Call Me Home

Chapter Eight

Cry of the Wolf

Draco drew deeply on his cigar, the rich taste scorching his throat and filling him with a light sense of relaxation. What with the recent developments concerning the Cult of Shadows, of which most details were being kept from the public, he was under severe pressure from the Auror Department, The Order and Ghost Division to expand their resources to fight this threat but the bottom line was that there were precious little to give. The second issue was that it was extremely difficult to find new recruits to fill their diminishing ranks, not many students who left Hogwarts were keen to join the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, opting instead for the more glamorous fields of employment.

The fact of the matter, and this was known only to the highest ranking officials of the Ministry and of course, Hermione, the Cult of Shadows were proving to be as dangerous as the Knights of Walpurgis had once been. And everyone knew what the Knights had turned into when the Ministry had failed to stop their movement.

The first Death Eaters.

Looking down at the thick portfolio of case files that Blaise Zabini had sent to him regarding the Cultists, he gave up the task of reading them at this late hour as a bad job and decided to retire to the Manor for the night – or morning as it were, judging by the positions of the hands on his clock.

The world spun as a wave of dizziness slammed into him when he rose from his desk. Blinking, he clutched his desk, wondering if this was related to the constant indigestion and stomach aches he had been experiencing of late. A sheen of sweat broke across his forehead and the back of his neck as he stumbled before regaining his balance. Then as his vision cleared he put it down to stress and lack of sleep before heading for the floo.

He would have to take an antacid when he got home in addition to his sleeping potion. He had been having trouble sleeping for the past few months, something he also attributed to the stress that accompanied the nature of his job, and antacids were a delightful muggle remedy that Hermione had gotten him. Since marrying her, he had discovered a whole onslaught of positive's about the muggle world that his upbringing hadn't allowed him to see until that point in his life. Antacids were but the tip of the iceberg, he much preferred the television and pizza that she had brought into his life.

The rush of jade flames faded as he stepped into his home, dusting the soot from his crumpled suit (he had long since decided that robes were not conducive to this day and age) with a wave of his wand and made his way to the kitchen where no doubt, Hermione would be waiting with a cup of tea and a plate of dinner. It was one of the little quirks that he loved about her, that no matter how late it was she would always wait up so that they could dine together before going to bed. Apparently it was something her mother had taught her, a couple that eats together will stay together. Draco saw the logic in that statement for Hermione was a terrific cook and he enjoyed making her blush when complimenting the cuisine.

"Hey, 'Mione," he said, a tired smile on his face as he pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss before he sank into the chair beside her with a loud groan of relief.

"Tough day?" she asked sympathetically, flicking her wand to summon two laden plates to the table. An aura of steam hazed around the surface of the food, still fresh and hot thanks to her knowledge of keep-fresh, warming and preserving charms. This was followed by two goblets of wine in lieu of their usual tea or pumpkin juice.

"I thought you may want to unwind," she pointed out when he quirked his eyebrow at the wine, noting the fine vintage and feeling a sneaking suspicion that his wife had helped herself to his father's personal wine cellar. It wasn't that he was opposed to enjoying the treasures his father had accumulated and squirreled away in life, it was the fact that every bottle in the aforementioned cellar was at least a hundred years old and aged to perfection.

It was also that each bottle could easily fetch enough galleons at auction to feed a family of four for a year.

"I may need something stronger in that case," he joked as he sipped the dark liquid, the tart crispness feeling quite refreshing to him. It was a heady brew and he realised his jest was in vain . . . his wife seemed to have brought out one of the most powerful vintages in the Manor.

Once their meal was eaten and the plates had been magically washed, Draco gave his wife a satisfied grin to which she rolled her eyes and declared that it was time for bed. The world spun again as Draco rose, a faint ache in his chest coming throbbing to the surface as indigestion began to rear its ugly head. He supposed it was only expected considering he was no longer as young as he had once been, though still middle aged by wizarding standards he was a man in his sixties and age did take its toll upon the body.

"Are you ok?" asked Hermione in concern, reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder to help steady him.

"Fine," he mumbled, gritting his teeth as the pain hit its apex and then passed, "I just need an antacid."

"You're staying home tomorrow," she said sternly as she watched him gulp down two white pills. Her gaze intensified when he opened his mouth to protest and he instantly fell silent, she did have a point. He had been working too hard recently and it would be nice to spend a day at home with his wife and grandchildren. Preferably just his wife though. Despite being older than him by several months, Hermione was still a very attractive woman and their increasing age did little to slacken their sex life.

A half hour later he lay back in bed, smiling lightly as she curled herself against him and laid her head upon his chest. He extended his arm so that it looped around her and he kissed her lightly on the brow.

"Goodnight, 'Mione," he murmured sleepily, his eyes fluttering closed as she breathed a soft, "Sweet dreams," in response. She didn't need to tell him that because Draco found that he always slept soundly when he had Hermione at his side.

(*)(*)(*)

The forest was dark and foreboding, scraggly branches reaching up to claw at the sky, the ground thick with lichen and mildew, damp and reeking of mould. The very air seemed saturated with dark magical energy, cloying tendrils that held the land in a grip of decay and damnation. A ruined stronghold could be seen, tattered towers blackened with smoke and blight standing sentinel over the woods. James shivered despite himself as he came up beside the edges of the woods, according to their intelligence this was the headquarters of the Cult of Shadows.

He had to admit, the Cultists really had scored well on the creepiness factor of their base, the sheer desecration of the woods was enough to make most men turn tail and flee. Then there were the wards, powerful enchantments that kept them out and the darkness in. The only reason that he managed to stand his ground was the enchanted sapphire given to him by Blaise Zabini. The jewel had apparently been sent to Ghost Division along with the roll of film, a talisman that allowed one to walk within the sinister locale without succumbing to madness.

After several lengthy arguments, James had managed to convince Alison and his sons to move into Grimmauld Place till the situation had been dealt with. He held no love for his family home but at the same time he knew that apart from Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor, it had the most powerful magical defences in Britain. The Black Family had built their home to withstand a thousand years, none had ever breached the home without first being invited in. His mother on the other hand had firmly refused to return; the house held to many sorrowful memories for her and had eventually decided to return to the Burrow where the wards would keep her safe.

Beginning his trek into the wasteland, he tightened his grip on his wand handle. It was too dangerous to send in a team to rescue Katherine but one man, working alone, could potentially get in undetected and get her out of whatever prison she was now locked in. Blaise, Draco and Hugo had all deliberated what her chances of survival were, considering the nefarious reputation of the Cult and had eventually come to the conclusion that she they would probably keep her alive for interrogation purposes. Time was of the essence though, who knew how long she could hold up against whatever machinations they would use against her.

James had accepted this mission for two reasons, the first being that the Cult had put his wife and sons in the firing line and James brooked no threats to his family's safety without immediate retaliation. The second was that he felt he owed it to Katherine; she had been one of the few people who had always been a solid friend of Albus', even when his brother had been disowned by the majority of the family. Rescuing her would repay that debt.

Night was falling as he made camp for the night, hoping his basic security charms would see him safely to the morning. He dared not wield his most formidable spells here, not when the Cultists may be able to sense his magical signature and come investigating. James would stand no chance if it came to a frontal assault; his only hope of success lay in the fields of stealth and secrecy.

Absently, he wondered what had become of the two aurors that Hugo had sent into the Cult as a source of backup for Katherine. He doubted they were still alive and he thanked Merlin and God both that his nephew, Remy, was safely out of the country and not working the frontlines like the other aurors.

He didn't dare build a fire lest it give away his position, resigning himself to a dinner of nuts and dried fruit, the standard supplies that were given to agents leaving on a mission. It was a meal that could sustain your body and nutritional needs for a time, yet the taste was quite disgusting and James vowed to increase The Order's research budget into finding more delicious, non-magically preserved food provisions for his agents.

The attack came just as he closed his eyes to catch a few hours of sleep, the dark silhouettes of Shadows coming flitting out from between the trees with murder in their blood red eyes. There were at least two Cultists with them, which soon became one when James fired of his first killing curse, dropping his masked assailant in a flare of green light.

The Shadows, there were four, danced around him in the eerie light of the full moon as he backed up against the rough bark of a strangled oak, his expression grim. The Cultist seemed to survey him for a moment, a shit-eating grin etched upon his face as he realised whom it was that he had caught.

"James Potter," he cackled like a maniac, "What a surprise."

"I could say the same," said James, stalling for time as he tried to think up a plan that would enable him to survive this fight.

"The Dark Lady will be delighted to bathe in your blood," the Cultist replied, "She had not forgiven you for killing The Lord of Shadows."

Albus? These bastards are murdering and raping in MY BROTHER'S NAME!

Anger flared within him as he slashed his wand through the air, a jet of purple flame spiralling through the air and incinerating his for before he had the chance to react. The Shadows flew towards James, harsh claws slashing his skin in a quartet of places as their screeching song echoed through the still wood.

"Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra," he repeated the killing curse, stunned by the latest revelation as the jets of light passed through their phantom forms like needles through water, leaving no visible harm behind. A spray of blood, his own, splashed across his lips as he felt a set of icy talons across his cheek. Copper flavoured his saliva as he bit down into his tongue to keep from screaming, for if he was to die then he would emulate his brother.

He would die with dignity.

Then his eyes widened as a silver knife came whipping through the air and buried itself in the back of the Shadow closest to him. It's scream was that of fingernails against a blackboard, magnified to the point that he clasped his hands to his ears to dull their ache as the creature sparked with spectral red light from its every orifice and then exploded into blackened vapour.

A hook nosed man arrived at the edge of the clearing just as a second knife went whipping through the air, catching a Shadow in the throat and killing it in the same torturous manner as the first. Then the remaining pair was on him. James' rescuer moved with a predatory grace as he dodged their moves, agilely ducking under their claws and spinning over their heads in aerial movements that James was sure no human could pull off.

A third knife, apparently the last remaining blade of the man hummed through the air as he brought it down in a lethal arc and buried it in the skull of the third Shadow. Then James was on his feet, and he threw the knife that lay at his feet, the blade that had dispatched the first of the Shadows, sending it whipping over his rescuers shoulder and taking out the last of their assailants.

"Who the hell are you?" panted James, shakily drawing his wand over his torn skin to repair the damage.

The stranger rolled his eyes and then screwed up his face in concentration and James took a step back as familiar features emerged from beneath the sallow skin and greasy hair.

"There had better be a good reason for why you just caused me to blow six months of being undercover, Uncle Jay," smirked Remy Lupin.

(*)(*)(*)

Hermione hummed a soft lilting melody under her breath as she returned the books she had spent the week reading to their shelves in the Malfoy library, smiling to herself at the peace that filled this room. It was her sanctuary in the Manor, for every descendant of the family knew not to mess with Grandma 'Mione's books on pain of being grounded for a month.

It made her smile to realise that she could no longer threaten people with the pain of death, especially considering that most of those she wagged her finger at these days were her grandchildren.

A warm wind trailed through the room, drawing her away from her amusement as she frowned at the strange feeling that it brought with it. There was no doubt that the breeze was magical in nature but something about it was reassuring and reminded her of the comfort of family. It reminded her of a purer form of the elemental manipulation she had witnessed in Albus' Shadows, a memory which replaced her warmth with slivers of ice.

A loud thump drew her attention and she turned, her hand flying to her wand before she breathed a sigh of relief as she noticed that the sound had been caused by a falling book. Then she frowned, the book was covered in dust and had obviously fallen from one of the highest shelves that were only accessible by ladder, which led her to question what had disturbed it from its resting place? Cautiously she moved forward and picked it up, blowing to remove the thick film of dust before laying it on one of the nearby reading tables and taking a seat to study it.

Au-dela du Voile

Cassandra Malfoy

Fevrier 1679

She let out a low groan as she surveyed the title page; it was evident that the book was written in French and despite the many times she had visited the country with her parents in her youth, she wasn't very fluent in the language. The fact that the book was written several centuries prior to her reading it meant that the language may have changed as well, so it was unlikely that a dictionary with be of much assistance either. Why did her husband's family have to be descended from the French? It was the one topic that always vexed her that the language which he could speak so fluently was so difficult for her.

Hermione recoiled when the breath of wind returned and before her eyes, the book slid open, its pages whirring till finally falling still upon a certain page. She instantly tensed upon seeing the illustration, a rocky archway filled with gossamer mist. It was so familiar and yet so alien, a reminder of her first real battle with the Death-Eaters at the Department of Mysteries.

Groaning again at the finely scrawled lines of French, she tried to discern any visible words. Mort seemed to be written quite often and she was sure that it translated to death in English. Esprit meant either soul or spirit and she was certain that the word Ombre meant Shadow.

Resolving to ask Draco for help as soon as he returned home that night, Hermione grabbed the strange book and hurried back to the living room to check on her granddaughters. However, she made sure to summon a French dictionary from the shelves before leaving.

Because after all, when had she ever had to run to somebody else when it came to research?

(*)(*)(*)

A/N: Thoughts