I'd like to thank my beta readers, thekingofsweden1 and rpeh for betaing! The story has been improved a lot thanks to their help!


Chapter 55: Berserkers

Hermione Granger smiled while she watched Harry duel with Ron in 'their' room. It wasn't a serious duel, of course. It would have been foolish to do that outside a duelling chamber or court. The two were simply fooling around, sending hexes and jinxes at each other. They were more having fun than actually training, though one could claim they were improving their dodging. She didn't mind though - it was good to see Harry laughing again, after the sombre mood Samhain had put him in.

Even if it distracted her somewhat from her research. Though to be honest, she had exhausted her resources already. There simply wasn't enough material about Dementors in the Hogwarts Library to be useful. She had asked the Headmaster for more resources, but he hadn't come through yet with anything.

The young witch bit her lower lip. The Dark Lord was making progress, while she was… not exactly stalled, but slowing down. If this went on for much longer… An arm around her shoulders, and a kiss on her cheek interrupted her increasingly dark thoughts.

"What are you frowning about?" Harry asked, the lighter tone of his question contrasting with the worry in his eyes.

There was no point in lying. She gestured at her computer. "I need more books to continue my research, but they are hard to come by."

"Oh, Hermione needs books! What a surprise!" Ron grinned, cleaning the last spots Harry's colour spraying hex had left on his face with a flick of his wand.

She pursed her lips and frowned at him, though she felt better already hearing the familiar banter.

"The Headmaster will get them," Harry said, squeezing her shoulder, then steered her towards the couch.

"I hope so." There was no alternative, not really.

Ron let himself fall into the seat next to the couch, then floated the tray with snacks over to the group. "You'll get them. Or you'll find a way to do without them." He bit into a sandwich. "Where's Dumbledore anyway? He hasn't been seen around the school in a while."

"He's dealing with the Ministry, I think" Harry said.

"The werewolves?" Ron asked.

"And the ICW trouble. Scandinavia is making waves," Hermione said.

"They try. But they are the only ones who care about werewolves," Harry added in a bitter tone.

"Some of the enclaves in America have quite progressive policies as well," Hermione corrected him.

Harry scoffed. "They're just looking for curse fodder for their wars."

"Scandinavia is the same," Hermione countered.

"Well, if they weren't, all the werewolves would have emigrated to the North long ago," Ron said, summoning a can of Coca Cola. "Bunch of crazy wizards, always warring with each other. Like a miniature America."

"North America," Hermione said. "Central and South America are quite stable regions." They still had slaves, and had wiped out the native wizards and witches, but they were stable. She saw Ron and Harry exchange a grin, and frowned. So she liked being precise!

Harry squeezed her shoulder again, then pulled her into his lap. "It's not just that. I asked Remus about it. Scandinavia is also… too rustic for his taste."

Ron looked puzzled. "Rustic?"

Harry nodded. "They don't use as much magic as we do, at least not openly, because of the numbers of muggle werewolves. They'd take offense or something."

Ron blinked. "Blimey! No wonder no one wants to emigrate there, if you have to live like a muggle!"

Hermione snorted. "Living like a muggle wouldn't be bad. Living like a wizard without magic though… they still have wards, which renders most technology useless. The Scandinavian muggle countries have one of the highest standards of living, actually."

"Well, once you patent your invention," Ron said, pointing at her shielded computer, "that might change. Should make you rich too."

Hermione bit her lower lip, and glanced at Harry. They had thought about that.

Ron frowned. "What's wrong?"

Hermione sighed. "It'll also mean more people will be able to speed up spellcrafting."

"Like dark wizards," Ron said, looking grim. "But they already know it's possible, due to the Movie Nights."

"Yes." Some might be fooled, Hermione knew, into thinking this was some magic way to see muggle movies, but the smarter wizards would soon know, if they didn't already, that this was a way to have muggle electronics work inside wards. "But they won't yet know how. And some might never find out."

"Well, you'll be able to profit indirectly at least by developing spells," Ron said. As a son of the Weasley family, Hermione knew he was very familiar with all ways to make a good living in Wizarding Britain.

"Yes!" said Harry, "She'll create a lot of spells. She already got a few inquiries after the Tournament."

"You got them," Hermione pointed out. That slight still hurt, even more than a year later. In response he kissed her.

After a while, Ron coughed. They broke the kiss, and Hermione glared at their best friend.

"Hey!" He grinned and held up his hands. "There's a reason we have single rooms in sixth year."

"Did you tell that to the twins as well?" They certainly hadn't stuck to their rooms during their 'explorations'.

"As if telling them anything would have been of any use." Ron waved his hand dismissively.

"Well," Harry said, grinning, "you're not exactly discreet with Parkinson."

"Hey!" Ron glared at him.

Hermione giggled.

Ron sighed. "Just because she's the only one outside our friends who takes the training seriously, and a challenge to duel doesn't mean I fancy her."

Harry made an exaggerated show of being relieved. "Whew! You had me worried there, mate, since we duel so often as well."

Hermione giggled again, and added: "That doesn't mean you don't fancy her either."

Ron shook his head. "She was Malfoy's girlfriend!"

"Well, she broke up with him for muggle movies. That doesn't sound like there was much love," Harry said.

"She probably resented that he tried to tell her what she could and couldn't watch. She's got a lot of pride," Hermione said. At least Lavender and Parvati had said that, back then.

"Sounds plausible to me," Ron agreed. "She really hates losing."

"Unless it's to you." Harry smirked.

Ron growled, and grabbed another sandwich.

It wasn't nice to tease their friend like that, Hermione thought as she snuggled up to Harry, but she felt much happier already.


Ejnar Borge watched the coast of England, barely visible in the pale light of the half-moon, grow larger as the ship he was on approached the island. He took a deep breath, and for a second, he imagined he was a Viking raider, bearing down on the Anglo-Saxons to pillage their villages. In a way he was, though he wouldn't pillage, but punish. Teach those British bigots that they couldn't murder werewolves with impunity. Teach them to fear the berserkers.

He saw Afi walk up to him. The man wasn't quite as tall as he was, but had the same blonde hair. His cousin stared at the coast as well, then turned to him. "I still don't think it'll be as easy as you claim."

Ejnar snorted. "I've done it before. The British put far too much trust in magic. They didn't even control the muggle traffic back then." They were weak, depending on magic. Unlike the Scandinavians. He saw that the other werewolf looked unconvinced, and slapped him on the back. "Don't worry. Even if they could detect us, at night and using a muggle ship, we'd best whatever forces they'd throw at us. We're a warband, not some children and prisoners."

Afi nodded. "Truth."

They did have almost two score with them - and most of them berserkers - from five different packs. Enjar thought the expedition was worth it just for the alliance it created, sealed with blood and oath, between those packs.

They were close enough to the shore now that he could see the foam where the sea reached the beach. "Rouse the rest. We'll disembark soon."

While Afi went below decks, Ejnar went to check on the Zodiacs the crew were preparing. All experienced fishermen, they knew their work, but he was the leader of this band, and he'd have to check. Drowning would be a rather ignoble death, unworthy of Valhalla. Not that he was looking forward to Valhalla already. He still had no children, no legacy. This expedition could earn him both. Erase the stain on of his association with that traitor Paige - Caldwell.

He snarled, thinking about her. Years ago, he had thought her weak when she had not wanted to join his pack. Too civilised to stomach the life in Scandinavia. She hadn't been weak, but treacherous though. An assassin posing as a whore. He had no doubt that she was already back in Britain, getting her reward for having assassinated Greyback.

He clenched his fist, breathing deeply to calm himself. She wouldn't escape justice. For a werewolf to side with the British scum there was only one punishment. Death.

By the time he was calm enough to address others without growling, the Zodiacs were ready and his band was on deck. He looked them over. All of them were wizards. The other werewolves had volunteered as well, but for this first expedition, he wanted to restrict the members to those able to use wands. They didn't know enough about Britain, yet.

He nodded at the men and women. There was no need for speeches. Everyone knew why they were here.

"Let's go!"

The Zodiacs were lowered onto the water, and his band followed, climbing down and filling both. Two fishermen handled the Zodiacs. They were muggles, but they had relatives among the packs, and dealt with several villages. They'd not betray their own blood.

Ejnar let his hand trail through the water while they sped towards the beach. Once again, he thought, Norsemen came to make war on the British. And once again they'd vanquish them.


Sitting in the library, Pansy Parkinson mentally rolled her eyes when she saw Daphne Greengrass walking towards her. The blonde ditz took a seat next to her, the table barely expanding past the chair. Even the library seemed to know that Greengrass wasn't fond of books. Or the library had no magic left to spare after stretching Granger's table, Pansy thought with a chuckle.

"Hi Pansy," the blonde mumbled, then sat down. She had been moping ever since she had finally realised that, yes, Harry Potter really didn't want to sleep with her. She didn't look like she was feeling any better still.

"Daphne," Pansy answered, letting a hint of her annoyance at the interruption of her studying bleed into her tone.

The other witch, of course, completely missed that, and sighed theatrically. "Why's love so difficult?"

"You're not in love. You're just stubbornly in lust," Pansy said.

"There should be a law against such selfishness!" Daphne huffed.

Pansy rolled her eyes at that. "Don't be stupid. Would you sleep with McLaggen?"

The girl gasped. "I'm not sleeping with McLaggen!"

She sighed. "The point was that the Year of Exploration is about doing things you want, without regrets. Not things you don't want."

"Well, I want to sleep with them!"

"And they don't want to sleep with anyone but themselves. Accept it!"

The witch sighed, and didn't say anything for a bit. But just when Pansy had turned back to the treatise about defensive enchantments, Daphne mumbled: "I'm trying to. It's just so hard. I've been looking forward to this for years!"

"You've been looking forward to sleeping with Granger for years?"

"No! Well, not for years. She got prettier though, and do you remember how she did in the Duelling Competition?"

"Of course I do. Draco was moping for weeks." Not unlike Daphne, Pansy thought.

Neither witch said anything for a bit. Then Daphne sighed once more. "Tracey said that even if I had been nicer to Granger in first year, they'd not want to sleep with me."

"She's right." Tracey, Pansy, even Susan Bones had been telling that to Daphne, if what Pansy had heard was correct.

"It would have been easier if that was the reason, you know. Something I did, not something I am."

"Merlin, Daphne! How often do I have to tell you, it's not your fault! You're fine, There's nothing wrong with you, Potter simply doesn't sleep with anyone but Granger!" Pansy all but shouted, trusting in the privacy enchantments of the library.

Daphne gaped at her, then smiled. "Thank you!"

For a moment, Pansy considered telling her that she hadn't meant it that way. That the other witch was a twit. But the blonde had been moping for so long, she really didn't want to ruin any progress that had been - finally! - made.

"I think I'm over them now," Daphne said, though with a wistful expression straight from a robe-ripper cover.

"Thank the gods!" Pansy mumbled under her breath.

"So… what about you and Weasley?" The blonde leaned forward with an eager expression on her face.

Pansy closed her eyes. "There's nothing between me and him." Nothing she could put her finger on, in any case. There could be something, she was certain of that.

"Oh. Do you mind if I sleep with him then?" Daphne beamed at her.

Pansy's glare set the other witch running, but she was giggling as she fled.

To think that twit got the better of her… Pansy resolved to pay extra attention to Daphne in the next Defense Club session. Maybe she'd look for a stronger Stinging Hex too. As experience had shown her, the blonde needed more work to learn a lesson than most others.


Wizarding Britain had changed since he had been there the last time, Ejnar Borge thought a few days after the arrival of his warband on the shores of the island. When he had been traveling through the country, and trying to persuade werewolves to move to Scandinavia, he had visited a number of small settlements. All of those seemed abandoned now though, the houses sealed up. Like the one he was standing in at the moment, a handful of houses in the countryside, hidden from muggles. Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley would be different, but they also would be heavily guarded. Ejnar and his band were brave, but he didn't plan to visit Valhalla that soon.

"Any luck?" he asked when he saw his cousin walking towards him.

Afi shook his head. "No soul around, as far as I can tell." He gestured behind him. "We found a weakly warded house, and we could break through them."

Enjar thought that over. "We'll do it, but we'll prepare an ambush." The British Ministry would have ways to monitor such houses.

Afi grinned. "Blood or loot. Or both."

"Exactly."

Ejnar quickly had three of his band work on the wards, while the rest, disillusioned and hidden, were spread out, covering the approaches to the house. If the British wizards dared to show up they'd soon discover that facing a Norse Warband was very different from facing children.

When the thugs of the British Ministry arrived, he discovered what else had changed in Britain. He had expected them to surround the house, and demand that the the men working on the wards surrender. Just like they had reacted to a bit of violence during his first visit.

Instead half a dozen spells flew at his men from above without warning, focused on one werewolf. His shield and other protections didn't withstand that sort of assault, and he was hit by a bludgeoning curse that slammed him into the ground. It didn't kill him, but it disrupted his concentration. That triggered a backlash from the wards. Fortunately those were weak, but it was still enough to kill him and throw the two others working on the wards around like rag dolls, their shields shattered.

Ejnar's warband roared with rage and spells flew at the disillusioned broom riders. Not enough had the presence of mind to cast a Human-presence-revealing Spell though - but two of the broom riders - Hit-Wizards, he realised when he saw their grey robes - were stripped of their concealing charms, and a dozen spells shot at them at once. One of them evaded the barrage, suffering only one hit, his shield flaring up as a spell clipped him. The other was hit with multiple curses and blown from his broom. He was still screaming when the wards of the house he was falling towards fried him.

Ejnar cast another Human-presence-revealing Spell, followed by Afi, but the British were flying away as fast as they could. He cast an amplifying charm on himself since most of his band shouted curses and taunts at the retreating Hit-Wizards. They hadn't been in battle long enough to go berserk, which he was very glad for. Flying enemies were the worst for a warband. "Gather our wounded and Bolli. We need to leave before they return in force."

One of the more excitable members of his band yelled "Fleeing? From those cowards?" Others who had been moving already hesitated.

Ejnar faced him. "Yes. They'll return with more wands, prepared for us. Only a fool stays after the first clash of a raid." He stared at the man until the werewolf lowered his eyes, then glanced at the rest of his band.

They were gone in a minute, to the hideout they had prepared. He looked at the houses again. Tempting, yet deadly. "We got blood, but no loot."

Afi, standing next to him, nodded. "Next time we'll be better prepared."

Ejnar nodded. He didn't say that he expected the British to be better prepared as well. Afi would know that anyway. This wouldn't be as easy as he had thought.


Kenneth Fenbrick looked up when his partner, Bertha Limmington, entered their shared office, nose deep in a scroll. "Did the Unspeakables finally finish the autopsy?"

Betha nodded. "No sign of vampiric involvement. The werewolf was bled out through the heart by magical means, then cut up and disemboweled."

Kenneth sighed. "I'm not certain if I should be relieved that the bloodsuckers are not involved, or concerned that the wolf was used in a dark ritual."

"Both are valid reactions," Bertha said, rolling up the report and presenting it to him.

He shook his head. He trusted her to find anything useful in it. "Did you hear about the Felwich raid?"

The other Auror set the roll of parchment down on her desk, then shook her head. "No. What happened?"

"Six Hit-Wizards ran into an ambush when checking up on a ward-breaking alert. Lost one, and when they returned in force, the ambushers were gone."

"Death Eaters?" Bertha narrowed her eyes.

"Maybe. But rather clumsy ones. They lost one of them serving as bait because they were still trying to break down the wards when the Hit-Wizards hit them."

Bertha faintly smiled at his feeble word play. "But burglars wouldn't have had the numbers to ambush a strike team of Hit-Wizards."

"Nor the skill to get one of them," Kenneth agreed.

"So, when do we move out?"

Kenneth stared at her. "Did you meet the boss on the way?"

She shook her head. "No. But you knew a bit too much about this. Too much for simple gossip."

He smiled, he should have know. "You're right. We're on the case. Probably because it's another mystery."

Bertha nodded. Most would have missed her smile, Kenneth didn't.

He frowned at her. "You don't need to look so pleased about more work!"

Her next smile no one could have missed. Kenneth was still grumbling by the time they reached the apparition point.


A dozen Hit-Wizards were in the village - if the half a dozen houses could be called that - when they arrived. Their leader welcomed them. "Alois Fawley. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Kenneth shook his hand. "Kenneth Fenbrick. This is my partner, Bertha Limmington. We're the ones getting stuck with the weird cases." Bertha glared at him, and he grinned.

The witch addressed Fawley: "What do you know so far?"

"Follow me. I'll fill you in on the way," the Hit-Wizard said, gesturing towards the smallest house nearby. "We received the alert in the early evening, and sent a team out. They approached disillusioned, and on brooms, and discovered what looked like three looters. Rather plain robes, focused on the wards. The team engaged, and took out one of them, triggering the wards. That struck the other two down. Right then about two dozen more opened up from concealed positions. The got Brackton, blew him off the broom, straight into the wards there, but the rest of the team escaped."

Kenneth bit back a comment about fleeing Hit-Wizards. The only ones allowed to joke about a mission where people had died were the ones who had been there.

"Were any special spells observed?" Bertha asked.

"My wizards were a bit too busy dodging them to identify them," Fawley said, chuckling. When Bertha simply nodded with that stern face of hers Kenneth knew so well, the man looked taken aback.

"This was the battleground."

Kenneth nodded and checked the area and started casting detection spells, as did Bertha. The witch was as focused as usual.

"I detect a distinct lack of dark spells," Kenneth summed his results up after a quarter hour. Sadly, his partner didn't react to his contradiction.

"That would be very unusual for the Dark Lord's forces," Bertha said instead.

"Do you think it's a new group?"

The witch nodded. "Though we cannot exclude the possibility of a deception by the Dark Lord."

"They could be new recruits though, not yet long enough in his service to have adapted to his tactics," Kenneth speculated.

"In either case, Scandinavian origins would be most likely."

Kenneth groaned. It made too much sense given what he had heard about Scandinavia's reaction to the Holding Centre Massacre, and to Greyback's death.

"What?" Fawley all but shouted. "Those were berserkers?"

"Not every Scandinavian is a berserker, or a werewolf," Bertha corrected the Hit-Wizard.

"Just most of those who'd rush to Britain, eager to avenge their fellow werewolves," Kenneth added, pointing out why those Scandinavians were invading. He still hadn't found the name of the werewolf who had fallen into the fire at the last moment, after saving so many. And no one else but Bertha seemed to care.

"Merlin's balls! I'll have to inform the rest!"

"Just be aware that so far this is just an educated guess," Bertha said, in that cold, clinical tone of hers that sobered you up better than a potion.

Fawley was not immune to it either. "Of course," he said, once again taken aback, then left them.

"So… berserkers in Britain. That sounds like the title of a cheap novel," Kenneth commented.

Bertha didn't react to the joke. "We'll have to go over the pensieve memories of the Hit-Wizard team, to look for clues."

Kenneth groaned again,


"They were definitely Scandinavians," Kenneth said, hours later. "Only they would wear such unfashionable robes."

"Yes. The style is rather distinctive. Very close to muggle clothes," Bertha agreed.

"You know I wasn't entirely serious." He turned to her. They really needed a way to speed up sifting through memories.

"It's a valid observation, though a Nordic tongue being used is more solid evidence of the ambushers' origin."

"Good enough to pass to Bones then." He checked his watch. "And afterwards, we'll need to eat something. I'm starving." He hesitated a second, then added: "My treat."

Bertha nodded, acknowledging his invitation, and started to compile the report for Bones.

He studied her while he waited, occasionally adding an observation of his, enjoying the small frown the witch showed when she had to rearrange her report to include his addition.

An hour later they were finally in Diagon Alley. Bertha seemed surprised when he led her past the Leaky Cauldron, and once more when they entered the 'Marquise', one of the more expensive restaurants in Wizarding London. Fortunately, the war had scared so many people into staying in their homes as much as possible, Kenneth had managed to get a reservation easily enough. A small, intimate table, even, at a window. Then again, most people prefered not to be that exposed these days.

But he was a Gryffindor, and an Auror. He wasn't afraid of Death Eaters attacking Diagon Alley. Or of what he was about to do. Though he was a bit nervous. Maybe even more nervous than before an undercover mission involving Aberforth Dumbledore. But he couldn't wait that much longer. They were at war, and they could die any time, even when checking on a routine call, as today had shown. And he'd be rather angry with himself if he died without confessing to Bertha.

After casting a privacy spell, he took a deep breath, looked at his partner, and opened his mouth.

Before he could say anything though, Bertha spoke: "You're about to ask me out, right?"

He gaped at her. What… how...

She nodded, a smile playing over her lips. "You've been acting odder than normal for some time, you've invited me into one of the most expensive restaurants, and you seem rather nervous."

He groaned. "Yes."

"Yes, you're asking me out?" A hint of teasing coloured her voice.

He wasn't certain if that was a good sign, but the kneazle was out of the bag already. "Yes."

He was about to say more, but once more she cut him off with a smile: "Finally."

Once more he gaped. Did she just…?

"Mathilda bet me I'd have to take the initiative."

What? He blinked. "You've known… why didn't you say anything?" He sounded more hurt than he wanted.

Now Bertha took a deep breath. "I wanted you to ask. I wanted you to work this out, to be certain of your feelings." She leaned forward. "You are certain, aren't you?"

Kenneth nodded.

She smiled. "It was also fun to watch you."

Mathilda Miller had a lot to answer for, Kenneth thought. She had corrupted his partner. That should have been his job!

He was far more relieved and happy than angry, of course - he had been nervous. Bertha wasn't like the girls he had known before, and he hadn't been certain that she'd return his feelings.

"Shouldn't you be kissing me now?"

He stared at her for a moment, wondering if she was once again teasing him, or serious, then decided it didn't matter. "Yes. Yes, I should," he said, as he stood up.

She met him halfway.


Albus Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, smiled at Ottokar Steiner, the delegate of Magical Prussia, as the two of them ordered in a small restaurant in Geneva. "It is good to see you, Ottokar. How are things in Berlin?"

The Prussian wizard shrugged. "There's nothing of note happening. Unlike in Britain, our internal disputes are not solved with violence." Nothing the diplomat would tell Albus. Grindelwald's old followers making waves was still the boggart for many of the continental politicians.

"It is not so internal anymore," Albus pointed out. "We have had Scandinavian werewolves attack us on our soil."

Ottokar made a dismissive gesture. "A few malcontents and hotheads. Individuals, not unlike the mercenaries fighting on both sides already."

"Technically, yes," the old wizard said, nodding, "but we both know that the Scandinavian government tolerates, if not encourages such adventures."

"We may know it, but we lack any proof." Ottokar's tone left no doubt that he was certain that they would never have proof either.

"That is true. But unless you're preparing to pass quite the progressive werewolf legislation, you might be facing such incursion from 'individual malcontents' next," Albus said, meeting the Prussian's eyes. "After all, Grindelwald styled himself as a champion of creature rights as well, and your government made their stance on his ideology very clear."

Ottokar drew a hissing breath. "He just wanted cheap curse fodder."

"You and I know it. I was there and fought them," Albus said, flashes of those times running through his mind for an instant. Ottokar nodded. He had been there as well, but on the other side. A youth, as misled by Gellert as Albus had been. No, he admitted to himself - Albus's own arrogance and hubris had misled him, Gellert had simply provided some ideas. "But will they believe it? And what will happen if the Scandinavians are contacted by Grindelwald's remaining followers?"

"I would expect them to have learned their lesson and stick to their own country, once you are done with them. For the Vanquisher of Grindelwald, a bunch of werewolves shouldn't be a problem."

"Oh, I do not expect much trouble from them either, in Britain," Albus said. Not more than from Voldemort's regular forces, at least. "But there are so many little villages and packs in Scandinavia, always feuding with each other, they might not be deterred from further trips by the fate of their own rivals. Especially if that fate had befallen them in Britain, my home, and they were planning to visit the continent. After all, the internal matters of another country are none of my business, aren't they?"

Ottokar actually hissed now. "Would you really wait while Grindelwald's supporters make a bid for power?"

Albus sounded as unconcerned as possible as he answered: "Without Grindelwald, they are just another group of dark wizards. An internal matter for Prussia."

"We can't sanction another country for the actions of individuals. Not without proof that the government supports them."

"That is true. But we can expect any country to keep their dangerous creatures from attacking other countries. Magical Greece certainly was reprimanded quite sharply for failing to control their creatures when a Hydra wandered up the Albanian Coast." He didn't like lumping werewolves together with creatures, but if it helped persuade Ottokar...

"That was also because of the threat to the Statute," Ottokar said.

"Also, but not just. We have a precedent, at least." Albus smiled at the waiter who brought their meals. Magical Geneva had some of the best cooks in Europe.

"What exactly do you want from them?"

Albus hid his smile this time, though he knew he had won when Ottokar stopped being evasive or contrary. "I want them to make the same effort to keep their hotheads from bothering other countries as they do to uphold the Statute. But I will settle for an honest effort."

"You know they won't be impressed enough to make an honest effort. What are you really after?"

Perceptive. "I'm just laying the groundwork for the future." As if he'd show his cards to the Prussian just because he had asked. He had plans to deal with the problem in Scandinavia, but that wasn't something he could talk about.

Otokar snorted. "How many delegates have you talked about this with already?"

Albus smiled politely. He was meeting with the delegate from Magical France later this evening, and Russia, Austria and Poland tomorrow. If those countries agreed, the rest would fall in line. His reputation would guarantee it.

Seeing Albus wouldn't answer, Ottokar sighed. "You'll have my support, though Prussia expects support as well, should we catch the same disease as Britain."

"You will get the same support as we received, no worry," Albus said.

Ottokar understood what he was saying, judging by his sour expression. Albus smiled broadly - there were some good points to this trip. Reminding Prussia that what went around came around was one of them. It wasn't as if he expected unending gratitude for doing what was right, but favors had to be repaid in politics.


Paige Caldwell ran a hand over the bandage on her arm. Even days after that… terrifying man had caught her, she was scared of using magic. Grateful to be alive and free too, of course. But mostly scared. She was still hunted by the Dark Lord, by the Scandinavians, and by the British Ministry.

And she couldn't really use magic. Not without calling attention to the muggle hut she was hiding in. That was how Dumbledore's brother had found her, or so she thought. So she had to live like a muggle. At least she had wolfsbane for a year. By then, things should have cooled down. She could survive without magic for a year. She had to. Unless she found a way to sneak out of this godsforsaken country.

She could disillusion herself, and sneak on one of the giant muggle ships. Hide until they reached another country. One she wasn't wanted in. She clenched her fist, ignoring the pain that caused. She could do it - if she dared.

Sighing, she sat down on the cot she was using again. She had to heal up first. And without magic, that would take quite some time. Time she might not have, depending on when the muggle owner of this hut visited the next time. At least the heating had started, automatically even, so she wasn't freezing anymore. But food still was a problem. She had stolen a lot, and stored it in her bag, but that was bound to run out sooner rather than later.

Maybe she should risk stowing away anyway, no matter her wounds. Anywhere would be better than here. Even the Americas.


Hermione Granger handed another batch of notes, the results of her latest optimisation efforts, over to the Headmaster. She had had them ready days ago, not long after Dumbledore had finally procured her a useful tome, but the old wizard had been busy in Geneva the last few days.

"Thank you Miss Granger. I see you've made progress…"

When the old wizard trailed off, she knew he had seen her 'variant ritual'. He looked up, straight at her. She nodded, and he started to study her notes again. Probably more carefully now, she thought.

After a while, he put the notes down. "A remarkable idea, Miss Granger. It seems this is the breakthrough you've been striving for."

"Yes, sir."

"And yet… a Dementor?"

Hermione bit her lower lip. "I know this is… very difficult to acquire. But there is nothing else that has a similarly powerful and matching symbolism for the ritual." Nothing else, so far, that would reduce the price the ritual demanded like that.

"I see. But will you be able to conduct the ritual, in the presence of such a creature?"

She wasn't certain the Dementors could be called creatures, but she nodded. "My Occlumency should allow me to function." She met his eyes, and felt him probe her defenses. In response, she concentrated on resisting him, grinding her teeth as the pain caused by his attempts grew worse and worse.

Finally he relented. "I think you might be correct, Miss Granger." He didn't look exhausted, unlike she felt, but he seemed… slightly tired, maybe. "But that leaves us with two problems."

"How to capture and store a Dementor." She had thought about this for days. Researched and planned.

"That is correct, Miss Granger. It's not as much the actual capturing - they are remarkably vulnerable, if you can withstand their aura - nor the storing, since the cell we keep our other subject in would suffice, but the transport." Dumbledore sighed. "The creature will have to be in a cage, so that it may not flee. That will complicate the most obvious mode of transportation, a portkey, which will either transport the cage, or the creature. Apparation suffers from the same problem. If - and this is a big if - either even works on those creatures. The Ministry has never tried to transport them through such means. There is the Knight Bus, but its staff is not the most secret or discreet, and might not withstand the effects of a Dementor's close presence long enough to drive."

"We can use muggle transportation." She knew how to drive. Theoretically. She'd have to take a few lessons; nothing a spell and some polyjuice wouldn't net her.

"That is a good idea," Dumbledore smiled. "Although I think there's a better alternative. While brooms are clearly impractical, I own a Flying Carpet, a souvenir of sorts from the Ottoman Empire. While it is illegal to use them nowadays as anything but a floor covering, it will make transporting the cage quite easy." He had looked almost contemplative when he had said that, but he had a twinkle in his eyes when he added: "Flying safely will be much easier to learn than driving safely, Miss Granger."

Hermione didn't quite blush in response to having been seen through so easily, but she came close. "Yes, sir."

He grew serious again. "But that leaves the main problem: Finding such a creature. They are in the service of the Dark Lord, who has not used them much, if at all, since he made a deal with them. And if they are around, they will travel in packs"

Hermione nodded. "I know, sir. But the Dark Lord will certainly use them sooner or later."

"I agree, but by that time it could be too late already."

Hermione blinked. "Do you know what he is trying to do with his ritual then, sir?"

"I have an inkling, nothing more. But the power he is trying to harness is very impressive. If he found a way to use such a power - and why would he be working on that ritual, if he hadn't a way in mind to use it - then we will be in a dire situation once he completes it." Dumbledore sighed.

Hermione felt a stab of fear in her guts. She squared her shoulders though, and pushed her chin forward. She was a Gryffindor. "Then we need to force him to use them by depriving him of alternatives."

"I fear that will be needed, despite the cost in lives." Dumbledore looked resigned, or so she thought.

"The cost in lives will be much higher if he succeeds." It was only logical.

"That is faint comfort, Miss Granger, trust me on this."

"Yes, sir." She didn't really believe him, but this was not the time to bicker.

"I am quite relieved that you found a ritual that will do what is needed without endangering your own soul. On the other hand, things such as this should never be that easy, or more people will be trying to do them."

"I have no intention of spreading this knowledge." She waited a second, then added: "Apart from telling Harry, of course." It would not help her plans for the time after her graduation at all.

"Of course. Where is he, by the way?"

"He's training with Sirius and Remus." And probably overdoing it, and getting hurt, Hermione thought. Not that Ron was any better. Their friend was duelling Parkinson, again, and usually came back quite battered, even if, as he was fond to mention, he always won.


Pansy Parkinson was breathing heavily. Her left arm was numb and dangling uselessly down her side. She was certain her robe was torn, but to glance down and check would invite another barrage. And she couldn't afford that. Her opponent was not showing her any mercy. She flicked her wand, and sent a dust cloud up and against him. When he moved to banish it back at her, she rushed to the side and forward, hidden from view for a second. She had her wand pointed at him before he could react. "Stupefy!"

Her spell was stopped by his Shield Charm, as she had expected. She was still running, charging him, from the side now. Her own robe stopped his spell. Almost close enough to show him the tricks Greg had taught her. Lets see his robe stop a kick. Her next spell hit and shattered his shield, and she didn't stop.

She saw his blue eyes widen when she recklessly closed into 'melee range', as Greg called it. Her foot lashed out, barely hindered by her numb arm, straight between his legs. It didn't hurt him, or her. Cushioning Charm, she realised. Before she could pull her leg back, he had grabbed it, and pulled it up.

She managed to send another hex at him which his robes stopped, then he tackled her and drove her to the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of her, and before she could do anything, she felt the tip of his wand under her chin. "Yield?"

Her left arm was still numb, one hand gripped her wand arm like a vise, and she was pinned beneath him. Beneath his body. His muscular body. She breathed slowly, feeling her chest heave and touch his. She squirmed a bit, and he pressed down on her. Merlin, she wanted…

"Yield?" His voice sounded more hoarse than it should, in her opinion.

She dropped her wand and licked her lips. For a moment, he stared at her eyes, and she thought, hoped, he'd…

Then he released her hand, pulled his wand back, and started to get up. She hissed with frustration, and her good hand shot up, grabbing his hair. His eyes widened and he made a surprised sound, his wand already pointing at her again, right before she mashed her lips against his.

Then both were groaning, moaning, and he was lying on top of her again, and his hands were wandering inside her torn robe, and she bit his lips and…

Later, she was lying on top of him, barely covered with the remains of her robe. His own was not quite shredded. Somehow he had managed to pull it off, and hung from the chair to the side. She could move her left arm again, and was tracing his chest muscles with the tip of her finger. One arm of his was on her back

"That was some duel," he said, the first words either had said, as far as she remembered, since 'yield'.

"Mh." She smirked at him. He had that glint in his eyes, and pulled the remains of her robe away.


Aberforth Dumbledore wished that his brother had contacted him with a post owl, instead of a communication mirror. That way he would have a message to tear up and set on fire. And an owl to scare. "Have you gone crazy?"

"It is needed, Aberforth. We cannot afford to have more werewolves leave Scandinavia for Britain." His brother's voice sounded regretful, but firm. Just as it sounded when he had tried to explain why two girls would be sacrificed for politics.

"I'm not going to do it, Albus. I've still got a conscience. Hunting down the Dark Lord's agents is one thing, but this?"

"We are not talking about innocents, but violent werewolves who are used to raid their neighbours."

"Making them start feuding again will cause innocents to suffer!" Aberforth shouted, the privacy spells cast beforehand muffling his outburst.

"Yes. But not doing this will cause more innocents to suffer in Britain, and directly help the Dark Lord."

"That's it then? A numbers game?" Aberforth wanted to smash the mirror against the next wall. Wanted to leave this country.

"Effectively, yes. I am weighing all of Britain versus a few possible victims in Scandinavia." Albus met his gaze, not flinching. He hadn't changed at all.

"And that makes it right?" Aberforth was shaking with rage.

"It does not make it right, but it makes it the least evil choice," his brother said.

Aberforth spat out: "So, it's for the Greater Good, Albus?"

His brother face lost all colour. He could see him tremble even - with shock, or fury. He couldn't tell. He hadn't seen his brother showing either in decades, and felt guilt fill him, pushing the rage away. He fought it, while he stared at the mirror, at his brother, but finally pressed out: "I'm sorry. That was cruel. I shouldn't have said it." Some things they didn't mention. At all.

Albus nodded slowly. When he spoke, he was slower than usual as well, as if he had trouble finding the right words. "Please. It's important. I would not ask this of you if there was another way."

Aberforth knew it was wrong, but nodded.

"Thank you." Albus had the grace not to smile, at least, when Aberforth shut the mirror off.


Ejnar Borge grinned. This time, the ambush would work as planned! Instead of caught in a village, easy prey for flying enemies, they were in an old forest. Unless you were a world-class Seeker, you couldn't fly well enough to dodge spells there. And the trees provided cover and concealment for his band. It was the perfect setup to fight those British. And fight his band would.

A brief flicker of light drew his attention. Someone had arrived. The enemy, he was certain. No one else had a reason to visit this spot of the forest. A dozen of them, by his count.

"Alright, fan out and search the place. If there's a child here who has just used accidental magic, we'll know it." Ejnar heard the leader of the grey-robed Hit-Wizards yell and knew his ruse had worked. Now the British bastards just needed to come close enough...

He could smell them now. They were cautious, approaching under cover of others. It wouldn't help them. Almost… then he cursed under his breath. One of them had cast a Human-presence-revealing Spell. "Fawley! Here are three people hiding nearby!"

They were made! Ejnar stood up and charged ahead, out of the underbrush. The enemy leader saw him, but before he could react, Afi landed right on top of him, driving him into the soft soil on the ground. A quick pair of piercing curses finished him before Ejnar reached the two. "Good work."

"As planned."

Not everyone had been as quick though. Dverger had tried to duplicate the feat, but had missed. The young man would not get to try again. Another, Geiri, had ran straight into a Blasting Curse. Ejnar doubted the lad had noticed the spell before he had been dead.

Around him, spells flashed and shields flared in a confused mess. There were no frontlines. The enemy commander was dead. It was a chaotic affair, something that fit his band. One by one he saw his comrades succumb to bloodlust, drawing blades instead of using their wands. Nothing but the utter destruction of the enemy would stop them now.

Ejnar howled, then let the rage fill him as well and charged at the closest grey-robed enemy, his wand disarming the boy before he smashed into him, his dagger already drawing blood from multiple cuts.


The Dark Lord Voldemort held up the latest crystal globe, smiling proudly. Together with his latest improvement for the ritual's formula, he had managed to perfect the ritual. It was still untested, but he was confident it would work. He could do another test, the next full moon, but the full moon after that would be during Yuletide. As it was very close to the Winter Solstice it would be further empowering the ritual if he used the correct symbolism, if not by much. But at the same time the Ministry and Hogwarts would be empty. And that would not help his plans. No, he would strike during the next full moon.

He leaned back in his chair. Bellatrix, on the bed behind him, noticed. "Have you finished it my lord?"

He nodded. "It still remains to be tested, but I'm quite confident this will work out." He pointed at the globe. "This is the key. Without it, my plan wouldn't work." Well, without the globe, and without werewolves.

"It's magnificient, my lord!" Bellatrix slid from the bed and walked on bare feet over to him, her eyes seemingly captivated by the crystal.

It was magnificent. It had taken him days to compose the runes, even longer to etch them into the globe. The crystal itself had been carved by goblins, not using any magic. If the beasts knew what it, or rather, one of the next globes, would be used for… he chuckled. Doomed by their own greed, how fitting!

Bella wrapped her arms around him from behind and rested her chin on his shoulder. "How can I help you, Master?"

"By standing and fighting at my side when I use this, at Yuletide." She couldn't help with the ritual, but there was no one else he'd rather have at his side in battle.

Her ecstatic smile could have lit up the room.