Chapter 52: Werewolves
Standing on the shore they had apparated to from the ship, Paige Caldwell took a deep breath. Magical Scandinavia. Land of the berserkers. Paige Caldwell had never set foot in it. It was said to be the only country where werewolves were not only tolerated, but valued. Equal, if not more, to wizards and witches. She snorted. There was a reason so few werewolves actually moved there, here. And as the ex-girlfriend of a berserker, one of Scandinavia's shock troopers, she knew that reason well.
"It's not as cold as I expected," Umbridge commented. The witch was eyeing the fjord in front of them as if she thought it was an illusion.
"Did you expect snow and ice all year?" Paige asked, barely keeping the contempt out of her voice. British wizards and witches were so ignorant of Scandinavia!
Umbridge didn't answer, but her glare told the werewolf that she had hit the mark. She shook her head. "We're not that much farther north than Scotland, and it's not yet winter."
"Have you been here before?" The pureblood narrowed her eyes with suspicion.
"No. But I've known a Scandinavian wizard." Known him very well, in fact. Ejnar had seemed like her dream partner, once. Tall, muscular, handsome, with a blond mane reaching the small of his back, and a charming smile. He had told tales of Magical Scandinavia, and she had listened, in wonder. What a naive girl she had been! Until she had discovered what a berserker truly was.
She shook her head to banish those memories. "We'll have to travel a bit further, the muggle way." Even with the 'skipper', as he had called himself, obliviated and sent to the Hebrides, they had to be careful to avoid attention on the borders.
"Where are we going?" Umbridge shifted the bag she was carrying and frowned - probably at the prospect of traveling as muggles again.
"Magical Oslo. " Paige took a look up the fjord, at the muggle village. "There should be a bus."
"Why don't we go to one of the smaller villages? Hide in the countryside?" That she was talking about magical villages went without saying.
"Too dangerous. Scandinavia is not like Britain. The government isn't that strong. The villages are ruled by their gothi or gyðja, their leader. They are usually the leader of the local werewolf pack as well." Paige saw Umbridge shudder, and grinned. "There are werewolves in all of Magical Scandinavia's settlements, but the majority of them live in small villages hidden in the wilderness."
Umbridge looked like she wanted to curse something, or someone. "And Oslo?"
Paige shrugged. Ejnar had scoffed at Oslo, said it was full of weak wizards. "I don't know that much about it. But I know it's not likely to be involved in a feud with the werewolf pack in the next village. As a trade center, it's considered neutral, sort of, in their feuds."
"It's like Diagon Alley?" Umbridge sounded hopeful.
"Probably."
*****
Magical Oslo was nothing like Diagon Alley, Dolores Umbridge found. There were similarities. Both locations were hidden in the middle of a muggle city, with a few concealed entrances. But where Diagon Alley was the heart of Britain's commerce, shops lining bustling streets and side alleys, Oslo had stalls and tents arranged around the keep, the old castle housing the local seat of the Scandinavian Ministry, as she understood.
The main difference to Diagon Alley though was the lack of magic, at least in her impression. There were glowing signs, and some of the stalls and shops sported flashy spells to attract customers, but she barely saw anyone in decent robes. Most people's clothes were lacking the elegant fashions Umbridge was used to. It was all so… so… "Muggle!"
"What?" The werewolf turned towards her.
"This looks like a muggle camp! Look at their clothes!" Dolores nodded at a couple passing them. The only thing that looked magical on them were their cloaks, decorated with embroidered runes Dolores identified as protections woven into the fabric.
"Their robes are enchanted. They just don't like to 'show off' magic."
"What?" That didn't make any sense. Why would any wizard or witch want to hide like this, instead of proudly displaying their heritage? They weren't among muggles!
The bitch was now smirking. For a moment, Dolores hated her,. wanted to curse her, but the feeling was gone at once, the life debt reasserting itself. "It's because of the werewolves."
"What?"
"Some of the werewolves were muggles before their change. They can't cast spells. And since werewolves are held in such high esteem in the country…" The bitch shrugged. "At least that was what I was told by my acquaintance."
Dolores blinked, shocked. Wizards, lowering themselves, acting like filthy muggles, in order to avoid… did they avoid shaming the filthy beasts out of pity? Or were they afraid of what those beasts would do if angered? "How long do you plan to stay here?" she asked, in a slightly shaky voice.
"Until it's safe to move on," the werewolf answered.
"How long will that be?" As if staying in a town where everyone could be a werewolf, worse, a muggle werewolf, and where the decent wizards bowed to the filthy beasts instead of driving them away would be called safe by anyone sane!
"I don't know. But it's currently the safest place in Europe for us."
Dolores doubted that - Scandinavia wouldn't extradite the bitch, they never did, but Dolores was no werewolf. Scandinavia was far less protective of normal foreigners. She muttered "It's still not safe enough."
"Oh, yes," the beast agreed with her. "You know why they are trying to get more werewolves to immigrate?"
"No?"
"Because there are so many feuds, they always need more bodies." The bitch flashed her teeth in a cynical smile. "Let's go and find an inn for the night." She looked at the keep. "I doubt they offer lodgings for travelers there."
Dolores looked at the huts and tents outside the keep's walls. They looked worse than the camp at the World Cup, two years ago. "At least it'll be cheap," she muttered. The two of them didn't have that much money, and Dolores would rather not pick up their old 'trade'. She was a witch, not a whore!
*****
"Here are the latest formulas, sir." Hermione Granger passed the stack of paper to the Headmaster. "I think I have managed to reduce the cost of the ritual further." The equations looked correct to her, but since she couldn't really test them, Dumbledore looking them over was the second best way to check for mistakes. He had the experience and knowledge to interpret the results and pick the most promising results for her to optimize further. Experience and knowledge she wasn't certain she wanted to have, and yet longed to have.
While the old wizard studied the sheets - the white paper looked oddly out of place in his office, she realized - she busied herself with her notebook. Or tried to. Her thoughts were wandering. Thanks to Harry's visions, they knew that Dark Lord was making progress with his ritual. They still didn't know what he was planning, but the power of the failed ritual they had observed left no doubt that it would be a catastrophe if Voldemort mastered it.
And her own ritual was ready, as long as one was willing to pay the price the spell demanded. She glanced back to where Harry was reading a book - 'Wizard Wars of the 20th Century', a rather pretentious title, seeing as it was written in 1970, or so she thought. Her boyfriend was focused on it. He took the threat seriously, and he was dedicating himself to train, so he could fight if needed. When needed, she added, remembering the prophecy. She looked at his face, the ugly scar hidden by his hair, his bright eyes, the way he licked his lips before whispering a line he had just read to commit it to memory. She loved him, more than anything else. She could save him too, all the materials had been prepared by Dumbledore already, if only she was willing to sacrifice…
"It is not worth it, Miss Granger."
She whipped her head around, staring at the Headmaster. The old wizard shook his head. "I did not read your mind. Your Occlumency is as superb as ever. But it was not hard to deduce your thoughts from your expression. You are thinking about doing the ritual and paying the price."
She glanced at Harry. Had he heard? She dreaded his reaction, should he know. He would be hurt, terribly hurt...
Once again the Headmaster shook his head. "He cannot hear us."
She sighed with relief, then bit her lower lip. "I was just…"
"Miss Granger, it is not worth it."
"But…" she looked at Harry again.
"Even if it would save his life, would never meeting him again, even after death, be worth it? Would he want you to pay that price?" The Headmaster spoke softly, but intently.
She sighed and slowly shook her head. Harry wouldn't want this. Not at all.
"You are not the only one faced with such temptation. But as alluring it appears, we have to remind ourselves that some prices are too high."
"Some are paying them though. Have paid them."
"Indeed. And I am utterly convinced that they were wrong, and have regretted it ever since." The Headmaster closed his eyes for a moment, his face showing pain and regrets. She gasped. Had he?
"No, I haven't. But I knew those who did."
"The book." It wasn't in the room, of course, but she glanced to the shelves anyway.
"Yes." He sighed. "It is not worth it, Miss Granger. Even if you might consider his life worth the price - and I pray you will never be so foolish - your action would hurt him so badly, so horribly, I would dread what he would become." His eyes bored into hers. "I trust you understand."
Shaken, she nodded and wiped some tears off her face with a flick of her wand.
"Besides, your equations so far were fine in my opinion. You're on the right path - as far as such a ritual can be called 'right' - and I'm quite certain you'll manage to perfect the formula," he said, smiling encouragingly.
"But will I be done with it before the Dark Lord perfects his ritual?" she asked.
"We can but hope, Miss Granger."
She had feared that as well. For the next few hours, while Dumbledore checked her formulas, asking questions to clarify a result from time to time and giving advice for the next steps she noted down, she was once again wondering about religion, and life after death.
*****
Harry Potter watched his lover sleep next to him while the rays of the rising sun crept closer to her face. She was mumbling something he couldn't make out, but otherwise she looked at peace. Content. Happy. As she should be. As she would be, if not for Voldemort.
He closed his eyes. The next full moon was still weeks away, but he already dreaded it. He was feeling like a werewolf, he thought. He even transformed into a monster, at least in his mind, during the full moon. And no amount of wolfsbane could make it stop. A potion of Dreamless Sleep might prevent the visions, or so Hermione had theorized, but it wasn't as if they'd ever try that out - they needed to know what the Dark Lord was up to. No matter how painful or disturbing the visions were, no matter how many nightmares he had due to them, Harry wouldn't try to avoid them. It was the least he could do when Hermione and Dumbledore, Sirius and his girlfriends, or the other Order members were risking their lives in the war.
He brushed a lock of hair that had fallen onto Hermione's face and caused her to wrinkle her nose in her sleep back behind her ear. She was risking her life, he knew that. He didn't know how dangerous the ritual she was creating with Dumbledore was, but if it wasn't dangerous, they'd have finished it by now - or tested it at least. He could ask, but…
He sighed. It was safer not to know too much, even with Occlumency, given his connection to the Dark Lord. Or at least that was a good excuse for not wanting to know what his girlfriend was doing. Because he had a feeling that if he knew, he would try to stop her. And that would hurt her worse than anything else.
"Mhh…" Hermione blinked, still half-asleep.
"Morning," Harry whispered, bending over to plant a kiss on her brow.
"Morning," she said. "What time is it?"
He was about to summon his watch when he spotted a big orange furball jumping on the bed. "Time to feed your cat," he answered instead.
"Crookshanks?"
The half-kneazle meowed loudly, and prodded Hermione's knee with a paw. The witch groaned and drew her wand. A few spells later the cat was busy emptying his bowl.
"Given his size, he might need a trough instead."
That earned him a glare from his girlfriend. "He's on a balanced diet. That's why I don't simply have the bowl fill whenever he wants to eat."
"You end up doing it yourself each time he wants to eat." Harry snorted when the cat stopped eating and glanced at him. Sometimes he wondered just how much the half-kneazle understood.
"I'm only feeding him in the morning and in the evening, and he knows that well, don't you, Crookshanks?" Hermione beamed at her cat.
"And at lunch he gets fed table scraps by Ron."
"What?" Hermione sat up at once, which caused the sheets to slide down, exposing her chest. "I told him to stop that!"
Harry chuckled while he admired the view. "Crookshanks's pleading eyes are more effective than your angry ones."
"Hmph."
He pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her. "Don't be mad at him. Ron's not having an easy time."
She scoffed. "Oh, yes. Handling Lavender must be very stressful."
"His girlfriend broke up with him without telling him. That hurt him," Harry defended their friend. Hermione still wasn't that fond of Lavender, and she rarely spoke of her former roommate without a bit of disdain.
"There's plenty of other witches he could get to know." Hermione paused. "They're not bonding over the Patils' absence, are they?" She turned to face him, which distracted him for a moment.
Harry wasn't about to spill his best friend's secrets, of course. But this wasn't really a secret. "No. They're just… not-friends with benefits, I'd say. You know, exploring sex together."
"Hm." Hermione pursed her lips. "They might think that, but they could still be falling for each other. As much as people claim it's all about free love and exploring, I can't help noticing that there are a lot of couples forming."
"Short-lived couples," Harry said. Sometimes very short-lived. Measured in hours rather than days.
Hermione frowned at him, which meant he had made a point. "But Ron's currently emotionally vulnerable. Lavender could exploit that. You know how she is."
Harry nodded. He knew how Hermione saw the other girl. Very well even, since she had explained it numerous times. He wouldn't say that, of course. "Would you prefer it if he was sleeping with Parkinson?"
Hermione chuckled. "Ron Weasley dating Malfoy's ex…" She grew serious. "I do hope that he doesn't plan to sleep with her just for that reason."
"I doubt he plans to sleep with her at all."
"That's probably true. Even though she probably would like him to, judging by how eager she is to train and duel with him." Frowning she added. "Almost as eager as Greengrass is to sleep with you."
"With us, you mean."
That earned him another glare. "If she tries to accidentally lose her robes again in training, I'll accidentally hex her hair off."
He patted her shoulder, then kissed her. "At least the rest have accepted us."
Hermione sighed. "They have accepted our relationship. For now. After we graduate, things will change again."
After Hogwarts they would be no longer children, but adults facing society's expectations. Harry knew that. "We can deal with that after we have dealt with Voldemort."
"Yes."
Both of them were all too aware that they had to survive the Dark Lord first.
*****
Ron Weasley checked the room's decorations again. The big floating banner was perfectly placed, slowly turning around itself. Its blinking letters spelled out 'Happy Birthday, Hermione!', right over the spot where the cake would be. Colourful ribbons were strung from the ceiling to the walls, and the plates had small name signs next to them… had had small name signs next to them, he realized.
He turned to the main suspect. "Luna!"
"Yes?" The blonde witch looked down from where she seemed to be gluing glitter and cork pieces to the lamps.
"Did you take the name signs?"
"Name signs?" Luna blinked.
"The small signs with the names of the guests on them. They were next to the plates." Ron almost sighed.
"Oh. I vanished them. I thought those were stand-ins for the guests that you didn't need anymore." Luna nodded, then returned back to her task of turning the lamps in the room into… whatever she was planning.
"Why wouldn't I need them anymore?" Ron kept a lid on his temper.
"Didn't you just need them to lay out the seating?" Luna blinked again.
"Yes." Ron wondered where she was going with this.
"Now you know it, so there's no need anymore for them. They took up space we can use for more dessert instead!" The Ravenclaw beamed at him.
He should have known. "The idea was for the guests to find their own places."
"Oh. But wouldn't the name signs confuse them? Since they kind of chose their places already."
The redhead rubbed his forehead. "That was the idea."
"You want them to be confused? Why not use a Confundus?" Luna looked at him with apparent surprise.
"No… the idea is that we choose where the guests sit." By now, Ron wasn't certain if the whole idea was worth the trouble.
"Oh! If we get to choose then I want to sit next to Hermione!" Luna beamed at him.
Ron gave up. "Alright." Luna was in rare form today. There was no sense in trying to unravel this; he'd go mad before he succeeded.
"Yay!"
Ron nodded at her, and went to fetch himself a butterbeer. He felt he had earned it. Besides, he had a feeling it was better to open it and donate the cap to Luna, before the witch started to collect the caps from the other bottles.
Next to the buffet, where bottles of all kinds, muggle and magical, were floating in a big tub filled with ice cubes, he spotted Harry. His best friend was checking the selection, or so it seemed.
"So, all set?" he asked, summoning one bottle with his wand.
Harry replaced the bottle. "Everything should be set. Gifts, food and drinks. You have the seating straightened out? Luna was pestering me about it earlier."
Ron groaned. Outfoxed by Luna. If his brothers knew they'd never stop teasing him. "I've compromised," he said, in a tone that hopefully would keep Harry from asking further questions.
"You're bringing Lavender as a date?" Harry grabbed a can of Coke himself.
"Sort of. We're not really dating," Ron answered. "But she wanted to see the muggle party we're throwing." They weren't - not exclusive, at least.
"Ah." Harry managed to add a lot of meaning into this sound.
Ron frowned at his friend. "What do you mean?"
"Just wondering… you've been with her for almost three weeks now."
"We've not been 'with each other'. We're simply having fun together. She's one of the prettiest witches in our year, after all," Ron said. And he was a Basilisk Slayer.
"Will you keep claiming that you're not together in a year as well?" Harry asked, grinning.
Ron rolled his eyes. "We don't hang out much, apart from, you know. Sleeping together." Harry nodded. Ron conjured two chairs for them and sat down. "How do I explain it… it's like this: We have sex, but… I don't really wonder how we'd fare if we'd marry, nor do I think of having kids with her. I'm not planning anything." Which was the truth. With Padma, it had been different. Ron wouldn't call it a serious engagement, but when they had become a couple, he had wondered if they'd marry, how long they'd stay together, how their hypothetical kids would looks like. He hadn't done anything like that with Lavender.
Harry still looked sceptical, or so Ron thought. He clapped him on the shoulder. "Mate, we're really just having some fun, nothing more."
"Are you certain she thinks the same?"
Ron chuckled. "Harry, I'm no expert, but I've been in a relationship with the twin sister of her best friend. If she was interested in more than fun, she'd act quite differently."
"It looked like she acted differently in the last club meeting."
"Well, I needed a witch-shaped shield to keep some snakes at bay." Not his proudest moment, Ron knew, but it had been getting a bit much, lately.
Harry chuckled - he understood that plight of Ron, at least. "Parkinson didn't seem to be impressed though."
Ron snorted. "Mate, if I ever date her, check me for love potions, polyjuice, and charms."
Harry laughed, but he also promised. Then the birthday witch arrived, and both went over to greet her, and start the party officially.
*****
"When you said 'undercover mission', I expected something else," Kenneth Fenbrick muttered to Mathilda Smith while he looked around in the living room of the cottage they were currently living in.
"What did you expect? Another night as courtesans?" The courtesan-turned-spy asked from her seat on the room's couch, where she was reading a book.
"Well, yes," the auror admitted. "Instead of playing… bait." For over a week too!
"We're not bait. We're ambushers." The witch made a swishing motion with her hand, and the book floating in front of her turned a page.
"We're pretending to be a pair of aurors guarding a valuable informant in a safehouse in order to attract a raiding party of Death Eaters. That makes us bait," Kenneth said.
"You're not pretending. You are a pair of aurors guarding a valuable informant - me!" Mathilda said, grinning. "You just wanted to see your partner in a courtesan's robe, did you?"
He didn't dignify that with a response.
Unfortunately, according to her grin, she considered his silence answer enough. "Have you told her?"
"What?"
"That you want to see her in a skimpy robe. Or out of a robe."
He glanced at the door to Bertha's room. The door was thick, so she shouldn't have heard their talk so far. He would have preferred a privacy spell, but he'd rather be able to hear screams and warnings, given that they were expecting a Death Eater attack.
Mathilda sighed. "You haven't, have you? Merlin's balls! I feel as if I'm back at Hogwarts, dealing with stuttering teenagers!"
"Hey!" He wasn't a teenager, but a veteran auror. Lots of witches could attest to his experience. And that annoying spy certainly hadn't been born all experienced and cynical.
"You two are aurors, and we're in a war. We're expecting an attack here, even. What are you waiting for?" Mathilda stood up, pushing her floating book to the side with a gesture.
"That's why. We're partners, I don't want to risk that. Certainly not in the middle of a war." Who else knew her as well as he did? Anyone else would not understand her well enough, and that could get her killed.
"Rubbish. You love her, and she loves you too. Otherwise, she'd have hexed you into a puddle long ago." Mathilda sniffed.
"Hey!" Kenneth stood up as well. There was a limit to how much abuse he was willing to take.
"I know you pretty well, Ken. You and your type." She poked him in his chest. "You spent your 6th year chasing any robe you could, and then tried to keep that going in 7th year. Just Hogwarts, nothing serious, right?"
"It wasn't exactly like that," he said.
"Close enough for a Blasting Curse. And afterwards, you always had an excuse not to settle down. First auror training, then the irregular schedules, the danger… how am I doing so far?"
She took his silence as acknowledgement, and continued. "And now, suddenly, you realize you've been a fool. And you're afraid your past will be held against you. Too many jokes about witches, hm?"
"No," he growled. It wasn't like that.
"Then why don't you tell her?"
"What's it to you?" he shot back. "Why do you care so much?"
"I like you two, and I think you shouldn't waste any more time."
"Ah." He swallowed the angry accusation he had been about to utter.
"So, are you going to tell her, or should I talk to her?"
"Ah…"
The door to the bedroom was thrown open and Bertha stormed inside. "The wards are under attack!"
Kenneth had never been so happy about people wanting to kill him.
*****
Aberforth Dumbledore studied the cottage from his vantage point, on a broom high in the sky and disillusioned. The Death Eaters had taken the bait. Fooling the mole in the Ministry had been easy, but he hadn't been certain the Dark Lord would be fooled as well. Or consider a "valuable informant" worth the attack - though hinting at her being a werewolf apparently had done the trick. Half a dozen Death Eaters, attacking the wards.
He raised his omnioculars to his eyes and checked again. Even with the nightvision granted by the enchanted device, he couldn't see anyone else. But six wasn't enough for such an attack - the Dark Lord's wands liked overwhelming odds, usually. He'd have to lay down anti-disillusion charms over the area. Those had a rather close range, so he would have to expose himself as well. Better him though, than Iva and her family, or Mathilda. And the two aurors, maybe. They had grown on him like fungus.
He touched the pin on his robe and whispered: "Attack once you see me cast." Then he put the broom in a dive and descended on the Death Eaters, wand out. He aimed at the Death Eaters attacking the wards first - curse-breakers were a priority target.
"Confringo."
The earth under the three Death Eaters in the front erupted, throwing them around like ragdolls. While the backlash from the wards ripped into them, he was already casting anti-disillusionment charms over the area near the house. Iva and her band of broom riders were on the move as well, cutting off the escape of the Death Eaters with anti-apparition and anti-portkey jinxes while closing with them.
When he felt his disillusionment fade, he pulled up at once, corkscrewing to provide a more difficult target. Green curses cut through the night, but none came close to hitting him. Someone who could cast that many Killing Curses should be able to aim better, Aberforth thought. He shouldn't be complaining about his good luck, but something was not right here.
He sent another blasting curse towards the unknown dark wizard, followed by another anti-disillusion charm, then banked and dove down again. His spell revealed another half dozen Death Eaters, all shielded and casting madly - and faster than he had expected.
Spells flew from the cottage, ripping into the curse-breakers still twitching from the ward backlash. More flashes to the sides of the cottage told him that Iva and her wands were engaging the remains of the first Death Eater group. One of the Greek mercenaries flew a bit too low and became visible. He didn't evade quickly enough, and of the half a dozen curses shot at him, one clipped his broom, blowing it up. The man - Deion - crashed into the ground, and before he could get up or cast anything, he was hit by a Killing Curse and dropped dead.
Aberforth flew towards that second group again, sending more spells at them. One Blasting Curse exploded in their midst, but to his surprise, their shields held, and more curses flew at him. He pulled to the left, and dove behind the cottage, touching the pin again. "Be careful! They seem to be more skilled than we expected."
"I noticed," came the terse answer from Iva. "We'll get them though."
The girl was bent on avenging her cousin, Aberforth realized, and cursed under his breath. He wouldn't be able to face Lea again, if her granddaughter died under his command. But with all those killing curses thrown around, the air was rapidly becoming too dangerous.
He landed and shrunk his broom while making haste to the front of the cottage, towards the dark wizards holding out. His blasting curse had at least destroyed their cover and thrown their formation off - and they hadn't reformed yet. Again, a weird lapse for wizards able to cast so many dark curses in so little time… the Dark Lord must have improved his cursed wands again, he concluded. He addressed his allies once again: "They can cast very well, but they are not too experienced."
Then he turned around the cottages corner, left the wards, and attacked again. Three piercing curses ripped into the first wizard's shield, shattering it. The fourth was stopped by the man's robe. He was already recasting his Shield Charm, but Aberforth had managed to hit him with a curse before the shimmering blue field surrounded the Death Eater again, and the dark wizard started to boil alive inside his shield while his blood heated up. Apparently, the wands didn't bestow the knowledge of counter-curses.
His attack had given his position away though, and the remaining five Death Eaters did their best to avenge their ally. He barely managed to raise a wall made of earth to block several Killing Curses and a variety of other dark spells, and his own shield was battered by fragments from the exploding wall. He transfigured the debris into another wall, which was rapidly crumbling under the assault from dozens of spells as well. How fast could they cast?
Aberforth conjured five metal disks, each large enough to hide behind, and fell further back. If he could reach the cottage and its wards… It was a long dash behind him though, and he wasn't young anymore. He could die here, easily, he realized. Killed by a bunch of fools wielding cursed wands.
He snarled, and banished the remains of his latest wall towards the Death Eaters, peppering their shields, but more importantly, distracting them long enough to transfigure the debris around them into a dense cloud of dust. Another flick of his wand added a green gas to the mix. He wasn't the alchemist Albus was, but he knew enough to get by.
He didn't have to ignite the dust cloud - one of the Death Eaters did that himself, setting off the dust explosion. The Death Eaters vanished in a giant fireball, and the shockwave almost knocked him down. Above him, Iva's broom riders were blown back by the force of the explosion, but didn't look seriously hurt.
"Oipho! What was that?" Iva asked through their link.
"Just a bit of applied alchemy," he answered.
The fireball dissipated, revealing the remains of the Death Eaters. None of them were moving, though only one of them looked crushed and burned. Aberforth and Iva's wands lost no time ensuring that even if the dark wizards were still alive, they'd not be able to fight on. Behind them, the two aurors and Mathilda emerged from the cottage.
"Two of them are still alive, and we captured two more trying to flee," Iva reported.
Aberforth nodded. They had the prisoners Albus had wanted. He dug around for a vial of veritaserum in his robe's pocket. The scum needed to be interrogated, and fast, before their knowledge about the Dark Lord's plans and orders became obsolete.
*****
"So, Voldemort has made even better cursed wands than he had, and Greyback has left Britain for an unknown destination, on the Dark Lord's order," Albus Dumbledore summed up Aberforth's report of the information he had gathered from their prisoners.
"Yes. He's become better at keeping his secrets - or all of his wands who knew more are hiding, or dead," his brother said. "I'm betting on the last. We hit him hard, and crippled his recruiting attempts."
Albus nodded. He wouldn't state it with such pride or certainty, but the Dark Lord had lost many of his followers. "But to send Greyback away… leaving his most dedicated followers, the werewolves, without their leader. That indicates a rather important task."
"He was pretty quick to launch an attack on the supposed location of an informant when we hinted that it was Caldwell or Umbridge. Maybe he sent Greyback to hunt the two down." Aberforth shrugged. "That monster will surface sooner rather than later. He's too violent to keep a low profile."
"Indeed. So… where would Voldemort send him? Where would Greyback fit in, and not draw our attention and subsequent attempts to neutralize him?" Albus smiled.
Aberforth scowled. "Always the teacher, are you? Even if talking to people who haven't been students in decades."
Albus would have liked to remark that wise wizards and witches never stopped learning, but his brother was already rather angry, and wouldn't appreciate such advice. Instead he spread his hands in apology. "I am sorry. Old habits die hard."
Aberforth scoffed. "Don't bother. I don't expect you to change, or care. So… you think Greyback is in Scandinavia?"
The Headmaster nodded. "Since the Dark Lord has extensively recruited werewolves, helped by the general attitude towards them in Britain, it would make sense for him to recruit more of them - especially since Scandinavia has no lack of experienced fighters among its werewolf population. Further, with them actively encouraging immigration by werewolves, a number of them have British roots, and might wish to return to fight against a country that all but threw them out."
Aberforth scoffed. "It's not as if werewolves have a monopoly of being mistreated and scorned. That's no excuse for joining the Dark Lord."
Albus didn't take the bait. His brother was a bit too protective of his shady friends, but reminding him of it would only cause a row. "It was not meant as an excuse, but as an explanation," he said instead.
"Of course," Aberforth said, his tone belying his words. "So… do you want me to hunt him down for you?"
"Have you been in Magical Scandinavia before?"
Aberforth shrugged. "Once, a few decades ago."
Albus would prefer to have Aberforth in Britain, considering the most distressing news about those new wands Voldemort was using. To think they were so powerful as to give his brother trouble… But on the other hand, letting the Dark Lord swell his ranks with werewolves, experienced werewolves even, would be far worse. Especially, if those new recruits received those new wands as well. He nodded. "Yes, please."
"Alright. Time to bag a bounty."
*****
Paige Caldwell scowled when she returned to the tent she and Umbridge were renting. Ejnar had never mentioned just how expensive Oslo was. It was certainly far removed from the rural, simple life portrayed in all the stories werewolves heard. If not for buying muggle food and stretching it with charms, they'd have gone broke already. And they could only afford that thanks to the money they had taken from the muggle owner of the boat that had brought them here. They could keep stealing from muggles, if things became desperate, but they wouldn't be able to keep doing so forever.
She passed a werewolf on the way - the fur on his outer robe identified him as such, just as the heavy gold chain he was wearing made it very likely that he was a gothi, a village leader. Paige was wearing fur on her robes as well - it felt very nice to see others defer to her, even if they were just wizards.
"Are you looking for a place to belong?"
The question from the gothi surprised her. "Pardon?"
"You look and smell like a foreigner. Are you looking for a place to belong, a pack to join?"
When she had first met Ejnar, she had thought his direct, blunt manner was attractive. No beating around the bush, no veiled insults. She knew better now. The manners were different, but people were people.
"I'm still trying to get acclimated," she answered, in a hopefully respectful and polite tone without appearing weak. "I haven't decided yet if this is the country for me."
"You're a werewolf. We are the progeny of Odin's wolves. Where else would you be at home than here?" The man mustered her. "Our kind is persecuted in every country but this one. It's a safe haven for you, and for your children."
"I don't have children."
"You will, sooner or later. It's your nature."
Paige didn't agree, but contradicting the pompous wolf would serve no purpose. "I haven't decided yet where I want to live," she said again.
"Once you do, send me a message," the man said, "I'm Snorre Bloodclaw."
Paige acted as if the name meant anything to her. Apparently satisfied, he nodded, and walked away. Bloodclaw… she had no idea if that was a small village with delusions of grandeur, or a powerful pack. There were just too many small villages and communities in this country.
"I'm back," she said, when she entered their tent.
Umbridge looked up from the table in the middle, where she had been reading a newspaper, nodding at her. It was almost a civil greeting, considering the circumstances.
Paige saw the witch was reading the Daily Prophet though, and she growled. "Didn't we agree that buying the Prophet is too dangerous?"
"I didn't buy this issue. I found it," Umbridge claimed.
Paige wasn't certain if she believed that, but there was no way to disprove it, so she growled once more, and then started to place the food she had bought in the pantry. "We're running out of money," she said when she had finished.
Umbridge shrugged. "We will have to find work then. As primitive as the people here are, it shouldn't be too hard to find well-paid employment."
"They're not primitive. They're just different," Paige said. "They claim their customs - forn sidr - are ancient, dating back thousands of years."
Umbridge scoffed. "Everyone knows the norsemen came centuries after Merlin."
"To Britain, maybe. They did not exactly appear out of thin air," Paige argued.
"They might as well have," the witch shot back.
Paige didn't feel like arguing. "We still need money. We can't keep stealing from muggles, sooner or later the local government will catch up."
Umbridge, to Paige's surprise, nodded simply. "And what kind of work do you have in mind?"
The werewolf shrugged. Most of the work offered was menial, and badly paid - like waitressing. The better paid work was usually offered to friends and family, not foreigners. Probably, she thought with a touch of paranoia, to make more werewolf immigrants join a village. "There isn't much of a selection for us, and half of it we can't or won't do."
Umbridge nodded. The British Ministry was looking for two courtesans, after all.
"So, that leaves one kind of work, always in demand."
*****
"Stupefy!" Pansy Parkinson shouted while dodging under Weasley's Disarming Charm. While the red spell flew towards her opponent - and would miss, she could tell - she sent a few more spells at him as well, each time shouting the incantation. She promptly followed them with a whispered Disarming Curse.
Unfortunately, her opponent had either expected such a ploy, or was lucky - Weasley's shield collapsed under the jinxes and hexes that hit it, but he was running, and the Disarming Charm went wide. Snarling, she sent another stunner at him, not bothering to shout now, but he had recast his Shield Charm already, and the stunner was absorbed.
Trusting her own shield, she suddenly charged ahead, directly at the redhead, and kept casting. The closer they were, the less they'd be able to dodge. It wasn't a valid dueling move - but in a real fight, anything went.
If that surprised Weasley, then he didn't show it. He kept casting at her, and started to circle her - or tried to. Her shield flared with the impact of another stunner, and was about to break when she jumped at him.
Both Shield Charms crashed into each other, and shattered, and then Pansy was smashing into him, just like Greg had taught her. Her left hand sought his wand while she drew her own back, to point-cast. He caught her wand hand, at the wrist, and managed to pull his own out of her reach. He couldn't cast that way though, and she kneed him in the groin - only to find out that his robe had special enchantments to protect that area. The pain flaring up in her knee made her yelp, and distracted her enough so Weasley could make her drop her own wand, and point his own at her head. He didn't cast though, just grinned.
"I win."
"You win," she answered, panting from exertion, and baring her own teeth in a grin.
For a second, the two stared at each other, still caught up in their duel. Pansy licked her lips, suddenly uncertain what to say.
"Are you going to make out here on the floor?" Greengrass's dumb question broke the spell, and Pansy rolled off Weasley.
"Good fight."
"Indeed. You surprised me and almost had me."
Pansy snorted. "I'm certain you had a few more tricks up your sleeve." She knew just how sneaky the twins were.
"Maybe." He stood up and offered her his hand. She was tempted to stand up without his help, but that would have been rude, no matter how much she wanted to.
She would duel Greengrass though, right after she had recovered from this bout.
*****
"It's quite cold here," Dolores Umbridge commented. She wasn't freezing - her robes protected against colder temperatures - but the contrast to Oslo was surprising. Or maybe not that surprising, seeing as they were deep in the central forests of Scandinavia.
"Still no snow though," the werewolf said.
They had taken a portkey to a small village, where someone was said to be recruiting wands for a small campaign. The sums bandied around in Oslo had been enough of an incentive to visit despite the distance - someone had deep pockets. And it would allow them to see just how life was in those magical villages.
So far Dolores was not impressed. Small, wooden houses, clustered around a big one - a longhouse, Paige called it - with wooden statues depicting the norse gods in front of or at least near each entrance. Carved wooden statues, without any magical enhancement. Primitive.
"The meeting is in the longhouse. The gothi, the village leader and packleader, will be there." The werewolf said.
Dolores snorted. "And the recruiter?"
"Will be there as well. Though I suspect they are one and the same."
Dolores scoffed. "I doubt anyone living in such a hovel could afford such rates.
The bitch frowned at her. "You've been here for weeks, and you still can't see past appearances?"
Dolores glared back, then looked away. "If they have so much gold, why don't they improve their homes before conquering another?"
"Habit. Tradition. They could have improved their homes too, just not as ostentatious as you're used to."
"Hardly." She wasn't ostentatious at all, Dolores thought.
The bitch shook her head, but dropped the argument. "Let's go inside".
The longhouse looked as primitive inside as it looked from the outside. They were even cooking a deer or something over an open fire - Dolores thought she could count herself lucky they didn't expect their guests to eat raw meat.
"We won't starve at least," the witch said. Of course the beast would be hungry, especially with the full moon approaching.
Dolores scoffed again. The longhouse was filling up, and as far as she could tell, most of those inside were not from here. "I wonder why they didn't hold the meeting in Oslo."
The werewolf shrugged. "There are many possible reasons. Too public, maybe, or too close to the muggles."
"That's two, not many." Dolores said.
The bitch growled briefly, then managed to control herself and utter: "Let's sit down. It should start soon."
They sat down at the next free spot at the long table. Dolores was stared at by several wizards and witches, and stared back until they looked away. "Primitives", she muttered once again.
"Rustic and traditional," the other witch corrected her. "We're growing closer to the full moon, and we'll be quite aggressive.
"I know." Dolores was about to comment on the time when she noticed that the werewolf was sniffing the air and growing tense. "What's wrong?"
"I know this… damn! We need to get out. Now!" She got up and pulled on Dolores' hand.
"Why?"
"I know that werewolf there. He was with Greyback." The werewolf said.
Before they reached the door, it was opened from the outside, and a huge figure dressed all in black filled it out. "Greyback…." the werewolf whispered.
"Paige! And Umbridge! The Dark Lord will be so pleased!" The infamous werewolf leader crowed. "Take them!"
With mercenaries behind them, and a monster in front of them, blocking the way out of this trap, Dolores didn't hesitate. Her wand whipped up and she sent a piercing spell right at Greyback.
The old werewolf was not so easily hit though. He dropped to the floor, the spell going wide, then jumped at Paige as if both were already transformed. Dolores was about to move into a better position to hex the beast in the back, when more werewolves entered.
"Avada Kedavra!" Her Killing Curse hit the first, and he fell down, dead.
That didn't stop the next one, who cast at her. "Diffindo!"
Dolores felt the spell hit her, but her robe stopped it, before she blasted the werewolf and half the door to pieces. "Bombarda".
The door and werewolf were blown away in the explosion, but the walls and roof held. Another werewolf was on the ground, dazed. The way was free to escape!
She turned to Caldwell, who was grappling like a muggle with her foe. The two werewolves were rolling over the floor, biting and clawing at each other. And the locals, as well as other visitors were standing up and moving towards them.
They had to flee, now, or they'd be killed!
She aimed her wand at Greyback, but she couldn't cast without risking to hit Caldwell by accident - and that would have been unacceptable. Greyback had no such troubles though, and one of his blows hit Caldwell's head, driving it into the stone floor and dazing her. Then he charged at Dolores.
"Diffindo! Confringo!" The witch fought desperately, but the Cutting Curse was absorbed by the beast's robe, and he ducked under the Blasting Curse, cast at an angle so it would not threaten Caldwell.
Then he was on her, driving one fist into her stomach. Dolores was thrown back several yards and fell to the ground. Pain filled her abdomen. She saw him raise his blood-covered claws, and realized it was her blood. She was bleeding. Heavily. She couldn't die though. She had to save Caldwell!
She didn't try to get up, she simply pointed her wand at Greyback.
"Imperio! Stand still!"
The monster froze, claw still raised.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The green spell hit the werewolf, and he collapsed. Dolores smiled, blood running down her lips. She was hurt worse than she thought. But Caldwell still needed her, even though she was getting up, because the mob that had been formed was still there, and might not remain passive much longer.
"Umbridge! You're bleeding!"
"I know," she managed to say, struggling to stand up. Caldwell pulled her to her feet just as the crowd started shouting.
"She used two Unforgivables!"
"She killed Greyback!"
"She violated Hospitality!"
Dolores blinked, feeling light-headed. Caldwell had to get away, had to reach the edge of the anti-apparition wards on the house. But she'd never make it with Dolores dragging her down and a mob behind her.
There was a way to solve both problems at once though. "Run!" she gasped. "Run and apparate!"
The stupid werewolf tried to grab her instead of fleeing. She had a simple solution for that as well.
"Imperio! Apparate away!"
Caldwell turned and started to run. That seemed to galvanize the mob to rush forward.
Dolores smiled while she pointed her wand at the ground next to her feet. Her debt would be paid.
"Bombarda Maxima!"
Chapter 53: Blood and Ashes
