Here Be Monsters

1 July 1996

1332 GMT + 0100

Of all the Wizarding schools in Europe, Beauxbatons is easily the most beautiful. The Storm Coach banks over the sculptured and manicured gardens, allowing us a view of the stately palace with its white facades and spreading wings, a magical tribute to the values of reason and balance. It is a Versailles of dreams, made real in white, gold, and soft greens.

Madam Maxime is awaiting us as we land. She moves forward at her usual stately pace, her eyes dancing as Hagrid all but bounds out of the coach.

"Olympe!" he roars, moving forward to envelop her in his embrace. I relax my stern mien and let myself smile freely.

After a moment of whispered conversation, the Headmistress of Beauxbatons comes to greet us, one arm looped around Hagrid's. "Headmaster Dumbledore, eet eez wonderful to welcome you, sir!"

"And wonderful to be here Madam," I offer, bending to kiss the knuckles of her extended hand. "May I introduce the Lady Cornelia Ater?" Cornelia has moved forward, enveloped in her magical shadow.

"Lady Cornelia," Olympe says by way of acknowledgment, bending her neck slightly while her bright eyes took in the vampires, coach, and Hellwings with a faintly disapproving air.

"Madam," Cornelia replies in flawless French, "my consorts Adrian Gripwood," the wizard vampire nods, "and Quintus Flavius Marcella," her other consort, a blond vampire with pronounced facial scars, bows stiffly.

"I believe you know Percy Weasley, representative of the British Ministry of Magic?" I motion to Percy, who bustles forward like an eager puppy. Olympe accepts his profuse and pompous words of greeting with her usual dignity.

"And may I present," she says softly and with quick, sharp glance in my direction, "Charles d'Atroce, zee First Zecretary to zee Director of zee Bureau de Magie."

"We have met," I say briefly, inclining my head slightly to show that I have received her unspoken message. D'Atroce, a dark man with a hooked nose and a mask-like expression, bows formally.

Olympe suggests that we retreat inside, doubtless noticing that the vampires are uncomfortable in the bright sunshine, even with the protection of their magical shadows. We proceed into the building. Unlike Hogwarts this school is at least seemingly laid out in neat, geometrical configurations. The entrance hall is a grand space of sweeping staircases and magnificent paintings, the occupants of which call out soft greetings in a variety of languages and accents. The wings consist of long hallways lined with art and mirrors, from which doorways lead into enfiladed suites of sumptuously arrayed chambers. We ascend to the second floor and enter one such suite, passing through two marble and gilt antechambers before arriving in a large room dominated by a gleaming table. The suits of armor guarding the doors come to attention as we pass.

Madam Maxime sits ponderously in an enormous chair at the head of the table. Another oversized chair to her left is obviously meant for Hagrid. I settle in at her right with Percy and Cornelia on my other side. Cornelia's mates take seats along the wall behind us. The inhabitants of the room rise and call friendly greetings, which we return in kind.

I know most of them, of course. The muggles like to say that it is a small world, but compared to their nations the Wizarding World is tiny indeed. Just beyond Percy sits Harald Norn, the Assistant Headmaster of Wyrdheim, a Wizarding school serving the population of Scandinavia. At his side are Johansson and Tarvik of the Swedish and Norwegian Ministries, respectively. Just beyond them sits the pudgy figure of Augustus Gelbspader of the German Chancellery. Opposite us on Hagrid's right I see Ramirez from the Spanish Ministry and Simone Castellon from the Spanish school Estrellas. Down the table from them are van Derdecken of the Dutch Ministry and Ricardo Narletti representing both the Italian Curia government and Potere Academy. At the end of the table Salistov, of the Russian Synod, is deep in conversation with a small, gray-haired witch with high cheekbones and a small, tight-lipped mouth. Catching my gaze, this unfamiliar woman rises gracefully and comes down the table, extending her hand to me as I come to my feet.

"Professor Dumbledore," Olympe says, once again shooting me a warning glance, "may I introduce you the Acting Headmistress of Durmstrang, Elizaveta, the Countess Streltsy."

"I am so pleased to meet you at last, Professor Dumbledore." Her voice is refined and resonant. There is something familiar about it, but I can't quite remember where I have heard those tones before.

"And I you, Countess. I hope that affairs at Durmstrang are proceeding smoothly." I have wondered often this year how that academy has faired with the disappearance of its former Headmaster, the Deatheater Karkaroff. Unfortunately the stressful events of this past year left me little time to inquire.

"As smoothly as can be expected, Headmaster." Her face is as non-commital as her reply.

I smile my "Harmless Old Man" smile at that and watch as she returns to her chair.

Olympe produces her wand and send out a stream of bright sparks to indicate that the meeting is about to begin. Simultaneously carafes of water, tea, and pumpkin juice appear on the table, along with glasses.

"Welcome, everyone, to Beauxbatons," Olympe says heavily. "We weel not waste time weeth meaningless speeches."

Percy seems about to protest at that. I suspect he has quite a lengthy "meaningless speech" prepared.

"Eenstead I weel ask Professor Dumbledore to take charge of our deescussion."

I smile at Olympe and rise. I find that being tall is an advantage, but only if I am on my feet. "Thank you my friends. As Madam Maxime has said, we have little time to waste. We are here to discuss our response to the return of Voldemort, the greatest threat to Wizarding Europe, and indeed I believe to the whole world, both magical and non-magical, in fifty years."

They seem taken aback by the bluntness of my comment. That is well and good. We have wasted enough time already. I must impress on them that the time for chatter is over.

Percy clears his throat and makes to rise, but is cut off when d'Atroce comes to his feet and, regarding me coldly, asks, "And are we yet sure that this is the situation we face?"

I let my hand concealed by the folds of my robe tighten convulsively. I was afraid of this the moment I saw him in the gardens. "I am quite sure, as is the British Ministry."

Percy starts to talk again when van Derdecken, eyeing the French official calmly, interjects, "I think we have more than sufficient evidence, d'Atroce. Many of us have thought so for a year now." He turns his attention to Percy, who clamps his mouth shut and reddens at the implied criticism of the Ministry. Van Derdecken, a small scar-faced in a long blue coat, looks too fierce to confront recklessly. Sounds of agreement come from the Scandinavians and, to my surprise, from the usually taciturn Salistov.

"But really, a Dark Lord returned from the dead?" D'Atroce smiles something that more closely resembles one of Severus' sneers. "And on the evidence of a hysterical child? I mean..."

"Professor Dumbledore is hardly a child," Lady Cornelia says, a vulpine grin playing about her lips, "even as my kind understand the term."

There is silence at that. When I introduce Cornelia to the room, the silence deepens. Her reputation, and that of her coven, is well known.

"I was speaking of the past year," D'Atroce continues weakly. "Harry Potter...."

"Is not at issue here." Countess Streltsy leans forward with a no-nonsense sniff. "Do you have a point d'Atroce? Or do you intend to keep on till supper?" A wave of mocking laughter fills the room, and the Frenchman glares murder down the table.

"I was merely asking if we are positive that it is the Dark Lord, or might it be an impostor?"

"I think that I can safely say we are dealing with the genuine article," I say sternly. "I would strongly suggest that you take my word for it, unless you want to have it verified from his own lips one of these days."

//Oh, that was a good one.//

It certainly seems to have convinced the Spaniards, who are nodding among themselves.

"I think we can take Professor Dumbledore's word on this matter," Narletti says languidly, "or the evidence of the Ministry attack, if you prefer."

"I am not saying...."

"What are you saying then?" Van Derdecken is plainly annoyed.

D'Atroce throws his hands in the air with a look of long suffering under unjust persecution and sits down.

"What do you expect from the Dark Lord for his next moves, Headmaster Dumbledore?" Salistov has a look of deep worry on his heavily lined features.

"An excellent question, Mr. Salistov. I would imagine that Voldemort's inner circle is in a state of some confusion at the moment," in fact, I'm sure of it, thanks to Severus, "but we cannot count on such a state of affairs continuing much longer. Now that his return has been revealed, Voldemort will move against his favored enemies - muggles, the muggle-born, Hogwarts, and the government. I'm afraid we can expect rapidly rising tension with numerous skirmishes in the near future. I also believe that he and his followers will likely attempt some large displays of power very soon. They will hope to take advantage of the initial terror and confusion following the announcement, and they will want to make themselves seem invulnerable and the authorities helpless."

"Terrorist attacks?" Nerletti asks.

"Yes, along with kidnappings and, I hate to say, assassinations."

"And what of the Deatheaters you have in Azkaban?" Salistov inquires. "Can you guarantee that they will be held in custody?"

"The Ministry is using every resource at its disposal," Percy finally enters the conversation, his voice high and curiously weak sounding. "We are confident that the security of Azkaban is as solid as ever."

"In other words, no," Nerletti says mirthlessly. "Azkaban couldn't hold Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange when the Dementors were on duty, why should it hold Malfoy and the others now?"

Percy's mouth works, but he seems unable to come up with a reply.

"You might be well served," Salistov observes quietly, "to dispose of them while you have the chance."

"They will be dealt with according to Wizarding law," Percy says indignantly. "We believe in justice in the Ministry!"

//Except for sorry doggies and scar-headed boys.//

"Last time that the Dark Lord rose to power," Gelbspader speaks for the first time, "he had organized cells in most European countries. Do you think it is the same this time?"

"Excellent question, Herr Gelbspader. As you know, Voldemort has never truly been dead. He has been in contact with his followers since his fall. I strongly suspect that he has continued to organize his activities through those followers. And, to our shame, none of us has been as conscientious as we should have been when it came to uprooting his networks and bringing his followers before the law."

There is a general murmuring at that, but no one openly dissents. Percy just sits there and blushes even more deeply. In the wake of Voldemort's fall in 1981, almost every Wizarding government found it altogether too easy to achieve peace and surface harmony at the cost of justice. Nearly every major nation in Wizarding Europe has its Malfoys, Crabbes, and Goyles. Gelbspader, for his part, nods worriedly and rubs his hand across his chin in a nervous gesture.

"It seems to me that there should be others represented here," Castellon says softly. "This is, as you point out, not just a European problem."

"I agree, Senora," I allow, and let myself heave a heartfelt sigh, "We invited the Wizarding State to send representatives, and many of the Asian and African nations as well. Unfortunately, they saw fit not to attend, although all sent good wishes."

"Even the Wizarding State?" Castellon's eyes narrow in surprise. "I would have thought they would have been sympathetic to your request."

"I believe that Governor Turraco would be more supportive if he could," I answer. "Unfortunately he is caught with problems of his own. The Wendigo crisis is escalating, and the Wizarding State's resources are still tied down with the Ahuetec affair." A Dark Wizard in the Yucatan has been attempting to raise the old Mayan gods for some time now - and is showing alarming signs of success. "Besides, many in the Wizarding State bear us little love."

I hear murmurs of sympathy all around at that admission. The rupture between Old World and New runs deep among wizards. Hurts and rivalries the muggles managed to put aside generations ago are still very much alive with us. In this, as with much else, the muggles are wiser than we are.

"Then we can count on no help from that quarter," Narletti says. "Or might they yet change their mind?"

"Oh, they will," I answer softly, "If and when they feel their homeland is threatened. The same with the others. But for now, we are on our own."

"As always," Salistov barks. "Very well then. I say the first thing we must do is agree to root out the Dark Lord's followers, wherever they are. Deny him support, and his plans will flounder."

A burst of noise greets that. D'Atroce is back on his feet. "We can hardly begin imprisoning people on mere suspicion and allegation!"

"No," van Derdecken says grimly, "but you can decide to re-open all those investigations you've let stagnate these past fifteen years." The Dutch Ministry had, perhaps alone in Europe, shown an astonishing backbone for ruthlessly prosecuting suspected followers of Voldemort after his last fall. Van Derdecken is probably the only person in the room who could speak so bluntly.

"And there are other steps we could take as well." I take a deep breath. This will be hard. "Voldemort has already begun gathering his former allies. We know that he has claimed the loyalty of most of the remaining giants," Madam Maxime makes a soft noise of either disgust or dismay, "as well as the Dementors. We must act quickly to gather allies of our own."

"Meaning," d'Atroce says sourly, "goblins, vampires, werewolves, and centaurs?"

"You could do much worse." Cornelia's voice is cold as a glacier. D'Atroce looks at her and gulps noticeably.

Unfortunately, he decides to continue. "Next you'll be advising us to ally with house elves and muggles!" There is laughter at that - much more laughter than I would like.

"Both groups have great strengths," I reply as easily as I can. "The house elves have magics at their disposal that can cow wizards readily enough when they decide to use them, or are free to use them. And fear of the muggles is what keeps us in hiding, after all."

"You can't be serious!" D'Atroce looks at me in horror.

"About the muggles, regretfully no. Conditions are not yet right for us to reveal ourselves to them - although in the fullness of time Riddle may leave us no choice. But short of that - and note that even that must not be totally ruled out - we cannot refuse any possible aid from almost whatever source."

The room breaks out into a cacaphony of argument. I sink back into my chair, allowing myself to smile. I have gotten them to start talking to each other. And that, perhaps, was the best that can be hoped for in an afternoon's work.

2134 GMT +01 00

Actually, by evening we have accomplished quite a bit more than that. To my pleasure and astonishment, the representatives have rapidly agreed on the necessity of quickly moving against Voldemort's followers in their home territories, as well as beginning joint plans for defense and counter-initiatives in the event of an attack. Led vigorously, indeed in a near military manner, by the practical van Derdecken, aided by Salistov's brutal observations and Nerletti's acidic irony, we have even come far with regard to setting up methods of coordination and continued communication.

"They're runnin' scared," Hagrid observes as we sit in Madam Maxime's private parlor, enjoying after dinner deserts. "It don't take but a littl' fright ta get people off their keesters to do summat."

He is right. I just wish my proposals for reaching outside of Wizarding ranks for aid had gotten farther. Cornelia's forceful presence helped wring an agreement from them to approach the vampire covens, as well as the few large werewolf packs known to exist in Europe. Other than that, they had remained hesitant.

"You have done a wonderful job, Professor," Olympe says from her seat on the couch next to Hagrid. "I would not have thought eet possible."

I smile at them fondly. The three of us are alone in the room, as Olympe thinks it wise that we review our progress privately.

"To tell you the truth, I am rather surprised myself," I admit. "But Voldemort's return has everyone shaken. I just hope that we don't regret having government representatives here." I had originally intended for this to be a meeting of school representatives. But with the public admission on the part of the Ministry, our plans had changed swiftly.

"We hardly have a choice," Olympe observes. "They would have to be eenvolved eeventually. And zis eez the best time to begeen."

So it is.

"I am worried, though, about d'Atroce," Olympe continues. "I have neever trusted heem. I am afraid that zee Bureau eez very corrupt, Albus. Even more so than zee Ministry."

I also was dismayed to see Charles d'Atroce. He has been rumored to be one of Voldemort's chief followers in France. Although no one has ever been able to find solid evidence tying him to actual crimes, his political views are well-known and lean heavily in Voldemort's direction. Also, his family has a cat's cradle of ties, both personal and financial, to the Malfoys.

"What about the Countess Streltsy?" I ask. "She seems familiar, although I do not believe we have ever met."

"Hmmm," Olympe says thoughtfully, "I know leetle about her myself. She eez an areethmancer of note, I am told. I know she was only recently chosen to be teemporary head of Durmstrang. The last teemporary head resigned just a few weeks ago."

Arithmancy is not one of my most familiar fields. I make a mental to note to approach Professor Vector at the first opportunity.

Olympe seems to be thinking about something. I have noticed her giving me heavy looks all through the day. "Albus," she says hesitantly, "are you sure eet eez a good idea to eenvolve the vampires?"

"No," I admit slowly, "no I am not. That is, if what you mean is am I sure that we should be dealing with Cornelia Ater." I sigh. "But as I said we must reach out to whatever allies we can, unless we have proof that they would be worse than Riddle. And Cornelia is our best hope of swinging a large number of covens to our side, at least in Britain."

She nods ponderously. "I understand. But eet eez not a good thing, I am thinking. Cornelia eez Dark. Not as Dark as .....Voldemort," she says with difficulty, "but steell not to be trusted."

"I don't trust her," I reply. "But at the moment we have no real choice but to deal with her."

"What da yer think will happen tommorer, Professor Dumbledore sir?" Hagrid asks, looking up from his rapt contemplation of Olympe.

"I don't know Hagrid. My hope is that we can hammer out some kind of workable framework for continued discussions. And if we can really get the governments moving on action against Deatheaters in their territories, we will have accomplished more than I had dared to expect."

"Let us hope then," Olympe says smiling, "that your eexpectations were dzoo low, Albus."

"Yes," I answer, "let us hope that."

Tuesday, 2 July, 1996

1441 GMT + 01 00

As it turns out, my expectations are indeed too low. By the time the sun has begun to move westward, we have reached specifics on action against Deatheaters, as well as beginning serious discussions of information and force sharing. It seems that Fudge's reassurances have not been well received in many quarters, although no one has dared speak of the matter publicly until now.

I have another mission to conduct here, and I see my chance as we eat our lunch. For today's discussions, we have moved outside into a stone gazebo in the midst of one of Beauxbatons stunning flower gardens. I am rather worried about security, but Olympe has assured me that the wards of her school, while not so ancient or as strong as those of Hogwarts, will be sufficient to keep out an attack, especially since they were supplemented by forces from the Bureau de Magie. Certainly the gazebo is an attractive place, with a marble floor, a gilded ceiling, and statues of angels bearing spears resting against the interior side of each support column.

As many members of the conference take advantage of their break to stroll through the gardens or explore the interiors of the Academy, I move up to Salistov and ask if he could spare me a few moments.

"How can I help you, Headmaster?" Salistov regards me with none-too-subtle suspicion.

"I was hoping to prevail on your good offices to arrange an introduction."

Salistov gives me a look of surprise. "An introduction? I thought there was scarcely a wizard of note in all of Europe you had not met, Professor."

"Such tales are greatly exaggerated, I assure you. Besides, Professor Mahalan rarely leaves Finland and my business rarely takes me there."

"Erkki Mahalan? I would be glad to help if I can." Salistov shrugs, obviously thinking this to be a minor request indeed. Professor Mahalan is the foremost expert in Europe on depression in witches and wizards. But that type of expertise seems to carry little weight with Salistov. "May I ask what you wish to see him about? He is very busy and treasures his privacy, so any information I can give would be an advantage."

"It is about having him come to Britain for a while as my guest. Perhaps he could give lectures at Hogwarts." It is actually about having him examine Harry, but now is neither the time nor the place to go into that.

"I will pass it along. I suspect he will find your invitation most attractive. But you might be better served to speak with Countess Elizaveta."

"Why so?"

"I understand that Professor Mahalan gave some lectures at Durmstrang this year."

"Is that so?" Ye gods, is there not a mind healer in all of Europe who hasn't had contact with nests of deatheaters?

//Well, given that deatheaters are, by definition, mentally unbalanced, it isn't very surprising that psychiatrists have more contact with them than most.//

"Yes," Salistov continues, "but I'm not sure it went very well. Professor Mahalan is not well attuned to the, ahem, political trends at Durmstrang. He might well find Hogwarts much more congenial."

That is encouraging.

I thank him and return to my chair. Pulling out my ward-beads, I curse mentally to see that Harry has not improved. We need to find help as quickly as we can.

The afternoon progresses quickly. Percy is in his element, and I feel my fondness for him returning. Say what you will about young Mr. Weasley, he does have a talent for manipulation of detail. Yesterday's trends continue to develop. Van Derdecken is clearly our most enthusiastic ally, followed by the Scandinavians. The Spaniards are cautious and Nerletti evidently hamstrung by the complex political situation in Italy. Salistov and Gelbspader confine themselves to occasional insightful forays. To my surprise, considering what Salistov referred to as 'political trends,' Countess Elizaveta also turns out to be a firm supporter of action, although I am not sure whether that is a true commitment or a desire to recoup some of Durmstrang's lost prestige. Cornelia and her consorts are able to provide valuable advice for contacting the vampire covens and werewolf packs. D'Atroce sits and glowers, occasionally making a desultory attempt to derail the discussion, but otherwise remaining silent.

I check my ward beads several times during the discussion. They have remained the same - which is beginning to stir alarm. Despite all the times I tell myself that anger and depression are natural for a young boy who has lost his beloved godfather, not to mention everything else Harry has had to endure, I cannot still the disquiet welling in me. The Daddy Curse, Arthur called it. I suppose I have to bow to his superior experience in that area. Perhaps I am just being obsessive and foolish. But I will feel better if and when I find someone to help Harry with his melancholy.

I am just looking up from checking the beads for the ninth time since lunch when Ramirez gives a sharp cry and jumps to his feet, fumbling for his wand. Olympe has been giving ponderous speech by way of summarizing our discussions to this point, and looks haughtily at the Spaniard, obviously annoyed by his bad manners. Within moments, however, we see what has upset our colleague. A large formation of black-robed figures on sleek brooms are skimming low over the ground making straight for our gazebo.

Old reflexes can still be swift reflexes. I raise my wand and shout a shield spell even as the first bursts of light spring forth from our attackers' wands and zip toward us. Two red blasts spatter harmlessly on my shield as I fall back, aiming to circle and place some of the stonework between myself and the attacking formation. Unfortunately, as with Hogwarts, strong anti-apparation wards cover the grounds of Beauxbatons.

Ramirez is not so quick. A blast of power strikes him even as he is raising his wand, lifting him and hurling his doubtlessly dead body a good hundred feet through the air. Two blasts converge on Madam Maxime, who is suddenly engulfed in a whirlwind of fire.

I raise my wand to shout a nullification spell at flames engulfing Olympe, but catch a movement out of the corner of my eye. Another squadron of enemies has cleared the roof of the main building and is bearing down on us from behind in a sharp arc. I drop low to miss two more spells, cursing as twinges of pain from my abused knees remind me that 145 years tend to stiffen one's joints. I grab a handful of grass and earth, tossing it upwards and yelling "Typhon!" The clods of dirt begin spinning rapidly, forming the core of a small whirlwind that sails amidst the enemy force and sends their brooms spinning in multiple directions.

I duck around the gazebo and fire off three quick stunning spells at the rear of the first formation. Two of them strike their targets, sending them plummeting to the ground. The third goes wild.

I duck back behind a shielding pillar to miss the spell my intended target shoots in retaliation. I take a deep breath and try to quickly assess the tactical situation. Most of my companions have spilled out of the gazebo. Tarvik is lying prone on the ground, a large smoking hole in his back. Gelbspader is rushing to get behind one of the gazebo's other pillars, one arm limp and bloody. As I watch van Derdecken and Countess Elizaveta run forward in low crouches, sending spells up against their attackers. The Dutch wizard fells two with swift scythe-like arcs of energy that he shoots forth with sharp tossing motions. Elizaveta is moving with quick, efficient strides, her wand flicking from one target to another with disciplined precision. Two more attackers go down in bursts of blue fire.

Where have I seen that before?

Suddenly a bellowing explosion erupts from the top of the gazebo. I go hurtling backwards as half of the structure collapses in smoke and ruin.

"Natare," I shout, and I immediately slow and float to the ground. I see yet a third party of dark-robed attackers, this time on foot, rushing toward us. These, however, are pursued by blue-robed officials of the Bureau.

Two enemies have banked sharply overhead. Their wands are still glowing, probably from the energy of the spells they released to destroy the gazebo. "Fulmen!" I cry, sending balls of shocking electrical charge racing at them. The nearer of the two catches two spheres on the torso and banks sharply, unconscious. The farther dives, still receiving a glancing blow from one of the spheres. He spins, bringing his broom under control with an impressive display of flying skill, and lands safely. Unfortunately for him, the maneuver gives me more than enough time to aim, and my stunner catches him full in the chest.

I take in the battle in three quick movements of my head. Van Derdecken and the Countess have effectively disabled most of the attackers on that side. Just behind the gazebo several of the deatheaters have dismounted. As I watch two of them walk near a carefully sculpted copse of trees. With a roar, an infuriated Hagrid, bearing a badly wounded Olympe over one shoulder, appears from the trees and fells them with two swift blows from his free fist. The remaining attackers are caught between the Bureau forces and a large square of darkness that shields Gripwood, the vampire wizard.

A group of figures dart around the copse, making for Hagrid's unprotected back. I shout, hurling spells quickly in their direction. Two of them go down. The rest veer sharply and dodge into the far end of the gazebo, which is the only part of the structure still standing. It is a mistake, as I can tell from the glowing red eyes that peer out of the shadows under the undamaged portion of the roof. They realize their error when, in a couple of breaths, Cornelia and Marcella are among them. Cornelia moves her taloned hands almost languidly, ripping out two throats. Marcella produces a short sword from under his cloak - a genuine Roman gladius? - and disembowels one opponent with a short slash. A quick jab catches another in the throat just as he is beginning a spell, and a backhand swipe beheads a third. The only remaining deatheater scrambles back into the light.

D'Atroce.

//You expected anything less?//

The treacherous bureaucrat has a grin of triumph on his face as he raises his wand to fire destroying spells at the undead.

Fool.

Marcella snaps his arm back then moves it forward with blurring speed. The hurtling gladius impales d'Atroce neatly through the head.

And that, as they say, is that.

The Bureau forces round up the remaining deatheaters easily. Leaving that duty in what appears to be semi-competent hands, I hurry inside to deal with Olympe. I find her ensconced in an enormous bed in one of the lower chambers of the building, Hagrid holding her hand and looking on with pallor as two healers bustle about her applying charms, lotions, and bandages.

"How is she, Hagrid?" I ask, placing one hand gently on his shoulder.

"Oh, Perfessor," he glances up and I see tears in his gentle eyes. "They say she'll be fine, but it'll take a while to heal up all them burns. Wicked spell, that was."

Wicked indeed, and probably prepared just for the sake of Hagrid and Olympe. Giants and those of their blood are notoriously resistant to many types of magic, especially stunning spells and other non-lethal forms of combat.

"Do you want to remain here with Olympe for a while, Hagrid?"

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, Perfessor," Hagrid replies with a grateful smile. "There ain't much to do on the grounds right now, and if yer don't need me for the Order, all I'd need is somebody ta look in on Fang."

"I'm sure we could manage that," I say softly.

After chatting with Hagrid for a few more minutes, I walk back to the entrance Hall. The surviving members of our group are gathered there. I see Johansson and Castellon, together with van Derdecken and the Countess. Percy is sitting alone, his face stained, staring into empty space. The Countess looks over at me and breaks off her conversation with a member of the Bureau forces. She walks over and smilingly transfigures a guilt chair into a much more comfortable armchair.

As I watch her quick movements, I realize who she reminds me of. I should be shocked, but I'm too tired. Copying her example, I transfigure a hideous bench into a more restful seat and sit down near her.

"It seems that d'Atroce weakened some of the wards internally," she says quietly. "That explains a lot. I heard Madam Maxime wondering why he had come so early. It seems he's been here since yesterday."

I am surprised. However, I remind myself that the defensive spells guarding Beauxbatons are neither as old nor as complex as those over Hogwarts.

"It would appear that the Bureau is going to have quite a scandal on its hands." I find it hard to have any sympathy for them.

"Yes indeed." She sighs.

"Have any others survived?" I ask, indicating our companions.

"Yes," she says with a small smile. "Nerletti and Gelbspader have both survived, although both are badly wounded. I'm afraid Salistov was killed when the roof of the gazebo collapsed, and Harald Norn got caught be a fire spell like the one they used against Madam Maxime."

"I am very sorry to hear that," I say truthfully. Norn was a valued colleague and, sour as he was, Salistov made a steady ally.

Van Derdecken approaches us and gives a stiff little bow. "Professor Dumbledore. I salute your tactical sense. That whirlwind spell may have saved us all."

"Skills acquired in far too many battles, my friend. I had hoped never to see this again."

"As had I," he says gravely. "We have been talking while you were with Madam Maxime. Will she recover?"

"Yes, but it will take some time."

"I was afraid of that." He glances at the Countess and some agreement seems to pass between them. "We have been talking, those of us in the hall, that given this development planning and coordination must continue immediately. We have decided to set up a kind of executive committee of you, Countess Streltsy, and I. Would it be possible for us to adjourn directly to Hogwarts and continue our discussions?"

"Hogwarts?" That has both advantages and grave dangers.

"Yes. It seems to be the safest location."

It probably is. Still, I am wary. But under the circumstances, how can I refuse?

//It's a word called 'no.'//

"Yes," I say, "that would probably be a good plan. Will you both accompany me this evening?"

"The Countess will go with you," the Dutch wizard says, "I must make port in Amsterdam briefly. I will join you as soon as I can."

"Very well." It appears that Hogwarts will be rather crowded this summer.

Van Derdecken hurries off to consult once again with the wizards and witches from the Bureau. I look at the Countess.

I might as well be bold. Subtlety will gain us nothing now.

"Countess," I ask slowly, "was your maiden name by any chance Narodim?"

"Yes," she says with an unreadable look, "Margarite Narodim in fact. I took the given name of my husband's late grandmother. It is something of a tradition in his family."

I nod to her. She is fully aware, of course, of what this implies.

Within two hours we are back in the Storm Coach. Elizaveta is obviously as interested in it as I, but is unable to pry any more information from Cornelia. Percy continues to stare off into space. I try to engage him in conversation a half dozen times, only to receive one-word replies. Worry for him grows in my mind. He is obviously in shock, and I do not think the Ministry will be perceptive enough to get aid for him.

That reminds me of Harry. I resolve to speak with Elizaveta about Erkki Mahalan as soon as possible. Knowing what I do now, it will be a risk, but I have no choice.

We arrive back in Cornwall under the cover of twilight. The vampires take their leave grimly.

"We will consult soon?" Cornelia includes both the Countess and myself in her question.

"Yes," I say. "I will send you an owl with the details."

"I will tell the Hellwings not to eat it." Her expression remains fixed, and I have no idea if she is joking. In any case, whatever we decide, I am not yet ready to give her and her kind free entry into Hogwarts.

Yet another set of decisions to make.

As the undead depart, I pull out a return portkey for Hogwarts - a small medallion bearing the Hogwarts seal. Within a few seconds we have returned to the lawn outside Hagrid's hut.

We walk quickly to the main buildings, the Countess making pleasant comments on the grounds. I fear that I am rather unresponsive, as the weight of developments begins to press on my mind. Minerva comes forth to greet us.

"Albus! I am so glad you're back." She clearly wants to say more, but stops at the sight of the Countess.

I introduce the two of them and ask Minerva to show Elizaveta to guest quarters. She agrees quickly. "I will see you in your office, Albus." It is not a request.

I walk slowly to the gargoyle, feeling very worn. Entering my office I am greeted by a sight that would normally cheer me, but now only fills me with fear and annoyance. Alastor Moody, Arthur Weasley, and Remus Lupin are all gathered waiting for me.

"Has something happened with Harry?" I ask automatically, although the wards should have warned me if that was so.

"No, the boy's fine. Well, at least the same." Alastor produces his flask and takes a long drink. "This has to do with Snape."

"What about Severus?" I feel another thread of fear shoot through me. Has Severus been found out?

Then a second thought. If he is trying to cause more trouble about Harry I think I will introduce him to life as a toadstool. Not permanently, but I am starting to lose patience.

"He sent a message around saying he had some important intelligence," Arthur says. "He asked that we gather here to talk as soon as you returned."

I am so very tired. But Severus would not act so precipitously if he did not have good reason.

"Very well," I say. "Where is he?"

"Right here, Headmaster." Snape enters through the door, Minerva behind him. "My apologies. I had to check on a delicate potion I have brewing."

"Of course, Severus! Please everyone sit down." I reach over and stroke Fawkes, who trills a greeting. "Minerva, is our guest comfortable?"

"Yes, Albus, but why is she here?"

I quickly explain what happened at Beauxbatons. They all listen with mounting alarm.

"I doubt that was approved by the Dark Lord," Severus says when I have finished. "It has the marks of someone overreaching."

"And making a bloody mess of it, too," Alastor growls.

"But are we sure of this woman?" Minerva asks. "She is from Durmstrang, and that is not exactly the most reassuring of references."

"Oh, there is worse," I say.

They all look at me with expressions of dread. As well they should.

"Before her marriage, the Countess was known as Margarite Narodim."

Severus and Arthur look at me blankly. Minerva obviously finds the name suggestive, but looks puzzled. Alastor, however, understands immediately.

"Do you mean she's that Margarite Narodim?"

"Yes," I reply evenly, "that is exactly what I mean. Countess Streltsy is Grindelwald's oldest daughter."