Chapter 2: First Strike
India Cohen jumped over a low hedge, into a garden that looked like a mirror image of the one she had just left. She didn't stop, just ran past the house, which looked like all other houses in this street. Kit might have commented on the extreme uniformity of the neighborhood, had he been with her, but she didn't notice such things. Not when she was hunting.
She was tracking the demons. Dementors, they were called. Unnatural, evil abominations. Prey. They left no physical tracks, but where they passed, life was diminished. Colder. Weaker. They left a sort of scent a Slayer could follow.
She ran accross the next street, into a garden, past another house, over another hedge. The monsters had not lingered. Had not sought other victims there. She remembered Kit's lesson - dementors, for all their appearance, were as corporeal as humans were. And physically weaker. They couldn't break down doors, nor break through windows. Humans in their houses were safe. Humans outside… were not.
She found the first victim near a local park. A woman, middle-aged, out jogging. India knelt down next to her. The jogger's face was frozen in terror, her hands and knees dirty. She had tried to flee from something she couldn't see. The scent was strong here, the grass and bushes still frozen, dead in parts. They had driven her away from the path, into the bushes, where they had taken their time playing with their victim. She had crossed a small clearing a dozen times, until she had not been able to move anymore, and they had swooped in to finish. And then, once they were done the monsters then had stayed until the unnatural cold they were causing had killed the body. Why would they do that? Once they had eaten the soul, the body was of no interest to them anymore, she knew that. Why kill the soulless body?
They had turned an unnatural coma into death by exposure - possible, if very unlikely, in this season - to hide their presence - no, the presence of their master. Voldemort! She took off again, running faster now. The urge to hunt, to kill, almost overwhelming. She was the Slayer, this was her duty. Her gift.
The scent was far stronger now, the trail far colder. Ice crystals were still gleaming on frozen plants now. India took short cuts, through and over bushes. She was gaining, she could now feel their presence, their evil causing her gut to clench.
There! In another clearing she spotted the two monsters. A normal human wouldn't have seen them. A witch would have seen two floating figures hidden by tattered, ragged cloaks, only missing scythes to look like the Grim Reaper himself. The Slayer just saw prey.
She was on the closest monster before they noticed her, uncaring of the cold emanating from the demons. She wasn't living through the worst of her memories either - whatever effect they had on humans, it didn't affect the Slayer. She had been chosen to hunt such things, to kill such abominations. Her first kick drove it back, an axe-kick brought it down, and before it could recover she had thrown a vial of holy water into what passed for its face. A sizzling noise and the smell of burning rotten flesh told her they were vulnerable to holy water. Kit would be happy to hear this. The demon started to trash around while she straddled it, but she didn't even feel the weak blows that connected. Instead she drew her blessed dagger and cut the still smoking head off. Both the head and the body started to disintegrate, but India had already turned towards the other one.
That monster tried to flee. To see the demon thriving on fear afraid itself made her grin. It was now prey. And she was the hunter. The dementor tried to fly out of reach, but it was far too slow. She was the Slayer. A running jump carried her 3 metres up and she easily caught the edge of its cloak in her fist, stopping the demon from rising further. With glee she drove the dagger into the unnatural thing. The screaming that followed was horrible, nightmarish, but it only served to edge India on. She ripped the dagger out, then pushed it in again, higher this time. More screaming. She grabbed the cloak a bit higher as well, and pulled herself up, stabbing the monster again and again. When she reached the chest it couldn't fly anymore and started to fall down.
She pushed away before they hit the ground, rolled with the impact on the soft grass and was on her feet again, dagger still in hand, before the dementor had recovered. Snarling she gripped the hood of the monster, then started to cut its head off, again ignoring the weak arms that tried to hold her back. She'd have to whet the blade again after this, but she decapitated the demon like she had its companion. It started to disintegrate as well, leaving just the cloak, more tattered than it had been before the fight.
Elation filled her. The hunt was over, the enemy killed. Their victims avenged. She collected the cloaks, Kit would love to study them, and started to head back to her Watcher.
*****
Inside the Council's headquarters In a wood-paneled room with a fireplace and heavy, old tables and seats, India Cohen was frowning. That girl was making eyes at her Watcher again. Asking about the Council's library. Asking to see the dementor cloaks she had gotten. Kit was her Watcher. Hers and hers alone. Besides the girl had a boyfriend already. And she had a family still. She should not butt in on India's.
The Slayer turned her head to watch Harry Potter. The girl's boyfriend. Or friend. He was reading a book, or rather, he was acting as if he was reading, but instead was staring at the pages. Probably seeing something else in his mind. His dead relatives, India assumed. He had the look she had seen too often, survivor's guilt Kit called it. For a moment she considered walking over and asking him how he was doing. See how the girl liked someone making moves on her friend. Or boyfriend. But she discarded the idea. She wasn't good at consoling people. Kit was. She was good at avenging people. Killing demons.
India stood up and dropped the book she hadn't been reading - a manual of witch hunting, from the 17th century - on the soft seat she had been sitting in, before walking, stalking over to Kit. And the girl. Her Watcher looked up before she had taken a few steps, smiling. He was good at paying attention to her. She smiled back, feeling comforted. The girl, Granger, was surprised at the sudden shift, and then cringed at seeing her so close. Good. India stared at her until Kit put his hand on her shoulder.
"What's the matter, India? Did you find something else in the notes of Sir Albert Preston?"
India shook her head. "No. It's about Potter. He has been staring at the same page for a long time now." She nodded towards Potter, and noted with satisfaction that the girl's eyes widened, and she held a hand to her mouth, whispering "Merlin, Harry!" so faintly, only India's ears picked it up. Before anyone could say anything more, Granger had stepped over to Potter, asking how he was doing. India wasn't sure she had listened to his answer before hugging him.
Kit was smiling at her, nodding subtly. Pleased. India smiled back. He was her Watcher. Hers and hers alone. And she would make sure it stayed that way.
*****
Hedwig picked at the window, interrupting Hermione's reading. Next to her, Harry stood up and opened the window - thicker than expected, she noticed, armored probably. That had been a very quick trip. The second one today. The poor owl must be exhausted.
"Come in, girl. Did you have a good flight?" Harry smiled when the white owl landed on his arm, and affectionately nipped at his ear and hair. He laughed, briefly, and Hermione felt a pang of regret. She had almost missed his anguish. Just because she had assumed the Dursleys were such evil people, he'd not miss them. Or feel guilty for surviving. She had been stupid. If not for the Slayer, she would have missed it completely.
"Another letter from Sirius?"
"Yes. And one from Dumbledore, I presume. And probably one from Ron." Harry pulled three letters off his owl's leg, then fed her some treats and filled a bowl with fresh water. Hermione bit her lip. She wanted to read the letters. Needed to know what they said. But they were Harry's. It would be unbelievably rude to read them before him.
Her all-but-glaring at the back of Harry's head didn't have any effect. He had read Sirius' response to the brief note he had sent out this morning right away, but that had been barely longer than his own, which basically just stated that the Dursleys had been kissed by dementors and he was safe with her.
Finally Harry picked up the letters. Hermione leaned forward on her seat, eager to listen, but he didn't read it out loud, just smiled, and she hadn't the heart to push him. After last night he needed all the comfort he could get. Once again she felt guilty at missing his grief. He blushed even, which confused her - did his godfather really make one of his off-color jokes on such an occasion?
"Sirius wants me to come to him at once. He says he can't tell me where it is, not in a letter, but it would be the safest place in Britain." Harry looked at her, a faint smile on his face. He didn't have to say that he wanted to do exactly that. Hermione suddenly felt jealous of Harry's godfather, but fought the feeling down. What mattered was that Harry was happy. "He says you should come too." Hermione thought his smile grew a bit at that, and felt her jealousy fade completely, replaced with a sudden warm feeling. For a moment.
"I can't. I need to finish brewing veritaserum here." She wanted to hit herself when she saw his smile vanish, and put her hand on his. "Sirius needs you. I'll join you as soon as I am done here. And we can visit each other, maybe..." She trailed off, but he was smiling again, if not much. "It's just a week."
Harry nodded. Then he read the other letters, handing Ron's over to her. Unsurprisingly, it was very brief, but it did state their friend's relief at Harry being safe, and mentioned something about the Chudley Cannons.
Dumbledore's letter was far longer, and far more eloquent, but didn't state that much more. Hermione read it twice, then looked at Harry. "Both Dumbledore and Sirius say you should go to Sirius to be safe. But no one says why, or where that is."
"Probably a secret. Safer that way. Not that Hedwig would let anyone grab a letter she carries, right, girl?" Hedwig made a barking sound and landed on his shoulder, here she started to groom his head. Hermione giggled at the sight. After a second Harry did as well.
"I'll join you in a week then." Hermione thought of the books in the Council's library. Priceless tomes, some thought lost for centuries. She could spend the week there. It was still a great opportunity. A dream come true she didn't even knew she had. Just… yesterday, it had been an even better opportunity. She didn't sigh while Harry wrote back to Sirius, asking for a location to meet him, but she sure felt like it.
*****
A week later Hermione was again torn. On one hand, she was about to join Harry at Sirius' safe place - which Harry hadn't been able to tell her about, or so he claimed. It sounded like a really interesting piece of magic. On the other hand, she had not even scratched the surface of the Council's library. So much knowledge, of all kinds, for her to discover! And she was about to leave that wonderful place. At least until Christmas.
But she'd see her best friend again. With her family at a Council safe house, in case whoever murdered the Dursleys wanted to murder the Grangers as well, she was feeling a bit more lonely than usual. Uncle Quentin was very friendly, but he was also very busy organizing the Council's response to Voldemort, and the Slayer was… scary. She patted the vial hidden in her belt. Veritaserum. She had brewed so much of it, the Council should be well-stocked for years and there was still enough for herself. A vial of it could be very useful. One never knew when one needed to interrogate someone, after all. If she had had access to veritaserum in her second year, she'd not have had to spend weeks as a half-cat in the infirmary.
She also a few books to take with her. Interesting tomes about various demons - and their weaknesses. She wondered why Defense against the Dark Arts didn't cover those threats. Even their lessons about vampires had been woefully inadequate, compared to the throve of knowledge the Council had. Werewolves and their weaknesses was the only subject that had been covered sufficiently at Hogwarts, in her revised opinion, and that had been Snape undermining Professor Lupin.
A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. "Are you ready, Hermione?" Uncle Quentin asked. She looked at her trunk, packed last evening, and checked her shelves and side board before opening the door.
"Yes, Uncle Quentin." She smiled at him.
He smiled back, then grew serious and put a hand on her shoulder. "I've told you before, but I'll repeat it: Be careful. Mister Potter has numerous and powerful enemies. They will want to strike at him through you, as they did before. Be on your guard, and trust no one from the Ministry for Magic. And don't let anyone see your other wand."
Hermione nodded. She knew her uncle was correct - the Daily Prophet continued its smear-campaign against her best friend. It didn't take a genius to realize the Ministry was behind those lies. They hadn't targeted herself, so far, but she remembered the articles that all but called her a gold-digging potion using mudblood a few months ago. "I will be very careful, trust me."
He hesitated, then nodded. "And if the opportunity presents itself… see what you can find out about the Death Eaters. You know how to reach us."
Hermione met his eyes. She had studied the codes and learned the spells to hide information in a normal-looking letter. Just in case.
"Good. I wish you could stay, but I understand that your friend needs you more than I do. And I am sure he'll be much better company for a pretty young woman like you." He chuckled a bit, and Hermione blushed. She wanted to say that Harry was just her friend, nothing more, but didn't. It might not be true, after all. Or so she hoped.
*****
Hermione gaped. She couldn't help it - seeing an entire house appear out of nowhere, seemingly to push two other houses out of the way, just because she had read a scrap of parchment filled her with awe of magic like the day she had seen Professor McGonagall transfigure her family's dining table into a pony. "Wow… what kind of spell did that?" She turned her head to Professor Lupin, who had fetched her from her bus stop.
The scarred man smiled, indulgently, as if he still was her DADA teacher. "The Fidelius Charm. It hides a secret or location, and only the secret keeper can share it." Hermione could imagine a dozen uses for such a charm, and then and there, swore to learn it. Her face must have shown her thoughts, since the werewolf laughed, patted her back, and told her "It takes a wizard of Dumbledore's stature to cast it, Hermione."
"Ah." Hermione didn't know why, but she felt peeved at the remark, no matter how well-meaning. Her pride was stung. Her resolve to learn the spell doubled, even though she seemed to agree with Lupin. Walking up to the door of the house, she noticed the state it was in - it was in dire need of maintenance, if not repair. She hoped it was just a disguise, and not an indication of what the interior looked like.
Lupin touched the door with his wand, and it opened by itself. He waved at it, letting Hermione enter first. "Welcome to No. 12 Grimmauld Place, the home of the Black Family." The young witch stepped inside, into a dark and dusty entrance hall, with decor that looked out of date even for a Wizarding household. Before she could comment on it though she spotted Harry on top of the stairs to her right, and Hermione forgot all about the house.
"Harry!" She was about to run up the stairs, then reconsidered and walked at a more sedate pace. She was no child anymore, she reasoned, though she still beamed at her best friend, and hugged him with abandon when they met in the middle of the stairs.
"Ha…" Whatever she wanted to say, or he was about to say, was interrupted by a screeching harpy of a portrait, cursing everyone present in the foulest language she had heard in a while. Lupin struggled to close the curtains and hide the portrait while the two of them left the hall.
The racket made talking difficult for a bit longer, before it finally stopped. "What was that?" Hermione asked. "I haven't heard such filthy language since the twins got Draco with their reverse head prank in our third year."
Harry winced. "That was Sirius' mother. She is a blood bigot, and curses at everyone who is not a Death Eater recruit. Her portrait is protected so one can't get rid of it easily, Sirius said."
"Should brick her up then."
Harry grinned. "Sirius might just try that. Here's your room." He opened the door to an old-fashioned but clean room with a canopy bed - like Hermione's bed at Hogwarts. The young witch dragged her trunk inside. It was lightened with magic, of course, thanks to her borrowed wand lacking the trace, which was why she hadn't let Lupin carry it for her.
"Spent a day cleaning it, with Sirius." Harry grinned. "It was an adventure of sorts - we had to fight of a small infestation of doxies." Hermione quickly looked him over. Doxies were poisonous, and could leave nasty bite wounds. He held up his hands, as if to fend her off. "I am fine, Hermione. Sirius took care of them with a few spells, no one even came near me." Hermione wasn't convinced he was telling the entire truth, but let it slide and sat down on the bed.
"Has it just been you and Sirius?" The mattress was soft, maybe a bit too soft for her taste, but she didn't complain. Harry seemed to have spent time and effort to prepare her room.
"Us two, and Remus. But Dumbledore visits often, as does a cousin of Sirius, Tonks. She's an auror."
"Tonks?" Hermione thought that was quite the weird name, even for a witch.
"Nymphadora Tonks, but she doesn't let anyone call her by her first name. She hates it." Harry spread his hands and grinned. "If you do it anyway, she will make you regret it."
Hermione shrugged. She'd rather be called "Nymphadora" than "Tonks", but it wasn't her decision to make. "What did you do apart from cleaning?"
"Not that much, actually. The house has been left alone for a decade or so, and attracted all sorts of pests and curses. Cleaning a room is like a special lesson with Moody, keeps you on your guard."
"Did you use your wand?"
"I didn't, so far." Harry's grin lost a bit of its mirth. He might be unhappy at keeping secrets from his godfather, Hermione thought. "But we've been clearing the library. It should be safe to enter now."
"The library?" Hermione perked up. They had a library here?
"The Black Family library. Choke-full of old books, many of them banned in Britain. Sirius said..." Harry was interrupted when Hermione gripped his arm. A family library! With banned books! She smiled at him, eyes wide open. "I can show it to you?"
Hermione dragged him out of the room and was halfway down the hallway before she remembered that Harry knew where it was, and had to lead her.
*****
Quentin Travers watched his Grandniece enter the cab he had called for her, then turned to the young Watcher that was waiting in his office. "What did you find out about the scar?"
Fitzburg straightened his posture. "It's no ordinary curse scar. The wards wouldn't have detected it if it was just some lingering dark magic."
"Possession?" Quentin sounded calm and in control, as if he wasn't aware of the consequences should this be true.
"From what we could tell when we checked the boy after the attack on his relatives, it looks like the remnant of a failed possession." Fitzburg looked grim. "Though judging by the strength of the lingering imprints, it was a recent attempt."
Quentin sat down at his desk, steepling his fingers. "Do you think it was the result of the incident three years ago, after that teacher was killed?"
The young wizard hesitated just a second, enough for Quentin to realize he was speculating. "It would fit the circumstances and results we saw."
The Senior Watcher nodded. "Look into preparing an exorcism ritual. Just in case. A failed possession that has effects which linger for years is nothing to take lightly."
Fitzburg nodded. "I will confer with our specialists, Sir."
Quentin watched him leave, then leaned back in his seat. It would be regrettable if nothing could be done about Mister Potter's condition. His grandniece was evidently fond of the boy, and he would make a great asset to the Council, judging by the reports of his training so far. Quick at learning and thinking on his feet, great potential and loyalty. But if push came to shove, the needs of humanity outweighed the needs of a boy - or a boy and a girl. Even if she was family.
*****
Sirius was acting in quite an immature manner, Hermione thought. Or rather, she wasn't sure if it was an act. She was sitting in the kitchen and watching the two "men of the house" have a butterbeer drinking contest. They had asked her to participate, but she had politely declined. And glared at Sirius in a manner that made it clear that if she suddenly found herself belching as if she had drunk three bottles, there would be consequences. The wizard had acknowledged that, behind Harry's back while his godson had pouted at her. The two had an understanding. Both wanted the best for Harry, and both understood - or so Hermione hoped - that he needed them both. Even if Sirius might be pushing the "girlfriend jokes" a bit strongly. Not that she minded them, that much. Harry's flustered reaction always raised her own hopes.
The three of them had cleaned a few more rooms, and Harry had been right - it had been an adventure. The kind of adventure that was likely to leave one battered and bruised, and talked about in the Gryffindor Common Room. Very educational though - she had learned more about curses and magical pests in a few days here than in a term at Hogwarts. Sirius had been delighted when they had told him about their second wands. The man considered it a prank on the Ministry, which had left him to rot in prison without a trial, and promised not to tell anyone else. And he had given her access to his library as well. A bribe, she realized, but a very nice bribe.
Sadly, things outside Grimmauld Place were not going as well. The Ministry, as Sirius' cousin Tonks had informed them, was investigating the attack on the Dursleys, and was blaming Harry despite the manner of their deaths being absolutely clear and there not being any trace of underage magic. The Daily Prophet was speculating about some dark spell Harry had used on his relatives in a fit of anger at his lies being exposed. She hadn't been able to read the article without having to vent her anger on some hapless cursed cabinet, reducing the thing to splinters. At least the display of destructive magic had impressed the deranged house elf of the Blacks enough to stop harassing her, though being compared to "Mistress Bella" wasn't that much of an improvement.
Dumbledore certainly hadn't found it as amusing as Sirius had, when Harry's godfather had told him the story during one of the Headmaster's frequent visits. The way he had looked at her, all full of concern and sadness… Hermione still didn't know why it seemed the Headmaster was more concerned with Harry's reaction to the death of his horrid relatives than with the question of who had sent those demons after Harry. He certainly hadn't shown such concern in the past, not after Harry had burned Quirrell to death, or after seeing Cedric Diggory die. She had checked with Harry to make sure of that, of course. The Headmaster had his reasons, the young witch was sure of that. She just wasn't sure anymore that he had good reasons for his actions.
At least he had been friendly and jovial when he had left earlier, even though his announcement that the Weasleys would be moving in for the last two weeks, for security reasons, and to keep them company, had left Hermione with mixed feelings. She liked the Weasleys, but they were… loud. And Sirius had nothing on the twins when it came to pranking. And Ron would be trying to monopolize Harry's time, and Ginny might make cow eyes at her best friends, and… Hermione sighed. She had to be honest with herself, she liked it when it was just her, Harry, Sirius and Lupin. And occasional visits by Tonks.
*****
"What?" Mrs Weasley sounded so surprised, Harry had to fight the sudden urge to laugh out loud at her expression.
"I said Harry and I will not be cleaning, Mrs Weasley. We helped clean the rooms your family is now occupying, and that was more than enough." Hermione sounded like she was a few more frowns away from openly rolling her eyes, or worse.
"Nonsense, dear. I've never seen a house as much in need of a thorough cleaning as this one. We need everyone to help with that." Mrs Weasley had overcome her shock at being contradicted, and was gathering steam.
"Neither Harry nor I are allowed to do magic outside Hogwarts. We would have to waste hours doing what a single cleaning spell could achieve." Hermione closed her books and her eyes narrowed. Harry had the sudden image of two ships on a collision course.
"That doesn't matter. It's not good for young people to sit idle." Mrs Weasley had lost what jovial smile she had had left.
"Idle? We're not sitting idle, we're studying! That's far more important than some menial child labor!" Harry moved just a bit to the side when his best friend stood up. He noticed that Ginny, Ron and the twins were staring at the spectacle with the same expression of fascinated horror.
"Dear, we're guests here, and it would be very rude not to help Sirius with setting his house in order. What would your parents say about you refusing to help out?" Harry winced. That had been a mistake.
"My parents are in hiding because someone sent dementors after Harry's muggle relatives, and they could be the next targets." Hermione stated in a clipped voice brimming with anger. "They do not want me te to waste my time doing pointless, stupid menial work instead of studying magic."
Mrs Weasley gaped at the girl. Obviously it had been a long time since she had been spoken to like this. Her children were staring at Hermione as if she had grown one meter, and a second head. "This… this is an outrage!"
"Yes, it is an outrage that you seem to think you can order us around as if we were your children, and in your house! Neither is the case." Hermione was on a roll. "First you try to to tell us to share a room with Ron and Ginny, even though we spent a lot of time cleaning enough rooms for your whole family to use, then you try to steal my books, and now you want to force me to waste my time cleaning without magic?"
"A girl your age shouldn't be reading those kind of books." Harry gasped. Those were fighting words for Hermione. He hurried to grab her hand to distract her while speaking up in an attempt to defuse the situation before the two witches started hexing each other.
"Mrs Weasley, please. Cleaning without a wand reminds me… I mean… I cleaned my home like that…" He trailed off and looked away, hopefully it would seem as if he was overcome with emotion, and not avoiding to lie into her face.
Mrs Weasley gasped, holding a hand in front of her mouth. "Merlin, Harry! Please forgive me, I wasn't thinking!"
Harry nodded at her while she ushered her children, who looked shell-shocked, out of the room. He glanced at Hermione as soon as the door had closed. She was staring at him, and biting her lip. "Harry…" He interrupted her with a chuckle and saw her eyes widen when she realized what he had done.
"Oh, you!"
Harry's grin just grew wider. Sirius and his father would have been proud of him, he was sure of that. Then he realized that he hadn't let go of her yet.
The two stared at each other for a moment that seemed to stretch into a minute, or so Harry felt. He licked his suddenly dry lips while Hermione bit her lips. When he started to let go she gripped his hand. "Thank you. I was about to lose my temper." She smiled at him, and Harry felt both pleased and disappointed.
With a sudden grin he raised her hand to his lips. "Your obedient servant, Miss Granger." He kept smiling when she made a surprised sound and released her hand. She was staring at him, then narrowed her eyes and huffed. But she was smiling when both sat down to read. Sirius had been right, Harry thought.
*****
Knockturn Alley was not the worst alley India had ever been in, but it certainly was among the worst. Filthy, dark and filled with monsters both human and inhuman. The Slayer was standing in a side alley, watching the entrance to the "Drunken Doxy", a bar doubling as a brothel for the worst of the magical world. She longed to kick the door open and start slaying the scum inside, but she had her orders. The Council didn't want to let the Wizards know that the Slayer was on the prowl. Not yet.
The Council knew the names of the Death Eaters, but their houses were hidden and protected by wards powered with dark magic and worse. They couldn't get to them, not yet. They had to catch them when they were out. But most of the Death Eaters were respected in Wizarding Britain, traveling in the highest circles, with aurors, wizard police, ready to defend them should they be attacked. It was sickening, in India's opinion.
But other Death Eaters were not as respected. They frequented the darker corners of Wizarding Britain, where no aurors went to patrol. They had protections there as well, but those were weaker. Aurors would call in reinforcements quickly when faced with trouble. People in Knockturn Alley had to worry about passersby using an attack to stab them in the back.
She was here for Amycus Carrow, a Death Eater veteran of the first Blood War. The wizard was a sadist according to the Council's information, and a frequent customer of the brothel. India was to capture him, so he could be interrogated. There were other possible targets, but he was the likeliest.
A scraping sound - too faint for anyone but the Slayer to pick up - warned her of someone approaching from behind her. The churning feeling in her stomach told her it was a monster. She did not react and acted as if she was unaware, luring the monster closer. When it was close enough she whirled around.
A cloaked woman, no a hag, was hissing in surprise. Before it could say anything India was on her. A fist to the monster's throat left it choking on a crushed larynx, unable to scream. India was tempted to take her time now, draw it out a bit, let the hag try to breathe through a crushed throat while fighting her, but she had a mission. She ducked under a clumsy swing and swept the hags' feet out from under her, then kicked it into the wall before grabbing the wheezing monster's head. The hag tried to claw at her face, at her hands, but she broke its neck with a swift motion before it managed to connect, then pushed the corpse further into the side alley and resumed her post.
Hours later she finally caught sight of her prey as the wizard was leaving the brothel. There wasn't a floo there, no client of that brothel wanted to risk their travel to being monitored, and apparition would be warded against. India would have to act fast before he apparated away, but she was the Slayer, quick enough to reach him and subdue him before he spotted her.
She would have done so, if not for his companion, a brute of a man. Fenrir Greyback - she recognized his face. It wasn't the full moon but even in human form that monster had superior senses, and smelled or saw her right when she was leaving the side alley. The werewolf was fast, especially for his bulk, but India was faster. She cartwheeled over his attempted tackle and landed in front of Carrow, who was drawing his wand. She drove her fist into his gut, then kicked him in the face, throwing him against the brothel's wall, unconscious or even dead, while propelling herself back and over Fenrir's next strike, landing in a crouch.
For a moment Slayer and Werewolf stared at each other, both snarling. "You don't smell like a wolf. Yet you move like one. What are you?" The monster sounded confused. He was not using his wand - as expected. Greyback prefered to fight hand to hand when possible according to her knowledge.
India didn't bother to answer, she was already moving. Faking a charge, she jumped to the side when he moved to meet her, ran up the wall, before pushing off into a flying jump kick that hit Greyback in the chest and drove him into the ground. Roaring, he tried to get up, but India was faster, circling around him and driving her right foot into his knee, shattering it.
Even crippled Greyback was still fighting, lashing out with hands that looked like claws, and screaming with pain and rage, tearing his robes in his frantic attempts to grab her. It was no use. She danced out of his reach, then around him while he tried to turn with his broken knee, darting inside his reach to hit him in the stomach, then into his kidneys. He connected with a haymaker in return, that glanced off her upper arm and shoulder. It would bruise, but she was too caught up in the fighting, the slaying, to feel pain. Grinning as ferally as her enemy she smashed her fists into his head, then grabbed his filthy, greasy hair and drove his face into the cobblestones, shattering his teeth and nose.
He was beaten, he knew it, she knew it, but he was not giving up. He was still roaring, clawing at her when she slipped a silver dagger out of her sleeve and into his throat. Kit might admonish her for not using it sooner, she thought, but it might have made the werewolf go for his wand if she had done that.
While the werewolf was staring at her, his life fading from his feral eyes while he was gripping his bleeding throat with both hands, India stepped over to Carrow. She grabbed the Wizard, threw him over her shoulders and ran into the side alley she had come out of. A portkey activation phrase later she had left the alley with her prisoner.
*****
Dumbledore was feeling cautiously optimistic a few days before September 1st. Harry had shown no taint from Voldemort - or, to be precise, he had shown no signs of being influenced by the soul shard in his scar. He was not as sad about the loss of his family as a boy should be, but that was, sadly, not entirely unexpected, given his family's unfortunate attitude towards magic. Miss Granger had shown quite the temper, and had been very rude to Molly, as he had been told loudly and at length, but again, girls on the cusp of womanhood often were moody and temperamental.
And the books she was reading… They weren't dark, or cursed, but that a young witch would want to read about demons, that her family would spend so much gold on such books… He shook his head at such foolishness. She would have done better to spend the gold on more useful books. But he would have to keep an eye on her, should she ever manage to get a book on summoning demons… it was unlikely, such tomes had been destroyed wherever they were found, but foolish wizards might have kept them in their private libraries. At least Sirius had assured him that not even his family would have dabbled in demon summoning.
Such matters aside, he could now ask Severus to teach Harry Occlumency without fearing to tip off Voldemort. Miss Granger too, the boy was likely to confide in her. He wished to teach Harry himself, but… he glanced at the note on his desk. After Albus' chosen teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts had been arrested for smuggling muggle contraband - a trumped up charge if he had ever seen one - Cornelius had released an educational decree that allowed him to appoint his undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge, as a replacement teacher. An unfortunate development, but more an annoyance than a real problem. It wasn't as if she would be the first useless Defense teacher, and she'd likely spend her time spying on himself. He smirked. A few ruses should have her chase her own shadow.
A looked at another report from Kingsley. Fenrir Greyback killed by another werewolf. Amycus Carrow kidnapped. That was worrying. Albus had known Greyback, had had the man's measure. If his pack was now led by an unknown werewolf, that would complicate matters. Though it was an opportunity as well. Remus might have a chance to move her to stay away from Voldemort. Maybe even connect to her - he was a fine man, after all, and had been single for too long.
*****
Lucius Malfoy stood at his master's side, looking at the visitor - his guest, he mused, since they were in the Malfoy Manor, even if sometimes it felt more like his Master's - without appearing to stare. She, for the visitor was female, was a sight to behold. Pale skin, pitch black hair, a lithe figure clad in leather clothes even the muggle animals might find indecent. She was the rarest and most dangerous kind of vampires - a turned witch. She could shield against spells that would burn a vampire to ashes and cast far faster than most wizards. Lucius counted himself as among the most dangerous wizards in Britain, after the Dark Lord, of course, but even he would rather not face that vampire. When she winked at him and let a blood red tongue run over her lips, it took most of his self-control not to react.
The Dark Lord's voice interrupted what games their guest was about to play. "You've said you have information for me, Roselyn."
Lucius noted with satisfaction and some relief that even a centuries-old vampire like Roselyn was afraid of his Master, who had overcome death itself.
"Indeed my Lord, I have important information about your enemies."
Chapter 3: Trouble at Hogwarts