The Gathering – Part 2

French – English (on-line translator)

Amplifiée – Amplified

Bourdon – The heaviest of the bells in a musical arrangement. The bourdon produces the lowest notes.

Croyez-moi, une fois suffit – Believe me, once was enough.

Résonance – Resonance

Other vernacular

Out'ouse (out-house) – A backyard toilet.

The Narrow Sea – The English Channel

Canon characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no money from them.

Thank you, AmyLouise, for advising on the proper designation of French plurals...

And a huge parcel of gratitude to TeaOli, whose beta-skills never fail to add a precision to my work that would otherwise be swamped in commas.

---

They were slightly smaller than the centaurs of Bane's herd, but they looked rugged and agile, weather toughened and wise. Both were grey flanked with well-muscled legs and broad hooves. Their human features were tanned walnut-brown, and their eyes had the farsighted look of those whose only boundaries are marked by the distant horizon. Their hair was blond, straight, and worn long in the manner of – Hermione speculated as she weighed the conflicting historical accounts and lack of proper evidence – the ancient Merovingian kings. Feeling a light touch at her elbow, Hermione gave Firenze her full attention.

"The Camargue herd traditionally has two leaders of equal status: one male, one female. Etùyen keeps law; Breyūn keeps wisdom. The Keeper of Wisdom has always been female," the palomino centaur whispered as Bane concluded the introductions.

Hermione thanked him appreciatively. The insights she had been given into centaur culture promised a rich depth of history, tradition, knowledge, and experience. No wonder that the centaurs had refused the entirely human definition of Being status – a definition coined under the same administrative ethics that had caused so much discord in the first place. Ghosts have their own definition that they seem to be happy with, she thought. I'm sure we could do the same for centaurs. She nodded politely when Bryndorach informally saluted her. Nobody in their right mind would group centaurs with hags – Hags! – and vampires. Memo to me... Fix this as soon as possible. Knowing that further deliberation would lead her onto a soap box the size of an international shipping container, she turned all of her attention to her surroundings.

After the ceremonies at the Stone Circle six days previously, Bane had proposed "The Giant's Barrow" as a suitable meeting place for the recipients of Fawkes' messages. Upon questioning, Bane had assured Hermione that he was certain no giant had ever lain in state there, but it had been the place where Hagrid and Grawp had initially hidden after escaping militant Death Eaters. It was a spacious earth cavern with supporting columns made of expertly fitted dry stone – some bearing signs of Grawp's attentions – arranged at regular intervals along the walls. The columns reached up to form round arches which spanned the roof and gave an upside-down forest of tree roots something to tangle with. As she mused on who might have excavated the Barrow, Bane added dry branches to a fire burning in the middle of the floor and renewed a charm to direct the smoke to go outside.

She felt Severus take her arm and followed his lead to the fire where everyone had begun to gather in a circle. She nudged him gently, then directed his attention to where Breyūn stood watching him with incisive analysis.

"You have the look of your forefather," Breyūn said to Severus when his eyes locked with hers.

"Your people knew him?" Severus asked with equal directness, instinctively knowing of whom she spoke.

"When Vortigern's shadow-wraiths massed on our borders on their way to attack Ambrosius' army, we were threatened by that which we had never encountered before." Breyūn nodded to Etùyen, who held up an aurochs horn bound with silver. "It was your ancestor who gave us the means to fight it and drive it from our lands. Years later, when he returned from the realm of the Byzantines, he brought with him centaurs who had been sold into slavery. With royal gold and a prince's privilege, he had bargained for over fifty yearlings stolen from the forests of the land beyond the Narrow Sea. Our people led him and his charges by secret ways through salt marsh and fen, under the shrouds of night and mist so that he might return them to homeland and herd in secret. Our memories are long, descendant of Merlin."

Acutely aware of Bane and Oriens' open astonishment, Firenze's silent shift to respectful attention, the abrupt jingle of Bryndorach's chain mail, and Petrus' hissed "Ave Maria!" at the appellation Breyūn had bestowed upon him, Severus drew the dragon brooch out of his pocket. Without giving any hint as to what it was, he displayed it on his open palm.

The Camargue centaurs looked at each other and nodded. "It was Merlin's," Breyūn confirmed. "He always wore it. The red dragon cipher was given to him by his father..."

"Ambrosius," Severus murmured, deliberately dispelling any supposition that he was entirely ignorant of what lay in his hand.

"The red dragon crossing the sky," Bane whispered to Firenze, who gave his herd leader an unsurprised nod of affirmation.

Etùyen addressed Severus in tones of regal importance. "Bane and Firenze told us of what transpired during the meeting held after the attack in the Forbidden Forest. The red dragon is yours by birthright, along with the bright power the planets spoke of."

Severus scowled, sealing the memory of mosaic, statue, and crystal cave behind his Occlumency. "While the cipher is completely benign, the 'bright power' is another matter altogether. I must admit: I don't know what it is, who fashioned it and why, or how best to use it."

The five centaurs shared knowing glances. "One truly driven by the Dark would think himself sure of its use," said Breyūn, laying a warm hand on Severus' shoulder. "You are not such a man. Trust the power, Severus, and let it show you what must be done."

Severus' eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How do you know I can trust it?"

Breyūn unflinchingly held his gaze. "Have you experienced anything to confirm that you cannot?"

"No. Not yet." Severus glanced at Tobias, who shrugged uneasily. Rousing himself, he transfigured a stone into a table, then produced a map from the sleeve of his robes. Placing it on the table, he enlarged and unrolled it. With his wand, he touched a symbol on the legend. The map's elaborate details shifted and buckled. Mountain ranges, forests, rivers, and valleys took on a three-dimensional aspect.

Hermione leaned in to have a closer look, giving a small gasp of delight to see tiny trains inching their way along cobweb-thin silver threads of railway lines. Cities and towns pullulated with moving forms no bigger than specks of dust.

"It's actually a world map," Severus explained. "I had a look at it yesterday and left the scale and extent commands on northern England. It's accurate to street level," he continued, pointing to a floating label that said "Manchester" in genteel copperplate script. "It was originally produced by an obscure logistical support section in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Fortunately, they still exist and were able to update the map to present-day. I ground-truthed it against places I'm reasonably familiar with."

Hermione was captivated. "Where did you find it?"

Severus nodded towards Petrus. "Ask our librarian – he's been excavating the stacks in search of the useful and interesting."

Petrus bowed and climbed onto a plinth Oriens had transfigured for him. "It is an adventure of great discovery – and a most enjoyable means of passing the time," he said, curling his tail in contentment. "The items brought by the phoenix, I thought perhaps some of them related to places? If so, the map would be a useful thing."

"Indeed." Severus included everybody in a sweeping glance. "Phoenix feathers aside, let us take an inventory of the items Fawkes has delivered." He nodded to the leader of the Schwarzwald herd. "Bryndorach, if you would begin?"

The centaur produced an acorn and fir cone. "Centuries ago, when Vortigern held this land in a tightening noose, our people resisted the tyranny of the human war-brothers Horsa and Hengist. We had refused to fight for them as mercenaries, so they set about wiping the very memory of our existence from the land. But we did not fear them any more than we feared death and fought them with skirmish and ambush where the forest grows thick and dark. It was Ceörval of the Forest of Eidyn – Bane's ancestor – who came to us offering allegiance. On that day, a pledge was made between the herds of the Schwarzwald and the Forest of Eidyn – the remnant of which is now called Forbidden: that if one called for aid, the other would answer. The signal was to be an acorn and a fir cone, placed together on the heart of a Stone Circle." Bryndorach hefted his double-bladed axe. "The signal was given, and so we stand ready."

"Even though it was not us who gave the signal," Bane said, briefly clasping Bryndorach's forearm in a gesture of solidarity. His expression grew stern. "The freed slaves Breyūn spoke of... Some of them were our people. We remember what Merlin did for us. He protected the homelands of the southern herds against the Saxon's fire and swords and gave us the horns to banish the shadows ... the Dementors. We fought for him willingly at the Ambush of the Horns." Bane's eyes held a fierce fire as he directed his next statement to Severus. "We will do so again for Merlin's descendant."

Hermione gripped Severus' arm as the atmosphere in the Giant's Barrow stirred and pulsed. For a moment, only the soft, resinous hiss of the fire divided the earth-scented silence. As Severus turned his attention back to the map, she could sense something like the weighty lull of an ocean tide before it begins to turn. Holding her tongue between her teeth, she watched Severus touch his wand to another symbol on the map legend and place a yellow dot over the Forbidden Forest – and then another over the lands of the Schwarzwald herd.

"The phoenix gave us these," Etùyen said, his voice complementing the mood rather than breaking it. He placed a dried water-reed on the table. Straight stemmed, the reed's terminal frond curled back over itself in a shallow "S" shape – a perfect replication of the Rune of Waiting. Next, the Camargue centaur deposited a stone shaped like a long spearhead, and – with evident distaste – a ragged shred of dull grey cloth which seemed to exude cold like a cursed object. "Taken from one of the shadow-wraiths," the centaur murmured, the muscles in his hindquarters flexing as he added with a restrained growl: "A Dementor."

Severus picked up the stone. "I believe I know what Fawkes was referring to when he left this." He adjusted the map again and directed another yellow dot into position above the Camargue in southern France. "As most of you know, when I examine the object of bright power – the Llygad y Ddraig – I am shown images: scenes which often relate to events long ago, but do not appear to be confined to history. In one particular revelation, I saw the four objects of Macsen's treasure."

Breyūn closed her eyes and smiled as though revisiting a bittersweet memory. "The Sword of Kings, the Grail of Light..."

"The Spear of the Stronghold, and the Platter of Replenishment," Petrus finished for her. "The Spear and the Platter, these are yet to be found."

Breyūn nodded. "The Sword has gone home through the waters. The Grail has gone home through the empyrean. No one knows where Nimuë hid the Spear and the Platter."

"The Spear has been found," Severus stated with a commanding certainty that seemed to speak of its own accord. He surveyed his instantly attentive audience. Only Hermione regarded him with something other than bated breath – she had already made the connection between the stone Fawkes had delivered and what he had told her after his last vision, when they were alone together. "In another revelation, I saw a void above a ruined city. Out of the void – a rift – came waves of cold hatred, hungry for an uncountable number of souls: the harbinger of an invasion of Dementors. In front of me, I saw a person: man or woman, Muggle or wizard, I couldn't tell. Whoever that person is has found the Spear and has it in their possession." He handled the spearhead-shaped stone. "This stone represents the Spear." He scowled at the map. "And Fawkes delivered it to the Camargue herd – the location must be significant."

Petrus tossed his postcard of Cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris onto the table. "La France. Monsieur Severus, it could be that the phoenix warns that Arawn will assemble the Dementors somewhere in France. Perhaps even Paris."

Severus mentally rearranged scattered pieces of information in search of a best fit. He pressed the point of the stone into the ragged shred of cloth. If I were to trust Fawkes, I'd be certain that he would not deliver a symbol of the Spear and a Dementor at the same place, at the same time, without there being a tangible reason. He recalled the vision of the void. The Spear must have a crucial role in our as yet unformed strategy. But how do we find the person who has it? He stared at the water reed. "And the Rune of Waiting... Waiting for what? A challenge? Another sign?"

"Dementor sightings were becoming more frequent in Paris and Calais up to one week ago," Oriens put in. "Since then – nothing."

Hermione considered the sudden departure of Dementors from the Battle of Hogwarts. They hadn't departed for good then. "Supposing 'nothing' doesn't equate to absence. What if it simply means that the Dementors are staying out of sight?"

Severus arranged all the objects to one side of the map and folded his arms. The fingers of his wand hand flexed slowly as he thought. "They're waiting."

A sudden movement at the entrance to the Barrow had wands in hands and weapons raised. Petrus bit back on a snarl... then his ears swivelled forward in surprise as a silver lynx bounded into the Barrow.

"Password!" Kingsley's voice demanded, indicating that the message about to be relayed was one of great importance.

"Black arrow," Severus responded immediately, relying on his intuition that the Patronus' message concerned the very subject that he and his present company had been pondering.

The lynx sat bolt upright before the fire. "My Russian contact has come through with information. Arawn has got an army – not only of Dementors but partially eaten Muggles and wizards – the latter presumably fugitive Death Eaters. Numbers are guesswork: but there'll be more than four hundred humans based on survivors' estimates."

Everyone except Toby drew a breath. Survivors?

Toby stared very hard at the spot everyone else was looking at, but couldn't see or hear anything. Whatever it was seemed to be capable of speech and had just made a very dire announcement. He pressed his fingers into his left forearm. Under many layers of insulation, he could feel the movement of the red dragon engraved into his arm-guard. While he had left his weaponry behind, it hadn't seemed right to leave the arm-guard in his rooms – especially since the little dragon had appeared very excited at the prospect of an outing.

The lynx laid its ears back – a gesture that Petrus subconsciously copied – and began to pace. "As for Dementors... We're talking about... possibly thousands. They're coming out of the abandoned city of Pripyat in the northern Ukraine. From what my contact experienced when he tried to get close to the city, that's where the rift will be. Everything he said about that place supports what you saw, Severus. Looks like Oriens was right about those verminous parasites coming through a recently created doorway without so much as wiping their feet!" The lynx hissed and spat. "How the blue blazing hell do we close something like that?" The lynx's claws appeared to dig into the floor. "They've been moving through the most inhospitable parts of the Ukraine, heading south towards the Romanian border. Feeding off isolated Muggle villages as they go." Kingsley's Patronus hunkered down unhappily. "Severus, whatever that Llygad thing is... I could sense the power in it. If you can use it to stop them – and not kill yourself in the process – go ahead. I'm calling an extraordinary meeting of the Order, tomorrow morning at Grimmauld Place. I'll send confirmation by owl. Keep me as informed as you can. I'll maintain secrecy regarding the Fawksian Fellowship."

All right... Regroup, Severus ordered himself as the lynx vanished. He directed his internal resilience to use heavy odds as a honing tool for strategic thinking. He noted his father's blank look of uncertainty and gave him a stoic nod. He touched his wand to a map symbol made up of a compass rose and a question mark. "Pripyat," he said. The scale shifted to include the Ukraine, and a red flag appeared above the city in question. "Show national borders." Severus eyed the Romanian border lands – rugged, wild, and sparsely populated. "Arawn possibly has a vanguard stationed in the northeast of France. If we call the rest of them the body of an army... He would have to mass them somewhere. We now know they came out of Pripyat, then headed for Romania... but where to from there?" He pondered out loud.

"I think I know," Oriens said baldly. The Unspeakable, who had remained perspicaciously reticent since entering the Barrow, approached the table and traced one finger over the mountainous country along Romania's western border. Continuing the traced route southwest, he cut across northern Serbia and crossed the River Danube into Croatia, stopping at a densely forested area east of the Adriatic Sea. As soon as his finger touched the spot, a red, triangular icon hovered above the place: Warning! Restricted Area. Enter at own risk. "They will gather on the edge of this forest."

Unspoken speculations hovered. No one was sure how to go about questioning an Unspeakable's decisively delivered judgement.

"There are many things about this place that – as an Unspeakable – I cannot tell you," Oriens said without raising his eyes from the map. "What I can say is that the clasp which Fawkes has borrowed – I say 'borrowed' because I'm fairly certain I can get it back – was carved from the wood of a certain tree growing in the deepest part of the same forest." It was made for my grandmother by her... He raised his head. "Arawn and company will not go into that forest. Not unless he gains the upper hand."

"Or, more likely, the Dementors gain the upper hand," Severus growled.

Oriens nodded. "That is a very dangerous possibility." He indicated the warning sign. "For the moment, they will use the location's reputation as cover for their presence."

Bryndorach traced a straight line between the "Restricted Area" and Paris, then Calais. He snorted and stamped a forefoot when the Calais line passed right over his herd's territory.

"What reputation does that forest have? Is it warded, guarded?" Hermione asked.

Oriens gave her a small smile of apology. "That's information I can't give you. I'll need to brief Kingsley, after which I'll Portkey over and see what Fawkes has, no doubt, arranged. If I spot Arawn's friends before I venture into the forest, I'll send my Patronus to give you an exact location and numbers. After that, if you don't hear from me within three days, you can be sure that I'm on the other side of the Veil. I'll leave sealed instructions for the Minister to open should I not make it back."

Petrus' eyes widened in shock. "Non...," he whispered, shaking his head.

Oriens moved to stand beside his friend. "I've faced far more dire dangers," he said. "While I'm reasonably sure that I'll return unscathed, there are always exceptions to things we assume are predictable." He gave a pensive Hermione a wry look. "Even Arithmantic Laws... under certain conditions."

Mindful not to place Oriens in a situation where he would have to refuse information, Severus pared his thoughts down to bare bones. "In terms of a defensive strategy, can the indicated forest give us some sort of advantage if Arawn's forces are massed there?"

Oriens answered carefully. "That depends very much on the outcome of my mission. If the result is favourable, we will have an advantage – one with surprise built into it."

Toby reflected on the lengthy catalogue of his own experience. "In a fight, that's one of the best advantages to 'ave."

Looking his father in the eyes, Severus shared a silent moment of understanding. Both of them had employed that particular advantage more times than they cared to admit. Sighing, he turned his mind to tactics. "There are two locations, Paris and Calais, where Dementors have made a reasonably sudden disappearance. We need to establish whether they have truly departed, or if they are in hiding and waiting on a signal."

A murmur of agreement swept around the fire.

Severus levitated another branch into the blaze. "I'll send my Patronus to Kingsley requesting a survey of Paris and Calais for Dementor activity. However," he said, scowling thoughtfully into space, "we should try to give him some idea of where in those cities to look. Our resources are not unlimited, infallible... or expendable." Stick that last point in your jar of sherbet lemons, Albus.

Hermione examined the map. "Instructions for use...," she muttered, touching her wand to a picture of a magnifying glass. "Zoom to... Oops! Wrong way...There! That's what I wanted!" She pointed to the now breathtakingly detailed city of Calais.

Severus quirked an eyebrow.

"The Eurotunnel shuttle service runs between Calais and Dover," she said, still thinking at a furious pace. "Muggles use it to travel between England and Europe in a bit over half an hour," she told the centaurs and Petrus. "If Arawn wanted to smuggle Dementors into England without anybody noticing, that would be the route to use. I'd suggest focussing efforts around the vicinity of the tunnel." She shivered and rearranged her scarf. "It's not as though wizards would frequent the tunnel. I can't say I'd ever use it, now that I have access to Portkeys."

As he jotted down Hermione's idea on a piece of folded parchment, Severus tried in vain to keep the pride out of his smirk. "And set wards at both ends," he added. "Which leaves Paris." He eyed the postcard. "I suppose it would be too obvious to propose that the cathedral is a temporary haunt for Dementors."

Petrus climbed down from his plinth. "Oui, Monsieur Severus. Too obvious – and perhaps even impossible."

Severus cocked his head. "Impossible? Why?" Even as he asked the questions, some of his own extracurricular research – a boy's own adventure in trying to make History of Magic more interesting – prodded at his memory. Intersecting ley lines formed nodes of power so palpable, even Muggles could sense them. Many such nodes were readily identifiable in settled areas: they usually had a place of ceremony or worship built right on top of them.

Petrus' ears pricked enthusiastically. "There is power there, Monsieur Severus," he said, pointing to the image of the great cathedral. "Ancient power... power that came into being when the world was born. Power for making and supporting – the opposite of what les Dementors are." Petrus angled back one ear and briefly lashed his tail. "I begin to think of something, but it is most difficult to explain... Have you heard the people say that when the bells of worship ring, evil is driven away?"

"I've heard of it," Hermione said, looking to Severus to see if he knew of it too.

"How effective is it?" Severus asked, sensing something useful that was just out of definition's reach. "I've also heard that gargoyles were supposed to repulse enemies – which certainly proved true in the Battle of Hogwarts, much to Minerva's delight."

Petrus nonchalantly stretched his wings. "It proved true for Cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris as well, Monsieur Severus," he said, referring to a turning point in his own history with dignified gravity. "As for the effectiveness of the bells... " He shrugged. "Against les Dementors, I cannot say. I never saw one of their kind until Arawn took the artefact from the vault. Croyez-moi, une fois suffit. But it is true that when the bells, they are rung, the power acts to... amplifiée the tones."

Oriens rubbed his jaw in contemplation while the centaurs whispered to one another about ley lines and nodes. "I think I see your reasoning, Petrus. Severus, could we trouble you for a demonstration of the alternative method of Dementor repulsion?"

Severus wandlessly cast a pulse of infrasound, raising his eyebrows when the centaurs ceased their whispering to stare at him – and Petrus gave a small yelp of excitement.

"It is the same résonance!" Petrus clapped his hands together, eyes glowing with delight. "The same as Emmanuel!"

Hermione frowned, then noticed that Severus had already called up Paris on the map and had created an inset featuring the cathedral in question.

Bane handled an aurochs horn with newfound wonder. "We heard the same resonance when we sounded the horns Merlin charmed for us," he said. "Forgive me if I don't give you all an immediate demonstration – I believe these were meant to be used outdoors." He turned to Petrus, who was gazing into the fire with a rapturous expression. "Would you enlighten us further... Who is Emmanuel?"

"Le bourdon," Petrus whispered. "Emmanuel carries the notes of the other bells... bearing the burden, marking the time and the measure. He would sing with Marie... Marie's song would soar to the roof of Heaven – only because Emmanuel's strength gave her the proper foundation and the directions to return home."

"He's talking about the bells in the cathedral," Hermione explained to the centaurs, picking up a long twig and using it to point to the three-dimensional bell towers. "There used to be two large bells," she continued, recalling her brief sortie into the history of the building while gathering information on Petrus' background. "In the north tower, Marie: the great church bell. In the south tower, Emmanuel: the bourdon." All thirteen tons of him, not counting the half-ton clapper.

"Marie is no more," Petrus said mournfully. "I read that it is so. How could they do such a thing as to break her apart and melt her down?"

"But we still have Emmanuel," Severus interjected sharply, a tactic taking shape in his mind. A resonance Dementors really don't like, amplified by an unknown number of intersecting ley lines. "He could prove very useful. However, before we conscript him, we need to verify the presence of Dementors in Paris, which leads us back to the question of where best to look."

Firenze dismissed a thought with a swish of his tail. "Location of sightings might not be the best guide."

Oriens agreed with him. "When I looked at the distribution of the Paris sightings, they were pretty much random – not clustered at all."

Eyeing the inset of the cathedral, Toby flexed his right shoulder and silently cursed the wizard who had inflicted the damage as having – among other unsavoury attributes – all the charm of "an out'ouse rat with a gold tooth". He curbed his mental cursing as a connection barged and blustered its way into an idea. Eurotunnel... Underground... Out of sight... Out'ouse rat. Shit. "Check the sewers!" he shouted.

Nine startled stares answered him.

Toby pointed to the main map which showed Paris in its entirety. "Check the sewers for those bastard things! If they're gonna stay out of sight in a bloody great city..."

"Yes. That would indeed be their kind of place," Severus muttered. He locked eyes with Tobias. "Good thinking, though I really do wonder how you made the connection."

"Easy," Toby answered airily. "It comes from maintainin' inner discipline."

Severus eyed him sceptically. "Erkling shit."

Toby nodded sagely. "Close 'nough. See? You're gettin' the idea."

With a sigh of forbearance, Severus added another dot point to the message he would dictate to his Patronus. He gave Hermione a sidelong glance. "I'll suggest that it may be worth checking the Animagus registers. If there are any rats in the lists, they could be press-ganged into service and sent down for a look," he added.

Hermione wrinkled her nose and grimaced. "Oh, the poor things... They can't all be as deserving as Wormtail!" Her expression took on a wicked cast. "A beetle Animagus could do a fly-through," she suggested.

Severus added the potential merits of beetles to his notes with a grin that was bordering on evil.

Petrus circled the table, drinking in the sight of his former home. He lashed his tail and flexed his taloned fingers. "If these defiling entities are found, Monsieur Severus, will it be impossible to remove them?"

"If they are found," Severus emphasised. "I have the outline of a plan, but we need hard facts before we can structure it any further." He turned his back to the fire, determined not to follow Albus' example in keeping obsessive levels of secrecy to the point of endangering lives. "The same goes for Oriens' mission – we need to know what we're dealing with before we can formulate the best strategy. For the moment, accurate information is everything." He heard Bryndorach speak his name. Running a hand through his hair, he returned to the table where the centaurs were poring over the map.

"If Oriens does find these Dementors and partially eaten humans," Bane began, using Hermione's twig to circle the Restricted Area, "a pre-emptive attack should fall to our people. Our abilities are best deployed far away from Muggle cities. We can prevent the body of the army from joining with the vanguard. We have the horns that Merlin charmed, and we can bring in reinforcements to our numbers from the Ūnkhari." He pointed to southern Hungary. "They are not so much a settled herd as a number of small, highly mobile bands. They are fey fighters and utterly indomitable." Bane blinked away a sudden glaze of bitter regret as his eyes lingered on England. "Our herds are not what they were..."

"For what it's worth, Bane," Toby offered, "if even a quarter of those 'umans are Muggles like meself, and they've got 'nough wits left to actually look at you... well, you'll scare 'em into a flat out panic."

"Panic and chaos among the enemy's ranks would be a desirable outcome," Severus agreed.

Toby suddenly wished that he had brought his bow and arrows. "My bloody oath! Don't take offense or nothin', but even now, if I saw armed centaurs comin' at me in attack-mode... I reckon the fright'd drop me before I 'ad a chance to run for it."

Bryndorach shouldered his war axe with a menacing flourish and fixed Toby with a stern look, though his eyes held a spark of comradely mirth. "Are we really so terrifying?"

---

"Severus! Thank goodness you're back!" Minerva swept across the entrance hall as Severus, Hermione, and Tobias thanked various deities for the gift of doors that shut out the weather. Firenze shook a thin layer of snow off his back, stamped his hooves and vanished the resulting slushy puddle. Flicking melting snow out of his ears, Petrus crunched an icicle between his cheek teeth while examining the Hourglasses for the latest House points tally.

Severus raised a wary eyebrow when the headmistress anxiously took him aside. "Bad news?"

"Kingsley wants to see you. He told me that as soon as you returned, you should go to his office as a matter of urgency. He wouldn't say what it concerned, and quite frankly, I would rather not know."

Rolling his eyes, Severus re-fastened the heavy cloak that he had been looking forward to shedding. "Patience and penance," he grumbled, pushing away a stab of envy at those who were at liberty to enjoy home, hearth, and good company. "I hope Kingsley has put the kettle on." He took Hermione's hands. "I can't say how long this will take..."

Hermione silenced him by kissing him lightly. "Both of us know the meaning of duty," she said. "Not always convenient – but best attended to sooner than later. Send me a Patronus when you're heading back." She held him close for a moment to whisper impishly: "I'll make sure the bed's warm."

---

If the Minister for Magic noticed the unusual amount of colour in Severus' countenance, he chose not to mention it. As soon as his newest head of department was comfortably seated and fortified with a piping hot cup of tea, Kingsley pointed to a sealed glass jar containing a scroll. "That is addressed to you, Severus," he said quietly. "It's been scanned for curses and hexes, but I thought that given the mode of delivery, you might prefer to do your own screening before you touch it."

Severus inclined his head. "I take it that it didn't arrive by owl?"

Kingsley frowned apprehensively. "The wards were briefly disturbed near the old entrance. When a group of Aurors went out to investigate, they found the scroll..." Kingsley stood and paced restlessly. "It was... wedged... into a hitching-bar where visitors used to tie their Aethonans."

"Wedged?"

"With a reasonably fresh human thigh bone."

Oh. Severus drained his tea and performed a standard set of detection charms. Finding nothing, he opened the jar and levitated the scroll. The next detection sequence would not have been out of place at an Aurors' annual conference, and the final screening would have been entirely appropriate – and advisable – at a Dark Revel. "Were any Dementors sighted?" he asked, looking around for Kingsley, who had moved to stand as close to the fireplace as he could without getting singed.

The Minister frowned and shrugged. "The fog was so thick nobody would have seen one. Trouble is, at this time of year, fog and cold and a touch of seasonal misery are not unusual. You could stand in a queue of Dementors and never know they were there." Kingsley shivered and dropped into an armchair. "Gods! That's not a nice thought."

Severus unclasped the scroll and began to read. He scowled at the contents and read it again before handing it to Kingsley. "I thought as much. Of course Arawn wants me to liberate the power in the Llygad y Ddraig. For what purpose, he doesn't say, but we can assume that it will be for him to use as he sees fit." He gave Kingsley a pointed look. "Or as the Dementors see fit. My acquiescence will result in the removal of an unspecified but extremely destructive threat." He took the armchair opposite the Minister and waited until Kingsley had finished reading. "Minister, what would you have me do?"

Kingsley felt the full weight of his position settle on his shoulders. "Advise me. When Arawn writes that meeting his demand will remove the threat... should we believe him?"

"No. I very much doubt that he – alone – would be able to contain not only several thousand hungry Dementors, but partially consumed humans that are obviously blooded and ready to fight."

"Then we truly have no choice but to make a stand."

"Choice, no. Strategies for defence and pre-emptive attack..." Severus shrugged. "As I said in the message my Patronus delivered, information is the priority for now."

Kingsley handed the scroll back to Severus. "I sent word to the French Ministry, and they've agreed to work with our Aurors in Calais and Paris. There shouldn't be a problem getting a passport for Petrus – leave that one to me. We've located fifteen rat Animagi, all fit for service and willing to go Dementor hunting. I got a Howler from Rita Skeeter."

"Will she cooperate?"

"She will," Kingsley said definitively. "I too have my methods of persuasion." He eyed Severus shrewdly. "At your exoneration, Albus' portrait said you could always be counted on to come up with a workable plan."

"I have what one could call a work in progress."

Kingsley gave a tired smile and nodded. "As much as I'd like to, I won't pressure you for details until you've got enough for discussion." He summoned a package from his desk. "On another subject altogether... It's probably a bad time to give you these, but I thought you might like to have them."

Severus accepted the parcel and looked it over, noting the seal of the Durmstrang Institute. "What...?"

"A copy of your uncle's academic records. It was quite a common thing for old wizarding families to send their offspring to separate schools – especially if there was a history of feuding or of being high-profile targets – a way of not keeping all the Ashwinder eggs in the same freeze-charmed canister. Drusus Prince was top of his class each year in Potions. He was a champion duellist and received the Fairest Player Award in Quidditch three years in a row. He was a brave and honourable man. There are several photographs of him and some clippings from the Durmstrang newsletter."

Severus folded back the wrappings and quickly located a photograph. In it, a youth of about sixteen peeled off his Quidditch headgear and grinned triumphantly. A wave of familiarity mingled with a shadow of loneliness. Definitely one of us... Severus examined his uncle's youthful likeness with curiosity and a little jealousy – a slender young wizard blessed with good looks, straight teeth, and popularity. Photographic teammates swarmed around Drusus, roughly mussing his raven hair and hoisting him onto their shoulders.

Severus noted the laughter in his uncle's fathomless black eyes and wondered if the same emotion had ever shown so eloquently in his own.

---

If Severus had been alone, he would have found perusing his uncle's academic records a melancholy occupation, but Hermione's presence brought both comfort and a sense of something being set to rights.

Beside him in bed, Hermione shifted to a cross-legged position. Carefully tucking blankets around her waist, she unfolded a newsletter and smoothed it out in front of her. Absorbed in Drusus' published essay detailing the medicinal use of alpine plants by mountain trolls, she didn't notice Crookshanks uncoil himself from his "snail shell" posture at the foot of the bed and pad purposefully towards her. She tutted as the half-Kneazle placed a feather-light paw over the very word she had been about to read.

For the purpose of distraction, Severus gently tweaked Crookshanks' tail, an action which earned him the privilege of being sat on. He smiled when Crookshanks softly butted a photograph of Drusus and collapsed in a purring pile of warmth.

"Your uncle has Crooks' approval," Hermione observed.

Severus gave a rueful shrug. "I wish I'd had the chance to know him."

Hermione folded the newsletter and slipped it back into the folio which Severus had propped on his knees. "There are some pretty striking similarities in the natural ability department, so maybe he's not as distant as you'd think." Hermione bit her lower lip for a moment. "Have you ever looked at your mother's records?"

"I have, though it was a long time ago... Charms, Potions, and Gobstones were her forte – along with a string of detentions for accessing the library's Restricted Section without permission. Why do you ask?"

"I thought it might be nice to get a copy of them and keep them with Drusus' folio."

Severus arched a semi-critical eyebrow. "Sentimentality..."

Crookshanks sat up, stared towards the foot of the bed and meowed questioningly.

The two humans exchanged a glance that asked: "What now?"

Pop! The glow of a Patronus showed through the bed curtains.

Scrambling into quilted dressing gowns, Severus and Hermione hurried out to find Oriens' serow occupying the top of the wardrobe.

The antelope-like creature dipped its head. "Password!"

Severus gave the response: "Ukrainian Ironbelly."

"I'm sending this same message to Kingsley and to you, Severus. Arawn's forces are right where I thought they'd be. That's the extent of the good news." The serow leapt down from the wardrobe, much to Crookshanks' fascination. "Numbers: I estimate between six and eight hundred humans, with Dementors appearing to be three times that number. They're organised and, by the look of it, disciplined, but I can see that they do not expect to be challenged.

"The terrain is a high plain, accessed through a reasonably wide valley to the north – it's not as defensible as a mountain pass. There are sparsely wooded hills bounding the east and west. There is a potential route of retreat: a rocky tract flanking the border of the Restricted Area. This might give us the upper hand – if Fawkes has not flown in vain, it will be an impassable obstacle.

"The Dementors will be harder to deal with. Simplistically, we have to mass them together, channel them back to the rift, force them through, then seal it. I wish it were that simple. It has only been done once before. Master Vu, Sage of Borobudur, has been studying the historical account with the Magical Defence scholar, Theravāda of Angkor Wat. They will provide any assistance they are able to give. Remember, three days..." The serow shook its bristling mane and began to fade.

"Be careful, Oriens," Hermione whispered, gripping Severus' hand tightly.

---

Arawn waited as the Dementor approached. Its shroud flapped limply in the wind. Is it done?

The Dementor inclined its head. Your words are delivered as instructed.

"Then we should not have too much longer long to wait," Arawn mused, eager to hear what Snape would come up with as a response.

This is well. The humans grow restless... The Dementor turned towards the encampment. The wind picked up and roared through the nearby forest. The soul-eater pointed to the seething mass of trees. We do not favour those.

"When we have victory, they will be your playthings," Arawn said, with a prickling sense of discomfort. He would admit only to himself that there was something about the forested Restricted Area that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

He fingered the Llygad y Ddraig, wanting to taste its power, draw it out, and feel it bind with his own magic. I'll have you yet.

The Dementor retreated to join its companions where they clustered on a prominence of icy rock and communicated between themselves. Our kingdom is built on destruction, our strength on hatred. The gates were opened, and we came. We are here. We sense the things we hunger for, and we are hungry. Wizard, do you think you can control us when we are so many? As one, the Dementors surveyed the partially eaten humans. Feed a little more – as the wizard taught us – and we will see through their eyes, hear through their ears and touch through their skin. Then, we will consume the blue crystal's power, and all things will yield to our need.

---

Using landmarks described in a song his grandmother had taught him when he came of age, Oriens located a lichen-spotted stone monolith at the very edge of the forest. He carefully pushed through a tangled thicket of winter-brittle undergrowth, revealing a narrow path wending its way through the trees, marked with the tracks of roe deer and wild boar. His grandmother's song could not help him now.

He followed the track, keeping all his senses attuned for the slightest movement or sound. A subtle shift in the air brought him to an instant halt. A small blur hissed past his throat and lodged in a tree trunk next to him. Oriens kept absolutely still, knowing that the blow dart had been a warning – a warning tipped with poison that could stop his heart in a mere five seconds. The next dart would not miss.

"I follow the directions of the fire-bird," he said, placing his life in Fawkes' talons.

A voice answered from the grey gloom: "If you are the messenger, tell us of one of the things the fire-bird left."

Oriens knew that he was surrounded. Fawkes, I hope you've done what I think you've done. "The fire-bird left something belonging to me – a clasp carved from the wood of the tree at the heart of this forest. The design shows a wreath of oak leaves surrounding twin acorns."

After a short silence, a lithe form emerged onto the path: cloven hoofs, goat-like haunches covered in rough brown hair, a lightly muscled upper body adorned with intricately braided vines, saturnine features, and wild hair which could not conceal a pair of short, curved horns. Pale gold eyes with slitted pupils regarded Oriens with wariness and challenge. "I am T'eylun, son of Tulién, whose ancestors have been part of this forest since its first tree sprouted. Who are you?"

"I am Oriens, a wizard born of human parents with magic in their blood. My mother's mother was the half-human Anouis. Anouis was the daughter of Mourâven – who later sired Tulién."

---

Using his heavy-booted stride and billowing robes to good advantage, Severus cleared an impressive boulevard through an otherwise obstinate throng of inattentive, chattering students.

Dismissing excited, awed whispers – and suggestive giggles from one or two female students – with a contemptuous sneer of complete disgust, he marched up a broad flight of stairs and randomised his route with a number of evasive shortcuts. Checking that none of the school-robed pestilences had followed him, he made his way up to the barrel-vaulted hall and paused outside Tobias' rooms. The door was slightly ajar, and he could hear the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor describing the warped philosophy that had led to the recent war:

"So you see, Tobias, Voldemort had ceased to acknowledge the gradual progress of wizarding society and regarded Muggles as evolution's mistake – an impurity. A disease. He was convinced pureblood wizards would drift into inferiority unless a conscious and pure minority seized control of every aspect of life."

"What'd 'e mean by 'conscious'? Thinkin' just like 'im?"

"Unfortunately, yes. He believed that blood corruption was so entrenched that incremental improvements were no longer possible and that magic itself was in decline. He didn't abandon the idea of progress as such, but radicalised it with the belief that advances could only happen through a series of purging catastrophes. To him, our society had to be utterly destroyed, then rebuilt under strict guidance. Personally, I think that's the reason he sought immortality – so he alone could keep an eye on things."

"To make sure it were done right forever."

Severus knocked briefly and entered the room. "Exactly," he said in response to his father's conclusion. He nodded to the professor: "Fergus."

Fergus grinned mischievously. "I saw the light on and thought I'd drop in."

Severus folded his arms and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

Fergus held up his hands in surrender. "All right! Listen, there's talk of a Gobstones showdown between Filius and our Muggle here."

Toby winced. "Don't scowl at me, Sev'rus. I didn't bloody start it."

Fergus looked slyly pleased with himself. "It's just talk at the moment, but you know what Hogwarts staff are like once they get wind of something to bet on. I've just arranged to give Tobias a bit of coaching in case the talk becomes walk." He consulted his pocket watch. "Class in half an hour – I'll be off, then." With a cheery wave, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Toby rounded up a stray Gobstone and put it safely back in its box. "Interestin' bloke, that one. Did y' know 'is mam's a German doctor and 'is da' were rear gunner on a bread delivery truck in Belfast?"

"I knew of the German-Irish mix, but I hadn't given a thought to the occupations of Fergus' parents," Severus replied, producing a cloth-wrapped parcel from under his robes. "I have something for you," he said, handing it to his father.

Toby pushed the cloth aside. "What the...?" He held up what looked like a short-sleeved tunic made of overlapping metal scales.

"It was retrieved from the vault of Bellatrix Lestrange. Made for the Goblin Wars, I suspect. It will repel the vast majority of hexes and minor curses. I have tested it, but if you remain unconvinced, I can always test it again. While you're wearing it."

Toby met his son's impassive gaze. "I believe you – no need for more testin'. You want me to try it on, I s'pose?" Sighing at the quirked eyebrow response, he pulled the armour over his head, steeling himself as it slid into place like a living thing.

"How does it feel?" Severus inquired.

"It feels okay – lighter than what I'd've thought... But I feel stupid."

Smirking, Severus summoned Tobias' bow and handed it to him. "In the middle of a battle, there is no such thing as dignity. See if it impedes your movement at all."

Toby strung the bow and slowly drew the bowstring back to his jaw. "No problem movin'. I'm workin' on gettin' my speed up to scratch – else I'll be no bloody use to anyone." He put the bow down and wrestled out of the armour. "I were thinkin'..."

"Was it difficult?"

"Smart arse! I reckon it's time you took the Llygad back."

Severus frowned. "There's still..."

"T' forms and t' pro-cedures can go 'ang!" Toby scowled peevishly. "There're times when paper and useless palaver get in t' way of a job that needs doin' – this is one of those times."

"Your personal safety was the main concern," Severus pointed out as his father went into another room and muttered a series of strong opinions on the bloated nature of bureaucracy.

Toby reappeared, holding the Llygad y Ddraig in one fisted hand. "Nothin's gonna 'appen. I reckon that if Eileen 'ad bound me to the thing, I'd know it by now."

Severus nodded slowly. There was so little time left on the parchments for the magical object separation procedure that it was highly unlikely any evidence of binding would manifest itself. "May I ask what is prompting you to hand it over now?"

Toby stood in front of his son and shrugged. "Just feels like it's time... Nothin' more than that." Without any ceremony at all, he passed the silver chain over Severus' head and positioned the pale blue crystal so that it rested just below his sternum. "It's all yours, mate," he said, giving Severus' shoulder a brief squeeze as he turned away. "Tocky? Ah, there y' are. Put t' kettle on, lad."

---

All things considered, the Order meeting had gone reasonably well, though Severus had found his patience tested by Potter's constant, expectant staring. He had been more concerned about Hermione, who found herself facing several Weasleys – including Ron. However, to Severus' relief, Ron had conducted himself with an only slightly distant civility; he made no move to berate Hermione or challenge Severus to a duel. Molly had given everyone a welcoming smile, but it was obvious that grief and worry had drained her usual enthusiasm for company. Looking at George, he could see why. George seldom raised his eyes to anyone, and his few suggestions were given haltingly – as though he expected his twin brother to reappear and finish his sentences for him.

The discussions had centred on the threat posed by resurgent Dementors: a threat added to by an unexpected alliance between them, rogue Death Eaters, and partially consumed Muggles. Kingsley had kept the existence of the Llygad y Ddraig a profound secret – as he did Severus' rather astonishing ancestral heritage. The "Fawksian Fellowship", as it had been dubbed, was never mentioned. Severus had looked upon his immediate superior with real respect as Kingsley presented strategic information without alluding to where it had come from. A small murmur of surprise had greeted the announcement that the Ministry would be receiving distinguished visitors from Borobudur and Angkor Wat. Unspeakables had been despatched as envoys to every wizarding Ministry between Calais, Belgrade, and Moscow. All of wizarding Britain was on secret high alert.

Severus had received a curious look from Minerva – she knew of the Llygad y Ddraig, its connection to the Prince family, and the planetary portents witnessed by the centaurs – but had evidently decided to keep her thoughts to herself. After all, she had enough to do with running the school. He had felt his heart constrict a little when he noted how jaded the older witch looked, and had given her a small smile when she glanced at him again. She didn't know it yet, but he had a little job lined up for her that she would find very enlivening indeed.

Severus put his arm around Hermione's shoulders as they walked up to Tobias' rooms to brief him on the results of the Order meeting and what role he would be expected to play. "Feeling better?"

Hermione chewed her lip. "A little. Single combat...," she whispered. "And we haven't heard from Oriens."

"Muffliato. Three days haven't passed yet – we just have to wait a bit longer. But whether we hear from him or not, we have to move decisively. As for the challenge – which I have not yet sent... who knows, he might even refuse me – it was the only way I could think of to get Arawn right where I want him: away from the body of his troops... army... whatever you want to call them. With him away, the centaurs should be able to pull off an ambush.

"We now know that the Paris sewers are hosting Dementors. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd thank Rita Skeeter – Gods, I have to get a copy of that memory from Kingsley! The Calais infestation is only small, more like a scouting party, and can be dealt with comparatively easily. We'll take Petrus over to his cathedral tomorrow night and see how much help Emmanuel might be in liberating the city. Have you got the ley detection dust?"

"Yes. Firenze gave it to me early this morning while you were delivering the armour to Tobias. I forgot to mention it when I guessed what you were planning." She wiped her eyes brusquely. "If Arawn accepts your challenge, I don't think he will honour the conditions."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "He won't. Not. For. One. Second." He quirked an eyebrow. "And neither will I." He pulled Hermione into a shadowed archway and held her tightly. "Remember, Hermione, I did see our children... and Charity seemed sure that we both had some years to go before we cross the Veil. Don't lose heart or courage... not now."

Hermione buried her face in his chest. "I couldn't bear to lose you," she mumbled.

"Fifty years from now, I'll remind you that you said that."

---

Sister Clarise found a sheltered nook in the re-grown woods some distance from the bridge. The spearhead was warm all the time now, as though its magic knew that the perishing cold could kill her. With a mind trained by relentless hours of discipline, she closed down her external senses enough to blunt the impact of the waves of roiling hatred disgorging out of the lightless city beyond the bridge.

She chewed on a hunk of unleavened bread. All she had to do now was wait...