The cold shot itself through Dumbledore, and he gathered his cloak tighter around himself. The nights were drawing in with shocking speed, and as he continued down the dark side street, he had to pay attention lest he lose his footing on the cobbles. At last he came to the address he had been looking for: a small muggle restaurant, where the windows were steamed and glowing with flickering candlelight, and every time the door opened and closed the distant sound of chatter and sweet mandolin music could be heard. He entered hurriedly, eager for a shandy and somewhere to sit down.
It didn't take long, once he'd stepped inside, to find his fellow associates that he had come to meet. They were huddled in a group at the bar. "Gentlemen," he greeted, holding out a long-fingered hand to shake each of theirs in turn. "Armando. Elphias, my dear. Anthony. Cedric. Ah, I'm glad you could make it in the end, Edward." The group of men sat themselves around a table in the corner, ordered their drinks, and started their pleasant conversation.
Once the niceties were over and a drink or two warmed their insides, Dumbledore turned the group's attention to the issue at hand. "Gentlemen, I am very glad you have joined me here this evening…" He raised his half-empty glass in toast, and nodded around the table. "For we gather in such troubled times, to discuss a very troubled wizard."
The other men fell to hush around Dumbledore, holding their breath in anticipation.
"I speak, of course, of one Gellert Grindelwald." A collective breath was let out.
"Are we close to catching him, Albus?" Asked Armando Dippet.
Dumbledore shook his head gravely.
"I've heard from several of my sources that he might attack the Ministry in London, soon-" piped up Cedric O'Batten, the current Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was a very elderly wizard with a very large nose, which hung so far over his whisky glass that he couldn't see much of it.
"No, he wouldn't be so foolish as to attack London directly," interrupted Elphias Doge, before Dumbledore could reply. "He knows far too well that there are wizards here who would not only oppose him, but who are capable of actually defeating him."
The other men murmured their agreement, all looking pointedly at Dumbledore. He sighed. Deeply.
"If he does come this far north and attack the Ministry, then I will have no choice but to face him in a direct duel. But if that can be avoided, if we can get him to surrender peacefully…"
A couple of the men grunted their disbelief.
"That won't happen."
"Not a chance."
"He's not going to give up his power all that easily, Albus."
Dumbledore nodded, admitting it to himself more than anything. "No, Gellert won't give himself up. That's why I'm suggesting here tonight that we take the fight to him. Some old friends of mine in Europe say that he is moving West, towards Paris, and the he intends to infiltrate the-"
Their conversation was interrupted by the Minister for Magic, Leonard Spencer-Moon, who barged through the restaurant door, marched over to their table and slammed a fist down upon it.
"I knew it! I knew you lot were meeting in secret – behind my back!"
The men were silent, each of them looking dumbly back at the Minister. He continued in his blustering tirade.
"...And when you blew me off last week, Dumbledore, I knew something was going on! 'Don't have a clue what the enemy is doing', my fig! You know exactly what is going with the French and Belgian governments, you just didn't want to tell me… Well look who got the last laugh… I caught you red-handed, having secret shenanigans with some of my most important members of staff!"
Anthony, Cedric and Edward all slid a little lower in their seats.
Dumbledore just smiled back serenely. "And how, exactly, did you 'catch' us here? You're not spying on us, are you Leonard?" Enquired Dumbledore, crossing him arms tightly and leaning back against his chair. Elphias Doge snorted loudly next to him.
"I should hope not! We have a right to meet up anywhere we choose, to discuss anything we choose!" Elphias was ready to stand up and start swinging, but his outrage abated when Dumbledore laid a gentle hand on his arm.
"Calm down, Elphias. I'm sure the Minister has a reasonable explanation."
Mr Spencer-Moon looked like he didn't have a reasonable explanation at all. His thick moustache twitched in discomfort, and he stumbled over his words.
"I… Well… You see, my men and I…"
"Why don't you sit down, Leonard? Join us for a drink. You could probably stand to hear our conversation, in all honesty." Dumbledore held his arms out in welcome, gesturing for the Minister to take a seat at their table. After a brief pause, the Minister sat with them, teetering on the edge of his chair awkwardly. The other men around him shuffled and pursed their lips, but none of them argued with Dumbledore.
"As I was saying… It looks as though Gellert is about to make his move on Paris. I don't know what exactly his end-game is, but he moves his pawns towards the French Magical Embassy. They have been stationed there but haven't done anything for weeks now. I do not know if they will be putting a plan into action any time soon."
"Why the French Embassy?" Grumbled the Minister. "What would he gain, apart from a few poncy diplomats and ambassadors?"
"Why the embassy, I do not know. It's been empty for a while due to all of the Muggle fighting occurring at the moment. As for France itself – France is the final frontier before reaching Britain," Dumbledore explained. "If he gained power in France, he would be another step closer to having us cornered."
Dumbledore leaned forward, pulling out a quill, some paper, and a pot of ink.
"Gentlemen, these are the final hours. I say that we make a plan to intercept Gellert, and bring this war to an end."
The evening wore on into night, with many more drinks drunk, much more pipe tobacco smoked, and the final details bickered over incessantly. By the time the Minister and most of the group had retired and headed back to their homes, Dumbledore felt a lot older. He screwed up his face and rubbed his eyes, the fatigue of the day getting to his bones. It really would not be long now; he would soon have to face his old friend, and find out what happened to his sister Ariana once and for all. The reckoning was upon him.
"Will you join Armando and I for a night-cap, Albus?" Elphias' hand clasped his shoulder, which Dumbledore patted gratefully.
"Does Jeffrey mind?"
"No – he said he will leave the place open for us, as long as we lock up afterwards. He's used to our late night conversations by now. And he doesn't ask many questions, for a muggle."
Dippet, Dumbledore and Doge contented themselves with one more shandy each and settled onto the rickety stools further up by the bar. The tallow in the candles had burned low by now, and the room around them was quiet and dark.
"So, I wanted to ask you," began Dippet. "Have you found out any more about the Granger girl? Has she revealed any further information to you?"
Dumbledore sucked at his teeth, frustrated. "No, not a dicky-bird. She's been nothing but… normal, actually. Which either makes her a most extraordinary liar, or someone that I completely misread."
"I still don't buy into her entire "time travel" story, myself," said Elphias. "I mean, what is her goal in all this? Simply to get home? It sounds unlikely."
Dippet nodded beside him. "I agree. As if you'd seek out your school professor if you were sent back in time 50 years. And those ghasts? That's dark, dark magic."
"Then perhaps we should amp up our watch on the castle, and any correspondence going in or out. Would that be something you can arrange, Armando?" Dumbledore asked.
"Of course. We can discreetly open and reseal student mail. We'll ferret out who she's in contact with."
The three men fell silent for a while, staring into the bottoms of their empty glasses.
"Did she say how she did it, Albus?" Elphias asked quietly. "How she pulled off the time travel?"
"I haven't a clue how she travelled so far into the past," admitted Dumbledore. "But, if she is innocent, that makes this situation much worse for her. Because I have no idea how to send her back."
… … …
It was slap-bang in the middle of half-term, and Hermione was having trouble avoiding people. She had become a hermit, a nocturnal one, sneaking out of the castle as soon as night fell. Get yourself some fresh air, she told herself. That's all you need. Then you'll feel better.
The school grounds lay pale and still in the moonlight that bathed them. She could hear her own footsteps as she ambled aimlessly over the lawns; the soft crunch on the frosty grass comforted her, and reminded her that she was alone again. She breathed a sigh of relief.
She had been jumpy for days since the dream. The reverberating memory of the spirit-girl singing nursery rhymes sent a shiver down her spine. Hermione looked around glumly – where once she had walked these grounds with confidence, and certainty, now she was afraid of her own shadow. She jumped every time she heard Tom's name being called out in the Slytherin common room. Which was often – he was a popular head boy. He may have friendly handshakes humble smiles for all the other students, but for her… He still had that look about him when he turned his head her way. Hungry. Deeply curious. Approving.
Hermione couldn't care less about the other Slytherins. They ignored her, and she them; as far as her peers were concerned, she was a mistake, sorted into the wrong house and there was nothing they could do about it. They had their friendship groups, and weren't about to make room for any extras.
Hermione noticed that her directionless walking had taken her a little too close to the forbidden forest. She stared into its depths, hands deep in the pockets of her robes. The trees were completely unfathomable from the darkness of the night. She lifted a hand and fiddled with the protection necklace around her neck idly… She wondered what would happen if she tore it off now and disappeared into the forest. How long would it take for Dumbledore to search for her? Would he search at all? He had felt like no ally, recently…
Hermione was desperate for something to happen. For anything to happen. All this sitting around and playing the good girl was driving her up the wall. But that was what she was, wasn't it? The good girl. With a sigh, Hermione turned and headed back towards the castle.
The toasty entrance hall was like a warm balm on Hermione's skin, and she rubbed her palms together gratefully when she walked back inside. She was halfway down towards the dungeons when a familiar poltergeist poked his head out from inside a suit of armour.
"Coo-ee!" Called Peeves, making Hermione nearly jump out of her skin. She stumbled back a step, throwing a hand out before she lost her balance.
"Peeves! Don't jump out like that!"
"Ohhhh, know my name, do you? But of course you do," said Peeves, coming out of the suit entirely and bobbing along in the air in front of Hermione. "You know lots, don't you? Professor Dumbledore warned me to keep my mouth shut whenever you were around." He cackled out a laugh. Hermione glared up at him.
"You'd better listen to him then, hadn't you?"
Peeves made a show of crossing his heart and zipping his mouth closed, the snide grin never leaving his face. "Of course, Peeves always listens to Professors!"
"Good. Great. I'm going back to bed now." Hermione carried on down the stairs, but Peeves hadn't had the last word. He bobbed along next to her.
"I don't really care about what you living lot get up to, anyway," Peeves continued. "You're all too boring for good old Peevesy."
Hermione tried to ignore him. He kept talking.
"You should watch yourself, little muggle-born. Someone else around here certainly is."
Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, foot hovering above the final step of the staircase. "What do you mean?" She asked. Peeves floated right in front of her face, and then without warning, blew a massive raspberry.
"Oh, for goodness' sake!"
Peeves whizzed off and away up the stairs, shrieking with laughter as he went. Hermione grumbled to herself until he was gone. She turned and headed down the corridor. She resolved to speak to Dumbledore first thing in the morning. She was tired of nothing happening; she needed a plan, and she needed to put it into action.
Too late, Hermione heard the rustle of someone moving behind her. With a largethunk something hit the back of her head. She was knocked out cold.