Patron (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

Chapter 55: Berserkers

Hermione Granger smiled while she watched Harry duel with Ron in ‘their’ room. It wasn’t a serious duel, of course. It would have been foolish to do that outside a dueling chamber or court. The two were simply fooling around, sending hexes and jinxes at each other. They were more having fun than actually training, though one could claim they were improving their dodging. She didn’t mind though - it was good to see Harry laughing again, after the sombre mood Samhain had put him in.

Even if it distracted her somewhat from her research. Though to be honest, she had exhausted her resources already. There simply wasn’t enough material about Dementors in the Hogwarts Library to be useful. She had asked the Headmaster for more resources, but he hadn’t come through yet with anything.

The young witch bit her lower lip. The Dark Lord was making progress, while she was… not exactly stalled, but slowing down. If this went on for much longer… An arm around her shoulders, and a kiss on her cheek interrupted her increasingly dark thoughts.

“What are you frowning about?” Harry asked, the lighter tone of his question contrasting with the worry in his eyes.

There was no point in lying. She gestured at her computer. “I need more books to continue my research, but they are hard to come by.”

“Oh, Hermione needs books! What a surprise!” Ron grinned, cleaning the last spots Harry’s color spraying hex had left on his face with a flick of his wand.

She pursed her lips and frowned at him, though she felt better already hearing the familiar banter.

“The Headmaster will get them,” Harry said, squeezing her shoulder, then steered her towards the couch.

“I hope so.” There was no alternative, not really.

Ron let himself fall into the seat next to the couch, then floated the tray with snacks over to the group. “You’ll get them. Or you’ll find a way to do without them.” He bit into a sandwich. “Where’s Dumbledore anyway? He hasn’t been seen around the school in a while.”

“He’s dealing with the Ministry, I think” Harry said.

“The werewolves?” Ron asked.

“And the ICW trouble. Scandinavia is making waves,” Hermione said.

“They try to. But they are the only ones who care about werewolves,” Harry added in a bitter tone.

“Some of the enclaves in America have quite progressive policies as well,” Hermione corrected him.

Harry scoffed. “They’re just looking for curse fodder for their wars.”

“Scandinavia is the same,” Hermione countered.

“Well, if they weren’t, all the werewolves would have emigrated to the North long ago,” Ron said, summoning a can of Coca Cola. “Bunch of crazy wizards, always warring with each other. Like a miniature America.”

“North America,” Hermione said. “Central and South America are quite stable regions.” They still had slaves, and had wiped out the native wizards and witches, but they were stable. She saw Ron and Harry exchange a grin, and frowned. So she liked being precise!

Harry squeezed her shoulder again, then pulled her into his lap. “It’s not just that. I asked Remus about it. Scandinavia is also… too rustic for his taste.”

Ron looked puzzled. “Rustic?”

Harry nodded. “They don’t use as much magic as we do, at least not openly, because of the numbers of muggle werewolves. They’d take offense or something.”

Ron blinked. “Blimey! No wonder no one wants to emigrate there, if you have to live like a muggle!”

Hermione snorted. “Living like a muggle wouldn’t be bad. Living like a wizard without magic though… they still have wards, which renders most technology useless. The Scandinavian muggle countries have one of the highest standards of living, actually.”

“Well, once you patent your invention,” Ron said, pointing at her shielded computer, “That might change. Should make you rich too.”

Hermione bit her lower lip, and glanced at Harry. They had thought about that.

Ron frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Hermione sighed. “It’ll also mean more people will be able to speed up spellcrafting.”

“Like dark wizards,” Ron said, looking grim. “But they already know it’s possible, due to the Movie Nights.”

“Yes.” Some might be fooled, Hermione knew, into thinking this was some magic way to see muggle movies, but the smarter wizards would soon know, if they didn’t already, that this was a way to have muggle electronics work inside wards. “But they won’t yet know how. And some might never find out.”

“Well, you’ll be able to profit indirectly at least by developing spells,” Ron said. As a son of the Weasley family, Hermione knew he was very familiar with all ways to make a good living in Wizarding Britain.

“Yes!” said Harry, “She’ll create a lot of spells. She already got a few inquiries after the Tournament.”

“You got them,” Hermione pointed out. That slight still hurt, even more than a year later. In response he kissed her.

After a while, Ron coughed. They broke the kiss, and Hermione glared at their best friend.

“Hey!” He grinned and held up his hands. “There’s a reason we have single rooms in 6th year.”

“Did you tell that to the twins as well?” They certainly hadn’t stuck to their rooms during their ‘explorations’.

“As if telling them anything would have been of any use,” Ron waved his hand dismissively.

“Well,” Harry said, grinning, “you’re not exactly discreet with Parkinson.”

“Hey!” Ron glared at him.

Hermione giggled.

Ron sighed. “Just because she’s the only one outside our friends who takes the training seriously, and a challenge to duel doesn’t mean I fancy her.”

Harry made an exaggerated show of being relieved. “Whew! You had me worried there, mate, since we duel so often as well.”

Hermione giggled again, and added: “That doesn’t mean you don’t fancy her either.”

Ron shook his head. “She was Malfoy’s girlfriend!”

“Well, she broke up with him for muggle movies. That doesn’t sound like there was much love,” Harry said.

“She probably resented that he tried to tell her what she could and couldn’t watch. She’s got a lot of pride,” Hermione said. At least Lavender and Parvati had said that, back then.

“Sounds plausible to me,” Ron agreed. “She really hates losing.”

“Unless it’s to you.” Harry smirked.

Ron growled, and grabbed another sandwich.

It wasn’t nice to tease their friend like that, Hermione thought as she snuggled up to Harry, but she felt much happier already.

*****​

Ejnar Borge watched the coast of England, barely visible in the pale light of the half-moon, grow larger as the ship he was on approached the island. He took a deep breath, and for a second, he imagined he was a Viking raider, bearing down on the Anglo-Saxons to pillage their villages. In a way he was, though he wouldn’t pillage, but punish. Teach those British bigots that they couldn’t murder werewolves with impunity. Teach them to fear the berserkers.

He saw Afi walk up to him. The man wasn’t quite as tall as he was, but had the same blonde hair. His cousin stared at the coast as well, then turned to him. “I still don’t think it’ll be as easy as you claim.”

Ejnar snorted. “I’ve done it before. The British trust far too much to magic. They didn’t even control the muggle traffic back then.” They were weak, depending on magic. Unlike the Scandinavians. He saw the other werewolf looked unconvinced, and slapped him on the back. “Don’t worry. Even if they could detect us, at night and using a muggle ship, we’d best whatever forces they’d throw at us. We’re a warband, not some children and prisoners.”

Afi nodded. “Truth.”

They did have almost two score with them - and most of them berserkers - from five different packs. Enjar thought the expedition was worth it just for the alliance it created, sealed with blood and oath, between those packs.

They were close enough to the shore now that he could see the foam where the sea reached the beach. “Rouse the rest. We’ll disembark soon.”

While Afi went below decks, Ejnar went to check on the Zodiacs the crew were preparing. All experienced fishermen, they knew their work, but he was the leader of this band, and he’d have to check. Drowning would be a rather ignoble death, unworthy of Valhalla. Not that he was looking forward to Valhalla already. He still had no children, no legacy. This expedition could earn him both. Erase the stain on of his association with that traitor Paige - Caldwell.

He snarled, thinking about her. Years ago, he had thought her weak when she had not wanted to join his pack. Too civilised to stomach the life in Scandinavia. She hadn’t been weak, but treacherous though. An assassin posing as a whore. He had no doubt that she was already back in Britain, getting her reward for having assassinated Greyback.

He clenched his fist, breathing deeply to calm himself. She wouldn’t escape justice. For a werewolf to side with the British scum there was only one punishment. Death.

By the time he was calm enough to address others without growling, the Zodiacs were ready and his band was on deck. He looked them over. All of them were wizards. The other werewolves had volunteered as well, but for this first expedition, he wanted to restrict the members to those able to use wands. They didn’t know enough about Britain, yet.

He nodded at the men and women. There was no need for speeches. Everyone knew why they were here.

“Let’s go!”

The Zodiacs were lowered onto the water, and his band followed, climbing down and filling both. Two fishermen handled the Zodiacs. They were muggles, but they had relatives among the packs, and dealt with several villages. They’d not betray their own blood.

Ejnar let his hand trail through the water while they sped towards the beach. Once again, he thought, Norsemen came to make war on the British. And once again they’d vanquish them.

*****​

Sitting in the library, Pansy Parkinson mentally rolled her eyes when she saw Daphne Greengrass walking towards her. The blonde ditz took a seat next to her, the table barely expanding past the chair. Even the library seemed to know that Greengrass wasn’t fond of books. Or the library had no magic left to spare after stretching Granger’s table, Pansy thought with a chuckle.

“Hi Pansy,” the blonde mumbled, then sat down. She had been moping ever since she had finally realised that, yes, Harry Potter really didn’t want to sleep with her. She didn’t look like she was feeling any better still.

“Daphne,” Pansy answered, letting a hint of her annoyance at the interruption of her studying bleed into her tone.

The other witch, of course, completely missed that, and sighed theatrically. “Why’s love so difficult?”

“You’re not in love. You’re just stubbornly in lust,” Pansy said.

“There should be a law against such selfishness!” Daphne huffed.

Pansy rolled her eyes at that. “Don’t be stupid. Would you sleep with McLaggen?”

The girl gasped. “I’m not sleeping with McLaggen!”

She sighed. “The point was that the Year of Exploration is about doing things you want, without regrets. Not things you don’t want.”

“Well, I want to sleep with them!”

“And they don’t want to sleep with anyone but themselves. Accept it!”

The witch sighed, and didn’t say anything for a bit. But just when Pansy had turned back to the treatise about defensive enchantments, Daphne mumbled: “I’m trying to. It’s just so hard. I’ve been looking forward to this for years!”

“You’ve been looking forward to sleeping with Granger for years?”

“No! Well, not for years. She got prettier though, and do you remember how she did in the Duelling Competition?”

“Of course I do. Draco was moping for weeks.” Not unlike Daphne, Pansy thought.

Neither witch said anything for a bit. Then Daphne sighed once more. “Tracey said that even if I had been nicer to Granger in first year, they’d not want to sleep with me.”

“She’s right.” Tracey, Pansy, even Susan Bones had been telling that to Daphne, if what Pansy had heard was correct.

“It would have been easier if that was the reason, you know. Something I did, not something I am.”

“Merlin, Daphne! How often do I have to tell you, it’s not your fault! You’re fine, There’s nothing wrong with you, Potter simply doesn’t sleep with anyone but Granger!” Pansy all but shouted, trusting in the privacy enchantments of the library.

Daphne gaped at her, then smiled. “Thank you!”

For a moment, Pansy considered telling her that she hadn’t meant it that way. That the other witch was a twit. But the blonde had been moping for so long, she really didn’t want to ruin any progress that had been - finally! - made.

“I think I’m over them now,” Daphne said, though with a wistful expression straight from a robe-ripper cover.

“Thank the gods!” Pansy mumbled under her breath.

“So… what about you and Weasley?” The blonde leaned forward with an eager expression on her face.

Pansy closed her eyes. “There’s nothing between me and him.” Nothing she could put her finger on, in any case. There could be something, she was certain of that.

“Oh. Do you mind if I sleep with him then?” Daphne beamed at her.

Pansy’s glare set the other witch running, but she was giggling as she fled.

To think that twit got the better of her… Pansy resolved to pay extra attention to Daphne in the next Defense Club session. Maybe she’d look for a stronger Stinging Hex too. As experience had shown her, the blonde needed more work to learn a lesson than most others.

*****​

Wizarding Britain had changed since he had been there the last time, Ejnar Borge thought a few days after the arrival of his warband on the shores of the island. When he had been traveling through the country, and trying to persuade werewolves to move to Scandinavia, he had visited a number of small settlements. All of those seemed abandoned now though, the houses sealed up. Like the one he was standing in at the moment, a handful of houses in the countryside, hidden from muggles. Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley would be different, but they also would be heavily guarded. Ejnar and his band were brave, but he didn’t plan to visit Valhalla that soon.

“Any luck?” he asked when he saw his cousin walking towards him.

Afi shook his head. “No soul around, as far as I can tell.” He gestured behind him. “We found a weakly warded house, and we could break through them.”

Enjar thought that over. “We’ll do it, but we’ll prepare an ambush.” The British Ministry would have ways to monitor such houses.

Afi grinned. “Blood or loot. Or both.”

“Exactly.”

Ejnar quickly had three of his band work on the wards, while the rest disillusioned and hidden, were spread out, covering the approaches to the house. If the British wizards dared to show up they’d soon discover that facing a Norse Warband was very different from facing children.

When the thugs of the British Ministry arrived, he discovered what else had changed in Britain. He had expected them to surround the house, and demand that the the men working on the wards surrender. Just like they had reacted to a bit of violence during his first visit.

Instead half a dozen spells flew at his men from above without warning, focused on one werewolf. His shield and other protections didn’t withstand that sort of assault, and he was hit by a bludgeoning curse that slammed him into the ground. It didn’t kill him, but it disrupted his concentration. That triggered a backlash from the wards. Fortunately those were weak, but it was still enough to kill him and throw the two others working on the wards around like rag dolls, their shields shattered.

Ejnar’s warband roared with rage and spells flew at the disillusioned broom riders. Not enough had the presence of mind to cast a Human-presence-revealing Spell though - but two of the broom riders - hit-wizards, he realised when he saw their grey robes - were stripped of their concealing charms, and a dozen spells shot at them at once. One of them evaded the barrage, suffering only one hit, his shield flaring up as a spell clipped him. The other was hit with multiple curses and blown from his broom. He was still screaming when the wards of the house he was falling towards fried him.

Ejnar cast another Human-presence-revealing Spell, followed by Afi, but the British were flying away as fast as they could. He cast an amplifying charm on himself since most of his band shouted curses and taunts at the retreating hit-wizards. They hadn’t been in battle long enough to go berserk, which he was very glad for. Flying enemies were the worst for a warband. “Gather our wounded and Bolli. We need to leave before they return in force.”

One of the more excitable members of his band yelled “Fleeing? From those cowards?” Others who had been moving already hesitated.

Ejnar faced him. “Yes. They’ll return with more wands, prepared for us. Only a fool stays after the first clash of a raid.” He stared at the man until the werewolf lowered his eyes, then glanced at the rest of his band.

They were gone in a minute, to the hideout they had prepared. He looked at the houses again. Tempting, yet deadly. “We got blood, but no loot.”

Afi, standing next to him, nodded. “Next time we’ll be better prepared.”

Ejnar nodded. He didn’t say that he expected the British to be better prepared as well. Afi would know that anyway. This wouldn’t be as easy as he had thought.

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick looked up when his partner, Bertha Limmington, entered their shared office, nose deep in a scroll. “Did the Unspeakables finally finish the autopsy?”

Betha nodded. “No sign of vampiric involvement. The werewolf was bled out through the heart by magical means, then cut up and disemboweled.”

Kenneth sighed. “I’m not certain if I should be relieved that the bloodsuckers are not involved, or concerned that the wolf was used in a dark ritual.”

“Both are valid reactions,” Bertha said, rolling up the report and presenting it to him.

He shook his head. He trusted her to find anything useful in it. “Did you hear about the Felwich raid?”

The other Auror set the roll of parchment down on her desk, then shook her head. “No. What happened?”

“Six hit-wizards ran into an ambush when checking up on a ward-breaking alert. Lost one, and when they returned in force, the ambushers were gone.”

“Death Eaters?” Bertha narrowed her eyes.

“Maybe. But rather clumsy ones. They lost one of them serving as bait because they were still trying to break down the wards when the hit-wizards hit them.”

Bertha faintly smiled at his feeble word play. “But burglars wouldn’t have had the numbers to ambush a strike team of hit-wizards.”

“Nor the skill to get one of them,” Kenneth agreed.

“So, when do we move out?”

Kenneth stared at her. “Did you meet the boss on the way?”

She shook her head. “No. But you knew a bit too much about this. Too much for simple gossip.”

He smiled, he should have know. “You’re right. We’re on the case. Probably because it’s another mystery.”

Bertha nodded. Most would have missed her smile, Kenneth didn’t.

He frowned at her. “You don’t need to look so pleased about more work!”

Her next smile no one could have missed. Kenneth was still grumbling by the time they reached the apparition point.

*****​

A dozen hit-wizards were in the village - if the half a dozen houses could be called that - when they arrived. Their leader welcomed them. “Alois Fawley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Kenneth shook his hand. “Kenneth Fenbrick. This is my partner, Bertha Limmington. We’re the ones getting stuck with the weird cases.” Bertha glared at him, and he grinned.

The witch addressed Fawley: “What do you know so far?”

“Follow me. I’ll fill you in on the way,” the hit-wizard said, gesturing towards the smallest house nearby. “We received the alert in the early evening, and sent a team out. They approached disillusioned, and on brooms, and discovered what looked like three looters. Rather plain robes, focused on the wards. The team engaged, and took out one of them, triggering the wards. That struck the other two down. Right then about two dozen more opened up from concealed positions. The got Brackton, blew him off the broom, straight into the wards there, but the rest of the team escaped.”

Kenneth bit back a comment about fleeing hit-wizards. The only ones allowed to joke about a mission where people had died were the ones who had been there.

“Were any special spells observed?” Bertha asked.

“My wizards were a bit too busy dodging them to identify them,” Fawley said, chuckling. When Bertha simply nodded with that stern face of hers Kenneth knew so well, the man looked taken aback.

“This was the battleground.”

Kenneth nodded and checked the area and started casting detection spells, as did Bertha. The witch was as focused as usual.

“I detect a distinct lack of dark spells,” Kenneth summed his results up after a quarter hour. Sadly, his partner didn’t react to his contradiction.

“That would be very unusual for the Dark Lord’s forces,” Bertha said instead.

“Do you think it’s a new group?”

The witch nodded. “Though we cannot exclude the possibility of a deception by the Dark Lord.”

“They could be new recruits though, not yet long enough in his service to have adapted to his tactics,” Kenneth speculated.

“In either case, Scandinavian origins would be most likely.”

Kenneth groaned. It made too much sense given what he had heard about Scandinavia’s reaction to the Holding Centre Massacre, and to Greyback’s death.

“What?” Fawley all but shouted. “Those were berserkers?”

“Not every Scandinavian is a berserker, or a werewolf,” Bertha corrected the hit-wizard.

“Just most of those who’d rush to Britain, eager to avenge their fellow werewolves,” Kenneth added, pointing out why those Scandinavians were invading. He still hadn’t found the name of the werewolf who had fallen into the fire at the last moment, after saving so many. And no one else but Bertha seemed to care.

“Merlin’s balls! I’ll have to inform the rest!”

“Just be aware that so far this is just an educated guess,” Bertha said, in that cold, clinical tone of hers that sobered you up better than a potion.

Fawley was not immune to it either. “Of course,” he said, once again taken aback, then left them.

“So… berserkers in Britain. That sounds like the title of a cheap novel,” Kenneth commented.

Bertha didn’t react to the joke. “We’ll have to go over the pensieve memories of the hit-wizard team, to look for clues.”

Kenneth groaned again,

*****​

“They were definitely Scandinavians,” Kenneth said, hours later. “Only they would wear such unfashionable robes.”

“Yes. The style is rather distinctive. Very close to muggle clothes,” Bertha agreed.

“You know I wasn’t entirely serious.” He turned to her. They really needed a way to speed up sifting through memories.

“It’s a valid observation, though a Nordic tongue being used is more solid evidence of the ambushers’ origin.”

“Good enough to pass to Bones then.” He checked his watch. “And afterwards, we’ll need to eat something. I’m starving.” He hesitated a second, then added: “My treat.”

Bertha nodded, acknowledging his invitation, and started to compile the report for Bones.

He studied her while he waited, occasionally adding an observation of his, enjoying the small frown the witch showed when she had to rearrange her report to include his addition.

An hour later they were finally in Diagon Alley. Bertha seemed surprised when he led her past the Leaky Cauldron, and once more when they entered the ‘Marquise’, one of the more expensive restaurants in Wizarding London. Fortunately, the war had scared so many people into staying in their homes as much as possible, Kenneth had managed to get a reservation easily enough. A small, intimate table, even, at a window. Then again, most people prefered not to be that exposed these days.

But he was a Gryffindor, and an Auror. He wasn’t afraid of Death Eaters attacking Diagon Alley. Or of what he was about to do. Though he was a bit nervous. Maybe even more nervous than before an undercover mission involving Aberforth Dumbledore. But he couldn’t wait that much longer. They were at war, and they could die any time, even when checking on a routine call, as today had shown. And he’d be rather angry with himself if he died without confessing to Bertha.

After casting a privacy spell, he took a deep breath, looked at his partner, and opened his mouth.

Before he could say anything though, Bertha spoke: “You’re about to ask me out, right?”

He gaped at her. What… how....

She nodded, a smile playing over her lips. “You’ve been acting odder than normal for some time, you’ve invited me into one of the most expensive restaurants, and you seem rather nervous.”

He groaned. “Yes.”

“Yes, you’re asking me out?” A hint of teasing colored her voice.

He wasn’t certain if that was a good sign, but the kneazle was out of the bag already. “Yes.”

He was about to say more, but once more she cut him off with a smile: “Finally.”

Once more he gaped. Did she just…?

“Mathilda bet me I’d have to take the initiative.”

What? He blinked. “You’ve known… why didn’t you say anything?” He sounded more hurt than he wanted.

Now Bertha took a deep breath. “I wanted you to ask. I wanted you to work this out, to be certain of your feelings.” She leaned forward. “You are certain, aren’t you?”

Kenneth nodded.

She smiled. “It was also fun to watch you.”

Mathilda Miller had a lot to answer for, Kenneth thought. She had corrupted his partner. That should have been his job!

He was far more relieved and happy than angry, of course - he had been nervous. Bertha wasn’t like the girls he had known before, and he hadn’t been certain that she’d return his feelings.

“Shouldn’t you be kissing me now?”

He stared at her for a moment, wondering if she was once again teasing him, or serious, then decided it didn’t matter. “Yes. Yes, I should,” he said, as he stood up.

She met him halfway.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, smiled at Ottokar Steiner, the delegate of Magical Prussia, as the two of them ordered in a small restaurant in Geneva. “It is good to see you, Ottokar. How are things in Berlin?”

The Prussian wizard shrugged. “There’s nothing of note happening. Unlike in Britain, our internal disputes are not solved with violence.” Nothing the diplomat would tell Albus. Grindelwald’s old followers making waves was still the boggart for many of the continental politicians.

“It is not so internal anymore,” Albus pointed out. “We have had Scandinavian werewolves attack us on our soil.”

Ottokar made a dismissive gesture. “A few malcontents and hotheads. Individuals, not unlike the mercenaries fighting on both sides already.”

“Technically, yes,” the old wizard said, nodding, “but we both know that the Scandinavian government tolerates, if not encourages such adventures.”

“We may know it, but we lack any proof.” Ottokar’s tone left no doubt that he was certain that they would never have proof either.

“That is true. But unless you’re preparing to pass quite the progressive werewolf legislation, you might be facing such incursion from ‘individual malcontents’ next,” Albus said, meeting the Prussian’s eyes. “After all, Grindelwald styled himself as a champion of creature rights as well, and your government made their stance on his ideology very clear.”

Ottokar drew a hissing breath. “He just wanted cheap curse fodder.”

“You and I know it. I was there and fought them,” Albus said, flashes of those times running through his mind for an instant. Ottokar nodded. He had been there as well, but on the other side. A youth, as misled by Gellert as Albus had been. No, he admitted to himself - Albus’s own arrogance and hubris had misled him, Gellert had simply provided some ideas. “But will they believe it? And what will happen if the Scandinavians are contacted by Grindelwald’s remaining followers?”

“I would expect them to have learned their lesson and stick to their own country, once you are done with them. For the Vanquisher of Grindelwald, a bunch of werewolves shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Oh, I do not expect much trouble from them either, in Britain,” Albus said. Not more than from Voldemort’s regular forces, at least, “but there are so many little villages and packs in Scandinavia, always feuding with each other, they might not be deterred from further trips by the fate of their own rivals. Especially if that fate had befallen them in Britain, my home, and they were planning to visit the continent. After all, the internal matters of another country are none of my business, aren’t they?”

Ottokar actually hissed now. “Would you really wait while Grindelwald’s supporters make a bid for power?”

Albus sounded as unconcerned as possible as he answered: “Without Grindelwald, they are just another group of dark wizards. An internal matter for Prussia.”

“We can’t sanction another country for the actions of individuals. Not without proof that the government supports them.”

“That is true. But we can expect any country to keep their dangerous creatures from attacking other countries. Magical Greece certainly was reprimanded for failing to control their creatures quite sharply when a Hydra wandered up the Albanian Coast.” He didn’t like lumping werewolves together with creatures, but if it helped persuade Ottokar...

“That was also because of the threat to the Statute,” Ottokar said.

“Also, but not just. We have a precedent, at least.” Albus smiled at the waiter who brought their meals. Magical Geneva had some of the best cooks in Europe.

“What exactly do you want from them?”

Albus hid his smile this time, though he knew he had won when Ottokar stopped being evasive or contrary. “I want them to make the same effort to keep their hotheads from bothering other countries as they do to uphold the Statute. But I will settle for an honest effort.”

“You know they won’t be impressed enough to make an honest effort. What are you really after?”

Perceptive. “I’m just laying the groundwork for the future.” As if he’d show his cards to the Prussian just because he had asked. He had plans to deal with the problem in Scandinavia, but that wasn’t something he could talk about.

Otokar snorted. “How many delegates have you talked about this with already?”

Albus smiled politely. He was meeting with the delegate from Magical France later this evening, and Russia, Austria and Poland tomorrow. If those countries agreed, the rest would fall in line. His reputation would guarantee it.

Seeing Albus wouldn’t answer, Ottokar sighed. “You’ll have my support, though Prussia expects support as well, should we catch the same disease as Britain.”

“You will get the same support as we received, no worry,” Albus said.

Ottokar understood what he was saying, judging by his sour expression. Albus smiled broadly - there were some good points to this trip. Reminding Prussia that what went around came around was one of them. It wasn’t as if he expected unending gratitude for doing what was right, but favors had to be repaid in politics.

*****​

Paige Caldwell ran a hand over the bandage on her arm. Even days after that… terrifying man had caught her, she was scared of using magic. Grateful to be alive and free too, of course. But mostly scared. She was still hunted by the Dark Lord, by the Scandinavians, and by the British Ministry.

And she couldn’t really use magic. Not without calling attention to the muggle hut she was hiding in. That was how Dumbledore’s brother had found her, or so she thought. So she had to live like a muggle. At least she had wolfsbane for a year. By then, things should have cooled down. She could survive without magic for a year. She had to. Unless she found a way to sneak out of this godsforsaken country.

She could disillusion herself, and sneak on one of the giant muggle ships. Hide until they reached another country. One she wasn’t wanted in. She clenched her fist, ignoring the pain that caused. She could do it - if she dared.

Sighing, she sat down on the cot she was using again. She had to heal up first. And without magic, that would take quite some time. Time she might not have, depending on when the muggle owner of this hut visited the next time. At least the heating had started, automatically even, so she wasn’t freezing anymore. But food still was a problem. She had stolen a lot, and stored it in her bag, but that was bound to run out sooner rather than later.

Maybe she should risk stowing away anyway, no matter her wounds. Anywhere would be better than here. Even the Americas.

*****​

Hermione Granger handed another batch of notes, the results of her latest optimisation efforts, over to the Headmaster. She had had them ready days ago, not long after Dumbledore had finally procured her a useful tome, but the old wizard had been busy in Geneva the last few days.

“Thank you Miss Granger. I see you’ve made progress…”

When the old wizard trailed off, she knew he had seen her ‘variant ritual’. He looked up, straight at her. She nodded, and he started to study her notes again. Probably more carefully now, she thought.

After a while, he put the notes down. “A remarkable idea, Miss Granger. It seems this is the breakthrough you’ve been striving for.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And yet… a Dementor?”

Hermione bit her lower lip. “I know this… very difficult to acquire. But there is nothing else that has a similarly powerful and matching symbolism for the ritual.” Nothing else, so far, that would reduce the price the ritual demanded like that.

“I see. But will you be able to conduct the ritual, in the presence of such a creature?”

She wasn’t certain the Dementors could be called creatures, but she nodded. “My Occlumency should allow me to function.” She met his eyes, and felt him probe her defenses. In response, she concentrated on resisting him, grinding her teeth as the pain caused by his attempts grew worse and worse.

Finally he relented. “I think you might be correct, Miss Granger.” He didn’t look exhausted, unlike she felt, but he seemed… slightly tired, maybe. “But that leaves us with two problems.”

“How to capture and store a Dementor.” She had thought about this for days. Researched and planned.

“That is correct, Miss Granger. It’s not as much the actual capturing - they are remarkably vulnerable, if you can withstand their aura - nor the storing, since the cell we keep our other subject in would suffice, but the transport.” Dumbledore sighed. “The creature wilI have to be in a cage, so that it may not flee. But that means that the easiest mode of transportation, a portkey, will not work, since it will either transport the cage, or the creature. Apparating suffers from the same problem, and flying with a cage… I think not. Which leaves the Knightbus, whose staff is not the most secret or discreet.”

“We can use muggle transportation.” She knew how to drive. Theoretically. She’d have to take a few lessons; nothing a spell and some polyjuice wouldn’t net her.

“That is a good idea,” Dumbledore smiled. “Although I think there’s a better alternative. I own a Flying Carpet, a souvenir of sorts from the Ottoman Empire. While it is illegal to use them nowadays as anything but a floor covering, they will make transporting the cage quite easy.” He had looked almost contemplative when he had said that, but he had a twinkle in his eyes when he added: “Flying safely will be much easier to learn than driving safely, Miss Granger.”

Hermione didn’t quite blush in response to having been seen through so easily, but she came close. “Yes, sir.”

He grew serious again. “But that leaves the main problem: Finding such a creature. They are in the service of the Dark Lord, who has not used them much, if at all, since he made a deal with them. And if they are around, they will travel in packs”

Hermione nodded. “I know, sir. But the Dark Lord will certainly use them sooner or later.”

“I agree, but by that time it could be too late already.”

Hermione blinked. “Do you know what he is trying to do with his ritual then, sir?”

“I have an inkling, nothing more. But the power he is trying to harness is very impressive. If he found a way to use such a power - and why would he be working on that ritual, if he hadn’t a way in mind to use it - then we will be in a dire situation once he completes it.” Dumbledore sighed.

Hermione felt a stab of fear in her guts. She squared her shoulders though, and pushed her chin forward. She was a Gryffindor. “Then we need to force him to use them by depriving him of alternatives.”

“I fear that will be needed, despite the cost in lives.” Dumbledore looked resigned, or so she thought.

“The cost in lives will be much higher if he succeeds.” It was only logical.

“That is faint comfort, Miss Granger, trust me on this.”

“Yes, sir.” She didn’t really believe him, but this was not the time to bicker.

“I am quite relieved that you found a ritual that will do what is needed without endangering your own soul. On the other hand, things such as this should never be that easy, or more people will be trying to do them.”

“I have no intention of spreading this knowledge.” She waited a second, then added: “Apart from telling Harry, of course.” It would not help her plans for the time after her graduation at all.

“Of course. Where is he, by the way?”

“He’s training with Sirius and Remus.” And probably overdoing it, and getting hurt, Hermione thought. Not that Ron was any better. Their friend was duelling Parkinson, again, and usually came back quite battered, even if, as he was fond to mention, he always won.

*****​

Pansy Parkinson was breathing heavily. Her left arm was numb and dangling uselessly down her side. She was certain her robe was torn, but to glance down and check would invite another barrage. And she couldn’t afford that. Her opponent was not showing her any mercy. She flicked her wand, and sent a dust cloud up and against him. When he moved to banish it back at her, she rushed to the side and forward, hidden from view for a second. She had her wand pointed at him before he could react. “Stupefy!”

Her spell was stopped by his Shield Charm, as she had expected. She was still running, charging him, from the side now. Her own robe stopped his spell. Almost close enough to show him the tricks Greg had taught her. Lets see his robe stop a kick. Her next spell hit and shattered his shield, and she didn’t stop.

She saw his blue eyes widen when she recklessly closed into ‘melee range’, as Greg called it. Her foot lashed out, barely hindered by her numb arm, straight between his legs. It didn’t hurt him, or her. Cushioning Charm, she realised. Before she could pull her leg back, he had grabbed it, and pulled it up.

She managed to send another hex at him which his robes stopped before he tackled her and drove her to the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of her, and before she could do anything, she felt the tip of his wand under her chin. “Yield?”

Her left arm was still numb, one hand gripped her wand arm like a vise, and she was pinned beneath him. Beneath his body. His muscular body. She breathed slowly, feeling her chest heave and touch his. She squirmed a bit, and he pressed down on her. Merlin, she wanted…

“Yield?” His voice sounded more hoarse than it should, in her opinion.

She dropped her wand and licked her lips. For a moment, he stared at her eyes, and she thought, hoped, he’d…

Then he released her hand, pulled his wand back, and started to get up. She hissed with frustration, and her good hand shot up, grabbing his hair. His eyes widened and he made a surprised sound, his wand already pointing at her again, right before she mashed her lips against his.

Then both were groaning, moaning, and he was lying on top of her again, and his hands were wandering inside her torn robe, and she bit his lips and…

Later, she was lying on top of him, barely covered with the remains of her robes. His own was not quite shredded, somehow he had managed to pull it off, and hung from the chair to the side. She could move her left arm again, and tracing his chest muscles with the tip of her finger. One arm of his was on her back

“That was some duel,” he said, the first words either had said, as far as she remembered, since ‘yield’.

“Mh.” She smirked at him. He had that glint in his eyes, and pulled the remains of her robes away.

*****​

Aberforth Dumbledore wished that his brother had contacted him with a post owl, instead of a communication mirror. That way he would have a message to tear up and set on fire. And an owl to scare. “Have you gone crazy?”

“It is needed, Aberforth. We cannot afford to have more werewolves leave Scandinavia for Britain.” His brother’s voice sounded regretful, but firm. Just as it sounded when he had tried to explain why two girls would be sacrificed for politics.

“I’m not going to do it, Albus. I’ve still got a conscience. Hunting down the Dark Lord’s agents is one thing, but this?”

“We are not talking about innocents, but violent werewolves who are used to raid their neighbours.”

“Making them start feuding again will cause innocents to suffer!” Aberforth shouted, the privacy spells cast beforehand muffling his outburst.

“Yes. But not doing this will cause more innocents to suffer in Britain, and directly help the Dark Lord.”

“That’s it then? A numbers game?” Aberforth wanted to smash the mirror against the next wall. Wanted to leave this country.

“Effectively, yes. I am weighing all of Britain versus a few possible victims in Scandinavia.“ Albus met his gaze, not flinching. He hadn’t changed at all.

“And that makes it right?” Aberforth was shaking with rage.

“It does not make it right, but it makes it the least evil choice,” his brother said.

Aberforth spat out: “So, it’s for the Greater Good, Albus?”

His brother face lost all color. He could see him tremble even - with shock, or fury. He couldn’t tell. He hadn’t seen his brother showing either in decades, and felt guilt fill him, pushing the rage away. He fought it, while he stared at the mirror, at his brother, but finally pressed out: “I’m sorry. That was cruel. I shouldn’t have said it.” Some things they didn’t mention. At all.

Albus nodded slowly. When he spoke, he was slower than usual as well, as if he had trouble finding the right words. “Please. It’s important. I would not ask this of you if there was another way.”

Aberforth knew it was wrong, but nodded.

“Thank you.” Albus had the grace not to smile, at least, when Aberforth shut the mirror off.

*****​

Ejnar Borge grinned. This time, the ambush would work as planned! Instead of caught in a village, easy prey for flying enemies, they were in an old forest. Unless you were a world-class seeker, you couldn’t fly well enough to dodge spells there. And the trees provided cover and concealment for his band. It was the perfect setup to fight those British. And fight his band would.

A brief flicker of light drew his attention. Someone had arrived. The enemy, he was certain. No one else had a reason to visit this spot of the forest. A dozen of them, by his count.

“Alright, fan out and search the place. If there’s a child here who has just used accidental magic, we’ll know it.” Ejnar heard the leader of the grey-robed hit-wizards yell and knew his ruse had worked. Now the British bastards just needed to come close enough...

He could smell them now. They were cautious, approaching under cover of others. It wouldn’t help them. Almost… then he cursed under his breath. One of them had cast a Human-presence-revealing Spell. “Fawley! Here are three people hiding nearby!”

They were made! Ejnar stood up and charged ahead, out of the underbrush. The enemy leader saw him, but before he could react, Afi landed right on top of him, driving him into the soft soil on the ground. A quick pair of piercing curses finished him before Ejnar reached the two. “Good work.”

“As planned.”

Not everyone had been as quick though. Dverger had tried to duplicate the feat, but had missed. The young man would not get to try again. Another, Geiri, had ran straight into a Blasting Curse. Ejnar doubted the lad had noticed the spell before he had been dead.

Around him, spells flashed and shields flared in a confused mess. There were no frontlines, the enemy commander was dead. It was a chaotic affair, something that fitted his band. One by one he saw his comrades succumb to bloodlust, drawing blades instead of using their wands. Nothing but the utter destruction of the enemy would stop them now.

Ejnar howled, then let the rage fill him as well and charged at the closest grey-robed enemy, his wand disarming the boy before he smashed into him, his dagger already drawing blood from multiple cuts.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort held up the latest crystal globe, smiling proudly. Together with his latest improvement for the ritual’s formula, he had managed to perfect the ritual. It was still untested, but he was confident it would work. He could do another test, the next full moon, but the full moon after that would be during Yuletide. As it was very close to the Winter Solstice it would be further empowering the ritual if he used the correct symbolism, if not by much. But at the same time the Ministry and Hogwarts would be empty. And that would not help his plans. No, he would strike during the next full moon.

He leaned back in his chair. Bellatrix, on the bed behind him, noticed. “Have you finished it my lord?”

He nodded. “It still remains to be tested, but I’m quite confident this will work out.” He pointed at the globe. “This is the key. Without it, my plan wouldn’t work.” Well, without the globe, and without werewolves.

“It’s magnificient, my lord!” Bellatrix slid from the bed and walked on bare feet over to him, her eyes seemingly captivated by the crystal.

It was magnificent. It had taken him days to compose the runes, even longer to etch them into the globe. The crystal itself had been carved by goblins, not using any magic. If the beasts knew what it, or rather, one of the next globes, would be used for… he chuckled. Doomed by their own greed, how fitting!

Bella wrapped her arms around him from behind and rested her chin on his shoulder. “How can I help you, Master?”

“By standing and fighting at my side when I use this, at the next full moon.” She couldn’t help with the ritual, but there was no one else he’d rather have at his side in battle.

Her ecstatic smile could have lit up the room.


Chapter 56: Monsters

 

Chapter 56: Monsters

Ejnar Borge screamed with rage as he stabbed and slashed the hit-wizard in front of him. The boy’s own screams of pain and terror were cut off by Ejnar’s blade opening his windpipe, and the British wizard fell, choking on his own blood and trying to stem the bleeding from the gash in his chest with hands that had already lost fingers. The werewolf kicked the enemy in the chest, smashing him into the tree behind him, and whirled around to look for the next foe.

Next to him, Afi was on the ground, fighting with another hit-wizard. His cousin’s blade was broken, as was his enemy’s wand, and both were pounding each other. Ejnar left them; Afi was stronger and more experienced and would prevail. Instead he rushed towards a tree where an older wizard was standing, cursing Bjorn who was slamming himself into the man’s shield.

Ejnar reached them right when the protections on Bjorn’s robes failed, and saw the young werewolf fall back, his chest torn open. He roared, and shattered the man’s shield with a piercing curse, then leapt at him.

“Diffindo!”

The man was quick, but his Cutting Curse was stopped by Ejnar’s robes, mostly, and the taller, stronger werewolf smashed into the British wizard, driving him into the wall that had protected his back. He followed up with a headbutt that smashed the man’s nose, then bit his throat, tasting blood, while his dagger sliced into his enemy’s belly, disemboweling him. He relished the man’s screams, laughing and yelling while the British bastard died.

Panting, he turned around to look for another opponent, another victim, but found no one. Covered with blood, British and his own, he panted while his rage started to dwindle. The battle was over. His band had won.

Over a dozen werewolves howled in triumph. It was a poor imitation of the howl of a transformed pack, but it rang through the forest where they had ambushed the hit-wizards, telling man and animals alike who this territory belonged to.

It felt good. This was why they had come to Britain - to fight them, and beat them. To avenge the murder of werewolves. Shivering, his vision seemed to clear when the last of his rage left him. They had killed a dozen hit-wizards, yes. But they had not won without cost. Dverger, Geiri, Bjorn and Hallr were dead. Everyone else was wounded, but that was to be expected - a berserker who wasn’t bleeding hadn’t been fighting.

Ejnar frowned. They had ambushed the British, surprised them on a battleground that played to their strengths while outnumbering them, and yet had lost four of their number. Those hit-wizards were good. When the full moon came and his band transformed, such a battle could be the end of them.

“Episkey.”

His wounds closed, he sought out Afi. His cousin had just finished treating Mikel, who had been struck with an exotic curse that had started to skin him. He looked like he’d live now though.

“Afi.”

When the other werewolf looked at him, Ejnar nodded to the edge of the small clearing they were in. His cousin nodded, grabbed the two pieces of his blade, and repaired it while he followed Ejnar.

“We’ve got a problem come the full moon,” Ejnar said.

Afi looked confused. “We’ve got Wolfsbane for everyone. Or whatever the government’s trying to call it now.”

Ejnar chuckled. Some werewolves took offence to the name of the potion, claiming it besmirched the gift they had received. As if they had nothing more important to care about. He grew serious quickly though. “No, that’s not the issue. But if we get into a battle under the full moon, we’ll get slaughtered.”

Afi opened his mouth, then closed it. “You’re right. We’ll not be able to deal with their spells.”

Not even with Wolfsbane protecting their minds would they be able to work magic. At home, those wizards and witches not part of the pack would take up the slack, and the fights would be even more ferocious as transformed wolves went at each other, but here? The British would not meet them in an honourable melee, but fly away and send curses at them from above, protected by their shields.

Ejnar nodded. “We’ll have to hide.”

“The band won’t like that. They have tasted blood,” Afi cautioned him.

“I know. That’s why we’ll be holding a Sharing,” Ejnar said.

Afi drew a hissing breath. “Sharing our gifts? Who in Britain would… you mean, kidnapping people?”

Ejnar nodded. Usually, the gift of the wolf was shared with volunteers, often relatives of a wolf, in a sacred ceremony under the full moon. Not all new wolves were volunteers though - people being people, accidents did happen. Some wolves liked to forego the potion, and some of them occasionally happened upon humans.

“The traditionalists won’t like it.”

“None of them are with us. The band will understand. And given the hatred of werewolves, anyone we share our gift with will be forced to join us, or face death at the hands of their former friends,” Ejnar said.

“I hope that’s true, cousin. Even so, we’ll need to find a suitable place, and prepare the wards. There’s not much time left.” Afi sounded sceptical still.

Ejnar didn’t care. The search would keep the band busy while they healed up. The search for a good spot to hold their ceremony, and for those who would receive the gift. It might not be the triumphant, bloody raid they had imagined, but it would hurt the British anyway.

*****​

“We should take the day off. Or, better, the entire week.”

Kenneth Fenbrick didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to work. He didn’t want to do anything but spend time with Bertha Limmington. Preferably in bed, or in the bathtub, but she had proven to have a very fertile imagination, so he was certain he could add a few more locations, given time.

“Bones doesn’t like it when Aurors try to take time off without advanced notice,” his partner - in more than one sense of the word, now! - pointed out.

“Sod Bones! We haven’t had time off in… I can’t actually remember when we last had time off.”

Bertha shook her head slightly. “Too much firewhiskey then.”

“Hey!”

She smirked, and slid out of the bed. Kenneth forgot whatever he had wanted to say while he watched her summon her wand and walk over to the bathroom, past the heap in which her clothes had ended up last night. When the door closed behind her, he yelled “If we get another difficult case I’ll tell you I told you so!”

*****​

“I told you so.”

“So you did.”

Kenneth grumbled. It wasn’t fun if Bertha didn’t care that he had told her so. “If you had listened to me we could be back home in bed, instead of knee-deep in corpses in some godsforsaken forest.” But his partner thought that when duty called, Aurors had to answer. Or something trite like that.

He glanced at her. She was already running her wand over a rip in a tree’s bark. The witch looked focused, cool, collected. No one who’d see her now would expect her to be a passionate lover.

He sighed. If not for the Dark Lord and those foreign werewolves, they’d be able to take a vacation right now. Once the war was over, he would cash in all his accumulated leave, and not deal with any case again until he ran out!

That vow made, Kenneth looked at the carnage they had been called to. It did look horrible. A dozen hit-wizards, three squads, butchered. Literally, or so it appeared. He waved his wand and checked the wounds on the body of a young man, practically a boy. Gutted like a fish, the poor bastard had died slowly. No trace of a curse on that wound - it had been a blade, not a spell that had killed the guy.

The two other corpses he checked next matched that profile, as did most parts of a dismembered witch. He stood up from where he had crouched next to that body, and walked over to Bertha. “Either the Death Eaters suddenly stopped using wands, or this was the work of our Nordic invaders.”

“There were spells cast, on both sides,” his partner said.

“Yes. But not the kind of spells the Dark Lord’s minions tend to use.” Not many dark spells.

The witch nodded in agreement. “That’s my preliminary conclusion as well.”

Kenneth looked around, trying to imagine the battle. “It was an ambush,” he said. “They were surprised. The enemy managed to get right among them, scattered them, and then overwhelmed them. Not exactly the hit-wizards’ finest hour.”

“Their awareness and tactics were less than optimal,” Bertha said, agreeing with him.

“At least they took a few of them down with them.” There hadn’t been corpses left, but the tracks left were enough to see that the wizards hadn’t died alone. “Did you find any tracks or traces of the attackers? A clue where they went?”

Bertha shook her head. “They were very careful. Some blood was left, but nothing else.”

He cursed under his breath. “Then we can’t do anything but wait for their next attack. And hope whoever runs into them can call for help.”

Bertha nodded. “If they are Scandinavian, then they might grow too aggressive during the full moon, and succumb to better tactics.”

“The murderers have to be Scandinavians. Who else would use blades in battle? Even the muggles stopped with that long ago.” Which made the debacle here doubly embarrassing, Kenneth thought. To be killed with blades…

“Someone who wants us to suspect that those were Scandinavian invaders.” Bertha ignored that he had asked rhetorically.

He understood what she meant though. “You mean the Dark Lord wants us to blame Scandinavia, hoping we’ll end up fighting them?”

Bertha nodded.

Kenneth sighed. It was just a theory, probably wrong, but he just knew that the Ministry wouldn’t be eager to take Scandinavia to task for this. And they still needed to come up with tactics to deal with this sort of fighting.

*****​

Ron Weasley dodged another stunner by dropping to the ground and turning the debris from his opponent’s last Blasting Hex into a smoke screen. As soon as he touched the floor he rolled to the left, just before another stunner flew through the smoke. He scrambled back and disillusioned himself, then moved to the right, circling around Parkinson.

He didn’t see her though - she must have disillusioned herself too.

“Homenum Revelio,” he whispered, aiming his wand at the other side of the smoke. If she thought he was still hiding in that…

Parkinson became visible where he had thought she’d be. His first stunner was stopped by her shield, the next by her robe, and then she was inside the smoke.

It didn’t do her any good. He vanished it, exposing her once more. Then she started to cast the Human-presence-revealing Spell herself. She managed to expose him right when he tagged her with a modified Body-Binding Curse that left her spread-eagled and stuck to the nearest wall. A Disarming Charm later and the duel was over.

Ron walked over to her, limping slightly. She must have spotted it, since she smirked, and he decided to not cancel his curse until he had reached her.

“Good duel. You should have cast the Human-presence-revealing Spell earlier though,” he said.

“I know. That’s an interesting spell. Granger’s work?”

He nodded. “An experiment, she said.” Hermione hadn’t explained what the purpose of the experiment had been, but the spell looked and sounded different enough to fool some opponents, or so he guessed.

“You can let me down now,” she said.

He almost said he’d never let her down, but that would have been either creepy or sappy. Instead he stepped up to her.

“Yes, I could.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, ending the spell before he ended the kiss. She wrapped her freed limbs around him, and they sank down to the floor.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore smiled as Ottokar Steiner, the representative of Magical Prussia finished his speech in front of the ICW. If he hadn’t been the Supreme Mugwump, he’d wave his lit wand, signalling support for the man’s demand, like others did.

He glanced over at Kalle Lofgren, the representative of Magical Scandinavia. The admitted werewolf was growling. He had a reason to, Albus knew - it looked like the ICW would warn his country that they would not tolerate an invasion, no matter how much Scandinavia claimed that those were individuals acting on their own. Apart from his own contacts and favours owed, the fact that Scandinavian werewolves were known to bite muggles in much greater numbers than could be attributed to accidents had been decisive. Attacking muggles always threatened the Statute of Secrecy, after all.

He knew his esteemed colleagues wouldn’t really have seen a threat to the Statute of Secrecy if there hadn’t been the threat of such attacks happening in their own countries, at the hands or claws of foreign werewolves. Albus didn’t like painting the werewolves as a menace, though he couldn’t overlook the fact that they currently were attacking Britain, and that they were Voldemort’s most numerous supporters. The Dark Lord couldn’t be allowed to grow stronger, not with his ritual progressing.

Albus didn’t know for certain how close the Dark Lord was to succeeding in his research, but he could tell - thanks to the sins of his own youth - that Tom wouldn’t take much longer. The full moon in December was so close to the winter solstice; the lure of the additional power a ritual at that time would grant him would be irresistible to the Dark Lord. Which meant Albus would have to deal with the Nordic problem before that time.

Marie Mercier, the representative of Magical France, was next to speak. The witch was young for her position, which prompted rumours of her being the lover of the Duc d’Orléans - or a lover, at least. It was said that the Ducs continued the royal tradition of having Veela mistresses when Magical France split from France in 1692. Though in her elegant robes, the dernier cri from Paris, she certainly didn’t have to hide behind any Veela.

Marie had a sharp wit and a sharper tongue, and her speech was both entertaining and supportive. Unfortunately, she too raised the spectre of bloodthirsty werewolf hordes invading the European shores in the footsteps of their Viking ancestors. At least, Albus thought, they’d not be using longboats to travel up the Seine to attack Paris. He felt guilty again for having brought up the shade of Grindelwald in connection with werewolves. Although he was certain that the cause of the werewolves would suffer even more, should they continue their aggressive policy towards their neighbours. It had taken Magical Prussia decades to recover its reputation from those dark days, and they hadn’t had a reputation as monsters reaching back millennia.

Elena Romanova was next, representing Magical Russia. The Tsar’s eldest daughter cut a striking figure in a fur-lined Russian duelist’s robe. Albus made a note that the rumours of her angling to replace the Tsarevich might not be entirely unfounded, if she had started to cultivate a more martial image compared to the revealing robes she had worn in the past. Or, he thought, she might simply be trying to scare off unwanted suitors - he had heard from Marek Pasternak that the Tsar had been hinting rather strongly that she should marry and settle down. The Polish Government kept close eyes on their eastern neighbour, and so were usually well-informed about the latest news from Russia.

Elena’s statement could be summed up in two sentences: Russia feared no invader. Anyone trying to break the peace in Europe would be harshly punished. She took a quarter hour though to say it, with far too many words and far too little wit for Albus’s patience. But as he had hoped after his talk with her, she too supported the motion.

Marek’s speech came after hers, but Albus didn’t really pay attention to the Polish delegate. He was certain of their vote already; Poland had suffered the most under Grindelwald, and honoured those who had toppled the Dark Lord.

Karl von Habsburg though needed watching. Contrary to their muggle counterpart, the Habsburg line of Magical Austria had not died out. It had been a near thing though, and the results of severe inbreeding haunted them to this day. Karl was no exception. The son of the Emperor of Magical Austria-Hungary was charming, handsome and about as smart as a Puffskein. It was said in some circles, far out of the earshot of anyone from Austria of course, that every smart Austrian Habsburg would be either abrasive or sickly. Albus had never bothered to ascertain the truth of that barb himself, but he knew that the true voice of the Emperor was Karl’s secretary Anneliese, a confidant of his mother. Fortunately, Karl managed to deliver the speech Anneliese had written without stumbling or causing an incident.

Albus leaned back, relaxing. He looked at Lofgren, whose mood had worsened with each speech aimed at his country. With the support of all major powers in Magical Europe, the motion would be carried. It was merely a gesture, of course - no country would actually go to war over it, Cornelius had confirmed that by talking to the actual rulers and governments of Magical Europe - but it would put pressure on Scandinavia. And once Aberforth accomplished his mission, the Scandinavians would be as good as removed as a factor in the war against Voldemort.

He felt guilty at using his brother like this, but there was no choice. There simply were not many wizards Albus could trust with this, and none that had his brother’s skill with a wand. And, he told himself again, it wasn’t as if Aberforth had no experience in these sorts of matters.

As much as he justified his actions though - and they were justified, seeing as they’d save many innocents in Britain, both wizards and werewolves - he also knew that it might very well cost him what slim chance of reconciliation with his brother that he still had.

And yet, this was a price he was willing to pay. Better he suffer, than anyone else.

*****​

Aberforth Dumbledore, covered by a disillusionment charm and with his scent masked by a potion originally invented by African Wizards to sneak up on Nundus, stared at the small village hidden in one of the larger forests of of the Scandinavian peninsula. It looked nice, with the villagers just doing their daily chores. Some tending to the fields and herds - he could see the spells cast from his position easily - and others milling around. The picture of a peaceful little village.

And he’d have to break that peace. Force them to fight. He didn’t want to. Though if he was honest, he didn’t mind it that much. Those villagers had sent people to Britain, to raid and pillage the country. Werewolves. The village wasn’t really peaceful, despite its appearance. If not for the alliance it had entered with its neighbours, they’d likely have wands out, ready to defend their own village, or attack the others. Aberforth knew how the Nordic wizards thought and fought from personal experience.

No, what he hated was that he was following Albus’s orders, as if he was one of his brother’s minions. Doing the dirty work for the great Headmaster. Just like his friends did the dirty work for the Ministry in this war, he reminded himself.

“Damn you, Albus!” He whispered, then mounted his broom and flew towards the field that was farthest from the village. Getting detected at this point might ruin the entire mission, despite his disguise.

No one seemed to notice him as he flew over the field, descending near a lone young man - almost a boy still - who was removing weeds from the fields with his wand. Sprout would be appalled at the state of the field, Aberforth thought, since the wizard didn’t look like he was skilled, or paying much attention. Hopefully that meant he didn’t like honest work, and wanted to become a great warrior - it would help his mission.

He pointed his wand at the man and cast a Compulsion Charm, causing the Nordic wizard to ‘take a leak’ in the nearby forest. Aberforth followed him, waited until he was out of sight of the village, then stunned him. A minute later, he was on his way to the next village.

*****​

That village looked almost identical to the one he had observed earlier, Aberforth thought. And yet they had been feuding for decades, as he had found out from his prisoner. Scandinavians! He shook his head at their folly. Between the revival of the worship of the Norse Pantheon, and the acceptance of werewolves as not only equal members of Wizarding society, but highly valued leaders, it was no surprise that they ended up ready to fight at the drop of a hat.

He studied the area, taking note of where the guards were placed. It wouldn’t be too hard to attack it, even accounting for the fact that he wouldn’t be able to show his full skill. He’d hit the east side. There was a lone building, and a field where cows were grazing.

Decision made, he turned back to his stunned prisoner and cut a several hairs from the man’s head, dropping one of them in a vial. A swallow later, he was decades younger and looked like the man’s twin. Pointing his wand at the wizard, he hesitated. The villager didn’t have to die. Aberforth could obliviate him, and drop him off far away from here. Could even erase all his memories, and replace them with a fake life. He scoffed at his thoughts. His prisoner’s mind would have been replaced; he’d have been killed for all purposes.

Aberforth wasn’t Albus, hiding behind technicalities, trying to fool his own conscience. He knew what he was doing. And, he told himself, the prisoner had admitted under Veritaserum that he was trying to join ‘the fight in Britain’ as soon as he could reach a recruiter from the Dark Lord. Aberforth’s wand didn’t waver.

“Diffindo.”

Three Vanishing Charms took care of the body, the head, and the blood. Then Aberforth marched off to start a war.

He didn’t quite sneak up on the village, but he stayed away from the main road, walking slowly until he was used to his new, temporary body.

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

He turned towards the witch who had yelled at him. She didn’t look much older than his body. Another warrior who had just been a bit too inexperienced for their raid to Britain, probably.

He didn’t bother answering; he understood her well enough, but his accent would threaten his disguise. Instead he hit her with a Bludgeoning Curse that blew her back a few yards, and broke a dozen bones in her body. She’d live, of course, to remember his face.

He continued on, until he reached the field, and started to cut down cows and shrink their carcasses. He didn’t bother to be subtle; the guard he had hurt would soon call for help anyway. Just as expected, fireworks went off behind him, and he heard yells from the village.

Turning towards the road, he saw the first of those who had been milling around arrive.

“Confringo!”

The Blasting Curse ripped a crater into the road and showered the first villagers with rocks and dirt. They stopped, and fanned out, trying to surround him. It was time to fall back. He bought himself more time and space with a couple of Blasting Hexes, mixed with silent Compulsion Charms. When he had faded into the forest and apparated away, the villagers were enraged and on their way to attack their neighbours.

He reached their target first, on his broom and disillusioned. A few more, discreet compulsion spells cast on the people in the first village ensured that there would be no talking this out.

The enraged pursuers didn’t take long to reach the village, and didn’t stop to talk anyway. Aberforth didn’t look away when the battle started and curses flew, nor when blades met and blood was spilled. He had caused this, he was responsible, and he’d bear witness to his actions and their consequences. Only when the attackers started to retreat, with half the village burning, did he fly away.

He had two more villages to set upon each other.

*****​

Sirius Black threw the Daily Prophet down on the kitchen table in No. 12 Grimmauld Place, just missing his tea cup and the basket with the croissants, and snorted in disgust.

Valérie, wearing one of her barely-there ‘house robes’, picked it up before Kreacher could collect and dispose of it. The Veela skimmed through the articles on the front page. “According to this, the ICW condemns the attack on Britain by Scandinavian werewolves. Isn’t that a good thing?” She asked, turning towards him.

Sirius scoffed. “It’s useless posturing. Politics. We need wands, not words.”

She nodded, picking up her coffee and a croissant. “But it’s better than nothing, and it might give some Scandinavians pause, and keep them from joining the Dark Lord.”

She was correct, but Sirius didn’t want to admit it, so he grumbled. If he had changed to Padfoot, he would even have growled. Instead, he grabbed a croissant himself. He used to prefer a British breakfast, but his lovers had changed that. Padfoot still wanted meat though, so he often mixed croissants and sausages. If he made an effort, he could gross out Remus with a bit of luck.

He sighed, thinking of his best friend. The news that foreign werewolves were attacking brave British hit-wizards had driven the anti-werewolf sentiments in Britain to new heights. He was worried about the strain and stress this put on Remus. His friend was, for all his Ravenclaw-like smarts, a Gryffindor first and foremost, not a Slytherin, and Sirius was afraid that Remus might take a stand one day, revealing his secret just to do something against the hatred. And Sirius had no idea how to stop that.

“What’s wrong?” Valérie asked, standing up and walking around the table to him.

He wasn’t about to lie to her. Not that he could; she knew him too well now. “I’m just… worried and impatient. Mostly worried.”

His fiancée stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders.

“Worried about the war, worried about Remus, worried about you.”

“The war seems to be going well. Things have improved a lot compared to the start,” Valérie commented.

“And that is what worries me. The Dark Lord hasn’t been seen in a long time, which means he’s probably preparing something truly horrible.” Aimed at Harry, likely, due to that thrice-damned prophecy.

Eugénie entered the kitchen, smiling at the two of them and grabbing the coffee pot. “Chantal and Laure are still asleep.”

Valérie giggled. Sirius doubted either of the two would be up before noon, not after that drinking contest with Fleur and Bill last night. Ah, to be young and foolish again… he groaned. A year ago, he’d have joined them, and done his best to drag everyone else into the contest as well. He really had become respectable. Grown up, even.

Valérie put her head on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m old. I just realised it.”

“You’re not old!” Eugénie exclaimed. “You’re in the full vigour of your prime!” He knew what she meant.

Valérie giggled, but didn’t comment. She did wrap her arms around him though, and slid into his lap.

“Oh, not that. But I’ve become ‘respectable’,” Sirius explained. “Used to be, I’d be right there, suffering a hangover.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Valérie asked.

“It’s not,“ he admitted, “but … everyone told me so often to grow up, I kind of didn’t want to just because.”

That caused more laughter, and some muttered comment from Kreacher he didn’t quite catch.

“More seriously though,” he said, “I do worry. We know the Dark Lord’s been recruiting, for months, and yet we haven’t seen any big attack since the Hogwarts Express. We haven’t seen Dementors around at all.” He had checked, for Dumbledore.

“You think they are gathering their forces, and will attack en masse.” Eugénie looked grim now.

“It would make sense. One big attack, or a lot of smaller attacks, aimed at overwhelming us,” Sirius said, running one hand over Valérie’s back. “And with the Ministry occupied and distracted by this werewolf madness, I’m afraid they’re not as prepared as they should be.”

Valérie and Eugénie nodded. “We will be, though,” Eugénie stated. “The ‘eadmaster will be prepared as well.”

“‘ow is Remus doing?” Valérie asked.

“He hasn’t broken down yet. But I don’t know how long he’ll support this …” Sirius trailed off, and waved his hand towards the Daily Prophet. “All this. He has been broken up about his furry little problem since his childhood.”

“I think ‘is real problem is the people, not the fur,” Valérie said.

Sirius nodded. “I need to keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t … do something stupid.”

“We will keep an eye on him,” Eugénie said. Valérie nodded.

Sirius smiled. “Thank you.”

“It’s what family does.”

Sirius really wanted to turn into Padfoot right then, before they saw the tears in his eyes. But with Valérie in his lap, he couldn’t.

*****​

Harry Potter waited until Ron had entered the former classroom they had turned into their private lounge and laboratory, then waved his wand at him. Hermione joined him. Ron froze when various spells flew over his body.

“Hey! What are you doing?” their best friend demanded, his hair slightly frizzy from Harry’s last spell.

“What you asked me to!” Harry grinned

“Are you mental? I asked you to smother me with spells?”

Harry smiled. “You said that if you ever dated Parkinson, I should check you for ‘love potions, Polyjuice, and charms’.”

While Ron stared at him with his mouth hanging open, Hermione added: “We just did that. You’re clean, by the way.”

“We’re not dating!”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “What do you call it then? You’re meeting her every second evening for some ‘duelling’ that ends with you two shagging.”

“How… why… the map!” Ron stammered.

“Of course,” Hermione said. “Did you expect we’d not keep an eye on you when you’re alone with a Slytherin?” She stressed ‘Slytherin’, and Harry saw Ron wince.

“I didn’t expect to be… not during sex!”

“You’re most vulnerable during sex, naked and without your wand,” Harry pointed out.

“We’re usually not naked,“ Ron protested.

“That’s interesting, but not the point,” Hermione said.

Ron sat down on the couch and closed his eyes.

Harry felt a bit guilty at ribbing his best friend like this, but after years of complaints about Slytherins in general, and about Parkinson in particular, he felt entitled to it. Still, given his own relationship, and its slightly troubled start, maybe he should stop. He sat down next to Ron while Hermione took a seat in the armchair.

“So… if you’re not dating, what are you doing then? Casual sex?” It was their Year of Discovery, after all.

“Yes… maybe… I guess?” Ron shrugged, with a grimace. “We just, you know, meet, fight, and f… have sex,” he added with a glance at Hermione. “Not exactly a base for a relationship.”

“That sounds as if you’d like one,” Harry ventured.

Hermione nodded, but didn’t say anything. He knew she still wasn’t that fond of the Slytherin witch.

“I don’t know.” He leaned back. “And I don’t know what she wants.”

“Apart from you.” Harry couldn’t resist.

“Har har,” was his friend’s sarcastic reply.

Hermione chuckled. “Maybe you should talk to her.”

“We do talk to each other!”

“Other than criticising the duel, that is.” Hermione shook her head.

“Are you spying on us?” Ron stared at her.

“No, but we know how you act in the Self-Defense Club sessions,” the witch said. “Not too hard to guess what you’re talking about.”

“We do talk about other things as well. Just not… that.”

“Well, you should change that,” Hermione said.

Harry coughed. His girlfriend was a bit too blunt, in his opinion. “But only if you want more than what you currently have.” Otherwise, Ron might risk losing a good thing for nothing.

“Great…”

*****​

Ejnar Borge lowered the enchanted telescope, collapsed it, and slid down the hill he had been lying on top of to rejoin his band which was gathered at the hill’s foot. “Hogsmeade is locked up tight. It may not look like it, but I’m certain there are dozens of Aurors and hit-wizards ready to deploy there.”

“Then we won’t be able to capture wizards or witches there for the ceremony.” Afi frowned. His cousin had become more enthusiastic for the plan since they had first talked about it, but he still wasn’t too much of an optimist.

“No. We have a few options though. We can try to lure some out of the village and kidnap them then.”

“Security will be even tighter when the students are around,” Vilmar pointed out.

“That is true, but we’re not going after children anyway,” Ejnar said. “We could go to Knockturn Alley.” He had been there before, during his first trip to Britain. No one cared if a few residents there went missing.

“Share our gift with whores and thieves?” Nenne scoffed.

“Not everyone’s been born into a rich family, Nenne.” Ejnar growled at him until the other wizard looked away.

“Now, we also can capture enemies during our next battle.”

Afi snorted, and Ejnar glared at him. Berserkers were notorious for not taking prisoners in the heat of battle, but they were not unable to control themselves. Not completely at least.

Flapping noises drew his attention, and when he looked up, he saw three owls fly towards his war band. Post owls? That was not a good sign.

Nenne was one to receive a letter, and his outraged yell strained the privacy spell keeping them hidden: “They broke the Alliance! Treachery!” He growled and drew his wand, aiming at Vilmar.

That werewolf stared at him. “Are you breaking your oath to the warband?”

“Your pack broke oath with my village!” Nenne shouted while Ove and Frans stepped up behind him, backing him up. All three came from the same village, Ejnar knew. Vilmar too was joined by three of his pack.

He stepped between the groups before something happened. “What’s going on here?” he growled with as much menace as he could manage.

“His pack broke their oath and attacked my home!” Nenne said. More werewolves were gathering around them. Oath-breaking was very grave. Not for the first time, Ejnar wished that there were more magical oaths people could swear. No one would break an oath if the penalty was the loss of his life or magic.

Ejnar read the letter. It was a warning. Apparently one of those backwards villages had not adhered to the oath of alliance, and had decided to settle a few disputes with blade and wand. This could destroy his band, unless he acted quickly. “This changes nothing! You gave me your oath, all of you, and you’ll keep it or I’ll break you. We are one warband, bound together with oath and blood, and we’ll stay one! We came here to punish the British and avenge our fellow wolves, and that’s what we’ll do!”

“We cannot fight if we cannot trust them!” Nenne spat.

Enjar turned to the other werewolf. “I said we’re one warband, and we’ll stay one band. I’ll kill whoever attacks his comrade.” He met the other werewolf’s eyes and stared him down until Nenne looked away and grumbled his acceptance of the order.

“Let’s move out. We’ll find a more secure camp for the night!”

On the way to the next forest, Afi walked next to him. “Quick thinking there.”

Ejnar shrugged. “I don’t know what the village idiots did, but I won’t let some backwards pack wreck this warband.”

Afi nodded. “I just pray to Odin you’ll succeed.”

“So do I, Afi. So do I.”

*****​

The next day, Ejnar Borge woke up to discover that Nenne, Ove and Frans were gone from their camp. “May Víðarr curse them!” he shouted.

Afi looked grim. In a low voice, he said: “Vilmar and his friends will leave as well as soon as they realise that those three are heading back to fight for their pack.”

Ejnar nodded. “And those from packs in the same area will be tempted to head back as well, to protect their homes.”

“Can they get back, without getting caught by the British?”

He snorted. “That depends on how much attention they paid while we travelled.”

Afi ground his teeth. “We’ll have to move then. If one of them gets captured, they’ll find us easily.”

“Yes.” Ejnar started to rouse those of his warband who had not yet woken up despite the shouting. “Up everyone! We need to move!”

While his wolves packed up, he sighed. He’d lose about half his remaining force, or so he thought. Damn those backwards idiots!

He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to do this, but… he pulled out a scrap of parchment from his pouch. Greyback had given this to him, some time ago.

*****​

Remus Lupin had been straining to control his temper for days, weeks now. Not just because Wizarding Britain was on a werewolf hunt in all but name, though that played a big part. As did the fact that everyone but a few trusted friends thought he was hunting werewolves during the full moon. He still hadn’t forgiven the Headmaster for this ‘ruse’. If the other British werewolves ever found out about this, he’d be seen as the biggest hypocrite ever. He might be the biggest hypocrite ever, come to think of it.

Here he was, a teacher at the most prestigious school in Europe, respected by staff, students and parents, and it was all a lie. He was just masquerading as a normal wizard. If they knew he was a werewolf, they’d fire him - and hunt him down.

But what really strained his patience was his best friend’s machinations. He didn’t know what exactly Sirius was thinking, if he was even thinking, but for days now, at least two of Sirius’s girlfriends and often Sirius himself as well, had been at Hogwarts. Sirius claimed they were there to offer additional protection for Harry, and the other students, but Remus had his doubts. They were just a bit too clingy.

He frowned and dropped the essay he was grading onto his desk. ‘Clingy’ wasn’t the right word. They were more like… a bit too ubiquitous. His friend meant well, but it irked some.

Though at least he had someone to talk to nearby, and that lovestruck 7th year, Miss Emmerson, who thought he was the ‘most romantic teacher ever’, had been much less pushy since she had been surprised by Chantal while trying to break into his flat.

Just as he picked the essay up again, a knock at his door interrupted him. “Yes?”

“It’s me.”

Lockhart? Remus flicked his wand, and the door opened.

His predecessor as DADA professor, and current assistant professor, stepped inside. “Good evening, Remus.”

“Good evening, Gilderoy. How can I help you?”

“I’m here to drop off the tests from the first year classes.” He held up a stack of parchments.

Remus smiled, and levitated them to a free space on his desk. “Very good.”

“I’m also here to warn you about the latest ‘interesting animal’ Jenny and Rubeus have created.”

“Ah.” Remus could understand that. Rubeus was a gentle giant, and Jenny a charming young witch, but they had a blind spot the size of Britain when it came to animals. “What did they do?”

“After they managed to weaponise the Stinging Stonefishes by shrinking them and turning them into ammunition for a sort of magical crossbow, they are now trying to create smarter spitting cobras that can spew acid as well as a much stronger poison.”

Remus winced, and his colleague nodded. “The debacle with the spitting ‘saltwater crocobras’ hasn’t stopped them. They think a smarter spitting cobra will be a better match, and prevent the next hybrid from choking on rocks it mistakes for food. Or attacking everything that moves.”

“Exactly. I recommend you avoid Rubeus’s workshop for a while. They are still trying to tame the little monsters.”

“Thank you for the warning. I will focus on dealing with poisonous creatures for the next week then,” Remus said.

“That would be advisable,” Lockhart said.

“If I may ask for a bit of advice…”

“Of course!” Lockhart flashed his famous smile.

“How do you deal with lovestruck students?” Remus asked. Lockhart had been a famous author when he started teaching for a year at Hogwarts, and he certainly had to have dealt with love-struck witches both at school and abroad. And after his return to Hogwarts.

“I check my food and drink for potions, I maintain my distance whenever possible, and I hope they’ll find a wizard closer to their age to pursue.”

“Sound advice.” Remus had to admit that.

“You haven’t had to deal with that before?” Lockhart sounded incredulous.

Remus shook his head. “My popularity rose following recent unfortunate events. I cannot understand how this was possible.”

His fellow teacher shrugged. “You might have missed the signs before. Many witches develop crushes on teachers. The lure of the forbidden love, together with the appeal of a mature man instead of a boy, often proves very strong.”

”I see. I would have thought the Year of Discovery would help with that.”

Lockhart nodded. “It helps. Things should calm down soon. I would not spend any length of time alone in a room with a witch though. Some of them are very cunning.”

That was a disturbing possibility. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“My pleasure. Though you’ll understand that I prefer the students lusting after you rather than after me.”

Remus narrowed his eyes, but the other wizard was already leaving his office. The werewolf spent quite some time wondering whether it had been a hint that his sudden popularity hadn’t been entirely a coincidence.

He might have to revisit his notes from his time at school, to remind Lockhart just who he might be meddling with.

*****​

Ron Weasley couldn’t think of a better moment to talk about them than while they were relaxing after sex. It had been a ‘wild ride’, as his elder brothers would have called it. Some of the bruises he felt had been from the duel, some from the sex.

The moment was there, but he wasn’t certain what to say. That had never prevented him from talking though.

“So… “

Parkinson raised her head up from his chest and looked at him. “Hm?”

“Dueling you is fun. You’re one of the few who presents a challenge and who takes this seriously.” Compliments never hurt.

“Thank you.” She smirked.

“And I think it’s rather clear that having sex is very enjoyable for both of us. With each other I mean.”

“Mh.” Her smirk turned into a smile.

“So… I wonder if there are more things that would be fun, together.” There. He said it.

She wasn’t smiling anymore. She didn’t look angry though. More like… surprised.

“You mean… like dating?”

“Yes.” He almost turned it into a question. But he was a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin.

She licked her lips. “Won’t that lead to trouble with your friends?”

“They already think we are dating,” he admitted. When she looked alarmed, he quickly added: “They’re not watching us.”

“How do they know about… us then?” Her eyes narrowed; she was suspecting something, he realised.

“They sort of followed me to the room.” On the map, not in person. But the principle was the same.

“Oh.” She was rather cute when she looked surprised.

“We didn’t look like we had only dueled when we left.” He winced.

Parkinson blushed.

“So… Call me Ron?”

“Call me Pansy.”

He took that to mean that they’d be dating ‘officially’ from now on, and kissed her.

They definitely didn’t look like they had just been duelling when they left - together - the room this time.

*****​

Aberforth Dumbledore was sick of Scandinavia. Too many werewolves, too many backwards villages, too much violence. He couldn’t leave yet though, not before he had dealt with the Dark Lord’s recruiter.

The information he had taken from that young werewolf at the village had led him to this cottage at the mouth of a fjord. It wasn’t an ideal spot to recruit people, but it was easy to ship the recruits off from here.

Which was why he’d put a stop to this.

Usually he’d study his target, find the weak spots, then strike. Not today though. There were only a few days left until the next full moon, but the werewolves would be more aggressive already. And he didn’t have the time to deal with the wards, or get a Curse-Breaker from somewhere.

He had Polyjuice though, and hair from a recruit. It should be enough to get him through the wards and into the cottage. Afterwards, he’d have to improvise. He was good at that though. A sip from his vial later, ‘Hjalmar’ was on his way to the cottage.

He stopped in front of the wards, and yelled: “Hello!”

He didn’t have to wait long until the door opened, and a scrawny witch stepped out. She looked like a local, so she was probably the most expendable recruit. “I’m here to join,” he said. “I contacted you before, but I had to wait until I grew up before I could leave my home.”

She smiled at him, and he almost felt guilty for deceiving her. Then he reminded himself just what Voldemort had done, and was doing. Anyone who joined that monster knew what he was doing.

“Can I come inside?” Garden or house, either would suffice to get inside the wards.

“Ah, of course.”

He stepped through the wards and smiled. The plan was working.

Right then she started to sniff. “You smell weird…. A mix of scents…”

“Reducto!”

He cut her words off with Blasting Hex to her face that almost split her head in two. One down.

He quickly cast a Shield Charm, then turned his wand on the cottage and blasted the door open. Screams of rage from inside told him he might have wounded someone else. Good. He didn’t enter through the door - they would waiting for that. Instead he blew another hole into the wall, a few yards to the right. That caused more screams. He stepped up to the hole and sent a stream of fire inside, then entered through the door, behind a floating pillar of stone.

“Avada Kedavra!”

His floating shield absorbed the Killing Curse, and his barrage of spells forced the caster, a muscular, feral looking man, a werewolf without doubt, to take cover behind an upturned table after his shield had been shattered.

Aberforth grinned, then banished another werewolf who was just getting up straight into the wall. The man hit it with a sickening crunch, head first, then slid down to the ground, leaving a red stain. Two down. Another, identifiable as a recruit since he was wearing local clothes, tried to pull a piece of the door out of his leg. Aberforth hit him with a series of stunners before he realised he was being targeted. Three down.

A werewolf jumped up from behind the couch, and Aberforth was forced to defend with summoned objects and his shield while he stepped around the room. When the couch was behind the man, he transfigured it into what most biologists would call a Cave Bear.

The animal attacked the Death Eater agent with a roar, and even Voldemort’s agent froze for a second in the face of such fury. Aberforth used that opportunity to shatter the man’s shield, at which point the Bear’s claws and fangs made short work of the werewolf.

Aberforth didn’t see any other threats, and was about to congratulate himself on a job well done when he heard the cries of a baby from the kitchen. He charged inside, wand out, and found himself threatening a little boy holding a baby while hiding inside the pantry.

When the boy bent over the baby, apparently trying to protect it from him with his life, Aberforth felt like a monster himself.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort smiled when he read the note. It looked like Greyback had managed to accomplish something before his demise. Now if only Baker could manage his affairs in Scandinavia as successfully! But Greyback’s replacement had sent but a few werewolves to Voldemort so far, claiming that it took so long to set up a secure way to ferry them to Britain. Cheap excuses, but then again - what could he expect from an animal, even a more civilized one such as Baker?

This Ejnar Borgen though, he had potential. He had heard of the werewolf from Greyback himself. An experienced leader of warbands, but without a pack of his own. A mercenary, at times, even though his loyalty to the werewolves of Scandinavia was supposedly unshakeable. Well, that didn’t matter. Voldemort only needed him for the next offensive, during the full moon. Afterwards, Britain would be broken.

He rubbed his chin while he mused. The warband Borgen spoke of needed a secure base. He could provide that. Assigning more werewolves to his band would increase his effectiveness, though Voldemort doubted that the British beasts would work well with berserkers. Though, his Scandinavian followers would fit in well. Maybe a bit too well, even.

It didn’t matter, he decided. A few more days and the full moon would rise, and Britain would be his.

“Bellatrix!”

“Yes, master?” His lover appeared at his side at once, dropping the book she had been reading. She was eager, he knew, to serve.

“I have a mission for you. Meet with this werewolf, and ascertain if he and his warband can be trusted - for the next few days, at least.”

His Bella nodded, a wide smile on her face. She was even more eager than himself to finally break Britain.

Just a few more days.


Chapter 57: Bad Moon Rising

 

Chapter 57: Bad Moon Rising

Aberforth Dumbledore stared at the trembling, crying boy of about three years in front of him. “I’m not going to hurt you, boy.”

The child cringed, and didn’t seem reassured. Yellow eyes, Aberforth noted. Werewolf.

The wizard sighed. “Look, I don’t hurt children.” Not even werewolves, he added to himself. When the boy didn’t react at all, he asked: “Do you understand me?”

The child whimpered. “Mamma.”

There had only been one woman in the cottage. The werewolf whom Aberforth had killed outside. He cursed under his breath. “Where’s your father?” He asked, in his less than perfect Norwegian.

The boy slowly looked at him, then pointed at the door to the living room.

“Do you have any other family?”

The child stared at him, seemingly not understanding the question.

“Do you have a pack?”

The boy shook his head and cried again. Aberforth took a deep breath. He couldn’t stay much longer. The Scandinavians wouldn’t take well to him killing a couple of werewolves on their soil. Especially not since he had attacked them. And if he was caught in his polyjuiced form the ruse that had set those villages against each other would be revealed. He had to leave.

Yet he couldn’t leave the children here, next to the bodies of their parents. Or by themselves. He could dump them in Oslo, he thought. Someone would take care of them. Probably. They liked werewolves in this country, after all. They wanted more werewolves, even. For their feuds and raids.

He could leave them there. Should leave them there, to live with their own kind. To be raised in a pack.

He gathered the two children up. “Let’s go.”

*****​

Ejnar Borge sniffed the air. This close to the full moon, his senses were far sharper. Not even close to what he could smell when he transformed, of course, but given the direction of the wind, he should have smelled anyone hiding near the witch waiting for him and his warband in the clearing.

Bellatrix Lestrange. The Dark Lord’s right wand, and mistress, if the rumours were true. A witch whose skill in the Dark Arts rivalled that of the Dark Lord. A witch who had spent over a decade in Azkaban, surrounded by demons whose mere presence drove lesser wizards mad and suicidal.

Ejnar was no coward, but he couldn’t help but feel the hairs on his neck stand up when he walked towards the wild-haired woman. Up close he noticed that she was looking far younger than she should, especially after the years in prison. Very attractive. And very dangerous. And, he added to himself, after meeting the witch’s eyes, very mad.

She nodded at him. “Ejnar Borge.”

He returned the nod, curtly. To show weakness to others was an invitation for an attack. “Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“You have contacted the Dark Lord with an offer of alliance. He sent me, to ensure this offer is genuine.” She smiled, flashing perfect teeth in the dim moonlight.

“I’m no oathbreaker,” he spat, reminding himself that outsiders, foreigners didn’t understand the Norse. To break an Oath was to offend the gods, which would mean the gates to Valhalla would be closed for you.

She snorted. “You might not be. Or you might be. I’m here to find out which is the case.” She slowly raised her wand and aimed it at his head.

He didn’t move. He had expected this.

“Legilimens.”

*****​

Albus Dumbledore looked up when the fireplace flared in his office. Who would...

“Albus. I’m coming through.” His brother’s voice answered his unspoken question. He had expected Aberforth to return sooner; his mission’s success had already helped in curbing Scandinavia’s appetite for foreign adventures.

He pointed his wand at the fireplace and unlocked the Floo connection. An instant later, his brother stepped through, carrying a bundle and … a child? No, two children. The Headmaster was baffled for the first time since… he couldn’t remember, actually.

“Aberforth?” He asked, looking at the children.

“They are Mats and Letta. They’re the kids of a pair of werewolves I had to kill on your orders,” his brother said, casting a cushioning charm and setting the baby and the boy down. The boy stared at him, and grabbed the baby. Aberforth helped the child adjust, casting a few spells to ensure the boy wouldn’t drop the baby.

“Ah.” Albus said. “Voldemort’s agents?”

“Helpers recruited in Scandinavia. They don’t understand English.”

“And you brought them to Britain.” To him, actually. Albus had an inkling of the reason, but didn’t want to confirm it yet.

“They’ve no family left as far as I know.”

“The Scandinavians are known to take in orphans. Even or rather especially werewolves.” The Headmaster didn’t know if the children were werewolves - he hoped the baby wasn’t - but it was more prudent to assume they were, instead of risking a tragic accident.

“They’re also known to feud far more than any other country, and raise their children for war,” Aberforth answered. “You know, and I just saw myself, how eager they are to fight.”

“You took them with you so they would not be used as warriors?” It was a very touching revelation that his gruff brother still cared that much about werewolves. That he was planning to leave the children with Albus was not quite as touching.

Aberforth shrugged. “It’s better than having to kill them in 20 years.”

“They are a bit young for Hogwarts.”

“Yes.” Aberforth stared at him.

Albus met his eyes, then sighed. “You want me to take care of them, to punish me for sending you on this mission.”

His brother snorted. “No. I want you to take care of them because I killed their parents.” He shrugged. “That you feel you’re getting punished says more about you than me.”

Albus refrained from rolling his eyes. He couldn’t fault him for not wanting to raise children he had made orphans. There were a lot of cautionary tales about such situations, not all of them fictional. For many, blood was more important than deeds. But he also knew his brother did not mind, not at all, the quandary he was putting Albus in. To find a good home for two werewolf children, in Britain these days… There were not many Albus knew who’d even consider this, and fewer who’d trust him. Voldemort had been very successful in widening the rift between werewolves and wizards. If only…

Albus smiled. That would be perfect. “I see. Do not worry. I already have a place for them in mind. They will be safe, be assured.”

Aberforth stared at him, probably wary of Albus’s acceptance, but his brother was too proud to voice his suspicions. With a brief nod, he walked over to the fireplace.

“Hog’s Head!”

Albus sighed once his brother had disappeared. Aberforth was so full of resentment, against Albus, and against himself. The Headmaster couldn’t dwell on him though. He had two children to take care of.

He raised his wand, and sent a Patronus Messenger away.

*****​

“You wanted to see me, Headmaster?” Remus Lupin asked, entering Dumbledore’s office. To be summoned by a Patronus meant something important, something urgent had happened. That meant Harry, or Sirius. Or, he amended, seeing a baby and a boy sitting on a couch to the left of the Headmaster’s desk, maybe something else.

“Yes, Remus. Thank you for coming so promptly. Please have a seat.”

The werewolf sat down, but kept glancing at the children.

“Mats and Letta.” Dumbledore gestured towards the children. “This is Remus.”

“Hello.” Remus smiled at the baby, then at the boy, Mats.

The child narrowed his eyes, frowning. “Hej.” The boy’s greeting sounded almost like a growl.

Remus’s nostrils widened. He turned to the Headmaster again. “Are they…?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Their parents were killed recently.”

“The Dark Lord? Or British bigots?”

If the old wizard took offense to Remus’s bitter words, then he didn’t show it. He shook his head instead. “They do not speak English. Their parents worked for the Dark Lord, and were killed in his service, in Scandinavia.”

Remus didn’t ask by whom. If the Headmaster was involved, then odds were it was one of his agents. “Do you need a translator?” Remus had once considered emigrating to Scandinavia, and had learned the language, before he had found out what life there really was for werewolves. And for wizards.

“In a manner of speaking.”

Remus blinked. What was Dumbledore talking about… his eyes widened. “You want me to take care of them?”

“I think you are well-suited to the task. You speak the language, you are a good wizard, and you have no prejudice towards their condition. A combination that’s, sadly, exceedingly rare in Britain.” Dumbledore spread his hands. “They have no other family, or so I have been told, and you know what would await them in Scandinavia.”

“I’m a teacher, and single. I have neither the time, nor the skills to take care of little children,” Remus said. This was crazy. He, caring for children? Little children? He couldn’t even care for himself!

“You are a good man, you are very skilled with children - granted, older children than those two - and the Hogwarts elves would, of course, support you.” Dumbledore smiled.

“I could get killed each day we face the Dark Lord’s forces, leaving them orphaned once more, Headmaster!”

The old wizard smiled. “I do not think anyone would begrudge you if you were to stop putting your life on the line if it was to care for two children. Sirius would certainly understand you.”

Remus fought the urge to growl at the manipulative man. The full moon was close, and the wolf was growing stronger. “That’s what you want, right? You fear I’d lose control.”

The Headmaster didn’t deny it. “I think you can help them, and they can help you, Remus. Before it is too late for you.”

“Did Sirius put you up for this? He’s been riding me about finding a witch to settle down with ever since he proposed to Valérie!” Remus was about to stand up and yell, but controlled himself when he saw Mats bend over Letta, seemingly afraid.

Dumbledore had to have seen this, but didn’t react. “I did not need him to tell me that you are greatly - understandably, but greatly - troubled. I did not anticipate the effects of my ruse on you, after the recent tragedies.”

“No, you did not! And yet you’re doing the same again, trying to …”

“Give you the opportunity to do something against the prejudice sweeping the country? Use your reputation as a hunter, which I admit that I am responsible for, to fight bigotry?” Dumbledore asked in a mild tone.

Remus ground his teeth. He wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction of agreeing.

“Can you honestly tell me that you’d not have taken the children with you, had you discovered them in a cottage in Britain on a mission for the Order, next to their dead kin?”

The teacher closed his eyes. “No, I can’t.”

“You are not the kind of man who would let his pride and understandable anger prevent you from doing the right thing. Not when the fate of children is at stake.” Dumbledore folded his hands and looked steadily at him.

“What about the other werewolf orphans? These children are not the only ones who have lost their parents. Do we ignore their plight, since saving them won’t save me?”

“Of course not. But it will be much easier to find good homes for other orphans if there is the example of a famous werewolf hunter overcoming his hatred and taking care of two orphaned werewolves.” Dumbledore sighed. “As always, wizards are led by example far more than by anything else.”

“You have an answer for everything I say, haven’t you?”

“Not for everything. Whether or not you will take care of those two children is something only you can answer.”

Remus growled, digging his fingers into the armrests of his seat. Mats cringed again, but the old wizard simply smiled, gently, and waited.

Until Remus, as he already knew he would, would agree.

Sometimes he really hated the Headmaster.

*****​

Hermione Granger had to make an effort not to frown when she handed over her latest work on the ritual formula to the Headmaster. Not that she was unhappy with her work. She had optimised her formula once more, if not by much, and was quite certain that it would stand up to the old wizard’s check.

“Thank you, Miss Granger.”

She nodded, and sat down, taking her notebook out, but didn’t start working. She didn’t want to work on creating a marginally more efficient ritual. She wanted to capture a Dementor and start the ritual.

Dumbledore must have noticed, since he said: “I’ve put out the word. Trust me, as soon as there is even but a hint of a Dementor sighting, I will be informed, and we will be able to take action.”

Hermione nodded. “I know, sir.”

She must not have sounded as if she was convinced, since he added: “He will use the Dementors, Miss Granger. He will not be able to win without them.”

“I still worry,” she said, biting her lower lip.

“That is only natural. But we cannot lose patience - or hope.”

“Just when I wish the Death Eaters would be more active, they stop,” she grumbled.

Dumbledore chuckled, then returned his attention to her formulas while she started thinking of new spells. Anything to take her mind off the worry that they would be too late.

*****​

“Remus will be a bit late today. He has to put his kids to bed first.” Sirius announced, entering the training room where Harry Potter and his friends were waiting.

“Remus has kids?” Harry stared at his godfather. He must have misunderstood.

Sirius nodded, grinning. “Yes. Two. A six month old daughter, and a three year old boy.” He shook his head. “That was a surprise, let me tell you. I’m his best friend, and I didn’t know anything about them until he told me today.”

“Why didn’t he tell us?” Ron asked. “Did he hide them for their own safety? And who’s the mother?”

“Did the mother get killed in the war, and now he has to take care of them?” Luna asked. She grabbed her notepad. “That needs an article!”

“Well, it’s a really tragic story. Remus doesn’t want to talk about it, it hurts him too much, you know, but I can tell you everything,” Sirius said, conspiratorially. “It all started when…”

“... when I was called to the Headmaster’s office yesterday,” Remus interrupted Harry’s godfather. “As you knew perfectly well.”

“I was just about to tell them that,” Sirius protested.

“Of course you were,” Remus answered, rolling his eyes.

“So, what is the story then?” Hermione asked. When Remus stared at her, she pushed her chin forward. “It’s perfectly normal and legitimate to want to know why you’ve suddenly got two children.”

Luna nodded. “Indeed. If that is contagious, then the world needs to know!” The blonde ignored everyone’s stares, just as everyone ignored Sirius’s laughter.

Remus sighed. “The two children are war orphans. The Headmaster asked me to take care of them, since I speak their language.”

“They’re from Scandinavia then, right?” Hermione said. When Remus confirmed that, she nodded, apparently satisfied. Harry thought this was odd - usually the muggleborn witch would ask for more information.

“Oh, are they werewolves?” Luna asked.

Remus nodded. “Yes.”

“Oh… that has to get into The Quibbler! Remus Lupin adopts werewolf orphans!”

“Luna…” Hermione started to say while Harry stared at their blonde friend.

“I’ll need to see the article before it gets printed, Luna,” Remus said firmly, surprising everyone.

“You want Britain to know that the children are werewolves?” Harry asked, surprised.

Remus nodded. “It should help oppose the hysteria against werewolves currently gripping the country.”

“Of course! Adopting werewolves might become fashionable even! I’ll have to ask daddy if we can adopt one too!” Luna beamed at Remus.

“Err…” Harry didn’t know if Luna was serious, or what he could say to dissuade her from going through with her plan.

“That’s very kind of you Luna,” Remus said, smiling at the quirky blonde. “Not many will even consider adopting werewolves.”

Harry felt like a bludger had hit him in the stomach. He had thought he was open-minded, but he had just been proven wrong. And he didn’t know what was worse - that he had wanted to stop Luna’s family from adopting a werewolf child, or stop them from adopting anyone. They might be eccentric, but they were more caring than most people he knew. A glance told him that the rest of his friends, but for Aicha, were sharing his thoughts and shame, judging by their expressions.

It didn’t really make him feel better. But it made him want to become a better person.

*****​

Ron Weasley was in hell. Or close to. He was surrounded by Slytherins. The best friends of his new girlfriend, too, even though he was not quite certain if Greengrass was included in this description - Pansy had been a bit vague. He hoped so, since Greengrass was the friendliest among the bunch. Maybe a bit too enthusiastic, even though she reminded him of Lavender.

“You’re going out together? I knew it! When did you start? And how?” The blonde Slytherin’s squeal hit a pitch that would have shattered glass, Ron thought.

“A few days ago,” Pansy said, sounding slightly annoyed.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Greengrass beamed at them both.

“You told them?” Davis asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, just her.” Greengrass giggled.

“You didn’t tell me,“ Pansy said, sounding even more annoyed.

“Tell her what?” Ron asked.

“To make a move on you, or I’d make one!” The witch chirped.

“You didn’t say that. You simply asked if you could sleep with him,” Pansy growled.

“And you glared at me, far worse than you’re glaring right now!” The other witch said, still smiling. “See?”

Davis giggled, and even Goyle, who had been silent so far, grunted in what Ron thought was amusement. The Gryffindor chuckled himself, and patted Pansy’s hand until she huffed and softened her glare. The Slytherins weren’t as bad as he had thought. Not too different from his own circle of friends, to be honest. Sort of.

Greengrass leaned forward with an eager expression. “So… what have you done already? How’s the sex?”

“We’re not telling you about our sex life, Daphne!” Pansy said. She squeezed Ron’s hand hard enough so he understood the message as well. Not that he would have wanted to talk about that with the Slytherins.

“If you hurt her, we hurt you.” Goyle said suddenly, glaring at Ron, before falling silent again.

“Ah…” Ron blinked, then turned towards Pansy. “Shouldn’t you be telling him that you can handle yourself just fine?” At least they did that in the movies he had seen. Ginny had said that each time one of her brothers had had a talk with Neville.

Pansy looked puzzled. “Why should I? If you’re hurting me, I’ll take any help I can get to hurt you back.”

“And then some,” Davis added, while the Slytherins nodded.

Ron had been wrong. Slytherins were different. Unless they were just pulling his leg, he thought when he saw Pansy smirk.

He leaned towards her and whispered: “Remember, we’ll be meeting my friends as well.”

That wiped her smirk right off her face.

*****​

Bellatrix Lestrange had been terrifying, but the Dark Lord himself was far worse, Ejnar Borge thought. Tall, handsome, and casually wielding terrifying power. Where Bellatrix had given him the impression that she wanted you to attack her so she could kill you, Voldemort looked at him as if Ejnar was a bug he could squash anytime he wished. And according to everything Ejnar knew, that was the truth. It was hard not to give in to the wolf inside him, and present his throat in submission.

“Welcome, my brave warrior.”

Ejnar had planned to nod, but found himself bowing deeply before he realised what he was doing. “I’m honoured to be here, milord.”

“You’ve come to our shores to punish the British for their crimes against werewolves.”

“Yes, milord.”

“And you desire to ‘share your gift’, as you call it, with more people.”

“Yes, milord.”

“I can grant you both - if you join my ranks. Apart from the cowards and fools, all of Britain’s werewolves serve me.”

Ejnar ground his teeth and gathered all of his courage. “My warband can fight at your side, but we’re loyal wolves of our country. We cannot break our oaths to our home.”

The Dark Lord rubbed his chin, his cold eyes fixated on Ejnar. Bellatrix looked ready to skin him alive; her wand was trembling in her hand, but not yet aimed at him at least. Finally, the man nodded. “That is acceptable.”

A glance shut Bellatrix up before she could voice her opinion, and the Dark Lord sent for a werewolf to lead Ejnar and his warband to their new quarters. Despite the successful negotiations - if one could call that brief exchange a negotiation - Ejnar couldn’t help feeling as if he was making a fatal mistake.

But it was all he could think of to save his warband.

*****​

“What movie are we showing tonight?” Harry Potter asked, stepping into the enlarged room where the ‘Movie Night’ was held.

“‘Kiki’s Delivery Service’,” Hermione answered, her expression showing that she had told him that before, but that she thought he had apparently not been listening.

Which was kind of true, he had to admit. Between his recently discovered bigotry and the Dark Lord, he had been distracted. “What’s that?”

“It’s an anime, an animated movie from Japan. Kiki is a broom-riding young witch who starts a delivery service. It’s a beautiful, heart-warming movie, and it should please the purebloods, though it has nothing to do with Magical Japan. It also promotes understanding, and shows muggles and witches living together in harmony,” Hermione explained.

“Wow. Why haven’t we shown this movie before? It sounds like it is tailor-made for Hogwarts’ Movie Nights,” Harry wondered.

Hermione winced slightly. “It’s an anime. I didn’t know about it. Anime also had a bad reputation among my friends.” She looked pensive for a moment. “I do wonder if someone who knew about the Magical World had a hand in making this movie though.”

“Well, is it romantic enough for Ron’s first official date in public?” Harry asked.

Hermione frowned. “It’s certainly not an action movie. It should do.” She shrugged. “Of course, Parkinson might prefer an action movie, if we take their first dates as an example. One with lots of fights.”

Harry thought his girlfriend still hadn’t really accepted Ron’s new girlfriend. He had some reservations himself, but he trusted Ron. Besides, Parkinson had to have had enough opportunities to hurt their friend, if that was her plan. And while Ron wasn’t exactly poor, the Parkinsons were richer, so she wasn’t after his gold. And Malfoy was no longer around to make Ron jealous. And Parkinson had proven both to be brave and to have a soul during the attack on the Hogwarts Express. And he was starting to sound like Hermione in his head.

“I still don’t really believe it, you know,” he said.

“What don’t you believe?” Hermione asked, setting up the projector.

“Ron and Parkinson.” Harry looked over to the door. Ron would arrive soon, ready to screen the arrivals.

“You know the saying: ‘Opposites attract’.”

“I prefer ‘birds of a feather flock together’. It doesn’t make people think I’m dumb,” Harry said.

Hermione chuckled. “Some claim men and women are as different as you can be and still be human.”

“Where does that leave Veela then?” Harry shot back.

She stuck her tongue out at him. Before she could say anything, the door opened and Ron entered. Followed by Parkinson. Both were wearing fancier robes than usual. More revealing ones too.

“Hi there!” Ron said.

A bit too loudly, Harry thought. He looked nervous too. And Hermione was focusing a bit too much on checking the seats.

“Ron! Miss Parkinson!” he said, walking towards the couple.

Ron winced slightly when Harry made eye contact with him. Good. His friend probably had just now realised that Parkinson’s presence meant that Hermione had to act as Harry’s retainer and not as his girlfriend much earlier than usual. Which wouldn’t help with her mood.

Ron mouthed ‘sorry’ while Parkinson bowed. “Good evening, Mister Potter. I’m looking forward to the movie tonight.”

“Hermione has picked it out. It should be very entertaining,” Harry answered. “It’s about a young witch.”

“That sounds interesting,” Parkinson said. “I haven’t seen a movie featuring a young witch yet.” The sea witch from ‘Arielle’ didn’t count, Harry knew.

“I’m getting us some drinks. What would you like?” Ron said, pointing his wand at the boxes in the back.

“A butterbeer please,” the Slytherin said.

“Nothing yet, thank you.” Harry shook his head.

A flick of Ron’s wand later, a butterbeer and a coke flew towards them.

Hermione joined them. “Everything is ready, my Patron.”

“Thank you, my Wand,” Harry answered.

Ron winced once again, and Parkinson’s smile looked a bit forced to Harry. The Slytherin gamely kept the conversation going though. “I have to admit that I expected a bit more work behind the scenes, so to speak, given that the results of your efforts are so remarkable.” She gestured towards the room.

“Oh, Hermione’s pretty much preset the whole room,” Harry said. “A bit of wandwork, and all’s ready. Most of that is stocking up on snacks from the kitchen.” That, and checking the wards and other defenses.

“Impressive,” Parkinson said, smiling at Hermione.

“Thank you, Miss Parkinson,” Harry’s retainer answered, with a slight bow.

For a moment, no one said anything. Harry was about to make some more mindless conversation when Ron wrapped an arm around Parkinson and pulled the startled witch to his side.

“Merlin, I’ve had fights that were less tense and awkward than this! We’re supposed to be on a date, not in a diplomatic meeting!” Harry’s best friend said. “So, did you hear about Scandinavia’s excuses? I don’t know why they bother, they are obviously lying!”

“Their excuses would not withstand closer scrutiny, but to force the issue would be undiplomatic. Everyone knows they are lying, but no one will take them to task for it,” Parkinson said. “What do you think, Miss Granger?”

Asking a Patron’s retainer a question directly while in said Patron’s presence was not usually done, but it was not quite a faux pas, even if it was usually limited to topics a retainer was an expert in. Granted, Hermione could pass for an expert - at the very least among her peers - for just about every topic, but Harry thought this was Parkinson trying to build bridges. Or, if viewed as a more Slytherin approach, to curry favour with Hermione. Either way, it was better than some stilted, formal and awkward conversation.

“I think they are abusing customs, but it’s not as if other countries have not done the same. It’s obvious, for example, that our civil war has spilled over to multiple countries, and yet the Ministry can claim that those were the actions of civilians, not the government,” Hermione explained. “The Scandinavians are just following the normal standards in international politics.”

“The difference though is that the attacks on yourself and your Patron in Bulgaria were obviously not committed with the approval, tacit or explicit, of the Ministry, but by its enemies,” Pansy said. “That is not the case with Scandinavia though, where the official stance lines up very closely with those actions taken by ‘individuals outside the control of the government’.”

Harry would never have expected that talking about a horrible war could be preferable to making light conversation. But as the four of them talked about politics, the awkward mood quickly faded. It would still take a long time, he thought, until Parkinson would be considered a close enough friend for Hermione to be able to act naturally around her. Assuming, of course, that Ron and she didn’t break up before that point.

*****​

Hermione Granger sighed as the lights dimmed and the movie started. In the first row, Ron and Parkinson were sitting very close to each other. Closer than the seating arrangement she had prepared would allow, to be honest. Someone had to have transfigured their seats. Ron, of course - Parkinson wouldn’t dare to do that, not if she knew what was good for her!

The muggleborn witch sighed again. It wasn’t fair to project her anger on the Slytherin witch. Even if she hadn’t been there, the Movie Night would be far too public for her and Harry to act like the couple they were. At least she could sit next to Harry in the front row. Maybe they could hold hands if she shielded them from view.

While the young witch on the screen flew over the beautiful landscape of the port city she had moved to, she noticed that Ron and Parkinson, sitting on the other side of Harry, were now almost climbing over each other. Ron had certainly adapted to muggle cinema cliches very well. Not that she begrudged him that. Certainly not after his girlfriend had broken up with him so callously. But she was more than a bit jealous that she couldn’t do the same. Ron wasn’t the only one who had certain ideas about things to do on a movie date.

A touch on her hand shook her from her thoughts. Harry leaned over to her and whispered. “Come with me to the back.”

Surprised, but curious, she followed him. Was there a problem with the projector? Harry ignored the projector though, and instead aimed his wand at a spot next to it. With a whispered incantation, he conjured a couch, no a sort of loge. She gasped, and looked at him. Even if they were in the back row, they’d still be in public, and he couldn’t afford the scandal, should anyone see them. If he had the same thing in mind as she had, of course.

He smiled at her and pulled out his invisibility cloak. It would be a tight fit to cover both of them with it, but if she sat in his lap, it would work. And sitting in his lap was kind of the point, wasn’t it?

Hermione didn’t really remember much of the movie afterwards. But it certainly was a perfect movie night, in her opinion.

*****​

It had been an enjoyable date, Pansy Parkinson thought as she stood up and stretched while the ending credits played on the screen. The movie had been as sweet as she had been led to believe, and Ron had been… well, she understood why such a date was so popular among muggles. Potter and Granger had left their seats quite early in the movie though, and hadn’t returned. She wondered what was up with that, had they left… no, they were in the back, at the muggle device that showed the movie. Maybe Potter had been boasting about how easy it was to show a movie?

The audience started to file out, chatting excitedly about the movie. Some of the younger witches were transfiguring all sorts of things into the same ribbons for their hair that Kiki had been wearing. Ron made no move towards the door though. Insead he walked to the back of the room with her. Where Potter and his friends were waiting.

“Told you,” he whispered, grinning. “Hello everyone. As you may have noticed, Pansy and I are a couple now.”

“Have been a couple for a while,” Potter commented.

“Oh!” Lovegood cocked her head, and stared at Pansy.

The Slytherin witch stared back, slightly unnerved. Her unease grew when the blonde started to circle around her, with her head still cocked sideways. No one else seemed to react to this though. When the Ravenclaw had completed the circle, Pansy snapped out: “And?”

Luna kept smiling, nodded, and declared to Ron: “I found no obvious faults or Nargle nesting spots. You can keep her!”

Ron chuckled, as did most of the others. Pansy dryly said: “Thank you for your approval.” And to think that she hadn’t been expecting this kind of treatment until she was engaged!

Antar nodded at her in a friendly, if slightly reserved, manner before pulling Lovegood with her to grab some drinks. She reminded Pansy of Tracey, especially in the way she handled the blonde witch. Ron’s sister stared at her, and Pansy had to fight the urge to draw her wand to defend herself against an imminent attack until Longbottom distracted the younger witch, and even so the redhead sent a few looks over her shoulder that made it clear that they’d have words, later.

At least Potter and Granger were as polite as before, and didn’t try to intimidate her. It helped that Granger obviously wanted to interrogate her, but couldn’t, as a mere retainer. Pansy had to refrain from smirking at the muggleborn witch while she chatted with the group about the movie.

When Ron was finally walking her back to her dorm, she still sighed with relief. “That was…” she began, searching for a polite word for ‘stressful’.

“It went much better than I thought,” Ron said, beaming.

“Your sister threatened to transfigure my brain into an mongoose if I ‘mistreated’ you.” That had been scarier than it should have been, coming from a 5th year witch.

“Oh, that’s just a hyperbole. She can turn your, ah, boogers into bats that attack you though.”

Pansy felt sick thinking about that. “Is your whole family like that?”

“Oh, no!” He reassured her. “We’re a friendly bunch.”

“I’ve known the twins,” she reminded him.

“Ah, yes. They learned from my oldest brother, Bill.”

“Great.”

“That he is!” Ron said, then chuckled as she glared at him. “Seriously, you don’t have to worry. Unless they think you hurt me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is that payback for meeting my friends?”

“Maybe a little?”

Pansy groaned, then smirked. She’d get revenge in their next duelling session.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort smiled, surveilling the ranks of werewolves gathered on the empty field between two forests. It was without a doubt the biggest gathering of werewolves Britain had seen in decades, perhaps ever. And all of them were ready to fight for him. Fools.

He checked his watch. Two p.m.. The full moon would rise at a quarter to five p.m.. It was time.

He slowly rose up from the ground, until he was floating two yards above the assembled beasts. It didn’t take long for all of them to fall quiet after the first had witnessed his feat. Many of them looked awed even.

“Comrades!” he said, an Amplifying Charm carrying his words to everyone. “The time has come. The time to take back the country that has driven you out, murdered your families and denied you justice! Soon the full moon will rise, granting you your power. Soon you will run and hunt all over Britain! You will prey on the weak and foolish, as you should!

“The wizards will cower in their homes, hiding. They are afraid of you, and with good reason! They know you rule the night of the full moon. This is your night. Show them your power! Show them you’re the hunters, not the prey! They have taken everything from you, and now you will take everything back!

“Go, and hunt!”

The werewolves howled and screamed when he had finished. It was an inhuman, monstrous cacophony. The beasts were already close to shedding their human disguise, and showing their true nature.

He spread his arms wide. “Go!”

Beneath him, the horde broke up into packs as the wolves started to apparate away. Only Voldemort himself remained. He landed again right when Bella appeared in the clearing.

“Have you accomplished your tasks?”

“Yes, Master!” She answered, eagerly. “Everything is ready!”

That meant the sacrifices were prepared for the ritual. ”Very good, my love. Gather our wands, they will be needed soon.”

The dark witch apparated back to his headquarters. Voldemort himself had another destination to visit before he could rejoin his Bella. He checked that he was wearing the amulet, then concentrated and apparated to a decrepit old manor. The cold was almost strong enough to overcome his robe’s Warming Charms, and the aura of the monsters battered against his Occlumency shields. Lesser wizards would have fled, or died. But he was Lord Voldemort! He stood, unflinchingly, while dozens of the monsters surrounded him, and held out the amulet until one Dementor was facing him.

He sensed the question’s intent, curiosity laced with cruelty and anticipation, and focused his own mind, thinking of Dementors hunting muggles and wizards alike. The Dementor facing him hissed with pleasure, and Voldemort felt another question. Grinning, he imagined a horde of Dementors, dozens of them, if not hundreds.

Around him, the hissing grew louder as more and more of the monsters gathered, excited. They wanted to hunt, he knew. More than anything. Finally, the apparent leader nodded, and the hissing grew into a screeching noise, before the Dementors floated away, spreading out.

The hunt had begun.

*****​

“You can’t stay! We’ll transform!”

Remus Lupin smiled at Mats and held up a vial. “Do you know what this is?”

The boy shook his head.

“Wolfsbane.”

The way the child’s eyes widened made it clear that, he knew what that was, but had never seen it. His parents had to have been part of a very rustic settlement. Or a very poor one.

“Drink half the vial, and give half of the remainder to Letta;” Remus said. He watched while the boy did as he had been told. Mats was very careful with the vial, and with his sister. Not unlike Remus had been, according to his mother.

He sighed, and went to check that the door to his office was not just locked, but sealed. The full moon would rise soon, and he could not afford the smallest mistake. Not with two young children depending on him.

He had taken his potion already, so he didn’t have to do anything but keep the children company and wait until he felt the familiar pain overwhelm him. When he could think clearly again, he was looking down at his two cubs. The older one growled at him, then sniffed him.

Remus couldn’t remember any night the wolf inside him had been as content as at the time the two cubs snuggled up to him.

*****​

Ejnar Borge raced through the forest on all fours, long limbs carrying him towards the small village at the forest’s edge. His Warband - his pack, if only temporarily - ran behind him, howling with glee. They were free! They were on the hunt! Both for prey to eat and people to share their gift with.

He reached the edge of the forest, and howled louder. In the village in front of him all the lights were on, and he heard screams and yells from inside some buildings. He smelled cows, and sheep, and chickens. And people. No sign of any magic though.

Perfect. His pack could hunt, and feed, and there would be new members come tomorrow. If they survived. He ran towards the closest door, crashing through. A woman screamed and turned around, trying to flee. He was on top of her before she had taken more than three steps, baring his fangs and teeth at her. She shrieked, and for a moment he was expecting her to faint. She didn’t though. Instead she struck at him, not that her blows could harm him. But she was trying and she wasn’t surrendering. She was worthy of the gift. So he turned his head, and bit into her forearm until he could taste blood, then howled again.

*****​

He stepped into the circle between the three marble altars, upon which the sacrifices were laid out, held down with chains of enchanted silver. Two men, one woman, all in the prime of their life. Young, but not too young, they had not yet been worn down by too many transformations. The sun had set already, but night had not yet fallen. But the moon was rising, and soon the three monsters would shed their human skin, and sprout fur and claws and fangs. Their lives would grant him the power to crush his enemies.

Three globes floated around him, shimmering with the enchantments he had painstakingly placed on them, the runes inlaid in their surface glowing already. They would hold the power, long enough for him to use it.

Next to him stood his lover, Bellatrix, as beautiful, loyal and lethal as ever. She would die for him, he knew, if he wanted her to. She was his right wand. His Bella. The one who would stand at his side, forever.

While the moon rose over the treetops, and its silvery light started to wander towards the bound sacrifices, he closed his eyes, savouring the moment. In a hundred years, in a thousand years, wizards and witches would remember this day. The day Lord Voldemort conquered Britain.

*****​

Hermione Granger held Harry’s hand while he shook in his bed. Blood ran over his face, pouring out of his scar. He was hissing through clenched teeth, trying to say something, but she couldn’t understand him. Couldn’t help him, other than to Scourgify the blood away and hold him while he suffered. Tears formed in her eyes while she hugged him. She couldn’t help him, but she’d stay with him.

“Miss Granger? Please come to my office at once.”

She looked up when she heard the voice of the Headmaster, and stared at the glowing phoenix made of light. A Patronus… Dumbledore was calling for her. That meant…

She couldn’t leave Harry alone while he suffered, and yet this was the moment she had been waiting for. The chance to save him. To sever the connection to the Dark Lord and end the danger to him that it represented. And to end the Dark Lord, at the same time.

She hated herself, but there was no other choice. After kissing Harry on the cheek, and caressing his head, she stood up, summoned the bag she had prepared, and made haste to the Headmaster’s office.

Dumbledore was already waiting for her there, with Fawkes on his shoulder.

“Headmaster, Harry is having another vision!” Hermione exclaimed.

“As was to be expected,” the old wizard said, looking grim. “But as cruel as it feels, this is our chance. With the Dark Lord in the middle of a ritual, we have a window of opportunity during which we can act while he is unable to stop us.”

Hermione nodded. She knew what had happened the last time the Dark Lord had made a mistake during his ritual. If he tried to leave in the middle of it, the backlash would be just as bad, or even worse.

“Grab onto Fawkes, Miss Granger. We’ve received reports of Dementors attacking muggles in Cambridgeshire and East Anglia. Dozens of them.”

Dozens of Dementors? Hunting muggles? Hermione gasped as she grasped the bird’s leg. And again when she was suddenly surrounded by fire, just like during the last task of the Tournament. Before she could scream though, the flames vanished, and she found herself standing on top of a little hill, overlooking a village.

“In addition to Dementors, werewolves are running wild all over Britain. The Obliviators will be stretched beyond their limits, so we have to be discreet,” Dumbledore explained. “I will handle the capture, you will keep the other Dementors away, or at least at bay.”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione said with more confidence than she felt, and together they walked towards the village.

They didn’t have to search; they encountered a Dementor right at the entrance to the village, bent over a man lying on the ground in the middle of the street. It was kissing the muggle!

“Expecto Patronum!”

Hermione sent a glowing otter at the monster, driving it away from its prey and forcing it to flee. Then she glanced at the Headmaster. That hadn’t been the plan.

He smiled reassuringly at her. “While it prevented me from capturing the Dementor, your swift action also saved this man’s soul. We will find another prey, Miss Granger.”

They found two comatose, soulless husks first though. A couple, from the looks of it, a few years older than Hermione herself. She bit her lower lip to not scream with anger and frustration at the sight.

Then they heard a scream. A child! Hermione started to run towards the scream at once, wand out. She turned the corner and saw a little girl, cornered by a Dementor, shaking with fear. The girl could see the monster, she realised - it had to be a witch! Once more she cast a Patronus, but before her otter could charge this monster, the soil rose from the Earth and formed a cage around it. The girl used the opportunity and scrambled on all fours away from the Dementor, and opened the door to the house.

“They cannot open doors or windows!” Hermione yelled to her, hoping she’d hear and understand. The door slammed shut, so hopefully she had.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore had pulled a rolled-up carpet out of his robe. “It is time for us to leave.”

“But… the Dementors are still around.” Hermione protested.

“Time is of the essence, Miss Granger. Besides, most people will be in their homes by now - or already beyond help. But if we fail here, then this tragedy will be repeated again and again.”

The closer she stepped to the transfigured cage, the lower the temperature fell, and the worse Hermione felt. She almost missed two more Dementors converging on them while she was trying to keep from crying and whimpering. Hermione’s otter followed Dumbledore’s phoenix and drove them off.

The Headmaster levitated the cage onto the carpet, then cast a Sticking Charm, before disillusioning both cage and carpet. The Dementor was still visible, but only wizards and witches could see it anyway. “Fawkes will take you back to Hogwarts, Miss Granger. There is no need for you to suffer the Dementor’s close proximity for the hours the flight will take.”

Hermione was about to protest, then nodded. It made sense. But it also offered her an opportunity. “I will be patrolling the village until the Dementors are all driven away then!”

“Miss Granger, we cannot afford to lose you.”

She knew that as well, but she couldn’t leave the villagers to those monsters. “Fawkes will be with me, and can take me back at once, should it be needed.”

Dumbledore looked at her eyes for a moment, then nodded. “I see that to try to dissuade you from this would waste too much time and would be futile. Be very careful, Miss Granger.” With that admonishment, the Headmaster sat down on the invisible carpet and disillusioned himself.

Hermione saw the Dementor, struggling against the invisible bars of its cage, lift off, and disappear over the roofs of the next house. The further it flew, the better she felt. When she couldn’t feel it anymore, she turned to Fawkes.

“Let’s go, Fawkes. We have a village to protect.”

The phoenix trilled, and the two were off.

It took four more Patronuses, and two searches of the entire area without encountering another Dementor until Hermione was satisfied that the village was reasonably safe again. She had gone through her stash of chocolate as well, but she was convinced that she still felt better than if she had left the muggles to their fate.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore was feeling every year of his long life when he finally saw Hogwarts appear on the horizon. He remembered every mistake he had made, everyone he had hurt, everything he regretted, and he was shivering, with cold and horror, after hours right next to a Dementor. But he was not done yet. He had to secure the Dementor.

He guided the carpet towards the window to his office, the monster’s presence driving the owls waiting there away, and opened it with a touch of his wand. Almost there. He landed in his office, and grabbed another bar of chocolate from his pocket. He had eaten so much chocolate, Xenophilius would consider it evidence for his Rotfang Conspiracy theory. He checked the spell on the gargoyle guarding the entrance to his office. Several people had tried to reach him. He had expected that. Fortunately, his friends and the Ministry had been told that he was out, fighting Dementors. Rubbing his aching head, he levitated the cage, and started towards the secret door leading to the special room he and Miss Granger used for their project. He had to secure the Dementor before he could do anything else, much less rest.

When the Dementor was safely imprisoned in the vault, its aura blocked by enchanted metal and stone, Albus finally stopped shivering for the first time in hours, and could think clearly again. He was still tired though, and slowly climbed the stairs back up to his office.

He sent a Patronus Messenger to Miss Granger, informing her of his arrival. He was certain that the girl wouldn’t have rested until he had returned. As he had also expected, both Miss Granger and Harry were already waiting in front of his office, under Harry’s Cloak of Invisibility, when he finished his climb. Sitting down behind his desk, he bade them enter and rubbed Fawkes’s head.

“Headmaster! You’re back!” Miss Granger stormed into his office, followed by Harry.

“I’ve prepared the memory for you! He sacrificed three werewolves!” the young Gryffindor said, holding up a vial containing the silvery strand of a memory.

“Thank you, Harry.” He smiled and pocketed the vial. “I fear I am not in a state to investigate the memory right away. Nor will I have time for it.” He summoned a thick envelope bearing the Ministry’s seal from the pile of letters and opened it. “As I expected - there’s an emergency session in the Wizengamot, tomorrow. He checked his watch, and corrected himself. “Today.”

“Sir! Can we do the ritual?” Hermione asked, trembling.

He chuckled. “Miss Granger, I am not in a state to be able to do so. I need more rest than anticipated. I would not want to risk leaving a panicking Wizengamot without counsel and advice either. Fear drives people to decisions they’d never make normally.”

The girl nodded - grudgingly, he thought. But there was no other choice. If he tried the ritual in his current state, he’d end up killing himself and Miss Granger. He looked at the young witch and wizard.

“I’ll give you my word though: Voldemort will not survive this day.”


Chapter 58: Onslaught

 

Chapter 58: Onslaught

Albus Dumbledore felt every year of his long life when he sat down on his seat in the Wizengamot. The hours spent in close proximity to the captured Dementor had taken their toll, and he hadn’t slept more than a fitful hour, filled with nightmares. He tried to imagine spending a decade near those monsters, and shuddered. Azkaban would never be guarded by them again.

Around him, the members of the Wizengamot filed in and took their seats. Many were chatting with their allies and friends, and Albus could see most were concerned, or even afraid. The dozens of attacks last night had shaken the general impression that the Ministry was winning the war against Voldemort. And to reassure them would be difficult.

Albus would have sighed if he hadn’t had to keep up appearances and look as confident as ever. He couldn’t tell them that soon, Voldemort would be dead. Merlin knew what the Dark Lord would do if he heard that - and he would. Albus was certain that Tom had at least one spy in the Wizengamot, probably more.

Arthur was already present, as Head of his Department. The Weasleys had relocated to Grimmauld Place when the news of the attacks had started to spread, and the Burrow had been attacked shortly afterwards, or so Albus had heard. The house was still standing, but there had been some damage done. He would have to ask Arthur if he could help, after this was over.

Amelia entered, looking even more stern than usual. A formidable witch, Albus knew, but she wouldn’t have slept at all during the night. Not with so many attacks all over the island. Pepper-Up would see her through the session, and into the afternoon, but then she’d need to sleep. “Good morning, Amelia,” he said, nodding at her.

She nodded back curtly. “Good morning, Albus.” She was angry that he had not helped, as far as she knew, and the Headmaster felt guilty about using the lie that he was waiting for the Dark Lord to show up before committing himself to a battle - he had known the Dark Lord was busy with his ritual, after all - but he couldn’t have risked Tom finding out about the capture of the Dementor.

Cornelius followed shortly after. The Minister for Magic looked as if he had aged a decade in the last year. The stress was taking its toll on the politician. He wasn’t the greatest Minister for Magic ever to grace those halls, but so far he had held up under the pressure. More than Albus had expected, if he was honest. The Minister was putting up a good front too: cordial, friendly, steadfast. Albus was one of the few who knew it was a front. Fortunately, Cornelius wouldn’t have to bear this cross much longer. A few more hours, and Albus would be able to start the ritual that would end the Dark Lord.

“Good morning, Cornelius.”

“Good morning, Albus. Quite a pickle we find ourselves in, right?”

Albus smiled. “It is not quite as dire as some think. I am convinced that this was the Dark Lord’s last attempt.”

Cornelius raised his eyebrows, but Albus simply kept smiling until the Minister, frowning but heartened, took his place. Saul had sat down without anyone taking notice. Not that many were eager to talk to an Unspeakable anyway - few liked speaking to someone hiding his or her identity. Albus sometimes wondered how he would act if he couldn’t tell them apart.

Augusta was among the last to enter. Longbottom Manor had come under attack again, and she would have spent most of the night coordinating its defenses, but she looked as formidable as ever.

Albus looked at the clock on the wall. It was time to start the session. He just hoped it wouldn’t take too long to calm the frightened members of this esteemed body so he could go back to Hogwarts to win this war.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort entered his throne room, Bellatrix at his side. The hall had been expanded to fit all his wands; beasts and men alike. It was an impressive sight, the ranks and ranks of wands raised, even if many of the werewolves looked ragged still, weary from their transformations. Some were wounded, many were tired from hours of fighting. The foolish animals were as eager as the wizards and witches Voldemort had kept mostly in reserve during the night.

He could feel the power contained in the orbs in his pockets, pulsing, fighting against the magic keeping it contained. Lesser men would not have dared to brave such danger, would have been cowed by the prospect of wielding power that could annihilate them should they make a single mistake. Even Dumbledore would shy away from that. Voldemort was without peer though. Magic itself was his to master. And the animals and wands present were the instruments of his will.

“Wizards! Witches! You fought well this night! You struck fear into the hearts of our enemies. As I speak they have gathered in the Ministry, afraid and shaken, to ask themselves how they can fight us. They think we will strike again, tonight. They are wrong!”

Murmurs passed through the ranks of his followers. They yearned for combat. They had tasted blood and victory, and wanted more. He grinned. “We will strike now!”

He raised his wand. “I will tear down the wards protecting the Ministry itself, and we will storm that rotten place to cleanse it of the mudbloods and blood traitors!”

Some cheered, others, doubting, were taken aback. He had expected this. Had prepared for this. He rose from where he stood, floating, and raised his wand. “While you struck and fought last night, I completed an ancient ritual dating back to primordial times. I now wield the power that sank Atlantis!” He touched one orb, and let just a trickle of the power flow through him. It was enough to fill the hall with his might. The more sensitive among his followers fell to their knees, even, as he struggled to keep the power contained in the orb from rushing out.

When he saw them stare at him with awe, he laughed. “Stand! Stand and follow me! Victory awaits us!”

*****​

“I assure you, despite rumours, the attacks last night were, by and large, defeated.”

Albus Dumbledore kept a stern expression on his face while Amelia was answering Amos Diggory, who had just asked the same question as the Wizengamot member before him.

“The followers of the Dark Lord may have struck at dozens of houses and manors, but they didn’t manage to breach the wards in any but a handful places. The casualties they took doing this ensure that a repeat of such an attack will mean the end of the enemy as a credible force.”

“What about our casualties?” Maximilian Selwyn shouted. “How many good wizards did we lose?”

“Our own casualties were minimal, both among civilians and Ministry forces.”

Albus saw that Amelia was glaring at Maximilian through her monocle. She knew as well as he did that Maximilian had been under suspicion in the last war, though nothing had ever been proven. He had not made any waves in this war though, so to speak up like this, now, meant that he either was spooked by the attacks, or someone had told him to. What if last night’s attacks had not just been distractions to ensure Tom would not be disturbed during his ritual, but if there had been another purpose behind this? Had he been too focused on finally capturing a Dementor that he had missed something crucial?

“... the DMLE has the situation in hand. As we speak, our Aurors are at work, investigating the sites of the attacks, tracking down the surviving enemy forces, while Hit-Wizards are ready …”

Amelia stopped talking when the entire room, no the entire building shook. “Earthquake?” one shouted from the back rows, among yells of fear and surprise. It wasn’t an earthquake though, Albus knew that at once. He looked at Amelia and Saul, and their reaction confirmed his worst fear. The wards of the buildings had just been destroyed. And Albus knew only one wizard who could achieve such a feat.

He stood up and cast an an Amplifying Charm. “Evacuate the building at once! We are under attack!”

A few among the Wizengamot members apparated out at once. The quick and the afraid - or the smart ones, Albus thought. He didn’t mind their flight - they’d do more harm than good if they stayed.

Arthur jumped up. “Percy!” The man was running to the door, together with most of the Aurors present, and the Department Heads. Amelia was shouting orders.

Saul had disappeared already - he would be down in the Department of Mysteries, ensuring that the loss of the wards had not caused something else, something worse, to break free from the vaults there.

Cornelius was slower to rise. He was afraid, Albus could see it, but the wizard was still putting up a brave front. He knew that as the Minister, he couldn’t run, just as he knew he had no place in a battle.

“I assume you will handle the evacuation of the civilians on your floor, Cornelius?” Albus said.

The Minister nodded. “Yes. We can coordinate the defense from my office.”

Both knew it was a fiction, but the calm exchange helped prevent the panic from spreading. Or would have, if people had not discovered that Apparition had been blocked right then.

Amelia turned to them from the door. “The enemy has overrun the atrium. I’m rallying the Hit-Wizards for a counter-attack.”

She looked at Albus, and he nodded. “I will, of course, join you.” Everyone knew that he was the only one able to face Voldemort. He only hoped that this was still true - but feared it was no longer the case. Not even Albus would have been able to destroy the wards of the Ministry that quickly. The prudent course of action would be to retreat from the building - there were still ways out; the Ministry had stood for centuries, and had gone through several rebuilds. But Albus couldn’t let those brave people face Tom by themselves. If Tom had spent whatever he had gained from the ritual last night to destroy the wards, and this was just his desperate attempt to behead the Ministry, they stood a good chance to defeat him.

And if not… he had still a way out, even if he would hate himself for taking it. No matter what, no matter the cost, Tom would die today.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort flicked his wand, and the fountain in the atrium turned into a giant chimaera, shredding the Hit-Wizards who had taken cover behind it with claws and teeth and horns. A couple of spells impacted his Shield Charm from the second floor, where a handful of Aurors had been cut off from retreat. He turned the pillar behind them into a cloud of acid. Two of them died, one caught by surprise, the other mistaking the acid for poison and casting a Bubble-Head Charm instead of fleeing. The rest scattered, and were overrun by werewolves.

The first wave, mostly wolves, had apparated into the Ministry with him. They were expendable after all. While they fought the guards and Hit-Wizards in the Ministry, the Second Wave had apparated in, before he had sealed the building.

To his left, one red-robed Auror and three Hit-Wizards were trying to keep a pack at bay while behind them, half a dozen clerks or whatever were trying to activate the Floo Network connection. He glanced at Bellatrix, who had stayed at his side, and nodded towards the group. His love smiled wildly, and rushed forward, laughing as she slaughtered the defenders, their robes’ protective enchantments already weakened from combat, with dark curses he had taught her. One Hit-Wizard was staring in horror at the lungs he had just coughed out, another was slowly being skinned alive while the Auror clutched her belly while something tore her up from the inside. Behind them, the sheep the three fools had tried in vain to protect were torn to pieces by the pack’s blades.

He glanced around. The transfigured chimaera had cleared one half of the atrium by itself, bits of bodies still dangling from the horns of one head. The wolves had cleared the rest, and his wands were securing the entire floor. A hand-picked group was guarding the lifts. It was time to start the cleansing of the rest of the floors. Just as he was about to give the command to charge, the ground under the chimaera opened up, forming into spears of stone that stabbed into its body. The transfigured monster exploded right afterwards, showering the atrium with shards of stone.

Among the cries of his wands and wolves struck by the projectiles, Voldemort heard a hated voice. “You have made some progress in Transfiguration, though you are far from having mastered it, Tom.”

Dumbledore had arrived.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore felt less confident than he sounded. That had been an impressive transfiguration, even though he could have done it better. The die had been cast though. Shielded by a wall of stone, he and Amelia’s Hit-Wizards ascended to the atrium on conjured ramps. As soon as he reached the top, he turned more of the marble floor into a wall, dividing the room into two parts and cutting off the lifts from the Dark Lord’s position. Immediately, teams of Hit-Wizards charged the werewolves and Death Eaters there, as planned. With Apparition and Portkeys blocked, and the Floo Connection broken, that was the most accessible way to evacuate the remaining civilians.

The old wizard just hoped he could hold Tom at bay long enough to accomplish it. Together with those among the Ministry’s forces who had volunteered, he moved to face the Dark Lord. With his wand, he raised another wall behind them, then turned the wall in front into floating slabs of marble, to absorb Killing Curses and other Unforgivables

The green spells shattering half of the slabs were not the main threat though, that was pitch-black liquid flowing towards them. Devil’s Tar, poisonous and highly-flammable, it clung to anything living it touched. Tom was proving to be more original and innovative than he had expected - a far cry from his experiences in the last war.

But Albus had studied with Flamel himself - the premiere Alchemist of the world. While the Aurors and Hit-Wizards with him engaged the Death Eaters trying to flank them, he flicked his wand and transfigured the floor into a neutralising agent, then lifted it so the whole sizzling mass flowed back towards Tom and his followers.

He thought he heard him curse, but the screams of a dark wizard who had slipped and fallen into the mass, soon turning into gargling noises while the weaker poison did its work more slowly, drowned it out. Albus didn’t let up though, and had stone arms sprouting up among the ranks of Voldemort’s followers, grabbing them and holding them in place so they would not escape the Devil’s Tar. Predictably, the desperate wizards and witches shattered the stone appendages - releasing the phosphorous he had filled them with. The material ignited upon contact with the air, burning everything nearby. One flailing witch, her robes’ fire protections overloaded, fell into the tar.

Albus canceled the transfiguration, and with the agent gone, the remaining mass of tar lit up like a nesting dragon faced with a group of poachers. An entire section of the atrium turned into an inferno. Most of those caught in it had no time to scream, but one unlucky wizard’s fire protection was strong enough to keep him alive for longer.

Tom had moved to the side though, neatly escaping the area, and was rising into the air, sending curses down to the cut-off area where the first civilians were trying to escape. Their screams drove Albus on, and he focused on the Dark Lord while the remaining Hit-Wizards started to push the werewolves and dark wizards back.

He pointed his wand at Tom and sent half a dozen ice lances at him, followed by corkscrewing sparks of fire. All splashed harmlessly against the man’s Shield Charm. Laughing, his enemy retaliated - two Killing Curses were stopped by blocks of stone while whirling blades dripping with poison shattered themselves against Albus’s shield.

The Headmaster was already moving to the side when the ground beneath him vanished, and didn’t have to do more than conjure a patch of stone to regain his footing. He sent a few Piercing Curses at Tom, as a distraction, then blew up the ground below the floating wizard, transfiguring the debris thrown up into a man-sized fist that struck the Dark Lord’s shield with enough force to shatter it.

Before Albus could take advantage of that however, the Shield Charm was recast. The expected onslaught of dark curses had not happened yet though. So far, Tom had acted rather restrained, he thought. Or, maybe, weakened. Had the ritual taken that much out of him? Had he overextended himself?

Screams from the advancing Ministry forces disproved that theory. Albus glanced to the side and saw that the men and women were under attack from animated bodies and body parts. One of the grey-robed Hit-Wizards yelled “Inferi!”. Albus knew the man was wrong though - he recognised the spell: Killing Hands, a favourite spell of the late Houngan Hector Williams, who had been fond of animating severed hands, though it worked on every body part, turning them into necromantic constructs. It had a rather glaring weakness though.

“They are not Inferi, use salt!” Albus yelled, right before Tom finally cut loose with curses. He stopped a Killing Curse with a conjured marble block, deflecting a Tongue-Ripper at the same time. His Shield Charm fended off another Barbed Cutting Curse, before a Sectumsempra shattered it. Two curses hit him, both stopped by his robe, and another got through, though weakened, causing him to bleed internally. He would have to do something about it in a bit, but for now he could fight on, had to fight on. Albus transfigured the air around him into a thick smoke cloud, and moved towards the Dark Lord, gambling on him not expecting that. He was tiring, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t let up.

He was lucky - the ground behind him erupted from multiple blasting curses, and judging by the screams of ‘Tentacles!’ he heard, another of Williams’s favourites was among Tom’s arsenal. That would confirm his suspicion that the houngan had fallen to the Dark Lord, decades ago.

He left the smoke cloud and transfigured part of the floor under his floating enemy into a pike that shot directly upwards, shattering the wizard’s shield right at the time his Piercing and Cutting Curses hit. Tom tried to dodge, but didn’t quite manage it, and his robe couldn’t stop that many spells either, leaving him with a deep gash in his leg. He recast a Shield Charm, but more spells flew at him, forcing him to dodge again and again as he wove through the air.

Albus glanced behind him and saw that Amelia had climbed the walls he had erected with her part of the forces, sending waves of spells at Tom. With them were several Wizengamot members, among them Augusta, as well as Ministry employees. At the same time, the surviving Hit-Wizards and Aurors who had been with Albus were advancing, and the Dark Lord’s forces were almost driven out of the atrium. They could win this, Albus thought.

Then the Dark Lord started to laugh, and pulled out a glowing orb from his pocket that Albus, to his horror, recognised. He started to raise the thickest wall he could think of in front of Amelia and the others, despite knowing it would be too late, and, hating himself, cried out: ‘Fawkes!’.

The entire Atrium was filled with light, followed by a thunderclap. Blind and deaf, Albus felt his shield shatter, felt his robes’ enchantments flare up, felt claws dig into his shoulder as fire engulfed him.

*****​

“We should be joining the Hit-Wizards and Aurors, dad. They’ll need every wand.”

Arthur Weasley shook his head at his son as he made his way towards his office, past panicking colleagues running towards the lift and stairs. “We would just be two more wands, hardly a significant addition to the Ministry’s forces. I’ve something far more promising in mind to help them.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Son, we’ve been at war for some time. I’m not a hit-wizard, nor an Auror, much less a potioneer. But I do have talents of my own, which could come in very handy.”

“You’ve enchanted something? Another flying car?”

Arthur coughed. That had been a scandal he was not happy to be reminded of. “Not exactly. I was talking about a part of my work.”

He pointed ahead, at the locked room labeled ‘Muggle Artifacts’. “I’ve been collecting a few items I think will be useful in this battle.”

At least if he used them to save the Ministry the repercussions shouldn’t be too bad. Or so he hoped. Then the entire building shook once more, and he cursed.

“Hurry!” he said as he opened the door. He feared that he was already too late.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort was laughing when the forces he had unleashed struck throughout the atrium, reducing his enemies to cinders in a fraction of a second. Bones, Longbottom, and Diggory, and another half dozen blood-traitors, gone, as well as every Hit-Wizard and Auror present. Dumbledore though… Voldemort was not certain he was dead. That flash, right before the wave struck him… He would be hurt though, and weakened.

For now, Voldemort had to finish this battle. From the sides, his followers - those who had not been too slow, or too bloodthirsty to obey his command to fall back and move into the other parts of the Ministry - appeared, led by Bellatrix. With a flick of his wand he stilled the bleeding in his leg and closed the wound, then addressed his forces: “Our enemies are dead or fled! The day is ours!”

Roars and cheers answered him. He ordered the wolves to scour the building for hidden enemies, then landed next to Bellatrix. “What about the Department of Mysteries?” He asked while the beasts under his command surged forward, spreading through the Ministry.

“Sealed up, Master. The entrance is trapped, we lost two wands.” Bellatrix bowed her head. “I was not quick enough, forgive me.”

He shook his head. “There’s nothing to forgive. It was a slim chance from the start. We’ll deal with them later, in our own time.” They couldn’t get away anyway - that floor had no other exit. And that Department was traditionally ‘flexible’. Once he was the uncontested ruler of Britain, they’d come around.

“To the Minister’s office!”

*****​

Ejnar Borge was laughing as he led his warband through the corridors of the British Ministry of Magic. Who would have thought even a week ago that his expedition to Britain would lead to this point? Last night had been good, they had struck several times, but today… this was great. The ministry that had butchered his fellow wolves, brought low by the Dark Lord himself! Its servants, hiding, cowering, pleading - and dying, by spell or blade! He loved this!

At his side, Afi was chanting an old war epic. The remaining members of his band - half a dozen, they had taken some losses, who were now waiting in Valhalla - searched the office they had entered. A shriek told him they had found another victim. He glanced over. Yngvard was pulling a young witch out from the cupboard she had been hiding in. The wolf was bleeding from a fresh cut in his cheek, and glancing back at Ejnar. The leader of the warband nodded. The witch was not old enough to be important, and not brave enough to receive their gift. Yngvard grinned, grabbed the witch’s throat with one hand and drew his dagger with the other.

Ejnar was already moving to the next office, with Afi, when the witch’s screams stopped. “Muggle Artifacts?” he read the sign next to the door out loud. Turning to Afi, he asked: “Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?”

“Maybe it deals with enchanted muggle items,” his cousin speculated, shrugging. Neither sounded like it would be good loot.

Ejnar nodded at Keld and Riborg. “Check the office for hidden prey.”

The two nodded and approached the door. Afi was unlocking a desk.

“Find anything valuable?” Ejnar asked.

Afi shook his head. “Just parchments. They really love their parchment, don’t they?”

Ejnar chuckled. “Yes, they do.”

He was about to turn back to see how his two wolves were doing when he was struck from behind and thrown to the floor while an explosion sent his ears ringing.

Shaking his head he stood up, wand out, then cursed. The door to the office had been blown up from the inside, and the force of the explosion had shredded Keld and Riborg to pieces. Literally. He exchanged a glance with his cousin, snarling. Whoever had killed them would pay!

Before they could move forward though, a few egg-sized things flew through the smoking doorway. Acting on instinct, Ejnar cast a Shield Charm. And not a second too soon - the objects exploded, and his shield was peppered with small stones.

“They’re still in there!” He shouted. “Band, to me! We’ll avenge our brother and sister!”

Yngvard arrived, covered in blood, with Fryd, Diderik and Edmar behind him.

“Shields up!” Ejnar commanded. “We’re facing someone using a lot of blasting curses. I want him alive!” He’d die slowly for what he had done to his band. He could hear someone, no two people, moving inside that office. A bit away from the entrance.

Edmar and Diderik were the first to charge. They reached the door and jumped inside. Ejnar and Afi followed, with Yngvard and Fryd right behind them. Another of those metal objects flew at them, bigger than the first ones.

“Ignore it, your shield can take it!” Ejnar shouted. The thing didn’t explode though, but set some smoke free. “Bubble-Head Charms!” Ejnar shouted, casting one, but it was already too late for Edmar and Diderik - both were rolling on the floor in agony. He heard another explosion from the room ahead, and something shot through the smoke towards them. It hit Yngvard, despite his shield, and obliterated the young wolf. Fryd, behind and to the side of Yngvard, had been thrown into the wall, but her shield had held.

“We have to retreat!” Afi shouted.

Fryd didn’t listen. The wolf screamed and charged straight ahead.

“Diffindo!”

“Reducto!”

Fryd’s screams were cut off. Another one of his band dead.

More of those things flew through the air, exploding next to him and Afi. Their Shielding Charms saved them again. His cousin grabbed his shoulder “We have to retreat! We stand no chance!”

“Edmar and Diderik! We can’t leave them!” Ejnar shouted back.

“They’re already dead - poisoned! We can’t help them. We’ll inform the Dark Lord!”

Ejnar stared at the twitching bodies of his friends. He heard a faint: “Percy, hand me another of those tubes.”

That was enough. He was no stupid cub anymore, he was a leader, and he knew when to cut and run, so at least part of the pack survived. He and Afi fled, sprinting down the corridor. Behind them he heard yet another explosion.

*****​

The Dark Lord casually vanished the door to the office of the Minister for Magic. Fudge was standing behind his desk, wand in hand, trembling.

“R-Reducto!”

The stammered curse was stopped by the Dark Lord’s Shield Charm. He silently disarmed the coward.

“Pathetic!” He snarled. “How far has Britain sunk, if such a worm like you is Minister?” Of course the sheep would have elected a weak leader. They feared power.

Fudge opened his mouth, but didn’t seem to manage to say anything. He was panting and sweating, shaking with fear. For a moment, Voldemort was tempted to end the man right there. A Killing Curse, and it would be done. Britain’s leader defeated. But Fudge wasn’t Britain’s leader. Dumbledore was. Fudge was just a puppet. And he knew just the person who liked to play with puppets.

“Bella…” he glanced at her, smiling.

“Yes, Master!” His love beamed at him.

“Enjoy yourself!”

“Thank you, Master!”

*****​

When Albus Dumbledore opened his eyes, he found himself inside his office at Hogwarts, on the floor. Alive. Unhurt even, or close enough. He was still tired though, if no longer exhausted. And wearing the burned and torn remains of his robes. He ran his hand over his face. His beard had suffered as well. A weak trill from above drew his attention to his desk. At the edge of it sat a small chick, staring at him. The Headmaster smiled at it.

“You must have shed many tears for me, Fawkes.” Otherwise he would be dead.

A trill answered him, and the phoenix chick hopped down, landing on his chest, and trying to feed him a lemon drop.

Chuckling, Albus accepted it, petting his saviour. He owed the phoenix his life, twice over.

“It was a close call, for both of us.” He looked around and spotted ashes on the floor, next to his head. “Really close, indeed.”

Sighing, he stood up and summoned a replacement robe. He was wasting precious time, he admonished himself. If Voldemort could destroy the wards protecting the Ministry, then he could likely breach the wards of Hogwarts as well.

He strode out of his office. He had a witch to meet, a school to prepare and an Order to rally.

*****​

Hermione Granger was in the middle of the morning Transfiguration lesson, listening to Professor McGonagall explain the intricacies of self-transfiguration. The young witch had read the relevant material months ago, but the teacher was one of the best experts, and she wouldn’t want to risk missing something that she didn’t know already. And it took her mind off the ritual she’d start as soon as the Headmaster returned from the Wizengamot.

The door was opened, without knocking beforehand. Whatever reprimand their teacher had been about to give remained unspoken though since the Headmaster himself entered. Many students gasped at the sight of him - his long beard was rather shorter and looked burned, as did his hair. What had happened at this emergency session?

“Minerva, I am sorry, but you will need to cancel all classes and send the children to their dorms. I shall explain on the way. Miss Granger. It is time.” He looked at her without smiling.

Hermione drew a hissing breath, then stood up. Next to her, Harry stood up as well, as did Neville and Ron on the other side.

“Return to the dorms, everyone,” McGonagall ordered. “Mister Potter, ensure no one gets lost on the way.”

“No, Professor. I’m needed elsewhere.”

“We’re needed elsewhere,” Ron added. Neville nodded.

“Come with me then,” the Headmaster said, cutting off what scathing rebuke their teacher was about to give. They followed him out, though Hermione noticed that Ron looked back at Parkinson first. The girl looked grim.

“Albus, what is going on?” McGonagall asked as soon as they were in the hallway.

“Voldemort has taken the Ministry. Most of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards on the premises have been killed. I do not think many of the Wizengamot members escaped. I was saved from certain death at the last moment by Fawkes.”

Hermione gasped.

“How was that possible?” McGonagall exclaimed. “Those wards were among the strongest outside Hogwarts!”

“The ritual,” Harry spat out.

“Exactly, Mister Potter.” Albus smiled grimly. “Minerva, while our situation may look desperate, we are not beaten. Voldemort is on the brink of being defeated.

“Sir, you said not many of the Wizengamot escaped…” Neville trailed off, swallowing.

Dumbledore’s expression softened. “I am terribly sorry to say that your grandmother died fighting the Dark Lord, Mister Longbottom.”

Neville shuddered, but nodded. He swallowed several times. Hermione wanted to hug him, but that would probably make him break down and cry, and she didn’t think he wanted, or needed that right now.

“We’ll avenge her, Neville. We’ll destroy the Dark Lord, and all his followers!” Harry said.

Ron blinked. “My dad… Percy...”

Hermione felt as if she had been punched in the gut. As Department Head, Arthur would have been present at the session as well!

“I have no news of them, Mister Weasley. The last I saw your father was before the fighting started. He was on the way to your older brother.” He sighed. “But, given the bravery your family is famous for, I do fear that they did not flee, but stayed and fought.”

Ron closed his eyes, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, they would.”

“Mate,” Harry said. “We don’t know yet…”

“That’s right,” Hermione chimed in.

Ron shook his head, but didn’t say anything.

Dumbledore addressed McGonagall again: “Inform the other teachers and prefects: Classes are cancelled. All students are to return to their dorms. The teachers should patrol the castle.”

“Do you expect the Dark Lord to attack Hogwarts?” McGonagall sounded incredulous. Hermione could understand that. Not even Grindelwald had dared to attack Hogwarts.

“Yes, Minerva. If he suspects that I survived, then he will strike as soon as he can. We have to assume that he has the means to breach our wards.”

“But… you said you almost died…”

“Yes, I almost did. But simple arithmancy tells me that should he manage to breach the wards, then our fight will be quite different from our earlier encounter.”

“Arithmancy, Albus?”

Hermione gasped again. “Three orbs. He used two already?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Exactly. But that still means I am needed here, to face him should he arrive. I fear no one else can face him, not for long, and the children cannot be evacuated, not with the Floo Network Authority under control of Voldemort.”

Hermione felt a cold shiver run down her spine, and her stomach tried to tie itself in knots. To do the ritual alone… she knew the steps backwards and forwards, so often had she optimised it. But to do it with a dementor in close proximity.

“It will not take you nearly as long as my recent trip, Miss Granger. I have faith in you, and you should have faith in yourself as well.” Dumbledore smiled, for the first time since he had entered their classroom.

Hermione felt Harry wrap his arms around her. “I’ll stay with her.”

“I fear that is not advisable, Harry,” the Headmaster said, nodding at the young wizard’s head.

Hermione was torn between wishing Harry was with her, safe from any fighting, and wishing to spare him the torture of being near a Dementor. But his connection to Voldemort might make it unsafe for him to stay with her for the ritual - who knew what would happen, with his scar so close? She hugged him, whispering into his ear. “Please… I’ll be fine. You keep our friends safe.”

He hesitated, pulling her closer, before he agreed.

“Gather the teachers in the Great Hall, Minerva. I’ve called the Order - we will need all the help we can get, should the Dark Lord attack the school. I will join you shortly, after a small but important errand.”

Hermione didn’t think McGonagall believed his claims, but the witch nodded and left them.

As they continued towards the Headmaster’s office, Dumbledore spoke up again: “I assume asking you to stay in the dorms is pointless.”

No one answered him, which was answer enough. The Headmaster sighed. “In that case, stay in my office. The way to Miss Granger leads through there.”

It was also very well protected, Hermione knew. Her friends would be safe there, Harry would be safe there. He wouldn’t leave, not if it meant endangering her.

The three boys nodded. “Yes, sir.”

They entered Dumbledore’s office, and the Headmaster went ahead, to the secret door leading down to the vault. Hermione turned around. “Harry…” They were in public, technically, but she didn’t care.

They embraced, kissed. She didn’t want to let him go, but she had to. Time was running out. She had tears in her eyes when she raced past the Headmaster, down towards the ritual room. And the Dementor.

*****​

Kenneth Fenbrick was staring at the remains of a tree, destroyed by a blasting curse, maybe a Reductor Curse, and his partner and lover Bertha Limmington was analysing a burn mark on the ground. He stood up and stretched with a groan. “Pointless.”

Bertha knew him very well, and so didn’t react.

“Utterly pointless. We already know all we need to know about this incident: Half a dozen werewolves attacked a muggle village. They blew up some stuff, and kidnapped three young people. Either to eat them or turn them.”

“Vampires turn people, werewolves curse them,” Bertha corrected him, but she was faintly grinning.

“You know what I mean,” he smiled back. “And since the Obliviators were through here, there’s no point in asking for witnesses either.”

“That doesn’t mean we should neglect proper procedures.”

A glowing goat appeared between them. A Patronus Messenger from Aberforth Dumbledore. ”If you hear this you’re still alive. My brother needs us. Gather at my place. Don’t try to go back to work. Don’t use the Floo Network.”

Kenneth looked at Bertha. “That sounds like an emergency.”

“A rather unorthodox emergency. Even if the request comes from the Chief Warlock, it should go through the proper channels,” Bertha said.

“Well, let’s go eat lunch at the Hog’s Head Inn. That way, we’re not abandoning our post just on hearsay, but merely taking our break,” Kenneth proposed.

Bertha snorted, but stood up. She was worried, he could tell. He didn’t comment, of course.

An Apparition later, they were in front of the inn in Hogsmeade. Despite the early hour, the inn was packed. And with an unusual crowd. Foreign accents and languages dominated - foreign robes and styles as well.

“Someone must have called in all the mercenaries not working for the Dark Lord,” Kenneth speculated. Bertha simply nodded.

“Oy, you two louts!” Aberforth greeted them. If he was glad to see them he didn’t show it. “I’ll be short: The Ministry has fallen to the Dark Lord. Hogwarts is the next target. Bones is dead, the Minister probably as well, and sorting out who’s legally in charge of the Aurors would take too long. So, the Chief Warlock wants us all in the school, ready to fight Death Eaters while he runs that plan of his he has told noone about but which will save us all. If it works. Head through the tunnel into the school and gather at the Great Hall!”

“What?” Kenneth was certain this had to be a joke, or a misunderstanding. The Ministry, fallen? Bones dead? The boss was dead? What about their colleagues and friends?

“Get moving. It’s what I heard from the Chief Warlock.”

“But…”

Bertha’s finger on his lips shut him up. She shook her head. They followed the next group of hired wands into the tunnel.

*****​

Harry Potter was pacing in the Headmaster’s office. Hermione was deep down in the dungeons of Hogwarts, that vault she had mentioned, where she had researched the Dark Mark with the Headmaster, about to risk her life doing a ritual to save him. A ritual she would need to do while in the company of a caged Dementor. He shuddered at the memories that conjured up, of third year.

“She’ll be OK, Mate,” Ron said. His best friend looked like he could use some reassurances himself, but what could Harry tell him? You still have four more brothers and your mum?

He nodded instead. “Thanks.”

Neville was sitting on a chair, twirling his wand. He didn’t even seem to notice Fawkes, reduced to a chick, perching on the backrest of the chair, chirping at him. Of course, the ugly, weird looking chick was a far cry from the majestic beauty of a phoenix, but still… “You know… I almost hope they will attack us, before whatever Hermione is doing works.”

Harry stared at him, but Ron nodded. “I understand, mate. I want to kill some of them. All of them.”

He shook his head. “I just want them to die. Before they kill anyone else.”

“First my parents, now Gran…” Neville shuddered again, and stared at his wand.

“Mum will be devastated,” Ron added.

Harry closed his eyes. It wasn’t even nearly as bad as staying near a Dementor, but he hated it anyway, not being able to help his friends.

Someone knocking on the window had everyone aiming their wands at it before Harry slowly walked to the window. There was a broom outside, with two persons...

“It’s Sirius!” Harry said, opening the window. “And with Valérie.”

His godfather grinned, and flew inside. “Dumbledore called the Order to Hogwarts.”

“We know,” Harry said, hugging him.

“I bring good news too, for Ron at least.”

Ron looked up, sudden hope clearly visible in his eyes.

“Your dad and brother are fine. They escaped through some old tunnel. Arthur said he had some artifacts stored, just in case, and used them to get himself and Percy out.”

Ron hugged himself, smiling widely. “Merlin!”

Harry patted his shoulder, happy for his friend. Then he noticed Neville, trying to smile. Neville who had just lost his grandmother, and felt miserable. Fawkes had landed on his shoulder - Harry didn’t know how the chick had managed to fly with its stubby wings - and pecked at his cheek.

His friend suddenly found himself engulfed in a hug from Valérie. This time he did break down and started to cry. Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, who seemed to feel as awkward as himself. In an unspoken agreement, all three wizards present ignored Neville’s crying.

“You’ll be heading to the Hall?” Harry asked.

Sirius shook his head. “We’re covering the sky. There’s enough others on the ground - Dumbledore’s brother brought half an army - and there’s not much that can beat four Veela in the air.

“Just be careful, damn careful, Sirius!” Harry reached out, and grabbed him in a hug.

“Of course,” Sirius said.

“I mean it. No reckless charge on all fours, you know?” Harry had seen Sirius fight, and… sooner or later luck ran out.

Sirius grew serious. “I promise, Harry. I’m not going to risk my life senselessly.” He glanced at Valérie, still hugging Neville, though their friend seemed to calm down, and Harry had the impression that his godfather might mean it, this time.

The Headmaster walked up to them. No one had him heard entering. Sirius quickly filled him in about the status of the school, as far as he knew, while Neville regained his composure.

“What .. I mean, how is Hermione doing?” Harry asked.

“She has a very difficult task, but I am convinced she will succeed.”

With that, the Headmaster left his office again. A minute later, Sirius and Valérie left too, and the three boys and one phoenix were alone in the office once more. Harry almost wished there was an attack too, this time. Just so there would be something to do besides sit and think.

*****​

Selwyn had been killed by one of his followers, the Dark Lord Voldemort knew. Probably one of the wolves. A pity - the man had done what he had been ordered to, and succeeded. Although he might not have needed to - given the effects of the werewolf attacks, an emergency session might have been called anyway. Selwyn could have been a valuable subordinate once Voldemort was ruling Wizarding Britain. Ah well, there would be others.

The two Scandinavian wolves, Ejnar and Afi, were leading him towards the office where they had lost the rest of their warband. He must have overestimated them quite a bit, for six of them to fall to ‘Muggle Artifacts’. Unless…

He stopped a good distance away, and conjured a snake to send forward. “What was the name you heard, Ejnar?”

“Percy, milord.”

Percy. Percy Weasley. Muggle Artifacts. Of course.

An explosion shook the floor, and dust shot out of the wrecked door, into the hallway. His snake must have triggered a trap. He sent another. That one returned. Nothing left but dead meat and metal, or so the viper reported. And another door, leading somewhere dark and cold. Whoever had been in that storage room had fled, Voldemort knew. He still sent a poisonous mist into the room, just in case, and let it stew for a few minutes, before ending the spell and heading inside himself.

The explosion had devastated the room, but it didn’t look like much had been left inside. And the door led to a tunnel, straight to the muggle sewers, he guessed. “Milord?”

“They’ve escaped.” He turned to the two beasts. “But not for long. They’ll be heading to Hogwarts, the last stronghold of the Ministry. It’ll fall to us as well.”

He had an orb left, which would be enough to crash the wards of the school. But if Dumbledore was still alive, and not wounded - and he had a phoenix, so odds were he was either dead, or as good as new - then Voldemort needed something… something to give him an edge.

Steinberg.

He turned to the next Death Eater. “Call all of us but the ones bottling up the Department of Mysteries to the atrium. I’ll be there shortly.”

Today, Hogwarts would fall, and along with it, the last of his enemies. Tomorrow would be the first day of a new era!

*****​

Hermione Granger fought to clear her mind of anything but the ritual. To push the dark thoughts out of her mind. The young witch shivered. The room was growing colder by the minute, it seemed, and her robes could only do so much. She glanced at the monster in the cage, in the center of the first pentagram. The sacrifice. It was pulling on the bars, to no avail. She briefly wondered if it knew what was going to happen to it. No one had ever done this, not to her knowledge at least.

The body of Yennington was in the other pentagram. Linked to this one through an intricate master rune. ‘Body’ wasn’t right - he was still alive. But he wouldn’t ever wake up again. And if she succeeded - when she succeeded - he’d be dead, his dark mark destroyed, with every other marked Death Eater, and Voldemort.

Could she do this? Could she withstand the Dementor’s aura long enough to complete the ritual? And could she kill an unknown but large number of people, to destroy Voldemort?

It was for Harry. She thought of him, smiling, finally free of his nemesis, and started to light the candles in the points of each pentagram.

She could do this

She would do this.

She would destroy Voldemort. Whatever the cost.


Chapter 59: Their Finest Hour

 

Chapter 59: Their Finest Hour

No one liked her. Everyone hated her. The ugly mudblood with the buckteeth and the frizzy, bushy hair, who had no manners and no taste. She had no friends, and wouldn’t have any friends, ever. Even the other mudbloods hated her. Even her own house, supposedly her family, hated her. She was hiding in a bathroom, crying, all alone. Then the monster entered. Mountain troll. Over 10 feet tall. A wizard-killer. Man-eater. Strong, but dumb. Its hide was resistant to spells, though not as much as a dragon’s. To subdue it, indirect means were advised - summoned or transfigured creatures. Alternatively, it could be killed by banishing sharp objects at it. It could be poisoned as well, though she’d need a strong poison, and lots of it. It would be easier to suffocate it by covering its head with a lump of impervious mud. That would blind it as well.

Hermione Granger glared at the caged Dementor. “That’s not one of my worst memories. That’s the day I made my two best friends! I treasure that day!”

The witch took a deep breath, and focused on her Occlumency. Her mind was behind a wall. An impenetrable, indestructible wall. Nothing and no one could penetrate it. Any attack would be absorbed, its energy used to strengthen the wall. Her mind was a behind a shield. A force shield. Impenetrable. She knew it was working - she hadn’t known all that detail about trolls, back then.

Then she focused on her task again. She had to place all the candles precisely on the correct spots in the two entwined pentagrams. A mistake would be fatal once she began the ritual. She renewed the Warming Charms on her and Yennington, who was lying in the other pentagram, still dead to the world. He would die without waking up. Die, and lose his soul, most likely, she knew. Shaking her head, she cleared her mind again. She had to do this. For Harry.

*****​

“Steinberg!”

The Dark Lord Voldemort strode into the laboratory beneath his headquarters, robes billowing. Bellatrix was at his side, a smile on her face and her wand in hand.

“Milord!” The wandmaker bowed - more deeply than usual. News of the Dark Lord’s triumph at the Ministry travelled fast.

“I require all the wands you have completed.”

“Of course, milord.”

The wandmaker flicked his wand, and dozens of cases flew towards him. He didn’t mention that none of them were safe for the user. He didn’t have to - Voldemort was well-aware of that fact. But with Dumbledore having escaped the battle at the Ministry, no doubt gathering the remains of the Ministry’s forces as well as whatever wands he had in his Order, the Dark Lord would have to deal with his oldest foe himself, and his followers would need help to prevail against their enemies.

He counted the wands. Three dozens. Narrowing his eyes, he looked at Steinberg.

“Their wielders will last for the entire battle, and beyond,” the German said.

They would have to do. The beasts would get the most of them. The werewolves were disposable anyway. A select number of his human followers would receive the rest. It was a pity that a few of his best would have to be among them, but otherwise, some might suspect what would happen to them.

“Master…”

He glanced at Bellatrix, who was staring at the ebony case containing Steinberg’s latest wand. Taking a sharp breath, he shook his head. “No.”

“Master, please. Just in case. I would rather die than see you fail,” she pleaded.

“I will not fail, Bella,” he growled. “And you will not touch that wand.”

She lowered her head and looked away, and he nodded, satisfied. His love was not disposable. A flick of his own wand shrunk the cases, another deposited them in his enchanted pocket. An instant later, he apparated to the Ministry.

*****​

“That won’t stop the Dark Lord.”

Aberforth’s gruff voice sounded next to Albus Dumbledore just as he finished transfiguring another patch of the open fields around the castle into a maze. While Pomona started seeding it with a few choice examples of her restricted greenhouse, the Headmaster turned towards his brother.

“It doesn’t have to stop him. It just has to stall him. His doom is approaching quickly,” Albus said. He had said that often during the last hour. Those who trusted him took heart from his conviction.

Aberforth wasn’t among them. He scoffed. “You keep saying that we just have to stall him. And yet, what are you doing out here then?”

“I will do my part, of course.” Albus said, as sincerely as he could.

“Here? And not in whatever ritual you have set in motion to kill the Dark Lord?” Aberforth glared at him.

“My wand will be more useful in the battle. I have utmost trust that the ritual will succeed,” Albus said. His brother had divined what was happening - or part of it, at least.

“So, you’re about to sacrifice yourself, drawing the attention of the Dark Lord despite your condition?”

Albus kept smiling, though he didn’t feel like it. His brother knew him too well. “I do not plan to die, Aberforth.”

“Why aren’t you further back then? In your office, ready to direct the battle?”

“The Dark Lord will seek me out no matter where I stand. By choosing the battlefield, I gain the advantage.” It was true, if not completely.

Aberforth looked around, from the entrance to the Castle to the gates of Hogwarts. “And you’ve chosen this spot?”

“Voldemort has a flair for the dramatic. He’ll come to smash our gates, not to sneak inside.” Albus knew that. Unfortunately, thanks to his own ritual, the Dark Lord could afford such grand gestures.

His brother nodded. “A good spot.”

“Your friends will cover the approaches from the lake, and from the Forest. And in the air,” Albus pointed out. The main entrance would be held by the Aurors and Hit-Wizards. And the teachers as the second line.

“I know.”

Aberforth kept standing where he was. At Albus’s side.

Neither said anything more while they reinforced the defenses.

*****​

Sirius Black was staring down at the Forbidden Forest, sitting on his broom. Next to him, Valérie flew. He couldn’t see her, but he could hear the flapping of her wings, and feel the draft from them. They were all disillusioned. The wards of the school protected them, but Dumbledore didn’t think they would last.

“How much longer do you think they’ll take?” Valérie asked through the mirror stuck to his collar.

“They should have arrived already,” he answered. “The Dark Lord knows that the longer he waits, the stronger we grow.”

It was puzzling instead that Voldemort had waited so long that most of the surviving Aurors had arrived, as well as the mercenaries Aberforth had recruited. Either the Dark Lord had his sights set on another target - like the Department of Mysteries, whose vaults held things that should never see the light of day - or he wanted everyone to be gathered at Hogwarts, so he could crush them in one battle. It was a good thing though - the longer the Dark Lord was delayed, the bigger the chance that whatever Hermione was doing would be finished in time. To think that everything depended on one young muggleborn witch… he snorted. Most of the Wizengamot members would be aghast to hear this. If they were not dead already, that is. He still had some trouble accepting it himself.

“We’re ready though, or almost,” Valérie commented. “They’re laying traps now, and the children are all holed up.”

That wouldn’t save them should the Dark Lord win, but they would be reasonably safe. Apart from those who would fight themselves. The students were not supposed to, Sirius was aware of that, but that wouldn’t stop the older Gryffindors he knew. Or the Hufflepuffs.

“I see smoke!”

He turned his head. Smoke was rising from Hogsmeade. The Dark Lord’s forces must have arrived. They’d soon be upon Hogwarts.

*****​

She was shaking, pressing her fist against her mouth to keep from screaming. She was about to become Malfoy’s slave in all but name. Magically bound to him, magically controlled. Bile rose in her throat and she fought not to vomit. She couldn’t run. The Aurors would find her. They would take her from her family, make her parents think she had died. There was no escape. But at the same time she owed Harry her life, and would be magically compelled to sacrifice herself for him, if needed. Between those two magical compulsions, she’d be torn apart. A slave to two masters who hated each other! She couldn’t avoid becoming a slave, but she could at least pick her master. Harry was a nice boy. He’d not abuse his power. She would be his retainer, not his slave. His friend, even. She could do this.

Hermione Granger shivered while she kept chanting the words she had chosen months ago, and refined countless times since. That day had been the day she had taken her fate in her own hand. Had decided for herself who she would serve, and forced everyone to accept that. It wasn’t a bad day at all.

She focused her mind again. She couldn’t afford to slip now, not in the middle of the ritual. The monster in the cage was throwing itself at the bars, probably hissing under its cloak, if not for the Silencing Spell she had cast on it. The lit candles on the points of the pentagrams didn’t move, only their flames flickered softly, casting an eerie glow on the whole scene.

She finished the first chant, and the candles flared, changing colours. Violet light filled the room.

*****​

Ejnar Borge kept waving his new wand around, just to feel the rush of power it gave him. It felt better than when he had received his first wand, as a child. Next to him, Afi did the same as the two werewolves advanced through the forest. Behind them, two dozen more wolves followed, half of them armed with those marvelous wands. Ahead lay Hogwarts, the last stronghold of Wizarding Britain.

Once the Dark Lord had destroyed its wards, the school would be ripe for the picking. Ejnar shivered with anticipation. The carnage they’d inflict on the defenders! The walls would be dripping with blood! His wand grew warmer in his hand, as if it too was eager to kill, to curse, to see their enemies slaughtered as they had slaughtered so many wolves.

Ejnar licked his lips. Remus Lupin, an infamous hunter, would be in the school. He was teaching his hatred and bigotry to the students there, until they gladly murdered wolves. The Scandinavian berserker felt the familiar rage well up in him at the thought of facing that monster, and fought to keep his wits. If he lost his mind while the wards were still up…

*****​

“You know… all the other Aurors are with the Headmaster at the Gate,” Kenneth Fenbrick said, looking around. “And the Hit-Wizards too,” he added as an afterthought.

“Aberforth is there as well.” Bertha Limmington nodded.

“And he told us to stick with the mercenaries here,” Mathilda cut in. The robe the courtesan and spy was wearing covered more than anything else Kenneth had ever seen her in.

Kenneth scoffed. “I’m just saying…“

“You’re honorary riff-raff,” Mathilda said, snickering. “That’s why you’re here.”

She was wrong, of course. Aberforth had placed them there, with the mercenaries led by Iva, because he expected the Dark Lord to attack the gates. Everyone who knew the old wizard knew that.

Kenneth wanted to head there as well. He was a Gryffindor, and an Auror. His surviving comrades were there, and would be facing the Dark Lord’s worst. But if he went, Bertha would follow him, orders or no orders.

“Someone has to guard the other approaches, you know,” Mathilda said. “The Dark Lord’s cunning, and will send at least some forces this way. Iva knows that as well,” she added, with a nod towards the young mercenary leader, who was on a broom, directing her wands into positions behind transfigured walls.

“We’re also the reserves,” Bertha said. “They’ll call on us once we’re needed.”

Kenneth sighed. He knew all that. He still felt like he was cowardly abandoning his duty. He looked over the Black Lake. The merfolk would keep anyone from coming through it, but nothing would prevent attackers from going around it. Suddenly, he felt arms wrap around him from behind. He stiffened, then realised it was Bertha. She didn’t say anything, just held him.

“Heads up!” Iva shouted. “They saw smoke in the village. Expect an attack any minute now!”

Bertha released him, to take up her own position. Kenneth grabbed her hand and pulled her into his arms, for a quick, desperate kiss.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you two too! Now get into cover!” Mathilda scolded them, but she was smiling.

*****​

“Shut up!” She shut up. Closed her mouth, compelled against her will to obey. To obey him. She stared at him, shocked, hurt. He had ordered her, and magic made her obey. Tears ran down her cheek, but she didn’t make a sound. She couldn’t do anything but follow his order. Like a slave. He stared at her, shocked himself, as he realised what he had done, and she felt guilty for causing him pain. She knew he regretted it. Hadn’t really meant it, or not like that. And he’d never do it again. Never.

Hermione Granger drew a hissing breath while she waved her wand and directed ten pinches of powdered Deep Sea Pearls towards the burning candles. She wasn’t helpless, she was no slave. She was a powerful, skilled witch doing what she wanted. No one forced her to do this, not magic, not Harry. She had chosen this. And she would not fail.

The powder touched the candles, and the flames burned brighter, Indigo replacing the violet. Another step completed.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort looked at the gates of Hogwarts. He could see the wards, as if they were glowing, their intricately woven strands visible to his sight. They shone with power, interlaced and layered. The strongest wards in Britain since the days of Camelot, they had withstood every attack in centuries. Until today. He took out his last orb. The runes were glowing, and he could almost feel the shell weakening. But it would hold a bit longer, and that was all he needed. He let the power trickle into him, slowly, carefully. Enough to make him want more, not enough to make him lose control. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and he felt the air grow cooler. The wands standing behind him, having come up from the burning Hogsmeade, muttered. He smiled, and looked up. Shadows floated above him. The Ravenous Cold had arrived.

Laughing, he let the orb’s power flow into him, fill him until he felt as if he was about to burst into flames. Then, and only then, he unleashed the power.

Curse-Breakers carefully probed for weaknesses when dealing with wards, to find the spots that would allow them to unravel the wards without triggering them. It was a delicate, dangerous task. He wasn’t a Curse-Breaker. He was the Dark Lord Voldemort, and he didn’t sneak around obstacles, he crushed them!

*****​

Harry Potter was staring out the window in the Headmaster’s office. He could see the smoke rising from Hogsmeade. There was a lot of it - the entire village had to be burning. Anyone there who had not fled to the castle was likely dead. Harry ground his teeth. More people were dying while he was hiding here.

He took a deep breath. He wasn’t hiding, he was guarding Hermione. Who was performing a ritual with a Dementor to kill Voldemort. To destroy the Dark Lord’s soul. To save Harry. She must be suffering right now, so close to a Dementor, and he was safe here. Outside, people would soon…

The castle suddenly shook violently, throwing him against the wall. Behind him, Ron and Neville cried out when they fell from their seats to the ground.

“Shite! He crushed the wards!” Ron yelled.

Harry pressed his face against the window. The Dark Lord’s mark floated above the castle. The attack would start now. People would fight, and die. Somewhere out there, Sirius was, guarding the sky above the castle, with his lovers. Harry ground his teeth in frustration. He couldn’t even spot his godfather, not while he was disillusioned.

But he could see others in the air. Figures in tattered cloaks, flying towards the school. Without brooms. Dementors!

He gasped. Sirius wouldn’t be able to … those monsters had tortured Harry’s godfather for a decade, and it had taken him almost two years to recover enough to… if he… Harry shook his head. He couldn’t watch while those creatures killed his family.

“Mate! What are you doing?” Ron yelled.

Harry wasn’t listening. He pulled out his broom and his Cloak of Invisibility.

“Mate!” A hand grabbed him when he was about to open the window. Ron. “Don’t be foolish! The Headmaster said to guard the office. Hermione!”

For a second, Harry was torn. He couldn’t leave Hermione unprotected. Everything depended on her. But… “Ron! Neville! There are Dementors! I have to help! You two guard her!”

“Harry!”

He shook his head. The Dementors were almost at the castle. If they were not stopped, their aura would affect the defenders. From the gates, a glowing phoenix and goat were rising in the air, driving a few of the creatures away, but more, far more, had the castle encircled. He had to drive them away to protect Hermione as well. She was in a vault anyway.

He pulled the window open, straddled his broom and slipped his cloak on.

“Harry!” Ron yelled, but his friend had taken a step back.

“Thank you,” Harry said. Then he shot out of the window, wand drawn, and rose above the castle.

“Expecto Patronum!

*****​

Sirius Black would have fallen to his death, if not for the Sticking Charm on his broom. Dementors! He was back in his cell. No, in Godric’s Hollow, finding James and Lily dead. No, at Hogwarts, seeing Harry burn. No, in Bulgaria, seeing Fiendfyre advance towards them. No, above the Hogwarts Express, where Harry was dying and Valérie was falling, cursed…

“Nooo!” he screamed, shaking and shivering. He had to get away, had to flee, had to save them… the cold was killing him. He heard voices calling out to him, but ignored them. They were memories, nightmares. He saw the dark mark, impossibly large, float above him.

Suddenly, warmth filled him, and bright light bathed him, warmer than sunlight in the Caribbean. He stared as a glowing, flying stag tore through the sky, driving a dozen Dementors away before turning around and shooting at the next group of those monsters.

“Prongs…” he whispered, for a moment thinking that his best friend had returned from death to save him. Then he remembered.

“Harry!”

He whirled around, saw the open window in the tower he had left earlier.

“Harry! Go back!”

His foolish godson had left the safety of the Headmaster’s office to save him!

“Harry! Go back at once!”

“Expecto Patronum!”

Another glowing stag appeared, a bit away, charging more Dementors. His brave, foolish godson was clever enough to hide himself, at least.

“Get back inside!” he yelled, despite knowing the boy would ignore it.

And yet, even as he cursed him, he was proud of him.

“Sirius!”

Valérie. Shame filled him. She had been calling his name for minutes, he realised.

“I’m alright,” he answered. He could hear her sigh with relief, then curse him in French as another stag drove the last Dementors away. They didn’t seem keen on regrouping either.

“Looks like we’ve weathered this wave,” he said into the mirror. “Let’s see if we can give the ground some support!”

Four screeching battle cries answered him.

*****​

He had chosen her as his stake in the tournament. As if she was a piece of property, like a broom or a necklace. Valuable, but not irreplaceable. He had betrayed her trust. Humiliated her. Everyone knew just how much gold she was worth now. People sneered at her. He might ransom her back, should he lose, if he could spare the galleons. If he even wanted her back, after the winner had taken their turn with her. He had a lot of girls to choose from, after all. Girls who were much prettier than her. Pureblood girls he could marry. Could have children with. Who needed an ugly mudblood anyway? Why should he care about her if he was in danger himself? Even if she could help him. Could save him. Would save him. Would invent new spells, if needed. Would do anything for him.

Hermione’s mind was a wall, impenetrable. She clung to that while she walked around the pentagrams in a figure eight and wove complicated patterns into the air with her wand. Its tip trailed blue sparks as she traced runes of protection, runes of purification and sigils of retribution around her. With each movement of her wand, the candles burned brighter, and the Indigo light shifted a bit more into Blue.

Another step complete.

*****​

His Banishing Charm had torn into the gates, tearing them off their hinges and throwing them away. With the wards down, the path to the castle was clear. Above him, the Dementors swept the skies clear of defenders, and would soon descend on the castle itself and weaken the enemy’s morale while feasting on stragglers and those who broke and tried to flee. Not even the patronus of Dumbledore himself would save them. He had blocked Apparition and Portkeys, and the Floo Network was down. No one would escape.

“Master! The Dementors!” Bellatrix gasped.

He looked up, and cursed. His Dementors were fleeing, driven away by a glowing, flying stag. Who would… he caught a glimpse of the open window of the Headmaster’s office. Potter! That was where the boy was! Dumbledore had placed him in the most protected room in the castle. Even with the wards down, it would be hard to break into it.

His first impulse was to fly up and kill the brat. But the prophecy...

Fireballs and curses started to rain down on them. His and Bella’s Shield Charms easily withstood them, though a few of the wolves with him, who had charged ahead, were not quite as skilled. He saw two of them burn screaming. The sky was clear though - disillusioned flyers. Veela.

Snarling, he waved his wand, and from the earth rose flocks of harpies. Dozens of them screeched as they took to the sky. He raised his wand, let the power from the orb fill him once more, and cast a anti-disillusion jinx on the castle and the sky above it. At once, broom riders and Veela appeared.

He sent a curse at one of the closer broom riders. The wizard’s Shield Charm and robe protections failed to stop his curse, and the man started to cough his lungs out. Stuck on his broom, he slowly rolled over and veered off, crashing into the Black Lake. Around the Dark Lord, his wands and wolves followed his example, and curses flashed into the sky, some of them hitting his transfigured harpies.

“Leave the sky to the beasts! Charge the castle! Victory is in our grasp!” he yelled, and the wolves and wands stormed towards the main entrance. He turned to Bellatrix, who had stuck with him, as expected.

“Bella!” he said, “Potter is in the Headmaster’s office. Take your broom, fly up there, and kill him!”

“Yes, Master!”

*****​

“Here they come!” an Auror standing on the ramparts next to Aberforth Dumbledore shouted. The old wizard heard muttered curses, and even a few prayers.

“It’s just Death Eaters, same scum we fought so often before!” he yelled. Maybe that would stiffen their spines.

Albus snorted, but did not comment. From the broken gates, dozens of wizards and witches charged towards them. The spells and fireballs from the flyers hadn’t slowed them down, and now the flyers were busy fending off harpies and whatever else the Dark Lord had sent up.

The first rank of the Death Eaters - probably eager werewolves - reached the maze, but before they could enter it, and get torn up by the defenses placed there, an entire section of the obstacles and walls was flattened, and the charging attackers had a clear path to the entrance. Clear but for the defender’s spells.

“Will the walls resist that kind of power?” Aberforth asked while Aurors and Hit-Wizards sent spells of all kinds at the attackers. Most went wide: the range was still long.

“They should,” Albus answered. “They have been strengthened by magic for centuries. A necessity, given the destructive tendencies of some students.”

Aberforth snorted. The Headmaster waved his wand, and the spot behind the gate filled with stone. That told him that the gates wouldn’t stand up to an attack.

“Two can play this game,” Albus said, pointing his wand at the ground.

Aberforth’s brother had been the Transfiguration Master before he had become the Headmaster, and he hadn’t lost his skill. The earth which had just been flattened by Voldemort’s spell sprouted holes. Many small ones. The attackers stumbled, some crying out when their legs got caught in such a hole. Literally caught, Aberforth realised when they started screaming and blood spurted from severed arteries.

Another spell from the Dark Lord flattened the area again, including some of the caught attackers. Aberforth tried to transfigure part of the area into a lion, but his spell failed.

“Is he?”

Albus nodded. “He’s keeping the area transfigured. He won’t be able to hold on to it indefinitely, of course.”

“That’s what you wanted.” His brother still kept too much to himself.

The area suddenly rose, turning into a wide ramp that reached the top of the ramparts.

“Well, not exactly that,” Albus said, dryly, when the screaming Death Eaters and werewolves charged up, their wands spewing curses.

Aberforth side-stepped a green curse. A bit away, a Hit-Wizard’s head blew up from a Reductor curse. An Auror stumbled around, his face gone. Not cut off, simply gone, replaced by raw flesh. He clawed at his throat, trying to breathe. They shouldn’t have been hit like this, that early into a battle. Shields and protective Enchantments seemed to fall far too quickly, Aberforth noticed.

His own Cutting Curse only hit an attacker after he had taken down the man’s shield Charm with a Piercing Curse, and his robe’s enchantments with a Blasting Curse. Once it hit though, the spell removed the legs of the man. The wizard, likely a werewolf, dropped to the ground and started to roll down the ramp, trailing blood. Another wizard trampled the screaming man into the ground in his eagerness to reach the defenders.

Now the barrage from the defenders started to take its toll as Shields failed and enchantments were spent. Reductor Curses blew limbs away, Cutting Curses left men and women bleeding out, Bludgeoning Curses smashed bones and skulls, and yet the Death Eaters came on. And their own barrage of spells was more effective than Aberforth had expected. Half a dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards were killed with Dark Curses, some of them he didn’t even recognise. Sectumsempra though he knew, and managed to save the Auror who had been hit near him with a counter-curse before the witch was hurt too much.

“Take a step back!” Albus yelled.

Aberforth obeyed without hesitation. If his brother yelled like that, you did what he said. The front of the ramparts suddenly liquefied, and flowed down the ramp. Yells followed, and Aberforth could see most of the attackers sliding down the ramp, unable to find purchase to hold their position. Those few who managed fell to multiple curses.

Once most of the first wave of attackers were at the bottom of the ramp, Albus waved his wand and they started screaming and coughing blood. Alchemy at work. Bloody work. And tiring - Aberforth saw that his brother was panting and sweating.

The defenders on the ramparts cheered. Until the ramp turned into a dragon.

*****​

Fire engulfed her. Her clothes were burning, her hair was aflame. Her pitiful spells had failed to protect her. She had failed. She tried to push Harry away, to safety, but she set him ablaze instead, and he was screaming. It was all her fault. Her skin was blackening, turning to charcoal. Harry was still screaming. She was covered in burning liquid. Water drenched her, but that just made the flames grow even hotter! The steam boiled her lungs.

She had beaten that trap, Hermione knew. She had covered herself in earth and smothered the flames. Just as she would smother what life remained in Voldemort. She chanted the next stanza as her wand rose and fell, trailing water this time, the drops turning into small seeds, dropping down to line the pentagrams as the candles started to burn with Green light. She was shivering with cold now, her breath fogging, but she couldn’t cast a Warming Charm in the middle of the ritual. She had to endure it. Not much longer though.

*****​

Sirius Black cursed as he pulled on his broom, narrowly dodging the claws of another harpy. “James always said girls would be the death of me, one day,” he muttered as he blew the beast up with a Blasting Curse.

A bit away, Chantal was striking another of the creatures with her claws. She was bleeding from several scratches, but screeching triumphantly when her beak ripped out the harpy’s throat. Spells flew at her, but she dodged them.

Eugénie wasn’t quite as fortunate. A dozen of the beasts had swarmed her, and the Veela was screaming as her wings were shredded. Valérie and Laure were too far away to reach her before she would crash on the ground. Sirius dove after her, his shoulder smashing into a harpy. The ground seemed to be rushing at him as he reached for the tumbling, falling, screaming Veela. He grabbed her arm, slippery with blood, and yanked her to him while he tried to pull up with his broom.

He almost made it.

*****​

Ejnar roared while he, Afi and the other wolves charged over the open fields towards the castle. A few spells sped at them from the ramparts, but not enough to even slow them down. His own curses, much more powerful than he was used to, thanks to his wand, tore through their shields and left them dying, strangled by their own entrails. He laughed, drawing his blade as he closed in on the wall.

“Afi, take half of them and keep the wall free of enemies, the rest, climb with me!” he yelled, conjuring a rope and banishing one end towards the top.

A Sticking Charm later, he started to climb the wall. When he was halfway to the top, the roars and shouts behind and below him turned to screams. Turning his head, he saw some of Afi’s group running around, flailing. Others were on the ground, still. They were being attacked by spiders the size of cats! Afi was screaming, three of the monsters were climbing up his legs. His cousin stabbed at them with his dagger, but more were coming, leaping at him. Afi kept screaming, even after he had fallen to the ground, until he stopped moving.

Rage filled Ejnar. Afi had been the last of his warband. The last of his family. He snarled and started to climb faster He’d kill them all! Make them bleed! Rip out their entrails and feast on them!

The werewolf to his right screamed. Ejnar looked at him, and saw he had been shot by … he didn’t know what it was. But the wolf jerked, shook, and fell down. Poison, no doubt. Another reached the top of the wall, only to stumble back, clutching his eyes. His smoking, dissolving eyes, Ejnar realised.

He climbed as fast as he could while wolves left and right dropped - shot, cursed or poisoned. He was almost to the top when a man leaned over the rampart. He knew that man. Lupin! Ejnar drew his wand, but the hunter was faster - and cut his rope.

The wolf managed to cast a sticking charm on his left hand and stop his fall, even though it almost wrenched his arm out of his socket. Ignoring the pain, he looked up, aiming his wand. His shield would hold, and his curse would...

Something jerked him to the side, smashing him into the wall. He stared at the spear buried in his ribs in shock. How had…? Lifting his head, he saw a giant cocking a ballista.

Then the poison took effect and he didn’t see anything anymore.

*****​

“Tha’s the last one,” Rubeus said, scanning the Forbidden Forest. “Nasty bunch. Killed a number o’ tha hired wands.” He flicked his wand, and the remains of a cut rope ignited, then fell down to the ground.

Remus Lupin nodded. “If they had stayed down and kept casting dark curses, we’d have had much more trouble.” The attackers had made a tactical blunder he wouldn’t have expected of such skilled dark wizards.

“Werewolves tend to prefer melee combat, no matter how much of a disadvantage it puts them at,” Gilderoy added.

Neither Remus nor his colleague were looking at Jungle Jenny, who was cooing at one of the Spitting Cobras on the rampart. Or at the dead mercenaries around them. Fleur was flying the worst wounded to the Infirmary while Bill did what he could with those who had been cursed.

A roar, far louder than anything they had heard before, made them turn around just in time to see the rampart above the gate vanish in fire. Dragon fire.

“Tha’s a Hungarian Horntail!” Rubeus shouted. “But far ta large fer the breed!”

“Merlin!” Remus shouted. The dragon was towering above the wall!

“Transfigured. Has to be!” Jenny said. “See how it tries to fly and fails?”

Gilderoy nodded, pale and shaking. “But who would have thought anyone could create such a thing?”

“I’ve got a better question: How do we destroy it?” Bill asked.

*****​

Fiendfyre was alive. Monstrous beasts formed from fire and hatred struck all around her, devouring furniture and walls, turning tapestries and portraits and people to ashes in seconds. Any minute now would the expansion charms start to fail, and they would be crushed by the remains of too many rooms for too little space. Crushed, but not dead.Trapped, stuck helplessly in the debris while the fire burned its way towards them…

Hermione Granger was shivering, but from the unnatural cold, not the memory the monster had managed to drag past her Occlumency. She should have set up a heater, she thought. But it was too late. At least Yennington was still alive. And would be alive until the ritual ended. Death from exposure was not that fast. She took a deep breath, and made circular motions with her wand, each centred around a candle while she chanted in a language last spoken when Atlantis was sunk. Each candle treated like this changed its colour to a warm yellow. She felt less cold too, as she walked around the pentagrams, and noticed that her skin was tingling, and her hair was floating. She didn’t know what was happening; according to the formula, this should not be happening.

*****​

“Ron, we should close the window.”

Ron Weasley turned away from the window, back to Neville. “We can’t! Harry needs it to be open to come back.”

“He’s not coming back, or he’d have returned already! He’s out there, fighting!” Neville stood up. “Close the damn window before a flock of harpies enters!”

That was a good argument, Ron had to admit. He turned to close the window when something flew past him and the floor blew up. His robe’s protections shielded him from the sharp stone fragments, and he cast a Shield Charm without thinking about it.

Cackling laughter sounded from outside. Neville froze in the middle of rushing to the window.

“No…” Ron’s friend said, trembling.

Another spell entered through the window, and the desk of the Headmaster blew up. Neville was thrown into the wall, crying out as he hit it. Ron flicked his wand, just in time to close the window before a broom rider crashed into it. The window wasn’t even damaged from the impact - Dumbledore must have layered the strongest protections he could cast on it. Hopefully the rider had fallen to his death.

He hurried to Neville. His friend was dazed. And hurt, but alive. Ron cast a quick charm to close the bleeding wounds the splinters had left, then woke him up.

“Ugh… Bellatrix!” Neville shouted.

“What?” Ron blinked.

“That was Bellatrix Lestrange!”

Ron whipped his head around to stare at the window. If that had been Bellatrix, then she certainly wouldn’t be… a spell hit the window, interrupting his thoughts and confirming them at the same time. Another spell splashed against the window.

“She’s outside, on a broom,” Ron said.

Neville started for the window, wand drawn. Ron held him back. “Stop! Are you daft?”

“But…”

“We’re safe here. She’s outside. She won’t be able to get through Dumbledore’s defenses. Sooner or later, she’ll be killed.” Hopefully sooner than later, he thought.

“But…” Neville started to say again.

Another spell was stopped by the window. It didn’t look as if it had taken any damage so far.

“You may be right,” Neville said, slowly.

Ron nodded. “I am. Let’s just ….”

The next spell left cracks in the window.

*****​

Tom couldn’t keep this up, Albus Dumbledore thought. The Dark Lord had taken down the wards of Hogwarts, a feat unmatched in history. He had placed an Anti-Disillusion and Anti-Apparition as well as an Anti-Portkey Jinx on the entirety of Hogwarts. And now he had transfigured the ramp into an oversized dragon.

Tom couldn’t keep this up forever. But Albus was starting to doubt that he could keep up long enough with the Dark Lord. He was still hurting and worn from the fight at the Ministry, and he was rapidly exhausting himself in this battle.

Aberforth’s Shield Charm had protected him, just as Albus had been left untouched by the dragonfire thanks to his own shield. Not many of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards had been as lucky or skilled though. Most of those who had fought at the side of Albus were dead - burned to cinders. And the dragon would repeat this with each section of the ramparts, decimating the defenders.

Dragons were highly resistant to magic. Alchemy could hurt them, but a dragon this size? Too big to fly, even? There was no choice. Albus took a deep breath, activated the enchantment in his glasses, and started to undo the transfiguration. He barely noticed Aberforth stepping up in front of him with his shield up, or a broom rider of great skill trying to distract the monster. All he could focus on was the undoing of the spell that kept the thing alive. The power Tom had poured into this beggared belief. If Tom had been as skilled as Albus at transfiguration, it would have been hopeless. As it was, the Dark lord had been somewhat sloppy. And Albus had the wand he had taken from Gellert, so long ago. It gave him the edge he needed

A few seconds later, the dragon collapsed, turning back into earth and rocks. Albus felt like following its example. He was swaying on his feet, and had to steady himself against the wall. But Tom was still there. He had to face him.

“Rest for a bit, Albus. I’ll take him on.”

Albus shook his head, but Aberforth had stepped away already.

*****​

Harry Potter had noticed that he had been the only one still invisible in the air when the harpies seemed to ignore him. He had taken advantage of that surprising fact to cull their numbers, but there had been so many… and the dragon’s appearance… he had been too slow, too late.

He saw Eugénie fall, saw his godfather race after her, and saw the two crash into the ground before he could even get close. Screaming with rage and fear, he sent a Blasting Curse into the midst of the flock that had been maiming the Veela, killing half of them and wounding the rest. Then he dove down to the ground, towards his godfather. He had to help Sirius!

He landed next to them, and saw they were moving. Sirius was alive! Wounded, bleeding, moaning, but alive! And so was Eugénie! But they were on the ground, outside Hogwarts, and enemies were already on the way! He wasn’t able to save both of them, and to take Sirius and leave Eugénie…

He ground his teeth, then sent a Bludgeoning Curse at the closest enemy, shattering the man’s shield and pushing him back. As he had been trained, he followed up with two quick curses, to take care of the robe’s protections, and another bludgeoning curse, which crushed the man’s chest.

He saw a broom dive towards him, and almost cursed the man, before he recognised him.

“Viktor!”

“Harry? How are you still disillusioned? I tried myself without success.”

“Cloak. Take Eugénie, I’ll take Sirius!” Harry shouted, casting a few Blasting Curses to keep the rest of the attackers at a distance before transfiguring the ground into walls to shield them.

“Alright,” his friend answered, bending down to grab the Veela’s arm. She was bleeding, and unconscious.

Harry levitated Sirius and was about to stick him to the broom when all the walls were levelled at once.

*****​

He had a piece of his worst enemy inside his scar, and as long as he was alive, his enemy couldn’t be killed. She was shaking her head and whispering “No. No. No!”, grabbing his hand. He was a Horcrux. He was doomed. He would have to die, and he would want to die, to save her. She would be responsible…

Hermione Granger ignored the tears running down her cheeks. Harry wasn’t a Horcrux. It wasn’t her fault. She was saving him, right here and now! That monster in the cage was powerless! she told herself.

“Diffindo!”

She cut her own palm, and stuck the tip of her wand into the wound, covering the wood with blood. Using her own blood, she drew a circle around the cage, then around the comatose Death Eater. Then she walked around the pentagrams again, letting a drop of blood fall into each candle. The light turned Orange, and the temperature grew warmer again - it was still a tad cold, but no one would die from exposure now.

Another step complete.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort gasped when he saw his Bellatrix crash into the window. The dark witch recovered quickly, and started to attack the window, to his relief. She would take some time breaking through the defenses, though.

Then his dragon fell. Dispelled, by Dumbledore - he was the only one who had the skill for such a feat. He wanted to recreate the monster, but he couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t leave his wands and wolves without his protection. And he needed more harpies, they were almost wiped out.

Voldemort send a cloud of acid up the wall, to keep the defenders there busy, flattened another section of the defenses and turned the carnivorous plants there into soil. He saw one broom crash a bit away, but didn’t pay attention until suddenly, walls appeared around the crash site.

A quick glance confirmed that the acid cloud was diminishing - Dumbledore was busy still. A wave of his wand flattened the walls, exposing a broom rider trying to rescue the crashed one. He was about to kill him when a loud explosion drew his attention. Bellatrix had blown a hole into the tower!

Pride filled him, then confusion. How had his Bella managed that so fast? Voldemort would have had trouble with Dumbledore’s defenses… he gasped. He had told her she couldn’t take one of Steinberg’s wand! Had that witch gone against his orders?

The spell that shattered his shield took him by surprise. He jumped to the side, dodging another spell, and cast another Shield Charm. Who…? There! Dumbledore’s brother! Snarling, he pushed all thoughts of Bellatrix away. He couldn’t afford to worry about her when fighting that kind of enemy.

*****​

A dozen spells - dark curses - flew at Harry Potter and Viktor. He let Sirius drop to the ground and erected another wall, which was blown up by the spells.

“Go!” he yelled at Viktor, raising yet another wall. While that one crumbled, he cast a sticking charm on his broom and touched it to Sirius. He was about to straddle his broom when the wall fell. More curses flew at him at once, and he shot straight up, the closest curse passing right under Sirius’ body. Harpies attacked him - there were more of them around than before, he noticed. He blew the closest away with a Reductor Curse, then high-tailed it to the Infirmary. A few of the beasts tried to give chase, but a group of flying mercenaries cut them off and destroyed them.

Before he reached the Infirmary though, he saw part of the tower where Dumbledore’s office was explode. Ron and Neville! And after them, Hermione! He dove down to courtyard, coming to a halt next to Professor McGonagall. “Professor! He needs help!” he yelled, removing the Sticking Charm. Sirius had barely touched the ground before Harry was in the air again.

*****​

Ron and Neville had almost reached Dumbledore’s private quarters when most of the outer wall was blown away and they heard cackling, mad laughter. Their shields held though, and a few steps later they were gone from the office, Fawkes hopping after them.

“Potter? Where’s the Boy-Who-Lived?” The cruel voice made Ron shiver, but Neville cry - from fear or frustration, he couldn’t tell.

“He’s not here!” Ron yelled, looking for cover in Dumbledore’s flat. Which looked like the inside of an expanded bag, or how Hermione had described it. He jumped behind a floating statue of a centaur maiden while Neville chose an armoire. “Once we see her, Bludgeoning Curse!” Ron whispered.

They didn’t have to wait long. A few seconds afterwards, the Dark Witch appeared in the doorway. Their two curses hit her and blew her back, but her shield had held.

“You’ll pay for that!” The dark witch shouted, and sent more curses into the room. They flew by harmlessly though, and vanished in the expanded room filled with floating objects.

Ron licked his lips as he waited. There were so many possible curses the dark witch could use… “Piercing Curse next time, and keep casting,” he whispered.

Neville nodded.

Another explosion shook the room, and Ron froze when he heard Bellatrix’s delighted yell: “There you are, Potter!”

Harry had returned.

*****​

She was useless. Raising wall after wall, exhausting herself, just to see her work destroyed instead of killing her enemy. Around her, students, children were being slaughtered in the wreck of the train cars, and all she could do, was trying to do, was protecting her few friends. They were at least fighting, but she? She was not doing anything. She was just watching, hiding while others fought and died. Even Parkinson was doing more than she was doing! She was a coward, unfit to be a Gryffindor, or a friend.

Without her, her friends would have died, Hermione Granger told herself while she moved towards the caged Dementor. Each step she took caused the cage to shrink a bit, until the monster couldn’t move at all anymore. Up close, the cold was terrible, and she was shaking again while she aimed her blood-covered wand at it and started to move it carefully around in a complex pattern, far beyond any spell she had cast so far. The captured monster was trembling, shaking, struggling, but ultimately helpless.

She finished the pattern and spoke one single word, then reached out and touched the Dementor’s chest through the bars. The blood vanished with a sizzling noise, the the orange glow from the candles turned blood red, and the Dementor stiffened, then collapsed, turning to ashes under its cloak. The sudden absence of the Dementor’s aura almost made her cry with relief as she gathered the ashes in a small bowl.

One step was left.

*****​

Aberforth saw that his spell had failed to take out the Dark Lord, and threw himself off the rampart, into the courtyard, seconds before the entire length of that section exploded. The shockwave pushed him away, but didn’t break his shield, and he managed to use a spell to cushion his fall, but he still was battered and bruised. Groaning, he stood up again.

In front of him, the remains of the walls parted, and Voldemort strode through, followed by his Death Eaters and werewolves. Aberforth send a Blasting Curse at the ground in front of the Dark Lord. It wouldn’t hurt him, but it might push his minions back.

The Dark Lord sneered, his shield unaffected. Aberforth conjured slabs of marble, just in time to absorb the Killing Curse while falling back. He needed real cover. Inside the castle.

A wounded Auror started casting at the Dark Lord from the side, but Voldemort’s shield never wavered, and a flick of the wand later, the Auror was dead. Another spell turned half the courtyard into a field of spikes glistening with green poison. Aberforth just barely avoided it. Stumbling back, he dodged another spell while the last of his stone slabs was destroyed.

Still no sign of Albus. Or whatever ritual he had started.

The Dark Lord laughed, and raised his wand again.

*****​

Harry Potter had spotted Bellatrix in the middle of the ruined office and had sent a curse at her right away. The explosion had thrown her to the ground, and he had heard her shriek. He couldn’t see Ron or Neville though. He flew inside and landed. Bellatrix was lying in a pool of her own blood. So much blood, some splinter had to have caught an artery.

“Ron! Neville!”

“Harry?”

Before he could answer, the corpse on the floor moved. He whipped his wand around, but was too slow.

“Crucio!”

He felt as if thousand red-hot needles stabbed into his most sensitive body parts. He was screaming while she cackled something about ‘Summon blood’. He barely noticed Ron and Neville emerging from the Headmaster’s quarters, wands flashing with spells that were harmlessly stopped by the witch’s shield. She was cackling, laughing, while he writhed in pain, unable to move, or do anything but scream.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort was about to finish off Dumbledore’s brother when half a dozen spells came at him from the side. Once again he had left himself wide open, he berated himself while he rolled over the cobblestone floor. He had grown used to Bellatrix being at his side. A few quickly conjured stone walls, he was standing up again, and facing what looked like half the staff of the school, and Mad-Eye Moody and what was left of the Auror Corps.

Their numbers didn’t matter. They couldn’t defeat him. Dumbledore was the only one who might have had a chance, before the ritual. And he wasn’t alone.

“Slaughter them!” He yelled, and his Death Eaters and wolves surged forward. The first rank didn’t get far though, but vanished when the ground abruptly opened in front of them - too close for them to stop. Half a dozen vanished in the ground, which closed up at once. The rest ended up in a crossfire. He knew who had done this. Dumbledore. Looking around, he spotted the old wizard on a balcony overlooking the courtyard.

He grinned and was about to blast the thing to pieces, when he suddenly felt pain. Had he been hit? No, he was feeling someone else’s pain. Someone under the Cruciatus! How was this possible?

He caught a few glimpses. Enough to recognise Bellatrix. Potter! He had a link to Potter!

*****​

Hermione Granger carefully mixed the ashes from the Dementor with the phoenix ashes the Headmaster had given to her, and her own blood. She was feeling a bit light-headed now, but she had a duty to fulfill. Her skin was still tingling, and her hair was still floating, though not hindering her.

Stepping up to the comatose body of Yennington, she started to paint a rune around his exposed Dark Mark using the concoction she had just completed. With each stroke of her work, one candle went out. With the last stroke, she was left in darkness. Then the rune on Yennington started to glow, followed by the entire pentagram. Only one thing was left.

She sat down next to the Death Eater, and closed her eyes.

Visualise the part as the whole, then that as the sum of its parts.

She could imagine the soul, whole even if apart. A dark soul, an ugly soul, stained and dripping with blood. Like her hands, right now.

See the bonds that hold the whole together. The force that forms the whole.

She saw it. She could feel it, could almost touch it. The part of his soul inside Yennington.

And destroy it.

She raised her wand, the tip dripping with her concoction. She touched the Dark Mark, and spoke the last word of her ritual.

“Nex.”


Chapter 60: Resolution