The Wizard Hunt

The creaky door slid shut as Ron sealed it and Hermione felt a moment of vertigo as she finished the incantation.

"That it then?" asked Ron looking at her quizzically.

"That should be sufficient," she replied and turned to Harry and the bundle in his arms. "Did you get it?"

Harry looked at the door with trepidation. "You sure we're safe, Hermione? You sure that Fidelius-like thing will work."

Hermione felt wary and agitated at being near to the cloak-wrapped item. "I told you," she said. "It is not the Fidelius Charm. It's the Confundus Locatus charm."

"Uh...yeah. And it does what again?" asked Ron uncertainly.

"Anyone looking for us will find they are confused," Hermione lectured impatiently. "It won't stop them from recognizing us if they see us straight on. However, if they are looking for this building, they'll keep getting lost until they realize they are dealing with a charm. They'll wander around for hours if we're lucky. Not as powerful as the Fidelius Charm, but much easier to set up and good for a short stay."

"Right," said Harry, unconvinced.

Hermione tossed her head. "Anyway, if you got it, we will be out of here before we need anything stronger. So, did you?"

Harry was still looking at the door doubtfully.

"C'mon?" said Ron to Harry impatiently. "Is that it?"

Harry looked at them and a slow, grim smile spread across his face. "Yeah," he said, "I got it."

Hermione felt her own smile. One down.

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

The first thing that I do is pray.

That is part of the technique.

Technique is very important to hunting my prey. Technique is very important when I hunt men.

Wizards are men. They are human. They are powerful humans, but so is a human with a gun. Just like a man with a gun, they can be killed.

It is partly about technique.

Father Samuel taught me that a wizard needs a conduit, as the church calls it. A magic wand is the most common and useful conduit, but there are others. They need the power of the inherently magical item within the conduit to coax into being the force and energy used for a spell; to bring their magical power out of their body. The incantation gives it form, but the conduit is the avenue of the energy.

The moral of this story is that if there is no conduit - if there is no wand - there is no spell; or at least not a very good one.

Sometimes a disarmed wizard will do magic without the wand, but such efforts are usually without direction or focus. Such spells are an instinctual reaction, or a reflex.

Against me it is like throwing up a hand to stop a bullet, or blinking an eye as a knife stabs into it. Useless.

Heavenly Father, allow me to do your work tonight. Please allow these three to bring the dark ones to me. Allow me to exert your wrath upon the demon's followers.

I wrap my cloak around me, and I squat in a shadowed stairway entrance to an abandoned basement apartment. I am across an extremely narrow, very dilapidated street from the building where the Trio entered. I feel distaste at using these three magicians; these three users of sorcery.

Magic is evil, though not all users of it are evil. I cannot harm them unless they attack me or put me in danger. They are not dark wizards. It is forbidden by my order's covenant with the Mother Church.

I feel dizzy suddenly and my other mark, the Relic, it grows colder. The Trio has done something to protect themselves. It is some kind of misdirection. The Relic is only chilled, however, so it is nothing too powerful. It would not matter if it was powerful. It will not misdirect me. I wear the Relic.

As the hours pass, I meditate. I pray.

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

"Now just wait a tick! Hermione is right, Harry. You don't need to go talking to her like that!" said Ron, glaring at Harry and starting to turn red.

Ron should know better than to get angry over Harry's temper. Harry didn't mean anything by it. Harry just seemed to think that he could yell at them when he got excited. He treated them like he would a brother and sister. Hermione thought it was sweet, theoretically, when she wasn't on the receiving end of it.

Hermione also thought Harry might be a little put off by spending the last four weeks as a third wheel. Hermione and Ron had tried to be unobtrusive, but there had been definite changes in their behavior since they had gotten together. Especially given the crazy circumstances of their search for the Horcruxes, and the generally cramped quarters in which they had been forced to dwell during that time.

Ron was not helping matters much with his recent behavior. He had become very prickly over Hermione's honor in the last two months. She needed to have a word with him about that tonight, after they had all gone to bed.

"Bloody hell," Harry said, his voice getting even louder and sparks shooting out of the wand clutched in his white-knuckled hand. "I'm sorry if I insulted your girlfriend, Ron, but we don't have any more time to argue or to get a curse-breaker right now. And we can't apparate all the way back to Gringot's to get Bill, can we?"

"Nobody is saying we should, Harry," said Hermione calmly.

"Well then we have to try and destroy it now," said Harry impatiently. "I told you that they are going to come after us tonight. I barely managed to get away. I was seen. Voldemort is probably here in Romania right now. They may even know where we are staying and that Confuscius Loco Charm, or whatever, won't hold them off forever."

"Don't be thick, Harry," said Ron. "Dumbledore nearly lost his arm tackling one of these lot. We don't know bullocks about curse-breaking. We have to get Bill's help like we planned this summer, and maybe the rest of the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione's been staring at that thing for hours. If she can't figure out a way around the wards, you and I sure can't."

Hermione felt pleased at Ron's confidence in her abilities, but she did not know if his confidence was well-placed in this situation. She had never broken a curse before, and neither had either of the boys. For all they knew, she might be rubbish at curse-breaking, and one of them a genius. They had decided to let Hermione try, however, since she had read the most about the subject.

"Also, Harry," said Hermione, "if we destroy this thing, we don't know what will happen to Voldemort. He may feel it. He may have put some sort of magical alarm on each one or on some of them. He may instantly come crashing down on us with fifty Death-Eaters. Or the thing may just blow up the whole street or something. We need an expert."

"So what do you suggest then, if you won't let me try and melt it or something?" Harry said. He sighed and tucked his wand back in his pocket. His voice sounded strained.

"Italy," said Hermione with finality.

"Italy?" asked Harry and Ron together.

"Well, Rome to be more precise," said Hermione with a nod of her head.

"Why?" said Harry.

"Four reasons, actually. First because there are excellent research resources there in many magical and...other...fields that we may need to crack this puzzle. Secondly, Gringot's has a branch there, so Bill can meet us without raising suspicion and he may be able to enlist the help of other Gringot's curse breakers. Discreetly, of course. He still travels a lot for the bank, doesn't he, Ron?"

"Uh, yeah. Loads," said Ron.

"Thirdly, we need to get out of here immediately. Rome is as good a place as any, and better than most. It is a big city and we can lay low there and get lost for awhile. Fourth there may be some items of certain types of power there that we may find useful for this and the remaining Horcruxes. I have a feeling that once we break this curse, the remaining ones will be easier to solve."

"Tell that to Dumbledore," said Harry bitterly. "Two of these things almost did him in before Snape finished him off."

Hermione looked at Harry sympathetically for a moment. What he had said was not technically true, of course. They had not found the second Horcrux because it had already been stolen, so it did not do anything to Dumbledore. Dumbledore had been suffering under the effects of the wards around the second Horcrux, not destroying the Horcrux itself.

She did not think that Harry wanted to hear about the difference just then, however. She knew how he felt. The magic wrapped around the Horcrux was deeply complex. It was far beyond her present ability without study.

In truth, Hermione felt a bit overwhelmed by it. She felt very weak in comparison to the person who cast the spells surrounding the dark object.

"All right, then," said Harry resignedly, looking at the two of them. His anger of moments before was forgotten. "Let's pack it up, then. Ron, you want to owl Bill, or should I?"

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

I suddenly come out of my reverie. My Dark Mark has picked up a resonance. They are nearby. I draw a small amount on the Relic, just enough to aid in concealment again. If I draw too much, I will become a beacon to the demon's followers. I will wait here.

Technique.

Wizards must be hit quickly. If they are forewarned, I must retreat. If a hundred well-armed muggles face a weak wizard, all the muggles can die in the blink of an eye. But a wizard who is hit unawares, and is without his wand...that is a different story.

Dear Father, please allow me to smite those that live by the unholy powers of the Devil. Allow me to tear and rend their weapons. Please allow me to teach them the power of sweat and toil, for Your glory.

A majority of wizards and witches do almost everything with magic. Their first instinct is to go for their wand. If it's gone, their second instinct is to wish they had one. They are easy meat. They rarely have practice or training in wandless combat. They are like children flailing their arms.

If the situation does not allow for disarming them, the technique is to strike in such a way that they cannot speak. Most wizards and witches can incant spells without speaking, but they usually try to speak the incantation first. A broken nose or a crushed larynx can usually do what is needed to give an extra instant for the disarming or killing blow.

I prefer the larynx. That is usually fatal...after a little while. It gives me time to watch the light leave their eyes.

Like Mom. Like Sally.

The last technique is to strike an instant killing blow before they know you are there. I shatter their nose into their brain, or break their neck. I can shoot them in the back too. Even a wizard is not faster than a bullet.

I prefer to strike from the front and use my hands, though...or a knife. I enjoy the look of surprise in their eyes when they realize that a muggle has killed them. I enjoy their blood on me.

God help me.

Most importantly, and common to all of the techniques is this: attack, attack, attack. They must not get a second to regroup or catch their breath. Move forward and straight at them at all times. ATTACK.

The resonance is stronger now. They are very close; somewhere to the left of me. I sense...annoyance.

I flex my fingers and feel warmth spread through my limbs in anticipation of the exertions to come. I begin to salivate, and I swallow.

I say a prayer to St. Michael the Archangel. Save me from the snares and wickedness of the devil. I Make the sign of the cross and say a final Act of Contrition.

God forgive me, I love it too much.

Suddenly, on my right, I see a small, cloaked figure turn the corner onto my side of the street. The figure is about fifty feet away. Not one of the demon's followers.

It is a small woman. She wears a witch's cloak. I draw back deeper into the shadows. The figure peers around the street, looking confused.

The resonance tells me that the demon's followers are only just down the street to my left; probably around the other corner a short way. They are coming faster. I will not let this wisp of a woman endanger my revenge.

Twenty feet away and she stops, muttering angrily. She has an English accent.

She continues walking slowly towards me. She is looking up at the dark windows of the buildings. There is a panicky sound to her mutters. She is lost.

The Demon's followers are coming quicker now! There are two of them.

I have no illusions about what they will do to this woman if she interrupts their search. It will be torture and death for her. If they are in a hurry, it will just be death.

I will pray for her sorceress' soul, but she will not impede me this night.

The wind gusts suddenly and scattered paper and litter blow down the street. The wind nearly knocks back the hood of the woman's cloak and she snatch's the hood in her hands. I see a flash of brilliantly red hair.

Not quite a woman. She is the same age as the Trio - maybe a little younger. In truth, she is just a teenage girl.

She stops again, five feet to my right. She is looking at the other side of the street at the building in which the Trio hide. The girl shakes her head uncertainly and starts to move on.

Too close! They are to my left! Any second they will be on this street! The killing time is near! They will see this girl.

"I'm telling you it's got to be this street up here!" says a whining, drawling voice wafting dimly from down the street. English accent again - a haughty one.

The girl heard it too. I see recognition and fear on her shadowed face. She stops right in front of me.

There is but a heartbeat left!

If I let them have her, it will make my job easier. I do not doubt that they will kill her. While they are busy with her, I can strike them from behind. It will be easy pickings. I should let them have her. Her clothes say that she is a witch. I do not care if she dies. I should let them have her.

Sally might have looked like her at this age. She had red hair too.

God help me.

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

Ginny tried to go for her wand as the shadows came alive and engulfed her. But that shadow held her right arm in an all-too-tangible grip. It was like an iron vice. She felt a thumb dig into a nerve and pain seared through her from her neck to the tip of her fingers. Instinctively she tried to cry out, but a hand with skin like stone was clamped over her mouth. She felt herself fly backwards, being pulled off of her feet. For a moment, she struggled against arms like iron bands. She could tell immediately that it was useless. She was helpless. Shadows surrounded her.

"Shhhhhh!" whispered a harsh voice in her ear. "Stupid Girl! Do you want them to hear you?"

Ginny rolled her eyes fearfully to her left and looked down the street where she had heard that familiar voice earlier. From around the corner, Draco Malfoy and two other men came. Malfoy was arguing with a short burly wizard. A third wizard, a tall and slender man with an extremely large nose, was looking in their direction.

"Did ya hear somethin'?" said the tall wizard in an Irish accent.

"Quit bein' paranade!" drawled the short wizard in a heavily cockney accent and then he turned back to Malfoy. "Listen, ya little get! Ya find 'is place, or I'll play Cat's Cradle wi' yehr guts, got it?! Be'n walkin' roun' for hours out 'ere, for fuck's sake!"

"I tell you that it must be this street!" whined Malfoy fearfully. "Besides, our orders were just to locate them. We are supposed to wait for the others, aren't we, Hansen?" Malfoy looked hopefully at the tall, Irish wizard.

"'Our orders,' he sies," laughed the fat one, shoving Malfoy roughly. "Since when did yehr wort'less ickle 'ide become un of us, eh? Ya' little fuckin' get!"

Even from this distance, Ginny could tell that Malfoy was paler than usual. He was also sporting a large bruise on his forehead and on his neck. He looked much abused, both physically and mentally.

"I only sensed two," muttered the dark figure behind her, tightening his grip over her mouth.

"I think there is definitely something down there, Nichols," said the tall wizard, Hansen.

"A'righ' ya bleedin' Mick, yeh! A'righ'. Just shut yer trap fer a mo'," said Nichols.

"We'll check ou' 'is bleedin' street. Lead the way, yeh little get."

Hansen shoved Malfoy ahead of them and took out his wand. Nichols let out a mad and incongruously high-pitched giggle, and then muttered darkly, "Bleedin' wiste a' my fuckin' time,"

As they walked towards the shadowed stairway where Ginny and the dark figure stood, Hansen began peering into the shadowed recesses of doorways and stairwells as he and his companions proceeded down the street.

"They'll see us," thought Ginny, struggling to reach her wand. Her fingers felt like limp spaghetti. They barely twitched.

"Don't move, Little One. They'll not hurt you. I'll get them," whispered the shadow in an indulgent voice like he was speaking to a small child.

Ginny suddenly had no doubt that she was in the shadows with a madman.

The Death Eaters were only ten meters away or so. Hansen was peering into the next recessed stairwell down the street from the one in which she and her dark companion stood. Malfoy was half that distance away, leading them. Malfoy looked around at the buildings on the street, confused.

"When I move, you drop down and stay perfectly still and quiet," said the dark figure in a barely audible whisper right next to Ginny's ear. "Understand?" Ginny nodded a fraction. The man's mood had changed again. His voice was cold again; all business.

Malfoy's eyes were roaming the building above them and then slowly slid down. He looked right at them, and she saw his eyes widen as they met hers.

Then everything happened at once.

Malfoy began making a stuttering shout and reaching clumsily into his robes. Ginny was suddenly alone in the stairwell, watching a dark blur move ahead of her towards the death eaters. She dropped down and reached for her wand with a hand that still did not work. There was a crack, a howl and a loud bang as putrid purplish sparks fell around her. She threw her hands over her head.

There was another loud bang and something large and jagged hit her heavily in the back of the head. The last thing she heard was a sickening crunch and the beginning of a yell that turned into a muffled gurgling cry after another moist crunch.

Then she saw only blackness.

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

God give me strength and save me from my own stupidity. She is not Sally, Fool! This is not how I planned to get started.

I strike like a viper.

I shed my cloak as I rush out of the stairwell, pulling one of my throwing knives from my belt with my left hand.

As I flow past the sickly blonde boy, I am not concerned about him. He is panicky and his wand is caught in his cloak. As he pulls his wand free, I strike his wrist sharply with my right fist as I release the knife in my left hand toward Hansen. I feel the boy's bone break with a satisfyingly loud crack. He howls and drops his wand as I move past him. He is out of the fight. He didn't really want to be in it in the first place. I feel no resonance from him. He does not wear the mark.

As I strike the boy, Hansen is twirling to raise his wand at me, but he appears to me to be moving through muck. He is too slow. My knife is already in his right shoulder, his purple spell deflected past me. He holds onto his wand, but he is staggered.

I keep Hansen between Nichols and me. Nichols is just starting to yell and dig for his wand. Hansen is raising his wand with my knife sticking out of his shoulder. He is a dangerous man.

Attack. Surprise and retain the initiative. Cardinal Torrio trained me to move straight ahead at all times. Attack.

As Hansen raises his right hand holding his wand, I already have a grip on his right wrist with my left hand. I twist his wrist, locking his arm straight as another spell shoots out of the wand and hits the stairwell I have just come from. I hear the sound of heavy masonry falling.

Oh God! Sally!

You are a little too slow, Hansen. I haven't been there in ages.

I pivot at the hips and drive my right forearm into his straightened right arm at the elbow joint. I strike with the force of a pile hammer and there is the sickening crunch and the pop of destroyed cartilage and sinew as his elbow joint bends sideways.

He starts to let out a cry as I release his wrist with my left hand, pivoting at the hips again and drive my left fist into his throat with enough force to break concrete. There is another sickening crunch as his larynx collapses. His neck may have broken too, because he collapses limply on the ground. His cry of pain becomes a moist gurgle. No more for him.

My right arm has already pulled out my second knife from my belt as Nichols tries to point his wand at me.

Looks like I won't have time to enjoy this one. He's got the drop on me.

Idiot! Red hair is not worth failing to fulfill God's plan! Best I can do is to keep attacking. Move forward. I will probably die now.

At least I got to see Sally one more time. I hope they don't find her in the stairwell.

Nichols is rattled and he says the incantation incorrectly, his voice shaking. Bright red sparks shoot out of the end of his wand, but they burn as I rush at Nichols and pass through them. The Relic turns ice cold.

The sparks are not the deadly spell that Nichols meant to cast, but I can smell my own burned hair as my knife leaves my hand.

Nichols has gotten a hold of himself now and my knife turns into a canary as it flies toward him. Not a bad piece of magic under pressure, Nichols. It took less than a second to accomplish.

That was all I needed.

Keep moving forward. Flow from one weapon to another. The technique is ATTACK.

He is too far away to strike directly and he could probably due to my gun what he did to my knife; I have to go for the wand.

At the moment Nichols finishes waving his wand to transfigure my knife, my leg is already sweeping around in a long arc. It is still a good bit of distance, I hope not too much.

As he points his wand at me again, my steel-towed boot catches it at its tip, snapping it in two. The spell he had been casting backfires on him. A red light shoots out of the back of the wand and Nichols flies back fifteen feet.

He suddenly bursts into flames so hot that he is dead before he can scream. He is immolated in seconds, leaving only a pile of ash. I blink as the moisture in my eyes is sucked away by the heat.

Ahhhh, so that was what the red sparks were, Nichols. Better you than me. Those flames should be good practice for what awaits you.

It has taken less than ten seconds to do this piece of the Lord's work.

I turn around and look for the blonde boy. He is cowering on the ground holding his broken wrist. He is staring at me with a frightened but measuring look. He sees me watching him and begins to scrabble for his wand with his other hand.

"If you touch that," I say with a cold smile showing him another throwing knife, "you won't have time to regret it."

It is too much for him. He breaks. He sobs. He puts his hands in his lap.

"Don't move," I tell him as I walk to stand over Hansen.

Hansen is struggling for breath with strident, rasping wheezes. His ruined right arm is splayed out beside him grotesquely. He looks at me with wide eyes and he knows that death approaches.

I kneel next to him so that my face is close to his bleary eyes. He watches me as his breath becomes shorter.

"Know that I am a muggle," I say and I pull up my sleeve to reveal my Dark Mark. His eyes widen in disbelief through the haze of pain and fear. "Your master killed my family. With God's help, I kill his followers. With God's help, I will kill him."

He shudders and continues striving for breath. I sit with my face close to his for several minutes as I slowly watch the life in him grow weaker. I want to make sure that the last thing he sees is my smiling face.

Lord Christ forgive me, but it is so sweet. So sweet.

After a few minutes, Hansen lets out a rattle and is gone.

I see a flicker of movement in the stairwell. I cast a glance at the blonde boy as he continues to sit on the sidewalk and sob. He is looking at me with abject horror in his eyes. I move to the stairwell and pull the red-haired girl out of the rubble that had fallen on her.

I lay her on the sidewalk. The only thing wrong with her appears to be her head. I remove her cloak's hood and run my fingers through her hair, feeling for swelling or damage to her skull. She has a nasty gash where her neck meets her skull, but she is otherwise none the worse for wear. She may need a doctor in case there is any closed-head injury. Better yet, she will need some of her own kind.

She is stirring in a semi-conscious manner. I will take her to the Trio.

Silly Sally! Silly Sally! I always did have to pick you up when you fell down. Mom's going to be angry again. You ruined your dress.

The red-haired girl's eyes flutter open and then closed.

I am preparing to pick her up when I hear two male voices shout, "Ginny!" and a female voice say incredulously, "Malfoy?"

I look up, and twenty feet away stand the Trio. They are standing side by side with their wands pointed at me.

The tall red-haired boy looks crazed, shouting, "Get away from her, you bastard!" His wand arm is trembling in anger and he looks almost demented with rage. He might attack first. He is big and motivated, but probably too emotional to be dangerous.

The girl with the wild hair keeps her wand pointed at me and surveys the scene quickly. I see her eyes take in every detail of it. Her features soften a bit and I can tell she feels that she has an accurate picture of what happened. She lowers her wand arm slightly, though it still trembles at the tense situation. Intelligent, that one; she knows I didn't hurt...Ginny, I guess her name is.

I see the slender bespectacled youth glance at my arm where my sleeve is still pulled up. He looks back at my eyes and he has a cold hard look. He is not rattled or nervous in the slightest.

He thinks he's faced worse than me. He will be the most dangerous. I will have to take him first, if it comes to that.

I am not supposed to hurt these three. Father Samuel said that they are important for more than just bait. I will not, however, let a user of foul sorcery force me to do anything. They are pointing their wands at me. Under my order's covenant, I am allowed to kill these three.

I look at the three of them coldly. I still have knives at my belt and no patience for their demon ways.

No, they are a little too far away and they already have their wands pointed at me. I am also still kneeling by Sally. I need something faster than knives.

I feel for the handle of my .40 Smith and Wesson, tucked in a holster at the small of my back. It is warm to my touch. I don't like to use the gun. It has a tendency to fail if I am in a heavily magical area. Knives always work. But I am in a muggle part of the city, and the gun should do fine.

Do I attack these three?

God give me guidance.

They are not surprised, and they have numbers, distance and magic.

I know how to kill, and these three are barely more than kids.

Lord Jesus, give me guidance.

"Put those away," I say coldly.