Chapter 59 – To Spring a Trap

Like the proverbial calm in the eye of the storm, number twelve Grimmauld Place stood untouched by the onslaught of the Death Eaters. What it was not, however, was a bastion of hope. The decrepit and crumbling manor of the Blacks was inspiring to some, but hope was something it could never inspire.

The fact that it was hidden by a Fidelius was, of course, the reason why it was as of yet untouched, though it would never have been a high priority target, even if Voldemort's forces had been able to attack it. The Blacks were, after all, known for centuries to be a family bent towards darkness and as such, Voldemort might have considered the place to be a bastion of his side in the conflict. But the fact that it existed at all had quite escaped his memory, and the fact that it was being used as the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix had never become known to him.

That the Order still utilized the place was, of course, because it was still secure. There were many who moved their way through the old building's halls, staying for a night here and there, or attending Order meetings which were still held on a regular basis. As the Death Eater attacks became more severe and frequent, the traffic through Grimmauld actually became greater—the fighters needed a place to rest which was safe from attack and, regardless of the fact that the décor was depressing and the place was dreary and almost collapsing in upon itself, it did provide a safe haven for those who required it. What it did not serve as was a permanent haven for most those who had been displaced from their homes; Dumbledore had set up other, more hospitable locations for that exact function.

There were actually six long-term residents of the old house, and they were there because they had all been dispossessed from their former homes, and not from any desire to live in the crumbling old manor. And if a trio of couples could be referred to be so, they were also the typical odd couple in a way, because they were so unlike one another.

The couples in question were, of course, the Delacours, the Grangers and the Weasleys, and a more disparate trio of couples would be difficult to find. The Grangers were, of course, Muggle, and were only involved because of the fact that their daughter was a witch and, perhaps more importantly, a very close friend of one Harry Potter. Of the other two couples, both were magical—the Delacours were influential and wealthy, not to mention French, while the Weasleys were a family of humble origins and humble means—not to mention until recently, far from influential—and just about as English as one could be. Jean-Sebastian was rational and controlled, and single-minded when it came to accomplishing his goals. Arthur Weasley was, by contrast, laid-back, eccentric, and a peacemaker, whereas William Granger was jovial and playful, though he could be truly intimidating with his height, and rather impressive physique. And while Apolline was tall and willowy, beautiful, but intelligent and determined, Elizabeth Granger was much more modest in looks, though she certainly could not be called plain, and she was much more studious and introverted than the other two women, much like her only child. By contrast, Molly Weasley was somewhat short and dumpy, not considered to be attractive (though she had been buxom and curvy as a young girl), and though she was intelligent herself, she tended to be somewhat overprotective of her children and an affectionate, mothering sort.

One would have thought that the three couples would have difficulty coexisting together—though perhaps it would be more correct to state that Molly Weasley would have difficulty getting along with the Delacours, as Arthur could pretty much get along with anyone—and maybe under other circumstances, one would have been correct, especially the difficulty which had existed recently because of Molly's disappointment in the matter of a certain betrothal. However, they were united in one common goal which, at the present moment, trumped all other considerations: namely the defeat of the man styling himself as Lord Voldemort, and the protection of their families. That both couples claimed a certain Harry Potter as a member of their respective families—and the Grangers, though they did not truly know Harry well yet, were well on their way to considering him a fine young man—was another tie binding them together.

As he sat at the dinner table the evening of that Friday after having returned from his meeting with the French Minister, Jean-Sebastian considered his dinner companions and reflected that opposing Voldemort did make for strange bedfellows. The Weasleys were, perhaps, not the type of people with whom he would have chosen to associate, but in living in the same house with them, he had found that they were good people, with their hearts firmly in the right place. The Grangers, by virtue of the time they had spent together the previous year and during the Christmas holidays, were quickly becoming very good friends.

Setting aside thoughts of the Grangers for the moment, Jean-Sebastian focused his thoughts on the other magical couple. Mr. Weasley was certainly an oddity. His love for all things Muggle was amusing, but to Jean-Sebastian it was also somewhat confusing. Jean-Sebastian himself knew much more about the Muggle world and it was not impossible for Arthur to learn the way Jean-Sebastian had, and yet he was content to tinker and play with his trinkets without becoming too immersed in the world in which he, after all, professed an interest. It was almost like it was a hobby, the truth of which he did not particularly—or maybe even consciously—wish to learn, as it would ruin the wonder of it if it were exposed to him in truth.

The fact that Mr. Weasley was not an intellectual lightweight as Jean-Sebastian had sometimes thought was now obvious as well. He had been chosen specifically by Minister Bones to be her lieutenant, and thus far, though he had only been in the position for a short time, he appeared to be filling the position with competence and even a little flair. His opinions were sober and well thought out, his actions well-judged and prudent, and he was able to advise the Minister and bring balance to her sometimes fiery personality with his own brand of soberness.

As for Mrs. Weasley, Jean-Sebastian could not help but continue to be annoyed by her over-protectiveness and her propensity to fret for her children, but she certainly was not a bad sort. The displeasure she had felt over Harry's betrothal to Fleur had waned to a sort of wistful acceptance. And being fair, Jean-Sebastian could understand why she would have wanted Harry for a son, even discounting her daughter's obvious infatuation. Harry was a good boy and Jean-Sebastian suspected that he would become an exceptional father and husband.

It was certainly an added bonus that Mrs. Weasley's cooking was extremely tasty—and they were lucky that she was willing and able to perform the role. Apolline, though talented and competent in many respects, had not had to cook in many years—if ever—due to the fact that their house-elves had always filled that role, and Jean-Sebastian knew that he himself had no talent in that area, even if he had the time to devote to it. And the house-elf who lived at the manor was essentially useless—the elf barely went through the motions of cleaning, let alone cooking. Jean-Sebastian was not certain he would be able to bring himself to eat anything the elf prepared, anyway—he would not put it past the little bugger to try to poison them.

The conversation at the dinner table was somewhat desultory. The three men—and Elizabeth Granger—were tired from their long days and though Apolline and Elizabeth were rapidly becoming friends, the three women did not really have much in common, and that alone made conversation difficult. Mr. Weasley shared some of his doings in the Ministry, while Jean-Sebastian assured him that he had spoken with the French Minister and that he expected help would be on the way shortly. The Grangers had little to say about the day they had spent at their practice, as they were aware that the Weasleys would have found most of what they had to say to be somewhat incomprehensible.

"Have you heard from Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked after there had been silence for several moments.

"He is well, according to Fleur," Jean-Sebastian replied.

It was prudent to be careful when discussing that particular young man, as Jean-Sebastian was aware that neither the Weasleys nor the Grangers were privy to the information about horcruxes. Privately, Jean-Sebastian suspected that Harry was having difficulty coming to terms with the new information brought by Lupin, unsurprising to say the least. Jean-Sebastian would have removed that burden from his shoulders if he could, but his talents did not lie in the area of spellcrafting or removing portions of foreign souls from living beings. Hopefully Dumbledore would be able to come up with something.

"He's a good boy," Mrs. Weasley was saying. "It is such a shame that he has had to deal with all he has in his life."

"It is," Jean-Sebastian murmured. "But he has good friends to help him through his troubles. He will be well."

"Hermione has told us something of what Harry's status is in your world," William Granger spoke up. "If you ask me, it seems a little silly that so much hope is put on the shoulders of a fifteen year-old."

"No one said that the magical world always makes sense," Apolline responded.

Arthur grunted. "I think I've seen more of that since Minister Bones saddled me with this position than I ever thought possible."

Jean-Sebastian shared an amused look with his wife while William chuckled. "Far be it for me to disagree," he murmured.

"There seems to be good and bad in both worlds," Elizabeth opined. "God knows there are some things in our world which make me shake my head."

"You're right," Jean-Sebastian said with a shrug. "You take the good with the bad."

Mrs. Weasley, who had been silent during the exchange, dropped her gaze to her plate. When she finally spoke, it was in a quiet and introspective voice. "I hope you understand, Ambassador, we want Harry to be happy. He's been such a good friend to Ron all these years, and I know the twins think the world of him. As for Ginny… Ginny looks up to him. He's a good leader, and a good friend to all of them."

Jean-Sebastian exchanged a look with Apolline. "We do understand, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you for accepting Harry into your family and for being so good to him. I know that he considers you to be just like family himself."

Beaming, Mrs. Weasley turned back to her plate, though she did not say another word. It appeared that a meeting of minds had occurred.

"This truly is excellent," Jean-Sebastian said after a few moments, taking another bite of his meal.

Tonks stepped into the conference room in the Auror office, a feeling of anticipation settling into her very soul. Momentous events seemed to be on the horizon and she was keenly anticipating being involved.

This is why she had joined the Auror force—for the chance to make a difference. With Voldemort moving out into the open and the number and severity of the attacks ratcheting up as a consequence, there would be more than enough action to keep everyone busy. More than anyone would want.

A part of her longed to be with Remus, for she had grown extremely fond of the quiet man during the time they had spent in Egypt, but she knew that he was still struggling with the idea of actually having a relationship and the effects his lycanthropy would have on any association with a woman. He was a good man, but his condition formed sort of a blind spot and induced him to believe that he was not worthy of having such happiness in his life. Tonks knew that she had done all she could—it was up to him to work his way through his issues and make a decision. She would give him that time.

In the conference room were all the usual suspects: Kingsley Shacklebolt as the director, Robards the Head Auror, Moody, ever irascible, but stolid and dependable, as well as a few others Tonks knew were trusted and considered to be bright lights within the force. In fact, she was well aware of the fact that she was by far the most junior of those gathered. It puzzled her—why should she be involved in a strategy session which seemed to involve all the best and brightest?

But the summons had been clear; she was to present herself to the conference room, though the reason had not been given. She was soon to find out.

Kingsley nodded at her as she entered, and with a flick of his wrist, he closed the door and brought up some privacy wards.

"Thank you all for coming," he began without preamble. "This is going to be a difficult night, and I hope that I can count on all of you to uphold your positions. We have credible intelligence that there is a major attack scheduled for tomorrow, and we will need to have our forces up to snuff and fully on our side to be able to repel it."

Murmurs broke out at this statement and Kingsley nodded grimly. "Yes, you heard me correctly—we suspect Voldemort has moles in the department. As you are all aware, several Wizengamot members have been targeted and killed, and an attempt was made on the Minister this very morning. We don't know if those attacks were carried out by rogue Aurors, but it seems obvious that we must ensure our police force is on our side before we concentrate on other elements of the Ministry.

"Now," he said, in turn meeting the eyes of everyone in the room, "we need to vet the entire Auror and Hit Wizard force. Everyone in the room has been chosen specifically because I know you are all above suspicion. In order to be doubly certain, you will all bare your left arms, and be required to swear an oath on your magic to prove that you are not a Voldemort supporter."

Quietly and without further words, everyone in the room pulled the sleeves covering their left arms up, exposing clear and unblemished skin to the eyes of everyone in the room. Kingsley then passed around a piece of parchment, and in turn they all swore the oath on their magic, each person glowing briefly once the oath had taken hold. In all, a dozen members of the department had now been proven to be loyal.

"Very well," Kingsley continued once the oaths had all been sworn. "Barnes and Jackson, I want you to guard the entrance to the department—once they enter, no one is allowed to leave. All on duty Aurors and Hit Wizards will be brought into the room in small groups, where they will be required to follow the same procedure. Then as the night shift arrives, they will do the same. They will replace those on duty outside the building, who will again be forced to swear when they return. Finally, once this has all been done, all off-duty personnel will be called in. By that time we should have enough wands confirmed to be loyal that we will not need to keep the secrecy up—once they arrive, they will have no choice but to comply.

"The portkey wards in the building have been reset by the Minister to deny all outgoing portkeys, so there will be no escape by that route. Keep it quiet until we have a large part of the force vetted. We cannot allow any Voldemort supporters to escape or to learn of what we are doing."

Thus began the final clean up of the Auror forces and it was, as Shacklebolt had indicated, a very long and tense evening. The first shift were all brought in and proved to be loyal quickly and without incident, and the night shift Aurors also proved to be loyal. It was not until the patrolling Aurors returned that they had any difficulty. There were, of course, a few who generally espoused Pureblood beliefs, but though there were a few who seemed to hesitate, they were given the choice of swearing their loyalty, or an extended leave if they did not swear, as none bore the dark mark. No one took Shacklebolt on his offer to have them take time off, and all swore the oaths.

It had been Tonks's assignment to call new sets of Aurors into the conference room for them to be vetted, and she fancied that she had begun to perfect her method of doing so. They were generally going in as groups, though some who were thought to be risks were brought in alone, and she discovered that the trick was to call them in while dangling the bait of some intelligence, which was only the truth, of course.

Two on-patrol Aurors had arrived back to file their reports before they were to return to their homes, when Tonks approached them.

"Sanderson, Puckle," she greeted the two men. "Shack wants to see you in the conference room."

"What's going on?" Puckle asked with a curious expression on his face.

"Briefing," Tonks replied. "There's some intel that suggests an attack tomorrow. Shack wants everyone to be on their toes."

If she had not been looking for it, she might have missed the flicker of interest on Sanderson's face. It did not necessarily mean anything, but she resolved to watch him as they moved to answer their summons.

As they entered, they were greeted by Kingsley, and by this time he was supported by about a dozen other Aurors and hit Wizards, while many others who were now proven to be loyal were stationed about the department. No one would escape their net on this evening.

Following behind the two men, Tonks could see the almost imperceptible tightening of Sanderson's shoulders as he saw the array of wands facing him. She had to admit that he was cool, though, as he did not break stride, nor did he immediately attempt to flee.

"Gentlemen," Shack said as he greeted them. "I need you both to bare your arms and swear your loyalty to the Ministry."

That, of course, was when Sanderson acted. He brought up his wand and fired off a quick curse at Shack, and attempted to dodge to the side, no doubt attempting to flee. His curse was harmlessly absorbed by Shack's quickly conjured shield, and Tonks's stunner put him out of commission before he could do more than pivot.

Puckle's eyes were opened wide as he watched his partner taken down, while Moody stumped toward the downed man and roughly pulled up his sleeve. There, on his left forearm, the dark mark writhed in apparent agitation.

"Sanderson!" Moody barked with disgust. His hatred for dark wizards was legendary. "I always knew that you were a little too full of yourself."

"Puckle?" Shack said with a hint of steel in his voice.

Though he was still obviously trying to recover from what he had just witnessed, Puckle nonetheless pulled his sleeve up and bared his arm, showing no sign of Voldemort's mark. He then quickly swore the oath, seeming eager to prove his loyalty.

"We appear to have reeled in our first fish," Shack said to no one in particular, and Sanderson was quickly trussed up and placed in one of the offices, while he awaited his journey down to the holding cells.

The evening continued on and though there were some Tonks thought might be potential Death Eaters, everyone else checked out until the end of the evening, when one of the last to be called in was exposed—though with much less drama—as a Death Eater. In all, the entire force had been vetted, and two Voldemort supporters uncovered.

Still later, the entire force which could be spared from their patrols, were gathered in the large auditorium, where Shack was to reveal their mission for the coming day.

"Thank you all for joining us and for proving your loyalty." Shack paused and looked around the room. "We have credible intelligence which informs us that an attack will be made tomorrow at Hogsmeade. For those who do not have children attending Hogwarts, I will inform you that Hogsmeade weekend is scheduled for tomorrow and the children are the Dark Lord's targets.

"The day in Hogsmeade has been cancelled," he continued above the murmurs which had welled up throughout the room, "but the students still have not been told. Coward that he is, the Dark Lord expects to take school children hostage to use against us. We will spring his trap and catch his forces in one of our own.

"But before we get into the specifics of the plan, who wants to be Harry Potter?"

A trip to Hogsmeade was just what the doctor ordered, in Harry's opinion. Days of being in the castle, stuck in classes, or simply trying to avoid talking about his fate were wearing on him and he wanted nothing more than to escape for a while and just be a teenager. As much as was possible, of course.

The situation between him and the two girls was a little frosty, he had to admit. To say that they were unhappy with him over the words they had exchanged the previous evening was a massive understatement. In fact, their pointed disapproval was manifest in the manner in which they avoided him, though they did not avoid him with their injured expressions and censorious looks.

To be honest, it was a bit of a relief to Harry. The girls wanted the best for him—he was well aware of that and he loved them all the more for it. But they did not understand—they could not understand—just exactly what he was going through. As much as he appreciated their positive outlooks and upbeat demeanors, he did not particularly feel like being upbeat. It was perhaps a little childish to be acting so, but Harry felt he was owed a little leeway. He was the only one who was under a sure sentence of death.

Thus, a trip away from all of that was looked upon with a certain level of anticipation, not to mention a healthy dose of relief. The exertion of going to the village, the familiar sights of the village and the shops, the noise and comfort of the Three Broomsticks; all of these were distractions from his increasingly complicated life. And if Hermione and Fleur could not be convinced to leave the subject of the horcruxes behind, well he figured that he could lose himself in the company of his other friends for a while. Surely Ron would not object to some time spent in his company.

This was why Harry was more than a little annoyed that it would not happen. Voldemort was the author of so much misery in his life—now the man was even preventing Harry from losing himself in a few short carefree hours in Hogsmeade. Chuckling to himself, Harry reflected that preventing his enemy from enjoying himself was certainly not the reason the Dark Lord was planning an attack that day. If only his motives could be so innocuous!

"I apologize for the inconvenience," the Headmaster stated as he rose to speak to the student body that morning during breakfast. "I am afraid Hogsmeade weekend has been cancelled."

A wave of unhappy murmuring rose up in the room, but Dumbledore, unperturbed by the dissatisfaction, held up his hands for silence. "In addition, all students will remain in the Great Hall until further notice." He smiled kindly down at them. "I assure you that this is for your own safety. We have received reports that the Dark Lord may have something planned today in the village. This is why you will not be allowed to leave the school.

"Now," Dumbledore continued with a grandfatherly smile, "if you will all just be patient, I believe some of you may be asked to further support today's defense plan."

Dumbledore said nothing further after that rather enigmatic statement, but Harry was not paying attention to him. He was rather carefully watching the Slytherins in particular, and though most of them appeared to either be as surprised as anyone else—no doubt, they were either uninvolved, or were true Slytherins, unlike that complete waste of space Malfoy—there still appeared to be a few reactions, most notably in the person of Pansy Parkinson. No doubt the Slytherins had been warned that something was to occur, and to either keep to certain areas, or to avoid Hogsmeade altogether. What was clear was that the girl knew something, though Harry could not determine exactly what it was.

Of course, as had happened the previous Monday, Harry and the Association were once more put in charge of the castle's safety, to the obvious annoyance—yet again—of Roger Davies, not to mention the clear distaste of certain Slytherins. But it was what he had expected, after all. And though he would not be able to lose himself in the festivities surrounding a trip to Hogsmeade, perhaps he would be able to forget his troubles while immersing himself in his duties regarding the castle. He hoped so, at least. This burden he was carrying was turning out to be much heavier than he had ever imagined.

At just a few moments before noon that Saturday, the Ministry forces, along with many members of the Order of the Phoenix, lay in wait in the village of Hogsmeade for the Death Eater forces to appear. Morale was exceptionally high; though there had been many incidents since the attack on the Ministry almost a week before, in most cases the Ministry forces had arrived at the sites of the various Death Eater attacks finding no one left and no one to pursue. This was really the first chance most of them would have to truly strike back at the Death Eaters, and most were eager for a little payback. This time the Death Eaters would pay, and doubly so, for such a cowardly act as attacking school children.

Sirius Black was of two minds about the fact that the Ministry forces were currently waiting for the Death Eaters to show. On the one hand the fact that they had the information about the attack was a huge tactical advantage, and they now had an opportunity to deal Voldemort a major blow, which would hopefully make him think before attacking again, especially any target which was situated in such proximity to Hogwarts. On the other hand he had been—justly, he thought—angered by the manner in which Harry had managed to gain the information.

Thoughts of his godson's behavior over the past few days brought a scowl to Sirius's face. The boy had reason to be upset—it was not every day that one was told that there was nothing to be done about the death sentence hanging over him. Sirius understood that. But ever since Remus had returned with his information, a certain fatalistic outlook had settled on Harry, and one which Sirius was not certain how to dislodge. Harry had not precisely given up—he was still the same determined young man that Sirius had come to know better in the past few months—it was more that he had decided that nothing could be done, and that he would go out in a blaze of glory if he was fated to go out at all.

Again, Sirius understood that Harry's talents did not extend to spellcrafting—even if he had the training—and were much more suited for action. He quite literally had no peer in the school, regardless of year, when it came to innate ability in dueling or fighting, nor when it came to sheer brute strength. In fact, Sirius was uncertain as to whether anyone in the entire school, including the teachers, could match him in terms of sheer strength—with the exception of Dumbledore—and he was only fifteen years of age!

But he would have thought that, fighter as he was, Harry would hold on to his optimism and hope that a resolution for his problem would be found. Sirius could detect no such hope in Harry's outlook. He seemed like he had accepted his fate and was only determined to take the Dark Lord down with him. It was frustrating in the extreme, as Sirius had by no means given up on a solution. It was out there. They only needed to find it.

"Hey, Sirius. Are you still with me?"

Pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a voice, Sirius glanced over to his right to see the smiling visage of Hestia Jones peering at him with some amusement.

"Sorry, just thinking," Sirius replied, feeling a hint of embarrassment.

"Well, there's a first time for everything," Hestia teased, "but do you really think this is the right time?"

"You've been spending too much time around Moony," Sirius groused, though he favored her with a grin of his own.

"I hardly think that. He's only been back for a couple of days."

"Well it sure seems that way. He's the only one who would dare speak to me that way."

Hestia laughed. "And maybe Harry? And all of his friends?"

"Way to burst my bubble." He affected an injured air, but Sirius was pretty certain that his slight smile of amusement completely wrecked it. Ah well, Hestia was coming to know him too well to be fooled in any case, even if he had been trying to do so.

"Anyway," Hestia said with exaggerated patience, "we'd best be on our toes. It's almost noon."

Nodding, Sirius looked away and glanced at his watch, noting that the time was indeed quickly approaching noon. All over the town, the Ministry and Order forces were in position, waiting to spring the trap on the—hopefully—unsuspecting Death Eaters. Sirius and Hestia were manning some of the defenses on the east end of the town, where the giant attack was expected to occur. They were expecting to encounter nothing but school children and about to receive a rather unpleasant—for them—surprise.

"I hope this isn't a trap," Hestia said, her hand tightening worriedly around her wand.

"It isn't," Sirius replied, scanning the horizon for any hint of their foe.

Hestia turned to him. "Do you know where the intel came from?" she asked, curiosity lacing her voice.

Nodding, Sirius did not turn from his vigil, as focused as he had been distracted earlier. "I do. I can't tell you anything about it, but I do know that it's authentic."

Letting out a sigh of what Sirius took to be relief, Hestia turned her head and faced east as Sirius had done. There was still a battle to be fought, after all, and their job would be to take down creatures that stood some twenty feet tall. Of course if everything went as planned, the giants would not even come within a hundred paces of them.

A few more moments of waiting, and Sirius began to detect a steady, rhythmic thumping, which was getting louder, and the vibrations on the ground becoming more noticeable. It appeared that the giants were about to arrive.

Turning, Sirius motioned to an Auror who as stationed just a few feet away and gave him a thumbs up. The young man—hardly more than a recruit—nodded, and turning on his heel, apparated away. Now that the attack had been verified, Kingsley, who was in overall command of the operation, needed to be notified of the giants' approach.

"Get ready," Sirius said to Hestia, and they both readied their wands.

As the thumping noise became louder, Sirius began to see a movement in the trees, as though a great wave was moving amongst them, bending and twisting them this way and that in its fury. And as the giants approached the edge of the tree line, their heads began to be visible above the trees, like large boulders floating up above the ground. When they finally broke through the edge of the forest, and stepped out onto the plain which led up to the sleepy Wizarding town, the ground was literally shaking with the force of their combined footsteps. They were ugly creatures, humanoid in shape, but appearing like rough mockeries of a human, as though their creator had intended to make beings in a direct image of humans, but had stopped before chiseling off the final pieces. There were also only six of them—the colony had only about eighty inhabitants, and the rest of the giants must have understood that they were dangerously close to extinction without tempting fate any further.

The emergence of the giants was the signal for the counterstrike, and Sirius, in tandem with Hestia, stepped away from the side of the house by which they had sheltered. Pointing their wands simultaneously at the large javelin situated at an angle facing the attacking force, they summoned their combined strength and cried out, "Propulso!"

In an instant, under the power of the charm—a stronger form of the banishing charm, with the added power of two magicals working in tandem—the large javelin flew out of its stand in the direction of their pointed wands, and shot out through the air, along with several others fired by other pairs of Aurors and Order members. These javelins had hardened, razor-sharp tips, and would pierce anything short of a stone wall. Sirius's javelin caught the lead giant in the chest over its heart, and passed right through the creature, staggering it. The giant shook its head for a moment before it once again tried to move forward, intent upon crushing the miniscule figures which had suddenly appeared before it. It was at this point that its brain apparently caught up with the fact that there was a problem lower down in the body, as the beast's feet would not obey it, and it toppled forward, hitting the ground with a loud, booming thump. It did not move again.

Its fellows fared no better as, though two or three of the javelins had missed their marks, there were more than enough to down every giant that had emerged from the woods. Only one survived the initial attack, and that was only because the javelin had missed its heart, only to puncture it through the other side of its chest. It lay gasping feebly, attempting to move until a pair of Aurors moved out quickly to put it out of its misery.

"Let's go," Sirius said, nodding to himself in satisfaction.

Hestia said nothing, but she fell in beside him as he moved away. She kept her countenance, but her face was a little green in response to what she had just witnessed. Unfortunately, if the fight against Voldemort got as hot as Sirius expected, she would likely have to get used to it.

In a more central part of the town, Remus Lupin lay in wait with a company of Aurors. Though he could not have known how Sirius was faring against the giants, he knew that the group which would face the attacking werewolves had the harder job. Giants, though fearsome, were stupid, and more importantly, were easily spotted due to their immense size. The Ministry forces had easily predicted their route to the town when they had managed to spot them in the forest the previous night, and Remus knew that with the plan to meet them that they should be dispatched with little difficulty.

The werewolves, however, were more difficult to predict. Not only had they not been able to determine from exactly where the attack would occur, but in addition to this, werewolves, though much smaller than giants, were in many cases much more dangerous, due to their agility, strength, and ferocity. And of course there was Greyback to consider…

As always, the thought of the monster who had made him what he was filled Remus with anger. The fact of the matter was that most of the werewolves in Britain had been afflicted by Greyback, and as he was expected to be there that day, Remus wanted a shot at him. In the first war they had almost crossed paths several times, but Remus was well aware that to have met Greyback then would have meant his death—he had been too young, too green to have survived an encounter with the wolf. Now, however, he was older and wiser, and Greyback had gotten that much older himself. Today he could end the scourge, and if he got the chance, he would do exactly that.

"Remus," Tonks said from his side. "The giants have arrived."

Nodding, Remus continued to scan the streets, wondering where the attack would come from, while feeling Tonks's eyes on him as he watched.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked after watching him for a moment.

"It has to be done," Remus replied, choosing to make the matter as simple as possible. "The werewolf packs aren't truly evil. Most of them follow Greyback because of fear. If we can get rid of him, most of the rest should break and run."

"But why does it have to be you?"

"Because I'm the best equipped to do it." Remus turned and fixed his full attention on Tonks. "As a werewolf myself, I'm faster and stronger than most any man here. You know that werewolves don't depend only on their magic to fight. He'll be coming after anyone he sees with claws and teeth—he's always been more than a little feral and has only gotten worse over the years."

Tonks regarded him more than a little fearfully, but Remus only smiled at her, encouraging her to accept and do her part. "Look, I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little scared at the moment, but I've got to do this. I've been waiting my whole life for a shot at him. You just cover my back. We can take him down together."

Nodding, Tonks turned away, and Remus could see her almost visibly gearing herself up for the coming fight. Her concern and affection warmed his heart, and he had to admit to himself that her care and concern was beginning to overcome his habitual instinct to keep himself distant from any female. But there was now a job to do, and Remus was not about to get distracted. Distraction against Greyback meant almost certain death.

When the werewolf forces finally arrived, they did so without any warning whatsoever. A sudden howling rose up from just outside the town's limits and within moments, several disheveled forms could be seen entering the town at a high rate of speed.

In the aftermath, it was easy to see just what the Death Eaters' plan had been and, had Harry not discovered what they were up to, it likely would have succeeded. First, the giants would attack from the east, sowing confusion and fear, and then after the whole town was aware of the giant attack, the werewolves would hit from the south, bringing the students to utter panic. They would drive them toward apparent safety—the road to Hogwarts around the lake to the west and north, where they would be attacked by Death Eaters who would take their hostages before the students ever got to the Hogwarts ward boundaries.

In the moment, however, Remus could think of nothing but the fact that there were well over three dozen werewolves bearing down on the Ministry forces, most howling and causing a ruckus that could likely be heard almost all the way to Hogwarts. The Aurors let them approach without any resistance until they were almost within the edge of the furthermost buildings, when Remus, spotting Greyback leading the charge, stepped out and fired off a quick curse to get his attention.

Though obviously surprised, the alpha sidestepped the curse with almost negligent ease, and he peered toward Remus. A great fanged grin came over his face when he saw who was facing him.

"Lupin," he snarled, his voice like rocks falling down a hillside. "How very unfortunate for you that you are here today."

"Unfortunate for one of us," Remus replied evenly.

The werewolf bared his teeth—which Remus noted had been filed down to points—in the quintessential evil rictus of a grin. "I should have attended to you long ago, pup. I will enjoy this."

In werewolf pack society, Remus knew that the term "pup" was an insult, suggesting weakness and docility, but to Remus it meant nothing—he had never lived amongst other werewolves, and even if he had, the insults of someone who was in his own way as mad as Voldemort himself would have meant nothing. Instead of responding, Remus said nothing; he merely watched the alpha, knowing it would not be long before he made his move.

Greyback bared his teeth again and turned to one of his nearby followers. "Take the packs ahead and stick to the plan. I will take care of this foolish pup on my own."

The wolf acknowledged and began to move off with the others in tow, but Remus paid them no mind whatsoever, watching instead as Greyback began to circle. He said nothing more, apparently deciding that nothing further was to be said. But his stance and the aggressive energy he displayed in the flexing of his rippling muscles bespoke a burning determination to take care of Remus, who had defied him for his entire life. Whatever else could be said of the evil man, a lightweight he was not.

As quick as lightning Greyback moved, eschewing his wand for a direct, physical attack. Remus sidestepped and caught his descending arm, deflecting it away and countering with a heavy punch in the back of Greyback's head. The attack might have worked against a regular wizard, most having little to no knowledge of hand-to-hand fighting. Remus, however, had some experience himself, due to his time in the Muggle world, not to mention a few altercations he had had there.

The impact of the blow only caused Greyback to bare his teeth even more, and this time he followed up his physical attack with a blasting curse fired at point blank range. Remus, his shield ready, merely deflected it to the side, moving once again to avoid the werewolf's quickly followed-up counter.

For most werewolves, it was almost impossible to tell that they were infected with lycanthropy unless they showed some physical signs, such as the cursed wounds on their face or some other area easily seen. Even this was not foolproof. With Greyback, however, it was impossible to see him as anything other than what he was. His hair was wild, extending down from his head along the underside of his jaw, and down on to his chest, almost like fur, so thick and dark it was. His nails and teeth were pointed and wolfish and fearsome, and in his eyes, black as coal, shone a feral insanity, almost as though he felt the rest of the world should suffer as he had suffered. As if his own suffering had not been largely his own doing. His time as a werewolf, where he had almost repudiated his humanity, had transformed him, almost making him more wolf than man. He was also almost supernaturally fast, his moves flowing from one to the other, and he was as comfortable using his claws and teeth as he was the wand held casually in one hand. There was no finesse about him—everything was brute force, dominating strength, and a feral need to kill. Even his spells were more forced from his wand than his magic working with him and through the wand.

But Remus had an ace up his sleeve—a plan with which he could defeat the wolf who, though he was aging, was still more than a match for the more civilized Remus. Greyback was all ferocity and power without mercy, but he clearly had little concept of strategy and tactics. Slowly, through his own counter-attacks and defenses, Remus maneuvered the wolf around to s specific location, and when he had him where he wanted him, he dropped to the ground, crying, "Now!"

From a dozen spots around the street, hidden Aurors, concealed with disillusionments spells, and augmented by silencing and scent hiding charms rose from their locations, and a hail of small, silver bullets rained down on Greyback, pelting him and piercing his flesh to embed themselves deep within his body, where they dissolved into their liquid state, entering his blood stream and poisoning him. Silver, unlike what Muggles believed, did not kill werewolves on contact, but if dispensed inside a werewolf's body, it did poison them and cause them extreme pain.

Howling in pain, Greyback fell to his knees. His skin had changed from a ruddy color to the white of a sheet on wash day. He looked up, his face etched with pain, and he glared with pure hatred at Remus.

"Traitor!" he rasped. "Foul deceiver! You are a cretin without honor, Lupin, and I spit upon you!"

"What do you know of honor?" Remus panted, quickly rising to his feet. Between his heaving breaths he approached Greyback and stared the man who had inflicted this torment upon him and made his life different than it might have been. "A feral, reprehensible, disgusting beast preying on children. You can have nothing to say of honor!"

His eyes beginning to dilate with the pain, Greyback focused his eyes on Remus once more, forcing himself to speak. "I suppose you plan to take my place now? Fill my people's heads with fairy tales of how everything can be better for them?"

"I have no desire to rule," Remus said quietly. "I will simply set them free."

Screaming with rage, Greyback staggered to his feet, claws extended. "I will kill you!"

But before he could get within striking distance of Remus, his chest seemed to explode outward and, where his torso had been a moment before, a hole suddenly appeared. Behind him stood Tonks, her wand raised at him. Greyback stared stupidly down at the remains of his body and his wand slipped from his nerveless fingers. A trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth and he toppled to the side, dropping heavily into the dust of the street where he did not move again.

"I don't think so," Tonks said in a cold voice, as she looked at the body of the most notorious werewolf ever to roam the British Isles.

"Come on," Remus said, when no one moved.

He stepped forward and, catching the body of the criminal, hoisted him up over his shoulders, heedless of the blood which stained the body. "Let's go and relieve Voldemort of the werewolf packs."

Daniel Gonzalez was a young Auror, only a few years removed from his Hogwarts years. He was descended from a family who had been prominent in Brazil for centuries. Such movement, across the expanse of an ocean, no less, was certainly not common in the Wizarding world, but his father had been a younger son who had possessed a certain wanderlust and had travelled through many parts of the world as a young man, wandering as his fancy took him. Daniel did not know much about the Muggle world, but he had been told by his father that he had blended in with younger Muggles, backpacking while travelling from place to place much as a young Muggle might. By the time he had eventually made his way to England, the first war against Voldemort had just begun to heat up and, as a young man who had passed his NEWTs with distinction, had enrolled in the Auror department, completing his training and engaged in many conflicts at the height of the war.

He had also met a young woman in England, gotten married, and settled here, producing Daniel, who was the eldest, as well as three more children. When Daniel graduated from Hogwarts—he had managed to attend the famous institution because of his father's inheritance which had been passed down from family in Brazil—he had immediately enrolled in the Aurors, intent upon following in the footsteps of his sire. He had graduated a little more than two years previously.

Now, Daniel's father was a senior Auror and a section leader under the new Head Auror, Gawain Robards' direction. Daniel was a promising, but still relatively new recruit. Thus, one would have thought that it was Enrique Gonzalez who would be the important person in the day's action against the Dark Lord's forces. But that did not take into account the fact that Daniel had been chosen to play a very special role that day.

As the Ministry forces sat in wait that day for the Death Eaters to make their appearance, Daniel was busy in a pursuit of a different sort, and one in which he had not indulged in more than five years—the pleasure of a Hogsmeade weekend.

Keeping a close and watchful eye on his surroundings, Daniel nevertheless enjoyed the act of milling around in the village, wandering from one shop to the next, inspecting the wares, and generally just having a good time. The day brought back memories of his time attending the venerable institution and the fun he had had on the occasions when they had been allowed to visit the quaint little village.

And it did not hurt that his girlfriend, Sophie Dawson, who he felt was beautiful and elegant in her own right, was absolutely stunning that day. Not that he would always wish for her to wear a different face—in fact he was very careful not to mention anything of how she looked that day for he understood ladies well enough to know that complimenting her when she was wearing the face and body of a beautiful Veela would not be well received. But for them both to be masquerading as famous people was the chance of a lifetime. And the scenery was very nice too, not that he would ever tell Sophie that.

"I wish they would get on with it," Sophie said from his side, as she fidgeted with her skirt.

"What, aren't you having fun being famous for a while?" Daniel said with a grin.

Sophie shot him a withering glare, almost as though she suspected him of having inappropriate thoughts while she wore another body. "This body is throwing my balance off," she complained.

Daniel raised an eyebrow in her direction, to which she simply rolled her eyes. "Fleur Delacour has bigger boobs than I have. You men don't ever seem to think about how they affect our balance. You just want to ogle them."

"At least you aren't trying to impersonate a girl who's five inches shorter than you are," the girl to Daniel's other side chimed in. "I don't know how Hermione Granger can stand to be so short!"

"Somehow I don't think she really has a choice!" Daniel said with a laugh.

Frances Darbish, who was masquerading as Harry Potter's famous friend, pouted and turned away. "At least you got someone who was closer to your own size, Harry."

Smiling—a little smugly, he had to admit—Daniel responded, "But you still get to be someone famous!"

Frances shared a glance with Sophie. "Methinks someone is having a little too much fun."

"Well someone has to. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

"A once in a lifetime opportunity to be a target in Harry Potter's place," was the dry reply.

"Come on!" Daniel said with a laugh. "You're only looking at the negative part of this!"

"Remind me what the positive is?" Sophie snarked.

Daniel just grinned, content to simply enjoy the ride.

In this attitude they continued to move about the village, acting as young school children out on a day in the famous village, trying to be as normal as possible. As they moved from shop to shop, Daniel was able to catch the eyes of several others as they passed by. Not all the Hogwarts students had provided samples to allow Aurors to impersonate them—there were more students than there were Aurors, after all. And it was not as though they needed to impersonate every student in Hogwarts. Only third years and older were able to attend. And even if the younger years were able to be there, it would not exactly be practical—trying to impersonate a second year would almost certainly render one almost unable to fight effectively due to the size difference alone. But there were enough of them to provide an effective fiction to any watching Death Eaters that the Hogsmeade weekend had been allowed to proceed as usual.

It was just after noon that two things suddenly happened which informed them that the attack was about to proceed. First, word arrived that a force of giants had been spotted to the east of the village. A few moments later, the howling of the force of werewolves began to the south, though they stopped for a moment before picking up again. It was this signal which was their cue to act.

Stopping and trying to appear confused, Daniel went to work. He and his two companions gathered together any other students they could find, and began making preparations to return to the castle.

"Calm down everyone," Daniel said to the group of disparate students—polyjuiced Aurors—who had gathered near the Three Broomsticks. More were arriving all the time.

"We need to get back to the castle," he directed. "Let's go—Dumbledore will handle this."

From between the buildings to the south, the force of werewolves began to emerge and, as soon as they saw the gathered students, began to yell and draw attention to themselves. The group around Daniel broke and began to run in the direction of Hogsmeade Station and the safety of the castle's wards. Knowing that there was a large force of Aurors hidden, waiting for the right moment to strike at the invading werewolves—if the body of their leader could not be produced in time to convince them to surrender—he focused his attention on the path ahead of them, knowing that the Death Eaters would strike soon, attempting to capture a large number of students in the general confusion.

When the Death Eaters finally appeared, they found much more than they had bargained for.

There was no way that Sirius was about to miss any of the fun—he had spent too many years as a resident of Azkaban, indirectly pushed into being there due to Voldemort's inability to play nice. Now the Death Eaters were almost certainly walking into a trap and Sirius was determined that he would be part of the trap, and despite the fact that he and the others who had dealt with the giant threat could have said to have played their part, none of them hesitated for a second before moving into position to spring the ambush on the expected Death Eaters with the rest of the Auror force. Hopefully, the day's events would serve as a warning to the wanker styling himself as Lord Voldemort, and he would think before continuing to perpetrate his brutality on their society.

Not that Sirius thought that old Voldy was smart enough to take the hint. He had not even after his closest cronies had been shown straight to the door of the afterlife, nor even when baby Harry had proven to be more than a match for him. He certainly would not hesitate to throw more of his followers' lives away, if he thought for a moment that it would get him what he wanted.

But those thoughts were for another time—now his attention was required to deal with the matter at hand. Sirius and the others who had been present for the extermination of the giant force, eased into position with the rest of the Auror forces and settled in to wait, answering a few questions posed by their fellows as to the fate of the giants. The satisfaction the news engendered was readily recognizable, as the word passed up the lines to the rest of the ambush force. Although morale had already been high due to the opportunity to finally strike back at the Dark Lord's forces, it was now soaring to even greater heights at the news that the first attacking force had been destroyed with little threat to their own forces.

After a wait of a few moments, the cries of the approaching werewolves reached them, and soon after they saw the disguised students begin to move en masse from the town toward the castle and the safety of the wards.

The polyjuiced Aurors had just drawn even with Hogsmeade station, when the flickers of pseudo-motion began in earnest and the Death Eaters began portkeying in, blocking their path back to Hogwarts, as well as appearing in various strategic locations throughout the town. Obviously, someone in the werewolf force had been tracking the supposed students' progress, and had somehow informed the Death Eaters the most advantageous time to begin their attack.

Of course, that was when the whole plan fell apart. The Death Eaters—a force of some fifty strong—portkeyed in, dressed in their dark robes and ridiculous looking masks. But rather than finding a group of terrified school children, they found themselves squaring off against a group wearing the faces of school children, but possessing skills beyond what any child should possess.

And in addition, the hidden Aurors rose from their positions, and began peppering the Death Eaters with spells. Within minutes, the village had erupted into chaos.

Sirius, with Hestia still by his side, went on the offensive immediately, snapping off a bludgeoning curse, followed by an array of stunners, banishment charms, disarmers, and a host of other spells. By his side, Hestia, who had proven that she could work very effectively with him, concentrated on defending them from any stray spells which made their way from the increasingly ragged and desperate Death Eaters.

Stepping away from a rather nasty-looking dark cutting curse, Sirius responded with a Reductor, and two stunners which forced his opponent into motion, and once he had him moving, Sirius created a flame whip, and lassoed it around his opponent's head, jerking the unfortunate man forward and off his feet. The head of the flame whip set his robes on fire and heated his mask almost instantaneously, causing the man to scream and throw his offending garment off as quick as he was able.

A binding spell followed and Sirius soon had the man all trussed up, like a goose about to go over the fire. Of course, he had already been slightly cooked, Sirius thought with a snicker.

Glancing around, Sirius noted that the fight had largely become a rout, with Death Eaters running this way and that, intent upon escaping the carnage, while some few who had the presence of mind, used their portkeys to escape back to the dubious mercy of the Dark Lord. There was almost no one left who could pose a threat.

Sharing a glance with Hestia, Sirius stepped forward to see who he had managed to catch in his web. The man was still conscious, though apparently in a great amount of pain, as the welts from his close encounter with the flame whip were already rising on his skin. He glared up at Sirius as defiantly as he was able, pouring all of his contempt and hatred into his disdainful glare.

Sirius knew him.

"Well, well, well," he said pleasantly, as he knelt down in front of the unfortunate man. "If it isn't my old friend Avery." Sirius smirked, knowing it would rile the man up even further, knowing he could do nothing about it. "You seem to have left the Wizengamot chambers rather precipitously the last time I saw you. Somehow, I get the feeling you're going to be joining your old buddies a lot sooner than you would have hoped."

Bearing the body of the most feared werewolf ever to have roamed the British Isles, Remus quickly made his way toward the ever-increasing sounds of battle in Hogsmeade. Hopefully, he was not too late—he was certain that most of the other werewolves could be induced to lay down their wands and cease the fight; they had no allegiance to Voldemort, after all. In fact, he doubted most of them had any allegiance to Greyback, for that matter. It was undoubtedly fear which had kept most of them in line.

Now that the old wolf was dead, they should break very easily. But they would need to be acquainted with the fact that they were now free before they could take such a step, and Remus aimed to make sure they knew as soon as possible.

Stepping onto High Street from a side alley, Remus quickly assessed the state of the battle. The Ministry plan to counter the Death Eater's attack had clearly been a success, as the Auror forces were obviously in mop-up mode—there was very little coherence left in the Death Eaters' actions, as the actions of each man had degenerated into a desperate need to escape and survive. Yet, from Remus's perspective, it appeared as though few had managed to escape, confident as they had been that their plan would succeed.

A few guttural howls caught his attention, and he noted that the group of werewolves was still resisting, and had formed up into a tight group near the Hog's Head, and was facing off with an equal number of Aurors. Instantly Remus understood—these werewolves would not flee the battle site until they had been told to do so by Greyback himself. If he was not able to stop it, the battle would become a bloodbath before it was over.

Breaking into a trot, Remus approached the tight knot of werewolves, and upon garnering some of their attention, he turned slightly and heaved his burden from his shoulders, where it fell into the dust where it belonged.

Almost as one, the assembled werewolves gaped at the body of their former leader, and at the one who had killed the unkillable. Remus watched them closely, looking for some sense of their reaction. Surprise certainly was most evident, but Remus thought that he detected a certain measure of respect, relief on most faces, and rage on a select few—likely those who had been closest and had held a certain level of power under the deranged werewolf.

"Lay down your wands," Remus said quietly. "You need fear Greyback no longer."

One of the assembled werewolves stepped forward and snarled at Remus. "Foul traitor! You will pay for this outrage!"

At that point, several things happened at once. As Remus crouched down to face off against the enraged man, he noticed several of the other werewolves look to one another, before they began to move. Moving quickly, the bulk of the invading werewolves singled out several of those Remus had noted as being angry at the death of the leader, and with quick and brutal efficiency, those wolves were put down by the combined might of the rest of the pack.

Blanching, Remus looked away, yet knowing that pack justice was not known for its subtlety or mercy. Several of those Aurors confronting them also looked away, disgusted with the fate of those who nonetheless almost certainly deserved it.

When justice had been dispensed, the assembled wolves once again turned back to Remus and one stepped forward. "The pack submits to your authority, head wolf."

Though he was not exactly surprised by this turn of events, Remus was not about to accept such a responsibility, nor did he think he deserved it—if any of those here were to learn the truth about Greyback's demise, they would no doubt consider him to be worse than their recently departed leader. To a wolf, such treachery was worthy of nothing more than contempt. To Remus, who had not grown up in the pack, it was necessary to ensure that a monster could no longer prey on the lives of children.

"And I will not take it," Remus replied. "You don't need to live like this, under the yoke of a tyrant like Greyback."

"How do you suggest we live?" someone from the back yelled out.

"The Ministry has never been welcoming to us," another broke in.

"Times are changing," Remus said. "I think you'll find that the current Minister is not so hostile to us as the previous had been."

"And how would you know?"

"I've met her. She spoke to me as an equal, and agreed with me that what has been done to us in the past is not right."

"Do you really believe things will change?" asked an incredulous voice.

"And what about people like Umbridge?" said another.

"My dearest friend has taken up his seat in the Wizengamot," was Remus's simple reply. "His godson, and the son of another of my closest friends will be old enough to take up his own seat in a few years. The Minister is sympathetic. Things are ripe for change. And maybe you haven't heard, but Umbridge is not very popular right now.

"But I can tell you this," he continued, looking out over the mass of werewolves, most of whom seemed to be wavering, "acting like… this filth," he toed Greyback's carcass, "will not endear any of us to the Ministry.

"I won't lie to you—the process will be long, and changing the perceptions of the population will be difficult. There will still be those who will cling to their hatreds and their prejudices. But they can be changed if we all work together and repudiate the deeds of those like Greyback."

Silence fell over the assembled as the werewolves considered his words. Being a werewolf himself, Remus knew that the temptation had been placed—what most of his kind wanted more than anything else was acceptance. That and a chance to live their lives, work and support themselves, and live free of prejudice.

This was what was important, Remus decided. They did not have to live as beasts any longer—did not have to be ruled by the fact that they were infected by a disease. For what was lycanthropy? Was it not nothing more than an illness—an incurable one to be sure—but an illness all the same? Remus was certain similar such life-long illnesses existed in the Muggle world, but those afflicted with them were still able to live their lives as they wished, and without the prejudice under which werewolves lived. Of course lycanthropy was an illness which could carry drastic consequences if the proper precautions were not taken.

But a werewolf was, as he had previously contemplated, essentially indistinguishable from anyone else for every day of the month, other than that of the full moon. Should they be ruled by that one day instead of what they could accomplish in all the others? Should Remus be ruled by the full moon?

Blinking in sudden understanding, Remus chanced a furtive glance to his side where Tonks stood watching the werewolves, waiting for their decision. And in that instant Remus understood. He did not need to allow the full moon to rule him. He could have joy and happiness in his life, and he understood that this was all in his reach, in the person of the wonderful young woman at his side.

And he would take that chance, he decided, surprising himself with the firmness of his resolve. Perhaps it would even serve as a sort of example to those like him, that they could also have the same. But that matter was secondary. The important thing was Tonks's happiness, and his own.

"What do we need to do?" said the werewolf at the front who had served as the spokesman thus far.

"Leave Voldemort's service," a new voice spoke up.

Remus turned to see Kingsley Shacklebolt striding up to them. "If you leave in peace and pledge to leave Voldemort, there will be no reprisals for your actions this day.

"But know this," Shacklebolt continued, his voice hardening, "if you leave today and return to him, there will be no further opportunity for redemption extended. Any werewolf found supporting Voldemort will be put down with the Dark Lord and his followers."

"For myself, I never wanted to get involved in the first place," the werewolf said. "I will leave the Dark Lord and give him no further assistance. I cannot guarantee that all will feel the same way."

A murmur of agreement rumbled through those assembled.

"Very well," Kingsley said, with a tight nod. "We will begin to address your issues as soon as possible, but for the time being, Voldemort's defeat takes precedence."

Nothing further was said. The spokesman bowed, and within minutes he had gathered the group and they began to make their way from the town boundaries. In a few moments, they were gone.
"Good work, Remus!" Shacklebolt said, slapping him in the back. "We can talk about this further with the Minister. For now, there is plenty more for me to do here."

He turned and left and the assembled Aurors dispersed, but Remus was all but oblivious to their departure. He had eyes only for Tonks who, though she appeared to be somewhat nonplused, also seemed to recognize that something significant had changed. Now was not the time, Remus decided. There was still much to do.

But things would change between them. Of that he was determined.

In the old, run-down manor house in which Voldemort had set up his headquarters, he sat on his throne, waiting for news of the attack and the return of the hostages he had commanded be brought to him. Though he would never admit it to himself, he was almost shivering with glee and barely suppressed impatience. It would never do for the troops to see this—Voldemort was always calm and patient, not to mention supremely confident.

The truth of the matter was that the war was not going nearly as well as he would have liked, though in truth it was only a week old. The attack on the Ministry had ultimately failed, in part due to the meddlesome old headmaster, and in part due to sheer incompetence. And though fear was now rampant in Wizarding Britain, far fewer of its populace had fallen to his forces than he would have thought. It would seem that the people had learned a thing or two from the previous war and that they were now prepared for the attacks. If only the Ministry building had fallen, then they would control the instruments necessary to control the populace.

Of even more troubling concern was the fact that the neutrals had by and large evaded his forces, throwing their lot in with Dumbledore and all but spitting in his face. David Greengrass had all but openly defied him, something which Voldemort could not tolerate. His day would come. The entire world would in the end learn to fear the name Voldemort.

A motion at the entrance to his throne room caught Voldemort's attention and he brought himself up even straighter, eager for the news of the attack's success. A few Muggleborns would not be amiss—they would give his troops something to play with. But the true prize was some of the Pureblood scions whose guardians had defied him. If only Susan Bones, the Weasley children, the Longbottom boy and others had been brought before him, then he would count the day a success.

What met his eyes was certainly not what he expected. A ragged and dirty man, bloody and beaten, staggered into the room and toward the throne, the ever-faithful Bellatrix following closely behind him. His clothes were rent and torn, and he walked as though he was in great pain.

"My Lord," he gasped as he fell to his knees before the throne.

"What has happened?" Voldemort kept his tone even, though inside a rage was already building.

"We were ambushed, My Lord. It was almost like they knew we were coming."

Shocked, Voldemort could only stare at the man while his words played over and over again through Voldemort's brain.

"They knew we were coming. They knew we were coming. They knew we were coming!"

An anger he had never before felt descended over his mind like a wave of blood, and the Dark Lord stood.

"We have been betrayed," he intoned harshly. Only one response could meet such betrayal. "Give me your arm."

The man extended a shaky arm, and Voldemort pressed his wand against the dark mark emblazoned upon it. Ignoring the man's writhing screams, he poured his hatred, his malice, and his implacable will into the call, making it very clear what awaited those who did not respond. There would be a response. He would find out who this traitor was and they would pay the price.

Updated 06/07/2014