Albus stared at the piece of parchment upon his desk as if it were a coiled viper poised to strike. He had forgotten the power that mere words written in pen and ink could hold. These held him mute, spellbound, and upon the verge of despair.

Dumbledore:

You who call yourself the protector of children and the so-called Leader of the Light, will be happy to know that your students remain unharmed . . .for now. Whether or not they continue to be so is entirely up to you. They are, in a word, expendable. They are valuable only for their magic and blood. Think of it, four young wizards, their magic ripe and unsullied, perfect for using in the ritual to bring back our Master from beyond the Veil. Other than that, of what use are they?

None. Mudbloods and blood traitors all.

Except . . .perhaps, to someone like you.

Does your heart bleed, old man, for them, locked away in the dark and cold? Can you hear them, sobbing and pleading as they are dragged off to meet their Maker beneath the dark of the moon? Will the last thing their eyes see be the silver blade as it cuts their throat?

Or is there a different fate awaiting them

A willing substitute may be accepted. If you choose to do so, meet me at the fallen oak in the Forbidden Forest tomorrow night, and I shall exchange them for you.

Don’t and they shall become sacrificial lambs.

The choice is yours, old man.

What will you sacrifice, Albus Dumbledore?

The Masked One

Albus had read and re-read the parchment a dozen times since it had arrived that morning, upon the wings of a nondescript brown owl. There had been no return address of course. And the writing was not recognizable, being as it was written in simple block printing, such as a child would use.

He glanced away and out of the window of his office. He had chosen to remain at Hogwarts over the summer, waiting for Severus and Harry to return from their quest. He sincerely hoped they were succeeding, especially now that the Death Eaters had committed this dreadful crime.

The sun shone down upon the grounds, it appeared it would be a beautiful day. Enjoy it while you can, a voice whispered in the back of his head. It may be the last you will ever see, if you consent to do this thing.

His hand clenched upon the desk. He should have kept a better watch upon the remaining Death Eaters, instead of blithely assuming they would crawl back under the rocks and hide, as they had done last time. Now his complacency had cost them four innocent lives.

Unless he did as the note commanded.

What will you sacrifice, Albus Dumbledore?

Those words were like a poison in his blood, gnawing at his vitals. And for the first time in a very long time, the Headmaster of Hogwarts was afraid.

Fear and insecurity were unwelcome companions upon this fine summer morning, he thought, shifting uneasily in his chair. He had never felt so helpless and inadequate before. In the past, he had always been optimistic, always sure that all he did was for the greater good and everything would work out all right. Only in two cases had that not happened, the first time had been with his little sister, Ariana, who had been caught in the crossfire between him and Gellert Grindelwald when they had dueled unexpectedly at the Dumbledore estate. Poor Ariana had been hit by a curse that had killed her, and her death had enabled Albus to defeat Grindelwald. The second time things had gone awry was with the false prophecy which had convinced Voldemort to kill Harry and had ended in the deaths of James and Lily.

That was a sin he still had not atoned for, he thought heavily. And it had repercussions he had not predicted. The Headmaster sighed heavily. Guilt was a heavy burden and it did not lessen with time. If anything, it grew heavier. He had intended Harry to be his redemption, the one to right the wrong he had committed by allowing Voldemort to walk free.

I should have dueled and killed him long ago, but I was weak, I could not bring myself to destroy him. A part of me still saw him as that little boy in that orphanage, alone and unloved, struggling to control a powerful magical gift. I had always hoped that someday he would repent of the dark path and return to me, but like Gellert, his pride and ambition drove him deeper into shadow. Tom and Gellert, two whom I loved best, now lost to me. To his surprise, he found himself perilously close to tears. And what of the other children now? Susan, Vince, Marietta, and Hermione? I had such hopes for them . . .I should have protected them better, should have known that the Death Eaters who remained would seek out those they regard as an inferior species—Muggleborns and blood traitors and half-bloods. But I was blind, I thought they had gone underground, and my oversight was costly.

He winced as he recalled how Elise Edgecomb had cried upon learning that Vince and Marietta were missing, and Hermione’s parents had been beside themselves as well, confused and frightened and he could offer them no solace despite his reassurances that everything was being done to find their daughter. Vincent Crabbe senior blamed his past association with Death Eaters for the kidnapping of his son and vowed to make them pay if they hurt his son, his rage and grief a tangible thing. Amelia Bones had vowed the same, but Albus could see how Susan’s disappearance had aged her.

He studied the letter again, wondering if he should contact Minerva, Remus, Sirius, and the other Order members and let them know about the demand. He pondered that for a long time, while the same question danced through his head like a funeral dirge.

What will you sacrifice?

* * * * * *

Malfoy Manor:

“Well, did you get the last brat?” Bella queried, pacing the length of Lucius’s drawing room, her red spiked heels tapping like an annoying woodpecker over the polished floor. They matched the ankle-length bloodred sheath she wore.

Lucius removed his mask and hung it on the wall in the secret compartment. “Yes.” He rubbed his shoulder and winced. “The little snot tried to fight me, but she was no match for me. But her blasted cat attacked me and clawed me, the wretched creature! I should have killed it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I had other matters to occupy me, namely getting Granger away without being spotted.” He quickly stripped off his Death Eater robes, which looked black in certain lights, but were actually a mottled charcoal gray. He mended the tears in them left by Crookshanks’ claws and tucked them into the compartment, then pushed it shut.

Narcissa came in with a basin and a soft cloth. “Take off your shirt and let me see those scratches, Luc,” she ordered. “Cat scratches can fester if not treated properly.”

Lucius removed his shirt, revealing several scratches down his shoulders and back, ragged tears that were still oozing blood.

“Sit,” Narcissa said, pulling a chair out sideways so her husband could sit while she attended to his back.

As she washed and disinfected the scratches, Bella discussed with Lucius what their next move should be. “I think we ought to sacrifice the brats as well as the Headmaster when the time comes. We could use the extra power.” She licked her lips, looking like a cat who had just fallen face first in a bowl of cream. “Besides, it’s so fun to hear them begging and screaming.”

Lucius hissed as Narcissa swabbed out a deep scratch and scowled at his sister-in-law. “You can have your pound of flesh later, Bella. First we need to make sure Dumbledore takes the bait.”

“And why wouldn’t he?” Bella laughed nastily. “Like the rest of his weak-willed kind, he would do anything to save a child. Pah! Children are expendable, they always have been. Especially dirty filthy Mudbloods! And tainted blood traitors!”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit risky, trying to keep a wizard of Dumbledore’s power?” Narcissa asked uncertainly. “The children are a safer bet.”

“True, but if Dumbledore’s blood and magic is used in the ritual, it will make our Master that much more powerful. He was strong when Wormtail used Harry Potter’s blood the first time he was brought back, so just think of how much more powerful he will be when we use Dumbledore’s!” Lucius stated, gritting his teeth as Narcissa finished disinfecting the wounds and then smearing them with numbing paste. “And he will come willingly, to play the martyr like all Gryffindors love to do.”

“Good. But I want to work with him before the ritual,” Bellatrix purred. “I want to see if he can endure as much as a Muggle before he breaks.”

Lucius rolled his eyes. “Very well, Bella. This once, I shall indulge you.”

“As if you could stop me,” the other sneered. “When shall we move them to the catacombs?”

“As soon as Dumbledore answers my note,” Lucius replied stiffly, pulling on a fresh shirt Narcissa handed him.

“Better, darling?”

“Yes, my sweet. Thank you.” He bent and kissed her lightly.

“The two of you are pathetic. Still all touchy-feely after all these years. Makes me want to vomit.”

“If it bothers you, Bella, don’t look,” Narcissa said snippily. “Just because your husband was inadequate in that department . . .”

“Oh, please! As if I need a man pawing me night and day! I married Rudolphus for his connections and his money, anything else was superfluous.”

“Of course you did, sister. I keep forgetting, you feel pleasure only witnessing someone else’s pain. Must make it difficult to keep a man,” said Narcissa, then she smiled sweetly and banished the basin and cloth with a flick of her wand.

Before Bella could raise her wand against her sister, Lucius cut in. “Now, now, ladies, let’s not quarrel amongst ourselves. We have far more interesting things to do. Bella, why don’t you go find Wormtail? Make certain everything is ready for the ritual. I don’t trust the little sneak to do it right.”

Bella sniffed. “I’ll make sure everything’s perfect.” She sashayed to the door and left.

Lucius turned to Narcissa. “Come, Cissy. Let’s pay a visit to our guests.”

Then he touched a secret panel in the back of the room and it slid open, revealing a secret passage.

* * * * * *

Hermione woke stiff and sore, her head pounding like an anvil. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes and looking about her. She blinked, wondering why nothing looked familiar. Then she remembered what had happened and she started to shake. Where am I? And what’s going to happen to me?

She was lying on an upholstered chaise lounge that felt as if it had been designed in Victorian times, for it was hard and uncomfortable. It was striped green and cream and had lion’s paws for feet. A weak flickering light shone from the ceiling.

The wallpaper, some kind of floral pattern, was peeling and cracked and there was dust all about the carpet and the single chipped table. She also saw several other people lying on the floor and one on another matching upholstered chair. With a start she recognized some of her classmates. Lying on the floor was the sticky form of Vincent Crabbe, and propped in the chair was Susan Bones of Hufflepuff. Next to Crabbe was Marietta Edgecombe. “Merlin’s purple pants!” she exclaimed softly and cautiously stood up. “The Death Eaters took all of us prisoner.”

She moved to each of her companions in turn, checking their pulse and making sure they were sleeping and not . . .she cringed even as she thought it . . .dead. But all of her classmates were breathing regularly, and appeared to be sleeping, or under a charm of some kind.

She supposed that whatever charm they had placed over her had worn off, since she was the only one awake.

Until Vince started to stir, groaning. “Where am I?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione answered. “How do you feel?”

He yawned. “Like something big stomped me.” He sat up. “Somebody snatched you too, huh?”

Hermione nodded. “He came into the window of my bedroom and I tried to fight him, but he just . . .deflected everything I could do to him without a wand.” She shivered, feeling like she wanted to cry, but she was afraid that if she started, she would never stop.

Vince gave her a sympathetic look. “Tell me about it. Two of them came through the Floo while I was at Marietta’s house, waiting for her mum to return with dinner.” He glanced down tenderly at his girlfriend, who was curled on her side, whimpering in her sleep. “Hey, Marietta, you okay?”

“Wha—Vince?” she murmured sleepily, opening her eyes.

“I’m here,” he whispered, putting an arm about her.

She huddled next to him. “Where are we?”

“Somewhere we don’t want to be,” said Susan, waking up from her unnatural sleep and glancing around. “Where are we, in somebody’s basement?”

Marietta wrinkled her nose. “Smells the way my grandmum’s parlor did after she died. Ugh!”

Hermione sniffed. “Yes, there is a sort of mildewed smell.”

“I wonder what . . .they want with us?” asked Marietta, looking frightened.

“They’re Death Eaters. They probably want us as bait,” Susan said quietly. “Or something worse.” She didn’t want to say the word, but it echoed silently through each of their minds nevertheless—torture.

“Bait? But my parents aren’t involved in the wizarding world,” Hermione protested.

“But ours are,” Vince stated. “My father . . .they probably took me to taunt him since he’s not a Death Eater anymore.”

“And my aunt is an Auror,” Susan said.

“My mum works for the Ministry too,” Marietta said.

All four of them exchanged frightened glances, thinking of other wizards and Muggleborns that had been victims of Death Eaters. Hardly any of them survived.

Just then, they heard the sound of a door being unlocked and they quickly stood up. Vince stood in front of Marietta protectively.

“Well, well, looks like our pigeons have awakened,” remarked Lucius mockingly. He stepped inside the room, followed by Narcissa. “Did you have a good nap?”

Vince scowled. “No thanks to you, Malfoy!”

Lucius’s magical eye flashed. “If I were you, boy, I’d watch my tone. You’re not immune from my wrath any longer, Mr. Crabbe.”

Vince snorted, but he said nothing else.

“Why have you brought us here, sir?” asked Hermione, trying to sound brave.

Lucius did not answer, examining them intently.

“My aunt will be looking for me,” Susan declared boldly. “For all of us. So maybe you ought to let us go, before you end up in Azkaban.”

“Brave words, little girl,” Narcissa chuckled.

Susan glared at her, but her chin trembled.

“You ought to be glad you are staying here, instead of some damp dark hole in the ground.” Lucius said sharply. “If you behave yourselves, we may even feed you or give you water. Give us trouble and you will see what it means to be a prisoner. Understood?”

The four nodded, flinching as his magical eye roved over them.

“Good.” He clapped his hands and a pitcher of water appeared on the table along with a single cup. “You are alive only because we need you. If you wish to continue breathing, you will do exactly as I say when I say it.” He told them icily. “For now, you may drink the water and rest. That is all. Oh, and should you be trying to think of escaping, forget it. A hellhound guards this door and you would not make it past ten feet. And attempted escape will be viewed as disobedience, which is punishable by death.”

With that, he turned and left, Narcissa following.

Vince waited until the door was shut and locked before he snarled, “Bloody arrogant stinking git! I hope you rot in hell!”

“Shhh! He might hear you!” Hermione said.

“Nah, Granger. He’s gone.” Vince said dismissively. “And I don’t believe that bollocks about a hellhound neither. He was lying.”

“How could you tell?” asked Marietta.

“Easy. If there was a dog out there, we’d of heard it breathing or moving. But everything’s quiet.” Crabbe answered, putting his ear to the door.

“And this is Malfoy. A liar through and through like his son,” Susan remarked.

Hermione poured some water from the pitcher into the cup and sniffed it. “Do you think it’s safe to drink this?”

“I don’t see why not,” Crabbe said. “If they wanted us dead, they could have killed us before.” He held out a hand. “Here. Let me drink it.”

Before the girls could say anything, Vince took the cup and drank.

Then he halted and looked at them. “It’s okay,” he said. Then he wiped the rim of the cup with his sleeve and handed it back to Hermione.

One by one, they drank the water, one or two swallows each and the pitcher was empty.

“What do we do now?” Susan wanted to know.

“We start planning on how to get out of here,” Vince said firmly.

“How? The door is locked, possibly guarded, and we don’t have our wands.” Hermione reminded him.

Vince sighed. “You’re supposed to be smart, Granger. Try and figure out some way we can get out of here.”

“I’ll try,” she said, her voice uncertain, drained of her usual know-it-all timbre.

“We all will,” Susan said, trying to sound optimistic. But it fell flat, as all of them wondered if escape might be impossible.

* * * * * *

Meanwhile, Albus paced and fretted and agonized over his decision. He knew he might be walking into a trap, that the note could be a lure to put himself into the hands of his enemies. But by the same token, how could he not agree to the Masked One’s demands?

Severus had once accused him of being a puppet master, treating people like pawns to be moved and sacrificed at will. But now that was no longer true. This time, he was under the thumb of another, and if he did as the note demanded, it would probably cost him his life.

But then, what is my life when counted against theirs? I am old, I have lived my life. Theirs is just beginning. They don’t deserve to be used as a sacrifice. Severus was right. Wars should not be fought by children. All those years, I hid Harry away, trying to make him into a hero, like Merlin did with Arthur. I thought if I fostered him with Muggles I could keep him safe and also teach him to value magic for its own sake and not take it for granted. In my arrogance I assumed he would grow up loved and instead it was just the opposite. The signs were there, but I ignored them. Until this year, when I was no longer able to. Oh Harry, I needed a hero so badly that I forgot that heroes are also people, with hopes and dreams and feelings. I failed you badly, child.

I cannot fail again. This time I will do what I should have long ago. I shall not make children into pawns, nor heroes before their time. Not ever again.

Dumbledore carefully shuffled the papers upon his desk, hiding the note beneath some others. He did not want Minerva or anyone else to come across it and try and persuade him out of his resolve. His course was set.

The old wizard straightened his shoulders and stood tall. The Masked One had asked him what he would sacrifice. This evening he would give the Death Eater his answer.

He turned and bid Fawkes farewell, gently scratching the phoenix behind his head. “We will meet again, old friend. In the land of the undying, if nowhere else.”

Fawkes trilled a mournful farewell, and watched as his master put on his cloak and tucked his wand in his belt, then strode from the office.

A single tear glittered in the phoenix’s eye and fell to the ground, the phoenix’s final tribute to his wizard.