I own nothing. Least of all this.

10) IT IS THE PRIVILEGE OF LESSER MEN TO LIGHT THE FLAME

Barely had the somewhat timid sales-girl scurried back around the corner before Harry leveled a glare at both of his cohorts. "Remind me again why we've ended up in Twilfitts and Tattings, of all places? I'm more than fairly certain that any single one of the hats in that window would put quite a severe dent in my finances; would Madame Malkin's have really been that bad of an option?"

Black gave an almighty sigh. "Oh, you have no idea. Charlus, do you want to field this one, or shall I?"

Potter chuckled. "The pleasure would be all mine, Cygnus. First things first: if we had indeed decided to set our course for Madame Malkin's fine establishment, two things would have happened. One, Cygnus would've probably died of embarrassment, and two, we would've had to deal with something that none of us would care much for at the moment. Namely, publicity. It's the month before term starts at Hogwarts, my dear fellow, which means there could be conceivably any number of people currently being attended to by the lovely seamstress and her assistants. I'd imagine the majority of that number would be more than intrigued by anyone who managed to secure the attentions of both a Black and a Potter. And just to top it all off, I can attest from personal experience that Madame Malkin is by far the worst gossip in Diagon Alley. Messrs. Twilfitt and Tatting's talents may cater to the more….well-to-do of Wizarding society, but at the very least, their discretion is assured."

"Oh? And why's that, then?"

"Well, to put it bluntly, they owe my other brother-in-law quite a large sum of money on this property, and I'd imagine they'd do quite a lot to avoid getting on the bad side of the family."

Other brother-in-law… "Abraxas Malfoy?"

Potter nodded. "One and the same. Rather shrewd businessman, even for a foreigner."

Black flicked an imaginary piece of lint off his robes. "I reiterate; high praise indeed, coming from a Potter."

"Hush you. As I was saying: the second reason to have your robes made here ties back, once again, to the Malfoys. They have an heir, yes, but they also happen to have an elder daughter. One in her final year at Hogwarts, and without a betrothal in place. If you were to, 'play nice', so to speak, you might just be able to secure the Malfoys' not insignificant backing for yourself, instead of…Riddle."

Harry frowned. "I thought you said that the Malfoys were foreign?"

"That they are."

"Just how did they acquire seats on the Wizengamot, then?"

"Oh no my dear fellow, you misunderstand me. Abraxas knew the odds of that ever happening were slim to none when he came here; so, he concentrated primarily on sinking his claws into the Ministry's underbelly."

Black cuffed Potter on the back of his head. "Manners, Charlus."

Potter rubbed where Black had slapped him with no small amount of exaggeration. "My apologies. I should have said that he, 'chose to pursue avenues of influence into the other branches of government'; there, better?"

"Barely."

By that point Harry had already tuned the pair of them out; his train of thought was running down several tracks at once. The Ministry…Moody's buried files…Riddle…'Play nice'…

His attention snapped back to the conversation at hand. "Play nice, you said?"

Potter nodded vigorously. "It'd be wise. The Malfoys are hardly my favorite side of the family, but the payout would definitely be worth it."

"Hmm. Their daughter…I don't suppose you happen to remember her name, do you?"

"But of course! Selene. Her name is Selene."

Harry froze. Selene…hadn't that been what Luna had said her mother's name was? If she had ended up marrying a Lovegood…well, that begged the question of if her death had been more than just 'accidental'.

If Lucius Malfoy hadn't been high on Harry's hit list, he certainly was now.

"Selene…more than somewhat endearing name. Rather sounds like she's the sort of person it'd be quite enjoyable to be 'nice' to."

Potter merely waggled his ears suggestively. "Doesn't it just?"

Harry just barely caught the look of annoyance that flashed across Black's face before it vanished once more behind his usual facade of mild boredom. Irritation at Potter's cavalier attitude, or perhaps something more?

The odds of it being the second sky-rocketed with Black's next remarks.

"Yes, quite a nice girl from what I know. As it so happens, both my wife and youngest daughter happen to be visiting both her and the Lady Malfoy at this very moment; a shame they won't be able to join us for lunch later. Ah well. I suppose I shall just have to be content with outnumbering the Potters at the table by a margin of one."

Now wait just a durned minute. Who said anything about lunch? And just what did he mean, "Margin of one?"

A crocodilian grin slid across Black's face. "Why yes; for the Potters, we have you and Charlus, and for Blacks, we'll have myself, and my two eldest, Andromeda and Bellatrix, the latter of whom I must confess, has been quite eagerly looking forward to seeing you again. I must say, her reaction when I informed her of your delight to dine with us was one for the history books."

I'll just bet it was, Harry thought to himself. See Harry, this is why you really shouldn't go around just nodding 'yes' to people describing the Traveler knows what to you just to get them to shut up. Amy Pond did it, and ended up married to Henry the Eighth. You did it, and ended up facing an army of Fallen with only seven other Guardians at your back (Felwinter still hadn't quite forgiven him for dragging him into Twilight Gap, and neither had yet to begin even remotely forgiving Saladin for what he'd done that day).

Next time just suck it up that you'll look stupid and ask them to repeat the damned question.

"Really? That's…marvelous. I'm certainly glad to know I made such a lasting…impression."

Potter was obviously doing his level best not to laugh at Harry's discomfort. Traitor. One day, he would have his revenge on the man for abandoning him in his hour of need. Harry swore it.

Black, meanwhile, had forged full steam ahead, oblivious to both of his companions' reactions. "A lasting impression? Yes, I suppose you could say that was what you left behind…both on her, and on the pavement. Needless to say, I'd imagine she's done nothing for the past half-hour but suffer through a nervous breakdown over exactly what to wear. And speaking of what to wear…perhaps I ought to see just what has kept that lovely young girl busy for so long. It seems a bit odd to be gone for so long…and we absolutely cannot allow you to be seen in public without robes befitting your…station."

As if summoned by Black's musings, the girl from earlier abruptly reappeared and conveyed that Mister Tatting was now quite ready to receive his new client. As Harry passed her by, he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps she had chosen the moment of Black's remarks to make her presence known once more, all the while keeping out of sight for the conversation that had come before. After all, the Malfoys did own the place, and he was quite sure Messrs. Twilfitt and Tatting would be more than a little willing to pass on any information they happened to overhear in order to stay in their landlord's good graces. His suspicions were slightly reinforced when Black paused just at the entrance to Mr. Tatting's office and seemed to make a point of calling out to those behind him:

"Oh, and one final reason, Mister Potter. If you truly wish to make a good impression on certain members of the Board of Governors, then the finery I am about to have charged to my own finances on your account must indeed be the very finest available. And trust me, Mister Potter, Twilfitt and Tatting are nothing less than the finest."

With that, he vanished through the doorway, leaving Harry to follow in his wake. And also to wonder just how much of that entire exchange, from the minute they stepped into the shop until then, had been meant for his benefit…and how much for Abraxas Malfoy's?


In all his many years of planning and plotting, Voldemort had never once considered that maybe, just maybe, there would be someone other than Albus Dumbledore who would stand in his way.

And why should he have?

There was none to match the old man in the political arena; he was far too paranoid to ever share power. And when it came to swaying the impressionable youth, well, who was in a better position to do so than the Headmaster of Hogwarts himself? As for the Ministry…if his carefully-laid plans and honeyed words did their jobs, Malfoy the younger would gladly hand over every single scrap of influence his father had managed to accumulate in his lifetime. After both of the elder Malfoys were dealt with, of course. Battle lines were being drawn, and there was no way he would ever trust any of his servants with anything even remotely important if they were connected, however tangentially, to a family like the Potters.

From there, he would move on to the Potters themselves. Lucius Potter would be first, naturally. It would have to be done quietly; perhaps with poison and the ever excellent excuse of "Dragon Pox". From there, he would move on to the other branches. Charlus was a rarity in the Wizarding World; an effective leader of men, with survival instincts honed in the way that only war could provide. He would have to be silenced before he ever began to speak. And as for his wife, the Blacks would welcome him with open arms were he to deal with their so-called "blood traitor". Their son would have been spared, at least for a while. Either the Blacks or the Malfoys would have inevitably taken him in, and it was always a good idea to have a backup plan should something unfortunate happen to the younger Malfoy while in his service. A seat on the Wizengamot, influence in the Ministry, and a hereditary position on the Hogwarts Board of Governors? A worthy enough goal to justify the virtual extinction of an entire Pureblood House.

And now, all of that planning, all of that preparation, may very well have all been for naught.

He had been informed that a certain wizard with jet-black hair and burning green eyes had been observed entering Gringotts. Furthermore, he had been accompanied by two very distinguished individuals indeed: Charlus Potter himself, and infinitely more troubling…one Cygnus Arcturus Black. The man who had, up until that very moment, been Voldemort's best link to the rest of the Black family. He had been willing to practically give his daughters' futures away just to secure a place in the new world he saw rising.

But now, his last connection to the Ancient and Noble House of Black had officially been terminated. There was no doubt in his mind that somehow, some way, the Blacks had outwitted him. Perhaps they had been the ones responsible for his forces' utter annihilation at the hands of Zarathos; after all, had it not been a Black daughter whom Zarathos had left alive just to deliver a message to him? At first he had thought her a victim in their game, a pawn for Zarathos to sacrifice in order to cut his ties with the most powerful of Pureblood Houses, but if that had been true, why in Merlin's name was Cygnus Black, the girl's father, so willing to associate with a man who had so callously attempted to have his offspring killed and/or tortured?

Perhaps the Blacks had been responsible for Yaxley's treachery; whispering words where they thought he could not hear. Cygnus and the rest could have merely been ingratiating themselves, biding their time to see if he truly could deliver what he promised…and then striking when they believed him unable. At the very least, they were now, without a doubt, guilty of abandoning the cause. Of abandoning him; and of throwing their support behind a rabid dog that knew only two things: how to bark, and how to bite. Perhaps they believed they could control said dog; take his name and use it for their own purposes, to their own ends.

Control. Yes, that's what it was. Control…and survival. The House of Black had not managed to earn the title of "Ancient and Noble" by resting on their laurels, after all. They had contrived the revelation of Zarathos existence, with one of their own on hand as a witness. And to think they had done it in such a way he had never once stopped to look deeper into Zarathos' reasons for leaving said witness as the only survivor…he would have been impressed by their boldness, were he not enraged by their duplicity.

Boldness…doubtless the contribution of the Potters. It simply wasn't the Blacks' style; theirs was more "flatter you to your face while stabbing you in the back" than it was "offer grave insult to your face to distract you from the even graver one occurring under your very nose". The more he dwelt on the subject, the more he began to wonder if indeed it had been the Potters who had introduced Zarathos to the Blacks; hadn't he just been ruminating on the blood-traitor that Charlus had married? Truly a fortuitous circumstance, that. He had only the one image of Zarathos' face to study; and that blurred by the teary eyes through which it was viewed. But now, casting his mind back, he began to wonder if perhaps there had been some small family resemblance in that face…a resemblance to the Potters…

Lucius Potter had just replaced Abraxas Malfoy on the top of his "to-get-rid-of" list.

That is, right after Zarathos himself. Speaking of which…

A wave of his hand, and the door to his audience chamber swung open. He had summoned just the man for the job earlier, and then left him sweating in trepidation whilst he considered other matters. Not that the being he'd summoned actually could sweat, but it was the thought that counted.

Heh, "count"-ed…

He cleared his throat. "Enter!"

A shadowy form seemed to glide into the room, all light around it seemingly absorbed into its cloak. Dementors may have been the only permanent solution, but Voldemort was hesitant to resort to one of those before learning more about Zarathos himself. After all, it was so devilishly hard to interrogate somebody after they were dead. So, he had resorted to the next best thing. One that could, hopefully, provide him with a more full history of Zarathos from the man's very own point of view…

A vampire.

"Greetings, Count Sanguini."

A dry, raspy voice seemed to echo from within the shadowed cloak. "Not Count yet, Lord Voldemort."

He inclined his head. "My apologies then, friend. And how goes your campaign against your own old fool?"

The raspy voice spat in hatred. "Alucard remains as large a threat as ever; and we cannot move against Helsing without the support of the Ministry. Support you promised, Lord Voldemort."

"So I did; and such you shall have. I have already begun moving to that end; there are but three men left standing in our way. Dumbledore will not stand against us; not on this. He has as much reason to distrust the Helsing Organization as any. Remove these three men, and you shall have your position as Count; the Eldest of all vampires."

"…And what, pray tell, are the names of these men?"

"The first, I am afraid, is Lucius Potter. Him I shall deal with personally, and soon. The second, and the one who's death will provide us the influence we seek, is Abraxas Malfoy."

"Malfoy is no friend of the vampires; his legislation would see us hunted like dogs. It will be a pleasure to drain his blood."

"Yes, I'm sure it will. But not yet. First, we must deal with the third."

"And his name?"

"His true identity remains unknown, but the name he has assumed for now is…Zarathos."

"…The slayer of Fenrir Greyback? Why should we wish to kill the man who has slain the strongest of our enemy since time immemorial?"

"Because I very much doubt he will stop with werewolves, my dear Sanguini. I can attest to the fact that Fenrir had come to believe much the same as you; that it is the wizards, the humans, that are the real monsters. It was no coincidence that Zarathos targeted him before any other; it was his philosophy that marked him for death, not his strength. And so…Zarathos must die."

A sigh. "Regrettable. What are his weaknesses?"

"From what we have seen…rage. Once angered, his control slips from his grasp entirely. This is usually accompanied by an unimaginable cruelty; a sheer inventive hatred. He has, somehow, managed to protect himself against the Killing Curse; his soul is irremovable. Therefore, it is against his blood that you must concentrate your attack. He has demonstrated a remarkable aptitude for fire; but your own dragon-hide cloaks should withstand the worst of his strength. As for the right time to strike? Let us just say…that I shall inform you when the opportune moment arrives."

Sanguini bowed, and turned to leave.

"Oh, and one more thing."

The vampire paused.

"Should you fail in this attack, and escape with your life, any memories you can pull from his blood will be greatly rewarded. Should you fail, and return with nothing…then your reward will be of an entirely different nature. Have I made myself clear?"

"…Inescapably."


It had been many years since Alucard ever had reason to deal with Goblins. Many, many years indeed. Just over three thousand, in fact.

But if there was one thing a vampire was good at, it was remembering. And he remembered all too well the debt he owed the Goblins as a whole. If one meeting with the current Ragnok was enough to pay off said debt…well, he wasn't complaining.

Gringotts' security systems were virtually useless against someone of his power and experience; he could've appeared in the middle of the Ragnok's office, or in their deepest, darkest vault, for all the good they would have done. But that would have been impolite. So, he settled for simply terrifying the unfortunate Goblin stuck as the Ragnok's patsy secretary.

"Tell me again, meatbag, exactly why you felt it was necessary to summon me here?"

The Goblin choked in his grip, suspended about four feet in the air, his legs jerking in a pitiful attempt to escape.

"What was that? I'm afraid I didn't quite catch it."

"Can't…tell…you…only…Ragnok!" the Goblin finally managed to wheeze out.

Alucard's grip tightened ever so slightly. "Listen meatbag, unless you wish a most painful death on yourself, you will tell me precisely what is going on, and you will do so without sparing a single detail. Savvy?"

"You…kill…me. He…kills…us…all. I'll…take…my…chances."

"Who 'He'? The Ragnok?"

A trail of blood dripped out of the Goblin's mouth. "Not…him. The…Other…"

Ah. So it wasn't so much of a 'something' as it was a some-one. Good to know.

The Goblin hit the ground with nary a whimper; it had cost all of his air just to save his own skin. He clearly understood the value of information; and that there was truly only one way for two people to share a secret. So he remained alive…for now.

The doors to the Ragnok's office burst open, a howling wind echoing throughout the room. So he had a flair for the dramatic; so what? You try living for several thousand years without resorting to theatricality for your own entertainment.

And when said theatricality merely added to the terror felt by any who knew exactly what he was? It was truly the best feeling in the world.

To the Ragnok's credit, he showed absolutely no trace of the fear that Alucard could at this very minute smell racing through his veins. Hmm; perhaps the Ragnok's terror was derived from this "Other" that the meatbag had mentioned. It certainly explained his utterly calm and detached demeanor.

"Count."

"Ragnok."

They stood for a moment, sizing each other up. As far as Ragnoks went, this one wasn't particularly noteworthy. Then again, he only had the one other Ragnok to measure him against, so perhaps the assessment was a little unfair. Tough. He was sticking to it.

In the end, it was the Goblin that cracked first. "I imagine you're quite anxious to discover exactly why I have summoned you to fulfill your oath."

He flicked an imaginary piece of lint off of his shoulder. "Not particularly. It's not as if I'm pressed for time, after all. If anything, I'd imagine its you that's in a bit of a hurry."

"…How much do you know?"

"That there's a new player in town. One that has, somehow, managed to terrify not only your underling, but yourself, far more than even I'm capable of. I rather feel like I ought to be offended; if you're not the scariest thing in the room at any given time, then what's the point of it all?"

A hint of confusion had crept into the Ragnok's voice. "…I'm sure I wouldn't know."

"No. You wouldn't. So," he drawled, "Tell me. Who is this…Other…that the Goblin nation has deemed enough of a threat to warrant setting me against him?"

Something completely unexpected happened then. The Ragnok began to laugh.

Alucard barely resisted the urge to tear his ears off at the hideous sound; really, there were very few things worse in the universe than the sound of a Goblin laughing. As far as torture methods went, it was right up there with Vogon poetry.

"Count…Count, Count, Count, Count…we don't want to set you against him; oh goodness, no."

The Ragnok chuckled once more. "We want you to befriend him. On behalf of the entire Goblin nation."

"…I beg your pardon?"

"The Other, as you call him…the greatest threat to Gringotts since our last dealings with you…is none other than…a Dredgen."

…Bollocks.

Double bollocks.

A Dredgen had come once again.

The world must be ending.

He could see the newspaper headlines now, all "APOCALYPSES" and "SECOND COMINGS". A second coming. He supposed that's what it was, in a way. Funny; he'd always thought that he'd get a little more warning than word from the Ragnok, of all people. Clearly, Helsing's surveillance net had a rather large hole in it.

"When?"

"Last night is the earliest we know for sure. He killed Fenrir Greyback."

"…Good for him. Why?"

"Unknown."

"Where?"

"This morning, here. Right now, in Diagon Alley. Later? Unknown."

"Who?"

"Birth name of Harry James Potter. A name that had, until his visit here, never appeared in any of our records."

Naturally.

"The current alias he is operating under is Lord Zarathos, of a group christened the Iron Lords. Yet more names unknown to us. As to his Dredgen title…he has taken the name of Thule. I'm sure I don't have to point out what that in all likelihood means. Furthermore, Magic had declared him the Head of all Dredgens…even the First."

"…I thought the Peverells extinct."

"So did we. Apparently, we were sorely mistook."

"The Hallows?"

"All except the wand remain lost, and that has not moved on from its current wielder. Its as we suspected; the Master is no longer bound by the rules of Time. The ultimate Dredgen."

Alucard was not what you would call a drinking man. Why should he have been, when it was impossible for him to become even slightly intoxicated? But at that very moment, he would've liked nothing better than to become roaring drunk.

"How in Merlin's name did you convince him to share this much information?"

"Well…about that…"

"…Please tell me you haven't been as stupid as I think you have."

"In all fairness, the Dredgen merely forbade the Account Manager from revealing any of his secrets to anyone other than me. He has only himself to blame for not making similar stipulations on my part."

"And I suppose that attitude is why you've elected to have me be your representative to him? Anticipating a rather violent reaction, are we?"

The Ragnok was silent.

"…As I thought. Very well; I'll not forswear my oath. Not after all this time. I'll do my best to convince the Dredgen that you have no quarrel with him, nor he with you. But know this, oh Ragnok: you are, despite all wishes to the contrary, not going to live forever. I have seen countless of your kind come and go throughout the centuries; and from my point of view, it won't be long at all before you follow in their footsteps. If you wish for it to be a peaceful passing, and for that which comes after Death to be equally as serene, you would do well to agree with anything and everything that the Dredgen says. Even if it is an accusation of your own wrongdoing. Do you understand?"

"I…."

"I said, do you understand."

"….Yes."

"Good. Now, I'm afraid that for the first time in a very long while, I find myself in a bit of a hurry. So, for the sake of your sanity, lets just pretend I'm not about to slip through each and every enchantment in this bank to get what I need to placate our hopefully soon-to-be friend."

The Ragnok made to speak, but then thought better of it and contented himself with nodding.

"Excellent. Guten tag, Herr Ragnok."

"Wait!"

"…Say please."

The Ragnok swallowed. "…Please, then. I have to know. The records; the legends. You were there…just how much…"

"How much is true?"

"…Yes."

"All of it. And more. The first I ever saw of a Dredgen, she was erasing wizards' very existence from Time itself. And the last I ever saw of her was the moment I managed to haul myself out of the water onto this accursed shore."

"And?"

"And when I asked her why she had done it; closed the Vault, released the Goblins and Elves, slaughtered all but two werewolves and vampires…her reply was one that even now chills me to my very bones."

"What was it?"

"…'To rend one's enemies is to view them as objects; hollow of existence and meaning. They labeled me their enemy; I merely returned the courtesy. And everyone knows that the enemy of my enemy is my friend.' We were nothing more than a means to an end to her; if we had been in any way a threat, she wouldn't have hesitated to grant us the same fate as the Atlanteans themselves. For three thousand years I have prepared; made myself stronger, faster, smarter. I've played the long game in order to gain myself allies among the government, and among those who hunt beings like me. But now, now it is all to be put to the test. There's an east wind coming, Ragnok. Its names are many, but its purpose the same. There will be no weathering it; are choices are either to ride, or to be swept away. I, for one, intend to be a rider. And I will not haul you out of the way should you choose otherwise. Auf wiedersehen, Ragnok."

And with a swirl of his billowing cloak, he was gone.

He had a Dredgen to find…and debts to call in.