Thunder crackled in the distance and bolts of lightning split the night sky in two, unleashing torrents of rain upon Hogsmeade town. The wind blew in frequent cold gusts that sent shivering passers-by to seek refuge from the storm in nearby buildings, until the streets were nearly deserted. Everything outside was wet and dark and cold.

Inside The Three Broomsticks, the village's most popular pub, however, everything was bustling with warmth and light and cheer. Madam Rosmerta, the pub's pretty young owner, went around to table after noisy table, delivering steaming mugs of butterbeer and mulled mead to grateful customers who had come in to seek shelter from the pouring rain. With all the noise and activity going on, none of the customers noticed the five grim and quiet figures sitting at a table in a dark corner.

The most prominent of them was a tall, thin, and ancient looking man, a wizard with long, flowing white hair and a white beard. He wore a tall, pointed cap and long gray robes, and his face was lined by his numerous years. Behind a pair of half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes were grave with worry.

"Albus," one of his companions said to him from across the table, "What news did you hear, regarding, well…" The man turned around to make sure that nobody was listening, then he whispered, "…the four families?"

"You need not whisper, Filius," Albus Dumbledore answered calmly. "You won't be heard over this noise."

Filius Flitwick looked a bit wary. Being a squeaky-voiced dwarf of a man with flowing white hair like Dumbledore's, he was so small that he had to sit on a pile of books to see over the table.

"As for the four families, I think you need not worry about them," Dumbledore continued. "You see, I made special arrangements to ensure their safety. Two families were even instructed to move closer to us, where they can be better under our protection."

Another person at the table gasped. Pomona Sprout, a dumpy little witch, was sitting to Dumbledore's right, wearing ragged garb and a pointed brown hat to match. She was looking at the wise old wizard in horror.

"But Albus!" she said to him. "You know that it will do no good for them to move to a different country! You-Know-Who can reach them anywhere overseas if he wants to! Why, don't you know that? They must use the Fidelius Charm to go into hiding, for that is the only way to protect them! For all we know, they could all be dead by now-"

"Silence, please, Pomona," Dumbledore said evenly. "I am perfectly aware of these families' whereabouts, and I assure you that they are all alive and safe, and that none of them need to go into hiding. I have appointed a special guardian to watch over them all. This guardian possesses powers that can and will protect…"

"Excuse me, Albus? Did you say…one guardian?" Pomona continued incredulously. "How can one guardian take care of four families?"

"I assure you that the guardian is most qualified for the job, Pomona," Dumbledore said. "Please do not doubt me. The guardian for these four families is one of my most skilled Aurors in the entire Order of the Phoenix. It is of extreme importance that these families are highly protected, and that they never bring together the things which they are sworn to protect."

"But who exactly are the four families?" inquired the thin, sallow-skinned young man who sat at Flitwick's right, a man with a hooked nose and greasy black hair.

"The four families are those people who are protecting a very dangerous and powerful weapon that we cannot afford to surrender to the dark side, Severus," Dumbledore replied. "The weapon comes in four parts, only functioning when all four parts are united together. It is our job to protect these four families and to make sure that the components of the weapon remain in their possession and are never brought together for any evil purpose."

Severus shot Dumbledore a shrewd and questioning glance.

"Why is the weapon not destroyed, then?" he asked, his voice quickening. "If it is so dangerous, it shouldn't even exist!"

"Ah, but, Severus," said Dumbledore, shaking his head, "The weapon is only dangerous if it falls into the wrong hands, or is used for the wrong purpose. But used in the right way, it can work to our benefit. Using this weapon according to the guidelines for which it was made is the secret to using it well. For now, though, it must not be used. At this time, we must only protect it from the clutches of dark wizards."

"I see," said Snape, raising his eyebrows. "But who are these families who protect the weapon?"

"The Nelson, Falcon, Wolf, and Matrix families have been trusted to do it," Dumbledore replied, looking a bit tired.

A sigh followed his words and everyone's attention shifted to the last, yet so far unspoken member of the table. She was a stern woman with dark hair tied into a tight bun at the back of her head. Her eyes were narrowed, but she looked as tired as Dumbledore.

"Albus?" she said softly, breaking the silence.

"Yes, Minerva?" Dumbledore addressed her kindly.

"You can be sure that I do not doubt the decisions you make," Minerva McGonagall said quietly. "But I am curious to know your reasoning in choosing these families. What is it that is so special about them that they are the worthiest candidates to protect something so powerful and dangerous?"

Dumbledore contemplated how best to answer the question for a few moments, before he leaned in toward the table. The others instinctively drew in closer as well, as if anticipating sharing in a special secret.

"The reason for that," Dumbledore said, "is not even within my control. It is something you must not know right now, but it is the very idea on which this weapon is based."

The companions merely looked puzzled at this statement.

"You see," Dumbledore said, "The only thing I can tell you now is this: As the heads of your houses you four must all work together. Whatever differences you have, you must put them aside in favor of reaching a common goal. Cooperation is the key to success.

"Now you might all be different people. You all came from different houses at Hogwarts, after all. You might look at the person sitting next to you at this table and think that you have nothing in common with them. For instance, Minerva, you might feel that you and Severus here are very different people. You come from rivaling houses, and while you have had years of teaching experience here, this is Severus' first year at the job. I know that you two may not get along very well…"

McGonagall and Snape both avoided Dumbledore's eyes when he said this.

"…but these are petty differences that you must cast aside in order to complete our purpose. I have placed my utmost confidence in everyone sitting at this table, and I do not wish to be let down."

Everyone was silent. Dumbledore's companions were dumbfounded at his words, privately thinking that his warning was a bit strange, and wondering exactly what it had to do with them. Snape furrowed his brow and Sprout rested her head on her hand and stared at Dumbledore, not knowing what else to say. It was Dumbledore who finally broke the silence.

"Shall I order a round of drinks for everyone, then? I think there is nothing more that need be said concerning this situation, at least not for now."

There was a grateful murmuring of assent, and Dumbledore ordered a round of butterbeers from the smiling Rosmerta, who had come around to take their order.

All the same, the four companions could not forget Dumbledore's words, which troubled them all for a long time afterward.

While the storm drew everyone in Hogsmeade to the warmth of The Three Broomsticks pub, an even fiercer one raged over a small cottage in Wales. Although the thunder was roaring outside the cottage, a toddler was peacefully sleeping in her crib inside, unaware of the weather. Beside the crib was a small basket, and in the basket there was a wand on which a black scarab beetle perched in the dark. It was curiously flecked with gold and would have glittered with a sequined magnificence had there been light. While the scarab itself remained unseen, it was aware of everything going on in the room.

While the rain poured incessantly outside, an uneasy quiet was forming inside the toddler's room, which only the scarab seemed to notice. It tensed up suddenly, as if steeling itself up for something about to happen.

As if on cue, the bedroom window opened, and the likeness of a beautiful young woman stepped in. Her skin had absolutely no color except the pure white of fresh snow. Long locks of dark hair flowed from her head, and her hooded robes were black.

She turned her head, cautiously surveying the scene, and looked toward the crib where the toddler lay asleep. A smile overtook the strange lady's face as she slowly bared her teeth, expressing her longing and anticipation. When she did this, a lock of her hair fell out of place to reveal the only flaw around her pretty face. Her right ear was deformed, for it was much smaller than it should have been.

In an instant, the vampire flew to the crib and pounced on the child, who awoke with a start, screaming as a set of teeth slashed into its neck.

The scarab in the basket was now a beetle no longer, but a brilliantly beautiful young witch, with flowing black hair that was streaked with gold.

The witch did not spare a second to regard the scene, but immediately jumped at the vampire, grabbing it by the neck. This attack caused the baby to fall back down into the crib, and as it lay there, it still screamed.

The witch ignored the child and focused on the vampire, who was struggling against her strong grip. She held the vampire down on the floor with all her might, so the latter decided to change tactics by leaning forward and maliciously biting her on the nose.

In surprise, the witch cried out and let go of the vampire, who tried to take advantage of the opportunity. She reached out to scratch the witch's face with her long fingernails, but this time the witch was too quick. Grabbing the vampire by the arm, she used all her strength to drag her across the room. Then, clutching onto the strange woman's throat, she heaved her up and hurled her out the window. When the vampire hit the ground below, the witch pulled out her wand, pointed, and yelled, "CRUCIO!"

A jet of light flew from the wand and the vampire screamed, on fire with pain. She writhed and twisted on the ground in agony, pounding her fists on the ground and cursing the witch at the top of her lungs.

When the spell died away, and the witch looked down at the vampire with disgusted contempt, calling down in a loud voice:

"Never again shall you come to this house, Vera!"

The vampire stared up at the witch, breathless with pain and eyes full of malice, but saying nothing.

"If I ever see you around this house again, I will kill you. Is that understood?" the witch continued, dangerously.

The vampire got up, clutching at her sides, gasping for breath. She paused to flick a lock of hair over her deformed ear to cover it up, and hobbled away.

"My master will avenge me," she snarled as she left. "You will pay for this!"

Inside the child's bedroom the witch's warlike demeanor left her. She lovingly picked up the baby and rocked it, gently singing her back to sleep with the sweet melody of a Celtic lullaby.

When the child was finally quiet again, the witch gently placed it back into its crib, giving it a last loving gaze before she turned away. As she did so, she spied a gold chain on the floor, gasped, and immediately snatched it up, clutching it to her throat with the same fierce protectiveness that had guarded the child. The chain had a round locket attached to it and had fallen off her neck during her fight with the vampire. She gave a cry of disappointment to find it broken.

She sighed and disappeared, and once again there was a black scarab beetle on the floor. It calmly lay there, acting as if nothing had happened at all.

An hour later, the storm was dying down. A fire burned in the middle of a nearby forest, illuminating two figures in hooded black robes standing beside it.

"I couldn't do it, my lord," one of them, a woman, said wearily. "I went everywhere, even across the sea. I went to all the families to whom I was supposed to go. Every time, I only managed to get but a sip of blood. Then this guardian of theirs would attack me, always showing up where I was, as if she always knew what I was doing and could follow me wherever I went." She shook her head in despair. "It is no use, my lord. There is nothing I can do without magic."

The woman fell down and broke into sobs which she wiped off of her face with the hem of her sleeve. The sight was a gruesome one, for vampires cried not with tears, but with blood.

The man sitting next to her was not moved by the sight. One might call him a man, but in truth he was more like a concentration of evil magic than the man he used to be. He had a snakelike face as white and drained of color as was the face of the vampire woman, with red eyes and slits for nostrils. This was Lord Voldemort, the most feared wizard in the world. He was so evil that most of his enemies were even frightened to say his name, always referring to him in their conversations as "You-Know-Who".

The vampire woman cowered to the ground.

"Master, forgive me, you know I have tried," she pleaded. "It was the witch…I couldn't defeat her…"

"Silence, Vera!" Voldemort commanded in a high, terrible voice.

It was as if the whole forest had fallen silent at his order.

"You cause shame to the Dark forces with your astounding stupidity, Vera," Voldemort snarled. "You would think that I have no use for non-magic filth like you. Why, I could pull out my wand and kill you right now, if I really wanted to. I could even torture you most terribly before you died, as farewell gift."

The vampire shuddered.

"Yet for reasons untold, I will keep you in my service."

"Thank you, master, thank you…" The vampire cried with joy and kissed Voldemort's feet.

"Never fail me again, Vera." Voldemort warned.

"No, master, never again…" Vera swore.

"If it is an Auror that stands in your way, I will see to it myself that she is captured, but it is still your job to capture the weapon I am after, and to kill the families that protect it. None of them must be left alive."

"None of them, my lord," Vera whispered, her voice quavering.

Voldemort's voice abruptly lowered, and he brushed a cold, white hand over the vampire's shrunken ear. "Never forget the gift I have given you, Vera."

"No," Vera replied in a small, obedient voice.

Voldemort ordered Vera to stand. When she did, he forced to look him in the eye, scanning her face closely. "Remember that although you are not like one of us, you do have special powers in your right. It is your duty to use them effectively. Remember my words, Vera."

The vampire nodded solemnly.

"I will render this enemy of yours useless so that nothing stands in the way of your mission. But after that I had better not see your face until the weapon is safely in your hands."

"Yes, master."

Voldemort seemed satisfied now. He pulled the hood of his robe over his head, and Vera did the same, once again covering her imperfect ear. She followed her master out of the forest without another word.