Chapter 11 : Bad Tidings

"Margaret, you should take a look at this!"

To most people, the sight of several robe-clad people sorting through a rather respectable mound of excrement would be peculiar or disgusting. Most wizards would say much the same thing. Very few would think working in the vicinity of vicious twenty-foot tall dragons at all was a rational choice, in fact.

"Gobbled up a Kneazle, I'd say," Charlie Weasley observed as he shoved his colleague aside, poking the pile with a bamboo rod. The large tent they occupied shook as a second man backed into its side. "Where do you reckon he got it from?"

"A stray, probably," George Aubrey answered in exasperation as he plopped down on a straight-backed chair in the corner. "Aren't you supposed to be keeping an eye on Lindy?"

"I put Dob on that. He can handle it. He swapped for Viper."

"Viper?" Margaret asked, looking up. "You swapped a nice easy day with Lindy for that nasty piece of work? That monster's never been quite the same since her trip to Britain, you know – she's gotten nastier than she ever was."

Charlie smiled as he carefully picked apart the Kneazle remains he's discovered, in search of a sign that might indicate it had been someone's pet. His hands were charmed to repel the excrement as it was rather corrosive, and it thankfully also kept the smell off. "I can handle Viper – I've got a trick to handle her. If I smell the part, she'll tolerate me."

"Smell the part?" Aubrey responded with a frown. "Unless you're covering yourself in dragon blood, I don't see how anything would appease that beast."

"Dob and I figured that Viper's just resenting losing an egg back in Britain. Probably smart enough to realize it was outwitted, but too dim to figure out it wasn't a real egg that she lost." Charlie answered with a smile. "With that in mind, I mailed a friend of mine for some clothes, and as long as I don't wash the things, it'll be fine. Viper won't even dare come within twenty feet for fear of losing more offspring."

"So that's why you come here dressed in those awful rags!" Margaret concluded. "I figured it was just your weird sense of fashion."

"Dob figured that out, did he?" George responded as he pulled a face, carefully putting aside a large mound of dragon poop. "Didn't think him the talkative type, honestly. He's barely said a word to me."

"He's not from Britain like the rest of us, remember." Charlie said, shrugging. "I mean, with a name like Dobrynya Nikitich – I think – what can you honestly expect? We use translation charms – it's slow-going but I'm learning his language while he's finally picking up on English. It'll take a couple of weeks before he can talk a decent word of English without it, though. It's tiring to keep up for any length of time, but I figured we both win."

"He's Russian, right?"

"Belarusian, actually." Margaret answered. "I'd ask if you're actually learning Russian or his mother-tongue. I figure he knows both, though."

"There's more than one language there?" Charlie asked, paling. "Oh boy. I thought I could learn Russian and maybe do some work at the Siberian reserves."

George made to answer, but stopped as he suddenly noticed something strange. He blinked owlishly. "Folks, does anyone else hear anything peculiar?"

Charlie turned to him, confused. He didn't hear anything. Wait, not anything? "What happened to Faf?"

"Fafnir's never been this silent," Margaret said, alarmed. "What's – "

A red-tinged bolt of fire crashed through the tent with incredible force, impacting into the rock wall on the opposite side and setting the tent's fabric aflame on its way through, though the flames rapidly fizzled out. George was thrown to the ground, Charlie managing to just barely keep upright by leaning against the table. A second blazing bolt quickly followed from some distance away.

"We're under attack!" Charlie yelled with his wand immediately in his hand. "Shield charms, now!"

All three Dragon keepers conjured a Protego just as a third bolt of fire sputtered out on the floor in front of the tent's entrance. "We've got no cover here. We've got to get ourselves into one of the safe houses." Charlie said as he gazed out, trying to see where the attacks originated. "Let's assume we're alone here – which is the closest?"

"Fafnir's enclosure has one, but given that we can't hear him –"

"Yeah, if this is what I think it is, we'd better assume the worst. Glaurung's coop, maybe?" Charlie answered.

"The safe house there was ruined last week – it was the last of the old type and the charms wore off. I'd say Norberta or Tanith are our best bets."

"That's quite a distance," Charlie said. "At least we got lucky – judging from those fire spells, the attackers figured we would be taken out by the first barrage. Whoever they are, they're overconfident. Probably didn't know we've got this whole region enchanted to funnel away dangerous vapours."

"They were trying to ignite the dragon poo?" George asked in disbelief. "Death by draconic fart, what a way to go!"

"Stick close, we'll move immediately. Don't use anything lethal if you can help it, but don't hesitate to knock people out – they might not be out for our lives. If we're lucky, we can pick up Dob on the way there – Lindy's enclosure is far too under-protected to serve against a Wizarding attack."

The three made their way out of the secluded vale that housed the research tents – Charlie with his mop of red hair and formfitting dragon leather uniform took his place at the front. He had his suspicions about who would attack a dragon reservation – a peaceful enterprise, typically. He wavered a bit as he came across two charred bodies, both of their arms frozen in death while clawing at their chest – they were clothed in dragon leather, but spells has blasted clean through them. They were colleagues – not Dragon Keepers he personally knew, but definitely co-workers.

"Our enemies are definitely not hesitant about murder – if you don't see an alternative, use fatal spells. That's authorization, you got that?" Charlie said shortly as he nervously went over the training he'd had for the Order.

"Yes, sir." George said anxiously. He was only here for his second year, and for now Charlie 's responsibility. Margaret was a senior. "I don't know many curses that would do that."

"You probably know the most effective one, though," Charlie whispered grimly, as he saw another body – this one confirming his suspicion and sending a chill through his spine. The body, propped up against a tree haphazardly, had no visible face – there was a white, skull-like mask gazing upwards.

"Is that...?" Margaret asked, trailing off. Charlie nodded.

"Death Eater. You Know Who's on the offensive."

"In Romania?" George exclaimed, his face paling. "I heard about him possibly being back, but why would he come here? We're not a threat! Romania's not even allied with the British Ministry of Magic!"

"It's probably not about the country. Listen, I know a little more than you do – trust me on this. If Voldemort's here – oh, stop flinching – then he's definitely after something on this preserve. Stay calm and if you see Voldemort himself, flee. I don't care where, just report in as soon as you can. I don't want you throwing away your lives, alright?"

"You're not my superior, Weasley." Margaret retorted. "I can take care of myself. Death Eater or not, I'll get these bastards!"

Further discussion was cut short as two Death Eaters with polished masks appeared from the eerily quiet woods – silencing charms, certainly. Charlie didn't hesitate to send a stunner at one before he could react, sending him crashing to the floor. The other wisely fled.

The trip through the reserves was without other altercations – the place was quite densely forested and there were many places to hide that the three were quite familiar with. The few Death Eaters they came across didn't even notice the passing Dragon keepers, far too busy with seeking whatever they were after.

"What are they here for? Just causing mayhem?" George wondered as he tried to keep an eye out in all directions.

"I don't know." Charlie answered worriedly as he spotted the entrance to Lindy's enclosure, and a huge shadowed form within. Lindy, being a female Common Welsh Green dragon was a rather even-tempered individual, generally amiable – so to see her on her hind legs, fully twenty-five feet tall and with its jaws wide open in rage was quite a sight. The eerie silence that persisted gave it an even more unreal edge.

"Lindy!" Margaret gasped as a reddish-brown bolt of lightning slammed into the dragon's armoured head, sending blood flying everywhere. With a sudden jolt the dragon's tail shot out, barrelling into whatever was out of sight on the ground, hidden behind the rock outcroppings that marked the edges of the pen.

"They're insane!" Charlie gasped, as he jumped up. "They're after the dragons!"

"That's impossible." Margaret said, as she warily stood up as well. "Even the tamest dragon would kill anyone who dared to try and control it, and shooting it with spells is really not going to help."

"With Voldemort involved, I'd assume the worst," Charlie said, frowning darkly. "Mum said there were rumours that he enslaved a dragon, back in the first war; I always figured it was an exaggeration. What if it were true?"

"Is he insane? The moment some Muggle gets an eyeful of a dragon the Statute is shot all to hell!"

"I really doubt You-Know-Who cares, George." Margaret retorted dryly.

"We have to get in there – Dob might still be there, and even if Lindy's victorious against the attackers, she's going to turn right on her keepers next in the state she's in!" Margaret said as she walked out, quickly followed by Charlie and at some distance George. "Screw safety."

Charlie cursed under his breath. "I really don't want to get in between a Death Eater and Dragon if I can help it."

The three quickly made their way over, staying low to the ground as they turned the corner, and finally the deafening roars of Lindy reaches their ears – they all winced. Lindy was limping, both her legs covered in blistering wounds, quite a feat on any dragon. Her vast wings hung at her sides without moving, her right arm cradled protectively against her chest, broken. In her sights were eight living Death Eaters firing off potent concussive charms in quick succession. Between them and the dragon were three bodies. Tied with thick rope to one of the shorter spires that punctuated the enclosure was the unconscious form of Dob.

Charlie didn't need more to know that they'd better take shelter – with a quick movement he dragged his two companions behind a large rock, the edge of the dragon's feeding trough.

"There's definitely too many for us to take on safely." Charlie said carefully, glancing around the corner – thankfully, the Death Eaters were rather preoccupied. Even a wounded dragon was a nasty foe. "I'd say wait till Lindy takes out a few more, but I don't think she's going to last much longer."

"You can't be thinking of taking on more than half a dozen dark wizards!" Margaret exclaimed in shock. "That's insane!"

"Three versus Eight – and a dragon – I've had worse odds."

"When?"

"I won a game of chess against Albus Dumbledore." Charlie replied with a wicked smirk. "Besides, didn't you pay attention? Dob's tied up, literally, among those Death Eater pricks. We have to get him back. There's no way we're letting them have him."

With unspoken agreement the three raised their wands as one and charged.

Harry's night had been restless and confused – he'd spent quite a bit of it aimlessly writhing around in his bed, trying to get some rest but failing dramatically. It didn't help that he'd spent last evening concentrating on recalling everything that he'd said and heard on his mission and that he was plagued by nightmares of being hunted down every time he managed to nod off.

Harry stretched his legs, forcing some of the stiffness out of them. Moody had anticipated Harry's poor night – he'd delivered a handful of sealed bottles the night before from his personal store that contained Pepper-up Potion – it wouldn't do for very long but it'd get him through the day. He glared out of his faux window as he chugged one down, feeling the weariness fade away as energy seemed to surge within.

Harry had spent much of the last night in his room, writing his report – Scrimgeour had seemed quite adamant he should finish it quickly. Harry didn't quite understand – Scrimgeour had evidently already received numerous details of the mission's results – but paperwork was paperwork. As Harry distractedly stuffed away his report, he heard a strange groaning noise.

He couldn't quite pinpoint what it was he was wearing – before he could figure out a way to describe it, it was interrupted by the soft impact of one of his books against the floor. A small book – his copy of the Tales of Beedle the Bard – had managed to yet again find its way to the ground. Harry picked it up to put it back in its place. There wasn't one.

Confused, Harry tried to shove aside the books – all he got was that strange groaning sound. With some difficulty he managed to pull one of the Muggle books from his mother out. With a pop, the empty space was gone, as if it'd never been there. This time, though, Harry had seen what'd caused it.

Dumbledore's birthday gift, the large tome on Ministry regulations, had grown.

Harry stared at it unthinkingly for a few moments as the book tried to press the volumes besides it out of the bookcase – he quickly pulled it out before it sent more to the ground. The book enlarged to its full size in one loud pop – almost twice as wide as it originally was. Inside the cover was the note he'd gotten with it: "Take extra care in reading page 796 onward."

Harry quickly flipped over the dreadfully boring beginning parts of the book until he found the page – unlike last time he checked, this time there was actually something there.

In flowing, golden-embossed font it said "Albus Dumbledore's Diary."

Dumbledore had given him a copy of his diary? What on earth was the man thinking? Perhaps this was Dumbledore way of saying he wouldn't be keeping him in the dark anymore? He secretly hoped it was the case, though he had his doubts. He flipped the page and his eyes widened.

The first thing that caught his eye was the date. At the top of the page was the rather disjointed scribbling of a young Dumbledore. "August 1892, Mould-on-the-Wold." When Dumbledore meant diary, he evidently meant his life story from practically the start.

The other thing that caught Harry's attention was a very familiar symbol in the side-line in neat handwriting – a much later addition. A triangle with a circle inside it and a line crossing through. A symbol he'd been trying to remember since last night – the balding vampire's ring.

That symbol, he knew he'd seen it before – it'd been popping up in places of late. He recalled someone wearing a pendant very much like it, and he could've sworn...

Whatever it was, it was evidently a Wizarding symbol of some significance, and it might just be a clue. He quickly copied the symbol onto an empty piece of parchment and put the diary back on the shelf for a moment. Harry watched with some amazement as the book thinned out to its former length, the diary part vanishing. Picking it back up, the missing pages reappeared and the book got noticeably heavier as well. The first time, the book must've just been trying to get his attention.

Harry decided that wondering whether books could be impatient was an issue he should think more about – but not today. He quickly shoved the note with the symbol he'd copied into his pocket and tidied up his little personal library.

When he finally put back the Tales of Beedle the Bard, he glimpsed something on the cover – something awfully familiar. Right there, printed on the bloody cover, was that same symbol.

"What on earth do you mean?" Harry muttered confusedly. Suddenly there was a knock at the door; Harry nearly jumped a foot in the air and stammered out a greeting. "I-I'll be right there."

"Still not up and active, Potter?" Rafe Phelan asked as he stuck a head through the door. It must've been a full moon recently – the man looked like hell warmed over.

"I'll be right there, mutt." Harry responded good-naturedly – he hadn't spent too much time with Rafe lately, but the man was quite sociable and regularly thought of new nicknames for the newbie – Harry figured he'd be in that position until someone even younger was hired. Not exactly a likely scenario.

"Heard your mission went a bit crazy," Rafe said from just outside the door. "Anything you can tell?"

"We ran into some nasty vampires. We got the two missing Aurors back, but they'd both been turned. I don't know what will happen to them." Harry responded as he pushed open the door and joined the werewolf. "The vamps that did it got away – we'll probably hear from them again."

"It must've been a rather miscalculated mission if you ask me – hardly the kind of thing to send a new guy on. You'd probably be safer in a good old artefact hunt, and those things can get messy."

"I suppose it was a bit more exciting than expected," Harry said, smiling somewhat as the two made their way towards the Department of Mysteries. Neither were wearing their robes – Harry's set was still in for repairs and Rafe barely ever bothered. "What's an artefact hunt, really? Dangerous?"

"Very." Rafe said seriously, frowning. "I've only been with a few times – all of them were basically disasters. You've got to understand that most of the artefacts we have here in the Ministry are controlled – they've been defused or warded off. Most of the ones still out there are very much active – and age doesn't help these things. Magical artefacts don't fizzle out like some Muggle machine – they soak up magic from the environment. They get a little wonky."

"Wonky?"

Rafe shuddered visibly. "They get really crazy – basically supercharged and a bit off kilter. There was a gravity manipulation artefact in Belgium a year or two back – I was on a mission to retrieve it with two others. Normally it'd make something weightless, right?"

Harry nodded, wondering how that'd be dangerous.

"Seeing as it messed with gravity, we thought it was pretty harmless – I mean, making someone float isn't the biggest danger ever. We brought along brooms and approached. It was quite old and completely beyond control. One of my team was smashed through the wall and several feet into the nearest hill when he tried to get near. He survived, but he broke most of his bones and he was never quite the same after that. The other team member was launched upwards – floated down on his own power. Me – well, I managed to neutralize it before it crushed me into the floor. Suffice it to say that we learned our lesson."

"That's the worst one you've seen, then?" Harry wondered, trying to imagine how he'd tackle an unpredictable, possibly lethal, magical artefact.

"Hardly." Rafe answered. "It's just the only one without fatalities. I figured you wouldn't want the really gory stories."

"Yeah, I'll pass." Harry answered with a nod, shuddering at the thought of trying to gather such dangerous remnants of lost times. The Ministry had thousands of the things stored up – what a work that must've been!

"It was definitely a prediction," Harry said with a frown, rubbing his neck. "It was a short one again – short and to the point – and I figured you'd have the record."

"We do have it," the Custodian answered with a small smile. "It's just not generally allowed to view predictions before we've identified the people involved. In the first vision of this kind we had obvious targets – this one's far vaguer."

"How is it vague?" argued Harry angrily. "The targets were the two vampires I met. The Ministry undoubtedly has records but I haven't been able to find the balding one. Whoever they are, they're vampires quite content with killing us all. The target is rather obvious."

"You do not see the subtleties of divination," the Custodian responded with a glower. "We've had this discussion before."

Indeed, that was true – every meeting with the Custodians – leisurely or official – ended up with a debate on the relative merits of divination techniques. Harry almost always ended up opposing whatever hare-brained method of looking into the future was brought up; reading entrails just had him shaking his head in disgust.

"I might not know much about prophecy, but I do believe I have the right to pitch in? I was there when it happened, you know."

"It's highly irregular," the Custodian answered, but relented at Harry's stare. "I'll allow it. Just be sure not to say stupid things before thinking them through – people here expect a level of decorum."

Harry snorted. The Custodians, however amiable they usually were, came across as some of the most stuck-up employees of the whole Department. They seemed quite content to see themselves as superior to everyone else and regularly looked down upon their colleagues with thinly veiled disgust – Harry himself got along slightly better due to their professional interest. If it weren't for his recently discovered foresight, he'd probably never spend any time at all here – the small glowing spheres stacked on high shelves still gave him the creeps.

"Come along, then." The Custodian said with a nod. It was very hard to keep the Custodians apart – Harry wasn't sure if it was some type of disguise or a prerequisite for the position, but they all shared a very similar stocky build, used a walking stick and came across as centuries old. The only way Harry had been able to distinguish one from the other was through personality – the hoods they regularly wore didn't help. This Custodian – he had nicknamed him Grumpy – was particularly offended by Harry's status as an Unspeakable, considering him rather too young for the responsibility. (Harry didn't know if he disagreed with the sentiment too much after the recent mission.) There were other Custodians that refused to even talk to him, which probably meant they thought even less of him.

Luckily there were about a handful of decently friendly Custodians, including the one he originally met when he first arrived at the Department. He at least had some friendly voices around whenever someone started ranting about his presence.

The Custodian grumbled as he walked into a large room at the back of the Hall of Prophecies – one of several secondary rooms that was not filled to the brim with small spheres. Three other Custodians sat around a long table to the side of the poorly lit room; the ghastly smell of too much incense met his nose and Harry sniffed in disgust.

"Mr. Potter." said the nearest of the three with a look of disapproval.

"Custodian." Harry said with as much respect as he could muster. "I wish to know if there is any new information on the predictions I've been making."

The small man turned away briefly, evidently communicating in that silent way he'd seen some Unspeakables do – Legilimency, Harry suspected. The man finally turned back and his expression had softened somewhat. "You remain a mystery, Mr. Potter – though your particular variation of the Sight appears to most closely resemble that of an Oracle, there's anomalies. Obviously the most significant one is that there's no known way to turn a perfectly normal wizard into a Seer mid-way through life."

"I figured maybe Voldemort had something to do with that," Harry answered. "You must admit, being hit by a Killing Curse and surviving is rather a unique condition."

"You've been talking to Mr. Avicenna," the small man responded with a grimace. "He may work with the veil, but he is no authority on divination. His hypotheses, though interesting, are essentially those of a layperson."

"I haven't seen you come up with anything." Harry sighed as he slumped down, trying to calm himself down. Ranting at the Custodians – again – wouldn't get him anywhere. "I wish there was a conclusion and we could move on."

"We understand," the second Custodian at the table said in a friendly tone. "You must understand this is peculiar for us. The only similar cases to yours that we have date back centuries – and they're before most of the modern spells were developed. The likeliest explanation is the involvement of some artefact – though we have not detected any such activity in your vicinity since you joined this Department. We have no way of finding out what it is if it merely affected you sometime in the past."

"Unless someone else stumbles across it again," Harry pointed out. "I would keep an eye on Hogwarts then – if I was exposed to anything, it's bound to be there, since I don't really spend any time anywhere else in the Magical world."

Grumpy sighed, tapping with his walking staff. "Regardless of the specifics, we should take the predictions seriously. Though I do not particularly prefer the involvement of the Seer," – he glared at Harry here with a sneer – "I must admit that until we have more information, he is our only lead. If there is indeed an artefact that can make one into a Seer, it would obviously be of great interest to the Department – particularly if it bestows abilities so similar to an Oracle. They are, after all, rare as it is."

"This last prediction – what's the problem?" Harry questioned as he got back to the topic he wished to discuss – the debate on the origin of his particular Sight could go on for hours. "Like last time, I had a pretty good idea of what it meant – or at least, who."

"The problem isn't actually the targets, per se," one of the Custodians admitted. "It's simply that the interpretation that comes to mind immediately clashes with previous prophecies. You see, our first inclination was to believe that 'Elder' and 'Ash' in your prediction stood for wand woods."

"Wand woods?" Harry mused out loud. "I didn't know they made wands out of Elder wood."

"Oh, not wands." The Custodian admitted. "There's only one known wand – at least to us – that uses Elder wood and has any magical potency to cast spells – the appropriately named 'Elder Wand', or death stick. It's considered an artefact in itself."

"It's been missing for some time, though there are rumours that the last owner was none other than the Dark Lord Grindelwald." Grumpy added carefully. "It went missing after that."

"That Grindelwald owned it is but a rumour," another Custodian from the back of the room pointed out. "We have little to go on in identifying this wand – there are more legends than facts surrounding the fabled Wand of Destiny."

"In any case, the prediction would be rather more important than it seemed if this is the meaning – after all, it would indicate the possible re-emergence of the Elder Wand from wherever it's been hiding. The Ministry has long sought after this particular artefact, as I'm sure you realize."

Harry nodded dumbly. "You're sure this is about wand woods?"

"No," Grumpy acknowledged. "There are alternative explanations – for example, it could mean an actual elderly person or the wood itself – seeing as we are dealing with vampires, it may well indicate a stake fashioned out of the wood. In conjunction with Ash, however, the wand wood explanation gains some credence."

"Ash could also stand for other things – it could be symbolic for a death in fire, another plausible end to a vampire's existence."

"In short, you have no clue." Harry summarized wryly. "This doesn't seem particularly helpful. Perhaps we should wait until one of them croaks – that should tell us what it means."

Several of the Custodians had some harsh words to say on that topic, but Harry ignored the further discussion – it quickly degenerated into the relative merits of analytical techniques and interpretations. He slipped out from the Prophecy Room without anyone even noticing he'd left.

Harry had not visited the Death Room very often – the veil was not a particularly pleasant memory in general and Avicenna, the one person he knew to any degree from that part of the Department, had been away for some time. He forced himself to make weekly visits, though – not only to keep up contact with the employees there, but to get used to the strange lure of the veil – if he ever had to work here, he'd rather not have to get used to it all at once. Necromancers – the only people generally spending any appreciable time near it – did much the same early in their career.

Mancers were oddballs, Harry had determined. He'd met several now – Mustang was the most memorable – the man couldn't sit still and spending too much time around him was uncomfortable, as he radiated an absurd amount of heat. Necromancers seemed more stand-offish than him generally, though their specialization in the study of Death seemed to give them a somewhat creepy vibe and one's skin crawled if in close vicinity. Harry hadn't met any Aquamancers yet, but as far as he'd heard, everything became soggy when they were near – they required copious amounts of charms to even fill in paperwork.

The Death Room, oddly enough, had more than just Necromancers working in it – besides Avicenna there were a great number of employees that spent a week working for the Department for every three week they spent in another – this was required as extended exposure to the room without being a Necromancer apparently didn't help one's health. What exactly they did Harry was not aware of – perhaps he'd one day figure out when he was asked to help out.

Stepping into the Department Harry felt an uncomfortable cold grab hold – it was positively frigid compared to the rest of the Department. Several brightly-robed wizards were near the veil which remained relatively peaceful. After the first time, the veil had not again reacted violently to him – a fact that puzzled Mirrikh and Demetrion to no end.

Harry hadn't seen either one in a while – they'd been spending time somewhere out of the Ministry building, Harry was not privy to where. As far as he was aware though, it had something to do with the latter's education to become a Necromancer, as she had the aptitude for it.

The chilliness persisted and Harry was about to ask what was going on when he noticed the other side of the veil had a tall cage set up – and within it was a rather familiar shadowy shape. A Dementor. It was far enough away that Harry didn't really feel its effect beyond the cold, but the fact that it was there was creepy enough.

Harry walked sideways to get a better view – he had the uneasy feeling the Dementor was following him with its gaze. Several Necromancers acknowledged his presence and pointed towards the side of the room, where several black-cloaked Unspeakables were looking on.

"What's going on?" Harry asked as he approached.

"Execution." The tall Unspeakable answered, rubbing a hand through his short red hair.

"You're going to execute a Dementor?" Harry asked in confusion. "Is that even possible?"

"It's going through the veil. The only way that we know of to get rid of the buggers," the Unspeakable answered with a shrug. "I don't think we've met, by the way. I'm Thanos – a former Warden of Azkaban Prison."

"Nice to meet you," Harry said and he shook hands with the man. "How is Azkaban? All the escapes can't have been easy."

"It was inevitable," Thanos answered. "There was a small complement of Unspeakables serving as wardens, and there were never enough to even properly guide the Dementors, let alone control them. Thankfully, they were generally well-behaved. Until recently, obviously. The defection and escapes make the prison all but pointless now."

"So what's this one done?" Harry wondered as he nodded as the subdued Dementor.

"We captured it wandering London, where it killed three Muggles already. One of the few that didn't stick with their kind, I suppose. We can't really keep them anywhere – they'd just leave again – so we have orders from the Minister to get rid of any that we find."

"An order I can agree with," Harry muttered as he looked at the ghastly creature. "How many have you caught?"

"This is only number five, I'm afraid. If they're in any concentration worth mentioning we have no way of capturing them – they'd just overwhelm the Unspeakables we sent after them. We get lucky with the lone ones and hope that we find something else to take care of the hoard." Thanos smiled sheepishly. "I suppose we should be thankful that Voldemort is not using them much, yet – gives us time to find a solution. Remaking the veil has been one of the primary goals – if we could make a mobile version, it'd be a rather effective weapon."

"Figures," Harry muttered with a scowl. "The Death Room researching ways to cause even more death. Only appropriate, I suppose."

"The alternative is worse," Thanos answered neutrally. "Here it goes."

Two Necromancers walked towards the dementor with tall pronged sticks which hooked neatly into the cage – a shoddy wooden construct but probably warded efficiently. Two Necromancers had conjured Patronuses that flanked the cage - both foxes.

With a single forceful shove the entire cage disappeared through the softly shimmering veil, vanishing in its entirety. The Dementor was briefly outlined in bright white, before a piercing shriek echoed through the room – it stopped after mere moments and the shape vanished to join the cage. The two closest Necromancers gasped and sighed deeply due to the Dementor's effects vanishing. The room itself slowly returned to a more enjoyable temperature.

"Not the most pleasant thing to watch, but I suppose we have nothing better," Thanos said with a shrug. "Unlike people, these buggers don't have souls of their own to pass on."

"That's why it… shrieked like that?" Harry wondered, interested despite himself.

"As far as we know, yes. Dementors can't actually die in the traditional sense – if they have anything that can pass for a soul, it's so butchered that it cannot pass on. Some believe all Dementors share a single essence and that one can only really kill them all by hitting them all at the same time. Impractical, at best." Thanos sighed and gestured. "Muggle and Wizard alike can pass through the veil with no trouble – they've got intact souls that have a place to go. Even most magical creatures pass on as normal – believe me, individuals of most species have been put to death here over the centuries – but there are these exceptions. This is theoretical of course, but it is believed that anything which doesn't have anywhere to go just ends."

"So it's been destroyed. Completely?" Harry asked in a horrified whisper.

Thanos nodded with a grimace. "Thankfully Dementors can barely be said to have sentience – we're not exactly condemning fully fledged magical beings to the ultimate end. "

"I don't know if I like it," Harry admitted. "If even the worst person gets to go on to whatever lies beyond, I figure a Dementor should have that right too. Even if it's punishment on the other side, like Mirrikh seems to believe."

"Mirrikh is a bag of contradictions," Thanos said with a snort. "Let's not get too philosophical here – this is probably a better topic to bring up with the Necromancers. Some of them can get really obsessed about the ethics of dying and death – let alone the religious differences between them."

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered with a scowl.

"Harry Potter?" asked a high-pitched voice. Harry glanced behind him – a thin woman with long blond hair had joined them, holding a letter in her outstretched hand. "It's a message from the Minister."

Harry nodded as the woman moved away – she was one of the secretaries that occasionally replaced Percy Weasley when the latter was not available. It was odd that she'd personally deliver a message like this, though.

The note was short:

"Potter, I require your assistance with a matter that may be of personal importance to you. Please retrieve Albus Dumbledore from the entrance hall and join me in my office. Please conceal your identity; anonymity will be required for the duration of this assignment for numerous reasons. Come immediately. Take the codename 'Black' for now, if you please."

A loopy 'Scrimgeour' was inscribed at the bottom of the message. Harry tossed the letter to the floor, where it immediately burned to ash, as it was enchanted to do.

"New orders, I'm afraid." Harry said with an apologetic look. "I'll be back sometime this week, I hope – I really haven't been here long enough."

Thanos shrugged. "Not my business, really. Mirrikh should be back on Wednesday, you should come by then."

"Will do," Harry retorted with a smirk as he moved to the nearest exit that would lead him to the entrance of the Department, quickly putting illusions on his face to hide his real features, giving himself straight hair and his eyes a neutral grey, while temporarily obscuring his scar – he'd be wearing his cloak, but if he had to remove his hood, it'd be no problem. He looked a solid fifteen years older – if he didn't do that, there was no point since there were scant few other Unspeakables that were near his age. His face actually looked vaguely like Sirius, this way. He cast his voice-modulation charm next, and carefully heightened his boots somewhat to give himself another few centimetres in length. This was going to be quite the trial by fire – acting like another person in front of one of the shrewdest people he knew.

"Mister Dumbledore," Harry said with a voice that reminded him suddenly of Sirius – he'd not really been concentrating when he cast the spell and he silently cursed not trying it out before he got into the entrance hall. Voice-modulation relied upon concentrating on what one's voice should sound like – being in the room where Sirius died was probably responsible for his lapse in focus.

"Yes?" Dumbledore asked as he turned with a worried frown. "Ah, you are to escort me to the Minister?"

"So I've been told," Harry answered. "Would you please follow?"

Dumbledore didn't object as the two moved through the now relatively calm entrance hall towards the Unspeakable private elevator, though he looked decidedly like he wanted to ask a multitude of questions. "I received a summons only minutes ago to retrieve you, so I can answer few questions you might have." Harry said to a disgruntled Dumbledore. The elevator moved up swiftly – though when it arrived, the room was empty.

"The Minister will join you in a few minutes, please sit." the blond woman he'd seen earlier said from the door, before quickly closing it. Harry shrugged and quickly took one of the chairs.

"You are staying?" Dumbledore asked with a frown, as he raised a bushy eyebrow.

"I have been summoned," Harry answered demurely.

Dumbledore nodded absentmindedly, attempting to peer into the Unspeakable's hood, though the charms on it were quite sufficient to keep out even Dumbledore's piercing sight. "Have you been informed on what happened earlier today?"

"I have heard rumours of an attack," Harry answered immediately. "The specifics are vague."

"I'm afraid the details are unpleasant," Dumbledore answered. "It will be in the Prophet in the morning, no doubt – the Romanian Dragon Reserves have been raided. Death Eaters took several dragons and half a dozen handlers."

Harry managed to avoid gasping, though he winced slightly. He suddenly realized why Scrimgeour had wanted him up here. "Do you know the identities of the missing?"

"Only the one I was personally informed of, Charlie Weasley – I understand several of his direct co-workers are also missing."

That explained a lot – Charlie had been kidnapped. Doubtlessly this explained where Percy was – at home with his family, no doubt, as Scrimgeour had been pressing him to do – and also why Scrimgeour wanted him here. There was going to be a retrieval mission.

"Voldemort is becoming quite bothersome," Harry said.

"Unfortunately," said Dumbledore.

A tense silence persisted, with neither saying anything for minutes. Dumbledore came across as unusually uncomfortable, fidgeting faintly. There was little to see of the wizard's usual composure – this attack had come out of left field, evidently.

The door opened and Scrimgeour loped through, nodding to both his guests – Dumbledore lowered himself into a comfortable chair he'd quickly transfigured for himself.

"Thank you for coming, Dumbledore, Unspeakable Black." Scrimgeour said with a nod to each in turn.

Harry noticed an expression of surprise quickly passing over the old Headmaster's face, though he had no clue why. Harry of course saw the reason in Scrimgeour's use of the codename - no doubt it was chosen due to the personal meaning the name had had to Harry – the fact that colour-based codenames were not unusual just made it even better.

"I'll fill you in on what we know – earlier this morning a large force of Death Eaters estimated in the dozens attacked the Romanian Dragon Reserves. There were only thirty-five Dragon Keepers present at the time, thirty-one of which are accounted for, dead or alive. In the immediate aftermath it was discovered that seven dragons, four females and three males, went missing from the reserves, with a further two killed with highly powerful concussive charms and cutting curses. Four Keepers were also taken, evidently in a single place, as four wands were retrieved from one of the Reserves, which match the known wands of these wizards and witches."

"What are their identities?" Harry asked shortly, frowning.

"Charlie Weasley, Margaret Agrippa, George Aubrey and Dobrynya Nikitich, all officially subjects of the British Ministry of Magic, though the latter is only a recent immigrant." Scrimgeour read aloud from a report on his desk. "The attackers are identified as Death Eaters due to the discovery of one stunned Death Eater left behind in the Reserve, as well as several bodies in a few of the Dragon Preserves that were raided. Two Dragon Keepers went in pursuit of the stolen dragons which were transported by air, using what we at the moment identify as an unknown anti-gravitational artefact."

"Elaborate, please." Harry said, glancing at Dumbledore, who had remained conspicuously silent.

"The artefact is described as an elongated ellipse capable of changing size, made of some mineral which is evidently capable of sustaining enormous loads in mid-air – only one dragon was transported at a time, so it's limited to about the size that one would take. The dragons in question were transported some distance and gathered together, probably for later transport. All are evidently kept unconscious, though the means is uncertain. It's possible they've simply been knocked unconscious and kept under with potions."

"You know where they are?" Harry asked, leaning forward.

"Yes," Scrimgeour said with a fierce grin. "It is most likely true that the abducted Dragon Keepers are kept at the same location, as they were merely taken along as a prize for Voldemort by the Death Eaters – they will almost certainly be transported along with the dragons by whatever means they intend – if experience is anything to go by, illegal international Portkeys."

"Who has jurisdiction in the area?" Harry thought back to his manual - international regulations were annoyingly tough to understand and usually it was a major problem to get any cooperation at all, ever since the break-up of the international networks between nations.

"You see our problem, I'm sure." Scrimgeour said conspiratorially. "Officially the area is under Romanian rule – we have no rights there. We can go to the Dragon Reserves themselves, but nowhere beyond it without being caught by local Law-wizards and extradited back to Britain. We cannot possibly get into the country legally, before the dragons are long gone. This is why I invited you, Dumbledore."

"You require the Order's help." Dumbledore observed dispassionately. "Quite a departure from earlier statements by yourself that reject the existence or legality of said Order."

"You don't have to rub it in." Scrimgeour said with a glower. "No Auror could get into the country and retrieve the captured wizards without getting us into an international dust-up, and sending a large team of covert operatives is beyond our current capability – as you are aware, Unspeakable Black, we are still in the process of assembling a team to handle such delicate operations. The Order of the Phoenix, however, is a sizable group of wizards and witches not officially part of the Auror force that can do covert operations without reflecting badly on this government."

"We are not mercenaries," Dumbledore said seriously.

"Nevertheless, here our goals coincide." Scrimgeour responded. "I am aware of Charlie Weasley's affiliations, and I am certain you would be arranging a rescue operation of your own within the week."

Dumbledore didn't respond, merely gazing at the Minister in a peculiar way. "What do you propose, Rufus?"

"I suggest a small team of members of your Order – five, perhaps. In addition, there should be a token Ministry presence, though they will be required to go undercover. I have elected Unspeakable Black as a suitable addition to this endeavour, and he is free to choose on more that he finds suitable to work with."

Harry didn't respond to the mention of his codename, merely gazing at Dumbledore – doubtlessly an uncomfortable experience given that the cowl remained steadfastly void of a face to anyone who tried to look in. Finally, he spoke: "I accept this assignment."

Dumbledore looked deep in thought for some time, gazing at Harry oddly – he had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps the old wizard had already seen through his disguise. Of course, given that Dumbledore knew he was an Unspeakable now, he probably suspected any such wizard he met to potentially be his former student.

Scrimgeour made a quick hand gesture to Harry – a shorthand code used between the Ministry and Unspeakables that was not generally known – especially not these signs. Harry had been instructed to learn them early on – the Minister had a habit of using the signs at the weirdest times and he might miss important information if he didn't pay attention. In this case, the gestures stood for 'hidden' and 'mask' in conjunction, an inquiry on whether or not he'd hidden his face. Dumbledore looked on with interest, though it was extremely unlikely he knew these signs – they were specific ones that the Minister had written down for him at the beginning of his employment, and unique to the two of them.

Harry nodded subtly in response, causing a slight smile to appear on the Minister's face. "Please remove your cowl, Unspeakable Black – I find that being open more readily allows us to trust each other."

Harry slipped his hood back onto his shoulders – he quickly wiped his straightened hair out of his face, which had also been covered in an illusion to make it look somewhat thinner – he hadn't recognized himself in the mirror so it was unlikely that Dumbledore would know it was him either. He glanced to his side to look into the shocked eyes of Dumbledore.

"Is there something on my face?" Harry couldn't help but ask, and Dumbledore's expression instantly returned to normal, as if his amazement hadn't been obvious. Had the old wizard looked straight through his illusions?

Scrimgeour looked somewhat perplexed too, and stared for a moment before coughing. "Do you require time to consider this idea, or should we move on to other plans, Albus?"

"We will take part in this operation," Dumbledore said with a quick glance at Harry. "I will select several members of the Order to go – I'll make sure there are no Ministry employees among them, I assure you."

"I will select a trusted associate to join us," Harry added, ignoring the odd glances he was still receiving. "When will we go?"

"Tonight." Scrimgeour said with determination. "Getting across the border will be problematic – going through the Dragon Preserves themselves is ill-advised since there are many Law-Wizards presently there studying what transpired, and they would doubtlessly catch a group of six or seven in minutes. I will inform you on the manner of arrival when we are gathered again. I will arrange a meeting is at nine this evening."

"Until then, Rufus," Dumbledore said. "I trust we will meet again, Mr. Black, it has been an honour to meet you. I shall be going now." With a sharp pop, Dumbledore disappeared from the office.

"Did he just apparate out?" Harry asked with confusion in the quietness that followed. "Straight through the wards?"

"He's keyed in." Scrimgeour said with a slight smirk. "It's always helpful to have the most powerful sorcerer this side of Voldemort capable of leaping in here at a moment's notice."

"I can understand," Harry retorted with a smile. "Do you think he noticed it's me?"

"I very much doubt it." Scrimgeour said with that peculiar look still on his face. "What made you consider this particular masquerade? It is most disconcerting, I must admit. Rather effective on Dumbledore as well, I believe."

Harry stared in bewilderment, and Scrimgeour's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "You did not intend to resemble –"

"It was just something I threw together downstairs," Harry admitted.

Scrimgeour chuckled suddenly, a mirthful grin on his face. "Oh, fantastic! By chance you managed to create dozens of conspiracy theories in Dumbledore's mind, I'm sure. Spectacular!" Scrimgeour quickly conjured a flat looking glass and turned it to Harry. "Recognize this face?"

Harry looked at his illusionary appearance – black hair, grey eyes, somewhat gaunt. "Not particularly. A bit like Sirius, I suppose."

"A bit like Sirius, you say." Scrimgeour said with a laugh. "You are the spitting image of his brother, Regulus Black!"

Harry uncertainly glanced back at the mirror, memorizing the features he'd haphazardly charmed on. Coincidence was a bit too questionable here – a chill made its way down his back as he wondered if providence was playing with him. "I barely know anything about him."

"I'd suggest reading up on him – I'd never have considered it, but this could be a very effective concealed identity for you – after all, the real Regulus Black went missing years ago – he was a Death Eater. You'll have to conjure a facsimile of the Dark Mark on your arm, though the fact that you work for me should alleviate at least Albus' reservations."

"You want me to impersonate a Death Eater? " Harry asked incredulously.

"I want you to impersonate Regulus Black, repentant Death Eater who has been working for the Ministry since his disappearance. I requested you to reveal your face to make sure that Dumbledore knew it was not your face under that hood, given that he is most likely unaware that his ability to look through illusions is hampered in this room – now, though, Dumbledore will doubtlessly see it as my intentional unveiling of your identity to him as a show of trust. This can work."

Harry shook his head with a groan. "I'd better go see what I can scrounge up about Regulus, then."

"Make sure you also get a colleague to tag along."

"I'll ask Rafe." Harry said briskly, turning around. "He will do, won't he?"

Scrimgeour merely bobbed, seemingly looking into the distance. "Make sure you keep your cover while working with the Order of the Phoenix – this new façade might well come in handy in interacting with Dumbledore's little clandestine group in the future."

Harry quickly took the elevator one down and headed for the archives – they'd doubtlessly have what he required. He quickly passed by his room and snatched up his manual, and flipped it open to find the section that served as an index for confidential files that Aurors didn't have access to. Quickly flipping through, he stopped in the middle of a step. There, right in the History section – the massacre he'd read about some time ago, during Grindelwald's reign. A symbol – a circle, a triangle and a straight line – beneath it several words.

"Grindelwald Symbol – also known as the symbol of the Deathly Hallows."

Author's Note:

Minor references to The Pretender, Lord of the Rings, Norse Mythology, Egyptian Mythology – most of the dragon names are based on the latter mythologies.

Dob is based on a character from a Russian epic narrative poem, Dobrynya and the Dragon.

The gravitational artefact here is inspired by the Silver Surfer's board, if you must know.

The Custodians are still inspired by the Green Lantern's Guardians of Oa, though in this chapter one has some inspiration from Snow White's Dwarves. (It is likely Harry will similarly nickname some others in the future.)

This chapter took some time to get up – I'm sorry for that. I was somewhat busy with life-things and writing this chapter fell somewhat by the wayside – the fact that Skyrim was released really didn't help either as it sucked up quite a few hours as well that could've been used more productively. (I wrote down numerous plotbunnies related to the Naruto and TES universes - they may find themselves in a story for oneshot ideas.)

Next one should be quicker. :)