Disclaimer: Harry Potter li pi JK Rowling.

A/N: The language Luna and Grawp are speaking is actually (approximately) the then-nonexistent Toki Pona. It's pretty fun to work with once you get used to it.

Chapter 9

"Oh no!" Hermione gasped.

"What is it?" Harry said fearfully.

She showed him the front page of the Daily Prophet: "Dementors attacked Liverpool."

Harry and everyone around him gasped. "But that's impossible!" Katie Bell said. "They sealed Azkaban."

"We don't know how reliable that is," Hermione countered. "And some of them could have escaped before that."

"Hell, there could be some growing somewhere else," Neville said. "They are spirits of decay, after all."

"How did it happen?" Harry said. "Who—?"

"No one we know," Hermione assured him. "It looks like the only victims were muggles—or at least that's all the Ministry is admitting to."

"That seems strange," Angelina said. "Dementors don't go after muggles so much. They're naturally attracted to mag—"

"No! No!" a shout cut her off. They turned to see Su Li shouting hysterically and waving her wand around. "They said it was sealed. They said it was safe!"

"Su, calm down," one of her roommates said.

"They killed my brother, and now they're running loose! Those idiots at the Ministry said they were supposed to stay in Azkaban! We need to get rid of them and get someone who actually knows what they're doing!"

"Su. Su! Take it easy," her friends said, but she kept shouting, getting more and more hysterical until one of the upper years had to Stun her.

An awkward silence fell. Nearly everyone could feel for her. Dementors were the vilest creatures on Earth: soul-sucking monsters that destroyed everything they touched and could only be killed by sealing them away until they starved. As long as they were locked up in Azkaban, most people were reasonably comfortable with them, but the idea of dementors running loose in public was nearly as much a bogeyman as Voldemort himself.

"So what do we do now?" Neville asked.

Harry thought about it for a minute and said, "I have an idea."

"We want to learn the Patronus Charm, Professor," Harry said.

Professor Grayson examined the four Gryffindors who had approached him and then the rest of the class. "And are the rest of you interested in this?" he asked. Most of the class nodded. "Very well," he said. With a wave of his hand, he erased the blackboard; then he wandlessly enchanted a piece of chalk to begin taking new notes. "The Patronus Charm is one of the most difficult, if not the most difficult, spells in the standard repertoire, at least according to the standards here. I understand that in Britain, it's only found on the Mastery standard. It's not even on the Auror standard, which is a serious oversight, although nearly all of the Aurors in Britain can cast it. You can be sure I checked that right away.

"However, the challenge of the Patronus Charm isn't its technical difficulty," he continued. "It's the amount of practice and effort it takes to master it. In fact, I was already planning to teach the N.E.W.T. students. When I was headmaster at Uluru, I required all graduating students to at least attempt it, so if you want to try it as well, I say more power to you.

"The Patronus Charm is the only known way to fight dementors…is what the Ministry wants me to teach you. Now, tell me why that's wrong."

The students looked around at each other, and Seamus raised his hand. "Doesn't fire do something against them, Professor?" he asked.

"Naturally, Finnigan. Fire does have an effect. If you can't cast a Patronus Charm, blasting a dementor with fire will force it back long enough for you to Apparate away. Anyone else?"

"Banishing Charms, Professor?" asked Anthony Goldstein.

"Yes. The principle is the same: force the dementor back to buy the few seconds you need to Apparate away. The same goes for all sorts of nastier curses, too, but since not even the Killing Curse will actually work on them, it's a waste of energy to do anything fancier. To hold off a dementor for longer than a few seconds takes a Patronus or something similar. If you can't cast a Patronus or Apparate away…" He flashed a cold grin. "You might not want to go out alone at night."

The class shivered at his words for a moment before they moved on. "You said 'or something similar', Professor," Hermione observed. "Other magical traditions have other ways of dealing with dementors, don't they?"

"Correct, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor. The Patronus Charm is not the only spell that can repel a dementor. It's just the only one in the standard repertoire here in Britain. Most cultures have their own version of the Patronus. In Australia, for example, we have a chant. But it doesn't matter that much. The chant can be cast wandlessly, but if you're not carrying your wand whenever you go out in times like this, you're a fool. Other than that, no one method is really better than any of the others. True, the wards of Hogwarts would keep out an army of dementors indefinitely if raised to their full strength, but as far as magic you can cast, one anti-dementor enchantment is more or less equal to another, so we'll stick with the Patronus. Line up!"

Grayson waved the desks aside, and the class scrambled to form a line across the classroom.

"Dark magic—true dark magic," he said, "is fuelled by negative emotions—anger, hate, sometimes despair or fear. Sometimes something a little subtler. The Imperius Curse is powered by a sadistic desire for control, for example. This isn't really earth-shaking, but I'm telling you this for comparison. Just as dark magic is fuelled by negative emotions, true light magic is fuelled by positive emotions. The Riddikulus Charm is powered by laughter. The very strongest magical protections are fuelled by love. And in the case of the Patronus Charm, the emotion is joy. The books say to focus on a powerful happy memory to cast a Patronus, but that's just the thing that works for the greatest number of people. Many married couples will tell you something different." Many of the girls giggled at that. "A Garrick Ollivander or a Viktor Krum might tell you something different still. The key factor is joy. When you cast the Patronus Charm, focus on whatever it is that makes you most happy. It can be a memory. It can be a person. It can be a passion. But it takes a powerful force of joy to overcome the dementor's aura of despair, and you need to be ready to call it up at a moment's notice."

The wand movements for the Patronus Charm were a little technical, but they weren't out of the reach of a determined fifth-year, and most of the fifth-years were very determined. It was just that the amount of effort it took to cast such a powerful light spell was very difficult to achieve.

"Don't be discouraged if you don't get much of a result right away—or any result at all, for that matter," Grayson said. "It takes time to train your mind and your magic to do this spell well. It's possible to do everything right and still need weeks of practice to get a good result, so if it doesn't work for you, just keep trying. I'll give you pointers and corrections as needed. Mr. Boot, you try it first."

Terry Boot stepped forward, waving his wand and saying the words. His wand produced a wisp of ghostly white mist and nothing more. Grayson corrected his wand movements a little bit and told him to keep trying before moving on to Mandy Brocklehurst. He continued down the roster, making small adjustments to people's wand motions or pronunciation or timing, and there was some visible improvement. Hermione managed to cast a glowing silver shield that Grayson said would actually stop a dementor, at least for a short time, which she looked very pleased about. Harry wondered what happy thought she was thinking of.

"Alright, Mr. Potter, let's see what you can do," Grayson said when he got to him.

Harry closed his eyes and readied himself. He knew exactly what to do. As much as he loved Quidditch and flying, or as much as his girlfriend made him happy, there had never been a shred of doubt as to what his focus needed to be.

Would you like to join our family, Harry?

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

There was a blinding light that flooded the room and made even Grayson avert his eyes. When it subsided, a glowing white cat was standing before Harry with a lightning bolt mark on its head shining out even brighter against its ghostly form.

The class gasped in awe. Harry had cast a perfect corporeal Patronus on his first try. They could feel the waves of joy and hopefulness radiating from it. He smiled. It looked like he wouldn't have as much trouble with dementors as he thought.

"Crikey!" Grayson said. "Well, that was unexpected. You've exceeded even my expectations, Mr. Potter. I can count on my fingers the number of students I've had who cast a corporeal Patronus on the first try. Twenty-five points to Gryffindor."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said.

"The rest of you, keep at it," he continued. "Almost any wizard can cast a corporeal Patronus if they keep at it long enough and aren't a complete sociopath. It's just that a lot of people don't have the motivation to practise as much as they need to. I can tell you do."

The kept trying. No one else managed to produce a corporeal Patronus in that class, although Hermione's was definitely starting to mold itself into a quadrupedal shape. Still, it was a good start.

Harry woke up in the Hospital Wing on Saturday with a whanging headache.

Wait, again? What happened? Wasn't I supposed to be playing Quidditch?

With considerable effort, Harry pieced his scattered memory back together. He had gone to the Quidditch match. It started out pretty normal. The Slytherins were doing their best to heckle both him and Ron, but they weren't succeeding. Ron still had the occasional bad day, but they had a really solid team this year. But then…

"Oh, God," he groaned loudly. "That bastard!"

He could see it clearly now. He and Malfoy had both spotted the Golden Snitch. They were racing after it, jockeying to get in front of each other. Harry still had the edge to coax that little bit more speed out of his broom. He was nearly on the Snitch, in fact, but then, one of the other Slytherin players buzzed them, and he noticed an all-too-familiar smell.

"Catnip!" he hissed. When he got out of there, he was going to Obliviate the entire school.

"A bit late for that, Potter."

Harry whipped his head around in shock. Had he said that out loud? Draco Malfoy was standing over him. "You!" he shouted.

"Wasn't me," Malfoy insisted.

Harry lunged at him with a crackle of wandless magic, but an arm pulled him back. Hermione was on his other side. "It really wasn't him, Harry," she said. "I'm glad to see you're up, though."

"Wha…? What happened?" Harry asked.

"It was Crabbe," Malfoy said. "Big idiot. I knew he was stupid, but I didn't know he was that stupid."

"Crabbe? Yeah, right. Like Crabbe ever does anything on his own."

"He didn't get the idea it from me, Potter. I don't cheat at Quidditch. I'm here to play you fair and square. Nott maybe would do it. Pansy possibly, but not me."

Harry looked to Hermione for confirmation. "It's true, Harry," she said. "The Aurors questioned him. He had nothing to do with it."

"Aurors?" he said in surprise.

"They questioned everyone involved. Professor McGonagall was furious. She wanted to see if there was a case for criminal charges."

"Criminal charges?"

She sighed. "Harry, Crabbe could have killed you! Do you remember anything that happened after he threw the catnip at you?"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tried to fit the remaining pieces together. After he breathed in the catnip, he'd lost it, spinning through the air, doing handstands on his broom, and generally pulling all manner of stunts that would make Viktor Krum wet himself. And then…then, he saw a glint of gold and jumped off his broom to pounce on the Snitch—the infamous Starfish Without Stick manoeuvre. And somehow, he actually caught the Snitch on the way down and…and then Malfoy caught him.

"You caught me?" he said to Malfoy in disbelief.

"Please, Potter, I wasn't about to let you fall fifty feet to your death in front of hundreds of witnesses. Besides, I owed you for saving me from the hailstorm two years ago. Now, we're even."

Harry stared at him for a minute, trying to decide if he was serious. Eventually, he decided he was and accepted it: "Well, thanks, Malfoy."

"For the record, Potter, that just wasn't fair."

"Huh?"

"You. You were drunk off your arse, and you still beat me to the Snitch even though I had to save you. That's just ridiculous."

Harry gave him a lopsided grin: "Guess I'm just that good, Malfoy," he said.

"Don't push it Potter," Malfoy scowled.

"So did they actually arrest anyone?"

"No," Hermione grumbled. "Apparently, you only get arrested in Quidditch if you actually kill someone."

Malfoy put on a fake grin: "Well, one of the fouls is 'attempted decapitation of a Keeper with a broadsword', Granger. That's how it's always worked."

Hermione glared at him. "Quidditch needs to get out of the Middle Ages, Malfoy, in more ways than one. Crabbe and Goyle are both off the team though, Harry. They got in a big fight with Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall about whether it was actually a foul to throw herbs at the Seeker, and it was pretty clear they'd both planned it, so they're out."

"Yeah, pretty much," Malfoy agreed. "Anyway, Potter, seeing as you're still alive, I'm done here." He sauntered out of the room. Not far outside, however, he let himself collapse. This day was a total mess. Crabbe and Goyle off the team and totally discredited, his two best friends—okay, minions—too toxic to hang around with anymore, and him saving Potter's life. The last one was actually okay, he knew, despite his precarious position. All the Death Eaters knew the Dark Lord wanted Potter alive. But it still wasn't going very well for him.

Meanwhile, Harry turned back to Hermione. Now that he got a good look, she looked tired and had definitely been crying. "So, is there anyone I can duel over this?" he said, half-trying to lighten the mood.

"A bit late for that, mate," another voice said.

Harry forced himself up and was stunned to see across from him were lying Fred and George Weasley in adjacent beds. "Fred? George? What happened to you?"

"Ask your sister," one of them said.

"And remind us never to tick her off again," the other added.

"Hermione?" Harry said in confusion.

Hermione bit her lip. "Well, you see, they were the ones who revealed your weakness to catnip to the school, so I…kind of lost my temper and challenged them—er…informally."

Harry's eyes widened. "You put two seventh-years in the Hospital Wing because you 'lost your temper'?" he gasped. "Remind me never to tick you off again."

"I'm sorry! I just couldn't take it," she cried. "With the stress of the war and the kitten thing on Halloween, and the way people have been messing with you all year—it was just too much. And now I've got detention because of you!" She smacked him on the arm. "Don't do that to me again!"

Harry winced. "Yes ma'am," he said. "So…let me get this straight. Crabbe and Goyle tried to kill me. Malfoy saved me. And my sister got detention for me duelling the Weasley Twins?" She nodded awkwardly. "You know, some days, it just doesn't pay to get out of bed."

"Yeah, tell me about it," she groaned. "But there is one bit of good news."

"What's that?"

"Hagrid's back."

Harry made a mental note to have a serious talk with Hermione about her definition of 'good news' when he saw the state Hagrid was in. He was beaten bloody and seemed to be using some kind of frozen steak as a compress on his head. The cause of this was pretty clear. There was a giant standing next to Hagrid. Not a giant like Hagrid was a giant, but an actual full-blooded giant. He towered head, shoulders, and chest over Hagrid and had an oversize, boulder-like head and thick grey skin like an elephant. The giant wore tattered clothes make of animal skins, and Harry noticed he had blood under his fingernails.

And Luna was calmly talking to him.

"I told you, Mione, it just doesn't pay to get out of bed," Harry groaned. He probably didn't have to worry too much about Luna because Dumbledore was there too, having a serious talk with Hagrid presumably about recklessness and irresponsibility, but he didn't want to take any chances, and he rushed to her side while Hermione stayed back.

"toki, Grawp. mi pona tan ni: mi sona e sina. nimi mi li Luna," she said.

"toki, Luna," the giant said. "mi pona tan ni: mi sona e sina."

Of course, Harry remembered, his girlfriend spoke something like seven or eight languages, including Giant-Speak. "Um…Luna?" he said softly.

She turned and smiled at him. "Oh, hello, Harry. I'm glad to see you're feeling better. I was very worried when Crabbe attacked you until Malfoy caught you." She turned back to the giant and said, "Grawp, ni li mije pi mi. ona li Harry. toki tawa Grawp e 'toki', Harry."

"Uh, what?" he said as she looked at him expectantly.

"Say, 'toki, Grawp', and be sure to make eye contact," she whispered with a fixed smile that made him very nervous. If even Luna Lovegood wasn't oblivious to the danger, that was a bad sign.

"Er, toki, Grawp," Harry said, waving up at the giant.

Harry jumped slightly as Grawp rumbled in response, "toki, Harry."

"Harry, ni li Grawp," Luna continued. "ona li pata pi Hagrid." Then, before he could ask, she translated, "Harry, this is Grawp. He is Hagrid's brother."

"Brother?" he gasped.

"pata? ona li pata pi Hagrid la tan wan mama. He is Hagrid's half-brother."

Right, because Hagrid was half-giant—something Harry generally preferred not to think about. "And, uh, why is he here?" he asked.

"Grawp, seme li sina tawa tawa ma ni?" she called up to him.

Grawp thought for a moment and answered, "Hagger kama e mi tawa ma ni."

"Hagrid brought him here," Luna explained.

"Why?"

"Hagger kama e sina seme?" Luna said. Harry was starting to get a bit suspicious about the length of Giant-Speak sentences.

"jan mute suli mute. mi suli lili. ona pakala pini e mi," Grawp said.

Luna frowned sadly: "The bigger giants hurt him."

"Bigger giants?" he hissed.

He hadn't meant it as a question for Grawp, but he noticed Grawp looking down at him in frustration at not understanding, so Luna asked it anyway: "jan mute suli mute seme?"

Instead of answering in words, Grawp nodded and stood on his toes and reached his arm as high as he could above his head to indicate their height.

Luna nodded firmly and said, "o pona lon ma ni, Grawp. mi tu tawa." She waved to him and quickly pulled Harry away by the arm.

"tawa pona," Grawp said.

"Uh, what was that about?" Harry asked.

"I wished him good luck and told him we were leaving," she said. "Sorry about that, Harry, but it's very tricky talking to giants through a translator. You don't want to disrespect them accidentally."

Harry looked over his shoulder and couldn't help but agree.

"You should really be fluent yourself before you talk to them," Luna continued. "Besides, I think Professor Dumbledore wants to talk to Grawp. I can teach you toki suli if you like, though," she said. "It doesn't take long to learn."

"Teach what?"

"Giant-Speak, Harry. Their language is called toki suli—literally 'talk big'. It's actually very poetic. It only has a hundred or so words, so it relies a lot on kennings and metaphors."

Harry shook his head in resignation. Just when he thought his day couldn't get any weirder. He looked back again and saw Dumbledore and Hagrid were indeed talking to Grawp in toki suli. He missed the first part of the conversation, but he caught Dumbledore saying, "taso sina ken awen lon ma pi kasi suli mute la sina ike ala e la jan mute jo e monsi soweli."

"They were discussing why Grawp came and how he got here," Luna whispered. "Professor Dumbledore said Grawp's allowed to live in the Forest if he doesn't disturb the centaurs," Luna whispered.

"mi awen lon ma pi kasi suli li pona," Grawp replied.

"He agrees," Luna said.

"…Seriously?" he questioned her.

"Well, literally, it meant 'Me staying in place of big plants is good,' but basically, he agrees."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but he thought better of it and closed it again. Having sealed the deal, Dumbledore said his goodbyes to Grawp and Hagrid and approached the young couple. "Good afternoon, Harry, Luna," he said. "Harry, it is good to see you up and about. I'm deeply sorry about the attack on you at the game this morning, as impressive as your catch of the Snitch was. I have taken steps to ensure it will not happen again, and I daresay Professor McGonagall will be harsher than I am."

"Er, thank you, Professor," Harry said as Luna squeezed his hand. "So what's going on with Hagrid?"

Dumbledore bowed his head slightly: "Last June, I sent Hagrid and Madam Maxime to Russia to try to recruit the giants to our cause. Hagrid can tell you the full story, but suffice it to say that Voldemort sent Macnair and Rowle, and the Death Eaters were more convincing. I'm afraid the giants are firmly on Voldemort's side."

"All of them?" Harry said.

"Not as such, but with giants, the lawa—the Gurg or Chief in the older dialect—is the largest and strongest of the tribe, and it is most unwise to oppose him. Only Grawp was able to return with Hagrid to Britain. He left the tribe because he is, in fact, a dwarf, by giant standards, and the other giants persecuted him for his size."

"Oh, that's…too bad," Harry said unconvincingly.

"Indeed, but the mission was not a total loss. Even one giant is an asset, and Hagrid and Madam Maxime did make some very interesting contacts in the Caucasus whom I suspect will be invaluable as the war goes on."

Well, that was news to them, but Dumbledore didn't elaborate. "Will Hagrid be teaching again, Professor?" Luna spoke up. She sounded resigned to Harry. She was friendly with the man, but Harry knew she didn't care all that much for his teaching style.

"No, Miss Lovegood, I have advised Hagrid to take a sabbatical for the remainder of the year," Dumbledore said. "He will need more time now to take care of Grawp, and it will be time for him to take his own O.W.L. examinations next spring, if you recall. However, I'm sure he will be delighted to have you visit any time." He said this last bit with a nod to Harry. Harry supposed that was a fair deal. Hagrid never had been fully qualified as a wizard because of that debacle with his expulsion. Maybe getting his O.W.L.s wasn't as important to him as a practical matter; what would he actually do if he ever left Hogwarts? But Harry knew it would mean a lot to him.

By Monday, even the most sheltered students of Hogwarts were beginning to fear the morning paper as the news of deaths and dementor attacks had begun to be splashed across the front page on a near-daily basis, but they crowded around those of them who received copies just the same. Today, however, there was cause for happiness. "Oh, Harry," Hermione said as she read the article. "The Brocklehurst Family announced the Diagonal Theatre's Christmas play."

"Oh? What is it?" Harry asked idly as he opened a letter from home.

"The Battle of Hastings."

Harry looked up from the letter. "Hastings?" he said.

"Yes. Listen: 'The Theatre has received a surprising surge of interest in historical plays in the past year, especially from Hogwarts students,' Lord Brocklehurst said. According to the Company, this sudden interest can be attributed to Hogwarts's first new History Professor in over a century, Remus Lupin (Gryffindor, '78). 'In keeping with our program of restoring our cultural heritage,' Lord Brocklehurst went on to explain, 'we decided to illuminate one of the most iconic, but largely forgotten scenes from our history: the duel between Merlin and Armand Malfoy in 1066 that led to the formation of the Wizard's Council, against the dramatic backdrop of the muggle Battle of Hastings, which handed over the kingdom—"

"Armand Malfoy?" Harry said. "They have the guts to do a play on the founder of the Malfoy Family."

"I guess so," Hermione said. "If anyone can do it, it's Ethelred Brocklehurst. He's established himself as being neutral in all the historical documentation he works on."

"I guess, except there is no neutral in today's politics," Harry grumbled. "Does it say anything else?"

"Oh, the usual stuff about the play, who's in it, where to get tickets—oh, this is interesting: 'To ensure our account was as faithful as possible, we were fortunate to have the opportunity to interview the only available contemporary sources in Britain: Hogwarts ghosts Thegn Caerphilly [The Bloody Baron] and the Grey Lady of Ravenclaw—"

"Hallelujah!" Harry exclaimed.

Hermione looked up in surprise: "Well, it wasn't that exciting."

"Not that, Mione. Mum and Dad's letter!" Harry kissed the letter in his hand.

"What happened?"

"The Doctor Who movie. It's official! It's airing next May."

"Doctor Who movie?" she gasped.

"Awesome!" the Creevey Brothers exclaimed, and their sentiments were soon echoed by muggle-borns and a few half-bloods around the Great Hall, much to the confusion of the rest of the school. Now that was a good day.

Across the Hall, Draco Malfoy smirked at their antics and went back to reading the article. It was well-balanced, in his opinion. Father might not like it, but he thought the draft script Amanda Brocklehurst had shown him was scrupulously fair and highlighted well the first Lord Malfoy's political skill. Honestly, it was more in line with the image of his family he wanted to live up to, and Mother agreed, at least. He was grateful the Company had given him the opportunity to advise them on behalf of the House of Malfoy. At least that was one thing that was going right.

"I've got it!" La Pantera exclaimed. The Dark Lady jumped up from her work, hurried through the halls of Riddle Manor, and barged into the throne room as no one else in Britain could get away with.

Voldemort rose to his feet. "Lady Pantera," he hissed. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Voldemort, I finished designing your ritual for you," she said.

The Dark Lord's eyes widened, and he shooed his followers out of the room at once. No one argued. When they were alone, he addressed his 'colleague': "You have reached a breakthrough in your research?"

"I solved it, you idiot," she snapped. "Just like you wanted. To repair the damage you've done to your soul with the extra horcrux, we need to patch it over with a piece of another soul. That part's obvious. The hard part was figuring out exactly what kind of soul to use. We need a soul with no will of its own so that it doesn't affect your personality."

"An infant, then," he suggested.

"No, that's what I thought at first, but it's no good. And infant's soul is too weak. It might shatter if I handle it too roughly, and its purity might throw off the ritual regardless. We need a soul that's older—one that's seen trials—preferably battle hardened so it can stand up to the stress of being murdered. We need a victim who has strength, but no will."

"Like an Auror…" Voldemort mused. "An Auror who has lost the power of reason. The Longbottoms—but they've recently made an extraordinary recovery, thanks to Potter."

"Yes, I noticed," La Pantera said. "I wonder how they did that. Hmm. Anyway, it could have worked, but that's actually not the best choice either. Madness caused by torture could have unexpected side effects, especially with the dark magic residue. What we need is someone who is naturally catatonic, not due to magic, but age or illness—irreversible coma, vegetable—it doesn't matter how, as long as they have no will of their own left. It also needs to be someone who's killed before—not necessarily murdered, but killed. It's too hard to fracture a soul in a controlled fashion otherwise."

"Ah, I see," Voldemort said. "A soldier, then."

She nodded: "A soldier. That's your first target."

"First?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Fracturing someone else's soul is different from making a horcrux, but it still takes a murder to do it. I just had to adjust the ritual some." She handed him a list of items: "I'll need these animals, a healthy human sacrifice, several pints of blood, several pints of oil, and a dementor."

He read the list. "Feasible," he said. "And the ritual? How does it work?"

"Simple: we wrap the brainless soldier in the dementor's cloak to loosen the damaged soul, perform the human sacrifice over him to fracture it, tear off strips to patch over your own soul, and feed whatever's left to the dementor."

"Ingenious. Any stipulations on the human sacrifice."

"A champion—and male. Magical or muggle doesn't matter, but he needs to be some kind of champion."

Voldemort thought this over, and a plan slowly began to form in his mind. If he could get the intelligence he needed in time…yes, it would work: a Christmas offensive, he thought, and one that his enemies would never forget.