Gulo Gulo

Chapter One
Who Do I Have to Kill to Get Home?

First Published October 30, 2009

Author's Notes: The first chapter has been updated, so a re-reading is in order if you read this before 10/21/2011.

I moved silently through the darkness of the lane, using thickets and trees and the whisper of the evening breeze to cover my approach. On the opposite side of the country road there's a rough-looking hedgerow, rank and overgrown, to all outward appearances. But my nose was telling me that was all a lie.

Further down the lane there's a winding driveway, broken and uneven, with grass growing up through several cracks, leading to a pair of rusty gates set in crumbling stone walls. Beyond it, barely visible in the ever-present fog beyond the gates, is a dilapidated shack. Staring at it, I felt a curious revulsion welling up inside me, as if my guts were trying to tell me this was a bad place to be. But my nose was still telling me that wasn't the truth.

My nose was telling me there were people inside that crumbling, run-down shack. More people, in fact, than could comfortably fit inside, if it was actually as small and disgusting as most of my senses insisted. I usually trust my gut reaction to things, but in this case, I believed my nose. I had to sneak up close, practically up to the gates themselves, before I had caught a whiff of human scent inside the grounds of this apparently long-abandoned property, an oddity here in the county west of London, where land like this would normally have been snapped up in a minute by some wealthy Londoner.

I'd been watching this place for the past few days or so, trying to figure out a way inside, through the magical wards and protections. If my sources were correct — and I had no reason to think they had lied to me, because I can almost always tell when someone's lying — this is where my target was. Or would be.

I made my way back to the country lane at the end of the driveway, positioning myself for a decent view of either direction, and settled in for another long wait. Sooner than later (sooner, I hoped), my target would turn up. By then, I with any luck, I'll have figured out how to get through the gate. If I'm really lucky, I might be able to get to him before he makes it inside. And then…

Well, let's just say that I'm the best there is at what I do.

And what I do isn't very nice.

I was hankering for a smoke, but I might've well set out a sign saying "Attention – covert operative in the bushes." Nothing makes ya wanta do something as much as not being able to do it. Eventually the craving would pass, I knew.

Eventually is a bitch, though.

I sighed. The waiting was gonna drive me crazy, if this joker didn't hurry up and get here. I'd already seen enough weird crap goin' on to set my teeth on edge. I'd watched people coming an' going from this supposedly abandoned place, but it become obvious pretty damn quick that getting in wasn't gonna be a picnic. The second day I was here some guy, dressed in a long back robe and waving around a stick, had suddenly come out of nowhere, making me wonder if he'd caught me napping. But he'd just appeared, as if by — well, magic. He'd walked forward, not breaking stride, with his left arm raised over his head, and passed right through the gate, like it wasn't even there. Once he was on the other side I couldn't seem to track him any more.

A few others had come and gone like that, suddenly appearing at the gate and passing through it, then walking out to the lane, where they continued on for some distance before disappearing again. And they all seemed to be carrying those sticks — wands, I'd been told, was what they were. I'd also been told that the men and women were wizards and witches. Sorcerers.

Yeah, I could get my head around that. I was here, in fact, because of some sorcerer with a penchant for being a mother hen. Me an' a few other members of the team were out on assignment and managed to stumble into a firefight between one of the bigger U.S. Government-backed groups and a bunch of real hard-ass bad guys. They were really making things tough — me an' the others were pinned down with nowhere to run. Doc turns to me and says, "Logan, this is no place for your people!"

"Tell me about it, Doc," I grunted. "I'm itchin' to get out an' in the middle of it!" I raised my arms, ready to emphasize that statement more graphically, but at that same moment Doc cast a spell that was probably meant to send me an' the others to safety — except in my case somethin' went haywire.

Sparks exploded all around me, and I felt myself tossed about like a leaf in a windstorm, whipped around and around until I finally landed, face first, on wet ground, the wind knocked outta me for a second. I've been knocked on the head harder, but I could'a sworn I saw Mr. Potato Head staring at me quizzically from a few feet away, out of a hole in the ground.

"Yikes!" the potato man said as he saw my eyes were open, and started to jerk back into the hole, but I reached out a hand and snatched him out of the hole. "Yow! Gerroff me!" it squealed, and bit my finger. I let go automatically, mainly because my only other option was to squish it, and I didn't want to do that just yet. It landed on the ground and bolted for its hole. I watched, bemused for several moments, to see what would happen — I could smell a veritable horde of the little buggers running around beneath me, but they didn't seem dangerous — just curious. About as curious as I was to know where Doc had sent me.

I stood up, shaking mud off me, and looked around to see where I was. I took a tentative sniff, to find out if I was near a city or not, and inhaled the cleanest, most pleasant-smelling air I'd ever breathed. I was inside a fenced area, probably a garden, given the furrows I could see running along the soil, along with a greenish but fresh-smelling pond off in one corner bounded by some old, twisted trees and a hedgerow.

Just past the garden, though — I looked up, up, and still further up at the structure that loomed above me. It didn't look like a house so much as a bunch of boxes piled haphazardly atop one another with a roof thrown onto the top. It must've been five or six stories tall. How it was standing up was beyond me — it should have collapsed the moment it was put together, yet somehow it remained standing.

Just as I'd finished taking all this in, a sensation hit me in the gut I hadn't felt in a long time — fear. There was something bad about this place — run, run, get away! my brain screamed at me. I shook my head, trying to clear it. There was nothing to be afraid of that I could sense nearby, though my nose told me there were people inside the house in front of me. I gritted my teeth against the feelings telling me to run, hopped the fence and walked slowly toward the door. I stared, uncomprehending, at the items piled next to it — there were several pairs of rubber boots, and an old, tarnished copper cauldron with a hole in one side. The boots I could understand, but a cauldron?

The sensation of wanting to run was beginning to subside. I found a half-smoked cigar in one of my pockets and a match; I took it out, lit up, and took a long, deep pull, savoring the taste in my lungs, before knocking. Curtains in the window of the door kept me from seeing anything on the other side, but I was listening carefully for the sounds of anyone moving about. I didn't hear anything, but suddenly the door swung open.

Several things happened at once. A red-headed man faced me across the threshold, pointing a stick at my head, a gesture I took as hostile. "Don't m-move!" the man shouted, but I was already in motion, sidestepping to avoid the stick pointing at me — fortunately, because there was a bang and a flash of red, and the sound of a ricochet. A stick-gun? I grabbed the man's wrist and twisted, locking up his other arm in a half-nelson, and forced him to drop the stick. The man grunted in pain, and I growled, "Take it easy, bub," in his ear. "I ain't gonna hurt you, unless you fight me."

"Who — who are you?" the man asked over his shoulder, looking at me apprehensively. He was a thin, balding fellow who looked utterly incapable of putting up any kind of fight.

"I'm askin' the questions," I snarled. "Where am I?"

The man hesitated. I twisted his arm a bit, for encouragement, and he gasped out, "The — the Burrow!"

"What country?" I snapped.

"Uh — England," he said, staring at me fearfully. His eyes widened suddenly. "You're — you're a Muggle, aren't you?"

I didn't know that word. "No, I'm a mutant," I told him. "One you're better off not messing with, if you know —"

"LET HIM GO!" someone shrieked, from behind me — there was a BANG and something hit me in the middle of the back. I thought for a second I'd been shot, but I couldn't feel any penetration, just a momentary weakening of my muscles. I looked behind me, as did the man.

A short, plump woman, with hair just as red as the man I was holding was pointing a stick similar to his at my back, a wild look in her eyes, now widening in surprise as I stared at her. Whatever had hit me apparently hadn't had the effect she expected. "Oh, dear," she said, frowning and looking at the stick in her hand. "That usually works on everyone except Hagrid."

"Don't do that again," I told her. "Everybody calm down — there's no need for violence."

"That might be more convincing if you would stop twisting my arm, please," the man said, painfully. I let go of him and stepped back, turning so I could keep both of them in view.

"I'm Logan," I said, jerking a thumb at myself. "I was in a — well, a situation — there were some people were giving me an' some friends a pretty hard time, an' Doc Strange decided to take us out of harm's way. Unfortunately, something went haywire and I ended up here, in your garden." I looked at my finger, which had completely healed by this time, then at the woman. "You've got some pretty interestin' potatoes growin' out there, ma'am."

The woman gave the man a sharp look. "Arthur! Didn't you just de-gnome the garden a week ago? What have I told you about —"

"Not now, Molly," the man muttered, then forced a smile at me, embarrassed. "Er — I'm Arthur Weasley," he said at last, then gestured toward the woman. "My wife, Molly," he said, and she gave me a cautious nod of greeting. "This is our home. It's called the Burrow, as I said before. I'm afraid I don't know this 'Doc Strange' fellow you spoke of."

Their body language told me they were cautious but curious about me; the man seemed almost excited that I was in his house. "Not many people know 'im," I shrugged. "Least, not as the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth."

They looked blankly at one another, then at me. "Sorry, but there's no such person, as far as I know," Weasley said, slowly. "We're not supposed to let anyone who's non-magical know about us — obviously, you do, however."

I sighed, then picked up my cigar from where it had fallen on the floor. "Maybe you better fill me in on the situation here," I told them. "I may be further from home than I thought."

=ooo=

It turned out I was. A lot farther. Whatever Strange had intended, he'd thrown me into an entirely different universe, somehow. As Arthur Weasley filled me in, I realized I had fallen out of the frying pan and into the fire.

At first it didn't sound too bad. Here, the magical types kept pretty much to themselves, like most mutants did, back on my Earth — they kept their heads down, avoided being noticed as much as possible, and covered their tracks and cleaned up any leaks that developed in their cover. Unlike some of us, they didn't go out trying to save the world every opportunity they got — in fact, they were pretty timid, compared to some mutants back on my world.

But not everyone here wanted to play by those rules.

Right now there was a private little war going on between two factions of these "wizards," as they called themselves. "Muggles," I found out, were non-magical folk like me — though I was pretty sure they'd never met a Muggle like me before! The rebel faction was called "Death Eaters," and was run by some powerful wizard called "Voldemort" — though neither Weasley nor his wife would say the name aloud, writing it down for me instead, and they made me promise never to say it aloud, either. They preferred to call him "You-Know-Who." I shrugged and went along.

I also gathered, the more Weasley talked, that he and his wife were part of some underground organization fighting this Voldemort, as were other members of their family — they seemed to have quite a few children, I found, looking at the unusual, moving pictures scattered about their home. Their youngest child, a girl named Ginny, was expected home from school the following evening. There was also a boy at home, their son Ronald, Weasley told me, but he was sick with something called "spattergroit" and was kept upstairs. However, when I pointed out that "Ron" did not smell remotely human, but more like some kind of weird monkey, he admitted that the person in the attic was merely their pet ghoul (!) disguised to look like their son, who was really out on a secret mission with his friends, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.

"So let me get this straight," I said later, sipping on a glass of water in their kitchen. "Your son and these other two kids are taking on this Vo— You-Know-Who character, sorry," I finished, as they both violently flinched. "And your government is trying to find them and kill them?"

"Yes," Weasley said, wearily. "I worked for the Ministry, but I haven't been into work for ages — it became too dangerous."

"So what's the plan?" I said, impatiently. "What're you doing to stop this — this You-Know-Who character?"

"We're doing what we can!" Molly, the woman, said fiercely. "Our son Ron's out there doing — doing… well, whatever he, Harry and Hermione are trying to do, to stop You-Know-Who!"

"You don't know?" I said, incredulously.

"They wouldn't tell us," Molly said, sounding a bit petulant. "But it must be important, if they felt they had to do it!"

"Why don't you just send in somebody and take out old What's-His-Name directly?" I asked, bluntly.

"It's impossible," Arthur declared emphatically. "He's protected at all times by his followers, and beyond that, he's the most powerful Dark wizard in our history. He was only stopped once before — by Harry Potter."

"What, the kid that's out looking for him now? How'd he do that?"

Weasley shook his head. "No one knows," Molly said. "Harry was only a year old when it happened."

"Great," I snorted. But I never could resist a challenge…

"What if I was to go after this You-Know-Who character," I speculated, folding and unfolding the fingers of my right hand. "If I took him out, maybe we could concentrate on other problems — for example, getting me back home."

"You?" Weasley looked at me, a combination of amazement and awe playing across his face. "You're not even a wizard! What on Earth could you do against him?"

I grinned toothily. "Oh, you'd be surprised what I can do."

=ooo=

The next day, before the Weasleys left to pick up their daughter, who was arriving from her boarding school in the north, we were joined by another visitor, a thin, tired looking man wearing somewhat tattered robes, who introduced himself as Remus Lupin.

"Right, Arthur tells me you'd like to have a go at You-Know-Who," Lupin said, without preamble, after we'd introduced ourselves. He seemed nervous and distracted.

"Yeah," I said slowly, looking at him closely. Something didn't quite jive with this guy — he didn't smell right, in some way. Actually, he smelled different, not wrong; not human, but better than human, in some way. I needed to concentrate on the business at hand, though. "I've had some experience at tracking down people who don't want to be found. I'm also good at making sure they won't cause any more problems, once I do."

Lupin's head was bowed. He looked at me from under hooded eyelids. "You-Know-Who is the most powerful Dark wizard of our age."

"So I heard," I shrugged.

"He has boasted that he's made himself immortal," Lupin went on. "There is even a prophecy suggesting that only one person can kill him — Harry Potter, who is out searching for him now."

"I heard that too," I growled, then held up my hands. "You know what they say, bub, about many hands making light work."

"What are your reasons for thinking you can defeat him?" Lupin asked.

"I got six of 'em, for starters," I said, showing him. Snikt.

Lupin took an involuntary step backward. Arthur and Molly were staring at my hands in a combination of surprise and horror. "These," I said, showing him my assets, "can cut through anything."

"Quite impressive," Lupin said, faintly, eyeing them warily. "Any other reasons?"

Snakt. I jerked a thumb at the Weasleys. "I had Arthur and Molly try some magic on me last night, to see how vulnerable I was."

Lupin turned to Weasley. "What did you find out, Arthur?"

"He's as resistant to Stunners as Hagrid is," he replied. A Stinging Hex made his skin swell for a few moments, but it reverted to normal almost immediately. Other jinxes and hexes worked similarly — he's almost magic-proof."

"Transfiguration?" Lupin asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The same, Remus," Molly spoke up. "Our tests caused him some pain, but we couldn't turn him into anything else. Logan says there's something about his skeleton that might make it repel magic."

"Interesting," Lupin said, chewing his lower lip absently. "It's possible you would stand a chance of getting close enough to inflict some damage on You-Know-Who."

"That's the plan," I said, with a smirk. "So where can I find him?"

Lupin looked at Arthur and Molly, a grim expression on his face, then gestured for us to sit down. I spun a chair around and straddled it backwards, impatient for this milquetoast to give me the information I needed to get things taken care of here, so they could start looking for a way to get me home.

"We aren't sure where he is," Lupin said, finally, and I growled in frustration. "But we do have some ideas," he added hastily, seeing my expression. "We've heard reports he stays at Malfoy Manor, in Wiltshire, on occasion. Lucius Malfoy is part of his inner circle of Death Eaters."

"Not very near," I mused. "But I should be able to get there in a day or so —"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Lupin said with a dismissive wave of one hand. "We can get you there a lot quicker, and provide a way back here if — er, when — you need it."

Well, at least he was bein' honest about what he thought my chances were. I nodded, and we began to hammer out the details.

=ooo=

Four days later, I've been staking out Malfoy's place for half a week now, and I'm beginning to wonder how long this "assignment" was going to take before I found the target, took care of him, and figured out a way to get back home. Nobody on the team has come looking for me yet — not even Doc Strange had tried to find me, it seemed. Either I was more lost than I thought, or nobody had missed me yet. Neither thought was comforting.

It ain't good for me to spend too much time alone, I guess. I tend to brood on things, especially things I can't do anything about, and that pisses me off. I try to come up with something pleasant, and end up thinking about Jubilee. Not good, either.

I glanced at the base of a nearby tree. Between two of the roots, under a layer of sod, there was an empty bottle of some pisswater Arthur Weasley called "butterbeer." It tasted more like butterscotch than beer, but the point was, the bottle was my lifeline back to the Burrow, if I need to get there in a hurry. That was Lupin's answer on how I would get back and forth between Wiltshire and Devon without having to travel cross-country. Lupin called it a "Portkey," but all I knew was, I just touched the bottle and a few seconds later I would be back in the Burrow's backyard. A minute later it would reset, and the next time I touched it, I'd be back on the country road outside the Malfoy place.

The way I felt right now, though, raising an alarm wouldn't be all that bad. At least it would get rid of the boredom I was feeling right now. I shook my head, angry with myself. I couldn't think like that! I had to stay focused on the plan.

I just wish I had one.

I still hadn't figured out how I was going to get onto the grounds. In the last four days, I'd seen a few more people come and go, none of them looking like my target. A few of them had to ask permission to enter the gate; I watched as the black metal twisted itself into a fearsome-looking face, demanding to know why they wanted in. Most of them seemed to be messengers or couriers for the Malfoy family.

Finally, it was early in the morning, not long after midnight. Everyone in the house would be asleep by now, though this far from the gate I would never be able to hear any conversation coming from the manor — the magical protection spells Weasley and Lupin had told me about would keep any such sounds from reaching me. Likewise, my vision was being deceived by those same spells.

Too bad none of these wizards had thought about smells.

But even my nose wasn't gonna tell me whether anyone inside the house was awake or not. I stifled a yawn; deciding to give it a few more hours before I headed back to the Burrow and one of Molly's grand-slam breakfasts, then an hour or two of shut-eye and I'd be back here, keeping —

Suddenly there were several soft cracks some distance down the lane, and I went on hyper-alert. Nearly a dozen people had suddenly appeared, all at once. That was the biggest group that had ever shown up here at one time. Could one of them be my target?

I watched from the bushes, keeping absolutely quiet as I watched the group come into view. It looked like luck still wasn't on my side — there were half-a-dozen men, all roughly dressed, including a big, rangy-looking guy who seemed to be the one in charge. He was carrying a long, silver sword, I saw, and my eyes narrowed. If I needed to take them out, he'd be the one I'd go for first.

As they drew closer, I saw that part of the group was bound together. That was interesting! There were five people, from a tall, black kid to what looked like a really ugly little boy. Including, I saw, one girl, and a boy with long, red hair. Just like Molly and Arthur Weasley…

If that redhead was their son — Ron had been his name, I remembered — and he was supposed to be with this Harry Potter kid, whom Lupin had told me Voldemort was aggressively searching for throughout Britain, then this could just the break I was looking for.

Now, if I could just find a way to get inside the gate with them!

One of the men, walking ahead of the group as they forced their bound prisoners to shuffle their way up the driveway, rattled the gates, looking back toward the tall, rangy leader. "How do we get in? They're locked, Greyback, I can't — blimey!"

The man leaped back in fear as the gate did its guardian thing.

"We got Potter!" the one called Greyback shouted back at it. "We've captured Harry Potter!"

The face disappeared and the gate swung open. This might be the only chance I'd get to slip onto the grounds. I darted across the road and into the black shadows of the hedge running alongside the driveway, given time by the slow shuffle of the prisoners. The men at the rear of the group seemed anxious to get through the gate, as if afraid it might snap shut on them, but I knew it took a few seconds to swing closed, once someone had passed through. The men disappeared from view as they passed through the gate; I would have to chance that none of them would look back once they were inside. I couldn't be sure of what cover I'd have once I was inside the gate — the protection spells made everything beyond it blurry and indistinct, as if shrouded in fog.

I was a dozen feet away when the gate started to close. I would have to chance it. I broke from the shadows, sprinting toward my rapidly-disappearing opportunity, and lunged through the gate just as it clanged shut.

My momentum and a bit of luck carried me toward a hedge, and I disappeared behind it just as the leader, Greyback, turned around and snapped at his men, "Hurry up, keep together! Get them moving!"

Once inside, I found, the grayness and fog I had trouble seeing through from outside the gates had disappeared. There was a path leading up to the main house, now revealed to be an opulent mansion instead of the crumbling shack I had perceived from outside. High hedges lined either side of the walk, and I could see and hear birds moving about nearby. In the dim moonlight they were revealed as albino peacocks. Interesting, but my main concern was in following the group and finding a way into the house. If I could get inside, I planned on scoping out a hiding place to settle down and wait for this Voldemort character to appear, which I expected I could count on if one of the prisoners was this Harry Potter kid that Voldy supposedly wanted. After he appeared, I'd kill him, free the prisoners and escape back to the Burrow using the pisswater bottle.

Simple, right?

A light had suddenly shone on them, and the men had stopped at the bottom of a set of stone steps leading up to the entrance. A woman's cold voice spoke from somewhere. "What is this?"

The one called Greyback stepped forward eagerly. "We're here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" he said, his voice rasping and filled with both excitement and fear.

"Who are you?" the woman's cold voice asked.

I could hear the indignation and resentment in Greyback's voice. "You know me! Fenrir Greyback! We've caught Harry Potter!" He reached around and caught one of the bound boys by the hair, forcing them to turn round so he faced frontward. He pulled the boy's hair back, forcing his face upward.

A tall, slender blond woman had stepped outside, a wand in her hand. She was beautiful, but with an icy coldness in her eyes that gave her a hardened, bitter look. She was looking at the face of the boy Greyback was forcing toward her. She appeared unconvinced by his statement.

"I know 'e's swollen, ma'am, but it's him!" one of the others said, seeing her hesitation. He must have been Greyback's second in command, from the way he spoke. He pointed at the boy's forehead. "If you look a bit closer, you'll see 'is scar." His finger jerked toward the one girl in the group. "And this 'ere, see the girl? The Mudblood who's been traveling around with 'im, ma'am. There's no doubt it's 'im, and we've got 'is wand as well! 'Ere, ma'am —"

The man produced another wand from his pocket, holding it up to the woman, who looked at it, still unconvinced. Nevertheless, she stepped back toward the door to the manor, gesturing for them to accompany her. "Bring them in." The other men roughly forced the prisoners to ascend the steps, and they all disappeared inside.

I approached the door slowly, not planning to repeat my last-ditch lunge from earlier; I hoped this door would not have magic on it preventing my entrance, if entry to the grounds itself was so difficult. I could hear the echoing footsteps moving further from the door, and the woman's cold voice once again. "My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know."

The voices disappeared into another room near the other end of the manor, and I slipped inside, finding myself in a long hallway lined with portraits.

Not good. Not good at all.

Lupin had told me how some wizarding families used family portraits to provide secondary security inside the home. While staying with Arthur and Molly, I found out that people in magical pictures can move and speak, even though they aren't living beings. If any of the portraits in this hallway saw me, they could go running to the owners of the house, alerting them to my presence and pretty much ruining my chances of staying here any length of time. And I so wanted the chance to shake hands with Voldemort before I left…

Fortunately, the hallway was dark, and I had been quiet; none of the pictures on the wall seemed to have noticed my presence. Candlelight flickering at the other end of the hall suggested the group had gone into a room on the left, so I slipped through a nearby door on the left and found myself in a darkened parlor. I went to the far corner; if this house was like many old residences owned by rich, influential families such as the Malfoys were supposed to be, there were liable to be secret passages.

Moving slowly along the wall, I felt carefully for any sign of an opening. I was in luck — there was a very slight breeze coming from underneath a section of the wall! I pressed inward on the panel.

It wouldn't budge. I suppressed a growl of frustration. This would be the magical protections working against me. I pressed harder against the panel, and it moved inward with a soft crack.

A door opened across the hall. I froze, watching the light under the doorway as someone stepped through and into the hall, then paused. Probably listening, just as I was. Voices at the other end of the hall, muffled by distance and walls, suddenly rose in volume. "But then, that's the Weasley boy!" a man's voice shouted, and the shadow on the floor moved away, toward them. I slipped into the passageway, pushing the panel closed behind me.

It was dark in the passageway — not surprising, since I'd learned they could make light with their wands. I wasn't so lucky, but I still made my way toward the back of the manor, moving slowly as I felt for loose and creaking floorboards. I could hear noises coming from different directions around me, people speaking and other things, like bodies falling, but I had to concentrate on what I was doing, until I could hear voices clearly again. There was a sliver of light marking the edge of the hidden exit to the passageway; not much to see, but I could tell from the smells that some of those who'd come into the house weren't in the room anymore. A woman's voice, different than before, harsher, spoke loudly. "How did you get into my vault? Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"

"We only met him tonight!" a young woman's voice replied, terrified and sobbing. "We've never been inside your vault… It isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"

"A copy? Oh, a likely story!" the first woman screeched. I angled for a better view and saw a dark-haired woman, posed as if teaching a class, her wand before her like a teacher's pointer.

The man I'd heard before said, "But we can find out easily! Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!" I heard Draco leave the room. Based on other noises I'd been hearing, the cellar was directly below this room, though there was nothing but silence below me at the moment.

No one in the room moved until Draco returned with the goblin, and I realized this was the "ugly little boy" I'd seen earlier, bound with the others. Draco marched it up to the dark-haired woman, who glared at it. The young woman, who'd evidently been tortured (though I smelled no blood spilled from her), was lying still at the dark-haired woman's feet.

"You can tell whether a sword is goblin-made or not, can't you?" she demanded.

"Of course," the goblin said. Its voice was high and raspy.

"This sword," the woman said, hefting the silver sword I'd seen Greyback holding outside the gate, "is the Sword of Gryffindor, forged a thousand years ago by your kind. It should be inside my vault at Gringotts, but instead I found it in the hands of Harry Potter and his friends.

"If this is the real sword," she went on, "then my vault has been looted and your kind have failed to protect it. If it has, then the thieves will be found and severely punished." She placed the sword on the floor in front of the ugly little being, then stepped back. "Tell me if it's the real sword or not."

There was a noise from below. "What was that?" the man, apparently Draco's father, said loudly. "Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar? Draco — no, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!" I heard Draco leave once again, and attention turned back to the center of the room.

The goblin reached down, picking the sword up from the floor, then began examining it closely, as the dark-haired woman kept her wand pointed in its direction. The girl on the floor stirred at last, looking up at the goblin, and sobbed, "Don't — don't —"

"Crucio!" the woman whirled and pointed her wand down at the girl, who screamed horribly. That explained how they were torturing her — some kind of magic spell that caused pain. The goblin looked up for a moment, staring at the girl, then went back to examining the sword. He seemed to be taking a long time to determine whether it was real or not, for the woman finally said, "Well? Is it the true sword?"

I'd sensed the approach of two others just before this — they were just outside the room, in the hallway beyond. I suspected they'd been in the cellar below.

"No," the goblin said at last. "It is a fake."

"Are you sure?" the woman demanded. "Quite sure?"

"Yes," said the little being.

"Good," the woman said, relief in her voice. She flicked her wand and a cut appeared across the goblin's face. It cried out and fell to the floor, dropping the silver sword — it clanged loudly as it hit the floor. She kicked the goblin out of her way. "And now we call the Dark Lord!" She threw back her left sleeve and pressed a finger to her forearm.

From my pre-stakeout discussions with Lupin, I knew that what she'd just done was send a summons to Voldy. He would be here anywhere from seconds to a few hours, depending on how far away he was at the moment, and how quickly he responded. If he believed they were calling him for something important, he would probably come as quickly as he could.

She turned to Greyback. "And I think we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."

Dammit! From the feral gleam I'd seen in Greyback's eyes, earlier, it was clear he had something other than assault or rape in mind. I wasn't gonna let that happen. I burst from the secret passageway into the room. The dark-haired woman and a tall man with long, blond hair spun around toward me. The man, who was directly between me and the woman, swung a long, black-handled cane at my head. I caught it in one hand, cuffing him with the other, and he dropped to the floor.

"Stupefy!" the woman sent a red bolt of magic at me, catching me in the chest and making me grimace. At the same time, behind her, the two young men I'd sensed outside the room burst in, one (the red-head, I saw) shouting at the top of his lungs, the other silent, but armed with a wand.

"Expelliarmus!" the second young man shouted, and the woman's wand leapt from her hand. The youth reached up, snatching it from the air as it flew to him, at the same time handing his original wand to the red-headed kid. At the same time, I saw Greyback's wand come to bear on me, and I went into a crouch, rolling to one side as he fired at me. The other woman, the blond-haired one, and a third youth, a blond-haired boy who was probably Draco, shot spells at the other two boys, who dodged them by dropping behind a sofa. I came up behind a chair, ready to push it toward Greyback and leap after it onto him.

"STOP OR SHE DIES!"

The black-haired woman had dragged the semi-conscious girl on the floor to her feet and was holding a dagger to her throat. "Drop your wands," she said, her voice a husky whisper. "Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!"

Greyback had stopped to watch, as had the blond woman and her son. I was watching, as well — watching the eyes of the two boys, to see what they would do, afraid that they might be too foolhardy to surrender. "I said drop them!" the woman said again, pressing the dagger against the girl's throat. I could see, and smell, the small drops of blood appearing on the blade.

"All right!" the black-haired boy shouted; he and his partner dropped their wands, raising their arms to shoulder height.

"Good!" the woman smiled cruelly. "Draco, pick them up!" She looked at Greyback, nodding toward me. "Take that filthy Muggle — I want to know how it got in here!" She turned back to the dark-haired boy. "The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!"

I threw the small wood slat I'd taken from the passageway at the woman's head, kicking the chair in front of me toward Greyback at the same moment. The slat caught the woman a glancing blow, but she shifted so the girl was between us as I moved toward her. Greyback had knocked the chair aside and was pointing his wand at me as well.

"You're quite a handful for such a little Muggle, aren't you?" the woman sneered. She glanced at the blond woman. "Cissy, I think we should tie up all these little heroes again, and Greyback can take care of Miss Mudblood. I'm sure the Dark Lord won't begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you've done tonight…"

At her last word, though, I heard a creak sound from above, then a grinding noise. Everyone in the room looked up in time to see the crystal chandelier above the woman, the girl and the goblin begin to fall. The woman screamed and threw herself out of the way, even as I leaped forward beneath it, to keep it from crushing the girl and the goblin.

I braced my feet as it came down, catching its frame and taking most of the weight onto my back as it fell. It was damned heavy, and some of the crystal edges cut into my back and arms. "Bloody hell!" the red-head exclaimed, as I hoisted it into the air, launching it toward Greyback, who cursed and dodged out of the way.

As the red-head ran toward me, scooping up the girl, the black-haired boy leaped toward the blond youth, who was staring at me, mouth agape, and grabbed the three wands from his hand, then slugged him in the face. The blond went down, his mouth bloody, and the black-haired youth spun toward Greyback, pointing all three wands and shouting "Stupefy!"

But Greyback, though a large man, managed to dodge the three red bolts that shot at him. I turned, ready to take him on, and saw there was yet another combatant in the room. But this one was the weirdest arrival yet!

A tiny humanoid, similar to the goblin but even smaller, had trotted into the room from the hallway. His head seemed too large for his body, and he had large ears and shining eyes that were all out of proportion. Those eyes now looked fearfully about the room. The little being was terrified to be here — I could smell the stink of it on him.

"Dobby!" the blond woman screamed, and everyone in the room froze, even the dark-haired woman. "You! You dropped the chandelier!"

The creature called Dobby nodded once. "You must not hurt Harry Potter," it replied in a high, squeaky voice.

The dark-haired boy was already in pain, I could tell — he was clutching at his forehead. I moved forward, between them and the dark-haired woman. "If you've got a way out of here, hurry up and take it!" I told them.

"Ron — here! Now GO!" the dark-haired boy tossed one of the wands to the red-head, who grabbed it and disappeared with the brown-haired girl clutched in one arm. Potter, the dark-haired kid, had taken Dobby's hand then looked at me, squinting painfully, and held out a hand. "Come with us!"

I shook my head. "I got some unfinished business to attend to, kid. Go on. GO!"

Dobby and Potter disappeared just as something slammed into my chest. I looked down. The silver dagger the dark-haired woman had used to threaten the girl was protruding from my chest. She leered triumphantly at me, but her expression turned to shock as I reached up and drew the blade from my chest. "Nice throw," I told her, dryly.

I was considering sending it back her way when Greyback growled and drew a blade of his own from a sheath on his belt. "If I can't have the Mudblood," he growled at me, "at least you'll be more filling."

The hole in my chest was already beginning to close, but from the way he was moving toward me Greyback wasn't going to give me any more time to heal. Good — I like a challenge. "Bub," I growled, dropping into a knife-fight stance. "You want a piece of me? Come an' take it." From the corner of my eye I saw a blond blur hurtle from the room — the kid had run away. The two women, whom I could now tell were sisters, both stayed to watch.

We circled for a few seconds. He was a big man — my head only came up to somewhere around his chin — and his reach was longer than mine. Now that I had a chance to smell him up close, under the odor of dirt, sweat and human blood, there was a more familiar scent, one I'd sniffed recently — Lupin! What I'd smelled in him was a part of this big, ugly galoot as well. And the scent — I should've placed it before, but I was too distracted 'til now. Both Lupin and this Greyback had the smell of wolf about them. In a magical society, it wasn't hard to guess what that meant — both of them were werewolves.

Greyback's dagger thrust forward. I blocked it, and he drew the blade across my forearm. Blood filled the cut in my arm. His knife was bigger than the one I had, which seemed better suited for cooking than combat.

But I had a lot of experience with knives. I jabbed back, keeping him at bay, though the smell of my wound was filling him with blood-lust. He would probably scream and leap at me any moment now. It would be none too soon, either — I had to take this joker out quickly, if I was going to be ready for that Voldemort character when he showed up.

The sudden sound of running feet coming closer caught my attention, and Greyback stepped back, leering at me. "Too late now, little man," he rasped, as five men piled into the room, wands pointing wildly at everyone there, including the two women.

"OI!" the first man, Greyback's lieutenant as I remembered, shouted, pointing his wand at the dark-haired woman. "Firs' yeh knock us out, then yeh send that blond to wake us up and help you? We'll 'ave no more of that behavior, thank you very much!" He stopped, confused, seeing me. "Who the bloody 'ell are you?"

"Never mind who he is, Scabior," Greyback snarled, pointing his dagger at me. "He's a Muggle that got into the house somehow! Take him out!"

I snarled and started for him, intent on taking him out first, but several red bolts slammed into me, knocking me back. They stung. My knife clattered to the floor, and I fell back against a wall, knocking a hole in it, momentarily disoriented. Rough hands grabbed me, pulling me free of the broken paneling and forcing me upright.

Not a good idea on their part, getting that close. I put my elbows hard into the solar plexus of both guys who'd grabbed my arms. They doubled over as the two in front of them thrust their wands at me. I crossed my arms, grabbing their wrists, and pulled them into each other. As they stood there momentarily dazed, I gave each of them a head butt for good measure, and they both went down. Four opponents disabled in five seconds.

The guy Greyback had called Scabior backed away, aiming his wand at me as he did so. "Stupefy!" he yelled, and another red bolt hit me in the chest as I slammed my fist into his face, knocking him out. Five opponents, ten seconds. I look around for Greyback again. He was standing back, pointing a wand at me, and I leapt at him.

"Levicorpus!" Greyback roared, and suddenly my legs were yanked out from under me. The next thing I knew, I was dangling upside-down in the middle of the room. Neither the Weasleys nor Lupin had tried a spell like this on me. I tried to twist around and cut whatever was holding me, but there was nothing but air around my legs. Unless this spell dissipated like the others, I was helpless.

At least, for the moment.

"Finally," Greyback panted, giving the women a triumphant leer. He walked over to the dark haired woman. "I think the Dark Lord will be interested to meet this one, Madam Lestrange, even if we lost Harry Potter."

In reply, she slapped him across the mouth. I smirked in spite of my predicament. "Greyback, you fool!" she hissed. "The Dark Lord cares less than nothing for Muggles, even ones who manage to break into our home!" Her eyes were wide with fear as the big werewolf stepped back, rubbing his face resentfully where she'd slapped him. "Perhaps you'd care to explain to our Lord, when he arrives, how you let Potter slip through your fingers!" she snapped at him.

"That was your doing," Greyback growled. "Don't try to hang that —"

There was a loud CRACK and a whirl of green smoke in the middle of the room, and everyone present moved back quickly, looks of apprehension and fear coming over their faces. Even though it was magic, it seemed like a cheap parlor trick to me. This must be our boy, I thought — Voldemort himself.

A tall, almost skeletally-thin figure emerged from the smoke, which dissipated almost immediately. For a second I thought someone had enlarged that stupid lizard from those insurance commercials — that's what this guy looked like, a great big lizard, with red eyes, no nose and a thin, lipless mouth. He was looking around the room, as if expecting to see someone who wasn't there, and finally turned to the black-haired woman. "Bellatrix," he said, in a high but clear voice, tinged with growing irritation. "Where is Potter? I told you not to summon me unless you had him! I do not see him here."

"My lord," the woman said, and I could practically taste the fear radiating from every pore of her body, she was so frightened by his appearance, now that the boy he wanted was no longer in their clutches. "He was here, but — but HE invaded our house and allowed him to escape!" she shrieked the last, pointing at me, her eyes wild.

The lizard guy — Voldemort — turned toward me. "He did?" he said, sounding almost amused. "This —" he waved the wand in his hand casually at me "— this Muggle forced you to lose Potter, after you had him here?" He looked back at the woman. "Bella, Bella, is that really the explanation you want to give me for failing to produce Potter, after I warned you of the consequences for disturbing me needlessly?"

"My lord," Bellatrix said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I — I cannot lie to you…"

"Nor should you," Voldemort interrupted, coldly. "You know I do not care for liars. He turned back to me. "Speak, Muggle — tell me who you are."

"Go to hell," I said, dismissively, hoping to piss him off.

It worked. "Crucio!" the man said, and suddenly I was in agony, pain blazing through every nerve in my body like liquid fire. I grunted, clenching my jaw so I wouldn't howl with the pain of it. It was worse than anything I could remember, an' all I could do was hang there and take it.

After some interminable time that might have been seconds, or hours, the pain stopped. "I will not ask again, Muggle," Voldemort said, softly. "Tell me who you are."

"Logan," I said, finally, through my teeth. "Call me Logan."

"Logan," Snake-man repeated, his lipless mouth curling into a humorless smile. "Why did you come here, Logan? Did you come to save the Potter boy?"

"I never saw the kid before tonight," I said, shaking my head. "I'm not here for him."

"Then what are you doing here?"
"I'm here to kill you, snake-face." Both the women gasped, but Voldemort merely continued smiling.

"Interesting," he said, looking at the black-haired woman Bellatrix. "The Muggle harbors an interesting delusion, believing he could actually kill me. Tell me, Muggle," he went on conversationally. "How did you even gain entrance to these grounds? You shouldn't even be able to see this manor, much less break into it, through all of the protections and wards I've erected."

"Wolf-man helped me out some," I replied, nodding upside-down toward Greyback, and the large, rangy werewolf turned to Voldemort with a gasp of surprise.

"My lord!" he said quickly. "I gave him no such help! We did not even know he was around when Madam Malfoy allowed us onto the grounds!"

"So he tricked you, then," Voldemort surmised, and Greyback looked down in shame. The action seemed to infuriate the tall, snake-like wizard. "He tricked all of you — and you LOST HARRY POTTER!" He pointed his wand at me again. "CRUCIO!"

Pain exploded through me again, even worse than before. I guess it was more convenient for Snake-boy to punish me than anyone who was actually responsible for losing Potter, at least at the moment. I held in the howls for a long time, but eventually they were torn from my throat, and I thrashed wildly, trying to escape the pain.

Something solid slammed into me, and I realized that the spell holding me in the air had broken, dropping me to the floor. I couldn't move — as good as my healing factor was, it would be several seconds before the pain and fatigue poisons were cleared from my body. I hoped I would have time to recover before he hit me with that spell again.

Voldemort had dropped his wand and was speaking to the werewolf and the women. "— quite displeased at not finding Harry Potter here, Bellatrix. When I have finished with this Muggle, I will require penance from you, and Lucius as well. Where are your wands?"

"Potter — Potter took mine," Bellatrix replied, reluctantly. "And Draco's."

"Potter disarmed you, Bella?" The sound of disdain Voldemort made caused Bellatrix to visibly wilt, trembling with rage and self-loathing. "Perhaps you've been punished enough…" he turned away from her.

"No!" Bellatrix shouted. "My lord — my lord — punish me as you see fit, but do not turn away from me!" she pleaded. "I will take my revenge on the Potter boy —"

"Don't presume such favors, Bellatrix," Voldemort cut her off, menacingly. "I will say whether you're allowed such a privilege, and it will take much to redeem you in —"

There was a crack in the middle of the room, and suddenly — amazingly — the boy they were talking about, this Harry Potter kid, was in the room again, his wand extended toward Voldemort. "Expelliarmus!" he shouted, and the wand flew from the snakelike wizard's long, thin hand into a far corner of the room. Every face in the room was frozen in shock — even mine, for a bare moment.

Then I moved, as Voldemort shouted "Potter!" and the werewolf growled and leaped at the boy. I jumped as well, intercepting him, and we were ripping and tearing at each other even before we hit the floor, knocking furniture over as Greyback tried to rip out my throat.

It was time for me to cut loose. I drove my fist under his short ribs and popped my claws at the same moment, feeling them sink deep into his vitals, then ripped upward, shredding his ribcage, lungs and heart.

The kid, Potter, was reaching for me, hand extended. "Quick! Take my hand!" he shouted, and I moved toward him, but not to take his hand — I vaulted over him and deflected the blow aimed at him by Bellatrix, who had snatched up the silver sword from the floor and swung it at him. I threw up my left arm to catch the blade, trusting my adamantium skeleton to stop it. In the background I heard Voldemort roar "Draco! Wand!"

The sword edge bit into my arm, and pain seared through the wound, a lot more than I expected. I misjudged the blow I'd aimed at the woman's torso. Instead of slicing open her chest I cut off her sword-arm — it dropped to the floor in three pieces, and she fell as well, screaming in agony.

"Let's GO!" Harry shouted again, reaching for my hand. His eyes were wide with fear and revulsion at what he'd just witnessed, but I saw that he had also grabbed the silver sword from her dismembered hand. Another motion caught my eye at the same moment: a wand spinning through the air toward Voldemort. I caught a glimpse of the blond-haired boy, Draco, in the corner where Voldemort's wand had fallen — he had thrown it toward him.

The Potter kid was between me and Voldemort, who caught the wand and was pointing it toward Potter. "Avada —"

Whatever that spell was, I couldn't stop it in time, but I could keep it from hitting the kid. I retracted the claws in my right hand, scooping him up with that arm and spinning around so my back was to Voldemort as he completed the spell "— Kedavra!" I extended my other arm, claws still extended, letting the momentum of my spin carry me toward Snake-man, trusting my instincts and aim. Something slammed hard into my back and everything went black.

=ooo=

I don't know how long I was out. My healing factor has saved me a lot of times — I've been nearly disemboweled, had my skin shredded or burned over nearly my entire body; I've even survived having Magneto pull all of the adamantium out of my skeleton. That may have hurt even more than the Crucio spell Voldemort used on me. But whatever that last spell was, it threw my healing factor for a helluva loop.

I hurt. It didn't matter that I was lying in what felt like a comfortable feather bed, my body was finding every uncomfortable spot in it. I opened my eyes slowly, seeing a young, blonde woman bustling about the room, dusting. I could tell she was dusting because I was smelling every particle she kicked up or shook out of her dust rag.

There was also another smell in the room, an intoxicating fragrance that seemed to be coming directly from her. Pheromones. I sniffed again. Pleasant, but she also had another man's scent on her. I knew all too well what kind of problems that entailed, so I filed her scent away under Not Interested.

She glanced my way, then jumped when she saw my eyes were open. "Ah, you're awake!" she said, smiling at me. Her voice had a noticeable French accent. "I weel go and tell my husband and 'is friends." She started to leave the room.

"Wait," I said, and she stopped. I pushed myself up, painfully, to a half-sitting position. "Where am I?"

"You are at our 'ome, Shell Cottage," she made a small curtsey. "I am Fleur Weasley. My husband Bill and I live 'ere."

"Where's the kid that came back for me?" I asked, grunting in pain as I tried to sit up more.

"Harry?" Fleur said. ""E is 'ere, too — he 'as been waiting for you to wake up, to talk to you."

I finally got my torso upright; I rolled my neck, loosening the muscles in my shoulders. "How long've I been out?"

"You were brought 'ere two days ago," the woman told me, now gazing at me in undisguised interest. "It seemed as if you wair dead. 'Arry even considered burying you, until we detected your 'eart beating every minute or zo. The last time I checked, yesterday evening, it was beating about 50 times per minute."

That was about my normal heart rate. I nodded. "Can I talk to Potter now?" I asked.

She blinked; I got the impression she was miffed at being dismissed. But I had to find out what had happened after I blacked out — whether I managed to take Voldemort out or not. "I weel go an' get 'im," she sniffed, and left the room, muttering about the rudeness of goblins and Muggles.

A few minutes later the door opened again, and the Potter kid and his two friends, the brown-haired girl and the tall, red-headed boy, all entered the room. They each pulled up chairs, though I hadn't really noticed them before — I was going to have to get my edge back, and soon, it looked like a couple of those chairs materialized out of nowhere! — and sat down next to me, with Harry closest to me, then the girl, Hermione, and the redhead, Ron.

"Thanks for pulling me out of there," I said abruptly, before Potter had a chance to speak. He nodded automatically, and the other two were smiling at him.

"I thought I should come back," Potter said, earnestly, and I saw that he had cleaned himself up — hair trimmed back to a more reasonable length, and his face was no longer bloated and stretched, as it had been in the manor. "The last I saw, you'd taken a knife in the chest. I expected you to be — to be…"

"Dead?" I finished for him, and he swallowed and nodded. "It'll take more than a little knife like that one to do me in."

"Well — that's the thing, isn't it?" Ron, the redhead said, giving me a sideways glance from his chair. "You-Know-Who did hit you with the Avada Kedavra. Harry told us. And you're still alive."

"I heard him say that," I nodded. "But I didn't know what it was. What's it supposed to do?"

"It's supposed to kill you," Hermione, in the middle, said faintly. "But it didn't."

I rubbed the shoulder of the arm I was leaning on. It was the same arm I'd blocked the silver sword with, and I could see an angry red welt on my forearm. It still hadn't completely healed. Strange, that… "Not fer lack of trying, I can tell you!" I said, feelingly. "It feels like it just about did kill me."

"I think it did," Harry said, flatly. The other two kids looked at him in shock, and I stared at him, waiting to hear more. But he said nothing else.

"Maybe," I said at last, with a shrug. He might even be right, but how would I know? I hadn't seen any pearly gates yet, nor any fire and brimstone, for that matter, though if anything I was more likely to end up in the latter, if it existed. "But that ain't important right now. What I need to know is, did I take out Snake-Boy?"

Potter gave me a long look. I waited him out this time, wondering what he was trying to do, until he finally nodded, slowly, and said, "Yeah, you did — took his head right off his shoulders. Luckily for us, because he'd have had us, otherwise.

"As it was," Harry went on, "Draco and his mum were both so shocked they didn't do anything other than stare, even though I had both their wands, and Greyback and Bellatrix were out of action — Greyback probably permanently."

"Yeah," I muttered. "I expect he'll find living without a heart pretty difficult." Ron snorted, and Hermione shivered and looked away.

"Oh," Harry said. He looked at the other two for a moment. "So — um, what are you going to do now?"

The question struck me as odd. "Go home, I suppose," I shrugged. "If I can, that is. I been hoping someone back where I came from would be looking for me by now. I assume you're going to celebrate?"

Harry, who'd appeared lost in thought, looked up, startled. "Huh? Celebrate? Er — why?"

"Well, because You-Know-Who is k-k-k-k-k!" I drew a finger across my throat and made a slicing sound. When Harry didn't react, I added, "Well, isn't he?"

"Er — yeah, I guess so," Harry shrugged, and I nodded, not really sure if he was lying or not. His two friends both looked at me uneasily, then at him. "Well, I guess we'll leave you alone now, so you can continue getting better."

I nodded again. "Sure kid, thanks." They got up, and I blinked as two of the chairs suddenly vanished right in front of me. Just as Harry opened the door, I spoke again. "Hey, kid. If you need any more help before I leave, give me a holler, okay?"

Harry seemed to consider that for several seconds. ."Okay," he said, and the three of them left the room. I wondered what other kind of mischief they'd be up to soon, because it was clear things were not as they seemed.