Prologue: The Hunters

Early June, 1992

"Mien Herr?"

The dark man stopped and turned, his face hidden beneath a veil of shadow.

"Jawohl?"

The young hunter felt his heart leap into his throat. After all, it wasn't everyday that one was addressed by a living legend, especially one of this magnitude.

"Herr Baron, the Superior has requested that you come to his cell immediately. He has some vital issues he wishes to consult you on."

"Did he say what they were?"

"No."

"Very well," he replied, and turned down the corridor

As he walked down the Gothic corridors the baron heard the bells toll out six o'clock; they were quickly followed by the melodious sounds of a Gregorian chant wafting down the hall. Vespers. The baron paused and bowed his head, offering up a quick prayer for his fallen comrades, and his family. Kyrie elieson…Lord have mercy. Dies Irae…

Soon he came up to a large wooden door, unmarked except for a simple silver cross; a necessary precaution in their line of work. He knocked three times, and the door opened slowly. The baron quietly stepped in, and the door closed behind him.

The Superior's cell was sparsely decorated. A cot, a kneeler, a desk, a chair and a wardrobe were all that decorated the expansive room. There were no personal items, no images of his home or family, nothing to hint at his past life. Just an ornate gold crucifix, half-buried under a pile of scrolls and parchment on the table, a gift from his fiancée, who had fallen victim to the vampiric curse fifty years ago.

"Father Superior?" He called out.

A door opened on the other side of the room and the superior stepped out of his private washroom, followed by a figure cloaked in a deep purple robe.

"Ah, Baron von Hess, so good of you to come."

Von Hess genuflected on his left knee and kissed the Superior's ring.

"Always glad to be of service, Father."

The Superior smiled sadly, then turned and walked over to his desk. As he sat down he folded his hands and fixed Von Hess with a compassionate look. Meanwhile, Von Hess arose and took a seat opposite the Superior while the cloaked stranger took a third seat, far away from the other two, still hidden in the shadows. Von Hess regarded him suspiciously, but made no move. His hunter senses weren't reacting, so he forced himself to remain calm.

"Do you know the reason I have summoned you here before you left, my son?"

"I must confess to ignorance in that matter, Father."

"Are you aware of the latest going-ons in the wizarding world?"

"Nothing comes immediately to mind, Father."

"You know nothing of the current events at Hogwarts?"

"No Father, I…" Von Hess paused, suddenly remembering; a random bit of information he had heard while talking with the abbey's alchemist. Of course! How could he forget? It was only the biggest news in the alchemist community since its discovery. "The Sorcerer's Stone. I remember now; the Stone was being kept at Hogwarts for safe-keeping, but someone managed to break in and steal it. They failed to get it out, though, and the Stone was later destroyed."

"Nothing else?"

"That's all the alchemist would tell me, but I suspect he knew more than he was letting on."

"That's true. I placed him under an obedience not to discuss the Stone with anybody, except to give the bare outline of the story."

"If that's the case Father, you could have just left me a copy of the Daily Prophet."

"Yes, that's true. What was it you always said about the Prophet my son?"

"Oh, well while what it tells us may fill a newspaper, what it doesn't tell us could fill an encyclopedia." As he said this he stopped, suddenly realizing what was going on. "And that is why you called me down here, isn't it Father? To tell me about what it hasn't told us?"

Suddenly, the cloaked figure spoke out from the shadows. "As usual, Wolfgang, you keen intellect never ceases to fail you. Your ability to discover the answer by simply piecing together the tiniest bits of information is simply astonishing." As he said this he stood up, stepped into the light and pulled back his hood.

"Headmaster!" Von Hess jumped out of his seat, shocked and overjoyed at seeing his old headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

Professor Dumbledore smiled. "It's a pleasure seeing you again Wolfgang. I only wish it were under better circumstances."

"The feeling is shared, Headmaster," Von Hess replied as they shook hands and resumed their seats. "I take it there's more to this matter, then merely a pivotal event in the annals of alchemic lore?"

"Unfortunately yes. It has to do with who tried to steal the Stone."

"It was one of you teachers, wasn't it Headmaster?"

"Only partially. He was merely a tool, an instrument. The real mastermind behind the plot was none other the Lord Voldemort." A heavy silence permeated the room.

"Wolfgang?"

"It had to end sometime, I suppose."

"Yes. Sooner than we all expected I fear."

"How did he fail?"

"I'm afraid I neglected to mention another important fact; this was also Harry Potter's first year at Hogwarts."

"Indeed? So now it begins."

"Yes."

"I take it the prophecy has not yet been fulfilled?"

"No. Voldemort was delayed, not defeated. He cannot yet assume physical form; he must inhabit another creature's body. But his hatred, his thirst for vengeance is just as strong. I think it is all that is keeping him alive."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"At the moment, nothing; go about your business as you normally would, do nothing to draw attention to yourself. But be vigilant. Inform the Council, they will know how best to prepare you. Keep your eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. Also, if you can, see if you can reunite Team Tepes. Judah van Helsing, Patrick O'Reilley, Ivan Turgenev, Richard Belmont, Fred Abberline, and the rest."

"Even Luther?"

"Wolfgang, if Voldemort is able to regain the full extant of his powers, Luther's mania is going to be the least of our worries."

"True enough."

"I will send all of you a letter giving the full details of what has happened, as well as a possible meeting place. Be on the watch, Wolfgang," Dumbledore implored as he rose from his seat.

"Must you leave so soon, Headmaster?"

"We will meet again soon, I promise you."

"Good luck then, Headmaster."

"Luck? Oh yes, we shall need that; and much more."

Mid-June, 1992

Judah van Helsing was in deep contemplation. He had to be. Otherwise he wouldn't be out skeet-shooting so close to dinner time; but it was either that or pace around the study, and since his wife had been complaining about the carpet wearing thin from his pacing, it had to be this. It was quite an interesting sight; the more distracted he was, the more accurate he was.

"Do you want to talk about it Judah, or are you just going to mope about it all evening?" Richard Belmont asked lazily from where he was reclining on the lawn bench. He sipped from his glass of Calvert.

Judah took one last shot and sat down on his lawn bench. Meanwhile Smiley the house-elf scuttled off to find and fix the pigeons in case his master wasn't finished for the evening.

Judah reached over and retrieved his letter from Dumbledore off the ground. He still couldn't believe it; James and Lily's son was at Hogwarts, and Voldemort was back. "And my little girl about to start school as well."

"Listen old chap, compared to what we had to go through, Rachel's going to have a breeze. But, that's not really what's bothering you is it?"

"No, it isn't."

"Well, what is bothering you?"

"I don't know."

"Oh Lord, if anyone had told me I'd live to see the day the House of Van Helsing was changing its colors, I'd have called them crazy. What you have to be so damn scared of is absolutely beyond me. I don't hear your wife begging you every month to quit the field and get a desk job."

"No Richard, but you're also not as cold-blooded as I am. I don't enjoy killing for its own sake."

"Don't give me that crap. You love field work; you relish every chance you get to use that Winchester just as I do my whips. It's not death you're scared of and there's little chance of you falling victim to the vampiric bite, so what are you scared of really, Judah van Helsing?"

"So many old wounds to open up, so many scars to heal; Luther, Wolfgang, Fred, Patrick…And besides, good against vampires is one thing; good against Voldemort? Well, that's something else."

"No one ever said it was going to be easy Judah."

"No they didn't, did they? I just keep remembering that look on Patrick's face…" he drifted off.

"Judah, we're hunters, defenders. These are the moments we relish, the moments we were born for; no matter how abhorrent it may seem, you love your job."

"Yes, I love it. God help me, I do love it so."

"O'RIELLY, TURGENEV, MY OFFICE, NOW!!!!"

As the howler self-combusted, Patrick O'Reilly turned and gave a knowing look to his partner, Ivan Turgenev.

"Ready to go get our asses chewed off, lad?" he asked as he chugged down his Jameson's.

"Patrick, my ass is so numb I doubt I could feel anything he could actually do." Despite his many years of living and working in England, Ivan had yet to soften his thick Russian accent.

They drew a large number of stares as they walked down the hallway to the elevator. Of course, they were quite a sight; Patrick had a black eye, a cut going from his temple to his chin, a torn shirt-shoulder caked in blood, and his hair and shoulders were covered in dried ceiling plaster. Ivan had a gash across his chest, a blood-soaked shirt, mud-caked pants, and dried blood covering the corner of his mouth and his upper lip.

As they got out of the elevator they turned left towards the captains offices until they reached Captain Vos' office. Patrick raised his hand to knock, but the door swung open of its own account. The two men entered nervously, only to have the door slam behind them.

"Fifteen cars, twenty motorcycles, five bikes and two double-deckers! Do you have any idea how long it's going to take the Ministry to cover this one up?! You've got Arthur Weasley working over-time from now till Judgment Day! I often wonder how your mornings go. Do you just call each other up and figure out the best way to screw up my life indefinitely, like causing that chaos and getting it on the Muggle news?! Well??!!" Captain Vos was short and balding, but he was one of the strongest guys in the IHA, not someone to tangle with lightly. However, his high voice and tendency to overreact had caused him to bear the brunt of more than a few jokes around the locker-room. No such jokes came into Patrick's mind however, because Vos' red face, bulging eyes and protruding veins gave only a hint of the raging volcano inside. Better to just suffer the abuse in silence.

"Alright, let's try to look at the bright side of this fiasco. Thankfully, no one was killed, although I don't know how you managed to pull that off, especially with your driving skills O'Reilly. And you did catch the Soothsayer and his gang alive, but again O'Reilly, I'm sure your trigger-happy finger made no contribution to that. Well, anyway, now we can finally close the books on this case and turn our full attention to the Witchdoctor."

"I thought Henley took care of that, sir," Ivan asked.

"So did I, but it was only a red herring, a ruse to put us off the scent. Did a damn fine job of it too, that's why I'm putting you two on it."

"You—you mean we're not on suspension, sir?" Patrick could hardly believe his ears.

"No, you're not on probation. The Ministry can't tell us what to do, and we need you on this case. Why? Because Turgenev is the best investigator we've got, and you O'Reilly aren't afraid to take the risks these jobs require."

"But what about the mess we just caused?"

"Don't get me wrong O'Reilly. Your results are unquestionable, but your methods, well they leave much to be desired. Besides, let's just say I'm used to your antics by now."

Patrick and Ivan turned to give each other a confused look. The last time they had caused this much trouble, Vos had threatened to suspend them the next time it happened. Vos saw them.

"Listen you two, I understand that these Voodoo devotees don't always play by the rules, and sometimes the chaos is an unfortunate side effect that comes with hunting them down. I'm not upset at you; it's just that the Ministry's so far up my ass right now that if they spit it's coming out of my mouth. You know Fudge has been promising to get tough on IHA's autonomy again. I just don't want the two of you to give him an opportunity to actually do it. Savvy? Good, now get started."

As they walked out of the office Patrick let out a sigh of relief. "I thought for sure we were toast that time."

"So did I. Fortunately for us Captain Vos' dislike of Ministry interference in the IHA is stronger than his hatred for us. Patrick, on this mission please, I beg you, take it easy. I have only seven more years until I get my pension, after which I can get a desk job and assure Helga that she won't have a dead hero for a husband. Patrick? Are you even listening to me?"

He wasn't; his attention was caught by two letters left on their desks with a Hogwart's seal on them. Ivan saw them and stopped talking. Slowly they both opened them and read them. Patrick put his down and looked at Ivan.

"I think the Witch Doctor's going to be the least of our worries for a while, don't you?"

Ivan didn't respond. Seven more years, he reminded himself, seven more years.

Early July, 1992

Wolfgang pulled at the doorbell, which let loose a bell with a mournful sounding toll. A skeleton opened the door and bowed in acquiescence when it saw the baron. Silently he beckoned him in down the dank, musty corridor. Wolfgang looked around. Everything was covered in a layer of dust and cobwebs. As they passed through the Great Hall a blank spot on the wall marked where the family portrait had once been.

They ascended a flight of stairs and came to a pair of doors that Wolfgang knew lead to the study. The skeleton went in while he waited outside. Shortly it returned and beckoned him in, then removed his hat and cloak. While the skeleton went to hang them up and get some refreshments Wolfgang approached a high-backed chair in front of an empty fire place. A blank spot over the mantle revealed where a wedding portrait had once been.

"Wolfgang, so good of you to come. It's been some time, hasn't it?" A voice came from the chair; it was smooth and clear, almost seductive.

"Thank you for having me Luther. It has been a long time, far too long. I noticed your taste for the exotic remains as consistent as ever."

"Ah yes, Bones. He's quiet, discreet, and never tires out. Yes, he's an excellent valet." As he spoke he stood up, towering over the very tall Wolfgang. "But your not here to discuss my valets, are you Wolfgang?"

"No, I haven't." There was no use in beating around the bush with Luther von Lichtenstein. "Have you received Dumbledore's letter?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I relish the idea of resuming the quest. I still have some old scores to settle, as you well know."

"Luther, I'm not sure you understand. We can't allow our personal feelings to get tangled up in this."

"I'm surprised at your naiveté Wolfgang. I'm more surprised to see you so squeamish; that is not your reputation."

"Not squeamish, just morally concerned."

"You're starting to sound like an Innocent," Luther replied condescendingly as he signaled two glasses, which immediately filled themselves up with brandy.

"Luther, listen, I would like to see the Lestranges and the Malfoys hanged from the nearest tree as much as you would, but not at the cost of condescending to the Death Eater's level," Wolfgang retorted as a brandy floated towards him.

"When are you ever going to drop those outdated views on 'right' and 'wrong', Wolfgang? You of all people know where these rats came from, and yet you're the first one to rush to their defense. It sickens me."

"I didn't come here to play "Who's the Better Killer?", alright? Will you help us when the time comes?"

Luther sipped his brandy nonchalantly. "Without hesitation."

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some pressing matters back at the IHA, so I'll bid you good evening." Wolfgang hurried to the door where the skeleton was waiting with his hat and coat.

After he left Luther opened the secret passageway behind the bookcase, and brought a package to the desk in his study. Unwrapping it, he was glad to see that it was still in good condition. He lifted a longbow of the table and caressed it lovingly. This bow had made him one of the most feared hunters in Europe; now it would resurrect him from the abyss.

"Revenge is a dish best served cold," he mused, bitter tears falling down his face, a leering smile providing an odd juxtaposition. "Now my family can rest in peace…and I can finally be with them again."