"I think if they are thanked, shown that they are appreciated, maybe they will respect themselves more," Hermione said stubbornly.

"Hermione, why can't you just let a bad idea die?" Ron said, exasperated. "Although you know, maybe they'll have leftover cakes! Those were good!"

Hermione stopped and glared at Ron. "I don't believe you! Your own self interest is never far from your thoughts, is it?" She turned and continued to march to the kitchens, with Ron sputtering and protesting at her heels. Harry followed a few steps back from them, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.

The three Gryffindors reached the hallway where great paintings of food and dishes could be seen. Harry always felt he could reach a hand into one of those paintings and pull away a ripe plum, or a fillet, or a steaming hot roll, they were so realistic. The trio went up to the enormous picture of a bowl of fruit, and Hermione tickled the pear. The pear giggled and shook, and soon a green doorknob appeared out of the side of the pear. Hermione twisted the doorknob and walked into the huge kitchen, with Ron and Harry close behind.

Inside, they saw numerous house-elves scurrying around, cleaning, cooking, preparing food, tending fires. Hogwarts had more than a hundred house-elves to tend the castle. Each wore a tea towel on their head wrapped like a turban with the official Hogwarts crest on it. Occasionally, an elf would appear or disappear with an arm full of wood or seasonings or cooking utensils or other household items.

"Harry Potter sir!" Harry heard a voice squeak out.

Harry looked down to see Dobby and Winky looking back up at him. Winky certainly looked happier and more content than she did last time he had seen her. Winky had been Barty Crouch's house-elf until he dismissed her over a series of unfortunate events. She had been heartbroken over her dismissal, and Harry had last seen her sobbing over the revelation that Crouch's son had killed her master.

"Winky," Hermione said warmly. "You certainly seem to be doing better! How are you?"

"Miss, you is too kind to ask," said Winky, a bit overwhelmed. "But Winky, she is fine now. Happy to have someone to serve, to have work to do. Dumbledore is very kind master, he is!"

Dobby nodded. "Yes, Dumbledore is great wizard, he is! How is Harry Potter and Wheezy? And you, Miss Hermy?"

"We are doing OK," Harry said.

"I was, however, wondering if there were any leftovers from last night's ...." Ron began, but was stopped by Hermione's scowl -- and the immediate appearance of a golden plate heaping with Halloween sweets.

"Thanks!" Ron said as he took a sugar skeleton and munched on it with relish. Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head in stern disapproval.

"We came here to thank you for all of your hard work at last night's feast," Hermione said. "It was wonderful, and I know you must have put a lot of work ...."

"Oh no no no! It was nothing," Winky said, waving her hands but looking pleased. The other elves bowed and smiled up at them, obviously pleased by the praise.

"But it was something," Hermione persisted. "You put a lot of effort into the feast. Has anyone really thanked you for your work before?"

"The headmaster, he does," Dobby said. "But we don't work for praise. We work because we like to. And I work because I want to."

"Well, you should be praised once in a while for your work," Hermione said emphatically. "Perhaps then you'll realize your own self-value."

The house-elves started muttering nervously at this. The concept of self-value was more revolutionary than they cared for. Winky looked positively frightened.

"So, what kind of work do you do?" Harry asked, trying desperately to ease the tension. He did not want to have them all kicked out of the kitchen, as they were last time nearly a year ago.

Winky's worried look eased. "Oh, there's always plenty to do," she squeaked. "It's wonderful! We tend the fires, wash the plates, prepare the food, bring in the firewood big Hagrid chops, clean the dormitories and teacher's offices...."

"Ugh! I would hate to clean Snape's office," Ron muttered. "All of those canning jars."

Dobby's eyes opened wide. "We don't. We aren't allowed in his office."

Harry's brow furrowed. "But why?"

Dobby shrugged. "I is guessing Professor Snape no want us in there. Dumbledore said that to me first day. 'Don't go in Professor Snape's office unless you are told to.'"

"Hmm..." Harry murmured suspiciously. "Wonder what he's hiding?"

"Are there any other professors who don't permit you to go into their offices?" Ron asked.

"No," Winky said. "But the new professor, she does most of the work herself. All we do is tend the fireplace. Miss Aurellia likes the room warmed up." A strange look passed over Winky's face. "She is always very kind, Aurellia Deveroux .... Ohsi'rhishah!"

The same, glassy, wide-eyed stare could then be seen on Dobby's face, and the faces of the other house-elves. "Ohsi'rhisah!" Dobby said hypnotically, and the others started muttering that same, strange word.

"What?" Hermione asked, perplexed.

"Ohsi'rhisah! Ohsi'rhisah! Ohsi'rhisah!" the house-elves chanted.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ron asked, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.

The house-elves let out a collective squeak of fear.

"Can't tell," muttered Dobby. He was shaking with fear. "Shouldn't have said that, Dobby bad! Mustn't tell. The worst thing. Must not tell ... Dobby can not tell you, or very bad things, very bad ...."

"Dobby, calm down!" Hermione said. "Did Dumbledore forbid it? We were just curious, we don't mean any harm."

Dobby shook his head. "Can't say, mustn't say ... CAN'T TELL YOU!!!" He squeaked with fright, and soon the kitchen was a seething mass of activity, with house-elves squealing, running around, banging their heads against the walls, hitting themselves with pots and cleaning brooms. Dobby dashed over to the fireplace and started to stick his hands into the crackling flames.

"Dobby! Nooo! Don't ...." Hermione cried out.

"Let's go!" Harry ordered, and the three made a hasty exit.

"I wonder what that was all about," Ron asked, a bit shaken.

"I don't know," Harry said. "Something about that word ... was it Ohsi'rhisah? Does that ring any bells, Hermione?"

"I've never heard of it before. I don't know what it means," Hermione said, and she shook her head. "That was definitely very strange."

"Well, considering who we were talking with, that is not a surprise," Ron said. "And remember, I told you this was a bad idea."

"Uh huh. And why are your pockets so lumpy all of a sudden?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows raised.

Ron grinned like a cat that had just caught a canary, and pulled out handfuls of cookies and sweets.

"Oh honestly! You seem to have made the most of a bad situation!" Hermione snapped. She stormed down the hall, with both Harry and Ron following her.

Harry laughed all the way down the corridor at Ron's pilfering and Hermione's indignation. "Hey, how about giving me a cauldron cake?" he asked.

****

Snape leaned over the desk in his office where only a small lantern and two slender candles illuminated the room and cast flickering shadows on the walls and ceiling. With a quill in hand and a sheet of blank parchment paper before him, Snape reflected that the hardest thing about writing a letter of this sort was knowing where to begin. The tip of the black quill's feather rested against his thinned lips, and his still-bandaged hand idly stroked the paper.

What should he write? There were a thousand things he might say, wanted to say, and none of them seemed appropriate. And so he sat deep in thought, wondering how to quill a letter to someone he hadn't seen or heard from in more than sixteen years ....

A soft whir of wings from the doorway distracted him. Snape looked up and watched a feathered white bird fly straight towards him and land imperiously on his desk.

Snape stared with considerable animosity at the unexpected visitor, an albino raven. The bird had a scroll of parchment paper attached to its scaly, pink leg. And it seemed impatient to have said burden removed.

"So, you are still around, I see." Snape remarked bitterly in a voice barely above a whisper. "As is your mistress. It has been a long time since I last saw you, Deschis. I cannot say that absence has made the heart grow fonder."

The albino raven cocked its head and sized up the Potions master with one of its ruby- red eyes. Then it strutted over to Snape, extended the leg with the message on it and gave an impatient, hoarse "caw!"

"Prophet, thing of evil. Prophet still if bird or devil," Snape recited, thinking of an old poem. "You always were the bearer of bad news, weren't you? Well, what ill omen have you brought me tonight, I wonder?"

"Caw!" the bird croaked.

Snape glowered at the bird for a few seconds before brusquely brushing aside his quill and paper. "Oh, very well," he sighed. "I knew that you would be winging your way back into my life soon, as all the ghosts of my past seem to have made a habit of doing these last several years. And if I must deal with you tonight, then so be it."

He removed the note and glanced over its pristine white surface. There was no signature ... but then, none was needed. The albino raven was signature enough. The uruboros at the bottom of the letter -- two dark blue serpents entwined in a circle, each with the tail of the other serpent in its mouth, and framed in an ornate blood-red hexagon -- was almost overkill.

"How now, Hecate?" Snape muttered darkly, "Even for a Memdescif, your talent is amazing. It seems that you have read my mind over the span of a thousand miles tonight, my lady." The last two words were tinged with venomous hatred.

Snape read over the slim, spidery script through narrow eyes.

"My dear Severus!

It almost defies belief that so many years have passed since we have last worked
together, does it not? All these years and not a single letter from you! Really, Severus, you might have at least said something..."

Snape snorted to himself and muttered, "How about, 'do me a favor and drop dead?'"

"Even if it was only to tell me to drop dead."

I always hated it when you read my mind like that, Snape thought, and I like it even less now.

"I am sure that you have thought of me as much as I have thought of you these sixteen years ..."

Which is not at all, Snape thought acidly.

"... but it looks as if the three fates and the reemergence of a mutual enemy
may force us to forget old differences and work together."

First Harry Potter, then Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, now this, thought Snape. My cauldron runneth over with 'forgetting old differences and working together.'

"I must say that in some ways this is a delightful turn of events. You always were
entertaining to keep around, Severus. Consider that a compliment from someone
who has seen a great deal in several centuries of dreary existence."

You can keep your compliments and burn with them in broad daylight, you manipulative...

"I wish that the circumstances of this reunion were different. I would
prefer not to strive against He Whose Promises are Filth again. It is very likely that we shall not survive another reign of his terror. "

Spare me, thought Snape, you're not as afraid as you pretend. You lack the heart to care about anything, even your own destruction.

"As you well know, there is very little that happens in Europe that I do not hear of
by one means or another. I am much better at spying than you are, my dragon,
and have been for the last two hundred years. Never forget that I am still the
master of espionage and you are still a mere novice. But then, you always did
think more highly of yourself than you ought to have, yes?"

You are a fine one to talk, Snape reflected with a scowl.

"Do not glare at my words, Severus, they are true and you know it."

And you wonder why people are always plotting to kill you....

"It was quite entertaining watching you make a muddle of things and then
watching to see what you would do to try to extricate yourself from the messes
you always seemed to land in. I will never forget how delightfully upset you were
the day you learned that I am a Memdescif. You are a terrible liar, my dragon,
have I ever told you that?"

More times than I have told you to take a long walk across the Sahara at high noon. But you are not so very skilled at lying either my lady. Not to those who know you as I do.

I know what it is you fear, and it is not death. No, you consider yourself above a mortal's fate, ageless, invincible and immortal as the ancient goddesses of your native Greece. Only the Dark Lord himself can compete with your arrogance, and I would give him goblins or grindylows at best. And who knows but that you are right to be so blase about death. For it has been my observation that the evil things in this world always seem to outlast the good...

As I have outlived James and Lily Potter by sixteen years...and counting.

And I wonder... am I corrupt enough yet to outlast you? Hah! I doubt it.

"And I have heard the most interesting things about you lately. Teaching at Albus
Dumbledore's school by day and taking part in the Dark Lord's Complis'aohn Khe
Nhuruke Axatl by night. You are quite the quick-change artist these days, a
consummate Henry Jekyll and Edward Hyde, if half of what I hear is true. And if I
remember the story correctly, my dragon, was it not Hyde who proved to be the
stronger in the end?"

Who told you about this, I wonder? Betrug? Pettigrew? Malfoy?

"You may wonder how I know this, and you may ask all you wish, but I will never
tell. I do not reveal my sources. It is the secret of my success...and one of the
main reasons you are still alive.

"Consider this a free bit of advice from someone who is more than ten times your
age. Choose your master tonight and forsake the other. Or if not tonight then
soon. You are playing a dangerous game in trying to serve both, and it will be
your undoing. Do not wait until the choice is made for you by circumstances that
are beyond your control; I do not think that you will like the outcome."

Tell me something I don't already know.

"You may choose the darkness without choosing He Who Thinks He Owns the World."

Oh yes, She Who Tells Her Victims What to Do and What to Think and What They're Thinking When They Are Not Thinking What They're Supposed to Be Thinking is a far better option.

"I told you that you belonged with the children of the night, my dragon. You
would have been welcome to stay with my coven at Xanthi or Satu Mare after the
Dark Lord's fall. I could have protected you from your Ministry's seekers, Aurors,
and hit wizards. Why did you go off to live with those weak-spirited, night-blind,
sun-worshipping, mortal humans?"

You know damn well why.

"Were you so bitter towards me that you preferred crawling to Albus for protection?"

Crawling?

Snape snorted and allowed himself a small triumphant smile.

If that is how you see it, then so much the better! It would appear that you do not always know as much as you think you know. And I have not been playing this game for centuries like you -- although there are times when I feel like I have -- but I have been playing it longer than you or His Lordship suspect...

"Or did he offer you a better deal? But surely you have been obligated
to change your ways, to give up the night, to live as one of them... how can you
bear it?"

When I think of the alternatives -- you or Azkaban -- it is not so hard as you may think, my lady. And frankly, even Azkaban and the Dementors would be better than living with you.

"But of course, it is all about who is in charge of your life, yes? Albus offered you
freedom, and I ... well, that was five-fourths of our problem, was it not? You have
always chafed at following orders, especially orders given by a woman. Your
father was much the same, as I recall."

Snape snatched his wand and rolled it between his right thumb and forefinger. One more word about my father, Ice Queen, and this letter and your hope of alliance goes up in smoke!

"Tsk! How touchy you are about your parents! Put down the wand, Severus, I was
only joking about Karcharias."

I absolutely loathe it when you do that, Snape thought. He twirled the wand and thought about summoning one of his favorite spellbooks: Pyromania! Every Known Spell for Fire Mages of All Skill Levels. In particular he was thinking of consulting Chapter 2: How to Torch Troublesome Parchments Without Producing Piles of Ash (Or Incinerating Your House).

"He favored Lord Exilat's lifestyle, and did quite well for himself until he made
the mistake of crossing the wrong people. I suppose if the Dark Lord knew you as
well as I do, your nightly Jekyll and Hyde performances would meet a very swift
and similar fate, yes?"

Get to the point Hecate, Snape thought caustically. My wand grows impatient!

"Well, the hour grows late, and the sunrise creeps ever closer. How quickly the
time passes when one is thoroughly enjoying one's self! But I have not sent
Deschis to you merely for the sake of entertainment. You have need of my
network, and I yours. Between the two of us, we are privy to as much
information as He Who Thinks the Sun Rises and Sets on Himself. And each of us
knows enough about the other that we could probably cause each other serious
problems if we so chose."

Don't tempt me. One day, my lady, your own game-playing is going to be your downfall. And I will not pity you when it happens.

Anon! I think I will heave a sigh of relief.

"Caw!" quoth the albino raven.

"You tire of your domineering mistress as well, Deschis?" Snape queried, glancing up from the parchment toward the bird. "Tsk! And they call me controlling and authoritarian!"

"So let us choose cooperation instead of silence. We could accomplish much if
we work together. As a token of goodwill..."

You do not know what that is, but I will give you the benefit of the doubt if you do not mention my parents again.

"...I offer you information about Murdock's death, and about his replacement -- a
name I am certain you will recognize. Lord Stephen Lash will be the Van
Helsings' new Grand Slayer.

"This does not please me in the least. I am sure this troubles you as well, yes?"

Snape swore under his breath. Lash was the new Grand Slayer? This was troubling news indeed! Lash had been Murdock's second in command, and he had been very outspoken in his opinion that his former leader was too soft on vampire kind. Murdock had been harsh on outcasts and lawbreakers such as Betrug, but for the most part he had advocated peaceful coexistence with law-abiding vampires. He had been the sort of man who could be reasoned with, but he had also been a weak leader. Throughout his term, Murdock's followers had frequently taken matters into their own hands, much to the vampires' detriment and the Grand Slayer's frustration and embarrassment.

But Lash was certainly no improvement! A militant through-and-through, he would move against the vampires with all haste. With Murdock's death, he would have the excuse he'd been looking for, the excuse to start another war.

Oh, killing Murdock was most certainly not a smart move on the vampires' part, the Potions master thought acidly. Then he remembered Peter Pettigrew and quickly turned his thoughts back toward the letter.

"I know what you are thinking, Severus...."

So what else is new?

"But I was not responsible for this attack. I detest the Van Helsings, of course, but Murdock's death serves no useful purpose. Indeed, it imperils us. Of course I have
made inquiries as to the whereabouts of my people that night. But all of my
people are accounted for. No one in my sphere of influence could have planned
and executed this most dishonorable and unwise deed. Unelti Haos has sworn to
me on his honor that he has not authorized this attack, nor can he find any reason
to suspect that this foul murder was committed by one of his own. I know how
you feel about Unelti, but trust me, he cannot lie to me. I do not believe that he had anything to do with this.

"We have gathered the Night Council and it has been decided that the most likely
culprit is the vile traitor and mercenary, Vladislav Betrug. 'Lord Exilat' has
always been a short-sighted fool, blinded by his own pride and foolish ambitions.
Doubtless, he thought to avenge the destruction of his colony on the Grand Slayer,
never realizing that he was only aiding Voldemort's plans, and that it was more
likely His Vile Lordship who gave the order to attack the colony, not
Murdock."

Well, Hecate, perhaps you aren't as all-knowing as you would like others to believe, Snape thought with a nasty grin. Because Betrug is dead, and has been for some time.

Then Snape sobered.

Her ladyship was petty, mean, cruel, manipulative and many other things. But one thing she never did was to lie outright. Color the truth or tell only part of the story? Of course, when it suited her. But in regards to something this important? No, she was telling the truth here. So, if none of the major colony leaders was responsible for this murder, then might it have been one of the Outcasts? Another survivor of Exilat, perhaps?

Possible...but not likely. Murdock had been very well guarded, and for good reason. Someone in his position was bound to be a target for vampire or wizard assassins, especially after the destruction of Exilat. His guards could not possibly have been slain by a single vampire. No, this was a well-planned, professionally executed assassination, not the one-night rampage of some vengeful loner.

So who ordered the hit on Murdock? Who planned and executed the attack?

Was Lord Lash, perhaps, the one responsible for Murdock's death? Was he one of the vampire hunters Snape had met in the Riddle Mansion the night he killed Betrug? It was entirely possible. He was rumored to be as ambitious as Lucius Malfoy, and he had much to gain by getting Murdock out of his way. And if he was indeed one of the hooded men that night, then the vampires were in greater peril than Snape had previously feared. An alliance between the Van Helsings under Lord Lash and the dark forces under Lord Voldemort would spell certain doom for the vampires.

Unless...unless they swallowed their pride and made an alliance with Dumbledore's side. Would they realize that they had no other choice? Or would their pride blind them to the hopelessness of fighting Voldemort alone? The very survival of the vampires could very well depend on the choices they made in the next couple of weeks.

"The Consiliu Noapte has decided to elect a Conducator Suprem and to unite
against this new peril. There is much debate among other colony leaders over who
shall take the position of leadership over all: Unelti or I, but I am fairly certain
that they will choose me."

Because you will threaten, bribe, manipulate, kill and seduce your way into the position, and Unelti is not ruthless enough to compete with you on your terms. No, he prefers the passive approach. He'll wait until you make a fatal mistake, then move in to capitalize on it. You would do well not to underestimate him ... as you once underestimated me.

"After the matter of leadership is settled to my satisfaction..."

And pity anyone who tries to stop you...

"I will remove most of my people to Tirgoviste, but we will maintain our
strongholds in Xanthi, Zagliverion, Plodiv, Chervenbreg, Silistra and Bucuresti.
We can, if necessary, evacuate to the northern Transylvania peaks or to our
hidden fortress if the Van Helsings prove too strong for us. I hope that this
evacuation will not be necessary, but if the rumors I have heard are true,
particularly the ones about the Stalkers from Saudi Arabia not being as extinct as
we had hoped ... I fear even more drastic measures may become necessary.
Unelti has agreed to cooperate with me on this.

Unelti may be many things, but he is certainly no fool. He could not have lived three hundred years and taken over a fourth of your former holdings if he were. He knows that it is in his best interest to cooperate with you until the Dark Lord is defeated. After that, my lady, you would be wise not to turn your back to him.

"We have underestimated the Dark Lord once. We cannot afford to do so again.
So perhaps we will be seeing each other soon, yes? I think we could make a good
team, like old times."

Somehow, I doubt it, Ice Queen, Snape thought bitterly. He retrieved his quill and paper and proceeded to write.

"Hecate,

If you get this letter, then you have been twice lucky. Owls and other familiars have been reported intercepted, missing and dead. The Dark Lord has no respect for any law or custom other than his own. You obviously have forgotten much about his habits in the past sixteen years. Are you slipping in your old age, oh mistress of intrigue?

The rumors are true. There have been members of the Order in his place of
power. However, I cannot tell you their names. We all wear masks these days, you
see. I suspect that the successor arranged for his predecessor's death, and that he
has pledged to lead his followers into the same darkness that he serves.

Since you have offered me free advice, I now repay the favor with a warning of
my own. Beware of whom you brand Proscris and cast from your presence. A
serpent set free may turn and strike you. Be all the more afraid of those who
remain close enough to strike. Not all of yours are yours. Someone is lying to you
about their whereabouts on the night in question, for 'Lord Exilat' is dead and died before Murdock was killed.

You have grown arrogant and overconfident with the centuries, and I think that
you have quite forgotten that you and your bird are not immortal. You are in more
peril than you know. The fact that you have not evacuated already means that you
have gravely underestimated your enemy. If you wish to hear from me again, then
take my bloody advice for once and do as I say! Move your people to the
strongholds now or you will not live to regret it! You have lost the advantage of surprise, and he has had fifteen long years to meditate on how to exact his revenge. You are facing more than crossbows and firewands this time. You had better be prepared for Dragons, Night Stalkers, Manticores, Chimaeras...perhaps even true nosferatu.

If this letter does not frighten you, then you are a fool. But you are no fool
to have survived the intrigues of the Night Council for so long...

Do you know, I think I would like to see fear get as far as your face just once
before this is all over... Pity I'm not a Memdescif.

-- H.J. or perhaps... E.H.?

Snape rolled up the scroll, sealed it with magical wax, waved his wand over it, and said "Ilantha". He then glared at the white raven, who had flown over and lit on top of the now empty owl cage. The Potions master could have sworn that the bird was smugly grinning at him. "Come here, you pestilent bird," he commanded, curling a finger and then pointing to his desk.

"Caw!" quoth the raven, flying over to the desk as ordered in what Snape thought a most insolent manner for a trained familiar. The bird turned a ruby eye up at him and reluctantly stuck out a leg as if to say, "Why don't you send your own owl instead of bothering me?"

"Do not look at me in that surly fashion, you pampered overgrown pigeon! My owl is otherwise engaged, so you will have to take this back to your mistress for me," Snape said by way of explanation as he attached the note to the raven's pink leg. Wouldn't "Hecate" just love rubbing it in if she knew about the now-deceased owl?

The white raven peered at Snape, first out of one red eye, then out of the other, when Snape was done attaching the note. Then it flew into the air and out the door again in a flurry of alabaster feathers. Snape watched it depart with a sour look on his face.

You will no doubt reach your mistress, bird of ill fortune, Snape thought bitterly. You seem as ageless and indestructible as her. You and her ladyship will probably still be here long after the rest of us are gone -- if Lord Voldemort hasn't taken over, that is. Even then, I'd give you two even odds.

And why is that so?

Why is it that some are taken far too young, while others -- such as yourself -- seem to go on forever, spreading your poison and icy touch wherever you pass by?

And what did I ever see in you, Ilantha? What did I ever see in you before I saw you for what you are: cold, heartless, manipulative and twisted, feeding off the hearts of others like an empty, ravenous Dementor.

And it seemed as if her answer floated back to him in the darkness of the night, just below the range of hearing. Not that her thoughts could reach him from her fortress in Romania a thousand miles away, but he knew her well enough to know what she would say in response.

My dear Severus, it takes vone to know vone, yes?