Of Wizards and Demons: Hogmeade's Devil Hunter
Summary: Albus isn't the only Dumbledore that can keep a secret—Aberforth has kept a very big secret from his older brother and the rest of the world. The secret is that Aberforth's daughter married and bore the sons of the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda. Just when you thought Dante only had one world-famous kinsman.
PROLOGUE: SPANNING THE YEARS
LETTER 1 -Just before DMC3, early Spring 1982
Dearest Grandson Dante,
You've only been gone for a few months, yet it feels like a year. The regulars here at the Hog's Head ask after you. Even your great-uncle Albus has inquired on your welfare.
Have you figured out a name for your shop yet? Knowing you, inspiration has yet to strike. When it does, you'll seize it with both hands, a witty remark, and a grin. Of course, you only would open a demon hunting agency in Muggle America. Needless to say, if any jobs are mentioned, I'll send them your way.
Any luck finding your brother, Vergil? I know he's probably dead, killed the same night as your mother. Still, my old heart holds hope of someday finding my other grandson. I would commission a portrait to commemorate the occasion. My grandsons under either arm and your great-aunt Ariana's portrait behind us.
Speaking of portraits, how is the photo of your mother doing? I spelled poor Eva still for the sake of your customers, but I can remove the spell anytime. I still have the photo of Eva holding you and your brother as babies. Keep it close to Ariana, I do. Your father worked the camera that time.
Dante, you know I didn't approve of Eva marrying your father at first. What father in his right mind would want his only daughter marrying a Devil, after all? But old Sparda, Devil though he was, proved his love for my daughter—your mother. He defended her honor and her person against slander and physical harm. I know you blame your father for what happened to Vergil and Eva. You blame him because he wasn't there to protect his family. He had hoped, my boy, that the demons would hunt him and overlook his wife children. He thought the demons would hollow his remaining power, if they could sense power, or his smell. I haven't heard from him, Dante, so I can only assume he died somehow along the way.
Enough of this sad talk. Tell me of your new adventure. Tell me of the foxy lady that may catch your eye. Just please write back so you don't leave an old man wondering. I worry for you, Dante. I hope to hear from you soon.
With love and concern,
Your Grandfather Aberforth
LETTER 2-Just after DMC 3, Spring 1982
I got your letter. Heh, I saw Vergil just before the owl dropped it off. I don't think we'll be able to get that portrait done, though. Some old librarian talked him into summoning the Evil Tower, Temin-Ne-Gru. Turns out the old guy, Arkam, had wanted to take up Sparda's sealed power. The bastard killed his own wife to attain demonic power. Anyway, Vergil was determined to finish off Mundus, or attain Dad's power, or whatever. He stayed in Hell. He actually fell off a cliff and sliced my hand when I tried to catch his wrist. At least he went out with his boots on, whichever path he chose.
You know, human hormones are bad enough, but throw in Devil instincts, and puberty's a royal Bitch. Naturally when we met, we fought to see who was stronger. Vergil has already reached his 'awakening' so he won the first round; he instigated my awakening by stabbing me with Rebellion, my own sword. So, yeah, Vergil and I just fought. No "Hey, bro! How's it hanging?" or "Wow! You're alive!" Not even, "Verge, Gramps misses you! :3" Nope. Just clang! Clang! Kick, clang, POW! Stab! Clang. I did admonish him for throwing out the only hot chick at the party. You know I'm a smartass first and foremost.
Oh yeah, before I forget. The twin amulets Vergil and I were given as children are the key to opening an entryway between Earth and Hell. The backs stick together like magnets. The path closes when the amulets are separated. That, Gramps, is why Verge is stuck in Hell. He has his half and I have mine. I can't help but wonder if I will recognize him if I see him again. Who knows how long he'll be there. Or what changes being there will bring to him. He was already cold and callous toward humans, but he was the same to demons in his path, too.
It's crap for luck, Gramps. I find him and he's locked himself up in the Underworld less than a week later. I know I sound like my usual cocky self, but I guess I had held some hope for him in the back of my heart. When Temin-Ne-Gru fell, I knew I'd never see Vergil, my twin, again. Not as I remembered him, at least. I looked to the sky and let it rain. Lady, Arkam's daughter, had said, "I guess even Devils may cry". Of course, I said, "It's just the rain." Nevermind the fact that the storm dissipated with the Tower's fall.
Lady, oh man, what a girl. She threw away her given name because the child that once was died when her father killed her mother. So I just call her Lady. She's a spitfire. First time I saw her, she was falling from one of the upper floors of the Tower. I caught her ankle, clad in red, knee-high lace-up boots. Tch, save her from going splat, and she shoots me in the head for my trouble. Women. Anyway, she uses this giant modified rocket launcher thing she calls "Kalina Anne", after her mother. Lady totes this Kalina Anne and a small arsenal of handguns on her person with ease. She's got black hair in a pixie cut, mixed-matched eyes (hereditary from her father, ugly S.O.B.), and was working the school girl look with a white button-up shirt and plaid skirt. Spandex shorts ensured the demons she was fighting didn't get a peek, me included. If she hadn't shot me in the head, twice, I might have considered making that kind of move. Oh well. She gave me the idea for my shop's name: Devil May Cry. It has a nice ring to it.
Ah, money's gonna be tight. Demons knocked in the front of the shop. My jukebox might be busted for good this time. You don't want to know what they did to my drum set and stereo. Or the couch for that matter. At least the buggers didn't go upstairs. Can you believe the first wave of demons attacked me in my own shop? They killed my pizza so I was REALLY ticked. You know how I am about my pizza.
I did get some nifty to stuff to hang on my walls in the shop- *Giant grin here* Devil Arms! The guardian of the gates to the Underworld, Cerberus, as a three-way nun chuck! The succubus vampire Nevan as one hell of an electric guitar! (And boy, do I mean electric!) The fire storm twin blades Agni and Rudra—I threatened that if they kept talking I'd leave them behind in their Devil Arm forms; it worked for the most part. Beowulf I blinded during combat, but Vergil sealed him. I ended up collecting Beowulf as gauntlets and grieves after the Tower shifted forms. They, he, whatever wouldn't obey me, so it-they-he? Will just be decorations until Vergil comes back.
You know what really sucks? All that demon slaying and I didn't even get paid for it!
Anyway, I'm doing alright on my own, all things considered. Lady and I may start a partnership while business starts up. Gotta get the word out, ya know. If you need help with the bar, just ask okay? Right now, you're the only family I have left. I don't want you croaking by overdoing it.
LETTER 3-Mid-December 1982
The war against the wizard Voldemort has ended for now, and the circumstances could not be stranger or more saddening. The Potters, who had been in hiding, were betrayed by a school friend to the Dark Lord. On October thirty-first, the Dark Lord murdered first James Potter, and chased Lily up the stairs where he killed her as she shielded little Harry. Voldemort tried the Killing Curse upon the child, only to have it rebound onto himself. Somehow Harry, just over a year old, survived the attack with nothing more than a jagged scar on his brow. For whatever reason, my brother Albus, deemed it necessary for the child's Muggle aunt and family to raise him.
Now, I've heard awful things about Lily's sister and the elephant walrus she married. Granted this information comes from Severus Snape, but he grew up near the Evans family. Petunia, Lily's older sister, was jealous of dear Lily for the ability to perform magic. Her jealousy turned into hatred of all things magical. Petunia called her own sister a freak of nature, a monster. With such a reputation, why did the Muggle family get the boy? Surely a wizarding family would've accepted him graciously. Let the child be adopted by half-bloods, I say. Or even a Squib. He could have been taken in by nearly any family, so why the family who despise magic and its casters? I shudder to think of how those Muggles will treat the boy.
Yes, yes, Dante. I know Albus must be planning something that will involve the boy later. "For the Greater Good," no doubt. Hmph, just as Albus allowed that Rat to be named Secret Keeper of the Fidelus Charm that protected the Potters. You and I both know that Sirius Black was as loyal as a dog—he'd die before giving up his friends. Much the same for that Remus Lupin.
The newspapers say that Sirius Black killed Peter Pettigrew, the dirty rat, and thirteen Muggles in the non-magic street. They say Black was a loyal Death Eater—one of Voldie's followers. Well, I know better. One particular Death Eater comes in fairly regular to the Hog's Head. I waited until he was quite shnockered before pouring a drop of truth serum in his drink. Boy was too drunk to know better or remember later what all he told me. Poor sod was in love with Lily, had been since they were kids. Yup, he was Severus Snape, my informant was. He'd only allow himself to cry when he was absolutely drunk. He'd pass out from drink in my bar, and I'd have the hang-over tonic ready when he awoke.
Eh, I'll end my ramblings here for now. I hope to hear from you soon.
-Love, Your Gramps.
P.S.—Severus thinks there's a chance Pettigrew's alive in Rat form. He's an unregistered Animagus, according to Snape.
LETTER 4-After DMC2
I just finished an interesting job. Thought you might want to hear about it. You see. I get a call to go to a museum afterhours. When I get there, a hot redhead gave me details for the job. Pfft, not quite that easy. She stole a medallion-like coin and used a dagger as an 'x' on a map for the job's location. I got in my cardiovascular exercise, running all over that damn town.
And wouldn't you know it—the guy trying to gain demonic power found a way around joining the amulets to open a gateway to Hell. Not to mention the curvy redhead, Lucia, discovered the bad guy tried to make his own demonic servants and that she was a failed attempt. Lucia was 'raised' by Mattiere, an old crone from a clan devoted to upholding Sparda's goal and achievement.
Sorry, Gramps. No sign of Vergil. But I did fight a damned big chimera of a demon—several Devils fused so that it's just their heads facing different directions. That was a doozy; fun, but a doozy.
Well, this mission proved that I've matured some since I last visited you at the Hog's Head. Lucia, having found out about her origins, begged me to kill her. She was scared that she would turn evil and attack humans. She was so desperate, she actually shed tears. I told her Devils and demons don't cry, that only those with human hearts cry. So long as she had her human heart, I didn't need to kill her. I think if a hellgate wasn't yawning just ahead of us, Lucia would have hugged me. Oooooh, Gramps! She's busty, small waist, wide hips, shapely legs, dark skin like coffee with a splash of cream, and true red hair over one shoulder in a braid. Not to mention her wonderous accent. I can't pinpoint it to a nationality, but my libido perked as she talked.
…Eeeeeeewwwwwwwwiiiieeee! I just wrote that in a letter to my grandpa. Ugh, not kosher. At least I know where to find her if I need backup. Did I mention she can Devil Trigger? She's white and feathery, and elegant. Hmm. It might be interesting to introduce you two.
I just thought of something: Gramps, please don't tell Great-Uncle Albus about Lucia. Somehow I think he'd try to use her, manipulate her "for the Greater Good". Just as he uses Severus Snape as his pawn.
You know, Gramps, I feel sorry for that guy. I mean Albus has Snape wrapped around his little bony finger. As if the greasy hair wasn't a curse in of itself. Hey, I bet I can ask Nevan for her hair-care secrets on poor Severus's behalf. Hell, if I show her a picture of him, she may give him the spa treatment herself. … If she doesn't eat him. It's nearly impossible to tell which way she'll go most of the time.
Anyhow, take care of yourself. You get some seedy folks in your joint, Gramps. If you some bartending muscle with a witty repituar, you know who to call. Either me or Lady. There'd be less property damage if you called me. Lady has a happy trigger finger and a short temper.
LETTER 5-Year 4's end, Summer 1994
Another letter bearing somber news, my boy. The Tri-Wizard Tournament transpired this year with Hogwarts hosting. The Potter boy was entered by someone powerful enough to Confund the Goblet of Fire into thinking four schools competed.
You'd think that having Alastor "Mad Eye" Moody as DADA teacher would solve more problems than just a vacancy in the staff. But no, the baddie impersonated Moody, using Polyjuice Potion. Alastor was found in naught but his skivvies in the very bottom compartment of his trunk. The imposter had Confunded the Goblet, entered Potter's name, and ensured the boy succeeded in the Tournament. All this by a man who supposedly died in Azkaban. He even killed his own father. Barty Crouch, Junior, worked and wormed the Dark Lord's will. Junior's in custody now; received the Dementor's Kiss, he did.
Ah, Hogwarts had two champions, due to Junior's meddling. Harry Potter, of course, was one of Hogwart's champions—Gryffindor House. The other was a promising Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff. Durnstrang was represented by Quiddich star Vicktor Krum. Beauxbaton's chamption was a Miss Fleur Delacour—she's part Veela. Va-va-voom! However, the final task is what brought disaster.
Hagrid, the warm-hearted half-giant grounds keeper, set the maze. The winner would have to pass through the shifting maze, thwart the other champions, and grasp theTri-Wizard Cup at the center of the maze. Both Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter grasped the Cup as a joint victory for Hogwarts—and were transported to a graveyard.
Junior had made the Cup a portkey to send the "winner" right into the hands of what was left of Voldemort. The Diggory boy was downed by the Killing Curse, life snuffed from him faster than he could blink. That RAT! The Rat performed a ritual to revive the Dark Lord, to restore his body.
Somehow, perhaps by a small miracle, the Potter boy managed to escape with Diggory's body in tow. They were dirtied and bloodied, but the Rat cut Potter to use his blood in the ritual. That's when Junior was outed. Dante, my grandson, my dear boy. These events trouble me greatly. So much so fast to one so young. I see Potter much like I see Ariana. Another innocent to suffer. I don't believe for one second that Potter killed Diggory. I was there, in the stands close to the front. I saw the way he clung to that body in desperation. "He told me to bring him back," the boy sobbed, clutching white-knuckled to yellow and brown jersey. "I had to bring him back."
The worst of all, Dante, was that the Ministry, led by that dunder-head Fudge, is trying to say—is saying—that Potter killed Diggory. As if the boy didn't already have enough people gawking at him. His first year had him chasing the Sorcerer's Stone. Second year, the Chamber of Secrets opened and he discovered he's a Parselmouth (able to talk to snakes). Third year saw Sirius Black escape from Azkaban in a bid to kill Peter Pettigrew. And now, the Ministry of Magic and the gossip rags are accusing him of murder. If it weren't for Junior's confession, after truth serum of course, the boy would be up on charges.
You may be called upon one day in service to my brother. Whether for the school or for Potter's protection, I cannot say. As you mentioned in a previous letter, of Albus using your friend Lucia if he knew of her, I fear he would try to use you "for the Greater Good". I hope the phrase, "out of sight, out of mind" applies here. Although, I do tell Severus of your adventures. Before he gets too shnockered, needless to say. He listens with fascination of a child. He swears that he has not told Albus these stories. Ahem, the truth serum confirms, just in case.
I fear your enthralling excursions are Severus's only means of entertainment. As such, I hope you write soon.
P.S.—As the kids say these days, "Air Hug". I don't really understand it, but it sounds cute.
LETTER 6-Year 5, January 1995
It was lovely having you visit this holiday break. I'm sure your Grandfather Aberforth enjoyed your company.
I do admit I was surprised when I saw you after all these years, my boy. My great-nephew has grown into a truly impressive man. By physical size and boundless confidence, you are sure to lure in a lucky lady.
I do, however, find that my brother neglected to tell me of your profession. I hadn't thought to ask while you visited Hogsmeade. Judging by your stature and build, it must be quite vigorous. Perhaps you could give an old man some tips on staying in shape, yes?
I do hope you enjoy the polishing kit. I heard mention of a vast collection of weaponry decorating the walls of your home. The kit should give these items a magnificent gleam.
Ah, I must thank you, Dante, for the thoughtful gift of cookbooks. The House Elves of Hogwarts were just itching to try something new. They scoured through the books as soon as I delivered them. The illustrations really seemed to make their day. I do believe the students will enjoy the new dishes as much as the House Elves enjoy making them.
Take care, my great-nephew. I hope to hear from you at your earliest convenience.
LETTER 7-Year 5, January 1995
Thanks for the wall-mounts for my Devil Arms. Between the new mounts and the polishing kit Great-Uncle Albus gave me, those Devils are going to shine like new. How'd you like that bottle of honey whiskey?
Albus wrote to me after I got back to my shop. Basically he realized he had no idea what I do for a living.
I met Severus Snape again. Heh, I asked Nevan about her hair-care secrets before I visited. I showed her a picture of Sev, and she spilled like a split bag of rice. I followed her instructions on Snape's head. I didn't look, but I think Snape got a pup-tent, judging by the way he reacted. I won't go into details. The guy has a good head of hair; he's just so stressed that the oil glands in his scalp go into overtime. I tussled he hair dry with a towel, and he was fit for a men's shampoo commercial. And damn it all, if it wasn't oily again as he walked in with Albus just after dinner. The way Snape held his left forearm suggest that he was playing double-agent again. Great-Uncle Albus is going to be the death of that man, one way for another. I'm a little afraid to check Severus's blood pressure.
I, ah, was shirtless when I washed Sev's hair. During a period where his eyes were focused, he noticed and commented on my nicely muscled torso. Not many wizards keep up physical training, after all. Apparently the scalp message loosens him up not dissimilarly to booze. Relaxed to near stupor, he breathed a question and did something I know he'd do otherwise. How a wizard got a body like mine, he asked as he lazily held a hand to my flexing pectoral. If he weren't half out of it, I'd have thought it was a come on.
Somehow, the idea of a flirty Snape is a lot less nauseating than that Pink Woman. I wanted to gag her with dirty socks. Why, dear Gods, did she follow Albus down from the school? If she made one more half-breed remark, I'm not sure I wouldn't have Devil Triggered on her toady self.
Oh, goody. I hear demons outside. Something to vent the pent up violence on.
LETTER 8-Year 5's end, Summer 1995
I saw in the Wizarding paper that Voldie-warts made a comeback. That he actually had balls enough to show up at the Ministry of Magic. I bet Fudge fudged his pants. I heard rumor that the Order of the Pheonix lost a member that night. My condolences to those who walk through your door that are affected.
It's almost hard to believe that the war against that SOB went on pause for what? Fourteen years? Wow, it's been so long since I visited you. Would you object if I came across the Pond for a little vacation? I can help with the bar, do some maintenance and repair, and entertain your customers. It'll be like have a useful Guilderoy Lockheart, except my stories are true. You and Great-Uncle Albus are getting on in your years. We don't know how much time you old guys have left, so best to make the most of it.
LETTER 9-End of Year 6, early Summer 1996
My Dear Grandson,
Disaster has struck again. Your Great-Uncle Albus was killed. I'm afraid I must summon you to attend his funeral. Also, I'll need assistance running the Hog's Head for a little while. I've not been at my best since I heard the news.
Severus Snape delivered the Killing Curse upon Albus. Of course, I can't be too angry with Severus, as he was following Albus's orders. My foolish brother had tried to wear a cursed item for the power supposedly within the item before the curse was placed. I know of my brother's last scheme. To collect and destroy the objects that Voldie attached portions of his filthy soul—a Horcrux. The paranoid fool that is Lord Voldemort make a Horcrux of a legendary Hallow, the Resurrection Stone. Of course, Voldie had no idea of its original power; the Stone was fitted into a ring generations ago and was considered a family heirloom of the Gaunts. A nasty family, the Gaunts.
Ah, but Albus stuck that ring upon his finger, and Severus put all the skill he could muster into keeping the curse contained in one hand. Severus knows that I am Albus's younger brother, and that you are my grandson. Most people don't realize Albus and I are even kin, so that you are his great-nephew is almost completely unknown.
Please, grandson, do not blame Severus. Albus only had a short time allotted to him after donning the cursed ring, as contained as it was. A year at the most. Come to Albus's funeral and I shall inform you of all I know about Albus's grand scheme "for the Greater Good".
With all the love this old heart can give,
LETTER 10-Year 6, early Summer 1996
I'm only my way to the Hog's Head now. I'm gonna be even further in debt to Lady for the strings she's pulling for me, but I'll worry about that later.
Obviously, I got your last letter. As old as you two are, I was starting to suspect you both partook of the Sorceror's Stone. Crap, I didn't expect Uncle Albus to die. Crap and double crap! What do you wear to a Wizarding funeral anyway!
Lady's looking at me like I've lost my mind. No, Lady, I'm not talking to myself. There's a Quicknotes Quill going to town in the corner. Yes, it's writing what I say all on its own. No, it's not Devil Powers. It's human magic. … Yes, human magic, like witches and wizards and all that. Look, Lady! I'm trying to pack here! I've gotta attend a funeral across the ocean. Now give me some PRIVACY!
Sorry, Gramps. Lady's being pushy today. I'll see you soon, but hopefully you'll get this letter sooner.
LETTER 11-Excerpt from the Daily Prophet, a Wizarding Newspaper, Early Summer, 1996
The lake at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has seen much over the years. Countless generations of young witches and wizards have ridden across its surface in their first year and walked around its edge during schooling. The lake saw the Second Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament three years ago. And on this day, the lake at Hogwarts bears witness to one of the most unfortunate of occasions.
Hogwarts's teachers and students, Hogmeade's shopkeepers and residents, and general fans and well-wishers gathered on the shore of the lake. Some sat upon chairs in an orderly fashion, some stood in groups, and others huddled together on blankets spread out upon the grass. The mood is tense and crushing. Weeping echoes from nearly every group. The grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry have rarely been so forlorn. For on this day, a legend of magic has come to an end, and those gathered came to bid it farewell.
After serving as Headmaster for thirty-two years, and a teacher for forty-six years before that, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was interred to the school's grounds forever more. The last rights of the dead were read at the lakeside as a tomb of white marble formed around the late Headmaster's body. Flowers of all descriptions were lovingly set about the new monument by mourners.
Few of the attendees were up for commenting. Among the few was the assistant barkeep of the Hog's Head. "Albus Dumbledore was a living relic of a time passed. He fought the good fight against the two most notorious Dark Wizards in recent history. The fight's not over, and won't be over until Moldy-Voldie's head is spitted on a stick." When asked if that was a personal challenge to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the man grinned, "If he wants to pick a fight with me over a little petty name calling, he'll have to get in line. I tick off a lot of folks; personality quirk of mine."
Another comment over the occasion came from the Weasley twins, Fred and George. "Quite a shock," began one, then the other finished, "and a tragedy." Together they said, "The leader is dead, but the Order still lives on." The twins refused to elaborate on this 'Order' before rejoining with the rest of their attending family members.
As expected the Boy-Who-Lived was in attendance, as this is his sixth year at Hogwarts. Silent tears streaked down his face, along with other Gryffindors around him. Harry Potter declined to comment.
A Ravenclaw fifth year, recognized as Luna Lovegood, commented on, of all the things, the weather. "Lovely weather for today. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would appreciate it. Everyone's sad enough without rain or overcast clouds adding to the gloom. Don't you agree?"
Pansy Parkinsan of Slytherin House held her chin high. "Most of Slytherin House thought it was time for Professor Dumbledore to retire. I'm sure most everyone regrets how he chose to vacate his seat of Headmaster. There's a rumor going about that he jumped from the highest tower, you see."
Professor Minevra McGonagal shall step in as Acting Headmistress for the remainder of the year. She dabbed her eyes, "I shall strive to run this school as Albus would. May he rest in peace."
Professor Rubeus Hagrid, groundskeeper and teacher of Care of Magical Creatures, was unable to comment past his great sobs of grief.
As the essembly of mourners broke up to make their leave, only a small handful of individuals remained close to the tomb, apparently hoping for semi-private farewells. The owner of the Hog's Head pub and the assistant barman were among them. Finally, when they were the last two, the elder pulled a bottle of Japanese sake from his robes and poured it over the head of the tomb, "So you may never be thirsty." He burned incense at the foot of the marble, "So your air always be sweet." The younger man pulled a bit of violet silk from his leather attire; he removed the blanket of flowers from the stone before spreading the silk across the tomb's chest area. The ancient crest of the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda was centered on the silk was soon covered by the flowers. "So you shall never be cold." Then they knelt by the graveside and the younger man led prayer in a foreign tongue.
I left the lakeside with a heavy heart, much like others who had gathered on this day. One last look over my shoulder, at the two men kneeling beside the white marble tomb, and I remembered a detail previously unnoticed: Albus Dumbledore had a younger brother. While Albus had been in the spotlight most of his life, little is known about his last known living kin, Aberforth. The sun has not yet set, so perhaps Aberforth will visit his brother before the day is out. Perhaps death will mend their fractured relationship, and bring closure to the last Dumbledore.
-fin—John W. Finnigan
LETTER 12-Early Summer 1996
I'm writing to let you know I made it back to my shop, no missing limbs or anything. That portkey—man, that felt weird. Anyway, I'm gonna unpack in a few minutes. I've got to call Lady, let her know I'm back.
I read the copies of the Prophet that were delivered while I was away. Heh, we were mentioned by that reporter, Finnigan. He actually got my quote right—I'm surprised. What really surprised me was that he didn't know your name. Seriously. I guess you meant to keep a low profile; you sure accomplished that one. I bet Snape read it and face-palmed, hard. It's weird how Finnigan recognized the crest of Sparda but didn't question the significance. Oh, well.
Rest up, Gramps. I've got a feeling it's going to get hectic soon.
LETTER 13-Midsummer, 1996
I've got good news and bad news. The bad news is a powerful Devil tried to enter the Human World, aided by a butler of all things. The good news is the summoning was stopped before a human sacrifice could be made. And here's the kicker! The Devil sent a lackey to squeeze between the 'barrier', right? Well, the lackey decided he liked the world just as it is. He helped to capture the butler and save the man of the manor (who was supposed to be the human sacrifice).
Ah, Gramps. It gets better. So lackey takes on human form to explore our side of the gate, and he comes across this well-dressed clutz who sprung her ankle or something. (Dramatic Pause…Wait for it) Lackey heals the girl! A demon with healing powers! And the girl, as it turns out, is the rich man's daughter. So, at first Money-bags Daddy doesn't approve of his little darling seeing someone dressed so shabbily, but he gives the okay after Lackey helps to save his life from the greedy butler.
This part makes me smile just thinking about it. The lackey approached me a little later. He's fallen in love with the human girl, she loves him back, and her pops gave his blessing. The lackey asked me if he could stay to live as a human. As long as his hear is that of a human, I told him, he can live with humans. Besides, his old master would eat him slowly for his betrayal.
So far as I know, they're doing all right. Plus, Money-bags Daddy paid me for my services. Oh, Yeah! Happy ending and pay day! Lackey, who took on the oh-so-common name 'Bradley', was allowed to move in with his sweetie and her pops.
Not sure if I've mentioned this before, but there's been this kid that likes to hang around my shop. Patty Lowell is her name. Honestly, I'd ban her from my shop if demons didn't seem to follow her around. Somehow, that kid manages to get herself into all kinds of danger. Wish me luck keeping this half-pint alive.
LETTER 14-DMC 1, Early Autumn 1996
I've got a big job, out at Mallet Island. I don't know how long it's going to take, so if you need anything, send an owl to Lady.
You won't believe how I was propositioned for this job, Gramps. This hot blonde in black leather busts in my door with a motorcycle and fights me. She said she had to test my skill before offering the details. Her cleavage is like the Grand Canyon in the U.S.A.—deep plunge.
Well, I'm off to hunt demons and follow a hot blonde around a deserted island. I'll write when I get back.
LETTER 15—During DMC 1, Early Autumn 1996
Dear Miss Lady:
I am Dante's grandfather. He said that if I needed assistance while he's away on the Mallet Island job, to contact you. I understand that you and Dante are Devil Hunters. This request of mine is not related to your chosen field of employment.
You see, Miss Lady, I run the pub The Hog's Head. It's in the wizarding town of Hogsmeade (before you ask, I don't know why it's called that). I am aniticipating a rush of customers by the end of next week, and I expect the increased flow to last several weeks. To be blunt, I need an assistant barkeep. I will train you in the time before the rush if it proves necessary.
I have taken the initiative to attach a portkey. It is the broken ring inside the ringbox. Simply touch a finger to it when you are ready to leave. You will need a firm grip on your personal items to bring them with you. To travel by portkey is faster and less expensive than the Muggle—er, Non-magical—airlines.
Thank you in advance.
-Aberforth Dumbledore, Owner of the Hog's Head.
LETTER 16-Sticky Note Upon Dante's Desk, During DMC 1, Early Autumn 1996
I'm going to wrap my hands around that meaty neck of yours and squeeze for all I'm worth next time I see you. Who the HELL do you think you are, volunteering me for some bar job! And why didn't you tell me your grandfather was still alive?
Arg. Anyway, I'm going to help him at his bar. No reason for the old guy to suffer just because you're a jerk. Sheesh, I don't know the first thing about bartending.
One more thing—why the HELL! Was his letter delivered by an OWL! I nearly shot it before I realized it wasn't a demon.
LETTER 17-Just after DMC 1, Early Autumn 1996
Hi, Gramps! Hey, Lady (if you're still there)!
I just got back from the Mallet Island job. Friggin' A, man. The hot blonde in the black leather turned out to be a pawn of the Underworld King, Mundus. The sick bastard made her to look like Mom. Mundus had defeated Vergil all those years ago and brainwashed him into a puppet. I didn't realize it was Vergil until he dropped his half of the amulet. I can only assume Mundus used Vergil's memories of Mom to create Trish (hot blonde).
Unfortunately for Mundus, he made Trish too close to Mom from Verge's memories. She turned against him to help me. Trish took a blow for me, one I'm not sure even I would have survived. I left the joined amulets and Sparda's sword next to her body, and I went to face the most powerful Devil. Lo and behold, Trish joins me in facing Mundus again, and we escaped on a friggin' biplane!
I got some spiffy Devil Arms during the trip. The sword of Vengeance, Alastor, for example. He only serves those who survive him piercing their hearts. Yeah, that sucked. And it hurt a little. …Okay, it hurt more than a little. He's a lightning type.
Oh, yeah. Trish doesn't have anywhere to go. So, well, she's going to stay with me at least until she can support herself and whatnot. After seeing how much she looks like Mom and how she came to be, I can't help but to think of her like a younger sister I didn't know I had.
LETTER 18-After DMC1, Autumn 1996
Your friend Lady came to help me at the Hog's Head. It was fun teaching her how to bartend. She's a quick learner. Gave a number of my lewder customers a tongue-lashing, she did. It earned her some respect, standing up for herself. Ah, but she did pull a gun on one man who'd grabbed her bum. No one died during her stay, at least.
I hope you don't mind, but I told her about your mum and your younger days. Lady is a good listener, Dante. You've got yourself a good friend in her. Ah, dear lass didn't know much about the wizarding world. I figured, if she can successfully fight demons from the Underworld, why not explain the human magic? Well, order of secrecy be damned, because I told her.
Anyway, Snape is still playing the double agent. I had a feeling your great-uncle was up to something. Even death can't stop his scheming, and certainly not while his moving and talking portrait is in the Headmaster's office. Snape has been appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts, and Voldie apparently decreed that the Carrow siblings be appointed teachers. Foolishness if you ask me. But Snape still visits on occation, and I see the toll this new strain puts upon him. Even he says the Carrows are insane and evil, hardly fit to be considered human. Regardless, he must play his part of a devoted Death Eater.
Harry Potter has the good sense to stay away from the school, at the least. Voldie has placed his people inside the Ministry of Magic. Potter is now considered "Undesirable Number 1", according to the toad woman, Delores Umbridge. You remember Delores, yes? The pink-clad harpy with the half-breed comments that you nearly Devil Triggered on? Yes, her. She's been elevated to the Minister's Secretary or some such. Since her prejudices support Voldie's ideals and goals, he's allowing her to do as she pleases. The world is in a sad state of affairs when Delores gets her way. Snape isn't nearly as bad on one of his crankier days, I tell you.
Well, that's the news from my side of the Pond. Take care of yourself, Dante. And take care of that new girl, Trish.
LETTER 19-Beginning of DMC 4, Year 7
Trish and I are going on a particular job as a favor to Lady. A group called The Order of The Sword has been messing with her jobs lately. Supposedly, the Order of the Sword hails from the town of Fortuna, and according to their local legend, Sparda served as a feudal lord over a hundred years ago. According to Lady, the townsfolk worship Sparda like a god. Odd choice of patron deity, if you ask me.
I've got a gut feeling that this gig's going to be interesting. What kind of interesting, I don't know. For some reason though, Trish took Sparda's sword and left a note in its place, "See you there (insert heart)."
I'd better get a move on, Gramps. I'll let you know how it goes.
LETTER 20—After DMC4, Year 7
You're not gonna believe this, Gramps.
The job that was supposed to be a simple favor for Lady? Yeah, it turned into closing not one, not two, but three separate Hellgates. Wait, no—FOUR separate Hellgates! AND stopping the mastermind behind it. I had to fight a statue so tall, I only reached the upper ankle. The statue was supposed to have been a likeness to Sparda, but it didn't look like him at all.
Trish gussied herself up and infiltrated the Order of the Sword. Racy outfit (looked more like lingerie) and called herself 'Gloria'. A wig and contacts helped to make her look not like Mom; rub-on tanner too.
The mastermind of the Hellgates was the leader of the Order of the Sword, Sanctus. He was like their pope or something. His minion scientist was forcing demonic "souls" into the Order's foot soldier guys and suits of armor. Credo, the general guy of the Order, was more or less fooled into believing that the possessed guys and armor were Sparda's blessing. Of course, he may not have known where the extra strength came from. He died trying to save his sister and his unruly subordinate.
This is the part that has my brain in a knot. The subordinate is apparently a descendant of Sparda. This kid, Nero, looks just like Verge and I did at his age. He even has my cocky attitude to go with the looks. His right arm is a trip—demonic red, leathery armor with glow-stick blue veining. It's one of those "gotta see it to believe it" things. Kid's left is normal, just a little more than human strength. By the end of this fiasco, the Kid had his "awakening", thus allowing him to Devil Trigger, and he'd gained Vergil's sword, Yamato.
Let me set this straight before you jump to conclusions, Gramps. I had a vasectomy at least a year before this kid was born (asked his girlfriend his age and birthday). I check back with the doctors periodically to make sure I'm still firing blanks, so I know I didn't father this Nero. I can't vouch for Vergil's chastity, though. His reasoning was that he and I were likely mules, infertile. For now, though, I'm just going to assume the Kid's my nephew.
He's a good kid, Gramps. Nero went through Hell and back, figuratively, to save the damsel in distress. The girl's name is Kyrie (key-ri-ay), and she's Credo's younger sister. Somehow, I have a feeling she's going to break Nero's heart. Unintentionally, of course; she's a sweet girl. From what I can tell, the Kid's the type who would push away those he loved if he thought they would be safer. Pfft, push them away but still watch over them. The Protective Stalker.
Well, Gramps, I'll wrap it up for now. Keep your head up and far from the chopping block.
LETTER 21-After DMC 4, Early Spring 1997
Wow. I may have a great-grandson. As the children write now, "O.O", for surprised face. There's a spell that can reveal one's ancestry. All you'd need is a long scroll of parchment (any grade will do as long as it is one sheet), a large inkpot, a Quickquill, and a little blood from the selected descendant. In this case, Nero. The spell is fairly simple; you may even be able to perform it.
Oh, before I forget. Snape asked a favor to replay to you. The Dememtors are patrolling the school's grounds, but have been edging a bit too close. There are a number more than he thought necessary, so if you would "thin" their numbers, it would be greatly appreciated. I'm not sure if Dementors fall under your jurisdiction as a Devil Hunter, but I'd ask at least.
There's a good chance that the war against Voldie will spill onto the school grounds. Oh! Don't say his name! Moldie Voldie has created as spell of his name that to speak it is to break down any and all protective charms around you and send a signal to those who hunt any that oppose him! Do have a care, Grandson, and do not speak his name.