click to shrink...

It's pretty hard to underestimate his intelligence.

 

[macdjord]

It's pretty hard to underestimate his intelligence.

Click to shrink...

Sure it is. Compared to Crabb and Goyle, he's a genius.

Hrm. One possible issue to the floo plan: routing all floo transfers through a small number of Thief's Downfall-protected hubs makes for an intelligence-gathering nightmare. All you need to do is watch over those hubs to track where everybody is coming from and going.

 

[Starfox5]

Sure it is. Compared to Crabb and Goyle, he's a genius.

Hrm. One possible issue to the floo plan: routing all floo transfers through a small number of Thief's Downfall-protected hubs makes for an intelligence-gathering nightmare. All you need to do is watch over those hubs to track where everybody is coming from and going.

Click to shrink...

That's not exactly an unintended feature or considered an issue for a government battling a group of terrorists. Especially a government from a world who split from the real world before the American and French Revolution, and all that human rights stuff.

 

[Ack]

Sure it is. Compared to Crabb and Goyle, he's a genius.

Click to shrink...

Compared to Crabbe and Goyle, things found growing on rocks are geniuses.

 

[macdjord]

That's not exactly an unintended feature or considered an issue for a government battling a group of terrorists. Especially a government from a world who split from the real world before the American and French Revolution, and all that human rights stuff.

Click to shrink...

Actually, I meant that as a disadvantage. I presume the actual DE's and outright criminals will find other, less easily tracked methods of transportation, as will the Order members, but the common, law-abiding masses will be easily tracked - which is a big advantage to the side which uses terrorist tactics. Similarly, those agents on both sides who are trying to maintain the appearance of a normal life will have to use it and be vulnerable, which is an advantage to the side which is willing to use that information for, say, assassination attempts.

 

[Starfox5]

Actually, I meant that as a disadvantage. I presume the actual DE's and outright criminals will find other, less easily tracked methods of transportation, as will the Order members, but the common, law-abiding masses will be easily tracked - which is a big advantage to the side which uses terrorist tactics. Similarly, those agents on both sides who are trying to maintain the appearance of a normal life will have to use it and be vulnerable, which is an advantage to the side which is willing to use that information for, say, assassination attempts.

Click to shrink...

In order to track the traffic, they'd have to have a presence at the checkpoints. One can be certain that the staff used there would be thoroughly checked. It's not completely safe, but quite safe. Safer than risking imperiused people entering through the floo. Criminals and DEs. already had apparition, portkeys and direct floo travel to avoid getting tracked, and already had ample opportunities to spread terror by targeting the streets and businesses. Which they still can do, with some planning. But the homes are a bit safer now.

Assassination attempts, kidnapping for interrogation purposes, using people as living bombs... Dumbledore can cover the kind of things the Ministry has to be careful with. He doesn't like doing that kind of things, but he likes the alternative, doing nothing and letting innocents die, even less.

 

[macdjord]

In order to track the traffic, they'd have to have a presence at the checkpoints. One can be certain that the staff used there would be thoroughly checked.

Click to shrink...

This Voldemort is smart - smart enough to have agents who aren't publicly connected to him and don't carry the mark, for just this sort of purpose. And even if he can't get official agents in, a transit centre, by its very nature, has multitudes of people coming and going at all times, which makes it vulnerable to infiltration.
Plus, the floo centres themselves become targets. Defended ones, but that's still a bunch of aurors who aren't elsewhere. And if he does manage a couple successful attacks (which he certainly could, if he's willing to pay the price; it's hard to secure a location that is literally made to be easy to enter and exit.) then he could convince people that the floo is not safe to use, which would probably do more damage to the magical economy than anything short of raiding the Ministry, Gringotts, or Hogwarts. (I've always thought that if you wanted to terrorize a city, you'd do better to skip the bombs and guns and just spend a night breaking into transit yards and pouring sugar into gas tanks. Imagine what would happen to, say, New York if public transit was paralyzed for a week.)

It probably still is better than the alternative - but there are plenty of downsides.

 

[Starfox5]

This Voldemort is smart - smart enough to have agents who aren't publicly connected to him and don't carry the mark, for just this sort of purpose. And even if he can't get official agents in, a transit centre, by its very nature, has multitudes of people coming and going at all times, which makes it vulnerable to infiltration.
Plus, the floo centres themselves become targets. Defended ones, but that's still a bunch of aurors who aren't elsewhere. And if he does manage a couple successful attacks (which he certainly could, if he's willing to pay the price; it's hard to secure a location that is literally made to be easy to enter and exit.) then he could convince people that the floo is not safe to use, which would probably do more damage to the magical economy than anything short of raiding the Ministry, Gringotts, or Hogwarts. (I've always thought that if you wanted to terrorize a city, you'd do better to skip the bombs and guns and just spend a night breaking into transit yards and pouring sugar into gas tanks. Imagine what would happen to, say, New York if public transit was paralyzed for a week.)

It probably still is better than the alternative - but there are plenty of downsides.

Click to shrink...

Sure there are downsides - but those present at the transit centers as observers will be rather strictly vetted. Can they be compromised? Yes. But then that's the kind of people you trust your minister's security with as well. If they are compromised, you've got bigger problems than the floo travel.

And he has already struck at the main shopping mile - so he's hurting the economy already.

Sure, there are downsides - but letting imperiused people enter homes to murder their friends and family is far worse than this system.

 

[Starfox5]

Chapter 23: Dangerous Research

Most British wizards and witches only knew rumors about the Department of Mysteries. Wild rumors. Vaults full of ancient, dangerous artifacts. Unethical experiments in pursuit of knowledge wizards were not meant to know. Rituals even Dark Lords shied away from. Many were convinced that the Unspeakables, the members of that department, always wore hoods because they were not human anymore, but something else.

Albus Dumbledore, currently standing in the elevator descending to that department, knew more than most about it. He also knew that the rumors were mostly, although not entirely, wrong. There were vaults with dangerous artifacts and many of the experiments and rituals done there were at least questionable. And the less said about the department's past, the better.

And yet, the department was likely to be crucial in the fight against Voldemort. For all their eccentricities and sometimes questionable morals, the Unspeakables were among the foremost experts of magic in Britain. Experts better kept an eye on, though - Rookwood had been an Unspeakable and a Death Eater, after all.

Of course, Saul Croaker claimed that he had been the only traitor among his co-workers, and that his former colleague had never had access to the truly dangerous knowledge the Unspeakables guarded. But even if Albus would have been inclined to give Saul the benefit of the doubt, he was quite certain that a few of Saul's co-workers could do with a bit more supervision, lest they lose sight of the lines one should not cross. Albus knew better than anyone else how easily one could start to justify the worst horrors with the best goals.

Sighing at the memory of his greatest mistake, and greatest regret, the old wizard entered the Department of Mysteries. The entrance looked deceptively ordinary, a bland room with grey walls and a polished black marble floor, and a single door across from the elevator. But Albus was aware of the enchantments lining the walls and the floor of the room he was in - he had put a number of them there himself, after he had been chosen as Chief Warlock. Without his seal, or the badge of an Unspeakable, he'd not be able to go on. Not without quite the effort, at least.

Saul Croaker was waiting for him. It looked like Albus wouldn't be able to look into a few other offices 'looking for Saul', and claiming to be lost after the Room of Doors. He'd have to check on other Unspeakables during his next visit then. Smiling, he nodded at his old friend. "Good morning, Saul."

"Good morning, Albus." Saul didn't sound as if he actually thought it was a good morning, but that was probably caused by him staying up too late - like most of the Unspeakables, he tended to get lost in his work. According to another rumor, the youngest Unspeakable had the sole but vital duty to make sure that everyone else didn't forget to eat. It was wrong of course - there had once been an enchantment that allowed the head of the department to remind his colleagues to eat and sleep, until the Unspeakables had gotten rid of it because it tended to disturb their experiments. Once with disastrous results.

"You have sent me a note that you finished the other project we were talking about. I am impressed - first the polyjuice detection method, then this." Provided it stood up to inspection.

Saul nodded, but made a dismissive gesture with his left hand. "It was a bit of a challenge to find something original, but nothing more than that."

The two stepped through the door into the Room of Doors, a circular room whose 'walls' were made up of doors. As soon as the two were inside, the door behind them closed and the room spun around rapidly. It was a clever and entertaining bit of magic. The spinning doors would confuse an intruder and prevent them from reaching what they sought. The doors were just a smokescreen though - even if one tracked the door one had come through, the enchantment that linked them to the correct office or room would be changing in other ways. The actual door that opened was picked at random, on a verbal command.

"Hall of Prophecies." Saul spoke up, not bothering to hide his impatience. Albus didn't doubt that his friend considered the inspection a waste of his time. So confident - though with good reasons.

A door to their right opened, revealing the marble hallway leading to the vault where the prophecies were stored. Albus tapped his glasses, activating one of the enchantments on them, and checked the spells on the door, and the hall behind it. Spotting several new ones, he grinned.

Saul glanced at him. "That's just to make sure we don't waste the real thing on someone else. We don't expect the Dark Lord to be stopped by this."

"I did not think you would." Albus answered while he scanned the hallway. The spells checking for intruders were protected by cascading enchantments, and either could trigger more violent spells, with more spells triggered by other spells ending. All the curses in the world wouldn't be of any use if the detection spells could be fooled of course - and Albus had a few ideas about how to do that.

As they walked through the hallway to the vault door, Saul commented. "I used to say that only those who could both see all the spells and traps in the department, and who would still walk in without flinching were Unspeakable material."

"Oh?" Albus had heard that anecdote before, but it would have been impolite to point that out.

"Yes. But the trap we have out on the door, that made a few of my people flinch. I probably should lower my standards. Merlin knows, we get too few new Unspeakables as it is." He glanced at Albus and frowned.

Albus smiled back at the implied complaint about his school - Saul was not happy with the curriculum of Hogwarts. "In my opinion, those students who possess both the curiosity to research what we do not teach and the moral fortitude to not succumb to the Dark Arts' lure are future Unspeakables."

His friend snorted. "And how many of those students exist? We need people who do not shy away from a subject just because some idiot in the Ministry had it labeled 'dark', Albus, or we won't have the staff to do our duty."

"Rest assured that I am keeping an eye out for such students." Albus made a placatory gesture. He'd be testing any such student, of course - there would be no second Voldemort on his watch, least of all an Unspeakable. Tom would have been recruited in a heartbeat, had he not been a muggleborn at the time.

"Too bad Potter's girlfriend is a muggleborn. She would be perfect for us." Saul commented, as if he had read Albus's thoughts.

His friend was acting a bit too nonchalantly, in the Headmaster's opinion. Miss Granger had the markings of an Unspeakable - an intellect with few equals, a curiosity to match, and enough determination and ambition for two others. But Albus wasn't sure if the young witch had the correct character - he had seen signs of a ruthless pragmatism, a willingness to go to any length if Harry needed her to. Or if she thought he needed her to. He was not certain it was as unfortunate as Saul made it out to be that muggleborns, beholden to their Patrons, were banned from being Unspeakables to avoid a conflict of loyalties. "She is certainly one of the brightest witches of her age," he answered, noncommittally. Theoretically, she could earn an Order of Merlin, First Class, which would grant her pureblood status, but practically, anything noteworthy a muggleborn did would be attributed, at least partially, to their Patron.

"I've seen some of her work at the tournament. Maybe it'll turn out that she's been adopted, and actually was a pureblood war orphan who somehow ended up in the muggle world. Stranger things have been known to happen." Saul wasn't looking at Albus while he said that, but the Headmaster didn't miss the faint smile on his friend's face.

"I am quite certain that Miss Granger was not adopted, but I will of course look into the matter, if you suspect that her obvious talent is due to being a pureblood. But given our current troubles, I will be unable to dedicate much time to that." Albus kept looking at Saul, to make sure his friend had understood what he was saying.

Saul laughed. "Did you ever think that we'd not have our current troubles if we had taught people all along that magic doesn't care about blood? Not counting blood sacrifices, of course."

"If there were no muggleborn the Dark Lord would have found something else to rally his followers against." Albus answered.

"Someone else, you mean. Magical creatures, most likely, in my opinion." Saul stated.

"Did you actually research it?" Albus asked, with honest curiosity.

"While 'The sociological dynamics behind the rise of Dark Lords' would be a fascinating research topic, it's not magical enough for my department. I have read up on a few muggle Dark Lords though." Saul snorted again. "There's not much of a difference, in my opinion."

Albus had known his friend was interested in muggle sciences, but hadn't known it went beyond their application for or duplication with magic research, like the polyjuice detection method. "I do not suppose the muggles found ways to prevent their next Dark Lord from rising." Albus was not an expert, but he knew there were a lot of muggle tyrants. Or had been in the recent past, at least.

"It's not foolproof, but they have had some successes." Saul answered.

"Oh?" Albus perked up. If he could make sure there would never be another Voldemort, even after Albus's own death…. It wouldn't make up for his many sins and mistakes, though it would be a legacy he could be proud of.

"It depends on what you consider a 'Dark Lord'. Many countries seem to be remarkably stable, and very unlikely to be taken over by a muggle Dark Lord. But that does not mean that no tyrants try to take over, violently. Just because it won't work doesn't mean they won't cause death and destruction." Saul smiled cynically.

"I see." So the muggle Dark Lords were simply less successful. Still…

"Most authors I've read claim that this is due to democracy, governments with checks and balances, and social security and mobility," Saul went on. "But scale also matters. Muggles lack magic, and are far more numerous. A single Dark Lord and his band of followers won't be nearly as powerful, relatively, as they are among wizards."

"Implementing such sweeping reforms would destabilize our country." Albus knew that only too well. Grindelwald had tried it, after all. Small steps, slow changes, were the key.

"Maybe. A crisis is an opportunity too." Saul stated.

Albus simply nodded. Such thoughts were true, but dangerous. The kind of opportunities a crisis like the current one brought usually came at a heavy price. He turned his attention to the vault door, and his eyes widened. "I believe you've outdone yourself, Saul. I am truly impressed."

Saul smiled. "Let's hope the Dark Lord will be more than simply impressed. If he ever reaches this door."

*****​

Hogwarts had gone mad after the Star Wars Movie Night, in Hermione Granger's opinion. Too many students asking for the "choke hold spell" in Charms or Defense, too many asking how best to create such a spell in Arithmancy. As a purely intellectual exercise, of course, Hermione had actually thought about that. A combination of the Levitation Charm with the Strangulation Curse would have the desired effect. Fortunately, the calculations for such a spell were beyond a student - even herself. That is, if she hadn't her electronic calculator. With it she actually could create the spell, and in a reasonable amount of time too. But she had better, more important spells to research. Although the tactical uses of a choke hold spell were interesting. Forcing the enemy's allies to deal with it, possibly opening them up to a follow-up attack. Or if one created it as a trap, so those trying to finite it would be subject to the same spell…

The young witch shook her head. She had to crack the Dark Mark, she couldn't waste her time on those kind of spells, even though she could think of a few very fitting targets for them. Like Malfoy. The bigot really had broken up with Parkinson, after more than four years, over Star Wars. It was incredibly petty, although Parkinson was now better off. The stupid witch might even learn not to pick her boyfriends according to their father's wealth, though Hermione wasn't holding her breath. It wasn't as if Parkinson had suddenly become less of a bigot - she still sneered at every muggleborn, or anyone she considered below her station and not properly subservient, which was a lot of people.

More important was that Parkinson choosing Star Wars over Malfoy had caused a surge in interest in the movie, so they had been all but forced to show it again a week after the first time. Harry had been almost impossibly smug about his movie pick, until Luna had speculated that Parkinson might now lust after him since he was the Star Wars expert at Hogwarts, and probably in all of Wizarding Britain. That had caused Harry to shut up quite quickly, to Hermione's relief and amusement.

Fortunately, the chances of anyone creating a real lightsaber were almost non-existent - at least if they wanted to be able to parry spells with it. A simple cutting weapon though… a cutting curse, matched with a colored light blade to see where it was would be all that was needed. It was more difficult to create than a standard knife with an enhanced edge, but it shouldn't be that much more difficult. Fortunately, it wouldn't be that much more powerful either, as far as Hermione could tell. She hadn't run those numbers though.

Sighing, the young witch forced her attention back to the book about tracking charms. She already had found a charm she could work with, but that was a classic tracking charm, essentially a more powerful and more complicated version of the Point Me Spell. She was wondering if there were tracking charms that worked differently. For what she had in mind, she could not use the classic tracking charm. She needed something that affected the target like a normal spell.

"Hermione?"

At hearing her name, she looked up. Fay Dunbar was standing at her table in the library. Thanks to the enchantments in the room Hermione hadn't heard the other witch coming. If that had been someone who meant her harm… she resolved to find a way to be alerted earlier. "Yes Fay?"

"Are you trying to create a choke spell too?" Her dormmate's tone showed that she expected that to be the case. Hermione felt irritated at that - it wasn't as if she was a Darth Vader wannabe.

"No. I am checking tracking charms." She held up the book to show the cover to Fay.

"Ah. Do you think such a spell is possible?" Fay leaned against Hermione's table, but didn't touch any of her books or - worse - notes.

"Theoretically, yes. Both effects are known, and neither effect is that complicated. Combining them into one spell, and one powerful enough to actually kill a human… the complexity would shoot through the roof." Smiling - did Fay worry about such spells cast in Hogwarts? - she added: "Calculations for the spell formula would take far too long for anyone at school."

Fay nodded, but didn't seem to be relieved or reassured.

"Why do you ask? Are you planning to research such a spell?"

Fay shook her head. "No. I was just wondering if such a spell exists, but hasn't been discovered yet."

Hermione blinked. "Do you think someone already created the spell, but it was lost, or remained unknown?"

The other witch shook her head. "I believe you cannot create a spell, you can only discover how to cast a spell."

"Is that a Purist belief?" Hermione didn't know too much about the small sect Fay's family was part of. The Purists held the belief that Magic should not be used 'frivolously', which meant it should be reserved for important tasks and situations, not used for mere convenience. It wasn't a very popular belief, especially since most of Wizarding Britain's economy ran on providing and maintaining such 'frivolous spells'.

"Not as such. It's more of a philosophical question." Fay smiled.

"But does it matter if we create new magic or discover magic that we didn't know yet when we work out new spells? The end result is the same. We learned how to cast a spell we didn't know. And would it matter if someone already found a way, but we didn't know?" There was no such thing as copyright, which meant many spells were jealously guarded by families or even individuals. An utterly wrong state of affairs, in Hermione's opinion.

"It matters if you think that magic has a will of its own. If we can create new spells, does that affect magic itself? Can we change its nature by creating new spells? Or do we simply discover new facets that were already part of magic?" Fay looked at Hermione with a serious expression.

"I am not sure if either can be proven. But it's an interesting question." Hermione answered. She didn't see how magic could have a will of its own. Although… there was accidental magic. While one could explain a child summoning a plush toy that was out of her reach - or a book, in her own case - with magic as the young witch willing magic to happen, what about accidental magic that reacted to a danger a child wasn't aware of? Were there any documented cases of such an incident?

"Indeed. If you manage to answer it, please tell me." Fay smiled.

"I will. But I've got one question for you: Is researching spells considered a frivolous use by Purists?"

"Gaining new knowledge about magic is never frivolous. No matter how frivolous the knowledge itself is." Fay stated, as if she was quoting a book. She probably was.

"So… if I use a spell to wash the dishes, but at the same time I am trying to produce a better dish washing spell, that's important?" Hermione could think of a dozen spells one could cast that way, under the guise of "experimenting".

"What matters is why you do it. And that is a question only yourself can answer." Fay smiled faintly.

"Unless we use veritaserum." Or legilimency, or compulsion charms.

"The use of veritaserum to answer whether or not a dish washing spell was cast frivolously would certainly be frivolous itself." Fay grinned now.

Hermione chuckled. Her dormmate had more humor than most other strongly religious people she knew. "You could also regularly cast spells so you are certain you can cast them perfectly, in case you need them to save someone."

Fay held up her hands, laughing. "Hermione, it doesn't matter what others are thinking about your reasons. Excuses won't work on yourself."

"Somehow I don't think many Purists are spell researchers."

"There are not many Purists at all. In the last war some claimed we were blood-traitors for living like muggles." Fay sighed.

Hermione didn't pry, but she could imagine that they hadn't fared well. And they had been few to begin with. Far fewer than muggleborns. "I'd think only a fool would argue that self-defense was not important."

"We're reinforcing the wards at home. Just in case." Fay said, her lips forming a thin line.

Hermione nodded. There wasn't much she could say - not many wards would stand up to a strong Death Eater assault long enough for help to arrive. If things went as bad as they were in the last war, Fay's family wouldn't be the only one in such danger. One thing she could ask though. "Do you really think things would improve if we'd cast more spells to help people? Would the unforgivables grow weaker?"

"I don't know. But the world would be a better place if people helped each other more."

There was nothing Hermione could say against that.

*****​

Sitting in the common room of House Slytherin, Pansy Parkinson had to fight not to smile too openly. She was supposed to still be hurt by the break-up, after all.

Her plan had worked perfectly. Almost perfectly. She was no longer Draco's girlfriend, and the idiot thought it had been all his decision. A number of her housemates thought she was an idiot for breaking up with Draco over a muggle movie, but they didn't matter. As if anyone of consequence would have really thought she'd marry Draco and give up her chance to become head of her family! No, things in Slytherin had gone about as she had expected.

Now if only Greengrass would become Draco's new girlfriend… Pansy had spread the rumor that Potter was interested in the airhead, and that should send Draco running to upstage his rival and get her for himself.

Right on cue, she saw her ex-boyfriend enter and walk towards the couch the blonde dimwit and her friend Davis were sitting on. Draco was strutting like a peacock, though Pansy had to admit that he cut a fine figure in his expensive and extremely fashionable robes. He could be charming too, and he had impeccable manners - though he didn't always show them, especially when talking to those he didn't consider his equal. Or when he lost his temper. Or in private, sometimes.

She couldn't hear what he was saying - Davis had cast a privacy spell - but she saw Draco smile widely, Greengrass smile back, and Davis roll her eyes. Soon though Draco's face changed from charming smile to strained smile, his eyes were twitching just a little, to shock, followed by anger - no, rage. At that point he stalked off with a sneer on his face. Crashed and broke his broom, as the saying went.

Draco left the common room, probably going to his own room to sulk. Pansy had joined him there often enough to console him after similar incidents. Not as much in the last year, though - Draco had started to hold his own more often. Well, she didn't need to repair his fragile ego anymore, someone else could do it. Instead she could… well, she shouldn't, but she could. And she wanted to know what Draco had said, and heard.

Standing up, she walked over to Greengrass and Davis. The blonde started pouting even before Pansy got close enough to talk inside the privacy spell's effect, not that Pansy cared about the dimwit. But Davis had her wand out.

"Greengrass, Davis." Pansy nodded at the two witches.

"Parkinson." Davis nodded back.

Greengrass glared at her. "Just because I didn't want to become Malfoy's new girlfriend doesn't mean I want to become yours, Parkinson!"

"What?" Pansy stared at the twit. Did she actually believe… "Why would you think I was about to ask you out? Have I ever given any indication that I consider you attractive?"

The blonde idiot sniffed. "It doesn't matter if you find me attractive. Malfoy just wanted to court me to upstage Potter, so it's logical that you'd want to court me to upstage the boy who broke up with you."

Pansy wrenched her gaze away from the bubblehead and stared at Davis. Couldn't she handle her friend better? Pansy had handled Draco at his worst with less embarrassment, after all! Or… did Davis actually want Greengrass to embarrass herself? Was she playing the same game Pansy had been playing? "Did you tell her that?"

"I explained why Malfoy was coming on to her. She deduced the rest." Davis smirked while Greengrass nodded.

Pansy narrowed her eyes at the brown-haired witch. "Very amusing. What did you say, by the way? He was absolutely livid when he stormed off."

"If I wanted everyone to know what we said, I wouldn't have cast a privacy spell." Davis responded, her smirk growing wider. Next to her the twit nodded, as if she had thought the same and was not simply going along with her smarter friend.

"I am not everyone. And as Draco's ex-girlfriend, I might offer you some insight, just in case you misestimate his reaction." Pansy stated. It was even true - these days, who knew what Draco might do if he was angry?

Greengrass was blinking, looking confused - a look her friends had to be very familiar with - but Davis nodded. "We basically told him that Daphne is no trophy to be taken to spite Potter. Or to make his ex-girlfriend jealous."

"And that he doesn't measure up to Harry!" Greengrass added, nodding several times. "Not in looks, nor character, nor money, nor Quidditch, nor friends."

Pansy almost whistled. That would have done it, yes. Dravo would be livid indeed. "Harsh, but true, though only if you count Potter's godfather's money - Potter by himself certainly has not much gold." By any civilized standard, of course. It was a good thing he already had a mistress who did not need much upkeep.

"Of course you'd care about that!" Greengrass huffed.

Pansy shrugged. Of course she'd care to know how much gold people had - one had to know who mattered. Potter was a special case anyway, as the Boy-Who-Lived, the Slayer of Slytherin's Monster, and the winner of the Triwizard Tournament in his fourth year. "I'd give it even odds for Draco to either avenge this 'slight on his honor', as he might call it, or attempt to beat Potter again, to prove you wrong."

"What's he likely to do to achieve that? Challenge Potter to a beauty contest?" Davis joked, but Pansy could see that she seemed to understand that Draco was not to be taken that lightly.

"Don't give him ideas. But he'll try to beat him in Quidditch, again, and maybe try for a duel." Pansy added. A duel between those two… the teachers would likely step in. The last time they had done that, in DADA class, had been a disaster.

"He'll lose! As he always does!" Greengrass exclaimed. A Potter fangirl indeed. Draco had had some successes, Pansy knew that well, even if others tended to mostly remember the more spectacular missteps and defeats against Potter. And Quidditch, of course.

She shrugged. "Well, we'll see. Just watch your back for a bit." She nodded at Davis. "Might share a room for a bit. Or a bed." According to some rumors, the two did that often enough, if probably not for the reasons the wizards of their year assumed. Again Pansy wondered what Davis's game was. Unless the witch was in love with Greengrass - but if so, the twit was unaware of it. In any case, sixth year should shed more light on that.

"Good evening, Davis, Greengrass."

"Good evening, Parkinson."

"May the force be with you!"

That line made Pansy almost stumble when she walked away. If Greengrass was that much a fan, and thought Pansy was the same, since she had apparently picked Star Wars over her boyfriend… Merlin help her if the twit tried to bond with her!

*****​

Inside his new mansion - purchased under an alias from a blood traitor who was leaving Britain in a panic - the Dark Lord Voldemort watched as Steinberg fit Bellatrix with a new wand. One could easily see that his new wandmaker had been working under Grindelwald - he didn't flinch at all at working with the most feared dark witch of Britain.

"Dragon heartstring and oak."

Bellatrix flicked the wand, but no more than a few sparks appeared.

"Dragon teeth and yew."

Voldemort's most loyal, and most beautiful and brave, follower produced more sparks this time, but still not perfect.

"Dragon's blood and yew."

Bella's next swish filled the room with colors and flashing lights. With a delighted squeal she turned to the Dark Lord. "Master! It fits even better than my original wand."

"That's entirely logical, Miss," Steinberg cut in while he was stashing the other wands in his chest. "People change as they grow older, and what fit a girl of eleven years might not fit the woman she has become."

"You have done well, wandmaker." Voldemort nodded at the older wizard. "Though I wonder why your selection seemed so … conventional. According to rumors, you had some rather unusual designs as well."

"I did, and I still have them. But I'd rather not give them out without further testing. There were some issues with the last models, before I had to stop my research." Steinberg smiled ruefully at the memory of what most of Magical Europe considered a day of celebration, Grindelwald's defeat. "I am optimistic that given the opportunity, I can perfect my designs."

"You will have it, though at the moment we still have to proceed with caution and stealth." He wrapped an arm around his Bella and planted a kiss on the top of her head before addressing her. "Which is why you cannot demonstrate your loyalty and love by slaying my enemies. Yet. They still assume you are dead, and this ignorance benefits us." And sending a few imperiused mudbloods to cause mayhem helped his recruiting efforts as well.

"But soon, Master. They suspect your return already, even in the newspaper." Bella licked her lips and drew a shuddering breath.

"Soon." He looked at the wandmaker again. "I am quite curious to see how your inventions perform, Steinberg. Especially when put against Ollivander's best work."

The German scoffed. "Ollivander is overrated. He has forgotten the roots of our art. The first wands were not crafted from unicorn or dragon parts, but from the blood and bones of wizards, and they craved more blood in battle."

Voldemort thought that the official lore, staves turning into wands as runes small enough to handle the strain of magic were developed, sounded more plausible, but as long as the designs worked, Steinberg could think what he liked. And while the Dark Lord was no expert in wandmaking, he had mastered the Dark Arts like no one else - and the German's designs were steeped in their lore. Should his followers wield such things, the aurors would not know what hit them.

But of course extensive testing would be required before Voldemort would allow anyone from his marked followers to wield such a wand. The reports he had seen, decades ago, painted a rather grim picture of what had happened to those who had used Steinberg's earliest designs.

Bella was breathing heavily, and Voldemort felt a familiar stirring. "I am sure you can fit the rest of my followers now, Steinberg. I will retire to my study."

The wandmaker nodded, seemingly unconcerned. He might be one of those people who truly only cared about their art. Not the most loyal followers one could find, but as long as they had the freedom to practise their craft, they'd never stab you in the back. Especially if there was no one else for them to turn to.

Voldemort nodded at the man and left, Bellatrix never leaving his side.

*****​

"Why don't you arrest all those mudbloods before they kill everyone of us!?"

Kenneth Fenbrick struggled to resist the urge to hex the idiot shouting at him and his partner, Bertha Limmington, while they were trying to investigate yet another disappearance, this time in Hogsmeade. It wouldn't do any favors to his career. Though maybe he could arrest the moron as a sympathizer of … whoever was behind those kidnappings and attacks. He could hex the guy then for resisting…

"Ignore him." Bertha didn't even look up from the patch of torn up cobblestone - whoever had been taken here hadn't gone quietly.

"He's too loud to be ignored. He is so loud, actually, he's interfering with our investigation!" Kenneth answered, glaring at the man while he raised his voice. The idiot seemed to realize, finally, just how close he was to spending a few hours in the custody of aurors - overworked, testy and frustrated aurors - and made a hasty retreat. "I really wonder if he's not working for the kidnappers, trying to stir up trouble against muggleborns."

"It's unlikely they'd bother with such a small profile. Given the scope of their attacks, they'd focus on the press, and on more influential members of society." The witch was being too reasonable again.

"Maybe that's what they want us to think." Kenneth wasn't being contradictory, not really. As a good auror, he simply couldn't dismiss a possible lead without evidence to the contrary.

"Or whoever is behind this wants us to arrest innocent, scared people in order to drive a wedge between the Ministry and the population." Neither Bertha nor Kenneth were saying who they strongly suspected was behind all this. Even though both aurors were certain who that was, after the report from the Department of Mysteries had confirmed that a dozen corpses of Death Eaters found on Azkaban had been polyjuiced kidnapping victims. Muggleborns at that.

"Then he'd have stayed around to actually get arrested!" Kenneth refuted that argument.

"Which would strongly hint at him not being an agent for those criminals." Bertha still had not looked up; the witch's ability to keep working while carrying on a conversation with Kenneth was impressive and would have made a lesser wizard jealous.

"Or they didn't think of your plan. They are not perfect, after all." Kenneth sighed. "Let's wrap this up. Three different wands used. One by the victim, presumably, two by the attackers. No witnesses, other than those who heard the explosion - which was half the village." And hadn't been collecting those statements a pain! Fortunately, that was why junior aurors existed, as far as Kenneth was concerned. "We won't find the victim until he surfaces later." Polyjuiced into someone else, or sacrificed, or imperiused, Kenneth thought, but did not say.

"We haven't talked to the guests in the 'Hog's Head Inn' yet," his pretty but far too duty-conscious partner pointed out.

"Auror Black-Tonks did talk to a few regulars living in Hogsmeade. They haven't seen anything, and half of them mistook the explosion for a prank or a flashback 'to the war'." Kenneth shook his head. "You know the crowd that frequents that inn, Bertha. They'd not have seen or heard anything even if it had happened on their doorstep, or right inside!"

"That's one more reason for us to talk to them." Bertha was undeterred. She stood up and set out for the disreputable inn.

And no auror would let their partner enter such a location without backup. Sighing, Kenneth followed her, sneaking a peek at her rump until he caught up with her. That early in the morning, the inn wouldn't even have the sort of entertainment rumors claimed it sported in the evening. But hopefully the more rowdy and belligerent guests would not be present either. "Most of the guests won't be there now anyway, and we already got the list of the names of those who were around last evening from Black-Tonks."

"But Dumbledore will be there, as will those who are staying at the inn." Bertha answered primly. Unless they had bailed out already - something Kenneth wouldn't put past them, given the inn's reputation.

"Aberforth Dumbledore. The Goat Wizard." Kenneth didn't groan, but felt like it. The black sheep of the Dumbledore family. To think such a great man could have such a disappointing, shady brother…

They knocked but then had to wait a bit until finally the door was opened, and the two aurors came face to face with Aberforth Dumbledore.

"What do you want again?" the old wizard asked without bothering to hide his annoyance.

"Mister Dumbledore? I am Bertha Limmington and this is my partner, Kenneth Fenbrick. We're aurors investigating the disappearance of Hugh Welles last night, not too far from your inn. May we come inside?"

The old wizard made some noise that could have meant anything, but stepped aside, letting them enter. The 'Hog's Head Inn' didn't seem to have changed since Kenneth's last visit there, or since his first visit as a student even. Well-maintained, though, despite its reputation.

"I already told the girl you sent that we didn't see anything, and only heard an explosion." Dumbledore summoned a bottle of ale for himself, but didn't offer the two aurors anything.

"Yes, sir. But we were wondering if you or one of your guests might have seen something before that incident. Anything suspicious, or strange." Bertha didn't let the abrasive attitude of the innkeeper faze her.

"There was nothing of that sort inside my inn," Dumbledore stated. Before Kenneth could cut in, he added: "And we don't care much about what goes on outside." He took a swill from his bottle.

"Until someone sets it on fire." Kenneth bit out. "Ignoring what's going on won't help anyone."

The wizard shrugged. "So? Ignoring us worked well so far for everyone else."

"'Us', Sir?" Bertha asked, lightly stepping on Kenneth's foot.

"Me and my regulars and guests." The innkeeper explained.

Kenneth didn't feel like asking how they were supposedly ignored. That was what this type wanted, to air their grievances and list the ways they were hurt by Wizarding Britain, to excuse how they were hurting society in turn.

Fortunately, Bertha didn't ask either, but simply nodded. "Should you or anyone else recall anything, please inform the DMLE. Lives could be depending on it."

The Headmaster's brother scoffed, and took another gulp from his bottle. Kenneth took that as their cue to leave. Theoretically they could wake up the guests in the inn, but Kenneth doubted that would lead to anything but more claims of ignorance. And something - his experience with overprotective fathers or heads of families, to be exact - told him that the innkeeper wouldn't like it if Kenneth tried to chat up the prettier guests while they were still half-asleep.

The two aurors stepped over to the floo, Kenneth grabbing some powder and stating their destination: "Transit Station!"

*****​

"That was a waste of time!"

Kenneth didn't like stepping through the Thief's Downfall in the Transit Station. The way water ran down all over his robe, suppressing all the charms on it, soaking him and his hair… he was sure the goblins had made certain it would be as annoying and uncomfortable as possible. Nasty little buggers.

He waited until the hitwizard on duty nodded to him before using his wand to dry himself off. Being too hasty with his wand could lead to dangerous misunderstandings here - hitwizards were, after all, no aurors. Only trained for battle, they were far too quick to hex and curse, and lacked the training in investigation to tell them when they should stay their wands and watch and listen first.

Kenneth and Bertha quickly stepped away from the floo they had arrived through, barely in time for the next arrival to come through, that one cursing loudly at getting soaked. The auror thought he saw one hitwizard grin at that. He couldn't blame the man - if he had to do duty there, complete with mandatory legilimency checks to ensure his loyalty, he'd take his entertainment where he could as well. But as an auror, he was much too valuable to be sent on guard duty.

Unlike most others, the two aurors went through the door leading to the Ministry, instead of taking one of the normal floos on the other side of the room, where privacy charms had been placed on the chimneys, for those travelers who liked their destination to remain discreet. At least from other travelers - the Ministry could check the floo records if it was needed.

More work awaited the two in their office. There were forms and reports to fill out, notes from other cases to check and revise if needed. Without duplication charms Britain's livestock would have become extinct long ago just to handle the DMLE's need for parchment, or at least Kenneth thought so. He sighed upon spotting a small fleet of paper planes circling his desk. "Why do I always have to deal with all the stupid requests from other departments?"

"Because your idea of a report gives the boss fits." Bertha dead-panned.

Kenneth pouted at her. "It was a rhetorical question." He thought he had caught her grinning before she sat down and started writing.

A few hours later - the auror was almost done with the request from the Magical Maintenance Department, who wanted to know when they could start fixing the road in Hogsmeade - an owl landed on Bertha's desk. He didn't pay much attention until he saw her cast a series of detection spells at it. Then he had his wand in hand at once. "Trouble?"

"Unknown sender," his partner answered. The owls had to pass through a few wards until they were allowed inside the Ministry, but that didn't make the system fool-proof. And a missing address for the sender rang some alarm bells. Bertha finished casting and, apparently satisfied with the results, opened the letter.

"Who's it from?" Kenneth asked. He wasn't that curious, but as long as it kept him from dealing with the cobblestone repair crew…

"It doesn't say."

"Another anonymous complaint?" They had gotten a few of those. Not many - most of them were handled by others in the Ministry.

"No. An anonymous report about the kidnapping. Apparently, someone saw the whole thing. Six attackers, faces masked - not the kind of masks we might have expected though. Two took the victim down, the rest stood guard. Or waited - the author of the note doesn't seem too impressed by the skill displayed, but mentioned the group seemed to have had some experience working together, probably as mercenaries. Plus there's a description of the wands." His partner was still reading while she listed the contents of the letter.

A description of the wands used? If it was no hoax, then someone either was a genius, or they had access to a pensieve. Neither fit with the reputation of the 'Hog's Head Inn'.

Bertha looked up at Kenneth with a smile. "Looks like someone saw something."

"Don't say it!" he growled.

She didn't, but her grin said enough.

*****​

"And I had to ask every damn resident of Hogsmeade for a statement! It took me hours, and no one had seen anything!"

"The perils of working as an auror." Sirius Black didn't bother to hide his grin. Nymphadora complaining about her work was rather amusing, and in these times, any laugh was a good thing. Remus trying to hide his own grin was amusing as well. Not that his friend would admit to either having feelings for the young witch, or trying to get over her. But he was trying, at least. Which was a good thing as well - Nymphadora was head over heels in love with Viktor, and the Quidditch player returned the feeling. Remus would be only asking for grief if he tried anything.

Chantal, Eugénie, Laure and Valérie giggled. Nymphadora glared at them, which didn't seem to impress the four veela at all.

"Well, you're off work now, Nymphadora. Cheer up!" Remus, ever the peacemaker, tried to appease the young auror.

"Indeed. As the resident expert, you can now show us all the wonders of muggle-style clubbing." A bit belatedly, Sirius realized that teasing their guide to muggle London might not have been a smart idea. Not that Nymphadora would need much of a push to prank them - Sirius had fortunately been able to double-check her clothes advice thanks to his Playboy subscription. Really, a 'white polyester suit'? Even muggles had better taste than that!

Instead he and Remus were dressed in slacks, floaters and nice shirts - all expensive labels, of course. One had to show one's wealth, people were so much more tolerant of the rich. And Maybe Remus would be able to score with a muggle girl.

The wardrobe of his four French house guests had been easy to pick as well - he had asked Hermione's parents for a good tailor, had been told a few names of shops to visit, had called a cab and sent the girls off. It had been gold well spent - the veela were clad in very nice dresses. Not as revealing as they and Sirius himself were used to, alas. But they had to make some allowances if they wanted to go clubbing in a country that was not trembling with fear from Voldemort. No risk from attacks from imperiused muggleborns was worth more conservative clothes as well. And of course, once the Dark Lord had been dealt with, excursions such as this one would make great anecdotes to tell during dinner invitations.

The metamorphmagus looked them over. "Right. You lot look OK for Muggle London."

"We won't draw undue attention then?" Remus asked.

"Oh, you'll draw attention, alright. Just not the undue kind." Nymphadora grinned. Sirius had a sudden bad feeling.

*****​

A few hours later, Sirius was all too aware of what Nymphadora had meant. The little minx had known the effect four veela, even dressed rather conservatively, would have on muggles. Judging by the amount of people bothering them, Sirius could almost believe the tales of veela auras bewitching wizards. Or witches.

"Hey there! Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" Another brute was making a move, on Eugénie this time.

"Pardon? Parlez-vous francais?" The veela smiled innocently.

"Oh… you're French?" He gaped at her.

"Je ne comprends pas. Qu'est-ce que vous dites?" Eugénie kept smiling at the man as if she didn't understand a single word.

"Ah…" The man, barely 20 Sirius would guess, finally closed his mouth and looked at the rest of their group. Chantal, Laure and Valérie copied Euigénie and looked as if they had not understood a word either. Remus seemed to find the dance floor very interesting. Or he was actually keeping an eye out for Nymphadora, who had gone to the ladies' room. Sirius put on a blank look. He should be able to pass for French too.

"Hey, you look English. Can you translate for me? I want to hit on the bird here, and she doesn't speak English. Tell her I think she's very pretty. Sexy even."

Now it was Sirius's turn to gape. Had that jerk just asked for his help in seducing Sirius's own girlfriend?

"Oh, you're a slow one. No problem!" The young man pointed at Sirius, himself and Eugénie in an exaggerated manner while speaking very slowly, as if he was talking to an idiot. "You tell her, me think she pretty."

Sirius wanted to hex the guy badly. Where was their native guide when she was needed? She'd know how to tell this obnoxious guy to… wait a minute. He narrowed his eyes. The young brute letting out a girlish giggle clinched it. Nymphadora! "I should hex you for that!"

The metamorphmagus winked at him and left to change back while the rest of their group had a laugh at Sirius's reaction. Well, let no one say Sirius couldn't take a joke. His vengeance would be terrible, of course.

Valérie, sitting in Sirius's lap, turned towards him. "Let's dance some more!" The young veela hadn't been bothered by horny men nearly as much as the rest of her cousins since she had not left his side or lap at all. It was understandable - the sheer number of muggles they were surrounded by was more than a bit daunting. Sirius though didn't think the girl was quite as intimidated as she claimed to be, but he wasn't about to complain. Truth to be told, he was not as confident as he acted either, but on the whole, surrounded by so many people, so many lively, dancing, happy people, was about as big a contrast to Azkaban's isolation as one could get.

And the dance floor was the most crowded spot in the club. With the four veela pressed against him, dancing wildly to exotic music, Sirius didn't miss the magical world, or its problems.

*****​

'Death Eaters on the loose!' 'Azkaban corpses polyjuiced kidnapping victims!' 'Is You-Know-Who back?'

Harry Potter would have thought that after the rumors and speculation of the weeks before, confirmation of Voldemort's return - or almost confirmation; who but the Dark Lord would free all his followers, and massacre everyone else? - wouldn't have that big of an impact. People had already feared his return, after all. And yet the latest Daily Prophet had caused a panic in the Great Hall in Hogwarts.

Students were trembling, many were crying, even the teachers were looking less than composed - with the exception of Dumbledore, McGonagall and Flitwick. And the new Potions Master, Horace Slughorn. The corpulent wizard seemed to have been made of sterner stuff than his jovial nature indicated. But then, he had been Snape's predecessor, so he must have had plenty of experience. Harry's friends had known about Voldemort already, and so were not affected either.

"At least with so many kidnapping victims being muggleborns, the rumors about this being a muggleborn ploy should abate somewhat." Hermione commented. His girlfriend seemed to be trying to ignore the spectacle around them.

"I wouldn't bet on that, Hermione." Aicha put in. "Logic has not much of a place when people are panicking."

"And the paranoid will think it's simply misdirection by muggleborns." Luna added, between scarfing down her porridge.

"It'll help some though. And now, with Death Eaters revealed, some at least should stop speaking out against muggleborns, even if only to avoid getting painted as sympathizers of Voldemort." Harry briefly squeezed Hermione's thigh under the table. "At least now the secret's out. People know they need to protect themselves."

Ron didn't share Harry's view. "People are panicking. Students here, their families at home, everyone is trembling with fear. Everyone but the Death Eaters and their friends," he added, with a glance towards Malfoy, who was looking almost smug.

Harry snorted. "If Voldemort recruited Malfoy, then his standards have sunk so low, he needs to dig a hole."

"Doesn't change the fact that Britain's going to be an ugly place for a while." Ron refilled his cup of pumpkin juice.

"Do you think the Ministry is prepared for this?"

"They should be. Dumbledore has known about it for some time, and he's the Chief Warlock." Neville nodded towards the staff table, where the teachers were conferring behind privacy spells.

"But the Dark Lord might be prepared as well." Ginny sounded scared, and inched closer to Neville.

"It depends on who leaked this to the press. If it was the Ministry, then they'll be prepared. If it was someone else…" Harry trailed off. The students were safe at Hogwarts, and his family was safe behind the wards of Grimmauld Place, and the blood protection of Privet Drive. But a lot of families couldn't afford those kind of protections.

"The article sounds too sure to be based on information from outside the Ministry. Unless of course the author is trusting Voldemort." Luna commented.

"There's not much we can do but wait and see." Hermione stated. Harry didn't like it, but his love was right. They couldn't do much right now but wait. Wait, train and research.

Further discussion and speculation was cut short by Dumbledore's amplified voice drowning out all talk. "Students, we all have heard this distressing news. There is no need to panic though - you all are safe at Hogwarts, and steps have been taken already at the Ministry to deal with this threat. Please return to your dorms. There will be no lessons today, but your heads of houses will address you later."

"No lessons. At least there is one good thing to come from this," Ron commented.

"No training opportunities either, if we're confined to the dorms." Hermione added, frowning at their friend.

"They can't keep us penned up all day, can they?" Ron looked at his brothers a bit down the table. "Some people will get very… bored."

"And we cannot meet our friends from other houses either." Nor, Harry realized, could they get some privacy. Hermione would have to act as his retainer all day long.

He squeezed her thigh again. It was all he could do right then.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort smiled at his Death Eaters, gathered in the hall in his new mansion. It wasn't a throne room, yet, but he had transfigured a chair into a seat fit for himself and placed it at the head of the massive table. Only those of his followers who had been incarcerated in Azkaban were present, to honor their sacrifice. And to keep the identities of his other agents secret. While his faithful would rather die than reveal anything, veritaserum and legilimency didn't care about a wizard's loyalty. To his right sat Bellatrix, his witch. To his left, Rookwood. The two most important members of his inner circle.

Voldemort was sure his Bellatrix would be fidgeting on her chair with anticipation, had her family not beaten impeccable manners into her. She knew what was coming. Steinberg had provided everyone at the table with a wand that fitted them. The Daily Prophet had revealed his deception with the polyjuiced mudbloods left at Azkaban, and the country was shaking with fear.

While no one was openly stating that the Dark Lord had returned, Dumbledore would know it now.

The Dark Lord stood up, and raised his glass. "My friends! Britain trembles at the mere rumors of our presence. The time to hide is over! Now is the time to finish what we started over twenty years ago!"

As his faithful rose and cheered, the Dark Lord smiled widely. Britain would pay for what it had done to him and his!


Chapter 24: War

 

[Prince Charon]

Oh, my. Things are heating up.

I wonder if anyone is working on a lightsabre charm.

 

[Ack]

I bet the lines about 'sorcery' and 'superstition' really cracked them up.

 

[Starfox5]

Oh, my. Things are heating up.

Click to shrink...

Yes. Voldemort is kind of forced to step up his campaign since his "stealth take over" of the Ministry has been countered.

I wonder if anyone is working on a lightsabre charm.

Click to shrink...

Probably. But not being the brightest witch of her age, and not having an electronic calculator at hand, their chances to succeed are slim to none.

I bet the lines about 'sorcery' and 'superstition' really cracked them up.

Click to shrink...

Wizards and witches will laugh at parts muggles wouldn't find funny, and also often say "why doesn't he just... ah, right, no magic."

 

[Starfox5]

Chapter 24: War

"Mum? Dad? We need to talk." Hermione Granger said as soon as she, Harry and Sirius had entered her home.

Her parents jerked at those words and quickly turned to glare at her boyfriend, then at his godfather, who seemed to be distracted by the wall-mounted wireless phone. Before they could say anything though, Hermione quickly added: "I am not pregnant."

She could see her parents relax at that, then frown at her. Her dad sent another glare at Sirius and muttered something about 'bad influences'. Her mother elbowed him, then ushered them all into the living room before starting to make tea.

"You knew what they would think!" Harry grumbled next to her when they took their seats. She stuck out her tongue at him. A bit of levity before the talk turned serious had seemed like a good idea when she had been thinking about how best to broach the reason for their visit. And everyone's reaction had been funny.

Her boyfriend rolled his eyes. "Sirius is a bad influence on her!" he complained to Hermione's father, who was still frowning a bit.

"Of course I am!" Harry's godfather gleefully admitted, proud of it even. Then he added: "But unfortunately, even my influence has its limits. Despite my best efforts to move things along, the two of them still haven't slept with each other!" He managed to make it sound as if that was a tragedy of epic proportions too.

While her dad was gaping at the wizard and stammering something unintelligible, Harry exclaimed: "Sirius!"

Hermione wished she knew a stinging hex that would get through the protections on the robes of the impossible man. She settled for giving him her best glare. "We'll certainly not tell you when we're having sex!"

When everyone turned to stare at her, she realized that Sirius really had been a bad influence on her, in more ways than one. Not that Nymphadora was not to blame as well though. The young witch covered her face with her left hand and muttered. "That came out wrong." Smiling sheepishly at her father, she said: "What I meant was that we'll sleep with each other when we are ready for such an important step in our relationship, and not a day before." Her dad was still staring at her. Drat.

At least things had settled down a bit when her mother arrived with tea and scones. The woman raised an eyebrow when she noticed the two blushing teenagers, Sirius grinning like a loon, and her husband shaking his head, but she didn't comment. After Nymphadora's visit, it took a lot to shock Hermione's mum.

Sipping her tea, Hermione gathered her thoughts. "Mum, Dad. Things have been happening in Wizarding Britain. I am sorry to say, but it affects you as well, and it's all my fault." She pulled out a few issues of the Daily Prophet from her enchanted bag and showed them to her parents while she explained the situation. The young witch didn't tell them anything that wasn't public knowledge though - Dumbledore had been very clear on the need for secrecy. After explaining about the Death Eaters and Harry's role in the last war against them, she finished with: "Those maniacs really hate muggleborns, and as my parents, you're in danger." She didn't add that she was responsible for Harry becoming her Patron. That was a secret her parents didn't need to know, like they didn't need to know the effects of that relationship. Ignorance was bliss in this case.

Her parents looked at each other. Her father then turned to her. "It seems to me that you're the one in danger, Hermione. You're a muggleborn, and quite close to the Boy-Who-Lived. You were hurt in that tournament when they were trying to get him, weren't you?"

Hermione grimaced. Her parents were no fools. "Because I am close to Harry, I'm sharing his protection. And as the hero of Britain, he's got the best protection possible."

"I do not see much of a security detail. No offense, Sirius." Her mother stated in a calm voice.

Sirius wasn't offended. "We've got people outside. Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain, and my home has some of the strongest wards and other defenses. Trust me, your daughter is safe with Harry."

"They'll have to go through me if they want to harm her!" Harry stated with utter conviction, taking Hermione's hand. She smiled at him, and refrained from adding that they would have to go through her to get to him first. Though her parents might suspect that already. They knew her well, after all.

"In any case, as the parents of Harry's girlfriend, you're in danger," Sirius spoke up. "While the Death Eaters do not know much about the muggle world, and might not even think of using 'mere muggles' as leverage, we cannot count on their incompetence and inexperience to protect you. Your address is kept a secret by the Ministry, as part of the protection for Harry, but the Ministry is sure to have a few moles in it. It would be safer if you'd move to a flat under a new name."

"I would feel much better knowing you're safe too!" Hermione pleaded with her parents. They had to understand the dangers.

"Even if we would be moving out, what about our work?" her dad asked. "We cannot simply stop working."

"Actually, you can," Sirius smiled broadly at Hermione's parents. "I'll cover it."

The young muggleborn witch winced. Apparently, Sirius hadn't really understood when she had tried to explain that her parents wouldn't simply accept his money. In Wizarding Britain, providing for a retainer's family in need was a Patron's duty, after all, and since Harry was still a minor, as his godfather and guardian, Sirius was pretty much expected to step up in a situation such as this. But her parents wouldn't accept such help, since they didn't saw themselves as part of his extended family, as wizards would do. Their pride in their careers didn't help, and neither did that they still thought they and not Harry were responsible for Hermione.

Before her parents could refuse - and probably insult Sirius in the process without realizing it - Hermione cut in. "Dad, mum, this is like a witness protection program. The Ministry would cover the costs for this directly, but it's safer if Sirius fronts the money. Spies inside the Ministry won't be able to find out about the arrangements that way. He'll recover the costs, don't worry." She smiled, and tried to look as convincing as she could. She wasn't really lying - Sirius would recover the costs, just not from the Ministry, but from his investments.

Fortunately, Harry was on the ball. "Yes. Don't worry about it, he can handle the Ministry. He arranged mine and Hermione's protection detail as well." She sent her boyfriend a grateful smile, then glared at Sirius until he nodded.

"Money's no issue at all, trust me." Sirius stated. He still didn't understand the problem, Hermione realized, but he was going along with Harry and herself. That kind of trust felt good.

"Well, if the government is paying…" Hermione's dad had a glint in his eyes, and Hermione winced when she saw her mum nod slowly. Sirius was really rich, she told herself again. And her parents would be safe. She still had to bite her lips when she heard "World Cruise".

*****​

Keith Yennington had been planning his flight from Britain for a while. Just in case things went wrong, though - if the Dark Lord conquered Britain, then being one of the first who had taken the mark after his return would be a very good thing. But a good mercenary - and Keith prided himself on his skill and experience - always had a way out if things turned against one's employer. One's Lord, he corrected himself. No one sane would risk not showing the Dark Lord the proper respect.

The wizard noticed that he had been rubbing his left forearm again, and scowled, placing his right hand on his hip. Just because he was marked didn't mean he was tied to the man. He was a free, pureblood wand for hire, not a mudblood retainer. The only reason he stayed was the huge reward he was looking forward to if Britain fell.

He glanced at his group of hired wands. Blasius Meister, Brendan Petersen, Hortensius Gimblen, Wulfred Brimharst and Hannah Douglas. They still were not as disciplined and skilled as he'd like, but his group was more than hitwizard bait now. And they were properly motivated too - he was sure more than one of them had almost soiled himself when they realized just who they had been working for all this time. That was a good thing, since tonight's mission was important. They'd show Britain that it was at war now by placing the Dark Mark above the ruins of a mudblood home. They would do well to fear failure.

Keith glanced at the other witch in the room, Bellatrix Lestrange. The Dark Lord's most feared follower. She scared him too. Probably as much if not even more than the Dark Lord himself did. Nominally, she was just coming along to observe how Keith's group performed. But Keith had seen enough crazy wands to know she was just itching to kill or torture someone. He almost hoped that there would be a hitwizard response, just so the crazy dark witch wouldn't attack him or his group.

"Everyone ready?" He tried to ignore the smiling Bellatrix nearby and stared at one after another of the assembled mercenaries - if that term still applied to them, now that they had taken the black robes and white masks of the Dark Lord. Their answering nods varied in eagerness. Wulfred was chomping at his bit, Hannah looked cool and detached. The rest seemed more or less nervous. "Masks up, we're going in. We're following the usual plan: Hannah and Blasius will block the apparition, floo and disillusion spells, then break the wards. Wulfred and Brendan will cover the rear of the target. I and Hortensius will cover the front." They hadn't done this often enough for him to skip the orders, but often enough for them to believe he could. Too confident for their experience, but there was nothing he could do about it - just about every hired wand, and probably every hitwizard too, went through the same stage of overconfidence. Those who survived it would know better.

"Go!"

They appeared on a small hill overlooking their target - a decently-sized house at the edge of a village. Probably a muggle house turned into a mockery of a wizard home by an over-ambitious mudblood. It would serve well to mark the start of the Dark Lord's war.

Another apparition took him to the front of the house. Next to him, Bellatrix appeared. A few seconds later the rest of his group was in position. Sloppy, he thought, frowning. Not that anyone would see his expression - a drawback of wearing a mask. Staring down uppity members of his group would be far more difficult, even though he liked the anonymity it granted him.

Faint screams from inside the house showed the inhabitants had noticed the attack on their wards. Hopefully they'd panic, it would make the mission easier.

"I wish the hitwizards would be here already. Simply watching some recruits butcher mudbloods would be boring." Bellatrix stated sighing.

He didn't take his eyes off the house. He was a professional. But he could talk while watching. "We've blocked the floo, and owls would take too long. How could they call for help?"

"They belong to the Longbottoms. They may be blood traitors, but they are an old family. They'll have ways for their mudbloods to contact them." Bellatrix giggled. "They'd better just call the hitwizards, but Longbottoms are a stubborn and proud bunch. They will arrive."

"Their head is still in Hogwarts," Keith answered, still not looking at the witch, "and there are not many other family members left." According to rumors he had heard, Longbottom was the friend of the Boy-Who-Lived, but that was all he knew about the kid.

"Mhhh." She didn't share his opinion, that much was obvious.

"You want them to appear, so you can show they cannot protect their mudbloods."

"Mhh."

He glanced briefly at her, and she beamed at him. Shivering, he focused on the house again. "How long until the wards are down?" He cut himself off before he added Hannah's name. He needed a way to address individual members of his group without revealing their identities. Maybe code names? That wouldn't work well once they mixed with other groups though.

"A few more minutes." Hannah told him in her usual clipped way.

Before he could say anything else, a series of popping noises alerted him to the arrival of reinforcements. Hitwizards, or Longbottoms.

"Yes!" Bellatrix exclaimed. A second later, part of the street leading to the house blew up and the witch charged off. More explosions soon followed. And screams. Merlin, Keith was glad she was on their side. And to think that before he had met her, he had thought her reputation was overblown...

He shouted to his group: "Break down those wards! We just got company, and our guest is having fun with them!"

"We're doing what we can, we're almost done!" Blasius shouted back. The idiot shouldn't waste his breath on answering, Keith thought.

Then he heard another scream, from behind the house. Had the mudbloods made a break for it? No, there were spells flashing from the woods behind the house. Another force was hitting them in the rear. At least half a dozen wands, judging by the number of spells raining down on Brendan and Wulfred's position in the backyard.

"Hortensius, with me!" he shouted, secrecy be cursed, and started running towards the rear of the house. That was a well-organized pincer attack. He wouldn't have thought the hitwizards were still that sharp after almost a decade and a half of peace. "Set it ablaze as soon as possible!" he shouted as he passed Hannah. They'd need the distraction.

He was just rounding the corner when he heard another scream that turned into a horrible gurgling sound. As he had expected he saw one of his wizards clutching his throat, trying to stem the blood flowing down the front of his robe. An Episkey wouldn't help there and Keith didn't know any better healing spells, so he didn't even try to help the wounded. He hoped it was Wulfred, the man was a trouble maker. The loud cursing from the masked wizard returning fire told him that it was Brendan who was dying though.

Thanks to the lights from spells and burning trees the new Death Eater could make out several wizards moving towards them, casting rapidly at Wulfred. Keith snarled and sent a blasting curse at one of them. He missed, but not by much, and the explosion threw the wizard to the ground. They were running out of time - more reinforcements would have been called for after they had seen Bellatrix. It was time to send in their own reserves. Darting back around the corner of the house to break line of sight, he pulled his left sleeve back and pressed his wand tip to his mark, hissing at the sudden pain that caused him.

He moved ahead again, but had to duck a red curse that blew up a tree in the backyard, and rolled into cover behind a rock. When the stone turned into a bear he blasted it into pieces and jumped to the side before a blasting curse hit his own position. His shield was still hit with fragments of rock and earth. Keith dodged a few more spells falling back towards the front of the house again, Hortensius and Wulfred following him.

A quick look over his shoulder showed the tell-tale flashes and blasts of an intense battle - Bellatrix was still fighting then. But sooner or later someone would get lucky and nail her - if they didn't lose their nerve and broke ranks.

"They are escaping!" Wulfred shouted. Then the fool broke cover and ran forward, to get into position to curse the fleeing mudbloods. The wizard got what he deserved for his stupidity and was cut down by several spells - some of them from above. Their enemies had taken to the air!

No, those were the mudbloods, fleeing on brooms! Merlin, if he had just a few of those crazy French broom riders he had worked with five years ago here! They'd catch those mudbloods in no time. He still cast at them, even though he knew he'd never hit them at that distance.

Then spells flew at the mudbloods from the side - the other Death Eaters had arrived, finally! And on brooms too! One of the mudbloods was hit with a killing curse, and went down. The other tried to save the child who was falling to the ground, and flew straight into another curse. She seemed to be still alive when her child hit the ground, but crashed into her own house right afterwards.

That broke the wizards attacking his group, and they started to retreat, no, to flee. Keith would have given chase, but he had already lost two of his group. The flyers could pursue them. Towards the village, the battle seemed to have ended as well. If Bellatrix had been defeated… "Come on, we need to check what happened there." Hopefully, the broom riders above them would draw fire before his group.

As they cautiously advanced, they saw one figure coming towards them. Wild pitch-black hair blowing in the wind, a wand twirling around her fingers, Bellatrix looked not just unhurt, but untouched. And as delighted as if she had just had sex. Keith shivered again and turned back towards the house.

With the additional help, the wards were broken quickly and the house set on fire. Only one thing left to do.

Keith raised his wand towards the night sky.

"Mordsmordre!"

*****​

At breakfast Hermione Granger felt like shaking her head at the majority of her fellow students. After the news of the Death Eaters' escape had broken, they must have expected an attack by Death Eaters. That was why they were so shaken and shocked, after all! And yet, when today's Daily Prophet had revealed that such an attack had happened, people were still panicking.

The young witch knew she was being unfair. Her own parents were safe, after all, unlike those of the vast majority of the students'. Still, was a little decorum and composure too much to ask for from the proud scions of pureblood families? After all, Hermione had been playing the good loyal retainer for more than four years in public, no matter her personal feelings.

Neville, the one here who actually was affected the most - two of his second or third cousins had died trying to save the murdered muggleborn family - was reading the letter from his grandmother, then studied the newspaper. "Jonathan. William." He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes. "Mum, dad." Oh, yes - Bellatrix and her family had tortured his parents into insanity. Hermione had found that out researching the Death Eaters. And she'd been feeling smug at not freaking out like others… she suddenly felt rather ashamed at her own thoughts.

"You have my condolences for your loss, Neville." Harry stated. Hermione nodded at his side. For once, the young muggleborn witch didn't mind the formality. The conventions that were to be followed in such a situation saved her from coming up with some attempt at consoling Neville on her own. She couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound cheap or hollow, or both.

"Mine too," Ron added, quickly, followed by the rest of their friends. Shakingly, Neville nodded. Ginny put her hand on his arm, and he patted it. No one said anything for a while, and most were avoided looking at Neville, in case he lost his composure. He didn't though.

"Harry."

Hermione glanced at their friend, and saw he was staring straight at her boyfriend.

"I would like to ask you to train with you. This won't be the only attack on my family." Neville's voice trembled slightly, but his expression was firm.

"Of course, Neville," Harry quickly agreed. "You're welcome to join us."

"I want to join as well!" Ginny exclaimed. The redheaded witch glared at her brother, probably daring him to say anything. Ron didn't though, he simply nodded at her and looked at Harry.

"Me too!" Luna spoke up, followed by Aicha nodding when everyone turned to look at the two witches. The third Ravenclaw at the Gryffindor table, Padma Patil, joined in: "I would like to learn how to fight as well."

Harry simply kept nodding. "Of course, you're all welcome." It wasn't as if there was any question of refusing this - with the Dark Lord launching such attacks, such training could save their lives. Like it had Harry's and Hermione's in Bulgaria.

In hindsight, they should have asked their friends to train with them long ago, secrecy be damned. Hermione felt more than a bit guilty about not having proposed such training for all of them. She'd have to make it up to them by providing them with an optimized schedule.

*****​

Staring at the entrance to Knockturn Alley, Kenneth Fenbrick was not quite as happy about having been spared investigating the scene of the attack on the Ayers, the retainers of the Longbottoms, as he had been earlier that morning. He should have known he couldn't be that lucky!

Next to him, his partner, Bertha Limmington, was looking around a bit too innocently. He stared at her, narrowing his eyes, but that had no effect on the auror. As he should have known. "Aren't you going to tell me to get on with our job?"

"I'm waiting for you to complain about it first," the witch answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Kenneth frowned at her. He wasn't that predictable, was he? His partner was the one following regulations slavishly, after all, while he was the maverick bending and sometimes breaking the rules. No matter what, he couldn't complain now. "Let's get on with it," he grumbled instead, and entered the alley, pretending not to notice her brief smile.

Not that there was no cause to complain. The two were to 'find out if anyone among the more prominent mercenaries in Knockturn Alley were involved in the attack on the Ayers', as Bones had told them. Kenneth wondered where the list of names they had came from - there was no clue left at the burned-out house, or so he had heard. They hadn't even found any bodies at the location, neither victims nor attackers, despite the confirmed deaths. No one at the office had said what that meant, but everyone had thought it, of course. Inferi. To think they might have to face the reanimated corpses of their fallen comrades in battle… At least the dead had been hitwizards Kenneth hadn't known, he'd have an easier time facing them than their friends would have.

"The alley looks different, somehow, today," he commented as they walked on. Bertha raised an eyebrow at him, and he rolled his eyes. "I mean compared to my other visits." The eyebrow rose a bit higher, and she smirked a tiny bit. "Official visits, on duty!" he bit out.

"Ah. I wouldn't know - the last time I patrolled there was as a junior auror." Butter wouldn't melt in Bertha's mouth.

"Maybe I should tell Bones that even her best aurors are not sufficiently familiar with key areas of our country," Kenneth shot back. "Regular patrols there for everyone might help with that."

"It would. But think of what kind of assignment you'd get as your next punishment, if patrols there are no longer special." Another grin.

His partner had a point there, damn her! Instead of trying to find a comeback, he pointed at a floating sign depicting a nude witch dancing around a cauldron. "Let's check this dive out first."

The pub was as seedy as he expected, and near empty that time of the day. Less than half a dozen rough looking guests were staring at a nude witch dancing in the corner. If moving around like that while floating above a big cauldron, the green smoke rising from it alternatively hiding and exposing her, could be called 'dancing'. Maybe Kenneth should take steps to keep himself familiar with Knockturn Alley. For professional reasons of course. Witches like that one would see and hear a lot, wouldn't they?

"Stop ogling the witch, Kenneth. We have a job to do." Bertha sounded slightly annoyed, so he did as she said.

As they walked towards the bar, he still had to commented: "She could know something."

"Witches like her will do and say what they think you want to hear. They are not reliable."

"Depends on what I want from them," he added as a parting shot. Despite their exchange, both of them had their wands ready. This was Knockturn Alley, after all.

"We're looking for Gerald Tuckle," Bertha stated when the girl working the bar looked at them with an expression of utter boredom.

"Dunno'im." The girl answered at once. She probably would have said the same if Bertha had asked after the weather, Kenneth thought. No one in Knockturn Alley liked aurors. He had watched the guests there though, and none of them had reacted either, even though all were paying far more attention to them than to the dancer now.

"Do you know Wulfred Brimharst?"

"Dunno'im."

"Keith Yennington."

"Dunno'im."

The girl was still sounding as bored as before, but Kenneth had spotted the dancer almost lose a step at hearing the last name. He looked at Bertha, then back at the dancer, and tried not to smirk at his partner's glare while he flipped a sickle towards the almost nude witch.

*****​

A few hours later, Kenneth wasn't smirking anymore. Visiting Knockturn Alley in auror robes in bright daylight was one thing, visiting the alley when the shadows grew longer, and wearing rather drab robes that didn't tell the various predators that the wearer was part of the Ministry, and could call in reinforcements if needed, was another. He and Bertha were in a rather bad bad part of the alley too - a very narrow side alley, barely wide enough for a wizard to pass. Any fight would be a very quick, very lethal affair without room to dodge. The kind of fights a smart wizard avoided at almost any cost.

But the tracking spell on the coin he had tipped the dancer with was leading them down this alley. She had to be here, unless she had spent it already in the dive she had worked in. It was not too likely, or so he thought, given the prices there, and the kind of goods on sale, and she hadn't ventured into the more legal shops in the alley either.

"This is it," he said, pointing at a door with old scratch marks on it. He didn't want to know what left those kind of scratches on a door that anyone using regularly would keep repaired in this area.

Bertha nodded and ran a few spells over the door while Kenneth kept an eye out for trouble. Fortunately, the residents seemed to be well-versed in ignoring potential trouble.

"It's not trapped," his partner stated after a while.

Kenneth nodded - he trusted her implicitly when it came to those sorts of traps. It didn't mean there was no ambush waiting for them, of course - in the last war, Knockturn Alley had quickly become a lawless zone due to ambushes and traps driving the patrols out. After the Dark Lord's defeat, the alley had been retaken in a bloody, brutal campaign no one liked to talk about, not even hitwizards. There was a reason the people and creatures living in Knockturn Alley hated the Ministry.

He knocked, then waited. After a bit, he heard a tired voice behind the door: "Who's there?"

Procedure demanded that he'd announce they were aurors. That would ruin the point of sneaking in under disguise though, and likely drive her away. That's why he had proposed simply hiring her in disguise for a private dance, but Bertha had vetoed that plan. Instead he said, rather forcefully "Ulrick wants his money!"

"What? I don't owe him anything!" This wasn't Ulrick's turf, last Kenneth had known, so her owing him had been very unlikely.

"Don't play games with us, Harnswood!" Kenneth knocked on the door again. "You don't want us to break down the door!"

"I dont know any Harnswood! My name is Jerenson!" The girl was getting louder.

"Don't lie to us! Open this door or we'll break in!"

The door opened a gap, and Kenneth could see the massive chain that prevent it from opening further. He couldn't see the wards, but he knew they were there as well. A pale face appeared in the gap, peering at him and his partner. "I am telling you, I don't know any Harnswood. You've got the wrong …" she trailed off when Kenneth pushed his hood a bit back, showing his face, and her eyes widened in recognition.

Smiling, Kenneth whispered: "Hello, Miss Jerenson. We've got a few questions about Keith Yennington."

*****​

Having grown up in a family with a tradition of creative and cruel punishments, and views that ranged from despicable to abhorrent, Sirius Black had learned at a young age to keep his true feelings hidden. Or had tried to, at least. He had gotten better too. So he had kept smiling when his godson informed him that his friends would be joining them for training, instead of frowning. Merlin, Harry was too nice for his own good! Bringing the new kids up to speed would slow down his own training. Hermione should have seen that, and said something to the boy.

It couldn't be helped though - even Remus thought it was the right thing to do. At least he could work off some of his frustration during training.

"Alright, kids. Me and Moony here will train you up so you can defend yourself better. Word of warning: We'll not be nice, we will not be gentle, and we will not be fair. Just like Death Eaters. Also, this isn't Defense Against The Dark Arts, or auror training. We won't bother with stunning and capturing enemies. It'll be hard enough to teach you how to fight to survive, capturing the enemy won't be a topic." He looked at the kids lined up in front of him.

Harry and Hermione nodded slightly. They had, unfortunately, practical experience with that. Ron hadn't killed anyone, yet, as far as Sirius knew at least, apart from the basilisk and the troll, but he wouldn't shy away from it either. The rest… Neville looked grim. Sirius had known his parents, and he knew what Bellatrx and the Lestranges had done to them. The young wizard wanted revenge, but did he know what that would cost him? Probably not, but he didn't look like he cared. Ron's little sister looked feisty, but Sirius could not tell, yet, if it was just a facade, or the real thing. She seemed to stick with Neville though, and so was unlikely to quit as long as he didn't give up. Luna smiled at him. Sirius didn't want to know if she thought this was just a joke, didn't understand what she had signed up for, or even found the whole thing amusing. The Arabian witch, Aicha, met his eyes with a serious expression. He'd give her the benefit of the doubt. Patil though… she was shifting around a bit. If anyone quit, then it'd be her, Sirius thought. She didn't say anything though.

"Good. Now, we'll start with dodge training." The trio groaned, and the rest of their friends looked alarmed. Luna perked up though. Ah, she'd learn this was no game! "Line up on this side of the room, so we can start."

Remus wand twitched slightly, activating the traps set in advance. They had to start the kids' first lesson with a bang, after all. Lest the kids get cocky.

*****​

"You could have warned us about Sirius and Professor Lupin!" Ginny was complaining loudly, but Ron Weasley had years of experience in tuning his sister out. Getting hexed built character, as Sirius was fond to say. And Sirius wasn't that much more evil than Fred and George were.

No, Ron was more concerned with his girlfriend's reaction. Padma hadn't taken the training that well. Too many stinging hexes. He slipped an arm around her waist, but she cringed. Probably sore all over - and not in the good way, as his older brothers would say. He met her eyes, then nodded towards an empty classroom. While the rest of their group walked, or limped, on, towards their dorms, the two of them fell behind, and snuck off.

Ron closed the door, and put both an alarm and a privacy spell on it. Padma sat down - wincing again - on a desk in the first row. She looked exhausted, and desperate. Ron wanted to hug her, but he didn't want to feel her stiffen and cringe in his arms. Sirius and Remus had overdone it, in his opinion. Their friends were not used to that kind of treatment. Even Luna had lost some of her enthusiasm after the third time she had been stuck in a trap and pelted with stinging hexes.

"You know, they had to float me back to our dorms after my first lesson. I was too exhausted to walk." It wasn't entirely true, but when Padma stared at him with surprise evident on her face, he knew it would do. No need to mention he had been years younger as well. "Yes. You're holding up fine, comparatively."

"Really?" She looked very vulnerable right then and he noticed she had tears in her eyes.

"Yes." He put his hand on her shoulder, gently. "Everyone has been suffering the same. Harry, Hermione and me just are a bit more used to it. But we didn't start out any better." Hermione had been planning to take revenge on the two older wizards right after the first lesson, of course. But that was his best friend. They really should get together, their teachers seemed in need of another 'lesson', Ron thought.

"It was horrible. I thought it would be like Defense class, maybe with more duels and practice. Professor Lupin is usually so gentle… and then they hexed me from all sides! I can barely sit!" Padma exclaimed.

Ron winced at the memories that brought up. He saw some tears run down down his girlfriends' cheek, and brushed them away. "Yes, they did. It won't always be like that, but they do focus on dodging and shielding a lot."

Padma cringed, and he bit his lip. "But it helps a lot. You'll be practically guaranteed to ace your Defense O.W.L. too."

"Really?" She perked up.

Of course, that would motivate a Ravenclaw. Never mind that Death Eaters were out there, killing people. Ron buried the unkind thoughts. The witch was exhausted, and in pain. Then he remembered. "Oh… curse me, I almost forgot!" He dug into an enchanted pocket of his robe, and pulled out a small bottle. "That'll help with the bruises. Just smear the ointment on every spot that hurts." He almost offered to help her with that, but controlled himself.

"Thank you." Padma whispered. Judging by her sudden blush, she was thinking similar thoughts. Or that might just be wishful thinking on his part. He couldn't ask her, of course, not when she was exhausted and close to crying. "But don't you need it for yourself too?"

Ron snorted and shook his head. "We've got a dozen of those bottles."

His girlfriend cringed again, and he winced. Sighing, he put both his hands on her shoulders. "It'll get better, trust me. It hurts, it's exhausting, but it may save your life one day." When she nodded, slowly, he added: "And you'll be able to hex your sister whenever you get into a fight."

Padma giggled at that, and Ron smiled, then placed a kiss on her forehead, followed by a kiss on her lips. Followed by a longer kiss. And another before he pulled back and helped her to her feet. If they were in their sixth year… but they weren't.

The Gryffindor still had a big smile on his face when he returned to his dorm.

*****​

"Hello, Horace. Please have a seat." Albus Dumbledore waved at the comfortable armchair he had conjured for the professor. Despite his friendly tone, the Potions Master cringed a bit.

"Thank you, Albus." Horace smiled, but it wasn't a genuine smile. He was nervous - and with some cause, in Albus's opinion.

"How has your house taken the recent news?" Albus asked.

The other wizard took a deep breath before answering. "The reaction to the Dark Lord's return varies. Some are very afraid, others ... less so."

Albus nodded. "And some welcomed it, am I right?"

Reluctantly, the head of House Slytherin nodded. "They do not admit it, but many of my students are not as cunning or subtle as they think they are. Yes, a couple are pleased to see the Dark Lord return. They do not know what this means though."

Albus didn't think every student was that naive. "Do you expect trouble from those students?" His voice was mild, but Horace knew him well, he wouldn't be fooled.

"No. None of them seem to be involved in anything serious. They are just parroting their relatives' views." Horace seemed briefly distracted by Fawkes's attempt to steal a lemon drop.

"Even young Malfoy?" Albus's expression didn't change.

"He's a braggart, but he hasn't done anything apart from dueling a number of students. I am not sure if he blames the Dark Lord for his father's death or not." The Potions Master wasn't smiling at all now.

"Please find out. As the new head of the Malfoy Family, and young and inexperienced, he would be a prime choice for a recruiting attempt by Tom." Albus casually cast a shield over his bowl, then smiled at the phoenix glaring at him.

"And if he is, what will you do?" Horace looked at him, challengingly.

"I will keep the students safe." Albus didn't have to explain much to Horace - the man knew him quite well.

"Even if he hasn't done anything?" His old colleague sounded as if he wanted to add something else, but didn't dare to.

"I would be a poor Headmaster if I did not deal with threats to my students before they cause victims. I'd rather not follow the example of my predecessor." Albus stared at him until the other professor looked away.

"You've changed." The corpulent wizard shook his head.

"I have learned from my mistakes. Did you know that Tom murdered a student at Hogwarts while he was but 16 years old?" Albus dropped the shield and grabbed a lemon drop. Fawkes used the opportunity and stole one himself, trilling as he flew back to his perch.

"Myrtle Warren. So it was him." Horace sighed.

"Yes. And he was proud of it, as I found out when I discovered just what he had created decades ago." That diary had netted him quite a bit of information, before he had destroyed it. Young Tom had been quite prone to boasting.

"How did you… he didn't!" Horace stared at him.

"He did. Quite a few of them, I expect." Albus nodded. Horace understood.

"That's how he came back! But … more than one? " The Potions Master shook his head. "Merlin, Albus! How can he be beaten?"

Albus made sure to sound far more confident than he actually was when he answered: "I beat Grindelwald without killing him."

Horace nodded, a bit hesitantly. "Of course. Still… even suicide is a problem under those circumstances."

"It will not be easy. But neither was Grindelwald." Of course the Headmaster had been far younger, back then. He hadn't had his wand, though. "But do not worry about that. Focus on teaching our students, and on making sure that history will not repeat itself."

"Of course, Albus." If not for his charmed robes, Horace would be sweating, Albus was sure of that. "I'll make sure the more… tempted… students won't make trouble."

Albus smiled widely at the professor. "Thank you, Horace. In those trying times, a school should be a safe haven, where children can relax and learn in peace."

Once the other wizard had left his room, Albus chuckled. He didn't expect any serious trouble - there hadn't been any such at Hogwarts during the last war - but it was better to make sure Horace was on the ball. Of course, if he was wrong… if any accident had to happen, it'd probably take place away from Hogwarts. No need to ruin his record for doing his duty.

*****​

Keith Yennington knelt before the Dark Lord Voldemort. The man whose mark he wore, burned into his skin, looked at him with an unreadable expression, and Keith had to fight not to show how nervous he was. He was not sure just how receptive the Dark Lord would be to his proposals.

"You have asked for an audience, Keith. You've been granted one." Voldemort sounded slightly bored, but that could be just an act.

He licked his lips before he spoke. "Yes, Master. During my last task for you, I've noticed a possible weakness of our forces."

"Ah, yes. You've lost two men, or so Bellatrix told me. Was that related to that 'weakness'?"

"I would not say so, Master. They fell to a surprise pincer attack. I was talking about communication during battle. While the robes and masks hide our identities from our enemies, they also hide them from ourselves. In the chaos of a battle, this might lead to confusion."

"I see. I guess it would be too much to expect from my new Death Eaters to blindly trust each other and work together." The Dark Lord mused.

"Not without more experience, Master. I was thinking of enchanting the masks, to show the wearer who his allies are. Maybe add a secure way to call to each other as well." Keith explained, maybe a bit more quickly than he usually would.

"An interesting idea. Though you should know that hiding our identities from each other is intended. It will make it harder for traitors and spies to hurt us. I am sure a wizard of your skills will find ways to deal with this 'problem' without removing this protection." Voldemort kept smiling, but his eyes bore into Keith's.

"Of course Master. Code names should suffice, and maybe a symbol on the robes to identify us. So we will know who to warn if we see them in danger." It wouldn't work that well - Keith knew not everyone would be able to, or want to, learn code names. Mixing them up regularly would be utterly impractical, so their enemies would start to gather information on individuals, even though they wouldn't be able to find out their identity.

"You didn't question the existence of traitors and spies hidden in our rank."

"No, Master, I did not. I trust your knowledge," Keith answered, growing more nervous. Spies and traitors was a dangerous subject under the best of circumstances. Doubly so when a Dark Lord was talking about it.

"Admirable. And yet… did you know that aurors have been asking questions about certain people? People like Gerald Tuckle, Wulfred Brimharst and … Keith Yennington." Voldemort grinned cruelly at him while Keith stiffened. If the Ministry knew he was a follower of the Dark Lord… no, they couldn't know, or they'd have revealed his name. Still, he would have to take this into account when planning his escape.

"I didn't know, Master." He should have known… his contacts in Knockturn Alley should have warned him.

"Really? Two men, including yourself, from your group, sought by the aurors. Quite the predicament, don't you think?" The Dark Lord smiled at him, and Keith shivered.

"They do not know, they only suspect. Since Wulfred died, I don't think he was a spy, Master." Keith thought frantically. He shouldn't have to point out that if he himself was a spy, the aurors wouldn't be looking for him. Unless the Dark Lord assumed he was running a double bluff. But that would risk getting purged just in case…

"I would not be so sure. Accidents do happen." Voldemort rose from his throne and Keith trembled. "Look into my eyes, Keith."

The Death Eater didn't even think of disobeying and raised his head to meet his Master's eyes.

"Legilimens!"

Keith bit his lip until it bled to avoid crying out when the Dark Lord invaded his mind. After minutes of agony, the mental probe was withdrawn, and Keith collapsed, moaning.

"Find this spy for me, Keith." Voldemort sat down on his throne again.

The Dark Mark on Keith's arm suddenly seemed to burn, and Keith hissed in the sudden pain, writhing on the floor.

"I don't begrudge you your plans to flee - any smart mercenary would prepare like you did. It's in the nature of such people. But you are no longer a mercenary. And you should have realized by now that no matter how far you flee, no matter where you go, you cannot hide from me, nor escape from my wrath. Go now, and find me the spy who revealed your name."

"Yes, Master!" Keith didn't know how he managed to stand up, bow, and stagger out of the room. Once the door closed behind him, he sank down on his knees. His arms till felt like it was burning, and he gripped it tightly in a futile effort to make it stop hurting. He had suffered because of a filthy spy. Keith would make sure that traitor would suffer ten times as much as he had just now!

*****​

Harry Potter had readied his wand as soon as he had spotted Greengrass and Davis walking towards him in the Great Hall. While it was unlikely Voldemort had any agents at Hogwarts, the young wizard would be a fool not to be prepared. Sirius and Remus had drilled that into him. Next to him, Hermione had her wand out as well, ready to hex the two Slytherin witches, and Ron was shifting a bit to the side so he could cover their backs better, in case the two were a distraction.

"Good evening, Mister Potter." Greengrass beamed at him, as if they were best friends. Harry tensed and stood up.

"Good evening, Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis." He nodded at the blonde and the brunette, "How can I help you?" His tone was just barely polite, and all but stated that he would like them to leave - Greengrass had insulted Hermione a bit too often in the past. The blonde didn't seem to notice, but Davis smirked.

Instead, Greengrass beamed at him. "I am glad you asked!" she exclaimed. Davis's smirk grew more pronounced, and Harry had the feeling he had just made a mistake when the blonde continued. "As you know, You-Know-Who has returned. He has started his attacks on wizards and witches again, like in the last war!" Greengrass dramatically paused and took a deep breath that did interesting things to her ample chest. "It's terrifying everyone!" Another deep breath. Harry forced himself to look at her face before Hermione noticed. "Our teachers are working hard, but they have to deal with hundreds of students. With you having won the Triwizard Tournament, as a Fourth Year even, and despite sabotage attempts even, and with your retainer having made such a good showing in the competitions, and with you having survived an armed assault on your life in Romania…"

"Bulgaria" Davis corrected her friend.

"Yes, Bulgaria. Err…" she blinked for a moment, looking confused, then smiled again. "What I want to say is that I would like to ask you to teach me how to defend myself. And Tracey too. Please! We need your help!"

Harry stared at her. He was sure his friends were staring too. The young wizard wished he had cast a privacy spell - their whole table was listening in. He could almost feel Hermione's eyes on him. He knew she'd hate this, but to send them away would be far too rude. They hadn't insulted him, after all.

Smiling weakly, he answered: "I understand your predicament, but I think we should discuss the matter in private. Shall we meet this evening, say at eight, in the movie room?"

Greengrass beamed at him again, and nodded happily. "Thank you! We'll be there!" Both witches bowed and returned to their table.

Harry sat back down and sighed. He was about to address Hermione, to discuss how best to handle this, when he noticed she, and his friends, were watching their table. When Lavender and Parvati stood up and started to walk towards him, Harry knew he had a bigger problem than he had thought.


Chapter 25: Lessons

 

[Prince Charon]

Ah, so the Defence Association-equivalent in this setting might grow as large as in canon. I had wondered.

 

[Ack]

So what are they up to? They're far too chipper for actually wanting to be taught.

 

[macdjord]

Huh. I wonder if that was a particularly clever way of sabotaging the training? Make it public, and it turns into just another study group instead of intensive training for those who need it most.

 

[warlock7]

I think it was a 'clever way' of getting close to the boy. and part of a plan to gain his interest

 

[Starfox5]

Ah, so the Defence Association-equivalent in this setting might grow as large as in canon. I had wondered.

Click to shrink...

That will be decided next chapter. Hermone's not too thrilled, for sure, and not just because those are pureblood girls after Harry. It'll probably focus less on DADA material, and more on "This is how you get the hell away when Death Eaters attack", if only to avoid the risk of teaching future Death Eater recruits how to kill. Hermione will have a bit of a trickier time to avoid spies and traitors though - no easily altered magical contract in this story, so she'd have to create a custom curse instead. And that would both leave a bad impression with others if it came to light, and could be dealt with by curse-breakers.

So what are they up to? They're far too chipper for actually wanting to be taught.

Click to shrink...

Those girls would love to get personally taught by Harry. All sorts of things. If they had any idea about muggle Martial Arts, they would ask to learn wrestling from him too.

Huh. I wonder if that was a particularly clever way of sabotaging the training? Make it public, and it turns into just another study group instead of intensive training for those who need it most.

Click to shrink...

For that to happen they'd have to know about the special training, or expect such to be going on or at least being planned. For such a plan to actually work Harry and co. would have to replace their own special training with this instead of simply opening another weekly or so session for everyone else. That's rather unlikely. Even in canon, the DA sessions were not that frequent.

I think it was a 'clever way' of getting close to the boy. and part of a plan to gain his interest

Click to shrink...

If Daphne's a dumb blonde, then that was her idea of a 'clever plan' indeed. Tracey is likely to take a "if Daphne succeeds, it means I am close but not too close to the Boy-Who-Lived. If not I still get some training I might need in the future. In any case, it should be amusing" view.

 

[Starfox5]

Chapter 25: Lessons

After careful consideration, Hermione Granger had come to the conclusion that Britain, and especially Hogwarts, could have done with more rather than less panic. Her life, and Harry's, would have been far less complicated if a number of families had been fleeing Britain in response to the attack on the Ayers, and had taken their daughters currently studying at Hogwarts with them. The Greengrass, Davis, Brown and Patil families, to be precise. Their daughters had started this problem she and Harry had to deal with now.

"How many does that make?" Harry asked, staring at Su Li's back as the Ravenclaw returned to her seat in the Great Hall to continue her dinner.

"About a dozen who asked you for training. I assume they'll bring friends with them, for moral support as much as out of interest." The young muggleborn witch frowned - she was rather certain that all of them wanted a different kind of personal, special training from Harry than the self-defense they asked for. "A number of boys will attend as well, out of curiosity, or to console those poor witches who find their hopes of ensnaring the Boy-Who-Lived dashed." And they'd better find such hopes dashed, if Harry knew what was good for him!

"I wish we could simply tell them to go away!" Harry stated, not for the first time.

Hermione checked if their privacy spell was still holding. It was. Then she frowned at him.

Her boyfriend sighed. "I know, I know. I'd completely ruin my reputation if I were to refuse a peer asking in good faith for help against my own enemies. All our hard work and suffering would have been for naught." There was the slightest hint of doubt there. "Even if we might have been a bit too successful in building up the reputation of the Boy-Who-Lived, at least in the eyes of the female students."

Hermione privately thought that as long as those witches didn't succeed, she would be fine with them pining for Harry while she had his love. "Well, you'd not completely ruin your reputation. But in the current situation, it would not help the fight against Voldemort. Too easy to paint you as cowardly and selfish, no matter how wrong and stupid that would look to anyone with a minimum of intelligence." She sighed and patted his thigh under the table. "I do not like it either. But we have to keep the bigger picture in mind. And, as much as I hate to admit it, it does take considerable courage to ask you for special training when Voldemort's return has been confirmed." Considerable courage, considerable stupidity, or considerable lust. Or the desire to spy on or sabotage them.

Harry took her hand, still under the table. One of those days, when she had the time, and didn't have to research the Dark Mark and detection spells, she really should create a spell that allowed them to hide holding hands. Maybe kissing too. Maybe even… she blushed slightly as she stopped that particular train of thought. She really shouldn't listen when Sirius started to tell tales of his adventures at Hogwarts. Especially not those involving his sixth year, James's invisibility cloak - Harry's now - and an adventurous witch from Ravenclaw. Besides, the cloak wouldn't be able to cover them while they were doing that, and Sirius was a bit taller than Harry, so it was most certainly a made-up tale anyway.

"I'll have to look into magical contracts and curses." She sighed. More delays.

"Didn't we learn that there was no such thing as a 'magical contract', just variants of curses with a condition?" Harry asked, a bit too innocently.

She would have glared at him if they hadn't been in the Great Hall, and under the scrutiny of a dozen hopeful but delusional witches. "You know what I mean. 'Let's make a magical contract' is more socially acceptable than 'let me put a curse on you that won't take effect until a condition is met'. And it doesn't tell the dim-witted ones that a good curse-breaker will usually be able to remove it." She was quite sure that a number of wizards had fallen victim to such schemes in the past.

"Are you that worried about spies?" Harry asked, growing serious.

"Spies. Saboteurs. Assassins. A lot can happen in defense training." Hermione answered. There was a reason Remus - Professor Lupin - was keeping a very close eye on things, wand ready, whenever Harry was sparring during class.

Her boyfriend nodded. "What about compulsion charms? Anyone could be turned into an unwitting tool for Voldemort." Not to mention the Imperius.

"A properly crafted curse would reveal those as well," the young witch stated. "And if the effect is subtle enough, they wouldn't even notice it."

Harry smirked. "Why do I think that you're not planning to tell anyone of our new training partners about that curse?"

Hermione smirked back. "Technically, if the effect is not harmful, it's not considered a curse. Legally at least. I'll hand out schedules and notes to everyone, charmed to be updated automatically." That would mask her curse, and would also serve to test her latest variant of the Protean Charm.

"Or a badge, or maybe a tag. Not everyone carries a schedule and notes to every lesson." Harry proposed.

Hermione nodded, a bit grudgingly. It would work better - the gossip twins certainly were unlikely to focus on actual defense training when there were attractive wizards to impress. "They should though, it would help their grades."

"How long will you need to craft the curse?"

"A few days at least. A lot of what I studied for tracking charms and detection spells will apply." And her shielded calculator would take care of the equations. Testing though would still take time - magic wasn't an exact science, even if parts of it came close. Any new spell, or newly discovered spell, if Fay was right, was a good deal of guesswork, until the formulas were worked out.

"I'll call Sirius after dinner then, to inform him and get his opinion, then we'll hold the meeting, with the first lesson scheduled no sooner than next week?" Harry flicked his wand and a floating cup dipped, covering his meat with just the right amount of sauce.

Hermione nodded. She remembered drowning her plate in sauce in her first week. She had been terribly embarrassed, to the amusement of the other students, who knew that true muggleborns didn't learn how to eat properly at a magical table until they reached Hogwarts. Only Harry hadn't laughed, or so she remembered it.

The young muggleborn witch wondered, briefly, if that memory would be proven wrong should she check it in the Headmaster's pensieve. Were such memories subjective, and therefore untrustworthy, or objective? Given that one could walk around in them, and see things like the back of a chair the one who donated the memory had never caught a glimpse of, it was not out of the question that those were more akin to magical recordings than actual memories. If only she had more time to research this! "You can ask me for anything, but not time!" she muttered.

Harry didn't comment. Not anymore. He squeezed her thigh again though, and smiled encouragingly.

Hermione smiled back. So many witches wanted him, and he was hers. Hers alone.

*****​

Sirius Black waited until the door had closed behind Harry, then turned to Remus, in whose quarters at Hogwarts he had met the two students. The wide smile he had worn when he had listened to the young wizard explaining his latest predicament had vanished already.

His old friend raised an eyebrow at him. "I'd have thought you'd be proud for Harry to have such success with the witches. Do you worry that much about spies?"

Sirius shook his head, both at the question, and at his friend's expectations. "No. Between the Headmaster, and that curse Hermione is planning, that should be under control." He sighed. "I'm worried about Hermione."

The werewolf frowned. "What's wrong with her?"

Sirius was aware that Remus wasn't as close to the young couple as Sirius was. He didn't know. "Remember Lily in our 6th year?" He couldn't help smiling. The dementors had dulled his memories of happier times, but thanks to Padfoot, he had managed to preserve them, to a point.

Remus grinned. "I doubt anyone in our year could forget 'Flower Power'."

"Hermione isn't Lily," Sirius explained. "They're both true muggleborns, they're both the brightest witches of their generation, and they're both in love with the head of the Potter family. But that's where the similarities end."

"Both have a temper too." the DADA professor added. "As you found out often enough."

"Ok, that too. But they were raised in different times. And Lily didn't fall in love with James until halfway into their sixth year, after he had pretty much chased her skirt for years." Sirius had had to listen to his best friends' laments about his unrequited love very often during those years. The dementors hadn't touched those memories much.

Remus looked confused. And he was supposed to be the smart one of their group! Well, Sirius knew Remus never understood witches much. "Lily knew for years that James loved her. He did not inherit her Patron Oath until after they had become a couple already, so she never had to bother with the complications that added." Much. "And she was the hottest girl in our year."

"She said she felt like an 'ugly duckling' when she came to Hogwarts." Remus interjected.

"I know that. What exactly does that mean, anyway?" Sirius knew the gist of it, but not where it was from.

"It's from a muggle fairy tale, as far as I know." Remus answered. "I don't know more than that."

"Ugh. " Sirius shuddered. Fairy tales usually involved the nastiest curses one could think of. The stuff of nightmares. "Anyway. Harry became Hermione's Patron before they hit puberty. They've been tied together by magic and circumstances ever since, and it took them years, even with my help…" Sirius patiently waited until Remus stopped coughing, using the time to silently stick his friend's soles to the floor, before continuing: "... to admit their feelings were genuine and not a side-effect of their oath." He sighed again. "Further, while Hermione's pretty, she's not the hottest girl of her year. Harry of course disagrees with that, but she knows there are more attractive girls around. Pureblood girls. Who now seem to be making moves on him."

"None of them can hold a candle to her skill at magic. That girl is a genius!" Remus stated.

"Harry was raised by muggles, Remus. He just acts the pureblood Patron." And muggles, Sirius knew, only cared about a girl's looks. Not that looks were unimportant for wizards - another sign Remus didn't really understand witches.

"He's been in the Wizarding World for years by now. It's not an act anymore." Remus countered.

"Maybe not completely. But the two of them don't think or feel like they act. But the witches won't know that." And they couldn't tell their classmates either, not without causing a scandal. Like James's decision to marry Lily in the muggle world. The head of a family, entering into concubinage with a muggleborn witch, without a pureblood heir around? Perish the thought! The views had changed some, since then, but not that much.

"Merlin! You think we'll have another Broombaker incident?" Remus looked worried now, at last.

"They never found out who cast those curses." Sirius stated, old reflexes kicking in. But it was telling that afterwards, no witch had bothered James anymore. Even after Broombaker had returned from St. Mungo's. "I don't think Hermione will go that far. She knows how much that would cost Harry."

"I hope you're right." His friend shook his head. "So, what do we do?"

"Not much more than we told Harry. You'll simply have to keep an eye on those training and study sessions. And on Hermione." Sirius added.

"Great. As if I had time to spare, with the Dark Lord starting his war." Remus sighed. Sirius knew it wasn't just the approaching full moon that had him so stressed. "How're your girlfriends handling that, by the way?"

"Chantal and Eugénie have gone back to France, to ask the d'Aigle family for help." Sirius smiled. On one hand, he didn't want his friends to risk their lives for a country they were not part of, and where they were not even considered purebloods. On the other hand, friends helped friends. And the four veela were certainly very good friends of his. Maybe more, especially Valérie. He hadn't been bothered by 'gold-digging witches', as Hermione had called them, since he had started going out with his guests.

Remus shook his head. "Don't drool, mutt!" he chided jokingly.

Sirius was tempted to change and drool as Padfoot, but he didn't. Too close to the full moon for such a gesture. Instead he took the mature option of sticking his tongue out at his friend. "Laure and Valérie are helping to prepare our home in case we need to shelter people."

If Remus had caught his slip about his home, he didn't comment. "Is there anyone you would need to shelter, apart from the Black-Tonks family?" The Blacks had no muggleborn retainers, after all, nor were many relatives left, and Nymphadora's family already had their permanent guest rooms at Grimmauld Place.

"Dumbledore mentioned that some Patrons might be unwilling, or unable, to offer sufficient protection to their retainers." Sirius didn't hide the contempt in his voice. To fail at the most important duty for a head of family… he didn't agree with much of what his parents had believed in, but there were parts of the Old Ways that one simply didn't neglect or ignore if one had one shred of honor left.

"There shouldn't been too many of those. It's not even been 15 years since the last war ended, after all." Remus said.

"Too many thought Voldemort was gone for good. It costs gold to keep the strongest wards up. Gold many families spent on other things. And now the warders are overworked, and raising their prices." The Blacks had never contracted their protection out. But then, their wards were ancient, and the kind of rituals that had laid their foundations couldn't be done anymore. Not without risking Azkaban. It was one thing to simply maintain them, as disgusting as that could be at times. It was another to erect such wards from the ground. Everyone knew what kind of sacrifices that took, and the DMLE wouldn't overlook that.

"So, like in the last war, people will flock to the Old Families," Remus sighed. "To those that are left." Many emancipated children would have to crawl back to their parents. The influence and power of those heads would grow.

"And to those who are willing to shelter others, even if it means risking Voldemort's wrath." Sirius added. The Dark Lord had destroyed a number of such families, together with their mansions and houses, in the last war. Not everyone was as stubborn and set in the Old Ways as the Longbottoms. Many would want to sit out the war.

"Hopefully, this time they'll manage to get a working alert system set up." Remus smiled cynically. "And one that doesn't simply feed hitwizards into ambushes."

Sirius scoffed. "Dumbledore has plans to set up secure communications for the Order members. He hopes that will cover the most likely targets."

"Last time the Death Eaters went for the easy targets. They didn't want to risk facing Dumbledore, not without the Dark Lord at their side."

"We can't protect everyone. We can just try to do our best, and hope it's enough." When it came down to it, Sirius would protect Harry before anyone else. And Hermione, since Harry would protect her before anyone else. And the animagus wouldn't even have to feel guilty about it, since Harry was crucial for the war against Voldemort.

He still felt guilty and selfish, though.

*****​

"I may have underestimated the numbers a bit."

"Just a bit?" Harry Potter shared a look with his girlfriend until she coughed and looked away. He had expected about 10 to 20 students. There were about double that number, easily. "We'd best move to the Movie Night Room."

Hermione Granger nodded, more than a bit annoyed - and he knew it wasn't just because she had to relocate the meeting and adjust her plans. No, it was because witches were a distinct majority among the students gathered outside.

In a way - and he wouldn't ever admit that to his girlfriend - it was very flattering. To see so many pretty girls who were… impressed … enough in him to brave Voldemort's ire. To see them all break out in smiles when he stepped in front of them. He didn't have to fake his own smile. "Hello everyone. We're a bit more than we expected, so we'll be moving to the Movie Night Room." He made some shooing motions, and the girls laughed and started to walk.

It was enough to really boost a wizard's ego. And yet he knew that they were more interested in his fame and fortune than himself. Most of them, at least. Otherwise, why wouldn't they have tried to become his friend before? On the other hand, why wouldn't they have waited until now? Witches were confusing.

Hermione thought it was all the fault of Greengrass. Her asking Harry had prompted a number of witches who had been planning to wait until the Year of Exploration before approaching Harry to follow her example. At least that was his girlfriend's theory. He wasn't sure if she was correct - she was a genius at magic, but like himself, she was not the best expert for the social dynamics of Hogwarts students. They got by, of course, and more - but they hadn't really touched upon their upcoming sixth year. A rather glaring oversight, he had to admit now.

By then they had arrived at the bigger room, and Harry and Hermione pushed through the crowd, followed by Ron and the rest of their friends, to unlock the door. Hermione was transfiguring the area in front of the screen into a make-shift stage as soon as she had stepped inside. Ron hung back at the door, as if it was a Movie Night, with Neville moving to the other corner, to keep an eye on the students as they sat down. Luna had started to send out floating trays with snacks and drinks before anyone had managed to stop her. Hopefully the house-elves would not have followed her directions to the letter this time - some of her food selections were an acquired taste.

He stepped on stage and addressed the crowd: "Hello everyone. I am glad there's this much interest in learning how to defend yourself. I've spoken with Professor Lupin, and we'll hold weekly training sessions under his supervision, with a focus on self-defense." That got the students whispering. "You'll be learning how to survive an attack, you won't be learning how to duel, or how to pass a DADA test. It'll be hard, it'll be tiring, but it might save your life one day." He looked at them, trying to make them understand this wouldn't be an occasion to meet and hit on people. People like himself.

"Will you be instructing us as well?" Lavender Brown spoke up. She didn't seem to have gotten his message.

"Yes, me and a number of others will serve as instructors," Harry answered. "We'll be focusing on the most advanced students." Hermione had proposed that system, to counter some girls acting dumber than they were to monopolize Harry's attention. A number of the girls looked crestfallen. Greengrass though was staring at him with an almost hungry look. She wasn't the only one.

He glanced towards Hermione, standing to the side of the stage. She was smiling, but he knew she was angry, and frustrated. And with good cause. The young wizard wished more than anything that he could simply tell them all, show them all, that he was in love with Hermione, and was not looking for a pureblood wife, nor any lover. And yet he couldn't. Not without damaging his own standing and ruining his and Hermione's efforts, and all but directly helping Voldemort's plans.

So he kept smiling, kept answering questions politely, and even laughed, if a bit forced, at a few of the racier remarks.

He had never hated the social conventions restricting his and Hermione's lives as much as then and there.

*****​

"Reducto!"

Another part of the wall Gilderoy Lockhart was hiding behind exploded in a deadly shower of sharp splinters and dust. His robe's enchantments - the best his gold could buy - saved his life, again. Best purchase he ever made. And if he died here, it would be one of the last purchases he ever made.

He started crawling on all fours towards the entrance to his cellar, flattening himself to the marble floor when a series of piercing hexes blew through the wall right above him. The blonde wizard rolled on his back and sent a few unaimed stunners back through the biggest hole, hoping they'd be mistaken for something more lethal, then summoned the armoire at the back wall towards him. The massive wooden furniture should be good to block another spell or two. He had just reached the trapdoor when the armoire turned into a bear - a polar bear, he noted, adult-sized, male. Just his luck to be attacked by a Death Eater that actually used transfiguration in battle, and not just the usual dark curses!

Gilderoy sent a banishing spell at the animal, but unlike that time when Bastian had done it in Cambodia, the massive animal was not thrown into the enemy's ranks, but just pushed a few metres back instead. It still was enough to allow him to open the trapdoor and dive inside before the bear's claws could rend him.

He wasn't quick enough to cushion his fall though, and his slide down the steep stairs was painful and teeth-rattling. He reached the basement with a fast growing set of bruises. Above and behind him, the beast tried to follow, but the entrance was too narrow for it to fit in. Wincing at what felt like a cracked rib, the famous author placed his hand on the steel door. "Open, Sesame!"

As the massive door started to slowly open, he turned around and sent a piercing curse at the bear. He managed to hit its head, but failed to kill it. Instead he had managed to enrage it further. Bleeding from a ruined eye, the animal - a conjured animal, he reminded himself - redoubled its efforts to reach him, and got stuck. Sighing in relief, he pressed himself through the gap as soon as it was wide enough, hissing when his bruised or cracked ribs hit the metal, and slapped his hand on the door again. "Close, Sesame!"

Once the vault was locked again, he sank to his knees, winded. He was safe, for the moment. The vault was designed to keep some of the nastiest specimens of the Magical World in. It would keep the Death Eaters out, at least for a bit. While he pulled out a healing potion from his enchanted pocket, Gilderoy couldn't help but thinking how he'd describe the scene in his next book, provided he'd survive this night.

I was sitting at my desk, going over my notes for my latest book, when my wards alerted me of an attempt to break into my house. I tried to inform the DMLE at once, but the floo didn't ignite properly. A quick attempt to apparate to safety suffered a similar lack of success. This wasn't a break-in or robbery, this was an attack on me. And there was only one group who'd use such tactics at the time - the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord must have taken my part in killing Slytherin's Monster more personally than I had expected!

I knew my wards wouldn't hold for long against the Dark Lord's worst, and I knew I would not be able to stand up to a pack of those vile criminals by myself, but as I've mentioned before, proper preparing and planning can compensate for a lot. A flick of my wand gathered my notes, and I was in the hallway before the wards fell. The assassins gathered around my home had come prepared as well though, and as soon as the wards broke down, so did the front walls of my house. Only my quick thinking and running saved me, as I dove for cover in my kitchen.

He sighed with relief as the potion took effect, and he felt his pain lessen as bruises faded and ribs knitted themselves together. Or were simply rendered numb. He'd have to add some witty quips to the scene, of course. The stuff no one ever said in a battle, but people loved to read. Then the whole room shook, slightly, as the door rang from the impact of… something. Spell? Magic battering ram? It didn't matter, he didn't have much time.

Gilderoy got up, wincing when his side flared with pain again. The potion couldn't work wonders, after all. Taking a few deep and careful breaths, he walked over to the cabinet in the corner. It was made from dark wood and beautifully decorated with gold inlays, looking even better after his repair spells than when he had found it in a curioso shop in Constantinople's Magic Quarter. The writing on it declared to everyone able to read the language that it was a Vanishing Cabinet. He could only hope there would be a wizard among the Death Eaters invading his home who knew Turkish, or his ruse would fail.

The author opened and closed the door of the cabinet, then walked towards a seven feet tall metal contraption, roughly shaped like a human. It was hollow, and its insides were lined with gleaming spikes - a muggle torture device called an 'iron maiden'. He had bought that one from a muggle entertainer, back when he had been toying with the idea of writing a book about those muggle "stage magicians". His publisher had persuaded him to drop the project - apparently no one was interested in muggles trying to ape magic. Maybe they'd be, if that device saved his life. It had served to impress a few lady friends, at least.

He stepped inside, aimed his wand at the door, closed his eyes and summoned the spiked door, slamming it closed. He didn't open his eyes or started to breathe again until the slight vertigo from the rotating platform he was standing on was gone. Muggles were crazy, trusting a mechanism to to retract the spikes when the door was closed, instead of magic!

The secret room Gilderoy was in was formed by a second wall that partitioned off part of the vault. It too shook when the Death Eaters' spells struck the door again. Dust came loose and fell down from the ceiling, but his hairstyling charms and his robe's enchantments repelled it, leaving him untouched. Quality work. Anyone who mocked such charms as frivolous had never walked through a forest rife with Atlantean Ticks! Barely bigger than a grain of sand, in bigger numbers their venomous touch could render grown men delirious to the point of not noticing how they bled out from a thousand pinpricks. If he had a box of those handy, those assassins would not know what hit or bit them!

There I was, hidden by a flimsy muggle wall, hoping they'd break through the vault door without causing such damage to the vault itself to expose my hiding place. Hoping that they'd recognize the vanishing cabinet, and assume I had fled through it. Hoping they'd ignore the apparent muggle torture device as beneath them, and leave without setting fiendfyre to the vault. I had been in more dangerous situations, but not that many, and never alone. At least this time I had no children with me to protect, and should my plan fail, it would only be my life that would be forfeited.

Gilderoy's mental writing - 'Dancing with Death Eaters' seemed like a good title - was interrupted by the sound of the vault door cracking and splitting, followed by shouted curses. If a Confringo hit the weak wall… or the iron maiden… but none did. He could barely make out the voices of the attackers as they entered.

"Where is he? Invisible?" he heard a wizard with a raspy voice ask.

"There are no disillusionment spells or cloaks within the room." That sounded like quite the professional, cool and quick thinking. Probably the one using transfiguration.

"Perhaps in here… Merlin, look at that!" The raspy voice ended in a gasp.

"What in the name of Slytherin is this? And why would Lockhart have it?" A witch. Young too.

"It's an iron maiden. Muggles used them to kill witches." The professional.

"I'll ask again, why does Lockhart have such a device?" The witch sounded very surprised. Maybe she was a fan? Coming along to kill him pretty much meant her fan club membership would be revoked though. Once he found out her name.

"Stop standing around, you fools, find him! There may be a secret door!" Raspy was the leader?

Gilderoy held his breath. If they searched the vault for a hidden door… There were at least six of them. And the enchantments on their robes would be barely taxed so far.

"Hey! That's a Vanishing Cabinet! That's how he escaped!" Another voice. Eager, young, easily excited.

"Are you sure?" The witch again.

"Yes. That's Turkish, I can read it." Probably a Ravenclaw then.

"Curse it! The Dark Lord will be very angry if we let him escape." Raspy sounded nervous. Discovering too late that working for the Dark Lord was not an easy way to make a living?

"There'll be an ambush waiting for us on the other side." The calm one spoke up. He didn't sound nervous.

"Merlin's sodden loincloth!" "What's that?"

The unmistakable roar of an enraged Greater Tasmanian Devil drowned out whatever the Death Eaters were saying, until the screaming began. Gilderoy froze. How could such a beast appear in his vault? No one had ever managed to capture such a monster alive, although there had been plans… Jenny! He was almost at the secret door when he stopped. None of his spells would affect that beast. He was an author, not a Dumbledore! Jenny would be safe… had to be safe.

The screaming ended, and the roaring stopped, followed by the sickening cracks of bones getting crunched and flesh ripped. Gilderoy shuddered - he was one of the few who had seen such a monster feed and lived to tell, and write, the tale. He just had to wait. Soon, the monster would be sated, and then…

The feeding noises stopped. The devil would be cocooning soon, for his hibernation. That would take it about 20 minutes. 20 minutes of waiting until it was safe. If anyone came and disturbed it in the meantime…

After the longest 20 minutes of his life, and two more just to be really safe, Gilderoy stepped on the platform again, and pulled the lever that would move him around to the inside of the iron maiden.

He still trembled when he opened the door, just a gap, until he spotted the hardened shell of the devil's cocoon, next to a half-formed wall rising from the stone floor - quick thinking of the transfiguring Death Eater, but not quick enough. Sighing in relief, he opened the door all the way - and found himself staring at the tip of a wand.

"Hello mate." A perky voice he knew intimately drawled.

"Hello Jenny." The wand dropped and he relaxed.

"What happened here? I arrived to find your front wall knocked down, your furniture smashed, and a bunch of Dark Wizards gathered in your vault." Jenny prodded the remains of a ribcage with her boot. Her skimpy robes which she maintained were a gift from an aboriginal Australian shaman looked tattered, but Gilderoy knew they were among the best protected clothes he had ever seen. They had to be, given Jenny's profession and attitude towards danger.

"Apparently, the Dark Lord is holding a grudge for my part in killing his basilisk." The author tried to sound as flippantly as his friend, but the experience had shaken him up a bit, and being surrounded by chunks of flesh and pools of blood didn't help his composure.

"Oh. Do you think he knows I am wearing part of it as my boots?" Jenny asked. Securing some basilisk leather had cost him a number of favors in the Ministry, but it had been well worth it.

"I don't think so. But he'll be mad at you for feeding his Death Eaters to a devil. How did you manage that anyway?" Greater Tasmanian Devils were supposed to be as resistant to magic as dragons! If another of his books had lied to him, he'd have to apologize to Lovegood!

"Well… do remember that 'crazy girl claiming to be best friends with an Australian shaman even though everyone knows they kill outsiders on sight'?" Jenny smirked.

The only one ever to make that claim he knew was… "No!" He stared at his friend.

"Yes! He taught me some of the spells they used to banish the devils to Tasmania, thousands of years ago." Jenny grinned widely, pearly white teeth flashing in her tanned face, and ran a hand through her sun-bleached blonde hair. "Someone owes me quite a lot."

"I should never drink and bet." At least Lovegood would love his next article.

"So… why were you hiding inside that…. thing… instead of escaping through the vanishing cabinet?" Jenny sidestepped a growing pool of blood and pointed at the piece of enchanted furniture.

"Because it's exactly what it is called: A vanishing cabinet." The wizard selling it had sworn it had been used by one witch in the Sultan's harem to get rid of a rival, 100 years ago.

"Oh. I guess we don't have to worry about anyone having escaped then." Jenny shuddered a bit. She was unfazed by the worst magical beasts - or at least managed to give that impression - but cursed objects were another thing.

"No. But the Dark Lord will hear of this soon enough." The Daily Prophet would announce it, for one. Sometimes, fame had its drawbacks. Not too often though.

"We could go on another expedition. Or do you think he'll try to track us in the jungle?" Jenny pursed her lips.

"I don't know. Maybe. Last I heard, he is been hiring mercenaries." Gilderoy didn't have to explain that quite a few of Jenny's 'colleagues' would track her as readily as they'd track a magical beast, as long as their price was met.

"I could visit my 'imaginary friend', as you called him once, but you wouldn't be welcome." His friend smirked when he winced. He hoped he hadn't unknowingly insulted that mysterious shaman. But it had sounded just like the kind of tale Jenny loved to tell to naive tourists.

"I'll ask Dumbledore if he needs another teacher at Hogwarts. I didn't do too badly at teaching." He could tutor the students, especially the younger ones. Maybe do some research in the library. Public relations. Anything to live behind the best wards in the country.

"Think Hagrid needs an assistant?" Jenny looked at him and he spotted her tongue quickly wetting her lips. She was nervous.

He pointed at the shell in the middle of his basement. "If he hears about that, he'll do anything for a chance to study it. How can we move it out of here, by the way?" Without waking the beast, of course.

"Err…" Jenny suddenly found the iron maiden very interesting.

Great. One of the most dangerous creatures known to wizardkind was occupying his basement for the next six months or so. Well, it wasn't as if he had planned to stay in his house.

*****​

"Of course Hogwarts can use such as fine wizard such as yourself, and a witch as famous as your friend, Gilderoy! I will have the elves arrange quarters for you two, just call when you're ready to move in!" Albus Dumbledore was smiling widely when he stood up from his floo, despite the pain kneeling there for minutes had caused in his old knees. Just when he needed more help training his students in defense, the former DADA professor asked for a position! If he was religious, he'd be certain the gods were favoring his cause.

Granted, Gilderoy was no Remus, but he had done well enough in his year at Hogwarts, and his help would allow Remus to focus on the more advanced students. Especially those who might soon be hired as hitwizards by the Ministry. And Miss Jenny's assistance would allow Rubeus to spend more time dealing with more dangerous magical creatures Voldemort might try to use for his own ends as well as keeping in touch with the giants Voldemort was courting and the centaurs near Hogwarts. As long as the half-giant didn't manage to bring that devil to Hogwarts, things would be fine.

If only everything would be going as well as this! In the two days since the attack on the Ayers, two more muggleborn families had been hit. Only one of them had managed to survive, thanks to an overwhelming response by their Patron, Elvira Macmillan, her family and all the other retainers they could muster. Britain would need that kind of Hufflepuff loyalty to win this war, as much or even more than it needed Gryffindor courage, Ravenclaw knowledge, and Slytherin cunning.

But most of all Britain's wizards needed trust. Trust in each other, trust in the Ministry, trust in themselves. And Albus feared they were lacking that trust so direly needed. How could he help them develop that trust if he couldn't even get his own brother to speak to him outside of an emergency?

He shook his head at the thought of the sins of his past dooming his country. He needed to have trust as well. Trust in his friends, Trust in others fighting the good fight. Trust in Harry and his friends, the Weasleys, and all the other fine young wizards and witches willing to stand up to the Dark Lord.

His fireplace flared up. "Albus? I am coming through."

A flick of his wand unlocked his floo. "Come in, Amelia."

The head of the DMLE stepped out of the floo, neither ashes nor soot staining her robes. "Good morning, Albus."

"Good morning, Amelia. I trust you have heard about the attack on Gilderoy?"

"Yes. Quite unsettling, to find an XXXX-class creature no one's ever seen outside Tasmania used in such an attack. We might have to prepare our forces to face similar creatures." Amelia looked grim.

Albus smiled, his slight embarrassment not showing. Apparently, Gilderoy had neglected to mention to the aurors just who had brought that creature to the fight. "I do not think those particular creatures will be a problem. I am quite certain the aurors will not encounter any other Greater Tasmanian Devil."

Amelia's eyes widened briefly in surprise, then narrowed. "Didn't we already have a discussion about your teacher's habit of importing dangerous exotic creatures?"

"I can assure you, Amelia, Rubeus had nothing to do with that beast, but the situation is under control." He spread his hands, and slowly nodded towards her.

Amelia rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Merlin, Albus! There's a reason the use of dragons in warfare was banned centuries ago!"

"With good cause. Though last I checked, Tasmanian devils were not on the banned creature list," he added in his usual mild voice.

"That's because no one thought it was possible to move them off of that cursed island!" Amelia glared at him. "But, Hecate help me, Albus! If Hagrid starts breeding this one with anything, even a bunny - or especially a bunny, after what happened last time - I'll swear I'll bury him in Azkaban! Do we understand each other?"

"I have already spoken to him, Amelia. The matter has been handled." Rubeus had been disappointed, but his friend had understood. Maybe those spiders Miss Jenny had mentioned she had gathered would distract him from the cocooned devil. As muggle animals, they wouldn't be a problem.

"Good." Amelia leaned back in her seat.

"Will you be staying for the talk to the 7th years?" Albus asked, grabbing a lemon drop and banishing another over to Fawkes, who snapped it up before it hit the ground.

"I might as well. As much as we need wands, I'd rather make sure the kids know the score. Some of our recruiters are a bit… creative. We can't use deserters, or cowards. One wizard not doing his duty can doom an entire team." Amelia briefly closed her eyes, probably remembering her brother.

"Sensible. Not everyone is cut out for combat." Albus knew they needed hitwizards. He also knew a lot of them would die in the near future. As they had in the last war.

"Mad-Eye would say those who are not cut out for combat will be cut down." Amelia snorted.

Albus gently chuckled. Alastor would never change. "It is true, provided they end up in combat. A fate most will strive to avoid." Fortunately, Gilderoy would help with teaching his less belligerent students how to avoid battles. For a wizard with rather mediocre grades in Defense against the Dark Arts, Gilderoy certainly had seen and survived an impressive number of lethal situations, a talent he had demonstrated last night again.

"So, what's the latest on the Dark Lord?" Amelia stared at him again.

He didn't even contemplate to evade her query. Trust had to be earned. "My contacts have not found out anything concrete yet. We know he is trying to terrify the population, but that's obvious."

"At least we achieved two successes last night. Two groups of Death Eaters gone." Amelia smiled ferally.

"Marked ones?" If the corpses were still around… the information that could be gained from a Dark Mark could be invaluable.

Amelia shook her head. "No. Masks and robes, but we found no marks on the bodies."

"They could have been imperiused then." Albus stated.

Amelia scoffed. "The lot didn't look like upstanding citizens who the Dark Lord had kidnapped. No, they were the dregs of Knockturn Alley, and foreign mercenaries. No big loss, but their deaths will boost morale."

Even such wizards and witches could have been victims of Tom. But Amelia didn't sound as if she cared much about the truth, not if dead Death Eaters would serve Britain better than dead suspected victims of the imperius. Arguing the point would not serve anyone but Tom though, so he changed the topic. "I must confess I am curious about the reception your recruitment offer will garner among the different houses."

"Wondering if Gryffindors will outnumber Hufflepuffs in the rank of our future recruits?" The head of the DMLE smirked. "If you want more members of your old house in the DMLE, you might not want to recruit the best of them for your Order."

Albus simply smiled in response. Even if most in power knew about the Order of the Phoenix, it still was technically secret - and illegal.

"I am worried about the Slytherins though." She held her hand up when Albus wanted to interrupt her. "I know, I know. It's not the house, it's the individual. Prejudice is bad, and so on." She snorted. "I also know there are Death Eater sympathizers in every house. But we both know that the majority of the Death Eaters are former Slytherins."

Albus frowned, but didn't contradict her.

"So… I need a list of suspects." Amelia smiled at Albus. "Don't worry. I'll not arrest them on your say so. I just want to stay a step ahead of possible spies."

"I see." The Headmaster slowly nodded and summoned a roll of parchment from his desk, then duplicated it with a flick of his wrist. "Those are students who have shown some bigoted opinions in the past."

"I'll give them enough ingredients to blow themselves up." Amelia smiled grimly.

For a moment, Albus pitied the wizards and witches whose names he had just handed to Amelia. Then he told himself that those who did not support the Dark Lord wouldn't have anything to fear from possible entrapment. And those who fell for such traps… well, Britain would be better off without them.

It was underhanded, but that was how the game was played. They were at war, after all.

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick hadn't liked patrolling Knockturn Alley, ever. There the dashing red auror robes that tended to impress the young witches in Diagon Alley attracted hostile glares instead, or curses if an auror was careless, or just unlucky. But he had in the past felt a certain attraction to the place, off duty. At least to the relatively safe parts with the more daring entertainment even an auror-trainee could afford.

Now though, working sort-of undercover there, with his partner, Bertha Limmington, what allure the place had once held had vanished quickly. Even or especially the witches - it was hard to appreciate a dancer's performance or flirt with a waitress if you knew just how they lived, and why they were working in such a place, and not in a classier, safer club. He still managed to keep up the act, of course - he had a mission after all. And breaking cover would place himself and Bertha at great risk.

Kenneth leaned at the bar in the third dive they were visiting this night. To think he had amused himself with imagining Bertha going undercover as a dancer! They were posing as mercenaries, recently returned from North Africa and looking for work at home, now that many would be looking for more wands. Successful mercenaries, at that, with enough gold earned to be able to sound the place out before accepting a job. It wasn't a real undercover operation, of course. Nothing organized by the department. Just some muggle disguises and a shared backstory so they'd not be recognized as aurors.

So far they hadn't been approached by anyone else but the local pimps and gang leaders, eager or even desperate to shore up protection for their spots, lest someone decide that, with the aurors occupied battling Voldemort, it was time to settle some accounts with competitors. The two aurors weren't here for that sort of crime though. Kenneth still took notice.

At least this dive was a bit higher-class than the others. And the witches and wizards working here seemed to be better at acting as if they liked it too. Movement at the entrance caught his attention, and his eyes widened. That was some very beautiful witch who had just entered! She was moving gracefully too, and her robes, while cheap, complimented her figure perfectly.

He was already working on a nice line to greet her with when his brain reengaged, helped along by an elbow to his side from Bertha. What would such a beauty do in this dive? Why wasn't she working in one of the respectable clubs? Whatever was the reason for her presence here, it couldn't be good.

The unknown witch looked the guests over, then spotted Kenneth, and her smile widened. While she was sauntering over towards him and his partner, Kenneth smiled in return. That was no broken witch making ends meet. She was a mystery. A challenge.

He ignored the glare from his partner. Things just got interesting.

*****​

Keith Yennington didn't pay attention to the witch thrashing on the floor behind him while one of his men held her under the torture curse. A silencing spell kept the distraction to a minimum while he looked around the rather drab flat they had broken into. It was clean and in good repair, of course - only the worst wizards and witches, those too dumb to learn the easiest household charms or too slovenly to care, would live in dirty holes like the muggles.

After about five seconds, he stopped the man. "That's enough."

He left the silencing spell on the witch until it looked as if she had stopped screaming, then ended it as well. She was whimpering and crying, but that wasn't a problem. A quick spell levitated her until he could look into her eyes without having to crouch.

"I hear some odd people have been asking questions in the alley. Questions about me," he stated casually, as if talking about the weather. The Dark Lord was at his most terrifying when he spoke so casually, as Keith had discovered. He himself was no Dark Lord, but Miss Jerenson was just a whore and no hardened mercenary. Her whimpering pleas for mercy proved that.

"Believe me... I did nothing…" she managed to stammer between sobs.

Perhaps the witch was a bit stronger than he expected. He glanced at Hortensius.

"Crucio!"

The girl screamed far longer than the second his man had kept the spell up. Keith smiled. When she had broken down into heaving sobs, he spoke again. "Don't lie to me! Your neighbours talked."

It didn't take her long to spill what she knew, and what she had done. Keith nodded at Hortensius as he turned away.

"Diffindo!"

Behind him Hortensius sliced the girl's throat open. He was a good man, he did what was needed, and didn't waste time dragging it out.

Two aurors. Nosy ones too. He didn't know them, and their description would be worthless given the disguises available, but they were looking for him, and didn't know he knew that. He could use that.

Nodding to himself, he put up his hood and left the flat. Two aurors, vanishing in Knockturn Alley. They might even provide valuable information to the Dark Lord if he caught one or both alive.


Chapter 26: Entanglements