A Brisk Couple of Days

A Brisk Couple of Days

Part 3: Descent into Madness

Rather surprisingly, after the day I had had, I slept better that night than I had since the trouble had started at Hogwarts earlier that year. But then, I had been able to take a more active role in the days' events. Action, even violent and dangerous action, is often better for one than brooding and worry.

I was fortunate to have slept so well, as the following day was eventful in the extreme.

Dumbledore woke to the smell of frying bacon and the sound of quiet conversation. He got out of bed and slipped on a dressing gown, then followed his nose and ears to the kitchen.

Anthea was standing by the stove, wearing a silky kimono over her nightdress and deftly managing a frying pan while saying to Logan, who was sitting at the small table, "There's only dried egg, though. I'd give anything for a few fresh eggs to go with this bacon. She turned to Dumbledore, asking, "Morning, Albus. How did you sleep, dear?"

"I lay in the bed and closed my eyes - the rest came naturally," said Dumbledore with a smile. He was pleased to see that what had passed between them last night seemed not to have affected Anthea's attitude toward him.

She laughed now. "Oh, you're a caution! Help yourself to tea. I was just saying to Logan what a pity it is we've no fresh eggs."

Dumbledore looked at his Canadian friend. Logan was also wearing a dressing gown and was sitting at the table with a mug of tea in front of him. It was hard to imagine that a few hours ago, the man had been riddled with bullet holes.

"Good morning Logan, you're looking remarkably chipper," he said.

Logan shrugged. "Guess I'm just too ornery to stay down."

Dumbledore poured himself a mug of tea and took the opportunity to examine his friend more closely. Logan seemed in perfect health, but there was weariness about his eyes still. Well, thought Dumbledore, anyone else would have been dead, so no wonder. Aloud, he remarked, "There's something to be said for tenacity." He turned to Anthea. "About the eggs, I think I can help."

He tipped out the packet of dried egg onto the work surface and Transfigured the yellow, powdery substance into half-a-dozen large, fresh eggs. Anthea gave a delighted gasp and, as she had the previous night, kissed him lightly on the cheek, saying, "Oh, I like having a wizard about the house!"

Logan looked at them both, then said, "I left my smokes in the bedroom. Back in a minute."

As soon as they were alone, Anthea turned to Dumbledore. "Albus, I want to thank you for last night. No, don't say anything 'til I've finished. I know it would have been too soon. So thank you for stopping me from spoiling things between us."

Dumbledore took one of her hands. "I have to admit, my dear, I declined more out of cowardice than any gentlemanly feelings. It has been a long time since I had an encounter with a lady - since before you were born, I am sure. I was simply unsure of myself."

Anthea shook her head and smiled. "Somehow, I doubt that you've ever been that. But never mind. Let me get these lovely eggs in a pan, and we'll have a good breakfast."

They had a very good breakfast. Clearly, the mysterious Bureau that Anthea and Carver worked for provided very generously for its employees and guests. As well as the bacon and eggs, there was toast, tinned butter and Scotch marmalade. The only complaint was from Logan, who groused humorously, "Haven't you Limeys ever heard of coffee?"

Afterwards, they went into the lounge, Logan planting himself in an armchair while Anthea drew Dumbledore down onto the settee, sitting close beside him. They listened to the news on the wireless - Dumbledore knew of the Wizarding Wireless, of course, but had had no idea that Muggles possessed a similar device. Anthea and Logan discussed what they had heard, trying to sift out the truth from the propaganda. Dumbledore was eager to listen - it was becoming clear to him that the attitude of most wizards towards Muggle affairs was dangerously complacent.

Shortly after that, Commander Carver arrived, knocking briskly on the door. Anthea greeted him with a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Andrew! You've caught me undressed. You're always doing that," she scolded.

Carver grinned at her. "All part of my master plan, Anthea, dear. No, don't get up, gentlemen. I don't for a moment suppose there's a cup of tea going, is there?"

Anthea bustled off to the kitchen. Carver sank into the other armchair with a soft sigh. His uniform was rumpled, and his eyes had shadows under them, and as he settled down, he yawned into his hand. "Excuse me," he mumbled. "Only had an hour or two's sleep, I'm afraid. Be alright in a minute."

Bringing a tray of tea through, Anthea offered the first cup to Carver who, after a few sips, seemed somewhat restored. He was certainly sharp enough to question them all very thoroughly on the events of the previous night. Then he gave an account of his own activities.

"After you flushed von Schrader out, we were hoping he'd stay on the move. In that case, we could have had the police looking out for him. His dive underground was a bit of a surprise to us.

"The German spy network in Britain has been thoroughly compromised by MI5. Also, it's run by the Abwehr, Admiral Canaris' operation, and Canaris hates the Nazis. Von Schrader and Maybach would get no help there.

"Which leads me to suspect that von Schrader and other Nazi wizards have been planning this for some time, Apparating in to set up safe-houses, bolt-holes and Portkey sites.

"Von Schrader has gone to ground, and we'd have the Devil of a job finding him and winkling him out."

Carver lit a cigarette and drank some more tea, then resumed. "However, we're actually under less pressure than von Schrader. His masters will be looking for results PDQ."

He went on to explain that the group of Nazi wizards had been entrusted by Hitler to Reinhard Heydrich, head of the RSHA, Hitler's powerful intelligence and security organisation. But Heydrich had been assassinated the previous year. His successor, Kaltenbrunner, was anxious to erase all traces of Heydrich from the organisation - including the wizard group he'd enlisted.

"So if von Schrader fails, he takes the others down with him.

"We think he'll try attacking the Bureau directly. All but one of his SS men are gone, but he's got other resources.

"So we need to know exactly what he's planning. Professor Dumbledore, we have the man you Petrified last night at the Bureau now. It would be of some help to us if you could revive him so that we can interrogate him."

Dumbledore nodded. "Certainly, Commander. Might I also suggest obtaining a Veritaserum from St Mungo's? It would speed the process considerably. Normally, I would not suggest using such a potion on a Muggle, but under these circumstances...."

Carver nodded. "That would be a help. I'll drive you over myself, then drop you back here." He looked around them all. "Von Schrader isn't likely to do anything until tonight at the earliest. I want you three to get as much rest as you can because I'm going to need you all tonight. Sgt Logan, how are you feeling?"

Logan waved a hand dismissively. "I'm just fine, commander."

"No, you're not," said Anthea firmly. "That Maybach put a lot of holes in you, Logan. I know you can heal awfully fast, but you still look dog-tired. Some peace and quiet will do you the world of good."

Logan turned to Dumbledore. "Now you know why I never married."

"In order to avoid peace and quiet?" asked Dumbledore.

"No. So I could get some, sometimes."

"Men!" snorted Anthea.

****

Some hours later, Dumbledore returned to the flat. It had taken quite some time to persuade the authorities at St Mungo's to give him the potion, but it seemed that the Ministry of Magic knew of Carver, and eventually, permission had come through. Dumbledore had wanted to stay for the interrogation, but the Commander had insisted he return to the flat and rest.

As he let himself in, he saw Logan and Anthea sitting in the lounge. Logan was still in dressing gown and pyjamas, but Anthea was once again wearing a pretty, summer frock, and her long, blonde hair fell loose around her shoulders. Dumbledore watched her, suddenly subject to a kaleidoscope of feelings he had thought himself long past.

His train of thought was interrupted by a screeching female voice coming from the wireless set. "Can I do yer now, sir?"

Anthea collapsed in giggles; Logan grimaced. "I just don't get this program. You Limeys think the show's the cat's pajamas, but I can't see why."

"Oh, Logan!" Anthea wiped her eyes. "ITMA is just about the funniest thing I've ever heard, and you've not so much as cracked a smile."

"British humor, I guess. I've noticed it's weird. Me, I do think Lord Haw-Haw's sorta funny. What about you, Albus?"

"Don't ask me," Dumbledore replied. "We don't get Muggle broadcasts at Hogwarts. I listen to Wizarding Wireless Network for the Quidditch matches, that's all."

Before anyone could reply, a man's voice came from the wireless. "But Colonel, it must have been the port engine."

Another voice, over-loud and with a distinctly boozy tone to it, replied, "Port and gin? I don't mind if I do." Anthea promptly collapsed again.

Logan rolled his eyes as Dumbledore sat down. "Just what the heck is Quidditch? You mentioned it a few times yesterday. Some kind of game, right?"

"Some kind of game?" Dumbledore mimicked in mock outrage. "My dear fellow, it is the only game! Quidditch is the sport of sports, pastime of heroes, etcetera and so forth."

"All right, all right. So give. How do you play it? Where do you play it? Why do you play it?"

"Oh, if you two are going to discuss sport, I'm going to make lunch," said Anthea, then stuck her tongue out at both men and flounced off to the kitchen.

Lunch turned out to be Spam sandwiches, though a jar of pickled onions lent some bounce to the pink blandness. Anthea had also discovered at the back of a cupboard a bottle of Camp coffee, which made a change from tea for all three of them.

The conversation started with Quidditch, but soon moved onto other matters. Dumbledore found his fascination with Muggles and their world growing; clearly, they were far more than the dull, ignorant or childlike creatures many wizards assumed they were. Their world was every bit as complex and full of wonders as his own - and much, much larger.

Soon enough, however, it became obvious that Logan was flagging. His contributions to the conversation began to be terse, and his eyelids were drooping.

Anthea glanced at him sharply, then said briskly, "Bed for you, my lad."

"I'm alright," he muttered, but Anthea would have none of it.

"You took enough bullets last night to give you lead poisoning, never mind anything else. I know you've got that special healing and what-have-you, but even you must be exhausted."

"She's right, Logan," put in Dumbledore. "Tonight may well be even more dangerous than last night. We need you on top form, my friend."

Grumbling, but grateful for his friend's solicitude, Logan went off back to his room. Dumbledore offered to help Anthea with the dishes, but she declined, "You sit there and relax, darling. I can manage these much quicker without a man under my feet."

Dumbledore settled back and tried to relax. But there was a knot of tension at the back of his neck that had, he realised, been there since the staff at Hogwarts first realised the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. He leaned forward with a sigh and tried to rub it away. Quite suddenly, Anthea was beside him, perched on the arm of the chair. Her cool hands gently pushed his aside and massaged his neck with surprising strength and no little skill.

Slowly, Albus felt the tension drain away. For the first time in months, he was close to feeling fully relaxed. He leaned back and turned his head to thank Anthea. As he did so, she leaned forward towards him, and their lips met as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It was not a greedy kiss - not a matter of passion and mere physical need. It was sweet, deep and sincere.

When it was over, Albus spoke quietly. "Anthea, my dear, we've only just met. I don't know how Muggles go about it, but surely it's usual to approach these things less directly?"

She gave a delighted little laugh and stroked his cheek, then spoke seriously. "Look, my sweet, we're in the middle of a war. None of us can say with certainty that we'll be alive tomorrow. Here we are, and there's something between us - something too good to let slip by.

"Now is now, and it might be all we have, so come to bed with me, Albus. Let's be all that we can to each other, while we have the chance."

Albus knew she was right, so he let her lead him to her bedroom. They kissed again, then undressed, and made slow, gentle love before falling into a deep, refreshing sleep, clasped in each other's arms.

****

It was about 9 o'clock that evening. After a hasty dinner, Lt Waverley had picked them up and driven them to the Bureau. Fortunately, Logan had risen rather later than Albus and Anthea, so he had found them both sitting demurely in the lounge. Yet, Albus had the feeling that their shrewd Canadian friend had an idea of what had gone on between them. Logan's heightened senses made him a hard man to fool; however, he said nothing, though his attitude seemed to indicate approval.

They found Commander Carver in the basement of the building, in what was apparently a firing range. He greeted them all, then got straight to business.

"According to our prisoner, von Schrader was planning to have the Manhattan documents taken by a professional burglar if he could find the location of the safe. That plan was thwarted yesterday by your intervention, gentlemen. He's getting desperate now, so he will be making a direct assault on this building from beneath. He doesn't have his SS men, but several known IRA agents and some East End 'hard men' have dropped out of sight today, and I suspect at least some of them will be with him.

"Normally, our own security people would handle any incursion, but in this case, we don't know what magical assistance von Schrader will have with him."

Carver led them over to a table on which was spread a map. It was not a street map, a bewildering number of lines, in various colours, crisscrossed each other with no apparent order or pattern. Carver explained, "London, like most ancient cities, is built mostly on itself. Layer upon layer of city exists. This entire area is a honeycomb of tunnels, passages and hidden ways."

Carver indicated a spot on the map. "Von Schrader knows of an entrance here that will bring him into this building: however, there is another passage we can take, which will allow us to intercept him in this underground chamber here. I don't want a lot of soldiers parading around down there, shouting orders and making a racket, or von Schrader will just disappear again. So it's just the four of us. Are you all game?"

There was no need to answer. A glance around the three set faces told Carver all he needed to know. "Right, let's get on with it, then."

It seemed that the Bureau's territory extended far beyond the narrow front it showed the world. The four passed rapidly through a number of basement rooms before reaching an ancient-looking, iron-bound door. Carver distributed torches to Anthea and Logan, then opened the door with a large, old-fashioned key, and led them through into another world.

There was no way of telling how old these passages were. Some of the masonry was as weathered and pitted as the stones of Hogwarts Castle, and that had stood for a thousand years. There were sinister gargoyles at the intersections and occasional daemonic faces carved into the walls.

Carver obviously knew these tunnels and led them without faltering until they came to a broken section of wall. He signalled them to gather round him. "This break lets onto a newer tunnel that runs alongside this one. The chamber we want is twenty yards along in the direction we were travelling. I'm hoping we got here before von Schrader. We go very quiet from now on."

They slipped through the gap, relying now on the faint light from Dumbledore's wand and upon Logan's night-vision. What happened next, happened suddenly. Logan held up a hand to halt the party, and a bulky figure stepped out of the shadows, making for Anthea and Carver. The Commander's movements were graceful, almost languid, but his apparently gentle blow connected with an explosive impact that threw his assailant back against the wall to crumple in a heap.

"Jeez!" muttered Logan. "Where did you learn to hit like that?"

They saw the flash of Carver's grin in the light of Dumbledore's wand. "There's a Shaolin temple in Limehouse; not many people know that. I was of some assistance to them when I was with the police, and in return, they were kind enough to teach me some unusual fighting techniques.

"Anyway, sleeping beauty here seems to indicate that we're getting close."

"We are," replied Logan. "There's a light up ahead. Looks like a hurricane lamp."

They were in quite a large chamber. Ahead of them, their route was partially blocked by fallen stone. They could also see a short tunnel leading into another room. It was from this room that the light Logan spoke of came. As they listened, they could also hear a single voice. Dumbledore could not make out the words, but their rhythmic cadences were familiar, and for some reason sent a chill through him. At Carver's gesture, they began to pick their way through the rubble towards the exit.

Then they heard voices behind them. Carver swore, spun and shone his torch back the way they had come. A half-dozen figures came dashing into the room, yelling. Seconds later came the flash and roar of firearms.

The four flung themselves behind large sections of rubble. Anthea and Carver drew their guns. Dumbledore shouted, "Carver! Von Schrader is in the other room."

"Right! You and Logan go and sort him out. Anthea and I will hold this lot off."

Dumbledore hesitated for a moment, then Anthea turned and looked at him, and her eyes were steel. "Go. I'll be fine."

"I'll come back for you," he promised, then turned and, with Logan beside him, dashed for the entrance. Behind them, Carver and Anthea began to return fire, and by the screams and grunts that followed, it seemed they were better shots than their opponents.

The two men reached the short tunnel. "Looks like it's just you and me, Logan." remarked Dumbledore.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, pal," Logan replied with a fierce grin.

There were four men in the other room. By the steady light of the hurricane lamp, Dumbledore saw von Schrader standing in front of a circle etched on the floor. He held his wand upright in front of him, and a lurid green light pulsed from its tip in time to his increasingly frenetic chanting.

One of the guards leapt at Dumbledore; he Stunned the man without stopping to think about it, utterly determined to halt whatever von Schrader was doing.

Logan had already taken care of the other man, but now he found himself facing Maybach again. The SS man had discarded or lost his Schmeisser; now he pulled out his Walther. But with room to manoeuvre, a pistol was no threat to the Canadian, who darted in fast and knocked the weapon out of the German's hand. Maybach leapt back, drawing a wicked-looking knife. With a grim chuckle, the man called Wolverine extended his claws and closed with his opponent.

Dumbledore's approach had forced von Schrader to abandon his rite of summoning. Now the two wizards duelled as they had the previous night. Von Schrader thought he was prepared for Dumbledore this time, but he was wrong. Dumbledore had recognised the ritual, had known that von Schrader was trying to bring some vile thing into the world. Also, at the back of Albus' mind was the thought that Anthea was behind him, and he had promised to return for her.

Once again, the air between them shivered and crackled with magic, but this time, von Schrader was on the defensive almost from the start. Dumbledore pushed on relentlessly, anger and anxiety fuelling him to greater efforts. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a putrid, green glow throbbing and growing within the circle. Clearly the Summoning had reached a point where it was self-completing. Dumbledore had to down von Schrader and reverse the rite before it was too late.

Driven to his last recourse, von Schrader suddenly demonstrated his full courage and ruthlessness. In the face of Dumbledore's attacks, he dropped his shield, turned and hurled a fireball from his wand at Logan. Absorbed in his own bitter battle with Maybach, the Canadian had no chance to dodge. Albus did the only possible thing, deflecting the spell with a shield of his own, only to be knocked to the floor by an unexpected blow from the German.

Von Schrader turned back to the circle, raising his wand to begin binding the being that now stood fully formed within the circle. There was only one thing Albus could do now, something that placed him in as much peril as anyone else. He raised his wand and invoked "Potentia Nullios!" In that moment, all magical power was drained from both wizards. For a short while, they were reduced to Muggles.

The thing within the circle was the green-black of rotting vegetables, and stank of putrefaction. Its body was gross and squat, resting froglike on powerful, bent legs, and its overlong arms ended in huge, four-fingered hands, each finger tipped with a heavy black claw. Its face was a slobbering parody of humanity, with almost no forehead or nose, a wide, dripping mouth and great eyes black and empty as the Pit. It had been resisting the binding, but now, as von Schrader stood powerless before it, its great mouth stretched into a triumphant leer. The entity reached forward to grasp the screaming wizard and draw him to its maw. Von Schrader howled like the damned thing he was as the demon began to suck.

Dumbledore struggled to his feet; he knew he was to be next and there was nothing he could do about it. There was no chance of thwarting the creature until his power returned, but he also knew that von Schrader's Summoning would have set off alarms at the Ministry of Magic and that Aurors would be here soon. Their arrival would be too late for him, but would save everyone else. Oh, Anthea, he thought, such a little time we had! Be happy, dear one.

Then two things happened: Dumbledore heard Maybach's death-cry and Logan's oath as he saw the demon squatting in the circle. "Stay back, Logan!" Albus shouted desperately.

A moment later, there was a flash of scarlet and gold, and Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, settled to the floor in front of him, dropping something at his feet. As the demon flung von Schrader to the floor, where he lay whimpering piteously, Dumbledore bent and picked up the object.

It was the Hogwarts Sorting Hat. How? Why? thought Albus, before he realised that there was something in the hat - something hard, heavy, and metallic. He reached into the hat and drew out a long, straight sword.

Albus Dumbledore had never handled a sword in his life, but the hilt of this one seemed to fit his hand naturally. As if from a distance, he watched himself drop the hat, step forward and aim a single, expert thrust at the demon even as it reached for him. The blade slid into the creature's belly to the hilt; there was a silent concussion and a blaze of white light that hurled Albus back into himself.

When his vision cleared, the demon was gone. He still held the sword, and now he heard a familiar voice - the voice of the Hat.

"Well struck, Dumbledore," it said. "A blow worthy of Godric, himself. But now you must return the sword to me, where it was put for safe keeping so long ago."

Albus stared at the ancient Hat. "How did you know I was in peril?" he asked.

"We are all the servants of Destiny," the Hat replied. "I was woven by the Fates long ago, and they direct us all. One day, Another will need the Sword, and it must be ready to his hand when the time comes."

Dumbledore nodded and picked up the Hat. He slid the sword into it, where it vanished easily. He tucked the Hat securely under his belt, then took up his wand, realising as he did so that his magic was returning.

Then Logan was at his side, asking, "Albus, are you all right, pal? What the Hell was that thing? Never mind--don't tell me now. There's still a gunfight goin' on out there."

Anthea! Without a word, Dumbledore turned and ran back to the outer chamber. As he and Logan reached the doorway, the shooting stopped.

In the light from the hurricane lamp and several torches, they saw three men swarming at Commander Carver while another was aiming a weapon at Anthea, who lay on the ground.

With a snarl, Logan leapt to Carver's side, and the two men began to wreak havoc on their opponents. Albus ran towards Anthea. As he did so, Fawkes darted over his head and swooped at Anthea's attacker with a savage shriek. By the time the man had recovered, Dumbledore was between him and Anthea. The villain ripped out a vicious oath and raised his weapon. Dumbledore called out "Protego!" as the man fired both barrels of the sawn-off shotgun. The pellets bounced back off the shield, ripping the would-be killer to shreds.

Without sparing the man a glance, Albus knelt beside Anthea. Her face was ghastly, and an ominous stain was spreading on the front of her clothing. She smiled up at him weakly. "Albus?"

"I told you I'd come for you." Her hand was cold - too cold. Her voice was a whisper.

"Too late, my darling. I tried, but I couldn't stay safe for you. But at least I've seen you one last time." Her voice died away, and her eyes closed.

No! Dumbledore couldn't speak, though he wanted to shout. She was still breathing - there must be hope.

Fawkes settled beside him. Bending his magnificent head over the young woman, the phoenix let thick, grey tears drop from his eyes onto the terrible wound.

For a moment, Albus Dumbledore's world hung in the balance.

Then Anthea stirred, and her eyes opened. "Albus? What happened? I was so cold, but now I'm warm again. How could that be?"

"Don't question it, dearest," he told her, "just believe it for now."

He looked up. Logan and Carver were watching them from a discreet distance. "She's going to be all right!" Albus announced joyfully.

Anthea's strength was returning rapidly due to the potency of the phoenix's tears. Soon, she was able to stand, and the pair looked around them. Fully a dozen men lay dead, wounded or unconscious in the chamber. As they wondered what to do next, there were lights and shouting, and squad of soldiers, accompanied by several Aurors, burst into the room. In the lead were Lt Waverley and an Auror Dumbledore recognised, a man named Carstairs.

Waverley spoke to the Commander, "Sorry to burst in like this, what? But Carstairs here turned up at the Bureau, sayin' there was a bit of a problem. Somethin' fishy goin' on down here he said. Thought you might be in a bit of a jam, so got a few fellas together and came down. Looks like you've got it all in hand, don'cher know?"

Carstairs said to Dumbledore, "The Demon Bell sounded, and the Sensitives located the source. What's happened?"

Dumbledore explained as best he could, while leading the Aurors, Logan, Anthea and Carver into the farther room. There they found the remains of von Schrader's circle, the slashed and gory corpse of Maybach, and von Schrader himself. The once-proud German wizard sat huddled in the corner, rocking backwards and forwards and mewling like child exhausted with crying. Whatever the demon had done to him had clearly broken his mind.

Leaving the Aurors to take care of von Schrader and Waverley and his men to clear up the rest, the four friends returned to the Bureau. There were rooms there for agents who might need to stay overnight - primitive accommodation, but clean - and the ever-present Doris provided tea and sandwiches. Anthea would not let go of Albus' hand, and in the end, they squeezed onto a narrow cot together and slept in each other's arms again.

*****

The following evening found all four of them in the pub where Logan and Dumbledore had waited for their rendezvous with Anthea.

The day had been spent in debriefing. Events had had to be recounted both to Carver and to the Aurors, every detail gone over. Carver had been regretful, but philosophical, over the death of Maybach, whom he had wished to interrogate. Logan had been forced to kill the man in what had been a brutal, desperate fight.

"It's highly unlikely he would have told us anything, anyway," Carver opined. "Those SS men are fiercely loyal, even honourable, in a twisted kind of way."

Dumbledore had to explain his actions to the Aurors. "If von Schrader had bound the demon, I would have been hard put to defeat both of them. Unbound, and faced with two powerful wizards, the thing would have fled into Muggle London, causing who knows what havoc.

"But, facing two powerless humans, the thing would stop to do whatever it was it did - feed or something, I reckoned. So I used the Disempowerment Curse. I knew the Bell would sound and that Aurors would be on their way. I hoped that in the time it took for the creature to dispose of von Schrader and myself, the Aurors could reach us and deal with the thing. Compared to what it might have done to the poor Muggles above, the sacrifice of von Schrader and myself was a small price to pay."

Von Schrader had been taken to St Mungo's, and would probably never leave there - his mind was gone. Should he ever recover, his act of demon-summoning would earn him a long stay in Azkaban Prison. Carstairs privately told Dumbledore and Carver that the Ministry of Magic was now prepared to take active steps against any wizard attempting to intervene in the Muggle war or to draw wizards into the conflict. Albus, who'd been 'acting on behalf of the Ministry' faced no wizarding disciplinary action, but wizards coming from Germany, France and Japan would now be thoroughly examined by Aurors and confined to Diagon Alley and wizarding London for as long as they stayed.

"So," said Albus over his pint, "it's over, then?"

"Over?" said Carver. "No. Well, this particular little bit is, so I suppose it's over for you, Dumbledore, but for Anthea, Logan and me, there's still a long way to go."

Carver regarded the wizard appreciatively. "I'm very grateful for your help, Dumbledore, very grateful, indeed. If there's ever anything I can do for you, you need only ask." He handed Dumbledore a card, noting, "I can always be reached here. Just leave word, and I'll contact you."

Dumbledore thanked the Commander and said, "It's obvious that our two worlds are not so far apart as many people would like to think. If ever you need to consult with me about wizarding matters, Carver, I can always be reached at Hogwarts."

Carver then turned to Logan. "Sergeant, I'll put in a word or two with your CO for you. I'm sorry I can't do more, but this wasn't an official operation. What I can and will do is arrange with the War Office to have your 'father's' medals sent on to you. I'll also arrange to 'lose' the files on the Howlett case - someone else might make the connections I did."

Logan nodded. "Thanks, Commander, though I'll bet there's not many as quick on the uptake as you."

"I hope not, or I'm out of a job! Look, Logan, if you're interested, there'll always be a position for you with the Bureau."

Logan shook his head. "No, thanks. I prefer a straight fight to all the cloak and dagger stuff. Anyway, I don't think I could bring myself to work for a grammar school boy."

Carver laughed. "Oh, well, if you're going to be stuck-up about it!" he said without rancour.

Shortly after that, Carver bade them goodnight and left. The three chatted for a while longer, then Logan said, "I'd better be getting back to my unit. Seconded or not, they'll be needing me. Somebody's got to keep that bunch of kids in order.

"Anthea, it's been a pleasure. You're quite a lady. I don't know what you'd do to Hitler, but you scare the Hell out of me!"

Anthea laughed, and kissed Logan lightly on the cheek. "Goodbye, Logan. Take care of yourself and keep out of trouble."

"No chance - trouble's my middle name."

Logan turned to Dumbledore. "Albus, pal, it's been a heckuva ride. I'm glad I went down that alley when I heard the ruckus. If I'd kept on walking, I'd have missed a good friend.

"Look, I got no idea where I'm gonna be, or what I'm gonna be doing from one week to the next. You've got to go back to that school of yours, way up North. So, what say we meet up here, in this pub, a year from today, if we can?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I'll look forward to it, Logan. It's been a very brisk couple of days, and I must say I've been glad of your company." The two men shook hands warmly, and so they parted.

Albus turned to Anthea. "Another drink, my dear?"

She declined. "Not now, Albus. I feel like doing something else. Are you allowed to show me wizarding London?"

"Of course. There are no laws about it, dear one, just custom."

Anthea thought the Leaky Cauldron was charming, and the bustle of Diagon Alley at night enchanted her. But after a while, she said she was tired, so Dumbledore took her up to his rooms for a cup of tea and a sit down.

They talked for a while about the lives they lived and the differences and similarities between their worlds. Anthea wanted to know if wizards ever 'walked out' with Muggles, Dumbledore told her it happened quite often. She seemed more animated again, so Albus asked, "Is there anything else you'd like to see or do?"

"Oh, yes," she said, with a smile. "But it doesn't involve going anywhere."

She got up, came over to him, leaned down and gave him a long, loving kiss. Then she straightened and her sapphire eyes fixed on his. Anthea slowly began to undress.

*****

Von Schrader never recovered. He died in St Mungo's a year after the War ended.

After these events, Charles, I began to take more notice of the Muggle world, and to read their newspapers. So it was that I knew, the following June, that Operation Overlord had begun, and that my friend Logan would be unlikely to make our rendezvous. This was indeed the case, and though I had occasional notes from him over the next few years, we eventually lost touch. I did not see him again until he accompanied you to our meeting last week, and alas, he did not remember me.

Commander Carver and I were able to assist each other again on more than one occasion. He remained in charge of the Bureau until the 1970s, then retired to his beloved Malvern with his French wife, Marie. He passed away two years ago.

Anthea Featherstone and I still have a deep and loving friendship. She, too, retired from the Bureau in the 1970s and became active in the Women's Movement. She still lives in Devon, not far from the Weasley home, and I visit her often, though we no longer have quite such an intense relationship. She was not the greatest love of my life - that is another story - but was perhaps the sweetest.

As to how and why Fawkes came to me when he did, bringing the Hat and the Sword - it is still a mystery. The phoenix is the most magical of birds, and the Sorting Hat is as old as Hogwarts itself. Godric's Sword rests now in my study. You should ask Harry about that blade.

But this is where my tale ends. How much or how little you tell Logan, I leave to your discretion, Charles. For my part, I will always regard him as a friend and was pleased to see him so well and content. I hope that this insight into his past will, in the proper time, help him to recover at least some of his memories.

In the meantime, I am pleased to hear that my students are doing so well at your school. Your three youngsters seem most happy here. On a personal note, I look forward to our next meeting.

With warmest regards,

Albus