It's murder on the dance floor

Pump up the jam
Pump it up
While your feet are stompin'
And the jam is pumpin'

Headmistress McGonagall was standing at the corridor, just outside the underground cavern, where Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington had his five-hundredth death-day party only a couple of years back. Her face was so severe and disapproving that her lips were not visible. At least not to the naked eye.

"Good evening Professors," said another group of students, just before they rushed through the golden foil curtain which covered the door and into the party hall proper. It was a cheap plastic one, bought in a party decoration store up Tottenham Court Road, but it set the theme of the party nicely. Some students were already waving their hands above their heads and moving with a beat in their step doing so. Others were much more hesitant. It was curious to notice just how much differently those groups of students dressed for the evening.

In the corridor, outside the door, McGonagall frowned even more. Very little of the party sounds found their way out to the corridor. Careful Silencing Charm-work made sure that nothing but a faint echo of the beat could escape the soundproofing. Beside the Headmistress, Professor Flitwick smiled approvingly. He was tapping his foot to the beat happily. That earned him a frown from the Headmistress.

"Do behave, Filius?" she remarked, quite scornfully, which didn't harm Flitwick's cheerful mood at all.

"Good evening, Professors," another group of students greeted them cheerfully, before disappearing through the foil curtain and into the party hall.

Outside, Professor Burbage looked utterly lost. 'A muggle-style party' Hermione promised them, when she approached the faculty and asked for permission. "It will be heaps of fun!" Harry added with a smile. Those were two of the best students in school. Best behaved too - in Hermione's case. No one could imagine such mayhem and thus - permission was granted. Charity read many books about Muggle customs and social behaviour. She had a decent library of music samples too - some, on those strange black disks of plastic. She had posters and books demonstrating the many types of dances Muggles had, all the way from Carole, through Waltz, to the rather steamy Tango. She showed those to the Headmistress, when the issue came up. Nothing sounded even remotely like this.

Inside the party was picking up steam.

I want,
A place to stay
Get your booty on the floor tonight
Make my day

The Fat Friar came out through the wall and headed towards the present faculty, still dancing to a music he could now only imagine in his mind.

"Alright?" he greeted them with a wide smile. "Didn't have so much fun, here, since Lady Ravenclaw left school," he then added happily.

McGonagall huffed and left down the corridor at a brisk pace. Professor Burbage shrugged and left after her in a much more subdued way. There will be a price to pay, later on.

The Friar chuckled heartily at Professor Flitwick. He took another mouthful from his beer, then went on to dance his way back in through another wall.

It took Hermione and Harry a couple of weeks of planning and preparations to get this party going. They used their last day at school, before the yule holidays, to get as much information from the Friar as they could. They then used their time in London for a shopping spree.

Main of it was the sound system. It was pricey, but buying it all second-hand - it wasn't prohibitively so. It served that Sirius hurried to foot the bill as soon as he learned about their plans. He saw this as a great prank. He was drowning in galleons too, having received a handsome compensation for his wrongful imprisonment and felt rich as a Malfoy at the moment. All this was inserted into a metal chest - as per the Friar's instructions, then shrunk for transport.

A generator was even easier to sort. A client of Hermione's parents, who was a roadworks contractor, gave them one for free.

"Timing broke on this one and the diesel destroyed itself," he told them, pointing at the large chunk of dusty metal in his storehouse. "Too gone to even try and rebuild - Not sure what you're gonna do with this useless lump of rubbish," he sighed.

The diesel was carefully vanished. A flywheel was added in its place and was now merrily turning inside a silenced chest, supplying electricity to their shindig.

Music was even easier to sort than they even imagined. Justin approached them on the train ride home, having heard some whispering through the grapevine.

"I'll get the music part handled," he promised them. He came back to school with a few hundred CDs packed in dedicated sleeves. "You did sort the player part, right?" he then asked them.

The usually pompous Hufflepuff was now standing on the stage, inside this glittering cage made of what was basically chicken wire. He had his headphones half on, pointed his finger at the air, and had the crowd jumping in front of him with the music.

I've got the power
He's gonna break my heart
He's gonna break my heart of hearts
I've got the power!

By the looks Justin was getting from some of his housemates, he was about to get much more popular than he ever was.

Not everything around was sourced in the normal world though. Making a light show under the floor was easy with magic. No reason to buy the equipment and worry about electricity and shielding. Transfiguring all these huge mirror-balls and Charming them to float and slowly turn above the dance floor was just as easy to do. It was harder to make the lights pointed at them sync with the music. Well, charming colourful flashing lights was easy - it was the syncing part which was almost impossible without a huge effort and advanced knowledge of Runes. For that reason, the lights were mounted above the stage and inside the cage. The entrance decorations were the sheer opposite - bathing the hall with black light was easily done with magic. At least for someone who knew just what the 'Visible Spectrum' is, it was. Painting balloons in fluorescent colours - not so much. Therefore, the balloons now floating all around the entrance to the party hall were bought in a little shop near Camden market.

"This is sensational!" Fleur shouted, to be heard above music level. She then dragged Hermione by hand back to the dance floor. The girl arrived with the Beauxbatons delegation, dressed for a formal ball. She took a glance inside, squealed in delight, and rushed back to their carriage to change to that short short silvery dress.

"Is this the way Muggles party?" Krum asked in surprise. He was enjoying himself, being able to dance with no partner to coordinate with and be committed to. His lanky, mechanical, and somewhat awkward at times movements matched this music and style perfectly. He would have looked right at home in a London club, if not for his heavily decorated Victorian-styled shirt he was wearing. This look might have gone famously in some clubs too, come to that.

"This is almost small-club-level," Harry answered ruefully. "Or so the bloke who sold us the equipment said,'' he added. He wasn't certain Krum knew just what a 'club' was in this context. Not that Harry ever visited a club himself. All that he experienced were a few home-parties, hosted by Hermione's old schoolmates. "Home parties are usually less elaborate, but we made the extra effort!" he shouted back.

"How did you manage to make all this work inside Hogwarts?" Cedric went on and asked. At his side Cho was jumping up and down with the music, waving her hands in the air. It was clear, though, that as much as she enjoyed the party - she wasn't used to this kind of dancing at all.

"Ask the Friar - your house ghost," Harry answered, giving credit where it was due. "He taught us all about it."

Things that make you go, hmm
Things that make you go, hmm,
hey

The three champions were closely grouped in this competition and were happy for the respite they got till springtime to prepare themselves for this last unknown challenge. All three were preparing for their NEWTs as well. Exemption from attending classes aside, they still had the rest of their lives to be prepared for.

Fleur won the first challenge hands down. The way she mesmerised the nesting mother-Dragon to sleep was awe inspiring. Being a young Veela, she was a creature of air and fire and was at a distinct disadvantage in the second challenge. Cedric came out second on both challenges, demonstrating a solid, if not spectacular display of abilities and magic in both. The points table puts him at the top, now, with a single point of an advantage.

Slow and steady wins the race.

For all intents and purposes, they were all levelled for the third and decisive task.

Harry was surprised to find Draco at this party, having gone to the bar (dry bar!) for a drink.

"Sorry about that song, before the holiday," he told him. "I didn't know about your father and Voldemort - it was a horrible timing."

Draco didn't reply. He clearly winced at the use of the forbidden name. He might or might not have made the slightest of nods towards Harry. Both Draco and Pansy were standing by the bar, looking both shocked and muted by the party going on around them. This didn't correspond to any party experience they ever had in their arguably young and sheltered lives. People around them, even a few friends from the Slytherin house, seemed to be having a whale of a time.

Harry gave the couple another look. Pansy looked mesmerised by the way her white clothes shone under the black light. Apparently, she also found Harry's black T-shirt, with the 3D fluorescent hand printed on his chest, to be intriguing. Draco meanwhile was caught tapping his foot to the beat from time to time.

Harry snorted and went looking for Hermione, to save her from Fleur's tender mercies. Turned out she managed to rescue herself and was standing on the DJ stage, while Justin got off for a drink and some rest.

"This is for all of us, girls," Hermione declared, and the familiar tunes of an overly familiar song started playing. It brought on two rather expected and quite opposite reactions. While many of the blokes around groaned, most of the girls awwed in delight, and rushed to find partners for this dance.

And I will always love you
will always love you
You, my darling…

Only 'It's a small world' on repeat would have been worse...

Harry hummed with Whitney, till Hermione grabbed his hand and dragged him, laughing, after her to the dance floor.

It was the end of the school year and guests who turned friends were getting ready to leave. The Triwizard tournament ended with a Hogwarts win. Arguably, both Fleur and Krum underestimated Cedric to their own undoing. Both were so focused on stopping each other's progress through the maze, that Cedric managed to slip through almost unnoticed.

"That's my boy!" cried a proud Ministry employee from the crowd, after Cedric found himself standing on the top of the podium, having been Portkeyed there by the cup he was holding.

Hermione offered McGonagall to hold a celebration party, but was denied for some inexplicable reason. She wasn't bothered. Both she and Harry had their studies to complete. Their Hogwarts end-of-the-year tests, both were, naturally, already been ready for. It was their ambitious goal to gain a year on their normal studies which was put to test. Apparently, having friends and some good times sometimes stood in the way of being a swot.

Outside, clouds were gathering. Voldemort, wearing Rabastan's body, did his best to gather followers and play havoc. He only had marginal success in both.

In a rather dilapidated manor house on the outskirts of the Little Hangleton village an ex-dark-lord sat and pondered his future moves.

Killing Malfoy - certainly the gruesome way he went about it, turned out to be quite the mistake. Firstly, Malfoy was rich. The wealthiest of his followers. With Lucius dead and his only son a minor, the Malfoy wealth went into stewardship. The dowager Malfoy couldn't support him in any meaningful way, even had she been inclined to do so.

Killing Malfoy also went a long way to deter his circle of old-money friends. Voldemort still had some followers from back in the days, whom he could scare into following his orders. He also had a few new ones, flocking to his mark. All those, sadly, were nothing but low-level thugs.

Back in the seventies, Voldemort had the support of most of the old-money, conservative, pureblood families. He was their guilty pleasure of sorts - doing the things they saw right, yet couldn't or wouldn't admit to. Participating from time to time in the mayhem then tut about it in front of their peers. Enjoying some 'fun and games' so to speak, without hurting their impeccable public image. By the late seventies, many of the young impressionable purebloods who flocked to his mark in the early days found themselves as heads of their families. Policy makers of these families, at the least.

Now, many of them turned a cold shoulder towards him. He reached out to them, but those of his followers who kept themselves out of the stir were not the most dedicated of them in the first place. A few reluctantly answered his calls, yet did very little to be of actual help. These were not from the most influential or affluent of families in any case. Others still, like Nott and Parkinson, wouldn't even lower their home wards for him, or answer his Floo calls. He could certainly force the issue, but this would only serve to alienate himself some more at this stage.

All this left Voldemort rather isolated and with empty pockets. Even his access to the Lestrange vaults was blocked. Whatever Manager Silverbag told Apolline and Harry aside - Rabastan was a convicted felon, and the Ministry did have the right to block his access to the bank.

Then, there was his 'relationship', so to say, with Rabastan Lestrange to consider.

Now, Rabastan was a true believer. He was willing to sacrifice himself for Voldemort and for the cause - whatever he perceived that cause to be. He wasn't ready, however, to be in the back seat, within his own body, for all eternity. Rabastan was also the ultimate result of hundreds of years of pureblood intermarrying, in that he was neither a healthy person nor a mentally stable one. More than a decade of eating Azkaban chow and being under constant Dementor influence didn't make things better any. Day-to-day existence, possessing the body of Rabastan, turned into a constant struggle to keep control, to present himself in front of others, to stay rational.

It wasn't served by the fact that Voldemort himself didn't feel on top of his game. Upon some self inspection, in a moment of clarity, he felt thin, stretched? Maybe it was the constant strain of keeping his control over Rabastan's body and mind? Was it the fact that he was a Horcrux and not the original soul? Voldemort didn't know. He did know that 'this' - being resurrected, in a way, by possessing the person who used an Horcrux, wasn't the way it should have worked. Horcrux were meant to anchor the main soul so it could not 'move on'.

He made an effort to locate the main soul with no success. He then went looking for the other anchors. Hufflepuff-cup-Voldemort 'knew' he was the forth such anchor. He also knew there were six anchors planned. He knew where the hiding places of two of those were and had a solid idea about the planned hiding location of his ancestor's locket. Naturally, he first visited his old family's shack. It was just across the road from his current location after all. What he found there had him quite unsettled. The whole place was undisturbed. All his meticulously layered curses, wards, and traps ready and in place. Yet, his family-ring was missing. Did the main soul get it? For what reason? Just where was it now? What made him even more agitated was the slight touch of warmth he felt there inside.

"Soon…" He almost imagined a voice promising in the back of his mind.

This made him rush to that cave in the cliffs, just above sea-level. A visit to the cave required some effort since this Voldemort didn't have any Gaunt blood in his veins any more. He then almost lost his hold on Rabastan's body. He almost lost that body literally too. His rather explosive reaction to his findings created a cave-in. A rock, falling from the ceiling knocked Rabastan's wand out of his hand, just as other rocks falling into the pond jarred the Inferi laying there into action. Voldemort fought tooth and nail to get out of the cave. For a moment, he knew real fear. What would happen if Rabastan's body would die while he possessed it? Would the other anchors protect him too? Are they only protecting the main soul? Voldemort didn't know.

Next stop was the front gates of the Malfoy estate. He was graciously invited in and was offered a warm cup. Lucius then screamed for hours and hours for what he'd done. By the end of it, it was clear that no one was home any more, yet Voldemort had this kind of a day, so he went on for a couple of hours more. By the time he let Lucius finally die and looked around, the lady of the house was no longer there. All she took with her was the Malfoy library, the contents of the small manor's jewellery vault, and her shoe collection. She certainly had her priorities straight.

Voldemort had to sit and focus, to calm down and reassert his control over Rabastan's body once more. He was almost successful when the sound of ministry Aurors breaking through the front door had him run away in a rush. He was in no condition, at the time, to fight off a group of determined Aurors under hostile wards. Voldemort never managed to regain full control over Rabastan's body ever since.

Right now his followers, which he had to admit - were nothing but hooligans and thugs, were out enjoying themselves. It will be short lived, as it usually is these days. The Ministry managed to get its act in order and Aurors were now reacting much faster to any incident. Back then, he could have used that against them. Quick reactions can't be overly cautious. These days, with the numbers and kind of people available to him, such a trap would be a one-time effort and the price he would pay would be crippling. Not that he was afraid for himself - he was the strongest wizard alive after all. But the people he'd lose in such a confrontation - he didn't have the means to replace.

And he truly reckoned this was gonna be easy, now when the old headmaster was gone.

Sigh…

During these months, ever since he revealed his return to the public, he only made one large scale attack. Some voices within the Ministry, still dreaming of the 'good old days', whispered about this place being an interesting target. Some addled memories of Rabastan pointed him the same way. It took some careful planning and almost all the resources he had available to him at the time, but the attack went to plan. By the time Ministry Aurors had reached the Crouch country home and fought their way in, all they could find were the dead bodies of Barty Crouch and his loyal family's Elf, as well as the ruins around - success!

It was a victory alright. He paid a price for it in men, but he also showed that even the highest placed Ministry heads were not safe from his wand. It also regained him one of his most loyal and effective followers, which was a nice bonus. It wasn't, however, a clear victory. The loss of Crouch made the Ministry tighten security all around. Many of the voices, still whispering in his ear, were silenced. He also lost his only person within the Floo administration office. This loss was also of the last straw kind and Minister Fudge had finally lost his position because of it. He was replaced by a much more capable person and the Ministry was all better for it.

Voldemort was still at a loss for the right next move. His first urge was to repeat the ritual once more and create an additional Horcrux, yet fear held his hand. Was it possible for an anchor to create a new anchor? Would he even survive the effort? He truly didn't know. Same was with the rather urgent task of creating a new and dependable body for himself - would he survive such a transfer?

What he needed was access to a good library to do his research, but the large libraries of the Blacks and Malfoys were clearly lost to him. So was the library of the arcane, held at the Department of Mysteries. He also needed some more good men. After his losses in Azkaban, only two names came to mind.

"Crouch?" he called.

"Yes my lord!" The lad came running. He too was not a stark symbol of sanity.

"Can you send a word to Greyback, once the full moon is through?" he asked and the lad nodded eagerly. "Also, I will need you to go out and locate Snape," he added softly.

It was a month into the summer holidays and just a few days before they were all heading to France, where the Delacours invited them for a fortnight in their villa at the Ile de Ré.

"Aux seins nus*," the invitation stated and Sirius got all excited. Hermione's mother as well.

Their exams were just completed with a palpable sigh of relief. Neither expected perfect grades, but they were still on their way to being ready for their A-levels a year early. Both were ahead on their magical studies too. Next year was expected to be trying and would require a fine balance between their normal studies and their OWL preparations, but success will enable them to dedicate their sixth year to get best grades possible in their A-levels. This will free their seventh year to NEWT preparations.

"Truly?" Harry's voice called from the guest room he was using for that summer. The young couple who rented his flat this year asked to stay for the summer and the following year. Also, between being invited to stay with the Grangers, having his room at Sirius', and having a full floor available for him at the now-clean Grimmauld Place - it was quite ridiculous to refuse them.

"A little help?" he further asked.

"Honestly Harry, how difficult is it to pack your swim shorts?" she asked exasperatedly from the door, yet the annoying prat wasn't even packing. Instead, he was sitting at his desk, looking at a decent-sized red precious stone.

"What are you doing?" she asked impatiently? She was on her way to her room to pick up her purse and pop to High Street to that book shop. "Wanna come with me to get a few books to read on the beach?" she asked.

He shook his head, still focused on the precious stone in front of him. "I have an idea about Riddle, but I need to make this work," he replied.

"And, what, pray tell, is this 'this'?" she asked, now looking at the gem suspiciously over his shoulder. "Did you take it from Sirius'? Did Bill check it for curses?"

"Some say this is a 'Philosopher's stone'," he answered, looking back towards her with just a hint of a smirk on his face.

"Who wants to live forever?" she deadpanned.

"Still undecided regarding," he rolled his eyes.

Hermione now lost any pretence of playfulness. "Did you nab it from the Flamel's?" she frowned. "They died without it," she scolded him.

"I found it with the other things," he appeased her. "By then, the Flamels had already passed on and there was no one to give it back to."

"You could have given it to the Headmistress," she stated, and Harry just stared at her impassively. "Alright," Hermione relented after a short while. Doing so was truly not such a bright move. "I expect you to tell me, one day, just how all those legendary and extremely useful objects appeared out of the blue right beside you, right when you yourself appeared back from being lost," she told him calmly, and Harry moved in his chair uncomfortably. Hermione wasn't needling him for information, which was surprising to say the least. But, her willingness to give him some slack and put her trust in him for doing the right thing didn't translate into her not noticing all the information he was keeping from her. Hermione was one of the most intelligent and perceptive persons he knew. "Also, just who is that eldest sister of both elder Veela and Goblins, who gave you these special knives of yours," she was now ranting a little and Harry felt even less comfortable. "I read a little about both. The only common link would be some being, mythological even in the wizarding world."

Harry didn't reply, just looked back at her calmly.

Hermione took a deep breath, then sighed a little.

"How do you think it works?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Haven't the foggiest."

"What about asking Flamel?" she offered.

"Calling him here; Hurting him; just to ask how to use the stone he created, which was stolen from him, resulting in him being dead?" Harry asked uneasily. This was something which ended up creating guilt, and guilt, well, was the path to the dark side.

Hermione hummed in agreement. She then moved to stare at the gemstone on the desk-top. "So we need to figure out how to use this ourselves," she mumbled mostly to herself. "Make gold!" she told the stone, tapping it with her finger.

Harry was about to laugh at her antics when a small light flashed. When it ended, a tiny circle around the stone shined golden.

Huh? It can't possibly be this easy?!

Now sited, Hermione took a deep breath. She focused and touched her finger to the gem. "Make gold!" she whispered. Within a span of a handful of seconds, the whole table turned shiny gold.

Hermione jumped to her feet, lifting her fist in excitement. "Yes!" She exclaimed. It wasn't a second too soon, since the desk crumpled to the floor, its legs broken. Pure gold is a heavy yet soft element - these thin golden legs couldn't possibly hold the new weight of the desk above.

Harry caught the small red gemstone before it rolled under the guest bed. Hermione, meanwhile, tried to lift the table, or at least a part of it, back up - She could hardly move it at all. She then turned to Harry with a pained expression.

Harry smiled. Having a legendary wand embedded in his body had its perks from time to time. With a few waved of his hand the golden table was cut into several chunks of manageable size. Those were soon levitated into Harry's trunk.

"We'll need a trunk with shrinking and weight charms on it," he remarked, doing so. "Here," he added and handed Hermione a small chunk of the table's leg. "Take this to the jeweller on high-street and you'll have enough money to buy your parents a new desk," he smirked a little.

"Probably redecorate the room," she agreed, weighing the piece in her hand. "Do you have enough?" she then asked.

"Not in the slightest," he answered offhandedly. "Come, let's go to your book store," he offered at the astound stare he received in return. "I'll explain my idea on the way," he promised.

They had a lovely walk in the sun. The Jeweller at the small store was surprised by the chunk of gold he was offered. It took him a few minutes to test the gold and verify its purity. Soon after, Hermione had a cheque in her pocket, to cover the redecoration of the said room. They were probably quite underpaid, but didn't care much about it.

Hermione came out of the bookstore carrying many more books than she originally intended to buy.

Thank Merlin for the feather-light Charm!

That guest room might now need a small library in it. She was also nodding in agreement with Harry's idea. They only needed a little help and one person to agree with it and it might work. Worse case, it will put a spanner in any of Riddle's plans in the near future. There were also very few drawbacks to this plan.

"We'll need to visit Diagon alley and to buy an expanded lightened trunk," Harry suggested.

"We can then go back to my father's client's storehouse and take some more of his rubbish," she agreed.

Just when they walked through the door back home the entrance hall was bathed with white light and soon a doe of light walked in through the wall.

"So beautiful!" Hermione enthused and reached her hand towards it. "Do you recognise it?"

To her disappointment, the doe Patronus bypassed her and headed towards Harry. It spoke as soon as it was in front of him. Their disappointment grew even bigger, since they both recognised the voice. It was as much un-liked as the Patronus was pretty. The voice sounded pained. It coughed and rasped a little. Neither was the message uplifting -

"Greyback," the voice croaked. "He's after your mudblood."

"Greyback?" Hermione asked in confusion.

"Who the hell is Greyback?" Harry agreed.

Île de Ré was lovely. Truly lovely.

The Delacour family had a summer villa there, at the North-Eastern part of the longish island. It wasn't extravagant, yet it housed them all comfortably. It also had a lovely garden with well manicured lawns and a swimming pool. Across a low wild hedge lay a sandy beach. The Delacours also had a small sailboat, which they enjoyed using.

This vacation was pure pleasure. They used their bikes to get around and mostly to ride to the nearby village for fresh croissants and produce. They swam and fooled about in the pool. They travelled to the nearby land city of La Rochelle, to walk the old harbour, browse the lovely markets and shops, have a good meal and a glass, and watch the passers by. Mostly, they just rested, read a book, and worked on not having tan-lines.

They had some visitors too.

"Still too young…" Malina lamented, raising Hermione's blushing face to hers. "Still scrumptious," she then smiled. "Next year?" she offered.

On his towel, on the grass, Hermione's father coughed. Her mother just smiled and turned to work on her back's tanning. On her sun lounger by the pool, Tonks took a glance at the newcomers and hurried to enlarge her boobs. Tweak a little with their shape too. Harry was about to tease her for it, but was rather uncomfortable himself at the moment. He was a growing bloke after-all. Fleur and Apolline - he was used to. Malina and her friend - less so.

"Also too young," that friend remarked lightly, smiling towards him, and Harry found himself blushing as well.

"C'est vrai*," Fleur agreed, stopping by the women for the French ritual of a hug and kisses. "But he really knows how to use his knives." This made the friend give Harry an interested look and her stare turned a little predatory. It also made Harry look for refuge in the swimming pool.

It was that evening when they got a first glimpse of the Werewolves.

In reality, that message from Snape almost led to the cancellation of it all. First reaction was panic. Everyone expected Hermione, and Harry as well, to just stop their lives. Remus actually appeared at the Grangers front door to take both into custody, err… - a hiding place. Surprisingly, this planned highly-secured secret hiding place was the Weasley home in Devon. Just how would the quaint home of this unassuming if quirky family, with no wards to speak of, be safe against a werewolves attack? No one bothered to explain.

A shouting war erupted at the front door between Mr Granger and Mr Lupin.

"You don't understand just how dangerous this man is," Remus was getting desperate for the lack of cooperation. "Believe me - I should know!"

"And the school year?" Hermione was interested to know.

"Hogwarts is safe," Remus dismissed the thought.

"Right…" Harry disagreed, much to Remus' displeasure.

"So, my daughter is expected to put her life aside and stay hidden till you all manage to do something you haven't managed from the time before you were even born?" Mr Granger asked incredulously.

"Cause this worked so well for my parents and the Longbottoms…" Harry remarked once more and Remus grimaced. Remus left with a huff.

All this wasn't helped by the fact that no one managed to locate Snape and ask for more information. The man had all but disappeared off the face of the earth. It was only a fortnight later, when the smell and neighbours led the police to a small decayed house, in a rather decaying street, at the heart of Cokeworth. The police found two decomposing bodies there. Those were later recognised by the Aurors as wizards. One Slytherin graduate from Tonks' year and one Amycus Carrow. Forensics located blood from two more unknowns at the scene. Snape was now wanted for questioning by both the National Crime Agency and the Department of Law Enforcement in the Ministry. So far, with no results.

By the end of it, it was decided that the young Tonks girl, who was an Auror trainee, would come with them as security. The Grangers relented after both Hermione and Harry vouched for her, saying she was a nice person and fun to be with.

She did call Hermione and Harry to Grimmauld Place, 'to see how they were doing'. Harry's first simulation weight hit her forehead even before she finished raising her wand for her first spell. The second hit her before she managed to recover, although Harry didn't put his full force into these throws. She then found herself with a very real and quite sharp knife held to her throat.

"You should keep yourselves at a distance," Sirius cautioned them. "Werewolves are quick and strong. Close range is where they are most dangerous at."

Hermione nodded. Harry too.

Big, strong, and fast - he was used to…

They did owl the Delacours about it all. It wouldn't do to bring such potential danger to their front door without a warning. They got a short answer the next morning - 'Bring it on!'

This got Malina and her friend their invitation.

"Three werewolves are following us," Harry notified the people around him at the terrace cafe. They were visiting La Rochelle once more to explore and stopped at a harbourside cafe to have a bite, have a cup, and mainly - do some people watching.

Harry was watching souls for a while now. He was well familiar with the wounded-looking werewolf souls. It didn't take long for him to notice those following them.

"Don't look!" Malina instructed both Hermione and her father. "Where are they?" she then asked Harry.

Harry took a sip of coffee, with a slight smile, which was returned.

"When Truly here finally comes and visits me, feel free to join her," Malina told him coyly.

"They are at the entrance to the small alley leading to the marketplace," he answered with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm hurt!" Hermione stated and her father coughed once more.

"They are trading places between themselves. Only one is watching us at a time," Harry added calmly.

Malina took out a small folding mirror from her pochette and checked her makeup. She wasn't wearing any. Nor did she need it in any way. "Three near the Poissonnerie*," she said into the mirror.

Figures. Sirius and friends couldn't have invented those.

"Shouldn't we head back?" Hermione's father asked. He wasn't comfortable at all with all this cloak and dagger rubbish. He was also not happy about this potential threat to his daughter becoming so real.

Malina shrugged. "No reason to," she replied and sipped from her cup. "Greyback likes to hurt families by infecting children, leaving their parents with turned little Werewolves. The full moon is two days away - he won't be able to do so till then," she explained. She then took a leather pouch out of her small purse and handed it to Harry.

He looked inside and frowned. "I'm quite happy with mine," he remarked.

"These are made from silver," Malina explained calmly. They will poison a werewolf for as long as they're stuck." Harry wanted to argue, but was stopped with a raised finger. "We are trying to prepare a trap for them, but you can't trust in confronting him under travel wards. They might have Portkeys on them - You wouldn't like to lose one of your precious knives to an escaping attacker?"

Harry nodded in understanding.

In the end, it was all rather anticlimactic.

"They took the ferry," came a message at about noon on the right day.

"Hiding in the village," an update arrived in the afternoon.

"Heading to the pool," Apolline stated, to a raised eyebrow from Hermione's mum. "They are being followed," she further explained. "If the gendarmes* approach them right now, they might flee to come after you when you're not ready. Once they turn, they will not be capable of such logical thoughts."

Next massage arrived a little after six in the afternoon. "Turned now," it said. It was still daylight outside. At about eleven at night the phone rang once more. "On their way."

"You stay put!" Apolline told her daughter. Fleur was clearly not happy with this instruction but didn't make a fuss. Malina and her friend were security of sorts. Apolline herself was the daughter of a Veela elder. Harry didn't know just how old she was, but she was certainly a force to be reckoned with.

"Stay with me to keep the people inside safe?" Monsieur Delacour offered Tonks. She didn't like it either.

Meanwhile, Melina's friend was having an involved conversation through her own small mirror. "Just the three of them - coming along the sea shore," she updated everyone before the three Veela women turned and headed out to the back garden. Last thing Apolline did was to give Harry a stare. It clearly conveyed the fact that she considered him to be their best last line of defence. It made him apprehensive.

Harry took out the pouch with the silver knives and looked at them pensively. He then nodded to himself. "Here," he told his friend and offered her one of his own knives. "They are turned and can't use a wand. They will need to get to you to infect you. If any werewolf finds his way in, forgo magic and gut him."

Hermione chuckled nervously at this instruction. "What's special about this knife?" she asked in a whisper.

This was an easy question for him to truthfully answer. "It's a Demon dagger forged in hell."

Hermione chuckled darkly once more. Naturally she didn't believe a word of it.

Shouts now sounded from outside, then some screams of pain.

"Attention!" a warning came in. A second later the back door burst open and a man appeared in the doorframe.

Harry had never seen a turned werewolf before. That first lesson with Professor Lockhart in their second year ended up with lots of laughs and not even an image to see. Certainly not a spell to use. Having said that, this person looked to be only 'mostly turned'. He stood upright and had his wand in his clawed hand. He was covered with bleeding wounds from head to toe, yet was healing astonishingly quickly. The man,

Greyback?

Glanced around the room, then made to launch himself at Hermione. He didn't even make a full step in and already a silver knife was stuck in his forehead. The man cried out in pain and frustration. Harry was astounded to see him try to reach up to pull that knife out. A second later, a second silver knife was stuck in his chest. Another second later still, a third knife, one made of a dark metal, hit his throat. This last knife was soon ripped back out with a spell, erupting a shower of blood in its wake. This proved too much for the man and he promptly fell to the floor unmoving.

"Don't touch his blood!" Mr Delacour warned everyone.

Wails of pain were still coming in from the outside and people went out to have a look. Two fully turned Werewolves were laying on the grass, wrapped in silver nets. A third net was dropped a little closer to the house, having been cut through.

"Everyone's alright inside," Apolline asked her husband worriedly. He nodded, then waved his wand over the two downed Werewolves and silenced them, although both were clearly still in great pain.

"Must you leave them this way?" Hermione's mother asked, understandably disturbed.

Monsieur Delacour shrugged. "You can't stun a turned Werewolf," he explained. "We can either set them free, and who knows how many they will hurt around here, or keep them trapped in silver till moon-set."

The only person not outside by now was Harry. He was standing over Greyback, who reverted in death to his human form. The burly man was staring back at him with empty yellow eyes. He just killed another person - Harry didn't know what to feel about it.

"Don't fret," a warm voice whispered in his mind. "There is no guilt in protecting yourself and your loved ones."

Aux seins nus (French) - topless

Île de Ré - Isle of Ré

C'est Vrai (French) - True

Poissonnerie (French) - Fish store

Gendarmes (French) - Policeman. In this case - Aurors

AN:

Feel free to review and tell me what you think - It's appreciated!
usually, I answer each and every review. The notification and PM system is supposedly back online, but I'm uncertain how robust it is. if my replies to reviews won't reach your inbox - So sorry!

Many many thanks to flyboy38 my beta, who invested time and effort to make this readable for you all.

Cheers!