Disclaimer: JK Rowling opened a book. Something which has—in all my years on this planet—never been a particularly dangerous activity.

Chapter 3

3 July 1995

A chime sounded in Albus Dumbledore's office, and a woman's voice sounded, speaking to the gargoyle outside: "Can you tell the Headmaster that Amelia Bones wants to talk to him?"

Albus raised an eyebrow and looked to his guest, who was examining Fawkes carefully. "Our Director of Magical Law Enforcement," he said. "Shall I let her in?"

"By all means," his guest said.

Albus called out, "Introi," and the door opened.

Amelia Bones climbed the stairs to the Headmaster's Office. She saw the Chief Warlock sitting at his desk, but she was surprised to see another guest there as well, and not a Briton, either. He stood not by the desk, but off to the side, where he was stroking Albus's pet phoenix and muttering in a language she didn't recognise. "Good morning, Albus," she ventured.

"Good morning, Amelia," Albus replied cheerfully. "Allow me to introduce you to Master Shomihkasi, better known as Old Coyote."

Old Coyote. She recognised the name—a famous American wandmaker, if she wasn't mistaken. She wondered what he was doing so far from home. "A pleasure to meet you, Master Coyote," she said.

"Likewise, Madam Bones," he replied with a slight bow.

She regarded Albus's guest more closely. He was an old man—perhaps not as old as Albus, but his skin was deeply furrowed, and he had long, white hair braided in a ponytail down his back. His eyes were silver with the same gleam she'd always seen from Ollivander. However, unlike Ollivander, his robes were quite unremarkable except for some leather trim.

He also wielded a staff. That was the most distinctive thing about him, actually. It looked a little like Mad-Eye Moody's staff, but it looked far older. Amelia's keen eye could tell this staff had not been carved by human hands, but was a branch broken directly from the tree. It was a pale, orange-tinted wood with a deep grain that would have blended in with the banded rocks of the American West. It wasn't straight, but bent and twisted by time, and not varnished, but, if she didn't miss her guess, polished by wind and dust over probably centuries. And it was probably extremely powerful.

"So what brings you to Britain?" she asked him, angling for a bit more information. She was coming to realise Albus had a bad habit of not telling her everything she needed to know.

"Word has reached the International Confederation of Wizards of the recent trouble here," Old Coyote said, still stroking Fawkes.

"The ICW?" she said in surprise. "They're getting involved already?"

"Not with your Voldemort. That is still an internal matter. However, the report of Meztli Ocelotl is very troubling."

"Ocelotl? You mean La Pantera? The Mexican?"

"Yes. If she is operating outside her native country, and especially outside the Americas, that makes her an ICW matter."

"The ICW wishes to send a police mission to Britain to apprehend La Pantera," Albus explained. "It will need time to set up. They probably will not be here until mid-August. But I expect that Old Coyote will be involved."

"A police mission?" Amelia said. "But if the ICW comes here…this could get a lot bigger than Britain very fast." And she didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"I agree it could cause problems," Albus said. "However, it is out of our hands. In the meantime, I asked Old Coyote to make a special visit, if he was able, to consult on a related subject."

"And what is that?"

"The matter of Voldemort's wand."

"His wand? What about it?"

"Wands can tell a lot about a person," Albus replied. "For example, Voldemort's original wand was made of yew, a wood known for its distinctive power over life and death. Its core was a phoenix feather, but what few people know is that we have the phoenix who gave that feather with us. It was Fawkes's feather."

"You're joking!" Amelia exclaimed, but it was clear he wasn't. "Your phoenix? I know any wand can go dark, Albus, but how do you explain that?"

"Phoenixes are complex creatures, Amelia. They are regarded as creatures of light, but this is too simplistic. They are creatures of fire, which burns as well as cleanses. It is closer to say they are creatures of cosmic order, transcending life and death—against the Dark, yes, but not for the same reason we are."

Amelia wasn't sure what to make of that, but it seemed like it ought to be moot. "But that wand was destroyed," she said. "Why does it matter now?"

"The wand chooses the wizard," Old Coyote cut in. "Understand the wand, and you will understand the wizard, even if he no longer holds it. The wizards that Fawkes chose for his feathers are special, and from him, I can learn much about both of them."

Amelia was alert at once. "Both?"

Albus smiled: "As I said, Amelia, phoenixes are creatures of cosmic order. Fawkes gave Garrick Ollivander two feathers. The first went to Tom Riddle, now Voldemort, while the second found its way into a holly wand in the hands of Harry Potter."

She leaned back in her seat. "Potter," she whispered. "I thought there was something special about him, but this—this makes him the opposite of You-Know-Who in some way?"

"Opposite, yes, and marked, in a way, as his equal. Not in magical power, of course. Harry would need a lifetime to catch up with Voldemort in that regard. But in force of will, yes he is. I think he had already shown that."

"It is a curious dichotomy," said Old Coyote. "Phoenixes are rarely so conspicuous in their choices."

Amelia was still sceptical that this was of practical use. "You-Know-Who's wand was still destroyed, though. Speaking of which, do you have any idea whose wand was he using?"

"According to Harry, he acquired a new one. He did not get a good look, but he said it was intricately carved, and its handle looked to be made of finger bones."

"That sounds like Coquihani's work," Old Coyote said, leaving Fawkes and approaching the desk.

"Who?" Amelia asked.

"Chicomostoc Coquihani. La Pantera's personal wandmaker. I'm sure Voldemort wouldn't settle for less than the best. I don't know enough to guess the wood, but I'm sure he'll have used a thunderbird feather—which could be interesting."

"How so?" Albus asked.

"The thunderbird is not merely an American phoenix, Albus. Even many wandmakers make that mistake. But where the phoenix is a creature of cosmic order, the thunderbird is a creature of chaos. Perhaps it will help him. Since Voldemort's destructive nature is a dark reflection of the phoenix, it might be an even better fit than his old wand."

"Harry said he claimed it was."

"Just what we need," Amelia grumbled. "Albus, I came here to talk to you about the Order of the Phoenix."

Albus flinched in surprise. "You know about that?" he said.

"I've known about it for fourteen years," she said dryly. "You think I wouldn't find out everything I could about the cause my brother gave his life for?"

He nodded his assent. "Once again you have shown why you are such an asset to your department, Amelia. What do you want to know?"

"I want to know what you're up to. You may be legally allowed to run your own little club because you're the Chief Warlock, but I'm not going to ignore what you're doing. I won't bother asking who's in it, but I reserve the right to order any of my people to pull out if it becomes a problem."

"I understand completely."

"Good. Now, I want an accurate tactical assessment of your forces. We need to work together if we want to win this, don't we? How many are you? What training do you have? What are you actually doing?"

"In order, there are a couple dozen of us," Dumbledore said, "but we are working on recruiting more. I will tell you that we have three active duty Aurors and several others with formal combat training. Others members are involved for their other skills—a Healer we can go to without going through official channels, for example—or else for their connections. As for what we are doing, that is a bit more complicated. We are tracking the movements of known and suspected Death Eaters, trying to interfere with their recruitment and other plans in ways that the DMLE might not be able to. We are maintaining a network of safe houses and other resources apart from the Ministry so that they are less likely to be compromised. We are similarly ensuring that Harry Potter and other key figures continue to be protected discreetly." He chose to leave off the watch they were keeping on the Department of Mysteries.

"No fighting?" Amelia asked shrewdly.

"Not yet, but we must be prepared for anything, of course."

"Of course. Well, it's not as bad as I feared. You may be a soldier, Albus, but remember you're not leading an army. And there's one other thing you haven't mentioned yet." She glanced significantly at Old Coyote.

"You may speak freely in front of me as an ICW representative," the American said. "I am sworn to secrecy. In fact, I feel I can offer you a suggestion or two of my own."

"Oh? Alright, what is it?"

"Relocate Garrick Ollivander someplace safer immediately."

Amelia did a double take. "What?"

"Ollivander has a shop in London, doesn't he?"

"Yes."

"Then he'd be very easy for Voldemort to kidnap or kill, wouldn't he?"

She was starting to see where this was going. "Easier than most," she said.

"Ollivander is the best wandmaker in Europe," Old Coyote said. "You're protecting all of your strategic resources, aren't you? The Ministry? Hogwarts? The hospital? Think about it and tell me which people in magical Britain are indispensable."

She thought about it. The list was short. "Albus is," she said. "Not Fudge. Merlin knows there are better choices out there. It's a miracle he's been so supportive thus far. Not me or Scrimgeour, although I'd feel better if I could reactivate Moody and transfer one of the Monroes into my department. Croaker might be, but he'd be a better judge of his own department. Outside the Ministry, Harry Potter, just for the symbolic value…Maybe someone like Newt Scamander, who can handle magical creates and collect rare potions ingredients like no one else…but you're right. Ollivander is a linchpin of our society. Everyone knows him, he controls a solid majority of the wand market, and if we lost him, there'd be no one as good to replace him."

"Then I strongly suggest you move him someplace safer," Old Coyote repeated. "Hogwarts perhaps."

At that, Albus spoke up. "But then how would the first years buy their wands, Coyote?" he said.

"Ask them to purchase their wands when they arrive here, Albus. Perhaps even make a ceremony of it. It's a longstanding tradition at the American schools. They were required to do it that way for nearly two centuries under Rappaport's Law, and it always worked out well."

"Interesting…" Albus considered. "We would not have time during the Sorting. But term starts on a Friday this year. We could make a weekend of it. Yes, I will suggest it to the Board."

"But the first years aren't Ollivander's only customers," Amelia said.

"He has a family, does he not?" Old Coyote said. "Ask them to set up a shop in Hogsmeade. That way, they'll be closer to safety."

"Fine. I'll talk to them about it. But Albus, the other thing I wanted to talk to you about…The master file on You-Know-Who contains several very interesting prophecies."

Albus's eyes widened a fraction. "You know about those?" he said.

"Of course I do! Are you sure you're not taking on too much work? You ought to know the procedure. All prophecies with potential national security implications are reported to the Minister and the Chief Warlock. Minister Bagnold had a top-secret file assembled with everything we know about You-Know-Who, just in case he ever came back—based on your word that he would someday. Exactly four people have access to that file: you, me, Croaker, and Fudge. If you want to worry about someone knowing, worry about the Minister."

"Pardon me, Amelia, I was merely surprised that you knew such extensive detail," Albus saved himself, though in reality, that hit closer to home than he wanted to admit. "Surely, you can't be surprised that several prophecies have appeared around such an influential figure as Lord Voldemort?"

"Hmpf. I suppose not, but let's clear the air, anyway. The first prophecy in the file is labelled S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D., Dark Lord and—question mark—Harry Potter—February of 1980."

"If you've read the prophecy, you will know that the question mark is no longer needed. It clearly refers to Harry Potter."

"Does Potter know?"

"He does, and he has for some time."

"And how does he feel about it?"

"He is understandably concerned, but he feels that with the right support behind him, he can make it through the coming war."

"And the power the Dark Lord knows not?"

Albus smiled at this. "Such things are never certain, but I have always believed that love is the most powerful magic of all."

"Love?" Old Coyote interrupted. "Interesting interpretation, Dumbledore."

"You disagree, Master Coyote?" Amelia asked him.

"Not necessarily, but I wouldn't rely on it, either. The fact that the boy became an animagus so young looks at least as promising."

"I'll keep that in mind. Now, the second prophecy was S.P.T. to M.I.M., which Croaker informs me was fulfilled by You-Know-Who's return. But imagine my surprise when he told me that a third relevant prophecy appeared just last week—and this one labelled with a new Seer's initials, at that: C.F.C. to H.J.P., Dark Lord, question mark Defier, and the Weird Sisters? Am I being daft, or did someone just prophecy that Harry Potter would defeat You-Know-Who with the power of music?"

Old Coyote's eyebrows rose, and he turned to Dumbledore. "I have a feeling there's a very amusing story behind this, Albus," he said.

"Nothing so dramatic," he replied. "The day after Voldemort's return, Harry Potter sent one of my students to me with word that she had made a prophecy in his presence. The girl in question had good Divination marks, but had never shown Seer tendencies before. However, she is the great-great-granddaughter of the Chinese Seer Fan Tong, and these things can sometimes skip three generations. Miss Chang was also the girlfriend of Cedric Diggory, who was murdered in the incident, so her grief likely activated her gift. Amelia is right that the prophecy appears to link Voldemort's downfall to our most popular musical group but I strongly suspect there is a deeper interpretation."

"What was the prophecy?" Old Coyote asked.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and recited it: "The Weird Sisters will be reunited before the summer dies. The Dark Lord regathers his forces, more terrible than ever before. The one who thrice defied him stands before a high mountain to oppose him. But before the leaves begin to turn, the Weird Sisters will gather together once more in his aid, and he will call new allies to his side, for Mars will reign over Europe. The Weird Sisters will unite before summer dies."

29 July 1995

"It can't be the band," Harry insisted. "There's no way I'm going to beat Voldemort with a bunch of rock stars. Besides Cho's prophecy said the Weird Sisters will re-unite, and they haven't broken up, have they?"

"It could just mean reuniting for a gig after a break," Remus suggested. "That's the problem with prophecies. They're almost infinitely flexible. Not that I think it's the most likely explanation, mind, but we can't discount it."

"I think it has something to do with Macbeth," Harry says. "You know, the Weird Sisters? That's where the band got the name, wasn't it?"

"Kirley Duke came up with the name," Sirius said. "He was a half-blood Ravenclaw—yeah, I know, he doesn't seem the type. But he read up on muggle literature in school. The Weird Sisters isn't the name in the wizarding version of the story."

"What is it in the wizarding version?" asked Hermione.

"The Wyrd Sisters. Wyrd. Fate. 'Weird' is a mistranslation."

"But Cho gave the prophecy to me," Harry countered. "Professor Dumbledore says Seers give prophecies to those with the power to influence them. Shouldn't my understanding of it have some importance?"

"But you haven't got it right either, Harry," Emma cut in. The word in Shakespeare isn't 'Weird' or 'Wyrd'. It's 'Wayward'."

"It is?"

"Yes. In the original printing, it is. People only emended it to Weird later."

"I don't remember that."

"Your father and I do, Harry. You know how much we read Shakespeare."

"Harry, you have a First Folio in your vault," Hermione pointed out. "Why don't we just check?"

"Well, it looks like we were all wrong," Harry said as he thumbed through the First Folio in his Gringotts vault. "The word is written in one place as 'weyward', with an 'e', and in another as 'weyard'. What do those words mean, Mum?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure if they even appear outside of Shakespeare."

"Well, then, we're back to square one, then," Harry grumbled as he collected some galleons for his shopping.

"Not quite," Sirius said. "I still think you should talk to the Weird Sisters, just in case. I can call up Kirley Duke. He's Catriona McCormack's son, so you already have a connection."

"If you want, Sirius, but I still think you're barking up the wrong tree."

"Oi! I resemble that remark!"

Dan cleared his throat. "Are you done here, Harry, then?" he asked.

"Just let me look at the rest of the books…I want to take the Daemonologie," Harry said. "It might have something useful."

"The witch-hunting manual?" Remus said sceptically.

"Hey, we're hunting dark witches and wizards, aren't we?"

"Fair point. Just be careful with it. I don't know what dark magic might be in the original edition."

"Got it—oh my God!"

"What?" His family jumped.

"Sorry. I just noticed this book. Rare Arcane Faunae of Western Europe. I've had it for years, and I've never noticed it."

"Noticed what?" Hermione asked.

"The author." He pointed below the title. It read Livia Lovegood.

"One of Luna's ancestors?"

"I bet it is." He started flipping through the pages. He'd never really looked before, but Rare Arcane Faunae was a beautiful illustrated tome where real creatures like unicorns and dragons were described alongside probably-fictitious ones like Umgubular Slashkilters…hopefully fictitious ones, he corrected mentally, given that some of them really did look disturbingly Lovecraftian. "Hey, look at this," he said when he found a picture of a small, green fairy-like creature. "Nargles!"

"It has a picture of them?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah. I'm taking this one, too. Maybe I'll be able to understand what Luna's talking about."

Hermione took a closer look at the book and had to start questioning a few things. "Maybe I should read it after you," she said.

The Grangers and their extended family walked back out into Diagon Alley, still thinking about the implications of the prophecy. That Cho was a Seer had been a shock to them all. Harry had actually dated her for a few months before she'd got together with Cedric, and she'd never shown any indication of it. The prophecy itself would have been pretty clear, except that everyone involved was baffled as to whom the Weird Sisters referred. Unfortunately, they were no closer to understanding that than before.

School shopping was less fun this year than it used to be. People hurried on their way a little more in Diagon Alley and looked over their shoulders frequently. The Grangers weren't much inconvenienced by the need for constant security because they'd always needed someone to fend off Harry's admirers, but the mood was darker than it had been in previous years, and not even the fact that both Harry and Hermione had received new prefect badges with their supply lists could raise it. The prize seemed a little bit hollow next to the much more serious problems around them.

They bought quills, parchment, ink, and potions ingredients they would need for the year. Harry also needed his robes lengthened a couple more inches. Hermione admitted that hers still fit after much blushing when Emma asked if they were still okay around the chest and hips. The interesting change this time was the unusually long book list, at least for fifth year. Most classes only ordered new textbooks for first, third, and sixth years, but there were four new books on the list this year:

Fifth-Year Students Will Require:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 5) by Miranda Goshawk

Modern Magical History by Peter Spavin

The Duellist's Handbook by Bastia the Corsican

Memoirs of the Late War Against Grindelwald by Arminius Esterhazy

Dress robes for formal events.

"Dress robes again," Hermione pointed out. "Maybe they took our advice on holding another ball."

"Remus, do you know anything?" Harry asked their History of Magic teacher.

Remus smiled and said, "No comment."

"I see you changed the history textbook," Emma observed.

"Not exactly, Emma. That's just for fifth year," he replied. "They're supposed to learn modern history and civics this year. Spavin's not great but he's decent. Unfortunately, there aren't really any magical civics books. But hey, the O.W.L. scores last year were higher than they've ever been since Binns died."

"They were? That's fantastic, Remus!"

"It was a pretty low bar, honestly," he countered. "The course is still a long way from the international standards. And I'm still looking for a replacement for Bagshot's History. With what I learnt last year, it's obviously outdated, and the scholarship isn't as good as she always made it out to be, but she's been the standard for so long that there's not much else out there."

"The Defence books look interesting," Harry said. "Kind of different from what we've had before. Do you know who the new Defence teacher is?"

Remus smiled again and repeated, "No comment."

They bought their books and everything else they needed, but there was one other thing Harry and Hermione were interested in: extra wands. It wasn't uncommon for Aurors to carry spares, since most wizards couldn't do wandless Summoning. The times ahead looked dangerous and they agreed it was time to go the extra mile in being prepared. An extra wand to give them one on each arm would be a good start, they thought.

But Remus told them, "Yeah…about that…"

Ollivanders

Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

Ollivanders Wands has relocated to Hogsmeade for the duration.

"When did this happen?" Hermione said as she peered in the darkened windows of the shop.

"A couple weeks ago. Professor Dumbledore and Amelia Bones went to the Ollivander Family and basically demanded they move someplace safer. Old Mr. Ollivander will be living at Hogwarts this year. It's a smart move. Most wizards in Britain are replaceable, but he isn't. There'll be a special wand-matching ceremony the first weekend of school—Oh, I almost forgot. There was a special notice added to the first-year letters." He fished in his pockets. "I have a copy here."

SPECIAL NOTICE

Due to ongoing security concerns, first year students will be asked to purchase a wand from Ollivanders Wands upon arrival to Hogwarts. Please bring 7 galleons to make your purchase.

"That'll be different," Hermione said. "Have they ever done that before?"

"Not at Hogwarts. Apparently, they did it in America for a long time. Anyway, you can catch Ollivander's son at the Hogsmeade store, but you'll probably be alright until you get to Hogwarts."

"I think that will be easier, Remus," Dan said. "And we do have one other appointment today."

Their remaining appointment was with Timothy Drucker of Whizz Hard Books—Harry's publisher. Harry had had a series of children's books published about his supposed adventures without his knowledge before he went to Hogwarts. It was annoying, but he let it go until he realised that even muggle-born kids (mainly Colin Creevey) were reading the books and getting the most ridiculous ideas about him. So he'd decided to write about his real adventures at Hogwarts (which were admittedly no less ridiculous) to set the record straight. He'd since discovered he rather liked writing, and with Remus's help, he had successfully published Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone and Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin. Now, it was time to discuss the third instalment.

Timothy Drucker's office was guarded by Aurors now where it hadn't been previously, mainly because Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin had revealed to the world that Voldemort was a half-blood just days before his return. Drucker was no stranger to controversy, but he wasn't shy about saying this was the biggest gamble of his career.

"It's been quiet so far, Lord Potter," he told the group. "I don't know how closely you follow it where you live. There have been a few symbolic attacks just to show You-Know-Who means business, but they haven't tried to hit my shop yet—too public to have to fight Aurors for it."

"Dumbledore said he thinks Voldemort wanted to lie low for a while," Harry said. "Fudge forced his hand when I told him, but he's not really prepared yet."

"Good for us, then," Drucker replied. "I have to hand it to you; timing that last book just before he showed himself was genius. The atmosphere's different from last time. With people knowing You-Know-Who was lying, it makes him seem more human and less like and unstoppable monster."

"'Human' isn't the word I'd choose," Harry said. "And I wouldn't count on that working for long."

Drucker frowned. "Why not?"

"Because Voldemort's too smart for that. He was pretty mad, yeah, but we've been thinking about what he said that night. We think he might be trying to reposition himself as a magic supremacist rather than a pureblood supremacist."

He considered this for a minute. It wasn't an alien concept. Grindelwald's cause was much the same. "Would that work, though? His followers are all purebloods."

"With his history, it would, Mr. Drucker," Remus said. "He rejected his muggle heritage and murdered his muggle family. Muggle-borns usually try to hold onto their muggle heritage, which still puts them at odds with him. He can spin it that way."

"He murdered his family?" Drucker said in surprise.

"Yes, an unsolved murder case in Yorkshire—but we're not getting too much into that." The Grangers had had a long talk with Dumbledore about whether they wanted to capitalise on the publicity of the last book by airing the rest of Voldemort's history that he had taught to Harry and Hermione in their third year, or to keep it hidden for now. They eventually decided to censor most of it for fear that if they let on that they knew too much of Voldemort's history, he might suspect they were hunting his horcruxes.

"I see…So what did you want to talk about, Lord Potter? You know, it would still be good for you to do a book signing—"

"No," all the Grangers said.

"No book signings for me for the duration, Mr. Drucker," Harry said. "My security's hard enough as it is. I wanted to talk to you about my next book instead."

He raised his eyebrows. "You still want to try publishing another book even though You-Know-Who is back? It's bad enough now. Trying to do another book release about him under his nose will be hard."

"Yes, but my next book isn't about Voldemort," Harry said. "Do you remember what happened a year ago?" He laid a draft on his desk with the title Harry Potter and the Year of the Wolf. "This one is about Fenrir Greyback."

Drucker looked down at the book and back up at Harry. "Greyback? Of course. That would be interesting. But it'll still be difficult. We both know You-Know-Who's taken a special interest in you."

"I know, but you've been a big help with Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin, and we really appreciate that. We also know that this will be going out on a limb for me again, but if you're willing to try it, I think I can make it worth your while." He pulled two more drafts from his book bag and laid them on the desk.

Drucker looked at them sceptically. "Your first two books?" he asked.

Harry smiled. "All three books revised with the exclusive story everything I did in my animagus form."

The publisher's eyes widened. Harry's first two books had been heavily redacted to hide information that was personal, politically sensitive, or needed to be kept secret for the sake of the coming war against Voldemort. A lot had been cut, but the biggest omission was the fact that Harry was an animagus, something that particularly detracted from Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin, as it made large parts of that year make very little sense. However, he'd been forced to reveal that secret to the world on the night Voldemort returned, so he could now re-include it in the second edition of his first two books.

"Lord Potter, you have a fine head for business," Drucker said with a grin. "New expanded editions…and a boxed set, maybe?" Harry nodded. "That would really be a coup for us. When were you thinking of releasing them?"

"We were thinking Christmas this time. Sooner's probably better than later in these uncertain times. After that, we'll probably do one a year if we can manage it at all. I don't think Harry Potter and the Tournament of Doom will be ready in time for summer of 1996, so that'll be Christmas again, and with my luck, I'll get into some kind of insane shenanigans again this year, so you'll be set for a while."

"Harry, you shouldn't talk like that," Emma chided.

"Voldemort's back, Mum. You think things aren't gonna go to hell?"

"Harry—! Probably yes, but you still shouldn't talk like that."

"I'm just trying to be realistic, Mum. So, Mr. Drucker, do we have a deal."

"Definitely, Lord Potter." They shook on it and started drawing up the contract.

"Samuel Lateran has refused your advance, my Lord," the trembling Death Eater said. He was still bleeding from scratches on his arms and chest—scratches that would scar badly regardless of whatever healing was applied. "He said that he will not repeat the mistakes that Greyback made, especially now that the Ministry is being friendlier towards werewolves than they have been since before Greyback's attacks started. He was…very insistent."

Voldemort scrutinised the Death Eater, reading his thoughts. He had indeed made all reasonable efforts at recruiting the werewolves and would likely have been killed if he had pressed it further. It was purely Potter's and Black's fault that one of his strongest allies had turned. "Very well," he said, much to his servant's relief. "If the werewolves have chosen to throw their lot in with the Ministry, they will live and die by that decision. Unfortunately, we do not yet have the forces to make an enemy of them. You may go."

"Thank you my Lord." He bowed and hurried out of the room.

"Our plans are still proceeding, Voldemort told the assembled Death Eaters. "We await the return of Macnair and Rowle from their mission to the giants. Nott, I want you to approach Josefina Zabini. If she is amenable to our cause, she will have the best prospects for contacting the vampires."

"Yes, my Lord," Nott said.

Nott had already redeemed himself more than most of his servants by recruiting Lord Jugson to the Death Eaters. A third hereditary seat in the Wizengamot was a valuable prize. The black widow Zabini, though not on the Wizengamot, was on the Hogwarts Board of Governors and would be equally valuable for her contacts on the Continent.

That was about as far as he could go with dark creatures. He had a few hags in his ranks, but they had never been very reliable followers. Centaurs and merpeople wanted nothing to do with humans. He kept tabs on the troll clans through Macnair, but for them, he would just round up a few to smash things if he ran a major operation.

Suddenly, young Barty's house elf popped into the hall by the door. "Lady Pantera to see you, Master Dark Lord, sir," she squeaked.

"Very well, send her in," he said. "Leave us," he told the rest of his followers.

They all filed out as the dark witch strode into the chamber. "Ah, Lady Pantera," he greeted her, "have you made progress on your latest ritual?"

"In a manner of speaking, Voldemort," she replied. "I've ruled out simply healing the cracks in your soul. Anything I could try, whether it's a ritual or months of mind healing therapy, would leave you emotionally vulnerable and a less effective dark lord. I'll have to do something different to patch over the cracks instead. The trouble is finding a suitable spiritual material. It needs to be made from a human soul, but have no independent will. The easiest would be to use one of your horcruxes, but I'm guessing you don't want to do that."

He hissed, and she felt the temperature rise a few degrees. "Not if there are any other options."

"Then I'll keep looking. But I had something else I wanted to talk to you about."

"What?"

"About this little jailbreak of yours, I take it it's hard to get in?"

"That may be the most obvious thing you've said yet," Voldemort said. "It is the most heavily-guarded place in the British Isles. Even with the dementors on our side, it will be very hard to get in and even harder to get out."

"Then I had an idea that should simplify it for you. There's a ritual from farther north in the Americas that I've always wanted to try, but haven't had the occasion. If it works, it'll drop you right on the roof."

Voldemort nodded thoughtfully. "Will it, now?"

"Yes, but I'll need a plan of the prison to be sure we can do it without hurting the prisoners. I'll also need someone who's been there before to fix the location since it's Unplottable."

"The Crouches can help you with that, as you well know. But I cannot afford mistakes in this operation. Can you test it?"

"Only in small scale, but that will be enough."

"Very well. I will accept your…assistance. I take it you will want an additional fee for this, Lady Pantera?"

La Pantera smiled: "This one's complimentary, Voldemort. Supplies only. I'll need three thunderbird feathers and a human scalp with hair at least thirty inches long—head optional."