The Perfect Azkaban Breakout (one-shot version)

1. The Perfect Azkaban Breakout

A/N: This fic was first posted in 12-chapter form on fanfiction.net, Portkey itself and Fiction Alley. I do hope it's not illegal to post a fic twice on Portkey...

Prologue

The first Azkaban Breakout happened in 1982, when Barty Crouch Junior and his dying mother were switched by his father and House Elf. While this escape went unnoticed for several years, it ended in tragedy for all involved. However, this cannot be called a Perfect Breakout because a prisoner still remained in Azkaban. Even worse, a guilty prisoner had been replaced by an innocent one.

The second Azkaban Breakout happened in 1993, when Sirius Black - who was only guilty of the crime of underestimating the person who framed him - took advantage of his unregistered Animagus form and left the island. He almost died in the attempt, but survived. However, this was not a Perfect Breakout because his disappearance was immediately noticed and he was on the run for the rest of his life.

The third Azkaban Breakout happened in 1995, when Voldemort broke out a dozen of his Death Eater lackeys. As with Mr Black's case, this was not a Perfect Breakout as it was noticed.

The fourth Azkaban Breakout was planned in 1999. In prison - and by no means innocent of the murder he was accused of - was Harry Potter. Attempting to remove him were his friends and associates from the Order of the Phoenix. They faced far more obstacles than any previous breakout, for two reasons. First, far more security precautions, such as 24 hour monitoring and magical signature detection, had been put in place by the efficient Minister Scrimgeour. Second, they did not want the world to know that Harry had escaped.

In short, friends of Harry Potter wanted to pull off the Perfect Azkaban Breakout.

This would, of course, be impossible.

8 September 1999

It had been two weeks since Rufus Scrimgeour had been dubbed by the worldwide media as The-Minister-Who-Sent-The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Azkaban. He was not amused. It was not supposed to have worked out like this.

Why had the boy used the Unforgivables to deal with Lucius Malfoy? Why couldn't he have simply blown the blonde bigot's head off with a strong Reducto, or Scourgified his brains out, or Accioed his heart, or Banished his kidneys? All nice Light OWL-level spells that a lawyer could justify to a sympathetic Wizengamot, especially if the defendant pretended to show remorse. After all, several members of that robust body were delighted to see the last of the man who bribed and blackmailed and controlled their votes.

But no - the Boy-Who-Didnt-Think had cast the killing curse.

That was Big Bad Dark Arts. Never mind the fact that Malfoy was well into the second word of the same curse when the green light from Potter's wand hit him. Never mind the fact that Malfoy had just cast Avada Kedavra on the two youngest children of a respectable Ministry employee, who happened to also be his girlfriend and best mate.

In a huge public trial, the Boy-Who-Lived had voluntarily provided Pensieve memories of the three murders and admitted to the third, both without and with Veritaserum. There was no trace of Imperius, and the boy could throw that off in any case. Polyjuice impersonation had also been ruled out. That he had killed Malfoy was in no doubt; the question was how much he should be punished for it.

Personally, Rufus felt Potter had done the Ministry and Wizarding World a favour by eliminating the elder Malfoy, and had wasted a golden opportunity to experiment with castration curses before killing the man. Potter seemed to have similar sentiments, stating that "if the price of killing a bastard like Lucius Malfoy is spending the rest of my life in a cell, then the only thing I regret is not doing so earlier. Then my friends would still be alive."

Press coverage of the trial had been a nightmare, with news agencies all over the world in attendance. The best coverage came, surprisingly or unsurprisingly, from a local magazine.

The Quibbler had been steadily changing and gathering readers in the months prior to the trial, but its coverage of the event was what made it known as a legitimate news source.

Scrimgeour was a long time Quibbler reader. His name was not on the list of subscribers, however. Instead, a drinking buddy of his bought two copies, and sent him one. This friend, a respectable and well-travelled businessman who owned a couple of stores in Knockturn Alley, marked each article in Rufus' copy with a lucid comment that told him how to read the article. Comments included "true" or "I think this is false" or "ignore this" or "you don't need to know" or "you really don't want to know" or "Lovegood really is cuckoo about this" or, occasionally, "false".

Scrimgeour's favorite comment was "precisely false", which generally accompanied articles that said things like "Elves really are extinct and there is absolutely no truth to the rumour that they are living in peace in a different dimension".

The change in the Quibbler's style was coincidental with an event most upsetting to the Department of Mysteries. Their Number One potential recruit, who had been targeted since she was a sixth year, turned them down. Instead, Luna Lovegood took over her father's position as editor of the Quibbler. (He had then promptly embarked on a long-term expedition to find horned dinglebats and wailing whippersnappers in South America.) To the surprise of her former classmates, the odd Ravenclaw decided to take it mainstream and make it The paper of the young progressive elements of Magical Britain. This hugely expanded its subscriber base, particularly amongst those with Muggle connections and perspectives, and there was talk of making it a newspaper instead of a magazine.

Lovegood Junior had hired several columnists whose words would never decorate the pages of the Daily Prophet. One columnist was the "Newblood Witch", who used the words Oldblood and Newblood instead of Pureblood and Muggle-born. She revealed her actual name, in the interests of full disclosure (and credibility - though that cut both ways) after Malfoy's murder of her boyfriend and best female friend.

Hermione Granger's columns before the trials had pointed out several technicalities that, when combined, should have deemed Harry Potter subject to no jail time. Such as Malfoy's status as an escaped convict, the fact that the trial that put him in Azkaban in the first place should really have sentenced him to the Kiss instead of to a porous prison, the acceptability of using a spell on someone who has just used the same spell, and, most impressively, a long-forgotten law that allowed for family members to legally take revenge. Potter was argued to be family because he had - Gringotts confirmed it - been engaged to the youngest Weasley.

Fortunately for Scrimgeour, it had not required much politicking by his lackeys to persuade Wizengamot members not to let Potter off the hook completely.

The Newblood Witch's response to the three year sentence had been a column memorably entitled "The Law is a Flobberworm!"

After the sentence, Scrimgeour had visited Potter while the lad was in a Ministry holding cell awaiting transportation to Azkaban. There were well-buried and quite legitimate laws for the time honoured tradition of post-trial deal making. The boy was presented with the option of Go To Jail For Three Years or Cooperate With Us. The deal even included the option of being an honorary Auror, so that he could use Unforgivables in future.

However, Potter hadn't even considered the option of cooperation with the Ministry. The previous Minister's actions had completely alienated the boy, and Scrimgeour's own actions (bloody Shunpike!) had not helped. His advisors' understanding of the boy's psyche were off the mark completely, having been based on the now-known-to-be-ridiculous assumption that Mr Potter was a normal male teenager. The revised analysis, that he was a traumatized repressed angstsy attention-hating kid who hated bullies and had the Ministry only fractionally behind You-Know-Who on his List Of Big Bad Bullies, had come too late.

Oh well. At least Potter would be safe from Death Eaters and the like in Azkaban. Surely safer than he was currently - reports said that the boy had spent most of the two years since the demise of Albus Dumbledore disappearing on extended camping trips with his friends. With no adult supervisors, let alone Auror guards! Irresponsible brat.

Yes, it was a good thing he was under Ministry protection now.

Scrimgeour's Ministry had put in several measures to make sure that the prison was impenetrable. The additional measures were designed to stop all known previous escapes, and others they had thought of.

With the departure of the Dementors, the basic security measures - anti-Apparation, anti-Portkey and anti-House-Elf wards - had been strengthened.

Anti-Animagus wards were a different matter. They were clearly necessary - Shacklebolt had been spreading rumours that there was a rat animagus amongst the Death Eaters. (He claimed that it was Peter Pettigrew, but Scrimgeour would believe that when he saw it.) After all, recordings in the Department of Ministries when Potter and You-Know-Who had played Hide And Seek in the Department of Mysteries four years ago showed that Kingsley and Sirius were both members of Dumbledore's gang of elderly vigilantees.

However, there was a problem with Anti-Animagus wards. They had not been invented yet, and probably never would be. Therefore, prisoners were tested every three months (every week in the case of allegedly powerful wizards like Potter) for Animagus ability. This would deal with unregistered Animagi, including people who somehow learnt the transformation while incarcerated. No cells had windows, and the ventilation and plumbing - in case any animagus form was small enough to escape through them - could be filled with paralysing gas at a moment's notice.

Each cell was monitored by remote Scrying - an excellent idea borrowed from Muggles - he had made a personal tour of Muggle prisons in London and Amsterdam under the guise of being part of a foreign delegation of Muggle crime enforcement officers. Potter's cell alone was always watched by at least two people in the remote scrying room at the Ministry, in addition to two guards at the door of his cell.

To prevent Polyjuice impersonation, particularly of the guards, all visitors to Azkaban had to drink a Potion that nullified the effects of any Polyjuice Potion they might have ingested.

The best new security measure was definitely magical signature detection. This was unique to each prisoner, so switches could not happen. All prisoners could be tracked, and if a signature disappeared from a cell for more than ten minutes, an alarm would sound.

There was absolutely no way to escape from Azkaban. Certainly not without everyone knowing about it.

9 September 1999

Hermione Granger was not in a good mood. A month ago, three of her four best friends had been ripped from her life. She had got past the initial stages of shock and grieving, and had now moved on to her current stage.

Rage.

Remus Lupin winced as he entered the living room. The noises emanating from the basement of Number 12 Grimmauld Place were wreaking havoc on his hearing. He glanced over at the sofa, where his pink haired wife was reading a book that her old classmate Charlie Weasley had given her on their wedding. It was a French translation of a Romanian book with advice for werewolf mates.

There was another crash from below.

"What happened to Silencing Charms?" asked Remus.

"She forgot to put them up before she started blasting away," replied Tonks, putting down her book. "Trust me, hubby dear, you sure don't want to get near that room now that she's started."

"She still doing the usual?"

"Pretty much. I didn't know there were that many variations on the Destroy Wooden Bespectacled Messy-haired Scarecrows theme. At least she's shouting different stuff now. She's moved on from yelling at him for getting himself into jail."

"Oh, good. I thought she was harping on that point for way too long. So what's she yelling now?"

Remus' question was soon answered first hand. The yelling from the basement restarted.

"HARRY YOU BASTARD! WHY DIDN'T YOU LET ME GET A PIECE OF MALFOY FIRST?"

"Never mind," the werewolf muttered, wincing again at the shouting. "I'm still glad she's yelling."

"Yeah," replied Tonks, "she's been stuck in her room for three weeks before she started all this screaming and blasting away at Harryquins. It's good to let it out."

"Harryquins?"

"Harry-shaped mannequins."

"Ah. Of course."

The conversation switched to a discussion of the Romanian book for a while. It was quite good, but little known in Britain. They had had many discussions sparked by the material in the book. What was immediately clear was that Remus' psyche was very different from most werewolves described there. They were not ostracized as much by their society, and accepted the wolf more. Most werewolves in prejudiced countries left for elsewhere. Remus and Fenrir Greyback, on opposite ends of the human-wolf personality continuum, were both exceptions in that they stayed in Britain.

Their conversation was interrupted by an irate Hermione storming up from the basement. To describe her hair as bushy would have been an insult to that particular species of vegetation. Her thumps up the stairs to her rooms were loud, and neither Remus nor Tonks said anything till she returned and proceeded down the staircase. She was holding a book.

"Did you see the title?" asked Tonks, visibly struggling to avoid giggling.

"Probably on making better illusions of Harry that she can throw Reductos and Incendios at."

Tonks sighed, and put her feet up on the couch so they were in Remus' lap. He traced his finger down one of them. She lengthened her left arm and whacked him on the head. He stopped tickling.

"Explain to me again why Harry allowed himself to go to Azkaban. I feel like joining Hermione down there burning effigies of him for doing that." Tonks nibbled on her fingernails. One of the many advantages of being a Metamorphagus was that she never had to run out of fingernails to chew on.

"At the present moment, your eloquent hypothesis is the best explanation I've heard," replied Remus.

"That he's a bloody Gryffindor?" asked the former Ravenclaw sweetly. She noticed, idly, that there had been no sound from the basement for some time. Hermione must have put up Silencing Charms this time.

"Yes, that one. Or he was ashamed of having to take a life, even a worthless lump of Hippogriff droppings such as Malfoy, that he was willing to let justice take his course."

"Yes, but he did not have to offer so much evidence in favour of it! I still think he was under some undetectable charm or something to get himself thrown in there!"

"It does not matter really, love," replied Remus calmly. "We still have to get him out of there. There is only one Horcrux left to get, and then You-Know-Who himself."

Harry had told the grown-ups of the Horcruxes after a mission to retrieve Rowena Ravenclaw's Pensieve resulted in Ron almost losing his left leg. Hermione had persuaded him (hauling by the collar, pushing against a wall, speaking dire threats in a low and terrifying voice barely above hissing, all with her newly matured magic sparking off her skin and hair in flames of red and blue) to come to his damn senses and let others help.

It was about this time that not a few people wondered if Hermione was, perhaps, a long lost descendant of Rowena herself. Her Weasley mate, still in a hospital bed at the time, voiced the hypothesis as a question offered in jest. Her vicious and most uncharacteristic response - "Who gives a bloody shit about that?" - was immediately assumed by those present to be a rhetorical question.

In any case, various members of the Order had embarked on Horcrux-finding trips to old Riddle haunts or Horcrux-identifying trips to the Black and Hogwarts libraries. Most expeditions were fruitless, but had still cost the lives of five Order members - Hestia Jones, Rubeus Hagrid, Roger Davies, Petra Fenwick, Jane Callaghan. Even the library sessions were unsafe, though Elphias Doge had laughed off his loss of a couple of fingers to a book the late half-giant gamekeeper would have loved.

Their search for the Horcruxes had been helped by a couple of suggestions sent by an anonymous Death Eater who claimed to be an old associate of Regulus Black. He - if it was a he - sent his letters using an inconspicuous brown owl. Efforts to figure out his identity were fruitless, especially with the name he signed his notes with. After all, there was no way "Bellatrix" was betraying Voldemort.

Now there was only one Horcrux left other than Voldemort himself. It was unlikely to be Nagini, despite Dumbledore's suspicions.

And they had no idea where it was. There were a couple of search teams out to investigate their last clues, but those clues were such long shots that their reports tonight would be formalities."

"It's nearly time for the Order meeting," said Remus, casting a time-telling spell. "I'll get the cocoa ready. You go get the blasting bibliophile."

Tonks scowled, and stuck her tongue out as he headed towards the kitchen. She sighed dramatically, and put on her best shield charms before heading towards the basement.

She made sure her footsteps were loud clunks as she approached the door to the large expanse that was the Black family basement. Strangely enough, she could not sense any Silencing Charms. This was worrying. But the door opened, all ready for Tonks to trip through it.

Which she did.

As she picked herself off the floor, she walked to where Hermione was getting up off the floor. She had been reading the book she had brought downstairs. However, evidence for her previous activities remained. Wooden mannequins, with varying degrees of resemblance to Harry Potter, were lined up in the middle of the room. Other Harryquins, with varying degrees of flame damage and limblessness, were scattered to the sides.

"Better?" Tonks asked, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," said Hermione in a small voice. "It's time for the meeting, isn't it?"

"Looks like it," Tonks said, guiding the younger witch to the door. "What were you reading?"

"Dummy's Guide to Prison Escapes. Muggle book."

"Ah. Should have guessed. Last Christmas, my dad gave me the Dummy's Guide to Walking Across Rooms Without Kissing the Floor."

"Was it any use?" asked Hermione as they walked up the stairs. It felt good making jokes again.

"I tripped over it."

"It is time to bring this meeting of the Order of the Tabby to order!" said Fred Weasley, rapping a plastic cat on his desk like a hammer.

Minerva McGonagall transfigured the redhead's Muggle trousers to a skirt while Molly Weasley yelled at him. This was her first outburst since the death of her children, and was welcomed by all. Meanwhile, Fred looked annoyingly pleased with his new accoutrement as he sat down.

The Order of the Phoenix was no longer called as such, since Fawkes had never returned. Minerva had decided to have a small group of members that she trusted, and told everything. She called this the Inner Order, even if the Weasley twins insisted on more feline appelations. There was also an Outer Order, whose members had fewer responsibilities, more plausible deniability, and less information.

"Thank you, Mr Weasley, for that eloquent introduction," she stated. "We have two reports to hear before we move on to the main topic for today - Flitwick has some information about a Potion to create a duplicate of Potter, complete with magical signature. And yes, I said Potion, not Charm."

Arthur Weasley reported on his trip with his son Charlie to the Albanian forests where Bertha Jorkins had been last sighted several years before. They had found nothing other than an old colony of dryads.

Alastor Moody reported on the trip he and Remus Lupin had taken to the orphanage Tom Riddle had grown up in. They had found clues there before, and had hoped to find new ones. They had not.

With the formalities completed, all eyes turned at once to the dimunitive Charms Professor. Filius Flitwick had never been part of Dumbledore's Order owing to disagreements he had with the old wizard about the importance of sharing information. Minerva was far more open about information, and Filius had joined the Inner Order without hesitation when invited by his old friend.

He had found an obscure Potion that could duplicate a magical signature. However, it had some drawbacks.

"It's actually a Potion from Estonia. You can think of it as advanced version of Polyjuice. I only found it by chance, through a footnote in a Charms book in my family library. There are, however, a number of difficulties. The easiest one concerns its primary ingredient, which is the blood of the person being impersonated."

The teacher waited a moment for the resulting swearing to die down. Obtaining Harry's blood was highly non-trivial, and if that was the easiest difficulty...

"I mentioned that the Potion is like Polyjuice. This means someone has to drink it to look like and bear the magical signature of Mr Potter. This is, obviously, not ideal. And no Order member can volunteer to take the Potion, because it has to be taken by a - er - Muggle."

Minerva glanced at Hermione, who was staring at the Charms master in disbelief. Relieved that the Muggleborn witch was less of a hothead than her late boyfriend, and wondering for a fleeting moment how Lily Evans would have reacted to such a pronouncement, she broke the silence.

"I presume, Filius, that you had a reason for suggesting this. Substituting Mr Potter with an innocent Muggle does not sound like an option."

"There are Muggles in life imprisonment for murder," offered Shacklebolt. He had Squib friends in the Muggle police. Hermione opened her mouth, as if to protest, then seemed to realize something and nodded slightly. "There are several ethical issues, of course. It seems acceptable to substitute Mr Potter with a guilty Muggle for three years. The trickier issue is the Obliviation that will need to occur afterwards. The Muggle prison will have noticed his disappearance, so we cannot return him there without Mass Obliviation. And if we return him to the streets, he is not punished for his crimes. Finding a Muggle who has three years left on his sentence is a better idea, but Muggle prisons are allowed visitors, and they would notice his absence."

Filius coughed diplomatically. "Thank you, Kingsley. You see the many problems with that option. However, I believe there are a couple of loopholes with the Potion. First, the reason for the substitute being a Muggle. This is to avoid interference with any existing magic the substitute has." There were nods around the room. "Second, it is quite likely that the substitute does not have to be human. Merely close to it."

Minerva could see the wheels turning in the heads of both Fleur and Remus, the two non-humans in the room. Remus was harder to read, of course, but she had long practice in that activity. Fleur was more of an open book, and Minerva could see the instant the quarter-Veela realized that magical non-humans would not fit Flitwick's requirements.

"A non-magical animal, Professor?" asked Hermione, after some thought. At Flitwick's nod, she continued. "A primate? An ape! Would a gorilla work?"

"I suspect so, Miss Granger," squeaked Filius, as if resisting the temptation to award House points. "Although a chimpanzee would be a better option, since they are more closely related to humans. I had the chance to visit the library before coming to this meeting." The witch flushed at the correction, and acknowledged his diplomatic wording of it. After all, she hadn't got a chance to check the library herself.

"Gracious!" exclaimed Tonks in a faux high tone. "We get to make a monkey out of Harry!"

"No, Nim dear" chuckled Remus, "quite the opposite. And Hermione, please don't get in the way of a good joke and point out that monkeys are not apes."

When the snickering had died down, the Headmistress continued. "Filius. Let us suppose we obtain some of Mr Potter's blood and a chimpanzee. How difficult is the Potion to make? And the legal implications?"

"The imbiber of the Potion looks like the person whose blood is used, complete with magical signature. The Potion is, I believe, a couple of years above NEWT level." He nodded at Fleur, who was studying to be a Potions Mistress and the best candidate to make it. "It would be illegal in Britain if the Ministry knew of it. It is restricted by name in Estonia, but I do not know if any wizard or witch there actually knows what the Potion with its name actually does."

"How long does it last?" asked Moody, cognisant of his own long and unfortunate experience with a Polyjuiced doppelganger.

"The Potion originated from an error," said Flitwick, wincing. "It does not wear off."

"Ouch," exclaimed George Weasley, serial guinea pig for experimental products.

"Can't imagine how they figured that out," muttered Fred Weasley, fellow serial guinea pig.

"Does Polyjuice work on a chimpan - on a chimp?" asked Bill Weasley, looking at his wife.

"I do not know," she replied. "I know it does not work on me, and I am mostly human."

"But it does work on werewolves," offered Remus, doubtless also from personal experience.

"I do not think we can tell in advance," Flitwick pointed out. "After all, this is not Polyjuice. I said you could think of it as Polyjuice. Perhaps for now we should try a chimpanzee, and if this fails, we consider ... alternatives.

"I second Filius' statement," said Minerva, gathering everyone's attention. "We will investigate the chimp option first. I believe the twins will be delighted to acquire one - no, make that two. Is this an acceptable task, Misters Weasley?"

Fred and George did not bother to even look at each other before screaming their affirmative response.

Rubbing her ears, Minerva continued. "We still need to work out how to obtain Harry's blood. Filius, how much blood is required for one dose of potion?"

"One and half standard vials per dose, Minerva," he replied. "In addition, there are a couple of other difficult ingredients." He gave the recipe for the Potion to Fleur. After a couple of minutes, she nodded.

"I see that they can be obtained using the usual methods," stated the old witch. "Please let me know if you need Order funds for this, Fleur. I would also suggest, if I even need to suggest it, that you buy the ingredients outside Britain, and in different locations. This is not a Potion we want anyone to be able to guess at. Its possibilities are most disquieting." There were several nods at that. "Has anyone any objections?"

"Yes, Minerva," grunted Moody. "The animal may look like Potter after drinking the Potion, but it is not going to behave like him. It is not going to behave like a human. After we switch Potter with it, those watching the cell will notice at once!"

"Bugger."

No-one disagreed with Tonks' statement or language.

"Imperius?" suggested Shacklebolt. "It's not against regulations to use it on animals. We could ask Potter to go all moody and silent before the switch. Then it will not look that unusual."

"A good idea, but it would not last," countered Moody, false eye rolling madly. "Someone would notice, even if it takes a week. And then it will be discovered that there has been a switch, and he will be hunted. And those close to him will be watched."

Arguments about this continued for a few minutes, with no-one able to provide a persuasive counter argument. Eventually, Minerva called a halt to the discussion, and came to a decision.

"This is what we will do," she said, in a voice that brooked no further discussion. "Misters Fred and George Weasley will obtain two male chimpanzees from some zoo in London or some place. Try to obtain the calmest possible animal, please. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am," said George.

"We will endeavour..." said Fred.

"... to find a pair of monkeys ..." continued George. (Tonks clapped her hand over Hermione's mouth to stop her yelling "Ape!")

"... that are most unlike us," finished Fred.

"That will do," replied McGonagall, rolling her eyes. "Take it to the Room of Requirements at Hogwarts. Auror Shacklebolt and Miss Granger will investigate possible Muggle prisoners we might abduct should the apes not work out. Now we must discuss the question of how to obtain blood from Mr Potter."

The meeting continued for another hour.

10 September 1999

Hermione walked along Hyde Park slowly, savouring the autumn breeze. It would rain soon, and the smell of approaching rain was one of her favorite smells. A Muggle-specific Notice-Me-Not bracelet jangled on her left wrist.

She stepped aside to avoid being crashed into by a couple of tracksuited joggers. They were having a conversation about which stocks to buy, based on some fancy mathematical calculations she had no idea of.

Perhaps when all this was over, Hermione contemplated, she would take her International Baccalaureates and then go to Cambridge or Durham for a degree in Physics. Not Oxford, since that was too close to the burnt out home that her parents had died in two years previously.

Enough of that. Shove that emotion away. Forget Mum. Forget Dad. Forget Ginny. Forget Ron. Forget Ron. Forget Ron.

Bloody Hell. Perhaps she would start swearing. In his memory. That was a good idea. She could do that. She resolved to do so. And if she ever had kids, she would name them all Ronald, even the girls, and teach them how to swear. There must be books that taught creative cussing.

She chuckled, and wrote the idea down in her Muggle notepad, for future perusal. Now she could forget about it and focus on other things.

Focus on those left.

Focus on Harry.

Get him out of Azkaban, and then Hex him to little itty bitty pieces for having the nerve and pure idiocy to get himself thrown in there when he should be comforting her.

But get him out first. Hex later.

An owl approached her, and she began heading for the nearest park bench. She got there before the owl did. She noticed, with a start, that she was clenching her wand. Wrist holsters were a great thing, and the waterproof South African one Ron had given her two birthdays ago was one of her most treasured possessions. He said a cousin of his had picked it up for him in Dublin's equivalent of Knockturn Alley. She hadn't wanted further details, and Ron had been relieved not to provide any.

The brown European owl was not one she recognized. It did not have a Ministry collar. It was brown, and its eyes were the orange of others of its species. Not an animagus, then. None of the Muggles around her seemed to notice it either, so it presumably had a similar Muggle-attention-avoidance charm as she had.

She relaxed. Checking the parchment it carried for spells, she cast a charm to open it and had it unroll on the park bench for easy reading. The owl nodded approvingly. Perhaps it was related to one of Moody's.

Miss Granger,

I know the location of the final object you and your friends seek.

The Dark Lord is planning to invade Azkaban and kill Potter there shortly. You need my help to get him out.

Yes, I killed Albus Dumbledore. But I have always wanted to kill the Dark Lord, as indicated by my previous messages.

I have killed and tortured several other people since, including innocent Muggles and Order members, to gain the trust of the Dark Lord. I could have killed you as well, but chose not to in anticipation of this day. You would, at least, not Hex me on sight, thanks to your incorrigible Gryffindor sense of morality.

Inform the owl of this decision. You see the ringlet on its left foot. I can hear everything you say to it.

I can still kill you.

Bellatrix

Hermione sat there, stunned. Then she stood up and paced around the bench, leaving the parchment hovering over it. As she paced, she kept an eye on the owl and its ringlet bug. It stared back, its expression as unreadable as its Master's.

Its Master was Snape. 'Bellatrix', their trusty anonymous infamous informant, was Snape. And that was why he had spared her life on a couple of missions. She had wondered about that.

Harry had told her that Snape and Dumbledore had looked in each other's eyes shortly before the Headmaster had died. They almost certainly communicated by Legilimancy in that time.

Snape was still a murderer, rapist and torturer. He had earned the right to be Kissed several times over.

But he had helped them.

She came to a conclusion.

She turned both of her eyes to the owl.

"Tell your Master I wish to talk with him. Cooperation is possible."

The next thing she knew was that her former Potions Master was standing in front of her. A red light was fast approaching her, from his wand. Then all went black.

One hour later, at Twelve Grimmauld Place

It was a good thing, Moody reflected, that standard Inner Order practice prevented any of them from walking in public places alone. They were always in groups of at least two, and each group had at least one invisible member.

Granger had wanted some time to walk in the Muggle park where she had spent many hours reading as a young girl. He had not liked it, but appreciated the need for Thinking Time. He had lost his father at sixteen, his mother at twenty-three, his wife at thirty-eight, his only child (a daughter) at forty, his favorite nephew at forty-one. Every time, and many other times, he had needed Thinking Time. It was usually done in his Kitchen, watching a meal burn, but to each their own. If Granger had to do it in a public area, and Tonks was willing to guard her, this was ... acceptable. Barely.

Tonks had read Snape's hovering note as soon as Granger stopped reading it, and had stunned the traitor less than a second after he had stunned Granger. Moody would yell at the Muggleborn witch for getting stunned in the first place, but not now.

Minerva and Tonks and Lupin and Weasley (Bill) and Weasley (Fleur) were here, waiting for the Veritaserum to take hold of Snape. Surprisingly, it did not appear that he had taken the antidote beforehand. But he still required three times the regular dose before his answers were halfway near believable. His self-training as a spy ensured that. Not that Moody believed three was adequate, but it was possible that three and a bit was fatal, and it was difficult to extract information and misinformation from dead Death Eaters.

Oh well. Time to start asking questions.

"Name," asked Moody. He walked around Snape, wooden leg clunking its usual rhythm for such occasions. He had spent hours perfecting the optimal type and frequency of clunk for interrogations like this.

"Severus Hadrian Prince Snape."

"Occupation."

"Potions Master. Spy. Death Eater."

"Spy for whom?"

"For the Dark Lord and for Albus Dumbledore."

"Who do you owe ultimate loyalty too?"

"Neither."

"Do you serve You-Know-Who now?"

"Yes. I am a Death Eater. We always serve the Dark Lord. We have no choice."

"Do you wish to serve You-Know-Who now?"

"No."

"Did you kill Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes."

"Did you kill him on his orders?"

"No."

There was silence.

"Why did you kill Albus?" This was from Minerva. Her hands were shaking, presumably in rage, and her voice was close to trembling. She had, after Albus, been the only person whose opinion of Snape was higher than pigeon droppings, and had taken his betrayal hardest.

"I was under an Unbreakable Vow to kill him if Draco Malfoy was unable to. If I had not killed him, I would have died. Dumbledore knew this, but we had not expected the situation to arise that quickly and thus had not discussed its possibility. He asked me not to kill him, but I disagreed. I felt my worth as a spy is more than Albus' worth as a leader. This is still true. Albus was too soft on Potter. By getting close to the Dark Lord, I could find the location of the remaining Horcruxes, and help vanquish the Dark Lord."

Lupin shot a spell at Snape, but Tonks pushed aside his arm. It hit the ceiling, leaving a large scorch mark.

"What and where is the last Horcrux?" Moody resumed his questioning.

"It is the staff of Salazar Slytherin. It is in the grave of Merope Gaunt, his mother. Her grave is unmarked. It is in St Edmund's Field in Kent. Next to it is the grave of a Mr Lucas Kewnsthorpe."

Moody's eye swivelled to focus on Granger. She had been standing at the base of the stairs behind him for the past ten minutes, listening to the traitor's poor excuse for a confession. Flanking her were the Weasley twins, wands out and wearing an uncharacteristically stern expression.

No-one said anything.

The Veritaserum wore off. More accurately, from Moody's point of view, Snape pretended it had been effective and now pretended it had worn off.

Granger broke the silence.

"Snape," she said, her voice admirably cold. "Why is your Animagus form an owl?"

Trust the girl to ask that question. Though, come to think of it, it was the most unexplainable event of the day. Tonks reported that the owl's eyes were orange, and Snape's eyes were black. The Animagus transformation did not change eye colour. Everything else that had happened was barely plausible, but this was impossible.

"That is because, idiot girl," said the irascible Potions Master with a glare that gave no indication that he was bound, shackled, under innumerable wards, and had half a dozen wands aimed at him. "I am not an Animagus. I have no natural Animagus form. The Dark Lord has aided me in the procurement of several obscure journals. One has a Potion discovered by Salazar Slyherin's great grandson for human-to-animal transfiguration. I modified it so that one could choose the animal. I find owls most suited for spying."

Moody wondered if there were degrees of silence. The silence following this pronouncement seemed even more acute than the one that followed his purported confession.

"You expect us to believe this?" asked the old Auror, his wand moving to the bound man's throat.

"I certainly don't expect you to believe anything," spat Snape. Moody moved to his left, avoiding the spittle. "I merely intend to give you information, and perhaps some of you will have adequate cerebral capacity to use it."

"Severus." Minerva spoke again, her tone icy. "Only your missives signed as Bellatrix stand in your favour. Explain what you get out of this. I wish to know why I should not turn you into a misshapen cauldron, fill it with acid, and toss you into a furnace to melt over a period of several weeks."

Snape winced. "I have been a slave of two masters for the past twenty years - the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore. I hate them both. I want them both dead. My mission in life is half complete. I intend to use you all to help me finish it. I will take an Unbreakable Vow to help and not hurt you all. In return, I want amnesty. I want to leave this miserable country forever under a new identity once the Dark Lord is dead. I want enough money to brew and research Potions in peace for the rest of my life. I want an Unbreakable Vow from you all to leave me alone, both directly and indirectly. I want this to end."

Moody, for the first time, felt inclined to believe him.

"You think you are in a position to ask us for anything?" spat Fred.

"I am not stupid, Mr Weasley," explained the prisoner. "If there is no exchange of Unbreakable Vows, then I will bite a capsule that is currently lodged in my teeth. They contain a Potion of my devising, and I will die. And you will gain no more information from me. I hardly need say that you need it."

"We will add to the Vows you will take," pointed out Granger, after more silence. Only Moody, Minerva, and Bill Weasley had their wands still fully raised.

"Good. You would be uncharacteristically stupid not to do so," Snape smirked.

"Why did you try to hex me then?" asked Granger after recovering from the compliment.

"To avoid this whole interrogation, of course," barked Snape. "I don't particularly love being the one bound and threatened. I was going to explain all this to you, and let you go to tell these other imbeciles."

"Of course you were," continued Granger, her poise apparently recovered. "Now, your note mentioned that Voldemort wants to break into Azkaban to kill Harry. When?"

"In three weeks, on the first of October."

"Have you got the instructions for this Potion of yours?" asked Fleur, glancing at Granger for permission to ask the question.

"Check the inside pocket on the left wrist of my cloak. There is a parchment there. It has instructions that are nearly correct. That should convince you of its plausibility. After your Vows, I will provide the correct version."

Moody could see Fleur heading for the cloak. Her husband stopped her, and began casting various revealing spells on it. It probably be several minutes before he allowed her to touch it. The old Auror approved.

In the meantime, the questioning continued.

Moody felt the ensuing debate would be a long one. And he suspected he would not be on the winning side.

10 September 1999

After much negotiation and trading of insults, Snape and the Inner Order had sworn Unbreakable Vows to help each other defeat Voldemort and allow Snape to disappear afterwards. There were enough conditions and exceptions to make the whole process of actually swearing the Vows more boring than a Binns lecture, especially since Snape insisted that he hear everyone else swear individually.

The exception that caused the most argument was the Kill If Captured one. If any Order member - other than Harry - was captured by the Death Eaters and Snape was given a direct order to kill them by Voldemort, he would be permitted to do so.

On the other hand, Snape's information seemed worth it. After all, nothing was going to bring Dumbledore, or the others Snape had killed, back to life.

The Faux Animagus Potion, as the human-animal transformation draught was called, caused the most excitement. Fleur and Hermione spent several hours discussing its properties, while Remus and Bill hunted for ingredients. The ingredients were nowhere as hard to come by as, say, boomslang skin (which was now illegal in Britain and France), but there were dozens of them. The blood of the person drinking the potion was also required, but only half a standard vial. There were several pairs of ingredients that neither witch had seen in the same Potion before, though they supposed Snape had.

It was a remarkable concoction, especially given its dual nature. If the witch or wizard drinking it already had a natural Animagus form, drinking the Potion would allow them to take the form almost instantly. If they had no such form, then the Potion would have no effect other than nausea - unless it was brewed with the blood of a non-magical creature as an added ingredient. In that case, the person became an Animagus with said creature as their form.

No-one knew what Harry's form was, as he had only been in the barest beginnings of Animagus training when he was imprisoned. It was likely, though not certain, that he had a form. Most wizards and witches had forms; the difficulty was in activating them.

Much to Minerva's chagrin - she being a firm believer in working for something rather than having it handed on a silver platter - there was a flurry of interest amongst Inner Order members on what animal they wanted to become. Mutterings of "I hope I don't have a natural form" were common, though never in the Headmistress' hearing.

The Weasley twins had delivered a pair of healthy male chimps from London Zoo to Hogwarts almost immediately. The apenappers returned to the Zoo for the next two days, mostly spending time around the aviaries. It was known that the Weasley twins no natural Animagus forms (they had investigated the possibility two years before) and Tonks started a betting pool on their eventual choice. All the popular choices were birds, and it was clear that headwear with self-Scourgifying charms would soon become very popular.

Since Hermione was now helping Fleur with brewing, the task of helping Shacklebolt find a suitable Muggle prisoner to abduct fell to the two Muggle-raised Gryffindor dorm-mates of Harry, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, who were both Outer Order members. Since they could easily guess the eventual purpose of the prisoner from the search parameters, they were sworn to secrecy. They even asked, much to Moody's approval, to be Obliviated every night. Normally, for the purposes of plausible deniability, they would just be Obliviated at the end of the mission.

Tonks had been given the task of procuring of blood from Harry while he lounged in Azkaban. She had planned to kidnap a guard and take their place. However, a series of fortunate circumstances made an easier alternative possible.

Thanks to Scrimgeour's overturning of various Umbridge restrictions, many Azkaban guards were Werewolves. Their jobs for the five days surrounding the Full Moon were taken over by a contingent of Auror trainees. Fortunately, the first Full Moon of Harry's imprisonment was fast approaching, and some of the Auror trainees were former DA members and now Outer Order members.

One was Ernie Macmillan, who had been Headboy in what would have been Harry's Seventh Year had the Boy-Who-Lived stayed in school. He was on Harry-watching duty on the shift two days before the full moon. He was also willing to get some blood from Harry while on duty, since there were no laws forbidding the taking of blood from Azkaban prisoners. Tonks told him the technically true story that the blood was required for a Potion they were using to fight Voldemort, who shared the same blood as Harry, since that made a good cover story.

However, the person on duty with him, Rowena de Villiers, was an unknown Dutch witch who had moved to London after attending Durmstrang. A nice person, Ernie said, and probably trustworthy, but not an Order member.

The plan was fairly simple. Near the start of the eight hour shift, Ernie would ask de Villiers to fetch them both cups of coffee, or something of the sort. Guards and prisoners were forbidden to have unnecessary conversations, a practice enforced by those remotely watching the cells with Azkaban's long-range Scrying charms. Ernie would angrily throw a stone at Harry, complete with verbal insults. Harry would read it and follow its instructions.

Catherine calling. Plan ready. Needs your blood. You must fake suicide. Slit your wrists. Pufferfish will collect. All cats purring for you.

Catherine was Hermione's pseudonym within the Order. Pufferfish was Ernie's, much to the Hufflepuff's dismay. He really was far less pompous than he used to be, thanks to Auror training.

Harry looked at Ernie in shock when the stone hit his arm. He knew Ernie was in the Order, and was hoping for a whispered conversation to pass the time - high-security Azkaban inmates were only permitted one visitor a month. His jaw dropped further when he heard Ernie yelling obscenities about him being a murderer and Dark Lord in training. (Insults were not considered conversations, so the remote watchers would pay no attention to this.)

Ernie was shocked as well, though to a lesser extent and for different reasons. His aim was terrible, and he had therefore intentionally tried to hit Harry. For all the times for bloody Gudgeon's Law to strike...

Harry picked up the stone to throw it back, when he seemed to realize the stone was flat and sharp. Flat meant messages could be written on it...

Recalling that he was being watched, Harry stopped in mid-throw, and chucked the stone in a disgusted manner into a corner that was out of sight of the guards. Making a rude gesture at the pair - de Villiers had since returned with the coffee - he followed the stone and sat down heavily in the same corner. After five minutes, he idly picked it up, staring at it with an expression that a despondent five year old boy once used to gaze at spider webs in his cupboard. He waited for half an hour, and then slit his wrists and lay down.

A couple of minutes later, there was a flurry of activity. The remote Ministry-based watchers had noticed Harry's plight and alerted Ernie and de Villiers.

"Damn the bastard!" shouted Ernie as he dashed into the cell. "Rowena, go fetch Summerby and a Replenishing Potion! I'll stop the bleeding!"

De Villiers scuttled for their supervisor, while Ernie rushed to Harry's slumped figure. Making sure his back covered Harry's arms from the remote scryers, he presented the perfect picture of a panicked guard, loudly swearing about trying to remember Healing spells and making wild swishes of his wand in an effort to prod his memory. Meanwhile, he Banished the blood spewing from the prisoner's wrists into the vials he carried. When his four large vials - equivalent to eight standard vials, since Ernie was a firm believer in spares - were full, he heard hurried footsteps in the distance and suddenly 'remembered' the correct Healing spell.

He was levitating Harry to the bed when de Villiers turned up with the Prison mediwitch and a couple of supervisors.

12 September 1999

Two days later, Ernie proudly read the Daily Prophet's headline "Potter Tries Suicide in Azkaban!" The article stated that "The healing expertise of Auror Trainee Ernie Macmillan, and the quick footwork of Auror Trainee Rowena de Villiers, saved Potter's life. We commend them on their diligence."

It was fortunate, Ernie thought ruefully, that the public did not know about the remote watchers. He and Rowena had been chewed out for not realizing what Harry had done, and having to rely on the remote watchers. He didn't think it was their fault that not all of the cell could be seen from the guard locations.

In retrospect, a couple of other details did not make sense. After leaving Azkaban yesterday morning at sunrise, he had found a couple of empty vials in his pocket. That was most odd. Secondly, why had Harry tried to off himself just after reading the message Hermione had sent with the stone? Perhaps the stone said that she was angry with him and blamed him for Ron's death. He hoped she was not feeling too broken up about it, now that it had driven Potter to such lengths.

Oh well, that was yesterday. Today had been a good day. Shacklebolt had even nodded to him, as if in appreciation, in the cafeteria at lunch. Hmmm - perhaps the Order had sent him on some mission and had modified his memory since. Yes, that was probably it. And the mission had something to do with vials. And Azkaban. Now, that did not sound good. Nothing to do with Azkaban sounded good, especially since it would definitely have something to do with Harry. He remembered throwing a stone at Harry; perhaps there was a message written on it. That made sense, and was not illegal enough to cause much concern, but it didn't explain the vials.

Then he remembered that he would not have agreed to any mission that was too illegal, and felt much better.

His mind turned to the the far more important thought of where to take de Villiers' younger sister. She had just moved to London and Rowena had asked him for help with 'showing her around the place'. A perfect job for Ernie Macmillan.

12 September 1999

"Good evening, Miss Granger."

"Where are we going today?"

Hermione stared at the Weasley twins, bemused. She raised her eyebrows at Lee Jordan, who was standing behind them. He shrugged, and leaned against the wall in the classic Relax-And-Enjoy-The-Show posture he adopted on a regular basis when the twins were around.

"We?" she asked, reaching slowly for her wand and looking from one twin to the other warily. "I don't think we are going anywhere. Unless you want to come with me to the library and read books on communication spells."

"My Inner Eye says ..." said George dreamily, as he edged towards the staircase and blocked Hermione's route to her favourite room.

"... that you will be joining us ..."

"... at a pub this evening ... "

"... as you have worked hard all week ..."

"... and it is now Friday."

Hermione laughed and shook her head. A minute later she was kicking wildly and cussing wildly (without having to consciously recall her Hyde Park resolution to swear more often) as Fred and George picked her up on each side with their Beater-trained arms. Lee laughed and shouted at the remaining denizens of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place that they would have her back by two in the morning. The only answer was a giggle from the direction of the Remus' room, causing the twins to roll their eyes and mutter, "Kids these days! Honestly!"

Two minutes later, the four of them were in the twins' joke shop.

"Good heavens."

"The girl can cuss like a sailor."

"Ronniekins would be so proud!" Fred gave a loud sniffle.

"But your swearing raises an interesting point."

"How exactly would you fuck yourself with a flobberworm?"

"I mean, I can see how you would technically do it, being a girl," mused George, his hand massaging his chin. "But if you're a guy..."

"I suppose we shall have to ask Charlie," said Fred, deciding to have mercy on the red-faced brunette. "He'd know, being gay and all."

"Quite right. Hey, lookie here! Lee is having stomach problems again!"

"Yes, he's all bent over."

"And making funny squeaky noises."

"And Hermione is still displaying that most peculiar colour!"

"Even Ginny never managed to blush that much."

Fred moved over to give Lee a thump on the back, causing the dreadlocked boy to jump back and hold his hands out to protest.

Hermione was surprised that she could hear about Ron and Ginny without bursting into tears. She decided that this was an excellent time to change the subject before she felt too guilty about it. "Alright," she asked, both hands on her waist. "Where are we going, boys? There aren't that many pubs in Diagon Alley, are there?"

"Diagon Alley?"

"Pooh!"

"Bah!"

"Who'd want to go to a Wizarding pub?"

"Outside Knockturn Alley anyway."

"Proper young wizards ..."

" ... us being a prime example ... "

" ... and I'm always primer than my brother ... "

"Quiet Gred. No subsubphrases in subphrases."

"Och, yes. Sorry about that. As we were saying ..."

"God, Lee, don't they ever stop?" cried Hermione, throwing her hands up.

"I see you're still an optimist, Granger," replied the disembodied voice of Lee, who was now under an Invisibility Cloak and hovering near the egress.

"Shut up, you plebs, you're interrupting the eloquence of sheer genius."

"Indeed. Now, as we were trying to say, proper young wizards go to Muggle pubs."

"Oh," said Hermione, unable to say anything more. She noticed, only then, that she was the only one wearing robes, and that the twins and Lee were wearing t-shirts and jeans. Taking off her cloak and folding it over her arms like a Muggle trenchcoat, she transfigured her plain skirt to something more handsome and followed them out through Diagon Alley to Muggle London.

"Did Ron ever tell you about the time I got turned into a cat?" asked Hermione, on her second bottle of Heineken. Fred was on his third, while Lee and George were both starting their fourth pints. Lee was Muggle-raised, since his mother was a Muggle, but the twins also seemed quite familiar with Muggle pubs. Hermione figured they did this kind of thing a lot. She would have to join them more often, if they let her. This felt ... good.

After the requisite laughter and looks of admiration about Hermione's Second Year Polyjuice fiasco, Lee offered a story about the time he had defeated Ron at chess by switching the colour of two of Ron's pawns. Fred related the saga of Ginny's first public Bat Bogey Hex, which hit their father when George ducked. George talked about when he and Fred (mostly Fred) almost convinced Ron to make an Unbreakable Vow to supply each twin with a chocolate frog a day. Then it was back to Hermione, who talked about when she and Ginny had placed gnomes in Ron's shoes at the Burrow.

The conversation alternated between comical and serious. Fred broke down crying at one stage, wishing he had never turned Ron's teddy into a spider. Lee said he had really liked Ginny, and often felt like smacking Harry for not noticing her. George wished he had paid more attention to Ginny in her first two years at Hogwarts. Hermione and Fred broke down at that, and it was half an hour before anyone said anything else.

They decided, without any words being exchanged, to avoid talking about Ron and Ginny for a while. Fred mentioned Umbridge. Hermione mentioned Harry's arm. George mentioned that Lee also had scars on his forearm caused by her Blood Quill, though they were nowhere near as visible as those Harry had. Lee displayed them, and mentioned, hesitantly, that he had spent much time in the library that year reading about Blood Quills in the hope of finding a way around them.

"So that's what you were doing all that time!" exclaimed Fred.

"We thought you were investigating Niffler habitats or something," said George, "or those NEWT things."

"What did you learn?" asked Hermione, ignoring the aspersion to school-leaving examinations.

"Not much," replied Lee, slowly. "I did find there were different types of such quills. I suppose we should be grateful she did not use a Remote-inking Blood Quill."

"Oh? What's that?" asked George, staring at the bottom of his glass like it had a problem. Fred leaned over, and pointed out that it was empty.

"We were using a Self-inking Blood Quill," said Lee hesitantly. This was the first time he had told anyone else about it. "When you write with it, it cuts you. All Blood Quills make cuts on the hand the blood comes from. If I was to use a Remote-inking Quill with blood from your hand, whatever I write would appear on your hand."

"Bloody arsehole of my great-aunt's Hippogriff," said Fred, his face paling. George and Hermione looked equally horrified.

After commiserating with Lee - the twins patting him on the back and Hermione giving him a hug - they moved onto other topics.

"I think Mum's going to be giving us the Eye soon," said Fred.

"Your Mum is always giving you the Eye," Lee pointed out.

"Often with good reason," added Hermione with a smirk. After two pints of Heineken, she was now on her second pint of Guinness. It was a good thing Lee had brought along a few vials of Hangover Potion.

"Ah," countered George, "but you see, Mum has many different Eyes."

"There's the Eye for Small Crimes, like bringing in shoes after the rain and mucking up the floor," explained George.

"Or switching salt and sugar at the dining table," said Fred.

"Or putting gnomes in the laundry. You know, simple things," said George. "Then there's the Eye for Crimes Against Morality." The pause before the word 'crimes' was highly dramatic.

"Like dating a girl who wears miniskirts," said Fred, "or, in my brother's case, wearing miniskirts."

"Or moving out of the Burrow. Mum sure ranked that one high," George fondly reminisced. For the first time, Hermione began to understand just how the twins welcomed at least certain kinds of punishment.

"Or Flooing over with Angelina Johnson for breakfast with both of us wearing matching pairs of mismatched socks. Boyo, Georgiekins, I'm surprised we didn't have to fix the roof after that one."

There was a pause at this stage, as Lee had snorted good Czech beer through his nose.

"Then there's the Eye for When Are You Getting Married and Giving Me Grandchildren?" said George, handing Lee a napkin, and then several more napkins. "With Bill gone, Charlie gay and having found a nice Romanian wizard in any case, Percy doing Merlin knows what, we're the next in line. And that was before..." He didn't have to finish.

"And after much discussion," Fred took over before the pause became too awkward, "much scholarly and knowledgeable discussion, I might add, my brother and I have come to a conclusion."

"You two are the fourth and fifth persons to hear of it," said George, waving his arms expansively and barely missing Fred's nose, "including ourselves."

"Honoured," said Hermione, swaying slightly. She hoped there was Hangover Potion in the miniaturized Potions Kit she carried everywhere, as they had emptied the stuff Lee had brought.

"What she said," seconded Lee, pointing a thumb unnecessarily at Hermione. "Spill."

"We are going to - what's the word again, Forge? - clone ourselves."

"And Katie Bell has kindly volunteered to carry our babies."

"She's the third person, in case you wondered."

Hermione would have fallen off her seat if she had been sitting on the edge of the bench she shared with Lee. As it was, she fell to the empty bench space that Lee had occupied prior to his falling out of his seat.

"Mum will be thrilled," continued Fred, unfazed.

"We will call the handsome twin - the clone of me - Damon,"

"And the non-stupid twin Aster."

"In public, we'll call them Mon and Ster."

For some reason, Lee was not making any effort to get off the floor.

Remus Lupin never knew that Hermione had much of a singing voice. But her rendition of Edelweiss, belted out at 1.55 in the morning when Lee dropped her off at Number Twelve, was an eye-opener (and definitely an ear-shutter).

Remus grinned. His reflexes were good, and his memory was even better. He still recalled the spell for recording the his Hogwarts dormmates' shower singing, and the spell for playing them at the Gryffindor table at breakfast.

Hermione was really, really, not going to enjoy her next breakfast.

14 September 1999

Alastor Moody walked behind the coterie of Inner Order members towards St Edmund's graveyard. He was still skeptical of Snape's information about it being the location of the last Horcrux, but it had to be verified. He was behind an Invisibility Cloak, as was Remus Lupin. In front of them, visible and wearing dark Muggle clothing, were Bill Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Arthur Weasley had wanted to come, but his wife was still recovering and needed him. It was surprising that Molly had allowed her eldest son on this mission, considering how protective she was of her remaining children, but perhaps Bill had not told her.

They had Apparated a kilometre from the site of the graveyard, and now walked towards it slowly. There were no wards on it that they could see yet, causing Alastor to be extremely suspicious. The last two Horcrux sites had been in areas far from Muggle inhabitation and were surrounded by the presence of heavy Dark Magic. He wondered which was Cause and which was Effect.

Weasley was worried as well, judging by the number of times he stopped and performed a medley of ward detection spells. Shacklebolt was whipping his head around like a newborn owlet, waiting for Death Eaters to Apparate in. Each carried three portkeys, one obvious, one semi-obvious, and the third was their wedding ring.

They entered the graveyard. Lupin, as per the plan, stayed at the gate.

Dean Thomas had obtained a map from the Muggle church authorities showing who was buried where. As expected - Moody knew Snape would make his traps realistic - there was an unmarked grave next to Kewnsthorpe's one.

Moody knew, of course, that there was a possibility that Snape was telling the truth. After all, Alastor had been in Slytherin as well, and everything Snape had done was understandable in that context. He even agreed with the Potions Master that Albus was too soft on the Potter kid. If Moody had had his way, Potter would have spent his summers being physically tortured by him in training. Come to think of it, the lad himself would probably have preferred that to the emotional torture he received from his relatives.

Now they were at the unmarked grave. It had, surprisingly, a tombstone. He wondered who would have paid for a tombstone for a poverty-stricken mother who left her son in an orphanage. Eventually, he concluded that an adult Tom Riddle added it long after her death.

Weasley began muttering words in a guttural language that was probably Arabic, but could have been Aramaic or Assyrian. Merope's tombstone began rising. Shacklebolt kept it levitated, and then slowly moved it elsewhere. Weasley muttered something else, and the sand below the gravestone started shifting outwards.

And then Moody noticed what was happening to the younger Auror. Shacklebolt was wrapped, along with the tombstone he was levitating, in a thin black fog. There was a barely visible link from the tombstone to the man, and dark tendrils moved across it in ominous waves.

"Bugger," said Moody, realizing the Horcrux was in the tombstone and not below it. He threw off his Invisibility Cloak and ran to Kingsley. He could hear Weasley's panicked footsteps and cursing behind him. Remus would remain invisible and activate the rest of the Inner Order with a low-level alert that would cause them to start getting ready to provide backup at a moment's notice.

"What's happening, boy?" he barked, wand up and ready to blast at the connection between the Shacklebolt and the tombstone. He did nothing though, as the Gringotts Curse Breaker was the expert in this situation. Besides, this looked remarkably like what happened with the Horcrux retrieval that had claimed the lives of Hestia Jones and Jane Callaghan.

"Horcrux," Weasley gasped, "taking over Kingsley."

"I know that," muttered Moody. "Is Shacklebolt still in there? How much time have we got?" How much time before we need to kill him?

Moody really, really hated Horcruxes. The blasted things never behaved in quite the same way. He had seen the destruction of all the others, including Tom Riddle's diary in Potter's Pensieve, other than the ring destroyed by Albus. The late Headmaster had only left written notes on that. None of the other Horcruxes had been activated by simple spells.

"Yes," Weasley replied. "Five minutes, I think."

"Can we destroy the tombstone, and the Horcrux vessel inside it?" asked Moody.

"Hopefully, though obviously not with spells," replied Weasley, who was not casting any spells but instead consulting a number of strange devices and amulets he carried on him. Moody was reluctantly impressed with the number of pockets in his robes and the fact that the young man knew the contents of each one. He supposed it was standard practice for Curse Breakers. "But we could try destroying it physically."

"Can we touch it with a conjured object?"

"We should be," replied the Curse Breaker. The other Horcruxes had proved more resistant to Magical methods of destruction than Muggle methods, but only when in the process of taking over a body. This information had come at a price.

Moody conjured a sledgehammer, and looked at the redhead. "Bill Weasley, you will probably have to kill me if it doesn't work. And Shacklebolt too. Can you?" The redhead stared and, after a few moments, nodded reluctantly. Moody did not know if he could believe him, but gave him the benefit of the doubt as he was almost certain that the tombstone could be touched with a conjured object. Besides, Lupin could kill if he had to.

He hit the tombstone with the sledgehammer as hard as he could.

Nothing happened. He remained free of black fog.

He could hear Weasley's sigh of relief as they both gazed at the small dent Moody had made in the stone.

"Alright, Weasley, it's safe. Your turn. I'm too old for this." In other words, kiddo, don't make me show off my lack of upper body strength any further. Besides, I really am too old for this.

Lupin had already rushed to them, his Invisibility Cloak tucked in his robes. His lycanthropy ensured that he had heard every word, and also meant that he would be the best person there to crack the tombstone. Moody created another sledgehammer for him, a heavier one. The full werewolf nodded, and got to work.

Moody got out his Invisibility Cloak and put it on. He kept his wand pointed at Shacklebolt, ready to kill him at a moment's notice. If he did so too quickly, then Riddle's soul could still retreat from Shacklebolt's body to the Horcrux. If he left it too late, then all four of them would be dead and there would be two Voldemorts for Potter to deal with.

Meanwhile, Moody decided against calling backup - there was nothing that reinforcements could do. But he could imagine the state the wives of Weasley and Lupin would be in at Grimmauld Place, and would be surprised if they did not turn up regardless.

He glanced at his watch. Two minutes had passed. The werewolf and young wizard had smashed the tombstone, quicker than he had expected. The staff inside it was, remarkably, still intact.

Lupin glanced at Weasley, and motioned him back. The staff was hanging in the air, and the connection between it and Shacklebolt was more visible than ever.

"Anvil," yelled Lupin. Weasley understood after a short moment, and conjured an anvil just beneath the horizontal staff.

Lupin's sledgehammer came down.

The staff cracked, and fell off the anvil onto the ground.

Lupin's sledgehammer came down again.

The staff split.

Shacklebolt screamed.

The link of Dark Magic vanished.

Moody could see a figure running towards the graveyard. It had inhumanly long legs, which meant it was Tonks in full sprint with lengthened legs. There was no-one running with her, so he assumed that she was accompanied by Fleur Weasley. Delacour women wore Invisibility amulets that his Magical Eye could not penetrate.

"We're alright!" shouted Bill, noticing the newcomer. "Though we don't know about Kingsley."

"Fuck!" Tonks swore as she bent down over her colleague. Remus grabbed her hand to stop her touching him, and cast an eye-opening spell instead. Shacklebolt's eyes were black, not red. They breathed sighs of relief. Tonks had her standard Auror Potions kit out, unshrunken. She opened his mouth and poured a blue Potion into it, rubbing his throat to make him swallow it. Shacklebolt's pallor started turning healthier, and he opened an eye after a minute.

"The Horcrux is broken," said Weasley, wearing a wide grin as he crouched down in front of Shacklebolt. He conjured a glass of water, which the Auror accepted gratefully. "You're the only one hurt. We almost had to kill you though."

Shacklebolt turned to look at Moody inquiringly. His mentor nodded back, with his usual grimace of a grin.

"Thanks, Alastor," he said simply. He meant it. There were friends you could trust to die for you, and there were friends you could trust to kill you. The latter were a rarer subset of the former, and more precious. Moody was one such rare friend.

"And here's the really really good news," replied Tonks in a conscious effort to break the solemn mood. Not that she needed much effort, if the width of her grin were to be believed. "Since you're in no condition to walk, Moony's going to be carrying you out of here."

"Hey!" replied Shacklebolt, getting to his feet. He promptly collapsed and let out an impressive stream of Welsh swear words. Lupin picked him up and cradled him with ease, while Tonks got in several months' worth of teasing by making loud cooing noises.

"Good work," rasped Moody, still cloaked. "Everyone except Tonks and I are staying here. The rest of you go back to Grimmauld. Bill, your mate is covering you."

"I know," replied Bill, "I can smell her sweat besides me. Very nice sweat too, all mixed with that delightful perfume."

They heard muttered imprecations in French, and snorts from Moody and Tonks.

"Oui, ma chere belle fleur," replied Bill, unfazed. "That's exactly what I plan to do to you tonight."

"Shut up," moaned Kingsley. "Just get me out of here and heal me so I can go home and have Pat kill me."

There were laughs and cracks as the four returned to Order Headquarters.

Tonks and Moody started clearing up. While the Metamorphagus said spells to fill Merope's grave with sand, Moody transfigured a staff to look like Slytherin's. He then cast Reparo at the tombstone's pieces. The spell worked, to his relief, and he could see where the tombstone had a staff-shaped hollow inside it. He cast a switching spell to place the fake staff there. Seeing that Tonks had finished her task, he levitated the tombstone to its original position.

The two Aurors, one young and one retired, one Slytherin and one Ravenclaw, stood over the grave for a couple of minutes in silence. This was, after all, the mother of Britain's most powerful Dark Lord for three centuries.

"I really feel like marking this grave," said Tonks. She was solemn. The obvious retort that Sirius Black would have come up with, had he been there, never entered her mind.

"I know what you mean," said Moody. Tonks looked sharply at him, surprised. Then she remembered that Merope Gaunt was a descendant of the legendary Founder of the old Auror's Hogwarts House. "I've been wondering about it as well. I thought Riddle placed this tombstone here, but he would have left an inscription on it, or an image of the Gaunt coat of arms. He would have left a mark."

Tonks pondered this. "Maybe he felt that having a tombstone containing her ancestor's staff and part of her son's soul would be an adequate mark."

Moody seemed impressed by the suggestion, and nodded. "And he would have been correct."

"It's almost sad," said Tonks, touching her face as if to remove a tear. "Did you know her?"

"No," replied Moody. "She couldn't have afforded Hogwarts." He thought for a moment. "I believe she would have been three years behind me if she could have."

"What do you think would have happened had she lived?" pondered Tonks.

"Perhaps there would have been no Lord Voldemort," answered Moody thoughtfully. He cast a few final obscure spells to make the area around the grave look undisturbed. It was not a perfect job, but would do. "Yes, he would have grown up with a mother's love instead of in an orphanage, and all that. But he would still have been poor and half-blood and a bastard. He would have been bitter, but known where he came from. I think he would have followed the same path, but with even more confidence."

"Scary," muttered Tonks. He nodded.

Another pair of cracks, and the graveyard of St Edmund's was empty once more.

17 September 1999

Hermione watched as the older blonde witch stirred one of the nine cauldrons they had going. She herself was taking care of three cauldrons for the Faux Animagi Potion, which was at the bare limits of what she could handle. That Fleur could handle twice that many, two with Faux Animagi Potion and four with the Magical Signature Potion, was impressive.

For Hermione, it was a humbling experience. She knew other people were better at certain things that she was good at, but there was always an excuse - they were much older than her, or she knew she could be as good or better if she had more time to spend on it. Hermione had long accepted, thanks to Snape's sniping and his annotated sixth-year textbook, that she was a Potions Brewer and not a Potions Creator. It was alright that Fleur could create Potions, but to be so far ahead of Hermione in brewing them as well? That was a huge smack in the face. Hermione was the best Potions Brewer in her time at Hogwarts, and yet it was clear that no matter how hard she worked, she would never match Fleur's ability. It was a hard lesson to take.

She had read a Muggle book on child prodigies a few years ago, when her parents were still alive. Her mother had been reading it, and had a habit of leaving books all over the house - Hermione smiled as she remembered the time her mother left a Terry Pratchett novel in the refridgerator. Anyway, Hermione had read parts of the book when she found it. It said that many child prodigies 'broke' when they met people better in their area of excellence.

She had only talked about this once, with Harry after their rescue of Sirius in their third year. She was torn, then, between admiration of his ability to produce a Patronus, and envy of it. She had tried to avoid the latter emotion, but couldn't. Harry had been unable to understand why she should care at all, as his outlook on life was so different - while she was praised by her family for learning to read at three, he was being condemned by the Dursleys for showing any sign of intelligence beyond the ability to prepare bacon without burning it.

While Harry had not understood her feelings, he had tried to offer what comfort he could. He said that he often wondered why she hung around with him when she was so much better at everything (flying and Patroni aside) than he was. That had, to her embarassment in retrospect, diverted her attention enough to soothe her feelings and accept that DADA was simply his area of expertise and not hers.

And now there was Fleur, and her amazing concentration, balancing six cauldrons at once.

Hermione examined the last of the batches of Potion she had made. Bugger. It was not the same colour as the first two, and she knew she had erred on the last step, thanks to her loss of concentration thinking about Fleur. Two out of three was not good enough, and she slapped her forehead in self-recrimination. Fleur turned to her, eyebrows raised. Hermione snarled at her, and Fleur returned to her cauldrons with a blink and the tiniest of shrugs.

Hermione bottled the contents of the third cauldron in a vial, labelling it as a failure. Then she stormed out of the room, and headed for the Library.

She knew she was in the wrong, of course, but emotions were emotions. Usually she could control them, but now she wanted to wallow in them and feel angry and jealous and pitiable and worthless and disgusted. She was doing a good job of it, too.

After an hour, she could hear Fleur enter the library. She was silent as the quarter-Veela approached her. Fleur was holding two mugs, one of which she was sipping while walking.

Fleur put one of the mugs in front of Hermione. It had hot chocolate.

"I added some vanilla," the French witch added, before sitting down.

Hermione barely suppressed another snarl. How dare Fleur be nice to her? Bringing vanilla-flavored hot chocolate, indeed. She knew Hermione loved that. Fleur should be mad at her for behaving so terribly, not bearing gifts. Fleur was everything Hermione was not - she was pretty, smart, brave ...

"I wanted your advice," said Fleur.

... and she had the nerve to pretend that Hermione could give her advice. How could she, when Fleur was prettier, smarter, braver, more experienced, more knowledgeable, more...

"I'm sorry," said Fleur.

... more apologetic, more... what?

"I am not sure what I did," said Fleur. "But I made you angry. I am sorry. I always seem to be making people angry with me. Especially your sister, and I wish I could understand why."

"My sister?" blurted Hermione, surprised.

"Ginevra."

Hermione couldn't help gaping. "Excuse me?" she managed to splutter.

"Of course, I know you are not sisters biologically, but you are practically a Weasley. Bill says so. He says the twins say so too."

This was not happening, thought Hermione. She needed a drink. Hmmm. There was one near her hand. It was vanilla-flavoured hot chocolate. She liked vanilla-flavoured hot chocolate. She reached out for it, held it to her mouth, savoured the smell, and took a sip. Mmmmm. Good.

Now, what was Fleur saying again? Something about her being a Weasley? Something about Fred saying something about inventing a Wheeze to make one's hair Weasley-red just for Harry and Hermione?

"I am not a Weasley."

"Pardon," said Fleur, not pushing the topic. "I am sorry if that upset you - I was merely trying to say how much the Weasleys appreciate you. But you still understand them, and British people in general, better than I do, and I wanted to learn."

"Now you're making fun of me," replied Hermione. "I don't understand people. They love you, they just tolerate me."

Fleur widened her eyes in surprise. "That was not my understanding. Nothing I have seen or heard from others says so. They love you, Hermione. They think of me as this French Veela who bewitched Bill."

Hermione was genuinely surprised, and stopped thinking of herself. The lure of the intellectual problem of why Fleur still felt like an outsider was too great.

"Yes, they did think that initially," Hermione stated slowly, "but not any more. Not after Bill was bitten and you stood by him. Which I expected you to do, by the way."

"You did?" asked Fleur, now the one surprised.

"Yes, but not for the reasons you might think," Hermione responded. "I just could not conceive the possibility of stopping loving someone because he was a werewolf. And it was clear you loved Bill."

"Forgive me if this offends you," queried Fleur, "but does this have to do with you being Muggle-born? You did not grow up with the same prejudices Wizards have against werewolves."

"That's a large part of it," said Hermione, waving the apology aside. The monsters of Envy were in the corners of her mind, albeit still growling. "I don't know how I would have reacted if I had grown up in the Wizarding world. That would be a good topic for the Newblood Witch's next column, actually. Thank you."

"I see," said Fleur, taking another sip of her drink. "May I return to the previous subject, then? How were you sure I was in love with Bill? And not, say, using him as a sex toy?"

"I read about Veela," answered Hermione. "A book said that your charm would not work on someone you were in love with, or one someone magically powerful like Harry. Bill was not the latter, so I assumed he was the former. Besides, your body language, all those little things, said so."

"Interesting," considered Fleur, "but you also know that a mature Veela can turn off her charm if she wished."

"Yes," replied Hermione, "but my opinion of you was not that high."

Fleur looked shocked for a moment, as Hermione sipped her hot chocolate. Then she chuckled.

"How ironic."

"Quite."

"And now?" Fleur asked.

Hermione considered. She supposed this was a good time to be frank. After all, their conversation so far had been honest.

"And now I do not know. I cannot imagine having the power to draw someone's attention and not use it. I do not think I could resist the temptation."

Fleur was definitely offended, now. "Bill and I trust each other completely."

"Ah," replied Hermione, "but I have never trusted anyone completely."

"Not even Ronald?"

Hermione remained silent for a long time.

"One of the happiest moments from my childhood was my tenth birthday," she said slowly. "Do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Someone turned up."

More silence.

"Hermione, I am so sorry," said Fleur, the concern on her face evident. "I did not know."

"It wasn't as bad as you think," said Hermione hurriedly. "My birthdays always had adults and children - my parents and their friends and their friends' children. But not my friends, because I did not have any. Well, I had one or two at primary school, but they stopped being friends or moved away. It was a far better childhood than Harry's. My parents loved me, even if they did not always understand me."

More silence.

"I know what it is like to not have friends because you are different," said Fleur. "I had them when I was growing up. But when I hit puberty, it stopped. Boys were interested in me because I could not control the Enchantment - you know, the Veela charm - and my girlfriends left me because I was affecting the boys. It took me two years to learn to control it, but by that time I had built the walls around me. I still cannot understand why or how I let Bill slip through them. Of course, I am happy he did."

More silence. It was a more comfortable silence, however.

"Perhaps we are more similar than I thought," remarked Hermione.

"I agree. I think we should one day take Nymphadora and have a girls' night out."

Hermione giggled and nodded. "How did you become so good at Potions?" she asked, changing the topic.

Fleur shrugged. "I was always good at it. And I worked hard at it. People think I am stupid because I am pretty, and that makes me work harder."

Hermione took a risk, and opened herself up a bit more. "You know, I am jealous of you being good in Potions."

"Tiens!" said Fleur, shocked. "Pourquoi? Why?"

"Er," said Hermione, embarassed. "I thought I was good at it. And you are so much ... better."

"But you are smarter than me in so many other ways!" replied Fleur. "And even if that is not so, you understand people! And Harry told me he cannot imagine life without you!"

"What?" Hermione spat some of her drink, and Fleur had to dodge to avoid it. "Oops, sorry! How could he think that? What of Ginny?"

"I assumed he cannot imagine life without her either," Fleur pointed out.

They were silent again. Ginny was gone. If Harry could not imagine life without Ginny, then...

"I wish I could send him a message," said Hermione, putting her head in her hands. "He must feel so terrible."

"But you did already, did you not? With the stone that Pufferfish gave Harry?"

"Yes, but..."

"What did you say to him with the stone?"

"I said 'Catherine cares'."

"Catherine writes short messages," Fleur said after a pause.

"Well," replied Hermione hesitantly, "I could fill up a whole scroll of parchment writing down what Harry means to me."

"Maybe you should. You will feel better for it."

"Yes, but what if Harry reads it?"

"You wish to tell me that the great Hermione Granger cannot hide something?"

"But I want him to read it!" said Hermione, exasperated.

"Aaaah," said Fleur slowly, with the expression of a realization dawning on her. "You are..."

"Pas maintenant, s'il te plaît. I beg you."

"I am sorry, again," replied Fleur, dropping the subject. "I will say no more - for now. Let us think of the problem of getting communication to Harry."

"Merci bien," the younger witch said, relieved. "I cannot believe they do not allow visitors to Azkaban. It's inhuman. Security risk, my arse."

"Yes, I was shocked too. It is different in France. Prisoners are not treated like ... rats." Fleur had meant to say trolls, as per the common French expression, but realized, with her increasingly sensitive sense of discrimination, that trolls had feelings. She moved on to a different approach to the problem. "Do you know how Remus' application for a place at Azkaban is going?"

The werewolf, who greatly enjoyed his stable and well-paid job as a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes product developer, had applied for a prison guard position at Azkaban as soon as he saw that Harry might go there.

"Yes," replied Hermione, "but the paperwork takes a month normally, and longer for him because they are suspicious of his motivations. I honestly do not think he will be accepted."

"And he knows no werewolves among the guards?"

"No. Most of the werewolves at Azkaban are British werewolves who returned from exile in Europe and are suspicious of people like him who stayed behind. They are jealous that he got to go to Hogwarts, and do not trust him because he does not accept the wolf like they do."

"It seems the Order is made of outsiders, all in our own different way."

"Yes, we are a regular Society of Rejects, aren't we?" Hermione chuckled. "Well, we still have to think of how to get a message to Harry."

They pondered this for a while.

Hermione's thoughts drifted. She thought of Ron stepping in front of Ginny as Lucius Malfoy pointed his wand at her, of Ron falling, of Ginny crouching over her dead brother and then slumping on top of him as the green light hit her, of Harry's dazed expression after he killed Malfoy. The look on his face was so much worse than the one he wore after Sirius was killed, which she had not thought possible. Fifth year memories returned, and she felt her fists clencth with the remembrance of Umbridge, and the Inquisition, and the Blood Quill, and that led to Lee Jordan's explanation of Blood Quills...

Inspiration struck. Hermione jumped up, and started heading for the exit.

"Come on Fleur, let's find Tonks! It's time for a Girls Night Out!"

"What? Where?"

"Knockturn Alley. We're going to find a Remote-Inking Blood Quill."

18 September 1999

Harry lay in his cell, recovering from running in place for an hour and several stretching exercises. Nothing had happened since his staged suicide attempt - he hoped the Daily Prophet was enjoying that particular event - and wondered if getting incarcerated was really the best possible thing he could have done. Now the Order had to spend time getting him out instead of fighting the Dark Wanker.

Come to think of it, he could see potential downsides to being broken out from prison.

For one thing, Hermione was going to kill him.

And then she would resurrect him, and kill him again.

A few times.

All the while yelling at him.

And he would deserve it.

He groaned inwardly. The real reason he was here was because of sheer Gryffindor and male macho stupidity. He didn't blame himself for killing Lucius Malfoy - that was hardly a crime - but he had wanted to show the world that he had done so. That was moronic. And if he could not have avoided Azkaban, then he really, really should have gone on a solo Death Eater killing rampage before giving himself up to the authorities.

He mind wandered. He wondered how the Order would make use of his blood.

Then he jerked his right arm, and almost squealed. Only his Dursley-trained reflexes against making such noises stopped him. He glanced at the guards, who had given no sign of noticing. He looked at his arm, and his eyes widened.

Mione here. Usng Remote Bld Quill, sorry, said the writing on his arm.

What in the name of Morgana...

The writing etched into his arm faded. He stared at Hermione's abbreviated name as it vanished.

The hamsters in his mind started running again. He supposed that was a good thing - since his arrest, they had unionized and gone on strike several times.

He sat up in bed. Looking at his arm while lying down was suspicious. His experience with the suicide act meant that there were people watching his cell remotely. Or the automatic monitoring in his cell was really good. With his new found Moody-imbued paranoia, he assumed the former.

I miss u Hry. Ta 4 kllng LM

Harry felt much better. If Hermione was on his side, everything would be fine. And her leaving out the vowels was very thoughtful.

The letters faded away again.

It was a pity he couldn't respond.

But he felt much better.

He wondered how Ginny was doing; the pang in his gut when he usually thought about her was much less now. He supposed he was moving on. Either that or he was a heartless bastard who hadn't cared for her enough, which sounded far more likely. He wished he could meet her one more time, and ask her if she forgave him for allowing her to die. If he hadn't gone to the bathroom when he did, then he would have been with Ginny and Ron when Malfoy turned up...

He hoped they did a Prior Incantatem on Malfoy's wand to see if she or Ron had a last message. Or would they need a brother wand for that?

Pll urslf tgthr. We com wthn 1wk i thnk

Merlin! If he pulled off a Patronus now, it would be solid.

He idly wondered at the mental suffering Hermione must be going through with misspelt words. He would have to tease her for that.

Say nthng. Ur rplcmnt cnt speak. bye 4 now

Hermione was signing out, to his dismay. He didn't mind the pain, really.

He wondered what they were replacing him by. Obviously not a talking monkey, if it couldn't speak. Maybe a Death Eater. That would be nice. Or a golem. Or a clone of Dudley. Or, even better, Dudley.

He would definitely have pleasant dreams tonight.

Oh wait, Hermione was writing some more.

Take care, Harry. I need you.

He really didn't mind the extra vowels.

And maybe he could persuade Hermione to only kill him a couple of times when he got out.

20 September 1999

Minerva transfigured the dining table at Twelve Grimmauld Place into a large round table. She wondered why they had not done it before - it only took a little room expansion. The Inner Order sat around her, dominated by redheads - Arthur, Bill, Fred, George, Hermione. Molly had excused herself; Arthur said she was babysitting for friends. It was understandable.

Wait. Hermione a redhead?

She wondered how that happened. Perhaps she lost a bet to the twins. But her favorite ex-student seemed to be wearing the colour with aplomb, daring anyone to ask. Actually, several people had, and she had just smiled oddly, sometimes at the twins, sometimes at Fleur.

Hermione was sitting next to Fleur. Apparently they had gotten a lot closer recently. Minerva supposed she approved. Oh, she definitely approved, it was just surprising. The bushy brunette - no, redhead - did not make friends easily.

Minerva looked around again. They seemed to be looking at her expectantly. She supposed she should say something intelligent. Then she smirked inwardly, and turned herself over to the little part of her that had broken a hundred and fifty eight school rules several decades ago.

"Fleur, may I ask why your hair is still blonde?"

There was shocked silence for a moment, followed by guffaws. Fleur was clearly surprised, and wasn't having much luck giving a response.

"We tried our new Weasley Hair Wheezes," said George.

"Which are available for the incredibly low price of two sickles," muttered Fred, in one of those low voices that could be heard across the room, "or five sickles for the non-permanent version."

"Alas, it appears they do not work on Veela hair," continued George.

"They work only part of the way," Fred clarified. "It's very odd."

Tonks looked up, visibly interested. She turned the hair on the left side of her head Weasley red and the right side Delacour blonde. "Like this?" she queried.

"Non," replied Fleur, recovered from Minerva's unexpected enquiry. "Only the outer third of each of my hairs turned red. The rest remained blonde."

"Rats," said Tonks, visibly disappointed. "That's a nice effect, but not one I can do."

People turned to look at Tonks. They hadn't heard of a physical change she could not pull off yet.

"I've tried that before," said the Metamorphagus in answer to the unsaid questions. "It's really hard to colour a single hair with more than one colour. I think only a couple of us in the world might be able to do that."

"When all this is over," said Minerva, "you should write a book explaining your abilities. I am sure there would be many people interested in reading it. I would, at the very least."

It was a measure of the new hope present in the group that they were able to speak of the future as a short-term prospect. Though they had not discussed it officially, everyone in the group had heard that all Horcruxes had now been destroyed.

"Now, let us first congratulate Bill, Alastor, Remus, and Kingsley, for a job well done," said McGonagall, to a round of hearty applause and backpats for the quartet. "We are especially relieved to still have Auror Shacklebolt with us."

Moody had already filled a Pensieve with his memories of the retrieval, and the next twenty minutes were spent looking at its contents using a special projector that Flitwick had bought with Order funds from Australia.

"Merlin," remarked Shacklebolt, even though he had already seen the memories beforehand. "It's hard to believe that happened. All I remember was slowly fading out, and then waking up to Tonks' ugly mug. That was when I knew I hadn't died and gone to Heaven. No way would she be there."

Tonks stuck her tongue out at him.

"So that screaming wasn't yours?" asked Bill.

"I don't remember doing it," replied the shiny headed Auror, "but that doesn't mean anything. It didn't sound like me, though, did it?" Bill shook his head, as did a few others.

They discussed the Horcrux retrieval some more, though it soon degenerated into an explanation to the Purebloods of Shacklebolt's reference to Heaven. ("It's a Muggle religion thing - where good people go after they die", "Who's good?", "Anyone who believes in the religion - everyone else is bad", "Sounds like Slytherin and Gryffindor", "Are all Muggle religions like that?", "No, just the stupid ones.")

"We should use this table more often, Minerva," said Arthur. "It feels much better. More relaxing."

"Yes," replied the Headmistress, "but we should proceed to the next order of business. Our resident Potions brewers have done a good job. Fleur?"

"Merci, Madame McGonagall," replied the Frenchwoman. "Hermione and I have brewed five doses of Faux Animagi Potion. Two use Harry's blood, and one of those uses the blood of an eagle, in case he has no form. We thought he would like that form, since he is a Seeker. The other three are for Bill, Hermione, and myself, and do not have the blood of any animal yet."

"You've tested them?" asked Remus, leaning forward like half the other people around the table.

"Yes," Fleur continued. "It has no effect on Hermione and I, so we have the freedom to choose an animal. Or maybe it is the Veela interference in my case. Bill, however, has a form. He is a wolf."

Remus turned to Bill, who was grinning. "But that's not your natural form, surely!"

"I guess that bite went deep," shrugged Bill. Then he stood up, walked away from the table, and transformed. There were several shrieks and wands drawn in the two seconds before he transformed back.

Remus said several things that would have normally have caused people to stare at him. As it was, they were still staring at Bill Weasley. He had theatrically returned to his seat, enjoying the attention.

"You're a werewolf?" said McGonagall, shaking her head in disbelief. "But that's impossible!"

"We're not sure exactly what happened," stated Fleur, taking the reins of the conversation again. "Obviously there is much to be investigated. For now, I think we should brew more of the Potion, and decide what forms would be of use to the Order. Of course, people will also be interested in getting blood of animals they wish to become if they have no form. Personally, I wish to investigate the possibility of there being a thirteenth use of dragon's blood."

"Charlie is going to love this," chuckled Fred.

"I agree," said McGonagall. "Have you asked Charlie for the blood of one of his wards?"

"Yes," replied Fleur. "We did not tell him the exact reason, of course. We should get it in a couple of days. We will need a volunteer to take it."

Two identical hands went up, and several people around the table groaned. Tonks noted that they corresponded to those placing bets on which forms the Weasley twins would take. Plus the Headmistress, who had her head in her hands.

The twins snickered.

"Bien," said Fleur with a theatrical sigh. "Your blood later, please."

"How much?" asked George.

"All of it," muttered Hermione.

"Half a standard vial each," answered Fleur more accurately. "Now, I also prepared - or attempted to prepare - three doses of Filius' Magical Signature Potion yesterday. The twins successfully obtained a couple of chimpanzees, and perhaps this is a good time for Filius to take over."

She sat down, her hand lightly resting on Hermione's shoulder as she did so. There was applause, including wolf whistles from the twins. Bill bared his teeth at them.

Flitwick stood on his chair.

"Today morning," he began, "Fleur brought the Signature Potion to Hogwarts. We placed one of the chimpanzees under Imperius, and had it drink a vial of the Potion. The vial was, unfortunately, defective - it is a difficult Potion - and we had to kill the ape. You do not want to know what the poor animal looked like. We then brought in the second chimpanzee, and had it drink a second vial. This worked, and we now have a substitute for Mr Potter, complete with signature."

There was heavy applause. Flitwick bowed, in classic duelling master style.

"How are you going to get it into Azkaban, though," asked Tonks, who knew she was the most likely person to actually pull the switch.

"We tested this," replied the Charms expert. "It was a risk, but we had more Potion and the twins could get another ape. Minerva Transfigured it into a mouse. The signature remains unaffected when the Transfiguration is reversed."

There were sighs of relief. The biggest problem appeared to be solved.

"What of its behaviour?" asked Moody, bringing up the concerns he had raised at the previous meeting.

"With Imperius - which must be repeated after Transfiguring it back from a mouse - it can display very sedate behaviour, and stay silent. Even if it now has the vocal apparatus to speak and sound like Harry, it does not know any human language."

"Perhaps you could Imperius it to memorize and repeat certain phrases, like 'I am tired' or 'Leave me alone'?" suggested Hermione. "After all, if you can often Imperius a human to do what he cannot do normally. Or spiders to dance."

"It is worth trying," Flitwick acknowledged, "and I will do so. But if Snape's information is correct, You-Know-Who is going to try break Harry out in just over a week, so it is possible nobody will notice in the meantime."

"Do you think we can fit something in the ape so it can spy for us?" asked Shacklebolt, awakening to the possibilities offered by Voldemort's own 'rescue' operation. "Like a scrying charm on his eyes so that we can see what happens after Voldemort rescues him?"

There were several excited murmurs at this.

"Unfortunately, it would interfere with the Magical Signature," replied Flitwick after a thoughtful pause.

"What if you kept the Charm passive?" suggested Fleur. "And then set it to activate when the ape was taken away from Azkaban by You-Know-Who?"

"Ah!" squeaked the short wizard. "Now, that could work! I will investigate that possibility. And there are several other Charms I will add." He sat down, again to more applause.

"Thank you, Filius, Fleur, Fred, George," nodded Minerva. "You have pulled off what is widely believed to be impossible." She paused to allow for more clapping and cheers. "Now we must discuss the actual switch. Since the next full moon is not a possibility, and neither is Polyjuice, this appears to fall on the shoulders of our favorite Metamorphagus. Tonks, if you are willing to do this, have you the outlines of a plan?"

Tonks nodded. "While Pufferfish was doing my job last time, I pulled a few strings and found out who was guarding Harry's cell. It turns out that all pairs of guards until Halloween include at least one werewolf. This is a problem, because I cannot disguise my scent. But perhaps Filius can charm this, once we abduct the person I am to impersonate." She looked at the Charms Master, who nodded.

"Oh goody," continued Tonks with a grin. "If it can fool Remus, we're in business. On the night of 22 September - the day after tomorrow - the guards will be a female human, Niamh O'Riordan, and a male werewolf, Robert Smythe. Shacklebolt has determined O'Riordan's residence, and the fact that she currently lives alone as her boyfriend is travelling. Moody, Remus, and I will visit her in a few hours. This is completely illegal, of course, as we will be using Imperius to make her tell her everything she can about her plans tomorrow and her behaviour and Robert's behaviour if she has met him before. And we will modify her memories afterwards."

Nobody seemed to mind the lack of legality. They were well past that stage.

"I will enter Azkaban as O'Riordan. At some point during the shift, I will ask Smythe to leave us, to get some coffee or something. Then I will take out the mouse, turn it back into the Harry substitute, Imperius it to shut up and mope around Harry's cell for the next week, open the cell door, ask Harry to leave the cell just as the substitute enters, close the cell door, transfigure Harry into a mouse, and put him in my robes. Ta da!"

"What about the remote watchers?" asked Moody.

"Ah yes, them," said Tonks, quickly losing her grin. "I was hoping someone would distract them in the Ministry during that time."

"There is another problem," mused McGonagall. "You will have to leave Harry transfigured as a mouse for at least an hour, since he will have to remain unnoticed in your pocket till you leave Azkaban by boat. That length of time would cause brain damage."

"Oh," replied Tonks. "I hadn't thought of that. But I guess you did, which is why you asked Fleur to brew the Faux Animagus Potion, right? How about this - soon after I make the switch, I tell Smythe I'm going to the loo because I've got a runny tummy problem, and then walk up one of the Azkaban towers. The cell is underground, but there's a staircase in each tower. I go up to some window, untransfigure Harry, and then give him the Potion. If he has a natural form that can fly, he flies out. If he has no form, then he turns into an eagle with another drink. Some of you can be waiting nearby with a boat, right?"

"Can't you just take a Broomstick that he can use?" asked Hermione.

"Nope, they've got wards against those," grunted Moody.

"And what if he has a natural animagus form that cannot fly?" asked Fred.

"Ah," said Tonks. "That's trickier. If the form is small, then I can stuff him back in my pockets. Otherwise, I do not know."

"If you are in the tower on the ground level, you could toss him out the window and have him swim to the boat," offered Remus. "I don't think his animagus form will be a cat."

"Mr Potter will make a fine feline," stated Minerva with an affected huff. Remus grinned in response.

"There are no windows on ground level," said Tonks. "The lowest windows are six stories high."

"Maybe one of us can turn into a large flying animal and hang around," offered Arthur, "or ride Buckbeak."

This was agreed upon, and the Inner Order continued to discuss further details.

22 September 1999

"Is everyone in place?" asked Hermione Granger. She was sitting at the kitchen table with Fleur Weasley, surrounded by old books, parchment, maps, and coffee cups.

Hermione and Fleur each had a satellite phone, since ordinary cellphones and Charms did not work on Azkaban island itself. Ernie Macmillan had heard (through the highly reliable source of Auror Trainee coffee machine gossip) that a Muggleborn guard had received an call about a family emergency on her satellite phone while on island duty. Apparently Muggle devices were far more averse to Hogwarts' extensive magical interference than they were to Azkaban's.

Fleur's phone was for communication with Tonks. They maintained a continuous, and hideously expensive, link so that Fleur could keep track of the Auror's surroundings. Tonks had her phone speaker muted so no-one could hear voices emanating from her robe pocket. She would only unmute it when she was alone.

Since Fleur had to concentate on the most critical communication link, Hermione handled the links with the three other groups involved in the Breakout, using her satellite phone and a pair of long-distance audio Charms.

The first group, nicknamed the Old Farts, had Mad-Eye Moody and Arthur Weasley. They had a Muggle motorboat that was as close to Azkaban as was possible without the island's wards interfering with silencing charms on the motor. With them was Buckbeak.

"We're half-ready," Arthur's voice said through the audio charm. "We're three kilometres southwest off Azkaban. The wolves have taken the rowboat closer. The problem is Buckbeak. We tried flying with him to the island, and he does not want to go."

"Merde!" said Fleur, who could hear everything said through the Charms.

"Bloody hell," said Hermione, biting her lower lip. "Can you Imperius Buckbeak?"

"Ah, good idea," said Arthur. "We'll try that. It will take twenty minutes to check."

The second group, nicknamed the wolves, had been chosen for their above-average upper body strength.

"We're good," said Moony via the satellite phone. He sounded fatigued, and Hermione suspected he was suffering from an overdose of Sirius-related memories. "We're close enough to land on Azkaban island within five minutes. I'm having to restrain Bill from howling at a moon that isn't full - it breaks all werewolf tradition and is most uncivilized."

Fleur giggled.

The third group, who had no printable nickname, was responsible for distracting the Watchers - the Ministry employees remotely keeping an eye on Harry's cell - at the precise moment that Harry was switched.

"Everything's rigged up," came the crackly voice of Fred.

"Tell us when," added George in a voice that sounded remarkably like Celestine Warbeck.

"Stupid voice charms," sighed Fleur theatrically besides her. "Bill never told me I would be getting two mad brothers when I married him."

"We can hear you, Flower dearest," replied George.

"Think of all the things we'll teach your children!" added Fred.

Hermione patted the hands of her shuddering friend.

Ten minutes later, Tonks called in. She had managed to send her guard partner off for a cup of tea, and had five minutes available to switch Harry.

It was time to make a decision. Should they continue, even if Buckbeak was not available? The hippogriff was unlikely to be needed, after all. The answer seemed clear, and Hermione nodded to Fleur. Fleur told Tonks to start - it would take the Metamorphmagus a minute to remove the mouse, turn it back into a Harry lookalike, and Imperius the poor ape. Meanwhile, Hermione called the twins.

The Azkaban Watching room was on the eighth floors of the Ministry of Magic. It contained, at any moment in time, a dozen or so witches and wizards. Most were playing cards or chess. The pair watching the cell of the Boy Who Lived were, however, avidly keeping watch. After his suicide attempt, there was clear incentive to do so. Besides, the Daily Prophet paid well for such 'anonymous' tips.

Suddenly, they heard a fire alarm go off in the corridor outside the Watching room, followed by several shrieks and shouts. All the Watchers ran outside, only to find, after several panicked minutes, that it was a false alarm. They rushed back inside and quickly checked their view of each cell. No-one was missing, and there was a collective sigh of relief.

"Bloody prank," muttered one Watcher.

Ensconced in the attic of their Diagon Alley shop, a pair of redheads munched on popcorn as they watched the Watchers' bewildered actions in the corridor. They had set up remote scrying charms placed in the corridor earlier.

"I love watching the watchers."

"I love sound effects."

"I love anchovy-flavoured popcorn."

"I thought it was kipper-flavoured."

"Hey, I've got an idea - how many of these popped corns do you think we can fit into a single wheeze?"

Four minutes later, Hermione and Fleur were feeling much relieved. Tonks had reported in, saying that Harry Mouse (formerly Potter) was now in her pocket, and that her fellow guard had not returned yet. The news was forwarded to the three groups, who cheered appropriately.

The plan had worked well so far. Other than the Buckbeak issue, which they were still waiting for the Old Farts to report in on. Tonks would report in another twenty minutes or so. She had taken a ten-minute-delayed Puking Pastille after the switch. When it activated, she would throw up and pretend to head for the bathroom while her partner stayed to guard Harry. She would actually head for a Tower where she could untransfigure Harry, explain everything to him, and return to guard duty. Hermione had already explained the outlines of the plan to Harry via the Blood Quill.

Hermione and Fleur returned to the other task they had been busy with all day. Fleur had received, that morning, an owl from an old friend of hers. It contained a list of all French Animagi prior to 1900. They had also obtained, through Shacklebolt, the list of British Animagi, but that was notoriously sparse it was fully public and many people chose not to register. The French list was less sparse because every death in France required a Magical Autopsy, which revealed, amongst many other things, a person's Animagus form if they even partially activated it.

They had spent the afternoon and evening trying to find father-son pairs on the list, with the aid of standard Pureblood reference books about old French families from the Black Library.

But by this point, they had covered 1335 to 1840, and had found no such pairs.

"I can't believe it!" said Hermione, frustrated. "We must have missed something. The records are hardly complete. They don't include first-generation Muggleborns, and they don't account for bastards!"

"That is true, but magical genetics is strange," replied Fleur, pausing from her perusal through the tome of families from S to Z. "One of my classmates at Beauxbatons now studies it. He says there some traits deliberately skip at least one generation."

"For example?"

"I do not remember, sorry. But he did not mention Animagus forms."

"I guess he has no Animagus form then," Hermione sighed. Then she remembered why they were searching, and smiled. "Hey, this is actually good news! He can become an eagle, and fly out of there! We don't need Buckbeak!"

An audio Charm tingled - the Old Farts were reporting.

"Hermione?" said Arthur.

"I'm here, Arthur," she replied. "Any luck?"

"No," he said wearily. "We tested it again. Buckbeak threw off the curse. We can't Imperius him, and and he is not going near the island."

"That's weird," Hermione replied. Meanwhile, Fleur had picked up her satellite phone, meaning that Tonks had got in contact again. She heard Tonks say that she had got Harry into a tower. Presumably he was going to drink the Potion soon. "But don't worry, Arthur. Fleur and I have some new information that suggests that Harry has no natural Animagus form."

"That's good news," said an audibly relieved Arthur. "He'll become an eagle then. What new information was this?"

"We think that if a father has a form, the son cannot."

"Oh," replied the father of seven. "That would explain why the twins have no form. I had wondered about that."

"You're an Animagus?" said Hermione, surprised.

"I never achieved full transformation," he clarified. "But I got partway there before Bill was born, and my form's a wolverine. There's a reason for our family name - all Weasleys have mustelid forms if they have any."

"Mustelid?" she asked. Contrary to popular belief, Hermione did not know everything. She merely knew how to find information and absorb it. Meanwhile, Fleur seemed to be talking with Harry - Tonks must have given her phone to him. And Something Wrong had clearly happened, if Fleur's death grip on her phone was anything to judge by.

"An animal related to weasels", explained the Weasley patriarch. But Hermione was only half-listening to him now. She couldn't hear Harry's words, but his tone sounded frantic. Unaware of her inattention, Arthur continued. "Like badgers, ferrets, otters, wolverines, and so on. In any case, that certainly confirms that Bill's form comes from the bite. I don't suppose Harry ever got bitten by anything, did he?"

Hermione did not answer. She was too busy listening to Fleur screaming that Tonks was dead.

Harry was frantic. Tonks was lying stiffly on the rugged steps of the Azkaban Tower, and not responding to his shaking her or slapping her face. The damned Potion had, for some reason, turned him into the creature that had bitten him when he was twelve. He had looked at her in his Basilisk form before he realized it.

"Harry!" He heard Hermione's voice over the phone, and felt better instantly. Hermione was here. Hermione would know what to do. Hermione could solve everything. However, this was relative, and his state of mind had merely shifted from Completely Panicked to Very Panicked.

"Hermione!" he screamed. "I just k-k-killed Tonks! I'm a bloody Basilisk!"

"Calm down, Harry!" said Hermione evenly. She was actually horrified and scared, but had several years of practice in covering up her emotions.

"Calm down? How can you be so bloody calm! I just killed Tonks!"

"She is Petrified, not dead!"

Actually, Hermione believed nothing of the sort, but had to say something that would prevent Harry going to pieces. Fortunately, he seemed to believe her.

"How do you know?" he asked, a little calmer.

"Is she stiff yet?" queried Hermione in return, her mind racing to make up an explanation.

"Er, yes."

"Well then, she's Petrified. If she was dead, then she would stiffen later."

Again, Hermione had no idea if this was true, since their second-year Basilisk had not actually managed to kill anyone. For all she knew, a direct Basilisk stare Petrified someone before killing them, while an indirect stare stopped with Petrifying.

"And you are wearing your glasses?"

"Er, yes."

"That explains it," said Hermione in her best Know-It-All voice. "When you transformed, it formed a covering on your eye, and that meant you only Petrified her."

"Oh," said the Boy-Who-Lived-Using-Hermione's-Brain. "What do we do now?"

"Stay on the phone," said Hermione. Fleur, at the other end of the phone swap, was busy informing the wolves of the new development. "Remus and Bill are just off the island in a rowboat. Are you in the South Tower? Do you know which tower you are in? They can come to the base of it."

"I don't know where I am," said Harry informatively. "But I can see the ocean from here."

"Right," said Hermione reassuringly, despite the fact that one could see the ocean from any tower. Tonks had planned to go to the South Tower of Azkaban Fortress, but she had to confirm this. "How much land can you see before the ocean? See any rocks? Trees?"

"About a kilometre, I think. Can't see any rocks now, but there are a couple of trees."

"Are the trees far apart?"

"Yes."

"Perfect. You are in the South Tower. Moony will be there in a few minutes, with an Invisibility Cloak. There are guards walking around the castle every ten minutes. You will wait by the window, and be careful that the guards don't see you. After the guards pass by, Moony will reveal himself. You will then bring Tonks to the window and he will levitate her to the ground. He will do the same with you. Then you follow him to the boat. Got that?"

"I could use Tonks' wand to ..."

"No! Remember what happened when you used it on her last birthday by accident?"

"Oh yeah, right," he said, remembering the exploding teacup. Then his voice stiffened. "Hold on!" Several anxious seconds passed. "There's shouting downstairs. They're looking for some person called O'Riordan. Is that the guard Tonks looks like?"

"Shit!" exclaimed Hermione. Their plans to leave the breakout undiscovered had just collapsed. "Ummmm - does Tonks still look like O'Riordan?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Grab her wand, and ..."

"Wait! There's more shouting outside! I think Moony's been spotted!"

Daily Prophet, 23 September 1999

YOU-KNOW-WHO ATTACKS AZKABAN WITH BASILISK!

Last night, a Basilisk invaded Azkaban in what is believed to be an attack by You-Know-Who on the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry Potter is currently imprisoned there for the murder of Lucius Malfoy. Potter was unharmed, but several Azkaban guards were petrified. The guards have since been revived at St Mungo's.

The Basilisk's first victim was Niamh O'Riordan, one of Potter's guards. She was discovered near his cell.

"She had been vomiting," said her fellow guard Robert Smythe, one of the werewolves employed at Azkaban, "and had just rushed to the bathroom. She must have been on her way back when the snake saw her."

O'Riordan confirmed the story after being revived, "I saw it when coming back from the bathroom. I shot off a few Hexes at it, but when they had no effect I began running. And I think I saw a Death Eater behind the snake."

When it was pointed out that no-one else saw the Death Eater with the snake, O'Riordan shrugged. "I could have been mistaken. It's difficult to observe when you're running for your life. If there was a Death Eater, then maybe he was a flea Animagus and hitched a ride on the snake when it was on its way out. I'm just happy to be alive."

The snake, perhaps believing it had completed its task, then proceeded to escape by smashing through the wooden doors of the only entrance to Azkaban castle. It petrified several guards in the process. They fired several more stunners at it, but this had no effect.

"We believe that Death Eaters had the Basilisk enter Azkaban through the South Tower, by levitating it through the window. We almost caught one of them near the base of the Tower."

Some experts expressed surprise that the Basilisk only petrified the guards instead of killing them, but they are doubtless unaware of the fact that all students who faced the Hogwarts Basilisk in 1992 were only petrified.

This incident raises several questions about the security and safety of prisoners at Azkaban, especially given the huge amount of funds Minister Scrimgeour has spent on improving security there. Some members of the Wizengamot are calling for the return of the Dementors...

24 September 1999

Harry Potter, now back at Order Headquarters, had spent the time since his escape alternating between taking hot showers, sleeping on a real bed, and getting yelled at by everyone for getting himself into Azkaban. He had, by way of apology and gratitude, made dinner. It was a good meal, and he was unanimously sentenced to making dinner every night for the next two months.

Other decisions taken included the new Order rule to use scent-concealing charms when invisible. Moony was roundly teased for failing to do so - he had been discovered by a werewolf guard patrolling Azkaban castle. He had made a narrow escape by jumping off a cliff, levitating himself to a cranny on its side, and creating an illusion of a prone body at the foot of the cliff that was washed away by the tide soon after his pursuers arrived above him. Fred and George were the most impressed, particularly when he mentioned that illusion-based methods were a common Marauder evasive maneuver.

The most acclaimed trick, however, was Moody's collection of layered memory charm on the guard Tonks had impersonated.

"Did you have any trouble with O'Riordan?" asked Fleur.

"No, thank goodness," replied Tonks. "As soon as I was revived, I got to Moody's place. He modified her memory, and I took her back to her place."

"What does she think happened now?"

"Moody's a bloody genius," said the Metamorphmagus. "She thinks she had a bad meal before going to work, and vomited while guarding Harry. She went to the bathroom and, while returning, met the Basilisk. She ran, not knowing where she was running. When was passing the base of the South Tower, she looked back and was petrified. She woke up in St Mungo's, said a few words to a journalist, and returned home."

"Such detail is certainly difficult," said Flitwick. "But you sound like there is more to it."

"Ah," said Tonks in the manner of someone who considered audience participation a vital component of getting to the punchline. "But if someone breaks the charm, then she will remember that she was abducted by Death Eaters, who used her hair in a new form of Polyjuice that cannot be detected by the Ministry."

"Nice," said Flitwick, now impressed.

"But there's a final level," said Tonks, nodding at the grizzled and now embarassed Cyclops. "In the unlikely level that even that is broken, then she will remember the same thing except that instead of Death Eaters it's a group of Peruvian religious fanatics who worship Harry as a god."

25 September 1999

Three blonde figures, two female and one male, sat on a park bench in London's Kew Gardens. Anyone passing by them heard a conversation in Swedish about the outrageous price of smoked salmon in the city.

"This is a useful spell, Severus," said one of the figures.

"Of course it is, Minerva," snorted the male figure sitting in the middle. "I invented it. Granger here would be familiar with its predecessor, the Muffliato spell I created while in Hogwarts."

"You're a bastard, Snape," said the third, who was clearly younger than her two bench companions. "But you are the most intelligent bastard I've ever met. How much of it is an act?"

"Very little now," admitted the wizard. "Blame it on Minerva, and her protection of Black and Potter when Lupin almost killed me."

"I have apologized for that several times, Severus," said the Headmistress with a sigh. "And I did try to convince Albus several times in private to have Sirius expelled."

"It was inadequate," said the spy. "I am fully conversant with the difference between public and private persona - witness my friendship with Lily Evans - and that was an instance where you should have been on my side publicly. With Slughorn ignoring me because I wasn't as pretty as Lily, I was led to believe that no Professor was on my side. Did you know I took the Dark Mark a month afterwards?"

Minerva said nothing, but put her head in her hands.

"You were friends with Harry's mother?" asked Hermione slowly, sensing how close Severus was to exploding. He was having a talk with McGonagall that was clearly a decade or two overdue.

"Of course we were," replied Severus. "She was the kindest, most compassionate person I have ever met. We invented potions together, and made double and triple-entendre jokes about ingredients. We had to maintain a public image of hating each other, of course, for my protection. I would have been murdered if I was known to be friends with her. She allowed me to call her Mudblood - can you imagine what a friend she was?"

"Oh," said Hermione intelligently. She remained silent for a minute before asking a question. "Murdered. That bad?"

"You Gryffindors really have no idea, do you?" he replied. "Do you know how many times I begged the Headmaster to have me resorted into Ravenclaw? Everyone in Slytherin knew I had a Muggle father. My mother was terrified that I would be placed in Slytherin like all Princes before me. All she knew from her beloved family was the Dark Arts, and that's what she taught me. I didn't even know they were supposed to be a bad thing."

"Albus was an idiot sometimes," said McGonagall. After some thought, as if wondering whether to say her next words, she decided to do so. "Did you know the family he placed Harry Potter with - Lily's sister - neglected him to the point of abuse? The boy lived in a cupboard till he came to Hogwarts."

Severus said nothing, but raised an eyebrow. "I find that difficult to believe," he eventually remarked. "Did the Headmaster not know this?"

"He didn't know about the cupboard," admitted the old witch, "but Arabella was constantly sending reports about everything else. About his being malnourished, about his having to cook breakfast for his family from the time he was five, about his cousin's gang of thugs beating him up at home and at school and preventing him from having any friends. Albus was adamant that the blood protection was more important for the general good."

"Any physical abuse?" asked the Potions Master, rubbing his hands. Hermione suspected he was feeling some pangs of guilt. At least she hoped he was.

"Other than malnourishment and the gang beating him up? We could never find out. Potter is remarkably close-lipped on the whole business, and accidental magic has been known to heal bruises quickly."

There was silence for a long time.

"It will be over soon," said Hermione. "One way or the other."

Snape grunted, and decided it was time to get to business.

"The Dark Lord summoned me last night," he said. "He was furious about the Basilisk attack - furious that someone else it off instead of him. If Lucius had still been alive this morning, he would not be breathing now. He blames Lucius for the loss of his Basilisk in Hogwarts, and wishes me to find another. I don't suppose you would know anything about recent happenings at Azkaban?"

Hermione looked to her mentor, waiting to see how much the older witch was willing to say. In Hermione's opinion, Snape was untrustworthy to the point of predictable reliability, which meant that she would tell him everything if it was up to her. Besides, all those oaths meant something, didn't they?

"Potter took your Faux Animagus Potion," Minerva replied after some thought. "He was the Basilisk."

Snape's eyebrows rose to his foreline.

"I presume you did not use any snake blood."

"You presume correctly."

"Then... how?" Snape was professionally interested now, and his body posture visibly indicated this. For the first time since the conversation began, he was looking at one of the other two participants instead of a spot on the ground twenty metres ahead of him.

"Miss Granger, would you explain?"

"Alright," said the younger witch. "We believe Harry has no natural Animagus form. His father was an Animagus, and we found no father-son pairs on the list of registered Animagi."

"The Ministry's list is useless," pointed out Snape.

"We used the French one."

"That would be acceptable." He nodded in approval. "Continue."

"We think that if a person has no natural form, but is bitten by a magical being, that being becomes his form as far as your potion is concerned. Harry was bitten by the Basilisk in our second year. Also, Bill Weasley was bitten by a werewolf - not on a full moon - and his form is a werewolf now."

Snape turned to look at Hermione for a moment, as if to judge her truthfulness. She did not look at him, but he seemed to conclude that she had no reason to lie.

"What of Lupin?" he asked.

"He has not taken the potion yet. Only Fleur, Bill, Harry, and I have taken it. Fleur, who is quarter-Veela, and I have no form."

Snape was silent for a few moments. "I have some ideas, but would need further evidence to confirm them. I would be interested in hearing of any further evidence you obtain, if you are willing to provide it."

Hermione felt rather good. She had - finally! - been treated with some professional respect. She gave her head a mental shake. What if this was what Snape wanted them to believe? Was he trying to manipulate their emotions by giving them a sob story? The best lie is a partial truth. Perhaps what he was saying was a mixture of what he believed, what he wanted them to believe, and what he wished himself to believe. Truth, lies, and self-deception made a powerful combination - if only she could figure out which was which.

"Perhaps the two of you should discuss this along with Fleur Weasley at another time," interruped McGonagall. "I would certainly be interested in hearing of its results. For now, we still have a plan to concoct. Have you any ideas, Hermione?"

"If Harry was willing to go with Snape to Voldemort's hideout - "

"Say not his name!" hissed Snape.

"No," replied Hermione, causing the man to scowl magnificently. "If Harry was willing to go with Snape to Voldemort's hideout, and then looked at Voldemort, would Voldemort die?"

"Impudent woman," said the Potions Master, miffed at her use and overuse of Riddle's appellation. "First of all, I would not go within a hundred feet of Potter unless he took the same oaths you did. I have sworn not to harm him, and he must do likewise. If he proves his usual unwilling self, tell him ... tell him that I accept that my early conception of him may have been misplaced."

"Assume this can be arranged," offered McGonagall in response to the large personal concession. Even if Snape made it sound like it was merely part of the negotiation process, the apology sounded sincere.

"You said the last Horcrux was destroyed," he mused. "Therefore the Dark Lord is mortal now. But the Prophet claimed that everyone he looked at was only petrified."

"That was because he was wearing glasses when he transformed," said Hermione, who was still shocked that her hastily contrived explanation to Harry on the night of the breakout had turned out to be correct after all. "If he takes off his glasses before transforming, then his stare is fatal. We tested it on a few rats at Headquarters."

"Then the answer is yes, the Dark Lord would die if Potter looked at him."

The conversation stopped for a moment to watch a fight break out in front of them between a group of camera-happy tourists and a gardener who did not like to be photographed. Hermione found it oddly amusing, and made a resolution to carry a camera around more often - and to use it with Disillusionment or Notice-Me-Not Charms. She wondered, idly, why Colin Creevey have ever thought of that. Or maybe he had, considering some of the photographs he'd procured in his later years. She made a mental note to pay him a visit. Perhaps in a dark alley.

"My second Potter-related question of today," said Snape, "Is why the Ministry still thinks the boy is in prison."

"Flitwick made a substitute," said McGonagall after a long pause.

"Remarkable," said Snape, accepting that the Headmistress wished to remain silent on the details. "I take it that the Dark Lord will realize the substitution once he arrives at Azkaban? He has not noticed yet, that is certain."

"You are correct, since there is no scar link between the substitute and Tom. Now, tell me, would it be too suspicious if you were to obtain a Basilisk in a couple of days?" asked Minerva. "You could claim it is the Hogwarts Basilisk, and that Albus made up the story that Potter killed it to make the boy look good, and that it was only wounded."

"What if the Dark Lord decides to attack Hogwarts to retrieve the Basilisk himself?"

"Then we shall have Mr Potter waiting there for him."

8.03 PM, 26 September 1999

"You want me to make an Unbreakable Vow not to hurt Snape?" asked Harry incredulously. "How much blood is running through your firewhisky right now?"

"I am not drunk, Harry!" huffed Hermione. She appeared to be close to the point of tearing her hair out. Given that the argument had begun shortly after breakfast an hour before, this was understandable.

"He admitted to killing Dumbledore!" shouted Harry for the umpteenth time.

"Yes, we all know that! But he wants to kill Voldemort, and we need the git! Without him we would not have found all the Horcruxes, and you'd still be in Azkaban!"

"He's not a git! That's a compliment! He's a withered turd filled with the shit-flavoured nosejuice of a lazy half-assed flobberworm crossed with a vindictive grudge-bearing skrewt!"

8.04 PM

A couple of rooms away, Fred and George listened via their new (cordless) Extendable Ears. Both were taking careful notes.

"Oh, that's the best one so far."

"Did you get all the words?"

"Nyet. What did he say before flobberworm?"

8.24 PM

"But I'm not working with a murderer!"

Remus raised an eyebrow.

"Lucius Malfoy doesn't count! Malfoys are not human! I'm a killer, not a murderer!"

8.56 PM

"I'm not asking you to like him or forgive him, Harry," said McGonagall. "Merely to work with him for one day, and then all this will hopefully be over and you never have to see him again."

Harry said nothing, but put his left hand behind his back and gave his former Headmistress the finger.

"He said he was mistaken in his assumption of your character."

"I could have told him that. I know my father was an arrogant berk, but I am not my father."

"Harry, I know you are more Lily than James. But Snape is a stubborn fool about this and has only just admitted it to himself."

"How can you trust him? This is the screwed-up pond scum who invented the Cruciatus Potion last year and perfected it by tests on Muggles! This is the guy who tortured Dennis Creevey so badly we had to mercy kill him when we recovered him!"

"I do not deny that. Snape deserves to die, but Voldemort deserves to die even more. But we are forced to allow the lesser Evil to live. This is a truce. He swore oaths not to hurt any of us."

"You're oversimplifying, Headmistress. Truces are temporary things, and this is not. I know what the oaths say. He can still persuade Voldemort to give him a direct order to kill you and then do so!"

"And once Voldemort is dead, that loophole will not exist. In any case, do you think the Horcruxes would have been destroyed if it was not for the information he provided?"

"His information was faulty! Three people died retrieving the Horcruxes because he did not provide enough information!"

"You are not being reasonable, Harry. How could he get perfect information? Do you expect Tom to have given him a map with an X marking the spot with the Horcrux and three feet of parchment explaining how to destroy it?"

"When has Snape been reasonable? When has anything been reasonable? Was it reasonable for Snape to tell Voldemort enough of the prophecy to make my parents a target? Was it reasonable for Dumbledore to chuck me with the fucking Dursleys? Was it reasonable for ..."

Minerva morphed into her Animagus form, extended her claws, and scratched the nearest table leg in frustration.

9.13 PM

"Did you know that Snape was a friend of your mother's?"

Harry stared at Hermione in shock, and stormed out of the room. At least he tried to. He found himself caught in a Body Bind, levitated to the couch, and staring into Hermione's pleading face. He was thrown off balance - each of the previous four times Hermione had pulled this trick on him, her face had been irate.

"I remember what you saw in his Pensieve," said the witch. "I know he called your mum a Mudblood. But he told us that Lily gave him permission to call her that in public because the Slytherins would kill him if they knew he was friends with a Gryffindor Muggleborn! Can you imagine what they did to him in Slytherin when everyone knew his father was a Muggle? He asked Dumbledore to Sort him several times into Ravenclaw and the Headmaster refused every time!"

Hermione released the Body Bind.

"And you believed him?" asked Harry, rolling his eyes. He sat up on the couch to face his friend. "It's Snape! You believed Snape? If that was true, Moony would have told me! Besides, the Sorting Hat cannot resort anyone."

"Moony says he does not know about the Mudblood permission stuff," admitted Hermione, "but he says that he always suspected that they were friendlier than they appeared in public. And the Sorting Hat can resort someone if it's a question of life or death. Which it was."

"Great," muttered Harry. "The next thing you'll be telling me is that James Potter slipped my mother a Love Potion in their seventh year. No, wait, here's a better one - you'll tell me that Snape slipped my mother a Hate Potion in their Seventh Year for her protection. Oh, and Snape's my dad and I've been under a Glamour all my life to make me look like James Potter. Or ..."

"Harry!"

"What?"

"I don't suppose you'll believe me if I tell you something else Snape said."

"No, I won't."

"Alright."

Some minutes passed.

"Oh fine, Hermione, tell me!"

"You won't believe me."

"Yes, I already told you that. Tell me anyway."

"Say please."

"Hermione!"

"Harry."

"Damn you, woman! Okay, please tell me what the greasy git said."

"He said - and here I am extrapolating - that if Sirius had not existed, then he would never have become a Death Eater."

"What did he actually say?"

"He said he took the Dark Mark a month after Sirius led him to Lupin on the full moon."

Harry was silent for several moments.

"What did Minerva say about that?" he finally asked.

"She said she asked Dumbledore several times to expel Sirius. The Headmaster refused."

Two minutes passed. Hermione took out her Big Book of Cats, trying to narrow down her list of which type she wanted to become. Five minutes passed. She conjured a shot of espresso. Ten minutes passed. She summoned a pack of Marie biscuits and conjured a cup of tea to dip them in. Four minutes passed.

"Alright, Mione. You win. I'll swear not to hurt Snape. On one condition. I want him to fill a Pensieve with all the good memories he has of my mother. I want to know if they were really friends in private."

"I think that can be arranged," said Hermione. "Thank you."

9.20 PM

"It's over, Fred."

"How many good insults did we get?"

"Fifteen. Six of which are most remarkable, and worthy of our new line of misfortune cookies."

"I liked the bit where he called Draco the spawn of a submissive demented coelecanth and a dominant whip-loving octopus with scrawny tentacles and hearing problems."

"He didn't say whip-loving, he said freeloading."

"Does it matter?"

"Of course not. It's the thought that counts. You got the spirit of the insult right."

"You have to admit, he's got a lot more creative since he went to Azkaban. His previous insults were never longer than five words."

"Quite. We should ask him about that sometime."

27 September 1999

"Enter, Severus."

Contrary to popular belief, Lord Voldemort was not a Cruciatus-happy monster. At least not when Severus Snape was concerned. He had had several doubts about the Potions Master over the years, but they had been laid to rest when he killed the Headmaster. Snape was the only person he considered as an ally rather than a servant.

Of course, if Severus ever behaved as anything other than a grovelling servant, he would be punished.

The Potions Master entered the room, his back ramrod straight as always, and knelt below Lord Voldemort. It was a mark of honour that he was allowed to kiss the ring on Dark Lord's right hand instead of having to kiss the hem of his robes.

"Thank you for allowing me to defile your presence, my Lord."

"Rise, Severus. You have news?"

"Yes, my Lord. I have successfully infiltrated the Order of the Phoenix. They believed my lies that Dumbledore ordered me to kill him, and have made Unbreakable Vows not to hurt me."

"Excellent, Severus. I take it you had to make some Vows as well?"

"Of course, my Lord. But they have little Slytherin wisdom, and there are loopholes large enough to slip a herd of dragons through."

"You please me, as always. What have you discovered?"

"They are the ones who attacked Azkaban with the Basilisk. They were attempting to rescue Potter, but failed as one would expect. The Basilisk they used is yours, my Lord, from the Chamber of Secrets."

"That cannot be. Did not the Potter child kill my snake, by sheer luck of course, several years ago?"

"I heard from the tabby's own maw that your King of Serpents is alive. Dumbledore spread the story of Potter's victory to make the brat look good. In reality, the Basilisk was only wounded."

"How typical of Albus," sneered the Dark Lord. "But how are they controlling the serpent?"

"Forgive me, my Lord, but I was unable to determine this. However, there are some new members of the Order from other countries, and I would offer the guess that one of them is an unworthy Parselmouth like Potter."

"That does appear to be a likely explanation. Very well. Do you think you can enter the Chamber of Secrets and send the Basilisk to me?"

"I would need your assistance, my Lord. The new wards around Hogwarts prevent anyone with a Dark Mark from entering."

"Of course. I will temporarily disable your Mark and supply you with a set of recordings of Parseltongue commands. They will allow you to open the Chamber and order the Basilisk to shut its eyes and not hurt you. You will create a Portkey that brings the serpent to my seventh dungeon. It should be large enough. Then we will take my new pet to visit the Potter brat in Azkaban."

"I am truly honoured for your assistance, my Lord. When do you wish me to bring the serpent?"

"I will be waiting in the dungeon at nine o'clock tomorrow morning, Severus."

28 September 1999

The Order now had only two tasks left. The first was to kill Lord Voldemort. The second was to kill Harry Potter.

The first task proved to be easier than expected, to the point of being terribly anticlimactic. Not that anyone complained.

Snape informed Minerva of Tom Riddle's new plan, and she informed the others. Harry met the Death Eater at Hogwarts. With his glasses removed, he transformed into his serpentine form. Keeping his eyes shut or staring upwards, he Portkeyed with Snape to a dungeon in Riddle's Headquarters. Voldemort was waiting for them, and greeted his new pet. It was the last thing he ever did. Harry Potter, disobeying the Parseltongue commands of the Dark Lord, bent down his enormous head to stare into Riddle's red eyes.

Lord Voldemort died.

While Harry returned to his human form, the petrified body of Tom Marvolo Riddle toppled to the floor of the dungeon, face forward. It bounced a couple of times.

The two surviving wizards let out appropriate whoops of delight, and almost hugged each other. Fortunately for them, they remembered their mutual loathing in time.

Meanwhile, the wards around the mansion collapsed. Around the country, several people fell to the ground, clutching their left forearms. After six minutes, only five Death Eaters, including Snape, were still alive. Snape was unaffected because his Dark Mark had been deactivated by Voldemort when he went to fetch Harry. The other four, who included Antonin Dolohov and Evan Rosier, only survived by cutting off their left arms just below the elbow. The four promptly fled Britain.

Harry activated his long-distance audio Charm to inform McGonagall of the news, and heard the cheering of Order members around her. He then turned to Snape.

"I believe you have the honour of separating Tom Riddle's head from the rest of him, Mr Snape," said Harry, wiping his spectacles on his robe and putting them on.

"You have my thanks, Mr Potter. However, I have a much better idea," the spy replied with an evil grin. "You may want to move aside. I am hoping to make this messy." He pointed to Voldemort's stiff body, and performed a slow Diffindo from head to groin, leaving the Dark Lord in two mirrored pieces.

"You're right," said Harry, nodding appreciatively. "That is definitely a much better idea. Still a bit too clean, though." Tom's blood had frozen and refused to leak and create a mess.

"Indeed," said Snape, cocking his head with an expression of mild disappointment. "Who would have thought that Petrification would have its negative points?" He reached into his robe pockets and tossed a small object to Harry.

"What's this?" Harry asked.

"It's a camera, you dunderhead," replied the Potions Master.

Gilderoy Lockhart would have been proud of the resulting images. Harry took three photographs of Snape standing victoriously over the split body of Voldemort. They switched and Snape did likewise.

"That last picture will go very well on your Chocolate Frog card, Mr Snape."

"Do shut your gob, Mr Potter."

The two lifelong enemies shook hands - hesitantly and as quickly as possible - and wordlessly agreed on a policy of everlasting mutual disgust, distrust, and avoidance.

Snape Disapparated, and would only keep in direct contact with Minerva, Fleur, and Hermione.

Harry Disapparated to Order Headquarters, taking the two pieces of Voldemort with him.

30 September 1999

After two days of Riddle-centred photo shoots with Inner Order members and Outer Order members (who were informed of Harry's retrieval with varying degrees of openness), Voldemort's body was dumped by unknown vandals in the Fountain of Magical Brethren at the Ministry.

The vandals also modified the fountain so that the Centaur, House Elf and Goblin were haughtier, prouder, bolder, and in the midst of pulling a prank on the Wizard. Then they added a specially Flitwick-invented Charm to ensure that the fountain returned to this shape whenever the Ministry attempted to fix it.

The general public deemed this a small price to pay for the demise of You-Know-Who, and there was much celebration. Shops that had piled up stocks of fireworks in advance, such as that of a certain pair of identical redheads, made a killing.

After another day, the complete Inner Order and a few selected guests gathered at Twelve Grimmauld Place for the second and final task - the official murder of Harry Potter.

The experimental ape languishing in Azkaban had had several charms placed on it by Flitwick. One turned it into an audiovisual transmitter - a giant Potter-shaped scrying device - in the event that it faced the Dark Lord. Another turned it into a bomb that would leave a Hogwarts-sized crater if activated. A third Charm, which Flitwick was unable to make work over long distances, turned it into a mouthpiece that would emit anything said by the wizard who activated it.

None of these Charms were ever used.

The one that was used was the Self-Destruct Charm. It caused an aneurysm in the unfortunate ape, and could be remotely activated at the press of a button. This was perfect for a ceremony, and the diminutive Professor had been happy to pass the job of making the ceremony a memorable one to someone else.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," said Fred, wearing a rainbow-coloured three-piece Muggle suit and a neon bowler hat.

"And Harry," added George, wearing a similar suit but with a hat shaped like a snake head. The serpentine hat might have looked menacing at some point, but that was before the twins placed spectacles and a messy black-haired wig on it. They had also stuffed an apple in its mouth.

"We are gathered here today - "

"- to watch Harry Potter - "

"- the Boy-Who-Cooks-For-Us-All -"

"- he who brought to life the phrase 'if looks could kill' -"

"- with the Dark Wanker as an experimental subject - "

"Get on with it!" yelled Bill to his brothers.

"Shut it, Weasley!" yelled Fred back.

"We are gathered here today to watch Harry Potter - "

" - kill Harry Potter - "

" - so that he might start a new life as - "

George halted theatrically, squinting at the piece of paper where Harry had written the name of his new identity. Fred joined him, and they had a loud and insulting discussion complete with much finger pointing at the note and at Harry (who was busy rolling his eyes at the back of the room) regarding the name on it. Finally, they seem to come to a conclusion.

"Mordecai Asparagus Halfwit," said Fred solemnly.

"Hey!" shouted Harry.

"You really need to get better handwriting, mate," said George, shaking his head in sorrow.

"Yeah," added Fred, "there's absolutely no way that this name that you've written down is Evan Sprongfoot."

"Honestly!" exclaimed George in a perfect impersonation of Hermione. "How are you supposed to take over the world with a name like Sprongfoot?"

The twins ducked a ceramic otter that Hermione threw from her place at Harry's side. She must have prepared it beforehand, becaue it exploded behind them and the pink smoke rising from it formed the words 'Fred and George stink' for a second before disappearing. The twins turned their heads to see why everyone was laughing, but not quickly enough. They turned back to the audience with a grin, and gave the smug witch a thumbs-up.

"It is now time for Mr Sprongfoot - "

" - our favorite Dark Lord in training -"

" - the man with the deadly hiss -"

" - the Heir of Slytherin -"

" - the bane of Cornelius Fudge -"

" - et cetera, et cetera, et cetera -"

" - to kill off Harry Potter."

"Start clapping, you idiots!" barked Fred as the Basilisk Animagus walked to the front of the room.

Amidst raucous applause, Evan Sprongfoot bowed deeply and pressed the large (and hideously loud lime green) button that would kill off his public persona in Azkaban.

3 December 1999

"Evan?" asked Neville Longbottom. His gaze lay firmly on the bottle of cold butterbeer in his hands.

They were sitting at a metal table in the middle of the spacious Longbottom gardens. This part of the garden was kept under permanent climate charms that kept away the winter cold.

Evan Sprongfoot, formerly Harry Potter, did not look anything like his former self. The scar that had cursed his life had faded when Voldemort kicked the bucket. He wore blue-tinted contact lenses and used a daily alopecial Charm to stay bald. This by itself would probably have been enough, but Hermione - once she had stopped lapsing into uncontrollable giggling fits at his appearance - had dragged him off to Muggle cosmetic surgery to alter his nose, chin, and ears. They had considered more magical means of altering his appearance, but opted not to as that would be vulnerable to revealing spells.

Changing his physical appearance was merely the start. Since Fidelius Charms could be performed on abstract items of information (the location of a building was an item of information), they had placed the knowledge that Evan Sprongfoot was Harry Potter under one, with Harry as Secret Keeper.

Harry had wanted Hermione to be Secret Keeper, but she had refused. It was important to keep the secret until he died, and she might die before him ("What if I get knocked down by a Muggle bus, Harry? Or blown up by televangelist terrorists? Or choke on a Marie biscuit?").

Instead, she was the Secret Keeper of a second Fidelius Charm that protected the information that Harry Potter was actually alive and living happily somewhere on the planet. This allowed her to reassure Harry's acquaintances that he wasn't really dead, without having to reveal where he actually was. Besides, the phrasing of the information suggested that he was in living in some out-of-the-way boondocks in Patagonia or Iowa instead of central London.

Neville had, at an Order meeting a month prior, casually offered Harry the chance to come to Chez Longbottom and get his hands dirty if he ever felt like it. The chubby wizard had been pleasantly surprised when his former classmate had one day turned up in T-shirt and shorts, wanting to get to work. It had proved most therapeutic, and they had spent several hours working in a companionable silence doing mindless manual work and chatting during drinks breaks.

"Yes, Neville?" replied Evan, reaching for his head before remembering there wasn't any hair on it to run his hand through. Kingsley Shacklebolt, who would know, said it could take some months for that habit to fade away.

"May I say something that you could get quite upset or angry with me for?"

Harry cocked his head and looked at his dorm-mate of seven years. The idea of Neville angering Harry seemed odd. His curiosity was definitely in the dead-cat range now.

"I will listen, Neville. You don't need to be scared of me - I'm not Hermione. I won't transfigure you into a goldfish and leave you to suffocate on the ground."

Neville winced. Draco Malfoy, who had never taken the Dark Mark, had been living in exile in New Zealand. The Malfoy Heir had returned to Britain a week ago to take revenge for his father's demise. Since Harry Potter was 'dead', Draco had named Hermione as his target and confronted her one night outside Hogsmeade. Her response had been most singular, as was her resulting lecture to Harry ("You see, Harry, that is how you kill a Malfoy. Turning someone into an animal only receives a fine, and besides, there weren't any witnesses.")

"I'm more worried about getting you upset than angry," clarified Neville. "Do you promise not to run away?"

"You have my permission to cast a Body Bind on me if I do."

"Ah, er, I'm sure that won't be necessary," said the St Mungo's Herbologist. "I just wondered where you were going to live with, now that everything is over."

"I haven't really thought about it," replied Harry, wondering where Neville was going with this.

"I wanted to suggest that you move in with Hermione." While Harry choked on his butterbeer, Neville continued. "You've both lost people close to you, and - look Harry, she needs you, and she'll never admit it."

Harry thought for a while, and then nodded. "Alright. I'll ask her."

"Oh good," replied Neville, sounding very relieved. "But it's important that she thinks she's helping you. So tell her that you need her to help you recover from everything."

Evan nodded again, before standing up and walking to the greenhouse.

Behind him, Neville smirked.

15 January 2000

Hermione sat at the breakfast table reading a Muggle newspaper while Harry made bacon and eggs. She had been surprised when Harry asked her shortly before Christmas if she was willing to move in with him to an apartment in London. She had been reluctant at first, but when he said he needed her, she had immediately agreed.

Dean Thomas had repaid seven years of homework assistance by helping them find an apartment. (He worked for an agency specializing in Magically outfitted Muggle apartments - abodes with both electricity and Floo connections - to maintain an artistic night job.)

It had been good for them both. She had started to pick up clues about a topic she had long been curious about, namely what Harry's life had been like with the Dursleys. On the rare occasions that he wished to watch the telly, he would look at her first, as if asking for permission. He never asked to put anything on their joint grocery lists and never bought anything not on the lists. She made plans to visit Privet Drive soon - Legilimancy was only illegal when performed on wizards, not Muggles. She was Slytherin enough to take advantage of prejudiced laws on the rare occasion that there were in her favour.

Now they were wondering what to do with their lives. They knew what others wanted them to do - stay in the wizarding world and drag it into the 21st century. Or, as she had said multiple times, into the 20th century since it was still living in the 17th. Right now though, Harry was spending his time in a semi-depressive funk, devoting his life to sleeping and cooking.

"Evan," she asked carefully, once he had brought two plates of breakfast to the table. "I'm worried about you. You're spending too much time in bed. Why don't you go out and fly or something?"

Harry yawned. "Do you think I could add four broomsticks to my bed and do both at the same time?"

"Why don't you go and play professional Quidditch? The Fidelius Charm should protect your identity, even if you fly like Harry Potter."

"You think so? But what if I'm good at it?"

"If you become famous as Evan Sprongfoot, it would be due to your own talent, not something that your mum did."

"Hmmm. That is true, but ..."

"I hear the Cannons need a new Seeker, and they have tryouts tomorrow."

"But ..."

"It's the Cannons, Evan..."

Damn the Ron trump card, thought Evan Sprongfoot.

Daily Prophet, 13 March 2000

Chudley Cannons win three matches in a row!

In an event not seen for eighty six years, the most famous losers in British Quidditch have won three matches in succession. The primary reason for this is their new Seeker, Evan Sprongfoot. He is a Muggleborn wizard who recently moved to Britain from overseas and clearly has incredible raw talent.

"My parents were Muggle teachers who worked on a remote Polynesian island," said Evan to this reporter. "We never received a Hogwarts letter. Wizards really ought to investigate Muggle methods of communication - they work better than owls."

Meanwhile, it is rumoured that the team are on the verge of being taken over by new management with much spare cash. The prospective owners have allegedly approached several players in other teams, including Harpies Chaser Angelina Johnson and Puddlemere Keeper Oliver "Crazy Wall" Wood, much to the consternation of other managers.

Daily Prophet, 18 March 2000

Chudley Cannons bought out by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes - Team renamed Weasley Cannons - All players to have hair dyed red

"I wish Ron was here to see this," Hermione sniffed.

Evan nodded and patted her hand, before turning to the twins.

"We are absolutely not using using that as our logo."

"But it's so appropriate, Evan!"

"I am not wearing robes with a logo that has a toilet seat on it!"

"But the initials of the Cannons are W.C.!" argued George. "It's critical for the natural Feng Shui of the Universe for them to be inside a toilet seat!"

"Feng Shui my left buttock. Why should I believe that you'll stop with the robes! Next thing you'll want the logo tattoed on my head!"

"Oooh!" said the twins together.

"Brilliant idea, Evan!" continued Fred. "We'll modify the team rules especially for you!"

"All players will have their hair dyed red," opined George, "and if they have no hair to dye, the team logo shall be prominently displayed on their noggins."

Hermione giggled. Evan looked so cute when wearing a look of horror.

21 July 2002

"Neville's wedding was very nice."

"Sure was. I told you Susan had good taste."

"In men or wedding gowns?"

"Both."

There was silence as Hermione drove home from the wedding at the Bones residence in Hemel Hempstead. Both of them found Muggle transportation very relaxing.

"Aren't you going to get a girlfriend, Evan?"

"I've had lots of girlfriends!"

"I meant a steady one, Seeker Boy."

"Say, what happened to that Kevin guy?"

"Don't try to change the subject. And if you must know, Kevin and I broke up."

"Ah. Sorry about that."

"Don't be."

"May I ask why you broke up?"

"You still have a question of mine to answer."

"My answer's too complicated, Professor Granger. I can't word it myself. So we may as well entertain ourselves listening to your answer."

"Hmph," snorted the Hogwarts History Professor. "You do understand that my providing this answer will under no account be indicative of your having won this argument."

"Of course not. I promise not to gloat."

"Evan! You've never kept that particular promise before."

"You've never learnt to stop taking it."

"We're really off topic now, aren't we?"

"I won't dignify that with a response, Prof."

"Git. If you must know, Kevin was getting too close."

"Too close? I thought sex was pretty close."

"Come off it, Evan, I didn't mean physically close. Besides, even we've had sex."

"Bloody good sex it was, too."

"Careful, Mr Sprongfoot..."

"Ooops. Bloody good sex it is, too."

"Stop thinking with your nether regions, you Snitch grabbing fanatic."

"Good one there. Just one letter off. You almost snatched it."

"Incorrigible groin-brained gutter-dwelling cretin". Her left arm narrowly missed the back of his head. But the front of his head failed to miss the dashboard.

"Owww," said Harry, rubbing his forehead. "You're a regular Thesaurus Rex, you are."

"Go kiss a skrewt. And stop hurting my car. Now, where was I?"

"Honestly, Professor Granger, if you can't remember what you said, get a transcription quill for all our conversations so that you can look it up!"

"You know, that's not a bad idea. But not while I'm driving."

"Merlin. The woman thinks her words are so important that she will kill innocent trees to preserve them for posterity."

"And don't you forget it. Besides, I remember now. I was talking about how I couldn't get too emotionally close to my previous boyfriends."

"You mean when they ask you questions deeper than 'what's your favorite colour' or 'what's your favorite aftershave'?"

"Perfume, in my case. But yes, that stuff. I mean I don't want to tell them what I went through as a bucktoothed brat before Hogwarts, do I?"

"Yeah, know what you mean. Not that I can imagine you being a brat. I keep having to invent tales of my childhood. It's like bloody Divination all over again!"

"This is about the time in the conversation where Ron would laugh his head off and Ginny would smack your head."

"It was always those times in conversations. Though Ginny did go overboard with the smackings."

"True."

"Yeah."

More silence.

"Do you think we've got over them?"

"Dunno. I miss them. But it's feels better with you there, Mione."

"Likewise, Evan. Harry."

"Time to get back to whining about previous relationships, methinks. We're getting serious again."

Hermione nodded and took a deep breath. "They keep trying to understand me!" she exclaimed.

"Instead of just understanding you? Or understanding that some things are meant to be withstood and not understood?"

"Impressive. We'll make a philosopher out of you yet, Mr Second String Seeker for England."

"I just liked the wordplay. And the Seeker's retiring in a few months, so I'll be Reserve Seeker."

"A poet, then, Mr Reserve Seeker for England. Congratulations, by the way."

"Thanks. It's ridiculous, really. None of my girlfriends ever understand how my best friend and roommate is a girl. What's wrong with them? I mean, all we do is share a bed once a month!"

"Twice a month. And breakfast every other day. And clothes."

"You're the one who steals my shirts. I just steal your socks."

"One day you'll learn to keep track of yours. Anyway... perhaps we should give up."

"Eh? Give up on what?"

"Give up on ever having a relationship with someone else and go out with each other."

"Didn't I suggest this at some point?"

"Yes, but then you met Michelle."

"Ah. Yes. Her. Heh, heh. Sorry about that. I do suffer sometimes from the john-before-brain illness that us twenty-something males are prone to, you know."

"Being male is an illness, Evan - haven't we drilled that into your thick skull already?"

"An incurable disease that you seem to rather enjoy, on occasion. And the occasions occur twice a month, if I heard you right."

"Shut it. Now, are we giving us a shot?"

"I thought I already agreed - I certainly don't see why not."

"But we aren't in love or anything, got it?"

"Certainly not. Just because I can't imagine living the rest of my life with anyone else does not mean I'm in love with you."

"My sentiments exactly. I'm so glad we understand each other, Harry."

"Me too, Hermione."

21 July 2003

The press conference was packed. Professor Hermione Granger, Newblood Witch columnist, Hogwarts History teacher and head of the philanthropic Potter-Black Foundation For Magical Equality, had just announced her engagement. Her fiance, the infamous Weasley Cannons Seeker and England Reserve Seeker, sat next to her. They had answered several questions following their announcement, and were quite tired.

"How long have the two of you been in love?" asked a young blonde who was clearly from Witch Weekly.

"We are not in love," replied Hermione. "We simply cannot stand the thought of living the rest of our lives with anyone else."

The journalists chuckled knowingly, while Evan and Hermione sighed and shook their heads. No-one ever understood them.

"Are you looking forward to become Professor Sprongfoot?" asked another journalist.

"Actually," answered Evan for his mate. "I'm changing my name to Granger. It's slightly easier to write, and causes fewer jokes by Quidditch announcers. And yes, that especially goes for Lee Jordan!"

As the Grangers continued to answer questions, two identical redheads in the back of the room each handed a galleon to a chubby sandy haired wizard.

FIN

A/N: The quip about curious dead cats came from "Luna's Hubby" by meteoricshipyards.

Now that you've read this... when you began reading this fic, you automatically signed a magically binding contract. This means that if you now leave no review, you will be hit with the Maggotus Curse. Do you know what that does? Imagine being eaten alive, from the inside, slowly, painfully, over a matter of days. Imagine wishing you were dying a less painful death, such as being boiled in baby oil, or strung up by your balls (or tongue, if balls are unavailable) hanging over a flaming spit while onlookers throw blunt rocks at your weeping face. Worst of all, imagine the absence of a sequel...