Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. All I own is Elizabeth, and a bit of the plot.

A/N: To answer the question I put forth at the end of the last chapter: I have given many small hints about the powers of the Slayers. If you go back to Slayers Part 2 you will notice something about what Elizabeth feels. All the Slayers are connected. When Umbridge swished her wand over the writing in the air she was seeing the Slayers' essences.

Thank you very much to those who reviewed. I'm sorry I didn't get this out sooner. Hopefully the next chapter won't take as long.

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Chapter sixteen: Curious Incidents.

Harry had missed a bit of potions, but because he'd turned up with a specially signed note by McGonagall Snape couldn't deduct points or give him a detention. He wished now that he hadn't had to go to potions at all. He always ended up being disappointed by something. Or frustrated. Or furious.

And Hermione was still going on about the moonstone essay.

"I mean, obviously I'd have been thrilled if I'd got an 'O' ―"

"So would we," Ron spat before turning to Harry, leaving Hermione gaping disappointedly, and Fred, George and Lee sniggering into their pumpkin juice.

"So what did McGonagall want?"

All talks of moonstone essays and OWL grades were put to the side as everyone stared at Harry expectantly. Why did you have to ask me that now? he thought irritably at Ron. Ron, of course, couldn't hear him.

"Someone," Harry began, emphasising the word so Ron, Hermione, and Fred and George would understand who he was talking about, "trashed Umbridge's office this morning."

"Wicked!" Ron said immediately. It was followed quickly by Lee's "whoop" and the twins' grins.

Hermione gave them a dark look. "It is not wicked. Obviously, Harry was blamed for it!"

They looked contrite. Fred quickly recovered. "Expand on 'trashed' for us, would you?"

"It looked as though a giant had stomped through it," said Harry, beginning to warm as he reminisced. "There were holes in the walls as big as me. The pot plant was sticking out of the concrete. All the furniture was broken. The window was smashed. The cupboards were bent and twisted, like a pipe cleaner . . ."

Ron and Hermione were wide-eyed. They were the only ones who knew the real truth about Elizabeth, but they mustn't have known what a Slayer was capable of until this moment. Fred and George, however, grinned. "I wonder how she managed to do that, let alone get access to Hogwarts."

"Who?" asked Lee.

"Harry's cousin," George replied smoothly. "She's very protective of him, you know. He must've told her about Umbridge. She must've come here in retribution or something. That right?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

Despite that satisfying explanation, the rest of the day did not go all that well. Umbridge turned up in Divination and would not leave Professor Trelawney alone, trailing after her with a clipboard and quill in hand and scribbling furiously whenever the professor replied to a question. She would also cast dark glances in his direction. Overall, Harry and Ron did not think Umbridge had been very impressed with Divination, or Trelawney.

Defence against the Dark Arts was horrible as always. When Umbridge took five points from Gryffindor because Hermione had dared to criticise the Ministry assigned textbook Harry became furious, though still did not try to follow up on his murderous thoughts. But it was Umbridge's, "Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more licence, but as none of them – with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects – would have passed a Ministry inspection" that really got Harry riled. He almost, almost responded (Hermione even nudged his ribs so hard with her elbow that he was sure he'd still have the bruise a week later), but didn't, because the thought of Umbridge's rage-filled face that morning after Elizabeth's little foray into her office kept him grounded. He felt comforted at the thought that if ever he felt like telling the toad off, all he'd have to do was think of that.

xxxx

When Harry entered Umbridge's office that night for his second week of detention it was to find that everything had been put back to the way it was before – with the exception of the broken quill and foot-high scarlet writing, which still hung ominously in the air in the middle of the room. Trying not to snort with laughter, he sat down in his usual spot in front of Umbrige's desk. Not giving her a chance to say anything Harry picked up the quill, dipped it into the inkwell – he almost laughed again – and began writing, I must not tell lies.

It was supremely satisfying, even if Umbridge had not stopped glaring at him since he'd walked through the door, in fact, she hadn't even moved. She kept him long after midnight, and when one o'clock finally rolled around Harry's hand was cramping. If not with the blood quill — which was still hanging lopsidedly in the air next to the writing ― then she had to get him back somehow, he supposed.

xxxx

The next morning stretched along perceptibly. Harry had the brief thought that he'd actually manage to have detention the night before, despite Elizabeth's assurances that he wouldn't have to. He wasn't worried, though, because he was still too pleased with what his sister had done already. Perhaps she had just forgotten?

"Wonder where she is," Ron said, talking around a mouthful of cornflakes.

Harry didn't need Ron's pointed staring in the direction of the faculty table to tell him who he was talking about.

Umbridge was not sitting with the other teachers this morning. He shrugged. "Maybe she slept in."

"Maybe she died," Ron said hopefully.

"I wish."

"You two are horrible," Hermione reprimanded half-heartedly. Then she smiled. "But I wish that, too."

Ron and Harry grinned.

The rest of the day went by much faster than the morning had. Professor McGonagall taught them to vanish mice, and in Care of Magical Creatures they tried to subdue Bowtruckles by offering them woodlice for an appetiser. The only strange thing that happened was Professor Grubbly-plank looking a bit distracted and not nearly as cheery as she usually did. She kept glancing behind the path they'd all come down on, as though expecting someone to turn up on it.

By the time dinner arrived Umbridge still hadn't shown. Ginny was quick to tell them that she had also missed Defence lessons with the fourth years before lunch.

"We all just sat around playing hangman in the corners of our parchments," she said to Ron's query. "After thirty minutes we up and left. It was obvious she wasn't going to show. I mean there wasn't a note, but it's not like anyone wanted to stay."

"Well she's not here now either," Harry said, looking towards the head table. "And neither is Dumbledore, McGonagall, or Snape."

They looked at each other. "You don't think something Elizabeth did is having a delayed reaction?" Hermione speculated.

Harry grinned suddenly. "I do! Perhaps I'll find out now. I'm supposed to have detention tonight."

Ron looked envious. "I wish I had detention."

Stuffing a last spoonful of trifle into his mouth, Harry bade his friends goodbye and made his way to Umbridge's office.

The door was closed when he got there. He knocked politely. Seconds later it was opened half-way by McGonagall.

When she saw him her eyebrows arched. "Potter," she greeted, "what are you doing here?"

"I have detention, Professor," he told her, trying to look as though he wasn't peering into the room through the gap between her elbow and side. "Remember?"

Her eyes closed. "Yes, I do. Another four days isn't it? Including tonight?" At Harry's nod, she added, "Well it's cancelled now. You can come back tomorrow."

"Cancelled?"

"Professor Umbridge is . . .ill," she grimaced. "Run along to your dormitory now."

But Harry didn't. "How is she ill?"

She frowned. "No questions, Potter!"

"It's only that, well Elizabeth told me something like this might happen."

As McGonagall's nostrils widened Harry couldn't, for the life of him, work out why he'd just admitted to that, but he was desperately curious. How had Elizabeth made Umbridge ill?

"Are you telling me that you knew something like this might happen? And didn't inform myself or the headmaster?"

Something like what? "I still don't know what she did, Professor. She just told me she'd be ―" he just stopped himself from saying 'stopping Umbridge from ever giving anyone detention again', and finished instead with "― doing something extra."

McGonagall sighed. "I suppose I can't blame you for this, and I certainly can't give Elizabeth detention." Then she smiled. "You will remember to thank her from me, won't you?"

At that, Harry knew that whatever Elizabeth had cursed Umbridge with couldn't be that serious. "Of course."

"You should go now, Potter."

As McGonagall closed the door Harry turned ―only to bump into someone. A long bearded someone. He jumped back.

"Harry," greeted Dumbledore, looking amused. Behind him stood Snape carrying a small brown sack. He was scowling, but that wasn't uncommon. "I trust you know that your detention has been cancelled."

"I do now."

"Wonderful. I shall see you in my office tomorrow afternoon, then. For the moment, I believe Gryffindor tower is waiting for you."

Harry nodded, "Good night, sir." He didn't acknowledge Snape, but then Snape didn't acknowledge him, except to sneer even more fiercely as Harry walked past.

He didn't have to wonder why Dumbledore had invited him to his office, either. Harry suspected it had everything to do with his sister. But then, Elizabeth was Dumbledore's 'niece'. Surely, he wouldn't want to speak to Harry about wanting to tell her off.

When he entered the portrait hole a little while later it was to find the four Weasley's and Hermione already seated on the two sofas by the fire, chatting excitedly. A pile of books hung precariously at the end of the little table while a large piece of parchment was spread out in the middle. Hermione was scribbling extremely fast on it.

Harry sat down beside her.

"We found it!" she said, surprising him.

He was a little disappointed that she hadn't questioned him about Umbridge. But then what she'd said suddenly registered. "That's brilliant," he praised, and by the way Hermione straightened up he was sure that by 'we' she'd meant 'I'. "How did you find it?"

George snorted. "Wasn't even in the Restricted Section."

"Neville was looking through some books for Herbology. Hermione happened to walk past and stare over his shoulder. Low and behold . . ."

"Shut up," she snapped at Ron. "How was I to know that it's an ordinary plant used in Dreamless Sleep potion? That's NEWT level."

"Surprised you hadn't studied in advance," Ron grumbled under his breath.

"What does it do?" Harry queried.

"Its purpose is . . . well think of muggle drugs. It's got hallucinogenic properties. Its purpose, when mixed with other ingredients in the draught, is to put you in a sort of trance. You should know then, instinctively, or by smell and feel or whatever, what animal you're supposed to be turning in to." She looked thoughtful. "I suppose when it's used in Dreamless Sleep its effects are sort of counteracted due to some of the more potent ingredients, otherwise the potion wouldn't be called 'Dreamless Sleep' would it?"

"Now all we have to do is find the other ingredients, right? Then we can make the potion," Harry stated, his stomach jumping at the thought.

"Exactly."

"How did it go with Umbridge, by the way?" Ginny asked.

Everyone looked up.

"Have no idea what happened to her. McGonagall told me she was ill, but I think she was lying. Dumbledore asked me to come to his office tomorrow, though."

They all looked thoughtful at that.

"Well," Fred said at last, "as long as the old toad is feeling something unpleasant, then I can live with that." He grinned. "You have got the coolest sister, Harry."

"You have no idea," Ron snorted.

Hermione, smiling tightly, patted him hard on the back.

After that they discussed who would be obtaining what ingredients. Most of them were readily available at apothecaries or at the student stalls down in the dungeon, so the girls would be charged with getting them. Unfortunately, only some of them could be found in Snape's private stock. Ron volunteered to get those, but Fred and George cut him off. "We can sneak around a lot better than you can little brother. Just leave it to us."

"What prank have you got planned?" Ginny asked.

"Nothing big," they assured, "just something that'll irate Snape long enough for him to go away and deal with it so we can nip into his office. We'll set fire to one of his students, that ought to keep him busy."

Ron recommended Crabbe. "That way no one can be blamed," he explained. "They'll just think he did it himself. He's thick enough."

Fred and George looked rather impressed with his reasoning.

The rest of the ingredients, Hermione told them matter-of-factly, could be found in Knockturn Alley or somewhere equally dark and slimy. "Of course, they are available at the Ministry, but I don't think Fudge'd appreciate a bunch of Hogwarts' students rummaging around in his secret rooms, especially if one of them is Harry Potter. It'll have to be Knockturn Alley. And seeing as Harry is the only one who's been there, I think he should be the one to go."

"I'm going too," Ron said determinedly.

"Of course you're going. It's too dangerous to go alone," said Hermione. She looked between them. "You'll have to bring the invisibility cloak."

"So when d'you expect us to go then? Christmas hols?"

Hermione frowned. "I, I don't really know. I suppose that'll be all right."

Harry shook his head. "No, it won't. We'll all be separated for Christmas. You three will be at the Burrow, and Hermione, you'll be with your parents. And I'll be alternating between Surrey and Grimmauld place if I don't end up staying at Hogwarts. There's no way the Order will let me go out then, not to mention Elizabeth. As overprotective as she is, even if I do manage to convince her to let me go to Diagon Alley, she won't let me out of her sight." He bit his lip. They did not need to know that Elizabeth knew they were making the potion. He supposed he could just ask her to get him the ingredients, but Harry didn't want that. He wanted to do it himself. Like his father had. "It'll have to be on the next Hogsmede weekend," he said finally. "We can floo out using the fireplace at The Three Broomsticks."

"That's actually a good idea," Hermione complimented, but she looked a little uneasy.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked, concerned. In fact, he noticed that everyone had gone a little uneasy. "What's going on?"

"Well, you see, Harry, we were actually hoping to do something at Hogsmede then," Hermione admitted.

Harry couldn't believe it. "What's more important than this?"

"Well Ron and I had the idea ― I mean I had the idea," she corrected at Ron's furious glare, "to, er, to hold a meeting there."

"Meeting?" Harry parroted. "What sort of meeting?"

"Oh for goodness sake, you two," Ginny burst out. "We want you to teach Defence, Harry."

There was silence.

Ron and Hermione were avoiding his eyes, but everyone else was looking at him hopefully.

Harry, however, had no idea what Ginny meant.

"What?" he finally said.

"We want you to teach Defence," said George. "We want to have a sort of Defence Against the Dark Arts club with you as the teacher."

"What d'you mean, 'me as the teacher'? And what club?"

Hermione looked timid, a rare thing. "You can't not have noticed how horrible our Defence classes are."

"That goes without saying, Hermione," said Harry dryly. "What I don't get is, why do you want me to teach this Defence club thing? I'm no teacher. I don't know anything."

"Harry, you're the best in the year at Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione, looking disbelievingly at him. "Possibly the school."

"No I'm not," Harry laughed, now certain that this was huge joke, "you've beaten me in every test –"

"Actually, I haven't," said Hermione coolly. "You beat me in our third year ― the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I'm not talking about test results, Harry. Think what you've done!"

"How d'you mean?"

"You know what, I'm not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me," Ron said to everyone, smirking slightly. He turned to Harry. "Let's think," he said, pulling a face like Goyle concentrating. "Uh . . . first year ― you saved the Philosopher's Stone from You-Know-Who."

"But that was luck," said Harry, "it wasn't skill ―"

"Second year," Ron interrupted, "you killed the Basilsk and destroyed Riddle."

"Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up, I —"

"Third year," said Ron, louder still, "you fought off about a hundred Dementors at once —"

"You know that was a fluke, if the Time-turner hadn't ―"

"Last year —" Ron began.

"Ron, shut up!" Fred snapped suddenly.

Ron looked affronted. "I'm just telling the truth."

"Yeah? Well think before you say anything else."

Ron got the point. He took one look at Harry, blanched, then turned away. "Sorry, mate."

"It's all right," Harry said. But it wasn't all right. "It's just . . . it wasn't like what you're saying at all, Ron. You have no idea what it's like to go up against him. None of you do. It's not just throwing spells, or the stupid duelling we'd done in second year. It's just you and your guts and your brains and luck, or whatever. It's you and him, and you know you're going to die if you don't fight back. And you have to, no matter what way you decide. Dodging and running always worked for me. Magic hardly came into it from my part."

They stared at him. Harry looked away. He hated being gawked at, but he knew they couldn't help it. He hadn't realised how passionate he would sound when he'd first begun to speak either.

Hermione cleared her throat. "But Harry, don't you see? This . . . this is exactly why we need you . . . we need to know what it's really like . . . facing him . . . facing V-Voldemort."

Everyone but Harry had jumped. It was the first time she had used Voldemort's name. He found himself a little proud of her. "I'll think about it," he said finally.

xxxxxxxxx

The rumour that had been making the rounds from classroom to classroom that Umbridge had somehow been turned into a toad by Harry during his detention was dispersed the following morning at breakfast as quickly as it had started. Umbridge was sitting in her usual spot beside McGonagall looking none the worse for wear, but seemed to be sporting a perpetually dark scowl every time she looked over at the Gryffindor table.

"She blames me," Harry told Ron and Hermione, and he couldn't be happier. "She doesn't know how I did it, but she knows I did."

"But, you didn't do it," Hermione pointed out.

"I know, but she thinks I did, and it's frustrating her that she can't work out how a fifth year learned such an advanced curse."

"What curse?" Ron echoed. "Even you don't know what Elizabeth used."

"Yes," Harry agreed, "but it must have been horrible."

Nothing interesting happened in classes. Everyone had thought Umbridge would come to inspect McGonagall, but she didn't. They had progressed to vanishing kittens now, and only Hermione had completed the task and had moved on to vanishing larger animals and furniture.

Finally late afternoon came by and Harry found himself guessing the password to Dumbledore's office. After various failed attempts, "Nosebleed Nougat" admitted him.

"Come in, Harry," said Dumbledore to Harry's knock.

As he entered, he saw that Dumbledore was seated in his usual spot behind the desk. Various instruments of the curiously inclined also tinkered cheerily before him. Harry stared at them as he sat down. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, leaning forward so that he could twine his hands together on the desk. "I want to talk to you about Elizabeth."

"I guessed that."

Dumbledore smiled. "I shall be frank, Harry. I know she came to visit you a few mornings ago. I know she told you things. I know you told her things."

"Does this have anything to do with what happened to Umbridge?" Harry guessed.

"Professor Umbridge, Harry," Dumbledore corrected.

"Right," said Harry, feeling annoyed.

Dumbledore looked up at him from under his glasses. He looked so long that Harry almost glanced away. "It should please you to note that you will not be going to the rest of your detention this week with Professor Umbridge. Or ever."

Harry arranged his face in what he hoped was an expression of polite inquiry.

"No need for that," Dumbledore said gently. "I have known Elizabeth quite a bit longer than you have, Harry. She has a tendency to act impulsively when those whom she loves are threatened."

Harry stared at his lap. His face turned hot. The guilty accusation in Dumbledore's eyes made his stomach drop.

"Why didn't you tell me, Harry?"

"I dunno," Harry mumbled. "I guess, I guess I felt like it was this personal war between her and me, and that by telling someone else it would have been―"

"Cowardly?"

Harry looked up. "I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she'd got to me. And she would have known if I'd told you or any of the other teachers."

"Pride. It has a way of changing matters," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. Then he became serious. "But you should know that what Delores Umbridge has done to you is illegal, and no matter if she is in Fudge's confidence or not, I would have dismissed her and started teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts myself."

"But if you'd done that, they would have chucked you out, right?"

"That is one possible scenario, yes. The most probable one, I must admit. But I shall tell you something now, Harry ― after what happened to you, I investigated. You were not the only one to whom she had assigned detentions for. You were not the only one who was forced to write lines. So, you see, it was not a personal war between the two of you at all, but a war between students and one teacher, with the students in the right. This, more than anything, is cause for dismissal."

That familiar feeling of frustrated hatred for Umbridge rose in Harry's stomach again. "I'm glad Elizabeth cursed her," he said vehemently.

"And you're certain she did not tell you how she would be doing it?" Dumbledore's eyes flitted between his own.

"Yes," Harry answered, assuming Professor McGonagall had told him all the details. "All she told me was that she was going to do something memorable ― and that I wouldn't have to go to detention again," he added extremely quickly.

Dumbledore looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I have always admired her gumption. That she would do this under my nose was very bold of her." He smiled. "I find myself feeling rather cheerful."

Harry grinned widely.

A comfortable silence passed. "Sir, what did Elizabeth do?" Harry asked finally. He was beyond bursting with curiosity.

Dumbledore raised his brows and narrowed his head. "I shall leave it to you to discover that. You'll be seeing Elizabeth at Christmas, I presume. You can ask her then, Harry." Harry must have shown his disappointment, because Dumbledore smiled. "Go on to the Great Hall now, the house elves should be serving dinner soon. But before you do," he gestured to the small bowl sitting on the desk before Harry, "would you like a sweet?"

xxxxxxx

Two weeks past by with the feeling that time had seemed to slow down. Umbridge had, shockingly, decided to ignore Harry's existence completely. The only time she would look at him at all was in the Great Hall, and even then all she'd do was glare. It made Defence classes just that much more bearable. At the end of September Hogsmede Weekend arrived at last. Harry, Ron, and Hermione exited Hogs' Head Inn, watching the two dozen or so Hogwarts' students troll up the village in front of them, before dispersing in every which way direction. Harry's stomach did a black-flip when Cho waved goodbye at him over her shoulder.

"Well, that went all right, didn't it," Hermione said. Her voice sounded slightly high-pitched and she would not look at Harry.

"We all know that half of them only showed up to find out what happened with Voldemort last year, Hermione," Harry said. He was still faintly annoyed with her, but it was fading. Cho's acknowledgement had put him in a good mood.

"That Zachariah Smith is a real berk," Ron spat.

"I don't like him much, either," admitted Hermione, "but he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? But the more people the better really ― Harry, what on earth!" Hermione said, because Harry had started dragging her and Ron into a nearby alley between two cottages.

He let them go when they all stood in the shadowy part. "It was Malfoy," Harry explained. He'd seen the familiar glint of sliver-blonde hair bobbing between Crabbe and Goyle in front of the entrance to Zonko's.

Ron looked incredulous. "Since when do we run away from Malfoy?"

"Since Fred and George accidentally set fire to him. In case you forgot, he blamed me for it. Every since then he's been trying to start fights with me. I don't need Snape breathing down my neck even more. He still thinks I stole those ingredients from his private stock."

A week ago at dinner, whilst George had been occupied in Snape's office, Fred had snuck over to the Slytherin table under Harry's invisibility cloak and placed a time stasis firework in what he'd thought was Crabbe's knapsack. The only problem being that it had turned out to be Malfoy's. Since Harry wasn't in the Great Hall at the time ― was, in fact, scribbling out his Charms essay in the library, which was due the next day ― Malfoy had concluded that it must have been him. Ever since third year and the incident in front of The Shrieking Shack, Harry had always suspected that Malfoy knew about his invisibility cloak. Still, Fred and George could have picked a better time. But the twins, Ron had told him, lived by their own rules.

"Oh," Ron said.

"It looks like they've gone into Zonko's," said Hermione, who was peering around the corner of the alley wall. She turned back to them. "You two will have to duck under the invisibility cloak and walk into The Three Broomsticks that way. If you walk in as you are now, but don't walk out again, it'll be awkward trying to explain."

"Right," said Ron. "You ready, Harry?"

Harry stared at his best friend's face, and nodded.

Hermione looked between them, her eyes watering. "Good luck, you two."

"Thanks," they muttered awkwardly. Ron, Harry was sure, was relieved that Hermione hadn't hugged them, as she usually did when she got emotional.

Harry removed his father's cloak from under his robes, shook it out, and threw it over Ron and himself. Ron had to duck so that his feet didn't show. "Will you be all right?" Harry asked Hermione through the material. "I don't want you running into Malfoy when we're not here to protect you."

Hermione looked torn between being flattered at his concern, and annoyed in spite of it. "I'll be all right, I can look after myself. I saw Ginny enter Honeydukes. I'll go there. Do you have the list, Ron?"

Ron felt for his pocket. There was a crunching noise, like paper being squashed. "Yeah," he said.

"Good. Any idea when you'll be back?"

"I don't know, but don't wait for us," Harry told her. "You don't have to get in trouble as well if we're not back by curfew."

"All right," she agreed. "but I think you should go now ― it's really weird talking to you two like this."

"Bye," they chorused.

They left Hermione in the alley, manoeuvring around the dozens of milling people as they walked. It was extremely uncomfortable under the cloak, not at all like it was in first year. One person Ron's size would have been excessive, but two people was pushing it. It became difficult not to try and bump into people, or to even squash their own feet, and they had to wait until someone entered The Three Broomsticks before they could hurry in after them.

"Ow!" yelled Millicent Bulstrode, then looked widely around. She had been the person they'd followed in, but Ron had stepped on her foot. Whether by accident or purposely, Harry didn't know.

It would be too risky for them to use the public floo and hope not to be unnoticed. Hermione had suggested they enter one of the rooms upstairs instead. "After all," she had said, "The Three Broomsticks isn't just a pub, it's also an Inn. Like The Leaky Cauldron. The fireplaces up there are bound to be connected to the Floo network."

"You'd think they could make these cloaks expandable," Ron mumbled as they went up the stairs, slowly. He almost tripped over his large feet on the last step, but Harry quickly grabbed hold of his arm and yanked. "Thanks," Ron breathed.

"No problem."

The room admitted them after a hasty "Alohamora" by Ron, who, with his taller height, had seen an elderly witch shuffling in a like gait up the stairs behind them.

"Hopefully this isn't her room," Harry said.

They quickly made their way to the fireplace. Ron stuck his arm out from beneath the cloak and grabbed a handful of floo powder from the bowl on the mantelpiece. He tossed it into the flames. They stepped in.

"Diagon Alley!" Harry said clearly.

In a whirling, nauseas whoosh the flames rose and they were gone.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

They skidded out of the fireplace at Flourish and Blotts. The fireplace was in the furthest corner hidden behind a large bookshelf, which was good because Ron's entire right leg had flailed out from under the cloak for a good ten seconds before he managed to stuff it back.

The journey from Diagon Alley to Knockturn Alley was even worse than the one in Hogsmede. There were at least twice as many people rushing about. Ron said it was because the shopping hour had started. "It's only just turned two. It's the perfect time to go out for lunch as well."

Knockturn Alley was just as dark and creepy as Harry remembered it. Ron had never been there before, however, and at the first sight of a hag selling fingernails (the same one who had, in fact, tried to tempt Harry in his second year), he was so disgusted that he drew back violently and almost tripped over the cloak.

"Would you watch it?" Harry hissed at him.

"Yeah," he whispered back, "but it's a hag, Harry. I've never seen one before."

"I've met that one already," Harry said, only to regret it when Ron started wide-eyed at him. "What?"

"'I've met that one already?'" he snorted. "Really, Harry, you two are old chums, aren't you?"

"Oh shut up," Harry said, but he was trying not to smile. "Let's go there." He gestured to a small gap between two bins. "What's first on the list?"

The paper crinkled as Ron unpocketed it and smoothed it out on his palm. He stared at it. "I can't pronounce any of them," he concluded finally. "It's spelled in some other language. D'you reckon we should just hand it over the shop proprietor and let him get it for us? It'll be quicker that way, too."

Harry bit his lip. "I guess that's the best way to go. But you'll have to be the one to do it, Ron."

"I get it," said Ron nodding knowledgeably, "you might be recognised. You just stay under the cloak."

"All we have to do is find the potion shop now. It can't be that hard."

But Harry was wrong.

Knockturn Alley was a lot bigger than it seemed, and even had some smaller, slimier alleys sprouting from it. Ron swore he spotted a vampire in one of them slinking out of a small establishment, but when Harry whipped around to confirm if it was, it was already gone.

"This is bad," he mumbled to Ron. "Vampires have extremely good hearing and smell. We're lucky it didn't' realise where we were. We have to find the apothecary as quickly as possible and get out of here."

Ron quickly agreed.

They traipsed along Knockturn Alley, which sloped down gloomily, until they finally found the apothecary. It was the very last shop at the end, tucked beneath a cliff-like fissure of rock that hung over it like a knife. Checking to see that no one was about, Ron stepped out from underneath the cloak. "I feel weird," he whispered, "all exposed. I keep thinking something's going to attack me."

"Just go inside," Harry prodded, but he continued to glance around.

Squaring his shoulders, Ron opened the door. It tinkled morosely. He held it open a lot longer than was necessary so Harry could follow him through. When Ron shut the door behind him Harry just stopped himself from yelling. Ron wasn't so lucky. "Ahh!"

An old man, who'd obviously been lingering behind the open door, stood hunching before them. His hair was dark grey and stringy, hanging to his shoulders. His eyes were the very strange colour of purplish pink – a spell gone wrong, most likely – and something like a cross between a very large wart and a very ripe pimple hung off the end of his nose. When he breathed his chest rattled loudly, as though a never-ending cold had forced the mucus in his lungs to thicken over many years. As he exhaled the thing on the tip of his nose quivered disturbingly.

"Good afternoon," he rattled softly.

"Yeah," said Ron absently. He was still staring at the old man's nose.

"You might as well come out, I know you're there," said the old man, peering where Harry stood. "I saw the redhead come out from underneath the cloak earlier on.

Harry cursed himself for not looking to see if anyone had been watching from inside the shop, but there was no use procrastinating. He took off the invisibility cloak, making that sure his fringe covered his forehead.

The old man didn't appear to notice anything special about him. He simply "hmmed" interestedly, and walked two steps to the front counter, saying, "What can I help you gentlemen with?"

Harry nudged Ron when it looked as though he wouldn't answer. "Oh, erm, uh, we need these items here." He handed the list over.

The old man took it between his fingers as though handling a delicate object, and turned it this way and that. He looked slowly up at them. He wheezed out. The wart quivered. Ron stared.

"That'll be thirty-four galleons for the lot," he rattled at them. "Are you certain you gentlemen can afford this?" he asked, staring at Ron's robes, particularly the hem, which reached a few inches above his ankles.

Ron flushed.

"Yes," Harry cut in quickly. He unhooked the sack of galleons from his belt and counted out thirty-four gold coins, placing them on the desk as he did so.

The old man picked one of them up and bit into it. "Right," he said. Shuffling around them he walked to the large ceiling-high cabinets on the right side of the shop. He opened the door to one. Harry and Ron could see what appeared to be hundreds of small jars with many slimy bluppy floating things in them. The old man selected one with tentacles in it, then closed the cabinet door. He moved onto the next cabinet. When he opened that one they saw lots of sacks — big ones, little ones and ones made out of different materials. The old man grabbed two of these before closing the door. He shuffled back towards them and handed over the ingredients. "That's everything on the list, I believe," he rasped.

"That's great," said Harry. "We'll just, er, go then."

"Good afternoon," the old man said.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then walked out of the shop extremely quickly.

Ducking under the cloak once more, they jogged upslope along Knockturn Alley. It took them about five minutes. They were just about to pass Bourgin and Burkes, which stood about a hundred meters from the entrance of the alley, when Ron suddenly veered to the left, squishing first himself then yanking Harry into the gap between Bourgin and Burkes and another shop.

"What is it?" Harry whispered, heart thumping.

"Shh," Ron mouthed. "Vampire."

Feeling as though a particularly horrid fish was jumping about in his stomach, Harry did a slow turn around.

Ron had been right. It was a vampire. Similar in appearance, with its gaunt face and skeletal frame, to the vampires that Harry had met over the summer, except this one had mousy brown hair.

It had appeared out of the shadows of the smaller alley that branched off to the right. It, Harry realised chillingly, was sniffing interestedly at the air. It wasn't a human action.

Ron tapped him on the shoulder. When Harry turned to look at him he saw that Ron was holding up his, Harry's, wand. He must have gotten out of my pocket, Harry thought, before mouthing, "Thanks". He could see that Ron had taken his wand out too.

The vampire was now sniffing manically and staring at the ground. Any second it would pounce at them. Instinctively, Harry knew that they shouldn't be hiding in such a tight spot. When push came to shove (and it would) they'd be trapped with no room to manoeuvre (or run) if the situation called for it. He was about to suggest to Ron that they leap out and try to surprise the vampire, but he didn't get a chance.

Just as the vampire turned to stare at the tight gap they were hiding in a hand appeared out of nowhere and clamped onto its shoulder, spinning the vampire around so fast that Harry got dizzy watching it.

He had the brief thought that perhaps someone else was walking around Knockturn Alley under an invisibility cloak also so as to avoid all the nasty persons, but then he saw who the hand belonged to, and couldn't help gaping.

A very familiar, very tall and very handsome man with long shiny black hair that reached to his mid-back and unforgiving eyes of the same colour stood feet apart. He was dressed in muggle clothes of jeans and white-sleeved shirt, and Harry had to admit he looked rather intimidating. He was holding the vampire by the scruff of its neck, with its legs dangling a metre from the ground.

Harry had seen this man before, over the summer. Not personally, but Harry knew who he was because he recognised his face.

Elizabeth had shown him pictures of all the Slayers one night at Grimmauld Place when everyone else had been asleep. This man had been one of them. His name was Nauhel.

"Bloody hell," Ron breathed behind him. He, too, was seeing the spectacle.

But there wasn't to be a spectacle. All Nauhel said was, "I've been looking for you," and sped away so fast that all Harry and Ron could see was a blur. He had taken the vampire with him."

"Did, did you see that, Harry? What d'you think he was? Another vampire? A vampire king, maybe? He was stronger than the other one."

Ron did not know about Nauhel. He and Hermione had both been told, by himself, that there were only three Slayers in the world, including Elizabeth. She would not appreciate him revealing Nauhel's secret now. "Yes," Harry said, "I think he was a vampire."

xxxxxxx

That night, listening to Ron snore in the bed next to his, Harry could not stop thinking about what he had seen. Why was Nauhel in England in the first place? His area to protect was Asia and Canada and some of North America. Had Elizabeth, perhaps, asked him to watch over Europe and Russia for her while she was on Dumbledore's mission with Hagrid? But no, that couldn't be right. After all, hadn't Elizabeth lived most of her life in Australia, with only once in a while coming to visit England? And besides, Elizabeth had said it herself; the world didn't need Slayers now as much as it had thousands of years ago. Wizards had advanced their magic to such a degree that they could take care of most of the problems themselves. But that left Harry right back where he'd started. Why was Nauhel here? It could be something as simple as him being on a holiday, Harry supposed, but somehow he didn't believe that.

After another fifteen minutes of this thinking, Harry drifted off in a fitful sleep, images of corridors with locked doors entering his head for the dozenth time.

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