Uncle Quentin's Spy (Harry Potter/Buffy) (Complete)

Chapter 7: Christmas Revelations

Ron looked around as if he expected her to jump out of the shadows. Hermione didn’t sigh though, even if she felt like it - and, on second thought, it was not that implausible to suspect. “Is this a joke?” Ron looked at her and Harry with a mixture of hope and desperation. He probably had never wanted to be pranked as much as right now.

“No, Ron, it’s no joke.” Harry put a hand on their friend’s shoulder. “Remember when the Order couldn’t find me, after the attack on my relatives? I was staying with the Slayer then.”

Ron was gaping at him. Hermione sighed. “It started with a visit from my great-uncle.” Ron slowly turned his head towards her. “My great-uncle visited me shortly after I had returned home. He had read the Daily Prophet, and the slander against Harry, and wanted to know what had happened.”

“You’ve got a wizard in your family?”

“He’s not a wizard, he’s a Watcher. One of the men and women who guide, advise and direct the Slayer.” Hermione started to explain.

“Her great-uncle tells the Slayer who and what to kill.” Harry wasn’t helping. Judging by the look Ron shot at Hermione, she had just become scarier than a dementor. She stepped on Harry’s foot while she smiled at their friend.

“My great-uncle is a member of the Watcher’s Council. They train the Slayer and support her in her battle against the forces of darkness. She hunts vampires, demons, and dark wizards.”

“Yes, she killed the two dementors that had attacked my relatives. Brought back their cloaks, nothing else was left.”

“She killed dementors?” Ron’s voice rose an octave.

“Yes. She can kill anything according to the recordings of the Council. But she’s a nice girl. She won’t kill without a good reason.” Hermione stressed that.

“And she’s hunting Voldemort and his Death Eaters. But she needs help. Our help. Your help.” Harry chimed in again. Hermione would have felt bad for Ron getting double-teamed, but he had grown up with the twins. He should be used to that.

“Why would the Slayer need help? No one can stop her. No one can escape her!”

“That’s not exactly true, Ron.” Hermione sighed. “Sit down, this will take a while.” Ron sat down on one of the chairs the Room provided.

“The world is older than you know...”

*****​

Ron was floored after the explanation of Hermione. To think there were so many demons and vampires around, preying on muggles! He had never known about that. It was so much to take in. Why didn’t the aurors go after the vampires for threatening the Statute of Secrecy? Or were they not allowed because that was the Slayer’s duty? He shook his head. No, he had to focus on the important things: Hermione’s uncle commanded the Slayer. The Slayer was a girl their age. She could kill dementors. She was training with Harry and Hermione. His friends were working with the Slayer against Voldemort. And they wanted him to help…

“But why does the Slayer need your help?” Ron still didn’t understand that. Nothing could stop the Slayer, after all.

“Voldemort and his Death Eaters are hiding behind Wards. We need to find out where those Death Eater mansions are, and how to pass through the wards quickly enough so they cannot flee or call for help.” Hermione had that expression on her face she usually wore when she was helping him with homework. Slight, but soon to be growing annoyance. This was not the time to yank her chain and play dumb, Ron decided. Even if he still had trouble accepting that the Slayer needed any help.

“So… what can we do then?” Ron didn’t think he was a weak wizard, but he was no curse-breaker. And neither was Harry. Hermione… he wasn’t sure about her. Give her a book and a week, and she might be able to crack any ward. He didn’t even consider not helping. He trusted his friends, and he already had agreed to fight, and kill, Death Eaters. He would not let them down. Not again, part of him added. The Slayer may be scary, but she was on their side, at least. He hoped she’d remember that, and not start killing any wizard.

“We’re planning to interrogate the Death Eater’s children at school.” Harry grinned slightly. “Kidnap them, pour veritaserum into them, and obliviate them afterwards.”

Ron knew that wouldn’t be that hard, not with their training, as his confrontation with Malfoy had shown, but… there were the aurors to consider. “How long would that take?”

“That’s hard to say. We do not know how much the students here know, and how many there are. We have, of course, a few names already, from Voldemort’s resurrection.” Hermione started to explain, then looked guilty when Harry flinched a bit and rubbed his arm - the arm Ron knew had been cut by Pettigrew.

“I meant: how long would the interrogation take? I know the auror’s schedules pretty well by now.” Or lack thereof, Ron knew. Not all of the aurors at Hogwarts were too diligent in the execution of their duties.

“I would say at most 30 minutes to an hour - any longer and covering up their absence, and their memories becomes too hard in my opinion.”

“Should be enough to find out everything Malfoy knows. Including hair care.” Ron saw Hermione roll her eyes and Harry grin, and smiled. He needed those little jokes. They made him think about how things were, and should be, and not about what would be. And he thought his friends needed them too. “So… we go after Malfoy?”

Hermione shook her head. “Not yet. After his ambush he’ll be under scrutiny from the teachers. They’ll want to make sure he doesn’t try anything else.”

“And Snape will want to protect him.” Harry added, sneering. Ron nodded - that foul git would likely help Malfoy do anything he wanted.

“So…” Hermione continued as if she had not heard Harry. Although she had not corrected him about ‘Professor Snape’, which was a good thing in Ron’s opinion. “... we will focus first on training, and studying wards so we will know what to ask.”

Ron groaned. Studying! And with Hermione more driven than before the exams. At least with his prefect duties, he’d have an excuse to get out of reading too much. Then he remembered that they were in their O.W.L. year, and shivered. Come May, he’d be dead from all the studying. Unless a Death Eater killed him first of course.

*****​

“If that’s all then this staff meeting is concluded.” Albus Dumbledore kept smiling politely while his co-workers and Dolores Umbridge filed out of his office. Only when the door closed behind Minerva did he allow himself to chuckle with satisfaction. Two weeks of concerned parents, many of them rich, pressuring the Minister, a few well-worded and well-placed statements of his seconded by the examiners of the Ministry, and all educational decrees had been repealed. Madam Umbridge was effectively neutralized. She would be gone by the end of term too, until then she would be teaching, if one could call her lessons that, but then Emmeline Vance would replace her.

Until then, the students would have to make an effort themselves, but as far as he could tell, that was coming along nicely, considering that Harry and Miss Granger had not been as active in teaching and tutoring as they would have been without their extracurricular interests. Even Severus had not made too much of a fuss about not getting chosen as Dolores’ replacement as he usually did at the start of each year - probably due to him being able to tutor his House in defense. Albus made a mental note to remind his friend that he should not be too effective in his tutoring - there was no need to teach combat spells to those who’d follow Voldemort if given the chance. Sometimes his spy was a bit too effective for their goals. On the other hand Albus would be able to use this opportunity to help Harry and his friends train, which would help him gain their trust again. In addition to that Minerva was adamant about making sure her lions would be able to defend themselves, after he had shared his concerns about what young Malfoy may have had planned. Not that he admitted that he knew exactly what the Slytherin had had in mind.

Now if only his efforts to clear Remus’ name would be progressing as well… Kingsley’s murderer had still not been found. At least the ridiculous notion that he had committed suicide had been dismissed by Amelia with all the scorn that deserved.

*****​

The vampire was thrown against the wall with so much force, the plaster cracked and peeled off. It blinked, stunned despite its undead nature. Before it could recover, India was on it, driving her fist into its stomach, folding it almost like a jackknife, then kicked its head with her knee, shattering teeth and jaw. Once more its head was smashed against the wall. She jumped straight up, then her left leg shot forward, her heel ramming straight into the monster’s forehead, and the wall got pounded third time by undead skull.

India flipped over, landed on her feet in a guard position, and frowned briefly. She had hoped to smash the head and dust the undead with that kick, but it looked she was not strong enough. Yet. Sighing with disappointment despite the thrill of the fight, she staked the broken demon. While its ashes fell down she turned around in the dinky basement in the East End. Four demons dead, three vampires and one Polgara demon. Kit looked up from where he was sifting through the possessions of that group, and smiled at her. “Good work, India.” She returned the smile, happy at his approval, and walked over to the table he was sitting at.

Sitting on the table she pulled one leg up and propped her head up on her knee, peering at the papers he was rifling through. “Anything interesting?” To her disappointment he shook his head.

“No, nothing that would indicate this group has been contacted by Voldemort. But…” He held up a small book of matches.

“Dennis’ Pub?” India was briefly puzzled, then smiled. “Demon bar?”

Kit nodded “Possibly. We’ll find out.” He turned his head towards the stairs that led into this den of demons, and to the slender young wizard standing there. “Anything on your side?”

Fitzburg shook his head. “Nothing magical around here.” India didn’t like an outsider intruding on her and her watcher, but she accepted that even she needed magic support in case the witch vampire would turn up. And Fitzburg was a better choice than Granger, for obvious reasons.

“Let’s go then!” India all but jumped off the table, anticipation filling her. A demon bar would be full of monsters she could fight and kill. And Kit would approve - she and her watcher had spent the last few weeks teaching the British demon population the wisdom of staying out of the brewing wizard civil war if not out of the country altogether. She still craved killing dark wizards, but until the Watcher wizards surveilling Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade reported that the Death Eaters had started to relax their security and were slumming again, this was all she could do, according to Mister Travers.

“Yes, let’s.” Fitzburg smiled at her, though patronizingly, as if she was a child and not the Slayer. She almost glared at him, but then she caught the look Kit gave him and she smiled instead. It might be just protectiveness, but she thought she had seen some jealousy there.

*****​

Roselyn stood on a roof overlooking Diagon Alley, hidden in the shadows of a massive chimney. It had been built back when floo travel had just been invented and such large smokestacks had been needed to allow larger wizards to use it. Nowadays it offered her a perfect vantage spot. She longed to hunt, but she knew the aurors were still out and about, some openly patrolling the alley, others laying in wait. The death of Shacklebolt and Greyback, as well as the disappearance - and, as Voldemort had confirmed, death of Carrow - had spooked the Ministry, and the most Malfoy had achieved had been to cast suspicion for both on Lupin. He hadn’t been able to get rid of the increased patrols.

Not that Roselyn thought the aurors would be able to stop her, but they might spot her, and Voldemort would know of her presence in the alley. She was not ready for that particular confrontation. Yet. Sighing, she glided over the shingles, passing through the boundaries into muggle London.

An hour later she was standing in front of Dennis’ Pub. Or rather, the ruins left of the building. She jumped over the barriers the muggle authorities had erected to warn curious children off, and stepped inside the remains of the pub. It was evident that someone had burned it down. Given the usual fire wards on such pubs, to handle some of the more volatile customers, that meant magic. She still checked with her wand, to be sure.

Magic meant wizards. But which ones? Not the Ministry’s. Malfoy would have known, the aurors did nothing without permission and paperwork. Dumbledore’s Order was a possibility, but… a flick of her wand confirmed what her nose told her: A lot of blood had been spilled here. That didn’t seem to be their style. Even Death Eaters often went for less bloody killings, unless it was to send a message. That left the Watchers. According to her surviving contacts, the Watchers had started a purge recently, hunting down demons all over Britain. Supposedly even the Slayer was present.

The sound of broken cinder blocks falling down made her whirl around and retreat into the nearest shadow.

“Ow! I scraped my knee.”

“Don’t be a baby, Jim.”

“It’s not your knee.”

“Shut up and come on.”

Human voices. And the sweet smell of blood, Fresh blood. Roselyn’s nostrils flared and she had to make an effort to keep from showing her true face. Two young men climbed over the lowest wall. She smelled alcohol, cheap one, on their breath. Clothes were not too expensive. Was it a bet, a dare, or the hope for loot that brought them here? Or simply a drunken whimsy, the desire to explore a bar they hadn’t been able to enter until it and its muggle-repelling wards had been destroyed?

It didn’t matter. They were here, and she was here. And she was hungry.

“Hello boys...” Her whispered greeting made them turn around, alerted. The sight of her made them relax, as she had expected.

“Wow.” One of them started at her as if struck. The other was stammering something about having heard something and wanted to check it out in case someone needed help. She licked her lips. Dumb and drunk - perfect. She stalked closer, smiling, and reached out.

The babbling one was silenced with a blow to the stomach that had him retching while she grabbed the other’s head and pressed his mouth shut. Then she showed her true face, and his eyes widened with delicious fear. She bit into his neck and drank until he stopped struggling and went limp, then died in her arms. A spell transfigured the corpse into a stick, which another spell burned down.

Then she picked the other one up and apparated out. She could use a minion.

*****​

Quentin Travers studied Hermione’s latest report. Aurors were hampering her efforts at reconnaissance, but she was positive she and her friends could find a way to interrogate selected children of Death Eaters, once the scrutiny due to an incident had let up some. They had not made as much progress at learning occlumency as she had wanted, but they had recruited their best friend, Ron Weasley. Quentin frowned. That one was a pureblood, and therefore a security risk. Friendship was one thing, but blood would tell. That boy had abandoned Hermione and Harry once already, over a tournament. He briefly considered telling them to break off contact and obliviate the wizard, but dismissed that thought. His grandniece was as loyal as she was stubborn, and she’d not take well to such a proposal.

Leaning back, he folded his hands on his stomach. He could afford to wait. Maybe the young man would die in the coming conflict. Such a loss would certainly harden Hermione’s resolve, and motivate her further. The best Watchers were those who had lost a friend or loved one to the evil they were fighting. They knew the price of failure, and were willing to go the extra mile to accomplish their task. He knew that from painful personal experience.

He read further. Names of the aurors in Hogwarts, as well as an impression on their skills and views. More names of suspected future followers of Voldemort among the students. It was a long list. He stood up and walked to the window - reinforced security glass, of course - tp looked at the street below him. The sun was setting, the nights were getting longer. Vampires would have an easier time hunting. Two months until Christmas. He had hoped to have the matter settled by then, but Voldemort was not cooperating. Instead of striking out he was hiding. That meant he was weak, of course, and still building up his forces. Not unhindered though - the Watchers and the Slayer had gone to great effort to cull the numbers of demons in Britain. And from what he heard, even the wizards were tightening up their security, after the death of one of their aurors. It was a mixed blessing. It kept the dark wizards from acting openly, but it also hampered the Council’s own efforts to strike at known Death Eaters. If not for that he would have ordered a few incidents that would encourage further vigilance among wizards.

All things considered waiting for better opportunities seemed to be the best course of action. He’d order his grandniece to keep her eyes open, but avoid great risks until she and her friends could get trained over the holidays. Hopefully they’d have recruited a curse-breaker by then.

*****​

Hogwarts was freezing in the middle of December, or so Ron thought. Fortunately he had thick robes, a Weasley jumper, and he knew the warming charm by heart. His fellow prefect was not so lucky, alas. Her robes were a bit too thin and too open, in his opinion - even if they looked great on her - and her warming charm needed a bit of work as well. It was a sore spot with her though - last time he had cast one on her when he had noticed she was shivering she had pouted for the rest of the patrol. Girls were weird.

He hoped the Slayer would not be as weird. Or hard to understand. He’d meet her soon, after all. Or so he expected. And if he made her mad by mistake she would surely do something far worse to him than casting a bat-bogey hex or a flock of birds who pecked at his head. He shuddered at the possibilities. He was committed, and he’d not let his friends down when they needed him, but… the Slayer scared him. Everyone knew she was the weapon of the Inquisition, the Witch Hunters’ Scythe.

“Are you cold?” Lavender looked at him with concern. No comment about his own warming charm. She held no grudges, as far as he could tell. She had not said a bad word about Hermione, even though he could tell from some of Hermione’s own remarks during their still secret special training that the two did not always get along well.

“No, no. Just an unpleasant thought.” He shook his head, smiling. “We should go now, it’s time.” They had learned not to be early or late with their patrols - Umbridge and Snape were just waiting for them to make even the tiniest mistake, and so the two had become model prefects. His mum was ecstatic. Fortunately his brothers had understood his reasons, and refrained from pranking him… too much.

Lavender nodded and hooked her right arm through his left one. When she had done this the first time he had shaken her off almost out of reflex - his movements would be hindered if they came under attack, and she was blocking her wand arm! But then the expression on her face had sent such guilt through him, he had quickly apologized, even if he didn’t know what exactly he was apologizing for, and had resolved to cast a shield first thing, in case of trouble, to cover both of them. And to train her better. Not as hard as he was training himself, of course. But he made sure to pair up with Lavender in the Gryffindor defense training lessons. She was eager to learn, Harry’s and Hermione’s own impression notwithstanding.

The two started their patrols, nodding pleasantly at the shivering auror shifting his weight from one foot to the other at the central staircase. Once out of earshot, Ron could not help but comment. “Apparently, casting a warming charm is not a needed skill for an auror.” Lavender giggled, and briefly squeezed his arm.

Ron didn’t think of the upcoming holidays at all after that, enjoying his conversation with Lavender - though he was keeping an eye out for trouble, as had become his habit. So he was ready with his wand when a figure strode towards them on the fourth corridor. It turned out to be McGonagall, or someone who looked like her - Hermione had rubbed off on him a bit, he realized.

“Mister Weasley, please follow me. Your father has had an accident and is currently at St. Mungo’s, in critical condition.” Lavender gasped, but Ron didn’t hear it, or anything else for a while. He barely remembered how he arrived at the hospital, where the rest of his family was gathered around the bed his dad was lying in, his skin pale with discolored stains all over, shivering and sweating. And the stench of the wound in his leg… he’d remember that for a long, long time.

*****​

Harry found himself in a strange place - a stone corridor, but far too large, as if made for giants. Or maybe half-giants. And he was not walking, but gliding over the polished marble floor, towards an empty corner… an empty corner that smelled like Prey. Like food. And then he shot forward, faster than he thought possible, his mouth opening wide, razor-sharp fangs stabbing soft meat, poison shooting through them into the prey, which quickly collapsed into a convulsing mass of food. Harry ignored the feeble attempts to ward him off and slithered around the prey, unhinging his lower jaw. He enjoyed the expression of pain and fear and growing horror when the prey realized it was going to be eaten alive. It was still squirming inside him, a most satisfying feeling, when suddenly pain shot through him, and he felt his belly ripping open, spilling his prey and his blood and entrails on the floor.

Harry woke up with a scream, trembling hands grasping for his belly, trying to push his entrails inside again. The pain… the pain…

“Harry! Harry! It’s a nightmare, you’re not dying!” He felt arms wrap around him and heard a familiar, comforting voice tell him over and over that it had been a nightmare. A nightmare. The same nightmare he had had every night, ever since the night Mr. Weasley had been attacked by a giant snake in the Ministry. Ever since he had seen, and felt, the snake attacking Mr. Weasley. And had felt the wizard cutting him, the snake, up from the inside.

Shaking he managed to pat his friend’s back and return the hug. “I am fine, Hermione.” He wasn’t, and she knew it. She did not say anything. Trembling, he focused on his occlumency exercises, tried to calm himself down, to control himself. It took a while, he wasn’t sure how long, but he managed to slow his breathing down, and relax his death grip on Hermione. He didn’t let go of her though, and neither did she.

After the screams from his first nightmare had woken up the entire dorm, he had taken to sleeping in the room of requirement, with Hermione, in case he had more than a nightmare, again. His vision, what Hermione had called it, had saved Mr. Weasley’s life, everyone was saying so. The wizard had managed to cut himself free, but would have succumbed to the poison in his veins, if not for Dumbledore arriving in time, after being alerted by Hermione. It did not much to make Harry feel less guilty about attacking him, or at least, sharing the senses of the snake who had attacked him. He did not know how that had been possible. Dumbledore had claimed it might be related to him being a parselmouth, but Hermione was sceptical. Harry could not think of a reason why he would have had such a connection to such a particular snake. Well, he could think of one, but he did not want to think of that. That snake had looked familiar, after all…

“We should go back to sleep.” Hermione’s voice shook him from his rather morbid thoughts. He nodded, pressing his face into her shoulder.

“Yes,” he whispered into her ear, then released her and laid back down, closing his eyes. He expected Hermione to return to her bed, but then he felt her on his side, pulling his arm away so she could snuggle up. He stared at her in surprise, but before he could say anything she whispered: “We’ll leave for the holidays tomorrow. Let’s sleep like this.”

He didn’t have another nightmare that night.

*****​

Sirius and Lupin were not doing well, Hermione had realized that quickly after arriving at No. 12 Grimmauld Place for the holidays. Both were wanted wizards, both were confined for the foreseeable future to an awful, cursed house, and both were the target of Snape’s barbs about not doing anything while others risked their lives. The last she had found out found out from Harry, who had heard it Fred and George, who had used their latest invention, extendable ears, to spy on the Order. While they didn’t work on the room the Order was usually meeting in, they did work very well on any other room - such as the kitchen, where the three often butted heads, or so the twins claimed.

Whatever it was that the Order was doing, it had everyone on edge after Mr. Weasley had been almost killed. He was doing better now, thanks to muggle medicine. Magic hadn’t been able to heal his wound, a cursed wound the healers had said. Those stupid wizards had not wanted to try muggle means, even after Hermione had brought it up, but the Weasleys had been willing to try anything - and apparently stitches had worked, after the thread had been treated magically so the poison left in the wound would not dissolve it. Since that had worked she hoped that Harry’s own cursed scar could be dealt with with plastic surgery. Though when she had mentioned the possibility he had said it could wait. He claimed that it didn’t bother him much and that he could handle the pain. Hermione hadn’t pressed him to find out what exactly that statement meant, but she had not forgotten it either. Harry had a self-sacrificing streak a mile wide.

The two adult wizards, Harry, Ron and herself were waiting in what Sirius had called the Southern Salon for Dumbledore to join them. The Headmaster had called for a meeting on the very evening of their break. It wasn’t a very cozy room, but it had no portraits of bigoted Blacks, and the furniture was comfortable. Sirius and Lupin had vouched for the safety of the snacks Kreacher had brought, but Harry had still cast a few spells to check if the - with two stir-crazy marauders and the Weasley twins living in the same house, one had to take certain precautions. Hermione had taken a more direct approach and had whispered threats into their ears of what she’d do as retaliation if they dared to endanger anyone with puerile pranks while Voldemort stalked them. She hoped they’d heed her words. For their sake.

“Why don’t you sit in Harry’s lap, Hermione? It would likely be more comfortable than your current arrangement.” Sirius smirked at her when she looked up from her notes. She was sitting close to Harry - very close, their thighs were touching. She glanced around. Lupin was smiling, if faintly, Ron was looking at the food, and Harry was glaring at Sirius. She was about to sigh in exasperation but reconsidered.

“You’re right.” She smiled sweetly and slid into Harry’s lap. By the time she had found a comfortable position that allowed her to read and make notes, Sirius was still staring at her with his mouth open, but Lupin was laughing and Ron was gaping and shaking his head. Harry, whose reaction was the only one that truly mattered, if she was honest, had frozen at first, but then wrapped his arms around her waist.

That was exactly when the Headmaster arrived, of course.

*****​

Harry had heard his girlfriend, who was currently occupying his lap, squeak when the door opened, and if not for his arms around her waist she would certainly have jumped up. “Hello, Headmaster.” Dumbledore returned his greeting, but didn’t not react to the sight of the young couple other than smiling. Hermione stopped trying to get up after a few attempts, but he’d probably pay for it later, even though she had started it, kind of. But then the Headmaster took a seat on a conjured chair and started to speak, and Harry and Hermione forgot about their peculiar seating arrangement.

“I have called for this meeting because there is a rather important matter to discuss. Two matters, actually, though one depends on the other.” He looked at everyone present over his reading glasses. “Young Harry and Miss Granger, as well as Mister Weasley are in need of instruction in occlumency. It takes priority over anything else.” With a glance at Ron, he added “Yes, that means you will be excused from doing any chores. I hope Remus will prove to be an acceptable instructor.” Harry glanced at Remus, and nodded. He trusted his honorary uncle.

Sighing, the old wizard leaned back. “The reason this is so important is two-fold. First, Harry has a connection to Voldemort, through his scar. That was how he could sense what Voldemort’s snake familiar saw. Learning occlumency will allow him to block Voldemort from entering his mind or influencing him.”

Harry trembled. Dumbledore just had stated what he had suspected, what he had known but hadn’t wanted to accept. He buried his face into Hermione’s shoulder and felt her hand rub his head in a comforting gesture. No one said anything for a minute, or even two. Harry wasn’t counting. But as soon as he looked up again, Hermione asked: “And what’s the second thing?” Harry squeezed her waist a bit - sometimes her need to know everything as soon as possible was a bit aggravating. He could do without a second revelation.

“Before he was born there was a prophecy made, that foretold his birth, and that he would have the power to vanquish Lord Voldemort.” Harry stiffened again, and briefly closed his eyes. A Prophecy! From what the Watchers had told him and Hermione, a prophecy very rarely was a good thing. They were twisted, and warped, and often only understood after they already had come to pass. Hermione shifted in his lap, turning to hug him.

“I see you know the troubles prophecies bring with them.” Dumbledore didn’t look surprised, contrary to Sirius and Remus. Harry only nodded in response.

“A spy for the Dark Lord overheard the first part of this prophecy, which ultimately caused him to come after you, on that tragic day in October 1981. Once you have mastered occlumency, you will hear the full prophecy.” Sirius and Remus made some surprised noises, but Harry just nodded again. He’d learn occlumency, he’d master it, and then he’d learn what he would have to deal with.


Chapter 8: The Prophecy.

 

Chapter 8: The Prophecy

Learning occlumency was harder than Harry had thought. He had done the mental exercises for months while at Hogwarts and had thought he was good at it, but to actually stop a mental probe, a legilimency attack? That was difficult, and even a bit painful. And that was with Remus being gentle and careful so he’d not hurt Harry or his friends. At least that’s what the wizard had said. Sometimes Harry was not sure about that.

Right now Remus was testing Hermione. Harry’s girlfriend was staring at the werewolf, teeth clenched together, while she tried to push him out of her mind. Or something like that - Remus had said all three of his students were using different ways to protect their minds. Harry knew she had reservations about Remus teaching them, and potentially finding out their secrets, but she had not opposed the lessons. Not that she had been able to find an alternative anyway. Spending the holidays at the Council was out of the question.

Harry opened another cola and took a long sip while he watched the scene. Hermione was was breathing louder now, and Harry spotted drops of sweat on her brows. She had her hands on her thighs, her nails digging into her flesh through her jeans. She was hurting, he was sure of that, but she was too stubborn to stop. Like him. He longed to go over and comfort her, but it would only distract her. Remus was looking strained as well, Harry realized, if not in pain. But their teacher was taking for longer now than he had when they had started, a week ago.

Finally Hermione closed her eyes and turned her head away, panting and shivering. Remus took a deep breath. “That was very good, Hermione. You almost managed to keep me from your memories.”

“Almost is not good enough.” Hermione pouted, wiping the sweat from her forehead with trembling hands before trying to gather the strands of her hair that had escaped her ponytail up and put them back into a semblance of a hairstyle, as she put it. Harry loved the sight, it was just so her.

Remus took a sip from his flask - probably a potion, Harry thought - and turned to Ron. “Ron, your turn.”

Ron got up from where he had been sitting on the floor with a groan. “My poor head… it’s already hurting.” He took a deep breath, and then sat down in front of Remus while Hermione walked over and sat down next to Harry, leaning against him. Ron started to groan at once, while Remus didn’t look too strained, more… annoyed.

“Thanks!” Hermione had used Harry’s distraction to snatch his cola bottle from him, and drained it.

Whatever Harry had been about to say in protest died before it reached his mouth when she smiled at him, licked her lips and then kissed him. He grabbed another bottle while she banished the empty one to the other side of the room, vanishing it before it reached the wall.

“You’re always training.” He opened the new bottle and drank just in case his girlfriend wanted to seal that as well.

“Of course. We’ve got a Dark Lord to kill.” She sounded even more determined than usual. Fierce even.

“Yes. And we’re a bit behind the plan.” Harry didn’t say anything more - no one knew about their contact to the Council, after all. Or so he assumed - the mental exercises at least seemed to have enabled him to track what memories Remus was accessing.

“We’ll get there. Even Ron.” Hermione stated confidently, motioning towards Remus, who looked now quite frustrated while Ron was sounding as if he was dying. Of hunger and thirst. She must have noticed Harry’s sceptical expression, since she added: “Remus takes longer and longer with Ron, and Ron’s been complaining the same since we started. I don’t know what he is doing, but it’s working.”

“No two minds are alike. No two defenses are identical.” Harry quoted the book on occlumency. Hermione beamed at him, and this time he bent over and kissed her. When they broke contact again, Ron was sitting next to them, muttering about love birds.

Then it was Harry’s turn again. He stood up and walked over to Remus, sitting down in front of his honorary uncle. He closed his eyes, and tried to still his mind, imagining a calm pool of water. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes again and met Remus’.

“Legilimens!”

Harry felt Remus entering his mind at once - ripples appeared in the pool. He didn’t try to detect where exactly the ripples came from, he grit his teeth and imagined a stormy sea instead of the pool. The water instantly turned into a roaring maelstrom, whipped up by a whirlwind. His mind was in the eye of the storm, thick walls holding the water at bay while the storm’s deafening noise drowned out any other sound. Harry didn’t stop there though - he pushed further. Pushed the water up, into the hurricane, until it formed a wall of water around his stone walls, where anything that entered it would be stopped and spit out as a smashed, broken, mess. And yet… he felt something push through his wall of water. He increased the power, imagining a storm strong enough to wipe an island from the map. The intruder slowed down, even stopped for a bit, but then continued on, finally reaching the eye of the storm. Harry raised the walls, thickened them, forming a cupola instead of a walled enclosure. That didn’t stop the intruder either though, it only slowed him down.

Then Remus broke through his wall and at once stopped his spell. Harry realized he was shaking and panting, and groaning loudly. He let his body sag and closed his eyes, massaging his temples in the hope of alleviating the headache he was suffering from. Hermione was there, he hadn’t noticed her walking over to him, hugging him, slipping on his lap.

“I think that’s enough for now. We will continue later, in the evening.” Remus said, before beating a hasty retreat, probably because of Hermione’s glare. Harry didn’t care.

“How long did it take him this time?”

“You improved your time by three more minutes.” Hermione didn’t sound as happy as she should, given his improvements.

“Good.” He leaned on her, resting his head on her shoulder and imagined the pain in his head vanishing. It helped a bit, or so he told himself.

“Oy! Get a room you two!” Ron dug out a butterbeer and shook his head at the the couple.

“We have a room.” Hermione shot back, sticking her tongue out at their friend. “It’s just that you’re in it right now.”

When all three of them were laughing, and with Hermione still in his lap, Harry’s headache was gone. But Ron was right - he needed to be alone with his girlfriend. Some things one needed privacy for. He had been thinking about this for quite some time. What he’d say, what he’d do. But he hadn’t had the nerve to actually do it.

*****​

“Hermione? Are you, err, decent?”

That was Harry’s voice. Hermione looked at the door in her room, which was still closed. She was quite sure it had not been opened either. “Harry?”

“Over here.”

Hermione turned around and spotted a waving hand, sticking out of… a gap in the wall?

“Are you decent?” Harry sounded almost timid.

Hermione looked down and pondered the question for a second. She was wearing a nightshirt over her panties. It wasn’t as opaque as it could have been, and she’d certainly not walk around outside her room just wearing that, but… “Yes. I am. Is that a secret door?”

The gap opened to reveal exactly that - a door connecting hers and Harry’s rooms. Harry stepped through. He had not changed into his pajamas yet. “Yes. Sirius show…” he broke off when she saw her, and gaped.

“What?” Hermione frowned, though she was very pleased about his reaction.

“You’re, ah…” Harry blushed but didn’t turn his head away.

“Yes?” She shouldn’t enjoy that, Hermione knew, but it was fun, and seeing Harry so overwhelmed by the sight of her was stroking her ego almost as much as the open-mouthed staring at the Yule Ball a year ago. Although if he said ‘a girl’ she’d definitely hex him.

“... beautiful…”

“Why, thank you.” Smiling Hermione sat down on her bed, crossing her legs. “Did you sneak in just to tell me that?”

“Ah, no, I mean…” Harry shook his head.

“You know, a boy visiting his girlfriend in her room, at night… that’s usually indicative of certain intentions.” She really shouldn’t do this, the young witch knew that, but she was still so happy about his reaction to seeing her like this, to have such proof of how attractive he found her, she couldn’t help but seeing just how far she could push him. She suppressed the brief fantasy of Harry vanishing her nightshirt then pushing her down on the bed and kissing her passionately to stifle her protests. Harry wouldn’t do that, and she’d not let him do that. Not yet.

“That’s what Sirius said when he showed me the door, but… I am not ready for that.” Harry looked pleadingly at her.

“Neither am I. Sorry, Harry, I was teasing you. But I am very happy that you think I am beautiful.” Hermione patted the the spot next to her. “Come, sit down.” She also decided that she needed to have a serious word with Sirius about what was appropriate and what was not, but that could wait for tomorrow.

Harry sighed with relief and sat down next to her. He wrapped his left arm around her waist, as he was used to. She felt him tense and hesitate just a fraction of a second when his hand came to rest on her stomach, but before she could grab it and hold it there he relaxed again. “Don’t hex him too badly. He means well.”

“I won’t. I am his guest, after all.” Hermione reassured her boyfriend and leaned into him. She felt excited at their closeness. It was daring, forbidden even. Molly would have a fit. Her parents would be uncomfortable, even if they would trust her not to go too far with Harry. Sirius would approve of course. She snuck her own arm under Harry’s jumper and shirt, and wrapped it around his waist. He tensed up at that, but as before, quickly relaxed. “So, why did you enter my room then?”

“To talk. About us.”

“Ah.” Hermione’s old insecurities briefly flared up, filling her with dread. She pushed them down again, telling herself that Harry loved her, found her attractive, beautiful even, he had just said so, and was currently hugging her. He’d not do that if he wanted to break up. She pushed herself into his side just to make sure he was not pulling away. When he leaned into her, she felt they didn’t need to talk, just stay like that. But she was curious what Harry wanted to say. Curious, and a bit nervous - this was uncharted terrain for her. No books or rules to guide her. Oh, there were rules, but… they were general ones. This was Harry. A special boy.

“We’ve known each other, we’ve been friends, for a long time now. Years. We’ve made mistakes, we’ve had troubles, but we’ve gone past that.” He was speaking slowly, carefully. “I trust you more than anyone else. Whatever happens, I want you to know, I … I love you.”

Hermione gasped and pulled his head toward her and kissed him. When she broke the kiss both of them were panting and somehow had ended up lying on the bed, with her on top of him. She was sure he knew how she felt, but she had to say it. “I love you.”

They kissed again, and Hermione felt his arms slip under her shirt, caressing her back. This time it was her who stiffened for a second, before relaxing. Part of her wanted him to push her shirt further up, pull it off her, and then… but she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. But she did run her own arms under his jumper, placing them on his chest.

The two remained like that, her lying on him, his arms wrapped around her. Warm, happy, content. In love. “Stay here.” She whispered into his ear.

“Hermione! I am…” He tensed up again, and almost started to push her away.

She pushed him back and met his eyes. “Just stay here, with me. Nothing more.”

Harry nervously licked his lips, then nodded. It wasn't the first time they had done this, but it was the first time she had been wearing almost nothing while they slept. He took a long time to fall asleep.

*****​

India Cohen gently caressed her new crossbow, a Christmas gift from Kit. It was a modern one, made of metal and plastic, no wood at all. Far more powerful than a medieval one, far easier and faster to cock and reload. The perfect gift to snipe vampires…. or Death Eaters. Kit was so thoughtful. She hoped he appreciated her own gift, a folding ceramic combat knife she had bought with her tiny allowance, as well. Her watcher had a tendency to go unarmed but for a stake, and she worried about him. At least he would not be near any danger today. He’d be too much at a disadvantage should anything happen in Diagon Alley, unlike India herself. Or Fitzburg, her backup for this. She took a last look at her shiny new crossbow - not really shiny, of course, that would make it too visible - and stashed it in the mokeskin pouch on her hip before slipping into the ugly robe she’d have to wear for the mission. How wizards walked, much less fought in that she’d never understand, it was like wearing a tent. It made for good camouflage though - even without magic one could hide so much under a robe…

Fitzburg, also wearing a drab robe, was waiting for her in the foyer of the Council’s headquarters. The young wizard didn’t look impatient and was smiling at her, but India only nodded at him in return. As much as she wanted to hunt dark wizards, she’d rather do it with Kit, if there was a safe way to do it. Fitzburg… there was just something not right with him. A tiny spark felt off, unnatural, to her. All wizards felt like that. Kit was there as well, and she felt that familiar longing. If only he’d… she stopped that thought, and focused on the mission.

“Good luck, India.” Kit smiled at her, and she had to resist the urge to run up to him and hug him. She had not excuse right now. She almost was wishing for an excuse to seek comfort from her watcher, as he had offered in the past, but she wanted more than comfort, or even pity. She was a woman now. She smiled back, and stepped to Fitzburg’s side.

The young wizard took her hand and apparated away. For a terrible moment India felt as if she had lost control of her body, her keen senses overloaded with unnatural impressions that made no sense. Then she was standing on solid ground again. She didn’t drop into a crouch, unlike the first few times she had been apparated along, but she was tense. Fitzburg smiled, patronizingly, and was obviously waiting with walking towards the Leaky Cauldron until she was ready. She didn’t scowl at the presumption, but glared at him and set out on her own, making him rush after her before he could match her steps at her side.

No one spoke until they reached the pub, at which point she slid her arm into his, a couple entering Diagon Alley for a little shopping. She had to fight not to scowl when the smell of the dive hit her - stale smoke, sweat, dried blood and worse - she noticed a hag sitting in a corner, behind a newspaper, and almost attacked her - and exotic flavors that didn’t mesh up with what her other senses were telling her. Too much magic here for her taste. Fitzburg didn’t even go straight to the exit into Diagon Alley, no, he chatted with the ugly bartender, asked about the latest news, even bought a newspaper India knew he had already read. All in the name of preserving their cover. India hated such games. She wanted to stalk her prey, pounce from an ambush or run it down, not hide among the sheep she was to protect.

At last they reached Diagon Alley, and India relaxed some. The smells were less concentrated here, fewer people were around. The air even smelled somewhat fresh and cold, and not like pine. The sun was about to set - perfect timing. For a romantic walk, and for hunting.

She looked around, acting as if she was window shopping, but checking for the red robes of aurors. A pair was patrolling the alley, looking miserable in the cold, and not really paying attention. Good. She beamed a fake smile at Fitzburg and nodded toward them. He nodded back, too close and friendly for her liking. Now if that was Kit here… she’d certainly be able to play her role much more convincingly…

Gringotts didn’t seem to be busy, but they did not enter. Slayers and goblins did not mix well, it took an effort not to slaughter the ugly creatures where they stood. The two walked slowly towards Knockturn Alley instead. India perked up. Those were her hunting grounds She knew the area, knew the side alleys there, the dark corners one could hide in. She almost smiled ferally, and barely managed to beam at Fitzburg instead like the simpering girls she had seen on television.

They couldn’t enter right away, of course. That would have been too good to be true. Instead they entered the shop at the corner. Fitzburg distracted the clerk while India snuck out. A minute later she had rolled up her robe and tied it to the small of her back and was skulking in the shadows.

It didn’t take her long to reach the truly depraved parts of the alley, where monsters walked around, often openly pursuing their sick business. Monsters that looked the part, and monsters that hid behind a human facade. She ducked into a familiar side alley. No one around, man or monster. she dropped into a crouch, then jumped straight up, gloved hands gripping the edge of the low roof. she didn’t go for the flashy moves today, but simply pulled herself up and slid on the roof, to the edge overlooking the alley. Perfect vantage point.

With practised ease - it had taken her an hour - she pulled her new crossbow out, cocked already. She had both heavy bolts that would go through a troll without stopping and lighter ones, dosed in poison, in case there was a good opportunity to capture a Death Eater. From up there she didn’t spot anyone, but something didn’t feel right.

She studied the area more closely, until she spotted the telltale ripples of an invisibility cloak, in the entrance of a side alley. Someone was observing the area where she had killed Greyback. But who? Auror, or Death Eater? She briefly pondered this, then smiled - she’d find out. She robbed back, out of sight of anyone on the street, then let herself drop down into the side alley again, where she donned the ugly robe again. Those wizards had no sense of style.

When she stepped out of the alley she was not skulking, nor was she walking like a witch besotted with her paramour. She was moving like a terrified girl who expected someone to jump her at any time. Bait. Or camouflage. She stuck to the walls, under the overhanging roofs, afraid to be noticed, hoping to hide. In front of her was the cloaked guard, or ambusher. Right when she was passing him, she suddenly charged him, pushing the invisible wizard into the dark alley, out of sight of the main street, and into darkness where she’d have the advantage.

She had her fists dug into the cloak, and pulled it off with a sharp tug, using the movement to roll to the side, and evading a red spell. The wizard - no, the witch - was fast. Fast, but clumsy - she slipped on the wet cobblestones, and her next spell would have missed India even if she had not moved. The Slayer was already on her though. Her left hand grabbed the witch’s wand hand, squeezing it and bending it away, while she drove her right fist into the witch’s stomach.

Her opponent folded over, and a blow to her neck smashed her into the ground, knocking her out. She was wearing ankle boots and a black robe, both quite patched up. She didn’t smell right though - too clean, no old sweat or dirt. India stashed the cloak and pulled out a portkey. She activated it and dropped it on the witch. It didn’t go off.

Portkey wards! Ambush! India ripped off her robe and jumped on a broken din, and from there to the roof. She pulled her crossbow while still in the air, grabbing hold of the edge with one hand, then pushed herself off the wall with her legs, somersaulting as a result and came down on the roof ready to shoot.

No one near her - she didn’t see nor hear anything… wait. Turning, she spotted a broom rider, almost perfectly cloaked, flying towards her. A bolt to the thigh made the rider careen off, and crash into the roof next to her. She was already sprinting towards Diagon Alley, jumping over to the next house. Below her she heard cries, alarmed ones, and saw two red robes rushing into Knockturn Alley. Aurors, reacting to the commotion - or to an attack on an undercover auror? She didn’t stay to find out, but continued to run.

“On the roof!”

Someone had seen her. India ducked, then had to jump to the side to avoid another spell, from a broom rider she had missed until then. The roof blew up next to her. She rolled, then dropped down into a side alley, cocking and loading her crossbow before she touched the ground. Another wizard appeared in the entrance. In her way. She nailed him into his wand arm with her next bolt, then pushed him to the side and sprinted into Diagon Alley. Red spells flew past her, then, right before she reached a side alley, one hit her, and she suddenly felt lethargic, as if she was exhausted, weak… she dropped to the ground and rolled into the alley, rage at the ambush overcoming the spell. Once inside she wrapped herself into the stolen - looted - cloak and went further into the alley.

Two red robes came after her, wands out and covering each other and the alley. They were speaking in low voices, but India could hear them as if she was standing next to them when they stopped at the entrance.

“I hit her, I know it. No shield.”

“Where is she then?”

“Timed portkey? The alley here is not covered.”

“Or she’s hiding. Careful. That’s one dangerous werewolf bitch. She took down `Greyback, after all.”

“Wait for reinforcements?”

“It’s a dead end. She can’t get out.”

It was a dead end, but not for a Slayer. India easily climbed the five meter wall there, without giving herself away. Then she was on the roof, still invisible, and started to make her way towards the Leaky Cauldron. She felt frustrated - she hadn’t killed any monster or dark wizard, and had almost been caught by wizards herself. Kit would be so disappointed. At least she had gotten away without needing the help of Fitzburg. That was something.

*****​

“How are your students progressing, Remus?” Albus was sitting in the kitchen at No. 12 Grimmauld Place, sipping tea. The students in question were in the library at the moment, with Sirius supervising. He still had cast a privacy charm, of course. Secrecy could not be overrated these days.

Remus sighed, and Albus frowned. He had been under the impression that the trio was doing well. Why would… ah.

“Young Nymphadora has been released from St. Mungos. Her wounds were not grave, barely more than a typical Quidditch injury.” The Headmaster smiled reassuringly at his younger friend. Young love… it warmed his heart to see Remus, who had all but convinced herself he would never love, as dangerous as he was, to open his heart, at least a bit, to someone.

Remus coughed in response, and decided to ignore it, it seemed. “They have made progress, and are at a point where I would deem them capable of resisting most mental probes under normal circumstances.”

Albus nodded. “And when the circumstances are not normal?”

“In that case they would likely be given veritaserum, or be tortured. Or both. And I do not know anyone who would be able to stand up to that for very long.”

Albus conceded the point with a gesture of his hand.

“It was quite remarkable what different methods each of the three took to reach a similar level of competency.” Remus’ voice took on the tone he used when teaching, Albus noted. It was a shame he was a hunted man, instead of teaching students - he had a gift for it. “Harry walls his mind off, protecting it with sheer willpower. He lashes out at any probes. Trying to penetrate his memories is like trying to scale a mountain while a hurricane batters at you. Being thrown out of his mind is quite a painful experience.”

Albus eyebrows rose in surprise. “He managed to not only stop you, throw you out?” That was a remarkable feat.

“Indeed, last evening. I had a headache for the rest of the night.” Remus sounded impressed as well - he knew better than most what it took to achieve that. “Hermione uses a different method. Trying to read her thoughts is like navigating a labyrinth while collecting pieces of a puzzle that would result in a map. By the time one has collected them all, the labyrinth usually has changed.”

That sounded like Miss Granger indeed - a sharp mind, sharper than most he knew. maybe sharper than all, once she matured a bit more. “Did she throw you out as well?”

Remus winced. “Not exactly.” At Albus encouraging gesture, he continued. “She waited until I was fully concentrated on solving her puzzles, and stunned me. Several times in fact.”

That was a surprise indeed. Alnus would have expected Miss Granger to use a more conventional defense, precise counter-attacks on the probes, as suggested by the books she read on the subject. This novel, more practical solution hinted at how much she had changed - probably the influence of the Council’s training. “And young Mister Weasley?”

Remus groaned. “He’s the worst of them all. His mind has almost none of the defenses one expects, but it’s almost impossible to find anything - you look for what he did last night, and end up watching his last quidditch match. Or meal. It’s like trying to navigate a ship through shallow waters - if you do not follow the channels you run aground, and the channels lead to the quidditch pitch or the kitchen. Or to the common room, where he is chatting with his friends.”

Albus was quite tempted to test that - it sounded like a truly unique experience. Young Mister Weasley’s passion served him well there, it seems. But his curiosity had to wait. He nodded instead. “You deem them ready then.”

“Yes, I do.” he seemed glad to have finished as well.

“I do not want you to betray anyone’s confidences, but I have to know if you discovered anything that truly needs to be kept secret during your lessons, so they know you know.” Albus studied the werewolf, looking for a signs that he had found out about the ties to the Watchers’ Council.

Remus blushed, which was not what Albus had expected. “Ah… nothing of the sort, just some… passionate private thoughts teenagers usually have.”

“Ah!” Albus smiled. That certainly was not something Remus would like to mention to anyone, much less the one concerned. His curiosity was piqued when Remus muttered he would never be able to rebuke Miss Granger in class without being embarrassed, but he did not let on he had caught that. “I’ll speak to them about the prophecy then.”

“Are you sure, Headmaster? They are still so young, so innocent.” That more than anything told Albus that Remus had not discovered the secrets the three were keeping.

“I am.” He finished his tea, thanked Kreacher, ignoring the insults the elf mumbled in return, and started towards the door. He canceled the privacy spell, then turned towards Remus again. “You should rest a bit. Young Nymphadora will be arriving in the evening, and will likely seek some company to help her forget her ordeal.

He had timed it just right - Remus was drinking his own tea, and ended up sputtering and coughing. Albus left the kitchen as if he had not seen anything. Sometimes, even obvious love needed a bit of a push. In these trying times, time was something even young people might run out of any day, as the brutal attack on Nymphadora had proven.

*****​

Harry, Hermione and Ron all turned towards the entrance when they heard the door to the library open. Sirius, whose idea of supervising was apparently alternatively teasing harry and hermione, and reading a book filled with naughty stories and illustration - unless he had been pranking hermione when she had asked to know what he was reading, which was always a possibility - was simply nodding at the headmaster. He must trust his home’s security a lot, Harry thought - but then, it had served as a safe haven for him for over a year, and now for Remus for months. Compared to Hogwarts that was quite a good record, even counting the cursed furniture.

“Ah, there you are!” The old wizard was beaming. “I just spoke with Remus, and he told me you have, if not yet mastered, so at least reached impressive competency at occlumency.”

Harry drew in a sharp breath. Did that mean…

“So, I think it is time you hear the full prophecy.”

That made everyone sit up straight, including Sirius. Hermione even stood up, so eager was she to hear it. Harry felt a bit angry at that - he was the subject of the prophecy, it had shaped his life, robbed him of his parents, and she treated it like every other piece of obscure knowledge. He berated himself for such petty thoughts right away. His girlfriend knew, as did he, how important the prophecy was to defeat Voldemort, and how important it was for his life. It was only natural that she would want to know as much as possible about it.

Sirius went to check the door was closed, and Dumbledore cast a few obscure spells. Or not so obscure spells, Harry noted, when he saw Hermione’s eyes light up. Once the adults were satisfied no one was listening in - Harry thought he had heard twin cries of dismay when Sirius had cast a spell before locking the door - they sat down at the table with the three students.

Dumbledore took a deep breath, and his smile felt a bit forced. “It goes without saying that this secret may not leave this room.” He looked at everyone, and one by one the three nodded. Harry felt a bit bad - they were planning to inform the Council as soon as possible, after all, but there was no choice. The Watchers had to know. Besides, Uncle Quentin was family. Sort of. Then Dumbledore told them the full prophecy, and Harry forget about anything else. Marked as an equal… the scar? A power the Dark Lord did not know? What could that be? He had managed to burn Quirrel to ashes as a first year, but hadn’t been able to hurt the Dark Lord when he was resurrected. Voldemort had to die or he’d would kill Harry. He knew that already, sort of, but did it mean he had to personally do the deed?

He shivered and had to clench his teeth together to keep them from chattering, he was so tense. Hermione moved into his lap, hugging him. Her closeness helped, and he buried his face into her hair while he tried to calm down. He barely heard Ron muttering curses that would cause Mrs Weasley to cast a scourgify into his mouth if she ever heard them.

After a few minutes - or so he thought - he had calmed down, and was meeting Dumbledore’s eyes again. “Thank you, Sir. It explains a lot.” It didn’t, it opened more questions than it answered, but Harry didn’t want to say that.

“Sirius, I think Harry and his friends could do with some tea to help with this revelation. Maybe you could get some in the kitchen? Sirius, who had been staring at his charge with anguish on his face, rushed off. His godfather must feel terrible, the young wizard realized, for not being able to help him with this. His thoughts were interrupted when Dumbledore cast another privacy spell.

“While your godfather is away, there’s another important topic we need to discuss. I need to get into contact with the Council. It is nigh time for us to join forces against Voldemort.”


Chapter 9: Alliances

 

Chapter 9: Alliances

Harry stared at Dumbledore with wide eyes. When… how… Remus? Had Remus found out about their ties to the Watcher’s Council, and informed Dumbledore? The thought of his honorary uncle betraying his confidence like that hurt almost like a physical blow. In his lap, Hermione stiffened. His girlfriend had had her suspicions, he remembered.

“How did you find out, sir?” The young witch asked in a clipped, strained tone.

Dumbledore sighed. “I caught a glimpse of your mind when you brought the matter with Madam Umbridge up.I apologize for the rude intrusion, but I had to be sure what happened, given the delicate political ramifications of the situation.”

Hermione froze, and Harry could almost feel her anger building up, filling her. Anger at the Headmaster, but at herself too - he knew she hated failing, especially failing him, her family, or herself. He wrapped his arms tighter around her waist and pulled her into his chest.

“I see.” Harry could feel her trembling slightly. “And why do you mention this now, and not earlier?”

“If I had mentioned this topic earlier, would you have stayed at Hogwarts, or would you have fled the premises? I couldn’t risk that. We need to work together, you, me, the Order, and the Council, to defeat Voldemort.”

Harry had to, if grudgingly, admit that if they had known about this violation of their privacy, they’d have likely decided to cut and run, and cast their lot with the Watchers. “Maybe.” Hermione gripped his hand, but didn’t say anything right then.

“I do not have to tell you how dangerous it is if we do not work together. It would be very easy for certain elements to set the Ministry against the Council by playing on the fear of the Slayer.”

“You mean Malfoy.”

“Yes, Harry. I still have friends in the Ministry. If we work together, we can avoid a lot of mishaps.”

“Do you expect the Council to follow your plans, sir?” Hermione hadn’t relaxed even a bit, she was still tenser than a bowstring, but she at least sounded composed. It was a good question too, Harry knew.

“No. I think we - the Order - and the Council both have their duties, and tasks they are well-suited for. But we need to coordinate and share information, if we want to defeat our common foe. I learned that lesson fighting Grindelwald. It took a lot of people from a lot of countries working together to defeat him, even if popular belief makes it appear as if it was just us two dueling.” The Headmaster smiled sadly, for a moment he even seemed lost in thought.

“I can ask my contact at the Council, and see what he thinks of this. But given past events involving Harry, he might not be too willing to extend his trust to you.”

Dumbledore sighed some more, and almost looked crestfallen. “I have made mistakes, I have to admit that, but often, there was not much one could have done.”

“That remains up to debate.” Hermione raised her chin shifted her position slightly, as if she wanted to shield Harry with her body while she gripped his left hand almost possessively.

“If we exchange information and work together, the odds of such mistakes are greatly reduced. Lack of information and a lack of another perspective are the most common causes for mistakes, even or especially in such an endeavor.“ Dumbledore sounded more like a politician than a teacher, but his words did ring true. Since Hermione leaned back against Harry and sighed silently, she had recognized that as well.

His girlfriend wasn’t done yet, though. “And what if the Council’s policies towards enemies do offend you or your order?”

“I assume you relate to the killing of Death Eaters.”

“And their supporters.”

“As regrettable as such actions are, I am no stranger to killing in a war. And neither are most of the other members of the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Then why is Lucius Malfoy still alive then?” Now Hermione sounded passionate. The young witch leaned forward, and her movement in Harry’s lap almost distracted him from the discussion. “He tried to kill all muggleborn in second year by setting a basilisk loose in the school! If not for his meddling, the Ministry might be fighting Voldemort, and Sirius and Professor Lupin wouldn’t be wanted men!”

Dumbledore closed his eyes, but nodded. “I know this, Miss Granger. Removing Lucius from the equation would greatly hamper Voldemort’s campaign for control of the Ministry. And yet such an attempt, even if it succeeds, could also greatly further Voldemort’s cause. If I were to be implicated in an assassination attempt on such a family, I would lose almost all that’s left of my reputation and influence, and Voldemort would surely exploit this to take control of the Ministry - and then send it after me and the Order - and Harry.”

“I see.” Hermione ground the words out. Harry knew she didn’t want to admit the Headmaster had a point, he didn’t want to either. He wanted to see Lucius Malfoy dead before the Death Eater did more harm to him and his friends.

“Though since Voldemort is likely to reside in Malfoy Manor, any attempt in Lucius’ home would be unlikely to succeed at this point anyway. And when he leaves his home, Lucius usually directly floos to the Ministry.”

“Where he is surrounded by aurors and other potential witnesses.”

“Exactly, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore sounded like a teacher who just had a pupil answer a difficult question correctly, Harry half expected him to award house points.

“I will inform the Council.” Hermione didn’t sound as much convinced as resigned.

“Thank you, Miss Granger. I think this will help everyone opposing Voldemort.” Dumbledore didn’t sound triumphant, but his satisfaction - and maybe relief - was not hidden. “Ah, there is Sirius.”

The door opened, and Sirius entered. “I am sorry for the delay, but the tea pot was jinxed. I had a quite a bit of trouble dealing with it since Remus refused to undo whatever he did to it.” The tone of Harry’s godfather left no doubt that the werewolf would be pranked in return.

“Oh, I am sure it was just a magical mishap, and not a prank. Such things tend to happen in magical dwellings as old as this, Sirius.” Dumbledore smiled as he took his cup of tea. Harry frowned. Sirius had returned to the library just when their discussion had finished. That was quite a coincidence. He glanced at Hermione, who frowned as well, then at the Headmaster who was by all appearances enjoying his tea. A coincidence, or a well-placed spell to make sure they’d not be interrupted. The upcoming meeting, should Hermione’s uncle agree to it, was bound to be interesting.

*****​

“Do you trust him?”

Hermione turned her head towards the not-so-secret-anymore door, where Harry was standing. He had not knocked, simply opened the door. Probably because he was focused on the discussion with Dumbledore they had earlier this day, but… “You didn’t check if I was decent before coming into my room.”

Harry blushed. “Ah… I was … I am sorry. Please forgive me.”

Hermione made a dismissive gesture. She had already changed into her nightwear, after all. “I understand. That was quite the revelation today.” Patting the the spot next to her on her bed in an unspoken invitation, she continued. “I don’t know if I can trust him. The things he did and let happen to you… and yet I don’t know if we can afford to spurn his offer.”

Harry sat down next to her. He didn’t seem to pay much attention to her skimpy attire tonight. Hermione hoped that was just because his thoughts were otherwise occupied, and not because he was losing interest. “Yeah. He is the most powerful wizard in Britain, after all. I am not sure Voldemort can be defeated without him. Not without paying a high price.”

It galled, but Hermione had to agree. “Yes. If he’s working with the Council, we should be able to find the location of Voldemort more quickly.”

“You don’t sound too certain.”

“I am not certain. Dumbledore is used to run everything - Hogwarts, the Wizengamot, the ICW.” She bit her lower lip, a habit she had not been able to lose, unlike chewing her hair. “I don’t know if he can work with others without trying to order them around.”

“If anyone can stand up to him it’s your uncle. He doesn’t owe him anything, wasn’t raised in awe of him, and didn’t go to Hogwarts.” Harry pulled her closer to him, but not into his lap.

“Yes.” Hermione slid into his lap sideways and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’ve informed my Uncle about the offer, he said he’ll have an answer tomorrow.”

“You don’t sound too happy about it.”

Hermione sighed. “I am not. But… I am being childish.”

“You’re the least childish girl I know.” He placed a brief kiss on her cheek.

That would have been more reassuring if Harry knew more girls. “It’s just… if the Council and the Order work together, where does that leave us? I want to help, not… clean the house for Molly Weasley like some maid.” She almost growled the last sentence.

“We will be helping. ‘The power he knows not’, remember? They can’t defeat him without us.”

“Without you, you mean. They might want to ‘keep me safe’ while you are risking your life.” Harry grew a bit tense, and she turned her head and glared at him. “Don’t you try to do that to me, Harry! I’ll not stay safe while you do something foolhardy.

“Of course not. As long as you don’t try something foolhardy either.”

Mollified, she settled down again. “I never do anything foolhardy.” When her boyfriend coughed at that, she glared at him again, but to no effect. “Not as much as you, at least.”

Sighing, he conceded the point, but she had a feeling this was not over yet. She didn’t feel like pushing though, and the two remained like that without saying anything, for a while.

*****​

Quentin Travers was nervous, but didn’t show it - hopefully. He was about to meet Albus Dumbledore, one of the most powerful wizards in Great Britain, and in a magical house. He had considered meeting the old wizard in the headquarters of the Council, but the slight advantage that would have granted would not have been worth the security risk. They would be meeting at a safe house, even though that wouldn’t be that safe, given the capabilities of wizards. But visiting the place Mister Potter and his grandniece were staying at was apparently impossible due to obscure magic. Hopefully his willingness to enter the magical world, and the lion’s den, so to speak, had made the desired impression anyway.

He would have preferred not to meet the wizard, to keep the Watcher’s actions secret, do what was needed and then leave the wizards and witches to their antics again, but that was not an option anymore with their cover blown. Hermione had been very apologetic about the whole affair, but it wasn’t her fault - Quentin had known there was a risk of discovery, and Dumbledore had his reputation for a reason. One didn’t reach the positions he had held without a large amount of ruthlessness and guile.

Quentin was alone, apart from his driver and bodyguard. The Watchers’ wizards anonymity was too useful to be sacrificed for a bit of additional security, and Quentin doubted even two or three of them together would be able to stand up to Dumbledore should the man plan something. Not magically, at least. The weight of the Browning Hi-Power under his left shoulder was not as reassuring as it should have been. Blessed silver bullets did help against some monsters, but unless the wizards brought a werewolf, it wouldn’t help that much - Quentin was not as fast with it as he had been in his youth, in the service. Still, Dumbledore was even older, so he might have a chance, should it come to it.

He ran his hand over his chest, where the medallion hung under his shirt. That was supposed to protect his mind. None of the wizards at headquarters had been able to overcome its protection, but then, they were not Dumbledore. He scoffed - he was starting to sound and think like one of those pureblood twits. For all his might and experience, Dumbledore was but a man, and a mortal, fallible one at that, as his recent past had proven. Quentin was a Watcher with decades of experience, and he’d not be cowed by rumor and hearsay.

He checked his watch. Five minutes to eight. His grandniece would be arriving with Potter and Dumbledore soon, under the guise of a special training. Quentin approved of the precautions taken to preserve secrecy - as long as they were upheld. Two could keep a secret if one was dead, and all.

Five minutes later the doorbell rang. Quentin nodded to his bodyguard, who went to check the door. A minute later, Hermione, Mister Potter and a man that looked like Gandalf with no fashion sense entered the living room. Quentin hadn’t really believed that when he had been told.

“Greetings, Mister Travers.” The wizard, wearing reading glasses and an overly friendly expression, smiled at him and offered his hand.

Quentin smiled back and shook it. “Welcome to my temporary abode, Mister Dumbledore.” He gestured at the couch and seats arranged around the coffee table, where a pot of tea had been prepared already. Quentin noted that both Hermione and Mister Potter were nervous but trying to hide it, and sitting close together. Good. They’d be on their guard then.

After everyone was seated and served, Quentin leaned back, tea cup in hand. “You wished to meet with me, Mister Dumbledore.” He pretended not to notice the brief check the other man had performed before taking a sip from his cup.

“Indeed. As I represent the Order of the Phoenix, currently the only wizard organization opposing Voldemort, I do think it would be advisable for us to meet and compare notes, so to speak.”

“One would think the Ministry for Magic would be up in arms with their greatest foe back from the dead, given your knowledge about the matter.” It was a cheap shot, but Quentin liked to take the man’s measure in a number of ways.

“Regrettably, our Minister for Magic is unwilling to face this particular truth. My star has been waning lately, outshone by the gold from Voldemort’s followers.”

“Such things happen.” Quentin nodded as if he accepted the excuse. Losing control of one’s puppet like that was inexcusable though, in his opinion. That was almost as bad as a Slayer going rogue, which would never happen under his watch. “I trust you have taken steps to correct the situation.”

Dumbledore kept smiling, but his eyes grew hard. “I have made arrangements to disprove those who slander me and Harry, but so far they have not born fruit and have only led to my people being in greater danger.”

“Mister Weasley.” Mister Potter gasped, staring at the wizard. Quentin’s Grandniece was more composed - chip of the old block, he thought proudly.

“Yes.” Dumbledore nodded towards the couple. “Now, I might be mistaken, but I fear your own efforts in battling Voldemort have not met with more success than mine.”

The old codger was right, but Quentin was loathe to admit it. “We have had some success. A few of his followers were removed, and we made sure that his recruitment efforts among the vampires and other demons were foiled. We would have had more success without interference from your Ministry.” Choke on that, wizard!

“I see.” Dumbledore didn’t sound as if vampires or demons were much of a concern. Not many wizards did, unless they had personal experience with those monsters.

“So what exactly do you propose?”

“I propose we share what information we have, and coordinate our efforts. Between our two organizations, we should have both the knowledge and the means to vanquish Voldemort.”

“Sharing our information is quite risky. Who would have access to what we would tell you?” Information was power, but Quentin was all too aware of how leaks appeared in every organization. It wouldn’t be the first time the Order of the Phoenix had had a spy in it.”

“Only myself, and those I trust completely.” Dumbledore sounded very convincing. Too convincing for Quentin’s taste.

“Would those include Severus Snape, former and possibly current Death Eater?” From the way Dumbledore lost his smile and Potter and Hermione gasped, that had hit a nerve.

“I trust Severus completely.”

“What? That foul, sadistic…” Potter was starting to rant, but Quentin’s grandniece managed to stop it. Quentin ignored the scene.

“Given his reputation, I assume you consider him a spy for your Order.”

“That is correct, Mister Travers. I am sure you are familiar with the lengths one sometimes has to go to keep one’s cover.” Dumbledore nodded towards him, also ignoring the two children.

“I am also very much aware that spies are supposed to gather information, they are not privy to one’s own secrets, lest they spill them - under duress, or otherwise - to the enemy should they get caught.” Anyone who had been in the service would know that. If Dumbledore was such a fool…

“While I trust Severus to rather die than betray us, I can accept that reasoning.” So the old wizards was not as much of a fool as it had seemed - or he planned to betray their confidence. Not that Quentin planned to spill all his information.

“Who else will be informed then?”

“Alastor Moody and Minerva McGonagall.”

A man who was defeated and impersonated, and a school teacher. At least they were not traitors, but Quentin realized that Dumbledore was lacking competent help far more than he had expected. That was not a purely bad thing - it would mean the wizard would depend on the Council’s assets more. Which meant the Council would have greater pull. Quentin nodded. “Acceptable. I’ll keep the information to those already involved intimately - the Slayer, her Watcher, and the Watchers assigned to the task of dealing with Voldemort and his followers directly.”

“Your wizards then.”

“Yes.” Quentin hadn’t expect the other to be ignorant of their own need for wizards, but it still vexed him to have it stated to clearly. Point Dumbledore. “So, what information do you have to share?”

“Apart from the prophecy you might already be aware of”, Dumbledore answered, with a glance towards the couple, who didn’t show any reaction, “there is the nature of the connection between Harry and Voldemort, and the means of the latter’s return from death.”

“And his suspected location.” Hermione added, which earned her another glance from the old wizard.

“That will only matter if we manage to render the Dark Lord mortal again.” It wasn’t quite a rebuke, but close. His grandniece raised her chin and met the wizard’s eyes with stubborn determination. She’d be a very good watcher in a few years, Quentin thought, not for the first time.

“We’ve got a lot of experience with both prophecies, and killing the so-called immortals. Would you mind elaborating on those points you mentioned?”

Dumbledore did retell the prophecy. Quentin didn’t fully agree with his interpretation, but one never knew for sure with those things anyway. He’d leave that to Rupert, who was somewhat of an expert for such. There was one point though…”Are you sure that the prophecy was not already fulfilled when Mister Potter destroyed the Dark Lord’s body for the first time?”

“Yes. The orb in the Hall of Prophecies is still active, so it has not yet come to pass.” Now that was information Quentin hadn’t known before.

“The Hall of Prophecies?”

“A room in the Department of Mysteries where true prophecies are stored. It’s well-protected, Voldemort’s attempts to gain entrance have been foiled once already. Keeping him from learning the full prophecy is one of the task of our Order.”

“Can those prophecy orbs be destroyed?” Destruction was one of the best ways to deny an enemy a crucial resource, in Quentin’s opinion. It removed temptation to use whatever dark magics were involved as well.

“Only the ones mentioned in the prophecy can even remove the orb from its place.” Dumbledore smiled confidently.

“Harry or Voldemort then.” Hermione had apparently had already thought of a solution. “We could swap it with a copy. Well, Harry could.”

“And interesting proposal with a lot of merit, I think.” Dumbledore smiled but Quentin couldn’t tell if he was serious, or just placating Hermione. His grandniece beamed - apparently she needed a bit more seasoning in not falling for praise.

“I think that’s an excellent idea.” Quentin was not above using the same tactics, if they worked, and was rewarded with a beaming smile from the young witch and future Watcher. “But what about the way Voldemort cheated death?”

Dumbledore grew very serious, and spoke in a grave voice. “That is one secret that cannot be spread. Voldemort has worked the darkest of the dark arts. He has created horcruxes.” When no one reacted to the word, he seemed content to explain. “Through an act of cold-blooded murder, he split his soul, and place a shard of it in an object, which serves as an anchor for his soul that keeps him from passing over as long as it is not destroyed.” When no one present showed much of a reaction, the old wizard frowned. Quentin didn’t know why - he had expected something far worse from the introduction. “It dooms him to an eternity in limbo, preventing him from entering the afterlife, but it makes him immortal as long as the horcrux remains.”

“So,when we kill him he’ll be further punished for his sins after death?” Quentin could live with that. If it was the soul of an innocent that was doomed, that would be something else. He’d still have Voldemort killed, but he’d feel some regret.

“And I have reasons to suspect, good reasons, that Voldemort has created multiple horcruxes, and hid them well. To find everyone of them, and destroy them, will be a task both difficult and dangerous.” That was a sobering prospect indeed.

“If they are connected to his soul then they should be able to be tracked through that. There might be a ritual for that we can use.” Quentin was no expert, but there were numerous works on souls in the Watchers’ library, given their importance for demons.

“Can we strike at the soul directly? If it is destroyed, wouldn’t that destroy the horcruxes at the same time?” Hermione asked with obvious interest.

“Miss Granger!” Dumbledore sounded horrified. “Are you talking about destroying a soul?”

“Yes.” Quentin’s grandniece sounded as surprised at this reaction as himself. “If we could get a Dementor to suck out his soul, would that destroy the horcruxes as well?”

While the old wizard was staring, Quentin couldn’t help but cutting in. “That would explain why those despicable demons are used for executions, if you have to fear any culprit’s return due to horcruxes. It doesn’t excuse dealing with such horrible demons”, he added with a glance to his grandniece, “but it would explain why they are tolerated.” Pot, kettle, black, he added in his mind.

“I do not think that’s why those abominations are used in that capacity.” Dumbledore answered with strained dignity.

“But it’s common practice, Sir. Sirius still has a kiss on sight order hanging over his head, and Barty Crouch Jr. was kissed last year.” Mister Potter sounded indignant at what he was likely to perceive as hypocrisy.

Dumbledore sighed. “I do hope we can deal with Voldemort without resorting to such methods, for there is another problem. Your scar, Harry. It may be a horcrux.”

“What?!” Three voices yelled at the same time, and it took a while before Dumbledore was able to explain his suspicion. Not without wondering if the Watchers had not noticed the peculiar nature of the scar, seeing as they had such experience with souls. Quentin had admitted he had had some suspicion, but nothing concrete, since they had had no opportunity so far to confirm so of their - now obsolete - theories. He was sure his grandniece would understand, once she got over the shock that her boyfriend was possibly a horcrux. He wasn’t sure though if she would understand if they had to kill Potter. Hopefully they’d find a solution that would avoid that - Mister Potter and his grandniece would make good watchers, after all.

*****​

Harry might be a horcrux. He might carry part of Voldemort’s soul in him. He might be a soul anchor, part of what kept Voldemort immortal. He might have to die so Voldemort could be killed. If the prophecy had been a shock, this was far beyond that. Hermione’s mind was frantically trying to find a solution. If they couldn’t kill the soul without endangering Harry’s soul, that only left removing all those soul shards from wherever they were stuck in. They’d either be destroyed, or rejoined Voldemort’s soul. She had wanted to head straight to the library - to the libraries, first the Watchers’ library, then the Black Library - and devour all books on souls and soul magic she could find. But Harry had needed her - he gone almost catatonic for a while, then had sunk into a depression no matter what she had tried to cheer him up. A failure which had led to her feeling depressed, which in turn had made Harry feel guilty.

The proposal from Dumbledore to sneak into the Department of Mysteries and exchange the prophecy orb for a copy had come at the right time, it allowed the two to keep their focus on something other than their respective failures, in Hermione’s opinion. In theory. She was still thinking about what she could do, without finding a solution, even now, waiting in the floo room at Grimmauld Place past midnight. Hopefully Harry would be doing better. She glanced at him, and knew he wasn’t. Sighing, she stepped closer to him, and hugged him. Feeling him so close, with his hands caressing her hair and rubbing her back, she felt a tiny bit better, and hoped he did as well. She didn’t look at his face to check though. She was too afraid she’d be wrong again.

The mission, to use Sirius’ name, was quite simple. They’d sneak in using the same way and route as the Order members who stood guard at the corridor leading to the Hall of Prophecies, covered by Harry’s cloak of invisibility. Entering the hall itself would be a bit tricky, but Dumbledore, who’d take them there himself, covered by a disillusion spell, was quite positive he’d manage. Following Dumbledore sounded quite less dangerous than most of the adventures the two of them and Ron had been through in the last few years, but then… the Department of Mysteries sounded far more ominous than most of what they had faced as well.

Hermione didn’t know how long they had remained in each other’s arms, trying to find a modicum of solace in each other, and at best having minimal success, until Dumbledore arrived. “Hello Harry, Miss Granger. Are you ready for our jaunt?”

The couple separated, slowly, and kept holding hands while nodding “Yes, sir.”

“Splendid. let us be off then!” Dumbledore sounded far too cheerful for the occasion, Hermione found. But it might be his attempt to cheer Harry up. A selfish part of her hoped he’d fail more than she had. She tried to suppress that part, but with mixed success.

The Headmaster side-apparated them to a spot near the entrance to the Ministry - a telephone booth, of all things. Hermione couldn’t keep from giggling. When the two wizards looked at her in surprise, she whispered “Dr. Who”, which made Harry smile, but left Dumbledore lost. “I’ll explain later.”

“Very well.” The old wizard led them inside the booth, and with a flick of his wand silenced the voice asking their names and purpose of visiting, and took control of the disguised elevator. A brief trip later they were in the atrium, all invisible now. “Enter the elevator I just marked with the blue light.” Dumbledore whispered, and Hermione noticed a small blue light over one of the doors opposite their spot. Harry had noticed it as well, and the two started towards it.

Hermione felt a bit nostalgic, sharing the cloak with Harry. Like in first year. But both had grown since, and now had to stick much closer together to avoid their feet becoming visible. Not that Hermione minded being close to Harry. As soon as they had entered the other elevator it started to descend - Dumbledore must have a way to spot them despite the cloak, she realized. Before she could dwell on possible ways to achieve that, they reached their destination.

“Usually an Order guard would be here, but I took over this shift for tonight.” Dumbledore explained while he led them past a pillar with a floating blue light this time. Hermione felt Harry tense up, and realized that this was where he had seen Mister Weasley getting attacked. She pressed herself into his back even more, and and felt him stiffen up again - hopefully that was a good sign.

With each step they took towards the entrance at the end of the corridor, Hermione felt more nervous. Wouldn’t there be spells to ward off intruders? Traps to capture them, or worse? Alarms to alert aurors to the intrusion? Had the Headmaster removed them all, silently? And if he had managed that, what about Voldemort? By the time they reached the door, the young witch was almost certain that the corridor was longer than it appeared, and that a trap was waiting at the door, or past it.

She was proven wrong - so far. Dumbledore had the door open in a few minutes, though she heard him cast almost continuously this time, until the door opened, revealing a large hall with countless shelves full of blue orbs.

The blue light following Dumbledore’s disillusioned form led them to a shelf a bit to the back, and ended hovering in front of a particular orb - the Prophecy involving Harry and Voldemort. Harry pulled out the decoy, and easily swapped the two. Almost anticlimactic, Hermione found, no matter how much that was a good thing. A bit of a fight, or at least a trap, would have helped Harry out of his funk, she was sure.

*****​

“Mister Malfoy?” The guard at the docks of Azkaban looked surprised. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

Lucius Malfoy frowned. “I was called by the DMLE to come here at once, despite the fact it was the middle of the night, because there was an emergency involving my sister in law. Are you telling me you have no idea about this? Is the DMLE in the habit of pranking citizens now?” He took a step out of the barge that had brought him to the island, the picture of an outraged pureblood victim of a bureaucratic screw up.

“No, no, I am sure this will all be cleared at once by the Warden. Please follow me.” The guard on night shift was so flustered by the threat of bearing the brunt of the anger of the close friend of the Minister, he failed to notice how the barge, who had been quite low in the water, rose steadily, nor the creaking footsteps on the docks. He did hear the words of the killing curse, but only managed to turn around in time to be hit in the chest by it, instead of the back.

Lucius paid no attention to the corpse; he was staring at the Dementors that had started to surround him. He could feel their aura, could feel the cold gripping his limbs, the terror taking hold of him, when next to him, the Dark Lord became visible and faced the demons guarding the most secure prison of Wizarding Britain. His mere presence drove the floating Dementors back, and Lucius sighed with relief. He fervently hoped that whatever deal the Dark Lord struck with the foul monsters, they would not end up taking up residence at his manor. His sister in law and her husband and his brother would be bad enough.

In front of him, the Dark Lord was talking with one of the demons, face to face, braving whatever unholy terror their hoods usually hid without flinching. Both were speaking a guttural, inhuman language that sent shivers of dread down Lucius spine, trying to make him flee and hide, but he withstood the atavistic urge. He was a Malfoy, not some coward.

After ten tense minutes, the Dementor nodded, and floated away, followed by the dozens of his ilk also present, towards the prison tower. Soon the small group at the docks heard screams of terror and anguish, half a dozen and more voices crying out, silenced one by one. Then the Dementors floated towards them again, more numerous this time. The Dark Lord pointed out to the sea before the cold and dread became unbearable, and the demons turned, heading towards the shores of Britain.

“Come, let us liberate our comrades, unjustly imprisoned for over a decade!” The Dark Lord set out for the prison, and a still shaking Lucius followed.


Chapter 10: Plots and Plans

 

Chapter 10: Plots and Plans

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, staring at but not seeing the lemon drop bowl on his desk. His thoughts were focused on what Mister Travers had told him at their meeting.

“We also have found out that a vampire witch is working for Voldemort. She’s been recruiting the other vampires in Britain - until we put a stop to that. But she’s still at large.”

Who could that be? What poor witch would have been suffering such a fate, without the aurors tracking the walking corpse down and disposing of it? If only a wizard or witch had seen her, he would have been able to procure a memory to study. Descriptions were not good enough to identify her. The Watchers had said they’d create a sketch, but Dumbledore hadn’t much hope of that producing a usable portrait.

He wondered if he had known her, before her death. Who could say, with how long vampires could exist when not destroyed. She might not even be British. And yet he could not shake the feeling that she was, and that he had known her, and failed her. So many children had passed through his school, he felt responsible for every one of them. He knew they made their own decisions, had to make their own decisions, but if he maybe just been a bit sterner, or more lenient, or simply had paid a bit more attention… Sighing, he nodded at Fawkes, who had made inquiring noises for a few minutes now. “I am just thinking of the past, Fawkes. A foible of old people like me.” The phoenix trilled in a way that lifted the Headmaster’s spirit, and went back to grooming his right wing.

Albus thoughts returned to the mysterious vampire witch again though. If only he had a name… Could he ask Severus to find out? It would increase the risks his spy braved already, but there were reasons that wizards and witches who had gotten turned were hunted down and destroyed, and it would strengthen the still fresh and fragile alliance with the Watchers Council. Yes, it was worth the risk.

The Council member he had met, Quentin Travers, had been… interesting. Miss Granger’s great-uncle was a hard man, no doubt. A man with a mission, and iron determination, who’d not let anything, or anyone, come between him and his goals. A man willing, or so Albus assumed, to walk down the road to hell with his head held high, firm in his belief he was doing the right thing, no matter the costs. A man like Albus’ old friend, Gellert Grindelwald.

Albus sighed, the memories that thought brought up causing more pain and guilt - none of it misplaced, he knew. If only he had, or hadn’t… Arianna might still be alive. The old wizard closed his eyes, willing that particular memory away. As always the temptation to extract that scene and store it in a vial, or even destroy it, rose, and as he had always done, he resisted. This was his part of his penance for his sins, and he’d take this memory with him into the grave, a painful reminder of how fallible he was.

Gellert had been convinced that what he was doing was for the greater good, that his ends justified his means. Mister Travers seemed to hold similar beliefs. Neither was entirely wrong, but there came a point where one was doing more harm than good, where the means one was using poisoned the ends, irrevocably. Would he be able to do what was needed should Mister Travers cross that line, even though it might alienate Harry and Miss Granger, or, even worse, drive them down a similar path?

He knew the answer, had it known ever since that most famous duel of his. In his own way, he was cut from the same cloth, doing what was right, no matter the cost - to himself, or to others.

With an effort, he forced his thoughts on a more practical matter. The Hall of Prophecies. The prophecy had been removed from its place there, but Voldemort didn’t know that. There was still a chance that he’d try to recover it personally, exposing himself in the process. But as poor Arthur had shown, stationing a guard there was too risky. The loss of one Order member would be a terrible, but acceptable price to pay to expose the Dark Lord, and at last have the Ministry mobilized. But odds were, such a guard would be dealt with by a mere Death Eater, or even an unwilling tool of Voldemort, and if caught himself, could be twisted to harm the Order’s cause. It couldn’t be helped; he had to speak to the Unspeakables.

His thoughts on how best to broach the subject were interrupted by the floo flaring to live in his office, and Alastor’s head appearing.

“Albus! I am coming through. There was a break-out at Azkaban.”

*****​

Quentin Travers dropped the Daily Prophet on his desk. A dozen of the worst Death Eaters escaping from Azkaban? Even worse, the demons they used to guard that prison having disappeared after murdering guards - by eating their souls? Just when he had thought the wizards were not completely hopeless, this had to happen to prove him wrong!

He looked up at Fitzburg, who had brought the newspaper to him. “What’s the reaction in the streets?”

“Panic, Sir. Whoever is not hiding in their homes is out in front of the Ministry and screaming for something, anything to be done right now.” Fitzburg’s tone betrayed the disdain he held for either reaction.

Quentin understood the feeling better than most. Usually he’d caution or even censure Watchers for showing disdain for the people they were protecting, but since those were wizards and witches, and not normal humans, he let it go. It would even help, should the Council have to take action against the Wizards, one day. “The articles are claiming Sirius Black and Remus Lupin as the culprits. I assume the Ministry is still not ready to face the fact that their Dark Lord has returned?”

“Correct sir. And no one I have seen seems to have understood that their own use of such demons as guards is at fault for the current situation.” Fitzburg had a talent for the understatement Quentin approved of. Not many would call a horde of soul-eating demons loose in Britain, demons only a handful of the Watchers could even see, a ‘situation’, and not a catastrophe.

“The dementors have to be our priority. Those abominations cannot be allowed to prey on humans. The wizard enclaves will be protected by their aurors, but I doubt they will do much for the rest of the population. I want every able Watcher on the lookout for them, and the Slayer ready to intercept and destroy them wherever they are found. And let us hope we’ll find a scrying spell that will work on those fiends.” If they did not a great number of people would be killed, would lose their souls even, to those monsters.

“That may bring us into contact, or even conflict, with the wizard authorities, Sir.”

“You are right, but it’s a risk we have to take. We will not let such fiends feed on humans.”

“Yes, Sir.” Fitzburg nodded, and left Quentin’s office.

Quentin stood up and walked to the window. Somewhere out there, invisible to him and most of humanity, those fiends were hunting, preying on humanity. ‘Let’s hope they followed the Dark Lord, and he’s keeping them on a short leash,’ he thought, his lips compressed into a thin line and his expression as grim as he was feeling.

He didn’t like it, but he needed a better line of communication to Dumbledore. Maybe one of those communication mirrors Mister Potter had received for christmas. He certainly wasn’t about to stick his head into a fireplace, especially not one under the control of the Ministry for Magic.

For now though he had another duty to fulfill. In accordance with treaties centuries old, Her Majesty’s government had to be informed of this threat to Her subjects, and of the Watcher’s response. If only so they knew how to cover up the deaths the foolish wizards missed.

*****​

“P-pardon me, Miss.”

Hermione whipped her head around and glared at whoever dared to interrupt her research. She had only one day left of her holiday, and she needed to make the most of it before she returned to Hogwarts and lost her easy access to the Watchers’ Library. She saw a not quite middle-aged man take a step back. “Yes?” The word slipped out before she realized that she was glaring at a Watcher.

“Hello, Miss. My name is Rupert Giles. D-do you need the C-Codex of the C-Coven right now?” The man was not unattractive for his age - distinguished, well-dressed if a bit old-fashioned. He even seemed to be a bit timid, as unlikely as that might be for a Watcher.

“Hello, Sir, I am Hermione Granger.” The young witch hoped she was not showing her embarrassment at her own rudeness as clearly as she felt. “No, I do not currently need it. I already checked the relevant passages. Please excuse my lapse in manners, with the current events I am a bit stressed.”

“Ah, yes. Your great-uncle has everyone we c-can spare looking for ways to d-deal with t-those d-dementors. Dreadful beasts, if I do say so myself.” His eyes briefly glanced at the other tomes on Hermione’s table. “Is that Guilberto’s ‘Extract on the Afterlife’? I would not have expected him to cover dementors.”

“You are correct. I am looking into soul magic. Dementors are said to eat souls, so I think that might be a possible vulnerability.” Hermione was actually looking into ways to deal with a soul fragment, and dementors topped her - sadly short - list, but that was not something to be announced, not with such an important secret behind it.

“That’s a quite original approach. I would not have thought of it myself. D-Do you mind if I join you? It seems more productive than sifting through lore others have read already.”

Hermione did mind, but could not say so. It seemed she’d have to research dementors more than expected today. “Of course not. Please have a seat.” She gestured at the chair in front of her, and levitated the stack of books there off it with her second wand.

If the display of magic surprised Mister Giles he did not show it as he sat down. Soon both were reading and making notes, occasionally commenting something that caught their attention. Mister Giles turned out to be a man with a fascinating knowledge of the arcane, even though he was unable to use a wand. But the rituals he mentioned in passing sounded intriguing. Hermione felt that this interruption would prove very beneficial to her goal.

*****​

“Oof!”

Harry grunted when he hit the - fortunately padded - wall again in his attempt to dodge. Training with Watcher Walker was quite different from training with Sirius and Remus, or Hermione and Ron. Walker, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a sharp nose, reminded him of Moody - the fake one he had known for a year, at least. All that mattered to him was to kill the enemy before he killed you. At least he didn’t shout “Constant Vigilance” all the time, but he didn’t seem to care at all how painful his lessons were. He wasn’t even a wizard - he used a paintball gun to teach Harry “to dodge attacks and remain aware of his surroundings while in combat”.

“You forgot about how close you were to the wall again, Mister Potter. In a real fight, you’d be dead by now - or about to be drained. Get up, we’ll start again.”

“Yes, Sir.” Harry was glad Hermione was researching soul magic and skipping training. He didn’t know if he’d be able to watch his girlfriend getting shot with plastic balls fast enough to leave large and painful bruises. He got up and cast a scourgify on himself, removing half a dozen brightly-colored stains.

Walker reloaded his gun, and turned back towards him, firing without any signal. Harry had expected that though, this time, and dove to the ground, rolling behind a small obstacle. A flick of his wand had the wooden crate levitating in front of him, serving as a shield. He wasn’t allowed to fire back, but he could use his wand to protect himself by affecting the environment. Two paintballs hit the wood, and splattered their load over it.

“Good idea, Mister Potter. Let’s see how well you can move it.” Walker was already sprinting to the side, and Harry had trouble keeping the crate between himself and the Watcher. When Walker got close enough, he had to drop the crate and jump away to avoid getting hit. He landed on the ground, but before he could get up a paintball had hit him into the head, turning half his black hair orange.

“You should have jumped behind, not in front of cover. Get up and we’ll do it again.”

“Yes, Sir.” He hoped Hermione had a better afternoon than him.

*****​

India Cohen was annoyed. She shouldn’t be - she was hunting dementors, patrolling a coastal town near the spot where the ferry to Azkaban departed. She could almost smell the monsters floating ashore there. If it was summer she’d even have a trail of dead plants, victims of the cold aura of the fiends, to follow. Since it was the midst of winter, she wasn’t that lucky. Still, she was on the prowl and wasn’t cooped up in some building while demons roamed the country.

But she wasn’t with Kit, but with Fitzburg. Just because Kit couldn’t see dementors didn’t mean he had to stay home! Liability, Fitz had called him - to her face! - when she had protested. India really wished she didn’t need a wizard able to apparate in case someone else found the monsters. She would be able to teach Fitzburg who was a liability otherwise.

“Do you feel anything?” Fitzburg asked, not for the first time.

“No.” If she had sensed anything, she’d have said so. Dumbass.

“This area might be free of them then.”

“Too close to my dream. They have to be here.” She had seen a house just like those, at the shore. Fishermen, or former fishermen.

“We’ll continue then.” Fitzburg didn’t sound as if he believed her. Kit would have.

The two walked on, passing more cottages. Then, around a bend of the road, India saw it. The house from her dream.

“That’s it!” she all but shouted, and sprinted ahead. She didn’t listen to Fitzburg calling for her to wait. That was the house from her dream. She jumped over the low fence, onto the well-tended lawn. Gravel crunched under her boots when she reached the path to the house. Then she saw the door - and the gap it left.

Cursing, she ran, pushed it open, then stopped. It was just like in her dream - she had arrived too late.

“India, you cannot just…” Fitzburg’s lecture ended when he reached her side, and saw the bodies.

“They were here.” And she hadn’t been in time.

“We know their likely point of entry now. That will make finding them easier.” Fitzburg’s words were a weak consolation in the face of a dead family, but India nodded. She’d find them, and kill them. And then she’d be back with her Watcher.

*****​

The lights were on - Emmeline Vance was at home. For a moment, Severus Snape considered warning her. He could send a Patronus, and the attack would fail. But it would damage his standing with the Dark Lord. His cover. He had to have the Dark Lord’s trust. Now more than ever, with so many of his most faithful followers free again. Vance would understand, not that she’d ever know, that no price was too high to pay for the final defeat of Voldemort. Not even his own life.

He turned towards the masked men with him. “She’s home. Cast the jinxes to block floo travel and apparition, then attack the wards. We have but a few minutes to deal with her. The Dark Lord won’t tolerate failure.”

The half a dozen Death Eaters nodded, and fanned out. Soon colorful spells were clashing with the wards on the house. Vance would be aware of the attack now. Would be aware she was trapped. Would be aware she was doomed. Would she cry, or curse? Severus sent an attack of his own at the wards. There was no time for speculation.

It took a minute to bring down the wards. A Death Eater blew the door open with a reducto, another rushed in - and was blown out right away, his skull crushed by a bludgeoning curse. Amateur, Severus thought, an untrained thug, like so many others. Missions such as those served to weed out the thugs too, he knew that. The Dark Lord didn’t tolerate weakness.

“Keep the door and windows covered. I’ll get the backdoor open.” Severus moved around the house as green spells flew through the hole in the front. Just as he disabled the alarm spell on the backdoor and opened it, the ground shook - someone had cast a bombarda. Since the house was still standing, it had to have been Vance. That meant the screams came from another idiot. One less follower of the Dark Lord - hardly a compensation for the loss the Order would suffer today, but better than nothing. If not for the need to impress the Dark Lord, he would let Vance slaughter all the dunderheads with him.

Severus entered the house, wand ready. His enchanted mask didn’t impede his vision, but provided no advantage either. Something he felt he should rectify one of those days. Vance had to be in the living room, judging from the sounds he heard. Good - she was still focused on the other. The door to the room was not closed. He peered through the small gap into the room, but couldn’t see the witch. For a second he hesitated - should he open the door slowly, and hope she didn’t notice? He decided against it. Too risky.

He kicked the door open and leaned inside. Vance was fast. She had turned already, and was about to cast when his killing curse caught her in the chest. The witch fell over with a surprised expression and was dead before she reached the ground. The idiots outside were still firing spells at the house.

“She’s dead! We’re done here! Return now!”

As the telltale sounds of apparition reached his ears, after they had taken down the jinxes, he realized that he might have faked Vance’s death and still earned Voldemort’s trust. Then he told himself that the witch wouldn’t have hidden for the rest of the war, and would have likely blown his cover. He apparated back to where the group had gathered before the mission, a safe house of no importance. The men were already telling tales of bravery and skill that had no base in reality. He let them - they didn’t matter, and overconfidence would hopefully thin their numbers soon. The Dark Lord was waiting for his report.

Afterwards Severus would inform Dumbledore of what had happened, though he’d have to downplay his own role. He wasn’t sure how understanding the Headmaster would be should he tell the truth. He’d still offer to take over the position as professor for Defense against the Dark Arts, of course. Maybe losing another professor before her term even started might finally make Dumbledore see reason and let him teach what he should have been teaching years ago.

*****​

Hogwarts had not changed over the holidays, Ron told himself while waiting at his customary place near the painting of the Fat Lady for his fellow prefect for their patrol. The castle had not. But the inhabitants had. The news from Azkaban had shaken everyone. Even the teachers were affected, though they tried to hide it. The students though… with the exception of a few particularly stupid Slytherins, everyone was afraid, nervous, or at least faked it. And that changed the castle. It was hard to feel safe when around you everyone was afraid, often huddling together and jumping at shadows.

It was understandable though - the Ministry was blaming Sirius Black and Remus Lupin for the breakout. One of them had broken into Hogwarts several times two years ago, and the other had taught there for a year. It was not too far-fetched to fear them returning, despite the wards and Dumbledore’s presence. And if they brought the dementors with them… that was something Ron was afraid of. He knew Sirius and Remus were innocent, but Voldemort had taken the dementors with him from Azkaban. The young wizard remembered his encounters with them in third year, and shivered. At least Ron, Harry and Hermione sneaking off to train was not drawing any attention in the current climate, especially not since they now had the full support of Dumbledore. They’d need it - with Professor Vance dead before the start of the term, and the fear of the Death Eaters running rampant, the Ministry had sent a veteran auror as teacher. According to what Ron had heard, Gawain Robards was not nearly as useless as the aurors that had been stationed here as guards.

“You’re so brave.” Lavender had stepped out of the Gryffindor common room. The pretty witch shuddered and grabbed his arm. “I would not be able to wait here, alone… not with those monsters out there.”

Ron wanted to hug her and make her feel safe and secure then. With his arm in a vice-like grip, he couldn’t. Instead he reached over with his right arm, and ruffled Lavender’s hair. “I’ve been through worse.” He tried to sound more confident than he was feeling.

“That’s right! You were attacked by Sirius Black twice! And once by the werewolf! And dementors!” Lavender was looking at him as if he was … well, it was all true. Even though she didn’t know what had really happened. “I wish I was as brave as you!”

“You are a Gryffindor, you are brave. You’re just smart enough not to run blindly into danger like a fool.” From the way she smiled, it had been the right thing to say. Who would have thought a lecture from Hermione would come in handy with Lavender? “Let’s go then. The sooner we start the sooner we are done.”

She nodded, still holding on to his left arm, but relaxed her grip once they started walking. After a while, it was as it had been, before the holidays - two people taking a stroll. And his arm was getting pressed against Lavender’s right side, and her chest, from time to time. They passed the first auror on their route without a word until they were out of earshot.

“We’re safe at Hogwarts. Not even Vol... You-Know-Who dared to attack the castle, not with Dumbledore here.” Ron almost had said “Voldemort”. Hermione and Harry were a bad influence - he didn’t want to scare Lavender. He felt guilty enough for keeping what was really happening from Lavender.

“Do… do you think he is really back? You-Know-Who?” Lavender asked in a whisper, as if the Dark Lord would jump out from the shadows any second and kill her.

“Yes.” Ron answered, without thinking about it. He had not believed Harry once, during the Tournament, and he’d not repeat that mistake again.

Lavender gasped. “B... but… the Ministry said he’s dead.”

“Fudge is in the pocket of Malfoy, who is a Death Eater. As long as Malfoy pays him enough, Fudge will say anything.” Ron repeated what his father had said about the issue, before he was attacked at the Ministry. His dad was recovering, but he was still at St. Mungo’s.

“But he was under the Imperius…”

“That was a lie. Harry saw him crawling back to You-Know-Who last year.”

“Then it’s true?”

“Why would Harry lie? Why would Dumbledore lie?”

“I don’t know. But he can’t be back! He can’t!” Lavender was almost crying, and this time Ron did hug her, and held her until she had calmed down.

*****​

“This is useless. There’s nothing here about souls. Nothing useful at least.” Hermione Granger declared to her friends. She didn’t slam the book she had been reading closed, of course - books deserved respect and care, no matter if they were useful for her current task or not.

Harry and Ron looked up from their homework - she had finished hers hours before - and nodded in agreement. Which meant they were humoring her.

“It’s as if the library, even the restricted section, has been sanitized of such knowledge.” Hermione huffed. The mere thought of knowledge being suppressed vexed her on a primal level. It was simply so wrong.

“They probably did that, to avoid someone else following on Voldemort’s footsteps.” Harry commented. He didn’t as depressed as right after that meeting between Hermione’s great-uncle and the Headmaster, but she didn’t like his fatalistic undertone.

“You’re right. I’ll have to search through the Black Library then. And the Watchers’, if I can manage that.” Hermione declared.

“Both are in London. What will you do until our next break?”

“I’ll not wait so long.” She could not wait so long. She needed find a way to save Harry now. “I’ll floo there.”

“What?” Ron blinked. “That’s against the rules.” He had been saying that more often since he had become a prefect. It figured, Hermione thought, that he’d start becoming more responsible when they couldn’t afford it.

“Sod the rules! We need to beat Voldemort.” And save Harry. “Everything else is of secondary importance compared to that. I am sure the Headmaster will agree.” And if he didn’t, she’d do it anyway.

“But can you manage it, Hermione? You’re like… you remember third year?” Harry spoke tentatively.

“I’ll manage.” She wasn’t fourteen anymore. She could do it.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” Harry stood up and had her in his arms before she could answer.

“I won’t.” Didn’t he know that he was more important? Even if she burned out like in third year, it would be worth it if it saved him.

“Please.” Harry touched her cheek, and bent forward. Hermione wanted to avoid his eyes, but she couldn’t. Not when he looked at her like that, with such concern - and such love.

“I won’t hurt myself.” No more than she needed, in any case.

When the two kissed, Hermione felt guilty for lying to Harry. But she would feel even more guilty if she did not enough to save him. Or so she told herself when she wiped tears from her eyes.

*****​

Draco Malfoy smiled as he walked down the corridor on his patrol. He barely paid attention to Pansy Parkinson’s prattling. He had passed a wonderful vacation, shown his skill and power to the Dark Lord himself, and now he was back at Hogwarts ready to do his Lord’s bidding. He had nothing to fear from the dementors and escaped prisoners that had everyone else terrified. Even Pansy, for all his assurances that purebloods of the right kind were safe, was afraid of them. Or she acted as if she was, in the hopes of him comforting her. He would do it, of course - it was the proper thing to do, and Pansy was a pureblood with impeccable ancestry. He might even marry her, after Hogwarts, provided there was no better offer.

In the meantime though she was a bit of a hindrance. He could trust Crabbe and Goyle, they had gone through the same trials as he had, but Pansy had not. Her father was a follower, but had not yet introduced his daughter, and so she might not know how things would be done. As a girl, she might even take offense of how mudbloods and blood traitors were to be treated, to teach them their place.

No, he would have to bide his time until he could strike at the mudbloods and traitors infesting the halls of Hogwarts. But strike he would.

*****​

“And this is the Hall of the Prophecies, my friend. All the prophecies ever made are gathered here, so the Ministry can act upon them whenever there is a need.”

Lucius Malfoy had kept smiling as the fool of a Minister had kept prattling during their tour through the Department of Mysteries, but after thirty tiresome minutes they were finally where he needed to be. “Very Impressive, Cornelius. It must be guarded very well from intruders, given its importance.”

“Indeed. The prophecies themselves can only be removed by those mentioned in them, but the only entrance is this door, and it’s sealed by spells only the Unspeakables know, and only opens for them - or for the Minister’s seal.” The fat fool showed him the seal dangling from a chain around his neck. “As you can see it’s perfectly safe.”

“I am glad. The thought of Black getting his hands on such prophecies is too horrible to contemplate.”

“Fear not, we’ll soon apprehend him and his werewolf accomplice, and all the escaped prisoners, and we’ll have them kissed… err, we’ll send them through the Veil!”

“Of course, Cornelius.” Long practice kept the smile on Lucius’ face from showing his disdain for the fool as he noted the arrangements in the hall. The Dark Lord would not be happy to know he’d have to pick up the prophecy personally, unless Rookwood found a way around that. Lucius had no trouble feigning fear when they entered the next room and Cornelius mentioned the escaped prisoners, and how they made life difficult for the government, again.


Chapter 11: Spy Games

 

Chapter 11: Spy Games

Albus Dumbledore stepped out of the floo in No 12 Grimmauld Place and nodded at Remus and young Nymphadora. He acted as if he had not seen just how close the two had been standing together when he had arrived, and hid his smile at the way both were acting as if they had been standing guard there until he had passed them. Young love - always a heartwarming sight, doubly so during dark times such as those Wizard Britain currently found itself in.

On the way to the salon where the meeting of the Order of the Phoenix would be held he looked into the library. As expected Miss Granger was there, studying ancient tomes. She looked up briefly when the door opened, noded at him and went straight back to reading and making notes. Harry’s friend had been taking the revelation about the nature of his scar not well, and was determined to find a solution. Albus had allowed her to leave Hogwarts in the evenings and travel by floo to Sirius’s home so she could research in the Black Family Library. It had been an easy decision - if he hadn’t, the young witch would have gone anyway, and the still fragile trust Albus had managed to gain again would have been destroyed. That was enough of a reason to allow this, and to cover her absence up as “special lessons” by himself. The Headmaster didn’t think Miss Granger would succeed in her task, but one could always hope.

His mood more somber, he continued through the corridor, past old paintings whose inhabitants tracked him with wary expressions, to the salon. Most of the members of the Order would be already there, availing themselves of the wonders of Molly’s cooking.

*****​

“The aurors have had all leave canceled. We’re doing double shifts at times, going after anything or anyone that might lead us to the escaped prisoners.” Young Nymphadora pouted, obviously not impressed with what she was reporting, even though it might appear to be a good thing to those not familiar with the state of the country. Albus knew that for all the effort the Ministry was making, it was still misguided and foolish, dancing to the tune of Lucius Malfoy’s gold.

After a glance to Remus that was not quite as subtle as she might have thought, the young metamorphmagus continued. “The main suspects are still Remus and Sirius. There are still kiss on sight orders for both of them.”

“I thought the dementors had rebelled?” William Weasley cut in.

“They have. We’re also supposed to track them down and return them to Azkaban. The Minister apparently believes that their absence is just a temporary thing, and that they might be hunting the escaped prisoners.” Nymphadora’s expression left no doubt about her opinion on that.

“Everytime I think I have the measure of Fudge, he proves me wrong by doing something even more stupid than before.” Sirius shook his head.

“Aye. That fool is setting new records even for Ministers. He’s a hand puppet for Malfoy, nothing more. A few of my old friends still in the Ministry can rant for hours about him, and yet they still do his bidding.” Alastor added, before taking a sip from his ever-present flask. Albus didn’t think it was healthy, drinking so much, but his old friend didn’t expect to survive this war. Having been taken prisoner by Barty Crouch Jr. had had an effect on the previously unshakable retired auror.

“We should take dear Lucius out.” Sirius bared his teeth in a caricature of a smile, full of loathing. Neither he nor Remus were taking their enforced inactivity well, Albus knew that. And yet there was no choice - it was too dangerous for either to leave the house, unless there was an emergency. Hopefully training Harry was enough to keep them from doing anything rash.

“Who’s this ‘we’ you speak of, Black?” Severus sneered at his old rival. Or nemesis. “I don’t see you doing anything.”

“This is not the time for childish spats.” Albus glared at both his potion master and their host before either could escalate the matter. When both had stood down, he nodded and addressed the rest of the Order. “I’ve good news. I have made contact with a small group of wizards who believe in Voldemort’s return, and are willing to fight him.”

“New members, Headmaster?” Arthur, finally healthy again, smiled.

“I would say allies. They are not ready to join the Order.” Not that he had asked them, of course. “They are mostly muggleborn wizards, and they seem to have been a bit disillusioned by Wizarding Britain’s society.” Which was putting it mildly. Albus had known that prejudices against muggleborns had not gone away since Voldemort’s first defeat, but he had not been aware just how bad things were. He doubted any pureblood had realized what the life of a muggleborn was like in Wizarding Britain, but that did not excuse his own ignorance. He should have known, should have done something.

“Are they any good with their wands?” Alastor sounded doubtful. He knew different, of course, since Albus had informed him of his alliance with the Council. But such a question would have been expected of him by the others.

“They are quite experienced. Lacking employment opportunities in Britain despite their grades, they took to working abroad, often in quite dangerous positions.” Albus saw William nod. The young curse-breaker knew from experience what Albus implied. Mercenaries. Albus wasn’t happy to fool his friends like this, but Mister Travers had been quite clear about who he’d accept being trusted with information about the Council.

“If they’re old enough they’re good enough then. Certainly better than most of the pampered purebloods in Britain.” Alastor made no secret about who he included in that, and many of the members present bristled at the insinuation. The old auror just scoffed. “We’ll still need to get used to work together.”

“There will be opportunities to fight side by side, and take each other’s measure, Alastor.” Albus stated with a smile. He already knew of one of such, but spreading that information in this meeting would endanger its source. He trusted his friends, but there were ways to make anyone talk. “Miss Granger has provided us with enchanted galleons which will allow us to alert each other if there’s an emergency.” Quite the ingenious variant of the protean charm - N.E.W.T. level magic, in her 5th year. The Headmaster was looking forward to what Miss Granger would achieve once she finished Hogwarts.

“That will cut down on our response time a lot.” William smiled.

“Aye. We might even arrive at a raid before the Death Eaters have left already.” Alastor sounded gruff, but he had been quite happy about the galleons when he had heard of them.

*****​

“Miss Granger? It’s time to return to Hogwarts.”

Hermione looked up with an annoyed expression at the interruption. When she saw it was the Headmaster, she swallowed what she had been about to say, and blinked. “Is the meeting of the Order already over?”

“It’s past eleven, Miss Granger. I dare say your friends are waiting for your safe return.”

“Oh.” She was tempted to stay a bit longer, but didn’t want to push the Headmaster, after he had shown to be so helpful. And Harry would be worried if she stayed too long. He was training with Ron in the Room of Requirement. She gathered her notes and stashed them in her bag. The young witch still had nothing concrete, but she had found a report of a soul restoration ritual done in the Vatican after a particularly nasty demon attack on a Cardinal in the 1550s. No details about it, alas, but she was sure the Watchers Library should have more information, given how often they used blessed weapons and holy water. But with the traveling time that visiting Uncle Quentin entailed, she wouldn’t be able to research that until the weekend.

Sighing she joined the old wizard at the door. He didn’t ask if she had found anything - her mood must have been obvious. But she was not giving up, not now, not ever. Harry needed her, and she’d do her utmost to save him. No matter what it cost her.

*****​

“A squib with a crossbow! What are those people thinking!” A wizard - Diggle something - whispered, unaware that India Cohen could hear him perfectly.

“Maybe she’s Hagrid’s daughter. He’s got a crossbow too.” One of the younger redheads whispered back. The smaller stockier one. Charlie, supposedly working with Dragons. India would love to slay a dragon, not many Slayers had managed that, but apparently they were all in preserves now, and that would not be a real hunt, or a fight to remember. India didn’t know who Hagrid was, but she was not his daughter.

“He’s got a much bigger one though. That one doesn’t look like much.” That was the taller redhead. Handsome, if one liked the bad boys with long hair. India didn’t. India liked men, not boys. One man in particular.

It got a bit hard to ignore the comments and looks. She had to restrain herself from reacting, and from bashing in a Order of the Phoenix faces. Maybe once a number of them had felt her wrath they’d stop arguing about her place in this ambush just because she had no wand but a crossbow. But she had strict orders not to reveal that she was the Slayer, nor to harm their so-called allies. Orders from Mister Travers and from Kit. Who was not present again, despite the importance of this mission - their first joint mission with those wizards! India was starting to fear someone was trying to replace her Watcher. Someone like Fitzburg. She glared at the young wizard when he had his back turned to her. Kit was her Watcher, and she’d not accept anyone else!

To make a point she pulled out her crossbow and checked it, cocking it and loading it with a wooden bolt with cold iron and silver inlays - the “demon special” as the Watchers called it. Kit called it “bolt of demon slaying”, apparently a joke from some game. She smiled, remembering that scene. That had been before she had been chosen.

“Cut the chatter, you fools. If you had any experience worth a damn, you’d know that one’s not a stranger to killing.” The harsh words from the scarred wizard with the weird eye - Mad-Eye - shut the others up, hopefully until the Death Eaters finally arrived.

The Order members, the Slayer and four of the rare Watchers wizards were waiting in an unoccupied apartment near the house of the Tonks, the family of that metamorphmagus auror. India thought she was a shape changing demon, she felt far more different than a witch, but the Watchers had assured her she was a witch, not a demon. India still trusted her gut more. But orders were orders, and her orders were to ambush the Death Eaters who’d attack the house tonight, according to their information. Apparently a crazy witch named Bellatrix Black wanted to kill the whole family. India was looking forward to slaying her.

She twirled a few bolts around in her hand before stashing them in a fluid motion in the loops sewn into the insides of her leather jacket. Then she noticed that the two redheads were staring at her, again - but differently this time. Less patronizingly. Had that minor display of her skill with all weapons given her away? Or… she pulled one jeans-clad leg up on the bench she was sitting on and shifted her position a bit, letting her jacket fall open and expose her top. Yes. They were staring at her chest and legs. Didn’t witches have boobs too? It wasn’t as if she was that stacked. Her legs were very fine though. It still was no reason for them to stare like that. She glared at them and patted her crossbow, then stared at the crotch of the dragon handler. That made the two look away and Mad-Eye chuckle. Good. Maybe they could be taught.

A few minutes passed in silence without anyone talking about sports or something stupid. Then The Order wizards started to talk about quidditch - again.

“Get up you lot! Someone just threw up anti-apparition and floo jinxes on the Tonks!” Mad-Eye suddenly called out, and India was at the window before he had finished speaking, crossbow ready. Someone shouted “Wait!” but she did not listen. She had to get into a good position to cover the house, and she was not about to let slow wizards delay her - she might miss out on the fight!

Dropping down one floor to the ground, she landed in a crouch, eyes searching for targets. The dim light of the night didn’t impede her eyes at all. About 100 meters away she saw a dozen figures moving towards the Tonks’ house. All but one wore black robes and silver skull masks - Death Eaters. The sixth was a witch wearing a corset with a ripped dress. Black. They would have to take down the wards before they could attack the family, so India had some time to get up that roof she had spotted when she had arrived, that would allow her a good field of fire. She was halfway there, sprinting, when the first wizard on her side reached the street, disillusioning himself.

A leap brought her on top of the mailbox, another to the roof on the garage there. She was on her belly, aiming, when the rest of the wizards arrived and started towards the Death Eaters. The Slayer wanted to send a bolt into Bellatrix’ head, but again, her orders prevented her from acting on her urge - she was to take out as many of the masked Death Eaters as possible. Bellatrix was to be taken alive by the wizards since she’d know where the Dark Lord was hiding, and what his plans were.

With a dull thud the first bolt hit a masked Death Eater’s head, almost going all the way through. The dark wizard’s body, caught in the middle of running, spun around itself while dropping to the ground. India had already reloaded. Another bolt took out the one that knelt down to see what had happened to his comrade. It was only then that the scum realized they were under attack. Amateurs, India thought with a sneer while she took aim at another who was turning around himself, wand in front of him looking for her. This time she nailed his neck. He collapsed with while his shredded throat spew blood all over his robes.

Then the disillusioned Watchers and Order members entered the fight, spells flying as they became visible. Bellatrix was untouched, a blue shimmering shield blocking all spells sent towards her. Three Death Eaters went down though, the rest managed to dodge or shield, or were not targeted at all.

Six left including Bellatrix, who was cackling madly. India spotted one robed dark wizard whose shield had gone down due to a spell from someone and pulled the trigger of her crossbow. He fell, clutching the end of the bolt that had pierced his heart. Five left. One Death Eater was running towards her. He was looking over his shoulder though, at the fight behind him, so he must not have seen her yet, and he had no shield up. India’s next bolt made sure he’d never see her. Four left.

Bellatrix was a whirlwind of mad laughter and wildly flying spells. She was dueling two watchers and Mad-Eye, and was still able to cast spells at the others in support of her rapidly dwindling followers. A green spell hit Diggle - the killing curse. Another blew up a big part of the street, sending chunks of asphalt flying as high as India’s perch. She saw one Watcher and two Order wizards down, thoughat least two of them were moving. India clenched her teeth - she wanted nothing more than charge that witch and fight it out.

Instead she shot one Death Eater into the back before he could finish off the dragon handler caught in the explosion. Her bolt went through his weak shield and severed his spine close to the neck and left him screaming on the ground, limbs twitching uselessly while he slowly bled out. Another went down to spells from the tall redhead and two women who had stormed out of the house, and a watcher killed the last one by blowing up his head.

That left the crazy witch still dancing over the battlefield, cackling and casting rapidly. India was tempted to see how long it would take for the Watchers to call her in. But she was the Slayer, not a petulant child. Another explosion sent two more wizards to the ground, one of them a watcher. India had enough and fired at Black. Her bolt bounced of the blue shimmering shield around the witch. Time to end this.

India rose, moved two steps back while cocking and loading her crossbow again, and then took a running jump off the garage’s roof. “BLACK!” she screamed while she was falling, and when the witch turned towards her, she fired another bolt at her. It was stopped by the shield again, but had made the woman flinch. India reached the ground and rolled, dropping her crossbow and drawing her blessed dagger from the sheath on her back. She came up in a crouch, and then had to jump forward to dodge a spell sent her way. The street behind her blew up, more chunks hitting her back, but she didn’t care. Her foe was in front of her, and her blood was hot. That dark witch would die!

She charged at her, but another spell forced her to jump to the side, into the crater an earlier explosion had left. She scrambled up and out of it just in time to see Black turn towards the house and cast. The whole house shook from the impact of the spell and the Tonks family was thrown to the ground, but nothing else happened. Wards, India thought, while sprinting towards Black again. She was close enough to spot the white in the crazy eyes of the witch as Black spun around, wand pointed at her and tip glowing with another spell. India wouldn’t be able to dodge, but if she was fast enough, she’d be at her before…

Before Black could cast she was sent reeling by a barrage of spells that caught her in the side, finally bringing down her shield. Grinning, India took advantage of that. Her dagger flashed and cut the dark witch’s wand hand, sending wood and fingers flying. Before the witch realized what had happened India had pulled the bleeding arm to the side with her left hand, turning Black to fully face her, and then slid her dagger into her chest a fraction of a second before she crashed into the witch and pushed her to the ground, herself landing on top of her. Black was staring at the Slayer, surprise and shock on her face. She started to laugh, only to end in a gurgling cough when blood ran out of her mouth. Then her eyes dimmed, and Bellatrix Black died. Slain.

India got off her, wiping her dagger clean on the witch’s robe and stood up to check on the watchers who had been hit. And the Order members too. She felt no remorse for killing the witch instead of trying to capture her. Her instincts had screamed at to slay the witch, and so she had done it.

*****​

“Those Watchers have the right attitude. No hesitation, no nonsense, they cast and killed. With them we have a chance against the Death Eaters.” Alastor sounded impressed while giving his report in Albus’ office. His old friend had been hurt, splinter wounds from reductos, but Poppy had already taken care of those. “A dozen Death Eaters, down, including Bellatrix Black.”

“We took losses too.” Albus reminded him, Dedalus had been a very old friend. He had fought in the first war with Voldemort as well. He was not as skilled as others with a wand and knew it - but he had never let that keep him from fighting when needed. A true Gryffindor.

“Aye, we did. But all but one will be living. Even the Watcher that had caught a dark curse looked like he’d make it.” Alastor, understandably, didn’t really care about wounds, even crippling wounds. If he could go on with one leg, eye and nose less than others, then so could everyone else. Or so he claimed. “Too bad we could not capture Bellatrix alive.”

“How did the Slayer fight?”

Alastor hesitated a second before answering. “I think they wanted to hold her back, She was shooting a crossbow for most of the battle. Nailed most of the rank and file of the Death Eaters there though. And her charge at Bellatrix… for a moment I thought she would have killed her even without our help, no matter what curse Black would have hit her with.”

“Impressive then.” Albus made a mental note.

“Oh, yes. Very impressive. If she could use a wand even I’d be terrified.” Alastor chuckled, but Albus thought his friend was not as much joking as he appeared. “What about your spy’s cover?”

“We identified the dead. I will state in the next meeting that one of them let slip the time of the raid in the Leaky Cauldron, and that we all should keep our ears open for more of such slips. That should keep Severus from getting suspected.” Albus didn’t mention that Severus had argued about the value of the Tonks, as opposed to risking his cover, when he reported the upcoming attack.

“What’s next?”

“I do hope Voldemort will not risk more of his forces for a while, giving us time to find his base.”

“What about his… secret?” Alastor didn’t name the horcruxes, not even in Albus’ office. Some called that paranoid, Albus considered it prudent.

“I haven’t made much progress there, sadly. But we cannot allow Voldemort to spread terror and tighten his grip on the Ministry.”

“Is that why you didn’t want the bodies found by the DMLE?”

“Yes. If Fudge could present the body of Bellatrix, he’d claim she had been killed on his orders and by his forces, and his position would be strengthened. Given his foolish delusions, that cannot be allowed.”

“Too bad Lucius was not among the dead. That would have solved a big problem.” Alastor looked at Albus, and the Headmaster knew what he was saying.

“If we get an opportunity, we’ll take it. But he’s very cautious.”

“Everyone’s luck runs out one day.” Alastor stood up. “I’ll head home before Poppy tries to stick me into a bed.”

Chuckling at the image Albus waved him goodbye.

*****​

“The mission was a success then, Mister Fitzburg?” Quentin’s voice was mild, but his expression was stern. One Watcher wizard down with a curse that would take weeks to recover from. Two more wounded - though healed by now.

“Yes, Sir. We took out one of Voldemort’s most trusted and skilled followers and her entire group of Death Eaters. That should set back his plans and operations significantly.” Fitzburg met his eyes without flinching.

“Even counting the fact that the Slayer was exposed to our allies?” Quentin didn’t sneer when talking about the Order of the Phoenix, even though their value in a fight was worse than he had feared, according to this mission.

“I do not think she was recognized because of her involvement, Sir. Of the Order members with us, one already knew of her, and the others did not seem to be tie her to her legend. And most of them had been wounded already, or otherwise focused on surviving against the dark witch, and had therefore been distracted.”

“I do hope you are right. We cannot afford being exposed at this point.” Once they had culled the Death Eaters’ numbers some more, it wouldn’t matter that much anymore. “Did you order the Slayer to engage in close combat?”

“I ordered her to take out the masked Death Eaters first. She didn’t attack Bellatrix until that had been accomplished, and did not close to melee range until attacks with her crossbow had been proven to be ineffective.” This time Fitzburg stared at the wall behind Quentin.

So, the Slayer had followed orders, but interpreted them in creative ways. Maybe Quentin had to speak with Botwell again, and reconsider his decision to keep the Watcher out of action in Wizarding Britain. The Slayer was not as experienced to make the correct call in every situation. That was her Watcher’s duty. “Very well. Go and rest some.”

“Thank you Sir. “Fitzburg nodded and left Quentin’s office. The wizard needed rest - he looked as exhausted as Quentin’s grand-niece lately. Hermione was pushing herself hard, maybe too hard, but she was close to finding a way to solve the horcrux problem. Other Watchers were researching the same topic, but Hermione was the one with access to the Hogwarts and Black Libraries. If they managed to find the ritual to restore a soul that had been rent by a demon, that should be able to restore Voldemort’s soul as well, rendering the horcruxes including Potter’s scar inert. Hermione could take all the breaks she needed after she finished that task. Not that Quentin thought he could make her take a break anyway. Chip of the old block, there.

*****​

“Bellatrix has not returned, nor have any of the men she took with them?” Lucius Malfoy flinched when the Dark Lord glared at the hapless Death Eater who had just told him that. “Your arm!” The heir of Slytherin commanded, and the wizard kneeling in front of him cut his own sleeve in his haste to obey. Lucius’s lord pressed the tip of his wand to the dark mark visible there, and mumbled a short incantation. Then they waited. With each minute that passed, the Dark Lord became more angry, and Lucius more nervous. If Bellatrix did not arrive she was either dead or captured. Nothing else would keep her from the Dark Lord’s side when he had summoned her.

Bellatrix and all the Death Eaters she had taken with her to remove that stain on her and his family captured or dead - who could have expected that? The only one who would have been able to face her would have been Dumbledore, but not even Bellatrix would have been so crazy as to stand and fight him. So, who could have taken down the witch? A strike team of aurors in an ambush, maybe? But Lucius would have expected information about such a big operation - one would have needed a lot of wands to defeat Bellatrix - to have leaked through one of the spies placed in the DMLE. The Order? They had not enough skilled wands to beat Bellatrix. She could have killed a dozen of the likes of Molly Weasley without trouble. Maybe Potter? He had faced the Dark Lord in a duel and lived after all. But he was still at Hogwarts, Draco kept an eye on him. And Dumbledore wouldn’t let his golden boy fight in the war. No, there had to be someone else, someone unknown, behind this.

“Find out what had happened to my Bellatrix!” the Dark Lord growled after half an hour had passed. “Find out who will suffer my vengeance!” The Death Eaters present scattered. Lucius was about to leave as well - he would have to arrange a visit to Fudge as soon as possible to find out what the fool knew - when the Dark Lord held him back with a raised hand. “Stay, Lucius.”

Swallowing nervously, Lucius obeyed. “My Lord.”

“With this new setback, it is imperative that I acquire the full prophecy as soon as possible. Dumbledore knows that as well. And yet our spies found out that the prophecy is not guarded anymore.”

“Do you think it is a trap, My Lord?”

“I am sure it is. But the question is - is the bait there still, or has it been switched?”

“My Lord?”

“The only one able to take the prophecy apart from me is Potter. If the prophecy was taken out of the Department of Mysteries, then Potter will have been involved. Find out if that’s the case.” The Dark Lord dismissed Lucius with a curt gesture, and the blond wizard was too glad to leave, despite the difficult task he had just received.

How could he get to Potter when Dumbledore was keeping him so close to give special lessons almost every evening? Draco hadn’t seen either Potter nor his mudblood girlfriend at Hogsmeade during any of the last weekends, so Dumbledore was even preventing them from leaving the castle, like in third year when everyone had thought Sirius Black was after Potter. Lucius himself wouldn’t be able to enter Hogwarts, too dangerous. Fudge had aurors there, but they were not exactly the best spies, or trustworthy.

Lucius sighed. He’d have to send a letter to his son.

*****​

“You can’t go on like this, Hermione!” Harry Potter was getting concerned. Hermione, his girlfriend, was looking worse each day. It was as if they were back in third year. “You barely sleep four hours per day, and you’re working all the time. Now she was about to leave the room of requirement again, and not for bed, but for some more studying in the restricted section - after they had trained with Ron, who had left for a patrol with Lavender earlier, for two hours already.

“It’s alright, I can manage.” Hermione didn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s not! You’re pushing yourself far too much, and it’s harming you!”

“This is important, Harry.”

“More important than your health?”

“Yes!”

He hadn’t an answer to that ready, and stared at her in shock. “How can you say that? To me? If you… I mean… if anything happened to you, because of me….”

That seemed to get through to his girlfriend. She stepped up to him and hugged him, hard. He could feel how thin she was even through her robes. “Harry… your life is at stake. I cannot let you die. I am so close to finding a solution, so close to save you...”

“But…”

“Harry…”

He could hear, feel her sob. She was crying. He ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to tell her to let it go, to stop, to take care of herself, but he couldn’t. She was doing this for him, and if he forbid her… she’d do it anyway. And if he found a way around that… she’d hate him. And still tried to do it anyway. “At least let me help.”

“But you need all the training you can get to fight Voldemort.” Hermione said between sobs.

“I can’t train much if I worry about you. Let me help you.” He pushed her back, breaking her hug, and stared at her, pleading. “Please.”

She stared back, lips trembling, and finally nodded. Then they hugged each other again, staying like that, silently, for a while.

*****​

Draco Malfoy stared at the letter from his father. To spy on Potter with the goal to get leverage on him? He had been doing that for the entire term so far! Didn’t his father listen to him? To get Potter one simply had to get the disgusting mudblood he was rutting around with. Oh, the rumor was they were getting “special lessons” from Dumbledore, but Draco had seen them far away from the Headmaster’s office - that was obviously just a cover story. Though given how exhausted the mudblood was looking lately, she was likely shagging Weasley too, maybe others too. Mudbloods were like that. They’d shag anyone if they thought that it would gain them an advantage. Or that it would keep them alive. He smirked at that thought, then grew serious again.

His father ordered him to be cautious, as if Draco hadn’t been careful for the entire year. He had not even done anything about all the mudbloods walking around, just begging to be shown their place. He had been overly cautious. Maybe it was time to be a bit more daring. He hadn’t learned those new spells to never use them, after all, and if he managed to get Potter, or his mudblood…


Chapter 12: Crimes and Criminals

 

Chapter 12: Crimes and Criminals

Another night, another research session in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library. A shorter one though than Hermione Granger wanted. But she had promised Harry that she’d not exhaust herself. Even if it meant finding a way to save him would be delayed. Though she also had to admit that she was more efficient when she was more rested. A week or so of sleeping more than a few hours per night had done a lot of good.

She still wanted to live in the libraries until she found that ritual. It was referred to in “Myths of Magic”, but dismissed as a story made up by Myrken the Mad. But Myrken Flenswater was referred to as a skilled wizard and specialist for demons in the archives of the Watchers Council - he had been instrumental in helping a Slayer defeat a demonic incursion in Wales in 1740. That was before he earned his unflattering nickname, Hermione knew. He had been called “the Mad” after he was found trying to convince people that the Ministry was selling souls to demons, and ended up in Azkaban for his ‘Attempt to incite people to rebel’. The Blacks had managed to buy a number of his books and notes that the Ministry had auctioned off after confiscating them, but his final grimoire, “Of Souls and Magic”, mentioned in her sources, had never been found.

The young witch sighed, closing the last tome on her table - no one else better dared to sit there if they knew what was good for them - in the library. Harry had a Quidditch training session, so he’d be late and tired, and maybe even bruised. Hermione muttered a few curses about a stupid, dangerous sport. Then she sighed - she knew Harry loved flying, and she loved to see him dash across the sky, happy and carefree. It was the bludgers and suicidal tactics she objected to. She’d ask Harry to stop, but all things considered, Quidditch was good for him - the camaraderie in the team more than the flying itself though. He could fly without dodging bludgers, after all. And he’d end up bruised in defense training anyway. Rubbing her biceps, she reminded herself that she too got hit regularly, even if the ointment she had used would make the bruises disappear overnight.

Hermione returned the books to their proper places on the shelves and stored her notes in her enchanted pocket. She’d have to research in the Black Library again; all the works from and about Myrken at Hogwarts were dated before he had started to focus on demons and souls. The librarian at the time probably had dismissed all his later work as rantings of a madman. After taking a last look at her table, and the shelves, to make sure she had not left anything, she started towards the door. It was past curfew already.

*****​

Draco Malfoy was waiting with his two best friends Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Potter’s mudblood was, as usual, staying past curfew in the library. He knew that since the prefects had been informed that she had permission from the Headmaster to study longer in the library for a special extra credit project after one patrol had reported her. The scion of the Malfoy family sneered, thinking of that affront - a mudblood getting special treatment! How low Hogwarts had fallen, when mudbloods were treated as if they were equal to purebloods! But that would change once the Dark Lord ruled Britain. Mudbloods would be serving their betters in exchange for their lives. And tonight, he would do his part for the noble cause. He had been ordered to just spy on Potter, find out what he was doing, and what his weaknesses were, but his father would be so proud once Draco delivered the mudblood to him - Potter would do anything to save her. Draco smiled in anticipation. He’d prove his worth to the Dark Lord!

“Vincent, Gregory! Hide behind the pillar there. I’ll be in the alcove here. Once the mudblood arrives, hit her with a stunner and body-bind.”

The two wizards nodded. Draco wasn’t convinced they had understood him.

“I mean it - stunner and body-bind only. We can always curse her once we have her.” They’d not simply curse her, of course.

They nodded again. Draco narrowed his eyes but sent them off and stepped into the small alcove on the other side of the corridor. It offered better cover - and it had a small bench, so he’d not have to stand while they waited. He was a wizard after all, not some brute. Vincent and Gregory would do fine, they were beaters, not a seeker like him.

Soon the mudblood would arrive, haggard and tired and distracted. She’d be easy prey. And once he had her… well, she’d die anyway, and while the Dark Lord would need her alive, no one would expect her to be unharmed. And since she was shagging Potter and the Weasel, and who knows else, no one would expect her to be a virgin either. Not that anyone would care about the mudblood anyway.

Draco licked his lips as his thoughts wandered back to the holiday he had spent at home. He wondered if the mudblood would beg as well - or rather, he wondered how long it would take until she’d beg, and offer to do anything.

*****​

Hermione was about to head straight to the main stairway when she hesitated. What kind of noise had that been, from that shadow behind the pillar? Cloth or something rustling? A prefect patrol or auror wouldn’t be hiding, and a couple making out would pick a broom closet or an empty classroom. She felt a chill run down her spine.

Her first impulse was to send a curse into the shadow, but what if that was the trap, make her curse a prefect or even an auror? And if it was nothing she’d look so foolish - especially if prefects or aurors arrived.

So Hermione turned around, heading to another stair, but prepared to shield and dodge if someone…

“Stupefy!”

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Even if Hermione had not been prepared for such an attack she’d have been able to evade those spells since they were all but shouted. The muggleborn witch had jumped to the side even before her assailants had finished casting, and had a shield up when the red trail of a stunning spell flew past her.

And just in time - another curse hit her shield, coming from a third attacker, hiding in an alcove to the right side. Those were not good odds! But she also didn’t have to hold back anymore. No one with good intentions would have cast from ambush, at her back, and without warning. The lessons from Sirius and Remus had been ingrained into her over the last few months. Her left hand dove into her pocket, gripping the galleon she had enchanted, scratching it to trigger the emergency signal. At the same time she lifted her wand and pointed it at the feet of the two attackers near the pillar.

“Confringo!”

The floor erupted beneath them, stone splinters hitting them. They screamed in pain and collapsed. She expected most splinters to have gone into their legs, so they’d not be able to pursue her. And healing that kind of wounds would take far longer than dispelling some jelly-leg curse or conjured ropes.

“Reducto!” Another spell from that alcove hit her shield, almost breaking it - a Reductor Curse, she noted. Hermione knew she should retreat, but they’d curse her in the back if she gave them such an opportunity. And she could not jump over the railing, even with a cushioning charm the fall would be too much. No, she had no choice but to fight.

She couldn’t see who was casting at her from the alcove, shrouded in shadows, so she sprinted to the other side, behind a pillar. The two attackers she had hit with the blasting curse were groaning and crying, but for how much longer?

Hermione hesitated. Could she… should she?

“Reducto!” The pillar she was hiding behind shook with the impact of another spell. That settled it. This was no schoolyard prank gone too far, or some attempt to bully her; this was an attack on her life. Snarling, she ducked around the pillar, keeping it on her right to shield her from that third wizard who stuck to the alcove, and aimed her wand at the two shapes on the floor.

“Confringo! Confringo!”

She was behind the pillar again when the two blasting curses showered the hallway with more splinters A cry from the alcove told her that some must have hit the third attacker. No more cries or groans came from the two on the ground, so those were out of the battle. But she needed to change position before the other brought the pillar down her.

Hermione cast a cushioning charm on the hallway’s ground, then jumped. The thought that her former PE teacher would have been proud shot through her mind - it was the first time she managed a perfect tuck and roll.

“Mudblood! Crucio!”

Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins for an instant when she heard the incantation of the torture curse. Her shield would not protect her at all. Desperately, she jumped again, rolling behind a pillar while the spell hit the floor behind her. She whirled around, wand out, and saw the last attacker stagger out from the alcove, one hand pressed to his bleeding face, the other, with his hand, moving to point at her. “I’ll kill you, mudblood!” he screamed. Malfoy!

“Reducto!”

Hermione was faster though, and aimed better. Malfoy’s wand, hand and lower arm disappeared in a cloud of blood, mangled flesh and bone fragments and wooden splinters. He collapsed screaming.

Chest heaving and shaking, Hermione rose from her crouching position and looked around, Then she wished she had not. Since she was closer, she could now see what her blasting curses had done to the other two attackers - Crabbe and Goyle. They were...

“Hermione!” she whirled around and saw Harry running at her, full sprint, followed by Ron and .. Lavender?

“I am alright, Harry. They didn’t hit me.” She tried to reassure her boyfriend. He simply hugged her, hard - after he had looked for another attacker.

“Blimey! Are they dead?” Ron stared at the sight, mouth open. He did look more fascinated than horrified though, Hermione noted. Lavender though screamed and then turned around, retching, and losing her dinner on the stone floor.

Harry suddenly turned his head. “Someone’s coming!” Hermione and Harry separated and raised their wands, together with Ron, who moved in front of Lavender.

Snape reached the top of the main stairs, followed by Dumbledore. Behind them, Robards was coming, clad in his auror robes instead of the teacher’s robes he usually wore. There was no sight yet of the ‘regular’ aurors stationed at Hogwarts.

“What have you done!” Snape cried out, then cast a spell to stop the bleeding on Malfoy’s arm. “You will pay for this, Potter!” He turned to face them, then froze when he was staring at the points of three wands. No, four wands, Hermione noted, Lavender had raised hers as well, even though she was still shaking.

“Shut your sodding mouth, Snape, or we’ll shut it for you.” Harry yelled back, trembling with rage.

“They tried to ambush me. When I noticed some movement in the shadows and turned around to walk away, they attacked me. Draco used an unforgivable, but missed. I defended myself.” Hermione spoke quickly, before the situation degenerated. She kept her wand pointed at Snape, but looked at Dumbledore and Robards. Behind them she could spot McGonagall coming up the stairs as well.

Robards had checked Crabbe and Goyle. He stood up, shaking his head. “They’re dead.”

Hermione briefly closed her eyes. She had killed two people. She had known it when she saw them lying on the ground, after she had taken out Draco, but to have it confirmed… she took a deep breath, then jutted her chin out. She had killed two dark wizards who had attacked her. She had not only done nothing wrong, but she had done the right thing! Turning towards Robards, she spoke as calmly as she could, given the circumstances. “Arrest Malfoy! He cast the torture curse at me. It’s only thanks to his bad aim that I survived.”

“Is this true, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore, who had been checking on Malfoy, asked, sounding more weary and sad than anything else. McGonagall gasped. Snape was muttering something under his breath, but was not saying anything. Malfoy had fallen unconscious, or had been sent to sleep, she had not noticed. He was not moaning anymore at least.

“Yes. Check his wand, it’ll…” The wand she had blown up. Hermione recovered quickly. “Use veritaserum on him.”

“That requires a special permission from the courts.” Robards answered, with the air of someone reciting a well-known and oft repeated statement.

“Use on me, then! I’ll volunteer!” Hermione wasn’t about to let the dark wizard get away on technicalities and his father’s gold. Then she remembered what kind of secrets she carried. But she raised her chin defiantly - backing down now would cast suspicion on her.

“Severus, please take Mister Malfoy to the infirmary for further treatment.” Dumbledore turned to Robards. “Gawain, this is not the first time he and his two friends were involved in an ambush, so I am very much inclined to believe Miss Granger, even without veritaserum.” He looked at all present. “I think it’s best if we move this to my office. Gawain, please rustle up some of your colleagues and have them stay guard over the scene of the crime, then check in the infirmary if Mister Malfoy can be interrogated. The parents of all involved have to be informed as well.” He glanced at Harry when he said the last sentence, and Hermione understood - Sirius and Remus might already have arrived as well, not knowing that the danger was over. She quickly rubbed the galleon to give the all-clear signal and saw Harry was doing the same. “Mister Weasley, please escort Miss Brown to the Infirmary for a calming draught, and then back to the Gryffindor dorms. Minerva, please make sure no prefects stumble upon the scene, and inform Pomona.”

Ron nodded and wrapped his arm around Lavender. The girl still had her wand out too, but let her arm drop to her side when Ron led her away. McGonagall stayed while Robards left to hunt down his still absent colleagues.

Dumbledore led Harry and Hermione towards his office at a brisk pace. As soon as they were out of earshot he sent a silvery patronus to Sirius and Remus, telling them to go home. Then he cast a privacy spell and turned to the two teenagers. “I have caught a brief glimpse into Mister Malfoy’s mind before he was rendered unconscious. He had most dire plans for you, Miss Granger. Please do not feel guilty at all for what you had to do.”

“I do not, Headmaster.” Hermione’s prompt reply caused the old wizard to briefly wince. “What were his plans exactly?”

Sighing, Dumbledore walked a few steps in silence before answering. “He planned to deliver you to Voldemort, after taking liberties with you against your will.”

Hermione froze. She had suspected, but to know… she wished she had reduced Malfoy’s head, not his hand, to red mist. Harry cursed loudly, and she had to hold his arm to keep him from rushing off to the infirmary. “Don’t Harry! He’ll be punished.”

“Indeed he will.” Dumbledore stated.

Hermione didn’t agree. With only her testimony, against a pureblood, a rich pureblood, whose father had the favor of the Minister for Magic… “Should I leave Hogwarts and move to Grimmauld Place before the aurors come for me on Malfoy’s order?”

Harry gasped. “What? They’d dare?”

Dumbledore nodded. “I fear that, given his past record, Cornelius will not see reason. Your parents are already in hiding, as I understand, so they are safe from any attempts to use them as leverage.”

“Will they go after Harry if I am not around?” Hermione was rather certain they would - Umbridge had already tried to torture Harry on his first day of the year. This would give them another pretext to hurt her love.

“I fear that will be likely.” Dumbledore nodded at the gargoyle guarding the stairs to his office, who moved away.

“I’ll go with you anyway!” Harry exclaimed.

Hermione smiled gratefully at him and took his hand. “I know.” She looked at Dumbledore again. “What about Ron?”

“He should be safe.”

Hermione nodded. Ron was a pureblood, and had not been present at the fight. And if Harry fled with her, but not with Ron, that would make it appear unlikely that he was involved. On the other hand, he had had a lot of incidents with Malfoy. She hoped Dumbledore had plans in place to protect Ron.

Once in the office, the Headmaster used the floo to call Sirius. As expected, Harry’s godfather and his friend had been in his office, and had just returned to Grimmauld Place 12.

Dumbledore turned to the teenage couple. “Do you need anything from your dorms?”

“No, Sir.” Harry answered at once. “I carry everything important on me.” He patted his hip, where, Hermione knew, his enchanted pouch hung. “Just release Hedwig.”

“I will need my trunk with my books, Sir.” Hermione stated. A number of them were hard to replace, and on loan. “And Crookshanks.”

“Winxy!” A house elf appeared. “Please fetch Miss Granger’s trunk and pet, then Mister Potter’s owl.”

A few minutes later the trunk was back in the dorms, a number of books lighter, the smartest and prettiest cat in the school was in his carrier, a snowy owl was flying away and a house elf had been obliviated. Dumbledore sighed. “I’ll head to the infirmary, and will be surprised you decided to flee. I fear this will persuade the authorities you are guilty, but there’s no other way to keep you safe - once you’re in the clutches of the Ministry you’d be far too vulnerable for Voldemort’s men, even if the Ministry would not make an example out of you.”

Which, Hermione was dead certain, they would. Muggleborns were not supposed to kill purebloods. She nodded and was at the floo with Harry before Dumbledore had reached the door. When she stepped into the fire, her last thought was that she’d have enough time to do the needed research at least.

*****​

Lucius Malfoy was livid. His only son, Draco, had been maimed. By a mudblood even! He and his wife were on the way to St. Mungo’s as soon as they had heard of this atrocity. Fortunately for the clerk at the reception near the floo in the hospital she knew where Draco was - Lucius was so angry, he wanted to hurt someone, anyone. The two aurors standing guard at the door - hey better were there for Draco’s protection, and not because he was a suspect! - gave way and he nodded at them. Everyone of importance knew he was a close friend of Fudge.

“Draco!” Narcissa cried and rushed to his side. It was a surprising display of emotions in public, for a pureblood witch like her, but Lucius understood his wife. Their son, their only child, was unconscious, pale - far paler than normal - and his right arm ended in a bandaged stump. Lucius felt rage, hatred against whoever had done this rise up inside him, filling him, demanding to be vented, demonstrated. it took a great effort to control himself. He stepped to Draco’s other side and touched his cheek. So pale, clammy. His poor son.

He turned to the healer in the room. “What happened to him?”

The healer, a middle-aged witch, swallowed. “His hand was hit with a Reductor Curse. His wand was destroyed, as was most of his lower arm. It was not dark magic, so we will be able to restore it, but that will take some time. He’s lost a lot of blood, but we managed to have him drink blood replenishing potions, so there’s no danger anymore.”

Lucius felt relieved. His son would not be crippled for life, he would recover fully. Narcissa broke out in tears at the statement. “How long will he have to be in the hospital?” He was already trying to guess how long Draco would have to stay to have the best impact on Fudge, but he wanted to know how long the healing would take.

“A week, at least, so we can regrow his arm and make sure there are no complications.”

Lucius nodded. That would do.

The door to the room opened, and he turned, wand in hand. Who dared interrupt them?

“Lucius! I came as soon as I heard the news!” Fudge stepped inside, bowler hat in hand. “Terrible, terrible!”

It took another great effort, but Lucius schooled his features, and smiled weakly at the fool. “Thank you for coming, Cornelius. Draco will survive, but it was a close affair.” Lucius assumed it had been, given the severity of the injury, but it did not matter if it actually was true, only that it looked plausible. “I trust whoever tried to murder Draco is already in custody?” If not, heads would roll.

Fudge nervously wringing the rim of his hat told Lucius the answer before the Minister spoke up. “I am afraid the culprit, a muggleborn witch named Granger, escaped, together with the Boy-Who-Lived. Dumbledore failed to lock them up and they ran away.”

Lucius ground his teeth in anger - the ones who maimed his son had escaped! That was unacceptable! But reason took over before he could lash out in anger. This was actually a great opportunity. Potter and his mudblood were on the run, criminals fleeing justice. And all under the nose of Dumbledore. This was a grave blow against the Dark Lord’s enemies. He would be pleased.

“I see. So Harry Potter tried to have his mudblood tart kill my son? And escaped both the teachers and the aurors at Hogwarts?” He didn’t have to fake the anger audible in his voice, much. “I think this shows the need for changes, both at the DMLE and at Hogwarts.”

“Oh course, Lucius! Such a blunder will not be repeated! Rest assured, all those responsible will be punished!”

“And the murderers caught.”

“Of course! All our aurors will be hunting them!”

Lucius didn’t think that would amount to much - Black and Lupin were still at large - but it would keep the aurors from hindering the Dark Lord’s plans. He smiled at Fudge. “Thank you, Cornelius. It is good to hear that the Ministry is taking such decisive action.” He kept smiling when the fool actually straightened at hearing such lies. Once the Dark Lord had taken over, he’d see to the disposal of Fudge himself, if only to pay him back for all the flattering and bribing he had to do.

*****​

“I am not sure if I should be proud or not that you’re following in my footsteps, kid.”

Harry Potter looked up from where he was sitting next to his girlfriend at his godfather’s words. Sirius had returned from the kitchen and held out two bottles of butterbeer towards the young couple. Harry took them and passed one to Hermione, who looked as puzzled as he felt.

Sirius grinned. “You’ve made it on the Ministry’s most wanted list before you even took your O.W.L.s!” He raised his own bottle. “Here’s to our growing family of outlaws!”

Harry raised his own bottle, but Hermione huffed.

“It’s just more proof how corrupt the Ministry is. Innocents are hunted and murderers and rapists are protected.” She scowled, and muttered in a low voice so only Harry could hear the words: “I should have killed that foul evil bastard.”

“Language, Hermione!” he whispered, then yelled when she tried to bury a pointy elbow in his ribs. Sirius laughed, and even Remus, joining them in the living room, smiled. “Well, look at the positive consequences: We’ve got far more time to train and research, we’re with family, and we are far safer here than at Hogwarts.” Harry wrapped an arm around his girlfriend, and the witch nodded.

“You’re right. I’ll be able to make much more progress now.” With a glance to him she quickly added “Without exhausting myself.” She turned to Remus and Sirius. “And I’ll be able to train more. Without those lessons I’d be dead, or worse.”

Harry knew she was not talking about getting expelled this time. “Yes. We’ll focus on defense training. I doubt we’ll be able to take the O.W.L.s on schedule anyway.” He thought they’d need a miracle for this mess to be sorted out before their N.E.W.T. year, given that Sirius was still hunted after more than two years. A miracle, or the destruction of the Ministry. He didn’t voice either thought. A year ago, he’d have been devastated, but now? The Watchers Council wouldn’t care what dark wizards and their foolish tools thought of him. Or of his love. They had a future together, outside Hogwarts.

*****​

“Did you hear? Malfoy’s coming back to Hogwarts!” Lavender sounded horrified, Ron thought. She had good reasons too, though. Malfoy was bad news. His father was just too powerful.

Ron remembered how soon after the two had returned to the dorms the night of the attack on Hermione, aurors had arrived to arrest her and Harry. Fortunately, Ron’s friends had already escaped the castle but the aurors, the Ministry and the Daily Prophet had taken that as an admission of guilt and had been in a frenzy ever since. Even many students - Badgers and Ravens, Snakes did not count, they were all evil anyway - had thought Hermione and Harry were guilty. At first, at least. Once Ron and his girlfriend had gotten the true story out though, things had started to change. Everyone knew what could happen and be covered up with obliviate. And there had been rumors, of course. But most importantly, after four years, everyone knew Malfoy. Even some of the female snakes didn’t claim he was the victim anymore.

“It’ll be okay, Love.” He pulled her closer, placing a kiss on the top of her head. They were just outside the Gryffindor common room, in their spot, as Ron thought of it. “People know he’s guilty.” And if Malfoy tried anything, anything at all, Ron would make sure he’d never try anything anymore. Not even breathing. His sister and girlfriend were still at school, after all, and it was his duty to protect them. It would hurt his family, but they’d understand. And there would be no Snape at Grimmauld Place.

He sighed. Snape had become even more vicious after Malfoy had been disarmed, as the twins had put it. Gryffindors had lost so many points, Ron had thought they had ended up in the red. Whatever that expression Hermione had once used meant. Red was their house color, wasn’t it?

But the Headmaster had stepped in, and restored the points. He had not quite dressed down Snape in public, but everyone had gotten the message. It was the only thing that made potions bearable, but they didn’t learn much there, anymore. Not that they had learned much in class anyway. But with the O.W.L.s looming closer and closer… Ron would have to ask the twins for help.

He gently lifted Lavender’s head and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Let’s go on patrol now. The sooner we start, the sooner we are done.”

She nodded, and they moved out. Unlike patrols before that night, both were alert and moved with their wands out, ready for anything. They had stunned a curfew breaker who had tried to run past them two days ago, but better safe than sorry, Ron had said, and his girlfriend had agreed.

He glanced at her, and smiled. Lavender had come a long way this year. Even Hermione had been quite friendly towards her these days - unless his girlfriend commented on the muggleborn’s hair.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore sat at his office, sighing. Things were getting worse. They were not out of control, yet, but close. And it was his fault. If he had done something about Draco, before the holidays… if he had done something right after the holidays had ended… But he had not. He had considered Draco a child still, able to change, to be redeemed even, still. And he had been wrong. He had not told Harry and Miss Granger all he had seen when he had probed Draco’s mind. Just what the young wizard’s plans had been with regards to Miss Granger. But what Draco had done during the holidays… Albus would carry the guilt for his failure to prevent that to his grave, he knew.

And he only had to blame himself for this. Miss Granger had had no choice. There had been no way to cover this up. Not with Robards around. And he could not let Harry and MIss Granger be arrested, they’d be dead within the week. And now the Ministry was calling for his removal. He had had to resort to blackmail to keep the board of governors from acting on the pressure they were under. They’d not hold out forever, of course. His influence in the Ministry had shrunk too much.

He needed a miracle to recover from this. And miracles were in short supply. Instead, he could see the next calamity approaching: Draco was returning to Hogwarts. The young Death Eater was returning to a school whose students were all too aware of what kind of wizard he was. It was only a matter of time until Draco ran afoul of someone else, unless - and this was a faint hope given the past events - Lucius had managed to make him control himself.

Albus hoped Severus could control Draco, but it was not too likely either. Severus was fixated on killing Voldemort, he could trust that, but that meant anything else didn’t matter that much to the young Potion Master. And as much as Albus hated to admit it, Severus still held on to grudges from his time as a student. Still backed his house no matter what they had done.

He sighed again. He had to prepare for the worst, and that meant he had to make sure that his successor as Headmaster or Headmistress was acceptable. Minerva would be his first choice, but she was too loyal to him. The Ministry would never accept her. Filius would not be chosen, not by Fudge’s Ministry, for his ancestry. Severus… would be a catastrophe. He’d ruin the school in a short time. The students deserved better.

Albus needed a miracle, and he needed it soon.


Chapter 13: Framed