Home is where the heart is

Home is Where the Heart Is
Chapter Twenty - Movement

Friday the fourteenth of October dawned bright and sunny. The rain clouds had left temporarily, and for the first time in a week the sky was clear and fresh, even if the wind was cold. However, none of the students had the opportunity to experience this first-hand, and between classes would gaze longingly out at the grounds. "I'm going crazy," Ginny Weasley told Hermione. "I love Hogwarts and all, but this is beginning to push the limit."

Classes had finished for the day, and most of the Gryffindors were gathered in the common room, blowing off steam from the week. As all students were confined to the castle, they didn't really have anywhere else to go, besides the library. So Harry was there, idly flicking through Quidditch through the ages for the umpteenth time, and occasionally joining in with the babble of talk, although not often. People were acting very warily towards him since the rumours had begun to circulate.....

.....rumours that Professor Rivendale had been lying in the hospital wing as if dead, and then the earthquake had happened. It was common knowledge that Harry had been up there at the time....and when the earthquake had stopped, and the strange lights were gone, Professor Rivendale was very much alive and awake.

It made many nervous. But Harry was still a member of Gryffindor House, miracle-worker or not, and at least his fellow Gryffindors were making an effort to act normally. But besides the usual gossip about Harry, there was one other major topic of conversation amongst the fifth years - Draco Malfoy had not been seen since last Saturday afternoon.

Everyone knew this, as the Slytherins had been looking tense and drawn in class, and Ron had overheard Pansy Parkinson finally asking Snape where Malfoy was in Potions on Wednesday afternoon.

"Who cares where he is?" Ron said moodily that night, as he and Harry bent over their homework. "It's the best thing that's happened all year. How much do you want to bet that he's run off to his dear old daddy and gone to Durmstrang?"

"I don't know, Ron....." Harry said, blotting his parchment as he scribbled. "Why'd he leave now, then? He could have gone at the beginning of this year."

"Well, whatever the reason, I reckon the whole thing's brilliant," Seamus commented, sitting at his nearby table with Dean and Neville. "Potions has got to be at least ten times better without the snot. The Slytherins are too busy swapping news and gossip to pick any fights."

"Yeah, but how long will that last?" Dean asked darkly.

Then, yesterday, Sirius and Remus had showed up out of nowhere, and were likely to be staying at Hogwarts for at least a week. Needless to say, Harry was thrilled to have them in the castle. Perhaps things would improve now that they were back. The last week or so had seemed to drag on forever, full of bad things, scary things, and immensely tiring things.

Now, outside, the sky began to darken as it became evening. Feeling quite cosy, Harry, Ron and Hermione abandoned their homework and reading, and sat in front of the fire with the majority of the Gryffindor fifth years. Harry sat down on the couch with Ron. Hermione decided to make herself comfortable on the floor, and wiggled her toes in front of the pleasant warmth.

"How're you feeling?" she asked Harry after a while, jolting him out of his dreamlike state. "Do you still get dizzy spells?"

Since the week before, and the bizarre 'Incident' (as he had begun to call it), Harry had sudden attacks of stomach pains and weak spells at random. The only explanation that he, or anyone else, had been able to give him was that simply - he was drained. "It took most of your magical power, to do what you did," Dumbledore told him, when Harry confided in the Headmaster about the dizziness. "It is only natural that it will take time for you to fully recover."

Harry was very careful not to overdo anything. The last thing he needed was to faint in front of the entire school.

"No, it's getting better," he assured her. "I haven't felt sick at all today."

Ron grinned. "She's mothering you, Harry. You must be so honoured."

Hermione threw him an annoyed glance. "I was just asking, Ron."

At that moment, the portrait hole swung open, and to the occupants of the common room's surprise, Professor McGonagall stepped through. "Attention, students!" she called, straightening her hat as she surveyed the Gryffindors, portrait door swinging shut behind her.

"I have an announcement. Due to the fact that the Quidditch tryouts were cancelled last weekend, due to some very......unfortunate happenings, they have been re-scheduled to take place on Sunday. I have no doubt that many of you are eager to try out for the team-"

"You've got that right," Ron whispered excitedly.

"-and so all those who wish to do so will meet in the Entrance Hall at eleven am, to be escorted down to the pitch. Myself and Professor Lupin will be supervising."

"Professor Lupin?" one of the sixth years exclaimed. "He's back for good?"

There were many excited murmurs around the room. Lupin had been seen around the castle, of course - after showing up yesterday, he had been at dinner, and greeting the students who had come up to say hello - but there had been no confirmation of any sort that he was back to teach. He had been a popular teacher with the students, and many were very glad to see him return.

"Yes, Professor Lupin shall be teaching again," McGonagall said clearly. "Permanently. Professor Binns has decided to leave us for a period of time, and therefore Professor Lupin will be taking up the position of teaching History of Magic."

There was a stunned silence, before the common room erupted with cheers at this announcement. Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged looks of delight. "This is wonderful!" Hermione said happily. "We might actually learn something in History of Magic now!"

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" Harry asked her incredulously, as the people sitting around them burst into excited chatter. "You always get above ninety-five percent in History anyway!"

"Yes, but if we actually stay awake in class, it means less cramming!"

"Yeah....more time for Exploding Snap, too.....but I can't believe Binns is actually leaving!" Ron said, shaking his head in wonder. "He's been here for nearly a century. I wonder why he's going?"

McGonagall overheard Ron's question. "Professor Binns is taking a well-deserved rest," she said stiffly. "He shall be visiting some of his relatives in Glasgow. He should be gone for at least a year."

There was even more cheering at this. Professor McGonagall frowned disapprovingly, but took her leave of the common room, and the students began to talk in earnest about the change of events.

"So Remus is going to be here for at least a year!" Harry muttered to himself, practically beaming. "Which means that Si--- er, I mean, Snuffles - should be staying, too....."

No one else heard him besides Ron and Hermione. They both grinned at the uplifted expression on Harry's face. All around them, several people wore similar expressions, although not for the same reason. The prospect of Quidditch returning revealed that even the quietest students were enthusiastic about the airborne sport, as the stodgiest bookworms laid their books to rest and were joining in with the exuberant crowd.

"And what about the Quidditch tryouts, eh?" said Ron, his eyes lighting up. "I guess I can take a shot at Keeper. I just wish that I could have had some practice. Stupid curfew," he added, with a scowl. Harry shook his head. He disliked the curfew as much as Ron did, but it was pointless to complain about it. After all, what could they do? It was supposed to be for their protection.

His protection.

Not wanting to think about Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Harry brushed the unpleasant thoughts away, and concentrated all of his attention on what the other Gryffindors were saying to each other. "Hogwarts'll be back to normal, with Quidditch ahead!" One sixth year commented wisely.

"All the teams will be rusty," Lee Jordan was telling Fred and George. "You blokes'll have to train up twice as hard - say, I wonder what Katie's got in mind for the schedule?"

"What's Quidditch?" one first year asked his friend timidly. Seamus Finnigan overheard and let out a mock-gasp of horror.

"You don't know what Quidditch is?" he exclaimed. The small first year boy shook his head, looking apprehensive. "You can't go on like that! I'd better clear it up for you.....there's four balls, and it's played on broomsticks, and it has to be the best game in the whole world......anyway, there's six hoops, and they......"

"I think it's going to be a long night," Harry said, watching the Weasley twins wave their hands about wildly as they argued Quidditch tactics with Katie and Lee.

Hermione winced. "I think I'm going to go to bed early," she said tactfully.

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- - - - - - - -

He was drowning.

The water was choking him. It was up his nostrils, had soaked every millimetre of his body, the weight of his school robes were pulling him down--

He tried screaming, but all that came from his mouth was a stream of bubbles, what little oxygen was left in his lungs. At the same time, the putrid water flowed into his mouth and made him gag reflexively. He couldn't breathe; all he could see was a general murkiness all around him.....things were getting dark, his eyes were stinging horribly.....

And then, a bright shape materialised in front of him - suspended, unmoving. It was wispy, and then suddenly formed a wavering face. His mother's face.

But her eyes were missing. They were just black holes in her head - lifeless sockets.

The apparition opened its mouth.

"Harry?"

He reached out to touch her, but as his fingers brushed her face, she just - faded into mist.

It was like trying to touch a cloud.

"Come back!" he screamed, but the pressing of the water all around him was too much. He was going to die....it all made sense.....there was no point fighting upwards......

He relaxed - and sank.

- - - - - - - -

Harry sat up, in a tumble of blankets. It took him several moments to remember that he wasn't in the lake, he was wearing his pyjamas, and he was sitting up in the darkness of his dormitory. One bed over, Harry could hear Ron's faint snoring, muffled by his pillow.

No water. No ghostly apparition. No lifeless eye-sockets staring at him.

It had just been a dream.

Just a dream.

Whether Harry was too tired to think about it, or he just wanted to go back to sleep, it was enough to make him fall back onto his pillows. And within minutes, he was unconscious again.

*******************************************************************************************

Saturday came to the hospital wing, and Draco still hadn't decided whether he was going to accept Dumbledore's offer or not. Since he only had one more day to decide, this certainly was not a good situation to be in.

Sometimes living as a Muggle almost appeals to me, he thought in disgust, staring out the window at the fervently blue, autumn sky. At least they don't have evil Dark Lords that want to destroy the world everyday.....unless you counted whats-his-name....Hitter? Hilter?

Draco was sick of the hospital wing. He dreaded whenever Madam Pomfrey came in - she would fuss, and want to inspect him for the tenth time that day, and then try and feed him potions and chocolate. The only way to avoid this was to fake sleep - but even he couldn't do that the whole day. All in all, he was longing for tomorrow, where he could escape the mad mediwitch and her clutches.

The only thing that seemed to stand in his way of rest was The Decision. He could choose to betray Voldemort, and his father, and his entire family, and the whole bloodline of the Malfoy family - to spy for one wrinkled old man.

Or, he could just go on his merry way, stick with Voldemort and his father, and one day help to rule the world under the Dark Lord's reign.....unless they were caught by Aurors......and the odds of that were quite high.

Looking at it from that perspective, there seemed no obvious choice. But Draco's old loyalties to his father threatened to make up his mind for him. Why risk it? Just politely say 'no' to Dumbledore, get Father to pick me up, and that's the end of things.

But Draco couldn't say no. The tiresome, irritating voice in the back of his mind that seemed to resemble some kind of conscience wouldn't leave him alone. You aren't a killer! You nearly passed out at the sight of your OWN blood! You'd make a lousy executioner.

I could kill if I wanted to.

Yes, but you'd hate it. Death Eaters like to kill.

Snape doesn't. He doesn't like killing either. Draco knew this, as he had once heard his father comment on Snape's unwillingness to dispose of his old 'familiar', an old crow named Irony. It had been sickly and was going blind. Snape refused to 'put it down'; it had lived another three years.

Snape. There was another issue to consider. It was obvious to Draco that Snape was some kind of spy, and Dumbledore's informant. Draco still had trouble absorbing the news of his favourite teacher, Head of Slytherin House, and apparently 'loyal' Death Eater, was indeed, a traitor. And, Draco thought, with a sickening feeling in the bottom of his stomach, if he didn't turn spy for Dumbledore and kept his own loyalty to the Dark Lord......

He'd have to reveal Professor Snape for what he was.

Voldemort would kill Snape. Probably in a horrible, ugly, public way.

Just another addition to the ever-growing pit of problems that is my life... thought Draco dully, as he stared out the window.

He looked over at Danielle. Madam Pomfrey had removed the curtain shielding him from the rest of the wing, and he could now observe the older woman in her own hospital bed. She didn't seem to do much, just sit and read books that the house elves brought up for her. Well, Potter also brought up books, when he came to visit. During those times, Draco would scowl and fake sleep. It was better than having to make conversation.

At the moment, Danielle was, as usual, engrossed in a book - Wild Warlocks And Their Wild Pets - Memoirs Of Famous Animal Tamers. She was still forced to wear the hospital wing nightgown, much to Draco's amusement. He had overheard many heated arguments between the professor and Madam Pomfrey, all of which Madam Pomfrey had won, hands down. Danielle was no match for the woman, and neither was Draco. He found it easier to just go along with the matron and avoid any conflict. It was less tiring.

One thing that intrigued Draco was his discovery of Rivendale's role as Potter's Godmother. He gathered this fact from listening to their conversations. After all, how many other students were permitted to call their teacher by their first name, and joke around about their unwillingness to die? "I've begun to compare you to a cockroach," Potter had said to Rivendale yesterday at lunchtime break. Draco, who had been lying down and facing the back wall, choked and nearly made a loud noise. Luckily, neither Danielle nor Harry had noticed, because the room was full of Danielle's protesting.

Draco was just sitting there, watching the professor flip through the book eagerly, when the door opened. In walked an enormous, shaggy black dog, accompanied by none other than Lupin, the werewolf. Draco narrowed his eyes. He didn't trust werewolves - they were dangerous, and a menace to society. In Draco's opinion, they were better off locked away in a camp somewhere, behind bars at all times. Truthfully, much of the wizarding community felt the same, so Draco was not alone in his bias.

"Remus!" Danielle said, surprised. She put her book down. "Isn't it a bit early for you to be visiting? Haven't you got a class?"

"It's Saturday, Danielle. Classes aren't on Saturday, remember?" Remus replied in amusement. "You've been losing track of time in here, being locked up." The huge, hairy dog jumped onto the bed and sat on Rivendale's legs, wagging its tail maniacally.

"AH - get off me, you great - ow! - fat - canine!"

The dog seemed to look offended at being called fat.

"Padfoot, get off her," Remus said sternly, grabbing the dog by the scruff of its neck. "You can deliver your affections to her later, in a less eager way." As if he'd been stung by a bee, the dog quickly leapt off the bed and sat on the floor, looking sulky.

Lupin glanced over and noticed that Draco was sitting up in bed, watching them coolly. He looked at Danielle, and then nodded his head awkwardly at Draco. "Mr Malfoy," Lupin said, in what Draco dubbed to be a kindly tone. "It's good that you're well enough to sit up. Last time I saw you, your condition was a little worse for wear...."

I'll bet.

Draco sniffed arrogantly, and turned away. "I'm recovered," he said icily, to the wall. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Really? Well, what a coincidence. Professor Rivendale is also being allowed to leave tomorrow," Remus said, smiling cheerfully. "You'll be able to get back to your job...and I can start mine..." he said to Professor Rivendale brightly. Draco jerked and looked away from the tapestry that he had been glaring at.

"What job?" he asked, before silently kicking himself. He wasn't supposed to acknowledge the werewolf. Lucius had drummed it into him that if you kept lower persons down, they wouldn't get the idea that people were interested in them, that they mattered.

Lupin looked surprised at his interest. "I've been offered to teach History of Magic," he told Draco. "Professor Binns is leaving Hogwarts for an extended time, and they needed a teacher."

"Dumbledore asked you?" Draco was aware that he had to be very careful only to let a certain amount of resentment seep through his tone. "There wasn't anyone else?"

The dog began to growl. However, Lupin just smiled again pleasantly. "Well, no, there wasn't. And as I was the only available candidate.....it was only fitting that I took the job. After all, Draco, we all must decide on what to do with jobs that are offered to us..." Lupin's eyes caught Draco's, and it was then that he realised something : the werewolf was smart. He'd trapped Draco into a stalemate with his words.

Swallowing, Draco inclined his head. "Yes, Professor."

Still smiling, Lupin turned back to Danielle. Draco decided the wonderfully neutral smile that Lupin wore was extremely annoying. "We just stopped by to say hello. Oh, and we brought today's Daily Prophet for you." From his shabby robes, Remus withdrew a folded-up newspaper. "There's a couple of interesting stories in there, if you'd care to read them."

"Oh?" Danielle looked down curiously at the newspaper. "Anything on Voldemort?"

Both adults seemed to be trying to ignore the fact that Draco was in the room.

"No, nothing direct. Just a story about the stupidity of the Ministry, courtesy of the Prophet's diligent reporters-" Remus shook his head. "Some news on the animal migration. Officially, it's a 'natural' phenomenon - which is still a complete mystery."

"Which it is," Danielle pointed out. "For all we know, it could just be something natural."

Remus looked sceptical; Danielle sighed. "You're right, it's not," she admitted. "And I'm the animal expert here. Dark creatures of any kind don't just suddenly break all migration habits and start moving north. It's something else."

"It doesn't take much pondering to figure out what," Remus muttered. As if on cue, both adults glanced over at Draco again. Irritated, Draco gave them a scathing look.

"I'm not Voldemort, you know," he drawled. "You don't have to check with me before mentioning Him."

"Of course, Draco," Danielle said hastily. "We just want to be careful, as-"

"Don't bother worrying about it," Draco said stonily. "I know what you all think of me anyway."

There was a long silence. Lupin looked even more awkward, while Rivendale appeared as if she would rather be somewhere else. The dog that was with Lupin was looking at him uneasily. "Dogs aren't allowed in the hospital wing," Draco pointed out, after a moment. Hint, hint.

"Yes," Lupin said quickly, sounding relieved. "We'll just trundle off before Poppy comes back. Dumbledore wanted a word in his office, now that I remember clearly."

"Right," mumbled Danielle. "Leave me here with the mental matron."

Remus patted her shoulder comfortingly. "It's only one more night."

"One night for you, a nightmare for me."

Shaking his head, Lupin turned and sent Draco one last, friendly smile. "It was good to see you again, Mr Malfoy." Nudging the beast-of-a-dog that was with him, Lupin raised his hand in farewell, before disappearing out of the door. It shut with a light thud.

Feeling uncomfortable at the scowl that she was receiving from Draco on the other side of the room, Danielle reached for the newspaper and unfolded it. The front page featured a picture of Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, walking out of the Leaky Cauldron, wearing a very shady expression. 'Minister for Magic blunders again!' - read the headline. Underneath, the subline said, in bold lettering, - 'Australian community battles disease alone'.

This caught her attention immediately. Danielle focused on the newspaper print and began to read.

Cornelius Fudge, Britain's Minister for Magic, has blundered the alliance between magical nations yet again. On Friday afternoon, he received a request from the Australian Ministry of Magic, to aid them in the ever-increasing Achledius disease that is spreading amongst the magical community.

Fudge turned down the request abruptly, claiming that the British MediUnion was overrun, and our own troubles were focused on St Mungo's hospital, which has an all-time high of patients on record. "Our mediwitches and mediwizards are working flat-out at the moment," Fudge told the press at yesterday's conference. "We do not have the resources to spare to help aid the Australian Ministry."

However, a spokesperson for the MediUnion said this morning that resources were not as stretched as the Minister claimed. "We could still send at least fifty of our witches and wizards to Australia," the spokesperson told this Daily Prophet reporter. "The situation in the Australian magical community is quite serious, as this is a fairly new outbreak of the disease."

Achledius disease, as studied by the notable professors and medidoctors at St Mungo's, is a disease which can only be caught by witches and wizards, while having no effect on Muggles and magical part-humans. It inflicts a raging fever, rashes all over the body, chills, difficulty in breathing, and pigment spots on the skin which swell and can become infected if not treated. Many cases of Achledius end in sudden death. Researchers are still not certain as to how the disease is transmitted, and cannot explain the sudden outbreak of the fatal disease.

Whether Fudge truly believes that the British MediUnion is too strained is indeed a mystery. But as the controversial debate continues, an average of five Australian witches and wizards die each day of Achledius disease. The immediate dismissal of the request of the Australian Ministry has been viewed as an insult to the country, and it has been said that the Minister has received numerous Howlers in reply.

"And serves him right!" exclaimed Danielle aloud. She was furious. After all the times that the Australian Ministry had helped the British Ministry - dating right back to the settling of Australia - Fudge was just going to sit back and ignore Australia's cry for help? It was an outrage! Achledius disease was very dangerous, and spread easily. How long would it be, before the disease managed to reach British shores? Then, would Fudge take action?

"What?" Draco said. He had been startled by her sudden outburst. He was even more startled to see the furious expression on Professor Rivendale's face. He hadn't seen her truly angry before, and it was a strong contrast to her normal mood. Instead of her friendly, carefree grin, it was replaced with a clenched jaw and heavy frown.

She felt personally affected by this news. After living in Australia for several years, and having branches of family there, it seemed unbelievable that something like this could happen. The wizarding community in Australia was nowhere near the size and scale of the British populace.

Danielle looked up at Draco. "Oh, it's nothing," she said. But the way she said it was entirely unconvincing. "Just another stupid move by Fudge."

"Oh, him," Draco said disdainfully. "He's a bloody moron. Has no dress sense, either."

"Mr Malfoy, please watch your language," ordered Madam Pomfrey, who chose that moment to sweep into the wing. "And Professor, avoid getting too worked up. Otherwise, I won't be able to release you from the hospital wing tomorrow."

Danielle blanched and quickly withdrew. But still fuming, she opened the newspaper and started to look over the inside stories, to distract herself. After the front page, the other, smaller reports were of little interest. Oh, look. Gilderoy Lockhart was releasing a new range of haircare products. Brilliant. Just what the world needed. And here was the story on the Dark Creature migration.

Reading over it, Danielle had to agree with what Remus had told her - nobody had a clue as to what was really going on. Nobody seemed to suspect anything to do with Voldemort - and if they did, they were keeping their opinions to themselves. Idly, she scanned over the rest of the news. Wimbourne Wasps were so far dominating the Quidditch league. South Africa had reached a trade agreement to export their rare herbs and plants to Britain. A little girl was missing in Galway, Ireland. A two-headed dragon had been born in the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary.

Basically, the usual.

Danielle turned to the crossword section and began to fill out the crossword. After all, there was little else that she could do. It would serve as a sufficient distraction. Meanwhile, Draco was back to fretting over what to decide. He had less than twenty-four hours to tell Dumbledore his choice....and he was no closer to making up his mind than he was before. Just when he thought that he was going to go crazy and start clawing at the door, Madam Pomfrey came in from her office, holding a steaming goblet.

"Medicine time!" she said, in a nauseatingly cheerful voice.

Draco wanted to hit her.

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It was roughly midnight, when the masses began to arrive.

Under the cloak of nightfall, the thousand-strong army entered the forbidden city of An Domhain, marching in an orderly fashion - rows of six across. The thud of their clawed feet reverberated off the hard rock of the ground, creating a sound that few who saw them enter would forget. The daemons wore no armour, for they needed none. Their tough, scaly hides were near the standard of dragon scales. Their cruel, beaked faces were cast in shadow, as they trooped in by the light of torches.

Voldemort and Aiden stood together, watching from a balcony that had been carved out of pure rock, high above the main cavern which held ancient dwellings - the remains of the original city. Fires had been lit, giving the enormous chamber an unearthly glow. Behind them stood a few selected Death Eaters - Lucius Malfoy included. At that particular moment, the normally cold and unimpressed man was wearing a stunned expression, his jaw hanging open. The other men - recent additions to the Death Eaters - were no different.

Feeling quite smug, Aiden turned back to the gathering spectacle before him. Voldemort's expression was unreadable. In the flickering darkness, a red sort of light illuminated only half of his snake-like face. It made the Dark Lord's eyes seem to glow on their own.

"Beautiful," Voldemort said softly, gazing down at the daemon army. "Perfect. You have certainly lived up to my expectations, Aiden...." Turning to Aiden, he seemed to gain height, and become darker. Already Voldemort towered over all men who served him, and this only seemed to add to his terrifying presence. "You have done me a service that no other has ever accomplished."

Aiden bowed. "I only live to serve you, My Lord."

The Dark Lord smiled. "How many are there?"

"Roughly a thousand, Lord. These are the most deadly of the species - young, fit, vicious, and happy to kill whomever and whatever they are ordered." Waving an idle hand in the direction of the massing array of daemons, Aiden continued, "They have no conscience, no hesitation to slaughter. All have been gathered from the one daemon colony in existence."

Voldemort looked at him shrewdly. "And where is this colony?"

At this, Aiden lowered his eyes. "Forgive me. I cannot say, for if I were to reveal their origin, the leaders of the daemons would know. They have their own magic, you see-"

"And have placed you under an oath," Voldemort finished. Again, his terrible face was unreadable. "Very well. It does not matter at the moment. A thousand will do nicely. After all, it wouldn't do to appear greedy."

Aiden bowed again. "Thank you for being so understanding, My Lord."

Beneath them, the last of the daemons had arrived from their long trek into the tunnels of An Domhain. All were assembled in the immense cavern and were standing in long, straight columns - like a massive infantry, standing to attention. It grew quiet.

Then, one daemon stepped forward from the front row. Unlike the rest of the monster-warriors, this one had a strip of cloth tied around its bicep on each, scaly arm - which looked to be splattered in something that looked uncannily like human blood. Around its neck hung several leather thongs, with a large collection of teeth threaded through them. They ranged from huge, carnivore-like teeth, to wolves teeth, herbivore teeth, and to even human teeth.

Aiden shivered in anticipation. That was the army's leader, the one commander to whom every single daemon was fiercely loyal. The daemon who would become Lord Voldemort's equal, for the time being. It began to climb the rock stairs that were also carved into the side of the cavern, which led all the way up to the balcony.

The gait of a daemon was much like a prehistoric dinosaur - particularly tyrannosaurus rex. However, their bodies were constructed so that they walked more like a human, more balanced and upright. It achieved the goal of warning all who looked up their race that they were dangerous. Voldemort, Aiden, and the few Death Eaters behind them waited for the daemon-commander to reach their lofty lookout. Aiden could sense the fear that the other Death Eaters were feeling - the air was lingering with the smell of sweat.

He himself had dealt with daemons many times before, and felt no fear. After all, Aiden was probably one of the very, very few people on the earth who could kill a daemon with ease. Voldemort held no fear of these creatures, either. He had been reduced to nothing but a spirit, a shadow - had walked on the path between life and death for what had seemed like an eternity. Daemons were no danger to him. Voldemort was the Dark Lord, after all.

Eventually, the commander came to the top of the stairs. It stepped onto the rock balcony, and he and Voldemort inspected each other. It was a meeting of two evil, ruthless beings. Obviously, Voldemort liked what he saw, because he nodded his head in satisfaction. "Salutations," he greeted the commander cordially. "You and your kin are welcome here."

The commander daemon and Voldemort were roughly the same height. The commander turned its head to look at Voldemort with one great, yellow, dragon-like eye. "I tthhank you for your welcome," it finally replied. "We havvve travelled ffar, withh great sspeed. It is not easssyy to move a tthhhousand daemonss over such disstances. Aanndd tthere are many more to come."

"More?" repeated Voldemort. His red eyes flicked down to the daemon army below. "You have more to spare?"

"Off course. None wished to miss the chance of battle. Four thousand troops will arrive over the next week."

Four thousand? Aiden stood at the side and watched the exchange silently. It seemed that he had underestimated the daemons. Five thousand troops in total. An invincible army of assassins. With a force like this, Voldemort could conquer the world in no time.

"You are more than generous," Voldemort said to the commander. "I......understand that these troops answer to you alone?" There was no threat in his tone. If anything, Voldemort sounded almost like he was inquiring about the weather.

The commander daemon made a grunting sound. "Yesss."

The Dark Lord gave a short bow. "Then you are to be held in my deepest respect," he said quietly, in a faint hiss. "You know my name, but I do not know yours. What are you called?"

"My name is too complex for you to pronounce. In your tongue, I am called Khahiran."

Voldemort scrutinised the commander for a lengthy period of time. Khahiran just stared back calmly, his reptilian-like face unmoving. The air was tense, before Voldemort fell back into a gracious smile - which was hardly recognisable, as his face was not capable of showing real kindness or friendly emotion.

"My home is your home, for as long as you need stay here."

Khahiran delivered a deep bow in return. "Hhhave you food?" he asked, his yellow eyes hungry. "My people have travelled for mmanny days without food or rest. We must recover from such a journey."

"Of course. Aiden-" Aiden stepped forward onto Voldemort's right. "Direct Khahiran to the food stores that we have. It seems that we will need to prepare more food for the arrival of more troops."

Khahiran's beak quivered. "You have spilled daemon blood before, hhuuman," he hissed, staring intently at Aiden. "I can smell it. You are the One who deals with my people. Why do you harbour a daemon-killer?" Khahiran fired this question at Voldemort. He looked suspicious and wrathful.

Voldemort did not twitch. "My servant was attacked," he said slowly, matching Khahiran's tone. "Surely he is permitted to defend himself? Aiden is under strict orders not to harm any daemon in An Domhain. Is that not enough reassurance for you?"

Remaining expressionless, Aiden watched Khahiran carefully. This daemon was distrustful - which made him wise. But perhaps it was the sheer power in Voldemort's presence that convinced Khahiran to agree. "Very well," he finally snapped. "My people require foodd immediately."

Still acting gracious, Voldemort beckoned to Lucius Malfoy with one spindly, white hand. "Show him to the meat stores. Get the Death Eaters to distribute the food. Aiden, accompany him."

Lucius Malfoy looked very unnerved at guiding Khahiran, but courteously began to lead the daemon commander through the back of the viewing balcony, to the interior steps that led into the cooling chambers, deep in the city. That was where the meat was stored - meat of many creatures, that Macnair was all too happy to provide. With one final glance at Voldemort's shadowy figure, Aiden followed.

*************************************************************************************

"Quiet, please!"

Gryffindor hopefuls were milling around the Quidditch pitch, eager to get on a broom and demonstrate their skills to the deciding judges. It was another clear, sunny day, and one of the few times that students were permitted on the grounds. Professor McGonagall was trying to get their attention, but the crowd was too excited and tense to quiet down. The remaining members of the Gryffindor team - Harry, George, Fred, Alicia and Katie - were all in the stands, waiting for McGonagall to put everyone in some kind of order.

Remus, or Professor Lupin, as he was now being called again, was sitting with them. "I'm not entirely sure what it is that I'm supposed to look for," he told Harry, with some embarrassment. "If they can fly without falling off, then it's a better accomplishment than anything that I've ever attempted." It was no secret that Remus was a disaster on a broom.

"I reckon half the school's on the pitch," Fred said, grinning. Indeed, it seemed as if all of Gryffindor had showed up. A few people from other Houses were present, either using the opportunity to go outside, or had a brother or sister trying out and were there to cheer them on.

"Yeah," said George. "And that's going to make a lot of them nervous, if they weren't already."

Professor McGonagall had evidently had enough, for she whipped out her wand and pointed it at herself, muttering a spell. "ATTENTION!" Her voice was magnified several times its normal level. The people nearest to her winced and covered their ears with their hands, probably going quite deaf. The pitch fell quiet.

"Now that I have everyone's eyes and ears," McGonagall announced, glaring at all of them in a very foreboding manner. "I am going to sort you into groups, according to which position you wish to try out for. Keepers, gather to my left. Chasers, to my right. Everyone else, if you plan to stay, go up into the stands."

There was sudden movement, as students hurried to obey her orders. The majority of people came up into the stands to join Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team. Meanwhile, the leftovers separated into two groups. Harry spotted Ron standing in the small group of Keeper-wannabe's, his red hair standing out. Even from where he was sitting, Harry could see the nervous expression on his best friend's face, tinged slightly with green.

"He doesn't look too well, does he?" Hermione muttered to Harry, as she sat down beside him.

The Chaser's group was larger than the Keeper's - amongst the hopefuls were Dennis Creevey, Natalie McDonald, and Sandra Jordan - Lee's younger sister. In the Keeper group, Harry also recognised Colin Creevy and Seamus Finnigan, who were standing with Ron. Ron didn't seem too happy to have to listen to Colin's excited chatter.

"Each group, arrange yourselves in alphabetical order." Again, movement, as the Chasers and the Keepers milled around, putting themselves in a line. Ron was at the back of his line. He looked even more edgy than he had been, a moment ago.

Once everyone was assembled, McGonagall pulled out two lengths of parchment from her robes. "Now write your name down - clearly, if you please - and then, the first person from both groups come and take a school broom - no, Finnigan, you cannot use your own broom - and come and stand in front of me."

Professor McGonagall passed a piece of parchment to both groups, and a self-inking quill. All of the candidates signed their names quickly, and passed the lists back to McGonagall. The first two Gryffindor hopefuls stepped forward and collected a school broom each - although the quality of the brooms didn't appear to be as good as most would like.

"So, how exactly does this work?" Harry asked Remus, who was watching the pitch with the same amount of interest as everyone else.

"I'm not quite sure," he replied, frowning slightly. "Since there are two positions to cover, I think Minerva - Professor McGonagall, to you - was going to pit the new Chasers against the Keepers. That way, we can get an idea of the general skill. Minerva knows what she's doing."

"Mount your brooms!" McGonagall commanded. The two Gryffindors exchanged nervous looks, but did as they were told. They were then asked to kick off into the air, and demonstrate some of their flying skills. Eventually, they were given a Quaffle, and told to go from there. In the stands, everyone looked on with bated breath as the two Gryffindors swooped and spun in the air, the Chaser trying to get the Quaffle past the Keeper.

"They're pretty good," Alicia commented, her eyes fixed on the two scarlet blurs.

"Mmmmhmmm," said Katie.

For the next hour or so, the same sort of procedure went on. There was an exclamation of horror when two Gryffindors in the air collided - but luckily, they didn't fall and weren't seriously hurt. "Can't have them on the team," Lee snorted afterwards.

Probably the most nerve-racking moment was Ron's turn to fly. Being the last person in the Keeper line, he'd been watching all of them before him, and was now a peculiar shade of grey. Harry knew how much Ron wanted the position. Ever since the Mirror of Erised, Harry had known what Ron really desired - to have recognition. Here was his chance to follow his brothers.

Mounting his broom, Ron waited for McGonagall's call. The Chaser was a third year called Lucas, who was looking almost bored to be there. "Kick off!" said Professor McGonagall.

Both rose off the ground, gaining height, until they were roughly twenty feet in the air. Ron turned the rickety school broom, and began to zoom up and down the field, swooping high and low, and attempting sharp turns in the air. At one point, he looped the goal hoops several times, getting a murmur of appreciation. Jaw clenched, Ron continued to show what he could do in the air. Lucas was doing the same, although he was noticeably less skilled.

When it was time, Lucas began to make advances on the goal hoops, which Ron was guarding carefully. Taking aim, the third year hurled the Quaffle towards one hoop.

Ron saved it.

The stands erupted in loud cheers and applause. "Go Ron!" Harry yelled. Hermione was bobbing up and down in her seat. Remus had to smile.

Round two. Again, the third year came forward, his eyes narrowed. Ron flew out to meet him, hoping to block the shot. Lucas threw the Quaffle.

He missed the hoops, and Ron caught the Quaffle before it fell. More applause. Fred and George were standing on their seats, chanting "Weasley!" at the top of their lungs. Remus didn't bother to tell them to sit down. Some of the crowd joined in with the twins.

Last round. By now, Lucas was looking very annoyed. He drew back his arm, holding the Quaffle, and accelerated forward. Right when he was nearly equal with Ron, Lucas threw it. It missed Ron's outstretched hand by an inch, and went sailing through the middle hoop. There was a disappointed sigh from the crowd, but then a loud applause for both boys.

"He did well," Remus said to Harry and Hermione. "Ron has a good chance of making the team."

The last Chasers went against a few of the Keepers, who had volunteered to go again. When everyone was finished, McGonagall beckoned to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Harry, Katie, and the rest of the team trooped down the steps to the Pitch.

"Well, what do you think?" she asked Katie, when they arrived. "I thought, myself, that there's quite a few possibilities."

"I...." Katie looked hesitant, but an encouraging nod from George seemed to reassure her. "Well, I might need a day or two. To talk it over with the team." McGonagall nodded, satisfied.

"Very well. Please give me the names on Tuesday, if you can."

"Yes, Professor," said Katie, and the rest of the team echoed her.

In the stands, people were looking for amusement. There was already a game of tips being played amongst a group of second years. A few fourth years were having some kind of bubble fight with their wands. Remus was still sitting in the stands, in deep conversation with Hermione.

Professor McGonagall turned away from the team and surveyed the pitch. "Now to round them up," Harry thought he heard her mutter.

****************************************

Draco watched the Gryffindor team tryouts from the window in the hospital wing. He snickered when two crashed into each other in midair. "What a hopeless lot," he said scornfully. However, Draco continued to watch. There was nothing else in the wing, entertainment-wise, and the longer he put off making a split-second decision, the less time he would use panicking.

Especially now, that his panic had reached something of a crescendo.

Danielle had left the hospital wing earlier that day. Something about 'teachers privileges', had been her excuse. Pffft. Of course, Professor Rivendale slipped out when Madam Pomfrey had been preoccupied with giving a sixth year a strong Pepper-Up potion. Draco had to admire her cunning.

But he was forced to wait until Dumbledore came to visit, some time that evening. What Draco was hoping for was a miracle. A sign. Something that would tell him what he should do. He didn't believe in God - his family was strictly Pagan - but Draco would be willing to pray to Him if he'd only get a bloody hint.

Leaning on the windowsill and watching the game, Draco suddenly noticed an owl, flying straight towards the hospital wing window. Startled, Draco stood back and let the bird come in to land on an empty bed. His stomach dropped as he recognised his father's messenger - a sleek eagle owl.

I guess you've got your sign, a voice in his head said, with false cheer.

****************************************************************************************

Dumbledore came in with Madam Pomfrey early that evening, to find Draco sitting on his bed, pale, and clutching a scrunched-up piece of parchment in one fist. He hadn't bothered to light the candle next to his bed, and the room was quite dark.

"What on earth-" said Madam Pomfrey, staring at Draco.

"Mr Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked, concerned.

Draco looked up. His grey eyes glittered. "When do I start?" he inquired, in a hoarse voice.