I'd like to thank thekingofsweden1 and rpeh for beta reading. Their work and diligence has improved the story a lot, particularly this chapter.

Chapter 3: Rendezvous

London, Diagon Alley, August 4th, 1999, 11.45 hours

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked Luna, who was moving with a very weird gait. The quirky girl and she had been friends for years, but the muggleborn witch was still confused more often than not by the blonde's antics.

"I'm appeasing fate by the traditional dance-walk performed by the ancestors of the Ukrainian Steppe Shamans."

Hermione decided not to ask about the dance part, nor about Ukrainian Shamans - intuition born from long experience told her that she wouldn't like the explanation - and instead asked: "Fate?"

Luna froze for a moment, her right foot hovering five inches above the ground, and turned her head to the brown-robed Wand. "Yes," she said, nodding slowly. "Fate conspired twice so far to ruin our meal together, both times by causing dreadful calamities. I will not tempt it a third time by not appeasing it."

"Ah." Hermione nodded, smiling. "Will fate be appeased by the time we reach the restaurant?"

"It should be." Luna continued towards 'Connington's'. Since the inn was owned by a half-blood, none of the purebloods who would disapprove of Luna's friendship with Hermione would even think of eating there. Perfect for the two of them.

Even so Hermione noticed a few of the guests glance at them before looking away. She was used to that, though. Even those without something to hide tended to be nervous near her and her fellow Wands. Since they were regulars there it generally wasn't that obvious, but the attack last evening must have had the population on edge.

Luna had stopped dance-walking and had grabbed her left hand to drag the taller girl to their favourite table. Hermione let her, despite the less than professional impression this left. She did notice a few of the nervous guests starting to smile though.

As usual, Hermione needed a while to decide on what to order from the menu while Luna picked her meal at once by combining dishes from the different daily specials. Fortunately, the staff was used to the blonde.

"So… how's work?" Luna leaned forward as soon as the waitress had left their table. She hadn't gotten her quill out, so she was asking as Hermione's friend, not as a journalist. Luna had few rules, but those she had, she followed more stubbornly than the Wand herself.

"Busy. The Corps will be on alert for the time being."

"You're always on alert," Luna said.

"Not technically."

Luna snorted. "You're always ready to jump into a fight."

"'A Wand is never off duty'," Hermione quoted another rule she lived by.

Her friend pouted. "All work and no play. That's not healthy."

She shrugged. "Would you still like me if I could sit on my wand while people need help?"

Luna scowled cutely and took several bites out of the various things on her plate instead of answering. Hermione smirked, then smiled. "But I can assure you, unless there's another attack, I'll not be working late." She was still waiting for answers to her requests to the Department of Mysteries and the Auror Office, anyway. Interdepartmental cooperation in the Ministry of Magic was, unfortunately, far worse than it should be. The Corps' own Investigative Branch was still understaffed and underfunded, in her opinion.

"So you can bury your nose in the latest books then?" Luna gently teased, before spearing a chip with her fork as if she were a hunter on the prowl.

"Maybe." Hermione winced when Luna's head shot up and the blonde stared at her with wide eyes.

"Maybe?" The former Ravenclaw cocked her head to the side. "A week ago, you told me you had a stack of books you needed to read still…"

"Ah…"

"What would keep you from your books, other than your duty?" Luna didn't quite scowl at the last word, but it was close.

"I might have a… an appointment," Hermione said. She wouldn't, couldn't lie to Luna. Not after the betrayal her friend had suffered in her first year. She still got angry remembering how cruel those girls had been to the naive blonde who had believed she had found friends. Well, they had paid for that, Hermione had seen to it.

"An appointment? You mean… a date?" Luna was leaning so far forward, Hermione was certain she was about to stand up.

"It's not a date. I just might … go for a drink? If he sends an owl, that is. It's by no means certain." Dupont might have realized by now that purebloods didn't date, didn't go for drinks with Wands.

"He? Who's he?"

"A Québecois I met during the attack yesterday. Antoine Dupont."

"Oh… you met on the battlefield, and he fell in love with you?" Luna's smile threatened to split her face from ear to ear.

"No!" Hermione shook her head. This wasn't some robe-ripper plot. Just some easily-impressed foreigner being friendly.

"You said you met him during the attack." Luna scowled.

"I did. He didn't fall in love with me. He just asked if we could have a drink together."

Luna frowned. "If he's just toying with your feelings I'll hex him back to America!" She ignored Hermione's giggling, then blinked and asked: "He's not a Ministry employee or related to the Minister, is he?"

"He's just a visitor… but, what feelings?" Hermione asked.

"Your feelings, of course. You'd not choose a drink over a book for just any wizard, would you?"

"I'm just curious. I haven't met many foreigners, and none from Québec yet."

Hermione was certain Luna didn't believe her claim. She wasn't certain if she believed it herself.

London, Diagon Alley, August 4th, 1999, 12.30 hours

He should have skipped lunch with his family, Lucius Malfoy thought. He could have eaten a quick lunch in his office, instead of eating at his new home. Their new temporary home, as Narcissa insisted. His wife was just so much more bearable if they had an audience than in private. She had been the perfect host during last evening's dinner with the Notts - polite, witty, friendly, pretty.

A far cry from how she was currently acting.

"This house is not safe enough for us," Narcissa said while Dobby, finally recovered from the attack on Malfoy Manor, served the entrées.

"It has the best wards outside Hogwarts or the Ministry, and no one but our security detail and us knows its location," Lucius said while reaching for his glass. He ignored the slight wince from his wife - Narcissa still shied away from touching his artificial left hand.

"Grimmauld Place has stronger wards."

Lucius had expected that. Narcissa was almost obsessed with the ancestral home of the Black family. She was far too sentimental about such things. "We have no claim to that house."

"Of course we have a claim! Everyone else who could inherit it is either a traitor who fled Britain, or was cast out of the family. And Draco's the only male heir left." Turning to Draco, she added: "Wouldn't you like to live in your ancestral home? The one ancestral home that is still standing?"

Lucius frowned at the reminder that Malfoy Manor had been destroyed. It had been necessary, but it still vexed him.

"Of course mother," Draco answered, then glanced at Lucius. "If it's safe."

Lucius almost snorted. Grimmauld Place, safe? Merlin, he had last been in that house when Orion Black's will had been supposed to be read and he couldn't remember ever seeing a more pitiful, cursed dwelling! It fit a family split between the Dark Lord, Dumbledore and himself perfectly well. But saying that would cause quite a row with his wife. Instead he said: "It doesn't matter how safe it is, we cannot claim it until the inheritance question has been settled."

"You're the Minister, you could simply confiscate it," Narcissa said while their son nodded.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Overruling Orion Black's will? You know how the other families would react to that, dear." He really didn't need more problems in the current situation.

"Who says you'd be overruling the will? Who else would Orion have wanted to inherit the house but Draco?"

"No one would believe that." Lucius wanted to sneer at his wife, but controlled himself.

"Why not?" Draco asked.

"It's too well-known that your great-uncle had declared that the actual will couldn't be read until all surviving members of the Black family were present." Lucius didn't have to mention that Narcissa had been the one to complain about that to her friends, thus spreading the news. She had learned the need for more discretion since.

"But they're all traitors!" Draco pouted. "Fled to France, even!"

"The Blacks never cared much about that." Lucius glanced at Narcissa, who glared back at him, but didn't contradict him. "Back in the war, they were quite happy, as I recall, to have Sirius fighting for the Ministry while Regulus had joined the Dark Lord." At least Orion would have been, the crafty old wizard. His wife on the other hand...

"Uncle Orion threw Sirius out of his home for joining the blood traitors."

"And yet he never disinherited him." Lucius was certain Orion had known Sirius would run to the Potters. "And while they did cast out Andromeda when she married that mudblood, she was explicitly named as a family member in the instructions to the will's executor. I presume the will reinstates her." Quite understandable, after her daughter had been revealed as a metamorphmagus. Few families could boast of such a gift. Even Walburga had accepted that - though she had maintained until her death that Nymphadora was actually the daughter of Andromeda and Sirius, since a mudblood could never father such a daughter. Blacks!

Draco didn't look convinced, so Lucius added: "Besides, mudbloods would not be welcome there." Walburga had commented on her 'precautions' often enough when she had been alive.

"Oh." Draco blinked, understanding what that meant. "I'd prefer to stay here then." That earned the boy a glare from Narcissa, but Lucius knew his son wouldn't be moved. As much as he loved his mother, Draco wouldn't want to give up his dalliances with his mudblood paramours.

"You should start looking for a wife, Draco." Narcissa smiled at their son. Draco almost managed to hide his distaste at the suggestion.

"There's ample time for that," Lucius interjected. "A boy shouldn't be tied down too soon." He certainly hadn't been. And as long as Draco was sticking to seducing mudbloods, he'd also avoid all the trouble Lucius had caused with the families of his conquests.

Narcissa's glare could have frozen a salamander. Lucius didn't care. He was a Malfoy, and his son was a Malfoy as well. By the time Draco's son or daughter was in power, the Blacks wouldn't matter at all.

But he had to defeat the Dark Lord first. Fortunately, he had been preparing for that for almost twenty years.

London, Diagon Alley, August 4th, 1999, 18.55 hours

Ron Weasley - Antoine Dupont, he reminded himself - was sitting at a table in the corner inside 'Connington's', the inn Hermione had named when she answered his owl in the afternoon. It had a decent, not too expensive selection of drinks, according to the billboards over the bar. And as he had found out half an hour ago, the food served was good. Not as good as his mum made, at home, and no contest with the food served at Beauxbatons, but good. For British dishes.

He studied the note that had come by owl again. 'Connington's, 19.00 hours. Hermione'. Short, to the point. Like the girl, maybe. He had sent his note, asking if she had time for a drink this evening, since not sending it might have looked suspicious. And yet… would he have been relieved if she had turned him down, or disappointed?

He took a sip from his butterbeer when the clock on the wall turned to seven. A few seconds later, she entered. At first sight, she didn't look any different than when they had met. Same robe, same hairstyle - a wild mane of thick, brown tresses. A French witch would have never come for a drink with him without changing out of her work robes.

She spotted him before he could wave at her, and started to walk towards him. He noticed that the other guests were staring at her, but couldn't tell if that was because she was the only brown-robed Wand in the inn, or if there was another reason. Up close, he saw she had put on lipstick.

"Good evening, Miss Britain." Ron stood up and smiled while she frowned at his joke. When she offered her hand, he bowed and kissed it.

The witch looked flustered for a moment, then schooled her features and nodded, sitting down before he could hold the chair out for her. "Good evening, Mister Dupont."

"Call me Antoine please. I'd feel old otherwise." He sat down again and waved at the waitress. "What would you like to drink?"

"A butterbeer, please."

"Make it two butterbeers." The waitress left and he turned his attention back to the witch. "You know, I wasn't certain you'd be coming. With the attack and all you must be swamped with work. I'm happy to be proven wrong, of course."

"We have the situation under control," Hermione said, sounding confident. So, the Ministry had been prepared for such an attack.

He nodded. "The terrorists would be very stupid to try such an attack again, after all of the attackers in the first raid were killed."

"With your help, Mister Dupont."

"Antoine," he corrected her. "Please. I feel weird using your first name while you use my last name."

"I don't have a last name."

"Even more of a reason not to flaunt mine," he said, grinning. When he saw her flinch just a tiny bit, he winced. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Her face had lost all expression.

"For bringing up your … ancestry?" She didn't react to that, not visibly at least, and he hurried on. "I'm not used to… Back home, we don't have such a divide."

"We're the Wands of Britain. We protect the country with our lives."

She sounded like she was repeating what she had learned by rote, but she seemed to honestly believe it.

"And judging by what I saw yesterday, you're very good at it. Better than the Aurors I could see."

Hermione smiled at that. "We've been trained very well for our duties." Her pride shone through.

"At Hogwarts? Even in Québec we heard of the school."

"Yes."

The waitress arrived with their butterbeers. Ron raised his in a toast. "To surviving yesterday!"

The witch looked like she wanted to roll her eyes, but she mimicked his gesture. "To survival."

When she put the bottle down again after drinking, she asked: "What made you visit Britain instead of France?"

"I was in France already, looking into Beauxbatons. I want to learn more about Britain. Things are not well at home. Of course, I didn't expect to run into an attack on my first day. I trust this is not a regular occurrence?"

"It's not exactly normal, but we might be facing a group of fanatics." Hermione sounded as if she felt personally responsible for the Death Eaters attacking Diagon Alley.

Ron made a dismissive gesture with his left hand. "At least the local forces are more competent than I'm used to back home." He smiled at her. "Prettier too."

The witch blushed at that, then frowned. "You're quite the charmer, Antoine." She didn't sound too happy about it. Guarded even. Once burned, twice shy?

"I'm just being honest," Ron answered. He was, incidentally - Hermione was pretty, though he knew prettier witches. Had dated them too. Though the girl sitting across from him had a certain je ne sais quoi those girls had lacked. Or it was just the fact they had fought side by side, and she was a scary witch in combat.

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded almost grudgingly.

"Are you not used to people calling you pretty?"

The Wand-Leader shook her head. "Not purebloods."

"British purebloods must be stupid then," he said before he could help it.

She chuckled, then looked surprised and even a bit shocked at her own reaction.

London, Diagon Alley, August 4th, 1999, 19.10 hours

Hermione took another sip from her butterbeer while she studied the wizard sitting across from her. She should not have laughed at his joke. Not in public. That was the kind of joke the Wands laughed about at Headquarters, in the barracks, when they were talking about the Aurors. Or in private with Luna, maybe. Not with a foreigner - a pureblood foreigner - whom she had just met the day before for a few minutes.

"British purebloods are aware of the danger muggles represent," she said, falling back to familiar ground.

"What danger is that?" He leaned forward, sounding honestly curious.

Hermione frowned. Didn't they learn anything in the Americas? "They hate magic. They have had witch hunts for centuries. That's why the International Statute of Secrecy was implemented - so we'd be safe from them."

"Well, it worked fine, didn't it?" He emptied his own bottle and signaled for another. "The muggles have no idea about magic anymore."

"The death penalty for witchcraft is still in effect in many countries," she countered. "Muggles cannot understand magic, and they fear and hate what they cannot understand."

He shrugged. "I've been in far more danger from wizards than from muggles. Witches too," he added with a slight grin that made her wonder what exactly he was alluding to.

She decided not to dwell on that. "America is a bit of a special case. Most of the Magical World is far more peaceful." Only Grindelwald's War was comparable to the conflicts of North America, and that war had only been fought for a few years. North America hadn't known true peace ever since the first war against the native tribes had been started - by muggles of course, before the Statute of Secrecy.

He coughed, and she frowned, understanding what he was hinting at. "Britain has been at peace for almost 20 years."

"Until yesterday." He wasn't smiling, or grinning, she noted. As a Québécois, he was probably very familiar with the cost of war. She had an inkling though that he wanted to make a joke.

Hermione reluctantly nodded in agreement. There was no sense in ignoring reality. "We'll deal with that soon though, and peace will be restored."

"I'll drink to that," he said, raising his bottle. "To peace!"

She matched him, touching her own bottle to his. "To peace!"

"Are you planning to immigrate? You mentioned checking up on Hogwarts and Beauxbatons." His eyes widened just a bit, but he nodded. She added with a grin: "You seem a bit old for a student though."

He chuckled at her feeble joke. "I am thinking of leaving Québec, yes. I don't want to raise a family in a war zone. And the only two options for someone who speaks French and English are Britain or France."

"You could learn another language." It wasn't that hard.

He laughed. "Two are enough for me. I don't have room in my head for another language, I'd probably have to forget all about potions to learn one."

"I take it Potions wasn't your strongest subject then?" Hermione asked. Québec's school didn't have the best reputation, but apart from Salem, none of the East Coast's magic schools were held in high esteem. Although as Antoine had demonstrated, their Defence lessons were very good.

His expression was all the answer needed. "It isn't as if it's useful for me anyway - it's far too much of a bother to collect all the ingredients."

"Do you have a family already?" she asked, only realizing how this could be taken when he grinned widely.

"Why, are you applying?" He continued right when she opened her mouth to protest. "No, not in the sense you were thinking about. There is no Mrs Dupont."

"Ah." Not very eloquent, but it beat asking the logical follow-up question - was he looking for one? That he was looking for a witch was a given; wizards usually were. Not many approached a Wand though.

"What about you? Is there a boyfriend in the picture? Not a pureblood, since we already established that they are stupid, but a fellow muggleborn maybe?"

She blamed her slight blush on the reminder of his joke and her reaction to it while she shook her head. "I'm a Wand-Leader, I'm not supposed to … 'fraternise' with the ranks." That didn't stop others, of course. Wands were a tight-knit corps.

"I never was much for not doing what I wasn't supposed to." He raised his bottle at her again.

"I'll believe that at once," she said frowning a little. He gave the impression of a trouble-maker - though a skilled one.

"You've never broken a rule then?" He sounded both teasing and sceptical.

"No." The lie rolled off her tongue easily. She'd had a lot of practise, ever since she had dealt with Luna's bullies back at Hogwarts.

"Maybe you never found a good enough reason to then."

She didn't answer that, just nodded and sipped from her butterbeer.

"But I can't help pointing out that I'm not a Wand," he said, smiling. "There's no rule against 'fraternising' with a pureblood, is there?" he added, as if it was an afterthought,

"If there were, would I be here?" They were fraternising at this moment, after all. Then she realized how what she had said could have been taken as an invitation.

He didn't seem to take it as an invitation, though his smile just got a bit more teasing. "I'd hope I was a good enough reason to break such a rule, if there was one."

"I could always claim I was investigating a witness."

"In a pub? Why do I think you always had a good excuse when you broke a rule?" He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Because that's what you'd have liked to have been able to?"

"I'm more a follower of the 'don't get caught' philosophy." For a moment, he had a wistful expression.

"And how did that work out for you?"

"Ah, I'm still alive, and healthy. And I learned a lot." He ordered another butterbeer for them both. "Speaking of which, do you do this often? Investigate a witness, I mean."

"I'm a member of the Investigative Branch of the Corps," she answered. "We're not just a bunch of guards." Hermione couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of her voice.

"I can't imagine the Aurors took that well - shown up in combat, and in investigation." He must have noticed her sudden suspicion, since he added "I saw you fighting and investigating, remember?"

She nodded. Of course she did. "So, what do you think of Britain so far?"

"It's very pretty." He looked at her, smiling just long enough so she got his meaning, then continued: "Though it's a bit weird to never see muggle clothes on the street."

"We're proud of our traditions," she answered, hiding her distaste for muggle fashions.

"I think that's probably the biggest difference to Québec. That, and the food."

"What's wrong with our food?"

"It's not French."

That started an in-depth discussion of the various merits of Britain and France for a Québécois. Hermione didn't ever quite say that Antoine should have stayed in France if he liked it so much during the discussion, but she came close to several times. The man was infuriating - and yet witty and charming. And completely ignoring the fact that she was a muggleborn. Something she had only experienced with Luna.

When they said their goodbyes, out on the street, he didn't try to kiss her, or anything else.

She didn't know if she should be glad or disappointed about that. But they agreed to meet again, and she liked that.

London, August 6th, 1999, 12.10 hours

Ron Weasley studied the menu of the restaurant he was sitting in. Indian. Not as good as French, but more than a step up from anything British not cooked by his mum. And as it was a muggle restaurant in muggle London, it was about as safe from Malfoy's goons as it could get in Britain.

That didn't mean he could be complacent - he was at war, after all. And so he had his wand ready under the table when a pretty girl in ripped jeans, boots and a crop top walked towards his table. When she almost tripped over a chair on the way, he relaxed a bit. He didn't put the wand away until she had tapped the book on the table - 'Bridget Jones's Diary'. Having that on display had already earned him a few weird looks and a comment from the waitress he had been able to deflect with a 'my girlfriend's gift'- twice.

"Hello! I hope you didn't wait too long!" Nymphadora 'Just' Tonks, as Charlie called her, looked like a dark-skinned fly girl about his age, a far cry from the girl he knew from France. She bent down to kiss him on the cheek, and almost smashed her nose into his eye. The metamorphmagus would have been the perfect agent if not for her clumsiness.

"I haven't even ordered yet," he answered. "Madras for you too?"

"Korma. I don't like it too hot."

"Wimp."

"Says the bloke whose first introduction to curry ended with him guzzling down an entire pitcher of water." Tonks grinned.

Ron scowled. Charlie had a lot to answer for.

They ordered, and waited until the waitress had left before lowering their voices - magic means to ensure they were not overheard would draw attention from the Obliviators. With almost no one in Wizarding Britain visiting muggle Britain anymore, any magic tended to stand out far more than it did in France.

"So, everything went well then?" Tonks leaned forward, one hand on his, to fool any observer into thinking they were a couple.

"Yes. I've rented a room at the Cauldron, saw a Death Eater attack and the Ministry response, and I met a friendly Wand-Leader."

"A friendly Wand-Leader?" Tonks's eyebrow rose just a bit higher than should be possible. "And you 'saw' a Death Eater attack?"

"I was kind of caught up in it. And she's friendly - we spent an evening chatting about all kind of stuff," Ron explained, then narrowed his eyes when he saw her grin and heard her hum the James Bond theme. "Knock it off!"

"International Ron of Mystery?" The girl's grin widened.

Maybe there was something to avoiding muggle culture, Ron thought. "She's a Wand-Leader in the Investigative Branch. Friendly, but she fully believes Malfoy's lies."

"Investigative Branch, and she's spilling secrets? That could be a trap." At once, Tonks was serious.

"I don't think it's a trap. She didn't exactly tell me anything about her cases, but I could find out a lot just by chatting. She seems not used to purebloods being friendly with muggleborns."

"And just how friendly are you planning to be?"

If Tonks hadn't sounded utterly serious, he would have made a joke. As it was, he shrugged. "Enough to find out as much as I can about the Wands."

The metamorphmagus cocked her head to the side. "Just remember that the agent's not supposed to fall for the mark."

"Yeah." He wouldn't. Even though Hermione was certainly cute, though not a stunning beauty, and he definitely felt attracted to her.

"Just think of what she'll do to you if she finds out you've been using her."

He almost said he wasn't about to use her, but nodded instead. "How are the others doing?"

"The twins have followed your recommendation and are using a muggle warehouse as storage. Production still has to be done in magical areas though. Percy's cultivating a Ministry employee. He's not sleeping with him though."

"Neither am I!"

"Of course not. You'd not cheat on your Wand-Leader."

Ron rolled his eyes.

Worcestershire, August 6th, 23.45 hours

"What do we have? Apart from dead Aurors and a destroyed manor," Hermione asked, walking up to another smoking ruin. Stepping around a body in red robes that looked like he had been smashed by a giant.

"Same kind of spells as used against the Minister's manor. Probably same caster too," Dean answered her. "And dead Notts."

Hermione nodded. "Any survivors?"

"Theodore Nott wasn't at home, but with his girlfriend. His parents were killed, as were, as far as we can tell, the Aurors guarding them and the house elves."

"None of the attackers were killed?"

"If the attackers suffered any losses, then they took the bodies with them when they retreated or vanished them."

"Why weren't we alerted in time? They can't have broken the wards that quickly."

Dean shrugged. "We moved as soon as we received the news. Someone must have delayed the alert."

Hermione nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. Both of them knew what that meant.

Treason within the Ministry.

London, Ministry of Magic, August 7th 1999, 10.05 hours

"I don't want to hear excuses, I want results! Before anyone else shares the fate of the Nott family." Lucius Malfoy glared at the wizard who was supposed to be his closest ally, Augustus Rookwood, Head of the Department of Mysteries.

The Unspeakable seemed unperturbed by Lucius's outburst. He simply shrugged. "We're working on the issue. But the needed secrecy hampers our efforts somewhat."

Lucius controlled himself with an effort. "You've had almost 20 years to find a solution. Now the Dark Lord is back and coming straight for us."

Rookwood waved his artificial left hand as if it did not concern him. "Nott was a fool, thinking his manor's wards could stop the Dark Lord. Or trusting the Aurors to respond in time," the man added with a sly smile.

"Whether the fatal delay was due to treason or stupidity, the people responsible for it will be found and punished," Lucius declared.

"By your mudbloods."

"If the Aurors cannot deliver results. The Wands have already proven themselves to be more effective than the Aurors." Lucius met the man's eyes. Rookwood had his Unspeakables, and the secrets hidden in the vaults beneath the Department of Mysteries, but without Lucius's Wands he'd fall to the Dark Lord, whose knowledge of the Dark Arts still was second to none.

"And they're now casting the Unforgivables. Rather dangerous, isn't it?"

"Only for our enemies." The Aurors had been authorised to use the formerly forbidden spells as well, as planned, but Lucius didn't expect much to come of that - they lacked the training to use them effectively.

"Of course," Rookwood said, with just a hint of amusement. "In any case, we have time. You and I are protected by the wards of the Ministry. And the Wands of the Ministry. Meanwhile, Antonin is already hunting our former comrades. He might take a few of them down and distract the Dark Lord before his death."

Lucius nodded. Dolohov was a very good duelist, and had a gift for both fighting and torture, but that was as far as his talents went. He was no great loss. Even Karkaroff, hiding behind the wards of Hogwarts, was more useful. "Will the trap you built into his arm have a chance to take out the Dark Lord?"

"If there is a trap, then it is certainly Antonin's doing - that would be the kind of surprise he'd like, wouldn't it? It's a good idea though. Avoid torture and take some of them with you, if you fail." Rookwood nodded, as if the thought had only just occurred to him. Lucius was more convinced than ever that it would have been a very bad idea to trust him to craft a prosthetic arm.

"All that will be useless until you find a way to destroy the Horcruxes." The Minister clenched his left fist. It almost felt like his real arm.

"Do not fret, Lucius. I'm close to success."

"That's what you said before."

"Such matters cannot be rushed. But I've recently gained a very promising lead on some rather elusive knowledge that will help me complete my work. Trust me, our troubles will soon be over." Rookwood appeared to be very confident. Before Lucius could demand more details, he continued: "Although I cannot really say anything more at the moment."

Lucius trusted the man as much as he'd trust either of his sisters-in-law, but he nodded. Rookwood would do all he could to defeat the Dark Lord, if only to save his own skin. Afterwards though… Lucius would have to make sure his Wands would be ready.

Nurmengard, Magical Bavaria, August 7th 1999, 22.05 hours

"Nurmengard. I should have known," Albus Dumbledore said, staring at the tall, dark tower that rose from the top of a cliff.

"Does that mean all that apparating around and fiddling with a map was not needed? Would have been good to know beforehand, I could have done without all the squeezing and stretching and falling down." Harry's joking tone took the bite from his barb. Mostly.

Albus turned to look at the boy. "It is just a figure of speech. I meant that it makes sense for the Dark Lord to hide his Horcrux at this place."

"Why? I wasn't the best in History of Magic, but wouldn't the most secure prison on the continent be a rather bad place to store a dark artifact?"

"Unfortunately, no. What staff is on the premises mostly keeps both prisoners and themselves fed and cared for. Nurmengard relies on wards instead of guards. Wards created by dark rituals, their strength and power far beyond what you would expect from wards not even a century old." Albus winced, remembering just how his old friend had achieved that feat. All those deaths…

"How does that help the Dark Lord, exactly?"

"A Horcrux tends to corrupt all it touches - people, animals, plants, even inanimate things. That makes hiding it rather difficult in the long run. Powerful wards would prevent that - for a time."

"Does that mean there could be one hidden in Hogwarts?"

"That is a distinct possibility." A very likely one, given the Dark Lord's past.

"Great. I'm barely out of school for a year, and I'm about to break into one already."

Albus chuckled. "For now though, let us focus on breaking into a prison."

"From what I hear, Hogwarts is not much different from a prison. For the muggleborns at least," Harry said, turning to face the dark tower.

"Rumors have been exaggerated, as far as I know," Albus said. By how much was still to be determined. "Now, the wards are tuned to keep prisoners inside. Entering therefore will be easier than leaving."

"If we end up stuck inside, I'll blame you when Ginny gets mad," Harry quipped, though Albus could see the young man was more nervous than he let on.

He chuckled, hopefully reassuring him. "Do not worry - I am certain we will not be hindered too much." His wand, won from Gellert, would ensure that. It wasn't quite a key to the prison, but it would make defeating its defenses far easier, given how crucial the wand had been for its construction. He nodded at Harry. "To get inside though, we will have to rely on your flying skills."

Harry pulled out his shrunken broom. "What exactly will we be facing?"

"As we fly closer, a storm will surround the tower, making it near impossible for a broom rider to reach it. I will mask our presence somewhat, so the wards will not react too strongly, but it will still be, as I think the common saying is, 'a bumpy ride'."

Harry chuckled. "I've flown in storms before, and in far more crowded areas. Saddle up!"

While he straddled the broom behind Harry, Albus reminded himself that thanks to the Elder Wand, he should be able to save them from a deadly fall should the young wizard's confidence turn out to be misplaced.

As it happened, Harry's confidence was fully justified. If not for the war, he would be among the best Seekers in Europe. They were not as much beating the magical storm, as they were using it to reach the tower, effectively turning its defenses against itself. Not unlike how Albus himself preferred to deal with wards and curses. He still had to steady himself for a second, after Harry had landed them in the courtyard - he was not used to flying like a leaf in a storm.

"Well, I'd say that made all the apparating around worth it!" Albus's young comrade was grinning from ear to ear, his robes and hair in disarray - more than usual - and despite visibly tired from the effort, he seemed to shine with pride. "I've never been challenged in the air like this!"

Albus didn't want to dampen Harry's mood, but they had a mission to focus on. "Can you sense it?"

Harry concentrated for a moment, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth, then pointed at the middle of the tower. Albus felt relieved - he wouldn't have to confront what remained of the worst mistake of his life.

Using the Cloak of Invisibility, sneaking into the tower was easy. Even wards created with blood sacrifices and the Elder Wand could not pierce that cloak, and the guards knew the strength of the wards, and had grown complacent as a result. The biggest challenge was not stumbling over each other's feet, as Harry put it.

Finally, Albus was waiting in front of a storage room while Harry stood in the middle of it, turning with his eyes closed, moving slowly from one side to the other, until he reached out and tapped a brick in the wall with his index finger. "Here."

Albus entered the room himself, after listening for any guard making their round, and studied the brick. He couldn't detect any defenses. "Ah." He pointed his wand at it, and turned the brick to water. It ran down the wall, revealing a knife in the hole it had left. And for the first time, the old wizard felt the effect of the Dark Lord's Horcrux.

He staggered back as the cursed item tried to invade his mind, showing him his mistakes and sins, taunting him with his dead family. But Albus had had decades to come to terms with his past. He wouldn't be defeated by mere lies and illusions. He aimed his wand at the foul artifact, and cast. A blue sphere surrounded the knife, and the assault on his mind stopped.

Next to him, Harry took deep breaths. The boy hadn't collapsed, even with his mother's protection gone. A remarkable feat. His scar was bleeding though, and he was trembling and sweating. Albus vanished the blood, then summoned the sphere containing the Horcrux. "We need to leave now."

They stepped to the next window, barely wide enough for a head - but a swish of Albus's wand changed that, even if it took him some effort, and a few seconds afterwards, they shot into the sky on Harry's broom, into the gathering storm.

If flying to the tower had been a bumpy ride, trying to fly away was far more taxing on both Harry, who had to steer a broom through what was essentially a hurricane, and Albus, who was casting constantly to keep the wind from growing worse. If not for sticking charms cast with the Elder Wand, they'd have been blown from the broom within a minute.

This time there was no 'riding the storm', as Harry had called it. They had to cut through it, countering the wind's force with magic and sheer skill at flying. And they couldn't apparate away until they had left the storm. The further they flew from the tower, the stronger the storm grew, the air tearing at them as if it was alive. Again and again they were beaten back towards the tower by sudden gales as if they were a bludger getting hit by a beater's bat. They wouldn't be able to last much longer, not under this strain.

Then they suddenly plummeted straight down, towards the rocky ground. Albus heard Harry curse as the boy fought to stop their fall, strained to pull up again, but all he seemed to be able to do was to change their angle of descent, from straight down to slightly ahead.

Then Albus understood. Harry was using gravity itself against the storm to break through the last, strongest barrier surrounding them. Once again the wind hit against them, pushed them back, but this time, it was not enough. They shot out of the storm, into calm air. Albus apparated them away seconds before they would have smashed into a rock.

They appeared in a small clearing, a few miles away, and fell to the ground as soon as Albus dispelled the sticking charms. For a while, neither Albus nor Harry said anything. Then the old wizard spoke: "That was a bit too close for comfort."

Harry snorted. "If you're looking for comfort, you should ride a carpet, not a broom," he said, his bravado only slightly marred by his shaky voice.

Albus chuckled. "As an old man, I'll keep that in mind."

Beauxbatons, France, August 8th, 1999, 01.37 hours

Albus Dumbledore stared at the remains of the Horcrux in his office. The alchemical concoction he had developed had performed as planned, reducing the knife - a sacrificial knife of Aztec origin, used in the Dark Lord's resurrection according to Severus - to a few broken, brittle shards of grey stone.

Three more to find, and destroy. And Harry's scar. Albus doubted the next Horcrux would be as comparatively easy to secure. They'd have to enter Britain, brave Lucius's minions, and risk encountering the Dark Lord himself. It would be dangerous, risky. Some might even call it foolhardy.

But he felt more hopeful than in a long time.