Chapter 2: "The Game is Afoot"
Late August, 1995 London, England
"Sir Richard, we've got some serious dementor activity in Surrey!" Shouted the young man at the surveillance radar.
"Surrey? That's impossible! The dementors are locked up at Azkaban, and the only one who can authorize their removal is the Minister, and I have not seen any such orders recently."
"Don't take my word for it, sir, take a look yourself," the man said, getting up and handing the headphones to Richard Belmont. As he sat down at the station, a look of shock and horror spread onto his face, and he quickly gave the headset back to the young hunter. "Call Dumbledore," was all he said.
"Dumbledore? Shouldn't we rather call the Ministry sir?"
"No, the Ministry can't help us now; their not the ones who released that dementor."
The young hunter looked up at his boss, horrified. "Then who did sir?"
"I wish to God I didn't know the answer, son."
That Same Evening, Little Whining, Surrey
BAM! With his sawed-off shotgun, Patrick couldn't have missed the vampire if he wanted to. However, since the pellets weren't made of silver, the worst they could do was slow him down and annoy him. But it was all Patrick had; after scuffling with him for a while, the vampire had thrown his silver buckshot to the other side of the room, and was doing his damn best to make sure he didn't get there as well.
Laughing at the shot, the vampire shot forward, pushing Patrick through the wall into the other room. Then he flew on top of him before he had a chance to get up, catching him in an iron grip. Patrick forced himself to look up, being greeted by an evil smile and a cruel chuckle. Without a word, the vampire slowly began lowering his head towards Patrick's neck, opening his mouth slightly.
Patrick wasn't finished, however. Shaking his head slightly, he felt the tablet come lose. Using his tongue to maneuver it to his teeth, he bit down hard, and let loose a strong vapor of garlic gas. The vampire immediately let go, cursing out loud and choking on the gas. Aiming a hard kick at his crouch, Patrick then flew up and into the other room, recovering his silver buckshot. As he stood loading, the vampire turned, let out a hiss, and launched himself at Patrick, aiming for his neck.
All he got was a face full of buckshot.
Once he was certain the vampire was dead, Patrick dropped the gun, leaned against the wall, and slid down to the floor. He pulled a vial of Jameson's out of his coat and took a sip to steady his nerves. Too close. He had come far to close to being bitten that time. He thought of the vampire's breath on his face sent shivers down his spine, and took another sip of the whiskey.
"Midgard to Hibernia, Midgard to Hibernia, come in please." Baron von Hess' voice crackled in over the walkie-talkie on Patrick's coat lapel.
"Hibernia here. He's dead Wolfgang," he answered tiredly.
"Good job, Patrick, we were starting to get worried. Were there any others?"
"Two others, but they've been dead for some time now."
"Excellent. You know how to get to the Order's headquarters, correct?"
"Aye."
"Very well, then, we'll see you there Patrick. Over and out."
Patrick let out a sigh and leaned his head back against the wall. Wherever a dementor was, any hunter worth his salt could tell you that a vampire would be close behind. Because dementors rendered human beings powerless, especially if they administered the Kiss, it was easier for the vampire to get his fill of blood. No resistance, no need to worry about repercussions, just results. A feast for them, to be sure.
Getting up, Patrick attached a portkey to the vampire's coat, which was soon whisked off to the office in London, where it would be identified. Then he picked up his shotgun, reloaded it, and set off for 12 Grimmauld Place, London, wondering what idiot in the Ministry had let loose a dementor on young Harry Potter.
12 Grimmauld Place, London
The knocking at the door startled Molly Weasley, but she quickly recovered and hurried to answer the door. Just be glad they didn't ring the doorbell, she told herself as she pulled the door open.
"Hello Molly," Wolfgang said as the door opened.
Mrs. Weasley's face quickly turned into a smile upon seeing her old school-mate. "Why, Wolfgang, how good to see you. Dumbledore said you'd be coming around, but I didn't expect to see you so soon. Come in, come in," she said as she pulled open the door wider to allow in Wolfgang and the six other hunters. "So what brings you to London?"
"Rogue dementor," he replied nonchalantly.
"Dementor? Where?"
"Surrey."
"Surrey? My God, it was after Harry wasn't it?"
Wolfgang nodded. Mrs. Weasley gasped. "Is he alright?"
"Alright? Mein frau, by the time we arrived, he had those dementors gliding at full speed away from him. That young man produces one damn good patronus," one of the hunters said in a light German accent, his fellows nodding in agreement.
"Well, thank Heaven for that. You don't need to tell me anything else, I'm sure I'll get the rest of the story from Arthur. The Ministry is going to have a fit about this, that's for sure. They've had it in for him ever since You-Know-Who came back last summer. Can I get anything for you and your men?"
"Just some beer; the boys have had a rough night. You know how dementors attract vampires like honey attracts flies? Well, soon after that patronus, they were out in full force tonight. Nothing we couldn't handle. Molly, why don't you say his name?"
"Whose?" she asked as she poured out seven glasses of beer.
"Voldemort's."
Mrs. Weasley and the other hunters froze in shock, one of them almost dropping his glass. Wolfgang looked around, rolling his eyes at their reactions. "Oh, forget it," he said, taking a sip of his drink. He turned to his men. "When you're finished, you can take the fireplace back to London, and report to Sir Richard Belmont. You can get eat and sleep there tonight, and head to Berlin tomorrow morning. Alright?"
"Jawohl, mien Herr," they answered in unison.
"Very well, I'll bid you all good evening. Molly, is there a spare room? I'd like to catch a few winks before that meeting with Dumbledore."
"Up the stairs and to the left, second door on the left. It's next to Fred and George's room, I'm afraid, but it's the only one left."
"I think I'll be able to tolerate the twins' antics well enough. Thank you Molly." He placed his half-full glass down and trudged up the stairs.
Just as the last of the hunters had left through the fire place, the door bell rang and Mrs. Black's portrait started screeching again. "How many times do I have to tell them not to ring the doorbells?" She said as she rushed to the door, opening it up on a very sheepish Patrick O'Reilly.
"Patrick, I might have known."
"Sorry, Molly, but I forgot about the old hag. Don't worry I'll take care of it," he reassured her as he hurried off to the parlor.
Wolfgang came running down the stairs; obviously he had been awaken by the screaming portrait, and had some choice words to say to whoever had rung the doorbell.
Both he and Mrs. Weasley entered the parlor to see a very frustrated Patrick yanking at the curtain. Exasperated, he let go and marched to the center of the room, his face beet red.
"SCUM, MUCK, BASTARD!!! WHO ALLOWED THIS IRISH DRUNK INTO MY ANCESTOR'S HOME??!! NEVER HAS THE...
"Oh will you shut up?" Patrick yelled out, pulling out his shotgun and aiming at the portrait. Wolfgang rushed forward to stop him, calling out. "No, wait..."
BAM! Too late, the pellets hit the portrait and bounced off, ricocheting across the room, and forcing all three of them to take cover. Three minutes later, the bullets had their fun and fell to the ground, and they got up.
"Will you forget it, I already tried that, she's got it charmed!" Wolfgang yelled out, angry at having his rest disturbed.
"Put that thing away before you get us all killed!" Mrs. Weasley ordered as she managed to close the curtains, finally silencing the portrait.
Patrick picked up his gun where it had fallen on the carpet and placed it back in its holster. "Sorry about that," he said quietly. "I just haven't had to put up with that kind of crap for quite some time now."
"What, the insults? Yes, its interesting how out of place a hunter can feel whenever he reenters the ordinary wizarding world, isn't it? One is almost tempted to forget the whole 'pure-blood' vs. 'muggle-blood' argument, isn't he?"
"Aye." They both turned their heads at the sound of feet clopping down the stairs, and soon Sirius Black entered the room, a worried look on his face.
"I thought I heard my mother's portrait again. Is everything alright?"
"Yea, Molly took care of it. I actually tried to shoot the old bitch."
"Ah, if only, if only," Sirius sighed wistfully. "Well, you two had better get down to the basement, your meeting should be starting in a few minutes."
"Splendid. Molly, if you'll excuse us," Wolfgang said with a bow, and they both went downstairs.
Everyone else had already gathered, so Wolfgang and Patrick hurriedly took their seats near the end of the table as Dumbledore put down a manuscript he had been studying. Suddenly the door behind them opened and closed quickly and another figure hurried to Dumbledore's side. It was Severus Snape.
"Eh, Snivelly, haven't you heard? This meeting is for enemies of Voldemort, not greasy-haired turncoats," Patrick called out across the room. Richard laughed, Judah smiled, but the rest of the room was cloaked in an awkward silence. Snape, either not hearing Patrick or simply ignoring him, continued to whisper into Dumbledore's ear. Patrick, however, was not to be dissuaded so easily. He murmured a spell under his breath. "Patrificus totalis."
Suddenly Snape went stiff as a ramrod, his arms snapping to his sides, his legs snapped together, and he fell flat on his face, completely paralyzed. Dumbledore looked over at Patrick, who was struggling to stifle a laugh. Dumbledore threw him a warning look.
"Patrick that will be quite enough. Release him."
"Oh, I don't think so Dumbledore. No, I think he looks better this way. Wallowing in the dirt with the other vermin." The look on Patrick's face was an odd mix of sadistic pleasure mixed with seething fury.
"Patrick, enough." Dumbledore used that firm tone of voice that told everyone at the table that the discussion was over.
"Oh, alright," Patrick sighed as he let Snape out of the spell. "But I don't see why he has to be with us. Like I said, this is supposed to be a meeting of Voldemort's enemies."
"Patrick, you know well enough that Severus has long sense renounced any allegiance he once had to Voldemort. He is as much Voldemort's enemy as you are."
"Somehow, I seem to remember you saying the same thing about Peter Pettigrew," Patrick replied with a dark look in his eyes. "We all saw how ineffable your wisdom was then, didn't we Dumbledore?"
A sharp intake of breath could be heard from each of the hunters except Luther. A cloud fell across Dumbledore's eyes, but now that Patrick was on a roll, there was no stopping the impetuous Irishman.
"We also saw how full-proof your advice was after Freyja and Guinevere were killed, didn't we? How about when Cuchullain died, or when Cathy was taken from me forever? Oh yes, we all had the infallible reassurances of Albus Dumbledore behind them, didn't we?"
"Patrick, that's enough," Ivan said to his friend.
"Keep out of this Ivan. Not only did you keep secrets from us, but you intend to keep Harry completely in the dark concerning this matter, eh? Such a grandiose scheme, keeping this one boy, the one chance we have to kick this bastard in the ass, and you're pulling the wool over his eyes!"
"Patrick, I said that's enough. Listen to yourself. You're drunk." He wasn't really, but Ivan didn't want his old school-mate to fall under Dumbledore's hammer at this moment. "You've had a busy night. Why don't you catch some shut-eye, and I will tell you what our plan of action is, eh?"
"Aye, that's a good idea. Get out of this snake's nest before I hurl," Patrick muttered as he walked out the door back upstairs.
Wolfgang looked over at Dumbledore and was surprised to see the absence of any anger on his face. Rather, he looked concerned and upset.
"Headmaster?" Snape shook him at the shoulder gently, as if he had fallen asleep.
"I'm fine, Severus. Pay no heed to Patrick. Ivan's right, he has had a busy day, and perhaps a little too much to drink. I only hope he's wrong."
"He always has been before, headmaster," Snape responded.
"Always? Well, no, not always. I just hope that this isn't one of the times he was right. Oh well, shall we discuss the plans Ivan and Fred have drawn up?" As visionaries, it was Ivan and Fred's job to prepare possible courses of action for the IHA to take, after they had considered the innumerable possibilities. As such, this made them de facto leaders in a crisis, but the only down side to being in that particular creed; as Ivan said, "You can never stop thinking. All of the possibilities are before you all of the time. The trick is to choose the most probable, and pray to God that you're right. After that, the rest is easy."
Easy? Well, granted, fighting vampires was easier than predicting their next moves. But they were up against more than just vampires. Once again, we're off the edge of the map, thought Wolfgang. Here there be monsters. And worse...
December, 1995 London, England
Sean MacEoin sat comfortably in the Leaky Cauldron, sheltered from the cold and snow outside, munching on a sandwich and sipping his Guinness. The other patrons gave him little notice aside from the occasional polite nod or wave. Sean grinned, wondering what their reaction would have been if they knew what he really was.
The door opened, letting a cold breeze into the room, and another customer entered. He looked around, saw Sean, waved, and headed over to take a seat. As he approached, Sean stood up and the two men clasped hands before embracing each other.
"Sean MacEoin, damn, but it's good to see you again."
"Happy to see you to Jake, but please try to watch your language in a public house, eh? You Americans can act so embarrassing at times."
Jake Featherstone took a seat and gave his order to the waiter; meanwhile, a old witch in an emerald-green robe and hair in a tight bun gave a disapproving look threw a disapproving look towards the two men. Jake waved back. She turned away. Jake laughed, a short, sharp, dog-like laugh; he was famous among his friends for his rather liberal use of what they called "colorful metaphors."
"So, what's new?"
"You received Von Hess' letter, I assume?"
"Yea. So, old tall, dark and gruesome is back."
"I love how calmly you're able to take all this, Jake."
"Hey, it means I get an opportunity to fight, so how can I be gloomy?"
"Are all you Get of Fenris so equally indifferent concerning death?"
"First you tell me if all you Fianna so equally enjoy singing about death," Jake ordered.
Sean smiled. "Touche," he replied, taking another bite out of his sandwich.
"So, what do I have to do exactly, aside from kick some vampire butt?"
"Dumbledore wants you to contact as many of the Get of Fenris as possible. As the warrior's tribe, we're going to need you when the going gets rough."
"Well, not that I don't mind Sean, but why me? Couldn't Dumbledore himself do it?"
"He could, were it not for two obstacles. One, he knows that the tribe is going to be more willing to listen to one of its own rather than a mere human, especially one who sheltered a renegade lycan."
"And the other?"
"The Ministry's been giving Dumbledore a pretty rough time since the Tri-Wizard Tournament last year. Fudge is paranoid; he's convinced Dumbledore's trying to use this as a façade to help him take over as Minister of Magic."
"You're kidding?"
"I wish. Anyway, they've hired one of their own out at Hogwarts in a new post called 'Hogwarts High Inquisitor.' Care to guess who it is?"
"Amanda Bones?" Jake asked, picking a name out of thin air.
"No, worse. Dolores Umbridge."
"Umbridge? Not the one who tried to make werewolf employment several years ago? That one? Umbridge? Good God."
"My sentiments exactly."
"You Brits; you know, if you had elected Barty Crouch Minister of Magic, you wouldn't have to deal with this crap."
"Not that I don't agree with you, Jake, but remember, I'm Irish. I had nothing to do with Fudge's appointment."
"Right. So, what exactly is Umbridge's job at Hogwarts?"
"Simply to keep an eye on Dumbledore, make sure he doesn't step out of line, enforce general tyranny, and keep Harry Potter from getting the truth out."
"Oh, God! You mean the Prophet is still using that old trick?"
"Aye. Every day, some new article laughing at the whole idea that Mr. V really has come back."
"Well, this may work to our advantage. If the tribal elders know that Umbridge has a hand in all this, it'll be much easier to convince them to support Dumbledore."
"That's all we need to hear Jake. Just do your best."
"Thanks, I will," Jake replied as he started in on his steak. It was very, very rare.
Later, as the two men left the pub, two dogs that had been waiting outside ran up to walk alongside them. At least they looked like dogs; in reality, they were wolves. And they weren't just ordinary wolves, just as the two men weren't ordinary men. Although no ordinary wizard could tell, a hunter needed to take only one look to see why they weren't so ordinary.
A car pulled up, and the two men and the wolves got in. The man sitting next to the driver turned around and greeted them.
"Well, what are two ordinary werewolves doing in the middle of downtown London?" It was Richard Belmont.
"We could ask you the same thing Rick," Jake replied as they shook hands.
"Rick. You Americans, why you have to shorten everything to one syllable is beyond me."
"National heritage. We had to do something to make us stand out from you Brits."
"Well you're doing an excellent job, believe me."
"Thanks. Now, where are we going?"
"Hogwarts. Dumbledore wants to give you two the full details so you can present them to the tribal elders. In case they have any questions."
"Won't Umbridge be shadowing him?"
"Umbridge may be ruthless, but she's quite unimaginative. We'll be able to avoid her easily, unless she's discovered a way to identify two lycan by just looking at them."
One of the wolves snarled.
"Sorry, old chap. Four lycan."
The wolf snorted, then lay his head down on Jake's lap.
Sean took his harp out of his case and began idly strumming a tune. Jake looked out at the vast snowy wilderness of the Buckinghamshire countryside, wondering what was going to come next, hoping he would be able to get a piece of the action.