Amicus Draconis: 1st Cycle - Cycle of the Badger

"In the last episode, brave Sir Harry and his merry men..."

"And women..."

"Shut up, Loretta. During our last episode, brave Sir Harry and his merry men visited Merchieftainess Murcus and her Merpeople, had some tea with Hagrid and fought some giant spiders. Also, while the residents of New Hogwarts while away their time with Quidditch games and dubious love schemes, Harry is..."

"...desperately brooding about his dark past and trying to do penance for his sins?"

"More like: Desperately waiting for a letter from said past and trying to sin some more. The ring, Harry!"

"Oh, yes, Harry. The Ring of Power. One ring to rule them all..."

"Quick, quick! Throw it into Mount Doom! Hurry Harry, before the Dark Side corrupts you!"

"Ring! Ring!" *Hoarse voice* "Ssseven daysss, Harry!"

"Baka! Hari-chan no uchi ni terebi ga arimasen."

"What?"

"Hari-chan no uchi ni terebi ga arimasen!"

"What?"

"Shoot the glass, I mean, Harry doesn't own a TV, you stupid ...." *Glares*

"Oh. I guess that makes him safe from evil little Japanese girls then."

"Right... I know someone who isn't." *Smirks*

*

*

But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art assured mine;
And life no longer than thy love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.

Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath end.
I see a better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy humour doth depend:

Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.
O what a happy title do I find,
Happy to have thy love, happy to die!

But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot?
Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.

*

*

Amicus Draconis

First Cycle: Cycle of the Badger

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Episode 4: Offers and Offerings - Part A

*

It was the soft crackle in the fireplace that awoke him. When he had gone to sleep a few hours earlier, all Tod had seen in the grate was the faint glow emanating from dying embers. Now, however, a vivid blaze flared up from the ashes; dazzling, burning, spluttering flames blinding his eyes and ringing painfully in his ears. Their colours flashed from orange to bright red to a bluish purple, leaving no doubt that this was no natural fire, but a magical phenomena.

He barely had time to rub sleep out of his eyes when something took shape within the flames. Bright sparks became watery blue eyes, flickering patterns formed facial features, and thick smoke curled into a wreath of matted grey hair framing a bald patch on the now fully shaped head floating inside the fire.

"Your humble servant, sir." Tod sat up in his bed to give his visitor a courteous bow. It was nothing out of the ordinary to receive important messages this late at night, but until now, Lord Pettigrew had never spoken to him personally. Usually, Tod received all his orders from his father, who was also his direct superior.

There was a situation; he was sure of it. Action had to be taken immediately.

Pettigrew avoided looking him in the eye. Not that this surprised him; there had been rumours about the creepy and crawly demeanour of the fourth Grand Dragon. Responsible for intelligence, Pettigrew conducted a group of spies who passed him information the Dark Lord might find useful. Other than that, Tod had no idea how this man had come to achieve such a high position within the Master's ranks. He was certainly the only member of the Dark Council who did not come from a wealthy and influential family.

"Diagon Alley," a voice pronounced from the sizzling flames. "Our master wants you to conduct a search of Diagon Alley. You are to leave at once. Your father will give you..."

Pettigrew broke off and his watery eyes darted across the room when they spotted a second figure moving on the bed. "Nani da, Toto-chan?" sing-songed a sleepy female voice and a thick cloud of bluish black hair spilled out from under the silken covers.

"It's all right, my little butterfly." Tenderly, Tod's hands caressed the dark flood, stroking it back until a delicate face with almond-shaped eyes appeared underneath it. "Go back to sleep. I'll be back before you wake up tomorrow. Promise."

"Hai, Toto-chan."

She gave a deep content purr, stretching and rolling playfully like a kitten. In a hurried movement, Tod spread the covers back over her; he hadn't failed to notice a hungry look enter the watery eyes drawing relentlessly towards the tender white body of the girl. She, however, didn't seem to have noticed; with another soft sigh she snuggled back into the covers and was asleep a moment later.

"Your father will give... will give you further information," Pettigrew stuttered, withdrawing his tongue back into his mouth.

The fire blazed up one last time before it disappeared along with the Grand Dragon's head, leaving nothing behind but ash and dark embers.

* * *

Like souls forlorn, the first keys of a gloomy melody swirled through the hazy air inside the Leaky Cauldron, reverberating off the walls and drifting upwards, reaching towards an imaginary paradise. The space was saturated with the sound of music, with the smell of alcohol and with the dreams of a young generation bound to change the world. Preferably tonight.

They were in charge and they knew it: sinister and dangerous, frightening and formidable, fierce and unstoppable. They would prevail. They were always on call, impatient to bring the Dark Lord's cruelty and terror to the furthest reaches of his kingdom.

Ghost Riders in the sky! Foaming beer bottles clanged together, joining in another toast to victory.

However, since one had called for their services tonight, some five dozen Ghost Riders had to make do with embellishing the stories of past deeds, and washing away their boredom with some more alcohol. At least conversation was a challenge - they had to yell to be heard over the music.

"Where the hell is Flint, anyway?" Gregory Goyle demanded as he returned from the bar, where Draco Malfoy had sent him to procure more drinks. "You'd think as he's our bloody captain, he'd bother to show up once in a while." He banged the four beer bottles down on the table with one oversized fist.

"What?" bellowed Vincent Crabbe over Millicent Bulstrode's head. Millicent scowled at him, grabbing him by the ears and shoving his face away so that he'd stop spitting on her.

"I said, Flint!" Greg bellowed back. He brought his hand up as if to shield his eyes from the sun, and mimed looking left and right melodramatically, with obvious irritation.

"Oh, OK." Vince had apparently understood Greg's attempt at sign language and returned it in kind. He smacked a fist repeatedly into his other palm, intending to convey that Flint was probably with his girlfriend, engaged in far more entertaining activities than hanging out with his buddies. The others at the table leered and grinned; some knowing smirks were exchanged and the bottles rose again.

Terrence Higgs, who sat at another table across the room, joined in with his own lecherous smirk. He seemed to have grasped the concept of the discussion, probably largely due to Vince and Greg's impressive acting performances. Terrence swaggered over to them brazenly, swung one of the empty chairs around, and slung a leg over it.

The others renewed their smirks, for his attempt at a pretentious swagger needed some work. As did his maneuver with the chair.

Terrence narrowed his eyes and looked around, as if to make sure no one would overhear the breathtaking news he was about to share with them. "I've heard some things," he boasted. "Nothing concrete, of course, but people are talking about Flint's taste in women."

Millicent, Vince and Greg stared at him open-mouthed. To Terence this might have come across as a gesture of awe at his stunning revelation, but it was, in fact, confusion as they'd only managed to pick up about half of his words and had no idea what he'd been trying to imply. Shrugging their shoulders, they turned to Draco, looking for clues as to how they should react.

Their group leader had been sprawled nonchalantly in his chair, sipping his beer and following the conversation with amusement and a significant amount of boredom. Abruptly, he leaned forward, glaring at Terrence through icy grey eyes. "You should show some respect when you speak about our captain, Higgs."

He hadn't spoken very loudly, but the other boy didn't seem to have any difficulty understanding.

"All right, all right." There was a slight uneasiness in Terence's voice as he shrugged his shoulders, trying to downplay the situation. It was pretty obvious that this wasn't so much about defending the captain, but about marking borders of territory. Everyone knew how ugly Draco Malfoy could get if someone tried to butt in on his little group. Terence's eyes darted about the table, and the sceptical, almost hostile faces told him that he had outworn his welcome. It was time to go back to his own friends and have a nice little chat about elitist bastards and their simpleminded followers.

None of The Malfoy Court paid him any attention though; they were too busy having a laugh at Vince's clumsy attempts to heave a beer bottle open with his wand.

"Give it here, you moron!" Millicent tried to snatch the bottle from his hands, but, at the very same moment, the cap slid off, allowing the frothy beer to foam freely over her hands. This was an even better cause for amusement, and everybody grinned and leered after her as she stomped off to the bathroom scowling, burly arms stretched out, determined to keep her sticky hands away from her clothing.

Other eyes followed her as well. These, however, were not filled with amusement but with suspicion and hostility; to many of the guys, the presence of a girl in their midst posed some sort of threat to their masculinity. Now that she hung out with Malfoy, they had given up on their attempts to bully her, but it still didn't feel right having her here. This job was made for tough men and not for women and wimps.

Ghost Riders in the sky! Devil's hounds! True warriors of darkness!

Just to make sure, another round of beer bottles joined in another toast.

The final chord of the previous song has not yet faded away when a new tune kicks in, much harder and faster than the last one: a deep, droning bass, causing bottles and glasses to hum and jingle. As heavy guitar riffs join with the gruff rhythm, sudden realisation flares in five dozen pairs of eyes; all voices give way to a deafening elation, effortlessly drowning out the music. From trembling throats, the boys are shouting and screaming their enthusiasm; this is their song, the symbol for all they aspire to, ambition of their hopes, field of their dreams. Their song, their hymn, their credo.

Dark night nothing to see

Invisible hand in front of me

Scared to death, there's someone near

Scared to death, but you can't stay here

The cheers fade away as more and more voices join the chorus, singing and shouting out the lyrics. Like the fiery outburst of a volcano, sound and rhythm heat up the blood, changing it to a stream of lava flowing through blistering veins. Some uneasy feet start stamping the floor, some anxious heads start to bang back and forth with hair flying in all directions. A fiery fascination flares up, blazing and burning, sweeping the room like a raging bushfire.

You know me, evil eye

You know me, prepare to die

You know me, the Snakebite Kiss

Devil's Grip, the Iron Fist

They are in charge and they know it: sinister and dangerous, frightening and formidable, fierce and unstoppable. They come like phantoms of the night, ghostly demons on hellish horses. Invisible and untouchable, they know no danger, no fear and no qualms, and none can hinder them or stand in their path. They are nightmares turned to flesh, masters of life and death, and the tool of their own master: his number one elite force. They are always on call, impatient to bring the Dark Lord's cruelty and terror to the furthest reaches of his kingdom.

Flying horse don't make a sound

Flying hooves don't touch the ground

Walk in circle, lose your track

Can't go on, but you can't go back

Draco is the first who can't remain in his seat any longer; he jumps up, pushing his chair aside. Vince and Greg follow suit only moments later and so does the rest of the group. It takes no more than a simple incantation to sweep chairs and tables into the corner of the room and free a space in its middle. As soon as the others realize what Draco is doing, they all leap towards the newly created dance floor, never heeding small obstacles such as falling beer bottles and flying furniture. Draco secures his wand in the inside pocket of his cloak, hurls the cloak into a corner and dashes headfirst into the savage horde.

You know me, evil eye

You know me, prepare to die

You know me, you can't resist

Devil's Grip, the Iron Fist

Some of them are thrown to the floor as their bodies collide, but hands pull them up before anyone can become the victim of trampling boots. While Vince stomps elephant-like through the masses, sending people to the ground left and right and shouting out lyrics to no one in particular, Greg and Millicent have grabbed each others' shoulders, swinging one another around. Shirts and cloaks go flying into corners, empty beer bottles are kicked out of the way, and the wild cluster of arms and legs and bodies and banging heads steamrollers from one direction into the other. Gasping breaths and boiling blood flares passion into blazing ecstasy as the music streams into the deepest pits of their quivering souls, filling them with beat and rhythm and drone and mighty guitar riffs until, filled to burst, it all floods over, pouring out into fiery dance. A cycle to last until the end of all times ... or at least until the end of this song.

Moon eclipse and you know, why

Ghost rider in the sky

Beast of evil, devil's hound

Tooth and claw, they pull you down

With the grace of a feline, Draco leaps onto the counter, muscles tensing and flexing in his sleek, supple body while he bangs his head back and forth, the lights catching in his silvery hair as it whips the humid air. Like a silken curtain it spills over his face, sticking to his sweaty skin but never concealing the frozen fire of his eyes; icy flames blazing like the first sunbeam on a greying dawn. Tiny beads of sweat glint on his throat, gleaming on his moon-pale skin as they roll down his bare chest past the ripples of his stomach and finally disappear below the black leather breeches clinging to his slender hips like a second skin.

You know me, evil eye

You know me, prepare to die

You know me, the Snakebite Kiss

Devil's Grip, the Iron Fist

He raises his arm, forming his hand into a fist save for two fingers; his forefinger and pinkie piercing the air like two pointed fangs - the sign of the serpent. The answer is a billowing sea of arms over the crowd; the snake is the symbol that unites them all, standing for the new glorious times awaiting them and all wizards of pure blood.

Dark images shine on their forearms, black skulls sprouting serpents; they all wear their tattoos in honour of the Dark Mark that none of them has yet received. But they all hope to be among the chosen ones, somehow, somewhere ... someday in their glorious future....

As the guitars burst into their final crescendo, as the droning sound of the basses finally started to fade, Draco let himself fall forward into the mass of arms catching him and passing him until there was room enough for him to stand. When he felt solid ground under his feet again, he leaned heavily on Greg until he was able to stand straight again. The other boys were in no better condition; they held onto each other as they attempted to catch their breaths, gasping heavily with exhaustion. Vince didn't care about anything anymore; he lay spread-eagle on the ground, ignoring Millicent's desperate attempts to pull him up.

"Hey, Draco." There was a clear warning in Greg's voice, and when he gave a small nod towards the door, they could all feel the cool breeze suddenly penetrating the room. Draco turned around, sweeping his sweaty hair out of his eyes as he did so - and found himself face to face with a young man he was quite familiar with.

Some twenty scarlet robes stood in the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, a few of them still out on the street. They seemed to have been watching the Ghost Riders for a while; smirking at them as if amused by their childish behaviour. Which they probably were.

"The Blood Legion," Terence gasped. "What are they doing here?" It was one of those unwritten laws that the Leaky Cauldron belonged to the Ghost Riders at night; the Blood Legion had their own locations for fun and recreation. They weren't particularly welcome here, and they knew it.

The young man standing before Draco was Tod Macnair, eldest son of Grand Dragon Walden Macnair, the head of the Blood Legion. Since Lord Macnair and Lord Malfoy were old friends, Draco had met him before on several occasions. Tod was four years his senior, and like most members of the Blood Legion, he had gone to school at Durmstrang.

Like his father, Tod was tall and dark-haired, but lacking the moustache. He was of heavy build, which could have been called stocky had he been any shorter. Due to his prominent chin and his distinctive facial features, women usually considered him handsome, especially when he smiled. But now he couldn't have been any further from smiling; his face wore a deep frown and his dark eyes mirrored the contemptuous scowl that was shown in Draco's pale ones.

Draco peeked past him, eyes eagerly searching for his wand, but it lay somewhere in a corner with his shirt and cloak. Not that it would've done much good anyways; in a fight the Ghost Riders wouldn't stand much of a chance. They might be stronger in numbers, but the others had a far better education concerning the Dark Arts. Draco himself might have mastered the Unforgivable curses, maybe even Crabbe and Goyle, whose fathers were Great Titans on the council, but other than that, things didn't look too good for the Ghost Riders.

And who could say what other skills the Red Robes had accomplished? According to rumour, you had to pass difficult tests to be accepted in their midst, whereas the Ghost Riders took pretty much anyone, no questions asked.

But the times when Draco's face had betrayed any of his thoughts were long gone, and so he stood silently and unmoved, eyes locked with his opponent's. The organisation Tod belonged to was without doubt the more powerful one, but in terms of rank both young men were the same - first-born sons of Grand Dragons of the Dark Council - and as long as Tod didn't give a cogent reason for this intrusion, Draco would not step aside.

And as long as he didn't, neither would anyone else.

Like two silent walls, Red and Black stood opposing each other; every single person in the room felt the tension rising between them. Was it only because of the open door that the air had suddenly turned frigid?

"I beg your pardon, my lads!" A cheerful voice broke the silence, tainted with a hint of fake surprise. "What's with all the long faces? We're all on the same side here."

The Red Robes stepped aside, making way for their leader. Walden Macnair was in no hurry; he took his time striding through the newly-created passageway with all the dignity appropriate to his position. It was only when he stood before the Ghost Riders that he brushed off his hood, addressed Draco with a casual greeting and then turned his attention to the crowd. "We never had the slightest intention to gatecrash your little ... hmm ... party. We are only passing through to Diagon Alley, where we have some business to attend."

"Why weren't we informed of this, sir?" Draco asked, trying to keep suspicion out of his voice.

A jovial smile spread over Macnair's face. "Probably because our master believes the Blood Legion capable of conducting a search without any outside help. Still, should we require assistance, we know where to find you. So better stay ready, just in case."

Draco stepped aside and so did the rest of Ghost Riders. Lead by Tod, the Red Robes marched out through the back entrance, and a moment later they could all hear the scraping of the stones opening the way to Diagon Alley.

But Macnair didn't accompany his people; he turned back to Draco instead. "Is there a place we can talk? I have an offer to make which you might be interested in hearing."

"I'll be back in a moment, sir." Draco gathered all his missing clothes and disappeared off to the bathroom. It took quite a while until he returned fully clothed and with his hair in place; Macnair was starting to get impatient. With a nod of his head he pointed towards the street outside, and Draco followed him. "Sir? Are you sure this place is safe to talk? We might be overheard."

"Well, let's not worry about every little sewer rat crawling about." Macnair laughed at his own joke, which was doubtlessly directed at another council member, but Draco didn't join in or ask any questions about it. Instead, he looked expectantly at the Grand Dragon.

"Well, Draco, my lad..." Macnair switched back to his paternal manner, "... your father keeps me well informed about your career, but it's been a while since I've taken a good look at you. You're all grown-up now; you must be, what ... eighteen?"

"Nineteen in November."

"Time sure does fly these days," Macnair gave a melodramatic sigh. "Right, you finished school this summer. Did you join the Ghost Riders right afterwards?"

Draco nodded. Even if he knew where this conversation was leading to, his face didn't betray anything.

"And you enjoy your job, don't you? According to your father, your skills concerning the Dark Arts are quite extraordinary. And, rumour has it, you have no qualms about putting them to practical use."

Macnair grinned, but Draco didn't look remotely abashed. He hadn't really expected his little escapades to stay secret; too often had he broken the rules and cast the killing curse, usage of which was limited to members of the Council and certain privileged Special Forces; the Ghost Riders not being one of them. But since he had never used the spell on a fellow witch or wizard, no one had ever bothered to trouble him about it.

"I beg your pardon, sir." Draco smirked back at Macnair. "So you're blaming me for what? Ridding the world of some stinking Muggles?"

"According to my source of information, it was more than just a few." Macnair broke into good-natured laughter, giving Draco an appreciative slap on the shoulder. "Don't worry, laddie, you young people just need to have some fun, eh?"

"Well," his laughter faded and his voice became serious in a matter of seconds, "that's not what we came here to talk about. Draco, did you ever wonder if your extraordinary skills might be put to better use elsewhere?"

"Sir?"

"I mean, just look at those Ghost Riders. Errand boys, nothing more. A pathetic bunch of wannabes trying to have some fun. They may be all right for no names like that Flint guy, but for you? Your father and grandfather sit by the Dark Lord's side; you have a reputation to live up to. Think of your future, your career."

He broke off, waiting for some sort of reaction from Draco that did not come. The boy simply looked at him with cold, expressionless eyes, and if Macnair hadn't known better, he could've sworn he saw a sneer wrinkling his nose.

However, one did not sneer at a Grand Dragon of the Dark Council, so he was sure he had imagined it. "Forget about the Ghost Riders, Draco. Come join us."

"Well, sir, that offer is really ... tempting," Draco said slowly. "However, it's too big a decision to make rashly; I'll need time to consider. I should talk to my father about it first."

"Of course," Macnair agreed. "As for your father, I have to admit that I already mentioned the idea to him and he seems quite in favour of it. Your career certainly means a lot to him. I shouldn't be surprised; what father wouldn't want the best for his only son?"

His last words sounded particularly smug. After all, the Macnairs had three more sons besides Tod; while the Malfoys' only other child was a daughter. "Don't take too much time for your considerations," Macnair added. "After all, how difficult can it be to find out where your true career chances lie?"

"If you really are in need of a quick answer, sir, I shouldn't make you wait." Draco shrugged his shoulders, making a half-hearted attempt at a saddened face. "I'm very sorry, but I have to decline your generous offer. I sincerely hope my decision doesn't cause you any trouble."

"Well if that's the only answer you can give..." The jovial, almost patronizing look on Macnair's face gave way to an angry frown. "I bid you goodnight, my lad, and I hope for your sake that you won't regret your decision."

"The same to you, sir," Draco answered, "and good luck for your search."

* * *

"...and when the Snitch hid behind those strange weeds, I reckoned we'd never see it again ... anyways Natalie would've got it for sure, if that stupid Grindylow hadn't ... hey, Mi!"

"My name is Hermione and I'm not a possessive pronoun." Without sparing him so much as a glance, Hermione swept past Ron and the group of devoted listeners surrounding him. She appreciated his good work as Quidditch match referee and Quidditch match organiser and such, oh yes, she really did, and he had done a great job and everything, but now it was simply enough! He had spent the better part of the after-match-celebration hopping from one group to the next, entertaining each with boastful stories and colourful anecdotes. And those fools even fell for them, especially the girls. They were staring at him all open-mouthed and glassy-eyed as if they didn't have anything better to do than listen to that little show-off.

"Hermione, wait, where are you going?" he called after her. "It's too early for bed yet. I mean it's only..." a rustle of fabric behind her indicated the desperate search for a clock or watch, "... wicked, one thirty. Can it really be that late?"

"Yes, it can, Ron." She didn't turn around. "And I'm very tired, so please excuse me."

"Wait for me, mates, I'll be back in a moment!" Ron abandoned his audience to chase after Hermione, not hearing Lavender's stifled yawn and Seamus' sleepy: "How 'bout we call it a day?" He looked frantically in the direction of the Gryffindor dormitories, but, to his surprise, Hermione made no attempt to enter any of the little wooden and paper houses. Instead she turned to the pond.

Passing white and purple water lilies, she traversed the wooden plates leading into the middle of the glistening waters. Finally, she sat down, drawing her knees to her chest and staring silently into the darkness around her.

"Why such a temper all of a sudden?" he called, hurrying up to her. "They all admired your decorations for the match, didn't they? The Tritons even wanted to keep most of them. Or are you disappointed that we didn't win?"

"Rubbish." Even in the darkness he could see the familiar frown on her face. "The Ravenclaws really deserve their victory, and I'm perfectly happy for them."

"That's it, isn't it?" Not heeding her answer, Ron dropped down next to her on the wooden plate and claimed: "You're upset because we lost the match. Even if it wasn't the bad S-word who defeated us."

"Why can't you just stop being such a bother?" She jumped up, glaring at him, and then gave a skip onto the next plate to sit down further away from him.

"Maybe because I like to bother you. You see, if we can't talk to each other properly, we could at least argue and bicker and snarl at each other again. You know, I really don't mind you only talking to Harry and not talking to me anymore, I'm used to it by now, and I don't even feel ignored. But now that you've started bickering with him instead of me, I'm afraid he's intruding in my territory."

Utterly bewildered, she turned to look at him, but his face didn't betray whether he was serious or making fun of her. "What are you going on about, Ron? I thought we discussed this. I know that Harry and I spend more time together because of our responsibilities, but it's not like I'm trying to get between the two of you. We're still best friends, all three of us, and there's no reason for you to feel left out. Your jealousy is getting ridiculous, you know."

"And when will you ever learn that not all the world revolves around Harry?" he muttered.

"Just drop it, won't you?" There was fatigue and weariness in her voice as she rested her head on her knees, closing her eyes for a moment. "Maybe you have enough energy left for arguing, bickering and snarling as you put it so nicely, but I really don't, and I don't see why we should make things more difficult than they already are by fighting amongst ourselves."

"I didn't come here to fight. You're getting it all wrong, I only wanted ... well, I..."

"So what did you want?"

"Talk to you, I guess. Just talk to you."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, and when she turned to face him, it was with an irritated scowl in her eyes. "You had all night to talk to me, Ron, or you would've had, if you hadn't been so busy showing off. And now when I'm tired and want to go to sleep, you want to talk. Excellent timing, really."

"It wasn't my fault." Ron shrugged. "There was just so much going on earlier ... the party ... all those people who wanted to talk about the match..."

"So you're telling me you needed an entire four hours to tell them how great you are at Quidditch? Now I can certainly see why we don't talk with each other anymore. I still don't understand why you're trying to blame it on me, though, but that must be a kind of logic I'm not familiar with." She rose from her seated position and turned towards the buildings. "Good night, Ron."

There was a certain finality in her voice as she spun around and swept away. He knew it would be no use going after her, although part of him longed to do just that. "Night, Hermione," he muttered between clenched teeth, but he didn't think she had heard him. He scowled after her until she had disappeared in one the houses, wondering how a person with so much brains could be so unreasonable.

He didn't feel like sleeping, so he sat back down, watching the lights go out and listening to the voices fading away. She was unreasonable, wasn't she? And why was she withdrawing from him and spending so much time with Harry instead? What were they not telling him? Was he no longer good enough to share their secrets?

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there lost in his thoughts when he suddenly noticed a movement at the edge of the pond. A tiny red light glowed in the darkness only to disappear moments later, but still he could see two shadowy figures hurrying along the shore. The light was gone before he had time to recognize them, but they were carrying brooms, and another second later he heard a soft rustle in the air above him.

They were leaving the hideout.

So they had to be two seventh year Prefects, but who could it be and why?

Would Ernie and Hannah abuse their privileges for a little lover's stroll in the moonlight? Surely not. Or was it the Ravenclaws? No, it couldn't be them, at least not Lisa; she was in the hospital wing. An attack by one of those Water Widows ... what if Ernie and Hannah wanted to take down the Quidditch loops or something? But why not wait until tomorrow? Why sneak out in the middle of the night?

Harry and Hermione! Was that the reason why she had wanted to get away from him so quick? No, that wasn't possible; she wouldn't draw on a dirty trick like that. Using fatigue as pretence so she could sneak out with Harry? That was definitely not her.

But she had kept secrets from him before, hadn't she?

Secrets, yes, but she would never lie to him. Those were Ernie and Hannah after all. Or maybe Ernie had an affair with Terry from Ravenclaw, and didn't want Hannah to know, or Harry had an affair with Hannah, or maybe...

There had to be an explanation. There just had to be.

* * *

"You really are certain, aren't you?" Eyeing Harry dubiously, Hermione got off her broom. "I sure hope you didn't wake me up for nothing. I'm very tired, and besides, it's not safe to be out here all the time, you know that."

"Yes, I'm certain." Harry fetched his ring from under his shirt, shielding the light with his hands as he showed it to her. The two gemstones inside the ring glowed in a deep red colour, bringing a bizarre, almost demonic life to the dog-shaped head, almost as if it was looking at the two of them. "This has to mean something; the eyes have never shone like that. I thought it likely that an urgent message is waiting for me, and no - I can't hide beneath that or the owl will not find me." He caught her hand as she raised the Invisibility cloak to drape it over him.

Their eyes searched the sky, but there was no movement between the clouds and stars. "Should we ask Hagrid if he saw something?" she wondered, looking at the black shape of the former gamekeeper's hut barely visible between the trees.

"No, there's no reason to wake him. You know that the owl only comes to me."

"If it comes at all," she muttered, not even trying to hide the suspicion in her voice. Who could say what other powers that ring might have? What if it was a trap?

Silence fell like a shadow, like the soundless shadow hovering around Harry's dark hair; two large feathery wings spreading over his shoulders like angel's wings as it came to land; soft feathers brushing against his cheek like a caress. He closed his eyes for a moment, and as he opened them again, his face was void of all emotion. Yet his hands shook slightly as they took the letter clasped in the owl's beak.

"Is someone in trouble?" Hermione wanted to know, dreading the answer.

"I'm afraid so. We should get back to the hideout and form a rescue mission."

* * *

"Lavender, Parvati, Eloise, Tara!" Hermione raced from one bed to the other trying to shake her roommates awake. "Wake up, there's an emergency!"

As the five Gryffindor girls rushed outside, clasping their brooms, they faced a crowd of anxious, hastily-clad young witches and wizards; some faces stifling yawns, others small and pale and worried. No one had got more than a few hours of sleep after the match, and no one understood yet why they had been so roughly woken.

Harry waited until everyone was within hearing distance and started to explain. "The Blood Legion has been asked to conduct a search of Diagon Alley. We don't know who or what it is they're searching for, but we should try to find out more. If someone's in danger, we could help them."

"Uhm ... sorry, but how do we get past the Leaky Cauldron?" Parvati wanted to know. "Didn't you say the Ghost Riders are in there?"

"I did, but it's possible to reach Diagon Alley via air, and it's quicker at that. It's going to be a hard ride though; we'll need to get there as fast as possible. Everyone who doesn't think him or herself capable of this should better stay. I know you're all tired, so..." A defiant silence answered him, and not one of them stepped back, so he continued: "They aren't expecting us, so that gives us the benefit of surprise, but you all know that we can't face the Blood Legion in an open fight. We stay out of harm's way unless there are people to be rescued. Then we'll take them and be off."

"We know, Harry, we know." Seamus reached for his wand to make sure it was stowed safely inside his pockets. "It's our usual hit and run strategy."

"That's exactly what I was going to say." Harry mounted his broom. "Let's go."

* * *

Amicus Draconis - 1st Cycle: Cycle of the Badger - Part 4: Offers and Offerings

"I wonder, I wonder, do you know what I wonder?"

"I wonder if I could throw my rubber duck at the other children when Auntie Voldie's not looking."

"Yeah, let's all go throw our toys at each other, that would be heaps of fun. We have so many toys at the Kindergarten and we all watched Home Alone, although it's a Muggle movie and Auntie Voldie has forbidden us to watch Muggle movies, but we don't care as long as they have naked people in them."

"Yesterday, Lord Luscious got framed for watching Notting Hill."

"Eurgh ... bad image ... very bad image." *throws rubber duck*

"How dare you cast this rubber duck at me, scoundrel! I am Grand Chicken McDonald, Lord of the Burger Legion and I can make you gain weight!"

"Hold your tongue, mingling mongrel. I am Grand Lick Luscious, also known as Mighty Malfoy Mouse, and I do not gain weight, because I'm incredibly sexy. And keep your hands off my son, pervert or I'll go tell on you."

"Ha!" *scamper scamper* "Can't tell, can't tell!" *sticks out tongue* "Auntie Voldie knows everything you ever did. Naah-nah-nah-naah-naah! I'm Grand Greasy Ripper Rattyglue and I'm telling on you all!"

"I fart in your general direction, you silly English kaniggets! Your father was a shrubbery and your mother was a pokémon. Cower, mes poupettes, for I am Grand Lay Strange, Master of Disneyland ... uhm ... actually I meant Azkaban, but they both look like Neuschwanstein anyways. I'm Aunty Voldie's favourite, favourite baby in all of Kindergarten."

"No, that's me, and I broke your favourite favourite baby doll. Oopsie!"

"I ate your burger!"

"I'm in on playing Hide-and-Seek and you're not!"

"I stole all your little horsies."

"Yeah, that's because you're blackmailing Captain Flintstone with his girlfriend. Grab and Growl, go get my pimpcane. And hit him. Hard."

"Eurgh ... bad image ... very bad image." *throws another rubber duck*

"Shush ... we have to be good boys now. Here comes Auntie Voldie."

"Shshshshsh...."

"Uhm, Fred?"

"Yeah, George?"

"There're no naked people in Home Alone."

"Thank goodness."

Amicus Draconis - 1. Zyklus: Zyklus des Dachses - Teil 4: Angebote und Opfergaben