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The Hunter’s Command


Charlus Potter was asleep, his face bore deep scale-like sores from the dragon pox, red and blotchy. He had them all over. Dora was up, leaning over her husband’s form in the bed, dotting the sores with a thick cream that the healers at St. Mungo’s had sent home with Mr. Potter. She wore thick gloves and a sad expression as she stared down at her husband’s sleeping form.

Most of the scale-like sores would turn to scars, the healers had warned, and Charlus would never look quite the same as he had before the Dragon Pox had settled into his bloodstream. Although the illness itself had ended - the terrible night sweats, the belching flames, the horrifying possibility of internal combustion from a flame in the throat… all symptoms of the disease - he still had these terrible pus-filled scales and, until those had gone, he was still contagious to those who had not been already been exposed.

Dora had caught the disease but, because of her husband, the Healers at St. Mungo’s had caught it early enough that she only developed a couple of the terrible scales - one on her left forearm and one on her collar bone, by her right shoulder. She considered herself lucky for that. The pain that radiated from them was so great that she could not for a moment imagine what her husband, covered with them head to toe, must feel like.

No wonder he slept most of the time.

There was a clicking at the window and Dora looked up to see Fawkes. She put the cream down on the nightstand, pulling away the gloves from her hands, her heart in her throat. What would Fawkes be here for? Hurriedly, she threw open the window and the phoenix landed on the sill, clutching a scroll in his beak. He stared up at Dora with his beautiful, beady black eyes. The bird had cried enough tears for them to allow the healers to make the ointment that she now spread across Charlus’s scales, and she would always hold a place dear to her heart for him because of it. She took the scroll and Fawkes watched with a tilting head as Dora opened it, unfurling it.

It was the shortest note Dumbledore had ever sent.

Do not go?” she asked, confused, staring at the parchment. “Do not go where? What is he talking about?” Dora looked up at Fawkes, but the phoenix only cocked his head the other direction, studying her. Then, he flew off, his crimson wings beating into the sun’s rays. “But - but where am I not supposed to go!?” she cried after him. She leaned against the sill. “Fawkes?” The bird, however, was gone.

She leaned back into the window - and it was then that she noticed them. Several hooded death eaters had gathered in the plot of land outback of the house, standing along the line where the Fidelus Charm began, the line they could not cross nor see, but they’d come as close as they could. Her heart beat quickened in her chest. One of the death eaters raised his wand to the darkness beneath his hood, where his throat would be, and performed the sonorus charm.

“Potters,” he said, and his voice echoed through the house. Dora stared, horrified, down at the cluster of black-hooded figures. “The Dark Lord wishes to issue you an offer. Come and join him, and he will not kill you.”

She shook her head, clutching the curtains.

“Not only will your transgressions be forgiven - your time with the Resistance overlooked - but accept the Dark Mark and become servants of the Lord and you will receive a gift to show Voldemort’s mercy and kindness… Your son.”

Dora’s eyes widened. “James?” she whispered.

Charlus suddenly appeared at her side, the ointment glistening all over him, face pale besides where they were. He stared, dumbfounded at the cluster of hooded figures below.

“Yes, Potters. We have your son. Surrender and take the Mark and Greyback won’t kill him,” the figure continued.

Dora looked up at Charlus.

Charlus turned and he walked swiftly across the room, grabbing his wand from the nightstand. “What are you doing?” Dora cried as he started for the door of the bedroom. “Wait. No. Don’t you dare -- Fleamont Charlus Potter, don’t you dare!”

Charlus stopped on the stairs, “They have James,” he said.

“They’ll kill you,” Dora answered. “Don’t go.”

“Dora… Dora, I love you. But they have our son.” And he turned and he hurried down the stairs.

Dora grabbed the parchment from Dumbledore and rushed after him. “CHARLUS. CHARLUS WAIT. DUMBLEDORE SAID NO.” She waved the parchment like a flag, “DUMBLEDORE SAID DON’T GO!” She caught him by the back door to the house, grabbing hold on his arm and stopping him going outside. She shoved the parchment into his hand so he could see. “They could be lying.”

Charlus stared at the parchment. He looked at Dora, then he pushed open the door and he stood in the yard, staring at the hooded figures. They still could not see him, he was still within the bounds of the Fidelus Charm, and so he raised his wand to his scaled throat. “Sonorus,” he said, and he took a deep breath. “What proof do you have?”

The Death Eater with the sonorus charm on him turned to the others and a couple of them whispered amongst each other for a moment… and then one of them disapparated. There was a long, chilling moment in which death eaters and Potters alike stood, facing one another on either side of an invisible barrier. Dora’s hands covered her mouth in fear of what would happen next.

The death eater who’d disapparated reappeared with a CRACK and he held up an object, let it hang from his fist.

James’s glasses.

Dora let out a cry and Charlus only just managed to catch her before she fell.

“Is this proof enough?” the Death Eater asked, “Or would you like a severed limb next?”

“It is enough,” answered Charlus hurriedly.

The death eater threw the glasses down to the grass. “You have until the moon rises to present yourself to the Dark Lord. We’ll be waiting.” And with that, the line of hooded figures turned, leaving the glasses there, and walked off across the field.

Charlus clutched his wife.




Dumbledore had meanwhile assembled what he could of the Resistance at Hogwarts castle. Classes had been cancelled for the day. McGonagall, Flitwick, Hagrid, and Fabian Prewett all stood about in the headmaster’s office. Kingsley Shacklebolt was on his way to the Potter’s already, and Gideon Prewett to the Ministry.

“But how did they get out of the castle?” McGonagall asked, her voice trembling. Dumbledore had just informed them all that James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin were all missing and all presumed to have been taken by the Death Eaters of the Dark Lord.

Dumbledore replied, “They are nearly as good as getting about the castle - and perhaps even more so - than any one of us are. They know of many secrets that these walls hold.”

McGonagall shifted uneasily, thinking of all the things she and her friends had discovered about the castle once upon a time… Dumbledore was correct, there were many ways out of the castle, if only one knew where to look for them. She cast her eyes downward, nervous.

“The point is not that they have snuck out,” Dumbledore said, “But that they are now in very grave danger. Tonight is the full moon. Not only are they in the hands of a werewolf - Fenrir Greyback - but they are accompanied by his omega… Ned Veigler.”

“What? No! Professor Veigler -- a werewolf? Dumbledore yeh’ve got to be mistaken!” Hagrid exclaimed.

Flitwick’s eyes were wide behind his tiny spectacles as he stared up at Dumbledore.

“How could you let this have come to this point, Albus?” McGonagall demanded.

Dumbledore looked abashed, “We misunderstood the prophecy, Minerva.”

“There’s a prophecy?” Fabian Prewett questioned.

Dumbledore went and got the small vial of memory he’d stored the prophecy Cassandra Vablatsky had delivered to him and poured it into the pensieve, waving his hands to rise up a ghostly figure of Vablatsky for them all to see as she spoke:

“The hunter’s time comes soon,” the ghostly figure announced, her voice just as rough and stone hewn as it had been when she first delivered it. “The Boy will leave his safety and venture where he ought not to be. The Omega shall overthrow the Alpha at the Hunter’s command. Beta will rise and Omega will fight to the Death. The Hunter’s time comes soon!”

They all stood, staring as the smoky figure melted back into the pensieve.

McGonagall looked pale. “To the Death?” she whispered. “Dumbledore, what does this mean? Who will fight to the death? Of whom?”

“We’re unsure,” Dumbledore replied. “Although Veigler was working on trying to figure it out. The pieces weren’t making sense. Last night, I was at the office of the Minister when I received a patronus from Professor Veigler telling me he’d figured it out and it’s not the one I thought, and to meet him at the Hogshead bar. I hastened to go, but before I could get to the Hogshead, Ned was overtaken by three death eaters, to whom he has not yet revealed his loyalties to me. Fenrir Greyback, his alpha-wolf, among them.”

Flitwick shook his head.

“It is my belief that the boys probably heard rumor of their favorite teacher’s trouble and, being the brave, but naive, spirits they are - they probably went to save him and ended up ensnared themselves. The death eaters have offered an ultimatum to the Potters. Surrender and take the Dark Mark or they’ll kill James.”

McGonagall let out a whimper of a cry and Flitwick reached up to pat her hand gently.

“Where are they, and I’ll go and get James from ‘em meself!” offered up Hagrid, “I’ll bring me crossbow!”

Dumbledore shook his head, “We must be very careful.”

“They’re holding the boys for ransom, Dumbledore,” said Fabian, “They aren’t going to kill them until they receive a response from their families. Have similar ultimatums been made to the Lupins and the Pettigrews and the --” he paused.

Dumbledore nodded, “Yes… and yes… but, as you’ve just figured out for yourself, Mr. Prewett, there is one boy whose parents are not in need of a reason to turn to the Dark Lord. Sirius Black is disposable to prove their seriousness should they need to... infact, Orion Black is the leader of the group that has kidnapped the boys. We must act extremely cautiously should we wish to see all four of the boys again.”

McGonagall had her eyes closed as she shook her head, her worry clear in the lines on her face.

“That said,” Dumbledore said, “We need a plan…. Any ideas?” But the members of the Resistance merely glanced between each other helplessly, each hoping that another would have the answer that Dumbledore sought.




Outside it was getting dark, from the end of the day and an oncoming storm. Clouds had blown in and the wind was whipping snow from the ground so hard that it stung the boys faces. The sun’s rays only just hanging on, as Sirius and Remus finally reached the Shrieking Shack. Sirius clutched onto Remus’s side, hauling him up the stoop. The door was open ajar, but Sirius was so busy concentrating on getting Remus inside that he didn’t really take notice to it. He pulled Remus in, both of them a shivering mess, and ran to one of the shattered apart chairs in the kitchen. He shoved the wood of it into the fireplace hearth and aimed his wand, shaking from cold. “In - in - incendio,” he chattered. Fire erupted from his wand and caught onto the broken bits of chair. “Here… R-Rey, c’ c’mere.” He hurried to pull Remus over to the fire. “H - here… L-look, fire.” He pushed Remus down in front of it.

Remus held his hands out to it, trying to warm but it was the deepest cold he’d ever felt. Outside, the wind howled as a horrible storm began to move in. Their breath hung in cold clouds before their mouths. Sirius hurried about, collecting the remains of the bag of blankets he’d brought out there last year, yanking them from the little nest that Remus had made in his wolfish form, and dragged them to the fireplace. “Calorus,” he said, aiming his wand at the blankets and a stream of hot air was issued from the wand tip. He’d heard Mrs. Potter use this wand on her son’s clothing after washing them to get the wrinkles out, but he was hoping the warm air might help bring some heat to the blankets. It took a few gos at the spell before the horrible cold that rested in the Shack got into them, but soon he was wrapping warm blankets over Remus’s shoulders.

Outside, the wind shrieked.

“Okay. There you g-go. Now. You st-stay here,” Sirius ordered as he patted the blankets down onto Remus’s shoulders.

“W-where the b-bloody hell d-do you think y-you’re going?” Remus demanded.

“I’m going t-to find James,” Sirius said, “And P-Peter.”

“You c-can’t go b-by yourself!” Remus objected, starting to get up.

Sirius’s jaw was firm.

“Sirius, please,” Remus begged.

There was a noise upstairs then, and Sirius looked up. Dust fell from the ceiling, falling to the floor, tinkling like music. He looked at Remus and both their eyes were wide. Somebody was upstairs. There was no other explanation. Sirius raised one shaking finger to his mouth to signal silence from Remus and he turned to the stairwell, where he’d slept that first night in the Shack. He looked at the gap, and knew he’d never get over it as a boy, and so he stowed his wand in his pocket and transformed into Snuffles. Remus watched, clutching the blankets, staring up at the ceiling. Snuffles jumped over the gap in the stairs easily, landing silently on the lowest step, and careful not to put too much weight on any one stair to avoid creaking, Sirius moved up the stairs to the hallway above.

The upstairs of the Shrieking Shack was a lot nicer than the downstairs. Here, the furnishings and wall paper hadn’t been attached by a werewolf. The dust was much thicker, though, and instead of a couple layers like there were downstairs, the dust had actually started settling into dirt and a sandlike texture covered the floor as he walked slowly, his padded feet keeping his motion silent as he walked. Sirius felt the hackles raise on his neck and he breathed deeply, reading the air.

His father… Veigler… Peter… They were here.

Sirius crept toward a bedroom at the end of the hall, the room that would have been over the place they had heard the noise and the dust had fallen from downstairs. He turned back to a human in the hallway and drew his wand, his mind racing for what his plan of attack would be. Aim for Father, he decided. Aim for Father first. He took a deep breath and put his hands out to steady himself as he stood, pressed to the wall just outside the open door.

Finally, he drew a deep breath and he leaped ‘round the frame of the door, wand level. “Stupefy!” he shouted. The red sparks flew from his wand, but Orion Black was much faster than his son and he ducked out of the way.

Crucio!” Orion bellowed and his spell hit Sirius square in the chest, sending him to the floor in excruciating agony so that he dropped his wand. Orion picked it up as it rolled across the room and slid it into his pocket. He released Sirius from the curse and Sirius lay on the floor, his arms weak, shaking.

Ned Veigler stared, his jaw dropped, eyes sad. “Don’t, Orion,” he said thickly, “Don’t. He’s just a boy.”

Orion looked at Veigler. “He’s my boy,” he said heavily, “And I can do to him as I please.” He turned to Sirius again, “CRUCIO!

Images flew through Sirius’s mind, every horrid thing he had ever feared or thought of. James dead, Remus dead, Peter dead. The whole of Hogwarts gone and obliviated, his parents and Regulus. The world on fire… him, on fire. His nerve endings screamed and he felt as though his muscles were trying to burst out of him. He clawed at the wood floor, his brain seeming to swell up in his skull. He could hear his own voice screaming, could feel it vibrating in his throat. He was going to go mad, he could feel it, and some part of him felt that it would be a relief - lose your mind, but the pain at least would stop.

But then something very curious happened.

EXPELLIARMUS!

The pain stopped suddenly and Sirius fell to the floor, panting and breathless.

Remus stood over Sirius, holding Orion Black’s wand in his fist. Hearing Sirius scream, Remus hadn’t been able to stay by the fire any longer. He’d managed to get up the stairs and, since Orion was distracted, Remus had managed to disarm him, and now there he stood.

Orion laughed. He reached in his pocket and withdrew his son’s wand and aimed it at Remus. “I know a lot worse spells than you could dream up, kid,” he said, “Put down the wands.”

But a funny look had come over Remus. His eyes were unfocused, and his hand went slack. The wands clattered to the floor… rolling away from him in the moonlight.

Orion turned to look at Veigler.

The same far off expression filled the Professor’s eyes as well and Orion hastened to grab his wand and Remus’s from the floor as the two werewovles emerged from their human forms, their skin rippling with fur, their bodies changing…

Ned Veigler’s change completed before Remus’s - and Remus lay on the floor, his legs still cracking into the joints of the wolf - as Veigler stood up, baring his teeth, his yellow eyes flashing horribly. Sirius lay on the floor, unable to fight back, his nerves still crying out.

Orion pointed at Sirius. “Kill him,” he commanded the wolf.

And Professor Veigler’s brown-grey wolf lunged forward.