05. Owl SMS – Part A

Disclaimer Addition: None of the Book/Movie/TV show quotes Fred and George use are mine. They all belong to their respective authors. The opening song for Episodes 1-13 is Sonnet No 92 by William Shakespeare and the ending song for Episodes 1-11 +13 is Iron Fist by Motörhead. The ending song for Episode 12 is Sleeping Sun by Nightwish.

Author's Notes: Perhaps some of you have been wondering about the two additional Gryffindors in the story, Eloise Midgeon and Tara Moon. Have you heard about the Two Unidentified Gryffindor Girls Theory? Jeralyn from Harry Potter for Grown-ups came up with it as she was rereading the scene with Lupin and the Boggart in PoA. While the students tackle the Boggart, it turns into eight different things; eight shapes for eight students minus Harry and Hermione who do not have a go at it. Neville defeats Snape, Parvati gets the mummy, Seamus the banshee, Dean the hand and Ron the spider, which leaves a rat, a rattlesnake and an eyeball for three more students.

We can assume that Lavender is one of those students, which still leaves two unidentified Gryffindors. Since we definitely know that there are only five boys, the missing students have to be girls. Quod erat demonstrandum. *ggg*

Have fun with this chapter and worship Notsosaintly, my brilliant beta, and my wonderful Brit-pickers, Ellie and Lici :-)

* * *

"Previously on Amicus Draconis:"

"Previously on Amicus Draconis, Harry and his friends were trying to save dear old Ollivander; only dear old Ollivander didn't want to be saved and therefore stole Ron's pink piggybank. Harry receives letters that make him stand all poetic in the darkness, Skuld receives a wand, Draco receives an offer, and Lord Grand Greasy Ripper Rattyglue is ogling Lord Grand Chicken McDonald, Lord of the Burger Legion's son's girlfriend who does not crawl out of TVs, although she seems to be Japanese."

"And there's a traitor. Mean evil nasty little traitor stole our precious." *pouts*

"Fred?"

"Yeah, George?"

"Who the heck is Skuld?"

"No idea. We should go ask Urd."

"Next episode?"

"Next episode."

"Is that a thunderstorm coming up?"

*

*

But do thy worst to steal thyself away,

For term of life thou art assured mine;

And life no longer than thy love will stay,

For it depends upon that love of thine.

Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,

When in the least of them my life hath end.

I see a better state to me belongs

Than that which on thy humour doth depend:

Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,

Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.

O what a happy title do I find,

Happy to have thy love, happy to die!

But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot?

Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.

*

*

Amicus Draconis

First Cycle: Cycle of the Badger

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Episode 5: Owl SMS – Part A

6:45 a.m.

"No way, George, this is definitely not a thunderstorm. It's a cloud, it's a dragon, it's a frigging spaceship with aliens from Mars, but it's not a thunderstorm. We had plenty of those already, and now it's time for the weather to clear up. How are the owls supposed to fly with all the wind and rain? You tell me!"

"Sorry, Fred, looks like those poor owls have to exercise some patience if they don't want to bump headfirst into the butterflies. This is London and not Florida. It's the middle of October, and all incumbent weather-frogs predict rain for today. Get out your warm cloaks and coats, people, and tuck your ears in!"

"And all the beautiful ladies among you should get out your stockings, so you can still wear your short skirts. Hosting radio shows is a very demanding job, so we need inspiration from our angelic muses when we're finally able to scrape together some time to look out the gloomy windows of our dull studio."

"So, and just to make sure that you lot get some inspiration too, we'll play you some music. Here's Robbie Williams' newest single..."

With an automatic, almost robotic movement, Bridget Hanson reached for her radio alarm and successfully turned the accursed thing off right before the song started. Bridget hated early shift, especially after a weekend like she just had. Not even a wake-up call from her two favourite radio hosts could help that. She should never have let Jenny persuade her to change shifts today. Why did she always have to grow soft when her flatmate pressed the "best friend" button?

She stretched herself and rolled over to the other end of the bed to finally get her feet on the floor. The floor was cold and her slippers nowhere to be seen. But what did she expect from a day like this? At least, in spite of any weather-frogs, it wasn't raining. An apprehensive glance out her bedroom window assured her that this day was cloudy, but not wet. Not as yet.

Still rubbing sleep from her eyes, she padded into the bathroom. She would take an umbrella anyway, just in case. The weather could never be trusted, and she didn't want to give it a chance to ruin her hair. It was hard enough to shape those bristle strands into curls. What wouldn't she give for natural curls? Well, maybe not her soul, but a great many other things.

For the umpteenth time in her nineteen-year-old life, she scowled at her reflection in the mirror. The ordinary young woman scowling back at her didn't look much different from many other London girls. Hazel eyes, snub nose, freckles, blonde hair with just a tinge of red. She wasn't special in any way. A slender figure, but a bit too boyish for her taste....

Enough for today, Bridget! No more childish whimsies about your looks.

Well, if she absolutely had to spoil this bright new morning with worry, she could at least worry about the important things in life. Job issues, perhaps. Or rent. Or world peace.

At least, she didn't have to worry about weight. Jenny always whined that she gained an entire pound by doing no more than throwing a greedy look at a muffin, but Jenny didn't have any right to complain about anything. She earned an entire twenty pounds more per month, and Bridget hadn't even asked her to pay a higher amount of rent for that ramshackle hut of a flat. And she even could have had a sleep-in today; she didn't have to be at the store until noon.

Where was that stupid yellow blouse? She had put it somewhere last night, she was sure of it.

Racing back to her room, she began a frantic search for the missing object. The cupboard? Somewhere in that mess of clothes hanging over the chair? Somewhere in that other mess of clothes by the drawer? Why, Bridget? Why do you not manage to keep your room nice and orderly? Is life really so short that you're worried about wasting your time with cleaning up?

Finally, the first good luck of the day. She had no idea what folly had driven her to throw the blouse on the window sill, but there it was, looking innocent as if butter wouldn't melt in its mouth. If blouses had mouths, of course.

She had just finished getting dressed when something outside the window attracted her attention. It was a huge bird passing by her window, and it looked like...

An owl? No, that couldn't be. What was an owl doing during the day in the middle of a city? No, wait a moment, wasn't there something with owls? She had heard something about owls somewhere; she was sure of it.

But she had no idea when and how it could have happened....

She was still absorbed in thoughts about owls when a sudden purple flash flickered through the room, followed by a soft beep. She didn't worry too much about the beep – it was only the message signal of her mobile phone – but that light had been a bit strange. Maybe there was something wrong with the batteries? She should let Jack from the electronics department have a look at it ... So what did the message say anyway?

HELLO HONEY BUNNY YOU SAID YOU HAVE EARLY SHIFT TODAY SO HOW ABOUT I PICK YOU UP AT THE STORE LATER AND WE'LL DO SOMETHING TOGETHER MISS YOU LOVE M

* * *

"Class, repeat after me: Wingardium Leviosa!"

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

"No, no, no! It's Le-vi-O-sa, not Leviosar!"

Pacing the classroom like an angry Kneazle, Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. The stern frown on her face turned to an irritated scowl as if she was trying to ensure her authority by glaring. Her class consisted of six- to ten-year-old children, who, until a few weeks ago, hadn't been able to tell a wand from a cooking spoon. In ordinary times, British wizarding children didn't get to study magic until they had reached the age of eleven, but these times were anything but ordinary, and the witches and wizards of New Hogwarts had decided to do away with some of the old traditions.

Yet, instructing children in the proper use of magic turned out to be a more challenging and ambitious task than any of them had bargained for. "Didn't I explain to you about the importance of proper pronunciation?" Hermione wondered for the umpteenth time this week. "If you change the words around or put the emphasis on the wrong syllable, you lose your control over the magic. You have no idea what the spell will do eventually, and the consequences can be severe. By the way, the same goes for..." she stepped closer to one of the tables and snatched a fidgety little boy's wand from his hands – "the improper handling of wands."

She set the wand firmly on the table. The little boy, whose swordplay with his neighbour had been so mercilessly interrupted, tried to force his face into an unconvincing expression of guilt. However, as soon as Hermione had turned away from them, the two boys started to giggle and make faces behind her back.

She tried not to notice and continued with her instructions instead. Once this lesson was over, every one of those children was supposed to be able to float their quills without making them explode.

"Don't you think you might be just a bit harsh on those poor little mites?" a nagging voice wanted to know as an exhausted yet determined Hermione strode from the classroom at the end of the lesson. "Yes, I know, discipline is important, but they are so young and so alone and they can't be home with their mothers. Don't you pity them at all?"

Hermione rolled her eyes; this was so typical of Lavender Brown. The girl had made a habit of appearing behind closed doors, but of course it was always 'by coincidence'. "And don't you realize, Lavender, that too much pitying and pampering will eventually turn those poor mites into spoiled brats? We're responsible for them now. And we're all that stands between them and the war. I know it's a harsh life, but they need to grow up fast, and they need to be able to defend themselves. Their lives may depend on it."

Hermione turned and marched along the corridor, her steps so forceful that Lavender had to skip to keep pace with her. "Defend themselves?" she asked in a high-pitched voice. "You can't mean that, Hermione. You can't mean to teach them combat spells."

She looked into Hermione's eyes, searching desperately for some sign that this was all a joke. Yes, that girl had made a habit of knowing everything and knowing everything better. She was also known for her overblown sense of duty, order and discipline, her exaggerated drive for perfection and, last but not least, that frosty air of arrogance that seemed to follow her around wherever she went. Yes, that was her majesty the ice queen Hermione Granger, and she had always been that way, except for that brief time during fourth year when she had loosened up a little. But that time was long gone, especially now when her royal highness wanted to turn their secret hideout into a military training camp for children.

"For your information, this is not about combat spells. It's about discipline and respect." Hermione didn't know any of the thoughts Lavender was pondering behind that pretty, vacant face of hers, not that she cared about any of them anyway. "If the children don't respect us and listen to what we say, neither will they do so in case of emergency."

It was probably something about boys and clothes and make-up. What else would a girl like Lavender think about?

"What do you mean by 'in case of emergency'?" Lavender tried to sound cheerful, but she couldn't stop her voice from shaking, and she didn't know whether it was because of anger or fear. It was one thing to let Hermione's endless sermons wash over her, but she really shouldn't let little Miss Know-it-all get to her like that, especially when there was no reason to worry. "The last time I looked, we didn't take the children on any of our missions," she stated. "They stay here, in our hideout. And our hideout is a safe place. It can't be found. Dumbledore said so." She glared at Hermione with her jaw set, as if she dared the other girl to contradict her and question Dumbledore's wisdom.

I bet the Death Eaters are already working on a way to find us, Hermione thought, but decided to keep these thoughts to herself. She had discussed them with Harry often enough; it was no use discussing them with someone like Lavender Brown. "I know we can trust in Dumbledore," she replied, "I just want the children to be safe, that's all." Not waiting for an answer, she pushed open the door to her next classroom and vanished behind it.

That's so typical of her. Lavender scowled at the closed door, but then she shrugged and continued on her way. After all, she too, had classes to teach.

* * *

"How may I help you?"

"I just want a look around."

Same questions, same answers. Over and over again. All day long.

Perfume wasn't something people bought because they needed it. They needed soaps and toothpaste and shampoo, but who could really say they needed perfume? The entire perfume business was a game with angst, desire and hidden dreams coming to life on soppy advertisement posters and in unrealistic screen scenarios, most of them involving good-looking, half-naked models prancing around, while the wind simulator blow-dried their hair.

How ridiculous...

Well, it could be funny sometimes, Bridget considered, as she unpacked boxes and arranged their contents on the shelves. Old women in particular were very fond of perfume for young girls. And guys with faces that made you want to drop dead on first sight believed themselves irresistible Casanovas, once they had doused themselves in pheromones.

Too bad, they weren't dogs. Or insects. Then it might actually work.

Why, oh why, couldn't she work in one of the fashion departments? Then she could at least give some good styling advice to people. The right clothes could work miracles even on the drop-dead-faces.

On the other hand, no. Too many potbellies trying to force themselves into tight jeans and mini-skirts.

"Hi, honey, how are you?" Jenny popped up behind her, not even bothering to wait for her reply. "Say, would you mind staying a little bit longer, just an hour or so? It would be so sweet of you. You see, I almost forgot my appointment at the hairdresser's today."

"No chance, sweetie." Bridget smirked at her. "Maybe you should have thought of it a bit earlier, perhaps..." she drew out the sentence on purpose, "...before you changed shift with me?"

"How can you be so mean?" Jenny whined, looking as hurt as if she had taken a blow to her face. "What could be important enough to desert your best friend for? Ah, don't tell me. It's that silly boyfriend of yours again. Come on, you hung out with him all weekend!"

"Oh, well, I think I could hang out with him for much longer than that? The rest of my days, perhaps?" Blushing, Bridget averted her face to suppress a giggle. "I know what you're going to say now."

"I'm going to say you're acting like a teenager in love." Jenny rolled her eyes, but that gesture didn't conceal the trace of envy in her voice.

Bridget gave her a sweet smile. "That would be because I am a teenager in love, my dear best friend."

"Are any of you planning to help me anytime soon," an old woman's voice croaked.

"Of course, my dear." Bridget turned towards the customer, the innocent smile never leaving her face. It was probably best to lead her to the young girls' perfumes immediately.

* * *

"So, how's our chief mediwitch doing today? Busy, I hear?"

"Oh, shut up, Lav! Don't let Padma hear you talk like that; she's jealous enough as it is."

"Oh, don't mind her." Lavender winked at Parvati, who had just entered the girls' dormitory, before she turned back to the contents of her schoolbag. It was almost lunch-time, so she should probably head down to their makeshift library and put back the books she didn't need this afternoon. Books were a scarce commodity in their hideout, so you couldn't just leave them lying around.

"Could you leave the Sporeone?" Eloise Midgeon reached for the Herbology encyclopaedia. "I need to look up something."

"But you don't teach Herbology, do you?" Tara Moon wondered, her face emerging from behind her planetary charts. She was in the middle of preparing her next Astronomy lesson, which was bound to take place after lunch.

"Well, I don't, but ... well, it's rather embarrassing..."

All three girls listened up, looking at her with eager faces. These little anecdotes of embarrassment were their third favourite form of entertainment, following right after gossip and rumours.

Eloise lowered her eyes and voice. It was an unsuccessful attempt to conceal how much she enjoyed being at the centre of the attention for once, but it had to do. "One of the little girls asked me about the usage of powdered Ginkgo, and I didn't have any idea what she was talking about. I don't remember Professor Sprout saying anything about Ginkgo in class.

"Ohhh." Her audience made shocked faces.

"Wait, it gets even worse. The girl said I shouldn't worry about it; she was going to ask Neville because he's the expert after all. Can you imagine what it felt like? I was standing there like some silly cow that doesn't have a clue, and Neville Longbottom is supposed to be an expert."

"Ohhh!"

"Well, he does know a lot more about Herbology than you do, that's for certain."

Four heads spun round. Hermione stood in the doorway. She didn't give the other girls so much as a second glance; simply put her schoolbag next to her sleeping mat and disappeared through the door again.

"And that's supposed to tell us ... what?" Tara shrugged her shoulders.

"That's so typical," Eloise muttered. "That girl needs her head checked."

"Maybe this is supposed to be a brilliant plan, and we're just too dumb to appreciate it," Tara remarked dryly. "After all, she's the Head Girl, and we're only the common folk."

"Anyhow, she should work on that attitude of hers." Parvati lowered her voice and glanced towards the door, just in case Hermione changed her mind and came back to the dormitory. "It's not that I don't like her, and I really don't mean to talk behind her back, but she's just not like us. She always keeps her distance, and she can be a real snob sometimes."

"She's been like this since first year," Lavender agreed. "She was never interested in our friendship."

"Maybe she would've been a bit nicer if you hadn't made fun of her teeth all the time. And her hair."

"And you shouldn't have drawn those dog pictures on her History of Magic notes!"

"I only did that because she told everyone that I used a self-correcting quill when we wrote that test in third year. Besides it was during the month when we decided not to talk to her, so she should have been glad for a bit of attention."

Lavender didn't answer. As Eloise and Tara launched a passionate debate over the question whether Parvati had really used a self-correcting quill, she let her thoughts travel back to their time at Hogwarts. Had they really been unfair to Hermione? But wasn't it her own fault if she didn't try to fit in? All those taunts about her hair and her teeth hadn't come out of nowhere; Hermione could've been a real beauty if she'd made a bit of an effort with her looks. Different clothes, flashy make-up, perhaps a potion to get her hair straight.

Everything could've been so much easier if she were only a bit more, well, perhaps normal was the appropriate word. No wonder that none of the boys had ever taken an interest in her.

Wait, that wasn't entirely true. Back in fourth year, there had been a time when she had loosened up a little; she had even taken a bit of an interest in things like clothes, music and make-up. Yes, you wouldn't have believed it, back then she had even understood the meaning of the term giggle, and it wasn't because she had read the word in the dictionary.

Back then, Viktor Krum had been in love with her. The star of the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team had fallen for a little wallflower. How had the story ended? Hermione had never spoken about it.

That was another one of those things. Normal girls talked about their love life.

* * *

"Did Flint take another day off? Again? He was away all weekend!"

"You can shut your big mouth right now, Higgs. Captain Flint will arrive right on schedule for second shift."

Adrian Pucey, commander of the Ghost Riders and Marcus Flint's official second-in-command, sat at a table in the Leaky Cauldron trying to work out a patrol schedule for next week. He looked very busy doing so, and he looked especially busy when Terence Higgs turned up to get on his nerves.

Unfortunately Terence didn't take the hint and continued to flood him with information he wasn't particularly keen on. "Hey, SIC, did you hear the news about Malfoy?"

Adrian gave a sigh. "Who did he kill this time?"

"No, it's not about his illegal curses. That fool got the chance of his life, and he just threw it away, just like that. I heard him do it with my own ears. Well, Zabini heard it with his ears, and he told me about it." Terence held his breath to prepare for the death stroke. "Macnair was going to admit Malfoy into the Blood Legion."

"So?" His effort was wasted, because Adrian wasn't impressed in the least. "Don't tell me that this was Malfoy's own achievement. Macnair's friends with his father, so it was bound to happen."

"Still, we're talking about the Blood legion here. The elite force of our Master."

"Who says that? Macnair? He should better watch his mouth," Adrian snarled, his temper rising. He felt angry enough to curse Terence, especially as the boy continued to blabber on: "How could anyone turn down such an opportunity? Does he have flobberworms for brains, or what?"

Adrian jumped up, his legs hitting the table. The scroll with the patrol schedule rolled to the floor, but he didn't bother to pick it up as he leaned forward, glaring at the younger man. "The Blood Legion are nothing but a lot of arrogant slime-buckets, and no Ghost Rider who has the tiniest bit of pride wants to be involved with them any more than necessary. You better not forget that, Higgs!"

Terence shrunk back as Adrian drew his wand, but he only used it to pick up the scroll and pin the finished schedule to the wall. "And besides, if you're so keen on talk and rumour mongering, I can tell you a little something a little owl told me. The Blood Legion are being infiltrated as we speak. They have a spy in their midst, a spy who passes information to the Order of the Phoenix. Or why do you think it's always the Blood Legion who gets attacked? None of the other forces have had any trouble so far. We haven't either."

"Well, it's not like we do anything important, is it?" Terence muttered, but he kept his voice down so as not to infuriate his boss any further.

Adrian didn't bother to reply. He stormed out of the Cauldron to get some fresh air before the official shift would start and bring with it more trouble.

* * *

As the artificial sun was setting in the hideout under the lake, a pair of ruby eyes started to glow, casting an eerie light upon a black ring adorned with a dog-shaped head.

Its owner looked up in concern, tucking the ring safely beneath his shirt. "We need to go up to the surface, Hermione. There's a letter waiting for me."

* * *

The cool, fresh air outside the Cauldron felt like the breath of life, and yet – it would take some time until his anger had subsided. No, he didn't want to hear about the Blood Legion. No, he didn't want to think about a part of his life that was long over and couldn't be brought back. Leave the past behind. Let bygones be bygones. Turn your thoughts to the future.

Oh, what a feather in his cap. Adrian Pucey, proud member of the Blood Legion. One of the few Hogwarts students to qualify for the Dark Lord's elite soldiers, and, no, he didn't have a family friend to smooth the way for him. His success came from hard work, devoted study and the determination to be successful.

He was going to do it. He was going to show them.

Of course, he knew that dark and difficult times lay ahead of him. The former Dumstrang students would not readily accept a Hogwarts alumnus into their midst. Their education concerning the Dark Arts had been far more superior to his; they considered him an obstacle, a pebble in their shoe. He would have to bear their enmity, just like Bulstrode had to deal with all the hostilities from the Ghost Riders.

But he was certain his luck would change. Bulstrode was left alone after she became part of Malfoy's gang. He, too, had thought that he would eventually be accepted into a group. Someday.

Day after day he tried. He practised his spells, followed his orders, never complained to his superiors, and never ever told on a mate, no matter what they had done to him. He usually knew who was behind a prank, or worse, an attack, but he wanted to prove his loyalty. And if the prank was against someone else, he was glad to join in and take an active part in it. After all, he had to use every method available to prove to them that he was a useful member of their group and a cruel, merciless servant of the Dark Lord.

And then, one day he was put to the ultimate test. A hot day it had been, a June day, a Hogsmeade day. One last visit to the village before the students had to sit their exams. But when those exams came, one girl would be missing among their number. And some other seats would remain empty as well.

It was a day he wouldn't forget for as long as he lived...

Something startled him from his thoughts, and it happened so quickly that he didn't even have time to realize what had interrupted him. A sound? A shadow? The presence of another person? He spun around, drawing his wand, but the entire street was deserted. Straining his eyes, he tried to make out something in the darkness, but his efforts were in vain. There was nothing.

The nothing turned out to be the tip of a wand poking into his back.

"Please don't do anything rash, Mr Pucey," said a cold, drawling voice. "I came here tonight with a lucrative offer, and believe me, we both would feel very sorry if I had to ruin my plans and your bright future simply because you forced me to kill you."

How could this be possible? The wall with the entry to Diagon Alley was only a couple of steps behind him. Had someone Apparated between him and the wall?

He took a deep breath, trying to stall for time. "Let me hear your offer."

"All I ask of you is a very small favour. Should you be willing to accept it and settle the affair without any complications, I might be able to provide you with a new career. A more promising career than chasing Muggles over rooftops."

"Sounds interesting. What do I have to do?"

"Remove an obstacle out of my way. A Muggle."

Adrian drew in a sharp breath. He wasn't surprised that his job description included someone snuffing it, but why would anyone need to be rid of a Muggle? Muggles were like rats; they swarmed all over the place, and you killed them for sport. And yet his client wanted him to target a certain individual of the species. How did you single out a rat from other rats?

No, he wasn't the type to ask questions. Whatever that mystery bloke's problem was, it was none of his business. The only thing to worry about was the pay.

"Fine, I'll do your Muggle. But first let me hear about that career offer of yours."

"We will clarify the details after your job is done. You needn't worry; I have no intention of deceiving you. The Blood Legion was foolish enough not to recognize your potential," the voice gave a soft chuckle as Adrian flinched at the name, "but I do, and I'm always in need of competent people. Give me your hand, Mr Pucey."

Giving his hand would mean letting go of his wand, but it didn't look like he had much of a choice. Since the stranger's wand was still pressed firmly into his back, he didn't dare to turn around, so he quietly switched his own wand to the left hand and stretched his arm backwards, expecting the worst.

Something was put in the palm of his hand. His fingers curled around it, felt the cold metal, felt the shape adorning this most remarkable piece of jewellery. He had known it for a ring the moment he touched it, a crest ring to be exact, but what surprised him was the crest animal. After the brief talk with his client, or should he rather say future employer, he had presumed the animal to be a rat. He did not know which one of the Lord's council members carried the rat as his symbol, but he knew that people were recruited in the name of the rat, people to gather information, or to do certain kinds of jobs. But it was all very fishy, and no one knew too much about it.

Anyhow, the animal on the ring was not a rat at all. It was a cat's head he felt, a cat's head with a pointed snout, long whiskers and small tufts of hair on the tips of his ears.

There could be no doubt that the crest animal was a lynx. And there was only one family in all of wizarding Europe who bore that crest.

"You would be a fine asset to my own security force, Mr Pucey. Assuming you complete your job, of course. Contact me as soon as you have good news for me."

"I won't disappoint you, Grand Dragon. You were right in delegating this task to me."

The ring was taken from his palm, and only a short moment later, Adrian found himself to be alone again. Adrian Pucey, proud member of the Venom Fangs. Well, they weren't exactly the Blood Legion, but it was a lot better to work for a private security force than for a bunch of losers like the Ghost Riders. And besides, as long as the Blood Legion had so much trouble with this traitor thing, he wasn't particularly keen on rejoining them anyway. He would have to wait until they got that bastard.

A leading member of the Dark Lord's council considered him a competent person. Adrian felt his ego swell with pride. It seemed that the tides were finally turning in his favour and that all his hard work had been good for something after all.

Well ... just how was he going to get that Muggle?

As he turned around, he faced nothing but the magic wall leading to Diagon Alley, but something had changed about that wall. Fiery red letters were written upon it, clearly visible in the darkness.

"Bridget Hanson," he started to read. "Moonstone Alley No.42, Apartment 63..."

* * *

"How did it get so late again?"

A second glance on her watch assured Bridget that it really was two o'clock in the morning. Of course, her boyfriend had offered to take her home at this time of night, but she had decided to decline his generous offer. You could guess what it would lead to, and she desperately needed some sleep. Her apartment was just down the road, and she was a big girl, capable of walking a few steps on her own.

Besides, who could do her any harm when the street was empty anyway? All sounds of living beings came from further away, voices behind windows, car engines, music...

Steps...

Steps. Someone was walking. But where? The street was completely deserted, and if someone walked along any of the other streets, they would be too far away to hear. Someone was walking right here, and why couldn't she see them?

No, there wasn't anyone walking. Don't be silly, Bridget. You're imagining things. It's only the echo of your own steps playing a trick on you.

She reached into her handbag, grabbing her keys just to be safe. Keys between her fingers, just as Jenny had showed her. It wasn't much, but it could be a helpful weapon against an attacker. But it was still more helpful not get yourself into any dangerous situations. So, she should get home quickly.

Stop your panicking, Bridget. Panic is bad. Very bad.

All the strange newspaper reports she had read came to her mind, and they came all at once. People disappearing without a trace. Others reporting strange lights in the sky, flashes, green skulls, ghosts, phantoms, angels, UFOs. One man claimed to have seen zombies, decayed bodies scampering around with spread arms and glassy eyes. Another talked about dead people suddenly coming back to life. There had been something about a woman in the mortuary, she was sure of it. The woman had been presumed dead by a doctor and put into one of those cubicles, but a few hours later, she had suddenly climbed out of it and demanded to go home.

What a ridiculous bunch of rubbish! Some people really didn't have a life.

Panic is bad, Bridget.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart pound beneath it. Soon she would be home, and a warm bed and a cup of hot chocolate would make her forget all those silly thoughts. When she turned around the corner to Moonstone Alley and got the first glimpse of the house where her flat was located, she finally felt a trace of relief. Now all she had to do was climb the stairs and then...

Someone was following her. She couldn't see anything, didn't hear a sound, but something was there, watching her every movement. It was an inexplicable fear coursing through her veins, slowing her down, clamping her, harsh and cruel like a vice. As she tried to break free from its merciless grip, she felt like a hunted animal, unable to make out the predator in the bushes, but knowing it was there. It was there, and it never took its eyes off her.

She accelerated her steps, rushing towards the stairs which led up the side of the large house. Her own flat was on the top floor, and her steps sounded so strange on the metal stairs, so dull, so empty. She was running now, jumping from step to step, the sound of her footsteps merging with all the noises coming from behind the doors and windows. Human voices, a TV, a door banged shut; did people ever go to sleep behind these thin walls?

Somewhere, a baby started to cry...

She raced over the balcony past all the identical-looking doors, stumbling over some toy, almost bumping into the baby pram the Andrews always left outside. She raced on, jumping a flowerpot and accidentally scaring a cat that hissed at her and went on its way. She didn't stop until she had reached her door, turned her key, pushed it open and shut, with herself on the other side.

Utterly exhausted, she leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath. Her breathing slowed and so did her heartbeat as she pressed a hand to her chest once more. The horrible fear that had gripped her just a moment ago finally subsided and seemed so ridiculous now that she was safely in her own home.

She really shouldn't have read all those silly articles. And what was worse, she shouldn't have believed a word of them. Stop being so naïve, Bridget!

Well, not that any of it mattered now. She dropped her handbag on the small table by the wardrobe and switched on the light.

And suppressed a scream.

Jenny lay on the floor, limp, unmoving; her glassy eyes staring into nothingness. No blood, no sign of violence, only her flatmate and best friend with an expression on her face as if she had seen something horrifying during those last seconds of her life.

And then that life had ended.

* * *

Something inside her mind urged her to run to Jenny and shake her awake, although another part of her had already registered the unspeakable truth. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. People didn't just fall down and ... die.

Her second thought was the telephone. She needed to call an ambulance. What if it was all a mistake and they could still save Jenny? She was no doctor, so how could she know if...

The police! She had to call the police.

Her fingers were trembling as she dialled the number; her hands were shaking, and the phone slipped from her grasp, falling to the floor with a loud bang. The display went dark.

No, no, no, no! She picked it up and shook it. She took out the batteries and put them back in. She swore at it. She pleaded with it.

Nothing happened.

Of course they had a landline phone as well; in fact it was only a few meters away from her. She could easily reach it. All she had to do was...

... step over Jenny.

She made one careful step and felt her legs give way beneath her. That thing on the floor couldn't be Jenny. Not with that mask-like face. Not with those eyes.

What if Jenny was a zombie like the ones in the paper? What if she jumped up any moment and tried to grab her?

Shut up, Bridget! Shut the hell up! How dare you think such mean and nasty thoughts about your Jenny? Your best friend is dead. She's dead! Gone forever.

Her eyes were staring at the dead girl; she couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't reach for the phone. Something horrible had happened here, something beyond words and reason and sense, something that human logic could find no explanation for. She didn't understand how, but suddenly she realized that not even the police would be able to do anything. They would be as helpless as she was.

Jenny did not move; she did not jump up and didn't make a sound. But something else did. It ripped through the silence, scaring the living daylights out of her, and this time she did scream, although it wasn't much more than a yelp. The vice-like fear had come back with full force, and it had taken her breath away.

Why she had to go, I don't know, she wouldn't say...

It was her mobile ringing.

I said something wrong, now I long for...

Oh my God!

... yesterday...

"Bridget? Bridget, are you there? Come on, talk to me, honey-bunny. I just want to know if you got home safely. Is everything all right?"

"No, it's not all right, it's not!" Sobbing, she sank to the floor, her hand clutching the phone like a drowning man would cling to a life-buoy. When tears broke from her eyes, hot and wet like blood, she finally felt words break from her mouth, crushing the trance that held her in its grasp. "Jenny ... an accident ... it's horrible ... I'm so scared. I'm so scared!"

"What happened? Bridget, for Merlin's sake, tell me. What's going on? Tell me!"

"I don't know," she sobbed. "I really don't. Jenny – she's on the floor. They killed her. Her eyes, her eyes ... like she has seen a ghost."

His next words were beyond all comprehension; something she had never heard before, something that didn't even sound like words. She could not associate any meaning with them; they were nothing more than an inscrutable horror, a haunting, a child's nightmare. As if they named and summoned something from outside the boundaries of reality.

"Avada Kedavra...."

"What ... what are you talking about?"

"Bridget, you need to listen to me now. That accident that happened to your friend wasn't an accident at all, and you're in great danger. I know it sounds strange, but you need to trust me on this and do as I say. You can't stay there. Come to Kensington Gardens, and we'll meet up by the statue of Peter Pan. I'll explain everything then. You need to hurry!"

"I'll come." Still shaking, Bridget pulled herself up from the floor.

"I love you, honey-bunny. Everything will be all right, I promise."

"I love you, too, Marcus," she whispered as his voice faded. She lowered her eyes, staring at the dark silent phone display.

Before she could do anything else, a hand was placed on her mouth from behind.

* * *

Amicus Draconis - 1st Cycle: Cycle of the Badger - Part 5: Owl SMS

"I wonder, I wonder, do you know what I wonder?"

"You wonder how the game works, right? It's real easy; all you have to do is copy the movements. Ready?"

"Actually, I was wondering if the weather..."

"Here it goes."

"But..."

"Up! Down! Up! Down! Choo! Choo! Choo! Up! Down! Up! Down! Choo! Choo! Choo!"

"What?"

"Right! Hey! Left! Hey! Choo! Choo! Choo! Come on, hurry up already. You'll never get any points until you copy the movements, and you'll never get a boyfriend either."

"This game is stupid."

"You need the right-right-right clothes. Or you'll be left-left-left out! You need fancy make-up-up-up! Always bow down-down-down to your superior! And never smo-choo-choo-choo any Muggles! Or you'll be hey-hey-hey-hated."

"You don't know who're talking too, scum! I'm Captain Headgirl Know-it-all, mighty and invincible. I'm way-hey-hey-hey better than you are, and I'm way-hey-hey-hey too smart for these games. And I don't need a boyfriend either."

"But everyone needs a boyfriend. This is a fanfiction. Everyone needs boyfriends in a fanfiction."

"Well, I don't. I happen to have a wonderful girlfriend. And you better shut up-up-up before the mods start complaining about all your netspeak and your one word sentences."

"Spoilsport. I H8 U4 this."

"H8 U2 " *sticks tongue out."

"O RLY?"

"YA RLY!"

"OMG STHU b4 we get b& plz."

Amicus Draconis - 1. Zyklus: Zyklus des Dachses - Teil 5: Eulen SMS

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry about that mean cliff-hanger :-(

I was always very curious about the relationship between Hermione and her fellow Gryffindor ladies. From the little we get to see through Harry's eyes, it's obvious that Lavender and Parvati have trouble getting along with Hermione. In GoF when Harry asks Lavender if she can think of a Yule Ball partner for Ron, she wonders: "What about Hermione Granger?" The way she speaks about Hermione, mentioning her last name shows that even after four years in the same dormitory, the girls still aren't especially close. Lavender and Parvati are best friends, and Hermione is the one left out.

I wanted to explore that conflict a bit further and look at it from different sides. Fanfiction is often quick to point a finger at Lavender and Parvati, holding them responsible for everything. It's true; the two seem flippant and superficial, while Hermione is more earnest and doesn't waste so much time on trivial things. But she can also be stubborn, bossy and arrogant, so the situation is a bit more complicated than simply choosing a culprit and bashing them. As a fanfiction author I feel that I should treat such conflicts with care. That's why I hope the quick POV changes between Hermione and Lavender during the corridor scene make sense to you. It's not my intention to bash the characters; I'm only trying to express the way they think and feel about each other.

I already explained to you about the Two Unidentified Gryffindor Girls Theory before this chapter. The theory might be a bit outdated, because we never hear about those girls in books five and six. Anyhow, I liked it very much when I read about it, so I decided to follow it and include two more female Gryffindors in Harry's year. Eloise Midgeon (also spelled Midgen) is mentioned in the books once or twice, and the name Moon is called at the Sorting ceremony in PS, hence Tara Moon. The two characters are another best-friends pair like Lavender and Parvati, and they will play a small part in future chapters.

Talking about future chapters; in the B-part of episode five we'll find out who the mysterious Death Eater is and why he wants to kill Bridget. In the Post Fic Author's Note I'll talk about the crest rings, another mystery that's not solved yet.

Yamato