Under a Dragon Moon

UNDER A DRAGON MOON

by Wemyss

a Sequel to Gate of Ivory, Gate of Horn

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It is not by the display of power and pomp, cavalcades of retainers, and richly-houseled palfreys, or by gorgeous apparel, that the heretics win proselytes; it is by zealous preaching, by apostolic humility, by austerity, by seeming, it is true, but by seeming holiness. Zeal must be met by zeal, humility by humility, false sanctity by real sanctity, preaching falsehood by preaching truth.

- St Dominic

The object of the intellectual and moral virtues is something comprehensible to human reason.

***

. . . This is the first precept of the law, that good is to be done and promoted, and evil is to be avoided. All other precepts of the natural law are based on this....

***

How many people are we to allow to be murdered while waiting for the repentance of the wrongdoer?

- Aquinas

Magnus in magia, major in philosophia, maximus in theologia.

- The Belgian Chronicle on Albertus Magnus

A man who dares to make a direct appeal to the populace always makes a long series of enemies - beginning with the populace. In proportion as the poor begin to understand that he means to help and not hurt them, the solid classes above begin to close in, resolved to hinder and not help. The rich, and even the learned, sometimes feel not unreasonably that the thing will change the world, not only in its worldliness or its worldly wisdom, but to some extent perhaps in its real wisdom.

***

Serious historians are abandoning the absurd notion that the mediæval Church persecuted all scientists as wizards. It is very nearly the opposite of the truth. The world sometimes persecuted them as wizards, and sometimes ran after them as wizards; the sort of pursuing that is the reverse of persecuting. The Church alone regarded them really and solely as scientists.

- GKC

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7. And I Tiresias have foresuffered all

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When we sleep, when we dream, we are at once in both realms, and in neither. In all realms, and in none. We are in the marches, the borderlands, the debatable lands between what is and what is not - or is not yet: far from the fields we know.

These are the dreams and some of the days of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, as the crisis of the ages overshadows them, and the world's last night.

But which are whose, now? And which are dreams, and which, days? What is future, present, past? What is true vision, and what, nightmare?

To this question they return no answer. They do not answer it; they do not ask it. They hardly know to ask. They do but dream, and dreams, of course, need not hold coherence, sense, consistency.

They had failed, once before, failed themselves and their world, failed Albus, failed all. They had failed in their waking lives after coming so near triumph in dreams. Now the too-vast orb of the world's fate was poised, balanced, trembling, upon the merest point of agate, suspended, pendant, pending upon their choices. And they slept. A hundred miles and more from each other, they slept, and met in dreams, and in dreams was decided the future of the world.

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With the murder of Giles Whitsun and the death of Cormac McLaggen, on the floor of the Moot, by operation of the Traitor's Curse when he attempted to disclose matters he had learnt in confidence once sworn to the Privy Council, the world began to spin with dizzying speed.

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'Were you in search of the Godstow Manuscript, then, from the first, at Azkaban?'

'Not at all, Narcissa. Our earlier venture there was in search of other records altogether.'

The rest of them - Draco, Ron, Justin, Blaise, Arthur of course (he could never resist a Muggle reference), Theo, even a sniggering Hermione, repeated in unison, 'Altogether: "Our earlier venture there was in search of other records".'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'I shall ignore that. We hadn't any reason to look out Fair Rosamund's volume until Sluggers gave us the office.'

'Then why that horrid place, dear?' Molly did tend to fret, rather, even when the danger was past, and the risky venture, done and dusted.

'Och, records, is it?' Minerva was clearly thinking swiftly. 'And that place was no' aye a prison. I ken well it was a holt and castle afore ever it was turnit to a gaol. And are ye tellin' me the auld records are there yet?'

'They were, Minerva. And they sufficed even then to tell us we were on the right track.'

'They confirmit your bit theory, then? And there was neffer Witch nor Wizard fell tae Muggles but there was anither Witch or Wizard pulling the strings?'

'Never once. The primary basis for the secrecy regime has been false from the start. And it is simply not credible that successive governments could not have known it to be false.'

'I trust,' said Theo, grimly, 'we live to tell the tale.'

Harry's responding grin was feral, and his voice icy. 'Ut veniat omnes. Let all the bastards come on together.'

'"Come the three corners of the world in arms, and we shall shock them,"' said Draco, with a decided and decisive nod.

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The continuing crisis in the Moot had required that Neville once again return to Thornminster.

It was a subdued Moot that greeted him, still shaken by the horrific, if merited, death of Cormac McLaggen. With McLaggen's death, those who had followed him into the rump Preservative Party had swiftly scurried to 're-rat' - in Churchill's pungent phrase - and a chastened Rufus Scrimgeour was once again the Leader of a truly Loyal Opposition.

The Moot sensed, at last, that this was a time for unity, for closed ranks and sunk quarrels: for it was evident now that a great and grave threat to British Wizard-dom, and to the magical world as a whole, was rising, inchoate yet terrible, like a great wall of stormy cloud upon an ever-dimmer horizon.

To this fear, Neville spoke, his resolution stiffening the spines of almost every member. Almost.

'Madam Speaker,' said the Minister for Magic, 'it cannot be concealed from the Moot or the realm - nor would I consent to conceal the grave facts - that there is in train an international conspiracy of terror, having as its object the fomenting of war among magical beings and against the Muggle world. This Moot will further be aware that the right Honourable the Member for Quantock and Brandon -'

'Order!'

'- and Chief of the Magical General Staff -'

'ORDER! The Minister.'

'- accompanied by the Member for Old Sarum -'

'ORDER!'

'- and other Honourable and right Honourable members, including the Members for ffinchley Abbas, for Steeple Wandwood, for Nettleton Malherbe, for Ottery St Catchpole with Stoatshill, for the Royal Burgh of Hogsmeade, and for the Five Boroughs, amongst others, are even now engaged in preliminary operations to stop such a war before it can begin. The -'

'Order, order....'

'Madam Speaker, this Government is not concerned with any possibility of failure. I have received a report from the afore-named Members, the details of which I shall lay before the Moot at the proper time; but I advert you to the conclusions in that report, the first from the right Honourable the member for Quantock and Brandon, and the second, from the right Honourable the member for Old Sarum, as follows: "Ut veniat omnes. Let all the bastards come on together" -'

'ORDER!'

'And, "Come the three corners of the world in arms, and we shall shock them" -'

'ORDER! ORDER!'

'To which I can add only this, expressing, as I trust, the sense of this Moot, "Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true".'

'HEAR! HEAR!'

'ORDER!'

________________________________________

'Warrington. Montague. No skin outbreaks or sudden emergences from the loo?'

They replied, in unison, with an ancient gesture. Their interlocutor merely chuckled. It was a surprisingly unpleasant sound.

It was, even so, a reassuring exchange to two members of the security forces, detailed to watch the Wizengamot member who had insulted the two Old Slytherins. 'Say what you will about old Crookers,' remarked one to his fellow as they rashly sloped off to the pub, 'at least she's no use for that lot.' Had they remained at their posts, they might have noticed, with alarm, that Warrington and Montague, after three minutes's hesitation, had followed Glinda Crook MW down Purse Lane.

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'Albus. In you come, lad. Now. You damn' well know better than to be listening at doors.'

Albus was too outraged to be at all repentant. 'Father! You mustn't!'

Kendra pursed her lips. She had already said all there was to say on that subject.

Percival Dumbledore simply sighed. 'Son. Sometimes it is best, not merely expedient, that one man - er, sacrifice himself - for the people. Were I to contest this charge.... I shall not expose your sister to what should follow. Do you understand me, Albus? There is that; and there is rather more. I confide that you are of sufficiently mature years to comprehend me. Now, listen to me, carefully, Albus. I am displeased that I must explain my decision to you. I am still more displeased that you have required that I do, by this low habit of eavesdropping. That is a vice inexcusable even in servants, and wholly unacceptable in a gentlewizard. I trust that is all I need say on that subject. Yet here we are, and you shall give me your attention and hold your tongue: I am assuredly not accustomed to repeating myself.

'As you have taken it upon yourself to listen at keyholes, I expect you to follow along. Were I to contest these charges, there would, of necessity, befall consequences greater even than those that would injure your sister. Those who would excuse my actions are the very people who mustn't be given any further excuse for their own wishes to engage in Muggle-baiting. Those who think as I do, and as this family ever has and ever shall - I trust I make myself understood? Very well - those who are opposed to the faction in our world that would see Muggles enslaved and oppressed, would be put in a false position, were one of their more prominent voices to advance, as an excuse, a claim that the Muggles brought this upon themselves. It is by no means unlikely that the political consequences would be very grave indeed, not excluding open war upon and against the Muggle population. The consequences to the Statute of Secrecy, you are, I make certain, sufficiently clever to derive for yourself.

'I shall, therefore, not contest these charges. Certainly, I shall not escape a period on Azkaban. My honour, however, and my conscience, will remain unspotted, whether the world acknowledges the fact or no.

'L'homme n'est rien, l'œuvre, tout. You, my boy, must be the head of the family in my ... absence. You will do well to remember what I shall tell you. Indeed, you may best make amends for the position you have put me in today by promising me that you will be guided by this principle. In all that you do, Albus, you must promise me, you will always consider first, not yourself, but, rather, the greatest good for the greatest number. Do you promise me that?'

'Yes, Papa,' said Albus Dumbledore, standing as tall as he might manage. 'I will always act for the greater good.'

________________________________________

'Signor Unterperger is assured that the incident in Cavalese was, as we determined, the work of Wizards, not Muggles.' Harry was exceedingly crisp. 'Now. Your reports, please, in the Whitsun matter. Hagrid?'

'Ah. This yere plaguey Charms work....'

All of them nodded. They were billeted in one of the sites created for the Cup, a typically Croat Wizarding fantasy of hunting lodge rusticity, finicky woodcarving, and dragon motifs. It needed no glance outside through the vast windows to know that Hagrid was referring to the charms that had been used to create a late Springtide or early Summertide in the hidden areas of the Park, away from Muggle eyes, now in the depths of January. It naturally buggered up magiforensics, particularly forensic herbology and forensic magizoology.

Harry needed no glance outside to recall this fact; he rose and walked over to the window nonetheless, and brooded, staring out at the landscape. The meadows in which the famous Lakes of Plitvice were set, between the forested mountain slopes of the gorge, to either side, seemed lush, with a pure, fresh green for carpet, patterned with a riotous profusion of wildflowers. The lakes themselves attracted the eye, in all their jewelled colours, each separated by its dam of travertine - travertine one could almost see being built and deposited as lake spilt into lake. The mixed forest, in turn, appeared just at that stage when the delicate watercolours of Spring were poised to be over-painted with the glossy oil paints of the Summer.

And all of it as false as the lie upon which the Wizarding world had built its paranoid secrecy regime. Behind and beneath the mask - and masque - of Springtide, there was the strong, true, Winter landscape and the fauna of the karstic basin, its thunderous waterfalls echoing amidst bare boughs or muffled by snow, its beech and fir and pine bending to wintry winds or still with a wintry stillness. Delve but a little behind the charms laid upon the land, and it would emerge as it truly was, the snow-snug vale beneath its white coverlet, the haunt of bear and marten and wolf, otter and wild cat, boar and stag and lynx far-seeing, and, soaring over the heather and the hornbeams, the sumac and juniper and Italian alder, and the willows of the watercourses, free and high and far flew the eagle and the eagle owl and a myriad of other birds, even as the capercailzie boomed from wintry wood and forest. And deeper in, wyverns and dragons were still to be found, and cockatrices denned, drowsing through the months when the lakes were frozen and the air bit like iron. Deep beneath the ice, in the unfrozen waters of the ponds, dugbogs hibernated; high upon the mountain slopes, Graphorns dug for vegetation beneath the snow, their breaths clouding the bitter air. In those strains inhered the true, wild, deep-throated music of the place, mighty and free, the deep pedal and the thundering diapason: not in this meretricious, music-box lyric.

'Right, then. Nothing to be got from that. I assume the same is true of Nev's herbological investigations?'

'I'm sorry,' said Luna, serenely, 'I'm afraid so.'

'Yes. I want Seamus here as quickly as can be done without a Time-Turner. Hermione? Your report, if you would?'

'The cause of death has been determined beyond question. There is unanimous agreement on that. It was the Killing Curse. Giles Whitsun was asleep at the time. He was asleep for the very good reason that he had been dosed with a Befuddlement Draught and a Sleeping Draught.'

'Not a characteristically Goblin way of killing,' observed Draco.

'No more it is. They're not terribly keen on our potions, and - despite the BoG's lobbying for wands at home - here on the Continent, where they are allowed them, they don't use them, the contrary little sods. Nevertheless, they're not above contracting, shall we say, to a private killer. Very well,' said Harry, 'we redouble our efforts. Any traces - any at all - any evidence from transference, any wand signature, I need, and need now. Thus far, we've seen Muggles fitted up for an attempted murder, and now Goblins for a successful one. If it is the bloody Goblins, they'll damned well wish they'd not done. But if, as I think we all suspect, it wasn't, then we want to prove it, and prove it now if not yesterday. Have we been through the witness statements?'

'I have.'

'Excellent, Theo, you're the one with the legal mind. Any joy there?'

'No. Or yes. Significantly, no one recalls a thing.'

'Obliviation?'

'Precisely. Another thing Goblins don't do, and another spell that cannot be cast successfully without a wand, that Goblins don't use.'

'Excellent. For make no mistake, I want these bastards. First, however, if it is in fact the case, I want the Goblins cleared.'

'Aren't you putting that wrong way 'round, Harry?'

'Hermione, you know damned well I'm not. The reason I'm here on this school outing is because this is a security issue and an intel issue. We've worked - you in particular have worked - like navvies to separate and segregate the Aurors from MLE. Now, I hope to stop here and assist with what is, after all, a criminal case investigation, but my primary duty is preventing a war - if I can.'

'And if you can't, old boy?' Justin's tone was that of one who well knew the answer to his question.

'Then my duty will be to win it. Swiftly, surely, and with such crushing force that the enemy, if any survive, pee themselves every time they contemplate starting or serving in one ever again.'

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On 14 February 1945, with the two wars in Europe - seen and unseen - yet fiery, and men drawn away from their common tasks to be sacrificed to that militant Moloch that is war, the depleted police forces of the United Kingdom, from Warwickshire to the Met, were shaken by the discovery of a body on Meon Hill, near the Quintons. The dead man, whose peculiar method of death was clearly and uncannily ritual, was an aged farm labourer, one Charles Walton, seventy-four years in age. It was common knowledge in his corner of Warwickshire, from Lower Quinton to Meon Hill to Compton Scorpion (the birthplace of Sir Thomas Overbury), that Charles Walton was a Cunning Man, who kept a succession of natterjack toads as his familiars and whose presence tamed every beast. His murder was never solved, although amongst those whom Warwickshire Constabulary and the Yard considered as suspects was his employer, the owner of The Firs. This gentleman farmer, whose name the Muggles variously recorded as 'Albert' and 'Alfred' but whose surname they never mistook, was himself no longer young, although surprisingly well-preserved. His name was in fact Aldfrith Potter, and he was one of those Potter Squibs whom the Potters had set up, as ever, in the northern portions of their lands: Warks, like Salop, Worcs, Staffs, and sleepy Herefordshire, was simply stiff with Potter cadets.

The Muggles had their own ideas as to who had killed the kindly conjurer, Walton: ideas in which Mr Potter never figured. They also kept their own counsel, even as the Muggles themselves were startled to see a pack of Grims roam the country 'round.

But to those who had ears to hear, Mr Potter - and he was ever and always Mister Potter, being as well-regarded as poor Charlie Walton had been, and for the same reasons - said the same thing, repeatedly. He had not had hand in the death - which none who knew him doubted - but would have hand in its justicing. Meantime, if the Muggles should seize upon him as their accused, so be it: for the greater good, it was sometimes expedient that one man be sacrificed for the people.

History, never quite repeating its pattern, yet rhymes a still, sad music.

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Glinda Crook, MW, an independent Member for one of the Sept Ports constituencies, was generally regarded as a pest, and accordingly harmless. Her involvement with the Campaign for Greater Freedom for Wizards, which opposed Ministry efforts to reign in the Wizarding population on All Hallows's Eve, was regarded as a form of licensed eccentricity by some and heartily approved by most. And few realised, or bothered to reflect, that her surname was a variant of that of a family to whom she was none too distantly related: that of the late Barty Crouch. The common view, insofar as anyone spared two thoughts for her, was that Glinda was a good Witch.

The three young men - Warrington, Montague, and Rufus Fudge, nephew to the late Minister - would not have agreed, as they stood still as the stockfish they were, at wandpoint. 'You,' said Mistress Crook, 'had best hope there's someone nearby to save you from your folly. What the devil do you mean, stalking me in this fashion? And, no, not a one of you is a constituent, nor is this my surgery, so don't try it on. You've been very foolish, the three of you, and I hope for your sakes you can explain yourselves.'

Neither she nor the three idiot youths would have been cheered by knowing that, amongst the few others who did not view Glinda as a good Witch, were Hermione, Draco, Ron, and Harry.

________________________________________

'From a purely military perspective,' said Harry, 'it suffices for the moment that we go on as we've begun, responding to incidents as they occur and scotching any claims that Muggles or Goblins or who have you are attacking Wizards and Witches.'

The newly arrived Seamus nodded, and gestured for Harry to continue.

'From a security and intelligence perspective, however, this reactive running about is not contributing a damned thing to the defence of the realm. To the contrary. I shall be as obliged to the MLE as is anyone else, when once the strictly criminal elements of this bloody conspiracy shall have been detained and charged, but you and I, Finners, haven't the right, the leisure, or the luxury of waiting upon events. Someone is controlling this shower. We now know it wasn't that miserable little shit McLaggen. What I sodding well want is the name and location of who is at the back of this. If you've the vaguest of a ghost of an idea, now would be an excellent time to air it.'

________________________________________

'... in fifteen minutes. Before that, it's time once again for a classic episode of That Savernake Sprog....'

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Zeller, Whitby, Cauldwell, and Madley were quite clever enough to have been Ravenclaws in their time. Brave enough for Gryffindor and not inferior in cunning to any Slytherin, for that matter. But what had once made them Hufflepuffs now made them the best Scene of Crime team - formerly Scene of Crime Aurors, and now, with the reorganisations, MLE staff - what had once made them Hufflepuffs now made them the best Scene of Crime team the Ministry could field: they were just, calm, loyal, and, above all, unafraid of honest toil. It was quite right and proper, they agreed, that Hermione's mind moved so swiftly that she arrived at the sums first, and the steps and calculations caught up with her only later. No one could deny that Malfoy had a positively divinatory eye for a weakness or an opportunity. Ron Weasley was by common consent nonpareil as a strategist and tactician. And Harry, no question, had a genius for seeing, seizing, and striking to the heart of things, allied with power unparalleled. Yet in the end, they knew, without any trace of arrogance and only the most pardonable and quiet sense of pride, that it was routine, the infinite taking of infinite pains, focussed toil and the book of the rules, that made the world spin safely and let the innocent sleep safely in their beds; it was routine, process, procedure, that solved crimes and preferred prosecutions - and, in the end, did justice. And what more was required of any Witch or Wizard but to walk humbly and to do justice?

Nothing was too small to overlook, too insignificant to be catalogued, too minor to be slotted carefully and precisely into the mosaic of fact and of truth. And nothing - and this had been the downfall of many a malefactor - nothing was too Muggle to matter.

'Hullo, hullo, hul-lo. Owen?'

'Madley?'

'Take a dekko at this, will you?'

'Well, well. What have we here, hmmm?'

'Now, that,' interjected Rose Zeller, 'is what I call a very fine strand indeed. Just the one?'

'So far,' said Laura Madley, levitating the teased thread, perhaps long as a marrowfat pea is round, to where it might best catch the light. 'So far.' She clearly anticipated, with quiet, assured confidence, that, were there more to find, they should be found.

'Best Cotswold wool,' said Kevin Whitby, with equal certainty. 'Chummy will ever overlook the fine details, eh, Cauldwell?'

'They always do,' said Cauldwell, pityingly. 'They always do, poor silly buggers. I'd say it was quite likely - wouldn't you, Laura? - that there should be quite enough in the way of skin cells to brew a lineage potion.' There were few things that gave Owen Cauldwell a glow of honest satisfaction to match that derived from using the old pureblood traditions against them - and it was, almost always, purebloods, unreconciled to the new dispensation, whom it fell to his lot to detain and charge.

'Hands off,' said Zeller, gently chiding, 'I want to look at the dust and trace materials on it first, you greedy ... badger.'

'That's Primus Badger to the likes of us, Zeller,' laughed Whitby. Cauldwell, as their superior officer, responded, with grave maturity, by putting his tongue out towards them all, indifferently.

________________________________________

'Faith, Harry, it's not much y'want, is it. And is it me, the Ogden's director and ornament o' th' Turf an' th' Jockey Club, as knows and rubs shoulders with the great and good of the Wizengamot?

'All right, all right, hould your whisht. Steady, now. An' it was me, I'm thinkin', an' I was after starting a feckin' war, I'd'n' ha' a'body caught on tae't. Some squaller'd be on th' Floo tae yersel' or Redser or Ginny-the-Banner or any o' ye Tans afore a good man'd done wi' his prayers, they would. There's none s' many as 'd manage tae run a cell, but. I'm no' sayin' it'll be a body went through th' wa-ar, but - ye'd gae far and dae waur' than tae gi'e those pairsons yer first look, just.'

'For the benefit,' drawled Draco, 'of the civilised persons in the room, what Seamus is suggesting is that the individual likely to be directing these actions is quite probably a member of the Moot or of the Ministry, possessed of sufficient War experience as to be able to maintain a "cell" structure in managing the operations, and having for that reason thus far escaped suspicion and apprehension.'

'I understood Seamus perfectly, thank you,' said Hermione, primly, inwardly rejoicing at having inserted a barb in the tender hide of the commonly well-armoured Draco.

________________________________________

'What luck?' Theo had poked an inquisitive head in to the Scene of Crimes team's makeshift offices.

''Shun!' snapped Cauldwell. 'His Honour Judge Nott, Eyre Judge for whatever damned circuit they have him on, has deigned to inspect the lowly SoC Team!' And Whitby, who was possessed of a fine voice and a taste for Gilbert & Sullivan, began to sing, 'Bow down, bow down, for the Lord High Executioner!'

'Oi, you impertinent Hufflesods! Is this any way in which to greet a man of my dignity, worth, and evident qualities?'

'Unless you're a polyjuiced imposter and not actually Theo Nott, then, Yes, it bleeding well is. Oh, do come in, and shut the damned door, Theo, you could test racing brooms in that blasted wind-tunnel of a corridor. Now. Shift your carcase over to where La Rose à Monde has her station set up, and just you look at this. Super-grade Cotswolds wool, dyed in the wool - and I could tell you the Gloucestershire parish, farm, pasture, and flock, if you like. Now, watch: you see the matrix of charms there? Sold by Twilfit and none other, those are proprietary. Our Mistress Zeller can tell you every place it's been in the fortnight prior to its being caught under the nails of the late Giles Whitsun, what's more. And in five minutes, if you care to wait for the brewing, we'll be able to - you see this ward-box? Chummy lost a microscopic bit of skin, you see, and it stayed behind on this exhibit - in five minutes, we'll be able to tell you who was wearing the garment this came from when he, or of course she, although it's from a Wizard's cloak, wore it into Giles Whitsun's rooms.'

'That's a good deal to determine from an almost invisible thread.'

'That? That's not a thread, Theo. It only looks like a thread.'

'What is it, then, Owen?'

'After we've woven together all the facts that it conveys? That, Theo, is a rope. Noose and all.'

________________________________________

'... another episode of Healer Farquhar's Casebook. And now, the news, read by Asinius Paulet....'

________________________________________

With the crisis in the Moot and Nev's brilliant - but necessarily temporary - handling of it, it was impossible that Harry or Draco been seen back in Britain, or Neville be known to have departed the realm: the only bulwark, hastily erected, against the rising tide of panic and hysteria, was the knowledge that Nev was On the Spot at Home, ministerially labouring, and Harry and Draco were abroad, Fighting the Good Fight. Nevertheless, there were some matters that required the personal touch, and the personal intervention of such as Seamus as the chief intelligencer of the realm, Fletcher being no longer passed as fit for fieldwork.

Seamus reflected, as he gathered himself after Apparating, on Harry's instructions - and his barracking of his old friend, privately, away from the others.

'Seamus.'

'Sorr?' Seamus well knew that Harry was now speaking to him, not as an old school mate or Old Gryffindor, not as a friend of many years's standing or as a fellow old soldier of the Riddle War, but, rather, as Field Auror Marshal and Chief of the Magical General Staff to the Deputy Chief Unspeakable.

'You know, I've been engaged, on occasion, in making a - legend. I know that an agent in the field, under cover, must not only play at his role, he must become the character, live in the skin and think the very thoughts of who it is he is meant to be. I do realise, really, all that that entails.'

'Sir.'

'You're quite skilled at that. I commend you.'

'Sir.'

'And if you ever again give me a briefing in that fashion, Seamus, coming over the wild Irishman and acting the fool, I'll have your ballocks for paperweights.'

'Sah!'

Seamus shook his head, with a wry grin, as he looked down upon Salzburg, all cream and cadmium, crowned in verdigris dome and roof, set against the Alpine slopes, now umber and sienna and grave olive in their winter garb, frosted here and there with snow like cream: alps mit Schlag. Below him, the River Salzach was steely in the fading light. A passing friar - for his Apparating point had been the Kapuzinerberg, where the monks were well used and welcoming to passing Light Wizards - nodded to him as he began his walk towards the river and the crossing to the Old Town, the Altstadt around the fortress Festung Hohensalzburg, and thence to the high-baroque cathedral, the Salzburger Dom, with its domes like verdigris agaric, Stropharia æruginosa, in a wood.

He remembered hearing of that route, when it was first quietly revealed to him in those dangerous hours when McLaggen's coup had seemed poised to succeed, and Britain was in danger of being cut off from the Continent.

The Bishop of Salisbury, ex officio the Wizarding Primate of Britain, had met Harry and Draco in the chapter house of the cathedral, beneath the purest fan-tracery in England.

'Ah. Draco. Harry. Good of you to be prompt. Under the circumstances, I rather thought it time to let the two of you in on rather an interesting confidence. Magic having rather a pawky sense of humour ... I wonder: do you know the Latin name of Salzburg, in Austria? Quite right: "Salisburgensis" as ever was. Well, for whatever reason, there's always been a way between the two, Muggle Reformation or no Muggle Reformation, bar a few years when that horrid Dark Wizard von Firmian was running things on their end; never let an Old Durmstranger become a prince-archbishop, really: what were they thinking? In any case, the route remains, Albus himself used it a time or two in '44 and '45, and it cannot be closed save on my end, by me - or, rather, by the then Wizarding Primate, and the Ministry has nothing to do with it. There's a crypt beneath the Rupertusoratorium that's concealed from the Muggles. Now, if you would, take hold of the pillar, that's right. The word to go from here to Salzburg is, 'Rupert', and to come back, in the Rupertus crypt, just raise your wand and say, 'Our Lady of Sarum': go on, give it a go, I'll await your return.'

Passing through an archway, conveniently concealing, that could as well have been made of over-elaborated marzipan, Seamus whispered a quick apology to God and His saints, and transfigured his clothes into those of the Roman secular clergy. Faith, th' things I do for the English Crown, he thought, as he turned towards the cathedral. God save Ireland, said they all....

________________________________________

With the crisis in the Moot and Nev's brilliant - but necessarily temporary - handling of it, it was impossible that Harry or Draco been seen back in Britain, or Neville be known to have departed the realm: the only bulwark, hastily erected, against the rising tide of panic and hysteria, was the knowledge that Nev was On the Spot at Home, ministerially labouring, and Harry and Draco were abroad, Fighting the Good Fight. Nevertheless, there were some matters that required the personal touch.

Which is why Dean Thomas, artist and Arithmancer, and his fellow sometimes-Treasury-SpAd, indeed fellow Vice-Chancellor Extraordinary to the Tally, Terry Boot, found themselves in Zurich. Prim, Calvinist Old Zurich, where, as Ernie had once despairingly remarked, even the Wizarding quarter was as achingly dull as a dreich Sunday afternoon in Morningside during the interminable hours between the end of the sermon at the Kirk and the final reprieve of tea.

________________________________________

'... Ley Lines travels to darkest Derbyshire. This week, the team....'

________________________________________

With the crisis in the Moot and Nev's brilliant - but necessarily temporary - handling of it, it was impossible that Harry or Draco been seen back in Britain, or Neville be known to have departed the realm: the only bulwark, hastily erected, against the rising tide of panic and hysteria, was the knowledge that Nev was On the Spot at Home, ministerially labouring, and Harry and Draco were abroad, Fighting the Good Fight. Nevertheless, there were some matters that required the personal touch.

Harry, Draco, Theo, and the Scene of Crimes team were spending hour upon hour, day upon day, meeting with the representatives of the other Wizarding governments, and it was imperative that they be seen to be doing so.

Wherefore it was the rather unlikely team of Molly, Andromeda, Narcissa, and Hermione who had arrived - after an incomprehensible comment by Harry to the effect that he 'now felt rather like David Audley', which reference was nagging Hermione's insatiable wits mercilessly - at a secluded spot not far from Tímár Street, the Street of the Tanners, that divided the Wizarding and Muggle quarters of Debreczen.

Narcissa sniffed - not haughtily: eagerly. The cold air was yet redolent, not of tanning - for it had been long since the tanners had occupied Tanners's Street or the cobblers, Varag Street - but rather of lacquer and fired clay and honest wool and fabric (for the quarter is famous for its potters, now, and lacemakers and embroiders of rich, sweeping cloaks, for all sorts and conditions of the makers of traditional wares and costume), and redolent most of all of the vibrant Magyar cuisine, stuffed cabbages, game and beef, rich stews, lágos bread, and, from every cukrászda, Dobos tortes, Rákóczi cheesecakes, and coffee, odorous and fine, and all borne upon the swirling, keen air that came to the city from the Puszta, the Alföld, the great Pannonian plains, the Magyar steppe, filtered through the Great Greenwood, the Forest Nagyerdő. It was a heady and wine-like air, sparkling, crisp, saturate with ancient magic.

'Such a pity dear Ginny couldn't join us,' said Molly.

'Oh, that should never have done,' said Andromeda. 'She'd never have worn it, and she's best where she is.'

'Ladies?' The Wizard in uniform who politely but firmly addressed them in excellent English, was quite evidently hiding his amusement, and quite as evidently a member of the Wizarding element of the border guards. 'If you would be so good?'

Andromeda took immediate control. 'Our wands and papers, I suppose, Törzsőrmester?' The young Wizard suppressed as best he could his surprise that this foreign Witch should have been able to determine, let alone pronounce, his rank. 'There you are. My name is Andromeda Tonks. My sister, Narcissa; our cousin, Molly Weasley. And her daughter in law, Professor-Doctor Hermione Granger, professionally; otherwise, Hermione Weasley.' The sergeant was now visibly taken aback: even in Hungary, such names were ones to conjure with.

'As for the purpose of our visit, Sergeant,' said Narcissa, seductively, 'I shall be taking the waters, Andromeda and Molly will be descending upon your shops and markets like a force of nature, and dear Hermione will, of course, make a beeline for the Déri Museum, the University, and its libraries - as well, I suppose, as the Nagytemplom, if only to pay tribute to Kossuth there, she's not precisely a regular communicant, are you, dear?'

The young Other Rank from the Interior Ministry maintained his countenance, if only just. 'That is all in order. Please, enjoy your stay. I shall convey the information to my superiors.' And he Apparated - rather stiffly, in all senses - away.

'La! Cissy, really, you mustn't vamp border guards, however scrumptious. I make quite certain that he is indeed, whilst I say it, reporting a great deal to his superiors.'

'Andy, darling, really. We are here to shake things up, are we not? In fact, precisely to be seen. And as to the other - well! He was positively edible, wasn't he, darling? Just you be thankful that dear Tessa Zabini's not with us: if you imagine that that was vamping, you've much to learn from watching her in action.'

Andromeda and Narcissa were quite right. Törzsőrmester Janos Szabó was at that moment reporting to his superiors; and their unanticipated arrival, their knowledge of Hungarian rank insignia, and their demeanour had indeed already assured that the authorities would be keeping a very close eye upon the two surviving Notorious Black Sisters, and no eye at all upon Molly Weasley and Hermione Granger (Mrs Ron Weasley), DPhil, MMA, and all the rest of it.

________________________________________

It had been a long and dispiriting meeting. The local authorities on the Continent were, if anything, less well-disposed towards Muggles and Goblins and indeed anyone save Wizards of lengthy genealogy than had been the worst of the British purebloods. Harry and Draco had allies, of course, but that was in its way rather a hindrance than a help: Signor Unterperger was assailed on all sides for his unnatural, pro-British views, and the adamant support given the British representatives by the Commonwealth Aurors and their American counterparts merely drew a firm line between Europe and the English-Speaking Nations. (The inconvenient fact that Mr Sato of Japan, whose rank of Keishi-kan or Assistant Commissioner compared very favourably with Harry's own, and Peru's Comisario Robles, were amongst those on the 'British' side of the divide, was conveniently overlooked.) When the Americans's Special Auror in Charge Jefferson Long (who had in his day played Chaser for Sweetwater and been capped for the US cup side) had scathingly compared the Continentals to Voldemort - the Continental authorities, as their personal political sympathies might dictate, uniformly blamed Britain either for allowing Voldemort to rise, or for bringing him down: Harry was by no means universally popular abroad, although uniformly a subject of extreme and wary respect - and his Canadian counterpart, Sous-Commissaire Pierre Macmahon, had made a comment equating the European prejudices with basic racism, a flashpoint had been reached. When Assistant Commissioner Sir Bruce Eccles of Australia had refined the point in highly personal terms - Wizarding policemen are no more natural diplomats than their Muggle opposite numbers - the Norwegian Politiinspektør opposite, who, in fact, had been leaning towards the British and Commonwealth view until that juncture, had actually gone for her wand.

It had been at that point that everyone had been forcibly reminded of just why it was that Harry - and Draco, and Ron - were, whether liked or loathed, the subjects of extreme and wary respect. Harry had exploded into action, his wand like a striking snake, and disarmed everyone in the room save Draco and Ron in a matter of seconds, whilst Ron, with equal speed and efficiency, had bound and silenced them all.

It was at that point that Draco, having first taken down the shields he had immediately deployed around Harry and Ron, spoke.

'You know, I'm quite fond of Quidditch. I think it important as well as enjoyable. In the past, it has, upon occasion, been a vehicle of international cooperation and understanding.' He coolly and disdainfully surveyed the scene before him. 'It occurs to me,' added Draco, musingly, 'that the Balkans are rather the classic site for defenestrations.' Everyone suddenly recalled that they were on the uppermost storey of the highest tower of the oldest ex-Ottoman fortress in Gospić, the county town of Lika-Senj, in which county Plitvička Jezera is located. 'Allow me to remind you why we are here. The Balkan Wizarding governments begged on bended knee to host the World Cup, even though it meant moving the damned thing forward. The various governments here represented, indulged them, for various diplomatic reasons. Very well. I'm sure I don't mind, although it's been a sore trial to Weasley, here, not in his official capacity but, rather, as editor of Wizden's. Now allow me to remind you why you are here. The Uganda coach, a British subject, was murdered. You lot are ... or are meant to be ... the highest elements of your nations's various departments of magical law enforcement, brought here by that murder and tasked with assisting in its detection and prosecution as well as with improving the security measures for your national teams and your nationals who wish to attend as spectators.

'Instead, you're in a fair way to creating a whole new series of international incidents.

'But do bear in mind: you may be here as policemen; I am not. Nor is Ron. Nor is Harry. Certainly it is our duty to assist our own MLE in looking into the murder of Giles Whitsun. But we are not diplomats, and we are not coppers. We are members of our government. And Harry and Ron are, fundamentally, very senior soldiers indeed. And the murder of Giles Whitsun is not an isolated matter. Someone is attempting to set off a war between Wizards - worldwide - and Goblins, just as someone quite recently attempted to set the Wizarding world upon the Muggles in Signor Unterperger's, ah, manor, and just as someone is attempting to destabilise Her Majesty's Wizarding Government. And it could quite easily be any one of you in this room. Balanced against stopping a world war before it starts, I, for one, am willing to take responsibility for any number of diplomatic incidents and international insults, and quite willing to take responsibility for cancelling the Cup and every international match on the calendar. Is that quite clear? Excellent. And - if any of you are contemplating making an issue of this, or seeking in it a casus belli - well. Just you think a moment upon what befell the last silly bugger who tried that on with Harry Potter.'

The room was silent as a churchyard. Its stillness was broken only by the helpless buzzing of an early insect caught in a spider's web, at the topmost window.

It was Harry who broke the silence. 'For my part, I regret that I found it necessary to intervene in your quarrels. The fact remains, I am, as Mr Malfoy says, here for one reason: to avert a war. In that light, your having your heads up your arses is an annoyance I haven't time to deal with politely. The Silencio and the Incarcerous will wear off in a few minutes. Your wands will be in the next room. I will be about my own business. If any of you have anything sensible to say, send an owl. If any of you - and your ranks and positions and immunities be damned - are fool enough to go leaking in a way that further imperils the peace, make certain your affairs are in order and your families know with which solicitor your Will is lodged, because, when this is done, I shall find you. Good day and be damned to you.'

Harry square-bashed smartly out, having wandlessly transformed his mufti robes into his dress uniform with every decoration, order, and medal to which he was entitled: a gesture lost on absolutely no one. Draco, with a last contemptuous look at the various police representatives, followed him at a languid saunter. Only Ron remained, and when he had the last word, it was more in sorrow than in anger.

'You know,' observed he, conversationally, 'every family has a Squib branch. Ours goes by the name of Wellesley these days. You might look up the Congress of Vienna, if you want an example of useless arsing about. I'll say this for that lot of Muggles, though: at least they didn't actually try to assassinate Wellington when he stopped there to sort them out before being called away to beat Boney and the Frogs at Waterloo.'

________________________________________

If Glinda Crook MW was best known to the unsuspecting public as the spokes-witch for the Campaign for Greater Freedom for Wizards, which opposed Ministry efforts to reign in the Wizarding population on All Hallows's Eve, Rufus Fudge was best remembered for being the nephew of the most despised minister of modern times, and the thickest member of a notoriously dim family. It was after all he who had, whilst employed by his uncle Cornelius's ministry, had made a train disappear from the Muggle Underground - 'for no better reason than a wager, at that' - and been given the sack as a result when the truth, as it has an annoying habit of doing, came out. (The Daily Prophet issue of 8 February 1999, reporting that story, remained a cherished collector's item amongst hundreds of Wizards who had despised Cornelius Fudge from the start. A copy was prominently displayed over the bar down the Hog's Head.)

Certainly Glinda Crook was far more clever than Rufus Fudge, and aware that one could never be quite certain of being unheard and unobserved.

'You again? You're a greater idiot even than your unlamented uncle - or those trolls Warrington and Montague. Run away, Fudge. And if you are ever fool enough to approach me in this fashion again, I'll see you gaoled for it.'

The watchers in the shadows were satisfied. And Rufus, apparently cowed by her staring into his eyes, turned from Glinda Crook and incontinently fled.

________________________________________

With the crisis in the Moot and Nev's brilliant - but necessarily temporary - handling of it, it was impossible that Harry or Draco been seen back in Britain, or Neville be known to have departed the realm: the only bulwark, hastily erected, against the rising tide of panic and hysteria, was the knowledge that Nev was On the Spot at Home, ministerially labouring, and Harry and Draco were abroad, Fighting the Good Fight. Nevertheless, there were some matters that required the personal touch.

Harry, Draco, Theo, and the Scene of Crimes team had been spending hour upon hour, day upon day, meeting with the representatives of the other Wizarding governments, and it was imperative that they had been seen to be doing so - and not seen to have come to wands drawn with them.

As for Neville, it was more than his political life was worth to recess the Moot, and it was imperative that he been seen daily in the Moot and heard daily upon the WWN, staving off disaster.

Gred and Forge, those simple West Countrymen who kept a shop in Diagon Alley - which is to say, the acknowledged geniuses whom Simply Everyone knew to be the masters of the Ministry's sneakiest devices and devisings, Q, the gadgeteers (they could have done absolutely nothing for a year and yet inspired dread simply by reputation) - were not thus constrained. Seamus's lads, the MLE, the lot: not, perhaps, incapable, utterly, as Fred (or it may have been George) observed to his twin, yet, even so, no match for the best: these, Unspeakable and MLE alike, might be watching various suspect elements of the Ministry and the Moot. It wanted, however, as George - or possibly Fred - replied, the best (that is, the Twins) to custodiet the bleeding custodes. And it was Fred's (or it may have been George's) conviction that, of the second-raters, the best were the MLE lads of Q Division, down the Wizarding Docklands, Corner and Carmichael, who, as George, or, as it may have been Fred, noted, agreeing, had always been so helpful in testing out the newer devious devices the Twins had come up with.

And thus the watchers had been themselves watched; and one wet and dirty night, Carmichael and Corner found themselves entertaining, over Ever-Full Mugs of cocoa in their cosy station on the Isle of Crups, with the flitterblooms 'round the door, the proprietors of the most lethal shop ever allowed to trade in Magical Britain.

Three days later, a Queen's Mercury - the equivalent to a Muggle 'Queen's Messenger' - turned up, in his requisite greyhound animagus form, at the lodge in Plitvice where Harry, Draco, and Ron yet remained.

________________________________________

Things were now moving ever faster, as an avalanche gathers speed in its descent, as a pyroclastic flow races to snuff out all in its path.

The morning after the confrontation at the Aga, the fortress in Gospić, Harry had received numerous owls, ranging from the sincerely apologetic to the grudgingly apologetic to the positively grovelling. He had also had two callers: Jefferson Long and Signor Unterperger.

'Harry, I know you said, "Send a damn owl", but this is a clusterfuck emergency, here.'

'Signor Potter. Please. Believe me - I assure you - this was decided without any reference to me. You will recall from your own days before the Aurors were so sensibly divided from the MLE ... well, signor, you understand the workings of the bureaucracy?'

'When I get back to the States, Harry, let me tell you, there's a-fixin' to be hell to pay and no pitch hot. You can't blame poor old Pee Vee here, it's the goddamn quill-pushers.'

'I imagine I shan't blame Signor Unterperger. Or you. It would however make it rather easier to make certain if you would kindly tell me what in buggery has happened.'

'Hell. Be damned if we didn't. Thing is, Har', the pissants at the damn Bureau got together with Unty's higher-ups and brought in a passel of damn pro-filers. Two-bit Seers and Divination idjits and head-shrinkers. And sure as my name's Jefferson Davis Long the Fourth, they went and decided as how your Judge Nott fit the bill for being behind all this.'

'Did they indeed.' Draco's tone was deathly cold.

'I implore you, signor! Had I known -'

'No one blames you, Pietro.' Harry was kindly, but brisk. 'Ron? Would you be so kind as to summon Theo? Thank you.'

As they waited - and they had not long to wait - Harry nodded towards Draco, who, with bad grace, set about making tea.

'Harry? You - hullo. Our gallant allies stopped for tea?'

'Actually, Theo, the Federal Bureau of Ensorcellation and Signor Unterperger's Ministry have, in reliance upon the ever-reliable art of profiling, decided that you are the mastermind behind these attacks.'

'Absurd.'

'My dear Theo, it's the Yanks, what do you expect?'

'True. I gather that they decided, and prompted Signor Unterperger's Ministry to decide, that an Old Slytherin who was a loner at school, held aloof from overt participation in the War, and had a father who was mad as a March hatter, could be nothing less than evil incarnate?'

'You put it that-a-way, they have a parchment case,' grunted Long.

'Indeed they do. Theo, consider yourself in Signor Unterperger's custody, won't you?' Theo went very still, then nodded, fractionally. Draco's face was thunderous. 'Signor Unterperger. In - shall we say three hours's time? - please advise your Ministry that you have singlehandedly captured this dangerous character, if you would. And that you and Jefferson here have managed to secure my - or, rather to the point, Draco's - grudging assent, due to the ... sensitivity ... of the matter, in withholding any protest for, oh, another five hours? Thank you. Ron; Draco. Eight hours enough time for you, and whoever may be about, to put traces on all of our foreign colleagues and every Ministry in Europe?'

'Just,' said Draco, with the beginnings of a smirk.

'If you find the time tight, let me know, I'll have the entire Corps and the whole cunting DoM mobilised to assist if required.'

Ron grinned, and threw an arm around Draco's shoulders. 'Nah, mate, we're brilliant.'

'Hell, y'all all are.' Americans speak a very odd dialect of English, after all, and do tend to misapprehend the intricacies of the mother tongue. 'So - we see who leaks?'

'Oh, no, not at all. I see who leaks. You, my dear fellow, are wholly ignorant of the matter, and have no idea even of what your Bureau has so foolishly done. Innocence and non-involvement are your watchwords.'

'Gotcha.'

'Signor Unterperger, the first floor is at your disposal as a place where you may keep this dangerous and desperate fugitive detained whilst he assists you with your enquiries - you are on the first floor, Theo?'

'Yes, at the end of the corridor nearest the stairs.'

'I thought thisahere was the first floor.'

'Not over here, my dear Long. This is the ground floor. Do keep up.' Draco was perceptibly amused.

'Well, that explains why that little ol' gal I was told to meet on the third floor never showed up. Shee-yit. Okay, then. Can I at least watch unofficially to see who leaks?'

'Of course.' Harry was grimly amused. 'Although the object is to wait to see who tries to leak. Because - forgive me, Theo - as soon as whoever that may be undoes his flies to leak, I'll put a knot in it.'

________________________________________

It had been a long and dispiriting meeting. Seamus had learnt in a hard school the measure of respect that was due his old housemate Nev. And he admired and liked Nev quite as much as he respected him, so that it actually pained him to have so little to report of any moment.

'Your lads've done their best, Seamus, I don't doubt that. Happen it wanted more than they find in the book of rules. Now, don't kick. Happen it wanted "old Spanish practises", sithee. Well, we've practitioners of that.' Nev flicked his wand. 'Margery,' said he to his assistant in the other room, 'send in the Terrible Twosome and Professor Slughorn, there's a lass.'

________________________________________

With the crisis in the Moot and Nev's brilliant - but necessarily temporary - handling of it, it was impossible that Harry or Draco been seen back in Britain, or Neville be known to have departed the realm: the only bulwark, hastily erected, against the rising tide of panic and hysteria, was the knowledge that Nev was On the Spot at Home, ministerially labouring, and Harry and Draco were abroad, Fighting the Good Fight. Nevertheless, there were some matters that required the personal touch.

Harry, Draco, Theo, and the Scene of Crimes team had been spending hour upon hour, day upon day, meeting with the representatives of the other Wizarding governments, and it was imperative that they had been seen to be doing so - and not seen to have come to wands drawn with them. It was still more imperative that the public, and particularly the Great British Wizarding Public, not hear of the mad idea of arresting and questioning Theo Nott under caution.

The Wizarding World, in its frontiers, has not altogether caught up with the past few centuries of Muggle history. A Rumanian Ministry exists, and holds a watching brief even for the Dragon Reserve, yet the Reserve, commonly identified as being Rumanian, is as much a part of autonomous Transylvanian territory and of the remit of the Transylvanian Ministry as is the Transylvanian national Quidditch side. The Carpathians and sub-Carpathians, the Călimani - Gurghiu range and the Great Transylvanian Plateau, basin and range, mountain and vale, form a special and specially dangerous region, where Saxon and Székely, Hun and Geat and Dacian and Roman, Turk and Habsburg, have ever been at wand's point and sword's point - and underlying all these ancient blood-feuds, and the still more ancient and bitter feud between Wizard and Muggle, has been the bat-winged and wolf-howling struggle of Vampire against human, there in the dark and hidden country set in the jagged mountains between the Pannoina Puszta and the Wallachian Plain. It was in Transylvania that troll and giant yet roamed, werewolves prowled, Vampires swooped, and the first of the first of the earliest Veela had in the morning mists of time emerged from the tangled, sombre forests, their eyes like flames, their beauty unearthly and unhallowed.

And it was in rural Transylvania, between two hamlets unknown, unmarked, and unnamed by Muggles, that the four most dangerous of Harry's people were now to be found.

And found they were. The Snatchers were never Voldemort's inspiration: they were an idea and device far older than he, of which even Durmstrang spoke in whispers. They were the ultimate quislings, and ancient in this land: humans, Wizard and Muggle alike, who sank even the oldest of feuds between and amongst Saxon, Magyar, and Rumanian, to one ignoble purpose, that of preying upon others and delivering the traveller and the stranger to the Vampires, who in turn protected the Snatchers and left them unmolested. Not even Thuggee and its were-tiger Thugs at their worst had been so vile; and Transylvania had never known a Sleeman and the Thagi Daftar of the Raj to suppress the endemic evil.

The Snatchers emerged from the wood with slovenly precision, practised in ambuscade. After several attempts in various tongues, one hit at last upon the language of the two travellers whom they had surrounded. He ignored the mousy young man and fastened hungry, feral eyes upon the flame-haired vixen who stood there negligently, impertinently, staring back at him and his fellows.

'Hallo, little maiden. You are English, yes?'

'How ever did you guess? No, don't tell me, it's the absence of fear, isn't it.'

'Oho! You are bold, little maid. Don't you think you might be wiser not to walk these forests alone, hmm? Or is that weakling with you a warrior?'

'My husband, thank you, is worth twelve of you.'

The Snatcher had never heard of Neville Longbottom or Draco Malfoy, or that famous passage of words between them. Nor, as he and his slavering fellows looked contemptuously at Colin Creevey, who stood with well-dissimulated alertness two paces behind Ginny and to her right - for he and Ginny both were better wanded with their right hands than their left - had he heard of, nor did he possess the wit of, Brigadier Peregrine Heskin-Wentworth, far away in peaceful Shrivenham. He saw no threat, no hidden menace, in mild, douce Colin Creevey.

'But we are thirteen,' laughed the Snatcher. 'Come! Tell me, why are you, foolish maiden, in this wood? You seek Death?'

'On the contrary. My husband - may I present Colin Creevey OM? - is a journalist. I am charged by Her Majesty's Minister for Magic to convey a message to the leading Vampire of these parts.'

'A Witch! No matter. You are - convenient, eh? For that is precisely whom you shall meet with ... and be meat for. Tamás, Liviu, send you for our Ban. You shall not have long to wait, little one.'

The wind rose swiftly, racing down the ride, moaning in the trees, whipping sand and grit along the path, stingingly. It whined in the boughs like wolves upon a trail of blood, and the light began to sink and fail; in the sudden dank, oppressive cold, five figures appeared, darked, cloaked, their faces haggard and pale as old bones. The Snatchers bowed to the Vampire lord and his Vampire attendants. Ginny and Colin did not.

'Are you,' Ginny asked, casually, 'the chief local Vampire?'

'But of course. And you, I think, are my dinner?'

'Hardly. I have it in command from Her Britannic Majesty, and Her Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for Magical Affairs, to advert you to -'

'Be silent. I care nothing for your tales - Miss?'

'Ginevra Creevey. My husband, Colin Creevy OM. You may better recognise me by my maiden name, Ginny Weasley.'

'You! She who evaded Tom Riddle - the "one that got away". Yes. Oh, but this is sweet - toothsome. Antonin has often of you spoken.'

'Dolohov? Recently?'

The Vampire's lip curled, exposing a fang. 'Still you imagine you shall gather information and report. I tire of this. Seize them - we shall feast tonight. The -'

Colin had sighed, and decapitated the nearest Snatcher with a precise Reducto, even as Ginny's conjured whip of fire cut an attendant Vampire in two, reducing him to ash that was swiftly borne away on the mounting wind.

'ATTACK!' The Vampire chief rose into the wild air with his remaining companions to stoop upon Ginny and Colin in fury, as the Snatchers lumbered forward to seize them. The wind howled like a hunting pack. And then darkness fell, and a great weight of wind in down-draught dashed the Vampires to the earth and sent the Snatchers sprawling. They turned to face this new threat, and fell once again to the earth, this time unstrung by terror.

'Hullo, Gin. Colin.'

'Hullo, Charlie. Hagrid. Ohh, Norbert! Who's a good dragon, hmm? Yes he is, yes he is -'

'You can scratch him behind the ears later, Gin. Business first?'

'Yes, of course. You lot. I'll dispense with courtesies, as you've shown none. My government - and more pertinently, Harry Potter - have a message for you. Stay out of this. Give up every scrap of intel you have on the Death Eaters, and turn them over to us when they contact you. Hands off everyone - Muggle and Wizard alike. No more Snatchers - when your own Ministry arrive, which should be soon, just you go along quietly; no more Vampire raids. Accept these terms; or face the consequences.'

'And those are?' The Ban made a very poor fist of his attempt to sound collected and unafraid.

'Burn. Just now, your Ministry are in no position - and no mood - to gainsay a decree of international outlawry against you and yours if you remain obdurate, and I can have every dragon in Europe set the whole of Transylvania ablaze in twenty-four hours if you don't see sense. Our Mr Sanguini will be arriving at midnight to assume the temporary governance of the region on behalf of the International Confederation of Wizards, and I strongly advise that you afford him every facility. Am I understood?'

She was. The only complaint ventured by anyone was Colin's, as he had hoped to get an interview with the Ban, and was not best pleased to find that the whole adventure was subject to an M Notice until Harry should lift it. Ginny wasn't in the least attentive to Colin's pleas: she was letting Norbert nuzzle her as she patted his snout, which sight alone may have frightened the Vampires and Snatchers more even than all that had gone before. When the Transylvanian Aurors arrived, they went very quietly indeed.

________________________________________

Things were now moving ever faster, as an avalanche gathers speed in its descent, as a pyroclastic flow races to snuff out all in its path.

The second morning after the confrontation at the Aga, the fortress in Gospić: the day after the ostensible arrest of Theo Nott: Harry and Ron, sans Draco, arrived at the lodgings in Plitvice that had been set aside for the French and German teams that had arrived to assist in the security issues raised by Giles Whitsun's death. They were met there by Gabrielle Delacour, for France, and Ludwig von Görres of the German Ministry, and by Viktor Krum on behalf of the Balkan League governments.

'Might we see M le Commissaire Laval and Frau Polizeirat Feder, please? At once.'

M Laval was blinking owlishly: clearly not a man at his best before breakfast. The stern and icy Frau Feder, by contrast, was regimentally turned out. Gabrielle opened her mouth to speak, when Harry and Ron simply stunned them both, bound them, and body-bound them.

''Arree! You presume too much, mon vieux - they were to be arrested in the forms of the utmost propriety!'

Harry snorted. 'Gabrielle, love, just you three stop here and keep watch for an hour. When I return, in one hour and five minutes precisely, you may barrack me to your heart's content - if you then wish to do so.'

Viktor knew Harry of old, and rather better even than did Fleur's sister. 'They will not allowed food or drink.'

'Well spotted, Viktor. In an hour, then.' And he and Ron Apparated away, even as Herr von Görres turned to Mlle Delacour in wild surmise, his lips already beginning form the question 'Polyjuice?', and Viktor rolled his eyes.

________________________________________

It had been a long and dispiriting meeting. The Wizarding World, in its frontiers, has not altogether caught up with the past few centuries of Muggle history. The Trentino-Alto Adige, like Transylvania, occupied an anomalous position of autonomy in Wizarding Europe, to the frustration of Signor Unterperger and his colleagues, who perforce reported to Rome and Vienna both. The purported arrest of Theo Nott - a deception into which he had been driven by the stupidity of both higher commands - had weighed heavily upon him, and the inevitable leaking of the news had put the Kneazle very much in the Owlery. He had suffered much in the past hour, as both sets of his superiors had commenced the ancient bureaucratic ritual of shifting blame downwards.

His greeting, therefore, when Draco Malfoy idled in, was not of the cheeriest. That soon changed.

'Excellent news, my dear fellow. The French and the Germans are for it.'

'For what?'

'The balloon has gone up with a merry shout.'

'What? What?'

'The Frogs and the Huns are dished, my dear man. The leaks emanated from Laval and the Feder woman. Or, rather, they didn't.'

'Please! Signor! You convey nothing to me.'

'Quite simple, old boy. M Laval and Frau Feder were in fact imposters, duly Polyjuiced. Hullo, Theo. You may as well join us. Oh, the sods will never live this down. Their security experts were in fact Polyjuiced Death Eaters. The Carrows, in fact. And I rather suspect that after a few minutes of Harry's and Cousin Weasel's tender attentions, they'll be singing like Jobberknolls. The Jerries and the Frogs are now bound hand and foot to do what we damned well tell them to do, I may add - and the Americans, and your lot. You, by the way, Theo, are of course free to go, with the thanks of all concerned for consenting to be bait for the tigers; and I rather expect that you, my dear Unterperger, shall be receiving a series of Floo calls over the next hour praising your brilliant work. Harry and Nev have already cobbled together a communiqué thanking your superiors and the Yanks for their assistance in a highly successful deception operation, pretending to have evidence against Theo and flushing out the Death Eaters and whatnot. I should imagine you'll be in line for a promotion, and possibly a gong. Well done.'

'Do you mean, Signor Malfoy, to tell me that, after many years of diligent service without particular recognition, I may now expect to be honoured for a near-disaster and a fraud?'

'You might think that. I couldn't possibly comment.' And Theo had added, 'Come, come, man: in all that time, surely you've learnt how bureaucracies actually operate?'

________________________________________

Things were now moving ever faster, as an avalanche gathers speed in its descent, as a pyroclastic flow races to snuff out all in its path.

The third morning after the confrontation at the Aga, the fortress in Gospić: the day after the arrests of the Carrows: the Queen's Mercury arrived. He was instructed to present to Harry and his team, without comment or prejudice, the record of Nev's meeting with Seamus, Sluggers, and the Twins; and to answer questions only after.

In fact, there were no questions to answer, as Harry and his people came immediately to the same conclusion as had Nev, Fred, George, Slughorn, and Seamus.

'Glinda Crook. Well, well.'

'Even in her prime, she'd not have been the sort of woman into whose eyes young lads wished to stare longingly.'

'No, indeed. But what a marvellous tactic - we'll want to adopt it. The perfect way to pass information publicly, without any possibility of interception, even whilst maintaining a façade of open hostility.'

'Clever, mate, clever. Legilimency: who'd've thought, eh?'

'And that's a damned good question, Ron: I don't somehow see Glinda-not-a-good-Witch as having come up with that dodge on her own. Which means she mayn't be the only mole in the Moot.'

'I don't see why not.' Professor Slughorn, panting from the exertion of Floo travel, squeezed his way in. 'I gather you've come to the same conclusions as did we? Capital. What I thought I might perhaps contribute - well, it does seem I have come in the very nick of time. As you will recall,' said he, sinking comfortably into tutorial mode as if into a favourite armchair, 'Wizarding surnames do not arise by chance. And their variants are well worth exploring, my dear boys. Take the eldest Wizards, eh, young Harry? The Potters, certainly. Yet one mustn't forget that the name may be differently Englished: the Crockers, Crokers, and Croakers are of the same ancient getting. And the Crooks - she is unmarried, you know - are in fact a sept of the Crouches, after all. Oh, yes. And she is, as well, within five degrees of kinship to Warrington, Montague, Rufus Fudge - on his mother's side, not through Cornelius's brother - and several others to boot, of whom the names, Ivor Dillonsby, Harold Dingle, Artemius Lawson, the Edgecombes ... and that appalling woman, the late unlamented Madam Umbridge ... may be familiar to you all. Dark families, my dear lads, Dark indeed.'

'Dingle? Wasn't he that oaf who tried to sell dried Doxy shit as dragon claw powder at Hogwarts?'

'Quite so, my dear Draco. What a superb memory you have. And of course, Dillonsby -'

'Was a plagiarist who had the neck to claim that it was Albus plagiarised him and not the other way 'round. And all there is against Lawson is his campaign to suppress trolls. Hermione notwithstanding, that's not what I call sufficient evidence of prejudice against other magical beings, to support suspicion.'

'My dear young man! All there is, or had been, against the Crook woman was her speaking out against restrictions on Hallowe'en mischief: which we none of us recognised as what it was, the thin end of the wedge, a first step towards Muggle-baiting and all that comes with it.'

'And not even she has the form to be directing the last desperate gamble of all the Death Eaters who remain at large on the Continent, Horace. Are we quite certain that she was the only member of the Moot involved, now Cormac's dead?'

'My dear fellow, Neville has vetted everyone in the Moot, even poor old John Aubrey Brookstanton-Bragge, one of his own backbenchers: eighty if he's a day, has never said two words to anyone, and was on the list only because he's related to Rupert the Axe-banger of impious memory.'

'If he has done, he has done. I still don't accept it.'

Slughorm threw his hands up, like the White Rabbit. 'Then, dear boy, I suggest you spare the time, busy though you be, to consult the Book of Fair Rosamund, if nothing less will satisfy you.'

'I've been rather too busy for that. Wait for it. I put an automatic translating charm on the damned thing, and Hermione's been reading it along with whatever she's found of Dee's dispersed library in Debrecen, where it ended up after Rudolf 2d's death to keep it safe - and a good thing, too, given that the Swedes sacked Hradčany in 1648. Well, Rudolf being Rudolf, where else would he have directed to have had things hidden in the event of his death but in loyal, Magyar Debrecen, the "Calvinist Rome"?'

'I suggest, then, my dear Harry, that you have speech of the good Dr Granger Weasley immediately.'

'Bugger that, Professor: it's time we had everyone together. Ron, you start rounding them up. Draco - if you would, have a chat with Signor Unterperger, and find us somewhere to stop in Vienna for a meeting.'

________________________________________

Things were now moving ever faster, as an avalanche gathers speed in its descent, as a pyroclastic flow races to snuff out all in its path.

The arrests of the Carrows had been enough to buy Nev the time he wanted; enough to justify the rising of the Moot for a long weekend; enough to justify his leaving for the Continent to meet with Harry-and-Draco, as even Ron was resigned to the public's calling the whole of the team.

The authorities in Vienna had offered them every consideration: they were too embarrassed not to do. They had offered, as well, meeting places ranging from palaces to Heurigen. Harry had declined them all, even the warded, Muggle-repellent, Unplottable lodge in the Prater: not without regret, as previous journeys to Vienna had converted him into a discerning fan of the Heuriger in particular, with its Liptauer spread and what could only be called Viennese tapas, with its strolling Heurigensänger singing the old, old songs of easy tears and caught laughter, the sweet and sentimental plangency of the Wienerlieder that veils all things in the purple eventide of memory, conjuring an intimate and cosy Vienna that has never been and is always, as the fresh, crisp wine flows and the stars come out against the mountains and the distant city and beloved Steffl, the tower of the Stephansdom, and the last Vierterl is brought to the table and stretched out in glass after lingering glass of Gspritztn.

But that easy gemütlichkeit was not apt. The the high-stepping horses and whistling fiacre-drivers rolling easily between the horse chestnuts lining the ancient streets, the coffeehouses, the Imperial and Catholic City, the Wurstelprater viewed from the Riesenrad, the woods and the Donau, the Heurigen on the winding lanes: these were not apt. War lowered yet upon the horizon, and treason was abroad, in the very air.

And so Harry had chosen their meeting place, in Leopoldstadt, in a cramped cellar just off Große Schiffgaße.

No one had said anything, of course: just now, Harry and Nev were wholly and unquestionably in command: but there were several present whose presence the team had not anticipated. It was to one of these whom Harry turned first.

'Tony. Thank you for joining us. I apologise for our being - here. I believe that, based upon what we now know, what you are about to report to us may be the first event in the series that has brought us to today.'

'Harry. Nev. Yes. Yes, I think perhaps it may have been. As a Member, much as I would prefer not to be one such, I am of course, as are you all, often approached on matters of policy. As Blaise will understand, it is the only duty more tiresome, at times, than being similarly forever pestered as a banker.

'I try not to be surprised at anything. When, however, I was approached by Terence Higgs, of all people, who wished to speak with me regarding secrecy legislation....' Tony's shrug - one he had perfected precisely to draw out those who might, stereotypically, expect it of him - was eloquent. He was not a Ravenclaw without reason; and he was privately reassured by their reactions. It was of course Neville who interjected, with good-humoured impatience, 'Now, lad, none of that. We'd not be here if we thought in those terms, and there's nowt in it, trying to draw us. Get on w'it.'

'It is a habit. And has stood me in good stead, as I shall relate. I trust my wife's judgement, sometimes perhaps more than I do my own. My Eleanor suggested that we take the man to dinner: it is wise, sometimes, to be in public. Particularly when one is being lobbied. And if he was our guest, there could be no claim of improper favours, you understand.

'We were at Montefiore's, naturally. Fortunately, it is an excellent restaurant; that is well, for it is not so easy to find a glatt kosher restaurant that is Wizard-friendly, even in Golders Green. The lamb -'

'If you don't mind, Tony, we'll skip the details. I have Ron here, in Vienna, without food, and I'm not certain how much longer I can control him before he transfigures me into a backhendl with a side of spätzl.'

'Oi!'

'Or perhaps, oy? Very well. We had reached the meat course, then....'

'But you must admit, Tony, we - as Wizards - have culture of our own. A judicious return to some elements of the secrecy regime is imperative. Put it like this: how is it different to what is happening to your people through intermarriage with Gentiles and young people becoming, er, non-observant?'

'The Muggle-born, Mr Higgs, are born Wizards. That is not at all like intermarriage, or marrying out. But let us imagine that they are more like so many converts.'

'... All right. Er -'

'Do you know what the gravest fault - I may say, sin - is, that a Jew may commit towards the convert? It is to doubt or question his conversion, to hold him less a Jew, to accuse him - the irony is palpable - of ... divided loyalties. Precisely as you wish to be with the Muggle-born Wizard or Witch.

'Waiter? Mr Higgs's coat, please. He is unavoidably forced to leave us now.'

'Thank you, Tony. The -'

'Harry, oughtn't we -'

'I ask that you all defer question or comment until all the reports are made. Now. For those of you who don't know him, Signor Unterperger is the Head Auror for the municipality of Cavalese. Signor?'

'On 5 January, the Processo alle Streghe in Cavalese was proceeding as always it does. However -'

Harry let the recounting wash over him, thinking hard. His ear was alert to any new information; but there was none. When Signor Unterperger had finished, he moved immediately to forestall any interruption, not least from Hermione's ''satiable curtiosity'.

'In the period since that time, you have determined, Signor Unterperger, that in fact, the attempted murder of Mrs Zabini was committed by Witches or Wizards unknown?'

'Entirely. There were no registered Wizards from your country present in the region on the date - unlike the Muggles, we have not been fool enough to permit undocumented travel all across Europe. For one thing, people get eaten by ... various things. Yet there was located soils and pollens and fibres that were quite fresh and had come from England. Also, the ambient magic of the area was disturbed in a way consistent with a mass Confundus and a wide set of Anti-Apparating wards. Also too, the good Signor Justin and Signor Zabini are confirmed to have been elsewhere, outside the city, having no taste, naturally, for this sort of spectacle, re-enactment or no. Also -'

'Yes, I think it's established; and established as well that the evidence you do possess does not assist in determining precisely who was surreptitiously present and up to no good.

'Luna.'

'Hmm? Oh. Yes. At the place where they tried to kill dear Tessa, and then in Croatia where they did kill poor Mr Whitsun, there were the remains of the same soils and pollens and - what was the third thing? Pietro Virgilio was just saying - oh, of course: fibres - well. Nev looked things over, didn't you, Ministerbunny? Oh, don't blush, dear. The trace flora are of magical species and subspecies found in Britain, and generally the subspecies are found in Britain only. Hagrid and I determined, didn't we, Rubeus, that the trace fauna also were of species and subspecies specific to Britain, overlain with Continental ones. Of course, I'm speaking only of the more mundane elements, those in which even Hermione believes; the blibbering hum- -'

'Yes, thank you, Luna, that suffices for now, we're rather in a hurry. Dobby! Kreacher!'

They appeared with a double pop, each balancing a framed canvas.

'Thank you. On that - yes, over there will be fine. Aunt Walburga? Phineas Nigellus?'

'Eh, boy? Good God, where in blazes -'

'Austria. Now. Aunt Walburga first, please. You continued to give out that you were ... disaffected towards me and did not recognise me as the Black heir?'

'Indeed I did, young Harry, to all the portraits in the Darker families. No one has seen the Carrows in a year.'

'We have them.'

'Excellent! You've the makings of a fine Black. Yaxley has not been in Britain, but has twice drawn upon his funds and thrice upon his family for funds. I have given Kreacher a list. Travers was in England in late December; I dictated the dates to Kreacher. Jugson and that ghastly Scotchman with the headsman's axe have been lost to mortal ken. Everything else is mere rumour, which I have again given to Kreacher.'

'Thank you, Aunt. Headmaster Black?'

'I have nothing to add.'

'Haven't you? That means you've already conveyed the information, in hopes that you'd not be forced to deal with me. And I can think of only one person to whom you would deign do so. Very well: Severus?'

'Hah. He has you there, Phineas Nigellus. You've been out-Slytherined yet again. Well, Potter. Can you guess what I have to tell you, then?'

'What, that Phineas Nigellus has satisfied himself that, in fact, there have never been successful burnings or persecutions? And that, you having been in on the post-mortem analysis of Giles Whitsun's organs, you are satisfied that there was no Goblin involvement? And, finally, that the variants of the potions used suggest the methods learnt by Death Eaters when you were Riddle's ostensible potions expert, in your days as our most valiant spy?'

'Hah! He has you there, Snape, you've been out-Slytherined by a Potter!'

'Get knotted, you malignant concatenation of pigment!'

'That. Will. Do. Thank you, Phineas Nigellus, Severus. Minerva?'

'I shall defer tae Fred and George, Harry, I but did a bit transfeegurin' in it.'

'Your modesty is exceeded only by your genius and your beauty, Minerva. Fr- -'

'Havers.'

'Now, Minerva.... Right. Fred. Or George, I can't be arsed to care. And no damned japery or finishing one another's sentences.'

'Right, then, Harrykins. We three, with Filius, have modified and refined various trackers, tracers, watching charms, and listening charms. Any sort of old rubbish you'd make a Portkey from? Strewn those about wherever the buggers are likely to meet. They can broadcast and be monitored, and they record everything that's been said, and right sodding clearly, I may add.'

'Evidence?'

'No reason MLE and the courts and the Moot shouldn't accept it as such, with Minerva's and Filius's testimony to it.'

'Good. Anything useful come of it?'

'A good deal. They're all in communication, they've been in on it from the start, and they're based in France. What I cannot tell you - and we're in a bloody-minded and bolshie mood at that failure - is who's leading the merry band of buggers.'

'Can't be helped, I'm certain you did what you could do. Dean? Terry?'

'The Goblins really don't like you, Harry.'

'And they resent that they now owe you a new debt. Which of course makes the little bastards more peppery yet. Even so, they recognise the debt: you might actually be allowed to call the ones in Zurich, "gnomes", and come away with both ears.'

'Do they acknowledge the debt to the point of releasing banking information, though?'

'Harry, really, have you learnt nothing from Bill? Of course they didn't, they'd never do that. Fortunately, they chose to receive us in a cramped file-room, rather than a decent office or conference, as a gesture of mistrust. They were then coincidentally all called away for an hour to deal with a cart that had got buggered up on the way to the vaults.'

'So they wanted you to have information that was useful as intel but that would neither compromise them with their depositors nor be useful in a prosecution. That's very much as I should have expected. Was it useful as intel?'

'As confirmation, yes. Only as confirming what we knew, mind: taught us nothing new. And the pattern of activity tells us where in France to look for their base, and whom we shall likely find there.'

'Well done. Molly-mum?'

'Oh. Well, dear, that was a very good, hardwearing fabric, you know, the one you showed me the sample of. I must have walked all 'round Debrecen to all the shops - some of the shopkeepers were very knowledgeable, dear. But do you know, none of them could match it? I don't mean, of course, that there's not more good Cotswolds wool to be had: thank heavens we still export a good deal of that to the Continent. No, what can't be replicated is that combination of Twilfit style charms and the dye. It's quite unique.'

'You seem to have had an informative week at the shops.'

'And some very proper bargains as well. Prices had been a trifle dear, with the panic, you know, and Goblins not being available to the jewellers and goldsmiths and what not, but once it was clear that they weren't to be blamed for poor Giles Whitsun's death, well....'

'Dean?'

'Ask Terry.'

'Terry?'

'Yes, we can do; indeed, I have already looked at the figures to see how they profited and who profited from manipulating the panic.'

'Well done, all. Mother Malfoy, I cannot quite see you asking questions before spending money, I take it you did not make a shopping excursion of your time in Debrecen.'

'Darling! You know perfectly well I should be too utterly hopeless, my policy has always been to say what I want and have it made up, put in the book, and sent to me - for a husband to pay the scot, of course. I had a lovely time at the spa. Both spas - the thermal baths in Debrecen and of course the spa nearby at Hajdúszoboszló. It was absolutely necessary, darling, simply to keep my figure, for of course there was an endless round of teas and luncheons with friends of old - in many cases late - friends, and all those little cakes are death to a waistline. And I mustn't let myself go: have you seen those Hungarian youths? What scrumptious young men -'

'Mother!'

'Oh, don't be a prude, Draco, darling. One of them races those Muggle motor carriages, and there were several swimmers and divers -'

'Mother, please -'

'And all of them Wizards. Such a wholesome attitude the newer generation have towards Muggles, particularly as to sport and - well, they call it music....'

'Oh.' Draco was slightly pink with embarrassment.

'Do you know, there's a new venue in Debrecen, called the Főnix Hall? Even the Witches from the more ... hidebound ... families on whom I called were approving of that bit of symbolism.'

'I'm very glad to hear it. Your pattern of visiting did involve me in numerous Floo-calls with various local Aurors whose eyebrows seemed always to be raised in disbelief or knitted in concern.'

'They've no cause for alarm. There is no sympathy for the Dark in Hungary, they've seen too much of it far too recently. To put my detailed report in a very short summation, any Death Eaters who passed through looking for support were forced to scarper in short order, having received very dusty answers indeed. All of them left for the West; none of them would say anything about who now led them, although Antonin Dolohov was regularly mentioned as a leading figure. That might of course simply be because he's the best known Death Eater to have come from the East. But Andromeda can, I'm certain, speak to that.'

'Indeed I shall.'

'Aunt Andy.'

'Cissy is perfectly correct,' said the forthright Andromeda, roundly. 'Black connexions being what they are, I'd little difficulty in finding Durmstrang Old Boys and Old Girls who had some distant relation to the House of Black. To a Wizard, they were involved in varying degrees in the national project of truth and reconciliation. There is a large dissident movement, if you will - although it, in these days, is rather the mainstream, and no longer the dissidents - that monitors any resurgence of Dark activity, maintains records of wanted criminals, and is very much engaged in the reform of Durmstrang itself, which was never so monolithic in its views as some might have thought. They allowed me a free hand, and all the information they possess on those still evading capture, is now yours, in fair copy.' She turned to Tony Goldstein. 'Very much inspired by Simon Wiesenthal, of course, in hunting down those who escaped by the ratlines.'

'Yes. Yes, I know. It is very good work.'

'As has yours been, Andy. We'll review the records shortly. Now. Hermione. You made an academic bean-feast of it, I think.'

Hermione was, for once in a way, silent.

'Hermione?'

'Dr Dee was really rather a shit, wasn't he.'

'Stood next to Walsingham, he was a saintly and disinterested scholar. Your point being?'

'Rosamund's book - Roger Bacon's book - as a compendium of spells and potions, it's unexceptionable, I suppose, although they certainly had a different idea to our sof where to draw the line between Light and Dark.'

'Doctor. Kindly get on with it.'

That roused her, as Harry intended that it should do. 'The modifications John Dee made to the book are a different matter. Transforming a scholarly work of great antiquity into a universal dossier of snooping for governmental use is as evil, as wicked, as taking an artefact of similar historic importance and making a Horcrux of it! And it is my considered opinion, Field Auror Marshal Potter, that using the book for that purpose is no better! And don't you "Doctor" me, Harry Potter, damn you!'

'Doctor -' Harry was deliberately provocative - 'you have often been our conscience, and you deserve the utmost credit for that. You are not however infallible. Nor am I. If you've an argument against the use of the Godstow Book, make it. But I will tell you now, it wants to be a very good argument. I am already in possession of and making use of records from the dissidents. I have authorised and am utilising surveillance techniques that would not be admitted at law. I have asked Horace to draw up schedules of affinities so that we may vet people for no better reason than their family relationships and guilt by association. I am prepared to do rather more than that. I have already caused several international incidents and buggered various countries's sovereignties raw. And I am not in the least tortured by conscientious self-doubt. I have perhaps three days to prevent a world war among magical beings, Wizards, and Muggles, and it is my absolute duty to defend the Crown and the government of Magical Britain. At this juncture, your suburban sensibilities are of no moment to me. As far as I am concerned, you may if you like stand up, storm out, and accuse me of being no better than Albus and of trampling the rights of the community in the name of the "greater good": I'd not stop loving and respecting you if you should choose so to do. But absent a very convincing argument, Hermione, I am equally not prepared to sacrifice the lives of millions for the sake of your moral fastidiousness.'

'Er, mate -'

Hermione glared at Ron, who subsided. 'And what will you do when you capture someone who is - not convicted, mind: only suspected? Torture her for information?'

'I will extract information by coercion and duress if needs must, but I'll not cross that line, and you know that perfectly well. If you want a specific answer, I'll be less tender of them than Albus had been, and I'll simply ask myself, What would Churchill do.'

'Harry -'

'One moment. Remus, will you please find out where Tonks is and what is keeping her? Thank you. Hermione -'

'No,' said Tony Goldstein. 'A moment, if I may.

'It was not only, I think, for convenience's sake, that Harry has had us meet here, in Vienna. It is most assuredly not for convenience's sake that we are met here, in Leopoldstadt. You, Hermione, have but lately been in Debrecen. It is a city that has learnt tolerance, in a hard school. The Habsburgs, their Hungarian predecessors, the Turk, the princes of Transylvania, all have held it, and it has changed hands many times. It has been pagan, Catholic, and Calvinist, and it has come to understand the supremacy of the free conscience. It suffered under Grindelwald and the Muggle accursed, and under the iron rule of the Muggle Communists as well.

'But you are not in the peaceful library of a now free Debrecen. You are in Leopoldstadt.

'This is not the Vienna of waltzes and archdukes and operettas. This is not the Vienna of Mozart and Haydn, of Beethoven, of the cafés and the pastry and Sacher and the sweet life. It is not even the Vienna of the siege, of the end of the Ottoman advance and the salvation of - Christendom. Nor is this the Vienna of Freud and of Karl Kraus, of Klimt, of Klinger and Schiele, of Kokoschka and Frankl, Wittgenstein and Zweig.

'This is Leopoldstadt. A waste, a heath, a sometimes park for coarse hunting, the place where Vienna put its non-Viennese, its non-Austrians, its poor, its Slavs. And always, where it put its Jews - for a time, until there was profit in pogrom and plunder, and profit again in letting the survivors come back after a time. Odd how it was the Christians and not the grasping Jews who profited, eh?

'This is Leopoldstadt, and it became the Vienna of Frankl in a way. Time and again, the expulsions and the licence to return. Time and again, the dumping of the Jews and the Slavs and the poor, of industry no one wished to see or smell of; and to cover it all, the tracery of an amusement park, and a boy's choir, that never covered or concealed in full what was Leopoldstadt at its heart. And throughout the expulsions and the returns, there managed to remain a community. Leopoldstadt was known also as Mazzesinsel, the Isle of Matzo.

'In 1625, the Rabbi Yom-Tov Lipmann ben Nathan ha-Levi Heller brought the scattered Jews of Vienna together in a community, here. The emperor Leopold expelled them, and the honest Christians of Vienna named the district in his ... honour. Yet the Jews returned; in the 1920s, some four in every ten Leopoldstadters were Jews.

'But there were good Viennese Christians in the Innere Stadt. What were Jews to them? What are Muggles to Dark Wizards, one might as well ask. There was the mayor, Karl Lueger. There was the Knight of Rosenau - and of Walpurgis, also - Georg Schönerer. And there were young men, one adrift in the city, coming initially from Linz, the other from - everywhere: he, like the Habsburgs, took his surname from German Switzerland, and his forename was Hungarian, he epitomised the Empire: Gellert Grindelwald.

'When Grindelwald came, and that young man from Linz - you know his name, I need not repeat it - Leopoldstadt had been peaceable, its Jews as safe and secure as could be in the midst of those honest Christians. Harry has brought us to meet, here, just off Große Schiffgaße. And what is special about Große Schiffgaße? Oh, nothing at all. Before Grindelwald and his Muggle counterpart, it was a street in Leopoldstadt. At Große Schiffgaße 8 was a place of worship. It was commonly called the Schiffshul. It was properly Khal Adas Yisroel, and it was the main Orthodox synagogue in Vienna. You can imagine what happened to it, and to its congregation. If you listen closely, you will yet hear the very stones cry out, softly, softly. What do they say? "Yitgaddal v'yitqaddash sh'meh rabba..." The stones of the street that only Wizards can hear yet say Kaddish, the Mourner's Kaddish, unto the ending of the world.

'For this is Leopoldstadt, and Grindelwald and his minion have come - and gone. Frankl ceased to be Viennese, a respected man, when they came: he was only another Jew from Leopoldstadt. To the camps with him. Why not? Schönberg; Meitner; all these Jews of Leopoldstadt, they fled and lived. Those who did not flee?

'Old terrorists turn to crime, for they are criminals, in whatever banner they once wrapped themselves. Leopoldstadt had ceased to fear the respectable people until the criminals came; and then found that the criminals were the respectable people.

'You are clever, Hermione, and often wise, and you have a great heart. You will draw the moral for yourself. I ask only that you remember. This is not the sweet and sensual Vienna of the waltzes and the good life, of sophistication and charm. This is Leopoldstadt, this is Große Schiffgaße, and the stones cry out, remembering.'

There was a silence as profound and as interminable as the two minutes of Remembrance Day.

It was Hermione who spoke, breaking it. 'Harry. Use the damned book. I'll teach you Dee's charms that shorten the process.'

________________________________________

Things were now moving ever faster, as an avalanche gathers speed in its descent, as a pyroclastic flow races to snuff out all in its path.

'Bugger!' Tonks's hair was an electric blue, and sparks poured from it. Those under her command gulped, and winced, dreading the explosion. 'FIND HIM!'

________________________________________

Things were now moving ever faster, as an avalanche gathers speed in its descent, as a pyroclastic flow races to snuff out all in its path.

In Leopoldstadt, where the very stones remember and mourn, Harry had turned to Colin and Ginny for their report.

'Our Mr Sanguini is receiving a remarkable amount of consideration,' said Ginny, with a smile. 'People aren't even smoking in the region: they see a match and they start shrieking about Charlie and his dragons. And Colin's snaps turned out rather well, even without an interview.'

'Sent 'em to every Vampire banat in the whole boiling. Vampires who weren't even of record are coming in to make peace.'

'Well done. See that the other groupings, outside Transylvania, have copies as well. Where in buggery is Tonks, Remus? Probably tripped over something, let's move on: Rubeus, please. Giants?'

'Arh. Well, now, they Giants is right curious folk. That new Gurg they put up during the War never did suit. And they've heard o' you an' all, an' what Ginny here done with they Vampires an' all. Arh, they bin right budgy since ever the War, and that Gurg, backin' the wrong horse, he's nobbut a ninnyhammer, and they knows it. So they've took the old one back, and he's picked his next successor. Olympe and I are dead pleased: the old Gurg'll be stepping- a-down this month, and it's my brother Grawp as is takin' over. No, you'll'nt have any troubles wi' they Giants, Harry, I can tell 'ee that.'

'Oh, that's super, Hagrid. My compliments to Grawp, and congratulations. Still no Tonks, I see. Arthur?'

'Ah. Well, I'll give you the short version, the rest's in my report. The Muggles in Cavalese, and certain others across the Continent where these outrages have taken place or where we have reliable information of Death Eater gatherings, show definite signs of tampering, confounded and obliviated and all the rest, along with several cases of use of Imperio.'

'Right. Thank you. Give the reports please to Hermione for prosecution. Now, the Scene of Crimes team.'

'As stated, we've traced the route taken from Britain to the Whitsun murder scene. No guarantees with sympathetic magic, but we hope to trace the route back and away from the scene through the retained fabric fragments. In light of what we've heard today, we'll dig a trifle deeper to pinpoint where, precisely, in France it was that Chummy broke his journey. The rest is as reported.'

'And excellent work it is, too. You are all to be - and shall be - commended. I think under the circs you're dismissed to go and do just what you've said. Carry on, then. Now. Ernie and his lot, I am advised, are preparing all the necessary instruments. Neville, I understand that you will, immediately upon your return, recall the Moot, issue more M Notices than we have owls to send them, and put us on what is all but a war footing?'

'Aye, lad, and happen I'll be leaving now to have that done, what with t'news today -'

He was interrupted by a loud crash and the sound of heartfelt cursing.

'I see that Tonks has arrived,' said Harry, imperturbably.

So she had. 'Harry! Nev, all. Look. It's been a bugger tracking everyone with the Moot risen, but we managed. I'm sorry: Stephen Cornfoot's done a bunk. Vanished. Scarpered. Missing. I'm afraid we've found the traitor in the Moot.'

'Cornfoot?'

'I know, Tony, it's very sad, but even a Ravenclaw can go Dark, I suppose -'

'Naturally, but not in this way. There has been cunning here, but hardly real intelligence in the direction of these crimes. I cannot see a Ravenclaw as behind them.'

'Can't be Cornfoot, any road. Independent Member, sits for some local interest, but I know lad. He -'

'Nev -'

'Hold thi hosses, duchess. Whether I know lad or not, sithee, Sergeant at Wands vetted every member in my presence, Cornfoot included. Only absence that day was Glinda Crook - well, she would be, now we know what we know.'

'Then vet the Sergeant at Wands!'

'Bugger that,' said Harry. 'We should have detected Imperio. The wards at Thornminster, some to that, had done so. If Stephen's missing, it shan't be of his own will. And if he's missing now, he may have been missing before: I'll wager a Staple to a Knut he's in the position Alastor was in with Crouch. If there's no objection to my using the book now -'

Hermione did not rise to the baiting, as she was already turning pages feverishly.

After a few muttered spells from Harry and three from Hermione, Harry put the book to one side. 'Tonks. Arthur. Take a team to this address and rescue Cornfoot. Have a Healer on the team and a Mediwizard as well. He'll be in poor shape. Put Seamus on it at the home end: we've a damned Polyjuice-merchant on the loose.'

'I'm off to Blighty, home, and glory,' said Nev, rising with a grunt. 'Luna, you stay out of trouble, my lass. I but hope none of the votes as went our way depended on Corner's vote last session, if there were imposter sitting in Moot it'll be all to do over again. Harry?'

Nev's tone had not changed, but it was evident to all that he was now speaking as Her Majesty's First Minister to Her Majesty's Commander in Chief.

'Minister.'

'Keep safe, good hunting, and the best of British luck to you.'

'Yes, Minister.'

________________________________________

Things were now moving ever faster, as an avalanche gathers speed in its descent, as a pyroclastic flow races to snuff out all in its path.

'Remus.'

'Harry?'

'That answers for the Giants, the Vampires, and the Goblins, whom these silly buggers were mad to make enemies of. There's no more point in trying to talk - in either side's trying to talk - to Redcaps, any more than in trying to talk with dragons. We can clearly leave the Selkies, Kelpies, and Merpeople out of this, and the Centaurs wouldn't give those Dark buggers the time of moonrise. I don't suppose that Veela -?'

'The Eastern and Middle European tribes pursue a course of studied neutrality, largely as they have a certain contempt for all Wizards. The only interactions are in parts of Bulgaria, where the tribe is very firmly opposed to the Dark Arts. The Western tribe, that went to Lorraine some fifteen centuries ago, and which has spread through France and the Low Countries and part of the Rhineland, are, as Fleur and Gabrielle would tell you, highly assimilationist.'

'Yet the money and the movements that we have traced put the nexus and probable base of these bastards in France. I'm sorry - what is it, Owen? Ah. Thank you - in the South of France, apparently. And we know that their methods involve enlisting, or fitting up and blaming, magical beings and creatures....'

Remus sighed, heavily. 'I do see where you are going with this, you know. Worse still, I agree. Werewolves. And in Occitania, I'm very much afraid that means one thing only.'

'Yes.' Harry had cut him off before Remus could utter the fatal words: there was no point in frightening the team before one was forced to do so. 'If you would go before us? Yes, and you, Hagrid, if you would be so good as to oblige me in this fashion. We'll meet you tomorrow at noon, at Beauxbatons. Now, the rest of you, divide the reports and get to reading. Thank you.'

________________________________________

Things were now moving ever faster, as an avalanche gathers speed in its descent, as a pyroclastic flow races to snuff out all in its path.

Within the hour, and for the next week, Nev's hand lay heavy upon Britain. The press were muzzled with M Notices. The country was put upon a war footing. And all the resources of a highly efficient and now trustworthy Ministry were brought to bear upon the threat to peace.

Persons on the Dark List were rounded up, with apologies where appropriate, and detained on the Calf of Man. All traffic in goods and all movements of people in and out of the British Isles came to a halt. The ancient defences against invasion were re-erected with dizzying speed.

And through it all, the Muggles noticed nothing.

________________________________________

Things were now moving ever faster, as an avalanche gathers speed in its descent, as a pyroclastic flow races to snuff out all in its path.

They met at Beauxbatons. Like Hogwarts, it appeared to Muggles as a dilapidated ruin, a castle of a nobler age long since fallen into decay and scheduled 'dangerous'; unlike Hogwarts, beneath this seeming, it was a light and airy fantasy, part castle, part château, forever rebuilt in the most delicate and elegant of styles, and wholly French. It was an odd sight to those who could see it as it truly was, a confectionary fantasy set amidst the wild landscapes of the Gorges du Tarn: a pâtisserie castle, less château than gâteau. Against the maquis and the limestone karst of the harsh sunlit steeps and plateaus, above the most dangerous river in Europe, it was an anomalous sight, anomalously sited. Leaving the Rosamund Manuscript in the capable and safe hands of Olympe, they took to their brooms, even as Hagrid strode off with his giant stride into the arid lands.

________________________________________

'The Ministry have announced that the Right Honourable Sir Kingsley Shacklebolt has been recalled to active service. As a former Minister for Magic and past Chief of the Magical General Staff, Sir Kingsley is....'

________________________________________

The next night was to be moonless. All that afternoon, they had quartered the skies, scanning and searching. They would renew their search in a concentrated area the next day. Already, however, Harry and Remus were certain of where they would find the lair of the remaining Death Eaters. With some reluctance, Harry elected not to put off the briefing any further: better to have it over and done with.

He called them together after dinner, in the overpoweringly elegant quarters, as rich as the hours of the duc of Berri, that the Headmistress of Beauxbatons had kindly made available to them. Even Ron had, for a miracle, had enough to eat; Harry hoped it would not sour in their stomachs.

________________________________________

'" - so I says to her, ta, duchess, but we doan't want any o' that -"'

'This is the Light Programme on the WWN Home Service. We are interrupting this programme for an important announcement.'

________________________________________

'As you will be aware, we do not know with certainty who we shall find in command. I can confirm that Cornfoot has been found and rescued. He's in poor shape, but should recover. I can further confirm that Glinda Crook is missing, along with Montague, Warrington, and Fudge's idiot nephew Rufus. Indications are - although, mind, Cornfoot's still in rather rough shape - indications are that the person who captured and impersonated him was Dolohov, so we are quite likely to be facing him. Be damned careful. I reiterate, Dolohov is quite likely to be here, he's definitely not in the UK.

'Our assets on the Continent will be assisting in the capture of the other renegades, wherever found, whom we do not find at the Death Eater base.'

________________________________________

'This is the Home Service of the WWN. Normal programming has been suspended.'

________________________________________

Harry paused. 'We, naturally, will be assaulting that base.'

________________________________________

'This is the Overseas Service. This is the WWN Overseas Service. Due to the seriousness of the news, we shall remain on air throughout the day in conjunction with the Home Service. We now hand over to the Home Service.

'This is the WWN Home Service. I am Barbara Celerant. Here is the news.'

________________________________________

'Signor Unterperger, you are in no way obliged to participate.'

'Basta! I am with you and consider myself under your command.'

________________________________________

'This is the Home Service of the WWN, from Diagon. Normal programming has been suspended. We now join Barbara Celerant in the news studio.

'"This is WWN, from Diagon."'

________________________________________

'One moment.' Harry turned to the silvery bear-patronus that waited patiently at his shoulder. It spoke with Nev's voice.

'Harry, lad, we've taken Nott's old da and Yaxley, alive. Carry on, lad.'

'Excellent. Now....'

________________________________________

'Good evening, this is a newsflash from WWN news. I'm Alaric Dunstable.'

________________________________________

'Remus.'

'Yes. Well. The Cevennes. Lozère. Always a poor country, and commonly rebellious, I'm afraid. Heavily Protestant. I myself have family connexions here - oh, no, of course I'm not saying Lupin isn't an English name, as you know, it's as English as Flower or Greengrass. My mother's mother's people came from Jersey, however, and they were in Jersey because they were refugees, Huguenots who had participated in the Camisard rebellion under Jean Cavalier. My great-great-grandfather was one of the few bourgeois who rallied under Cavalier's banner, he was a notary and an underground Protestant minister. When Cavalier took service under the British, we came along, and did wel enough from it; my great-great-grandfather was Brigadier Cavalier's chaplain whilst Cavalier was HM Lieutenant Governor of Jersey.

'Naturally, I've wandered about a bit in this area, particularly between the wars. There was nothing to keep me in England, after all.

'Er. Well. The unfortunate thing is. Of all of us, I am perhaps the least in danger should I go wandering in the region. And not because of my connexions or my schoolboy French.'

________________________________________

'This is the WWN Overseas Service, broadcasting in conjunction with the Home Service of the WWN. Normal programming has been suspended.'

________________________________________

'Hold up, Remus. Yes?'

'An owl for you, Harry. Olympe did not wish to disturb you, but you may want this.'

'Yes. Oh, brilliant. We've taken the Carrows. Go on, Remus.'

________________________________________

'Before that, we are going over to the newsroom, and Margery Coldsands.'

________________________________________

'Harry and I have made certain that the area in which the Death Eaters are hiding, and in which they've their base, is ... Gévaudan.'

________________________________________

'... the French Ministry confirmed. Normal programmes have been suspended whilst we bring you developments throughout the evening.'

________________________________________

'Gévaudan?' Hermione, naturally, was the first to twig, and was cold with horror. 'Remus.... Isn't Gévaudan famous - well, infamous - for, ah -'

'Yes, Hermione. The most horrific werewolves ever known, and the Beast of Gévaudan.'

________________________________________

'... from the Ministry, the following announcement: Atropos, Lachesis, Clotho. We repeat: Atropos, Lachesis, Clotho.'

________________________________________

'I say,' said Justin, commendably calm. 'Bit of a facer, what? Still about, are they, Remus?'

________________________________________

'... at the behest of the Ministry, the Overseas Service presents the following message:

Les sanglots longs des violons de l'automne / Blessent mon cœur d'une langueur monotone.'

________________________________________

'Very much so, I'm afraid.' Remus did not sound afraid; merely grim. 'And I cannot imagine that the Death Eaters are not in close contact with them.'

________________________________________

'... the following message from the Ministry: O récompense après une pensée /
Qu'un long regard sur le calme des dieux!'

________________________________________

'I suppose they're the sort that prefer to eat you rather than to turn you?'

'Oh, yes, I'm sorry to say that they are very much that sort.'

'Good,' said Ron. 'Saving your presence, I'd rather be noshed on than infected, and I'll have no qualms about using lethal spells.'

'No more you should.' Remus was clearly weary. 'They are not a group to be reasoned with.'

________________________________________

'... from the Ministry, the following announcement: Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment. Tweak.'

________________________________________

'Yes, Fawkes? Ah. Thank you.' Harry read the note. 'Rowle is still on the run. Bugger. Escaped an ambush. We sustained several losses, as well. I'll give details later.

'Remus?'

________________________________________

'... at the behest of the Ministry, the Overseas Service presents the following message:

It was a bright, hot midday in summer, and the heavy glances of the flaming Dragon fell on the River Skorodyen. I shall read that again. It was a bright, hot midday in summer, and the heavy glances of the flaming Dragon fell on the River Skorodyen.'

________________________________________

After the briefing, they had taken what sleep they could manage to find. Morning saw them drawing ever tighter circles around a cavern hard by Gévaudan.

________________________________________

'... the head of the embassage to the Rhineland centaurs, Saul Glanville-Ormrod, has advised the Ministry of success. It is reported that....'

________________________________________

The light was failing as they moved into position. The perimeter wards had been crude, but numerous, and potentially effective - as well as being potentially lethal. Draco reflected that, by day and in a better time, there was a beauty to this austere country, its heather and its craggy hills, its aromatic scrub, as if a whole countryside could be a bouquet garni, all under the white, limpid pouring of sunlight. It was an acerb and honed beauty that answered something deep within him; but that was by day. As light thickened and the darkness began to spill down slopes and through the chestnuts, spruce, holm oak, and beeches, its beauty was subsumed in numinous terror.

For Harry, the wait was nothing new, yet wholly unprecedented. He had had his share of scrapes over the years, even after the victory over Tom Riddle. He could still remember the worst of them, and they were not memories of action, but of waiting and preparing for action. Once, when the French had, typically, refused to deal with and equally refused to admit a rising Dark coven in the Vexin - the issue had been complicated by the centuries-old dispute between the two magical governments over the sovereignty of Wizarding Normandy - he had sailed from Fowey at dead of night on a rising tide, calculated to wash out his footprints in the strand as he landed, and, with only Ron and Kingsley, personally invaded France. And, again, there had been the time when he and Ron had been under deep cover in Muggle London, tracking a serial killer - or so they had thought, and sharing the kitchen of their dingy offices with a tango studio ('Bloody Argies keep nicking the tea.' 'Easily dealt with, Ron: put a snap of Mrs Thatcher on the caddy'), and had been called away to wait through the night in an alley, against which the shadow of a great primate, too large to be human and moving too swiftly to be so deadly silent had passed.... Harry did not fear death: he hadn't done for years: but the prospect of failure tortured his nerves in such waiting periods. And he had not felt such a lurking horror in the air since Riddle had died.

________________________________________

'... the following message from the Ministry: Quid, si idem certet Phoebum superare canendo? To repeat: Quid, si idem certet Phoebum superare canendo?'

________________________________________

Remus could feel, as none could see, the rising of the hidden and occulted moon. He signalled silently to Harry. The scans revealed that there were several magical creatures in the cavern, and several Wizards.

Harry gave the signal to go in.

________________________________________

'The Minister is to make an announcement at 2.0 this morning, Wizarding Summer Time.'

________________________________________

At the ministerial residence in Upping Street, Neville paced. Stolid as he was, he could not forbear to do: he had written, with pains and tears, two messages. One he would release if, as he expected and devoutly hoped, Harry and his team reported success: a success that would dismantle centuries of falsehood and make the world anew. The other, which he hoped he would soon be able to destroy and forget ever having had to write, would go out if the incomprehensible worst should happen, and the greatest Wizard of the age should fall with all his noble company.

________________________________________

As they rose to go in, several shapes issued from the mouth of the cave. Five misshapen beasts leapt up to stand and slaver over the entrance, on a sort of lintel of rock. Two Wizards, one of immense size and strength, the other slightly overfed and youthful, began firing spells in patterns. They were swiftly dealt with; and at that point, the third Wizard emerged, his mouth in a rictus grin.

'Must be Potter and that lot. I thought as much, and you taking out Rowle and Rufus Fudge, well, I'd say that confirms it. I hope this won't take long, Rufus is still warm, and he's not so far over the age where I like them best.'

'Greyback.'

'Well, well, so it is Potter. Draco with you? He's a bit old himself, but still a lovely throat, and I'm peckish.'

'I haven't time to bandy words with you. Go and fetch Dolohov or Crook or whoever's in charge, so I need only go through the formula of arrest once.'

Greyback snarled. 'You want them? Oh, I'll fetch them, all right - or what's left of them.' He laughed, and began to pick his teeth with a fragment of bone. 'Not much eating on either of them to start with. Oh, my. Didn't you know? Hadn't you guessed? Dolly and his dolly were mine. Clever, I'm not saying they weren't, but I am the master!' Above and behind him, the five fell beasts shifted, abysmally black against the lighter night, their shoulders hunched, their quarters weak and low-slung. Their eyes were hellfire, and one whined.

'Patience, pretty. I must explain to poor Potter. By Hell, had that fool Riddle given you to me that night, I'd have made two tender morsel's bites of you, and all would be done and over. Yet here you are. Like Riddle, you could never resist a riddle, could you.'

The wind shifted, and brought his reek to them.

'And I'm sure you've sweet Lupin here, and that Granger chit, and - ah, the lot. Better and better. You never thought to see me, did you? I'm only a werewolf, and not a particularly strong Wizard, aren't I. All but a Squib. It's in your records, after all. And three decades a Death Eater and never captured, the werewolf everyone sought but couldn't bring in.

'Dolly was adequate. He could sit in your damn' Moot in a borrowed body, seduce that Gryffindor fool McLaggen, and get away with it, aye. A smear-merchant, was Dolly, as much as his old da was a draper selling Manchester. But he was never in charge. And that stupid bint Crook. Not a good witch, Our Glinny, but so driven by ideology she was easy - meat. And Fudge and Warrington and Montague (he still tasted of the bog). But you thought you'd be seeing one of they.

'Glinda thought Wizards deserved to bait Muggles. I used her for bait. Dolly and the young idiots, the other Death Eaters and Dark Wizards, they thought blood mattered.' Greyback spat. 'It all tastes the same,' he howled. 'It's us, werewolves, as deserve blood! Mud, half, pure, all of it. But you never thought to see me. I'm just the one who plans his attacks, the one who's never captured. Only a werewolf, a low-ranking Death Eater, no one of importance.

'But you never expected me. You thought you were dealing with a grave threat, a new Dark Lord, a foe worthy of your wand. Not me. I'm not a gentleman, I'm not. I'm not your alter ego, like Tom Riddle, am I. I'm dead common, and you never spared a thought for me. Did ye think history would repeat tself?

'Balls - and tasty they are, too. It was all to bring you here, as many as I could, and I spent blood like water to do it - and feasted on the comrades I sacrificed as pawns. And it brought you here, to the seat of my power, at my choosing. The Malfoy boy I've always wanted. You, so many still young, if no spring lambs. The haughty Widow Malfoy - ah, I shall enjoy that. And you, Potter. Lupin, yes, the one who got away, I've been hungry for. But you, Potter. To lure you here, to defeat you, to do what Tom Riddle couldn't. To make you know as you die that it wasn't some great and noble descendant of a Founder bested you, just me, common as muck, a minor Wizard, a mere werewolf. And then I'll be after your sweet, sweet, toothsome children, and there'll be nowt you can do. How does it feel, to know it's over, and I am the one to kill you?

'Now, my beauties! Now!'

With a chorus of howls, the five beasts, and others racing down the slope from the wood above, flung themselves forward. None got far: the next thing they heard was a great voice, thick and halting, saying, 'Bad doggies! Down! Bad!' And a club smashed down, and huge hands picked up three werewolves by the tails at once, and Grawp, with Hagrid, waded in. Greyback had not been idle. He was putting up a fight, distracting the defenders with defensive fire and dashing forward in short rushes to bring the fight to them with tooth and claw. He had dealt with Aurors and the MLE before.

But times had changed, and he in exile had not changed with them. These defenders did not retreat. And they did not fight by old regulations.

Greyback, torn and bleeding, came on yet again, bowling the older fighters over, driving straight for Harry. Harry set his mouth in a grim line, and cast the Entrail-Expelling Curse, followed by a Sectumsempra that sliced Greyback's evil head from his reeking body.

Grawp and Hagrid had put paid to the werewolves, who lay about in broken postures. Only a few survived, whimpering in the wood. At Harry's nod, Hagrid tossed them Greyback's body, and they could be heard to begin feeding. Hermione was copiously sick. Ron, stern and composed, levitated Greyback's head into a sack: it would be exposed on Crutchedfriar's Bridge. 'Secure the area,' said Harry. 'I'll send Nev a report. Including your accomplishments, and my failure to see what Greyback was after. All those dead, for a trick I didn't see through....'

Remus's voice was hollow, but controlled. 'Harry. Draco. No. You've won: this was no failure. Thank you - and well done.' The others took up the chorus: 'Harry. Draco. Well done, Harry. Draco, well done. Harry. Harry. Draco....'

________________________________________

'Harry! HARRY!'

'What!'

'Wake up!' Hermione was looking in through the unlaced opening to his tent, grey dawn behind her. 'Ron's back! This is no time for a lie-in.'

________________________________________

'Draco! Up you get, widdle nephew!'

Draco struggled to free himself from dreams, and woke to a nightmarish reality. His Aunt Bella had her wand trained on him; his parents, alarmed and horrified, stood behind her, unable to intervene, wandless and captive and disgraced: another consequence of the choices he dreamt of yet foolishly had not made. 'Up you get, you useless widdle ponce. There's work to be done, for the Dark Lord. Yes, you, even you, can be of use. Now. This is no time for your mere dreams.'

Indeed. Mere dreams.

________________________________________

END

________________________________________

The sequel, set after the DH Epilogue, will be fully compliant therewith - and yet also with this. Here endeth the Dragongate saga and the prophetic dreams of Harry and Draco before the end of the War. As ever, my thanks to my Tenth Legion at the Yahoo! Group, and to you all.