The Man With No Shadow

Chapter Six: Best-Laid Plans

***

One by one, witches and wizards turned their heads and stared as Harry strolled through the lobby of the Ministry of Magic. It took a moment for Harry to realize why he was drawing their attention. He was singing.

One co-worker after another smiled and waved, as if Harry's good humor were infectious of everyone he passed.

"Had a good holiday, then, Potter?" a wizard called out as he passed Harry going in the other direction.

"You could say that," Harry returned as the wizard, his overnight shift completed, stepped into the area of the lobby designated for Apparation and Disapparation and vanished with a sound like two hands clapping smartly together.

Harry rode the lift to his floor and glided easily into Auror Headquarters. Kingsley Shacklebolt spied his newest addition to the Auror Division and greeted him with an easy smile.

"You look like a man ready to do some work, Harry."

"Anything new on the case?" Harry asked as he stood before Kingsley's desk.

"No new attacks," Kingsley said. "Not that we expected any just yet."

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Vampires don't kill out of anger or malice," Kingsley said, "but simply to survive. A vampire that's feasted won't need to feed again for a few days. We've reckoned out a pattern of attack occurring every three or four days. If we don't hit paydirt tonight, it will be tomorrow for sure."

"There's no doubt that this is a vampire?"

"None," Kingsley replied. "The lab reports were quite revealing -- and your report clinched it."

"My report?" Harry echoed.

"You saw a figure who cast no shadow," Kingsley said. "That's one of the telltale signs of the vampire, distinguishing him from other blood-feeders."

"But how can a vampire cast no shadow when he has a physical body?" Harry asked.

"That's Muggle reasoning," Kingsley smiled without derision. "A vampire is a thing of magic and supernature. He's a cursed, soulless creature. The universe abhors such an abomination, even to the refusal of light to touch it. A vampire casts no reflection, nor any shadow."

Harry was about to ask how a vampire could be seen at all if it reflected no light. But that, he supposed, was more Muggle logic, having no bearing on things magical. Finding nothing else to ask nor remark, he nodded.

"So," Kingsley concluded with the ghost of a smile on his chiseled features, "now that we know what we're up against, we can plan accordingly. To that end, we've called in a special addition to our strike force."

"Anyone I know?" Harry asked.

"You've met," Kingsley replied, his eyes shining in a manner that instantly aroused Harry's suspicion. "He's waiting in the Situation Room."

Kingsley slid out from behind his desk and led Harry to a door devoid of knob or handle. As Kingsley approached, the seemingly random pattern of knots and woodgrain swirls on the surface of the door resolved into a fair approximation of a human face.

"Shacklebolt and Potter," Kingsley said to the face on the door. The woody face appraised the two wizards for a moment.

"Shacklebolt and Potter," the door acknowledged. It swung open, and Kingsley bowed Harry inside before following and closing the door.

Harry had been in the Situation Room only a few times. It was here where plans were made in regard to the many and varied crises which called for the attention of the Auror Division. Harry looked around, taking in the familiar surroundings. A large, round table was central to all, on which was usually spread progress reports and maps of the areas where the missions of the various Auror teams were taking place. A large sheet of parchment stood on an artist's easel. It was blank now, but during planning sessions it would be magically imbued with the geographic features of whatever area was the focus of the mission at hand, acting rather like an oversized Marauder's Map on which the movements of the Aurors could be tracked. Unfortunately, it was only agents of the Ministry who could be tracked thus. As a tool for tracking one's quarry, it was of no more value than a ten-shilling road map purchased from a Muggle petrol station.

Three persons sat at the table, their faces shadowed by the capering torches set in the dull gray walls behind them. One of them drew Harry's attention immediately, her lime-green hair seeming to glow in the torchlight. She looked up when she heard the door close, and she smiled at Harry before returning her attention to the report spread out before her on the polished surface of the table.

Harry's eyes left Tonks and drifted to the figure sitting next to her. The wizard turned his head in Harry's direction, the torchlight outlining the familiar scarred face of Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody. His fearsome appearance was such that he would have stood out prominently in any gathering that did not include Nymphadora Tonks.

"Alastor," Harry greeted. "You're the new team member, then?"

"Not exactly," Moody growled good-naturedly. "I had to see Kingsley on some personal business, and he asked me to contribute what I could to the situation. I've come up against a few vampires in my day, and I set down some of the key points as best I could remember them. Tricky lot, vampires. Shame the Auror program doesn't stress them more. But experience is the best teacher, I always say. I'm glad to be able to give you the benefit of my experience. Tonks is reading what I dictated right now." He rolled his magical eye in Tonks' direction, his normal eye remaining on Harry. "I don't trust these self-writing quills -- they have a tendency to go off on their own rather than take down dictation verbatim -- but my handwriting is hard enough for me to read nowadays, much less anyone else. As soon as I've answered any questions any of you might have, I'll be heading off."

"This is our new teammate, Harry," Kingsley said as he rounded the table and approached the third person at the table, who was sitting apart from Tonks and Moody. As this one rose up and turned into the torchlight, Harry beheld a wizard with graying hair and a face that was an unusual mixture of youth and premature age.

"REMUS!" Harry exclaimed, leaping forward with his hand outstretched. Remus Lupin took the proffered hand, which Harry wrung with an enthusiasm that nearly dislocated the older wizard's arm from its socket.

"You're looking well, Harry," Remus smiled.

"You, too," Harry said.

This was, if not an outright lie, at least something less than a whole truth. Remus was, Harry knew, less than fifty years old, still young by wizarding standards. But the strain of his werewolf curse was aging him far beyond his years. Harry's mind leaped back to when he had seen Albus Dumbledore in the images contained in Tom Riddle's diary. In Riddle's memory, magically recorded more than a half century ago, Dumbledore's hair was still a youthful auburn, his face noticably unlined, at an age in excess of one hundred years. Yet here was Remus, less than half that age, looking for all the world like a man whose time on Earth was being measured in ordinary Muggle years rather than the score of decades a wizard's life span typically promised. If nothing else, it proved that Harry was not the only one to bear the emotional scars (visible or otherwise) attendant to the events in the Department of Mysteries nearly six years ago.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, baffled by the appearance of his parents' oldest friend (and, with the untimely departure of Sirius, the last surviving Marauder).

"I'm here to help on the vampire case," Remus said.

"The Auror division has hired you on?" Harry said excitedly. But Remus shook his head.

"Not exactly. I'm here as a free agent, to use the Muggle vernacular. You see, the Aurors have the authority to appoint temporary special agents in times of crisis, sort of like when a sheriff takes on deputies in the Western cinema to run down a gang of bank robbers or cattle rustlers."

"That's great," Harry said. "But..." he added uncertainly, "...why you, specifically? I mean, what do you have that the rest of the Auror Division doesn't?"

"Appropriately phrased, Harry," Remus said. "And the answer is -- blood."

"I don't understand."

"Allow me, Remus," Kingsley said. As Harry turned to face his superior, Kingsley explained: "We like to think that we, as wizards, have a certain superiority over Muggles in most any situation. But the fact is, we're just as vulnerable to threats of a supernatural nature as non-magic folk. Being less than truly alive, vampires have an uncommon resistance to magic, which properly works best on living creatures. And if we're bitten, we can die just as easily as any Muggle victim. But adding Remus to our team gives us an ace in the hole, so to speak."

"Why?" Harry asked as he looked back and forth between Kingsley and Remus.

"Because," Remus said, "vampires feast only on human blood. And since I received the werewolf bite, my blood is no longer human. Even in my untransformed state, as now, my blood is poison to a vampire. And his supernatural senses will detect this about me, rendering him impotent to hinder me in any way. If he were to so much as scratch me, even a single drop of my blood would burn his flesh like acid. We're both cursed creatures, you see. Neither of us is quite as human as we might appear. My presence will turn our adversary's advantage against him."

"Have you located his hiding place?" Harry asked anxiously.

"No," Kingsley admitted. "Not yet."

Harry sensed an underlying acrimony in Kingsley's words. "Why not? We're combing the city, aren't we? Staking out possible sites where an attack might take place?"

"No," Kingsley said slowly.

"What?" Harry exclaimed. "Why?"

"I'll tell you why, Potter," Moody grunted, his leg clunking along as he lumbered up to join the three conversants. "Politics. Strictly speaking, this case is assigned to Magical Law Enforcement Division. Madam Bones is in charge, and she gives all the orders. All we can do is sit on our collective arses and wait until she tugs our leash."

"That's nutters!" Harry burst out. "People are being attacked on the streets of London! Who's better equipped to handle a vampire than Auror Division?"

"Unfortunately," Kingsley said, "the Ministry charter designates the Auror Division solely to deal with Dark wizards. In any other area of supernatural menace, MLE has full jurisdiction. In all fairness to them, they won't hesitate to call in other divisions at need, as they've done here with us. But all discretion remains with their office alone."

"And Arthur allows this?" Harry said. "I'd expect this sort of rubbish from Fudge, but -- "

"Arthur's hands are tied for now," Kingsley conceded grudgingly. "He's working to change a lot of things in the Ministry. You wouldn't believe the bollocks Fudge and his lot got up to. In my opinion, the whole affair with Voldemort was botched, not just the last time, but the first time as well. I was a junior Auror then, and I remember how it was. Not much has changed since then. But Arthur is a good man, and I see better days ahead for the Ministry now that he's sitting in the Big Chair. But at its best, change is a slow process. And however quickly it comes about, it won't be changing our situation any time soon."

"I hope Madam Bones is giving this the priority it's due," Harry said.

"You're not alone there," Kingsley said. "I'd settle for a little more openness between the divisions. There's no communication to speak of. MLE has its own Situation Room, and when they've made their plans, Amelia will send someone over to give us our assignments. I've sent them a memo regarding Remus. I only hope this damned anti-werewolf resentment doesn't interfere with a viable plan to nip this situation in the bud before it explodes and draws the attention of the Muggle media."

Harry's good humor had drained out of him as completely as if a stopper had been pulled from his chest. He'd been hoping to have lunch with Hermione today, their schedules permitting. He was even more anxious than ever to see her now. Might she, as an MLE operative, be privvy to information as yet denied the Aurors? Upon reflection, he doubted it. She was not a full field agent, merely an Obliviator, and a newly-hired one at that. If Madam Bones were the stickler for rules she gave every appearance of being, she might not even let Hermione attend the planning sessions in the MLE Situation Room.

But Harry was a long way from giving up. All through his Hogwarts years, Harry had been accused by Snape (not without cause, he grudgingly admitted) of crossing lines, of doing things contrary to the rule of law. In this, he had always counted on Hermione's help, whether it be spiriting Buckbeak away to rescue Sirius from Flitwick's office, or breaking into the Ministry of Magic after hours --

Harry felt the omnipresent dagger in his heart as he remembered again his ill-fated mission to "rescue" his godfather from Voldemort in the Department of Mysteries, only to watch helplessly as Sirius was precipitated by Bellatrix LeStrange through the mysterious veiled arch whence no man had ever returned. Even after so many years, the memory of that day remained like a festering boil on his soul, burning with a fire that, though dimmed by time, was never quite extinguished. Harry was hard-pressed at the best of times to keep those memories walled up in the dungeon of his despair, lest their poison fester his very soul. Now, seeing Remus again, Harry felt that featureless black door opening once more, heard those terrible voices whose echoes never quite faded from the corridors of his mind.

"Harry?"

A hand touched his shoulder, and Harry blinked to see Remus looking at him with mild concern in his tired eyes. Harry smiled weakly.

"Sorry. I was thinking about Sirius. Sometimes when I'm frustrated, I wonder what Sirius would have done in a given situation."

"In this case," Remus grinned, "I imagine he'd storm straight on over to MLE, kick open the door and demand to know what the devil was the bloody hold-up."

"Yeah," Harry said with a pale smile. "I reckon that's just what he'd do."

As they left the Situation Room to await the messenger from Madam Bones, Harry saw that their exit aroused no sign of awareness in the guardian of the door. He'd not noticed that before -- though, in all fairness, he'd been invited inside the Situation Room only sporadically during his brief tenure. Junior-grade Aurors seldom sat in on full-blown strategy sessions with their seniors. He shrugged as he watched the door close behind Kingsley, its wooden "face" wholly inanimate once more. He supposed that this door was not unlike the portrait of the Fat Lady guarding the entrance to Gryffindor Tower at Hogwarts. No one, student or teacher, could enter the common room without providing the Fat Lady with the appropriate password. But anyone already inside could exit at will, eliciting little or no attention from the Fat Lady.

Harry heard the gentle swoosh of robes and turned his head instantly in the direction of the sound. Moody saw this, and a razor-thin smile of approval spread under his lopsided nose. Kingsley was talking to Tonks, the two of them poring over Moody's vampire report. A moment later they looked up and smiled at the visitor whose arrival they had been anticipating.

"Amelia has you delivering messages now in addition to your other duties?" Kingsley smiled at Hermione.

"Last hired," Hermione said, returning the wizard's smile good-naturedly, "first to be sent to make tea, fetch lunch, or deliver messages, whichever is the priority of the moment."

Harry laughed sympathetically, having (in his biased view) made enough tea in his six months in the division to float the Royal Navy.

Her manner suddenly businesslike (though still pleasant), Hermione slipped a folder from under her arm and opened it.

"Stake-out positions for tonight," she said as she handed a sheet of parchment to Harry and Tonks in turn. Each bore the official seal of MLE. As Harry took his, he noticed that Hermione did not make eye contact with him. He was sure he knew the reason, but this was not the time to address it.

"Only two of us?" Harry said as he looked at the parchment in his hand, which was imprinted with a map of a small section of London. "For something this important?"

"We're spread pretty thin these days, Harry," Kingsley said as he accepted a similar map from Hermione's folder. "Budget cuts. Funny thing how donations from wizard families like the Malfoys stopped coming in after Voldemort's fall," he added with a mirthless grin. "You're likely to be the last Auror hired for the next year. Shame, too. Albus tells me there are some good candidates graduating from Hogwarts in June. But Merlin knows where the funds to engage them would come from. If Remus wasn't working unofficially, the bean-counters would be screaming bloody murder right now."

Harry now noticed that Hermione had not given Remus a sheet to correspond to the ones he and Tonks held. When he pointed this out, Hermione reached into a pocket of her robes and withdrew a handful of coins. Harry needed no explanation as he took the coin she held out for him. It was a standard operating procedure, one he had learned during his training interval.

"You're our pointman, Remus," Hermione said as she handed him the largest coin. "But you're to be kept in reserve until you're needed. If one of the teams spots anything suspicious, they'll signal you via your coin and you'll Apparate straight to the trouble zone. If it's an MLE team, they'll also signal the nearest mixed team so that either Harry or Tonks can join you."

"Only one of us?" Harry questioned. "Why not both?"

"There's always the chance that the alarm will be false," Hermione replied, no doubt quoting Madam Bones' doctrine on the subject. "Or, if genuine, that it will be a 'cold' scene. And if the alert is valid, the quarry may take flight, in which case the remaining Auror will be free to pursue from another avenue, increasing the chances of catching the perpetrator."

"Amelia is nothing if not thorough," Kingsley acknowledged.

"If we Apparate straight to the trouble spot," Harry now asked, "won't we risk being seen by Muggles?"

"That is a risk," Hermione said, adding with a smile, "but that's why MLE has Obliviators on the payroll, isn't it?"

"How many teams?" Harry asked.

"Four," Hermione said. "Two pairs of MLE agents, plus one agent each for you and Tonks. As with Remus, either or both of you will be signalled if one of the non-Auror teams runs into a spot of bother. In such a case, Remus will take point, MLE will follow, and the Auror will plug the other end. The remaining Auror will remain on standby alert, awaiting developments."

"Only four teams?" Harry said stiffly. He jerked his head toward Kingsley, who nodded with a glance at his master sheet whereon the respective positions of the four teams were marked (Harry's sheet, by contrast, displayed only his assigned position).

"Budget cuts," Hermione said flatly, exchanging a knowing nod with Kingsley.

"You said something about Obliviators?" Harry now asked.

"I'm on duty tonight," Hermione said, displaying a signal-coin of her own. "Like Remus, I won't be called in unless I'm needed."

This was a great relief to Harry. As far as he was concerned, the breadth of London itself was not enough distance between the woman he loved and a ravenous vampire.

"Now," Hermione said, "if Ordinance has received Madam Bones' memo, our equipment should be waiting for us."

"Equipment?" Harry said.

"Of course, Harry," Remus smiled as he slipped his signal-coin into his pocket. "You don't fight a vampire with wands and spells."

"You don't?"

Remus was about to enlighten Harry, but he noticed a familiar light in Hermione's eyes and closed his mouth quickly. With a smiling nod at Hermione, Remus said, "Tonks, shall we go fetch our gear? As I'm purely unofficial, I don't think Mr. Bindle will accept my signature on the release form."

"Right," Tonks said as she suppressed a smile. Turning her head, she said, "Harry, nip on down to Wardrobe and pick us out some Muggle clothes, there's a luv. Oh," she said as if something had just popped into her head, "better take Hermione along. I think I can trust her to pick out something that goes with..." She concentrated for a moment, and her green hair suddenly turned the color of cornsilk. "There," she said, swiveling her head in the direction of Remus, who nodded approvingly. Turning back to Hermione, she said, "Pick out something good -- remember, I'm vampire bait tonight."

(Harry wasn't sure, but it looked as though Tonks gave Hermione a conspiratorial wink in the moment before their eyes broke contact. It might have been his imagination. But then again...)

"When everyone is outfitted," Kingsley said, "we'll meet back in the Situation Room. I'll transfer this information to our Situation Map," he added, rattling the parchment in his hand with no little disgruntlement. With that, Remus and Tonks set off in the direction of Ordinance to secure their gear, while Harry and Hermione branched off toward Wardrobe.

The moment they were out of sight, Hermione turned to Harry and spoke in a low, apologetic voice.

"I'm sorry about last night, Harry. We were going to have dinner at your flat to talk about the case, but after that big lunch Molly made, I stretched out on my bed for a short kip, and when I woke up it was almost nine o'clock! What you must think of me -- "

Understanding now the wink Tonks had given Hermione (and why she had dispatched the two of them out of earshot of their companions), Harry smiled warmly.

"Don't give it a thought. The truth is, I had a little spot of bother with the meal I was fixing, and when I popped in on Molly to get some help, she told me you were sleeping and that I'd be better off waiting for another night. I knew you must have been really tired. You've hardly had time to settle in since you got back. Madam Bones put you straight to work the moment you arrived, for Merlin's sake. If we'd stayed up late last night chatting each other up, we'd be in a right state to go out vampire hunting tonight, wouldn't we? So it all worked out for the best. As soon as things settle down around here, we can have another go at it. We'll do it up right this time."

"All the same," Hermione said, "I wouldn't blame you if you were furious with me. Merlin only knows what you thought of me when you learned I'd slept through our engagement."

"Ask everyone downstairs what I was thinking when I came in this morning," Harry chuckled. "I don't think my feet touched the floor all the way to the lift. Everyone thought I was daft. All down to you. So I don't want to hear another word on the subject. Am I penetrating that bushy head, Miss Obliviator-Granger?"

"You're sure you're not suppressing?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"Oh, I'm suppressing a lot of things," Harry said, his hands moving up and down Hermione's supple flanks with slow appreciation. "But that's a subject better discussed elsewhere."

Harry bent and kissed Hermione lightly. When their lips parted, she mouthed a silent "thank you" before they set off for their destination.

As they walked methodically toward the Wardrobe department that served both Auror Division and MLE, Harry appraised Hermione's face keenly. Now that he had set her mind at ease regarding last night's aborted dinner, an old and very familiar look had begun to spread across her face. Harry instantly recognized that look as the one Hermione always wore when she had just acquired some new and significant knowledge, usually from a book, and was anxious to share that knowledge. He'd seen it often enough in their seven years at Hogwarts. He remembered as well the abrupt manner in which Remus had broken off his explanation on the ways and means of dispatching vampires, as if he were delegating that task to another. As they had missed their chance to talk last night, Harry was keen to know what Hermione had dug up in the Ministry library.

"Right, then. Remus was about to explain to me why magic is useless against a vampire. Why is that?"

"Because vampires aren't alive, strictly speaking," Hermione explained, having regained her poise and confidence with consummate ease.

"Magic works on non-living things," Harry responded promptly.

"Yes," Hermione said, "but there are different categories of spells -- each spell is designed for a specific purpose and they won't work properly if used any other way. There are organic spells, designed for living creatures, and non-organic. A spell that was devised to work on something alive is stymied when it encounters someone who isn't. Take the Unforgivable Curses, for example. The Cruciatus works on the pain centers of the brain, transmitted through the body along a network of living nerves. But not being truly alive, a vampire will shrug off the Cruciatus as easily as you or I would a Tickling Charm."

Having experienced a Tickling Charm in his second year at Hogwarts, Harry hadn't found it all that easy to shrug off.

"How are we supposed to stop a creature that can't be hurt?" he asked.

"I never said they can't be hurt," Hermione said. "I'm saying you can't depend on spells and such. But there are other ways -- ancient, proven ways -- it's a pity your training didn't encompass situations like this."

"It would be funny if it weren't so serious," Harry grunted. "It's like Moody said -- I spend three years learning how to sort out Dark wizards, master a hundred new spells, and now I'm faced with a bugger against whom magic is bloody useless. Looks like it's back to basic Defense Against the Dark Arts for all of us."

"The Ministry has an excellent library on the subject of combating the Dark Arts," Hermione said. "I've been doing quite a bit of reading since Madam Bones filled us in. Dodgy things, vampires. They're one of the few supernatural menaces where wizards and Muggles are roughly equal when it comes to opposing them."

"So if something jumps out of the shadows and sinks its fangs into my neck," Harry said with a twisted smile, "there's no point in shouting "Imperio!" and telling him to bleedin' sod off."

"Like the Cruciatus," Hermione said, "the Imperius works on living brain cells, in this case the cerebral cortex. Don't trust magic," she stressed with restrained urgency, the shadow of concern darkening her eyes. "Let your tools -- and your training -- do the job."

"And the Killing Curse?" Harry said, obliging Hermione by completing her analogy regarding the Unforgivable Curses.

"How do you kill something that's already dead?"

That answer quieted Harry until they reached the Wardrobe department. While Hermione selected a Muggle outfit for Tonks, Harry chose something for himself and Remus and signed the forms shoved at him absently by an old wizard who was stuffing crisps into his mouth as he listened attentively to a WWN soap opera on a tabletop radio.

As they set off on their return journey with their bundles in hand, Hermione turned opposite from the way they had come, catching Harry by surprise.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To my cubicle," Hermione replied. "I have a scarf that will go nicely with this outfit I've picked out for Tonks. My mum gave it to me the day I left for Beauxbatons. She said it would bring me luck. Maybe some of it will rub off on Tonks. Goodness knows you'll all need your share tonight. You can go on if you like. I'll catch you up."

"I'll come along," Harry said, catching up with Hermione easily. He still had a few questions on his mind, and not all of them pertained to their assignment.

As they rounded a corner and entered a long, dimly-lighted corridor, Hermione saw Harry stiffen as his eyes fixed on a plain black door that sat in the stone wall like a slice of darkness hewn from a midnight sky. Harry always did his best to avoid this corridor, and when needs required that he use it, he always averted his eyes from that somber portal. It was virtually identical to another black door on a level far below, and sight of it never failed to cause his chest to tighten painfully. Had he realized their path would lead this way, he might have endeavored to steer Hermione along another route to their destination. Six months was hardly enough time to memorize the complicated maze of corridors twisting throughout the bowels of the Ministry, and as he typically entered this corridor from the other end on the rare occasions when he could not avoid it, he did not recognize it for what it was until it was too late.

Now, having set eyes on the door, Harry could not tear his gaze from it. Hermione saw Harry fix his target unwaveringly with the intensity of a basilisk. Her surprise was momentary, morphing almost instantly into understanding. Saying nothing, she hurried on, watching covertly as Harry's eyes followed the dark shape until it vanished behind them. When they turned another corner and left the offending corridor behind, Harry heaved a quiet sigh which Hermione silently echoed.

They emerged into an open area divided into cubicles not unlike those defining Auror Division. In a prominent area corresponding to Kingsley's office on the other end of the level, Harry saw a sign reading MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT. Under this legend, in smaller letters, he read: AMELIA BONES, DIRECTOR.

Harry held Hermione's bundle for her as she darted into her cubicle. The sound of drawers opening and closing echoed from the flimsy cubicle walls. As Hermione searched for her scarf, Harry let his eyes wander idly around his surroundings. The floor plan was virtually identical to the one employed by Auror Division. And sitting in plain view, not ten steps from Amelia's office, was a plain, handleless door behind which, Harry knew, lay the MLE Situation Room. Harry stared longingly at the door, wondering what secrets it concealed behind its quiescent woodgrain face. If only he could get inside for just a minute, just long enough to peruse the Situation Map. Damn this bloody inter-departmental jealousy. With funds growing ever tighter, each division strove jealously to distinguish itself as a means of acquiring monies with which to hire more personnel, and to equip them with the newest magical weaponry. Sodding politics is what it was, just as Moody had said. Had the Ministry learned nothing from its war against Voldemort? A governing body should work together, not against itself. If only there were some way...

"Got it!" Hermione announced as her head popped up over the rim of her cubicle wall, a bright red scarf fluttering beside her. Emerging, she took her bundle back from Harry and they set off back to the other end of the floor.

His thoughts now back on the business at hand, Harry asked abruptly, "How many attacks have there been so far?"

"Four," Hermione said, grateful to be able to return Harry's thoughts to matters of business. "They're spacing out about every three or four days. Madam Bones is sure that either tonight or tomorrow is our best bet. But I'm sure Kingsley has already told you that, hasn't he?"

"Is there any pattern to the attacks?"

"Too soon to tell," Hermione said uncomfortably. "London is so big and spread out. Amelia is confident that a pattern will assert itself in time. But at what cost? How many people will have to die before we can find the one responsible?"

No word or gesture of acknowledgment was needed from Harry. Wanting to replace the tense silence with something more cheerful, he said abstractly, "How do you like the loft at the Burrow?"

"I love it," Hermione said unhesitatingly. "Last night I sat at the window for hours and listened to the wind in the branches. That's one of my favorite sounds in the whole world."

"It'll be better when the leaves come in," Harry said. "The sound becomes both louder and softer at the same time. Does that make sense?"

"Perfectly," Hermione said in a soft, dreamy voice.

Feeling that the time was right to resurrect the subject of their earlier exchange, Harry said, "You know, Kingsley still owes me a three-day holiday from before all this rubbish landed in our laps. What do you say we take advantage and re-schedule our dinner? I'll pull out all the stops this time. Full dinner with all the trimmings. And I promise not to muck it up, on my honor as an Auror."

"And you'll do it all yourself this time?" Hermione asked slyly.

"I won't go anywhere near Molly or the Burrow," Harry said, crossing his heart.

"It's not Molly I was thinking of," Hermione returned, her eyes wandering up toward the ceiling even as she turned her head to hide the smile she was striving unsuccessfully to suppress.

"THAT WAS ONE TIME!" Harry said, louder than he'd intended. A witch dictating a memo looked up sharply from her cubicle. The enchanted quill had evidently heard Harry's words and written them down, and the witch was now grumbling as she crumpled the parchment and began her dictation again with a fresh sheet. In a softer voice, Harry said, "Dobby volunteered because it was your birthday, and you were Head Girl and all, and -- "

Harry swallowed whatever else he was about to say as he saw Hermione giggling silently. His cheeks flushing, Harry added his own muffled laughter to hers.

"I'm not winding you up," he said when their laughter had subsided. "I promise, I did learn some good food preparation spells from Molly. I'm just out of practice is all. It's been a long time since I had someone to try them out on. Not since..."

It wasn't necessary for Harry to finish the thought. With the memory of yesterday's visit to the Burrow (and more pointedly, the woods behind the Burrow) fresh in his mind, he was certain that Hermione knew there had been no one in his life since she left for France -- just as he now knew with equal certainty that his own place in her heart had not faltered during their separation.

"Right, then," Hermione said brightly. "Shall we say Friday evening? That will be much better than last night would have been. I have all day Saturday off, so there'll be nothing to hold us back, will there?"

Harry nearly halted in mid-step. Did Hermione mean what he thought? Or was he reading more than was warranted into a simple statement? All the same, it was beginning to look like this dinner would be far more interesting than the one they had missed last night promised to be. His ponderings were arrested abruptly as they rounded the last corner to find Remus, Tonks and Kingsley waiting for them. Harry separated the bundles in his hands and handed one to Remus. Tonks took her Muggle clothing from Hermione, flashing an approving smile at the scarf, which she donned immediately, pirate-fashion.

Kingsley stepped before Harry now and handed him a pouch with a long shoulder strap attached. Harry noted that Tonks wore a similar pouch, which hung suspended from her left shoulder.

"When it comes to evening wear," Kingsley said, nodding at Harry's Muggle attire, "accessorizing is everything."

Harry opened the pouch and examined its contents. The first thing he found was a silver amulet of a type he remembered from the portion of his DADA training devoted to vampires (which seemed woefully inadequate now that he was about to go off in search of the real thing). It was Charmed to give one a limited resistance to the hypnotic influence of a vampire's eyes. The trick, of course, was to avoid eye contact altogether.

"Ow!" Harry said softly as he pricked his middle finger on something long and pointed at the bottom of the pouch. Drawing out the offending object, he saw it was a wooden stake, hewn to a sharpness which his throbbing finger had just verified.

"Do these things really work like they do in the Muggle cinema?" he asked no one in particular.

"Oh, yes," Remus answered. "But only if they're properly made."

"And how's that?" Harry responded with genuine interest.

"First," Remus said, "the stake must be made of ash, aspen or white thorn. Nothing else will do. These are ash. And for it to be potent, it should be hewn with an edge of pure silver."

Nodding, Harry asked, "Do I drive it in by hand? Or by magic?" As he had found no hammer in the small pouch, it was a fair question.

"Look again, Harry," Kingsley said. Harry did, and at the very bottom of the pouch he found a tiny metal hammer attached to a thong. It was of a size suited for a charm bracelet, and Harry looked up challengingly, as if he thought he was being pranked.

"Have a look, Harry," Tonks said now. As Harry watched, Tonks looped the thong of her own trinket-sized hammer around her right wrist. The thong instantly shrank so that it could not slip off with the ease with which it had gone on. Smiling, Tonks flicked her wrist sharply; the tiny hammer expanded to full size in the wink of an eye and jumped into her fist.

"Neat trick, innit?" Tonks laughed as she swung her hand over, whereupon the hammer shrank back to its original size, dangling from her wrist like a fob from a bracelet. "A Muggle vampire hunter can't do that. Mind, we can't reduce the stake likewise -- " she slapped the pouch on her hip indicatively, " -- much of its power comes from the hand-carving, and any tampering afterward diminishes its power. But the hammer isn't important, so magic gives us an edge there. No time to fumble about when a vampire's tryin' to take a bite outta your ruddy neck."

"If the hammer isn't important," Harry asked, "why couldn't I just use a focused Banishing Charm to drive the stake home? That way the bugger's fangs wouldn't get anywhere near my neck."

"Good in theory," Kingsley said in a patient voice, "but not in practice. The stake has to be positioned precisely so that it pierces the heart squarely. Banishing it like a missile from a distance is safer, but not surer. If your target moves only a little and the stake misses its mark, you're left weaponless, and the advantage passes to your enemy. As with most things, the simplest way is the best. Get in under his guard and strike before he can counter. A swift blow of the hammer and it's all over."

As Harry nodded, Kingsley surveyed his trio of agents.

"Right, then. Once you've changed, we'll meet in the Situation Room and coordinate our actions. Harry and Tonks will then Apparate to the appropriate safe houses. The MLE agents will meet you there, if they haven't preceded you. And remember," he said, the words seeming distasteful on his tongue, "they're in charge."

"Until the dirty work begins," Tonks muttered, "when they'll all look straightaway for the nearest dustbin to hide in while we charge on ahead into the dragon's flippin' mouth."

Harry saw Hermione scowl at this remark. MLE was her division, after all, and she rightly resented any aspersions cast upon its members. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that Hermione, at least, would not turn and run. If and when danger arose, she would be in the forefront, facing that peril with the same courage she had showed when the two of them had faced Voldemort nearly four years ago.

And Harry wasn't certain whether he was glad of that or not. The one thing he was sure of was how glad he was that, as a junior Obliviator, she would not be thrust into a position to demonstrate that courage.

At least, he sincerely hoped that was so. And with that thought, he set off for the changing room to don his Muggle clothing.