Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein everything but progress happens. Hermione refuses to be left behind, and distinguishes herself as a healer; the OOTP and the DEs cancel each other out to bloody effect, whilst the real captors escape with Harry; the new prefects are named; Ron pouts; Hermione prepares herself as the students return to Hogwarts; the Sorting Hat does its thing; Hermione and friends confront Dumbledore; the captured DEs are released; the goblins are angry; and the Founder's Chamber is revealed.

Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim any other rights in the characters and other concepts created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money, nor do I seek any commercial advantage from this work. As such it constitutes "fair use" as defined in 17 U.S.C. §107.

Chapter 34 - Found And Lost

It took every particle of Hermione's grit, guile, argument, and assertiveness just to gain permission to accompany the Headmaster's hastily organised raiding party. The grownups - Dumbledore, McGonagall, Moody, Shacklebolt, and assorted others - all presumed to ignore Hermione's altogether once she had coaxed the terrified and bewildered Dobby through telling his tale. Once the elf had explained to their satisfaction why he knew that Harry Potter was being held prisoner in the catacombs beneath Malfoy Manor, the responsible adults instantaneously fell to planning. Their strategy for an immediate military assault on the Manor paid her no mind at all.

Dumbledore promptly cast an Incommunicadus Charm over the Castle - effectively isolating it from the outside world. No owls could enter or leave, and the Headmaster, as caster of the spell, assumed total control of all information entering or leaving Hogwarts. His explanation was laconic: "Loose lips sink ships." Hermione could not even inform Ron and the rest of her friends about the dramatic turn of events.

But even that paled next to Hermione's situation. Nobody wanted to let a mere student accompany the raiding party - let alone one who would require protection. Hermione was, after all, a very tempting Death Eater target in her own right. Leaving her behind was logical, but logic had its limits, even for her. She was not about to take "no" for an answer.

After receiving a firm brush-off from the various Order and Auror types began flooding into the Castle (time being far too short to decamp for Order headquarters in London), she resolved to force the matter. To rescue Harry, Hermione decided she had to take a page from his book. Usually she practised dexterity over direct action, but now there was just no time.

Fifteen minutes of research in the library produced the address of the target. That done, Hermione threw on her Auror training garb, and grabbed her Valkyrie, Harry's Invisibility Cloak and her wand. Thus outfitted, the headstrong girl made for Dumbledore's office. The Headmaster had, after all, just given her the new password.

"Black Diamond of Périgord."

Mounted on her broom, Hermione zoomed up the stairs.

"Alohomora!"

The extra power supplied by the Valkyrie's upgraded triple-core ordnance easily overpowered whatever charms might have been on Dumbledore's office door. It flew open, and Hermione flew in, much to the surprise of the Headmaster and his ad hoc planning team. Not even bothering to dismount, she addressed them all.

"I'm going with you!!" she demanded.

"Like Merlin's jockstrap yeh are," growled Mad-Eye Moody.

"Then I'm going alone," she declared, earnestly hoping not to be called on this expression of sheer bravado. Her assertion far exceeded her actual comfort level.

"Miss Granger, calm down," Professor McGonagall admonished testily. "You don't even know where you'd be going."

In his uniquely imperturbable style, the Headmaster contradicted his deputy. "Oh, I rather doubt that, Minerva. Malfoy Manor is not unplottable, and if I know Miss Granger, she has already ascertained exactly where it is."

Hermione began to recite the Manor's precise address in her best know-it-all voice, but was rudely interrupted. "Accio broom!" Shak shouted out, hoping to catch the girl unawares. The spell bounced harmlessly off the Valkyrie's shields.

Hermione looked at him almost contemptuously. "Don't bother. My wards are all active and set to maximum power. The broom is in combat mode. You can't touch it. If you try to stop me, you're in for a Hell of a fight."

Turning back to Dumbledore, she repeated, "I'm going with you."

"Miss Granger, that would not be advisable," the Headmaster said calmly, trying to move the refractory girl with her own beloved logic. "You know the Death Eaters would seek you out in any engagement. They know who you are, and what you are. You would be putting yourself at great risk."

"You, of all people know exactly how much risk I'm prepared to assume." Hermione shot back. "I'm going with you."

Dumbledore tried another tack. "If you care not about yourself, at least consider Mister Potter. You cannot do this freelance, and you know it. If you try to go in wands blazing, we will all lose the element of surprise, and the result would hardly be to your liking."

This was a far more persuasive argument, and Hermione had already considered it. "That's the only reason I'm here. If I thought I could free Harry myself, I'd already be on my way. I'm not saying put me in the vanguard of an attack. I'm not even asking for any combat role. I know that lots of far better trained wizards and witches are ready, willing, and able to do that…. But I'll be damned to be left waiting in the wings like some helpless child. Not after all that's happened."

Mad-Eye was unmoved. He snarled, with customary bluntness, "As Harry's guardian, I thank yeh for yer efforts, but yeh don't belong in this. This is war. Everything about them takin' Harry's been an act of war. I'll repeat for yer benefit what I said before yeh so rudely butted in.… That was if Harry's friends - meaning yeh, since thank Merlin yeh're the only one what knows `bout this - were ta tag along, yeh would just be riskin' the rest of our skins due to yer combat inexperience."

"I'm not asking to go into combat," Hermione reiterated. "I just need to be there for him, and I'm not going to take…."

Moody barked at her again. "…Well, yeh better learn - if yeh want any future in this line…"

Hermione refused to back down, "I can't think about the future now…. If you try and stop me, Harry's won't be pleased to find out why I wasn't there for his rescue!"

"Stop it, both of you!" Professor McGonagall intervened. "Miss Granger, you're acting like a petulant child, and Alastor, you're acting like a crotchety old man. I think there's a basis for compromise here."

"You must be seeing something, I'm not," Hermione huffed. She had grievances with her Head of House as well, and was particularly inclined to trust her either.

Addressing the girl directly, McGonagall asked, "How have you been coming with your preparation for your Healing fellowship over the summer?"

Hermione was taken aback. That was an unexpected question. "Quite well until Harry was taken," Hermione answered. "Horribly thereafter."

"Well, Kingsley mentioned earlier that you'd also had Auror training in field healing, so my thought would be to accredit you to whatever medical support team is being assembled." Turning to Dumbledore, the witch added, "Albus, I think she's right. Merlin knows what Mister Potter has been through, being flogged like that and I don't even want to think about what else. Once we get him out, I believe Miss Granger's familiar presence might well be valuable."

There were murmurs of assent around the table. Mad-Eye was the last holdout. Finally he gave in, although not graciously. "All right," he grumped, "but she has ta promise to stay in the rear echelon no matter what. Medics bring wounded ta her, not the other way round. We can't be lookin' out fer a student in a combat zone. That bloody broom of hers stays here."

Now Professor McGonagall eyed Hermione. Would that be enough for the girl? As long as she was on that broom, it would take Dumbledore to stop her. Any such confrontation, at this time, would mean Hell to pay.

Hermione yielded. "All right. I'm probably most useful in Healing anyway. But I want your promise that when Harry comes out, he comes to me."

* * * *

In that fashion that Hermione came to be sitting on pins and needles, waiting in an open-air clearing far enough removed from Malfoy Manor to be out of harm's immediate way. She had never been more nervous in her life, not even before her first O.W.L. examination - and she had thrown up then. Her performance on that examination, however, had at least been subject to her control. Her current situation - anxiously awaiting commencement of the hurriedly organised rescue raid against Malfoy Manor - most assuredly was not.

Trying to contain her sky-high energy level, she clutched the phials she carried inside her robes and tried to recite from memory the Healing spells she had been learning when Harry's abduction had redirected her efforts. Her agreement to join the Healing team required that she leave her broom behind, and she had detoured by the Room of Requirement on her way back from the Gryffindor Common Room.

She noticed a phial of Phoenix Tear Extract - the strongest magical healing agent known - in the Room's well-equipped Potions laboratory. When she put it in a pouch in her Auror belt, another phial magically appeared. She put the second in a pocket in her robes, and the same thing happened again. She collected a dozen phials before stopping.

Despite both Auror training and medical reading to recommend her, Hermione was still something of an odd duck in this assemblage. The others were all eminent healers - Paraceslus Huxley, Healer-in-Charge of the Trauma Unit at St. Mungo's, was there, with two of his most trusted assistants. The Auror Corps brought along a Mobile Auror Surgical Hospital, with five certified M.A.S.H. emergency evacuation healers.

Madam Pomfrey was present from Hogwarts, and Hermione spent most of her time with her. The girl felt out of place, since the entire party knew she was there, not for what she knew, but because of whom she knew. Hermione had never before been included in something for reasons other than merit. This precedent made her distinctly uncomfortable.

Having striven mightily to get this far, Hermione had no further to go. For the moment - until the attack was underway - all she could do was wait, and hope. Had she been a believer, she might have prayed to some god. She wished the assault party the best of luck. They would need it.

A muffled explosion soon indicated that Lady Luck's face had fled.

* * * *

The same muffled explosion reverberated through the catacombs beneath Malfoy Manor.

"What the Hell?!" Draco Malfoy mumbled. He had been getting some sleep, kipping in one of the rooms across the hall from where they kept Harry Potter. It was not sound sleep, because he was worried. He had grave doubts whether this latest ruse would free his father. He also wondered whether the Contact was maintaining his alibi as a transfer student to Durmstrang.

A second explosion jarred him fully awake. Leaping to his feet, Malfoy also heard the hissing sound of some spell striking one of the wards that shielded the catacombs from the outside world.

Trying to avoid panic, Malfoy trotted to the next room to study the map of the Manor grounds that hung on the wall.

His eyes grew wide as the map revealed that Lord Voldemort himself, at the head of at least thirty Death Eaters, had breached the wards around the rear of the Manor. They were approaching through the tunnel that led from the secret waterfall entrance.

"Shite, shite, and more shite!"

There was more.

Malfoy's eyes nearly popped out of his skull as he saw another even larger group of wizards entering through the Manor itself. This group counted none other than Albus Dumbledore in its number, and was composed of Hit Wizards, Aurors and Hogwarts staff. It was led by….

"Damn traitorous house-elf!" Malfoy swore. Worse, he saw that he was surrounded. There were more of what could only be Ministry wizards all about the perimeter of the Manor.

The only saving grace was that Voldemort's and Dumbledore's forces were on course to encounter each other well before they reached the suite of rooms that Malfoy and his compatriots occupied. The fate of the Potterless Conspiracy now hung in the resultant battle providing enough of a diversion to allow them to escape.

Another explosion rocked the catacombs, knocking dust from the walls.

Malfoy cast a couple of spells that stirred the Manor's not inconsiderable intruder-repelling wards, curses, and charms into full operation. Then he screamed,

"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!! CUT THE SCARHEAD DOWN AND FOLLOW ME!! WE'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE!!"

The three captors fell into a frenzy of rather confused action. Nott struggled with the magical chains that bound Harry to the bars, Crabbe gathered up robes and food. Malfoy hurriedly checked escape routes to determine what, if any, options they had. When he was done, Malfoy ripped the magical map off the wall and brought it with him.

Finally, Nott managed to release Harry's magical manacles. The captive slumped to the ground. He groaned. Leaving nothing to chance, Malfoy stunned the prisoner.

The wards around them glowed and sputtered as they strained to repel powerful magic. The invaders were getting closer. The captors could hear screams and see the flashes of curses impacting the wards and beginning to reduce the walls outside. The faint smell of bitter almonds wafted down the hall. The Manor was defending its heir as well, and its defenses were deadly.

The only unblocked escape route led through the stables.

"Mobilicorpus," Malfoy incanted as he pointed his wand at Harry's prostrate figure. "This way," he ordered. With Harry's unconscious body leading the way, the captors abandoned the suite of rooms that had been Harry's prison for more than two weeks.

"You go on ahead. I'll catch up," Malfoy directed. From behind the partially closed door, he pointed his wand at the phylactery he had used to control the Dementors for the past fortnight. "Liberius totalus," he incanted, releasing the Dementors from his control. In the next breath he destroyed the device with a Reductor Curse. Turning his wand to the wards themselves, he shouted. "Enervate levels one, three, six and seven," thus collapsing the outer wards, and providing the famished creatures with unhindered access to the furious battle that was underway. The two Dementors were authorised, indeed encouraged, to feed on anyone they might encounter.

Those creatures encountered plenty of sustenance. Dead and wounded wizards littered the smoking halls. Killing Curses flashed amongst other, equally deadly, spells as both sides hammered at one another. In the chaos, the fighting devolved into dozens of close quarter, hand-to-hand combat encounters in the debris-littered, semidarkness of the catacombs. Voldemort's party of Death Eaters was fewer than Dumbledore's would-be rescuers, but they more than made up in viciousness what they lacked in numbers.

Fleeing the sound and fury of the battle, the escaping captors presently made their way to the mostly underground Thestral stables. Passing through the intervening tunnels, they heard the thud of heavy doors closing behind them every ten metres or so. The Manor was indeed well warded - perhaps the best warded building in Britain, save Hogwarts itself. But why had those wards suddenly failed so catastrophically?

Draco Malfoy had no time to think about that. "What do we do now, boss?" Crabbe blubbered.

"We wait, that's what," Malfoy instructed irritably.

"Wait - Hell. They'll catch us if we wait!" cried Nott.

"They'll catch us if we try to leave too soon," Malfoy vigourously disagreed. "Here, look at this."

Malfoy laid the map of the Manor on a wooden bench. Crabbe and Nott gathered about. Malfoy rudely dismissed Crabbe.

"Crabbe, there are better uses for your time. Feed and water the Thestrals. We'll need them to be ready to fly soon … and when you're done, watch the map." Dumbly Crabbe complied.

Malfoy explained his plan to Nott. "Look here, here, and here," he pointed, jabbing his finger at various spots on the map. "We're surrounded as long as the Ministry mans this perimeter. We have to hope that the Dark Lord and his forces can hold out against superior numbers until Dumbledore calls for reinforcements. That shouldn't be long at this rate, look at this."

Malfoy gestured to the center of the map, which continued to show a swirl of activity as Voldemort's Death Eaters battled Dumbledore's assault party. Every so often a name would wink out of existence, signifying another fatality.

"We need to figure out what we're doing about Potter," Nott observed once he understood Malfoy's plan. "Shouldn't we just waste the bastard now and be done with him?"

"Hell no!" Malfoy roared, "Scarhead is still our best bargaining chip. As long as we have him with us, both sides have a reason to deal - and an incentive to lay off of us. We only kill him as a last resort … and that means we probably die as well."

"We have to figure out how to move him, then," Nott appended bitterly. "He can't very well ride a Thestral himself."

"And we wouldn't want him to," Malfoy replied. "Without the Manor's magical shackles, we have to keep him unconscious. I don't want to find out what that spooky power he's been giving off really is. Merlin knows what he might be capable of should he get free…. Remember your bloody shotgun. It's still embedded in the wall back there…. I know … see that old chariot?"

Malfoy pointed to the ruins of an old Thestral-drawn magical battle chariot, barely visible in the shadows. Flying chariots had retained effectiveness as magical weapons far longer than their earthbound Muggle counterparts, but simpler, more manœuverable broom technology had inexorably banished them to the dustbin of history. Obsolete for two hundred years or more, the Malfoy family chariot probably had not moved in that long.

"We can cut down one of the shafts, tie Potter to that, and hang it between the Thestrals."

"Time's a wasting," Nott replied. Malfoy's idea was as good as anything.

Malfoy shot a Severing Charm at the decrepit old chariot. The shafts dropped to the ground. One was shot through with Umgubular Woodworm infestation and had to be discarded when nobody knew the proper Expulsion Charm. The other appeared in good condition. Malfoy and Nott were tying Harry to the shaft when Crabbe - who had been assigned to watch the map - called out.

"They're going in."

Dumbledore had finally been forced to call for the reinforcements. The captors had a free path to the sky, and thus to escape.

"Quick, hitch the pole between the saddles of these two," Malfoy ordered. Within five minutes, they were airborne.

* * * *

The initial explosion was the first sign that Dumbledore's assault was not proceeding as smoothly as planned. Additional explosions augured ill, and billows of smoke heralded the incineration of parts of Malfoy Manor. Hermione grimly tried to push the potentially fearsome consequences from her mind, but with no particular assignment holding her attention, she was soon assaulted by black depression.

But not for long - and for the worst of reasons.

A wave of casualties graphically confirmed how badly awry the engagement was going. From the first batch, Hermione was assigned … "Dobby!" the girl involuntarily exclaimed. The house-elf's pulse was slow, and his breathing erratic - but physically, not a scratch was on him. Hermione passed her wand slowly over the elf's unmoving body. She read his vital signs with her wand. His aura glowed deep red.

"Severe magical depletion," she diagnosed, as she read off the diagnostic results. "Silver bile fails to register…. Yellow bile virtually exhausted…. Blood sugars low…. Excess of black bile."

She concluded the most immediate threat to the house-elf faced was irreversible magical shock. Quickly, she quickly mixed up a Restorative Draught, starting with Pepper Up Potion, adding Mandrake and four drops of Phoenix Tear Extract. The Draught was tricky because Dobby was much smaller than any adult wizard. Contrarily, he possessed far more powerful magic than any child - and elfin magic was altogether different from anything she was familiar with through her training.

She drew the elf to a sitting position, and poured some of the Draught into his mouth whilst rubbing his throat with her other hand, to get him to swallow. He did. The effect was almost immediate.

"Spllbbt…."

Dobby spat out most of the rest of the Draught - all over the front of Hermione's robes. As he did, his eyes flickered open.

"The Dark Lord…. Miss Myown!" he rattled.

"Yes, Dobby, it's me," the young witch assured the elf.

"Oh, Miss Myown, we was close…. But we found He Who Must Not Be Named first…. Tried to save the rest…."

"Stop talking and drink more of this Restorative Draught," Hermione the Healer instructed. "You almost exhausted your magic in there."

The elf complied, consuming the rest of the 200-cc beaker.

"Must go back," Dobby panted out. "Save Harry Potter…. Is in there…. Can feel it…. House will attack everyone…. I can avoid…."

Hermione looked at the elf sternly. "No, Dobby, your day is done. You're still weak. Whatever you did, if you tried it again, it would surely kill you."

Hermione had no time to continue this conversation. Another patient arrived. The Healers sent Hermione one of the least injured of the next lot, Tonks, who had caught a Pulverising Curse in the left leg. "It was a bloody mess in there…. Bastard caught me from behind…. But it's the last spell that Deater's ever going to cast," she recounted heatedly as Hermione tried to get a medical history.

With her tibia, fibula, patella and half of her femur turned to powder, Tonks was urgently in need of reboning, but did not have life-threatening injuries. Tonks would need a lot of Skele-Gro, but with nothing threatening to slice an artery, the procedure was well within Hermione's capability. Tonks would recover fully, and soon, but she was sidelined for this fight whilst her bones reconstituted themselves.

"No more action for you, today," Hermione announced her first ever Healer's orders. "And calcium supplements `till Christmas for such a major reboning."

Her next case was far worse. A youngish looking Auror with the name "Farrow" on his robes was brought in with a horrible face wound. His eyes protruded unnaturally from what remained of their sockets. Leaving his eyeballs exposed like that would certainly result in blindness. Not knowing what to do, and with everyone else fully occupied, Hermione groped for a solution. She settled upon a mixture of 50% aqua vitae and 50% phoenix tears - painted on the affected area with a charmed brush. It worked. Hermione could see the wound healing.

She received her next patient due to a triage decision that Hestia Jones appeared to be beyond saving. The long-time Order member had suffered acute cyanide poisoning after being cursed unconscious in a dungeon that then filled with the gas. Being too new to the profession to know that she had a hopeless case on her hands, Hermione pulled a six-inch hypodermic needle from the Muggle side of her kit, filled it with pure Phoenix Tear Extract and injected it directly into the dying woman's left ventricle. The girl then flash-vaporised another several cc's of the Extract with a vacuum pump and forced the mist into Jones' lungs.

Only when consulting a text for nerve restoration charms did Hermione become conscious of being watched. Several of the Healers, who had seen Jones brought in, were giving her sidelong glances. Two of the St. Mungo's team must have had a pause in their own caseload, because they had been overtly observing her technique - which was really no technique at all because the girl was improvising.

One of them, who had been examining a discarded empty phial, spoke to her.

"Phoenix Tear Extract, that's strong stuff," he observed.

"The strongest I know of," Hermione replied as she watched the charm she chose take effect. She did not take her eyes off her patient, whose colour was slowly returning. "And you are?" she asked.

"Paracelsus Huxley," he answered.

"I'm honoured," Hermione replied.

"Where'd you get this?" the other healer asked.

"Hogwarts."

"Figures," Hlr. Huxley commented.

"What do you mean by that?" Hermione asked, finally allowing herself a little emotion now that this latest patient seemed out of imminent danger.

"Once you get into the real world, you'll find out," the second Healer said. "At St. Mungo's we don't have routine access to that. Too damnably expensive for normal channels and too bloody little time to get it otherwise. We would have to get TPW pre-authorisation, and that would take two weeks. By then, a code patient like that would surely have expired."

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione exclaimed. "You mean you don't have any?"

"Not a drop. We had no idea it would get this bad."

"Bloody slapdash planning will get people killed," Hermione muttered angrily. "Anyway, I've got lots. Here." She emptied her pockets.

Hlr. Huxley took effortless and instant charge, calling out to everyone. "OVER HERE!! PHOENIX EXTRACT!! ALL WE NEED!!"

It seemed like the entire team descended on Hermione's station as one, thanking her and distributing the precious extract.

"You just saved a lot of lives," the adjutant commanding the M.A.S.H. unit told her with a slight smile. "Just wished we'd known sooner. Maybe we could've saved some of them." He pointed to a half dozen bodies piled like cordwood beside a low stone wall.

Hermione fought to keep her composure. "How… how many died?"

"Seven after being brought here," the adjutant revealed, with no smile now. "Overall, I can't say. They aren't even bothering to bring out the Killing Curse victims yet - and I've heard there are Dementor's Kiss cases too…."

For a moment, Hermione wondered if she had even done the right thing in passing along Dobby's earlier revelation. So many had died…. But Harry's life had been at stake, so second-guessing her actions was pointless.

A combat healer in time of battle lacks the luxury of reflection.

Hermione soon had a new patient. She recognised the face, and almost had to pinch herself when she saw the name on what was left of his robes - Branstone. The wizard that Harry had almost killed for faking the Dark Fire of Tu Fan now lay before her, with an open pneumothorax and severe magical burns over much of his anterior torso. Almost mechanically she prepared an occlusive plaster. She lathered it with the orange paste used to treat all magical burns and taped it over the sucking chest wound, taking care to leave one corner aflutter.

After lathering the rest of Clifton Branstone's burns with the paste, Hermione noticed that he was regaining consciousness. She poured a full adult-wizard portion of the Restorative Draught she had previously prepared into a beaker and talked him through drinking it.

"Mr. Branstone, please swallow this Restorative Draught," she instructed. "You've been severely injured, but you should be out of danger now."

The Auror complied, and after drinking the potion, his eyes cracked open. "That's good," Hermione intoned, trying for a cool bedside manner. "You've got a collapsed lung. I'm going to perform a Healing Charm now to deal with that, then I'm going to dress your…."

Hermione paused as Branstone's eyes went wide. She thought he had recognised her.

"Yes, it's me, Hermione Granger. I'm a Heal…."

She stopped when she realised he was not even looking at her, but rather in the direction of the setting sun. He desperately trying to say something, but his injuries kept him from speaking.

Following the wounded man's eyes, Hermione looked up.

"Oh Merlin's Mother! NO!!" she screamed as she saw three Thestrals and their riders speeding away to the west. Two of them carried something between them that she realised had to be Harry.

"HARRY!!!" Screaming at the top of her lungs, Hermione flicked her wand from her holster and fired off a forlorn Impediment Jinx. It lit up the sky in the general direction of the fleeing wizards, but they were much too high and moving much too fast for it to have any realistic hope of success.

The frantic girl took two steps towards her things, but stopped. The deal she struck that brought her here also required her to leave her Valkyrie at Hogwarts. Only she could have ridden it, and no other broom stood a chance of catching the swift Thestrals.

"Oh, dammit to Hell," Hermione bellowed as she sank to her knees. "I could have tried to save him." Fairly shaking with impotent rage, she retreated into herself. She failed to register the frantic spells being cast at the fleeing Death Eaters by those around her. She did not even look as the heavens were illuminated with the others' equally ineffectual curses.

Indeed, she did not even notice that someone else had assumed the care of Auror Branstone.

Instead, Hermione no longer knew anything but her own pain. That pain filled her body. It flowed in to replace the hope that ebbed away like the blood that flowed from all of the wounds she had treated.

Everything had been for naught.

Two hands gently touched the girl's heaving shoulders. "Miss Granger? Hermione?"

She looked up. It was Dumbledore. His robes were dirty and torn. He was bleeding from a flesh wound on his right cheek and from a deeper wound to his left shoulder. Half his beard was singed away. There was no smile on his face; no twinkle in his eyes. But it was Albus Dumbledore nonetheless.

"Care to take a walk with an old man who has seen better days?" he asked wearily.

Wordlessly, Hermione nodded. She got up, steadied herself, and they strode away from the medical station. They walked the perimeter of the Malfoy estate, where in the distance the manor house was slowly being consumed by both magical and ordinary flames.

Once they were out of earshot of others, Hermione asked, "What happened?"

"Dobby was most assuredly correct," Dumbledore replied softly. "Mister Potter was being kept in an unplottable set of dungeons beneath Malfoy Manor. Unfortunately, he was too well guarded. We encountered Voldemort himself, and several dozen of his followers. It was a far larger force than we had anticipated. None of our intelligence placed Voldemort here. There was a battle - an ambush, really. Dobby saved many lives, probably including my own, by blocking the Death Eaters' opening fusillade. Only a free elf could have interposed his magic in that fashion…."

Ordinarily Hermione would have been thrilled at the blow struck for elven rights, but at the moment she was numb. "What happened to Harry?" she demanded.

"Whilst the battle was raging, some of his captors took Mister Potter and made good an escape," Dumbledore informed her frankly. "With the casualties we took, we did not have a large enough force to cover everything. I am told you saw them leaving."

"Yes," Hermione answered, her lip quavering. "That means I should get ready, doesn't it?"

"It does," Dumbledore answered sombrely. "You are our only remaining hope, Miss Granger."

She stopped - feeling the embrace of icy tendrils of fear. Trying to shake them off, she drew herself up, took a deep breath, and replied. "Let's go."

"Captain Shacklebolt will be returning you to Hogwarts," Dumbledore informed her. "It is my unhappy duty to go before the Wizengamot within the half hour. I shall have the unpleasant task of arguing that the eleven convicted Death Eaters should be released in the possibly - indeed probably - forlorn hope of obtaining Mister Potter's release."

"You trust those bastards?" Hermione asked pointedly.

"Not in the slightest," Dumbledore answered. "But they had to have some reason for making the demand, and for spiriting Mister Potter away rather than killing him outright. I frankly do not know what it is. I would not have expected it from Voldemort. But I shall pursue any and all avenues that might possibly win his freedom."

"When do you want me ready?" Hermione volunteered.

"A useful conjunction involving Mars, Saturn, and Neptune occurs at 2:45 a.m. It will assist the magic," Dumbledore explained. "Also the Death Eaters have to be in some disarray right now. With the reinforcements, we finally did succeed in driving them off…."

"What about Harry's safety? Can we afford to wait? I'm ready … right now," Hermione declared, not at all sure whether she really was.

"Unfortunately, I surely am not," Dumbledore replied, "and really, neither are you. We can still do this in an orderly fashion. I shall leave instructions that you are not to be disturbed. Remember, Miss Granger, if the Death Eaters had intended immediate harm to Mister Potter, they would not have carried him off as they did. I believe they will at least wait for the Wizengamot's decision to see if they get what they want."

* * * *

Whilst being named a Prefect was an honour, it was one that Ginny Weasley could have done without. What was being a Fifth-Year Prefect, when you were already scheduled for induction into the Order of Merlin? In Ginny's case, the Prefect's badge was quickly becoming a royal pain in the arse - the biggest pain in the arse being her brother (and fellow Order of Merlin winner) Ron.

Members of the Weasley family had always been known for their tempers. She had grown up firmly indoctrinated into that reputation, and it had helped her out of more than one tight scrape. But Weasley temper has its drawbacks when directed against other Weasleys, rather than outward.

She had thought Ron would explode straight away when she received the owl from Hogwarts announcing that she had been tipped - especially since there was no owl for him. Everyone knew what that meant. Ron had not been made Quidditch Captain. Nevertheless, he outwardly appeared to take the news surprisingly well, for Ron, that is. Mostly he just scowled and ignored her.

The pall of Harry's absence hung heavily over the entire Weasley family during the short stint whilst Ginny and Ron were at home - adding another layer of gloom to the all-too-recent grief of Bill's death. To try to lift the mood just a bit, Molly had bravely determined to celebrate Ginny's appointment just as she had when her other children received similar honours. She created and hung the usual banner, magically baked a cake, served Butterbeer, and generally tried to act "normal." The Twins took off time from their shop to contribute to the rather forced levity. Ron attended, with a false smile plastered unconvincingly on his face. He said very little.

Neither Ginny nor Ron had revealed much to the rest of the family about their activities at the Castle after receiving their summonses from Hermione. Nor were they particularly truthful about it. Molly took this occasion to bring up that subject again.

"So what exactly is this project that you were called back so urgently to school to do?"

"Research, for some idea of Hermione's," grunted Ron.

"Hermione has this idea for something that might find Harry," Ginny added. "It's terribly complicated, and she needed help with it, so Dumbledore let her recruit us."

"If it's that important, I don't understand why Dumbledore doesn't bring in professionals," Molly wondered. "He should be doing this himself; not involving children…."

"It's very hush-hush," Ron said, trying to shut his mother up.

"Dumbledore's afraid that if word got out, Hermione might become a target," Ginny elaborated.

Molly's eyes narrowed as she replied, "You aren't endangering yourselves, are you?"

"Oh, no," answered Ginny, choosing to interpret "you" as limited to those present. "Dumbledore wouldn't allow that…."

Just then an owl flew in. Ginny recognised it, and it came straight to her. She took the letter, and the owl flew off, not seeking to get paid.

"Just when have you started receiving private owls, young lady?" Molly asked her daughter.

"Oh, Mum, it's just from Neville," Ginny replied, referring to her still relatively new boyfriend. She quickly glanced through the post making sure there was nothing incriminating. "He's…. He's…. Oh, Mum, he's been named Gryffindor prefect!" Ginny chirped happily.

"Well, congratulations to…."

WHAM!

Ron slammed down his mug of Butterbeer, and wordlessly stalked to his room. He did not emerge for the rest of the evening. Everyone else preferred to let him be. Ron had resigned the position. He had to expect that Professor McGonagall would fill it.

The party, such as it was, broke up shortly thereafter.

Arthur was owled awake at an ungodly early hour - 4:00 a.m. - and summoned to the office for "Ministry business." He refused to divulge what was happening, except to tell his family to "read tomorrow's Prophet."

Naturally, nobody (except Ron, who had stayed in his room) in the family could sleep after that. When the Prophet finally arrived, four hours later, the banner story about the ransom demand for Harry's life came as less of a shock to the Weasleys than might otherwise have been the case. Relief at public confirmation that Harry was still alive mixed in an awkward emotional stew with trepidation over what would happen next. The Ministry had invested a great deal of political capital in both Harry and the capture of the eleven Death Eaters. One way or the other, some of that capital would soon be spent.

Thus Ginny was on tenterhooks, and Ron was sulky, as the Weasley clan arrived at Platform 9 3/4 to catch the Hogwarts Express. Everything was just the same, yet everything was different. The train seemed unchanged from prior years - it had obviously been mended since the attack two weeks previous. The horde of students and parents saying their goodbyes was essentially the same, although the individuals constantly changed. Security was very high. Ginny counted a dozen Aurors on the platform, or on the train, and those were only the ones who allowed themselves to be seen.

For once, Ginny was relieved not to see her boyfriend. She was not at all sure how Ron would react to seeing Neville sporting his Prefect's badge. Ron, however, soon found Cho. To be with her, he settled down in a compartment full of Ravenclaws. He did not look particularly happy about having the company.

Ginny walked the carriage corridors as the Hogwarts Express pulled away, now looking for Neville. Instead she found practically everyone else on the train - either they wanted to congratulate her on the Order of Merlin, or they wondered if she had any additional news about Harry, Hermione, and the D.A.

Of the six "Potter's Marauders" she was the only one who was accessible to other students. Harry, of course, was missing. Hermione and Luna were noticeably absent, being already at the Castle presumably engaged in Merlin-knows-what dangerous magic. Ron was hiding out, and Neville was nowhere to be found.

After she searching the rest of the train thoroughly, there was only one place left for Ginny to look….

Neville Longbottom was idly leafing through the parchment handouts when the door creaked open and Ginny slipped in.

"Hi, Luv," she greeted. "Thought you might be here. The meeting isn't supposed to start for another fifteen minutes, you know."

"Hi, yourself," Neville replied, kissing her lightly on the cheek and reaching for her hand. "I know, but I'm new at this.… Wanted to find out what's going on…."

"It's new for me too," Ginny answered lightly, whilst squeezing his hand. "You'll do famously. Don't sell yourself short."

"I don't want to get too big a head either," Neville countered. "You're supposed to be new. You couldn't have been selected before. I'm a replacement. That's unusual enough, but I know I wasn't even the first choice … if he hadn't gone missing and all…. Compared to him…. Compared to Hermione…. I still don't believe I was chosen."

"Believe it," Ginny reassured him. "I believe in you…." The sentence was never completed as she leaned into her nervous boyfriend for a proper kiss.

After they came up for air, Neville's scarlet complexion clashed resoundingly with Ginny's orange-red hair. She thought he looked so cute when he was mildly embarrassed.

"So…?" she asked, "you've been through the agenda. Who's the Head Boy?"

"Eddie Carmichael from Ravenclaw," Neville replied. "I hardly know him to look at him."

"I've never said more than two words to him myself," Ginny remarked. "Hey! Wasn't he the one that Hermione caught selling bootlegged brain-boosting potions last year? I think Ron said something about how she busted him…."

"You know, I do believe you're right," Neville said with a chuckle. "I remember Hermione mentioning that to me whilst we were planning Harry's party. It's probably a good thing for Carmichael that she's not going to be at this first meeting. She would probably make him rather twitchy."

"She does that to a lot of people," Ginny said more thoughtfully. "Do you think she's going to go through with it?"

"If she has to…. I'm as certain of that as I've ever have been of anything in my life," Neville declared. "Harry…. Well, Harry means that much to her…." Neville's voice trailed off uncomfortably.

"You don't have to hide it from me," Ginny comforted him. "I know you fancied her. But you got over it, just like I got over my own crush on Harry." Secretly, she wondered if it were true. "I wish she could share her pain though…. It's not like the rest of us don't care."

"They're…. They're just the royal couple … if things ever get sorted out," Neville commented inarticulately. "I just wonder if…?"

"Oh, enough about them," Ginny shushed him. "Extraordinary talents come with extraordinary burdens. I wouldn't want to be in either of their shoes right now. I'm happy with you, and right now that's what counts."

"You're extraordinary enough for me," Neville answered. Seeing Ginny ready to pounce on him again, Neville tried to change the subject. "And Beth Dunston is Head G…."

The door to the Prefects' Carriage swung open forcefully, clanging against the wall. Both Ginny and Neville expected to meet some senior Prefects, but instead a parade of maroon-clad Aurors marched by. Not even acknowledging the presence of two junior Order of Merlin winners, they stepped through the forward door onto the platform between the first car and the engine. There, they Disapparated one by one, with resounding cracks.

"I wonder what that was all about." Neville speculated.

"A lot of Aurors just decided they had more important places to be than here, tending us," Ginny restated the obvious.

"Wonder if that's a good sign?" Neville worried.

"We need to find Hermione, she'll know," Ginny replied.

Finding Hermione was easier said than done. The Prefects' meeting was interminable, with all the new security procedures being instituted. Nor did it help that the Head Boy and Head Girl quite evidently could not stand one another. Dunston thought Carmichael was a typical Ravenclaw dilettante. Carmichael viewed Dunston as a run-of-the-mill Slytherin back-stabber.

The two Heads bickered and sniped until the meeting finally broke up less than fifteen minutes from the Castle. As a result, Ginny, Neville, and the other prefects with invitations all missed the initial "Slug Club" party in Professor Slughorn's private car that brought up the rear of the Hogwarts Express. The thoroughly disgruntled pack of Prefects barely had time to change into their robes - let alone to take their places escorting students according to the new procedures.

Thus confusion reigned on the darkened Hogsmeade platform. Hagrid was in a bad mood, yelling at the disconcerted First Years to get in the boats single file. Unprepared Prefects were misdirecting the older students this way and that. Ginny and Neville ended up uncomfortably sharing a carriage with several Third-Year Slytherins, all of whom made nasty comments under their breath about pro-Potter favoritism and the Order of Merlin. A particularly snide parting shot earned one of the Slytherins a five-point deduction, courtesy of Ginny's maiden exercise of her Prefect powers.

Hermione was nowhere to be found. As everyone spilt into the Great Hall, Neville and Ginny plopped down next to the Creevey brothers at the Gryffindor table, whilst Ron and Cho headed for Ravenclaw.

"I don't see Hermione," Ginny said softly to Colin. "Is anything up…? Oh, and congratulations, I saw your name on the list on the train."

"You're welcome," Colin replied. "Big doings. I don't really want to talk about them at the moment…." Someone had dropped by.

"Hi, Justin," Neville's voice cut smoothly across their conversation. "No, she's not around right now. I'm not sure where she is. We just got here ourselves. Don't know about that, either…."

"Anyway," Colin continued, "She somehow managed to get Dumbledore to agree to do you-know-what. I don't know how she pulled that off, but it has to be better than Luna doing it."

"That's huge," Neville interjected; relief palpable on his face. "It's got to be much safer that way…."

Another visitor.

"No, Padma, I haven't been told anything. I haven't seen her since I got back. I guess she's not in the Hall yet."

"I don't know how safe is safer, though," Colin resumed. "Dumbledore asked me if I believe in God…."

"She's not here Michael," Ginny said to the latest intruder in carefully measured tones. "And as far as you're concerned, I'm not either." Her former boyfriend, Michael Corner, slunk away.

"…Anyway, after I said, `yes,'" Colin continued, "he asked me to pray for the both of them because they don't pray for themselves."

"That doesn't sound very promising," Ginny observed.

"No it doesn't," Colin agreed. "Particularly since the Headmaster said he'd be back to talk to me and Luna about things some more before you lot arrived - and I haven't seen him since. It's not like him to make an appointment like that and simply not show up."

"Something's going on," Neville declared.

Once again a fellow student approached them. "No, Hannah," Neville responded politely, "I haven't seen her yet. Yes, I'll tell her that all the Hufflepuff D.A. members are asking after her."

Ginny turned to her equally discomfited Gryffindor housemates. "What in blazes is going on?" she asked.

Dennis, who had been silent up until then, remarked, "I think it's Ron."

They all looked around and saw Ron trying to talk to Cho at the Ravenclaw table. Almost immediately he was interrupted by Terry Boot buttonholing him. After a brief conversation, in which Ron gestured towards the Gryffindor table, Terry also came walking towards them.

"I think," Neville suggested, "that Ron, being their most visible friend … everyone in the D.A.'s going to him trying to find out what's going on, and he's sending them over here."

Sure enough, Terry Boot asked the same basic questions as all their previous visitors, "Hi, have you seen Hermione? Are we doing the D.A. this year?"

An air of unease hung over the Great Hall, where the students settled into place beneath the charmed ceiling's clear, starry sky. Physically, everything was in perfect order. A thousand or more candles flickered in mid-air, providing illumination. Their flames reflected in golden plates and goblets waiting to be filled and in silver utensils arranged for use. The house ghosts were present, but congregated about twenty feet in the air at the front of the Hall having a vigorous conversation of their own. Nearly Headless Nick gestured nearly straight down at the empty chair in the center of the Head Table.

Headmaster Dumbledore was conspicuously nowhere to be found, and he always opened the Welcoming Feast.

Others ordinary occupants of the Head Table were also absent. The chair traditionally occupied by the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was vacant, as was Professor Vector's spot. Professor Flitwick's usual seat was taken, not by the diminutive professor, but by a heavily cloaked witch of better than average height. Her face and hair were completely hidden, almost as if she wore a chador.

The Potions master was no longer the scowling, batlike Snape, but a portly, mustachioed wizard with a beer belly worthy of exhibition in the British Museum. Dressed in deep green robes, he gazed out at the crowd of students, an unreadable look on his face. Beside him, Madam Hooch's lips were moving as she reviewed a roll of parchment.

Ginny and Neville saw Hagrid slip through a side door and take his seat - meaning that the First Years were now successfully in the Castle. He was still glowering mutinously, although not at anyone in particular.

Ron threw himself onto the bench across from the four of them and next to Dean Thomas, who was studiously avoiding looking at either Ginny or Neville. After muttering a few choice words about people who "wouldn't leave me alone," he pulled out an envelope and laid it on the table.

"From Luna," he grimaced. "She gave it to me as I was leaving…. Said I should open it with you lot."

Ron slit it with a table knife and spread it out so they all could see it. Some of their housemates peered over their shoulders in curiosity, but soon sat back down, as the piece of parchment was charmed so only the intended recipients could read it. The shorthand note said:

D and M have been sabotaging us. H found them out and located missing books. We learnt everything. I was going to cast on H, but D threw in and agreed to do it. Would have been this afternoon before you returned, but something came up. Don't know what. Do not believe that either D or H is in Castle at moment.

L

Any chance for discussion ended when the main doors flew open and Peeves zoomed in cackling madly. A streak of angry red magic followed him closely. It pursued him as the poltergeist twisted and turned, traversing the length of the Hall at top speed. Peeves scattered the house ghosts, who ducked out of the way of the spell that chased him. Doubling back, Peeves was halfway out the way he had entered before the spell finally caught up with him. It lit him up like a Christmas tree. Paralysed and now glowing bright pink, Peeves' momentum caused him to drift towards, and ultimately bounce up against, the back wall. After a couple of smaller bounces, the pink, paralysed Peeves stopped moving like a trapped helium balloon.

Peeves was still adrift when Professor McGonagall strode into the Hall. Her mouth scowling, but with a look of satisfaction in her eyes, she sheathed her wand one-handedly. In her other hand she carried a battered pointed black hat along with a four-legged stool. Everyone in the Hall knew what these were for - except for the ragged line of First Years that trailed behind her. Some of them squelched as they walked from their recent encounter with Peeves' water balloons. Some were still adorned with bits of balloon.

The undercurrent of conversation ceased as Professor McGonagall put down the stool and set the hat on it. The time-honoured Hogwarts tradition of the Sorting was about to begin. The First Years looked small and scared - not to mention wet. These about-to-be-initiated children stood nervously in a row as they awaited their unknown test.

To the group of friends watching them from the Gryffindor table, each year the First Years seemed to get smaller and more frightened.

"Midgets," muttered Ron.

"Were we ever that little?" commented Neville.

"Were we ever that scared?" added Ginny.

"There's bloody lots to be scared about," Ron retorted. "I'm supposed to be part of a trio, but neither of them is here - and I know I'm terrified for the both of them."

All eyes among the returning students settled upon the torn and frayed Sorting Hat, which had started to wriggle. A badly sewn rip just above the brim came unraveled, and popped open into what looked like a smile. The Hat, neither needing nor wanting any introduction, launched into its annual song:

The Normans they were still in France
Back when I was created.
A thousand years have now advanced
Since the Founders' wish was stated.

A school of magic they did form
United in their vision.
None of them could see the storm
That followed from their mission.

The foremost school in all the world
Successfully they built.
The Hogwarts crest proudly unfurled
They backed it to the hilt.

Gryffindor, boldest of them all
Did institute his plan:
Brav'ry and courage he did call
Within his house to man.

Ravenclaw prized above the rest
Outstanding intellect.
She searched the land to find the best
For her house to select.

Slytherin thought blood was purest.
Ancestry breeds ambition.
Genealogy was surest
And worthy of admission.

For Hufflepuff hard work did pay,
And that was what she wanted,
Loyal sorcerers did always stay
To her as the most vaunted.

Once the school was well established,
Each house sought out its type
Four fingers no longer made the fist
Among the four came strife.

That strife continues through these days,
And threatens what we're here for.
The havoc that division plays
In this, a time of sheer war.

A scion of silver and of green
Doth hold the red and gold
In captivity obscene
That story still unfolds.

But power of which we all know not
Is soon to be unleashed.
A rescue from this very spot
Could not destroy the beast.

A reaching out between the minds
Can touch a tortured soul.
Emotions that can recombine
No enemy can toll.

Release a power so immense -
As lightspeed times itself.
The unintended consequence -
The helper needing help.

As long as houses do divide,
The risk of failure mounts.
Unity comes from inside
For that is where it counts.

The job I do may not be right,
But still it must be done.
I'll sort your darkness from your light
And hope the war is won.

Another class is to be quartered,
My task decides just how.
Hogwarts unity restarted.
Begin the sorting now.

With that, the Hat fell silent and still. It received a healthy round of applause, but also a rumble of comments and whispering. If the Hat's song last year had been political - a plea for unity - the Hat's song this year was more. The plea remained, but the Hat touched upon current events. It did so in typically inscrutable fashion, with some of its references incomprehensible even to those who read the Prophet every day. The friends' comments were typical, if somewhat better informed.

"That part about Slytherin holding Gryffindor captive has to be about Harry," Neville commented as he eyed that Hat peculiarly.

"Everyone knows You-Know-Who's the bloody scion of Slytherin," Ron agreed.

"But what's that part about an unsuccessful rescue?" Ginny asked, her face furrowed with worry over Hermione.

"Don't rightly know," Neville answered, "and what's this unknown, immense power that's soon to be unleashed?"

"Dunno," Ron offered helpfully, "any more than I know what a lightspeed is…."

All conversation ceased as Professor McGonagall, apparently assuming both her normal role and that of acting Headmistress, pulled out the parchment upon which the First-Year roster was inscribed. She began calling the names:

"Accrington, Eban."

A frightened, brown-haired boy with a pudding basin haircut was pushed forward by his compatriots. Having no idea what to do, he approached McGonagall rather than the Hat. She sternly pointed one finger in the direction of the Hat. The boy trotted over to the stool and picked up the Hat like it was something radioactive. Whilst the boy was looking it over, someone yelled out, "Put it on your head, it's a hat." The boy did. The Hat squinted in concentration for a moment, and then shouted, "RAVENCLAW!"

"Bloke didn't seem all that clever to me," Ron commented lazily.

Alexander Ayers went to Slytherin, prompting the first applause from that table. Neville looked over, and instead of seeing the depleted numbers he expected, noticed several older boys he had never seen before.

Calvin Beamish became the first new Gryffindor, and the table duly erupted in loud whoops and applause. In due course, he was joined by Evelyn Cavendish, Mark Evans, and Seamus Finnigan's little brother Éamon.

As the line of First Years shortened, Ron spoke for the group when he remarked that he was past being ready for the meal to start. Ginny and Neville could not have agreed more with those sentiments. They had been trapped in the overly long Prefect meeting on the train, and being first-timers, had not thought to purchase anything from the trolley beforehand. Everyone was relieved when "Zwicky, III, Fritz" became a Ravenclaw, because it meant they were that much closer to the feast.

Professor McGonagall collected the Hat and the stool and brought it to the head table, where Argus Filch, the Squib caretaker, took them from her and disappeared out the side door. She then climbed around the back and took Dumbledore's ordinary place in the centre.

Looking nervous and somewhat distracted, McGonagall stood before the assembled staff and students, took a deep breath, and assumed the Headmaster's customary role of opening the feast.

"I am happy to welcome back all of our returning students. I trust and expect that our latest entering class will take its place in the long black line of Hogwarts students and graduates that has furnished indispensable leadership to Magical Britain for almost a millennium."

"Ordinarily, I would free you to begin your feast without further ado, but I wish to assure you that I am only a temporary stand in. Headmaster Dumbledore sends his regrets, but he has been unexpectedly delayed and was unable to attend the Opening Ceremony. He is hoping to be back sometime later this evening, perhaps early enough to address you all."

"Also since there are several of them, and they would like to share in the feast as well, I would like to introduce our new staff members," Professor McGonagall declared. "First, our new Potions master and Head of Slytherin House, Horace Slughorn."

Most of the students looked at each other questioningly. They had never heard of him before. The few who had, knew him from their parents as the former Hogwarts Potionsmaster who preceded Professor Snape - and as an inveterate fixer for those students he chose to favour.

He was as different from Professor Snape as night from day. For one thing, he was fat - one of the few things Snape could not be accused of. Instead of the severe black robes Snape preferred, Professor Slughorn favoured rich deep green dress robes trimmed with silver fox fur, in the colours of his house. He also knew how to smile, something else foreign to his predecessor in the position. With a brief wave, Professor Slughorn sat back down.

"I would also like to introduce our new instructor of Defence Against The Dark Arts, Professor Kingsley Shacklebolt…." The Acting Headmistress proceeded to provide the ex-Auror's biographical highlights.

"Stealthy, that one is," remarked Ron. "I didn't see him come in."

"He worked with my parents," Neville replied. "If not in the same class at the ACS, they were close. He could have eventually been Chief Auror, but for some reason quit to come here."

Almost everyone in the Hall was surprised when, after exchanging a glance with McGonagall, Shak stood to speak.

"I have some more news that you all should know," Shak's deep voice rolled over the Hall. "All of this will be in tomorrow's Prophet, but you deserve advance notice. We received intelligence today concerning the location where one of your number, Harry Potter, was being held against his will. Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor Flitwick, myself, and many others participated in a rescue attempt earlier this afternoon, whilst you were on your way here. Regrettably, that attempt was unsuccessful…."

Gasps arose from all about the Great Hall.

"…We had the right place, and encountered Voldemort…."

More gasps, although this time from use of that name.

"…along with at least thirty Death Eaters. Whilst we were fully engaged, some of the Death Eaters spirited Mister Potter away to parts unknown. Eventually we defeated the remaining Death Eaters or drove them off. As you might expect, a massive search effort is underway to track down these remnants and to recover the hostage. The Headmaster is now dealing with the repercussions, and is expected back at the Castle in short order." With that he sat down.

"You don't think…?" began Ron.

"To a logical certainty," Colin anticipated the comment. "They couldn't keep her away from that with sixteen Hungarian Horntails."

"I hope she's alright," Ginny commiserated.

"They didn't rescue Harry, so you can bet your bottom Galleon she's not," added Neville. No one disputed him.

Professor McGonagall had moved on, but the friends were not really paying attention. They were too worried about both Harry and Hermione to care about some adjunct Charms professor who kept herself so thoroughly obscured by bulky robes as to be unidentifiable, until….

"…with our Ministries allied in the war, we agreed that our respective most prestigious schools of magic should exchange liaisons," McGonagall continued. "I present you with the Beauxbatons liaison, Miss Fleur Delacour.…"

With that, the witch in Professor Flitwick's customary seat Vanished the heavy robes that had concealed her and stood before the assembled students in form-fitting French magical officer's robes - deep indigo with red piping at the seams.

Two years before, the same young woman had graced these halls as a contestant in the Triwizard tournament. Now, as then, she remained a stunning example of classic Gallic beauty. She had the same long silver-blonde hair framing her face in bounteous waves and spreading well down her back. She had the same striking light blue eyes, the same high cheekbones, and flawless teeth. Her angelic complexion still seemed more carved from alabaster than a creation of mere mortal flesh.

But Ginny, in particular, noticed something different about her. It was in her eyes, but not of them. The woman no longer had the flighty air of "Phlegm" - the sarcastic nickname the Weasley girl had previously bestowed upon the rather narcissistic Frenchwoman. Ginny could tell that tragedy had changed Fleur. Those eyes held something more substantial than during the Tournament or even during her too-frequent and too-long visits to the Burrow to see Bill. Her eyes now looked mature, even old, as if aged a thousand years. Ginny knew that look - her mum had it too - and knew the reason why. It was the ineffable sadness of a woman who could have the world, but not what she needed the most.

There was more - in the clench of Fleur's jaw, and in the fierce gaze cast by those thousand-year eyes. A determination resided within; almost palpable to those few in the room with the presence of mind to look for it. As Fleur surveyed the crowd of Hogwarts students, she exuded a sense that her time would come, and that woe befall those who did unspeakable things to the ones she cared for most.

"Bonsoir, mes amis," she started before switching to English. "I `ave been appointed liaison officielle between `Ogwarts and Beauxbatons. For zee duration of zee war our two schools `ave been designated as fraternal by our respective ministries. Zat weell eenvolve a number of activities zat weell be announced een due time. Mes counterpart at Beauxbatons ees Aleecia Speennett."

Just like that Fleur sat down. Her audience's greeting divided about equally between applause and expressions of affection from the besotted male population of the Castle. One other thing that had not changed about Fleur was her Veela powers.

"What a sodding drama queen," complained Ginny. "Who does she think she is, Diana-bloody-Spencer? She didn't need to conceal herself like that…."

But Neville was paying her no heed. He was too busy gawking at Fleur. Scowling, Ginny pinched him on the cheek to restore him to reality

Across from her Ron was equally glassy-eyed. "Right in one," he vaguely agreed. "She shouldn't conceal herself at all…."

Ginny gave her older brother a swift kick under the table. "And you, Ronald Weasley, should be watching out for someone else."

After that, Professor McGonagall did the honours of opening the Welcoming Feast. As always, delectable piles of culinary delights appeared by magic before all the diners. This year, however, the mood was anything but celebratory. Harry's absence seemed to depress everyone's spirits - except at the Slytherin table - and the news of the unsuccessful rescue only accentuated the already negative atmosphere.

At the Gryffindor table, Hermione's absence raised additional concerns. "All right, what do you know?" Ron asked Colin in a conspiratorial undertone.

"Not much, sorry to say," Colin responded. "She was here early this morning, with Luna. They made a really major breakthrough. Then she went somewhere she wouldn't say. Then she was back, with news that Dumbledore was going to help somehow."

"Doubt it was Hermione … that turned him around, I mean," commented Neville between bites. "I'll bet it was that ransom demand. It gave Dumbledore a bloody deadline and he was out of bloody ideas…."

"Whatever," Ginny responded to her boyfriend. "I'd much rather have the Headmaster's experience and skill, whatever his motives."

"Anyway," continued Colin, "Dumbledore himself told the two of us, and Luna, that he would be casting the spells. We asked if we could watch, but he said only Luna."

Ron spluttered, "What about us…?"

"He didn't say," Colin replied. "He seemed preoccupied, and not all there. But that wasn't the end of it…."

"I'd love to know what could top that news," Ron remarked.

"How about Hermione riding that broom of hers at breakneck speed though the Castle?" Dennis commented.

"What?" blurted out Ron, Ginny, and Neville in incredulous unison. Hermione's aversion to flying was well known.

Ron continued, "You mean Hermione's got the same wicked model broom Harry has? What a bloody waste of a broom that is. She hardly flies at all…."

"RON!!" yelled an enraged Ginny.

"Well it's true!" replied Ron with certitude.

"Back to the point," Dennis broke in, "Colin wasn't there. He was moving some of our equipment to the Common Room, when Hermione came blasting in, astride that V-shaped broom, as mad as I've ever seen her. She took a couple of things from her flat, and stormed out again. I don't think she ever dismounted. I asked what was going on, but all she did was mutter about Dumbledore, so maybe he reneged."

"If he did," Neville vowed, "I'm turning in my bloody badge."

Just as the afters were to be served, McGonagall stood again. The buzz of conversation ceased and the well-satiated student body turned what remained of their attention span to her. Before uttering any of the usual statements about the Forbidden Forest really being forbidden or Filch's new addendum to his banned items list consisting of the entire Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes catalogue, she made an unusual announcement:

"All of the Order of Merlin award winners from the past term are asked to report to the Headmaster's office immediately … to discuss arrangements."

"Bloody hell," Ron protested. He looked mournfully at the marzipan fruitcake and custard and clotted cream covered fudge that he was going to miss. Ron grabbed a handful of raspberry tarts as he stood up and left.

One by one, the four students rose and walked to the main exit from the Great Hall. Everyone's eyes were upon them as they strode out. A chorus of whispers swelled behind their backs.

Professor Shacklebolt met them outside the Great Hall. He shushed their urgent questions and led them to their destination.

"Black Diamond of Périgord."

What they found upon arrival had nothing whatever to do with the Order of Merlin. Instead, Dumbledore and Hermione greeted them. The two could not have presented a starker contrast. Dumbledore was dressed in a heavy travelling cloak. Hermione was clad in a diaphanous white linen dress that reached to her ankles, the only adornment being her Prefect Badge. Dumbledore looked very old, tired, and windswept. He was wearing some ugly, heavy gold and black ring.

For her part, Hermione looked as if she had just stepped from a long bath, her hair still wet and her face pink and well-scrubbed. Dumbledore smelled of desperate duels in musty basements. Hermione was redolent of magical bathwater and purifying spells.

Ron's confused look upon seeing those two was shared by all of the summoned students. The Headmaster launched into an explanation before any of them could say a word.

"I have asked you here because momentous events have occurred and will occur," Dumbledore began. "You, as the closest friends of both Mister Potter and Miss Granger, deserve to know the truth, both about what has happened and what is going to happen."

"The truth is that you misled and blocked us for the better part of two weeks whilst Harry was being held Merlin knows where," Ginny spat.

"Correct - for which I can do no more than apologise," Dumbledore replied. "Miss Granger and I have already discussed this point, and I daresay that if she were as accurate with a shoe as she is with her wand, I would look even worse than I do now. Moreover, my deceptions have continued to this day. There was no temporary obstruction of the drains in the Prefects' bathroom, as some of you were informed on the train today…."

"No obstruction except Hermione, you mean," Neville corrected, as the penny dropped for him.

"Quite right, as I have discovered that bodily cleanliness is positively associated with the success of the coming venture," agreed Dumbledore.

"What coming venture?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"In a few hours, the Headmaster will be performing the spells necessary for me to try and locate Harry," Hermione said boldly. "Since you're my dearest friends, and you all gave so much to help bring this about, I want you to observe the result. Will you…?"

This last offer plainly came as a surprise to the Headmaster, who neither expected, nor desired, a crowd of student observers. He broke in. "I am afraid that is not possible, not on the schedule we are on. This is the first night of the term. We cannot spare the Prefects. I'll allow Mister Weasley to observe since he is not a Prefect, but as for the others…."

WHAM!

Neville slammed his hand down on Dumbledore's desk. When he removed it, a Prefect's badge remained.

"Keep your bloody badge then, I was only your third choice anyway. This is more important."

Ginny stood and placed her badge next to Neville's. "I stand with Neville," she declared.

Luna stepped forward and wordlessly added her badge to the others. Before the rather stunned Headmaster had a chance to respond, a fourth badge was levitated in from behind him, landing deftly on top of the rest. "I can do no less," Hermione declared. The total number of Gryffindor Prefects was thus cut in half.

"All of you are overreacting," Dumbledore started. "With the staff, I have taken all the precautions necessary…."

"Headmaster, frankly you lost the trust of this group when you hid things from us and thus betrayed Harry," Hermione harshly admonished. "I've already told you that I'm here only because you're a far stronger and better wizard than anyone else we could hope to recruit. You provide us with a much better chance of success. But don't let that fool you into thinking that this is over between us. It's not by any means."

"Such impertinence!" came a voice from Hermione's left. "A potential Head Girl who would resign her position? I think not…."

"Taedus!" With a squelching sound, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus was completely covered with gooey black pitch.

Hermione lowered her wand and, her tone deadly, warned the portrait, "One more word out of you, and I'll set you alight."

"You are not to be denied, Miss Granger," Dumbledore commented, somewhat alarmed at how the other portraits would react if she carried her threat through. "Impertinence or no, it is not important now, in light of what we must of necessity do together…. Very well, I shall permit everyone here to attend. The services of my Prefects for an entire year are more valuable than their absence for a single night. Now we seem to have gotten altogether far afield from our topic."

"Yes," replied Neville, who had started the diversion. "You were going to tell us what's happened, and what's about to. For myself, I'm most interested in your change of heart…."

"Very well," Dumbledore sighed. "I did not want any of you involved at all, save Miss Granger. But … the truth is, she outflanked me at every turn. Since she was the sole source of contact with Mister Potter, she was indispensable…. However, there was, and is, great resistance to placing any student under Hogwarts' care in danger on anyone's account, even Mister Potter's. To forestall open rebellion whilst still having access to Miss Granger's information, I was forced to engage in a ruse - however, I was found out."

"Have you ever considered telling the truth?" Ginny exploded. "Or is truth always the last resort with you?"

"Truth about what?" Dumbledore turned to the girl. "About the type of spell that you sought actually existing? All that would have produced, I am sure, was an immediate demand to perform it. I could never have obtained the consent of the rest of my staff without exploring every possible option to placing Miss Granger at such great risk. I had to address that eventuality more than once."

"On that, he's right," Hermione broke in - this time defending the Headmaster. "I know myself. I wouldn't have wanted to wait a minute."

"A confluence of matters finally left me no choice," Dumbledore continued with his explanation. "Most prominently, everything else had failed. Mister Potter has been extraordinarily well concealed, and the Death Eaters did an amazing job - better than I have ever encountered in decades of fighting them - in concealing their true activities. Not until I saw Voldemort and his forces with my own eyes was I truly convinced that they actually had your friend. Further, the public ransom demand, together with the appeal process governing the eleven convicted Death Eaters, created an implicit deadline. My hand, in short, was forced by the very legal process I had advocated."

"What do you mean seeing it with your own eyes?" Ron inquired.

"My original plan was to perform the necessary spells on Miss Granger today, before your return. It would have been much simpler without all the students present. However, there was an all too brief reprieve. We received information this morning that disclosed Mister Potter's location…."

"Thus the rescue attempt mentioned during the feast," Ron commented in a voice that made no attempt to hide his displeasure at not accompanying the erstwhile rescuers.

"Quite," Dumbledore's expression darkened. "We were informed by a reliable source that Mister Potter was being kept in the catacombs beneath the Malfoy Manor. The Ministry should have secured the place but missed that part of it …."

"The reliable source was Dobby," Hermione broke in. "A house-elf … a free house-elf, who because he was free was able to disclose critical information about his evil former masters…."

Ginny cut across Hermione in mid-rant with one of her own. "I will kill that ferret-face! Then I'll kill him a second time just to be sure! Then I'll grind his body into hamburger and feed it to Hagrid's Skrewts!"

"Such extreme measures are unnecessary," Dumbledore chided. "I have no reason to believe that Mister Malfoy has anything to do with this. He transferred to Durmstrang, and my contacts with that school's administration have confirmed his presence at all relevant times. It was Voldemort. It always is. Whilst I do not profess to understand all of his evil plans at the moment, he unquestionably took Harry. Our rescue party encountered him, in person, and over thirty Death Eaters today - which is why we failed."

"Wha … What happened?" Neville asked in a faltering voice. Hermione was at least as interested, since despite her nearby presence, she had yet to hear an account of the battle.

"Once we learnt the news early this morning, on very short notice I assembled two squads of Ministry Hit Wizards, some forty Aurors, another dozen or so members of the Order, and several members of the Hogwarts staff. With Dobby showing us the way, we entered the Manor's grounds. After stunning the useless Escheats Office wizards, we had just accessed the lower catacombs through a secret entrance when we encountered Voldemort and a large number of Death Eaters."

Profound sadness flashed in Dumbledore's eyes. "They were ready for us…. I do not know how…. It probably had something to do with the extensive protections of Malfoy Manor itself. The Death Eaters were in full attack mode the moment they saw us. The on-point squad of Hit Wizards was virtually wiped out. Tragically, only a few survived. I was in the second echelon. We might have met the same fate except Dobby threw up some sort of magical shield that diverted most of the volley of curses aimed for us.…"

Glancing at Hermione, who seemed on the verge of interrupting again, Dumbledore hastened to add, "It was a shield that he could not have conjured had he not been a free elf. The effort of it rendered him unconscious…."

It was not Hermione, but Luna who interrupted. "But how? It's been a basic fact of life for decades that the Killing Curse is unblockable."

"Unfortunately, Dobby has not discovered a counter to Avada Kedavra," Dumbledore explained. "Rather, Voldemort has attracted a large number of Chinese wizards to his service of late. We only found out recently, because their practice is to destroy their own bodies if killed in magical combat. With the assistance of Miss Granger's father, who evidently is an excellent marksman, we managed to acquire a corpse of one who died non-magically. These Chinese wizards do not seem to be trained in the Killing Curse. Rather, they use equivalent curses that, whilst deadly, are nevertheless blockable."

"After our initial losses, the battle evened out. There were numerous skirmishes in the bowels of the Manor, and continued casualties on both sides. The Manor's own protections were evidently tripped, so we were fighting the house itself as well as the Death Eaters. I duelled Voldemort personally for more than fifteen minutes, my longest ever. He and his followers were very determined. We finally had to call in the backup squads guarding the perimeter."

"It was a calculated risk. We were worried that, the longer the engagement, the more danger to Mister Potter. In a tactical sense it was successful. Our additional numbers drove the Death Eaters away. In a strategic sense, it was a terrible blunder, because calling on the reserves opened up escape routes, which several Death Eaters evidently used to decamp with their hostage. Thus the raid was a failure. Miss Granger was outside Malfoy Manor at the time. She can tell you more, but I must regretfully take my leave for the time being. There are matters I must attend to."

Hermione was surprised. She thought that the ritual was to begin immediately after this discussion. Standing to block Dumbledore's way, she demanded, "Where are you going, and more importantly, when will you be back? We have precious little time."

"I know, but I must make an appearance at the Feast before it ends to prevent any panic - particularly once it becomes known that the Ministry has agreed to free the eleven Death Eaters to comply with the ransom demands…."

"WHAT?!?" the entire room (except Hermione) chorused in unison.

"We can always catch more Death Eaters," Dumbledore responded firmly. "There is, unfortunately, only one Harry Potter. It took every bit of my persuasive powers, but I convinced the Wizengamot to order it. The release has probably already happened."

"Professor, I for one believe you did the right thing," Hermione affirmed, daring anyone to contradict her.

Nobody did.

"After showing the flag at the feast, I must deal with the latest diplomatic crisis," Dumbledore continued. "I expect to return well before tonight's conjunction. I would like the rest of you to remain here. Under no circumstances can your absences delay matters."

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore Vanished his desk, and a table, quite like the ones in the Great Hall, only smaller, appeared - laden with all of the desserts offered at the Welcoming Feast, even the marzipan fruit cake.

"Tuck in," Dumbledore said genially, as he turned to leave.

"Wait one minute," Hermione called out. "What's this latest crisis?"

At the door, Dumbledore turned his head. "The goblins," he told her. "They are incensed that they were not informed, given Mister Potter's status. They claim to have an army of 15,000 that they can deploy anywhere in the British Isles in two hours' time. They believe that I botched the job. Unfortunately, they may be right. Please be ready when I return."

Dumbledore left. Ron practically ran to the dessert table, and most of the others followed. Hermione noticed Luna eyeing her curiously, and wondered what she wanted. Luna was probably the most perceptive person in the room.

"What do the goblins have to do with Harry?" Luna asked. Everyone in the room looked up.

"Harry…." Hermione paused. Harry might be angry with her for revealing this secret, but Dumbledore had basically forced her hand. She would not lie to her friends. "…Harry became a goblin prince over the summer…. A member of their royal family…."

"Bloody Hell," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of treacle tart. "Seems like everything happens to him."

"One may think so," Hermione sighed, thinking about what had not happened over the summer.

"I think we've got some news for you, too," Ginny mentioned. "From the feast."

Hermione smiled at her. "Good. I can use to be distracted right now about something that's less than a matter of life and death. I'm so jumpy…. So what's the latest gossip?"

If Hermione were looking for a harmless, girl-talk diversion, she was sadly disappointed. "Fleur Delacour is back at Hogwarts as some sort of liaison from Beauxbatons," Ginny declared.

There were very few things that Hermione had wanted to know less at that particular moment. All she could remember was how that beautiful, recently widowed (in a manner of speaking) witch had turned her considerable Veela charm on Harry in Reims. Hermione sank into a squashy chair, uncertain whether she would be able to eat her peppermint humbug without being sick.

"Thanks, I really, really needed that," she groaned to a rather surprised Ginny.

As the evening grew long, the friends all ate until sated. Hermione told everyone the story of how she had discovered Dumbledore's deceptions and confronted the Headmaster (to clucks from the portraits of Dumbledore's predecessors), how Dobby had discovered Harry's whereabouts, and her perspective on the failed rescue mission.

Members of the staff trickled in. Hermione and the others assumed that they had been recruited by Dumbledore to help with the complicated spellwork that would occur later on. Plainly, this was not to be just her and the Headmaster alone in some cave somewhere. Professors Flitwick and Shacklebolt, Madam Pomfrey, and surprisingly Professor McGonagall all entered the room at different times.

Appearing very tight-lipped and uncomfortable, Professor McGonagall approached Hermione and motioned her to a quiet corner of the Headmaster's office.

"I know you're upset with me right now, and you have every right to be," the Deputy Headmaster said. "I opposed all this, and I still do; tis not bairns' work. But Dumbledore is correct that there is only one Harry Potter…."

That was the second time that this precise expression had been used that evening. It put Hermione even more on edge. She wondered if McGonagall knew the prophecy….

But that was not what Professor McGonagall had come to discuss with her.

"Be that as it may, however," she continued. "As your Head of House, there are still matters that necessarily fall to me, and this is one of them. I have just received correspondence from your mother. She is back in Britain and wishes to see you. You can certainly imagine why…."

"NO!" Hermione exclaimed loudly enough that everyone else in the room turned and looked at her. She waved them off. This was something solely for herself and McGonagall. "I … I just can't deal with that … right now. Wait till this is over. I need to maintain a clear head for this. Mum … will just drive me crazy. They both abandoned me…. He's now a fugitive from justice. I don't know whether she was involved or not, and right now I can't take time to think about it. Tell her whatever you want, but I don't want to deal with anything having to do with my parents until after I find Harry…."

"Legally, she's still your guardian, you know," Professor McGonagall reminded the girl. "At least for the few remaining weeks of your minority, she can force matters if she chooses."

"That's not so; not after Third Year," Hermione protested. "You of all people know that."

The older witch looked cross. "And so do you, I gather."

"I do read," Hermione said shortly.

"Indeed - I have been reminded."

"I just don't want to see Mum now," Hermione pleaded. "I have to stay focussed."

"Very well, you do indeed," Professor McGonagall reluctantly agreed. "I will attend to it in accordance with your wishes."

Finally, Dumbledore returned. He spent about ten minutes in his private quarters cleaning up and getting ready. When he joined the others, he was splendiferous indeed, wearing the same silver-sparked, glittering robe that Hermione had seen in the photograph - the photo in which the Headmaster was now headless.

"Wh … Where do you want me to be?" Hermione asked in an unnaturally small and submissive voice.

"No. Not here." Dumbledore responded in a voice that seemed magically fortified. He strode purposefully to the door. He was a man on a mission now. "Reverso," he commanded. The revolving stairs leading up to his office silently reversed their upward direction. "Follow me. We are going to the Founders' Chamber."

* * * *

Author's notes: "Loose lips sink ships" is a WWII expression for keeping military preparations secret

There are reasons why I have Hermione keep the Valkyrie even though she's terrified of it

The "what you are" line says as much about Dumbledore's understanding as the Death Eaters'

Moody's prediction proves accurate, justifying measures taken to reign in Hermione

When Hermione visited it, the Room of Requirement was unknown to the Healers with whom she worked

Upcoming events will keep Hlr. Huxley quite busy

Note the M.A.S.H. acronym

Ironically, what Hermione did goes against her usual meritocratic outlook

The "face had fled" line is from ELP's "Pirates"

Another hint as to the identity of the Contact

Draco has his own version of the Marauders' Map for Malfoy Manor

Bitter almonds is the distinctive smell of a certain substance

"Sound and fury" is a line from Macbeth

The repeated thud of heavy doors is from the old TV show "Get Smart"

Healing involves the old "humors" from Aristotle and Galen

Rubbing the throat to induce swallowing is a real technique

Hermione's Healer's orders become important later

Aqua vitae is actually an exotic term for distilled spirits

The left ventricle is the driving chamber of the heart

TPW (third-party wizard) and pre-authorization are sarcastic references to managed healthcare

Code is short for code blue, which means threatened with imminent death

Pneumothorax is medical jargon for a collapsed/punctured lung

If she had had the Valkyrie, Hermione would have given lone chase, thus doing precisely what the OOTP intended to prevent all along

Carmichael seemed to have good enough grades in OOP to get the Head Boy post. I try not to go with the usual fanfic choices

Hagrid, of course, is displeased that he was not invited to go on the raid

In case you didn't catch it, Colin is the other Fifth-Year Gryffindor Prefect

As usual, there are all sorts of clues, predictions, and conundrums in the Sorting Hat's song. The organization of the rhymes themselves is telling

Accrington is a randomly chosen British place name

The new Slytherins' presence will be explained

Seamus' brother's name comes from Éamon de Valera, a president of Ireland

Fritz Zwicky is a well known astrophysicist from the mid-twentieth century

"Long black line" is a play on the "long gray line" used to describe West Point cadets

Again, ACS = Auror Candidate School

Exactly how much of an example of Gallic beauty Fleur is will be revealed

Thousand year eyes are from Earth's Children - used to describe Ayla

Marzipan fruitcake was served at Queen Victoria's wedding

Dumbledore's ring, of course, is an HBP addition

Neville is getting more assertive

Given what Hermione thinks she knows about the prophecy - and about Harry's parents - it certainly is not over between her and Dumbledore

Taedus comes from a Latin word for sap

Voldemort's coincidental presence convinces Dumbledore wrongly that he was responsible for Harry's kidnapping - an unsurprising misconception that helps Draco greatly later on

As some of you anticipated, the Escheats Office's failure opened the door to much mischief

"On point" in this context, means leading the assault. They weren't ballerinas

Thus the goblins reappear - incensed at wizard blundering, and demanding a more proactive role. They get it

Given what happens, Hermione's mother will be a major complicating factor

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