The Phoenix and the Serpent

The Phoenix and the Serpent

Chapter IX : Into Darkness

Daniel loved alcohol. All great friendships, he decided, ought to begin with all parties getting wasted right and proper. Like death, alcohol is a great equalizer; rich or poor, noble or commoner, men are all the same when either dead or stone drunk.

Mr. Morrow had several bottles of homemade wine wasting away in his cellar. Daniel preferred gin, but wine was good nonetheless. He had slapped the innkeeper's back, inviting him to take part in an exorcism, "that we may liberate these poor, restless spirits trapped in your cellar." And, suiting word with deed, they had lugged four bottles up to the dining room.

Danny refilled his glass and took another long swallow. He imagined that somewhere in the back of his head were three switches for the varying levels of drunkenness. The first, marked 'Easy,' had been flipped three glasses ago. He was probably a glass away from 'Tipsy.' Moody wouldn't take too kindly with him getting 'Smashed,' but the spirits were very convincing tonight.

Beside him, Mr. Morrow had his head buried in his arms, blubbering about his troubles since the town had emptied of residents. Danny pretended to listen, his hand on the innkeeper's shoulder. He owed it to their host to show some form of sympathy, right? Right.

He fleetingly wondered how Robert was doing. He had peeked in their room some forgotten time ago before the 'Tipsy' switch flipped and saw the other boy asleep on the bed.

Danny wondered about that boy sometimes. He could tell Robert--if that really was his name--was hiding something. Lying, in fact. But about what he wasn't sure. Then again, what did it matter? Danny was getting a good deal, getting paid a tidy sum for a job as easy as this. And it had fringe benefits. Dumbledore's good will, for one. Free drinks, for another.

So let him keep his secrets. Danny wasn't about to begrudge him that. After all, everyone had something to hide, right?

"Abso-bloody-lutely," he muttered, smiling wanly and taking another sip. "Everyone's got something to--"

He immediately spat out the wine as the front door flew open with a bang. Danny's right hand flew to the leather sheath on his belt, but the intruder was already upon him, one gnarled hand grabbing him by the lapels and hefting him to his feet. Mr. Morrow took one look at the figure and scrambled backwards, screaming. He was consequently ignored by all parties.

"Moody?" cried Danny. "What the hell--"

Soot and grime stained Moody's coat. He smelled of smoke and burnt flesh, although he did not seem to be harmed. "Why aren't you with the boy!" he demanded. He didn't wait for an answer and he began dragging Danny to the stairway.

"Gerrof!" Danny yanked Moody's hand off of his shirt. "What the hell're you trying to pull? You scared that man half out of his wits!"

"The boy," growled Moody. "He's all right?" "I--yes, he's fine! I checked on him fifteen minutes ago and he was sound asleep!" "We'll see. Now, that old man you met three days ago--"

"What old man?"

"The cop, you fool! Describe him!"

Danny paused. "He was very old. Wrinkled. Dried up. Completely bald. He wore thick gloves. Actually, he looked no different from any old fellow I've met in this town."

"Did he have a shadow?"

"What?"

"Did you see if he had a shadow?"

"Are you out of your gourd, old man--"

"Look!" Moody raised a warning finger. "We're in big trouble. Get that through your head right now. Don't say anything unless you're damn sure about it. Now tell me if you saw this man's shadow!"

Danny took a deep breath and said, "All right. I don't know. I never noticed. He'd been talking to Robert so I never noticed. Happy? I hope you are. Now would you be so kind as to tell me WHAT THE HELL IS GOING--"

A terrible crash and a muffled shout from upstairs interrupted their conversation. Moody's magical eye whirled to the direction of the noise. Danny felt the floor reverberate beneath his feet, and instantly the last of the liquor drained from his head.

Moody cursed and bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Danny drew his wand and ran up after him. They tore down the hall side by side and burst into the room where Robert was sleeping.

But the bed was empty except for rumpled sheets and shards of glass. There was more glass on the floor, along with the wooden remains of the windowpane. Just beyond the dark gaping hole of the window came a rush of air and the faint, heavy sounds of beating wings.

Moody roared and charged towards the window, Danny at his heels. The old Auror scanned the night sky beyond with his magical eye.

But the night was their enemy's accomplice. Clouds covered the moon, darkening the sky. Neither of them could see where the intruder had gone.

Danny felt his insides sink. "What in the world was that thing?"

"Nosferatu," said Moody, more to himself than to Danny. "An Ancient one. The crosses didn't deter it. It must've been spying on us all this time, studying our habits, looking for weaknesses..."

"A vampire! Here? You can't be serious!"

"And what do you know about it?" said Moody, turning on him. "That they were killed or driven off from Britain decades ago? That they fear garlic and a few simple crosses? That they show up on Dark Detectors and can be killed by stakes? Pah!" He turned to the window again. "You think Ancients play by the rules?"

Danny's mind whirled at these words, but Moody was already hobbling towards the door. He stopped mid-way, reached down to pick up something and tossed it over to Danny. It was Robert's wand.

"Now," breathed Moody, "now, you can try to justify your fee." And he stalked out of the room.

Shame filled Danny, a feeling he had become well-acquainted with in his younger days. But as he followed his godfather out the door, his shame slowly gave way to anger. By the time they had reached the first floor, he was burning with rage. He did not even see Mr. Morrow cowering in a corner. Kicking a chair out of the way, he and Moody made for the exit.

'Whoever you are,' thought Danny, loosening the straps of the gauntlet on his left forearm, 'whatever you are, for your sake, I hope you can fly fast. I hope you can fly real fast.'

With Moody in the lead, they loped through the dark streets of Hillsdale. They headed for the cemetery.

~~@~~

As he slowly returned to consciousness, the first thing Harry noticed was the stench. He had known it before, though briefly; the smell of age and dust and rot. He knew where he was even before he opened his eyes. He was in a crypt.

Slowly, the world came into focus. He was sitting up, facing some source of light--a single candle sitting on a dusty stone tomb. The flame was tiny because of the lack of air in the enclosed space, leaving him a small bubble of sickly light to see by. On the ground beside the tomb lay the rumpled uniform of a policeman. 'He must be dead now,' thought Harry. 'Whatever it was that got me, it got to the old cop first.'

Around him on every wall, the dimly lit figures of beheaded angels stood guard. Directly across from him, on the other side of the tomb, he saw the shadowy outline of the crypt's sealed entrance. And in the far right corner, the skeletal remains of the tomb's last resident lay in an ungainly heap. Harry was alone.

Then, as he was about to get to his feet, a voice spoke in the dark.

"Awake," it said, seeming to come from the very walls themselves. "At last the sleeper wakes."

Harry clamped his mouth shut, trying not to scream. His eyes tried to pin down the source of that terrible voice. Movement from the opposite side of the room arrested his attention.

Tendrils of thick grey mist were seeping through the cracks of the entrance. Slowly they crawled to the floor and began pooling together beside the tomb. Harry watched in horrified fascination as the pool began to rise in a smoky pillar. The mist solidified into the shape of a man clad in a black robe, and the tomb's newest resident entered the circle of light. Harry found he could no longer suppress his scream.

He was wrong about the old cop. He was not simply dead. He was worse than dead.

Looking at it now, Harry could not fathom how he could have mistaken it for a man. It was giving him a nightmarish grin, and even the dim light could not disguise the sharpness of its fangs. Dark bat-wings were folded on its back. Its long, gangly arms ended in thick gloves of black silk. In the gloom he hardly seemed to be there; a floating head of pale and sallow skin that formed deep wrinkles on its bald head and around its eyes. Eyes like green-flamed torches. Harry knew enough from Defense Against the Dark Arts to know what stood before him.

"Hhhhh...So nice," it rasped in an ancient, hollow voice, "so nice of you to join me, bloodling."

"You!" shouted Harry. "I thought you were trying to help us!"

The thing cackled and crept forward. Harry pressed himself against the wall, as if he could will himself to meld into it. Failing that, he slid towards the nearest corner. Anything to put distance between himself and the creature.

"Hhhhhhelp you?" it rasped, "Maybe not, man-fleshhhh. Certainly it has hhhhelped me."

"You gave that article to trick me?" demanded Harry.

"Trick, aye. I take little chance with whhhhizards. Your friend...is watchful and dangerous. Bears many a trap and device. I needed to be tricksy, to be sly!" It gave another unearthly cackle, cut off by a hacking cough.

"I gave you that little clue, kef," it went on, "and talked about curses and magic, because that would interest you, whhhizard. All the same, so predictable. Make curses only to break them, break them only to make more. Hahahaha...kef..unghhh..."

Harry stared in shock . "Then...then the Evan's curse..."

"Kef. No curse on this town, bloodling...no curse but myself! My clue led you to that woman's house, where long I had lain my trap. Your guardian thought hhhimself clever to go alone. Thought hhhhe could sniff the danger out. But my pets were ready for hhhhim: heeeee...he fell, the man-fool! Like a pig to slaughter! Chk kik kik kikk krrr!"

Harry's mouth fell open. "What have you done with Moody?"

A whisper of movement, and it was crouched on the tomb. The candleflame wavered but did not cast the thing's shadow on the far wall. "Heee heee...Not for you to know, bloodling. Not for you to know. Now you needs worry about yourself." It flipped into the air, attaching itself to the low ceiling like a fly. There it pulled something out of the shadows, something wrapped in a thick cocoon of spidersilk. It began unraveling the threads, crooning a wordless, dreary tune punctuated by coughs.

Harry felt himself going numb with fear. Moody is dead? He couldn't be! He just couldn't be!

"My...my friend will find me," Harry said, trying to rally his courage.

"Kar!" laughed the vampire. "Not watchful, that one. Strong but foolishhhh, a man-donkey. I did not wait long till he left you to yourself, alone, defenseless, kikrrr..."

"Just who are you! What're you going to do to me?" He paused, suddenly remembering his worst fear. "You're a servant of Voldemort, then?"

"I SERVE NO MASTER!" it shrieked, turning its blazing eyes on Harry. "I AM NO WHHHIZARD'S SLAVE! I AM WAGNARD, AND I AM BEHOLDEN TO NO ONE!"

The creature leaped soundlessly onto the tomb, still clutching the spiderweb cocoon. Wagnard's coughing was loud and harsh, and breathing seemed an act of will alone. Alarmed by its nearness, Harry scrabbled away, hands splayed on the wall behind him.

"I care not for your troubles--kef!" Wagnard went on. "I care not who you are! You are here...hhhhere...for one thing only--the same reason I am!"

He held up the cocoon, drew a blade-like thumbnail across the bottom. Something shiny slipped out and fell onto the stone with a sharp clink! It glimmered bright red in the candlelight.

Harry's eyes widened. "That's..."

"Hhhhaaaaa...The Crystal Cage," the vampire finished for him. "Long sought by the followers of the Cimmerian Sorceress. Found at last, after hhhhundreds of years of fruitless searching. Found by me!"

The brooch was quite small, nowhere near the size Dumbledore had described it to be. It was blood scarlet and bright as a star. Twin bands of rusted metal wound around it like vines. This was the Crystal Cage, their weapon against the Dark Lord?

"You cannot understand, bloodling," whispered Wagnard, creeping forward, "hhhaahhhow long those years were for one like me. You cannot understand hhhhow long I searched for it, night after night, century after century...hhhhhhow I heeded nothing else--not power, not riches, not the making of my own brood. All for this.

"She was my own. I made her. I found her a long time ago, seeking power, seeking immortality. Hrrrrrrhaaa...And I gave it to her. I made her what she was! She would have been mine for all time...if not for Volarius's treacherrrry!" He bared his fangs and clutched at the edges of the tomb. The stone lid began to crumble in his grip.

A wild thought came to Harry, one almost too terrible to contemplate. The vampire before him had long gone mad; the centuries had broken his mind. There was no way Wagnard was letting him get out of here alive.

He had only one hope. He had to buy time. Time enough for Danny to find him. He pushed aside the thought that his bodyguard wouldn't even know where to begin looking. He had to stay calm. For his life.

With a steady voice, he asked, "What do you mean? What did Volarius do to you?"

"Hhhhheee...He tricked me!" cried the vampire, shaking his clenched fist at the ceiling. "Deceiving, conniving, false whhhhizard! Made me think he had taken her away to another land! Fooled me into searching till the ends of the earth! Curse him, curse him and his falsehoods! Hhhhhad he not been dead, I would pop out his lights with my thumbs, carve out his brains, and keep his skull as a trophy!"

Though Wagnard was looking right at Harry, his gaze was looking beyond him. Harry realized that the vampire's mind had slipped into the past.

"I searched on and on, then at last, a clue! I learned the story of the Crystal Cage from a whhhizarding man-fool. Told me all of it, right before I drained him dry. Kef...krrrk...I returned forthwith to Britain, to hunt down the sons and daughters of Volarius's blood. I would smell them, I thought, find them easy!

"Hhhhrrr...But I had been gone too long! None were to be found! All gone, dead! The blood of Dahlia, faded from the mortal realm!

"For hhhhundreds more years I wandered across this land. It changed before my eyes--steel towers, glass obelisks, strange monuments rose whilst the elder landmarks fell to ruin and were forgotten. The Cimmerian Sorceress passed from story to legend, legend to myth, myth to dust. Hrrr...hraaahhh...I searched on, searched every hidden library and archive for a clue. Until at last, at last I found where the jewel gone--it had been passed on to non-whhhizards, to simple man-flesh! Kef--Cunning worthy of Volarius! I came to this town, hid in this boneyard. And hhhhere, here I found it. In the grave of Evans's, I found it!"

"But why are you still here?" asked Harry. "Why didn't you just leave with the Crystal and find a way to break it yourself?"

Wagnard snarled, "I could not! Volarius was treacherous to the last! He had cast one last enchantment on the jewel, something I did not expect."

He removed one black glove, and at first Harry thought he wore another one beneath it. But he was wrong--the vampire's right hand was charred black to the bone.

"When I tried to touch it, it burned me! My minions would not go near it! Hrrrrand though I wrapped it in spiderwebs, the Crystal would refuse to leave this churchyard. It burns me still to this day!" It let out another unearthly cry and launched itself at the wall. Harry scrambled for the other corner as the cracks appeared on the stone around the vampire's fist. Wagnard turned and fell to his knees before the Crystal.

"Dahlia!" he cried. "To be near you, yet still so far! Why do you reject me still? I am the last who remembers, the last who still loves! Why do you spurn me so?" Wagnard grasped the brooch with his right hand. There was a hissing sound as his fingers made contact, then a plume of smoke, and he snatched back his hand. His coughs started up again, lasting a long time, each one coming like a blow to his chest.

"I-I did what I...kef--could," he wheezed, "I h-hid you here, Dahlia, to this crypt, though it cost me dearly...kef..." He removed his other glove, held up both his burnt hands as if in offering. "Come with me, Cimmerian Sorceress, brood of my blood. Come with me. Loose your bonds, and share my eternity in damnation."

He fell silent then, as if listening for a response. For a moment Harry thought the creature had forgotten about him, but Wagnard raised his eyes to him once more.

"I knew one of her blood would come one day," he rasped, grinning. His fangs looked very sharp, very strong. "This jewel is linked to your bloodline. Hrrraaa...You will never be free of it. Always one will come. Always one will seek it. And so I waited hhhhere. For one such as you."

"So you destroyed the cemetery!" said Harry. "You drove the people from the town!"

"Yes, it was me! I could not hhhhide my nature for long. I desecrated the cemetery so I could rest hhhhere. To get back my strength I fed on the youth of this place. I knew how to cover my tracks--not hhhhard, a little magic to hide the wounds. But the man-fools thought it a... kef-contagion. They left in droves. Left their old and weak. I lived on their blood for as long as I could, but it took its toll. I am now as you see me: old and withhhhered.

"But my waiting has not been in vain. You came at last. I caught your scent the day you arrived. I watched you at night in the form of mist. And I thought of a way to ensnare you. Now you are hhhhere, at my command. And you will fffffreeee her from her cage!"

"No, no," said Harry, horrified, "you can't make me do that!"

"Yes, yes, I can make you!" mimicked Wagnard. On all fours he crawled towards Harry, eyes burning a venomous green. Harry shrank back against the wall as the vampire brought his face close to his.

"You WILL free her! Or you will suffer for it. I hhhhave tortures for every year I'd spent in unlife. Find you a way to release hhheeerrr, or you will know them all!"

Harry realized he had nearly come to the end of it. His chance for rescue was smaller than ever. There was one thing left to do.

Harry knew that he would almost certainly fail to make the Crystal's enchantments work, but the vampire was convinced Harry could figure it out; he apparently knew very little magic or how it was done. So Harry had to pretend that he was doing it. It was the only thing he could do to stall for time. Clearly, the best way to prolong his life was to prolong his usefulness.

So he said, "If I...if I release her...will you let me go?"

The vampire looked pleased. He drew back a little. "Yes, yes, now the man-fleshhh sees reason. Release Dahlia, and you may go."

"And you'll let me take the Crystal with me?"

"Yes, yes, take it with you. Never let me see it again."

"Do you give me your word?"

"Yes, YES! Release her! Free my love, hrrraaa...then you go free! Free her ...hrraakkg...and the little bloodling shall get what it deserves!"

His words filled Harry with a biting dread, but there was no turning back now. With an effort of will he walked past the vampire and stood before the broken tomb. The Crystal lay there, glinting in the dim light.

Is she really still alive in there? He wondered. Maybe she would be, if she were a vampire like Wagnard. The thought of having done that to herself in order to achieve power and immortality sickened Harry. Clearly all Dark Lords were the same.

He reached a hand for the Crystal, then drew it back. He belatedly realized something.

If it burned him, he would not be able to do anything at all. And that would be the end of his ruse.

Wagnard leapt and perched onto the tomb like a huge, malformed crow. "Hhhurry now! What are you waiting for, man-fleshhh? Why do you waste time?"

"I...I have to prepare," replied Harry. "This is not going to be easy magic. I have to concentrate."

"Well then, prepare! But make haste! I have waited a thousand years--hhrraagkh...I will wait no more!"

Harry tried to calm his nerves despite the sight of Wagnard glaring at him. Part of him was trying to play the role, but another part was running around in circles, screaming, 'Where's Danny! Where's Danny!' and was not helping at all.

"You hhhhesitate, bloodling," said Wagnard, eyes narrowing. "You need convincing, yes?"

Panic surged through Harry, but he used what little anger that had welled up inside of him.

"I'm about to cast a spell," he snapped. "If you'd only let me concentrate then we can get on with it. If I make a mistake and die, then you'll have to wait another hundred years before someone else comes along to help you with your problem."

The green torch eyes flared, but it worked. Wagnard fell silent.

Harry somehow reigned in his galloping heart and began muttering some made-up words under his breath. They did not sound like a spell at all--more like a nursery rhyme said backwards. He could not imagine anyone falling for so poor a ruse.

Many minutes passed this way. Finally, with nothing left to try, Harry raised his hand and, very gingerly, touched the Crystal.

The polished surface felt cool against his skin.

Harry sighed in relief, and cupped the jewel in his fingers. Before him, Wagnard's hands shook with anticipation. "Closer," he wheezed, "closer we come..."

Harry muttered a long string of words, and brought his other hand around the Crystal. Nothing was happening, and that came as both a relief and a worry. A relief because the less he toyed around with Crystal without supervision, the less chance of him accidentally doing something bad, like freeing Dahlia. A worry because, with no obvious effects, his apparent usefulness to Wagnard was quickly decreasing.

The Crystal remained still.

He whispered more words, one hand poised over the brooch. Long minutes passed. Once he stole a look up at the vampire, and regretted it. Wagnard was glancing from the Crystal to Harry's lips, and the first flickers of suspicion were lurking in his eyes.

Nothing. Still nothing. Nothing at all--

A glow began to emanate from Crystal's depths, and Harry ceased his chanting in surprise. It gleamed steadily brighter, and within a few moments had outshone the candle beside him.

By then, Harry had forgotten to breathe. What have I done?

"Yes, yes!" cackled Wagnard. He was leaping up and down on the tomb. "That's it! Haaa...haaa...I knew it would work, I knew it! Haaa...Now, finish it! Cast your final spell!"

But Harry no longer knew what to do. He was scarcely aware of anything else but the Crystal, glowing nova-bright in his grasp. It was in control now, burning so radiantly that Wagnard snarled and raised an arm to shield his eyes.

Then, Harry felt them. Invisible hands, rising out from the Crystal's depths, touching his fingers. They were cold, like they had been dipped in snow or ice water. Panic paralyzed him as he felt those hands slowly flow up to his wrist, then his elbow, then his shoulder. He could do nothing as the fingers felt his face, his ears, his forehead.

And a mind, unknown and unrelenting, touched with his. In the next instant, his eyes were filled with the image of a woman standing next to a tree. Her deep crimson robes revealed only pale grey hands that ended with sharp nails. Long red hair covered her face, but her eyes were visible. Green, piercing eyes that stared without blinking. Staring at him, into the depths of his mind.

Then the light went out.

Harry stumbled backwards and dropped the brooch. He felt weak, drained and disoriented by the sudden darkness. He had little time to get his bearings when a shriek, filled with anger and anguish, filled the air.

"NO!" screamed Wagnard. "No! Why did it stop! WHHHYYYY!"

He leaped down and grabbed the jewel. A hiss, like that of meat landing on a hot griddle, assaulted Harry's ears. Wagnard dropped the Crystal and fell back, clutching his hands in agony. Then he lurched forward and grabbed Harry.

"Do it again! Cast your spell again!"

"I...I can't..." said Harry, trying to think. "I'm too weak...If I could rest, then..."

"You were so close! Did you see her? Did you feel her presence?"

Harry shook his head. "Need...to...rest...can't..."

"KAR! Do it! You WILL do it! Or else I will make you sorry." He pulled Harry close to his face. His breath smelled of sepulchers and corpses; his twin fangs promised a slow end. "I will make you like me. I will turn you into a vampire!"

A fathomless fear gaped within Harry. 'It's over,' he thought. 'I'm going to die, I'm going to die very badly. Sorry, Mum, Dad, I'm so sorry I couldn't--'

There was a roar of thunder as smoke and debris suddenly filled the air. The explosion rocked the vampire on his feet. He dropped Harry and whirled about. Harry felt pebbles raining on him and he covered his head on instinct, but not before he saw two fiery bolts slam into Wagnard's chest just as the vampire turned around. Wagnard was flung against the wall behind the tomb, out of sight. Harry turned to the stone entrance, now blown wide open. Standing amidst the remains of the shattered door were two men he thought he would never see again.

"Danny! Moody!" he cried, scrambling to his feet and running towards them.

Danny had a wand in each hand, both pointed at the spot where the vampire was lying. Moody was shining his wandlight at the tomb, then at Harry.

"You all right, boy?" said the old man. "Get away from here! That thing might still be dangerous. Run for the gate and don't stop 'til you see the Inn."

"Sorry we're late," said a grim-faced Danny. "Think this is yours, by the way." He tossed the wand in left hand over his shoulder. Harry caught it. If he hadn't quite believed he had been rescued, he did so now. Relief was flowing into him, giving him strength.

"Thanks," he said, feeling the word incredibly inadequate. "I didn't think--"

"Save it," said Moody. "We're not out of the woods yet. Get on out of here."

"Wait!" cried Harry. He ran towards the tomb and began digging through the dust and debris.

"What're you doing!" cried Danny. He rushed forward to cover him. "It isn't safe for you to--"

"The Crystal Cage! It's here somewhere! He had it all along!" Harry shone his wand on the floor, desperately searching. He doubted those curses had seriously hurt Wagnard, and he had to find it before the vampire woke up.

Moody had surged forward, shining his light on the ground. "You're sure it's the real thing?"

"I used it--nearly, anyway. We can't let him get it back or else he'll--there!" He pounced on a glinting object, dug it out of the rubble, and held it up to Moody's light. The brooch looked unharmed. Harry let out a sigh of relief.

"Good work!" said Moody. "Saves us a lot of worrying. Now get to safety. We'll take care of the rest."

Harry did not need to be told twice. Turning off his wandlight, he rushed to the entrance, into moonlight and mist. He had never thought the cool night air could smell so good.

But he had not taken three steps out of the crypt when a hideous cry rent the darkness, followed by the beating of gigantic wings. Dust billowed out of the crypt's black maw.

"Run!"

He could not tell who shouted the warning. He did not even look back. Harry broke into a run, tearing down the graveyard path.

His right hand clutched at his wand, his left hand curled tightly around the jewel. The black skeleton of the cemetery gate loomed directly ahead--he could see it, and it looked like it was miles away. Vines snarled themselves around his feet, slowing him down. Twice he nearly stumbled on hidden rocks.

And still those heavy wings, above him now, matching the pounding of his heart. An inhuman shriek filled his ears--too near! He glanced up to see the huge bat-like form of Wagnard swooping down, claws grasping. Without even time to think, Harry threw himself flat onto the ground. Stars exploded in his vision and his mouth tasted dried grass. The vampire passed him like a windstorm--Harry felt the very air press him into the earth. But Wagnard had missed.

Harry looked up, surprised his glasses were still intact. He saw the creature fly up several feet, then flip over for a return sweep. Harry leaped to his feet and dashed to the nearby tombstones. He ducked behind one just as Wagnard reached him, claws outstretched to rip off his head. Yet again the creature missed, and his howl of frustration echoed throughout the cemetery.

Harry heard the sound of running feet on the gravel path.

"Stay down, boy!" bellowed Moody. "Wherever you are, stay close to the tombstones! He can't get you there! Danny, take that way! I'll take this route--"

Harry was already crawling on all fours through the maze of crypts and statues. Terror was a real and physical thing, constricting around his lungs and limbs. He turned left and right without any real sense of direction, like a mouse evading a circling owl. 'He can smell me,' he realized with horrific despair. 'I can't hide--I can't hide at all.'

As if to prove him correct, Wagnard appeared directly before him, his booted feet planted on the two tombs flanking Harry. Harry froze in mid-crawl; he had nowhere to dodge.

Wagnard reached for him with his ice-pick nails, green triumph in his eyes.

The curse came from the vampire's left, slamming into his face. He fell sideways off the crypts as Danny leaped over them.

"You okay?" he shouted down at Harry. Harry found he could only nod.

"Then stay there! Wait for Moody!" Danny rushed forward. Harry crawled to the foot of a tall sepulcher and watched as Danny leaped from tomb to tomb, chasing the receding form of the vampire. In the blink of an eye Wagnard took to the air again, out of Danny's reach.

Danny remained standing on a low crypt, wand at the ready. "Come down here, you pansy!" he shouted up at the vampire. "Let's see how you like having holes bored into your neck!"

For a while, nothing happened. The tall boy jumped up and down on the crypt, throwing more stinging challenges at the creature. Wagnard flew around the moon in a lazy circle, ignoring every taunt. Harry nestled in the shadow of the sepulcher. He still had the jewel, clutched so tightly in his hand the edges bit into his skin. He was unhurt--at least for the moment.

A thought occurred to him: where in the world was Moody?

Suddenly, the vampire dipped down towards a steel fence surrounding a lone monument. Wagnard grabbed the bars and pulled, snapping off a whole section. He flew in three fast circles with the fence hanging from his hands, then dove straight down at the Danny.

Danny hunched low and held his wand high. The tip glowed like a bright yellow star. The vampire was rapidly descending on him, but he did not budge. 'He's meeting him head-on?' thought Harry. 'Is he crazy?'

Not twenty feet from Danny, Wagnard released the steel fence and veered upwards. It flew towards Danny, a wall of whistling spears. Danny's hand was a blur as he aimed and fired. His curse ripped through the fence, sending the pieces in many directions.

But before Danny could aim again, the vampire suddenly dove in from the right and slammed into him at full speed, wrenching the tall boy off of the tomb.

Harry watched in horror as Wagnard carried Danny high into the air. The vampire had the other boy by the throat. Danny was flailing his arms, trying hard to connect a punch. At some point, his wand slipped from his grasp. It twirled as it fell to the ground. The two combatants kept spinning through the air, climbing towards the pale gibbous moon.

Then Wagnard dropped him.

"No!" cried Harry. He sprinted out his hiding place, eyes glued to the plummeting body. Danny was going to crash into a row of unyielding tombstones within seconds. There was no time to even think.

Harry skidded to a halt on the cemetery road and shouted the only thing that came to mind--

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

He froze, wand arm outstretched. For one awful moment, he thought he had missed.

But in the next second, the other boy's terrible momentum slowed to a feather fall. Relief crashed into Harry. With his wand, he made Danny drift towards the open road before him. Danny had fallen about sixty feet, and stopped at about twenty. His face looked white and gaunt and his whole body was stiff as a board.

An exultant cry rang in Harry's ears. Wagnard had spotted him, and lost no time for his opportunity. Harry could neither run nor hide: Danny was still too high in the air for him to drop. The vampire rushed towards him, wings and arms akimbo--

"SIX!"

Harry spun to his left and saw Moody standing beside a tall column a few yards away. His trunk had popped open before him, revealing what looked like a lump of dark rock. The Auror's wand was burning like a lit match. As the vampire closed in, Moody dropped his wand into his trunk.

Harry was not quite sure what he saw next. First there was a loud FOOM!, then a loud buzzing noise, then a hundred red sparks shot out from the trunk and into the sky. They flew towards the oncoming Wagnard like a barrage of tiny fireworks. The vampire was moving too fast to stop or dodge. He plunged headlong into their midst. Some of the sparks scattered, but most began attaching themselves to the creature. Where they touched cloth, the sparks winked into flames. Wagnard screamed in agony.

Watching all this in wonder, Harry had forgotten about Danny. But the other boy caught his attention by waving his long arms and pointing desperately down at to the ground. Harry gently lowered him. Danny landed on his feet but quickly dropped to his knees with his head bowed. "'Scuse me," he said, sounding sick. "Heights."

"Hide your wand!" Moody shouted at Harry. "Quickly now! The fire wasps will attack anything they see as a threat!"

Harry quickly stuffed his wand into his pocket.

Above them, Wagnard spun and beat his wings, shrieking his fury. Try as he might, he could not escape the cloud of flaming insects. They attacked him from all sides, and though he batted at them they easily avoided his flailing hands. Soon he was completely burning, and with an anguished cry fell onto a tall crypt. Still the wasps did not relent.

"That's it," said Moody, his eyes huge and glaring. "He'll not last long against that."

All three of them watched as the vampire's body vanished into a cloud of smoke. The cries turned from fury to agony, then weakened into nothing. Pieces of burnt cloth drifted down on them like black snow. The flames began to die out, and the fire wasps ceased their frenetic buzzing.

"Is he...is he gone?" asked Harry, still staring. There was only thick smoke and grey mist.

"Damn it, Moody!" shouted Danny, getting up. "He was mine! I was going to finish him!"

"Quit your snapping, pup! You've done enough damage for one night."

"I'm causing damage! Where'd you get a fire wasp hive, eh? And you say I have illegal creatures?"

"One word about this to anyone and I'll shut that gob of yours for good!" Moody picked up his wand and waved it. The fire wasps zipped back to the black hive in his trunk. He turned to Harry and asked, "Were you hurt?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not. Danny?"

The other boy was massaging his neck. "Bastard had quite a grip. I'll be wearing a black collar by tomorrow."

"Fine then," said Moody. He let out a long, ragged breath. "Let's leave this churchyard and get out of town. People will come running in here any moment now, and they'll be having questions. The only questions we'll be answering will be Dumbledore's. Back at Hogwarts."

The last sentence came to Harry like a song, and a tired smile crept onto his face. He had done it. He had found what he was looking for. The wizarding world now had hope. And he was going back home. Home.

Danny staggered towards Harry, an annoyed expression on his face. "Any idea where my wand landed? I hope it fell on some vines, else I'll have to--"

Suddenly his eyes widened. "MOODY! LOOK OUT!"

In the next second, something blacker than the night struck the column next to Moody. Harry heard the rumble of crumbling stone as the pillar began to collapse. The old Auror looked up at the descending column in utter surprise, then threw himself on the ground beside his trunk. The pillar fell on top of him with a thunderous crash.

Both Harry and Danny stared in shock as a cackle rose into the air. The dark shadow leaped onto the fallen column, leering at them with burning green eyes.

'Mist,' Harry realized, a dazed dread filling his brain. 'He turned into mist to escape the wasps.'

An angry roar rang in his ears. Danny was tearing off the gauntlet from his forearm.

But Wagnard had leapt into the air and in the next heartbeat was dashing between them. His outstretched wings struck their faces, knocking them apart. Harry's wand went flying as he landed squarely onto a tomb. His teeth rattled as the back of his head slammed against the stone. Dazed, he found himself gazing up at the stars, and the pain was rearranging them into unfamiliar constellations. Clutching his head, he pulled himself to his knees.

A strong wind pushed at him as Wagnard came down, squatting before him on the tomb. He looked worse than ever; his pale flesh was charred and leaking black ichor. Little holes had been burned through his webbed wings. His head was no more than a skull with jade eyeballs. He stank of burnt flesh and death.

"Nowhh," he rasped, "nowhh I whill take whhhat is mine...heend the bloodlhhing...gets whhhhat it deservessss!" He reached for Harry's neck.

Harry remembered the Crystal in his left hand and closed his fingers tighter around it. His vision swam, partly from pain, partly from anger.

"You want it so much, Wagnard?" he snarled. "Here!"

Harry lunged forward and thrust the Crystal at the vampire. There was a hiss and a plume of smoke as the jewel made contact with Wagnard's chest. The vampire's screamed. The sound stuck Harry like a blow and a momentary darkness passed over his eyes. Wagnard grabbed his forearm, sinking his claws deep into flesh. Harry gritted his teeth to keep from crying out, and pushed the Crystal further into Wagnard. The vampire screamed louder, his mouth forming a dark fetid O. Harry felt his strength leaving his arm.

"Robert!"

A sound like a gunshot filled the air as a bright flash struck Wagnard's back. The vampire crumpled to one knee, and Harry saw Danny standing some distance away. He was aiming something with his left hand, something silvery and glowing and difficult to make out. He fired it again and Wagnard jerked. The vampire was still clutching onto Harry's arm. He looked Harry in the eye, then with desperate strength wrenched himself away and fell backwards off of the tomb.

Harry stared down at his own arm. He was bleeding from ten little crescent-shaped wounds. And his hand was empty.

Choking gasps came from his nemesis. Dazed, Harry shuffled to the edge of the tomb and peered down.

Wagnard lay on the dead grass, drawing long, pain-filled breaths. The Crystal smoked and smoldered on his chest, burning a hole deep into his flesh. Seconds later it had sunk out of sight, though the hissing and smoking remained. It had reached his heart.

Wagnard stared up at the black, starry sky. His face was a landscape of unspeakable pain, but his eyes registered only an endless grief. Harry found he could not turn away, awful though the sight was. Perhaps it was the look of utter failure in Wagnard's dying gaze, of a hundred lifetimes lived and gone to waste. Perhaps it was the thought of witnessing a thousand years of unlife coming at last to death. Perhaps it was the realization that this being, once a man, was now being killed by the very thing he had loved for so long.

Whatever the reason, Harry felt he had to look and bear witness. Now that Wagnard was finally dying, Harry pitied him.

Finally, there came the sound of boiling liquid, and the vampire released a long, smoking death rattle. His body tensed, then relaxed, and as if for a final release began to crumble into ash. As Harry watched, the night wind picked up and wisps of ash flew and scattered into the air.

The Crystal Cage lay there amidst the grey pile, silent and slumbering.

Harry stepped down from the tomb and closed his left hand around it. His wounded arm felt as numb as his mind.

"Robert?"

Danny caught him as he staggered forward. "Steady now," he said, "It's really over. You did it. You got him."

Harry nodded wordlessly.

Panic suddenly crossed Danny's face. "Moody!"

He made Harry sit down on the grass and sprinted to the fallen column, calling for his godfather. As Harry watched, a wizened hand crept out of from beneath the pillar. Danny grabbed it and yanked the Auror out, much to Moody's angry protests. The old man did not appear hurt at all. His trunk had been strong enough to hold up the pillar, saving him from getting crushed.

They were beside Harry a moment later. It's over, Harry told himself. He shook his head to clear it. It's really over now.

"You okay?" Moody asked. He had his arm extended towards Harry.

"I...I..." Harry realized that the old man was trying to help him get up, and raised his left arm to Moody's grasp.

Moody brought him to his feet, then stared down at his arm. "You're wounded."

Harry had completely forgotten. "It's all right," he said. "It doesn't hurt."

"It should." Moody kept staring, and Harry looked down as well. Red splotches were forming around the leaking wounds. His arm was numb all the way up to his shoulder. All of a sudden, he felt quite weak. His knees buckled, and Danny quickly grabbed his other arm to support him.

"Wha-what's happening?" Harry asked. His vision was spinning, his skull felt as if it were constricting his brain.

"We're taking you to the inn," said Moody.

"Hang on, Robert," said Danny.

Hang on.

Hang on.

The words made no sense. And the world was spinning faster.

What's happening to me?

~~@~~

"He caught a disease," said Moody. "The vampire guarding the Crystal Cage wounded him. Might be grave rot--I'm not sure. Whatever it is, it's eating up his strength."

He was sitting on a stool beside the bed, talking to Dumbledore through the lamp on the table. The headmaster's eyes were gloomy and pensive as he watched the boy. Harry lay prone on the mattress, dressed in his pajamas, the blanket up to his chest. His injured arm was bandaged and lay flat by his side. Below the wet rag on his forehead, his eyelids fluttered in restless slumber.

"He'd been awake for some time now," Moody went on. "The fever wouldn't let him sleep. He'd feel hot with the blanket on but cold without it. Had to knock him out with a bit of Sleeping Draught. I'd have him talk to you directly, but knowing the boy he'd try and tell you everything in one sitting. Not too keen about his own health, this one."

"You were right to let him rest, my friend," replied Dumbledore.

They were silent for a while, the Moody said, "This is my fault. I shouldn't have fallen for such a trick."

"Enough, Alastor. None of this was your fault. Nobody wanted this to happen. You performed your duties admirably, as did Harry. Our secrets are still safe."

"I've got some medicines in my trunk, but I'm sure they're not enough. How soon can we get our Medi-wizards here?"

"We had fielded them all since the emergency today, but I shall request Lyle to send two to Hillsdale immediately. There will be some difficulties getting them there in secret, so in the meantime, please do what you can for him."

"We can't we bring him back by Port Key?"

Dumbledore sighed. "In its weaked state his body might not withstand the shock of the journey. A man with a terrible fever once died as his friends brought him to the hospital via Port Key. We should not take chances until we are certain of our actions. Let him rest here for now. The Medi-wizards will arrive within a few hours."

"Very well." Moody nodded, then said, "It seems you've got a lot of work tonight yourself."

Dumbledore shook his head. "We are in a war, my friend. The time for rest is over."

They said their goodbyes, and Moody shut off the lamp. Behind him the door opened and Danny poked his head in.

"How's he doing?" he asked. There was a note of suppressed anxiety in his voice.

"Fever's gotten higher." Moody took the rag from Harry's forehead, dipped it in cold water of a nearby basin, and placed it back. He gazed at the boy's shut eyes. "He'll be delirious soon. Maybe he'll start talking in his sleep."

"I'll take a turn watching him."

Moody regarded his godson. "No, let me do it. You keep standing guard, and make sure the innkeeper stays out of this room." Moody's skill in the Memory Charm were not that polished, but they were enough for Mr. Morrow. Moody would knock out all of the man's memory if it meant getting to stay longer at the inn.

Danny opened his mouth to protest, but something in the old man's voice forbade argument. He left, shutting the door behind him.

Moody kept watch over Harry's sleeping form. It would be a cruel joke, he thought, if they gained the Crystal but lost the only person who could wield it.

"You're a fighter, lad," muttered Moody. "I know 'em when I see 'em. You can win this one too. Just...don't keep us waiting. I hate waiting."

Harry lay still, barely breathing. The old Auror sighed, then reached for the radio beside him and twisted the knob. There was a crackling sound, and the announcer's voice came on, clipped and interrupted by hissing static.

"...There is little doubt on the terrible events tonight...Ministry has yet to issue a statement on the current crisis, but the Aurors are assuring us they are doing all they can...no word at all from residents...no word on who our enemy is...all we know for certain...the city of Southhampton has been taken...Southhampton has been taken..."

To be continued