Light's Hope, Death's Hunters

Okay, I got tired of waiting for people to accept my challenges, so I decided to take up my favorite one myself: my bounty hunter H/Hr challenge. If you're viewing this on FanFiction, check my profile for a link to said challenge. If you're viewing this on Portkey, look for my name in the H/Hr challenge forum (it's reptilia28, same as my author name).

So…enjoy!

Oh, and the Horcruxes don't really figure into this story, so they don't exist in this story. Just thought you should know. I've also never been a huge fan of the Horcruxes, but that's neither here nor there.

I don't own Harry Potter. It'd be nice if I did, though. Maybe.

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Chapter 1 - Conspiring to Escape

It was a dark and stormy night on Privet Drive. But then again, it had been dark and stormy over most of England for the past few weeks, Harry mused to himself. Seeing as how he was still brooding over the recent death of his godfather Sirius Black in the Department of Mysteries a few weeks before, he thought it reflected his mood well.

As thunder crashed in the night sky, Harry turned his gaze from the rain-splattered window to the small red book he held in his hands. He remembered the day when he decided he needed it, desperately.

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“Uncle Vernon?” Harry asked cautiously. His incredibly obese uncle leered up at him from his newspaper.

“What do you want, boy?” he asked gruffly. Harry took a deep breath and summoned up his Gryffindor courage.

“I need a passport,” he said, bracing himself for the impending explosion.

“WHAT?!” Uncle Vernon roared, shooting up from his chair, spittle flying from his mouth. “WHY THE RUDDY HELL SHOULD WE PAY FOR A PASSPORT FOR YOU?!” Wiping the spit from his face, Harry stared at his uncle with a serious expression.

“Because I have a plan. And if everything works as it should, then I'll be out of your hair,” Harry explained calmly. “For good.” The last statement had calmed his temperamental uncle considerably.

“For good?” he repeated, his eyes nearly gleaming with joy.

“Assuming everything works out like it's supposed to,” Harry replied.

“What do you need?” Uncle Vernon asked, intrigued. “Besides the passport?”

“Two plane tickets out of the United Kingdom,” Harry specified, “I don't care where, and the permission to make a phone call or two.” Uncle Vernon weighed his options in his mind. On the one hand, it would mean spending money on the freak, which was unthinkable. On the other hand, there was a good chance that the freak would be out of his household forever, all for the price of a few hundred pounds. But still, he decided to test the waters.

“And if I refuse?” he inquired. Harry shrugged neutrally.

“I could always call my `freaky friends,'” he said.

“First class or coach?” Uncle Vernon asked quickly.

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That had been nearly a month before. The Dursleys had taken Harry to a store that took passport photographs and sent them to the postal service for processing. Only a few days before had Harry actually received his passport. That was another day that stuck out in his mind.

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The Dursleys had just finished dinner and Harry had stood up to begin collecting the dishes when Aunt Petunia raised her hand to stop him.

“Let me do the dishes tonight, Harry,” she said, standing up and taking the pile of dishes from his arms. Both Harry and Uncle Vernon shared identical looks of confusion at Aunt Petunia's unusual behavior. Several minutes later, Dudley was in town fraternizing with his friends and Uncle Vernon was planted in front of the television watching sports when Aunt Petunia sat down at the cleaned table with Harry. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small red booklet, sliding it onto the table towards Harry. Harry took the book and opened it to the first page, showing a small photograph of himself, along with his name, date of birth and other essential information.

“Umm…thanks, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said awkwardly, closing the passport.

“You're welcome,” she responded, equally awkward. There was a tense silence between them for several moments. “Harry, I just wanted you to know that, I'm sorry,” she suddenly said, surprising Harry. After opening and closing his mouth several times with no sound coming out, Harry finally found his voice.

“And what brought this confession on?” he asked, unable to think of anything else.

“When you said that you would be leaving for good, it just felt like something inside of me snapped,” Aunt Petunia said, keeping her gaze down at the table. “It made me realize just how much I had mistreated you, and how much your mother would be disappointed with me. I guess this me hoping that even after all the shit I've caused you, you can still forgive me…even if I don't deserve it,” she explained, looking down at her hands in shame. Harry sighed tiredly and ran his fingers through his hair. How could he respond to that?

“You're asking a lot from me, asking to forgive you,” he said. “You yelled at me, you starved me, you belittled me, and for ten years I never knew why. But for all the pain and agony that you caused me, you have one thing going for you: You took me in. You hated magic, you hated my parents, and you hated me, but despite it all, you still took me in, for whatever reason, and that counts for something. So maybe, someday yes, I'll forgive you, but not now, not after all you've caused me. And I won't say empty words just to appease your guilty conscience. Good night,” Harry said, sweeping up his passport and walking up the stairs, leaving his aunt alone with his words.

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Harry was brought out of his musings by a tapping outside his window. Harry stood up and cracked his window open to let in a sopping wet tawny owl swoop in, a letter tied to its leg. After shaking the water off its feathers, it held out its leg for Harry to remove before flying off again. Harry looked at the envelope; it bore a Gringotts seal and was apparently charmed to be waterproof, considering how the water droplets just rolled off the parchment. Readying himself for the worst, Harry broke the wax seal and read the letter.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We at Gringotts offer our deepest condolences for your recent loss. However, there is a matter of business to attend to before you can properly grieve.

In light of the recent departure of one Sirius Orion Black from this world, his monies and properties have been prepared to be distributed amongst his beneficiaries, of whom you are one.

We require that you attend the will reading of Sirius Black tomorrow at eleven thirty in the morning. Failure to show within five minutes of the appointed time will result in the forfeiture of your inheritance. We will be expecting you.

Again, we are deeply sorry for your loss.

Ragnok,

President of Gringotts Bank, London branch

As soon as Harry had finished reading, a burst of flame appeared on his desk, revealing Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, holding a letter in his beak.

“Hi, Fawkes,” Harry muttered absentmindedly as he took the letter from the bird. Squawking, the bird disappeared in another burst of flame. This letter bore the familiar loopy handwriting of Albus Dumbledore. Sighing, Harry broke the seal and read the letter.

Harry,

I hope that your time alone to mourn Sirius' passing has made the pain a little easier. It always hurts to let go of a loved one.

Firstly, I must apologize for the timing of my revelation of the prophecy to you. I should have known that such a subject should not have been revealed at so delicate a time. Please forgive an old man's mistake.

While we are on the topic of Sirius Black, normally I would forbid you from attending the will reading, but since the date is so close to when I would have picked you up from the Dursley's anyway, I decided that it would not do any serious harm for you to leave a couple of days early.

I will pick you up tomorrow at 11 AM sharp. After the will reading, we can shop for your school supplies, then retreat back to the grim old dog house. I hear that it is much more hospitable now.

Again, I apologize, Harry.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Headmaster of Hogwarts, etc.

To say the least, Harry was surprised at the letter. He was half expecting Dumbledore to lock him up at the Dursley's for the entire summer. But it was a pleasant change, and it would make the second part of his plan that much easier.

The next day, Harry had warned Uncle Vernon of Professor Dumbledore's arrival, and so he took Aunt Petunia and Dudley to see an early cinema.

At exactly eleven o'clock, the doorbell rang, and Harry opened the door to see Professor Dumbledore wearing a dark blue business suit and holding a yellow umbrella.

“Would you be so kind as to let an old man out of the rain, Harry?” the old wizard asked. Harry stepped aside, and Professor Dumbledore shook his umbrella off before making it disappear. “Do you have all your things, Harry?” Harry gestured to his trunk and his birdcage with Hedwig inside. “Very well, then. Hold onto my hand, Harry. This will feel a little bit strange.” Harry grabbed Professor Dumbledore's hand, and immediately felt like he was being squeezed through a straw. A few moments later, the sensation disappeared, and he saw himself standing at the entrance of Diagon Alley.

“How did it feel, Harry?” Professor Dumbledore asked, amused. Harry shuddered as the tingling aftereffects of the Apparation sent chills down his spine. “Apparation takes some getting used to,” Professor Dumbledore assured.

“Umm, sir,” Harry said. “My trunk is getting kind of old, so I'd like to replace it.”

Professor Dumbledore drew a complicated pocket watch from his jacket and inspected it for a moment before nodding. “Of course, it's right this way.” They entered a run-down store called Trenton's Trunks For All Occasions. Mounted on the walls were trunks of various sizes and designs. Almost immediately, an old man coved in sawdust emerged from the back.

“'Ello, guvs,” he greeted. “The name's Trenton. How can I help you two lads today?”

“I need a new trunk, just an ordinary one,” Harry said. Trenton nodded.

“That'll be ten Sickles, please.” Harry fished the silver out of his pocket and gave it to Trenton, who retreated into the back briefly, and emerged with a wooden trunk.

“Here you go,” he said, shrinking it down to a matchbox size. “Just tap it with your wand to bring it back to normal.” Harry turned to Professor Dumbledore.

“Umm, sir, I'd also like to order a special one for Hermione. No offense, sir, but I'd like as few people to know about it as possible.”

“Oh, perfectly understandable, Harry,” Professor Dumbledore said. “I shall indulge myself in this interesting inventory.” After making sure that the old man really wasn't listening in, Harry leaned towards Trenton conspirationally.

“I need two trunks. At least three separate compartments, deep as you can get them, with an auto-shrinking feature and as many security charms as you can muster,” Harry whispered.

“That'll be 500 Galleons,” Trenton whispered back. “You can pay when you receive it. However, it'll be a few weeks before I can get to it.”

“I'll pay you an extra hundred to get it to the top of the queue,” Harry whispered. Trenton grinned.

“You have yourself a deal. Come back to me in four days. I'll be done by then.”

“Harry, we really must be going,” Professor Dumbledore said.

“It's been a pleasure doing business with you, sir!” Trenton yelled as they walked out of the shop and towards Gringotts. Harry looked up to see the heavy rain beating down on an invisible shield surrounding Diagon Alley. When they got to the wizarding bank, Harry was attacked by a bushy head of brown hair.

“Oof! I missed you too, Hermione,” Harry gasped as Hermione squeezed the air out of his lungs. When she let go, Harry held her at arm's length to get a good look at her. “Wow, Hermione! You've changed!” It was true; in the several weeks that they've been separated, Hermione had changed from a teenage girl to a rather attractive young woman. She blushed at the compliment.

“Thanks, Harry,” she mumbled, smiling. Suddenly, the smile disappeared, and her face turned serious. “How are you holding up, Harry?” Harry shrugged indifferently.

“Okay,” he said simply. “I cried, but I took comfort in the fact that he wouldn't have wanted me to mourn him forever. Besides, I had…other things on my mind lately,” he added.

“All those attending the will reading of Sirius Orion Black, please follow me!” a Goblin shouted from within the bank. Harry and Hermione followed the assembled group, and Harry saw Ron, Remus, Tonks and, much to his surprise and disgust, Draco Malfoy. They followed the small creature into a room that contained very little furnishing beyond a stool behind a pedestal and several rows of chairs. Everybody sat down, and the Goblin climbed up on the stool and cleared his throat.

“The will reading of Sirius Orion Black is now in session.”

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Yes, this chapter was kind of slow, but it set everything up, and I couldn't think of a better place to stop it. And besides, it's after 9 PM where I am; almost an hour past my bedtime.

So, I hope you enjoyed. I'll try to get the action going soon.

Don't forget to read and review!

Edited on December 23, 2007 for additional content and to alter some colloquialisms in the narration.

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I've been feeling particularly inspired this week. Don't expect updates this fast all the time.

I don't own Harry Potter. I wish I did.

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Chapter 2 - Where There's a Will, There's a Way

“The will reading of Sirius Orion Black is now in session.” Everyone sat straight in their seats as the Goblin unrolled a scroll. Clearing his throat again, the Goblin began to read.

“I, Sirius Orion Black, being of sound mind and body, declare this to be my last will and testament. Hopefully, when I died I was nearing a hundred and kicked it in a hotel room underneath two beautiful women…” the audience could not help but chuckle at the words, “…but it's more likely I got shot down by a Death Eater or something. Oh well, time to pass out the goodies.

“To my cousin Nymphadora Tonks…” Tonks shuddered at the mention of her first name, “…I leave to you fifty thousand Galleons, as well as my blessing to go hunt down a certain wolf, hint, hint.” Tonks wiped away the tears from her eyes, and spared a glance at Remus.

“To my good friend and comrade Remus Lupin, I leave to you fifty thousand Galleons, as well as all of my clothing and one of my properties, the deed of which will be given to you later. Knowing how frugal you are with money, this'll probably last you for a very long time. Now, go ask the girl out, already you bloody coward!” Remus turned his head and smiled shyly at Tonks.

“To Molly and Arthur Weasley, I leave to you ten thousand Galleons, with no refunds. Consider it my thanks for taking care of Harry where I could not.” Mrs. Weasley burst into sobs as Mr. Weasley rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.

“To Ronald Weasley, I leave to you five thousand Galleons. You're lucky to have a friend as loyal as Harry, Ron. Don't let something as petty as material possessions cloud you of that.” Ron held an impassive face.

“To Ginevra Weasley, I leave to you five thousand Galleons. You have a good friend in Harry, but you need to let go of that crush of yours on him; you'll get nowhere with it.” Ginny also held an impassive face.

“To Draco Malfoy, I leave to you one Knut. And if I have a body to bury, a formal invitation to kiss my pale, chilly ass.” Malfoy's face was one of barely contained rage.

“To Hermione Granger, I leave to you twenty thousand Galleons, and all the books in the House of Black. Always keep close to Harry, kiddo, you need each other more than you realize.” Hermione nodded her head, trying to contain the tears welling up in her eyes.

“To Fred and George Weasley, I leave to you seventy-five hundred Galleons apiece, as well as a copy of the Marauder's notes. You did an old prankster proud, boys. Keep up the good work!” The two twins nodded somberly, but there was still a mischievous glint in their eyes.

“To Albus Dumbledore, I leave to you one Knut and Kreacher. You screwed up on so many levels, old man that it'll be a wonder if Harry can ever forgive you. I know I won't.” Dumbledore frowned at this.

“And finally, to my godson Harry, I leave to you the remainder of my possessions. I know you would rather have me back than my things, but unfortunately, this is the best I can do. I also leave to you the position of the head of the House of Black and all the privileges that it provides, which beyond your immediate emancipation is unfortunately not much. I want you to train, get strong, and when the time comes, kill that slimy son of a bitch! Then I want to you fall in love, get married, have kids, and be happy. And I don't want to see you again until you're tripping over your own beard! I'm told that the papers to finalize your emancipation will be provided to you after the will reading. Consider it a final birthday gift.” Dumbledore's frown deepened, but Harry neither noticed nor cared.

“With that taken care of, I wish you all farewell, and that you live your lives to the fullest, because as I have demonstrated, you never know when you'll stop living.

Signed,

Sirius Orion Black, former head of the House of Black.” The Goblin rolled the scroll back up and with a snap of his fingers, two more Goblins appeared, both holding clipboards and quills. One went to Remus, and another went to Harry.

“Sign at the bottom, Mr. Potter, and your emancipation will be official,” the Goblin explained shortly. Nodding, Harry took the quill and was about to sign when Dumbledore interrupted.

“Harry, I must insist that you do not sign that document.” Sighing, Harry turned to face the older wizard.

“And why not?” he asked, defiance in his voice. Dumbledore was momentarily taken back at Harry's tone, but quickly regained his composure.

“As tempting as it sounds to be considered an adult, Harry, you will still need the blood protection provided by your aunt. If you sign it, it will automatically terminate it.” Harry pretended to think about it for a moment, before turning back to the Goblin.

“Right here, on this dotted line?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” the Goblin confirmed. Before Dumbledore could protest further, Harry signed his name on the document, sealing his emancipation. Dumbledore sighed in defeat.

“You disappoint me, Harry.” Harry just shrugged and walked out of the bank. When he was outside, Remus laid a hand on Harry's shoulder.

“Are you doing alright, Harry?” he asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Harry said. “Dumbledore doesn't seem too happy, though.” Remus chuckled softly.

“No, he doesn't. Now come on, let's get your school stuff.”

For the next hour, they wandered through Diagon Alley, purchasing their supplies for the upcoming school year. After they had bought everything, Remus turned to Harry.

“Are you ready to head back to Grimmauld?” he asked. After a moment's hesitation, Harry nodded, and soon felt that squeezing sensation of Apparation again, before finding himself in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, followed by everyone else who was occupying the once desolate manor. Harry immediately started going upstairs, but a gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked in concern. Harry nodded his head.

“Yeah. I just need to spend some time alone with my thoughts.”

“Just remember that we're here for you Harry,” Hermione said softly. “That I'm here for you.” Harry gently brushed her hand off his shoulder.

“I will,” he assured before walking into his room and closing the door. Harry pulled his passport out of his pocket and flopped down onto his bed, his mind swirling with thoughts. Surprisingly, they were not thoughts about the prophecy, or his plan of escape, but of his best female friend.

Wow, Hermione's a lot more…what's the word? Attractive? Beautiful? Hot? Where the hell did that come from? But I've always thought that she was pretty, even when she was younger. Okay, I need to stop this train of thought; I am NOT allowed to think about Hermione this way. But why? Why is it so wrong to notice Hermione as a woman? Because she's my best friend, that's why! And besides, she couldn't like me that way anyway…could she? Deciding to set aside this self-argument for another day, he tried to think of something else, but it quickly went back to Hermione. I've always needed her. With the riddle during first year, the basilisk in second year, the time turner in third year, and the dragon in fourth year. Without her, I'd be dead already. Merlin, I shouldn't have been such an ass to her last year. But can I really ask her to do it? Could I really ask her to abandon everyone she's ever known and loved for my crazy endeavor? Thought bounced around in his skull, and eventually, he fell asleep, his glasses still on and his passport lying loosely in his hand.

Harry was awoken several hours later by someone knocking on the door.

“Come in,” Harry muttered groggily, inadvertently knocking his passport off the bed while he sat up. Hermione walked into the room.

“Hey, Mrs. Weasley said to tell you that dinner's ready,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, yawning. “I just got a little bit too deep in my thoughts and fell asleep.” Hermione nodded, but her eyes quickly fell onto the small red booklet on the floor.

“Harry, what's that?” Harry looked down and immediately knew he'd been in deep trouble if she found out.

“It's nothing, Hermione,” Harry said a little too quickly. He reached down to pick it up, but Hermione beat him to it. She stared at the front with widening eyes.

“Harry, why in the world do you have a passport?” she hissed, her eyes narrowing. Harry opened his mouth to respond when Mrs. Weasley shouted, “Children! Dinner!” Hermione looked at the door, and then threw the passport back at Harry before whispering, “We'll talk about this later,” in a tone that left no room for discussion before walking out the room. Harry sighed before putting the passport back into his pocket before following her.

Dinner was a relatively quiet affair, of course with Mrs. Weasley cooking far too much and Ron eating far too much. As soon as the remainder of the pudding was cleared away, Hermione said, “I need to speak to Harry alone,” before grabbing Harry by the arm and pulling him upstairs. She flung him into his bedroom and closed the door.

“Okay, Harry, spill. Why the hell do you have a passport in your pocket?” Harry looked around nervously.

“I can't tell you,” he said.

“What do you mean, you can't tell me?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“What I mean is, I can't tell you unless I know that no one else can hear us. If you cast a privacy charm on the door, I'll tell you.” Sighing, Hermione cast the charm before turning back to him.

“Back to my original question, what are you doing with a passport?” Harry sighed and gathered up all the Gryffindor courage he could muster.

“I have a passport because…I'm leaving.”

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Yes, another fairly slow chapter, but it's beginning to pick up.

Don't forget to read and review!

EDITED 1/02/2008 for some added words here and there, as well as altering some colloquialisms in the narration.

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Man, I'm on a roll.

I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I could have taken my Mom out for Mother's Day yesterday.

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Chapter 3 - Freedom and Prophecies

“I have a passport because…I'm leaving.” Even though Hermione should have been expecting this answer - after all, what can you do with a passport other than travel - she was still shocked.

“You're leaving? Where? Why?” she asked, shocked.

“Umm…” Harry dug a plane ticket out of his pocket and looked at the destination printed on it. “France, actually. And as for why, you might want to sit down.” Hermione obediently flopped down on the bed, with Harry sitting beside her. “Do you remember the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries?” he asked.

“Yeah, the one the Death Eaters were after,” Hermione said. “It broke, right?”

“It broke, but it was only a copy,” Harry said. “Dumbledore told me the real prophecy.” Then he leaned over and whispered the prophecy into her ear. Her eyes widened and her hand covered her mouth.

“Oh my God, Harry…” she gasped. Then she flung herself onto him, crushing him in a hug. “I'm so sorry….” Harry patted her on the back comfortingly.

“Don't be,” he whispered into her ear. She released him and waited as he caught his breath before continuing. “But now you know why I have to leave.”

“No, Harry, I don't,” Hermione disagreed, shaking her head. Harry sighed.

“I've had a lot of time to think about this, Hermione. Dumbledore knew since before I was born that I would have to face Voldemort eventually. He had fifteen years to train me, to prepare me for that final battle, but instead he left me at the Dursleys', and condemned me to ten years of hell on Earth. If they had trained me, maybe Cedric and Sirius would still be alive.”

“Harry, you can't keep blaming yourself for their deaths,” Hermione said. “There was nothing you could have done.” Harry scoffed.

“Maybe. Maybe not. The fact remains, Dumbledore failed to prepare me when he knew I would need it, and I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of people that I care about dying around me while I bury my head in the sand waiting for the Order to decide when I'm old enough to begin training. So I need to leave, I need to train on my own, away from Dumbledore's control. I need to learn things I could never learn in Hogwarts…maybe things I shouldn't.” Hermione gently cupped his cheek with her hand.

“Harry, you know that I'm here for you. Ron is too.” Harry shook his head.

“Not Ron. Not this time.” Hermione frowned. “Think about it Hermione, other than the chess game in first year and his fighting in the Department of Mysteries, Ron hasn't really been there. He wasn't there when I fought the basilisk, he wasn't there when we rescued Sirius and Buckbeak, and…I don't think I can really rely on him. Not after his jealousy back in fourth year.” Harry took a deep breath and sighed. “But you, you've always been there. You solved the riddle for the potions. You figured out the basilisk. You helped me rescue Sirius and Buckbeak. You stood by me when the whole school didn't during the Triwizard tournament. And, despite my mood swings, you were with me all last year. I realize now that, I need you, more than I could ever need Ron. And that brings me to the most painful part of my plan.” Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, but not saying anything.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, softly caressing his cheek. “You know that I would walk the ends of the Earth for you. Please, tell me.”

“I know, Hermione, and part of me hates myself for asking you this, but another part of me says that it's necessary. The truth is I need you to come with me. I want you to come with me. But…it hurts me to ask you to abandon everybody you've ever known and loved for my selfish endeavor.” Hermione pulled him into a soft, gentle hug.

“Like I said, Harry, I would walk the ends of the Earth for you. Wherever you go, I'll follow. I'll help you for as long as it takes. I don't think I could live with myself being safe at Hogwarts while you're out gallivanting through some foreign country, doing God knows what.” Harry chuckled softly at this.

“But what about Hogwarts?” Hermione chuckled to herself.

“Hogwarts is important, but it's nothing compared to your safety.”

“Your parents?” Hermione paused at this.

“It'll hurt to leave them, but I know that if I don't help you, and you fail to kill Voldemort - which you won't! - then it wouldn't really matter now, would it? I'm with you, Harry. You can count on me.” Harry then chuckled to himself.

“I guess it's a good thing I got that second ticket then, isn't it?” he asked slyly, producing a second plane ticket. Hermione grinned and gently plucked it from his hand.

“What do I have to do?”

“I ordered two special trunks for us; they'll be ready in four days. Our flight lives three days after that. I need you to pack everything. Books, clothes, mementos, everything. I have a feeling we won't be returning for a long time.” Hermione nodded.

“You can count on me, Harry.” Harry looked at his watch. They had been talking for close to an hour now.

“I guess we better join the crowd, or else they'll think we've been doing something other than talking,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. Hermione swatted him on the shoulder.

“Prat.” Hermione removed the privacy charm and opened the door. She was about to walk out when Harry grabbed the scruff of her shirt. Putting a finger to his lips, he pointed to two flesh-colored strings on the floor. Bending down and gently picking them up, he inhaled deeply and yelled, “HEY GUYS!” into them, resulting in a boy and girl screaming in pain downstairs. Harry chuckled to himself while Hermione glared, although she was fighting to keep a smile off her face as well.

When they walked downstairs, they saw Ron and Ginny nursing their ringing ears.

“Bloody hell, mate, what'd you do that for?” Ron groaned.

“For trying to eavesdrop on us, Ron,” Harry said flatly.

“We were just trying to figure out what was so important that it had to be private,” Ginny groaned. Harry frowned.

“If it was private, then you really had no business trying to find out, did you?”

“Geez, Harry, we're sorry. What's gotten into you?” Ron said. Harry gave Ron a dark look.

“Enlightening you to the fact that I'm allowed to have secrets, just like everybody else.” No one said anything more after that.

Four days passed by quickly, and at two thirty in the morning on the fifth day, Harry put on his clothes and snuck out of his room, Ron snoring loudly. Creeping across to where the girls were sleeping, he gently rapped his fingernails on the door. The door opened just enough for Hermione to slink out.

“Thanks,” Hermione whispered. “Ginny snores like her brother.” Repressing a snort, they quietly snuck down the stairs and out the door. They crept down the neighborhood until they were a good half mile away from 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry raised his wand, and with a loud bang, the violently purple Knight Bus rolled into view.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard,” the gangly, pimple-faced conductor read dully off a cue card. “My name is Stan Shunpike and I'll be - Neville! How've you been mate?” Harry shrugged.

“I've been okay. Diagon Alley, and could you be quiet please?” Harry dropped a single gold Galleon into Stan's open hand. “Keep the change.”

“Diagon Alley, Ernie. And uh, shhhh…” Stan hissed. Nodding, the old scraggly bus driver pulled a lever and the vehicle lurched with a not quite as loud bang. Less than thirty seconds later, they had reached their destination. Thanking Stan, the two teenagers climbed out of the bus and walked into the Leaky Cauldron. As soon as they entered the pub, the hunchback Tom lumbered in wearing a blue robe and nightcap.

“How can I help you two?” Tom asked, yawning loudly.

“We're just poking into Diagon Alley real quick, Tom, go back to bed.” Nodding, Tom yawned again and limped back to his flat behind the bar. After opening the brick wall to Diagon Alley, the made a beeline for Trenton's Trunks for All Occasions.

When they entered the shop, Trenton walked in wearing a white night robe.

“Well, Mister Potter, I wasn't expecting you quite so early,” the old man said, yawning widely. “I assume you're here for your trunks?” When Harry nodded, Trenton flicked his wand and levitated two trunks onto the desk. They were both black with a gold trim, and above the turning combination lock were five tabs.

“Both are equipped with anti-summoning, anti-unlocking, and anti-theft charms. You can set the combination by tapping the dial with your wand once when it's on the desired number. If you forget your combination, you can reset it by turning it to zero and tapping the dial three times. Each tab represents a different compartment, and if more than one tab is open at once, it'll open the one closest to the right. Each compartment contains a seven-by-seven meter square room. To shrink it, tap the top twice with your wand. To re-enlarge it, tap it once. Now, I believe it was six hundred Galleons, Mister Potter.” Hermione gasped incredulously at the man.

“Six hundred Galleons?! Harry, that's outrageous! You shouldn't pay any more than five!” she hissed, outraged. Harry cringed slightly.

“It was five hundred. I added an extra hundred to get it done quicker, or else it would have taken weeks to get them done.” Then he turned to Trenton. “Umm, I didn't bring my money with me. Is there an easier way to pay without going to Gringotts and hauling a sack full of gold?” Trenton nodded.

“Give me a moment, and I'll get it right for you.” The old man dove into the back of the store and came back a minute later with a small black booklet and a quill. “A checkbook. Just write the amount here,” Trenton indicated, and Harry wrote down 600g, “the date here,” Harry wrote down the date, “and sign here,” Harry signed on the dotted line, “and it is officially paid for. Now all I have to do is go to Gringotts tomorrow and cash this. And here are two gold chains to wear your shrunken trunks like a necklace, free of charge,” Trenton added, pulling two long gold chains out of his pocket and clipping them around one handle of the trunk.

“Thanks, Trenton,” Harry said as he and Hermione shrunk their trunks and stuffed them into their pockets.

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Potter.”

“I need to make a stop at Gringotts,” Harry said as they exited the shop. When they went to the wizarding bank, only a few Goblins were around. Hermione whispered advice into Harry's ear as they patiently waited until the head Goblin noticed them.

“Well, what do you want? I don't have all night!” Harry stepped forward.

“Hello, sir, I was wondering if it was possible for bank transactions to occur without the knowledge of…unnecessary persons knowing about it.” The Goblin frowned.

“Continue.”

“I'm planning to go abroad for a while, and I would rather people not know where I am. I was wondering if there was a way you could keep any withdrawals I happen to make a secret.” The Goblin considered this for a moment.

“I can place you on the confidentiality list, but it will cost you.”

“How much?” Harry asked.

“Three Galleons a month,” the Goblin said.

“Deal.” Nodding, the Goblin produced a scroll, wrote something down on it, and presented it to Harry.

“Sign on the dotted line, and the deal will be complete.” After signing the document, the Goblin rolled it up and snapped his fingers, making it disappear.

“Thank you sir, and may your gold flow freely,” Harry said, bowing. The Goblin grinned toothily.

“And may yours flow as well, Mister Potter.” Harry and Hermione quickly retreated out of the bank.

“Thanks for the tips,” Harry said as soon as they were out.

“No problem, Harry.” They summoned the Knight Bus, rode back to Grimmauld Place, snuck back upstairs, changed back into their night clothes, and went back to sleep…eventually.

The next three days were stretched Harry and Hermione's sneaking skills to the limit. During the day they pretended everything was normal, but in the wee hours of the morning, they would sneak out and place books and other necessaries in their trunks. Finally, the day came where they would leave England indefinitely. The rode the Knight Bus about half a mile from Heathrow airport, and Harry whispered, “Dobby!” causing the small house elf to appear.

“Harry Potter call Dobby!” the house elf squeaked, only to be hastily shushed by Harry and Hermione.

“Dobby, we won't be in England for a while, so when everybody wakes up, can you deliver these letters to the people addressed to them please?” Harry whispered, producing a small bundle of letters out of his jacket pocket. “And you cannot tell anyone where we were. Anyone.” Dobby nodded, his large ears flapping.

“You can count on Dobby, Harry Potter sir!” Harry handed Dobby the letters, but before he could disappear, Hermione stopped him.

“Dobby, could you respond if a Muggle calls you?” she asked. Dobby furrowed his brow in concentration, and then nodded his head.

“If Dobby knows who is calling him, then yes,” the house elf confirmed.

“Could you watch over my parents, and take them to either the Order headquarters or Hogwarts if they're in danger?” Hermione asked, biting her lip in nervousness. “Discreetly of course; Muggles aren't exactly used to seeing house elves.” Dobby nodded his head vigorously, his ears flapping to and fro before standing as straight as he could.

“You can count on Dobby, Miss!” he said confidently before popping away. As the house elf disappeared, Harry sighed to himself.

“Goodbye, England,” he said grimly as they walked into the airport to check in for their flight to France.

----

Later that morning, Remus Lupin lumbered into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of morning coffee. While he was enjoying his caffeine-induced stupor, Dobby popped into the kitchen.

“Harry Potter wishes for Dobby to give you this letter, sir,” Dobby said, holding out an envelope. As soon as Remus took it, Dobby disappeared again. Strange, Remus thought. Harry's right here, why would he be sending me a letter? Remus tore open the letter and started reading it, nearly dropping his coffee mug in the process.

----

Dumbledore had just woken up and was ready to begin a new day when Dobby popped into his office.

“Oh, hello, Dobby. How can I help you today?”

“Harry Potter wishes for Dobby to deliver this letter, Professor Dumbledore, sir,” the house elf said. As soon as Dumbledore took the letter, Dobby disappeared again. Curious, Dumbledore thought. Very curious. Dumbledore had broken the seal and was just about to read it when his fireplace flared up. Dumbledore rushed to the fireplace to see Remus sticking his head through the floo.

“Can I help you, Remus?” he asked softly.

“Harry's gone!” Remus yelled, panicked. Dumbledore gasped in surprise.

“What?”

“Dobby gave me a letter from Harry a few minutes ago. It said that he's gone and he'll be back someday. Albus, what's going on?” Dumbledore glanced back at his desk, where Harry's unread letter laid.

“One moment, Remus,” Dumbledore said, before going back to his desk and reading the letter. In the middle of the page, was one word.

GOODBYE.

----

Denise Granger stirred from her sleep and slid from under her husband's arm before slipping on a robe and shuffling to the kitchen to prepare the morning tea when a strange little creature dressed in mismatched clothes popped into her kitchen, startling her.

“Is you Miss Grangy's mother?” Dobby asked politely. Denise clutched her heart and gulped nervously at the odd house elf.

“Y-yes, I'm Hermione's mother,” she stammered quietly. Nodding, Dobby pulled a letter out of his shirt and handed it to Denise, who took it hesitantly. Bowing respectfully, Dobby popped out again, leaving Denise alone in the kitchen. She looked at the front of the envelope, her name and her husband's written in the familiar neat handwriting of her daughter. Frowning in confusion, she opened the envelope and read the letter. When she finished, she was close to collapsing from shock. Instead, she turned off the stovetop and ran back to the master bedroom, shaking her husband awake.

“Where's the fire?” Jonathan Granger mumbled groggily, displeased with being woken up so early.

“Read this,” Denise demanded, holding out the letter and looking close to tears. Frowning at what would make his wife so affected, he took the parchment and read its contents, his jaw going slack as he read the words.

Dear Mom and Dad,

By the time you get this, I'll be out of the United Kingdom. Unfortunately I cannot give you a full detailed explanation as I normally do for security reasons, but I will try to tell you all that I can.

I recently learned of a prophecy saying that Harry will have to defeat Voldemort, the terrorist that I told you about, but our Headmaster has refused to do anything about it, so Harry decided to leave Professor Dumbledore's control and study on his own, and I decided to follow him.

I understand if you're upset with me, but this is for the best. Harry is my first and best friend, and I would do anything to keep him safe. Don't think that this was an easy decision - it wasn't - but if Harry doesn't succeed, then we're all doomed anyway.

I have asked Dobby (the being that gave you this letter) to watch over you discreetly and to take you to either Hogwarts or the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix should you be in danger.

I may not see you for a long time from now, and I can only hope that one day you will be able to forgive me for this. No matter what, always know that I love you, and will always be thinking about you.

Love, your daughter,

Hermione.

Jonathan gaped blankly at the parchment, letting it numbly slip from his fingers before he took his wife into his arms and they sobbed into each others' shoulders, weeping over the disappearance of their only child.

----

Meanwhile, in a magical jewelry shop in Paris, Harry hummed to himself as he admired the various gems and jewels, while Hermione talked to the shopkeeper in fluent French. Harry sighed to himself. France was an interesting place, but the language barrier made things rather difficult. Eventually, Hermione tapped Harry on the shoulder.

“So what?” Harry asked. Hermione grimaced.

“Well, there's a way to get around your little language problem,” Hermione said. “But there's a catch.” Harry sighed.

“What is it?”

“You'll have to get your ear pierced.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Oh, joy.” Ten minutes later, Harry and Hermione walked out of the shop, Harry rubbing his ear in pain, a small gold hoop with a half-carat ruby dangling from his left earlobe. His ear hurt, but now at least he could hear in perfect English.

----

Meanwhile, in one of the towers of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Divination professor Sybil Trylawney was enjoying a cup of tea when she took a shuddering gasp, dropping her tea cup.

“As the dog star fades, the Chosen One shall fall from the Light.

From the ashes of his demise, shall rise two fallen angels.

From the forgotten realms of time, the Lost Line shall be renewed.

Arbiters of justice, avatars of Death, they shall smite the Darkness.

They shall cut off the head of the serpent, and combat against Evil forever and ever.

From the ashes of the Chosen One, shall rise Death's hunters.” With a hacking cough, Trelawney rubbed her throat and looked around curiously.

“Curious,” she gasped hoarsely. “This is the third time I've had a strange sore throat. Perhaps it is time I use a different brand of tea.”

----

Well, there you go. The third chapter. Enjoy.

The idea for the translator earring was from Piers Anthony's Incarnations of Immortality series.

I hope you liked my prophecy.

Don't forget to read and review!

Oh, and this is the longest chapter I remember writing, at over eight pages long.

Edited on 1/04/2008 for some additional content.

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I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, Harry and Hermione would have hooked up a loooooong time ago.

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Chapter 4 - Reactions



"Thank you friends, for arriving on such short notice," Dumbledore said to the assembled Order. "Unfortunately, I am the bearer of grave news."

"What is it, Albus?" Molly Weasley asked. "Is it You-Know-Who?" Dumbledore shook his head.

"I'm afraid not, Molly. It is Harry." Almost everyone at the table gasped. "Earlier this morning, Remus and I received letters from harry. While mine was rather brief, from Remus' letter it seems that he has stolen away sometime during the night, and has taken Miss Granger with him." Molly gasped.

"I got one of those letters too! I think the kids got one as well." Snape snorted.

"Typical arrogant Potter. Thinks he's too good for the rules, so has to go out and get himself captured or killed. Serves him right, the little bra-urrk!" Snape grunted as Remus lunged over to him and slammed him onto the table.

"One more word, Snivellus," the werewolf growled softly. "One more word like that about Harry again, and I swear I will tear you apart." Tonks gently laid her hand on Remus' arm, which calmed him down, and quietly went back to his seat. Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"Well, now that all personal issues have been resolved, you realize how important it is that we find them; if he is captured by the Death Eaters, then we are doomed. Start with Hogsmeade and the Leaky Cauldron, and work out from there. Meeting adjourned." Everybody stood up and left the room. As soon as everyone was gone, Dumbledore cradled his head in his hands.

"Merlin's beard, Harry, what have you done?"

------

"Okay, Harry, let's try this again," Hermione prompted. Harry sighed as he held his wand up. "Remember, concentrate on the effect that you want. And remember, swish and flick." Harry scrunched up his face in concentration. Harry performed the wand movement, thinking wingardium leviosa! But when he opened his eyes, the pillow was still on the bed. Harry sighed again.

"It isn't working, Hermione," he said resignedly. Hermione shook her head.

"Alright, we'll take a break," she said. Setting his wand down, Harry flopped down on the bed. Hermione grabbed a book and flopped down next to him.

"What's that?" Harry asked, gesturing towards the book. Hermione looked at the cover.

"The Art of the Mind: A Beginner's Guide to Occlumency," she read. Harry groaned. "Oh come on Harry, I know how you feel about it, but you need it to keep Voldemort out. And besides, it couldn't have been that bad last year…right?" Harry simply looked at her with an air of skepticism. Hermione sighed.

"Just work with me here, Harry." Clearing her throat, she began reading the first chapter. "The mind is possibly the last truly private place anyone can have anymore. Unfortunately, there are less than honorable persons in the world who would like nothing better than to break into your mind and poke through your thoughts. This book is made to prevent it. Please note that this book will only teach you the rudimentary skills. To truly master the art of Occlumency, you must be regularly performed upon by a skilled Legilimens. Please note that having your mind forcibly probed can cause mental trauma, and can make you even more susceptible to probing—"

"WHAT?!" Harry yelled, making Hermione jump and drop her book. "You're telling me that Snape actually made me weaker?! And Dumbledore allowed it?!" Harry took a few deep, calming breaths. "Sorry, Hermione. I'm just so…angry at him right now."

"I understand, Harry," Hermione said, picking up the book. "But please try to remember that it isn't my fault that it happened."

"Right," Harry mumbled, ashamed. "As you were saying." Hermione opened the book and resumed reading.

"To begin building your mental shields, you must first find yourself a comfortable position." Harry crossed his legs and rested his arms on his knees. "Imagine yourself sitting on a floor in a void, no walls and no ceiling, just darkness." Harry closed his eyes and concentrated. When he opened them again, he was in the middle of a square room, with the walls and ceilings removed, showing only a black void. "To begin fortifying your defenses, start building a wall, one brick at a time," he heard Hermione's voice read in the distance. Harry closed his eyes again and concentrated on a brick appearing. He opened his eyes to see a red brick lying on the floor near the edge. Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on another brick appearing right beside it, and another, and another, and eventually, Harry had constructed a brick wall spanning the width of the edge and reaching ten feet high.

"Okay, I built my wall, now what?" Harry asked. He was answered with only silence. "Hermione?"

"Hmm?" Hermione groaned tiredly, the shape of a fist imprinted on her cheek. "Sorry, I must of have dozed off," she mumbled as she shook the cobwebs from her mind. She glanced at the clock, which read 9:42 PM. "I guess we can turn in for the night," she continued as she marked her page and closed the book.

"I guess," Harry conceded as he slid off and walked to his own bed. "What's on the agenda for tomorrow?" he asked as he slid under the covers.

"That's a surprise," Hermione said vaguely as she buried herself underneath her own blankets and fell asleep. Rolling his eyes, Harry removed his glasses and set them aside before drifting to sleep himself.

------

Unknown to the assembled Order members downstairs, they were being eavesdropped by two red-haired teens.

"So, they didn't say anything we didn't already know," Ginny said sulkily, wrapping her Extendable Ear back up. Ron was sulking as well, but for a different reason.

"Why the hell didn't he take me? We're supposed to be best mates!" he ranted. "I mean, I could have helped." Ginny snorted.

"As a scorekeeper, you mean?" Ginny asked sarcastically. "I mean, really, your claim to fame was a freaking chess game, you're the dumbest of the three, and you probably got almost zero O.W.L.s. Unless you're going to bore the bad guys to death with your constant Quidditch rambling or else act as a human shield for them, you don't really bring a lot to the party. Hell, I could have been a bigger help than you!" Ron just crossed his arms and huffed like a child.

"It's just not fair," he muttered darkly. "He's got fame, he's got money, and now he's got the girl..." Ginny wheeled back to berate him again.

"And that's another thing, Ronald. You've got to get over this petty jealousy towards Harry. He doesn't want any of that. He's rich because his parents died. He's famous because he didn't die. And as for Hermione, she's not a piece of property that you own, Ron. If she went with him, that's her choice."

"But he should have stopped her!" Ron said desperately. "He knew I fancied her! And how can you defend him, you fancied him too!"

"Fancied, Ronald, past tense. I'm over him now. And as for Harry knowing that you fancied Hermione, did you go out and tell him?" Ron looked down sheepishly, his ears turning pink.

"No."

"Then how the hell was he supposed to know what you thought of her? He's not a Legilimens, Ron. And besides, I don't think she fancies you anyway." Ron's head shot up at this.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean is whenever she's helping me study, if she isn't talking about school, she's talking about Harry. His eating habits, his sleeping habits, his grades, if I didn't know any better I'd think she was stalking him!" Ginny took a deep breath. "You're just going to have to accept that whatever Harry and Hermione are doing, they had a good reason to not bring you along." With that, she turned around and went back to her room, leaving Ron to contemplate the verbal lashing he had just received from his little sister.

------



The next day, while Hermione was in the lavatory, Harry took the liberty of skimming through some of the titles that Hermione had brought with her. While most of the titles were written in English, some were written in Latin, but one book in particular caught Harry's attention. It read Égaliser six fondamental magique théorie1, a language that Harry did not recognize. Extracting the book from the pile, Harry flipped through it and realized that it was written entirely in another language. Harry recognized a couple of simple words and realized that it was French.

"Enjoying the reading, Harry?" Hermione asked behind Harry, causing him to jump in surprise.

"Well," Harry said, clearing his throat, "it's rather hard to tell, seeing as how I can't read it." Hermione took the book from his hands, and nodded in understanding when she saw the cover. "Where did you get that book?" Harry asked.

"I got it the last time we were in France," Hermione admitted. "I had already finished with my Hogwarts books, and wanted something a bit harder. I also wanted to see how different the French curriculum is different than ours."

"So you can actually read that?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Of course I can," she sniffed. "And if we can find an optometrist, you can too," she added, grabbing Harry by the arm and dragging him out of their room. "Excuse me," Hermione asked the owner of the small magical inn that they were staying, "I was wondering where I could find a magical eye doctor." The owner, a middle-aged man that stood upright, unlike Tom from the Leaky Cauldron, scratched his chin in thought for a moment.

"I think there's one a couple of blocks down that way," he said, pointing in a direction. "It's kind of easy to miss, so keep your eyes open." Thanking the man, Hermione dragged Harry out the door and into the bustling crowd in the French equivalent to Diagon Alley. They walked up the street and eventually found the place. Harry couldn't read the name of the shop, but the display of eyeglasses in the window gave away its nature. They stepped inside to see a large and surprisingly clean reception area with glasses frames lining several of the walls.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked kindly.

"Yes," Hermione said, pulling Harry towards the desk. "I was wondering if my friend here could have his eyes examined." The receptionist opened a book and peered down its pages.

"Ah yes, we have an opening in half an hour," the receptionist said. "Is that satisfactory?"

"Yes, that will suffice," Hermione confirmed.

"Excellent," the receptionist said cheerfully. "What name do I put it under?" she asked, quill poised in her hand. Hermione looked at Harry, her eyebrow raised. Harry sighed and shrugged slightly.

"Put it under...Evans," Harry said uncertainly. The receptionist did not seem to notice his uncertainty, as she scribbled the name into the book.

"Have a seat, Mister Evans." Harry and Hermione sat down and waited patiently for Harry's alias to be called. Harry tried reading the supplied magazines, but stopped when he saw that they were written in French as well.

"Mister Evans?" the receptionist called, and Harry shot up immediately. "Healer Renault will see you now," she continued, pointing to a door. Nodding mutely, Harry walked through the door, Hermione behind him. Eventually, they found Healer Renault, a tall, thin, balding man wearing white robes over a suit like a lab coat.

"Ah, Mister Evans, so glad you could come," Healer Renault said cheerfully. "Why don't you take a seat, miss, while I get Mister Evans settled." Hermione sat down and watched as Harry sat down in the patient's chair and the healer adjusted the equipment to Harry's size. "So tell me, Mister Evans, when was the last time your eyes were examined?" Healer Renault asked as he lowered the large contraption in front of Harry's face.

"Umm..." Harry hummed, trying to remember. "I think I was six."

"And you haven't had your eyes examined since?" the healer asked in shock. When Harry shook his head negatively, Healer Renault shook his head in disgust. "It's a wonder that you don't have a constant migraine from the eye strain. Now, which is clearer, one or two?" The healer continued to make small talk as he examined Harry's eyes further. Healer Renault muttered to himself as he scribbled something down on a piece of parchment and handed it to Harry. "Keep this with you, and go outside to pick a frame. Do you want contact lenses?"

"Umm...sure," Harry said uncertainly.

"Excellent. How about upgrades?" Harry looked at Hermione and shrugged.

"He'll take water repulsion, break resistance and a translation spell," Hermione told the healer.

"Great. You can return next week to pick up your frames and contacts," Healer Renault said before gently ushering Harry and Hermione out of his office. They went back to the main reception area, where Harry picked out a pair of silver oval half-lens frames and paid for the examination. A week later, they returned and picked up Harry's glasses, where he was taught how to insert his contact lenses. Harry was amazed at how sharp his vision suddenly was, as well being able to read all the signs and books.

"Hey, do you think that there's a way I could speak French like this too?" Harry asked teasingly.

"Not unless you want your tongue pierced," Hermione said seriously. Remember how painful getting his ear pierced was, Harry shook his head vigorously, his hand instinctively rising to his left ear.

"On second thought, I'm fine with English," he amended quickly. Hermione could not help but laugh at him.

----

This is chapter four of Light's Hope, Death's Hunters...I hope that you liked it.

Don't forget to read and review!

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Since my knowledge of international culture and mythology is low, almost to the point of nonexistence, I will be executing various "time jumps" a couple of times in this fic, although not nearly as jarring as it was when I first wrote this. This has been a public service announcement.

I don't own Harry Potter.
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Chapter 5 - Graveyard Terrors

Three years had passed since Harry and Hermione had first left the United Kingdom. In that time, they had been through much of Europe and parts of Asia, eventually finding themselves in America. Much to their disappointment, many of the spells that the international books had to offer were spells that they were familiar with from their Hogwarts lessons, only with different incantations and maneuvers. However, any new information that they did find, they learned quickly. In the past three years, they had also mastered Occlumency, as well as silent casting, making the learning process even more efficient.

In addition to their minds, Harry and Hermione were also improving their bodies with a series of physical exercises. After three years, while they still maintained a normal physique, they could overpower many wizards with ease. Their increased endurance also allowed them to last longer in duels.

Two years after they had fled England, Harry had decided to undergo corrective vision surgery to eliminate the combat liability of his glasses. Despite the potential risks that accompanied such a procedure, no magical equivalent existed, and the magical contact lenses that he often used were only a temporary solution. Fortunately, the surgery was a success, and several hours after he entered the hospital, Harry could see the world clearly for the first time without the aid of glasses or his contact lenses. Harry also underwent cosmetic surgery to remove his scar, making him less recognizable.

Currently, Harry was flipping through a diary of one of Sirius' ancestors while Hermione was taking a shower. At first, it was the normal pureblood propaganda that Harry expected from them, but halfway through, he found something interesting.

At last, I have discovered it! Proof that my late husband's theories were not mere insane babblings. I have found evidence of alternate levels of existence, between the mortal plane and the afterlife, running parallel to our own. I have also found a way to enter one of these planes. To enter it, speak or think the words "obvius animus ostium" while attempting to Apparate across the room.

When I first entered this plane, which I have dubbed Felarus' Plane, in memory of my late husband, I saw that it was very much like our own. However, most of my magic would not work, and other occupants of the room seemed oblivious to my existence, passing through my body like ghosts. I tried to leave the room, but the doors would not yield for me. I tried to cancel the spell, but found that I could not, and I began to grow terrified. In an act of desperation, I Apparated and suddenly found myself in my own realm, relief flooding my senses.

I began to experiment with this strange new realm. After countless hours of research, I had concluded that I was the only living thing within it, a totally superfluous plane. I also discovered that from here, I could apparate to anywhere I could recall. Once, I had even apparated to my Cousin Esmeralda's house in Italy!

I must perform more research into this new and mysterious branch of magic in order to unravel all of its secrets.

Harry flipped through the next few pages, and found nothing warning against performing this action, so he set the diary down, picked up his wand, and stood on one end of the room that he was in.

"obvius animus ostium," Harry chanted while spinning around, attempting to apparate to the other end of the room. He felt the squeezing sensation of Apparation, and he opened his eyes to inspect his performance. The room was perfectly normal, except that the environment was completely devoid of color, leaving everything a dull shade of gray. Spinning around again, Harry Apparated back into the real world. A few minutes later, Hermione emerged from the shower, still drying her hair.

"Did I hear you Apparating?" she asked as she balled up her damp towel and threw it into a clothes hamper.

"Umm...kind of," Harry said, picking up the diary that he had found and showing it to Hermione. She scanned the pages, her eyes steadily growing wider.

"Harry, please don't tell me that you tried this," Hermione said, shifting her gaze to Harry.

"Umm..." Harry trailed of hesitantly. "Okay, I didn't?" he said, although it came out sounding like a question. Hermione groaned and raised her hands up in exasperation.

"For the love of God, you're lucky that we weren't caught, Harry!" Hermione snapped at her companion. "Dimension hopping is very dangerous and very illegal! Back home, it's an automatic life sentence in Azkaban!"

"Umm...oops?" Harry said, cringing. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"'Oops,' he says," she mutters, flipping through the diary again. "And here's why it's illegal," she said, holding the open book to Harry, who began reading it.

I cannot believe that I was such a fool! My passion to expand my husband's research has nearly cost me my life.

After exploring Felarus' Plane, I began searching for other planes to explore, and after three years I had finally found it. Unfortunately, when I crossed the threshold, I found myself in the company of monstrous beings that would inspire nightmares within the foulest beasts of our world, and I barely managed to escape with my life.

I now realize how dangerous dimensional travel is. I have petitioned a bill to the Wizengamot banning the practice of this art, and have destroyed most all of the research I have conducted on the subject.

However, as I held it to the flames, I could not compel myself to destroy the key to Felarus' Plane, my last connection to my husband. So, I have written it into my diary, where it shall remain safe within my family.

"Well..." Harry trailed off, "at least Felarus' Plane is safe," he said weakly. "Hermione, just think about how useful this spell could be!" he tried to reason with her. "With this, we could probably go anywhere we wanted. And the diary said that there wasn't anything dangerous there." Hermione sighed and rubbed her forehead with her hand.

"Alright..." she relented, "but just that one location, and not without my supervision!" she added.

"Deal," Harry agreed, pulling Hermione into a hug.

"What would you do without me?" Hermione asked rhetorically, patting Harry on the back.

------

"I don't see why we have to walk through this damn graveyard, especially tonight," Harry complained as he and Hermione walked through a cemetery. On Halloween, in celebration of the anniversary of their friendship, Harry and Hermione went into the city to have dinner together. However, Hermione insisted on walking back to their hotel in the magical portion of Salem, Massachusetts, which involved them walking through a cemetery. Normally, Harry did not have a problem with this, but that night, a cold air and dense fog created a chilling atmosphere that left Harry feeling slightly nervous.

"Oh, stop being such a big baby," Hermione retorted as she walked around the headstones. "We need to work off the calories that we gained during dinner. And besides, it's just fog; I never figured you for the superstitious type, Harry."

"I'm not superstitious; I just don't know why we can't just Apparate back. Besides, it's really cold out he--oww!" Harry shouted, clutching his leg, muttering obscenities.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked him, running back to Harry.

"I'm fine," Harry gasped, "just ran into a headstone. God, it hurts." He propped his foot on the stone cross and lifted the leg of his trousers, checking his shin for damage. As he lowered his trouser leg, he felt colder, and he heard faint whispers in the distance. "Did you hear something?" he asked Hermione.

"No," she said, shaking her head. Frowning, Harry listened to the whispers, which began to increase in volume, until he heard the voices of Voldemort and his mother. Harry gasped as he realized what it meant.

"We've got to get out of here now!" Harry shouted, drawing his wand. Before Hermione could respond, dementors came flying out of the fog from every direction, swarming them. Harry did not dare attempt to Apparate away; the dark memories being pulled to the forefront of his mind by the dementors' influence were throwing off his concentration, and he would run the risk of splinching. Struggling to find a happy memory, Harry and Hermione blindly fired a patronus and fled away from the main swarm of dementors.

"Do you think you can Apparate now?" Hermione panted after they had fled a fair distance from the dementors.

"I think so," Harry gasped, the images lessening in intensity.

"Great," Hermione said, standing up and preparing to Apparate. However, before she could spin around to disappear, the dementors reappeared, one slamming into her torso and sending her flying, knocking her head on a headstone.

"Hermione!" Harry yelled, firing a patronus. He ran over to her prone body, a small trail of blood trickling down her forehead. Before he could revive her, a dementor swooped down on Harry, forcing him down and knocking his wand out of his hand. Grabbing his throat with one of its rotting, skeletal hands, it lifted Harry up into the air, sucking the air with its rattling breaths.

Harry gasped as the combination of the foul memories and the dementor's grip on his throat choked him, and he desperately began punching the face of the dementor. When the undead creature was unfazed, Harry began pulling at the wraith's arm. As the dementor drew Harry closer to it, preparing to suck out his soul, Harry began tugging harder, the adrenaline rushing through his system giving him the strength to pull the arm out of its socket. The dementor shrieked in pain while Harry fell several meters to the hard ground, the dementor's hand still wrapped around his neck.

Harry scrambled to his wand and fired off another patronus, warding off the dementors that had begun to gather around Hermione's unconscious form, when the same dementor as before swooped down and tackled him, pinning him to the ground. Harry groaned as the dementor held him to the ground with strength disproportionate to its rotted body as it lowered its face to his. In an act of desperation, Harry swung up and jabbed his wand into the dementor's eye socket, forcing it to release him.

Forcing himself onto his feet and the dementor's arm swinging limply from his neck, Harry grabbed his wand with both hands and forced down the wounded dementor, as if forcing it into its knees.

"Go to hell," Harry spat at the undead beast before him, "expecto patronum!" The dementor shrieked as the spell was fired inside its body, bright light shining from its eyes and mouth. Harry kept it down as it shuddered and cried, but as light began pouring from its chest and the vibrations intensified, he belatedly realized what was about to happen. "Oh, shit," he muttered before the dementor exploded, the force of the detonation sending Harry flying several feet away.

As he lay on his back, searing pain in his hands and drifting into unconsciousness, the last thing Harry saw was a cloud of dementors flying overhead dissipating. Then, darkness overtook him.
----

Well, that's chapter five. Whatcha think?

For the record, the spell used to enter the parallel plane roughly translates to "reveal spirit door", or something to that effect.

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I don't own Harry Potter.

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Chapter 6 - New Developments

When Harry finally stirred back into consciousness, the first thing that came out of his mouth was a soft groan of discomfort. The sterile white environment that he was in blinded him, his hands were stiff and stinging and his whole body felt like he had been struck with a dozen bludgeoning hexes. He looked down and saw that his hands and lower arms were heavily wrapped in gauze. He also saw a tube sticking out of his arm, which lead to a bag of clear liquid hanging from a nearby pole.

A door on the far end of the room glided open, and a middle-aged man in Healer robes stepped through, a clipboard in his hand.

"Ahh, you're awake now," he said, a tone of satisfaction in his voice. Harry groaned as the brightness of the room strained his eyes. "Tell me; what's the last thing you remember?" the Healer asked him. Harry thought back to the attack in the cemetery.

"We were attacked by dementors," Harry said, his voice soft and raspy. "There was an explosion." Suddenly, Harry remembered about Hermione. He tried to shoot up into a sitting position, but the pain that shot through his body curtailed that decision.

"Your friend is fine," the Healer assured Harry, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "She's currently sleeping in the next room; she only left your side twice since you two came in here, and I had to give her a potion so she could rest." At his words, Harry relaxed somewhat. "As for you," the Healer continued, flipping through the pages on his clipboard, "you went through quite a beating before showing up here. Second degree magic-induced burns on your hands, face chest and arms, several wooden splinters deeply embedded in your hands and face, and several minor fractures in your wrist, ribs and skull. I also found evidence of numerous older internal injuries," he listed off of the charts he was holding.

"I got into fights a lot," Harry said vaguely. The Healer seemed to accept his answer, and wrote something down on the clipboard.

"Well, you're in luck," the Healer said, "with plenty of rest and potions, you should be fully recovered after a week or so; you won't even have any scars."

"That'd be nice," Harry muttered so softly he barely heard himself speak. The Healer scribbled something else down, then pulled out a syringe from his pocket, and injected it into the tube in Harry's arm.

"This is a potion to help you sleep," the Healer said as he disposed of the needle, "you look like you could use some more." Harry did not respond, as the potion ran through his system and took almost immediate effect, rendering him unconscious.

------

A week and a half after Harry had awoken in the hospital, he was finally deemed fit to be released. Hermione had been released much earlier, and had informed Harry that she had changed their current residence from a hotel room to a two-bedroom house that she saw available for rent. When he asked her about the change, she simply said that she had some plans that required more space and privacy than a hotel room could provide.

His extended stay at the hospital allowed Harry to think about things he had not thought about for a while: particularly, his feelings for his best friend, Hermione Granger.

Harry remembered that he had found her attractive right before the will reading three years ago, but with the thoughts of escaping the country and the past three years of studying and training, it had slipped to the back of his mind. But with his recent near-death experience, they had gathered at the front of his mind again.

Harry thought about all that Hermione had done for him over the years. From the potion riddle in first year to coming with him when he left England, Hermione had stood by him throughout thick and thin. He also noticed with a pang of guilt that he had never once thanked her for it.

He also realized that they were both dangerously close to dying -- or worse that night. Harry tried to think about how life would be if Hermione was no longer there -- and saw nothing. Hermione was such a significant part of his life, that if she died or was condemned to the rest of her natural life as a soulless husk, Harry was not sure if he could continue functioning.

After Hermione had taken Harry back to their new abode and had given him a tour, he turned to her.

"Umm, Hermione, I've been thinking," he began hesitantly. "I've had a lot of time to think in that hospital, and I realized that I never thanked you for all your help, so I just want to thank you...for everything." Hermione chuckled and shook her head.

"You've never had to thank me, Harry," she said. "Although if my next plan works out, which I don't doubt, then you better thank me, mister," she continued, jabbing his shoulder playfully. Harry chuckled lightly, but quickly became serious again.

"There's another thing," he said. "I also think...I think I may like you, as more as a friend," he confessed, looking down at his feet.

"You think you like me?" Hermione repeated his words, her voice neutral. When Harry nodded his head slightly, she did not immediately answer. "I'll tell you what," she finally said, lifting his chin. "When you figure out whether you like me as a friend, or not, then let me know. Until then, I've got work to do, so if you'll excuse me," she said, walking around Harry and entering an office room, closing the door and casting a locking charm on it. Harry stared at the blank door for over a minute before he finally went to his own room.

For the next three weeks, Harry had studied alone while Hermione worked on her secret project, emerging only to eat, sleep and use the bathroom. She always locked the door tightly, and refused to tell Harry what she was working on. Finally, she came up to him, hands hidden behind her back.

"Harry, do you mind doing something for me?" she asked sweetly.

"O...kay," he drawled uncertainly, turning to face her. Smiling innocently, she pulled out her hand to reveal a glass slide and a pin.

"I need a sample of your blood," she said. "I've already sterilized the needle for you." Harry was leery of the needle, but trusted that whatever Hermione was working on was not especially dangerous, so he took the pin and quickly pricked his finger, dripping blood onto the slide. After a large droplet had pooled onto the slide, Hermione healed his pinprick. "Thanks, you won't regret this," she said before carefully walking back to her office. Half an hour later, Hermione returned, hands once again behind her back.

"What is it this time?" Harry asked.

"Remember that project I've been working on?" Hermione asked, ignoring his question.

"The one that you refuse to tell me about, yeah?"

"Well, I'm finished, and this is for you," she said, holding out a hand to show that she was holding a long package. He took it and looked at it carefully. It was over a foot long, and the box did nothing to reveal its contents, so he opened it, and nearly dropped it in surprise. Inside was a rod of black stone, almost four centimeters in diameter, and tapered to a point at one end. The shaft was covered with various runes and carvings, and the handle carved into the back made it unmistakably a wand.

"Wow..." Harry whispered as he carefully took out the wand and held it in his hand, feeling the power within it. He flicked it at a vase on the far end of the room, and it carefully rose up off of its perch.

"The shaft is made from black onyx, and the core is a dementor's arm bone," Hermione said matter-of-factly. This prompted Harry to look up at her.

"What?!" he exclaimed, looking down at the wand in his hand.

"I recovered one of the arms of the dementor that you destroyed last month," Hermione said, ignoring his outburst. "I thought that it would be interesting to see what I could do with it, and this is the result. I made my own as well," she continued, holding out her other hand to reveal an identical wand to his own. Harry continued to stare at the wand in his hand. One the one hand, he was not sure about what to think about wielding a wand with a piece of a dementor in it. On the other hand, it felt so powerful, so natural, that using any other wand simply would not feel right.

"Okay, I guess I can accept it," he finally said. "But what about my blood?"

"That's the interesting part," Hermione said excitedly. "I designed it so that the only people who can use our wands are us and our direct relatives. So if someone does manage to disarm us, they won't be able to use our wands against us."

"Wow," Harry repeated himself from earlier. "I didn't think it'd possible to make wands at home," he said, amazed.

"Well, we do seem to have a knack for doing the impossible," Hermione said modestly. Harry chuckled at her display as he stood up.

"One other thing, Hermione," he said. "I've been thinking about what you said, about telling you if I liked you as more than a friend or not, and I've come to a decision." Clearing his throat, Harry gathered up all his Gryffindor courage for his next words. "I...like you as more than a friend, and would like to have a relationship with you." He anxiously awaited her reply, which did not come immediately. "So...what do you think?" he asked, trying to elicit a response from her.

"What do I think?" she repeated, her face unreadable. Quietly, she stepped closer to him and set her wand down on the table. "Here's a hint," she said before grabbing his hair and crushing his lips against her own. Harry was momentarily stunned at his friend's bold move, but the tension in his body soon disappeared, and he wrapped his arms around her, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. Almost a minute later, they separated, both gasping for breath.

"Anything you'd like to tell me, Hermione?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Only that I've been waiting for this for a while," Hermione said, chuckling.

"Oh?" Harry quipped, intrigued. "How long, pray tell?" Hermione grinned coyly at him.

"Does it matter?" she asked him, before pulling him into another kiss. Harry decided not to answer her question.

------

Several days later, Harry and Hermione were standing in line at the Salem branch of Gringotts. That morning, Harry saw a newspaper article that had prompted his interest, so they were currently standing in line to make an appointment for an inheritance ritual.

The article was a publication by a joint group of magical historians and geneticists that, through both DNA samples and genealogy research, have theorized that up to ten percent of Muggleborn witches and wizards may in fact have a distant magical ancestor, and that their magical abilities was the reoccurrence of a gene that had been forced into dormancy through dilution of non-magical DNA. The rest of the article made little sense to Harry, but he found the premise interesting, and suggested that he and Hermione attempt an inheritance ritual to see if they had any long-lost magical relatives that they didn't know about.

"Maybe you're the long-lost descendant of Ravenclaw," Harry joked, which earned him a swat on the shoulder.

As they finally reached the front of the general information desk, the Goblin looked down at them with a scowl.

"What do you two want?" it snapped testily.

"I was wondering where I should go to arrange an inheritance ritual?" Harry asked politely. The goblin simply waved its hand where they should go and grunted for the next person. Thanking the teller, Harry and Hermione walked to another desk, one with no line and a clearly bored Goblin sitting behind it.

"What?" it grunted simply, idly tapping its talon-like nails on its desk.

"I'd like an appointment for two inheritance rituals, please," Harry requested. The Goblin snapped its fingers and a large, heavy tome appeared on the desk with a thump. The Goblin opened the large book and thumbed through its pages.

"You're in luck, there's an opening right now. Follow me," it ordered, making the book disappear and jumping down from its seat to lead Harry and Hermione into another room, where another Goblin was waiting for them.

"These two want an inheritance ritual," the first Goblin said shortly before turning around and returning to its post. The Goblin stared at them appraisingly before beckoning them to sit down.

"I assume that you are here because of the newspaper article this morning, the one concerning Muggleborns?" it asked. When Harry and Hermione nodded in affirmation, the Goblin reached into its desk and pulled out two sheets of paper and two blood-red quills. Hermione recognized them from books, but Harry had experienced them firsthand, and instinctively clenched his right fist.

"Do we have to use those?" Harry asked evenly.

"Yes, you do," the Goblin confirmed. "You have to write your full name on the top of the page, and I suggest you do it quickly." Sighing in resignation, Harry and Hermione both took up their blood quills and signed their names on the paper, wincing as the artifact briefly carved their signatures into their flesh. However, unlike his experience with Umbridge, while the scratches faded away, the signature on the paper remained.

The Goblin waved its hand over Hermione name, and it sat for several seconds before fading away.

"It seems that you do not have any outstanding vaults to claim, Miss Granger," the Goblin said neutrally before turning to Harry's page and repeating the action. The paper sat for several seconds before more lines began to bleed into the paper, much like Tom Riddle's memory did in his diary.

Harry James Potter

Paternal descent - GTB Vault No. 854, Potter

Will inheritance - GTB Vault. No. 711, Black

Neither of these names had surprised Harry. Sirius' will was given to him during his will reading, and it only made sense that he would inherit the Potter fortune when he became of age. However, one other line appeared that did surprise him.

Maternal descent - FNC Vault No. 639, Mortis
----

Hmm...the plot thickens. And the Harmony happened, yay!

I got the Black vault number from the HP Lexicon.

Enjoy!

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This chapter doesn't contain a whole lot of action, but a lot of back story, and gets the ball rolling for the main part of the challenge.

I don't own Harry Potter. I do own Mortis, though.
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Chapter 7 - The Rise of Death's Hunters


While Harry should not have been surprised -- after all, the entire purpose of this visit was to see if Harry had any magical ancestors from his mother's lineage, but he frowned in confusion at the name; Mortis was a family that he had never heard of.

"Excuse me," Hermione stated, "But who is 'Mortis'? I've never heard of them." The Goblin frowned before snappings its fingers, conjuring a large ledger before him. It quickly perused the pages before finding what it was searching for.

"I am not surprised that neither of you know of it," the Goblin said. "The vault has not been accessed for over seven hundred years." With another snap of its fingers, the enormous tome disappeared, and the Goblin linked its fingers together in front of it. "So, now that you know which vaults you possess, would you like a written inventory of their contents, or would you rather inspect them personally?" Harry blinked as he thought about his decision.

"Umm, I'd like to visit the Mortis vault, please," Harry said.

"Very well," the Goblin stated, conjuring a piece of paper and writing something down before waving its hand over it. "A fee of five Galleons has been charged to your account," it said, handing the paper over to Harry. "This statement authorizes a manufacturing of a key for the Mortis vault." Harry thanked the Goblin and held out the paper to Hermione. When she took hold of it, they felt the familiar tug of a portkey before finding themselves standing before a sour-faced Goblin.

"Well, hurry it up, I don't have all day," it snapped before turning around and walking off, leading them to the cart.

After a long and bumpy ride down into the bowels of the French Gringotts vaults, they finally pulled up in front of vault 639.

"Key," the Goblin demanded, and Harry handed it the portkey. The Goblin read it and snorted distastefully. "Thrice damned wizards, always losing their keys..." it grumbled as it pulled a key out of its pocket, unlocking the vault. As the doors creaked open, Harry and Hermione gaped at the contents within it in shock. Along the walls of the vault were towering piles of gold, silver and bronze, none of them any shorter than their own height. In the center of the vault was a chest, and to either side was a dark, cloaked figure, suspended by a stasis charm. One of them seemed to have been designed to be worn by a person slightly taller and stockier than Harry, while its companion's slender build was obviously designed for a woman. Harry ran his fingers down the cloak, its thin, smooth material reminding him of silk.

Meanwhile, Hermione had opened the chest to reveal a few swords and knives, as well as several books. She carefully extracted one and flipped through its pages, frowning when she could not read the words written within. Not surprising, she thought as she closed it, English from several hundred years ago looked nothing like English today. Sliding it back into the chest, she turned to the Goblin.

"We'll take the suits and this chest," Hermione said politely. With a grunt, the Goblin snapped its fingers, causing the suits to jump out of their stasis charms, neatly fold themselves up and lay themselves inside the chest before the lid closed with a bang. Another snap of its fingers, and the chest had shrunken to the size of a matchbox. "Thank you, that will be all," Hermione said as she picked up the chest and sliding it into her pocket. After a rough mine cart ride back to the surface and a portkey trip back to the American Gringotts branch, Harry and Hermione Apparated home to closer inspect the contents of the chest.

Hermione moved the suits and the various bladed weapons before extracting several books and running over to her office to read them. Harry shook his head in amusement before grabbing the first book he saw and going to his own office. Opening the drawer, he reached in and pulled out a pair of reading glasses. Placing them on his nose, he watched as the indecipherable words bent and shaped themselves into modern English. On the first page was a name written in handwriting that was both messy and elegant at the same time: Nathaniel Mortis. Settling down into his seat, Harry began to read.

Autumn's Eve - Year Nine Hundred Thirty Two

It was amazing! I had heard stories of the wizard Myrddin from travelers, but to actually have the King's conjurer appear on our doorstep! He had come knocking on our door last night during the most dreadful rain I had ever seen, dressed in a cloak and holding onto a walking stick. My Father and I welcomed him into our home, but all we had to offer for food was simple barley bread and lamb broth.

As we dined on our humble meal, Myrddin asked us about our daily lives, as if the life of a peasant were the most interesting thing he had ever heard of. In return, he amazed us with tales of his travels, and of his days in King Arthur's court. After our supper had finished, Father asked why Myrddin was wandering around peasant villages, and he said that he was looking for apprentices to whom he would pass down his knowledge. He then turned to me and asked if anything had ever happened to me, things that I could not explain. I thought about it, then told him about a time when I had gotten into a quarrel with other children from the village, and how they would seem to keep falling down, even though the ground was dry and I was nowhere near them. Myrddin smiled at me, and then asked my Father if they could speak in private. He hesitated, but eventually nodded and sent me to my room. I tried to listen, but all I heard was silence.

Eventually, I heard my Father call for me, and I came out to meet him. He told me about how I was a wizard, just like Myrddin, and how he wanted to take me and other children as his apprentices. Father said that he and Myrddin had spoken to each other, and had decided that it should be my decision whether I would go or not. I knew that I would miss my Father, but this was a chance to learn magic! I would be mad to refuse. Myrddin assured me that I would return every summer to visit. With a nod of my head, I accepted.

Harry continued to read with fascination as Mortis wrote of meeting several children like him while traveling with Merlin, including the four Hogwarts founders, along with a few names that he recognized, such as Dumbledore and Malfoy. He read about how Mortis had struck a quick friendship with Godric Gryffindor, and descriptions of his lessons with Merlin.

The next that Harry knew, his stomach was growling, and he got up to scavenge something to eat. After preparing a few sandwiches, he knocked on Hermione's door.



“Come in,” she said through the door, and he opened the door to see her poring over the books, also wearing her reading glasses.



“How's the reading?” Harry asked as he laid a plate down on the desk.



“Oh, it's great!” Hermione exclaimed, gesturing to the books before her. “This Mortis person was a genius! He's developed potions and technology centuries ahead of his time. Did you know that he actually invented a device that could give a person the ability to cast wandless magic?” she asked him excitedly. Without waiting for him to answer, she reached down and produced one of the metal gauntlets from the suits. Harry noticed now that it was studded with jewels, each about the size of his thumb. “Try this on,” she invited him. Harry looked at her hesitantly before taking the gauntlet and sliding it onto his hand. It was cold and a bit larger than he would have liked, but it was not uncomfortable. “Now try casting a spell,” Hermione coached. Harry looked down at the garbage can on the floor.



“Wingardium leviosa,” Harry chanted, swishing and flicking his finger like he would his wand. To his surprise, the can began to slowly drift upwards. Harry canceled the spell, and flinched when the can fell to the floor with a crash.



“It's the crystals,” Hermione stated in her lecturing demeanor. “Mortis somehow managed to get the crystals to store raw magical energy, which would then later be released when the wearer casts a spell. Quite ingenious really, and quite useful for when someone loses their wand, but obviously it only has a finite energy store before it runs dry and needs to be recharged.” Hermione took a breath and a bite of her sandwich before turning to Harry, who had since removed the gauntlet and set it down on the desk. “So, what did you find out about your mysterious ancestor?”



“Well…” Harry trailed off, “I think I know why he's so smart: He was trained by Merlin himself.” Hermione gasped and nearly dropped her sandwich in shock. “I also found out that he seemed to be pretty close mates with Godric Gryffindor,” he continued. “Which makes it a bit strange why you've never heard of him before; I'd figure that anyone that associated with the Four Founders would be documented in every history book that concerned them?” Hermione furrowed her brow in thought and shook her head.



“No, I've never seen the name before,” she said. Harry shrugged and picked up his sandwich.



“We can ponder this mystery tomorrow,” he dismissed. “Let's finish up dinner first. Maybe then we can participate in…other activities,” he said, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. Hermione reached over and playfully swatted him on the shoulder. “What?” He asked, feigning pain, “I can't help it if I have a beautiful girlfriend.” Hermione snorted and shook her head.



“Alright, I'll forgive you for that,” she relented. Harry smiled triumphantly, and she added, “Although I may still consider you putting you on the couch for your last comment.” Harry pouted his lip comically.



------



Over the next few days, Harry and Hermione perused the notes and diaries of the enigmatic Nathaniel Mortis, as well as study the suits that they brought with them, although Hermione did most of the latter. They read about how Mortis' father had been killed by a corrupt guard, but had gone away unpunished. His notes took a darker turn at this point, along with the development of some rather lethal poisons. However, none of the books had explicitly stated whether he had made the guilty man pay or not.



Some years afterwards, Mortis had met a young woman named Elizabeth, with whom he had quickly fallen in love with. For several pages, the entries had taken a lighter tone again, telling of how Mortis had courted and eventually wed Elizabeth, as well as his excitement when he found out that they were with child. However, the entries took a somber tone once again when Elizabeth had died giving birth to their daughter, whom he had named after her mother. In his grief, Mortis took his daughter and left the fledgling wizarding world, and wandered throughout Europe, earning his living as a mercenary, a trade that he eventually taught his daughter.



“Harry?” Hermione asked him one day while he was washing the dishes.



“Yeah?” Harry responded as he dried a plate and set it aside.



“Have you ever considered how exactly we were going to kill Voldemort?” Harry paused at this question. Truthfully, he had not thought that far ahead, only that he needed to learn more. With a guilty grimace, he shook his head negatively. When he asked her why, she rubbed her hands together nervously. “Well, reading Mortis' diaries has gotten me thinking, and I was thinking that we should become mercenaries.” Harry looked at her incredulously. “Just hear me out,” she said before he could respond. “We've spent the past four years reading up on spells that we could use, but unless we practice, it won't do us much good, and a training room will only do so much. I was thinking we could use this opportunity to practice, and then work our way back to England and finish the job, and we might as well get paid for it while we're doing it. What do you think?” Harry sighed and rubbed his face with his hands.

"I don't know, Hermione. You know how I feel about the government."

"Not every government in the world is like back home," Hermione reasoned. "Besides, I can read a few magical law books and be able to cut through most of the bureaucracy, and I can write contracts that would give us a lot of power in our operations. So I ask again, what do you think?" Sighing again, Harry walked up to Hermione and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"What do I think?" Harry echoed. "I think...it's brilliant. It's about time I got some compensation, even if it's not from the people who've screwed me over." Harry reached down and gave her a passionate kiss, his arms wrapping around her waist as she snaked her arms around his neck. "You are one truly brilliant woman," he said, kissing her nose.

"I know," she said in mock haughtiness. "But we can't just advertise 'Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, Mercenaries;' that might reach the wrong ears. But don't worry, I have an idea," she trailed off mysteriously before reaching up and kissing Harry.

------

Just as when she had been constructing their new wands, Hermione kept everything about her project under wraps from him, saying that it was a surprise. She had ordered several articles of clothing, including six sets of rather expensive Acromantula silk combat robes, with improved flame resistance charms. She bought several Muggle tools, including a rotary tool and smelting equipment, along with several pieces of plastic and metal, locking herself in the basement and only emerging to eat, sleep and use the bathroom.

For almost a month, Hermione toiled, and Harry knew better than to question when she would be finished. Finally, one day she said that she was finished, and escorted him down to the basement, where a vaguely human-shaped figure was covered with a sheet.

"After three weeks of almost non-stop work, I've finally finished," Hermione said triumphantly as she whipped off the sheet, revealing her work. Hovering within a stasis charm was a suit similar to the ones from the Mortis vault, but it seemed more modern. Black combat boots led up to cloth pants, surrounded by stiff dragon hide leather leggings; the chest was a shirt covered by a dragon hide vest; where once was metal gauntlets now were smooth leather gloves; finally, where the head would by was a black plastic helmet, its three vertical mouth vents and shiny black lenses giving it an eerie appearance. It was all wrapped in a black Acromantula silk robe, pinned together by a silver brooch of a skull within a stylized "M".

"Wow," Harry gasped, amazed at the stunning craftsmanship. "That's...amazing."

"Thank you," Hermione said, blushing. "The leather is all made from Hungarian Horntail hide, the strongest and most magic-resistant material I could find. The trousers and shirt are made of cotton, which I have enchanted with various charms to keep it from tearing, burning, et cetera," she recited as she pointed out the various features. "On the belt, I added a wand holster, as well as a knife holster," she continued, drawing the curved knife from its sheath. "The knife itself is coated with a thin layer of sterling silver for an extra kick against hostile werewolves, and I used magic to alter the metal so that it wouldn't be reflective." Sheathing the knife, she continued with her demonstration. "The gloves are actually two layers: A cloth glove that I sewed into a leather sleeve. Between the two layers is a network of small crystals connected to together with insulated copper wiring, which leads down into the fingertips, giving us the ability to do limited wandless magic. If you run low, you can recharge them in the field by holding your wand tip to the exposed crystal and channeling your magic through it." She took a glove and pointed to a crystal roughly the size of his pinky fingernail poking out of the leather. "I also installed steel plates into the fingers and knuckles, both for protection and to give your punches a little extra oomph.

"The cloak is made from Acromantula silk. Combining the already incredible tensile strength of spider silk with the fact that it comes from magical spiders, and you have a cloak that is practically tear-proof. However, there are some powerful anti-spell and anti-flame charms on it so that it doesn't simply turn into ash the moment someone throws a fireball at you. I also installed a suit-wide temperature control and cleansing charm so that no one can pick up our scents. And finally, the pièce de résistance, the helmet." Taking down the helmet from its position, she pushed a latch on the back of it, releasing two side clamps and causing it to unhinge from the top. "Here, try it on," Hermione invited. She firmly pressed the helmet onto Harry's face before folding the back piece down and snapping the two side parts into place, firmly anchoring the helmet to his head. His vision flickered to life, revealing several numbers and symbols hovering within his peripheral vision.

"The helmet is the most sophisticated piece of hardware of the entire suit," Hermione continued. "The eye lenses are shatter-proof, impervious and tinted so that no one can see your eyes. They automatically adjust to the ambient light of the room, so that you're neither blinded nor plunged into darkness. Also, with a mental command, you can also see in ultraviolet or thermal imaging, as well as be able to see magical auras. Go ahead, try it," she suggested. Harry furrowed his brow as he thought about seeing auras, and stepped back in shock when his lenses immediately complied. Now he saw Hermione bathed in glowing colors, as well as the various magical tools she had lying about.

"Wicked," Harry said, impressed, but stopped when he heard his own voice. It sounded distorted, synthetic.

"Around the nose and mouth piece, I placed a charm that would distort our voices. People would still be able to tell that you're a man and I'm a woman, but they wouldn't be able to recognize our voices. I also added a charm that would continuously scan what was coming through the mouth vent, and automatically filter out anything that was not in the precise composition of clean, healthy air. The bottom of the helmet is airtight, so it eliminates the possibilities of drowning or inhaling toxic fumes."

"Wow, this is really amazing, Hermione," Harry complimented as he removed the helmet and ruffled up his hair. "I mean, it seems unthinkable that anyone could possibly develop this much stuff in such a short amount of time."

"Well, since when has a little thing like impossibility ever stop us from doing anything?" Hermione asked, pecking Harry on the lips. "Now, strip down to your underwear so you can try it on." Harry set the helmet aside and stripped out of his pants and his shirt, leaving him in only his underwear and socks, and Hermione began dismantling the suit and tossing things at Harry. Piece by piece, Harry found himself being enveloped in the amalgamation of fabric and leather as it enveloped him, until the only exposed skin was that on his head, which was quickly covered when he slid the helmet back on and locked it shut.

"So, how do I look?" Harry asked in his distorted voice as he posed for Hermione.

"Very good, very imposing," she said as she transfigured a chair into a full-length mirror so that Harry could admire his reflection. "You know, I think it's time that Mortis came back from the dead," she added, looking at their reflections in the mirror.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "You know, if we're going to be hot shot mercenaries, we need a cool name. What do you think?"

"Hmm, maybe," Hermione stated. After a minute of consideration, she nodded her head in satisfaction. "I have an idea," she said.

"I hope it's better than S.P.E.W.," Harry remarked dryly, being careful to spell the acronym out. Hermione swatted him on the shoulder for that remark.

"For your information, it is," she said. "Mortis is Latin for 'Death,' and we'll be hunting Death Eaters soon enough..." she trailed off as she smiled mischievously. "Soon, the dark wizards of this world will learn to fear Mortis, Death's Hunter."

----

And such is the new and much more sensible birth of Death's Hunters. By my original plans and estimations, I'd say that this fic is about halfway to completion now, but we'll see how things turn out in the future.

The concept of using the gloves to perform wandless magic was based on a concept I had for a potential sequel to this fic, and it was simply too cool for me to not put it in.

Don't forget to review!

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I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, those travesties known as Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows would never have been written.

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Chapter 8 - The First of Many

American head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, East Branch Roberts often considered the British wizards lucky: All they had to deal with was one terrorist group and a corrupt government. In America, the aurors had to deal with terrorists, drug distributors, gambling and prostitution rings, and whatever other scumbags decided to rear their ugly heads. To top it all off, the new Minister decided to deny his request for a higher budget. Between the big stuff and the small-time crimes that his aurors had to deal with, the magical police force in the eastern US was stretched to its limit.

So when his secretary forwarded him a letter that essentially offered to help lighten his load, he was more than a little bit intrigued.

To the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, East US Branch,

It has come to our attention that crime in your region is reaching an all-time high, and with your inadequate budget, you simply do not have the manpower to handle it all.

We are a company of private contractors, with our agents specializing in the apprehension of powerful and/or elusive individuals. We write to extend the offer of a partnership between ourselves and the American law enforcement.

If you accept, please send a message notifying us of such, as well as the earliest convenient time when we can send a representative to negotiate a contract. We hope that we will have a long and profitable relationship for the both of us.

Sincerely,

Death's Hunters

Roberts was a bit apprehensive of enlisting outside help to solve his problems, but he was desperate, so he wrote a reply and sent it out. That had been three days ago. Now he was anxiously waiting for whomever Death's Hunters was planning to send, who should be arriving any minute now.

"Sir, there is someone saying that she's from Death's Hunters here to see you," the voice of Roberts' secretary said from his telephone.

"Thank you, send her in now," Roberts replied. Moments later, his office door opened to welcome the visitor. It was a woman, no more than five feet and six inches in height, a briefcase in her hand. She was dressed in a freshly pressed set of gray business robes, a silver skull brooch pinned on her collar; her black hair was tied back in a tight bun and her cool gray eyes seem to pierce straight through him.

"Mister Roberts, I presume," the woman said in a professional tone without sounding haughty or conceited. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she continued, extending her hand.

"The pleasure is mine, miss...?" Roberts trailed off uncertainly, taking the offered hand.

"Grayson," the Death's Hunters representative said, settling down in a chair. "I understand that you are interested in a partnership with our company, yes?"

"It's an interesting offer," Roberts agreed, "but you have to understand that I can't just agree to something without looking over the fine print first."

"Of course," Grayson said. She opened her briefcase and retrieved a sheet of paper, handing it to Roberts. "My superiors have taken the liberty of writing up a contract that they feel will best suit both of our interests." Roberts took the contract and perused it thoroughly.

A line that stated that anyone that the DMLE asked for had to have an outstanding warrant for at least six months: reasonable.

If there is no outstanding reward for an individual, then Death's Hunters demanded a price of one thousand galleons per person convicted. Understandable, although Roberts had a feeling that it would get pricey rather quickly.

Roberts was surprised when he found a line that said that any agents sent on contracts would to the best of their knowledge free any hostages that the enemy may have. It was an honorable addition, one that he did not expect from mercenaries.

There was a clause stating that Death's Hunters receive a copy of all files on any particular individual, including any potential trial transcripts. When Roberts questioned Miss Grayson on it, she simply stated that, "A former associate of ours was a victim of a fraudulent conviction; we want to be certain that the fugitives that we are searching for are actually guilty of their crimes."

Another line of interest was one stating that on threat of denial of payment, any Death's Hunters agents will not intentionally or knowledgably kill anyone except in an obvious display of accident self-defense; the paper would self-destruct upon the breach of said clause. "Our job is dangerous, and unfortunate things may happen to those who delay our agents," Miss Grayson clarified, "but we do not want to permanently debilitate them, as a standard loss of magic would do. We also do not want to project the image of us being marauding psychopaths, and our agents' paychecks are very important to them, so rest assured that they will be as careful as possible."

After Roberts thoroughly scanned the contract and found nothing objectionable about it, he picked up his pen and wrote his signature on it.

"Thank you, Mister Roberts," Miss Grayson said, standing up and shaking the department head's hand again. "For now, our business has concluded; you may forward the appropriate files of our first target to our address at your convenience." Picking up her briefcase, she exited Roberts' office and eventually exited into the Muggle world out of a restroom at an abandoned gas station near the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and walked to a nondescript black car waiting for her several feet away. Opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat, she sighed in relief as she kicked her high heels off of her feet.

"So, how'd it go?" the driver of the car asked.

"It went great," she said, pulling back her hairpiece to reveal the short, wild brown hair underneath. "He signed the contract without making any alterations; we should expect our first job anytime," she continued, flipping down the mirror and carefully pulling out her contact lenses, uncovering her brown eyes.

"Great," the man said, before sighing. "I'm still not thrilled that you cut your hair," he lamented.

"We've been over this, Harry," Hermione chastised her boyfriend. "My hair wouldn't fit in the helmet otherwise, and I wasn't about to waste time building a new helmet just for my hair." Harry just rolled his eyes and shifted the car into gear before driving off.

------

Meanwhile in Britain, things were not going well. The influence of the Light in magical Britain had begun to wane after Voldemort overthrew the Ministry of Magic and established his own inner circle as the controlling government. With the exception of Hogwarts and a few other places, the entirety of magical Britain was under Voldemort's thumb, and had begun to strike the Muggle world. The Order of the Phoenix had managed to prevent many of the attacks from being truly catastrophic, and the Prime Minister had managed to shift the blame of the attacks to Muggle terrorists. But resources and morale was wearing thin, and Dumbledore was beginning to feel the strain of war pulling at him.

To add even more troubles on his mind, two of his Order members had captured: senior member and retired auror Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody and Ronald, the youngest Weasley son. They had gone to investigate a report that Snape had sent of an upcoming attack in Muggle London. When Moody and Ron went to verify it, they disappeared. That was nearly two weeks ago.

Dumbledore was pulled from his contemplations by an urgent rapping at his office door.

"Come in," the aged man beckoned, and the door flew open to reveal an exhausted Dennis Creevey.

"Professor, we've found Ron," the young blonde man gasped, clutching his chest. "He's in the hospital wing right now."

"Thank you for this information, Dennis," Dumbledore said, standing up. Then, with swiftness unusual for a man of his age, he strode to the hospital wing to find Madam Pomfrey tending to a sobbing redheaded man. "My boy," Dumbledore said in a grandfatherly tone, "I know that it must hurt, but I must know what happened." Ron sniffled and nodded slightly.

"It...it was horrible," he gasped. "They put the Cruciatus on us for days. Then yesterday, they came into my cell and stunned me. I don't know what they did to me, but when I woke up, I had my wand in my hand, and Moody was on the ground, dead." Ron made heaving sounds, and Dumbledore conjured a bucket for him to vomit in. After he had finished retching, he continued. "Then, I felt this burning sensation on my arm. I looked down and I saw...I saw the Dark Mark." While Ron began vomiting again, Dumbledore laid a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder. However, despite outward appearances, the old wizard was deeply concerned; Voldemort had apparently devised a way to compel people to take the Dark Mark against their will. The potential damage that this could cause was devastating.

He needed time to ponder this new development.

------

Tom Marvolo Riddle, now known as Lord Voldemort, ruler of magical Britain, felt particularly proud of his latest accomplishment: He had managed to turn the Weasley boy to his cause, and act as a spy in Dumbledore's little Order. It had not been difficult: the promise of power when he would inevitably conquer the world, the provision of the mudblood Granger when she was found, and the brat was practically licking his boots in reverence. The threat of death should he refuse may have helped, though; the cowardly were predictable like that.

After Weasley killed Mad-Eye Moody and took his mark, Voldemort made preparations to plant his spy. A few temporary memory charms here, a Cruciatus curse there, and a skull implant invented by his minions in the Department of Mysteries that blocked all attempts at legilimency, and everything was perfect. Within a few days, the memory charms will expire, and Weasley will bury himself into the fold of the Order and begin reporting their plans to him.

In addition, he now had almost complete control over magical Britain. And with the Taboo reestablished, no one dare speak his name aloud. The public's fear was like a euphoric drug to him.

All in all, it was a rather good day.

------

"I can't believe that we're actually doing this," Harry grumbled as he and Hermione stalked through the shadows to their target.

"We did have a contract with them," Hermione responded, her rolling eyes missed underneath her helmet, "and besides, we really don't know what we're doing; we should start small and build up to the big targets." Their first target was a man by the name of Jimmy Billings, a wizard posing as a small-time Muggle drug dealer. It was believed that Billings was magically altering his product to have increased or additional effects, but they could never prove it. And even though drug peddling is illegal in the Muggle world, since the aurors technically did not have jurisdiction over Muggle crimes, then he technically was not doing anything wrong.

Harry was simultaneously glad and disappointed to hear that idiotic bureaucrats were not endemic to Great Britain.

Nevertheless, a few aurors had contacted the Muggle police about Billings' actions, but nothing came of it. Some believed that he had memory-charmed the police but again, no proof. So now it fell to Harry and Hermione to either convince Billings to confess and turn himself in, or catch him performing illegal activities.

Both Harry and Hermione noted that there was no limit in their contract as to how "persuasive" they could be.

They spotted Billings standing on a street corner dressed in tattered jeans and a windbreaker. His long, unkempt hair and scruffy beard gave him the appearance of a vagrant. Hiding in the shadows where he could not be seen, Harry raised a gloved finger and silently cast a stunning spell on Billings, causing him to collapse before summoning his limp body towards them.

"You didn't happen to bring any veritaserum with you, did you?" Harry asked hopefully, looking down at the filthy man lying before them.

"No, I didn't," Hermione asked, "why?"

"Because I'd really rather not go poking through his head," Harry said, pointing at the still unconscious Billings. "I'm afraid of what I'd find if I did." Hermione sighed in exasperation and cast a spell at Billings. A rhythmic thumping pounded in her ears.

"It's a good thing I installed a chronometer in these," Hermione said as she counted Billings' heartbeats. After she calculated his heart rate, Hermione bound Billings and revived him.

"Wha-what's going on?" Billings gasped, struggling against his binds. "Who the hell are you?!"

"We're no one important," Harry replied as he kneeled down closer to their prisoner, his modulated voice sending chills down Billings' spine. "However you, or more importantly, the information that you have, is far more significant. Now, here's how this goes: I ask, and you answer truthfully. If you lie to us, we will know, and we won't be happy, are we clear?"

"C-crystal," Billings gulped. No one had ever accused him of being brave.

"Excellent," Harry said. "Now, first question, have you been casting spells or otherwise breaking laws that state that you may not sell magically altered materials or substances to Muggles?" Billings emphatically nodded his head, still quivering in fear. Harry looked up at Hermione, who nodded in confirmation. "Good work so far, Mister Billings, we're really making progress. Now, have you been obliviating Muggle police officers who have investigated you?" Again, Billings nodded eagerly, and again Hermione confirmed his truthfulness. "Brilliant, Mister Billings. Now, you are going to go to the aurors and turn yourself in for these crimes and any others they are not aware of. You will plead guilty and serve your time. If you do not, we will be displeased, and something...unfortunate may happen to you." What little blood remained in Billings' face quickly drained away.

"Wh-what kind of things?" he asked nervously. If he could see Harry's face, he would have seen an unsettling smirk.

"Use your imagination," he said simply before reaching into his robes and pulling out an envelope. He slid it under the ropes binding Billings, and as soon as he released the paper, the drug dealer was whisked away with a pop.

After Billings disappeared, Harry stood up and dusted off the dirt off of his pants.

"You know, that was actually kind of fun," he admitted. Hermione nodded in agreement.

"It was," she said, before giving out a warbling yawn. "Let's go home. It's late, and I've got to get up early to collect our payment tomorrow."

"Alright," Harry said, and the both disappeared with a crack.

When they appeared at their house, they stripped out of their uniforms, brushed their teeth and crawled into bed, Hermione snuggling in Harry's arms.

"You know, since we're going to be these bad-ass mercenaries, maybe we should come up with some code names for us," Harry said as he ran his hand up and down Hermione's bare arm.

"Well, you're Mortis, that's a given," Hermione said. "I guess I'll just have to think of something else for myself."

"You could be Mortis, too," Harry said casually. Hermione chuckled softly at him.

"Harry is that your awkward, roundabout way of proposing to me?" she asked, propping her head on one arm.

"Is it that obvious?" Harry groaned, grimacing. Hermione smiled at him.

"It is, and don't ever change," she said, bending down and kissing him. "By the way, my answer's 'yes,'" she said before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep, her new fiancé soon following.

------

The entire auror department was in an uproar when Jimmy Billings suddenly popped into existence in the middle of the main lobby. After stunning him and checking him for contraband, they called Roberts in. When the department head arrived, he was not in the brightest of moods after being dragged out of bed at such an hour.

"Alright, what's so important that it couldn't wait until morning?" he grumbled to the assembled aurors.

"Sir, we found this on the prisoner; it's addressed to you," one of them said, handing over an envelope. Roberts took it and opened it, pulling out and reading the letter.

Mr. Roberts,

I and my partner have fulfilled our end of our agreement. Miss Grayson will arrive tomorrow at 8:30 AM to collect our payment.

Mortis, Death's Hunters

"It's nothing," Roberts said, making the letter disappear with a wave of his wand. "Get back to work," he ordered, and the aurors resumed their duties while Roberts apparated home and fell back into bed.

The last thought that Roberts had before he drifted into slumber was that tomorrow, he would be writing the first of many checks to come to the enigmatic Death's Hunters.
----

One more chapter of out of country action, then it's back to England.

I know that the Taboo was one of the less popular ideas that were added in Deathly Hallows, but I have an explanation for its existence, I promise.

Don't forget to review.

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This chapter has graphic violence warranting an “R” rating. If you enjoy such things, I think that this will satiate your bloodlust. If you don't, well…don't say I didn't warn you.

I don't own Harry Potter.

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Chapter 9 - Hunting Wild Game

GERMAN MINISTRY OF MAGIC, 21 MARCH, 2005

As Hermione rode the elevator that would take her to the German Department of Magical Law Enforcement, her thoughts wandered to all that she and Harry had accomplished in the past five years. While their careers took a few low-level jobs to gain momentum, Death's Hunters quickly became well-known amongst the criminal underworld for their speed, their efficiency, and for their ability to find you, no matter where you were. When they first started, they were chasing down bottom-tier drug dealers and robbery suspects; now, they were tracking down serial killers, drug lords and terrorists.

They also learned that the life of a mercenary was not as exclusive as they had originally believed: Often, they would have to contend with rival mercenaries chasing after the same target. Occasionally, they were all hired from the same person to ensure the target's capture, but usually they all represented separate parties, all of whom wanted the intended target for a different reason.

Hermione was jarred from her thoughts when the elevator stopped, announcing her floor. Quickly sliding into her persona of Miss Grayson, Hermione confidently stepped out of the lift and towards the desk of the department head's secretary.

“Guten tag,” Hermione greeted politely, “I have an appointment with Mister Kreissman, for Miss Grayson,” she continued. The secretary consulted a ledger to confirm the claim.

“One moment,” she said, before rattling a long line of German into a microphone on her desk. A male voice responded in German, and the secretary looked up at Hermione. “He will see you now.” Thanking her, Hermione walked into the office, where she was greeted by the head of the German Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Nicholas Kreissman, a balding man with white stubble covering his face.

“Ahh, Miss Grayson, here to collect yet another contract, I assume?” Kreissman asked in lightly accented English.

“You assume correctly, Mister Kreissman,” Hermione said, reaching into her briefcase and extracting several sheets of parchment. “I believe that this should satisfy your needs,” she continued, passing them to the older man before her. He perused them briefly, and nodded in satisfaction.

“Excellent,” he said, making them vanish with a wave of his wand. “I shall have my secretary transfer the payment into your vault immediately.” Kreissman sighed briefly before he hardened his features. “It is both a relief and a shame that your company will be moving soon, Miss Grayson, but we have one last mission for you. However, it is slightly…different than your previous contracts.” The elderly German wizard reached into his desk and pulled out a folder almost an inch thick and slid it towards Hermione. She opened it, and was greeted with the mug shot of a snarling, filthy man.

“Who are these people, and what are their crimes?” Hermione asked as she flipped through the twelve files laid in front of her.

“These…people,” Kreissman said in disgust, as if considering the figures named as people were an insult, “are a clan of werewolves that call themselves the Hellhounds. They are murderous monsters: They have killed over two hundred men, women and children between them, including twenty aurors…one of whom was my son.” Kreissman stopped as the bitter memories threatened to emerge. Hermione felt sympathy for the man before her, but buried it beneath her professional air.

“I am sorry for your loss, Mister Kreissman,” she said, closing the folder. “But what exactly does this have to do with our contract?”

“We had captured them two months ago, and brought them to trial,” Kreissman explained. “They were all found guilty and sentenced to death. However, while transporting them to Nurmengard for execution, they managed to break their shackles and escape, killing several of their guards. It was eventually discovered to be a mechanical failure, but that's beside the point; the point is, is that these monsters have been missing for two months, doing Merlin knows what, and have already been tried and convicted. All I am asking as that you simply…speed up the process a little bit.” Hermione saw the underlying message that he was saying, but her face remained stoic.

“Mister Kreissman, despite what you may believe, we are not executioners, nor are we hitmen,” she said, her voice maintaining a professional neutrality.

“But think about it,” Kreissman tried to reason with her. “Is it not quicker and safer to simply kill them where they stand, especially since they were sentenced to die anyway? Or will you risk more innocent lives by transporting them here, alive?” Hermione sighed as she considered his proposal. On the one hand, she did not know if she could kill someone, no matter how deserving, even though the reason why she and Harry became mercenaries in the first place was so Harry could train to kill Voldemort. On the other hand, his reasoning was sound.

“If we agree to this, I trust that our names will not be mentioned in the press?” she finally asked.

“You have my word,” Kreissman assured her. Hermione considered it further, tapping her fingers on the top of the folder.

“I will propose it to my superiors for consideration,” she finally said, taking the folder and placing it into her briefcase. “I will return tomorrow with our decision.”

“I look forward to it, then, Miss Grayson,” Kreissman said, standing up and extending his hand. “Good day to you.”

“And to you, Mister Kreissman,” Hermione replied, taking the offered hand before turning around and exiting the office. She rode the elevator back to the Ministry Atrium before walking to the Apparating depot and Disapparating with a crack, reappearing in the house that she and Harry had rented. She heard sounds of battle coming from below, so she went down into the basement, which had been converted into a training room, to see Harry, wearing only a pair of fighting shorts, fighting simultaneously against seven training dummies.

The wooden effigies swung their flail-like arms wildly, Harry dodging the chaotic blows with the grace of a dancer. With his onyx wand in one hand and knife in the other, the former seeker proceeded to cut down his opponents with swift efficiency. In his right hand, his wand firing spells like a gun, blasting apart the training instruments as if they were insubstantial, his left hand ruthlessly slicing away at his foes, crippling them. After he had struck the last one down, Harry turned at the sound of applause to see his wife, who had since removed her wig and changed her business robes into more casual attire.

“Hey there,” he said, embracing Hermione and pulling her in for a kiss. “So, what's our next mission?” Harry asked. Hermione pulled out of his arms and sighed.

“We don't have one,” she said, “not yet at least.” Harry frowned at his wife.

“Why, what's wrong?” he asked in concern.

“Nothing,” Hermione responded, “it's just…the case Kreissman dropped on us was a bit unusual, and I told him we needed to consider it first.” She opened her briefcase and handed Harry the thick folder containing the details of their potential targets. Harry quickly flipped through them.

“So what, it's just another grab and drop job, right?” he asked as he scanned the files. “What's the big deal?”

“That's the thing, it isn't just a grab and drop,” Hermione said. “According to Kreissman, these people have already been tried and convicted, but escaped during transportation. He didn't ask us to apprehend these criminals; he asked us to assassinate them.” Harry looked up from the files, surprised at her statement.

“Assassinate?” he asked, dumbfounded. When Hermione nodded, he set the folder down and sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. “I guess we had to get to it eventually.” Harry retrieved the folder and began reading its contents more carefully, and was quickly sickened by the number and severity of the crimes committed by the people within. “I think we should do it,” he said, closing the folder.

“Are you sure?” Hermione asked him.

“I'm sure,” Harry assured her. “These people have already been tried and sentenced to death. We would be there already, so why not kill them there instead of risking more innocent lives by sending them back to the Ministry?” Hermione sighed and nodded her head.

“Alright, we'll do it,” she said. “I've got to write up a new contract,” she added.

“Alright, I guess I can assemble some of the gear,” Harry said. “Is the potion ready yet?” he asked Hermione.

“Yeah, be careful with it,” she confirmed. “And the targets are werewolves, so you'll need to use silver.” When Harry nodded in understanding, Hermione went upstairs to fabricate a contract, while Harry went into the laboratory to assemble Hermione's latest creation.

She had brewed a potion that was relatively stable when cool, but powerfully explosive when heated to a certain temperature. A few pieces of metal and strategically timed heating runes later and they had all the materials needed to build a homemade grenade. While Hermione originally intended to cut holes into the body of the device and add another potion that would aerosolize after the explosion, creating a gas or smoke grenade, the parts that they had available were all solid; some conjured silver ball bearings were all that was needed to convert it into an anti-werewolf fragmentation grenade. Harry grabbed a doughnut-shaped tube roughly the size of a soda can and poured the bearings into the outer ring. Then, he placed the device under a spout and carefully poured a thick orange liquid into the inner tube until it almost reached the top. Taking the top of the device, he carefully screwed it on and, slipping on one of his gloves, turned it as he ran his thumb over the seam, using a small amount of magic to gently weld the device shut. Setting the completed weapon aside, Harry repeated the process until he had sixteen grenades. That should be enough, he thought as he placed them in racks that would prevent them from jostling during transportation. Hermione had assured him that casual rattling would not detonate them; however, it would be prudent to take every precaution possible just in case.

After checking to make sure that the carrying racks would fit into the pockets of their suits, Harry went to take a shower; he had just finished a workout, and he felt filthy.

------

“Report,” Voldemort hissed to the Death Eater kneeling before him.

“Yes, my lord,” the man simpered. “Our envoy has successfully convinced the clan of German werewolves known as the Hellhounds to join our cause. Their ferocity should help bolster your waning support in the country.” The Death Eater paused as sweat suddenly began to break out on his brow, and his skin began to pale.

“And…?” Voldemort encouraged, sensing more to the tale than his minion had reported.

“O-only one man returned, my lord, his mind broken,” the Death Eater shuddered. “After we managed to apply enough potions to make him somewhat lucid, he said that the Hellhounds devoured the rest of his team…alive.” While the Death Eater tried to keep himself from vomiting all over his master's feet, the Dark Lord was fighting the urge to break out into a grin; it would certainly help to have such vicious individuals in his army, even if they were filthy sub-humans.

“Very well,” Voldemort dismissed his underling. “Kill the survivor; my forces have no place for a gibbering, insane idiot.” The Death Eater assured his master that it would be done before leaving the semi-human's presence.

------

SOMEWHERE NEAR GERMAN / CZECH BORDER - TWO WEEKS LATER

“Are you sure this is the place?” Harry asked, staring at the mouth of the cave that they were currently standing in front of, safely sequestered in Felarus' Plane so as to avoid detection.

“I'm sure,” Hermione said. “The various associates that we've interrogated, and the fact that recent attacks have all originated within a few kilometers of this cave, have determined that the Hellhounds are likely hiding in this cave.” They both briefly reappeared in their normal plane to plant a doorway shield along the mouth of the cave; until they ran out of power sometime the next day, no one could enter or exit the cave mouth.

Except Harry and Hermione, who reentered Felarus' Plane and patrolled the cave, searching for their targets. They eventually entered a main chamber where seven filthy men in tattered robes were sitting, all of whom they recognized as their targets. The cavern was decorated with several human skeletons, all with numerous distinct bite marks on the bones. Fighting down the bile threatening to rise from their throats, Harry and Hermione both extracted a grenade from their pockets and pulled the trigger, keeping their thumbs on the safety triggers.

“On three,” Harry said softly, his partner nodding silently. “One, two, three,” he counted, and the both spun around, Apparating in the cavern, dropping the grenades, and disappearing before the fugitive werewolves could react.

“What was that?” one of the werewolves snarled, waving around the wand that he had purloined from one of the dead Death Eaters that had arrived two weeks before.

One of the werewolves picked up the grenade and gave an investigative sniff. However, at that exact moment, the time-delayed heat rune sent a super-heated charge to the potion contained within, causing it to detonate, and thereby forcing two plumes of silver and aluminum shrapnel to fly within the cavern. Those within five meters were reduced to several pounds of ground meat by the cloud of silver balls ripping through their bodies. Those within twenties meters were all lying on the floor, crying out in anguish as the embedded silver bearings reacted with their bodies, causing intense pain.

The unfortunate werewolf holding the grenade when it detonated was completely vaporized.

As they witnessed the carnage take place in front of them, Hermione quickly unlatched her helmet and purged her stomach at the gory sight before her, Harry nearly joining her. After she had finished retching and replaced her helmet, they Apparated back into their native plane, and surveyed the survivors, still writhing in agony. While they held no sympathy for the murderers and cannibals before them, the two hunters could not help but feel pity for their current predicament, and whipped out their wands. One reducto to the chest, and the werewolves were driven out of their misery. They heard the sounds of approaching figures coming from deeper within the cave, and soon they were confronted with the other five Hellhounds. They stared at each other in shock for a brief moment before the werewolves began to throw killing curses at the two mercenaries, who dodged them.

“Spare one!” Hermione said as she retaliated with a flame whip spell, which shattered one of the werewolves' wands. Harry grunted in acknowledgement and fired a modified cutting curse that Hermione had invented: sectumsempra. The effect was immediate as several deep gashes appeared in his target's body as he collapsed, blood oozing profusely from the wounds. Another had several silver arrows pierced into his chest as he failed to dodge one of Hermione's spells. The other two were cut down quickly enough, leaving the final one alive. He tried to flee, but a swift stunner to the back silenced that effort.

Hermione drew a syringe out of her pocket and removed the safety cap. After squeezing it to force out any air pockets, she pierced the unconscious werewolf in the back of the neck, injecting the liquid inside the needle. After emptying the needle, she destroyed it with a snap of her fingers and rolled the werewolf onto his back. The two hunters waited for several minutes before she revived him with a wave of her hand.

“What is your name?” Hermione asked.

“Johann Markus Vandermilt,” the werewolf replied tonelessly, his face utterly devoid of emotion. Hermione smiled in delight that her invention was working; a more powerful version of veritaserum that circumvented any attempts to resist it by being injected intravenously, where it would travel to the brain and begin its effects.

“Are you guilty of the crimes levied against you by the Ministry of Magic?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Vandermilt responded.

“Do you have any prisoners in this cave?” Hermione asked their drugged captive.

“No,” Vandermilt said monotonously.

“Do you have any prisoners elsewhere?” Hermione asked.

“No.”

“Hey, look,” Harry said, pulling up Vandermilt's sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark. “How long have you been working for Voldemort?” he asked the werewolf.

“Two weeks,” the werewolf droned. Harry sighed and turned to his wife.

“Do you have anything else you want to ask him?” he asked her. When she shook her head, he turned back to the werewolf beneath them. “Thank you, Mister Vandermilt. Now, by order of the German Ministry of Magic, I hereby sentence you to death.” Drawing his knife, Harry brought it down, plunging it into the lycanthrope's heart. After Vandermilt's eyes went blank and his last breath left his lips, Harry extracted his knife from the corpse's chest and cleaned the blood off. “Let's get out of here,” he said, standing up.

“Agreed,” Hermione replied, and they both disappeared with a crack, leaving seven rotting corpses in their wake.

------

The next day, Hermione sauntered back into the German Ministry of Magic in her Miss Grayson persona, holding herself with the same cool professionalism as before. After gaining an audience with department head Kreissman, she opened her briefcase.

“Our agents have successfully executed all twelve fugitives,” Hermione said emotionlessly, producing a vial containing a silver substance from her briefcase and setting it down on Kreissman's desk. “This memory has been donated by one of our agents to view at your leisure. When you are satisfied with our fulfillment of our contract, you may transfer our payment to our vaults.” Hermione watched as Kreissman took the memory vial and placed it in his desk.

“I cannot thank you enough for ridding the world of such evil men,” Kreissman said, linking his fingers together pensively. “The German Ministry owes you a debt of gratitude.”

“My superiors will keep that in mind,” Hermione said as she closed her briefcase. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Kreissman. Hopefully our service has been a relief for your forces.” With a final shaking of hands, Hermione exited the German Ministry of Magic for the last time.

------

The Death Eater whimpered in anxious anticipation for what was to happen to him when he reported the bad news to his master. However, his punishment would be infinitely worse should he delay its delivery, so with what little courage he possessed gathered, he meekly entered Lord Voldemort's chambers.

“My lord, I'm afraid I am the bearer of bad news,” he simpered, falling to his knees and kissing the hem of his master's robes.

“Speak,” Voldemort hissed softly.

“It seems that the werewolves that you recruited two weeks ago, the Hellhounds, have all been slain,” the Death Eater reported. “We do not know by whom, beyond the fact that the aurors did not do it.” Voldemort rapped his fingers against the arm of his throne as he pondered this unfortunate turn of events.

“I see,” he finally said sibilantly, reaching for his wand. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, now crucio!”

----

This is the final international chapter; next chapter, Harry and Hermione return to Britain, and will remain there for the remainder of the story.

Before you get on my back about Snape inventing sectumsempra, not Hermione, remember this: They did not find out about the spell until sixth year in canon, and in this fic, they left before then, so they never found out about the Half-Blood Prince. However, if Snape could invent a spell during his school years, then I don't think it's that big a stretch that Hermione, the smartest witch of her generation, would eventually make it herself.

I hope that you enjoyed it, in all its bloody glory.

Don't forget to review.

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I don't own Harry Potter.

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Chapter 10 - Home, Sweet Home

Harry and Hermione sat idly in their seats on the flight from Berlin back to Heathrow airport. Hermione held a pen and notebook in her hand, writing down ideas for potential tools to develop, or further modifications to their suits. Harry had long abandoned the task of maintaining consciousness, earplugs muffling the monotonous drone of the plane's engines.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent towards Heathrow airport, and will be landing in fifteen minutes,” the voice of the stewardess rang over the intercom. “Please make sure that all seatbelts are buckled, and that trays are folded up and all seats placed in their upright positions…” Hermione ignored the rest of the announcement as she straightened her seat and shook Harry awake.

The plane landed on the tarmac without incident, and twenty minutes later, Harry and Hermione stepped out into the cool autumn air.

“Home, sweet home,” Harry said softly, Hermione humming in agreement. They hailed a taxi and told the driver the address of a building close to the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione took her gloves out of his bag, and discreetly cast a mufflatio charm, concealing their conversation from the driver.

“So, what do you think it'll be like?” Hermione asked casually.

“Don't know,” Harry said honestly. “With any luck the Death Eaters won't be too big a problem, but that's just wishful thinking.”

“The ministry will probably be overthrown, with Riddle at the head, and magical Britain will be a racist dictatorship,” Hermione responded matter-of-factly.

“Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine today,” Harry deadpanned.

“I'm just being realistic,” Hermione retorted. “Of course, that means that we probably won't get paid for this job.”

“Probably,” Harry agreed, “since Dumbledore certainly won't pay us.”

“Maybe not, but we should probably seek his help anyway; he might be of use to us,” Hermione said. “At the very least, it could be fun to mess with his head a bit.” Harry looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“And how, pray tell, would we do that, dear wife?” Harry asked.

“Well, dear husband, we could tell Dumbledore that Harry Potter hired us to take care of things for him,” Hermione explained. “You kill Riddle, hide the body, say that you whisked him away to wherever you're holed up at, and come back in a couple of days with the corpse, and everybody's happy.” Harry considered the plan for a moment, and then nodded in acceptance.

“We're here,” the driver said as they pulled over to the specified destination. Hermione canceled the privacy charm and thanked the driver, giving him the required payment before stepping out, taking their bags with them. They walked into the abandoned alleyway where the entrance to the magical pub, before Harry briefly set his bag down on the ground. He opened it up and rummaged through it, pulling out his own gloves before closing it. After donning his gloves, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses, Hermione doing the same.

Soon after developing the first version of the suits, Hermione bought two pairs of sunglasses and enchanted them with the same visual filters that was in their helmets, to provide them with the ability to see things beyond the visual spectrum without wearing their helmets every time.

After casting several facial obscuring charms on themselves, Harry grabbed the doorknob to twist it open, but it would not budge. He jiggled the handle several times in vain, and eventually sent a burst of magic through his glove to unlock the door.

“Have you ever seen this door locked before?” Harry asked Hermione. She shook her head, and they both cautiously drew their wands before entering the pub. It looked like that there had been a struggle on the premises at some point. Tables and chairs were scattered about, many of them shattered; scorch marks along the walls and blast craters on every surface indicating spell fire. The thick layer of dust lining the floors, disturbed only by the pests that now infested the area implied that whatever happened there had happened some time ago.

Setting their bags on one of the few intact tables, Harry activated the Mage Sight filter on his glasses and began observing his surroundings. In addition to the expected Muggle-repelling charms and the gateway into Diagon Alley in the back of the pub, he also noticed several monitoring and alerting charms, all linked together and all voice-activated, it seemed.

“Hey Hermione, check this out,” Harry said, beckoning the woman next to him to look at his discovery. “What do you make of that?” Hermione frowned at it in concentration, and then relaxed as she came to a realization.

“Get ready,” Hermione said, deactivating her Mage Sight and standing in the middle of the room. Harry deactivated his glasses and took a position behind her. Both adopting a combat stance, Hermione said loudly and clearly, “Voldemort.” For a long, tense second, nothing happened. Then the rushing sound of someone arriving via a portkey echoed in the room, and the two hunters immediately opened fire, sending a torrent of stunners at the intruders before they could even react. Five surprised wizards immediately crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Harry and Hermione conjured ropes to bind them and walked over to them, and she rolled one onto his back with her foot, before snorting in disdain.

“Trackers,” Harry stated, the venom evident in his voice.

Tracker is the collective term for any low-level mercenary, and represent the worst of the profession. While they called themselves mercenaries, a more appropriate description would be thugs-for-hire, as they were often hired by unsavory characters to act as paid muscle; their lust for gold and often lacking intelligence ensured their loyalty. However, they also have a tendency for violence, and when things begin to go wrong, will start to wildly fire lethal curses and sorting out the survivors later. Harry and Hermione had run into trackers several times in the past while on jobs, and have always taken the time to disable their operations.

Nobody likes competition.

“So, if Riddle's using trackers, then that means that either all the good mercenaries left town, or he's too cheap to afford anything better,” Harry concluded. “So, what was all that about?” he asked Hermione.

“In one of my books, I read about something called the Taboo,” Hermione explained. “While it doesn't explicitly say what the Taboo is, the book did say that during the first war with…Riddle,” she continued, almost activating the Taboo again and instigating another unnecessary fight, “when his supporters took over the Ministry of Magic the first time around, a law was passed stating that all witches and wizards had to turn in their wands for `inspection' or face prison time. After the war ended, once again wands had to be `inspected.' If the monitoring charms here are any indication, then I imagine that those inspections were to place and remove monitoring charms on every wand in Britain.” Harry's eyes widened briefly at the implications of that statement.

“That seems remarkably…inefficient,” Harry said, pausing as he searched for the right word to describe the events. Hermione shrugged indifferently.

“Perhaps, but it is the most surefire way that anyone who says Riddle's nickname will be found and dealt with. The area charms are probably to alert them of any Squibs or other non-wizard beings who say the Taboo. It's actually very similar in principle to the Trace,” Hermione continued, then rolled her eyes at Harry's confused expression. “I guess you wouldn't know, but the Trace is another monitoring charm implanted into wands, and is one of the reason why there isn't a wand maker on every corner: it takes a lot of time and effort to get the charms to lie dormant until the wand selects a host, tie itself to that person's magical core, and deactivate once the host reaches magical maturity.” Harry stared at her blankly for a moment, before shaking his head in confusion.

“Okay, forget I've ever asked,” he said, turning towards the still unconscious trackers. “So what do we do with these idiots?” he asked, nudging one with the toe of his boot.

“I figure we snap their wands and dump somewhere where they can't harm anyone,” Hermione suggested. With a wave of her wand, the wands of the trackers sailed through the air, and with one swift swipe, they were cleanly split in two. With another wave of her wand, the five limp bodies were hauled to their feet by invisible hands, and she pressed her wand tip onto their shirts, turning them into portkeys. A few seconds later, they disappeared with a pop.

“Where'd you send them?” Harry asked conversationally as Hermione sheathed her wand.

“Someplace where they won't bother us,” Hermione answered evasively as she swept away the broken wands with her foot. “Let's find someplace to bunk up in here,” she said as she ascended the stairs that led to the inn rooms. While many of the rooms were in a state of disrepair, one was relatively intact, save for the copious amounts of dust accumulated on all the horizontal surfaces, which a quick cleaning charm took care of.

“So what now, just patrol around Diagon Alley until we find something interesting?” Harry suggested. Hermione considered it for a moment, and then agreed. As she turned around and opened her bag to pull out her suit, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist and soft lips brushing against her neck. “Do you need any help undressing?” Harry asked in a low, seductive tone, pressing feather light kisses along her neck and jawline; Hermione bit her lip to keep herself from moaning in pleasure.

“As tempting as that sounds…” she sighed contentedly, turning around to face her husband, “we had a deal: no love-making during missions. We can't afford the distractions…or the physical debilitations,” she added teasingly. Harry dropped his shoulders in disappointment, pouting his lip. “Oh, don't be such a baby about it,” she admonished him jokingly. “You can fuck me senseless after we deal with Riddle and his Death Nibblers. In fact,” she continued, whispering into his ear in a husky voice, “I expect it.” Harry finally conceded, and pecked her on the lips before digging out his own suit from his bag and slipping it into it, becoming the deadly hunter known as Mortis.

After donning their uniforms and making sure that their weapons and gadgets were in their proper places, they entered Diagon Alley via the entrance at the back of the Leaky Cauldron. When they entered the normally busy marketplace, it was lifeless. After further inspection, the two hunters realized that many of the shops had simply closed for the day, although a few shops had boarded up windows, displaying their permanent closure, including the joke shop Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. They eventually split up, Hermione continuing to patrol Diagon Alley while Harry ventured down the darker Knockturn Alley.

------

Hermione sighed in boredom as she walked down the empty streets of Diagon Alley. However, wandering around the area, hoping to find and Order member was the only somewhat reliable way to safely get in contact with Dumbledore; owls could be intercepted, she doubted that they would still be connected to the Floo network, and while they could Apparate onto the grounds (despite her constant assertions that such a feat was impossible in her youth), they did not know what kind of security measures were in place there. While she doubted that Dumbledore would implement anything too dangerous, it would not be prudent to make such a gamble.

Using the thermal filters of her helmet, she slowly scanned her surroundings, watching for any unusual heat signatures, particularly those of a human body.

She eventually stopped when she saw a red figure in her vision when she peered into the window of a shop. She turned off her thermal vision, and saw nothing, concluding that he must have been under either a disillusionment charm or an invisibility cloak. She turned it back on to see that the figure was rifling through the shop's inventory and had not noticed her. She carefully backed away several meters before disappearing with a crack.

The person hiding under the invisibility cloak paused when he heard the tell-tale sound of Apparation. He heard a similar crack behind him, but before he could react, he felt a spell impact his back, and slipped into unconsciousness.

Hermione pressed the tip of her wand against the exposed crystal on the wrist of her glove to recharge the small amount of power used to cast the stunner that she had used. She pulled down the invisibility cloak to reveal a young man that she did not recognize. She briefly skimmed over the man's surface thoughts, any defenses that he may have had diminished by his unconscious state, and discovered that he was a member of the Order, trying to find supplies for the resistance; he also happened to have chosen this particular shop because of its lack of security.

Learning all that she needed to know, Hermione pulled a circular cloth-covered object from her pocket and slipped it into the Order agent's robes. She laid the invisibility cloak back on and disillusioned herself before reviving the Order agent, who woke with a start. He looked around nervously and, finding no one there, quickly grabbed an armful of items off of the shelves and Disapparated. Satisfied that her work was done, Hermione activated the communication unit in her helmet.

“Harry, I found an Order member,” she said. “I dropped off the package and will meet you back at the Leaky Cauldron.”

“Great, I'll be there in a minute, out,” Harry replied, terminating the link. After one last glance at her surroundings, Hermione Disapparated back to the Leaky Cauldron and began to change into her Miss Grayson persona.

------

Meanwhile, Harry was having a more exciting experience.

When he ventured down Knockturn Alley, once again many of the shops were closed, but Harry stumbled across an open pub. Activating the Mage Sight filter on his lenses, he saw that every single person inside was a Death Eater. He also saw that five of said Death Eaters was about to exit the premises. The five of them stumbled out drunkenly, laughing at some unknown joke when they saw Harry standing in the middle of the path.

“Well, look who we have here,” one of the Death Eaters slurred, “some crazy bloke playing dress-up.”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Harry replied, the innocence in his tone undermined by his voice's heavy modulation. The Death Eaters guffawed as if Harry had just told them the funniest joke that they have ever heard, and Harry noticed that he was beginning to draw a crowd.

“Well, let's have a little fun with you,” another Death Eater said, before all five cast the Cruciatus curse at Harry, who simple Apparated out of the way. Harry placed one hand on his hip and the other around the handle of his knife.

“Since you missed me, I'm feeling merciful,” he said. “I'll give you this one last chance to back off and run away. I suggest you take it, or suffer the consequences.” The five offending Death Eaters simply laughed and fired killing curses at him. Harry once again Apparated out of their path, and retaliated violently.

He drew his knife out and swiped it across the first Death Eater's neck, cleanly slicing his carotid artery, ducking down to avoid the spray of blood. He then spun around and shoved the blade into the chest of the second. He then drew his wand and blasted the other three away with a series of reductos before they could react. Harry extracted his knife from the chest of the now dead Death Eater, whose limp corpse crumpled to the ground, and turned to face the stunned crowd.

“Anyone else want a piece of me?” Harry growled at the assembled crowd. In a surprising moment of intelligence, the Death Eaters immediately Disapparated from the area, a few leaving behind various body parts in their fright. Wiping the blood off of his knife blade using the robes of one of the fallen Death Eaters, Harry sheathed his weapons and decided to return back to the Leaky Cauldron before Hermione began to worry about him.

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Jacob Marlow was one of the junior members of the Order of the Phoenix who had been sent out to raid Diagon Alley for supplies that they needed. While their leader, Albus Dumbledore was overtly averse to thievery, even he eventually acknowledged that they would need to replenish their supplies somehow, and with their fugitive status, gaining them through legal means was a difficult proposition at best.

That day, while trying to steal potions supplies, Marlow heard the distinctive crack of someone Apparating in the distance, causing him to freeze up, even though he was under an invisibility cloak. He heard another crack right behind him, but was stunned before he could react. When he awoke, he saw no one there and hastily grabbed an armful of materials before Disapparating back to Hogsmeade.

From there, he ran back to Hogwarts castle and reported the incident, and was inspected by Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse. While there were no effects to his body, except the stunner. However, they did find an unusual artifact in the pocket of his robes that he did not remember being there before. After summoning former professors McGonnagal, Flitwick and even Dumbledore himself to inspect it, they found nothing but a wand-activated communications charm. Deciding that it was not malicious in design, Dumbledore removed the cloth from the item to reveal a circular crystal. On top of it was a piece of paper that read, TAP THE CRYSTAL WITH YOUR WAND. Convinced that it was safe, Dumbledore reached down and removed the note before he tapped the top of the crystal with the tip of his wand. For a moment, nothing happened, and then the diminutive image of a woman dressed in business robes projected itself over the crystal.

“Ahh, Mister Dumbledore, we finally meet,” the woman said. Dumbledore frowned in confusion; he had never seen this woman before.

“I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Miss…?” the aged wizard replied politely.

“I am Miss Grayson, representative of Death's Hunters,” the woman replied professionally, “and I am here to offer you a proposition.”

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No, that is not a promise of future smut.

Not much else to say, except don't forget to review!

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Well, I am now officially seventeen years old now, yippee.

To be honest, my mind's been a bit blank for a while, but I figured that the longer I put it off, the worse it's going to get, so I should just sit down and write the damn thing.

Unfortunately, there's no action in this chapter. Sorry.

As usual, I don't own Harry Potter. It would have made one hell of a birthday gift, though.

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Chapter 11 - First Contact

Dumbledore frowned in confusion at the woman's announcement; Death's Hunters was an unfamiliar name to him.

“I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that I do not know who you are,” the wizened man said, his eyes twinkling. “I'm afraid I haven't been able to keep up with current events outside of the country.”

“Yes, I imagine that having to contend with an insane terrorist organization leaves little time to peruse the periodicals,” Hermione said, her voice maintaining its professional neutrality. “But to the point, we are a private organization specializing in the tracking and apprehension of wanted individuals, for a fee of course.” When she finished, Dumbledore furrowed his brow, his eyes losing their twinkle.

“I see,” Dumbledore said evenly. “And what is this proposal that you wish to make?”

“A standard contract,” Hermione replied. “We bring in one or more individuals of your choice, and you provide us with payment. Considering your current situation, my superiors are willing to offer a one-time discount: Two thousand Galleons per standard Death Eater, five thousand for an Inner Circle member, and fifteen thousand for the Dark Lord himself.” Behind Dumbledore, outraged mutterings broke out between the Order members.

“Albus, we don't have that kind of money,” McGonnagal whispered harshly into her mentor's ear. With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore looked down at the diminutive image of Hermione sadly.

“I am sorry, Miss Grayson,” he said regretfully, “but I simply do not have the resources to honor such a contract. Perhaps your superiors would be willing to waiver their…fees just this once,” he pleaded. Hermione gave a light chuckle and shook her head.

“Mister Dumbledore, we run a business, not a charity,” Hermione chided. “Our skills are highly prized, and high quality service must be met with high prices.” Dumbledore sighed and rubbed his forehead tiredly.

“Then I am afraid that I must refuse your offer, Miss Grayson,” Dumbledore said diplomatically. “In addition to your…steep prices, there is another reason why I cannot take your services. I'm afraid that…special circumstances must take place in order for Vol…You-Know-Who, to be defeated,” he explained, catching himself just in time. While he was personally not fond of the habit of using such titles as “You-Know-Who” or “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named” in reference to Voldemort, he realized with a heavy heart that if he encouraged such behavior outside of the boundaries of Hogwarts' protection, then those who performed it would be captured, and possibly killed.

“`Special circumstances,'” Hermione repeated skeptically. “Very well then, it is fortunate that we already have a contract in place.” This piqued Dumbledore's attention, and Hermione tried not to smile as the old man leaned forward in interest.

“You already have a contract?” Dumbledore asked. “May I be so bold as to ask who has hired you?” Hermione pretended to consider it for a moment.

“You might…” she began, “if you do something for us.” Dumbledore's shoulders drooped slightly as realization dawned on him.

“Of course,” he sighed. “What is it that you require?” he asked.

“Two of our agents are currently in Great Britain, but have no proper lodging,” Hermione said, fighting the urge to grin. “If you would be willing to house our agents, then our client has waived his right to confidentiality in your case.” Dumbledore was quiet for several seconds while he considered the offer. “Please be quick, Mister Dumbledore,” Hermione admonished her former headmaster. “My superiors do not like to be kept waiting.”

“I apologize, Miss Grayson,” Dumbledore said, “I am normally not in the habit of providing housing for mercenaries.” Hermione gave a mirthless smile.

“And we are not normally in the habit of providing the identities of our clients to civilians, Mister Dumbledore,” she responded. “Now, have you come to a decision or not?” Dumbledore was silent for a moment, and then eventually nodded his head.

“Very well, I shall provide housing for your agents. When can I expect them?” he asked.

“They will arrive at precisely ten thirty tomorrow morning,” Hermione said. “Death's Hunters thanks you for your hospitality, Mister Dumbledore.”

“You are welcome, my dear,” Dumbledore said politely. “Now, who has hired you to come here?” he pressed.

“I believe he said that you know him, Mister Dumbledore,” Hermione said, “does the name Harry Potter ring a bell?” Predictably, the reaction was immediate and loud as the Order members present clamored over the news.

“Miss Grayson, I beg of you, please tell us where Mister Potter is,” Dumbledore pleaded to Hermione. “We have been searching for him for twelve years, and we cannot win this war without him.” Hermione almost laughed at the look of desperation on the old man's face, but maintained her emotionless mask.

“I'm sorry, Mister Dumbledore, but that is information that we simply do not divulge,” Hermione said coolly. “Our agents will be arriving tomorrow; have a nice day.” With that farewell, the image of Hermione flickered away, and the crystal crumbled into dust. Dumbledore sagged in his chair tiredly. To be so close to having Harry's location, only to have it snatched away, it was almost as if the woman from Death's Hunters was deliberately taunting him.

“What will we do now, Albus?” McGonnagal asked the older man. Dumbledore sighed and rubbed his temple.

“We have no choice; we have to let the agents from Death's Hunters in,” he said. “We can only hope that we can obtain Harry's location from them.” In the back of his mind, Dumbledore had doubts about this plan, but he had no other choice.

------

“Alright, we got into Hogwarts, but no payment,” Hermione said as she took off her wig. Harry was sitting at a desk, several plates, disks and springs scattered about its surface.

“I kind of figured he wouldn't pay,” Harry said as he began to assemble a device from the parts before him. “It was worth a try though.” Hermione hummed in agreement and watched as Harry assembled her latest invention. The various components came together like a jigsaw puzzle, until eventually he had a black metal disk approximately seven inches in diameter and one inch thick, with a dark red jewel the size of Harry's thumbnail in its center. Harry pushed the jewel into the body of the device and gave it a quarter turn clockwise, where it began to blink rhythmically. He then tried to remove it from the desk, but it held firm to the wooden surface. Nodding in satisfaction, Harry grabbed a small box with an antenna and switch on it, and flipped the switch, causing the device to make a soft click. Nodding again, Harry released the jewel and partially disassembled the device to implant the most important component: a hollow glass ring containing a familiar orange potion. His work complete, he turned to Hermione, smiling triumphantly.

“Okay, that's one down,” Harry said, “only what, nineteen more to go?” Hermione shrugged silently as she grabbed some parts from her husband and began to assemble the devices herself. “You know, this plan isn't exactly subtle,” Harry said as he completed another device and set it aside. “People are bound to notice a missing house eventually, even as far out in the country at Riddle Manor is.”

“Perhaps, but it's the only way to be certain that no one is going to ransack the place later for any undesirable objects,” Hermione replied. “And if we do it right, the Muggles will have no idea what was the cause of it.” Harry hummed to himself before changing the subject.

“So what are we doing after this job?” he asked his wife. “It's not like there's going to be a government to finance us, and the Order certainly isn't willing to pay us.” Hermione pondered her answer silently while she worked.

“Well, it's not like we're hurting for money, so I guess we can take a sabbatical and keep an eye on the rebuilding process, or we can simply head back to the continent; it's not like there's any shortage of criminals there,” she said.

“That's true,” Harry agreed with a chuckle. “Weren't the Italians practically on their hands and knees, begging us to stay longer?”

“The Russians too,” Hermione added, chuckling herself. “I think they even offered to put a word in with their Muggle counterparts to help capture members of the Mafia for them as well.”

“Wow,” Harry said, surprised. “We've certainly moved up in the world, haven't we?” he asked, half-rhetorically.

“Yes, we have,” Hermione agreed. “Who'd have thought that the skinny boy with glasses and the bushy-haired bookworm we were seventeen years ago would grow up to be a pair of mercenaries that many of the world's powers are practically in a bidding war to obtain the services of?”

“Not me, that's for sure,” Harry laughed. The two mercenaries continued their idle chatter until all of the devices had been assembled. Afterwards, they pulled out several shrunken padded briefcases and, after canceling the shrinking charms, placed four devices into each case, re-shrinking them and placing them into the pockets of their uniforms. “So, now what?” Harry asked after they had finished cleaning off the debris from their work.

“Well, we're not due to arrive till tomorrow,” Hermione said, thinking, “so I guess we could go downstairs and train.” As Hermione rifled through her bags to find her training clothes, Harry did the same and turned his back to her as they changed. As he stripped out of his day clothes and into his training adornment, he fought the urge to turn around and peek at Hermione, or even think about the image of his wife half-naked.

It would be awkward to fight with an erection, after all.

------

The next morning, Harry and Hermione were dressing in their Hunters uniforms.

“You know, I think I'll let you do all the talking this time, and I'll be the silent partner,” Hermione said conversationally.

“Oh yeah, why is that?” Harry asked her.

“Well, I have been acting as the spokesperson of Death's Hunters for what, five years now? And besides, you probably have more to say to them than I do, so I'm letting you take the reins on this one,” Hermione answered.

“Aww, thanks, how sweet of you,” Harry said, wrapping his arms around her.

“Well, I'm just nice like that,” Hermione responded before reaching to kiss her husband on the lips. They both snapped their helmets on and checked their chronometers: it read 1028 hours. After making sure that all of their equipment and belongings were stowed in their proper places, they Apparated to the edge of the Hogwarts grounds.

------

At the edge of the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonnagal were waiting for their two new guests to arrive.

“Are you sure that we can trust them, Albus?” the elderly witch asked.

“To be honest, I am not sure,” Dumbledore responded. “However, these are bleak times, and we cannot afford to turn away any assistance, even if I do not agree with their methods.” Just as he finished speaking, two cloaked figure Apparated at the edge of the wards. “Ah, speak of the devil.” Walking towards the two Hunters, he opened his arms in a welcoming fashion. “I assume that you are the agents that Death's Hunters has sent; welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Harry looked up at the castle before him; it had stood remarkably unchanged since he last saw it twelve years before.

“Nice place you have here,” he finally said, his voice deepened by the synthesizer in his helmet. “So are we going to stand around here all day, or are you going to let us in?” Dumbledore was slightly taken aback by Harry's bluntness, but quickly recovered.

“Ah yes, about that. I cannot simply let you in without question; I must have proof that you will not betray us to You-Know-Who.” Harry sighed and drew his wand, Hermione repeating the action.

“I swear on my magic that I do not wish to physically harm you, nor will I intentionally assist the Dark Lord's regime. So mote it be,” he incanted, an aura of magic briefly enveloping him as the oath took effect. After her oath had been emplaced, Dumbledore keyed them into the wards and allowed them entry.

“Forgive me for the inconvenience, but I trust that you understand that in these trying times, one must take precautions,” Dumbledore apologized. “I am Albus Dumbledore, and this is my friend and colleague Minerva McGonnagal.” Harry and Hermione nodded respectfully at their former head of house.

“This is my partner, Morticia,” Harry said, gesturing to Hermione, “and I am Mortis.” Dumbledore was visibly surprised by the announcement, an amusing sight in Harry's opinion.

“Forgive me, but that is a name that I have not heard in a long time,” Dumbledore said, shaking of his surprise. “Is that your real name, Mortis?” he queried.

“Maybe,” Harry said vaguely, crossing his arms. “Now, perhaps you could show us in?”

“Of course, please follow me,” Dumbledore said as he led them inside the castle. When they entered the Great Hall, the ceiling was still enchanted to show the sky above them, but the room seemed unusually large and empty now that the four house tables had been removed.

“Morticia, I need to speak to Mister Dumbledore in private; could you be so kind as to secure a room for us?” Harry asked. McGonnagal looked at Dumbledore, who nodded his approval, so she took Hermione to find a suitable room.

“What is it you wished to speak to me about, Mister Mortis?” Dumbledore asked.

“I was wondering if I could meet some of the infamous Order of the Phoenix,” Harry said. When Dumbledore raised his eyebrow questioningly, Harry added, “I do not plan on being here long, but I would be more efficient if I knew who I was working with.” Dumbledore considered it for a moment, and then nodded in acceptance.

“Very well, I shall take you to them,” Dumbledore said, beckoning Harry to follow him. “That is a very interesting wand that you have there, Mister Mortis,” he said to Harry conversationally as they walked down the myriad of hallways.

“Thanks; it's custom made,” Harry replied.

“What materials were used in its construction, if I may be so bold?” Dumbledore asked.

“An onyx shaft, with a dementor arm bone core,” Harry responded, Dumbledore's eyebrows rising in interest.

“Really?” he asked. “That is certainly a very…unique combination.”

“It serves its purpose well enough,” Harry said, shrugging.

Dumbledore led Harry down several halls and corridors until they reached what from Harry's recollection was the Charms classroom. The doors opened to reveal several people sitting at a table. “Everyone, this is Mister Mortis,” the elder man addressed the crowd. “He and his partner will be our guests for a while. Mister Mortis, this is Kingsley Shacklebolt, Jonathan Williams, Michael Turner, Serena Blake, Horace Slughorn, Severus Snape, Ronald Weasley and his sister Ginevra.”

“A pleasure to meet you all,” Harry said, inclining his head slightly. Harry felt a slight tickling in the back of his head, and quickly reinforced his mental defenses, forcing out the intruder. Snape grunted softly as the mental probe was deflected. Harry activated his Mage Sight filter and surveyed the people before him. He saw a dark splotch on the left arm of two figures in the room. One was attached to Severus Snape, which was no surprise, but the other one shocked him: Ronald Weasley. Turning to Dumbledore, Harry asked, “Could I speak to you outside for a moment, please?” Nodding, Dumbledore took Harry out of the room, where he cast a privacy charm. “Well, you certainly have a very interesting taste in company, Mister Dumbledore,” he said, crossing his arms. “Care to explain to me why there are two Death Eaters in that room?”

“How did you know that?” Dumbledore asked, surprised that Harry had discovered the fact.

“Trade secret,” Harry said simply. “You still haven't answered my question.” Dumbledore sighed tiredly and rubbed his forehead.

“They are both spies for me within Voldemort's ranks,” Dumbledore explained, falling back into his old habit of addressing Voldemort as such, “and I trust everyone in that room with my life.”

“With all due respect sir, I cannot say the same,” Harry said. “I am not willing to trust a terrorist group, no matter how honorable you say they are; I will trust them if and when they prove to me that they are worthy of such trust.” Dumbledore sighed tiredly.

“And nothing I say can convince you differently?” the old man asked.

“Nope,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Our client also asked about the status of one Remus Lupin, whom I did not see assembled. How is he?” Dumbledore tiredly sighed again, dropping his shoulders.

“I am afraid that Remus and his fianc�e Nymphadora Tonks were killed several months ago,” he informed Harry. His eyes widened in shock at the news that his last connection to his parents was dead, but recollected his resolve; he could grieve later.

“I see,” Harry said neutrally. “Perhaps you could show me to my quarters; my partner and I need to prepare before moving out.”

“Of course, let me call an elf to guide you,” Dumbledore offered. With a clap of his hands, a diminutive house elf popped into existence before them.

“What can Snappy do for Master Dumbly-Door, sir?” the elf squeaked, bowing low.

“Could you show Mister Mortis to his quarters, please?” Dumbledore asked.

“Of course, Master Dumbly-Door, follow Snappy,” the house elf said, leading the way to Harry and Hermione's quarters. Harry followed the elf around the castle corridors until they reached a door. “Master Morty's lady friend is in here. Call Snappy if youse needs anything,” it said before popping away. Checking to see that he was alone, Harry knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” Hermione asked through the doorway.

“It's me; I'm alone,” Harry replied. He heard the door unlock and open, although Hermione remained carefully behind the doorway. Harry slid in, and she closed the door.

“So, who was around?” Hermione asked, her helmet removed but otherwise still in costume.

“Shacklebolt, Ron, Ginny, Snape, and a few others I didn't recognize,” Harry replied, removing his helmet. “According to Dumbledore, Remus and Tonks died a few months ago.” Hermione gasped softly at the news. “And there's something else: Ron has the Dark Mark.” Hermione gasped again, louder this time.

“You know what this means, Harry,” she said a moment later. Harry sighed and nodded his head sadly.

“Yeah, I do.”

--------

And there's chapter eleven; hope you enjoyed it.

Special thanks to Korval who suggested that Hermione's codename be “Morticia” in his review. Thanks, man!

Don't forget to review!

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STOP!

If you have not read and reviewed chapter eleven, please do so now. If you have, please continue.

We're getting near the end of this story and, with the exception of the half-ass epilogue from the first draft, I'm running out of stuff to expand upon, so there'll only be one more chapter before this fic is complete. It's been a good run.

I don't own Harry Potter.

----

Chapter 12 - The Hammer Falls

Early in the morning, a cloaked figure nervously navigated the labyrinthine halls of Hogwarts, aiming to reach the edge of the school grounds so that he could Apparate away.

“I've got to get out of here,” Ron Weasley muttered softly to himself. “I've got to warn the Dark Lord.” After stopping to check if anyone was following him, he grumbled, “Why did Harry have to take the Map when he left? It wasn't like he needed it.” Weasley finally arrived at the front doors of the castle, and opened them just enough to slip through before closing them again.

------

Harry lied in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Perhaps it was the anticipation of the mission that he planned to carry out later that day, but he found himself unable to sleep. Hermione was currently facing away from him, so he quietly slipped out of bed and into his uniform before sneaking out of their room. He wandered the empty corridors of the castle, illuminated only by the occasional passing ghost, until he found himself standing atop the Astronomy Tower, gazing up at the stars.

“Interesting that I find you up here tonight, Mister Mortis,” a voice said behind Harry, and he turned to see Dumbledore standing behind him.

“Likewise,” Harry replied.

“Does something trouble your mind?” Dumbledore asked as he stepped to Harry's side.

“Not really; just came up here to think,” Harry said.

“May I ask what?” Dumbledore inquired.

“Stuff,” Harry replied vaguely. For several seconds, both wizards simply stood in silence.

“May I ask you something?” Dumbledore asked. Harry briefly turned his head towards him before returning his gaze outwards.

“You just did, but go ahead,” Harry acknowledged.

“How do you plan to go about completing your…mission?” Dumbledore asked. Harry sighed as he crossed his arms in thought.

“Well, the Death Eaters control the government, so that's out,” Harry said. “Azkaban doesn't affect them, so that's no good either. And, no offense, but I've heard of your forgive-and-forget reputation, so I don't exactly trust you with them, so I guess there's only one option.” Dumbledore breathed out a sigh of disappointment.

“Would you really murder dozens of men and women for money?” Dumbledore asked sadly. Harry shook his head, chuckling dryly.

“First of all, I don't consider it murder,” Harry replied. “I consider it avenging the countless people that have been tortured and murdered by those twisted bastards, and if I walk away with heavier pockets, then so be it.” Harry quickly reined back his emotions before he became too upset.

“And what gives you the right to play judge, jury and executioner, Mister Mortis?” Dumbledore asked darkly, no twinkle to be seen in his eyes. Harry could not help but give a sardonic smile, even though his features were hidden by his helmet.

“The same thing that gives you the right to place a child in an abusive household for almost fifteen years: the so-called Greater Good.” Without waiting for Dumbledore to respond, Harry turned around and returned inside the castle.

Neither man noticed the cloaked figure heading towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

------

Once Weasley had entered the Forbidden Forest and exited the wards, he Disapparated, reappearing in front of Riddle Manor.

“I need to speak to the Dark Lord,” Weasley said to the two masked Death Eaters guarding the door. “It's urgent.” The two guards looked at each other for a moment before shrugging and letting Weasley pass. He quickly strode to Voldemort's throne room and urgently knocked on the door.

“Enter,” the dark wizard's sibilant voice said from behind the door. Weasley nervously pushed the door open and scampered to his master's feet, kneeling down and kissing the hem of his robes. “What news do you have that is so urgent?” Voldemort hissed impatiently. Weasley gulped nervously, but managed to muster enough courage to speak.

“Two mercenaries have come in an attempt to assassinate you, my lord,” he said. “They claim to be from the group Death's Hunters.”

“Death's Hunters, you say?” Voldemort echoed, stroking his chin in thought. “I have heard of the name; they have caused me much grief for my forces on the continent. What else have you learned about them?”

“N-nothing, my lord,” Weasley said. “They have been very careful about maintaining their secrets, only telling necessary information to the necessary people.” Voldemort rhythmically tapped his fingers against the arm of his throne, pondering the news, while Weasley remained on his knees, anticipating his master's cruciatus curse.

“Very well,” Voldemort finally said. “You shall be in charge of preventing these mercenaries from entering.” Weasley gulped, and gave his appreciation before he stood up to leave. “Oh, and Weasley?” Voldemort said, giving the redhead pause. “If you fail, and I have to kill them myself, this is only a taste of what I will do to you: Crucio!” Weasley fell to the ground, screaming and writhing for several seconds before Voldemort lifted his curse, and he scrambled away.

Weasley ran throughout Riddle Manor, alerting every Death Eater that he came across about the impending threat. After he had assigned two more guards to the front door, and set up patrols throughout the building, he made a quiet retreat back to Hogwarts. If things took a turn for the worst, he did not want to be anywhere near the carnage, and hopefully, Dumbledore would provide protection for him.

------

Harry briskly walked through the castle for several minutes before turning around to make sure that he was not being followed. After finding a hallway bereft of portraits or other methods of eavesdropping, Harry drew a folded bundle of parchment from his pocket and unfurled it, pressing the tip of his wand on its surface. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” Harry muttered, and black lines of ink began to creep its way across the parchment, eventually creating a detailed map of Hogwarts. After checking that no one was in his path, Harry cast a disillusionment charm on himself, and made his way towards the sleeping quarters of a certain potion master.

When Harry reached the door leading to the potions classroom, Harry erased the Marauder's Map and slid it back into his pocket. Activating his Mage Sight filter, Harry saw an alarm ward on the door, set to alert Snape when the door was open. Quickly disabling the ward, Harry snuck into Snape's classroom and into his quarters. Raising his finger towards the sleeping man, Harry silently fired a red bolt of light from his fingertip, impacting Snape's still form. Drawing his wand, Harry pointed at Snape's head and whispered, “Legilimens.” Stunned, Snape could not draw forth any more occlumency defenses than the latent shields permanently erected, which Harry broke through with ease.

Quickly filtering through Snape's recent memories, Harry pinpointed the locations of the various inner circle Death Eaters, divided between the Ministry of Magic and Riddle Manor, where Voldemort himself was located. After erasing the past few minutes from Snape's memories as a precaution, Harry left his office and pulled the Marauder's map from his pocket, maneuvering his way back to his and Hermione's quarters. Removing his helmet, Harry reached down and gently shook his wife awake.

“What?” Hermione mumbled groggily.

“I found out where our targets are,” Harry replied. “Riddle is hiding out at his manor, but most of the high-level Death Eaters are at the Ministry of Magic. How do you want to do it?” Hermione sat up and shook her head to clear the fog of sleepiness from her mind.

“The best thing I can think of is that we hit Riddle, capture a Death Eater, and go to ground for a few days while we fabricate a series of ward stones keyed to a Dark Mark's signature. Then, we can set them around the perimeter of the Ministry building; we can set the ward for one-way entry into the building, but no one with a Dark Mark can get out. After that, we can pick off the Death Eaters at out leisure.”

“Sounds good,” Harry said as he picked up his helmet. “When do we leave?” Hermione slid off of the bed and walked over to her discarded uniform.

“We're both awake, so we might as well leave now,” she said as she stripped down to her undergarments and began to don her uniform. After she had finished and they both performed some basic stretch exercises, they both disappeared with a crack.

------

Outside the main entrance to Riddle Manor, four more Death Eaters had joined the two guarding the door.

“Remind me again, why we're here?” one of the newcomers asked.

“The weasel's all worried that a couple of mercenaries are going to come through here, and the Dark Lord seems to believe him,” another answered. “Personally, I think it's a load of hippogriff shit; two guys against the Dark Lord's entire army? Come on, how much damage can they do?” Immediately after he had spoken, he heard two cracks as Harry and Hermione appeared behind two of the other Death Eaters. The two mercenaries immediately grabbed the guards' heads and snapped their necks before blasting the other four away with their gauntlets before the others even had time to draw their wands.

“We're going to have to do a thorough search of this place,” Hermione said as she unlocked the door. “It'd go by quicker if we split up.”

“So, I go up, you go down?” Harry offered.

“Sure,” Hermione said as they entered the manor, wands drawn. Immediately, they both ducked down as several green lights flew over their heads. With a thought, two jets of fire erupted from their wand tips, igniting the robes and wands of their opponents. The two mercenaries were forgotten as the Death Eaters screamed in agony. Standing up, Harry waved his wand in a wide arc, cutting down and mercifully killing the blazing figures. As he and Hermione left in different directions, they both stopped and drew an object from their pocket: A shrunken briefcase that was enlarged and opened to reveal four of the round devices that they had assembled the day before. They both stuck one on their walls before pushing the crystal in the center, causing it to shimmer and fade into the background. Satisfied, they closed the cases and put them back into their pockets before leaving.

------

Harry was walking down a hallway when he saw a Death Eater emerge from a room. The masked wizard turned to face Harry and raised his wand.

“Hey, you stop right th—” the Death Eater began, but was shot down with a blasting hex mid-sentence. Seeing nothing of importance in the room that the Death Eater emerged from, Harry planted another device in the center of the room and left.

Similar scenes happened as Harry and Hermione navigated the manor, striking down any Death Eaters that opposed them. However, Harry noticed that he had only faced lower-level Death Eaters so far, but none of the Voldemort's inner circle. However, this pattern was broken when he rounded a corner and had to quickly dodge several killings curses sent in his direction. As Harry countered with his own spells, he saw that his opponents were Bellatrix Lestrange, along with her husband and brother-in-law. Ducking down to avoid another volley of killing curses, Harry sent out a banishing hex from his left hand, knocking the three Death Eaters off their feet. He then quickly dispatched them with several well-placed cutting hexes. Sheathing his wand and dusting his hands, Harry casually hopped over the bodies of the three Lestranges, avoiding stepping in the expanding puddle of blood pooling around them.

------

Having gone throughout the upper levels of Riddle Manor, as well as exhausting his supply of devices, Harry finally found Voldemort's throne room, where the twisted wizard sat patiently.

“Your reputation precedes you,” Voldemort said conversationally, “however, I'm afraid that your career as at an end, Avada Kedvara!” he shouted, sending a bolt of green light at Harry, who dodged it. Voldemort threw another killing curse, which Harry dodged again, countering with a blasting curse, which Voldemort blocked. Harry ducked under a third killing curse before reaching out his free hand and clenching; Voldemort screamed in pain as Harry wandlessly crushed his opponent's wand hand. With a swift twist, Voldemort's other arm was snapped in two, disabling his combat abilities. With a wave of his wand, Voldemort was pulled towards Harry, who gripped him by his robes.

“Please,” Voldemort begged, his broken arms hanging limply by his sides, “I'll give you anything, anything you want, but please spare me.”

“Anything I want?” Harry asked. When the dark lord nodded quickly, Harry raised his wand to his captive's throat, tip glowing ominously. “I want you to go to hell. Diffindo!” With the one word, the head of Lord Voldemort fell to the ground and rolled away. Unfortunately, this also caused the blood from the body's neck to spray up onto the face of Harry's helmet, obscuring his vision. With a disgusted noise, he threw the body away and cleaned the blood off of his face and chest. Conjuring a large box, Harry grabbed Voldemort's head and dropped it in like a piece of garbage before tying it up, shrinking it and shoving it into his pocket. Picturing the empty void above the Earth, Harry vanished the decapitated corpse into outer space, where it could never be recovered, and cleaned the blood off the floors.

“I did it; how far along are you?” Harry asked, contacting Hermione.

“Planting the last one now,” Hermione replied. “I'll meet you outside.”

“Heading there now,” Harry said before Apparating onto a hill several dozen meters away from the manor; a second later, another crack signaled Hermione's arrival. Harry drew the remote from his pocket and silently offered it to his wife, who declined it. Shrugging, he flipped the switch and waited. Moments later, a thunderous explosion rocked the area and Riddle Manor crumbled as the devices that Harry and Hermione planted compromised its structural integrity. The two mercenaries watched the wreckage burn for several seconds before nodding in satisfaction and returning to Hogwarts. When they arrived back in their room, Harry turned to Hermione.

“Should we deal with the Death Munchers here now or later?” he asked.

“We're still dressed, so might as well do it now,” she said. “We can hole up in the Leaky Cauldron again.”

“Okay,” he said before pulling the Marauder's Map out of his pocket and activating it. He confirmed that Snape was still in his quarters, and then perused the entire map looking for Weasley, who was eventually found near where the Charms classroom used to be. “How about we split up? I'll take Snape and you take…him,” he said contemptuously.

“Alright,” she said. Harry wiped the map clean and returned it into his pocket before they both left to their respective targets. Harry stunned Snape again for good measure, and bound him. Before Disapparating, Harry took out the box containing Voldemort's head and placed it on Snape's bed. He also hastily scribbled a note and used a sticking charm to attach it to the box. Hermione did the same, although she left a crystal and a slip of parchment addressed to Dumbledore before she left. When they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, they stripped them down to their undergarments (Harry noted sickly that Snape seemed to use the same gray underwear that he wore in his fifth year), conjured fresh robes for them and casted anti-apparation and anti-portkey charms in the room that they were held in before Harry and Hermione went into their own room and stripped down before collapsing onto the bed.

------

Weasley groaned as he stirred awake, his mind still fuzzy.

“Oh good, you're awake,” a voice said. As Weasley's vision cleared, he saw two figures sitting in front of him, a man and a woman.

“Who're you?” he mumbled groggily.

“I'm not surprised that you don't remember us,” the man said, leaning closer to him, “it's been twelve years since we've last seen each other. However, I'm sure that there's something at least somewhat familiar in us.” Weasley looked at the man again, and noticed the piercing green eyes and messed up hair.

“Harry? Hermione?” he asked. “Where have you been? Why am I tied up?”

“We've been here and there,” Harry said, waving his hand casually. “As for why you're tied up, I think you know.” He tapped his left forearm, and Weasley suddenly felt a chill creep down his spine. “What we want to know is why? Why did you join Voldemort?”

“Please, you have to understand,” Weasley said, “he tortured me. He threatened to kill me!”

“Sounds like a certain rat,” Hermione said, speaking for the first time. Weasley gulped at her cold tone.

“Wh-what are you going to do to me?” he asked.

“The same thing that we did to all the Death Eaters we ran across in Riddle Manor,” Harry said, picking up a distinctive black wand. Weasley whimpered in fright as Harry pressed the cold tip of his wand against the redhead's forehead.

“You wouldn't kill your friend, would you Harry?” Weasley asked desperately.

“Our friend wouldn't have betrayed us,” Harry said coldly. The look of steely determination on his face was the last thing that Weasley ever saw before his world went black.

------

When the sun had finally risen, Dumbledore went through his morning routine with a fluidity that came with a hundred and fifty years of practice. When he saw neither Snape nor Weasley, Dumbledore dismissed it as the early hour. But when time passed and neither of them appeared, he grew concerned; when noon came, and neither they nor the two agents from Death's Hunters had been seen by anyone, he began to worry. He sent house elves to inspect their quarters, and the returned with a box with a note attached to it and a familiar crystal. Taking the crystal, Dumbledore tapped it with his wand, and a tiny image of Miss Grayson appeared.

“This is a pre-recorded message, so don't bother asking any questions,” the image said before Dumbledore could ask anything. “We at Death's Hunters would like to thank you for housing our agents for the duration of their mission. If you're wondering where Severus Snape is, he has been apprehended by our agents, as per our contract with Mister Potter, along with any other Death Eaters within your midst.

“Perhaps in time, we will find ourselves in a situation where we'll need each other's services again. But until that time, thank you for your cooperation.” The recording complete, the image flickered and died. Dumbledore turned to the box and opened it, gasping in shock when he saw the decapitated head of Voldemort inside. He removed the note and read it before he collapsed into a nearby chair as he suddenly felt every bit his age. The note read:

You're Welcome,

Harry Potter

----

One more chapter left, and that'll be the end of this story. I'm thinking about making a sequel, but haven't set anything in stone yet.

Don't forget to review!

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I spent a fair amount of time sitting on my ass thinking of how I should end this fic (among other things). Eventually, I decided on this, which I think ties up all the loose ends while leaving things open for a sequel.

I don't own Harry Potter.

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Chapter 13 - Marauder Security & Technologies

Two days after Harry and Hermione had razed Riddle Manor to the ground, slaughtering any Death Eaters that were encountered inside, they were preparing to capture and eliminate the Death Eaters within the Ministry of Magic. Ward stones would trap any marked witches and wizards inside the complex, and a separate sub-ward would send a lethal shock to those contained within.

“So, how long do you think it'll take for Dumbledore to realize who we were?” Harry asked as he laid the final ward stone at its designated location.

“Who knows,” Hermione replied as she brought up the ward schematics and made final adjustments to the formulae, “he is one of the most brilliant minds in magical Britain, but on the other hand…” she trailed off.

“On the other hand, he'd probably rather convince himself that his golden boy isn't capable of the things we just did,” Harry finished for her.

“Exactly,” she said. Her analysis complete, she closed the display and they both Disapparated back to the house that they were renting. With a sigh, she said, “Now that the reason to what we've been doing is gone, what are we going to do now?”

“Retirement's sounding nice,” Harry suggested, pulling off his helmet and removing the rest of his uniform. “I mean, between the gold from the Potter, Black and Mortis accounts, on top of the earnings we got doing mercenary work, our great-great grandchildren probably wouldn't have to work a day in their lives.”

“Yeah...” Hermione agreed uncertainly, also stripping down, “but, I mean, we're not even thirty yet, we shouldn't be talking about retirement! And while I would like our children and our grandchildren to grow up comfortably, I don't want our wealth to spoil them. They could end up like Malfoy…or worse.” Harry wrinkled his nose at the thought.

“Yech, that's a scary thought,” he said, sitting down to ponder an alternative. “You know, I just realized, what could we do with the millions of pounds worth of gold that we have, just languishing in our vaults?”

“Buy a thousand-acre property and a fleet of yachts?” Hermione asked.

“Ha, ha,” Harry deadpanned. “No, I was thinking we could start a business. I mean, we're still young, we've got the skills, we could start up a mercenary company and expand our reach further than one country at a time.” Hermione thought about it and bobbed her head side to side in consideration.

“It could work, temporarily at least,” she said. “However, the problem is, is that there are no magical wars currently being waged by our usual customers, and the aurors can't keep calling us forever; they'll eventually run out of money to pay us, or there'll be no one left for us to catch, and what then?”

“So, what do you suggest then?” Harry asked. “I mean, we've spent the past thirteen years training to be mercenaries, Hermione, thirteen years! It's not like we know how to do much else!”

“We do something with our mercenary work as a part of the organization,” Hermione suggested. “Maybe we could make a security firm, or a research and development division, maybe even both. Just…something to keep the company going during peacetime.” Harry sighed and nodded in acceptance.

“I guess it was a bit shortsighted of me to stick strictly to merc work,” he admitted. “The paperwork for all this is going to be hell, though,” he added.

“True, but that can wait till later,” Hermione said as she pulled Harry up by his shirt. “Now, I believe we had an agreement,” she said in a seductive tone. With a lecherous grin, Harry lifted his wife by her thighs and carried her to the bedroom to celebrate their victory.

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The next day, the Order of the Phoenix staged an attack to retake the Ministry, only to find several dead bodies lying scattered throughout the complex, all bearing the Dark Mark on their arms. That afternoon, in Los Angeles, Harry and Hermione found themselves sitting in the American Department of Magical Business and Commerce, slowly picking their way through the mounds of paperwork that they had to sign to start a new business.

“I knew that there'd be paperwork involved, but this is ridiculous,” Harry grumbled under his breath as he signed another sheet of paper from a pile that had originally stood almost three inches in height. The attendant in front of them shrugged apologetically.

“Sorry, I didn't write the laws,” she said. Harry set his pen down and flexed his hand, feeling the muscles beginning to cramp. To his right, Hermione was scanning the papers and quickly signing them before setting them aside and grabbing the next one. His hand muscles sufficiently relaxed, Harry picked up his pen and resumed his long journey through the masses of paperwork before him.

Over an hour later, all the forms had finally been signed, and Harry was massaging his writing hand.

“Alright, that seems to be everything,” the woman said, straightening out the papers before filing them away. “Now, will your business strictly be in the magical world, or will you also be doing work in the Muggle world?” she asked. Harry and Hermione looked at each other for a moment before shrugging.

“Umm, both I guess,” Harry said uncertainly, “more money that way, right?” Harry thought he saw sympathy momentarily flicker across the attendant's face before returning to a professional smile.

“Well then, you're also going to have to sign these,” she said, reaching into her file drawer and dropping a five-inch-thick stack of papers in front of the two prospective entrepreneurs. Scowling, Harry picked the pen up and grabbed the top sheet of paper, silently wishing that he was ambidextrous at that moment.

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After signing a small forest's worth of paperwork, Harry and Hermione had finally managed to acquire five levels of a thirty-story building, straddling the line between the magical and Muggle worlds. After spending three weeks and several thousand dollars to furnish both sides, they had finally reached the hiring process; they had decided that Hermione would interview the magical prospects, while Harry would interview the Muggles. Before him now was a young, thin blonde woman whose attention seemed to drift in and out of focus.

“So, Miss…Kenning,” he said, glancing at the name on the résumé, “it says here that you have an associate's degree in communications from UCLA?”

“Yes, sir,” the woman said sweetly. Harry scanned the rest of the résumé; she had familiarity with Microsoft Office programs, as well as previous office experience. Other than her wandering attention, she seemed to be a good candidate for the clerical job that she was applying for.

“Well, you seem well suited for the position,” he said. “How about I think about it and give you a call next week,” he continued, standing up and offering his hand.

“Oh thank you, Mister Potter,” Miss Kenning said, eagerly shaking the offered hand. “I really appreciate this.”

“It's no trouble, Miss Kenning,” Harry said politely as he sat back down. “Could you be so kind as to send the next person in on your way out, please?” The woman agreed, and practically skipped out of the office; a few seconds later, a short, round man with a balding head and thick moustache, cheap aftershave wafting off of the man, nearly causing Harry to gag. The man dropped into the chair opposite of Harry and handing his résumé. Controlling the urge to growl at the man's similarity to Vernon Dursley, he took the paper and nearly wrinkled his nose in disgust at the poor condition. The paper itself was wrinkled and torn in some placed, and there were various brown splotches on the paper that Harry assumed were coffee stains. “So, Mister…Gilfried,” he said, squinting as the name was obscured by a particularly dark stain. “You said that you were applying for the position of head of security?”

“You bet your ass I am,” the round man said. “I've been working security for damn near thirty years; I figure I've got enough qualifications for the job.” Harry did not reply, instead looking further down the résumé, noticing an odd frequency in job changes in recent years.

“It says here that you've worked for ten offices and three shopping malls in the past three years, care to explain the frequent job changes?” he asked. Suddenly, Gilfried began to fidget nervously in his chair.

“Well…there were a couple of…incidents,” he eventually admitted.

“`Incidents?'” Harry repeated. “Care to elaborate on that?”

“Well, I kind of…bumped into a lady or two,” Gilfried said. “They overreacted, and the next thing you know, I've got a lawsuit on my ass,” he continued, chuckling nervously. “All of it's bull-hokey, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry echoed neutrally. “Tell you what, I'll think about it and get back to you.”

“Thanks, `preciate it,” Gilfried said, shaking Harry's hand with a sweaty palm. After the large man left, Harry drew his wand and cleaned his hand, as well as clearing the air of the lingering aftershave stench. Taking off his glasses, Harry rubbed his forehead, muttering softly.

“This'll be worth it, this will all be worth it,” he whispered to himself; after massaging his head for a few more seconds before sliding his glasses back on and calling the next interviewee.

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18 February 2011

Over a year had passed since Harry and Hermione had first decided to create a company. After all that time, as well as millions in both dollars and galleons spent, their dream was finally coming to fruition. Now, Harry was preparing for a press conference to announce the opening of his new company. Behind him, Hermione was carrying their three-month-old daughter, Willow Delilah Potter, sleeping after a fresh feeding.

“We've finally made it,” Hermione said, holding Willow's head to her shoulder. “We've finally built something of our own.”

“Yeah,” Harry said as he straightened out his dress robes. “And once this press conference is over, I can become the eccentric, reclusive owner that never shows his face to the public.” A brief knocking was heard before Harry's personal assistant poked his head in.

“You're needed in five, sir,” he reminded his employer.

“Thank you, Josh,” Harry said. With a heavy sigh, he said, “Well, time to face the masses.”

“Knock `em dead,” Hermione said. Harry kissed her and the head of their daughter before he descended outside and up to the podium, where several reporters from both local and international publications were eagerly awaiting his statement. Taking a deep breath, Harry plunged in.

“Hello, my name is Harry Potter,” he said, his voice magically amplified by the microphones in front of him. “As you may know, up until recently, my home nation was controlled by a terroristic faction. It was also due to the actions of some independent associates of mine that their hold was broken fifteen months ago.

“It was then that I realized that I never wanted that to happen again. So, to that end, I have decided to create Marauder Security and Technologies, a company seeking to ensure the safety and betterment of the people, both here and around the world, whether it is through technological advances, or through the use of trained personnel. It is my hope, my dream that one day, we will no longer have to worry about war, or terrorism, but instead be able to look forward to peace. It was a dream that my parents died for, a dream that I hope will be realized with this company. I will be taking your questions now.”

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And such is the end of Light's Hope, Death's Hunters. I hope that you enjoyed it as much as I did.

I am heavily considering a sequel, and have a few loose ideas floating around, I just need to hammer them into a coherent mass and write it.

Don't forget to review!

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