Chapter 36: Old and New Wounds

If Magical Albania hadn't changed much, Magical Macedonia had not changed at all since his last visit, Aberforth Dumbledore thought. It was still a collection of small villages, hidden and warded in mountain valleys. Some were said to have been bastions of resistance during the Ottoman Occupation, never found or conquered while their brave wizards faced the Turks in a guerilla war before that term was coined. Aberforth, cynical as he was, thought it was more likely that the Macedonians had romanticized bandits as resistance fighters after the War of Liberation.

But whether they had fought the Turks for their country, or for their gold, it didn't change the fact that the Macedonians were good fighters. Not the most disciplined - the times of Alexander the Great's squadrons of wizards were long since gone - but hardened and generally experienced. Good mercenaries too. And good friends - once you earned their trust. Worse enemies though, if you ever betrayed that trust.

He was sitting on a boulder, in front of a cave, looking down into a valley. The village down there wasn't one of the hidden ones. Muggles couldn't see, much less enter it of course, but it wasn't warded from other wizards. It wasn't dominated by one clan either, but populated by a collection of various families, and even some foreigners. There Macedonians could meet other clans on somewhat neutral ground, and foreigners could meet Macedonians.

And it was where all sorts of shady deals were brokered. With the Ottomans driven out, the local wizards had turned back to their feuding - some of the blood feuds between clans dated back to the Byzantine Empire - and to their mercenary work. This was the place where mercenaries were recruited. The Death Eaters would be coming there to recruit Macedonians, just as Aberforth himself had once, decades ago.

He wondered if they remembered him. And if so, how. Ten wands had hired on with him, but only five had come back, covered with loot, glory and blood, as Sasha had put it. Sasha Nachev. Young, brash, and eager to test his mettle. He had been the leader of a small band, a mixed bunch even, not all from his own family. Aberforth remembered that meeting, right after the Intervention.

Full of anger and determination, he had entered the tavern of the village and marched into the centre of the room, drawing the attention of everyone inside. "Greetings. My name is Aberforth Dumbledore," he had said. "I'm looking for a few brave wands for a mission against the Turks."

That had sent murmurs through the room, just as he had known it would. He hadn't liked using his brother's fame like this, still didn't like it, but with Lea's and Neola's lives and freedom at stake, he had been willing to use any means at his disposal. Especially since Albus had refused to help him, had even tried to prohibit him from doing anything 'to jeopardize the hard-won peace treaty' with the Ottoman Empire. His brother had been weighing the threat of war, of hundreds, thousands dead, against the fate of two witches. And, as if he had learned nothing from Grindelwald, Albus had made his choice. And Aberforth had made his.

Sasha had stood up then, a lad barely above 20 years old, clean-shaven still, and had walked up to him while others lowered their gazes - or were even leaving in haste; the Intervention hadn't been exclusively aimed at Ottoman slavers, after all, and Albus's role had been well-known. "Are you the vanquisher of Grindelwald?" Sasha had asked, eyes gleaming. He had twirled his wand between his fingers, as had been all the rage among mercenaries back then.

And Aberforth had stared at him, shaking his head. "No, lad, I'm his younger brother." He had barely kept his anger at Albus from erupting, but Sasha had laughed at his ire. "I'm Sasha Nachev - also a younger brother," the Macedonian had said and slapped him on the shoulder. "Come, sit down, and let's talk - about elder siblings and this mission of yours!"

Aberforth had laughed, despite himself, and shared a drink, or three. And discovered mastika, the Macedonian national drink, as Sasha had put it. He still stocked that liquor at the Hog's Head Inn to this day. He had explained his predicament, ranted against the injustice of all, and Sasha had listened.

"Saving two maidens - even if they are Greeks, and not proper Macedonians - and avenging a third? That's a mission straight from a tale or song! Breaking into an Ottoman's harem? That's the making of a legend! Of course we'll help you!"

Aberforth had smiled, but before he had been able to thank the young wizard, Sasha had added: "But since you're getting the women, we'll get all the loot!"

That had been Sasha: young, fearless, and with a flair few could match.

Aberforth wondered what Sasha would be doing now. Would he have become a respected patriarch of his own family? Or a wizard mothers warned their sons not to emulate? Probably both. He was famous though, at least in his village. Aberforth had seen to that. Had told his friend's family about Sasha's last stand.

Sometimes he wondered if Albus would have reacted like Sasha's brothers had, had their fates been reversed. Would his brother have mourned him, or himself for losing his last sibling? He didn't know, and doubted he would ever know.

He pulled out a flask from his enchanted pocket, mastika, and raised it to the setting sun. "To gold and witches!" he repeated Sasha's favorite toast, then poured some on the earth, before taking a sip himself.

"That's an unexpected toast, from the man who saved my grandmother."

He was glad he was facing away from the cave that the girl, the woman, had just exited, so she couldn't see his expression. Iva, Abdera's older sister, sounded so much like her grand-aunt Haidee, it brought up painful memories whenever she surprised him. Fortunately, the twenty years old witch didn't look quite like Haidee. She was taller, and more slender. She wore the same robes though.

When he turned around, his face showed the indulgent smile of a grandfather. Or granduncle. "I was just thinking of an old friend, it was his favorite toast."

"Sasha?"

He shouldn't be surprised. Of course, Lea would have told her family all about the botched rescue that left her second sister and half the wands who came to rescue them dead. He nodded.

"I would have liked to know him. Even if he was a Macedonian." She grinned, then stared down at the village. "I don't like your plan."

"I know."

"You're taking too many risks yourself. You hired us, you should let us take the risks." For a slip of a girl, she was sounding like an experienced mercenary. Then again, no experienced mercenary would volunteer like that.

"With me not used to fighting at your side, we'd endanger each other while disillusioned." More so than usual, even - there was a reason most veterans scoffed when a young wizard or witch mentioned fighting while disillusioned; any group not trained extremely well would quickly lose cohesion in that sort of fight. "I'll do much better by myself, with the others having to worry about hitting each other by mistake." And he didn't want Lea's family to risk their lives like that. If he had known just how young they were, he'd never had made the offer. Which Lea had known, of course.

Iva sat down on the boulder closest to him, a flick of her wand cutting and summoning a grass stalk to her lips she then started to chew on. "As soon as the concealing spells drop we'll move in though." Glancing at him with a challenge in her eyes, she added: "You'll certainly be able to tell us from our enemies then."

"Aye." But the villagers would only see another bunch of foreigners. He could just hope that he had arrived in time, and the Death Eaters hadn't managed to hire any Macedonians yet. Getting mistaken for raiders attacking the village would be messy. Very messy.

Iva blinked, then nodded, "Good. She probably had expected him to try and argue. But while she didn't look like Haidee, the few days spent in the company of her and the other mercenaries from her family had shown Aberforth that she had the same unbending spirit. The spirit that had made Haidee resist to the end, pushing the slavers into killing rather than capturing her. He'd not let that happen to Iva, the old wizard vowed.

"I'll tell the others," Iva continued. But she didn't get up, instead remaining seated, watching the sunset with him. "Why didn't you visit before?" Her tone was both curious and slightly accusing.

He sighed. Lea hadn't asked that. She had known. "I was ashamed."

"Why?" Iva sounded honestly puzzled. "You saved my grandmother."

"And I didn't save your grandaunt. Grandaunts."

Iva shrugged. "Haidee died defending her home and family. You weren't even there."

"I should have been. And Neola was killed in my attempt to save her and Lea." Which wouldn't have happened if Albus had helped. The wizard who had defeated Grindelwald would have sent the guards of the entire city fleeing by his mere presence.

"Two were lost, but you brought one back." Iva shrugged.

She never had known her grandaunts. And she hadn't vowed to save them both. He wasn't in the mood to argue about it though, and so he nodded, seemingly conceding her point. The girl smiled, clapped him on the shoulder - this time evoking memories of Sasha; Haidee had never acted like that - and stood up. "Good. I'll tell the others to get ready."

He nodded and stood up himself. The sun had set. It was time.

Aberforth disillusioned himself and apparated to the outskirts of the village. With the light fading, he needed to be closer to spot any intruders. That he would be further apart from the girl that brought up so many painful memories by her mere presence was just a side-benefit.

Aberforth Dumbledore watched as the last of a dozen disillusioned wizards settled in what appeared to be a decent guard spot. He had expected more from a Death Eater who had killed Bertram than disillusioning a dozen wands and spreading them around the village, half of them facing the tavern. Of course, he couldn't be certain that those were all the wands at his enemies' disposal. On the other hand, it would have been sufficient to deal with most wizards. While Aberforth wasn't on his brother's level, he was quite experienced at silent casting, and at detecting hidden enemies by means other than the standard Human-presence-revealing Spell. Having a way to spot disillusioned enemies without warning them of that fact had served him well in turning the tables on ambushers in the past.

He briefly pondered waiting a bit longer, looking a bit harder for another trap, then decided against it. He couldn't risk letting the Death Eaters finish their recruiting. And he wouldn't let Bertram's murderers get away.

Disillusioned himself, he slowly snuck up on the outermost guard, his enchanted glasses showing the man's position and silhouette thanks to Bat's Eyes. His target was leaning against a low wall surrounding a garden, staring at the road that led to the next village - if he wasn't slacking off, of course. His spell wasn't that good for details. It usually didn't need to be.

When he was close enough, he struck and quickly cast several spells. A silencing spell prevented the man from alerting his comrades and hampered his own casting. Not that he had much of a chance to try, since several Bludgeoning Curses hammered him around, smashing him against the wall hard enough to break bones while a Disarming Spell relieved him of his wand. It was over in a few seconds.

Protected by the wall from witnesses, Aberforth finited the disillusion spell on the man and looked him over. Albanian robes. No Macedonian would be caught wearing those. It had to be one of the Death Eaters' latest recruits. That made dealing with the rest of them easier. As for this one… for a second Aberforth hesitated. The man was unconscious, beaten, and no threat anymore. Then his his face hardened. He had hired on with the Dark Lord, and everyone knew what that kind of work entailed. Murder, and worse.

And if he left him there... the Macedonians didn't share the same hatred for the Albanians as Lea's people, but one of them, caught sneaking into the village? He'd be seen, probably rightfully so, as a raider looking for a victim, and he'd not die easily, or quickly.

"Diffindo," he whispered, and cut the man's throat, then vanished the corpse and the blood-soaked earth around it. No one seemed to have noticed the disappearance of the guard yet - a common problem with disillusioned forces, even those using some means to detect each other - and the old wizard grinned ferally as he took a look at his next target.

Rodolphus Lestrange sneered under his mask as he entered the hovel that passed for the tavern in this dirty village. He couldn't understand why the locals didn't have more impressive homes. Their expansion charms were first rate, as the tavern's main room attested to, and the furniture showed they were not poor either, so why were they still hiding behind the facades of poor muggle houses? It wasn't as if muggles could even see the village! If he didn't know better, he would suspect that this was the work of mudbloods. But the Dark Lord would never hire mudbloods, so that couldn't be the case.

As always, the sacred robe and mask he wore made an impression. Everyone inside stared at him, some jumped up from their tables, a few even cast Shield Charms and other protective spells. He smiled. Rabastan had wanted to send in another imperiused local, but he had put his foot down. They couldn't afford to sacrifice the best and maybe only recruiting location in Macedonia for another trap just because his younger brother was paranoid. Not to mention that they had killed their pursuer, and that an imperiused tool wouldn't be able to hire anyone but fools. Their Lord needed more wands - skilled ones - not fools.

But to indulge his brother he had left him and those Albanians and Greeks they had already hired outside, to watch his back. Rodolphus could handle a bunch of foreign mercenaries by himself. Not that any of them looked like they would be making trouble. Most were avoiding his gaze, not that they could see his face at all.

Another advantage of wearing the sacred robes was that everyone knew they were signing on with the Dark Lord. Weaklings who had no stomach for what fighting in a war took would know not to apply. And despite the Macedonians' reputation as fierce fighters, there were too many in this tavern who frowned or even glared at him.

On the other hand, a promising number smiled. Rodolphus slowly turned, addressing the entire room "Macedonians! I represent the greatest Dark Lord Britain, the World, has seen in centuries! He has conquered death himself, no mortal can stand against him! He offers those worthy among you the chance to fight at his side, for riches and glory!"

An older wizard wearing the traditional robes of the locals stood up. "How much gold is your Lord offering for our wands?" he asked with a lopsided grin - a dark curse scar covered half his face.

Before Rodolphus could answer, he heard screams followed by explosions from outside the tavern. His brother! He started for the door, but was caught up in a veritable surge of people as half the tavern rushed forward as well.

Aberforth stepped to the side, letting a Killing Curse pass him by so closely, his vision turned green for an instant. He had managed to kill four of the dozen mercenaries before they had noticed his actions, but to their leader's credit, they had quickly started casting Anti-Disillusionment Jinxes all over the village, forcing him to fight them openly.

He was fine with that. The wizard who had missed him - another Albanian, judging by his robe - dodged behind a wall. Aberforth's Blasting Curse blew both wall and wizard to bits. Messy, but effective. He was already moving again, weaving through the garden of the next house. A broom rider rose behind the village's temple, scouting, or preparing to attack from the air. It didn't matter as the old wizard interfered with the man's control of his broom just enough to hit the bucking broom and its struggling rider with a fire spell. Both were set ablaze and crashed on the cobblestone square in the centre of the village.

Aberforth was almost out of the garden when it and the house it belonged to started to explode around him. His Shield Charm protected him from the debris though, and the dust thrown up covered his escape. He spotted the caster, perched on the temple roof, and transfigured the shingles into almost frictionless ice. According to the high-pitched screams that followed, cut short by a crunching impact on the stone floor below, that caster had been either a witch, or a boy. Aberforth didn't care either way - anyone who signed up to fight for Voldemort was old enough to be killed.

He reached the back wall, transfiguring a hole into it that he could run through - he was too old to vault over it, as he'd have done decades ago. Just as he was about to double back to hit the enemies who'd be pursuing him now from their rear, he heard screams from the crumbling house. For a moment he was tempted to ignore them. There were still seven Death Eaters or their lackeys around. Then he snarled. That was what Albus would do. He wasn't his brother!

Aberforth went back, a wave of his wand parting the wall again but this time turning it into a shield against pursuit from his right side. The front and right side of the house had been blasted apart, and he could see a girl half-buried under the rubble, screaming with pain and fear. Above her, the first floor was threatening to cave in and crush her, or bury her alive.

Like Haidee had died.

His first spell turned the crumbling first floor into a solid arch, and his next turned the rubble and debris pinning the girl down into water, leaving her soaked, but free. And bleeding freely. Cursing his haste he rushed forward. If he could stop the bleeding…

A series of curses hit his Shield Charm, shattering it, and overwhelmed his robe's defenses. A spell clipped his shoulder, and pain surged through him as his blood started to boil. He dropped to the floor, casting a counter-curse while more spells sailed over his head, striking the back wall in a cacophony of wild colors and shaking the remains of the house. Dust and pebbles fell down from the remains of the first floor.

He cursed his foolishness as he banished a mound of debris at his attackers, then turned it into pure alcohol before it reached them. A Fire-Making Charm set it ablaze. Piercing screams told him he got at least two wizards as well, but more importantly, he bought enough time to escape with the wounded girl.

With his shoulder still hurting as if it had been burned from the inside, he crawled towards the witch, wand ready to cast. But when he reached her, he saw she had already succumbed to her wounds. A small part of him knew he wouldn't have been able to save her anyway. Not with his limited knowledge of healing spells. The rest of him felt guilt, and anger. Rage. New and old.

He recast his Shield Charm and stood up. A Blasting Curse opened a hole in the front wall, sending shards of stone and wood at his enemies. He strode through, already casting - his glasses, stuck to his nose, showed him where his enemies were while the dust cloud thrown up by his spell hid him. Then he was out in the open.

Curses he had last used in the Intervention struck a figure wearing Death Eater garb. His opponent was good, Aberforth admitted, his protections turning away spells that would have killed lesser wizards. But he was not good enough. While the man was reeling from the battering his shield and robe were taking, Aberforth turned the stone and earth beneath the dark wizard into acid.

The man dropped to his waist into the newly-created hole, then started screaming when the acid ate away at his robes and skin and private parts. The old wizard was about to put the scum out of his misery when he heard someone scream to his left.

"Rabastan!"

A barrage of dark curses flew towards Aberforth as another masked Death Eater appeared. That had to be the one who had entered the tavern before the fight started. And if the first Death Eater was Rabastan Lestrange, then this would be his brother Rodolphus. Two marked members of the Dark Lord's inner circle. No wonder Bertram had been killed! And now they were out for his blood!

He dove forward, into a roll, but his body was just too old, and too wounded, and he hit the cobblestones hard, sliding rather than rolling over them. He felt ribs breaking and his knee sent shards of pain up his leg. He had dodged the spells though, and he hadn't lost his wand. He quickly raised part of the ground as a stone wall to shield him. As curses hit the wall, shaking and shattering it, he recast his Shield Charm and created a slab of marble as another barrier - and not a moment too soon. More curses shattered it almost as quickly as the first stone wall, but he had gained enough time to react now. He banished the remains at the attacker, peppering his shield, then aimed his wand at the still screaming Death Eater who was trying to crawl out of the acid pit. A flick, and the screaming man flew at the standing Death Eater.

Rodolphus was incensed. That scum had dared to hurt his brother! He would pay for this unforgivable crime with his life! The dark wizard was sending spell after spell at the man, crushing the feeble walls his foe had conjured to hide himself. Rodolphus's enemy would not escape! He was wounded, and slow, and Rodolphus was one of the Dark Lord's chosen! His spells couldn't be stopped!

A wave of rock shards flew at him, but his shield stopped them, easily. He was about to strike down the wizard who was trying to reach more solid cover when he noticed something large flying at him from the corner of his eye. Rodolphus dove to the side and cast a Blasting Curse at it before he touched the ground. His shield would be able to handle another hail of fragments much better than a massive… He recognized his brother's screaming face just before his spell hit and Rabastan was torn to pieces right in front of Rodolphus, blood and other remains splattering against his shield.

Rabastan… his younger brother… dead. By his own wand… no, by treachery! Foul treachery!

Screaming in rage, Rodolphus turned around to end the life of the man who had sent his brother to his death, the tip of his wand already glowing with a dark curse.

The last thing he saw were a dozen wizards and witches sending curses at him.

Aberforth lowered his wand, gulping down air despite the pain each breath caused him. That had been close, though partially it had been his own foolishness, and rash actions that had endangered him so. But he was no Albus. He couldn't suppress his emotions, couldn't act that coldly, that calculatingly.

"Grandmother will be pleased to know you haven't changed, and still would risk your life to save a witch," Iva said, stepping closer and peering at him while the rest of her group formed a circle around them, facing the villagers and mercenaries who had arrived, at last, at the scene of battle.

"She'd still call me a damned fool," Aberforth muttered, "and she'd be right." A swish numbed his ribs enough for him to stand without too much pain. Showing a weakness would be bad now, with his group facing a village of Macedonians while standing amidst the ruins of their houses, and with at least one of the villagers dead.

"A fool you may be, but an impressive wizard," the witch whispered, smiling and patting his shoulder - his wounded one! He couldn't tell from her expression if she had done so deliberately. Lea would have.

Scoffing, he straightened and took a careful step forward, taking care not to hurt his wounded knee further, and left the circle formed by Iva's group. The villagers were watching them, him, wands out, ready to curse. One wrong step, and there would be a bloodbath. He had been in worse situations. Smiling, he repaired his damaged robe - the enchantments were already recovering - and addressed the wizards and witches: "Greetings. My name is Aberforth Dumbledore. I'm looking for a few brave wands to battle scum like those."

That sent a murmur through their ranks, as he had known it would. His brother was famous, after all, even in the far-away corners of Magical Europe. He pointed at the wrecked house behind him. "I am sorry, but I couldn't save the young witch that scum had wounded. She was dead before I reached her." An older woman gasped, and started to run towards the ruins, followed by a younger witch and wizard. He heard them wailing soon after they had entered the remains of the house. The rest of the crowd facing him and Iva's group didn't seem too concerned though - they were probably visiting, and not villagers, he realised.

An old witch stepped forward. "Aberforth Dumbledore? Sasha's friend?"

A relative of Sasha? He nodded and pointed at Iva. "That's the granddaughter of the witch Sasha and I saved. She and her family have joined me already."

More murmurs broke out. Iva shifted her weight around a bit as many took a closer look at her.

A middle-aged wizard with a badly scarred face chuckled. "There were more than half a dozen of them, and you beat them all."

"More than a dozen, disillusioned," Aberforth corrected him. The wizard nodded.

The old woman spoke again. "I'm Ruza Nacheva, Sasha's sister. Why did you attack them in our village?"

"They have killed a friend of mine, burning down a tavern full of people in the process, and were planning to kill more of my family. I saw they were preparing an ambush in the village, so I intervened." It was close enough to the truth.

Ruza nodded, accepting his explanation. "They were hiring, but they are dead now. You're hiring, and you're alive."

"Yes. Though while the pay is good, the mission will be dangerous. You will be facing the Dark Lord's worst, you will be working in a country that doesn't share your traditions and customs, and you'll be taking orders from my brother, Albus."

"Will we be saving fair maidens?" A young wizard asked, grinning wildly. The young witch next to him added: "Or handsome wizards?" Many in the crowd laughed.

"Who cares about that, will there be loot?" The scarred wizard asked, setting off another round of laughter.

Aberforth tried to ignore the wailing and lamentations from the dead girl's family. No, this village hadn't changed at all. Like Sasha, they were both used to violence and death, eager to fight and even more eager to celebrate. He wondered how his brother, who had troubles with the rougher clientele in Aberforth's inn, would handle those people.

Imagining Albus's reaction made him chuckle as they walked towards the tavern.

Albus Dumbledore had no trouble smiling reassuringly and confidently at his friends gathered in the cottage on the coast of Dover. This time he had good news to share with the Order of the Phoenix - very good news, in fact.

"My friends, please excuse my slightly late arrival. I have just received very good news." At that, even Sirius sat up straighter and paid more attention to him than to the Veela Albus was rather certain would become his wife. Even Nymphadora and Viktor were less obviously enamored of each other. "Not only have the Dark Lord's recruiting attempts in the Balkans been stopped, but we have gained more wands for our cause."

"Allies?" Emmeline asked, surprised.

Alastor scoffed. "Mercenaries more likely. Cutthroats, the lot of them, but good fighters. They've got far more experience than our own Hit-Wizards recruits because they don't coddle their children. As long as they're paid they'll usually not turn on you, unless the situation turns desperate. But don't count on it. Keep them between you and the enemy, and never let them out of your sight lest they'll be tempted to listen to better offers."

Sirius grinned. "I'll be glad to put Lucius's gold to good use then."

"Alastor is exaggerating a bit, but yes, several mercenaries have been hired. I bid you to welcome them warmly, and be tolerant if at first they have trouble fitting in. As Alastor pointed out, they have different customs and traditions." Albus hoped that his brother had hired the more dependable, honourable ones, and not bandits in all but name. Aberforth had an unfortunate tendency to associate with the more unsavory elements of Britain, which colored his views, sadly.

"And they've got different experiences. They've got a lot of pride, and their wands sit loose in their holsters. They take insults deadly seriously, and start blood feuds over what we'd call small disagreements," Alastor said in his usual gravelly voice, his good eye looking at Molly Weasley while his enchanted one spun around.

Viktor nodded. "He is correct. They may not have attended a prestigious school like we have, but they have grown up and live with regular raids and feuds. That experience cannot be discounted, as some of our border guards tend to find out." Nymphadora patted his hand.

Kingsley, ever the Auror, asked: "You said the Dark Lord's recruiters have been stopped. Permanently?"

Albus nodded. "Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange as well as a dozen wands they had hired were killed in Macedonia."

"Those beasts are dead?" Sirius grinned ferally. "Augusta and Neville will be overjoyed!"

Hestia nodded. "Whoever killed those two is certainly a welcome addition to our ranks." Her slight glance at the four Veela sitting with Sirius and Remus showed, at least to Albus, that she wasn't quite as welcoming towards those new members. The Headmaster hoped she'd get over her jealousy soon - it wasn't as if she had been serious about Sirius. She wouldn't have believed him guilty otherwise.

While the others voiced their agreement, and whispered among each other, Alastor chuckled. He probably knew who had done that deed, and that Aberforth would scoff at the thought that he would ever join the ranks of what he saw as Albus's order.

Minerva coughed, and most of the people present quickly fell silent. Not unlike her students in class, Albus thought, amused. "With his recruiting efforts in the Balkans stopped, for now, won't the Dark Lord look towards other sources of new followers?

"Dark creatures like werewolves, vampires, trolls and even giants!" Emmeline stated. Albus saw Remus wince.

Alastor snorted. "Werewolves and vampires we can handle. And giants? They're no problem. They're too afraid to leave their last hideouts, and with good cause."

Most of those present looked puzzled. Understandable, since they only knew the old reports of battles against giants. The grizzled Auror chuckled.

Rubeus nodded in agreement. "Yah. Giants been scared'f muggle cannons fer centuries, and tha muggles improved them alot since. Giants're tough, but not that tough, and they make f'r awfully big targets, me'mum always said."

"If we could get those cannons..." Sirius whispered.

"It would not do us any good," Albus shook his head at the wizard. "While they are very useful to hit and kill large, lumbering giants, they would have a much harder time hitting humans." He didn't mention that learning how to use them without killing yourself or your allies by mistake was difficult as well - Sirius and even Remus might take it as a challenge. "The muggles use them to hit vehicles, not other muggles. And outside of dealing with giants and their resistance to magic, they are not as useful as a wand." Not to mention that the ICW's reaction upon discovering that anyone had started to use muggle artillery in a wizarding war would be rather drastic. "But enough of that. We will need safe quarters for our new allies, and a lot of them. I have a few more such cottages prepared, but depending on how many join us from the Balkans, it won't be enough."

"I'll host Viktor's family in my home then, they'll be family soon enough!" Sirius announced cheerfully, as Albus had expected him to.

"I can expand a house or two easily. Did it enough at home," Arthur offered. William added: "And I can ward them."

Albus had hoped for such an offer as well. The Weasleys were used to doing much of what other, richer families contracted out. With Aberforth's generous hiring practises, such self-reliancy would prove quite fortunate for Albus's finances.

The Headmaster smiled at his friends. "Very well. Now, what other news is there?"

While Kingsley and Nymphadora shared the latest reports from the Ministry, Albus was already planning how best to use his new wands. Integrating those mercenaries would require a delicate touch. Maybe he should leave them to his brother…

"I offer you the hospitality of my home."

Sirius Black greeted Viktor's family - his parents, Mihail Bogomiliev and Lyubuv Radomirieva, as well as his older brother Apostol Mihailiev and his best friend and best man, Boris Stankoiev - who had just arrived through the Floo Network.

Mihail bowed back and declared: "I accept your hospitality for myself and my family."

Grinning, Sirius took a step closer and offered his hand. "Welcome to No 12, Grimmauld Place! Ancestral home of the Black Family, and once the most cursed building in London! Don't worry though, it's almost perfectly safe now." Behind him, Valérie and Eugénie giggled.

His well-practised line didn't seem to faze the family. A quick glance at the carefully bland expression of Viktor showed the reason for that. Oh, yes, the young man would fit in just fine. His often stoic expression hid the sense of humour anyone marrying into Sirius's family would need.

"And we're glad to be here!" Mihail stated, and embraced Sirius. "To prepare for war, and a wedding!" In a stage-whisper, the wizard added: "Both are very similar when it comes to my family, you know!", then laughed while his wife scolded him.

Sirius was released, and resisted the urge to check his ribs before he introduced his girlfriends to his new guests. To his slight surprise, the four Veela were greeted very politely, but a bit distantly. Probably Viktor at work again. Hopefully, that lack of the usual reaction to them wouldn't be seen as a challenge by his girlfriends to step up the flirting. While the French witches understood cultural differences, they didn't always act with those in mind.

"Now, let me give you a brief tour of the house, and show you your rooms." They had added another floor for the new guests - apart from those present, a number of Viktor's extended family would be arriving later, and Sirius thought it would be best to not mix them with his other guests, not too much at least, until they had grown used to each other. Remus had approved of that.

Thinking of his best friend made Sirius felt both guilty and relieved that Remus had chosen to stay at Hogwarts for the duration of the visit of the Krums. Revealing the man's curse to the guests would have created problems, but not revealing them would have gone against the hospitality Sirius had offered. Cursed if you did, cursed if you didn't.

Kreacher arrived at the top of the stairs, showing his teeth in what went for a friendly smile for the old elf. The little bugger was happy, of course - all of the Krums were purebloods. The wizard pointed at the elf. "That's Kreacher, my family's house elf. If you need anything, call for him, and he'll come. Eventually."

Kreacher nodded eagerly.

Sirius felt the need to add: "He's also quite deranged. Please ignore him should he start rambling about slaves and dungeons."

Judging by the looks his comment caused, Viktor hadn't been that thorough in preparing his family for their stay at Grimmauld Place.

"Oh, no, Kreacher wouldn't do that. Master made it clear that the Dungeons are a private family matter."

While the Krums now openly stared at him and his girlfriends, Sirius wondered if Hermione would believe it if he vanished the cackling elf's tongue and claimed it was an accident in the kitchen.

The room was covered with two dozen foot-wide spiders skittering around, sharp claws leaving small dents in the floor and sharper fangs clicking as they tried to reach the piece of meat dangling from the ceiling. Even after five minutes, they hadn't met with any success.

Hermione, observing from the side, shook her head. The summoned spiders were not smart enough to climb up the walls and along the ceiling to descend from above. They weren't even smart enough to climb over each other so some could reach it. She pointed her wand at them.

"Clades Araneae!"

Her spell covered the area in a flash of light, and the two dozen spiders - the result of two spells - started to twitch, trembled, then collapsed and lay still.

Hermione sighed. "I fear that's the best I could do. I can't get them smart enough to find a way around that obstacle, or to work together."

"I didn't expect them to. Neither of the parent species are social, or smart," Miss Jenny said while prodding the closest carcass with her basilisk hide boots. When she saw fluids leak out of the carapace, she nodded, apparently satisfied. "I also didn't expect you to create two spells though."

Hermione smiled. "I didn't want to create a poison without the antidote." Well, she did, sort of - she hadn't created an antidote to the spider's venom. There were potions, and bezoars, but those didn't work that well with poison meant to liquify a victim from the inside.

"So… 'Bane Spider' and 'Spider's Bane'?" The Australian Witch was grinning.

"Yes." Hermione hadn't chosen those names herself. Ron and Harry had insisted that "Redback-Funnel-Web-Hybrid-Spider Summons" was not a good name for her new spell, no matter how correct it was, and had made her pick one from a list of suggestions they had come up with.

"I like it. And 'Spider's Bane' will be very popular in my home country."

"It's also very popular at Hogwarts," Hermione said in a dry voice. At least among those in the know. Ron had jumped at the chance to test that new spell, and according to Harry, was still casting it several times a day in their dorm room. As a consequence, all sorts of spiders were now an endangered species near the Gryffindor dorms.

"Does it work on magical spiders too? That would have been very useful when the acromantula nest in the Forbidden Forest was cleared out. They burned down a whole section to get all the eggs and young, or so Gilderoy told me."

"I haven't been able to test that, but it should work, though it will have trouble affecting the bigger ones." Hermione frowned. While acromantulas were dangerous and known man-eaters, they were also intelligent, the older ones even able to talk. Killing them all like that... She felt like a hypocrite, developing such a spell after her reaction to that massacre. But as that event had proven, there were already a lot of spells to kill those spiders, hers worked just a bit more selectively.

"Even better! If you can tweak the spell to include all venomous arthropods, you'll never have to pay for a drink in any pub in Magical Australia, ever again!" It went without saying that only the enclaves founded by British wizards were covered by that. The Aborigines ruling most of the continent though...

"Aren't there spells to deal with pests and such already?" Hermione couldn't imagine any magical country in an area with venomous spiders and other insects not developing spells of that nature.

"Yeah but most are ward-types which force the critters out of an area. Yours kills them. That'll be a hit." Jenny's grin seemed slightly deranged to Hermione.

"I think spreading 'Spider's Bane' should be delayed until the war's over. If Death Eaters learn it, or of it, 'Bane Spider' won't be too useful," Hermione pointed out.

"Ah, right. I guess I'll have to wait until I can get my boots enchanted with that spell."

Hermione was briefly confused about the purpose of such an enchantment, until she remembered that some animals tended to sneak into boots left on the ground during the night, leading to venomous stings or bites in the morning. Though a ward would work perfectly fine there. "I'll see what I can do about tweaking the spell, but with my O.W.L.s ahead, I won't have much time until the end of term." And she had her other research to do as well. Harry needed her.

"That's no problem. The war won't be over that quickly anyway. Thank you again! I'll teach it to Rubeus, and the others." Jenny grinned, and turned to leave.

"Good evening, Miss Jenny." Hermione thought that the war not ending quickly actually was a big, the biggest problem, but commenting on that point would have made her look pedantic.

"And one bludger goes straight for Bell, who's carrying the quaffle, but there's Fred - or George - Weasley, intercepting it and sending it back to the Slytherins. Ow! That one came from Goyle's blind side, and hit him right when he was batting at the other bludger, which caused him to miss! Double hit, and and he's off the broom! Flint is calling for a time-out as Matron Pomfrey rushes on the pitch to render first aid."

Harry Potter knew he was supposed to stop playing, in his case searching for the snitch, during the time-out, but no seeker would ever do that. So all he did was stop his broom while his eyes kept looking for the golden ball. Malfoy's successor as Slytherin's seeker, Martello Preston-Davis, did the same. If the snitch appeared now, that would lead to probably embarrassing scenes as both of them would try to get closer without looking as if they had actually spotted the snitch.

Harry grinned, then schooled his features again, and slowly, very slowly started to drift to his right. He carefully didn't look in that direction at all, but kept his eyes on the Slytherin seeker. Preston-Davis noticed, of course, and snarling, started to fly towards Harry's right. Too fast to count as a drift. And as Harry had expected, Hooch didn't miss that.

"Preston tries to hunt the snitch during the time-out, earning a penalty shot! As Goyle has returned to the pitch, Bell lines up, aims, and she scores! 140-50, Gryffindor!"

Snickering, Harry sped up. For the House of the Cunning, their Quidditch players were a rather gullible lot, at least most of them. He dove down towards the ground - not a Wronksi feint, even if Hermione would disagree, since he pulled up far too early - and did a lap on the level of the lowest rank of the spectators. He thought he had spotted something golden below the Hufflepuff stands. If it had been the snitch, then it had disappeared again though. Harry didn't really mind. He loved flying and this was the last Quidditch match of the year, the last chance to compete - at least according to the study schedule Hermione had made for him.

"Has Potter seen the snitch? Why else would he fly straight at the stands? And Weasley blocks another shot from Meadhill!"

Why would he? Because it was fun! He ducked under the stands, weaving through the support beams, then shot back to the pitch, almost colliding with a Slytherin chaser, who promptly fumbled the quaffle. Rolling his boom, Harry rose in a steep climb before leveling out 100 yards above the pitch. Preston was following him, though a bit more cautious. Too cautious, Harry thought, to have a chance to catch up with him. Meanwhile, Harry's team had scored again. 150-50.

For a few minutes, the Gryffindor seeker flew a 'standard search pattern', as Hermione had called it. He trusted his intuition and luck more, but his girlfriend had spent some of her precious time on researching such patterns from airplane searches, and so the young wizard felt obligated to at least use them a few times during a match. The witch usually didn't care at all about the game, after all.

Just as he was about to switch for a random pattern, he spotted a glint near the ground. A golden glint!

Harry banked and dropped into a dive straight down, rapidly picking up speed. The sound from the air rushing past his ears started to drown out the announcer. Harry didn't notice. He was focused on the snitch, and on the dive. Halfway there. He was still accelerating. Almost… now!

He started to pull up with both hands, straining to fight the broom's momentum. As soon as he wasn't headed straight down anymore, he reached out with his hand towards the snitch. At the last second, the ball took an extreme turn and Harry missed his grab, the tips of his fingers brushing against one of the fluttering wings.

Cursing, he pulled with both hands to turn around, Preston was right behind him, and might… he managed to duck just in time to avoid Preston's screaming body. At that height, and with that vector… Harry winced when Preston hit the cushioning charms covering the ground. Even with the charms, that hurt, as he knew from personal experience.

He had now finished pulling his own broom around and was chasing again after the snitch, which was trying to escape towards the Gryffindor stands. Snarling, Harry raced after it, once more reaching out with one hand. The thing was faster than he had expected, flying straight, not darting around as usual. It didn't matter much though. The wizard bent down, reducing drag to speed up a tiny bit more. Almost… almost… his hand closed around the snitch, then he pulled his broom up while he slowed down as much as possible.

He cleared the spells protecting the Gryffindor stands from crashing brooms and bludgers by a hand's width while the students below were jumping and cheering. Ron in his keeper armor was already racing after him on his own broom, a wide grin on his face, followed by the rest of the team.

After a group hug in the air, with lots of shoulder-clapping and cheering, the team flew the traditional victory lap, cheered by three-quarters - more or less - of the spectators. Among them a wildly waving and smiling Hermione.

"I've received confirmation of the deaths of Rodolphus and Rabastan." The Dark Lord Voldemort said. He had felt them die, of course, but it wouldn't do to spread what the Dark Mark really did. Not even to his Bella. Let her believe he needed a spell to confirm it.

Bellatrix Lestrange pursed her lips. "That will set your recruitment plans back, my lord." Otherwise, the witch didn't react much to the news of the death of her husband and brother in law. Voldemort hadn't expected her to. Their marriage had been an arrangement all involved had known was a mere fiction, a concession for her family. Neither love nor passion had been part of it, and despite both Rodolphus and Bella being among his most faithful, he hadn't seen any sign of friendship developing either. Even before Azkaban. Afterwards… they had tolerated each other, which had been the best he could have hoped for.

"That is correct. Other agents are still at work in Europe, but the Balkans are the best source for wands." Redirecting one to the area was possible, but his enemies would expect that. His wand would have to act with a good cover, and setting that up would take some time. Dumbledore had won that round.

He briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm down. Ranting or destroying something wouldn't do him any good. The ritual he was creating showed promise, great promise, but it couldn't be rushed, not without taking unacceptable risks. He still needed a diversion, and he would need more wands even once the ritual succeeded, to take over and run the country.

He would have to resort to creatures then. Vampires and werewolves. They would make useful curse fodder, given their grievances with Britain's society, and while they didn't fight for free, a promise - empty, of course - of a higher status in a country ruled by the Dark Lord would be sufficient to make them loyal. He'd have to be a bit more discreet when sacrificing werewolves, of course, but since that would only happen on a full moon, when they were reduced to mindless beasts, it shouldn't be too difficult to hide the truth about his work from the cursed beasts until it was too late.

He felt Bellatrix's arms around him and caressed her hair before returning the embrace. It was tempting to console himself in her arms. But it wouldn't solve his problems. He needed wizards, not beasts.

He took a deep breath again. He'd have to activate some of his secret followers. And check if Igor was still resisting him, or if the traitor had finally succumbed to his influence. Durmstrang would make for a good recruiting ground if its Headmaster was once again one of his. He might even let the traitor live, should he provide enough wands for the Dark Lord.

He ran his hands over Bellatrix's bare back, then kissed her. While he led her to his bed, his eyes briefly glanced at the note on his desk, the report from his spy at the Ministry. Yes, Dumbledore had won one round, but Voldemort was about to win a decisive victory. The prophecy would soon be his.