The Wizard Hunt

To hunt any animal, you need proper tools, the proper weapons, the proper techniques and you need proper motivation. For example, you don't try and catch a lion while the lion is lulling around with ten other lions. Also, you don't give a lion a chance to use its teeth on you before you kill it. Finally, you don't kill a lion with a slingshot - you use a large gun.

A man can always catch an animal. God put men on this earth to have dominion over it. God did not put men on this earth to cower to the lion. The lion is a great beast, but like all animals, it is subject to man's domination.

Man is the common, ordinary, luminous creature; the brilliant and noble as well as the idiotic and cowardly. A man is the creature who earns his life by the sweat of his brow and tills the earth, or builds and works with his hands or his mind as God intended. Man is the creature placed at the head of God's creation to wrench from that creation as best a living as he can. With the strength of his hands and the power of his mind, man muddles through his toils. At the end of that life of tribulation, thanks to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, we can hope to rejoin our creator, our savior; at the end of the toil and struggle.

And man hunts...oh yes he does...man hunts.

That's what I am. I am a man. I am a hunter. I have been given my tools and I have created my tools. I have even stolen my tools, God forgive me. I am here tonight to hunt demons.

My lions are not such simple beasts. My lions are much more dangerous. They are the spawn of the Devil, these animals. They use the powers of the Dark Prince instead of the sweat of their brow. They are unholy and unnatural. They use these dark arts to control men, to change their minds, to alter their memories so that men will not know the atrocities these beasts have committed. And they kill. These monsters kill and laugh.

But these charlatan's tricks don't work on me. It is a simple matter of having the proper tools and the proper weapons, praise the Lord; and the proper techniques and proper motivation.

My motivation is the image of the foul demon that arrived at my home when I was twelve years old. A foul demon and his little rat beast beside him. I remember his high pitched laughter, and I remember the rat beast cowering next to him. I remember him telling my father to give him the information he wanted or to watch my little sister, my mother and me die.

My father attempted to use a gun on the demon. The rat beast had laughed shrilly and said something about "muggle wands." The rat beast had waived a stick and the gun had turned into large spider. My father had dropped the spider with a yell of fright.

"I know you," my father had said defiantly. "We know all about you. Your days are numbered. You won't achieve anything by killing me or my family. There are billions of us and only a few of you. The good ones have contacted us. You think you can stand against the U.S. military with a few sticks." My father had waived at the stick clutched in the demon's hand disparagingly.

The demon had looked dementedly angry as he waived his wand. My father had writhed on the ground for several minutes in agony, howling horribly. My mother and sister were crying and pleading, but none of us could move. I could not even talk.

The demon had said, "You would be surprised what a few sticks can do. Watch and I will show you." The demon had an English accent.

The demon had then turned to my little sister Sally, and a malevolent grin had spread across his face.

Oh, Sally. You were so beautiful and bright. I remember when we used to run around the playground in Arlington, Virginia waiting for Daddy to come home. Your laugh and your smile always were the light of our home. I remember the way you always looked to me to pick you up when you fell down and skinned your knee. I wanted to pick you up that day, Sally. Please forgive me. I was so scared, and the demon had done something to me. I couldn't move. I could just watch. Watch as you were slowly drained of life. Oh, God, please help me, I didn't want to watch. God help me!

But now, Sally, I watch. I watch as I do to them what they did to you. I watch, and I smile as their life bubbles out of them, and I think of your bubbling laughter before that terrible night.

I reach out and put my hand on the wall of the alley in which I await my prey. This always happens when I hunt. It is my preparation. I always must remember why I hunt. I must always have my motivation.

The demon was after something my father knew. My father worked for the United States government. He worked somewhere so secret that he did not even tell us the name of the place. He never spoke about his work. Never. But sometimes, he would look very fearful and he would hug me and Sally close.

My father cursed the demon. He railed at the demon. He begged the demon. Then the demon let out an amused, squealing laugh and gestured to my mother. The rat beast lifted her from the floor.

Mother! Oh my mother! At least you did not suffer like your daughter. It was a flash of green light and you just fell down, Mom. You were just...gone. I wanted to help, Mom. I really did...but I couldn't move. I just couldn't move. I would have jumped in front of you, Mom. I know I would have, but I couldn't move.

I move now, Mom. Every day, I move like your avenging angel. Please forgive me! Please, Lord, give me the power for their vengeance and for Your wrath!

I sink to my knees in the alleyway, the image of my mother's staring eyes filling my mind. Tears stream down my face as I remember my mother holding little Sally at Christmas. This too will pass. It is just preparation.

My father told the demon everything he wanted. My father wept and talked and begged. He begged for me. To save me, he begged, and cursed and told everything. I did not understand it at the time. I did not know what a "muggle" was, and wizards were just fairy tales. My father finished his litany with sobs and he begged again for my life. He looked wrung out like a dishrag as he lay on the floor of our home.

Daddy! Daddy, don't cry! I lived! I am here! You were always so strong and indomitable. Don't do this for me, Daddy! Don't prostrate yourself to this demon for me. I cannot bear it. I wanted to run to you. I wanted to pick you up and stand you up like the man I knew; like the tall and powerful God of my little boy's world that you had always been. Please, Lord Jesus, please let me do your work tonight! Daddy, I make them see God! I send them to Him. I know how to stand where you did not, Daddy. I know that you would have stood too, if you had only known how.

I stand up now, my heart on fire, my mind clear, my eyes dry. The alley shadows the grimness of my visage. I am ready for the hunt, and my prey will be arriving shortly. It is time for me to check my weapons and tools.

I pull back the sleeve on my left arm and I see the mark that was left there by the demon. It is a skull and a snake. I now know it is called the "Dark Mark."

The demon gave it to me after my father...after the second flash of green light. Then the demon turned his snake-like red eyes on me. He laughed another high-pitched cackle as the rat beast stood behind me.

"Your father has bought your life," said the demon in a voice like dry, dead skin crumbling. "But you will serve me when I call. All of your kind will."

The demon had then pointed his stick at my left arm, and said, "You will be the first of your kind to be marked thus, but you will not be the last."

Pain had seared through me as a red glow scourged my arm, but my jaws were locked together. I could not scream. I was suddenly released from what I now know was a Full Body Bind curse, and I writhed on the floor in agony, screaming.

"It is harder on muggles, Boy," rasped the demon looking down on me as one would look at scum scraped from your shoe. "But you will live. It is my gift to you, as your life is my gift to your father."

The demon had then put his face close to mine and his red eyes had seemed to fill my swimming vision. I could smell the rotting scent of his breath. "And now you will know that Lord Voldemort is your master." The demon grabbed my head and forced me to look at my slaughtered family lying crumpled about our living room floor.

"Am I not a generous master, Boy?" I remember his cold laughter ringing in my mind as I fell into battered oblivion.

I look down at my Dark Mark and smile. If the demon had only known how many times I had used his "gift" to undo his followers, he would not laugh. I do thank my master.

As I said, it is partly about the correct tools; and now I am motivated.

I look up from my alleyway and I see three young people walking on the far side of the square into which my alleyway opens. A very tall, somewhat muscular youth of about eighteen years with flaming red hair is walking fast and holding the hand of a pretty girl of the same age. Her unruly brown curls blow in the brisk wind as they skirt the shadowed edge of the square. They both have wands in their other hands and look very tense and alert. Even without this, their pale English features seem completely out of place here in Romania.

The wild-haired girl puts her wand hand on the tall youth's arm and looks straight at me apprehensively. I sink further back in the shadows, and summon the power of the other mark on my right arm. I must stay concealed for now. The red-haired youth smiles down at her affectionately and she shakes her head, disconcerted. He puts his arm around her comfortingly and she leans into him.

In front of them another young man with short and unruly black hair trots up. He is shorter and more slender than the flame-haired lad and is wearing spectacles. He seems to be carrying something in a bundle of black cloth.

That's them, then: the Trio. Father Samuel and Cardinal Torrio described them perfectly.

The youths disappear down the alleyway opposite from mine and I release the power of the other mark. I pull my cloak around me and move swiftly through the shadows of the square after the Trio. If any of the demon's followers are close, they will come for these three. I know the followers are close. I can feel it in both my marks.

I say a small prayer thanking my Lord and Savior for yet another opportunity to do His work.

Voldemort's followers do not realize that a muggle hunts them tonight.