Chapter 10: Plots and Plans

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, staring at but not seeing the lemon drop bowl on his desk. His thoughts were focused on what Mister Travers had told him at their meeting.

"We also have found out that a vampire witch is working for Voldemort. She's been recruiting the other vampires in Britain - until we put a stop to that. But she's still at large."

Who could that be? What poor witch would have been suffering such a fate, without the aurors tracking the walking corpse down and disposing of it? If only a wizard or witch had seen her, he would have been able to procure a memory to study. Descriptions were not good enough to identify her. The Watchers had said they'd create a sketch, but Dumbledore hadn't much hope of that producing a usable portrait.

He wondered if he had known her, before her death. Who could say, with how long vampires could exist when not destroyed. She might not even be British. And yet he could not shake the feeling that she was, and that he had known her, and failed her. So many children had passed through his school, he felt responsible for each and every one of them. He knew they made their own decisions, had to make their own decisions, but if he maybe just been a bit sterner, or more lenient, or simply had paid a bit more attention… Sighing, he nodded at Fawkes, who had made inquiring noises for a few minutes now. "I am just thinking of the past, Fawkes. A foible of old people like me." The phoenix trilled in a way that lifted the Headmaster's spirit, and went back to grooming his right wing.

Albus's thoughts returned to the mysterious vampire witch again though. If only he had a name… Could he ask Severus to find out? It would increase the risks his spy braved already, but there were reasons that wizards and witches who had gotten turned were hunted down and destroyed, and it would strengthen the still fresh and fragile alliance with the Watchers Council. Yes, it was worth the risk.

The Council member he had met, Quentin Travers, had been… interesting. Miss Granger's great-uncle was a hard man, no doubt. A man with a mission, and iron determination, who'd not let anything, or anyone, come between him and his goals. A man willing, or so Albus assumed, to walk down the road to hell with his head held high, firm in his belief that he was doing the right thing, no matter the costs. A man like Albus's old friend, Gellert Grindelwald.

Albus sighed. The memories that thought brought up caused more pain and guilt - none of it misplaced, he knew. If only he had, or hadn't… Arianna might still be alive. The old wizard closed his eyes, willing that particular memory away. As always, the temptation to extract that scene and store it in a vial, or even destroy it, rose, and as he had always done, he resisted. This was part of his penance for his sins, and he'd take this memory with him into the grave, a painful reminder of how fallible he was.

Gellert had been convinced that what he was doing was for the greater good, that his ends justified his means. Mister Travers seemed to hold similar beliefs. Neither was entirely wrong, but there came a point where one was doing more harm than good, where the means one was using poisoned the ends, irrevocably. Would he be able to do what was needed, should Mister Travers cross that line, even though it might alienate Harry and Miss Granger, or, even worse, drive them down a similar path?

He knew the answer, had it known ever since that most famous duel of his. In his own way, he was cut from the same cloth, doing what was right, no matter the cost - to himself, or to others.

With an effort, he forced his thoughts on a more practical matter. The Hall of Prophecies. The prophecy had been removed from its place there, but Voldemort didn't know that. There was still a chance that he'd try to recover it personally, exposing himself in the process. But as poor Arthur had shown, stationing a guard there was too risky. The loss of one Order member would be a terrible, but acceptable price to pay to expose the Dark Lord, and at last have the Ministry mobilized. But odds were, such a guard would be dealt with by a mere Death Eater, or even an unwilling tool of Voldemort, and if caught himself, could be twisted to harm the Order's cause. It couldn't be helped; he had to speak to the Unspeakables.

His thoughts on how best to broach the subject were interrupted by the floo flaring to live in his office, and Alastor's head appearing.

"Albus! I am coming through. There was a break-out at Azkaban."

Quentin Travers dropped the Daily Prophet on his desk. A dozen of the worst Death Eaters escaping from Azkaban? Even worse, the demons they used to guard that prison having disappeared after murdering guards - by eating their souls? Just when he had thought the wizards were not completely hopeless, this had to happen to prove him wrong!

He looked up at Fitzburg, who had brought the newspaper to him. "What's the reaction in the streets?"

"Panic, Sir. Whoever is not hiding in their homes is out in front of the Ministry and screaming for something, anything to be done right now." Fitzburg's tone betrayed the disdain he held for either reaction.

Quentin understood the feeling better than most. Usually he'd caution or even censure Watchers for showing disdain for the people they were protecting, but since those were wizards and witches, and not normal humans, he let it go. It would even help, should the Council have to take action against the Wizards, one day. "The articles are claiming that Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are the culprits. I assume the Ministry is still not ready to face the fact that their Dark Lord has returned?"

"Correct sir. And no one I have seen seems to have understood that their own use of such demons as guards is at fault for the current situation." Fitzburg had a talent for the understatement Quentin approved of. Not many would call a horde of soul-eating demons loose in Britain, demons only a handful of the Watchers could even see, a 'situation', and not a catastrophe.

"The Dementors have to be our priority. Those abominations cannot be allowed to prey on humans. The wizard enclaves will be protected by their aurors, but I doubt they will do much for the rest of the population. I want every able Watcher on the lookout for them, and the Slayer ready to intercept and destroy them wherever they are found. And let us hope we'll find a scrying spell that will work on those fiends." If they did not, then a great number of people would be killed, would lose their souls even, to those monsters.

"That may bring us into contact, or even conflict, with the wizard authorities, Sir."

"You are correct, but it's a risk we have to take. We will not let such fiends feed on humans."

"Yes, Sir." Fitzburg nodded, and left Quentin's office.

Quentin stood up and walked to the window. Somewhere out there, invisible to him and most of humanity, those fiends were hunting, preying on humanity. 'Let's hope they followed the Dark Lord, and he's keeping them on a short leash,' he thought, his lips compressed into a thin line and his expression as grim as he was feeling.

He didn't like it, but he needed a better line of communication to Dumbledore. Maybe one of those communication mirrors Mister Potter had received for christmas. He certainly wasn't about to stick his head into a fireplace, especially not one under the control of the Ministry for Magic.

For now though he had another duty to fulfill. In accordance with treaties centuries old, Her Majesty's government had to be informed of this threat to Her subjects, and of the Watchers' response. If only so they knew how to cover up the deaths the foolish wizards missed.

"P-pardon me, Miss."

Hermione whipped her head around and glared at whoever dared to interrupt her research. She had only one day left of her holiday, and she needed to make the most of it before she returned to Hogwarts and lost her easy access to the Watchers' Library. She saw a not quite middle-aged man take a step back. "Yes?" The word slipped out before she realized that she was glaring at a Watcher.

"Hello, Miss. My name is Rupert Giles. D-do you need the C-Codex of the C-Coven right now?" The man was not unattractive for his age - distinguished, well-dressed, if a bit old-fashioned. He even seemed to be a bit timid, as unlikely as that might be for a Watcher.

"Hello, Sir, I am Hermione Granger." The young witch hoped she was not showing her embarrassment at her own rudeness as clearly as she felt it. "No, I do not currently need it. I already checked the relevant passages. Please excuse my lapse in manners, with the current events I am a bit stressed."

"Ah, yes. Your great-uncle has everyone we c-can spare looking for ways to d-deal with t-those d-Dementors. Dreadful beasts, if I do say so myself." His eyes briefly glanced at the other tomes on Hermione's table. "Is that Guilberto's 'Extract on the Afterlife'? I would not have expected him to cover Dementors."

"You are correct. I am looking into soul magic. Dementors are said to eat souls, so I think that might be a possible vulnerability." Hermione was actually looking into ways to deal with a soul fragment, and Dementors topped her - sadly short - list, but that was not something to be announced, not with such an important secret behind it.

"That's a quite original approach. I would not have thought of it myself. D-Do you mind if I join you? It seems more productive than sifting through lore others have read already."

Hermione did mind, but could not say so. It seemed she'd have to research Dementors more than expected today. "Of course not. Please have a seat." She gestured at the chair in front of her, and levitated the stack of books there off it with her second wand.

If the display of magic surprised Mister Giles, he did not show it as he sat down. Soon both were reading and making notes, occasionally commenting on something that caught their attention. Mister Giles turned out to be a man with a fascinating knowledge of the arcane, even though he was unable to use a wand. But the rituals he mentioned in passing sounded intriguing. Hermione felt that this interruption would prove very beneficial to her goal.

"Oof!"

Harry grunted when he hit the - fortunately padded - wall again in his attempt to dodge. Training with Watcher Walker was quite different from training with Sirius and Remus, or Hermione and Ron. Walker, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a sharp nose, reminded him of Moody - the fake one he had known for a year, at least. All that mattered to the Watcher was to kill the enemy before he killed you. At least he didn't shout 'Constant Vigilance' all the time, but he didn't seem to care at all how painful his lessons were. He wasn't even a wizard - he used a paintball gun to teach Harry 'to dodge attacks and remain aware of his surroundings while in combat'.

"You forgot about how close you were to the wall again, Mister Potter. In a real fight, you'd be dead by now - or about to be drained. Get up, we'll start again."

"Yes, Sir." Harry was glad Hermione was researching soul magic and skipping training. He didn't know if he'd be able to watch his girlfriend getting shot with plastic balls fast enough to leave large and painful bruises. He got up and cast a scourgify on himself, removing half a dozen brightly-colored stains.

Walker reloaded his gun, and turned back towards him, firing without any signal. Harry had expected that though, this time, and dove to the ground, rolling behind a small obstacle. A flick of his wand had the wooden crate levitating in front of him, serving as a shield. He wasn't allowed to fire back, but he could use his wand to protect himself by affecting the environment. Two paintballs hit the wood, and splattered their load over it.

"Good idea, Mister Potter. Let's see how well you can move it." Walker was already sprinting to the side, and Harry had trouble keeping the crate between himself and the Watcher. When Walker got close enough, he had to drop the crate and jump away to avoid getting hit. He landed on the ground, but before he could get up a paintball had hit him into the head, turning half his black hair orange.

"You should have jumped behind, not in front of cover. Get up and we'll do it again."

"Yes, Sir." He hoped Hermione had a better afternoon than him.

India Cohen was annoyed. She shouldn't be - she was hunting Dementors, patrolling a coastal town near the spot where the ferry to Azkaban departed. She could almost smell the monsters floating ashore there. If it was summer she'd even have a trail of dead plants, victims of the cold aura of the fiends, to follow. Since it was the midst of winter, she wasn't that lucky. Still, she was on the prowl and wasn't cooped up in some building while demons roamed the country.

But she wasn't with Kit, but with Fitzburg. Just because Kit couldn't see Dementors didn't mean he had to stay home! 'A liability', Fitz had called him - to her face! - when she had protested. India really wished that she didn't need a wizard able to apparate in case someone else found the monsters. She would be able to teach Fitzburg who was a liability otherwise.

"Do you feel anything?" Fitzburg asked, not for the first time.

"No." If she had sensed anything, she'd have said so. Dumbass.

"This area might be free of them then."

"Too close to my dream. They have to be here." She had seen a house just like those, at the shore. Fishermen, or former fishermen.

"We'll continue then." Fitzburg didn't sound as if he believed her. Kit would have.

The two walked on, passing more cottages. Then, around a bend of the road, India saw it. The house from her dream.

"That's it!" she all but shouted, and sprinted ahead. She didn't listen to Fitzburg calling for her to wait. That was the house from her dream. She jumped over the low fence, onto the well-tended lawn. Gravel crunched under her boots when she reached the path to the house. Then she saw the door - and the gap it left.

Cursing, she ran, pushed it open, then stopped. It was just like in her dream - she had arrived too late.

"India, you cannot just…" Fitzburg's lecture ended when he reached her side, and saw the bodies.

"They were here." And she hadn't been in time.

"We know their likely point of entry now. That will make finding them easier." Fitzburg's words were a weak consolation in the face of a dead family, but India nodded. She'd find them, and kill them. And then she'd be back with her Watcher.

The lights were on - Emmeline Vance was at home. For a moment, Severus Snape considered warning her. He could send a Patronus, and the attack would fail. But it would damage his standing with the Dark Lord. His cover. He had to have the Dark Lord's trust. Now more than ever, with so many of his most faithful followers free again. Vance would understand, not that she'd ever know, that no price was too high to pay for the final defeat of Voldemort. Not even his own life.

He turned towards the masked men with him. "She's home. Cast the jinxes to block floo travel and apparition, then attack the wards. We have but a few minutes to deal with her. The Dark Lord won't tolerate failure."

The half a dozen Death Eaters nodded, and fanned out. Soon colorful spells were clashing with the wards on the house. Vance would be aware of the attack now. Would be aware she was trapped. Would be aware she was doomed. Would she cry, or curse? Severus sent an attack of his own at the wards. There was no time for speculation.

It took a minute to bring down the wards. A Death Eater blew the door open with a reducto, another rushed in - and was blown out right away, his skull crushed by a bludgeoning curse. An amateur, Severus thought, an untrained thug, like so many others. Missions such as those served to weed out the thugs too, he knew that. The Dark Lord didn't tolerate weakness.

"Keep the door and windows covered. I'll get the backdoor open." Severus moved around the house as green spells flew through the hole in the front. Just as he disabled the alarm spell on the backdoor and opened it, the ground shook - someone had cast a Bombarda. Since the house was still standing, it had to have been Vance. That meant the screams came from another idiot. One less follower of the Dark Lord - hardly a compensation for the loss the Order would suffer today, but better than nothing. If not for the need to impress the Dark Lord, he would let Vance slaughter all the dunderheads with him.

Severus entered the house, wand ready. His enchanted mask didn't impede his vision, but provided no advantage either. Something he felt he should rectify one of those days. Vance had to be in the living room, judging from the sounds he heard. Good - she was still focused on the other. The door to the room was not closed. He peered through the small gap into the room, but couldn't see the witch. For a second he hesitated - should he open the door slowly, and hope she didn't notice? He decided against it. Too risky.

He kicked the door open and leaned inside. Vance was fast. She had turned already, and was about to cast when his killing curse caught her in the chest. The witch fell over with a surprised expression and was dead before she reached the ground. The idiots outside were still firing spells at the house.

"She's dead! We're done here! Return now!"

As the telltale sounds of apparition reached his ears, after they had taken down the jinxes, he realized that he might have faked Vance's death and still earned Voldemort's trust. Then he told himself that the witch wouldn't have hidden for the rest of the war, and would have likely blown his cover. He apparated back to where the group had gathered before the mission, a safe house of no importance. The men were already telling tales of bravery and skill that had no base in reality. He let them - they didn't matter, and overconfidence would hopefully thin their numbers soon. The Dark Lord was waiting for his report.

Afterwards Severus would inform Dumbledore of what had happened, though he'd have to downplay his own role. He wasn't sure how understanding the Headmaster would be should he tell the truth. He'd still offer to take over the position as professor for Defense against the Dark Arts, of course. Maybe losing another professor before her term even started might finally make Dumbledore see reason and let him teach what he should have been teaching years ago.

Hogwarts had not changed over the holidays, Ron told himself while waiting at his customary place near the painting of the Fat Lady for his fellow prefect for their patrol. The castle had not. But the inhabitants had. The news from Azkaban had shaken everyone. Even the teachers were affected, though they tried to hide it. The students though… with the exception of a few particularly stupid Slytherins, everyone was afraid, nervous, or at least faked it. And that changed the castle. It was hard to feel safe when around you everyone was afraid, often huddling together and jumping at shadows.

It was understandable though - the Ministry was blaming Sirius Black and Remus Lupin for the breakout. One of them had broken into Hogwarts several times two years ago, and the other had taught there for a year. It was not too far-fetched to fear them returning, despite the wards and Dumbledore's presence. And if they brought the Dementors with them… that was something Ron was afraid of. He knew Sirius and Remus were innocent, but Voldemort had taken the Dementors with him from Azkaban. The young wizard remembered his encounters with them in third year, and shivered. At least Ron, Harry and Hermione sneaking off to train was not drawing any attention in the current climate, especially not since they now had the full support of Dumbledore. They'd need it - with Professor Vance dead before the start of the term, and the fear of the Death Eaters running rampant, the Ministry had sent a veteran auror as a replacement teacher. According to what Ron had heard, Gawain Robards was not nearly as useless as the aurors who had been stationed here as guards.

"You're so brave." Lavender had stepped out of the Gryffindor common room. The pretty witch shuddered and grabbed his arm. "I would not be able to wait here, alone… not with those monsters out there."

Ron wanted to hug her and make her feel safe and secure then. With his arm in a vice-like grip, he couldn't. Instead he reached over with his right arm, and ruffled Lavender's hair. "I've been through worse." He tried to sound more confident than he was feeling.

"That's right! You were attacked by Sirius Black twice! And once by the werewolf! And Dementors!" Lavender was looking at him as if he was … well, it was all true. Even though she didn't know what had really happened. "I wish I was as brave as you!"

"You are a Gryffindor, you are brave. You're just smart enough not to run blindly into danger like a fool." From the way she smiled, it had been the right thing to say. Who would have thought a lecture from Hermione would come in handy with Lavender? "Let's go then. The sooner we start the sooner we are done."

She nodded, still holding on to his left arm, but relaxed her grip once they started walking. After a while, it was as it had been, before the holidays - two people taking a stroll. And his arm was getting pressed against Lavender's right side, and her chest, from time to time. They passed the first auror on their route without a word until they were out of earshot.

"We're safe at Hogwarts. Not even Vol... You-Know-Who dared to attack the castle, not with Dumbledore here." Ron almost had said "Voldemort". Hermione and Harry were a bad influence - he didn't want to scare Lavender. He felt guilty enough for keeping what was really happening from Lavender.

"Do… do you think he is really back? You-Know-Who?" Lavender asked in a whisper, as if the Dark Lord would jump out from the shadows any second and kill her.

"Yes." Ron answered, without thinking about it. He had not believed Harry once, during the Tournament, and he'd not repeat that mistake again.

Lavender gasped. "B... but… the Ministry said he's dead."

"Fudge is in the pocket of Malfoy, who is a Death Eater. As long as Malfoy pays him enough, Fudge will say anything." Ron repeated what his father had said about the issue, before he was attacked at the Ministry. His dad was recovering, but he was still at St. Mungo's.

"But he was under the Imperius…"

"That was a lie. Harry saw him crawling back to You-Know-Who last year."

"Then it's true?"

"Why would Harry lie? Why would Dumbledore lie?"

"I don't know. But he can't be back! He can't!" Lavender was almost crying, and this time Ron did hug her, and held her until she had calmed down.

"This is useless. There's nothing here about souls. Nothing useful at least." Hermione Granger declared to her friends. She didn't slam the book she had been reading closed, of course - books deserved respect and care, no matter if they were useful for her current task or not.

Harry and Ron looked up from their homework - she had finished hers hours before - and nodded in agreement. Which meant they were humoring her.

"It's as if the library, even the restricted section, has been sanitized of such knowledge." Hermione huffed. The mere thought of knowledge being suppressed vexed her on a primal level. It was simply so wrong!

"They probably did exactly that, to avoid someone else following on Voldemort's footsteps," Harry commented. He didn't sound as depressed as he had right after that meeting between Hermione's great-uncle and the Headmaster, but she didn't like his fatalistic undertone.

"You're right. I'll have to search through the Black Library then. And the Watchers', if I can manage that," Hermione declared.

"Both are in London. What will you do until our next break?"

"I'll not wait so long." She could not wait so long. She needed find a way to save Harry now. "I'll floo there."

"What?" Ron blinked. "That's against the rules." He had been saying that more often since he had become a prefect. It figured, Hermione thought, that he'd start becoming more responsible when they couldn't afford it.

"Sod the rules! We need to beat Voldemort." And save Harry. "Everything else is of secondary importance compared to that. I am sure the Headmaster will agree." And if he didn't, she'd do it anyway.

"But can you manage it, Hermione? You're like… you remember third year?" Harry spoke tentatively.

"I'll manage." She wasn't fourteen anymore. She could do it.

"I don't want you to hurt yourself." Harry stood up and had her in his arms before she could answer.

"I won't." Didn't he know that he was more important? Even if she burned out like in third year, it would be worth it if it saved him.

"Please." Harry touched her cheek, and bent forward. Hermione wanted to avoid his eyes, but she couldn't. Not when he looked at her like that, with such concern - and such love.

"I won't hurt myself." No more than she needed, in any case.

When the two kissed, Hermione felt guilty for lying to Harry. But she would feel even more guilty if she did not enough to save him. Or so she told herself when she wiped tears from her eyes.

Draco Malfoy smiled as he walked down the corridor on his patrol. He barely paid attention to Pansy Parkinson's prattling. He had passed a wonderful vacation, shown his skill and power to the Dark Lord himself, and now he was back at Hogwarts ready to do his Lord's bidding. He had nothing to fear from the Dementors and escaped prisoners that had everyone else terrified. Even Pansy, for all his assurances that purebloods of the right kind were safe, was afraid of them. Or she acted as if she was, in the hopes of him comforting her. He would do it, of course - it was the proper thing to do, and Pansy was a pureblood with impeccable ancestry. He might even marry her, after Hogwarts, provided there was no better offer.

In the meantime though she was a bit of a hindrance. He could trust Crabbe and Goyle, they had gone through the same trials as he had, but Pansy had not. Her father was a follower, but had not yet introduced his daughter, and so she might not know how things would be done. As a girl, she might even take offense of how mudbloods and blood traitors were to be treated, to teach them their place.

No, he would have to bide his time until he could strike at the mudbloods and traitors infesting the halls of Hogwarts. But strike he would.

"And this is the Hall of the Prophecies, my friend. All the prophecies ever made are gathered here, so the Ministry can act upon them whenever there is a need."

Lucius Malfoy had kept smiling as the fool of a Minister had kept prattling during their tour through the Department of Mysteries, but after thirty tiresome minutes they were finally where he needed to be. "Very Impressive, Cornelius. It must be guarded very well from intruders, given its importance."

"Indeed. The prophecies themselves can only be removed by those mentioned in them, but the only entrance is this door, and it's sealed by spells only the Unspeakables know, and only opens for them - or for the Minister's seal." The fat fool showed him the seal dangling from a chain around his neck. "As you can see it's perfectly safe."

"I am glad. The thought of Black getting his hands on such prophecies is too horrible to contemplate."

"Fear not, we'll soon apprehend him and his werewolf accomplice, and all the escaped prisoners, and we'll have them kissed… err, we'll send them through the Veil!"

"Of course, Cornelius." Long practice kept the smile on Lucius' face from showing his disdain for the fool as he noted the arrangements in the hall. The Dark Lord would not be happy to know he'd have to pick up the prophecy personally, unless Rookwood found a way around that. Lucius had no trouble feigning fear when they entered the next room and Cornelius mentioned the escaped prisoners, and how they made life difficult for the government, again.