Chapter 7: Christmas Revelations

Ron looked around as if he expected her to jump out of the shadows. Hermione didn't sigh though, even if she felt like it - and, on second thought, it was not that implausible to suspect. "Is this a joke?" Ron looked at her and Harry with a mixture of hope and desperation. He probably had never wanted to be pranked as much as right now.

"No, Ron, it's no joke." Harry put a hand on their friend's shoulder. "Remember when the Order couldn't find me, after the attack on my relatives? I was staying with the Slayer then."

Ron was gaping at him. Hermione sighed. "It started with a visit from my great-uncle." Ron slowly turned his head towards her. "My great-uncle visited me shortly after I had returned home. He had read the Daily Prophet, and the slander against Harry, and wanted to know what had happened."

"You've got a wizard in your family?"

"He's not a wizard, he's a Watcher. One of the men and women who guide, advise and direct the Slayer." Hermione started to explain.

"Her great-uncle tells the Slayer who and what to kill." Harry wasn't helping. Judging by the look Ron shot at Hermione, she had just become scarier than a Dementor. She stepped on Harry's foot while she smiled at their friend.

"My great-uncle is a member of the Watchers Council. They train the Slayer and support her in her battle against the forces of darkness. She hunts vampires, demons, and dark wizards."

"Yes, she killed the two Dementors that had attacked my relatives. Brought back their cloaks, nothing else was left," Harry added.

"She killed Dementors?" Ron's voice rose an octave.

"Yes. She can kill anything according to the recordings of the Council. But she's a nice girl. She won't kill without a good reason." Hermione stressed that.

"And she's hunting Voldemort and his Death Eaters. But she needs help. Our help. Your help." Harry chimed in again. Hermione would have felt bad for Ron getting double-teamed, but he had grown up with the twins. He should be used to that.

"Why would the Slayer need help? No one can stop her. No one can escape her!"

"That's not exactly true, Ron." Hermione sighed. "Sit down, this will take a while." Ron sat down on one of the chairs the Room provided.

"The world is older than you know..."


Ron was floored after Hermione's explanation. To think there were so many demons and vampires around, preying on muggles! He had never known about that. It was so much to take in. Why didn't the aurors go after the vampires for threatening the Statute of Secrecy? Or were they not allowed because that was the Slayer's duty? He shook his head. No, he had to focus on the important things: Hermione's uncle commanded the Slayer. The Slayer was a girl their age. She could kill Dementors. She was training with Harry and Hermione. His friends were working with the Slayer against Voldemort. And they wanted him to help…

"But why does the Slayer need your help?" Ron still didn't understand that. Nothing could stop the Slayer, after all.

"Voldemort and his Death Eaters are hiding behind Wards. We need to find out where those Death Eater mansions are, and how to pass through the wards quickly enough so they cannot flee or call for help." Hermione had that expression on her face she usually wore when she was helping him with homework. Slight, but soon to be growing annoyance. This was not the time to yank her chain and play dumb, Ron decided. Even if he still had trouble accepting that the Slayer needed any help.

"So… what can we do then?" Ron didn't think he was a weak wizard, but he was no curse-breaker. And neither was Harry. Hermione… he wasn't sure about her. Give her a book and a week, and she might be able to crack any ward. He didn't even consider not helping. He trusted his friends, and he already had agreed to fight, and kill, Death Eaters. He would not let them down. Not again, part of him added. The Slayer might be scary, but she was on their side, at least. He hoped she'd remember that, and not start killing any wizard.

"We're planning to interrogate the Death Eaters' children at school." Harry grinned slightly. "Kidnap them, pour veritaserum into them, and obliviate them afterwards."

Ron knew that wouldn't be that hard, not with their training, as his confrontation with Malfoy had shown, but… there were the aurors to consider. "How long would that take?"

"That's hard to say. We do not know how much the students here know, and how many there are. We have, of course, a few names already, from Voldemort's resurrection." Hermione started to explain, then looked guilty when Harry flinched a bit and rubbed his arm - the arm Ron knew had been cut by Pettigrew.

"I meant: how long would the interrogation take? I know the auror's schedules pretty well by now." Or lack thereof, Ron knew. Not all of the aurors at Hogwarts were too diligent in the execution of their duties.

"I would say at most 30 minutes to an hour - any longer and covering up their absence, and their memories, becomes too hard in my opinion," Harry stated.

"Should be enough to find out everything Malfoy knows. Including hair care." Ron saw Hermione roll her eyes and Harry grin, and smiled. He needed those little jokes. They made him think about how things were, and should be, and not about what would be. And he thought his friends needed them too. "So… we go after Malfoy?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not yet. After his ambush failed, he'll be under scrutiny from the teachers. They'll want to make sure he doesn't try anything else."

"And Snape will want to protect him," Harry added, sneering. Ron nodded - that foul git would likely help Malfoy do anything he wanted.

"So…" Hermione continued as if she had not heard Harry. Although she had not corrected him about 'Professor Snape', which was a good thing in Ron's opinion. "... we will focus first on training, and studying wards so we will know what to ask."

Ron groaned. Studying! And with Hermione more driven than before the exams. At least with his prefect duties, he'd have an excuse to get out of reading too much. Then he remembered that they were in their O.W.L. year, and shivered. Come May, he'd be dead from all the studying! Unless a Death Eater killed him first, of course.


"If that's all then this staff meeting is concluded." Albus Dumbledore kept smiling politely while his co-workers and Dolores Umbridge filed out of his office. Only when the door closed behind Minerva did he allow himself to chuckle with satisfaction. Two weeks of concerned parents, many of them rich, pressuring the Minister, a few well-worded and well-placed statements of his seconded by the examiners of the Ministry, and all educational decrees had been repealed. Madam Umbridge was effectively neutralized. She would be gone by the end of term too, until then she would be teaching, if one could call her lessons that, but then Emmeline Vance would replace her.

Until then, the students would have to make an effort themselves, but as far as he could tell, that was coming along nicely, considering that Harry and Miss Granger had not been as active in teaching and tutoring as they would have been without their extracurricular interests. Even Severus had not made too much of a fuss about not getting chosen as Dolores' replacement as he usually did at the start of each year - probably due to him being able to tutor his House in defense. Albus made a mental note to remind his friend that he should not be too effective in his tutoring - there was no need to teach combat spells to those who'd follow Voldemort if given the chance. Sometimes his spy was a bit too effective for their goals. On the other hand, Albus would be able to use this opportunity to help Harry and his friends train, which would help him gain their trust again. In addition to that Minerva was adamant about making sure her lions would be able to defend themselves, after he had shared his concerns about what young Malfoy may have had planned. Not that he admitted that he knew exactly what the Slytherin had had in mind.

Now if only his efforts to clear Remus' name would be progressing as well… And Kingsley's murderer had still not been found. At least the ridiculous notion that he had committed suicide had been dismissed by Amelia with all the scorn that deserved.


The vampire was thrown against the wall with so much force, the plaster cracked and peeled off. It blinked, stunned despite its undead nature. Before it could recover, India was on it, driving her fist into its stomach, folding it almost like a jackknife, then kicked its head with her knee, shattering teeth and jaw. Once more its head was smashed against the wall. She jumped straight up, then her left leg shot forward, her heel ramming straight into the monster's forehead, and the wall got pounded a third time by undead skull.

India flipped over, landed on her feet in a guard position, and frowned briefly. She had hoped to smash the head and dust the undead with that kick, but it looked she was not strong enough. Yet. Sighing with disappointment despite the thrill of the fight, she staked the broken demon. While its ashes fell down she turned around in the dinky basement in the East End. Four demons dead, three vampires and one Polgara Demon. Kit looked up from where he was sifting through the possessions of that group, and smiled at her. "Good work, India." She returned the smile, happy at his approval, and walked over to the table he was sitting at.

Sitting on the table she pulled one leg up and propped her head up on her knee, peering at the papers he was rifling through. "Anything interesting?"

To her disappointment he shook his head. "No, nothing that would indicate this group has been contacted by Voldemort. But…" He held up a small book of matches.

"Dennis' Pub?" India was briefly puzzled, then smiled. "Demon bar?"

Kit nodded "Possibly. We'll find out." He turned his head towards the stairs that led into this den of demons, and to the slender young wizard standing there. "Anything on your side?"

Fitzburg shook his head. "Nothing magical around here." India didn't like an outsider intruding on her and her watcher, but she accepted that even she needed magic support in case the witch vampire would turn up. And Fitzburg was a better choice than Granger, for obvious reasons.

"Let's go then!" India all but jumped off the table, anticipation filling her. A demon bar would be full of monsters she could fight and kill. And Kit would approve - she and her watcher had spent the last few weeks teaching the British demon population the wisdom of staying out of the brewing wizard civil war, if not out of the country altogether. She still craved killing dark wizards, but until the Watcher wizards surveilling Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade reported that the Death Eaters had started to relax their security and were slumming again, this was all she could do, according to Mister Travers.

"Yes, let's." Fitzburg smiled at her, though patronizingly, as if she was a child and not the Slayer. She almost glared at him, but then she caught the look Kit gave him and she smiled instead. It might be just protectiveness, but she thought she had seen some jealousy there.


Roselyn stood on a roof overlooking Diagon Alley, hidden in the shadows of a massive chimney. It had been built back when floo travel had just been invented and such large smokestacks had been needed to allow larger wizards to use it. Nowadays it offered her a perfect vantage spot. She longed to hunt, but she knew the aurors were still out and about, some openly patrolling the alley, others laying in wait. The death of Shacklebolt and Greyback, as well as the disappearance - and, as Voldemort had confirmed, death - of Carrow had spooked the Ministry, and the most Malfoy had achieved had been to cast suspicion for both on Lupin. He hadn't been able to get rid of the increased patrols.

Not that Roselyn thought the aurors would be able to stop her, but they might spot her, and Voldemort would know of her presence in the alley. She was not ready for that particular confrontation. Yet. Sighing, she glided over the shingles, passing through the boundaries into muggle London.

An hour later she was standing in front of Dennis' Pub. Or rather, the ruins left of the building. She jumped over the barriers the muggle authorities had erected to warn curious children off, and stepped inside the remains of the pub. It was evident that someone had burned it down. Given the usual fire wards on such pubs, to handle some of the more volatile customers, that meant magic. She still checked with her wand, to be sure.

Magic meant wizards. But which ones? Not the Ministry's. Malfoy would have known, the aurors did nothing without permission and paperwork. Dumbledore's Order was a possibility, but… a flick of her wand confirmed what her nose told her: A lot of blood had been spilled here. That didn't seem to be their style. Even Death Eaters often went for less bloody killings, unless it was to send a message. That left the Watchers. According to her surviving contacts, the Watchers had started a purge recently, hunting down demons all over Britain. Supposedly even the Slayer was present.

The sound of broken cinder blocks falling down made her whirl around and retreat into the nearest shadow.

"Ow! I scraped my knee."

"Don't be a baby, Jim."

"It's not your knee."

"Shut up and come on."

Human voices. And the sweet smell of blood, Fresh blood. Roselyn's nostrils flared and she had to make an effort to keep from showing her true face. Two young men climbed over the lowest wall. She smelled alcohol, cheap one, on their breath. Clothes were not too expensive. Was it a bet, a dare, or the hope for loot that brought them here? Or simply a drunken whimsy, the desire to explore a bar they hadn't been able to enter until it and its muggle-repelling wards had been destroyed?

It didn't matter. They were here, and she was here. And she was hungry.

"Hello boys..." Her whispered greeting made them turn around, alerted. The sight of her made them relax, as she had expected.

"Wow." One of them started at her as if struck. The other was stammering something about having heard something and wanted to check it out in case someone needed help. She licked her lips. Dumb and drunk - perfect. She stalked closer, smiling, and reached out.

The babbling one was silenced with a blow to the stomach that had him retching while she grabbed the other's head and pressed his mouth shut. Then she showed her true face, and his eyes widened with delicious fear. She bit into his neck and drank until he stopped struggling and went limp, then died in her arms. A spell transfigured the corpse into a stick, which another spell burned down.

Then she picked the other one up and apparated out. She could use a minion.


Quentin Travers studied Hermione's latest report. Aurors were hampering her efforts at reconnaissance, but she was positive she and her friends could find a way to interrogate selected children of Death Eaters, once the scrutiny due to an incident had let up some. They had not made as much progress at learning Occlumency as she had wanted, but they had recruited their best friend, Ron Weasley. Quentin frowned. That one was a pureblood, and therefore a security risk. Friendship was one thing, but blood would tell. That boy had abandoned Hermione and Harry once already, over a tournament. He briefly considered telling them to break off contact and obliviate the wizard, but dismissed that thought. His grandniece was as loyal as she was stubborn, and she'd not take well to such a proposal.

Leaning back, he folded his hands on his stomach. He could afford to wait. Maybe the young man would die in the coming conflict. Such a loss would certainly harden Hermione's resolve, and motivate her further. The best Watchers were those who had lost a friend or loved one to the evil they were fighting. They knew the price of failure, and were willing to go the extra mile to accomplish their task. He knew that from painful personal experience.

He read further. Names of the aurors in Hogwarts, as well as an impression on their skills and views. More names of suspected future followers of Voldemort among the students. It was a long list. He stood up and walked to the window - reinforced security glass, of course - to look at the street below him. The sun was setting already, the nights were getting longer. Vampires would have an easier time hunting. Two months until Christmas. He had hoped to have the matter settled by then, but Voldemort was not cooperating. Instead of striking out he was hiding. That meant he was weak, of course, and still building up his forces. Not unhindered, though - the Watchers and the Slayer had gone to great effort to cull the numbers of demons in Britain. And from what he heard, even the wizards were tightening up their security, after the death of one of their aurors. It was a mixed blessing. It kept the dark wizards from acting openly, but it also hampered the Council's own efforts to strike at known Death Eaters. If not for that he would have ordered a few incidents that would encourage further vigilance among wizards.

All things considered, waiting for better opportunities seemed to be the best course of action. He'd order his grandniece to keep her eyes open, but avoid great risks until she and her friends could get trained over the holidays. Hopefully they'd have recruited a curse-breaker by then.


Hogwarts was freezing in the middle of December, or so Ron thought. Fortunately, he had thick robes, a Weasley jumper, and he knew the warming charm by heart. His fellow prefect was not so lucky, alas. Her robes were a bit too thin and too open, in his opinion - even if they looked great on her - and her warming charm needed a bit of work as well. It was a sore spot with her though - last time he had cast one on her when he had noticed she was shivering she had pouted for the rest of the patrol. Girls were weird.

He hoped the Slayer would not be as weird. Or hard to understand. He'd meet her soon, after all. Or so he expected. And if he made her mad by mistake, she would surely do something far worse to him than casting a bat-bogey hex or a flock of birds who pecked at his head. He shuddered at the possibilities. He was committed, and he'd not let his friends down when they needed him, but… the Slayer scared him. Everyone knew she was the weapon of the Inquisition, the Witch Hunters' Scythe.

"Are you cold?" Lavender looked at him with concern. No comment about his own warming charm. She held no grudges, as far as he could tell. She had not said a bad word about Hermione, even though he could tell from some of Hermione's own remarks during their still secret special training that the two did not always get along well.

"No, no. Just an unpleasant thought." Ron shook his head, smiling. "We should go now, it's time." They had learned not to be early or late with their patrols - Umbridge and Snape were just waiting for them to make even the tiniest mistake, and so the two had become model prefects. His mum was ecstatic. Fortunately his brothers had understood his reasons, and refrained from pranking him… too much.

Lavender nodded and hooked her right arm through his left one. When she had done this the first time, he had shaken her off almost out of reflex - his movements would be hindered if they came under attack, and she was blocking her wand arm! But then the expression on her face had sent such guilt through him, he had quickly apologized, even if he didn't know what exactly he was apologizing for, and had resolved to cast a shield first thing, in case of trouble, to cover both of them. And to train her better. Not as hard as he was training himself, of course. But he made sure to pair up with Lavender in the Gryffindor Defense training lessons. She was eager to learn, Harry's and Hermione's own impression notwithstanding.

The two started their patrols, nodding pleasantly at the shivering auror shifting his weight from one foot to the other at the central staircase. Once out of earshot, Ron could not help but comment. "Apparently, casting a warming charm is not a needed skill for an auror." Lavender giggled, and briefly squeezed his arm.

Ron didn't think of the upcoming holidays at all after that, enjoying his conversation with Lavender - though he was keeping an eye out for trouble, as had become his habit. So he was ready with his wand when a figure strode towards them on the fourth corridor. It turned out to be McGonagall, or someone who looked like her - Hermione had rubbed off on him a bit, he realized.

"Mister Weasley, please follow me. Your father has had an accident and is currently at St. Mungo's, in critical condition." Lavender gasped, but Ron didn't hear it, or anything else for a while.

He barely remembered how he arrived at the hospital, where the rest of his family was gathered around the bed his dad was lying in, his skin pale with discolored stains all over, shivering and sweating. And the stench of the wound in his leg… he'd remember that for a long, long time.


Harry found himself in a strange place - a stone corridor, but far too large, as if made for giants. Or maybe half-giants. And he was not walking, but gliding over the polished marble floor, towards an empty corner… an empty corner that smelled like Prey. Like food. And then he shot forward, faster than he thought possible, his mouth opening wide, razor-sharp fangs stabbing soft meat, poison shooting through them into the prey, which quickly collapsed into a convulsing mass of food. Harry ignored the feeble attempts to ward him off and slithered around the prey, unhinging his lower jaw. He enjoyed the expression of pain and fear and growing horror when the prey realized it was going to be eaten alive. It was still squirming inside him, a most satisfying feeling, when suddenly pain shot through him, and he felt his belly ripping open, spilling his prey and his blood and entrails on the floor.

Harry woke up with a scream, trembling hands grasping for his belly, trying to push his entrails inside again. The pain… the pain…

"Harry! Harry! It's a nightmare, you're not dying!" He felt arms wrap around him and heard a familiar, comforting voice tell him over and over that it had been a nightmare. A nightmare. The same nightmare he had had every night, ever since the night Mr. Weasley had been attacked by a giant snake in the Ministry. Ever since he had seen, and felt, the snake attacking Mr. Weasley. And had felt the wizard cutting him, the snake, up from the inside.

Shaking he managed to pat his friend's back and return the hug. "I am fine, Hermione." He wasn't, and she knew it. She did not say anything. Trembling, he focused on his Occlumency exercises, tried to calm himself down, to control himself. It took a while, he wasn't sure how long, but he managed to slow his breathing down, and relax his death grip on Hermione. He didn't let go of her though, and neither did she.

After the screams from his first nightmare had woken up the entire dorm, he had taken to sleeping in the room of requirement, with Hermione, in case he had more than a nightmare, again. His vision, what Hermione had called it, had saved Mr. Weasley's life. At least, everyone was saying so. The wizard had managed to cut himself free, but would have succumbed to the poison in his veins, if not for Dumbledore arriving in time, after being alerted by Hermione.

It didn't do much to make Harry feel less guilty about attacking him, or at least, sharing the senses of the snake who had attacked him. He didn't know how that had been possible. Dumbledore had claimed it might be related to him being a parselmouth, but Hermione was sceptical. Harry could not think of a reason why he would have had such a connection to such a particular snake. Well, he could think of one, but he did not want to think of that. That snake had looked familiar, after all…

"We should go back to sleep." Hermione's voice shook him from his rather morbid thoughts. He nodded, pressing his face into her shoulder.

"Yes," he whispered into her ear, then released her and laid back down, closing his eyes. He expected Hermione to return to her bed, but then he felt her on his side, pulling his arm away so she could snuggle up. He stared at her in surprise, but before he could say anything she whispered: "We'll leave for the holidays tomorrow. Let's sleep like this."

He didn't have another nightmare that night.


Sirius and Lupin were not doing well, Hermione had realized that quickly after arriving at No. 12 Grimmauld Place for the holidays. Both were wanted wizards, both were confined for the foreseeable future to an awful, cursed house, and both were the target of Snape's barbs about not doing anything while others risked their lives. The last she had found out found out from Harry, who had heard it from Fred and George, who had used their latest invention, extendable ears, to spy on the Order. While they didn't work on the room the Order was usually meeting in, they did work very well on any other room - such as the kitchen, where the three often butted heads, or so the twins claimed.

Whatever it was that the Order was doing, it had everyone on edge after Mr. Weasley had been almost killed. He was doing better now, thanks to muggle medicine. Magic hadn't been able to heal his wound, a cursed wound the healers had said. Those stupid wizards had not wanted to try muggle means, even after Hermione had brought it up, but the Weasleys had been willing to try anything - and apparently stitches had worked, after the thread had been treated magically so the poison left in the wound would not dissolve it. Since that had worked she hoped that Harry's own cursed scar could be dealt with with plastic surgery. Though when she had mentioned the possibility he had said it could wait. He claimed that it didn't bother him much and that he could handle the pain. Hermione hadn't pressed him to find out what exactly that statement meant, but she had not forgotten it either. Harry had a self-sacrificing streak a mile wide.

The two adult wizards, Harry, Ron and herself were waiting in what Sirius had called the Southern Salon for Dumbledore to join them. The Headmaster had called for a meeting on the very evening of their break. It wasn't a very cozy room, but it had no portraits of bigoted Blacks on the walls, and the furniture was comfortable. Sirius and Lupin had vouched for the safety of the snacks Kreacher had brought, but Harry had still cast a few spells to check. With two stir-crazy marauders and the Weasley twins living in the same house, one had to take certain precautions. Hermione had taken a more direct approach and had whispered threats into their ears of what she'd do as retaliation if they dared to endanger anyone with puerile pranks while Voldemort stalked them. She hoped they'd heed her words. For their sake.

"Why don't you sit in Harry's lap, Hermione? It would likely be more comfortable than your current arrangement." Sirius smirked at her when she looked up from her notes. She was sitting close to Harry - very close, their thighs were touching. She glanced around. Lupin was smiling, if faintly, Ron was looking at the food, and Harry was glaring at Sirius. She was about to sigh in exasperation but reconsidered.

"You're right." She smiled sweetly and slid into Harry's lap. By the time she had found a comfortable position that allowed her to read and make notes, Sirius was still staring at her with his mouth open, but Lupin was laughing and Ron was gaping and shaking his head. Harry, whose reaction was the only one that truly mattered, if she was honest, had frozen at first, but then wrapped his arms around her waist.

That was exactly when the Headmaster arrived, of course.


Harry had heard his girlfriend, who was currently occupying his lap, squeak when the door opened, and if not for his arms around her waist she would certainly have jumped up. "Hello, Headmaster." Dumbledore returned his greeting, but didn't not react to the sight of the young couple other than smiling. Hermione stopped trying to get up after a few attempts, but he'd probably pay for it later, even though she had started it, kind of. But then the Headmaster took a seat on a conjured chair and started to speak, and Harry and Hermione forgot about their peculiar seating arrangement.

"I have called for this meeting because there is a rather important matter to discuss. Two matters, actually, though one depends on the other." He looked at everyone present over his reading glasses. "Young Harry and Miss Granger, as well as Mister Weasley, are in need of instruction in Occlumency. It takes priority over anything else." With a glance at Ron, he added "Yes, that means you will be excused from doing any chores. I hope Remus will prove to be an acceptable instructor."

Harry glanced at Remus, and nodded. He trusted his honorary uncle.

Sighing, the old wizard leaned back. "The reason this is so important is two-fold. First, Harry has a connection to Voldemort, through his scar. That was how he could sense what Voldemort's snake familiar saw. Learning Occlumency will allow him to block Voldemort from entering his mind or influencing him."

Harry trembled. Dumbledore just had stated what he had suspected, what he had known but hadn't wanted to accept. He buried his face into Hermione's shoulder and felt her hand rub his head in a comforting gesture. No one said anything for a minute, or even two. Harry wasn't counting. But as soon as he looked up again, Hermione asked: "And what's the second thing?" Harry squeezed her waist a bit - sometimes her need to know everything as soon as possible was a bit aggravating. He could do without a second revelation.

"Before he was born there was a prophecy made, that foretold his birth, and that he would have the power to vanquish Lord Voldemort." Harry stiffened again, and briefly closed his eyes. A prophecy! From what the Watchers had told him and Hermione, a prophecy very rarely was a good thing. They were twisted, and warped, and often only understood after they already had come to pass. Hermione shifted in his lap, turning to hug him.

"I see you know the troubles prophecies bring with them." Dumbledore didn't look surprised, contrary to Sirius and Remus. Harry only nodded in response.

"A spy for the Dark Lord overheard the first part of this prophecy, which ultimately caused him to come after you, on that tragic day in October 1981. Once you have mastered Occlumency, you will hear the full prophecy." Sirius and Remus made some surprised noises, but Harry just nodded again. He'd learn Occlumency, he'd master it, and then he'd learn what he would have to deal with.