CHAPTER TWO: Dying of the Light

Part 3

Summer was powerless in the valley. Wind screamed up and down hillsides covered in three feet of snow. Glades of evergreen trees dotted the place, though the only animals living here were those magical beasts capable of thriving in permanent winter. Days were short and cold, followed by long, even colder nights. The few human settlements stood out, radiating light and heat absent everywhere else.

Voldemort walked unhurriedly past one such village—several dozen timber-and-stone buildings. A singular road wound its way through the valley, from the northern mountain pass down to the last inn, where human enchantments that maintained the road gave way to the Ghost's domain.

Reflected light flickered in the bushes to his right. Voldemort didn't bother reaching for his wand. The shadowbeast growled at him once, twice, then hesitated. It wouldn't approach the village any further, but a lone traveller made for intriguing prey.

"I have seen deeper darkness than the one you're named after," Voldemort whispered into the wind. Unspoken magic carried his words. The shadowbeast turned and ran, plowing through snow effortlessly.

A short walk later, Voldemort had climbed a crest in the terrain and a wider view of the valley opened before him. The village he'd just passed was closest to the mountains and he still stood on their southern slopes. The hidden valley was wholly encircled by snow-capped peaks, making this a feat of concealing magic that rivalled any wizarding district in a major city. It would have taken the greatest wizard years to accomplish alone, but Lortannes Vergir had had decades.

The castle at the southern tip of the valley would be too distant to see for anyone else, but Voldemort could just make out its many turrets and towers. What experiments had taken place there, what a vast repository of knowledge it had to be. Vergir had been kept safe and isolated by his reputation, and the ambitions of greater wizards and witches, who naturally abhorred hiding their talents in places like this. He would have remained beneath Voldemort's notice as well, if not for a recent rumour that those of great ambitions had become interested in the Ghost of Grindelwald.

Physical form became a ghost-like essence and Voldemort flew along the road, faster and steadier than any broomstick could in this weather. He brushed up against trees, infrequent travellers, buildings, and shrines to elder beings, leaving a touch of his magic on all of them—a silent, lingering announcement. Yes, he wanted them to know someone had come. Let them puzzle out who was here to exorcise the Ghost and plunder his lair.

Reaching the border of the castle's wards, he assumed a half-form—still flying, but with the use of his wand—and flew up into the constant blizzard, probing the enchantments for points of weakness. Finding none, he plummeted back down. He reached into his pocket for a curse-breaking device of his own design, a ring constructed of four sections, each forged from a different magic-sympathetic metal. The ring floated in front of him and sprouted small antennae, each pulling on a thread of a different component of the enchantments. He pulled the threads apart—some he only strained, others he snapped completely. It was the work of minutes to open a passageway.

The moment the wards gave out, the castle's other defences came alive.

Faster than even Voldemort's eyes could follow, inferi broke through the frozen ground. He spotted a few taller corpses here and there, but most were goblins, brandishing spears, swords, crossbows and various other lethal objects.

Voldemort smiled. The inferi were numerous, but little effort had been put into their creation. Necromancy was distasteful work. These ones were barely animated. He felled a swath of them with a gesture, but others kept coming.

He drew a line of silver light around himself. The mobile ward hovered just above the ground as he walked and inferi who crossed it fell on their faces, twitching for a moment before the spell giving them faux-lives dissolved.

The next attack came from above. Gargoyles carved into the crown of every tower scrambled to grab masts, break bars out of windows, some dove straight at him armed with halberds and pikes. They opened doors in the sides of towers, revealing huge ballistas.

Voldemort vanished, incinerated, and redirected the hail of pointy objects attempting to skewer him, feeling at best annoyed, until a harpoon tore through his cloak. He felt blood soaking the robes where the harpoon had grazed his side. It had scythed through his shield like only goblin steel could—clearly, Vergir had taken more than corpses from them.

The animation spells on gargoyles were better than those on the inferi. Voldemort took flight again. His shield protected him from the bulk of attacks while he unleashed Blasting Curses on the ballista crews. When he landed again, it was a little more bloody and much angrier.

With a spell, he ripped the front gate from stone and strode inside, impatient to bring Lortannes Vergir to his knees, but he was too late. Vergir was already on the floor.

The entrance hall was lit with blueflame lanterns, and the master of the castle was bleeding out. Only his eyes gave any indication that he wasn't yet gone, because he dared not move. Another wizard stood above him, two wands in his hands, his boot crushing Vergir's skull.

"Lord Voldemort. I was expecting someone from your camp, but not yourself in person. That's even better. They'll sooner believe you killed Lortannes Vergir than some underling."

Voldemort paced across the hall. The blizzard was now blowing snow inside. His eyes slipped from Vergir to the wizard who had defeated him. "Your name is Sturgis Podmore. I never took you for more than one of Dumbledore's minor acquaintances."

"You weren't wrong. I've never been more than that to Albus Dumbledore." Podmore shifted his stance and the stone under Vergir's skull cracked. "I wish I had the time for a drink and a chat, but I'm afraid I'm needed elsewhere."

"You can't imagine I'll allow you to leave."

Podmore tilted his head. "No, but I also imagine you care about the contents of this castle more than you care about me."

A heartbeat too late. The lanterns opened, spewing out lines of blueflame that spread through the castle, no doubt setting everything in their paths alight. This left Podmore's defence imperfect, but just good enough. The wand in his left hand imploded and splinters tore into his arm and side. Podmore still managed to block the next curse, and with a grimace on his face pressed his foot down. Vergir's head burst into a mixture of flesh, bone, and blood. The instant Lortannes Vergir met his end, his castle lurched in protest and began to crumble.

Voldemort didn't try to stop Podmore as he apparated out through the collapsing wards. Vergir's collection was more important. Perhaps some of it could still be saved. He raised his wand and began to work.

~~oOo~~

Harry ghosted swiftly through the streets of Paris under the guise of his Cloak. He didn't dare apparating straight to his destination. The Delacour house was protected, but Death Eaters could be watching. He made his way to the dark alley at the back of the residence. An enchanted fence gate of black iron guarded this entrance. Harry approached, wand down by his side, and shimmered out of invisibility. The gate tensed and grew spikes, the keyhole vanished.

"I'm a friend," he whispered.

One of the spikes twisted itself into a question mark.

"Harry Potter."

Nothing happened for a moment, then the gate abruptly folded like origami and he stepped through, into the Delacours' garden. He didn't make it three paces before he had two wands pointed at his throat.

Before Harry could say anything, someone barked an order and two Aurors let him go. Etienne Delacour stood on the porch, a glass of wine in one hand, wand in the other.

"Minister Delacour." Harry inclined his head. "I apologise for arriving unannounced—"

Etienne silenced him with a gesture. "Come. Let's talk inside."

The Delacours must have been in the middle of dinner. Madame Delacour was at the table with her daughters. Gabrielle—this time she had blue, pulsating vines braided into her hair—blushed and looked away.

"Harry?" Fleur hurried over and hugged him closely. "Why are you here?"

"Where's Hermione?"

Etienne cleared his throat. "Peut-être que toi et ton ami devriez vous parler."

Fleur grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him upstairs, to her room.

"Why the extra security?" Harry asked once the door clicked shut behind them. "Does this have something to do with Hermione?"

"It might." Fleur sat down on the bed. "Some suspicious people were spotted in the area recently, Aurors took a photo of one of Greyback's werewolves. Papa ordered more protection."

Harry paced across the room. "Do you recognise the name Vorlon Berger?"

"No. But Hermione has been acting strange for some time. She told us there was a secret boyfriend—"

"That doesn't sound like her."

"I don't think she's the same girl you knew, Harry."

He sat down next to Fleur. "Acting strange… meaning what?"

"She disappears for days at a time… she's quiet. Nervous. More than when she first came here."

He breathed out heavily. "Allright. Do you have any idea where she might be? I really need to find her."

"Is she in danger?"

"We're all in danger," Harry retorted flippantly, then bit his tongue. Fleur deserved a better answer. "Voldemort has made a direct threat against her. I have to bring her back to Britain. She will not end up like Ron and Ginny."

Fleur stood, her face hardened. "Will she be any safer there? Death Eaters are everywhere now."

"She'll be with me." Harry looked into Fleur's eyes—just a brush of Legilimency. Enough to detect a secret being kept. "You know something. Tell me."

She hesitated long enough that Harry's hand itched for his wand. "I think she's been trying to find Death Eaters. Revenge. For her parents."

"That was Malfoy, he's—" Harry bit his tongue. "He's in Azkaban."

"I don't know what's in her head, Harry," Fleur said, a hint of anger in her voice. "I've heard… There are rallies held in Paris. Apparently Death Eaters come to recruit for their master."

Harry turned sharply. "And what? It's just allowed to go on?" He glanced at the door. "You father isn't doing anything about it?"

"Aurors have tried. Death Eaters always slip away, and there's no reason to arrest attendees on the grounds of listening to people talk."

"And Hermione has been going to these rallies?"

"I can't say for certain, but I think so, yes."

There was a knock on the door. "Est-ce que ça va?"

"On va bien, maman!" Fleur replied. "The rallies aren't common knowledge, but word spreads in some circles. Sometimes… sometimes they even send out invitations."

Fleur avoided his eyes, but Harry caught a glimpse, and that was enough. "Did you get an invitation?"

Biting her lip, Fleur reluctantly retrieved an unrolled note from her desk. Harry summoned it out of her hands. Slick, silvered parchment. Elaborate calligraphy. He had once received a letter that looked like this. He didn't understand most of it, but there was an address.

"You have to take me there."

Moments later, they were hurrying down the stairs, outside the house and into the back alley. The two Aurors in the garden stood in their way, but Harry blocked their stunners and tossed them aside with a flick. "She'll be back soon, I promise."

He held Fleur's hand firmly as she guided their apparation. They popped onto an empty street. A row of townhouses ran the length of it on one side, the other bordered a large park. Nearby, a group of three apparated into the street. Harry was ready to fight, but the mustachioed wizard leading them only touched the rim of his tall hat in greeting and led his party into the park.

"Go home," Harry whispered. "If Hermione's here, I'll find her."

"Maybe we should go together," Fleur said. "We don't know what to expect there, but I've been invited. Maybe they'll demand the note as proof."

"I can get in regardless. Go home," he said again, more firmly.

The moment Fleur was gone, Harry vanished under the Cloak and followed the group of three who had just entered the park. They walked unhurriedly, chatting, and for a moment Harry was worried they could just be taking an evening walk, but then the wizard reached into a pocket and pulled out a note like Fleur's.

The park was unlike the English gardens Harry was used to. Tall lamps illuminated wide paths of white stone. Trees, bushes and flowerbeds were precisely manicured. Benches painted white and blue surrounded lavish fountains. However, the further Harry went, the more the park changed. Order gave way to nature's designs. More witches and wizards emerged from shadows. Trees grew thicker, their branches mingling. Wild, thorny bushes replaced neat hedgerows, the paths here were paved with rough granite. The growing crowd drew towards a circular spot of beaten earth, where fairy lanterns hung from surrounding trees.

All told, the attendees numbered near a hundred. Harry began to slowly circle the gathering, scanning faces, but many had come hooded, cloaked, some even in veils and masks.

A series of subdued cracks rang out as Death Eaters apparated into the middle of the crowd. Harry's breathing stilled while he counted them. Three silver masks of the Inner Circle, and eight more besides. He briefly considered starting a fight—he had the element of surprise, he could probably snatch one or two and make it out before the rest caught on.

Don't be a fool.

The voice in his head sounded like Sturgis.

What if Hermione was here? Risking her for a Death Eater… Foolish, indeed.

So, he watched. At first, no one spoke, and Death Eaters didn't seem hurried to go first. Then, a witch stepped forward from the crowd.

"Qu'est-ce qu'on fait ici?"

Right. Of course they were speaking French in France.

More questions soon came and Death Eaters took readily to answering. Even unable to understand what was being said, Harry recognised the passion in their voices when the Inner Circle members spoke of Voldemort. Hesitation swiftly dissipated among the crowd and, while the silver masks kept themselves clearly separate, the other Death Eaters mingled freely with everyone else. Harry swore under his nose—he couldn't keep track of them like this. Worse, there wasn't a trace of Hermione.

Perhaps it was for the better she wasn't here. Maybe she'd just gone out for the evening and he would find her back at the Delacour residence.

The rally seemed to be winding down. A handful of witches and wizards had come up to shake hands with the Inner Circle. The Death Eaters had been the last to arrive and were the first to leave—two of the attendees went with them. Most of the crowd remained, filling the area with excited chatter. An argument broke out—the mustachioed wizard Harry had followed before stepped in to calm the tempers before wands were drawn. Little by little, individuals and small groups broke off and the gathering began shrinking rapidly as more people left.

Growing resigned, Harry slipped from witch to wizard, trying to glimpse their faces, but none of them were Hermione. Distracted, he walked right into a witch who stumbled back, catching herself against a tree. She exclaimed angrily in French, wand drawn. She grabbed someone by the elbow, aiming her wand at their face. The wizard in the top hat wasn't here to step in this time.

The witch and her would-be victim were suddenly pulled in opposite directions, tumbling across the ground. The onlookers seemed to freeze for a moment, as if expecting a duel to begin, but the witch was now being pulled away by two others. All eyes were drawn to the person who had cast the Banishing Charm. A hood obscured their face, but Harry recognised their wand just as it disappeared beneath the robes.

He extracted himself from the crowd and circled his target, then jabbed his wand at the far side of the clearing—several of the fairy lanterns exploded in a shower of sparks, metal and glass. He grabbed the hooded witch by the shoulder and disapparated.

They arrived in the alley bordering the Delacours' walled garden. Harry shimmered into view. Before he could get a word out, he had a wand pointed at his face.

"It's me," he said gently. "Sorry about that."

Hermione kept her wand up as she tore the hood from her head. She was flushed, her breathing rapid. "I could have hurt you, you idiot." Her shoulders sagged and she pulled him close, and they held onto each other for a long moment. "What are you even doing here?" she muttered into his ear.

"Let's get inside first," Harry said, looking both ways down the alley as they broke apart. Hermione fished a key out of her robes and unlocked the fence gate. Past it, they had to get through a gauntlet of questions, demands for explanations, and apologies—on Harry's part, for dealing so rudely with the Aurors, on Hermione's, for disappearing without a word.

The balcony of Hermione's room overlooked the garden. Harry could see the two Aurors at the gate from here, but Hermione assured him enchantments would prevent anyone overhearing them. Harry shed the Cloak and hid outer robes—spellweave clothes usually kept one comfortable, but the night was hot and humid. Hermione had gone behind a privacy screen and emerged seconds later in a shirt and pants.

"You first," she said, sitting precariously balanced on the railing.

"There's been a threat against you. A Death Eater followed you earlier today. You're no longer safe here."

Hermione crossed her legs. "What threat?"

Harry leaned heavily on the railing. "Malfoy tricked his way out of Azkaban. I met with him."

There was a long silence. Harry looked up. Hermione was holding onto the railing so hard that her knuckles had gone white.

"They let him go?"

"No. Aurora Fawley was released some time ago—only it wasn't Aurora. Malfoy had switched places with her. You and I are the only ones who know he's escaped. Well, us and Savage."

"Who?"

"One of Sirius's people. Doesn't matter!" Harry snapped. "I'm not afraid of Draco Malfoy. But… he showed me a two-way mirror. The other one was in the hands of someone following you earlier today. Did you notice anyone like that?"

"No," Hermione said. "When did this happen?"

"Just hours ago. I met with Malfoy, then came straight here."

"Why were you meeting with him at all?" There was an accusation in Hermione's voice.

Harry relayed the events of the past year, though he kept certain details to himself. No one needed to know about the evenings he'd spent probing the depths of Knockturn Alley, or what he'd done to Blaise Zabini—because everyone keeps secrets.

"You have to come back with me. You'll be safe at Grimmauld Place, and then we're going to Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts was attacked just last year," Hermione said. "They found a way in once, they can do it again."

"Yes, nowhere is perfectly safe," Harry said. "But there, I'll be with you."

"I'm not helpless, Harry."

He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly. "You're not listening to me," he said quietly. Lamps in the room flickered and died. A crack split the floor, creeping towards them across the room. Hermione slipped off the railing.

"Harry…"

He grabbed her wrist and veins darkened under his grip as the unspoken spell chilled her blood. Hermione tried to pry his hand off. Harry opened his eyes and everything was reversed in a blink. He was still clutching her wrist.

"What will you do if Bellatrix Lestrange comes for you? Or Mulciber? What do you think it would do to me if they came for you because you were alone?" He released her.

"I'm not al—"

"Yes, you are!" Harry hissed. "Who here can help you? The Delacours? Those Aurors down there? Voldemort's Inner Circle could slice through them in not that much more time than it just took me to say it. Don't you understand?" He caught her shoulders this time, pulling her close until their faces were inches away. "I won't let you die. If we win or not… I won't let them have you. I can't lose more friends."

They were both breathing heavily, as if they'd just sprinted through Hogwarts' grounds. Hermione snaked out of his hold—he didn't stop her. She stood in the middle of the room, inspecting the lamps and the floor, but there was no trace of damage. With her back turned, she said, "I thought you would have asked why I went to the rally."

"I don't need to ask. I know exactly why," he said. She turned around and they shared a look of understanding. "And really, revenge is just another reason to come with me. Malfoy is in Britain."

"If I asked you to help me find him…"

The obvious answer leapt to the tip of his tongue, but he caught himself. Obvious, but not the right answer. Malfoy was a player in the game, and the objective was Voldemort. Everything else had to be secondary. "When Voldemort is dealt with, I swear Malfoy will be yours."

Hermione shook her head. "That's not what I wanted to hear… But I understand." She came out to the balcony again, stood next to him and squeezed his hand. "Alright. I'll go with you. Not right away though. I'll need a few days to take care of formalities. I've built a life here, Harry, I can't just abandon everything without explanations."

"Fine. I'll tag along." Harry looked out at the garden. The moon was perfectly reflected in the surface of Fleur's enchanted pond. "Do you think Delacours will have me over for a few nights? I haven't exactly made a good impression tonight."

~~oOo~~

"Got everything?"

Hermione nodded, but then her eyes widened. "Wait, have I…" She opened the tiny handbag and stuck her arm inside, up to the elbow, silently reciting some list as she rummaged through the enchanted luggage. "I think I've got it all."

Fleur hugged them both. She whispered something to Hermione in French.

"Would you give us a moment?" Hermione asked.

"I'll be outside."

The elder Delacours were out, but the Auror sentries kept guard over the fence gate as well as Gabrielle, who sat on the edge of the pond with a spellbook in her lap and a bowl of seeds. She leafed through the book, began reciting some enchantment in a language Harry didn't recognise, and measured out seven seeds, which she tossed into the water. The seeds were plucked from the surface, and then the pond shimmered red, then orange, yellow, and the other colours of the rainbow.

"Very clever," Harry said, coming closer. Gabrielle turned quickly—she had satin ribbons in her hair today. "Seven lines in your spell, seven seeds, seven colours. Seven and three. A powerful pair. You're starting at Beauxbatons this year, aren't you? You'll do well with charms."

"Harry, stop flirting with my sister. You're much too old for her."

He spun around, both indignant and embarrassed. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the Aurors cracking up.

"I wasn't—" he protested, but Fleur just laughed.

"Go, before I change my mind and keep Hermione here."

They made their final goodbyes and left through the gate, then apparated to Paris' busy portkey terminal, where they secured passage to the heart of wizarding Berlin. It had been four days since Harry had shown up at the Delacours', two days since he'd received a letter from Sturgis, extending an invitation to visit him. With the letter had come enclosed a bizarre set of instructions—they were to hop from fireplace to fireplace, starting from a brewery in Berlin. All told, there were twenty-three stops on the list. It had taken Hermione two minutes to work out the significance of it.

"It's a lock. Some doors are opened with physical keys. Think of the fireplaces as the notches on a magical key."

Making twenty-three Floo jumps would take its toll on the sturdiest witch or wizard, so Sturgis advised in the letter to set out in the morning and take their time. Harry was curious whether his affinity to rapid apparations would have a similar effect when Flooing, but since Hermione was coming along, they would take Sturgis' advice.

Wizarding Berlin was just as busy as London or Paris. Hermione looped her arm through his and they walked unhurriedly, though Harry was hyper-aware, scanning the crowd constantly. His rudimentary Legilimency was of little use, unfortunately. He'd tried using it to monitor crowds before and had only succeeded in giving himself a headache.

"You've never talked about him. Sturgis, I mean," Hermione said.

"No, I haven't."

She poked him. "You know what I mean."

"Well, I… Most of what he and I spoke of… it wasn't meant for anyone else."

"You spent a lot of time together that summer."

"Did we?" Harry asked, his attention divided between Hermione and the people around them. "I never noticed."

"You were always off somewhere, usually with him or Sirius, and Sirius doesn't seem like the nurturing type."

Harry snorted. "And Sturgis does?"

"I think Sirius always saw much of other people in you. Your father, himself perhaps? Like you were already supposed to be… fully formed." Hermione tugged on his arm and he slowed his pace accordingly. "Sturgis understood that you weren't."

"And what do you make of me now? Have I achieved my proper form?" The question was left without an answer, because Harry pulled her along in a different direction. "That's our first stop."

The front of the brewery was a packed beer hall, and no one made much of them as they came in. Harry made the required payment for the use of their fireplace and they shot off to the next stop on their journey.

Arriving in a lakeside hamlet, they exited the local tiny owl post office. The clerk didn't even bother looking up from his paper. Sturgis' letter instructed them to next knock on the door of one Wendylla Wecker. The envelope had contained an octagonal token they were supposed to give her.

"I don't think so," Hermione said.

"Hmm?"

"You're not fully formed yet. I don't think that's possible while Voldemort lives."

Harry frowned. "How do you mean?"

"Have you ever stopped to think about what you want for yourself once Voldemort is gone? If… we can defeat the Dark Lord, what then?"

For a while, they walked along the lakeshore in silence. Harry paused and came right up to the water, looking for his reflection, but saw only a blurred blob in the gently lapping water where his face should be. He shook his head and they continued down the path. "I haven't thought that far ahead," he admitted.

"You should give it a try," Hermione said. "Don't just think about him."

Wendylla didn't seem surprised at two strangers showing up on her doorstep to inquire about her fireplace. She inspected the token under a magnifying glass, bit down on it, and had her dog sniff at it. Satisfied, she ushered them towards the quietly crackling hearth in the kitchen.

Two stops later, Harry was growing impatient with their slow progress. He appreciated the elegance of the mechanism, but twenty-three points seemed excessive. The sixth fireplace deposited them inside an apothecary in Munich. Someone came just as they arrived, and Harry's eyes were drawn to the bell above the door. A line of hieroglyphs were painted along the doorframe, and he noticed the Eye of Horus.

"Come. We need a map."

They found one of central Europe at a tourist kiosk and sat down at the edge of a fountain. Harry levitated the map in front of them and tapped Berlin, marking it with a glowing point.

"Give me all the locations."

Hermione read the list out loud. Harry highlighted destinations on the map, increasingly convinced he was right. Berlin, Munich, Vienna...

"What am I missing?" Hermione asked, staring at the glowing markers.

Harry connected the dots. A line, bisecting a circle, within a triangle. The last two fireplaces were both in the city of Linz, the only point of the Deathly Hallows symbol where the lines of the Wand, the Stone, and the Cloak all met.

"We can skip most of these," Harry said, vanishing the map and Sturgis' letter.

Hermione gasped. "I hope you've memorised the list—"

"Have you read the Tales of Beedle the Bard?" Harry cut in.

"Yes, but what does—"

"Well, of course you have," he muttered. He pulled her along without explanation, and she didn't press for one. From the next point on Sturgis' list, they instead went straight to Linz and walked the last stretch to a pub populated by types Harry had seen plenty of at Brody's club. The place sat in the dead end of an alley so narrow they'd had to walk single file to reach the door. Harry was instantly on his guard, as their brisk entrance had drawn many eyes. Most patrons turned back to their drinks and companions just as quickly, but several lingered on them as they made their way towards the twin fireplaces straddling the opposite ends of the bar.

Harry meant to ask the bartender about the powder, but as he approached the fire, it roared, spitting sparks, and turned purple. He felt a tingle of magic reaching towards his chest, where the clasp of the Cloak currently sat disguised as an ordinary robe ornament.

"Hermione… do you notice anything unusual about the fire?"

"No. Unusual how?"

Before he could answer, he felt a slight weight in his pants pocket. He didn't recall putting anything there. Reaching in, he found a small pouch of Floo powder.

The purple flare fell away and then flames turned the expected green when Harry fed them the powder, and, with a glance to make sure no one would follow them, they stepped into the swirl.

Harry came out of the fireplace first, and driven by inexplicable instinct, brandished his wand as he spun out of the fire. Hermione came through to see him and an unknown witch pointing wands at each other.

"You're early. And you bypassed the sequence," the witch said in accented, but fluent English.

"I got bored," Harry retorted. "Where have I seen you before?"

"How did you bypass my sequence?"

Harry recognised Sturgis' voice.

"Camilla, that's alright. I'll take care of our guests from here."

The name unlocked a memory. He remembered now: Camilla had delivered some message to Sturgis during the ICW conference. Sirius had never spoken of what he and Sturgis did that day.

Wands were mutually lowered, and Camilla turned to leave, though not without another hostile glance.

"Is she your bodyguard?" Harry asked.

Sturgis' eyes narrowed. "Camilla is to me what Lucius Malfoy once was to Voldemort. More impressive wizards than yourself have learned not to underestimate her."

"Bloody hell, what happened to you?" Only now it registered with Harry that Sturgis' bandaged right arm rested in a sling, and he limped slightly as he crossed the room to greet them.

Sturgis smiled slyly. "I ran into an impressive wizard. Come. I hope you're hungry."

Lunch was served on a balcony overlooking an indoor jungle. From the table, they had a view of an enormous glass dome, pierced by three massive trees. The trees supported several platforms and rope bridges—one of which was connected to the balcony.

"Impressive. Professor Sprout has got nothing like this at Hogwarts," Harry said.

"Oh, that's just a vanity project. It keeps growing. I might have to enlarge the dome. It's already too small for the occamy."

Hermione choked on her tea. "You kept an occamy in here?"

"Yes, but he's living in the woods now, guarding my border. Probably eating a whole lot of beetles… Anyway. How have you been? Both of you." Sturgis only used his left hand to eat, but the enchanted cutlery compensated and he ate his steak without any trouble.

Harry had already heard much about life in France from Hermione, but he gladly listened a second time. He even felt somewhat ignored while Sturgis and Hermione traded anecdotes about places they were both familiar with. He amused himself by trying to spot the other fauna in the dome, but drew the line at the conversation switching to French.

"It's nice to chat and all, but I don't think you invited us just for dinner."

Sturgis wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back in his chair. "Quite right. I have some news which, I hope, will take at least one worry off your minds. Remus Lupin is perfectly alive, if perhaps not perfectly well. Well enough, however, to do a job for me."

"You've seen him?" Harry straightened in his seat. "When? Where?"

"Here, a short while ago. Remus, along with another associate of mine are performing a particular task for which I believe them to be uniquely equipped."

"What task?"

"They are retrieving an alchemical component which is only obtained from a region in Siberia called the Blue Cleft." Sturgis turned to Hermione. "And I see one of you knows of what I speak."

"I see how a werewolf is uniquely equipped to go there," Hermione said, "but what about your associate?"

"He possesses an affinity for grotesque violence."

Harry cleared his throat. "Excuse me. What's in the Blue Cleft?"

"You tell him," Sturgis said, reaching for his tea.

"Well… it's a huge ravine with access to one of the largest known cave systems." Hermione knotted her hands together. "It's never been fully mapped because it's the largest hive of vampires in the world. Vampires are strange—the most powerful ones are solitary and sometimes even live among wizards, but when they congregate—"

"These are not the vampires from stories and history books. These ones are more akin to animals," Sturgis said, a slight grimace on his face. "Some years before the Statute took hold, the powers of the wizarding world decided that vampires would be too great a risk. The Blue Cleft is a very large prison. It turns out, leave vampires to themselves for long enough, and they regress to rather more savage dispositions than one expects of civilised creatures. Which just shows you the difference between us and them."

"What's that?" Harry asked.

Sturgis scrunched up his face in disgust. "Wizards don't hunt each other for food."

"The ICW thought banishing vampires there was a fantastic idea," Hermione said. "A few years later, a delegation discovered that the ravine accessed extensive caverns, which contained huge veins of floo crystals—they're blue, hence the Blue Cleft—which are the source of the powder. No deposits like those have been discovered anywhere else. For the most part, we have to mine and grow the crystals."

"A particularly pure kind of crystal is called a flooheart," Sturgis added. "And it has only ever been found in the Cleft. That's what I've sent Remus to get for me. At least six pounds of it."

Hermione stared at Sturgis, incredulous. "Six pounds is probably enough to launch Hogwarts through the Floo network. What could you possibly need it for?"

"And that brings me to the second reason I invited you here… although this is something I'd rather leave between Harry and me." Sturgis stood and knocked twice on the table. The plates and dishes began to clean themselves up, cutlery piled up inside the empty soup bowl, the tablecloth snapped as if released from an elastic strap and rolled up neatly.

As if summoned, Camilla came into the dining alcove.

"Hermione, I'm afraid I must be quite rude now and invite you to tour my home with Camilla while Harry and I speak alone," Sturgis said, inclining his head. Hermione stood up, squeezed Harry's hand, and followed Camilla out.

"I've heard from Sirius you've had the important talk." Sturgis snapped his fingers and the balcony door flew shut. He opened it again, but now it led to an attic room. It was empty, save for a table upon which rested a strange device. Harry joined Sturgis inside. As the door closed, he caught a glimpse of a house elf apparating to clean up after dinner.

Harry circled the table, studying the device, but the design was beyond him. He had never seen anything like it, not even among Dumbledore's collection in his office at Hogwarts. The only familiar element were some runes inscribed on the rim of several lenses arranged as if to focus light. The whole thing looked heavy and unwieldy.

"This is the soulcatcher, then." Although he understood near nothing about it, he felt the thrum of enchantments weaved around every element, and the unmistakable, slick taste of the Dark Touch. "Explain."

Sturgis cleared his throat. "Voldemort created horcruxes for himself. Whether by accident or by design, at least some of them have become living horcruxes—imbued within living hosts rather than objects. You are one. Sirius is another. Perhaps there are more."

"How can you be sure this thing will work?"

Sturgis stood leaning against the wall, legs crossed at the ankle. "Horcruxes are not a factor in the operation of the soulcatcher, Grindelwald designed it to imprison souls—"

"Why would he even need such a thing? Why not just kill the enemy, or lock them up, bound in cold-forged chaines?"

"This is a prison—more secure than anything else wizards have thought of," Sturgis explained, and Harry noticed a patronising note in his voice. "Horcruxes, whether living or not, will keep Voldemort alive as long as even one survives. With this, you can… remove him without the need to kill him, which means you get to live."

Harry straightened his back, drumming a slow rhythm on the table with his fingers. "I don't understand why you're even building it. Why do you care about not letting me die?"

"You ascribe to me a noble motive I am not driven by." Sturgis smiled—it was a cold smile, not reaching the eyes. "I want Voldemort gone—whether dead or held within the soulcatcher, I don't much care. All of his horcruxes must be destroyed before he can be killed. If I knew where to find them, I might have taken that approach. As matters stand, this way is more expedient."

"Well…" Harry stared at Sturgis, who met his eyes without hesitation. The elder wizard opened his thoughts just enough that Harry knew he was sincere. "That's not the answer I expected."

Previously, Sturgis had been a trusted, if distant, ally. In this moment, looking the elder wizard in the eye, Harry learned it was an alliance of convenience, in place until their common enemy was defeated. Had Sturgis always thought like that, or had things changed in the time since he'd left Britain?

"I told you that murder is always wrong, though it may be righteous," Sturgis said, crossing the room.

Harry backed away, hand hovering near the wand holster at his belt. "I thought you meant killing your enemies."

Now with his back turned to Harry, Sturgis ran his hand over the soulcatcher, idly adjusting its moving parts. "I suppose a lie of omission is as false as any other… You know I let Grindelwald be killed. He wasn't my enemy." Sturgis turned, wearing that cold smile again. "I think one day I might even tell you the truth. I can tell you without reservation, I will stand with you against Voldemort when the time comes."

"And once he's dealt with?"

"I'm not out to kill you, or Sirius, or anyone you care about. But you needn't leave here today thinking I've become your enemy."

The door opened and Camilla entered. She stood between them as Sturgis came closer, offering his good arm. Harry grasped it, realising what Sturgis meant to do. Camilla raised her wand above their arms and lines of fire streaked out, binding them.

~~oOo~~

Sirius was not typically prone to anxiety. There were pieces to move on the board, promises to make and keep, people to persuade. No time to sit around worrying. Voldemort was hatching his own scheme in Britain no doubt, and he would move forward regardless of what his enemies might do. Hence, Sirius carried on as well. These past few days, however, he found his thoughts drifting in meetings, and he'd been putting off replying to his mail in favour of staring out of the window or browsing Cygnus' journals.

Cygnus hadn't merely recorded his ideology. During his brief reign over the Black clan, he had made himself an indispensable part of every undertaking the Blacks were involved in, business and otherwise. For every page filled with fanatical manifestos and theses on Dark wizardry, there was one detailing how he had restored the Blacks from near ruin to a semblance of their former fortune. Sirius had used those notes to slowly rouse the machinery of the estate from slumber.

Presently, however, he found himself half-listening to Savage speak about his most recent encounter with smugglers.

"Wait. I didn't catch that," Sirius said, interrupting the Auror.

"The transport was paid for with a writ from Morpheus Fawley." Savage shook the remaining ash out of his pipe, then vanished the lot off the pristinely polished table. "You've hardly listened to a word I've said, boss."

"Right, right. Fawley. Could you—"

"Leave it for you in writing? Sure, I don't have enough note-taking to do at work." Savage snorted, then produced a folded parchment from an inner pocket. "A copy of the report I submitted to Shacklebolt. I can't say what he'll do with this information, but suspicion around Fawleys is just about at the threshold. Whatever you plan to do about them, do it soon."

Savage stood and left without waiting to be dismissed. Sirius appreciated the range of personalities within his ranks. Savage wasn't one for dawdling.

Left alone in the vast room, Sirius ignored the report and summoned a bottle of dwarven rye instead. He was on his second glass when he felt the border enchantment reach out to him. Someone had just come through the gate uninvited. Someone familiar. Sirius summoned an extra glass and waited.

A long, torturous minute later, the door opened and Albus Dumbledore walked in.

"This is rather more impressive than the kitchen at Grimmauld Place Twelve."

"Albus." Sirius noticed Dumbledore's right arm—blackened, withered, dying. "How have you been?"

Dumbledore sat opposite Sirius, the chair sliding out and back in at the merest gesture. "If you imagine I've come because of Nymphadora, let me tell you I encountered her already on my way here. I have several important things to do and little time in which to do them."

"I take it seeing me is one of them." Sirius sipped on his rye. "D'you fancy a glass?"

"Please."

Sirius didn't hurry pouring Dumbledore's drink. Was he telling the truth about Tonks? How much time was little, precisely?

"Thank you," Dumbledore said, then tasted. "A rare thing. Embargoed, as I recall."

Sirius shrugged. "Where's Fawkes?"

The dormant embers in the hearth blazed to life, belching out a flare that licked the table nearly as far down as both wizards sat. The phoenix shot forth from it, circled the room twice and finally settled on the backrest of the throne where Sirius would sit during full gatherings. He looked young.

"He's had a recent burning," Dumbledore said, smiling fondly. "The plumage isn't yet quite as brilliant as he's used to." Fawkes cawed as if in complaint and busied himself grooming the feathers in his tail. "But we must get down to business, as the muggles say."

"Are you planning on seeing Harry?"

"I am indeed, at earliest possible convenience. Where might I find him?"

"He's travelling. Should be back tonight."

Dumbledore rolled a strand of his beard around a finger of his good hand. "Travelling?"

"I don't supervise his comings and goings. You tried, with miserable results. Do you remember what happened when we let him have some autonomy? He flourished."

"I shan't argue about the merits of your mentorship anymore than I would with Mr. Podmore. Harry is of age and what I have to say to him may remain between me and him." Dumbledore shifted in the chair, resting his cursed arm on the tabletop. "Sirius… If this building is indicative of what you've accomplished with your Silver Order, I must express my concern."

"Express away," Sirius said, rising swiftly to his feet. "Mind if I stretch my legs while you do?"

"I commend your successes, Sirius, but I question your methods. From what Nymphadora told me and what I've been able to observe from afar, you've gone further on the path of your ancestors than I ever imagined you would."

"There will be a world after Voldemort. Last time, you stopped when he vanished. I choose to look at what's beyond. I don't know when or how precisely we'll defeat him, but the Dark Lord will fail. When he does, my people won't be tossed into Azkaban or murdered by Death Eaters."

Dumbledore downed the rest of the rye. When he moved, a spasm shook him and he looked at Fawkes. The phoenix soared from his perch and onto Dumbledore's backrest. Leaning over the wizard's shoulder, Fawkes shed a single tear onto the cursed limb and Dumbledore relaxed.

"You've not found a way to undo it?" Sirius asked. "Even after a year, and with Snape travelling with you?"

"Pay it no mind," Dumbledore said, though his voice strained. "You haven't taken the best path, but there's time—"

"For what?" Sirius cut in. "To do things your way? You were gone for a year, there was no time to request your input on every decision. I'm not as cold as you, Albus, I can't be. Sometimes acting on impulse is what's required."

Dumbledore stared at him, and Sirius nearly folded under the weight of that gaze. "You split the Order of the Phoenix on impulse, and I'm not convinced what you've built to replace it is what's required."

"Perhaps it's my impulsiveness that draws people to me." Fawkes seemed to glare at him, and Sirius narrowed his eyes as he returned it. Bloody bird.

"I was always mindful of who I drew to myself. Some of those you've surrounded yourself with…"

"I've got plenty to choose from," Sirius shot back. "Your Order was always short-handed."

Dumbledore ignored the retort. "Take Corvin Savage. I don't think he cares as much about opposing Voldemort as the opportunity to exercise his anarchist aspirations."

"Nothing wrong with a bit of anarchy."

"Then, Mr. Robards. A careerist. Even as a boy, he's never truly believed in anything. He will disappoint you."

"So far, the only disappointment has been the one I stole from you." Sirius spat these words out like an accusation. "She's learned well—as reluctant to action as you were on your best day. At least she has an excuse—she can't stand on even ground with the Dark Lord."

It was a long moment before Dumbledore replied.

"You can't either," he said.

Sirius blinked. Had he imagined the note of doubt? Under different circumstances, he would've been flattered. "No, I can't…" he said slowly, "but I'm the one standing against him now, while you were away on a wellness retreat, apparently."

"There are very good reasons why I've always counseled restraint."

Sirius grimaced with derision. "A rule set forth and followed by those frightened of their own power."

"It is because of my power that I know to fear it, Sirius." Dumbledore spoke quietly now. "Frankly, I didn't insist on caution for your sake, but for Harry's. You are a rare talent among wizards, and in your prime. But even still, tired and soon to death as I am, I needn't move from my chair to disarm you."

"I'm not naive, Albus. I don't claim to measure up to you, or Voldemort."

"But Harry will."

"Yes, he will." Sirius circled the end of the table and came closer to Dumbledore. "And he's the best of us. The same instinct for magic you've got, and he's driven in a way you haven't been in a long time. You're old, Albus. He hasn't lived long enough to let go of hatred, and that's why he won't stop until he's won. And I'll be at his side when he does."

Dumbledore stood up now, squeezing Sirius's shoulder as he passed. He stopped in front of the fireplace, which still burned with the remnant of Fawkes's entrance. "I cautioned restraint because, for all that I tried, and for all that I could have forced him, I dared not steer Harry more directly than I already was. I had tried forcing a young wizard's path before, and he became Lord Voldemort."

Sirius joined Dumbledore and they looked into the flames together as Dumbledore continued.

"I had thought a lot about my failings with Tom Riddle and concluded that mentorship can't be imposed. I made myself approachable, yet Harry turned to you. How much of it is the influence of the marks left on him by Voldemort and how much is his own nature, I cannot know, but he came to you."

Dumbledore looked at Sirius again, his face split between shadows and light. "I fancy myself a rather excellent judge of character, however immodest that sounds, and I rarely make mistakes, but then my mistakes are also proportionally greater. With you, I was missing one important piece of the puzzle. The piece Regulus had stolen from Voldemort and hidden away in his house, where you found it two years ago, and the House of Black aided its master in hiding that dark thing from my sight."

Sirius exhaled slowly. "I'm only surprised it's taken you this long to figure it out."

"I should have realised it sooner, but I was preoccupied with a thousand tiny matters, and several larger ones. What Harry told me of Voldemort's resurrection provided clues I could finally, after thirteen years of searching, assemble into a coherent whole. I was close… but then you brought me that box."

"Which contained another horcrux," Sirius said.

Dumbledore nodded. "The object itself was far more intriguing to me than the piece of Voldemort within. I gave in to curiosity for a single moment... For all that my talents have led to achievements, they've also been responsible for my greatest failings. Because without caution, a wizard cannot help but pursue one's ambitions. Mine cost me this," he raised his cursed arm, and Sirius thought it might catch on fire from the sparks.

"I let go of Harry to such a degree that he drifted into the sphere of influence of some very talented, very dangerous wizards." Dumbledore looked up at Sirius again, and this time, there was regret in his eyes. "He heard you espouse the catharsis of revenge, he learned from Sturgis Podmore about the righteousness of murder, and even received one or two lessons from Jervis Mulciber, brief and brutal as they were, that might makes right."

"You haven't seen him change. He's not so far gone as you fear," Sirius said. He didn't move while Dumbledore turned away and made to leave. "He's not like Voldemort."

Dumbledore paused at the door. "I no longer have time to attempt to save the boy from the corruption you've allowed to be unleashed upon him. I can only hope you're right—that he is the best of all of us."