The Heir of the Founders

A/N: Slightly different from my more conventional (read, more canon-esque stories in terms of in-character actions). AU Set after 5th year. Harry finds that those whom have guided his life may not have had the best of intentions. An H/Hr shipper, though there won't be much (if any) Weasley bashing. Also as is the case, if you enjoy what you read please leave me a note saying that you do, as they do help motivate me.

Without further adieu....let yet another fic begin.

Chapter 1: Secrets

The car ride home from King's Cross station was in effect a silent one. Harry kept to himself most of the way home, a fact that the Dursley's were more than keen to allow.

'Home,' Harry thought to himself, lost in his own thoughts, 'this place has never been home to me.' Harry deeply wished to be going anywhere, anywhere but here. He didn't care if Voldemort would be able to target him elsewhere. He'd almost rather stare down a dozen dark lords rather than face his Uncle should he come home drunk again.

Idly his mind wandered back to the conversation he had with Dumbledore at the closing of term. His blood still boiled over thinking about everything that the man had done in the name of “his own good.” 'Shows what he knows,' Harry cheekily told himself, as he glanced at his three relatives in the car with him, and kept noticing that Dudley was situating himself along the seat, undoubtedly trying to protect his bum from anymore “freakishness.”

It was nearly tea time when they reached Number 4 Privet Drive. Without a word Harry unloaded his trunk and Hedwig's cage and took them up to the small room he called his own. Surprisingly, Vernon didn't object to him or say much of anything for that matter. Perhaps he had actually taken to the conversation with Shacklebolt at King's Cross to treat him better....or perhaps he just didn't want someone like Mad-Eye roaming around. Harry idly thought that it was something he could understand fully.

Harry got into his room and quickly saw his familiar, Hedwig, sitting on the windowsill. “Hello girl,” Harry said in as soft a voice he could muster as he opened the window and let the snowy owl inside. He noticed a small package taped to her leg. “What's this...something from Ron I guess.” It didn't occur to him that Hedwig shouldn't have had anything on her leg after flying straight here from Hogwarts. He removed the small letter and set it aside, before setting up Hedwig's perch and cage in the corner near the window and handing her a small treat he had kept out. Idly Harry stroked the bird's head and earned a gentle coo for his efforts, which earned a small smile from Harry.

He was still awash in anguish over what had happened to his godfather, the one person in this world that he knew for certain loved him for being...well...Harry. Not the Boy-Who-Lived. Not The Chosen One. Not some ultimate weapon. Just Harry. And Harry could only come to one irrevocable conclusion, everything was his fault. If he hadn't been so stupid, so blind as to everything than he could have known. Sirius would still be alive and he might be able to stay with him this summer.

'No,' Harry was quick to remind himself with anger, 'Dumbledore wouldn't have allowed it.' The thought of his headmaster was something better ignored at the moment. Harry was about to go and see what Hedwig had brought him, when the thudding of steps from downstairs clued Harry to the impending arrival of his uncle. Sighing Harry sat down on his bed and waited for what was likely to be the usual “None of your funny business this summer boy or back to the cupboard with you,” speeches he had grown accustomed to. Harry's door opened and he regarded the walrus-esque man with a mustache carefully. There was anger in his face, as much as there ever was, but something was missing. Harry didn't see the unflinching hatred that he had noticed in the man before. Harry filed it away for later use.

“Boy,” the man said without his usual vitriol, “Let me tell you something right here and now. I don't want any funny business this summer. I don't want you here anymore than you want to be here, so let's just do each other a favor and stay out of everyone's way. If your Aunt asks you to do something though, it better bloody well be done!” At that note, Vernon closed the door and locked it slightly, leaving Harry with a dumbfounded look that was rapidly expanding across his face. This was not the way it was supposed to work. His Uncle was supposed to beat him around the bush and then send him to weed the garden, not treat him as a human being. Well, maybe he hadn't been treated as a human, but certainly better than your average house elf. It was as if somebody had decided to rewrite the rules of the world, turn it on its ear, and here he was last to know about it.

He internally chuckled at how far that wasn't from the truth.

He looked back down at his desk and looked at the letter. Taking it into his hand he noticed that it glowed red for a moment, and then blue, and finally green. After which it seemed to shimmer for a moment before Harry could make out the seal of wax that held it closed. He watched intently as he saw an orange seal written in a language he couldn't quite understand. Written below it in English was “Gringott's Wizarding Bank.”

Harry stared at the letter for a moment with curiosity. He had never received a letter from the goblin's at Gringotts. Without warning he opened the envelope and pulled out what appeared to be a tome of a letter. Setting aside the envelope he sat down on his bed and put his feet up on his desk. He idly twirled his wand as he read the letter.

Dear Mr. Potter,

It has recently come to our unfortunate attention that there are several discrepancies in dealing with your trust vault. The vault was to contain a grand total of 95,984 galleons in it as of this time, and upon your birthday on July 31st would be reset to the level of 100,000 galleons per your father's instructions in setting up the vault.

However, an audit of all assets within the bank have shown up that there is exactly 49, 723 galleons currently deposited in your trust vault. The only known way of this occurring is due to unauthorized transactions from your vault. Examinations of your vault over the last twelve years have shown there to be similar transactions, though there has been more activity within the last five years. Rest assured, all automatic withdrawals from your accounts have been suspended pending further investigation. We at Gringotts assure you that this is a most uncommon occurance and that we will work in every way to ensure that it never happens again.

Though I would like to convey good news to you at this point, unfortunately I cannot. We have also received confirmation of the death of one Sirius Orion Black. Under normal circumstances you would not be informed of this until your seventeenth birthday, however Mr. Black's circumstances are not normal. Upon the reading of his will, it was determined that he had named you his heir and thusly as the new head of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. Per his instructions, you are to come into your inheritance immediately.

Also, further examination of our records show that you are the Heir to several other Houses as well. By blood you are the direct heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter, The Most Noble and Ancient House of Seldon & The Most Noble and Ancient House of Warrens. By way of being the last male heir of distant relation, you are also entitled to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Draven. As you will be considered an emancipated adult upon your acceptance of the inheritance for the House of Black, you will be eligible to claim your other inheritances as well.

It may interest you to know that should you choose to do so upon accepting your inheritance of the above-stated bloodlines, you would further be eligible to claim the ancestral lines of one Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw & Helga Hufflepuff. There has not been an heir to all four in the last 900 years, and you will have to undergo a significant ritual to claim their inheritance per their instructions to the Glorious Goblin Nation. Do not undertake this ritual lightly, for should you be judged unworthy you will not be able to undergo the ritual a second time.

Please come to the main branch of Gringott's in Diagon Alley, London, at your earliest convenience to resolve these matters.

And once again, we apologize for the horrible oversight in security as it concerns your trust vault. Rest assured the perpetrator will be caught and that any assets of theres will be repaid to you by way of reparations. We eagerly anticipate your arrival.

Sincerely,

Haiden Orlock

Director of Inheritance and Estate

Gringotts Bank-Diagon Alley-London

Harry sat and read the letter again, his mind abuzz with its contents. He read it over twice more, and then pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. He wasn't quite sure about all the laws and such as it concerned the Houses of Wizards and their estates. Heck he could barely make a summoning spell work at times. Almost instantly the guilt for his godfather had faded to the back of his mind as he considered everything.

First on his mind was who could possibly have been taking his money? His mind went through a list of people who might have access to it and who would actually do such a thing, and when that came up empty he grimaced in frustration. He knew that he should be hitting on something obvious here, but was uncertain as to what it was.

Secondly he looked at each of the Houses in turn and resolved to assume all of the inheritance. He didn't quite know what made him decide so quickly to do so, probably a bit of that Gryffindor courage he was so famous for.

'Speaking of which'....he wondered idly what would go through his friend's head the minute they found out that he was not only the Heir to several of the oldest Houses in the wizarding world, including some that he was certain had died out over the years, not to mention he was the possible heir of all four of the Founders. He idly wondered at how Voldemort would react to that bit of news as well...wasn't he supposed to be the last heir of Slytherin anyway?

Harry was broken from his revery almost immediately. There was a flash in the middle of his room, and quickly he saw Fawkes appear. Harry regarded the phoenix, who jumped up onto his desk and dropped a note there, giving a trill that brought Harry a good deal of comfort. Harry picked up the letter and read it. Whatever it was he was expecting, it wasn't this:

Dear Harry,

Unfortunately I must contact you immediately following your departure. Though the wards at Privet Drive are strong indeed, they will fade in protection the further you get from the House. I must ask that you not leave the premises unless you are accompanied by one of your guardians or an Order member. I do hope you understand.

Albus

Harry regarded the letter, but not with the disappointment that he though he would. Instead his feelings were one of distrust, one of a bit of rage. Dumbledore was essentially sentencing him to prison for three months, and though it wasn't Azkaban, one would have to wonder how much better it really was. This raised another problem too. He knew that Order members would be guarding his house nonstop to make sure he never left there. So how then could he go to Gringotts?

There was really only one way out. He would have to have his relatives help. He was sure he could get it, but it was the enticements he would have to offer to get it. One such enticement was financial, the other was to rid themselves of him altogether. Harry planned to use both.

If Harry was the heir of all of the above estates, than surely they had property included. He knew for certain that Grimmauld Place would be included in the Black estate, but he didn't want to use that unless he absolutely had to, because that would be the first place Dumbledore would go looking for him to usher him back to his makeshift jail cell. If worse came to worse, he could always hide out at a Muggle hotel for a few days while he planned his next move.

Steeling his resolve, he noticed that Fawkes was still sitting there, waiting for a reply. Hurriedly Harry grabbed a piece of parchment and scribbled out a reply to the effect that he understood and would see him later. Leaving out all the other details, he handed the note back to Fawkes and prayed the bird couldn't read minds. As soon as the phoenix had left the room, he took a few deep breaths, and made his way downstairs.

He stopped when he saw the Dursleys sitting down to dinner. They hadn't asked him to make it. His Aunt Petunia looked up at him and, rather than her usual smug glare, offered a callous but empty, “Oh it's you. I suppose you'll be wanting to join us then?” Harry just nodded, and took the offered seat. He was even more surprised when Petunia spooned out a small piece of meat and potatoes onto the plate in front of him, and said nothing when he grabbed a roll from the basket. Harry glanced around at the whole lot of them as if they had suddenly turned into flobberworms or something. There was something wrong with all of this, and it was annoying him. It couldn't just be the talk, something else was happening.

Dinner proceeded off with little more than a few conversations about the weather. Vernon had even asked how his grades were, which made Harry explain the O.W.L. exams to him, all the while hiding the horrid feeling of uneasiness that was alerting him. He idly checked the hallway, half-expecting Moody to be standing there with his wand pointed at the Dursleys, with them firmly under the Imperious Curse or some such thing. When the day was complete Harry was asked to do the dishes, something that didn't bring him much trouble at all and simply relieved him a bit. As he finished with the last one he sighed again and headed for the small sitting room where his family had gathered to watch television.

“Uncle Vernon,” he asked in the most polite voice he could muster. “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“What is it boy,” Vernon replied, never once glancing up from his newspaper crossword.

“I had some business in London I need to deal with. School business. I was wondering if you could take me there tomorrow...if you don't have anything else planned of course.” Vernon took the time to look up at him this time and regarded him. Harry could almost catch a hint of some flagrant force trying to overtake his uncle's features, but quickly dismissed it as a trick of the light. After a few moments Harry added, “I'd be really grateful...and I can pay for the trip. Say...500 pounds.” At this he almost saw a light appear across his uncle's face.

“Alright then. Be up by 7 sharp and be ready to go at 8.” Harry stood stunned, absolutely stunned. Lord Voldemort could have pranced behind him in tights and a tutu while singing Dancing Queen and he wouldn't have been more stunned. “Was there something more,” his Uncle asked, before going back to his crossword.

“Um...well...this business probably means I won't be coming back here for the summer...so...yeah...” Harry was at a loss for words. His Uncle merely nodded and added an affirmation as if Harry were discussing a telephone number with him. Harry looked to his Aunt Petunia who was working on crocheting something or other and then to his cousin, who was idly flipping through television channels.

“Right then,” Harry said to himself, “I'll just go pack.” In truth he hadn't really unpacked....but that was neither here nor there. Stumbling a bit as he headed upstairs, he went into his room and shut the door, more than a bit disturbed. Either this was a trick of Voldemort's...he was dreaming....or something was majorly screwed up with the world. He headed for his desk, not really glancing around at anything, when he noticed a small black owl sitting on his window sill. He opened the window and the owl slid in and quickly slid away. He unfurled a small letter he had gotten, not knowing who it was from considering that he didn't recognize the owl.

Harry,

I don't have much time so I'll be brief. You might remember on the train I was reading a book on cursebreakers. I know you were sulking a bit and didn't notice much but....well anyway I found this nifty spell about how to check auras as it related to potential curses and I was curious as to the effect your scar would have, thinking we might be able to help you if we understood how it affected your magical aura. I cast the spell and couldn't make out everything but it looked like there were dozens of curses on you. I hadn't gotten to the cursebreaking section of the book yet so I flipped forward a bit and found the simplest one I could and seemed to get rid of one of the curses on you. I don't know what it did and I didn't have time to research it more.

One other thing, I don't know how much we can trust the Headmaster. After looking at more of the book, some of those curses were pretty complex and he's the only one I know who could cast them. I'll let you know more.

Don't blame yourself for Sirius, Harry. You couldn't have known.

Oh and don't mind the owl, it was a gift from my parents for completing the OWL's. His name is Thoth. I'll see you soon.

Hermione

Reading the letter brought mixed emotions to Harry's head. Firstly it was from one of his dearest friends, and one that had become a bit muddled in his mind as of late. When she had been stunned at the Ministry, the thought of anything happening to her had caused him greater heartache than even possibly the death of his godfather.

Suddenly, his second emotion came to the forefront as everything made sense now. His Uncle. The good treatment (borderline on kingly treatment as far as Harry was concerned.) Hermione must have done something to him to make his relatives treat him better. But...if they were acted on by a curse caused by him than shouldn't he know about it....

He didn't quite understand everything, and he didn't want to tell even her everything yet. But he knew that a response would be in order. He pulled out another piece of parchment and wrote a letter to his friend.

Hermione,

Whatever you did, it seems to have had some positive impact. My relatives are treating me decently, like I'm actually a person. Please let me know what you've found out as soon as you can.

What I'm about to tell you cannot be repeated to anyone, not even the Weasleys and not to Dumbledore. Especially not to Dumbledore. I'm leaving Privet Drive. I don't know exactly where I'll wind up, but I assure you I will be fine. Please Hermione, trust me on this, I know what I am doing.

Let Hedwig stay with you for a day or so before sending her off. Don't worry...she'll find me, wherever I am. And in your next letter, tell me how you're doing. I hope that you still aren't injured from the Ministry incident.

Take Care,

Harry

There was a moment when Harry wanted to write something besides “Take Care,” but for now he decided that it was best to keep as many people in the dark as possible. Handing the parchment to Hedwig and giving her a quartet of treats, he spoke gently to her as she gazed into him with her deep amber eyes.

“Listen to me girl, I want you to stay with Hermione for a day or two while I work some stuff out,” before she could let out a hoot in protest Harry put his hand up. “I know we just got back but we're going to a new place now. I know you'll find your way.” At that he stroked the bird on the head and allowed her to nip him on the ear once playfully before opening the window and sending her off into the night sky.

Finished Harry put away the few things he had gotten out in his trunk and threw on a pair of pajama pants and laid down in his bed, turning in early for the big day yet to come.

A/N: Probably like a billion other stories out there, but hopefully you will enjoy it.

A/N: Bear with me if this is not as good as my other fics. I don't often delve into these territories.

I think it goes without saying that I don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter 2: Blood Ritual

Harry was up earlier than normal that day. He didn't want to alert Vernon Dursley to the fact that he was being civilized for the first time in...well ever....and test his lucky streak and earn a smart whooping for his insolence. Part of Harry wasn't still certain that this wasn't a cruel joke perpetrated by...someone. But then again the goblins wouldn't be in on something like that. Harry rounded through the thoughts as he took a shower and brushed his teeth. In no short order he was downstairs and fixing breakfast for everyone.

The morning affair had proceeded as simply as the dinner the night previously had. No words were exchanged until Harry had brought out his trunk and put it back in the Dursley's car. Fortunately for him....the car was in the garage at the moment per his request. As Harry and his Uncle Vernon pulled out Harry looked back and saw his Aunt standing there waving, actually seeming to smile. It chilled Harry to no end.

Along the way out of Little Whinging he managed to spot Mundungus standing guard near a lamppost, trying to look as discreet as possible. Harry hid from view and the dodgy wizard didn't notice Vernon turn the corner. When they were further away Vernon looked down at his nephew, regarded him for a moment, and then continued onward.

It was halfway to The Leaky Cauldron and a good long while before Harry heard any voice. He was almost half-asleep, though his mind was still swimming with the possibilities. A gruff cough from his Uncle Vernon drew him back to the reality, and he looked up at the burly man and was surprised not to find any trace of a changing face color on him.

“So b....Harry,” the afore mentioned wizard flinched at the use of his given name, “What sort of nature is this business. Anything I should be concerned about.” Harry wasn't sure he could trust the man. He knew he couldn't admit it was an outright lie, but to be quite frank he hadn't thought of more of a cover story. He regarded the man for as long as he could without a reply as he came to a conclusion and pressed forward.

“Well sir,” he said, sticking to half-truths and marginal revelations, “I have to pick up a few things for a school project.” That wasn't entirely a lie, he did need to pick up a few ingredients from the apothecary. But Harry wanted to let the man in on a bit more. For some reason he felt as if a great veil had been lifted between him and his last living relatives and he wanted to explore it, if for only a brief foray into the weird new world.

“I also need to stop by Gringotts,” Harry announced. He looked at Vernon who was confused. “The wizard's bank,” Harry explained. “I received a letter from them yesterday saying that I had some papers to sign.”

“Concerning your godfather?” Vernon asked without a moment's hesitation.

“Yes, among other things.” Vernon looked like he would press forward and Harry hoped that he wouldn't. He wanted to explode with the excitement he was feeling, the first real joy he had felt in a good long while and if his uncle pursued the line of inquiry any further he'd likely be unable to hold the breach. Much to Harry's relief however, his uncle deviated and went down an entirely different path altogether.

“Harry,” his uncle began, a tinge of sorrow apparent in his voice, “I know that your aunt and I haven't always been the most loving people to be around.” The hairs on Harry's neck were beginning to stand on end. This. Was. Not. Normal.

“I honestly don't know what came over us. One minute we'd be fine and the moment we saw you or thought of you we'd be all angry and blind with rage.” He paused a moment and made a turn down a main road. “But yesterday, on the way to get you we...well something happened. It was like a light turned on and things went into motion. Suddenly, you didn't seem all that bad. Yeah...you were still a bit....unnatural but....not a freak.” Harry half-expected to explode at this point. The car came to a stop in front of the dingy pub Harry had instructed Vernon was The Leaky Cauldron. As Harry got out and grabbed his trunk, he turned to hand his Uncle the money promised, when his Uncle held up his hand.

“Keep it,” he said, a smile nearly forming on his face. “I doubt we'll meet again Harry. For whatever it's worth...we're sorry. Good luck.” At that Vernon drove off. Part of Harry thought that his Uncle was just elated to have him gone for good and was turned inside out with joy. Another part considered what Hermione had written to him, and nothing made any sense. Shrugging it off and trying to ignore it as best he could, he rolled his trunk into the inn, making sure to lift the hood on his jacket he was wearing to try and hide his identity.

He casually strolled into the bar area and found it thankfully devoid of anyone at the moment. He approached the bar man and sat on a stool, gaining his attention.

“Hello sir,” the man said without looking up from scrubbing his mugs, “can I get ya something?”

“Yes, Tom,” Harry said, making sure to lift his hood slightly so his scar was visible only to him. Tom looked at him and his eyes went wide before Harry's gaze made him assume command. “I need a room for my things for a few hours. Do you think you can manage that?”

“Certainly can Mr. Patterson,” Tom said loud enough for everyone to hear. Harry smiled and threw down a few galleons in front of the bar man.

“I was never here,” he simply said. Tom nodded and took the money. He might have done it for free anyway, but he wasn't one to turn down free money. “I may send a House Elf or goblin for my things later,” Harry mentioned, gaining a nod from Harry. Harry had had time to formulate some of his plan, and it involved a certain pair of House Elves he would have to hire soon. Leaving his trunk and other belongings, Harry turned away from the bar and headed for the back room. Finding the usual brick wall there he pulled out his wand and tapped the bricks in the proper motion, watching them rearrange till the entrance to Diagon Alley appeared in his view. He readjusted his bangs to hide his scar and proceeded down the main alleyway. He stopped at a few stores he knew to be among his favorites, but stopped himself from window shopping. He wouldn't have much time before Dumbledore figured out what had happened, and he didn't want to be drug back to his cage kicking and screaming. If he was emancipated however, than the old man wouldn't have a say in the matter anymore.

Harry made his way to Gringotts and slipped in the front door. The lines were incredibly short for the time of day, but that meant no concern to Harry. He kept the letter he had received in his pocket and approached the nearest goblin he could find, namely Griphook.

“Griphook,” he called out, drawing surprise from the afore mentioned goblin. He turned around looking for the source of his name and his gaze stopped on Harry.

“Yes sir....how did you know my name sir?” Griphook was a little intrigued. Most wizards never bothered to learn a goblin's name in the first place, let alone remember it.

“You were the first goblin I ever met. A few years ago,” Harry replied. He rolled his eyes slightly This was something he would never understand as it related to goblins and wizards. Griphook looked amazed that Harry would remember not only his name, but also would remember how they had met. Harry just shook his head and flushed the letter out of his pocket. “I'm here to see Haiden Orlock concerning some estates.” Griphook nodded and led Harry off from the main lobby. They walked through a double set of oaken doors and into a large hallway lit by torches. They walked down past a few doorways and stopped about halfway down the corridor. Griphook motioned to Harry to enter, and after a moment's hesitation he did.

The office of the Haiden Orlock was rather ornate. Tapestries from what Harry guessed (if Professor Binns' lectures were any indication) were the Goblin Rebellions held depicting reliefs of various battles and skirmishes. Behind a desk sat an older goblin shuffling some papers. He looked up and gazed at Harry for a moment with what appeared to be a scowl, but it quickly changed to an inquiring gaze.

“Yes, is there something I can do for you Mr....” the goblin's voice was raspy Harry noted, and he sounded much older than he looked.

“Harry...” the teen said confidently as he could muster, swinging his way into the office and shutting the door. “Harry Potter. I got a letter from you yesterday and...” the goblin was now smiling and had walked over to the corner, grabbing a basin and a dagger. He set the two of them on his desk and motioned for Harry to sit down in front of him. Harry did as he was asked and set the letter back into his pocket. Orlock read a few more pieces of paper and glanced at Harry, before folding his arms and continuing.

“Yes, thank you for coming on such short notice Mr. Potter. And let me again extend our deepest condolences on the loss of Mr. Black.” Harry's features darkened at the mention, but the goblin continued. “Right then...as I said in the letter you are to come into the inheritance of the House of Black immediately. Now, if you would be so kind as to give me your hand.” Harry held back for a moment, untrusting for a brief second.

“I have a couple of questions first.” Harry had many questions in fact, but the goblin shook his head in response.

“I'm sorry Mr. Potter,” Orlock explained, “but many of the questions you have can't be answered to an underage wizard. Technically were it not for the Black family's standing within the Goblin Nation and the instructions of Mr. Black's will you would not be here anyway. Now, if you please give me your hand I can verify your identity and give you your first inheritance.” Harry was still a little unnerved by all of this, but nonetheless held out his hand, directing it over the basin of silver liquid at Orlock's motion. Orlock picked up the ornate bronze dagger and chanted something in a language that Harry didn't understand, before prodding him across his fingers. A few drops of his blood dipped into the silverly liquid, and he leaned forward while he cradled his hand to his chest. The red swirled around for a few moments, before there was a loud pop and the liquid turned completely gold. Orlock nodded and looked at Harry. “Here, let me get that,” he said, and Harry offered his hand. A moment later the slight cut was healed. Orlock stood up from his desk and grabbed a small torch that hung on the back wall. Pulling at it a small portal opened in the side and Orlock grabbed the torch and motioned for Harry to follow him. Having no other choice, Harry did as he was told.

It was a short trip down the dark and cobweb infested tunnel to a small antechamber where torches surrounded the room. Harry took a glance at the ornate stoneworks in the room and guessed it to be almost as old as the building itself. “This is where we conduct the initiation ceremonies. In days gone past wizards would do these things, but they've since entrusted it to us. I prepared this chamber for your arrival, I trust you don't mind.” Orlock motioned for him to stand in front of a carved obelisk rising out of the middle of the floor. Orlock waved his hands and the obelisk glowed.

“This is a Goblin Recorder,” he explained, “It allows us to keep track of the heads of all the Most Noble and Ancient Houses.” When Orlock noticed a bit of fear cross his charge's face he reassured, “We treat our customer's privacy with the utmost care, even moreso than their vault's on occasion.” He let that sink in for a moment before he walked over and grabbed a small black box. Harry looked at the onyx carved box and saw the Black Family crest etched on top of it. Orlock stood before Harry, a serious look drawn across his ancient face. “Kneel,” he said with a simple command. Not knowing what else to do, Harry did as he was told. He noticed that the flames had grown brighter as Orlock stepped forward.

“Do you, Harry Potter, son of James, hereby take on the duties and responsibilities of leading the Noble and Ancient House of Black?” Harry began to nod but quickly realized that wouldn't do.

“I do,” he clearly intoned, as serious as he could be. All the pomp and circumstance nearly made him grin.

“Then arise Harry Potter, son of James, Lord of the House of Black.” Harry stood up and Orlock motioned for his hand. Onto his ring finger Orlock slipped a small platinum ring with a simple black stone set in the middle and a silver dragon with small emeralds for eyes sitting in the center of the stone. Harry immediately felt a rush of power coming from the ring, filling him with a calming sense as the ring fit to his finger. He opened his eyes and looked at Orlock, who was bowing before him, causing him to smile a bit.

“Enough of that,” Harry said, waving his hand. Just because he was the head of a wizarding line didn't mean people would kneel before him now. He never enjoyed that idea. Orlock looked up at him a bit sheepishly before conjuring a couple of chairs.

“Now that you are officially Lord Black,” he began, summoning another goblin as he did, “I can answer some of your questions.” The new Lord Black sat down on the chair and ordered for some refreshments when the other goblin came into the chamber. He had a million questions flowing through his mind before he finally settled on the first.

“Why me...I'm not a Black I mean...yeah I'm related to them like second cousin sort of thing but. Heck Malfoy should have inherited it before me.” He idly remembered the Black Family Tapestry and tried to remember the lineage.

“Actually,” the goblin began, “It should have been one Bellatrix Lestrange who assumed leadership of the House of Black.” Harry's features really darkened at the mention of the witch. “Though it is one of the older houses, it does not prescribe to the patriarchal lineage. Women can inherit that line. It is not so with some of the other lines.”

“So, why me,” Harry asked again, noticing the refreshments popping into existence.

“Mr. Black, though he had never undergone the actual inheritance since he was in Azkaban at the time, was in effect the de facto heir to the Black Line. He couldn't dismiss anyone from the family, but he could do what he wanted with the title of Head of the House, and he bequeathed it to you. And since you now where the crest of the family Black, there are several perks that come with it.” Harry's eyes widened as the Goblin continued.

“You have control over all of the Black family assets. You can name other members of other families into your own House though this has not been done in ages. You can disown someone completely and remove them from the family, provided they are not the next in line for the lordship. You also have the ability to swear fealty to other lords and have other lords swear fealty to you. Should the need ever arise you promise to defend one another's family. It's usually a way of forging alliances in times of war.” Orlock added emphasis to this point before continuing. “Pertaining to you in special occasion you are now for all intents and purposes emancipated. As Lord Black you have all the rights and privileges thereto, including being free from the restriction based laws against the use of underage magic. You also have a voting seat on the Wizengamot. The first of many.” Harry's mind reeled from everything. He didn't realize how much this entailed. A seat on the Wizengamot? Emancipation? It all meant one thing in Harry's mind.

Freedom.

He actually had legitimate power over his own life....for the first time in his life. No more Dumbledore to hover over him for his greater good. No more Dursley's to do chores for. No more being everyone's tool, he was his own man. As he sat there he went over what Orlock had just said, and something dawned on him.

“Orlock sir,” he began before the goblin raised his hand.

“Do not call me sir my lord. It is honor enough that you refer to me by my given name.” Harry was about to protest but the look on his face held him off. “It's protocol my Lord, we must respect the niceties.” Harry simply grumbled.

“Very well, Orlock, you mentioned something about the first of many?” Orlock nodded and took a sip from his goblet.

“Yes. As I told you in the letter you are heir to four other lines. Three of these lines are yours by direct blood descent, and the other because of the patriarchal succession.” Harry nodded, though this was of some note and parlayed into one of his questions.

“I figured that about the Potter line. But I've never even heard of the Seldon and Warrens line. They couldn't have come from my mother, her parents were muggles.” Orlock nodded with a small smile.

“Yes I noticed that too. In actuality the Seldon and Warrens lines do come from your mother.” He pulled out a sheet of paper and continued. “In 1832 one Jacob Horace Seldon married Evangeline Warrens. Their union produced two children. One was a wizard of no importance. But the other was a squib named Maggie Warrens.” He paused as he made sure Harry was keeping up. “She was cast out of her family but never disinherited. She married a muggle and all of her children were muggles. The line continued downwards and, technically, since she was never disinherited, each one was an heir to both the Seldon and Warrens lines. They could not claim them naturally because they were muggles. All up until your mother. She did claim her lines but chose not to undergo the ancestral ritual. I'm frankly surprised no one told you about these things.”

“So am I,” Harry whispered under his breath, his anger flaring up. “What about the Draven line,” Harry asked.

“That is of patriarchal descent. Technically there is a cousin that would come before you in the lineage, who's name I don't have here. But you are the first male wizard of that lineage to be eligible to be the heir in some time. Your father would have been eligible had the last heir, Erik Draven, still not been alive.” Orlock set aside his goblet and leaned forward. “All of these houses carry with them the same rights and pledges as the House of Black. And since you are now for all intents and purposes an adult, you may claim this inheritance should you choose to do so.” Harry nodded, drawing Orlock to get up and fetch four more boxes.

The next few minutes were a combination of Harry kneeling down before Orlock and accepting his houses one by one. As each ring was placed onto his finger, they merged with the Black family ring, drawing a gaze from Harry. “They're charmed so that you only need wear one ring at a time,” Orlock explained. “You merely need state the name of the family ring you wish to appear and it will be there.” As Harry nodded, he called out the Potter name and the gold, ruby encrusted ring with a lion in the center appeared.

When all was said and done he was now Harry James Potter, son of James, Lord of the House of Black, the House of Potter, the House of Seldon, the House of Warrens and the House of Draven. Looking over himself in his ragged jeans and t-shirt, he knew he'd need a new wardrobe soon. He was just glad you didn't need dress robes for this thing.

“Now,” Orlock said, drawing his attention, “there is one final matter to attend to. As I stated in the letter, you are eligible to claim the ancestral lines of the Founders of Hogwarts. Bear in mind these are not the same as the lordship of Houses, though each one does carry a seat in perpetuity on the Wizengamot. You cannot disinherit others who will be eligible to claim this ancestral line in the future, nor can you add people to that line. They must be direct descendants of the founder in order to be eligible. The Weasley family for example, are distantly related to Gryffindor by way of a brother Godric the Great had, but not descended directly from him, thus unable to claim his ancestral line.” Harry nodded, but frowned upon the blood lineages. “You also must earn this inheritance, it does not come easily. You must be tested in three ways.

“First will be the easiest, a test of your blood. You will be presented before the Guardian of the Founders Vault who will test your blood to make sure it is pure. Once you pass that test, your magic will be tested. This too is a simple test, it simply ensures that you are not a squib or muggle trying to pass off as a wizard. Once you pass these two tests....then comes the hard part. Your spirit will be tested. You will be taken to the Room of Spirits, where fragments of the souls of the Four Founders permanently reside. They have remained their since the Founder's passing, united in death though they were divided in life. There they will judge your spirit based on their own criteria. I can't go into more detail for you will be alone in there, and your thoughts will be bare.

“Understand my lord, this is a one time offer. Should you choose to ignore it or fail in this task, you may not repeat it. Should they judge you unworthy, you will not be punished, simply cast back into our world with no change. But should they judge you worthy, should they freely choose to bestow their ancestral line upon you, you will be given unique and wondrous gifts, as well as the family rings of all of the Founders. Your situation is a bit different since you are eligible for multiple lines. One of the founders may accept you while the others reject you. I must ask you now Lord Potter, is this what you want?”

Harry considered it for several minutes, weighing the possibilities. Here was the chance of a lifetime, the one time he could take it. There didn't seem to be much risk involved, but perhaps Orlock merely didn't want to worry him. Perhaps he should just quit while he was ahead.

But then he considered the possibility that he could really change the world with this power. Not squander it on petty attempts of revenge or futile attempts of maintaining the status quo. He could change the entire wizarding world for the better, perhaps put an end to all of these prejudices and titles once and for all.

They were lofty goals to be certain, and in the more immediate future he could use this power to effectively fight Voldemort....the way he should be thought. He had his own ideas when it came to fighting this war that Dumbledore....that no one knew. The Gryffindor Golden Boy was an image he had worked hard to maintain over the years, especially when the urge to curse someone into oblivion was heavy in his mind. Did he want those thoughts laid bare to the Founders?

Weighing all options, Harry nodded to the goblin. “I wish to try,” he simply stated. Orlock nodded and led the young man down a second hallway adjacent to the chamber and towards his next destiny.

A/N: Nothing is mine....

Chapter 3: The Founders Four

The tunnel that Harry followed the goblin down was even narrower and darker than the last one. He felt a chill run through his bones as he felt the echoes of someone who had been here before he was. Namely one Tom Riddle.

Eventually the tunnel began to widen and Harry felt the floor begin to slope downwards at an increasing angle. He wouldn't call it a staircase per se, but he did notice a certain descent. He felt the air cool around him. They must be descending far deep underground. He tried to glance ahead to see anything, but the torchlight from Orlock didn't extend very far in front of him and the only sounds Harry could hear were the sounds of their own feet as they trudged down the path.

After several minutes in the dark the tunnel opened to a large chamber, essentially a larger version of the antechamber from which they had come. It was about double the size though, and there were ornate gold statues in all four corners, one for each of the Founders. Harry entered the room, and turned back to the goblin who tossed him a small dagger. “You'll need that,” he said as he turned to walk back up the tunnel.

“Wait...where are you going,” Harry called back, almost frantic.

“It is not my place to witness this ritual. When it is over you will be transported back to my office rest assured.” At that the goblin left the room, and a stone slab slid down, blocking the only discernible exit. Harry stared at the slab for a moment, trying to will it to move. He didn't think he'd be facing this alone. He turned and saw a small light having been lit in the middle of the room. Taking a deep breath and bringing up all of his courage, he walked forward into the light. He stepped on a large compass shape and was almost instantly frozen in place. His mind went blank and he stood in awe as the whole room lit up, sparkling in gold and gems. It was a far cry from the dark and dreary place it had been a moment ago.

Harry stared forward and watched out of the corner of his eyes as two of the statues came out of the corner towards him. He guessed that the other two were doing the same. The two in front of him appeared to be Gryffindor on the left and Slytherin on the right, though he couldn't be completely certain. They stopped a few inches from the large compass shape and remained in position, when in front of him a large white door opened. He felt the cool rush of air coming out of the doorway as it opened, but the white light behind it was quickly covered by a large silhouette. From out of the door came a large gargoyle, sliding along the floor and coming to a stop. It's hands were cradled together in almost a praying motion, but it's face and diamond studded eyes were staring straight into Harry's.

“Who comes forward to seek the ancestral lines,” a deep bellowing voice came out from the direction of the gargoyle, though it filled the entire room. Harry gazed around in wonder for a moment before snapping back to reality.

“I-I do,” he managed to stammer out.

“State your name and the basis for your claim,” the voice returned, still as forceful as ever. Harry suddenly looked down at his hand and saw the ring sitting on his finger. Ancestral knowledge seemed to be coming from nowhere but the back of his mind, and he wasn't as afraid as before.

“I am Harry Potter,” he began, speaking with more confidence this time, “Son of James Potter. I am the Rightful Lord to the House of Potter, the House of Black, the House of Seldon, the House of Warrens and the House of Draven. I am the rightful heir to the ancestral line of Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw & Helga Hufflepuff.” The confidence left Harry almost as quickly as it had arrived, and suddenly he didn't quite know what to do with himself. Another gaze at his ring brought his mind back as the disembodied voice considered this.

“Very well,” the voice of the guardian returned, “we shall proceed with the tests of ascension. First, we must test your blood.” At this the gargoyle's front paws lifted forward and Harry noticed for the first time that it was holding a small bowl. Harry found then that he could move again, and he instinctively knew what to do. Holding the dagger that Orlock had given him a few minutes earlier. He held his hand over the bowl and sliced his palm, letting some of his blood flow freely into it. A few moments later the the bowl glowed red, followed by a green, and finally a deep hue of blue, before the blood simply disappeared. Harry felt a warmth in his hand and saw that the cut had been healed.

“Your blood is indeed pure,” the voice returned, “Now we shall test your magic.” Harry looked around and saw the four statues of the founders were moving, their right hands rising up. He noticed in each of them was a thin stick of wood, varying in length. Their wands no doubt. Each wand pointed directly at him. He quickly rushed to get his own wand out and put up a shield, but found that he was once again frozen. He closed his eyes and waited for whatever was about to happen.

In succession, each wand fired a small spell at him that merely swirled around him for a few moments and then disappated. When this had been completed, the arms of the statues lowered back down and Harry was free to move again. He didn't know if he had passed or not, didn't really know what had just happened. He tried to remember what Orlock had said, but his mind was going blank.

“Your magic is indeed pure,” the voice returned. “You have been judged worthy to face the Founders Four. May Merlin watch over you.” At that the gargoyle withdrew from whence it had came, and Harry found himself standing in blackness once more. Torches began to light up all around him, and he heard shifting noises. He could see the founder's statues swinging to the left at a 45 degree angle so that the statue of Godric Gryffindor stood in front of him. Harry shook his head and removed his glasses, trying to gain some insight as to what was happening. The world was spinning, and there was a loud ringing in his ears. He felt his throat jam up and gasped out the air. He couldn't breath. The air was leaving him. Dropping to one knee he tried to cough and force air back into his lungs by gasping, but it didn't work. Swirls of color spun around him as he collapsed down to his hands and knees, and finally blacked out on the floor.

/ - / - / - /

Harry didn't know how long he was out, but he was readily apparent of two things. First, based on the cool damp air still surrounding him, he had not been transported back to Orlock's office like the goblin said he would. Only if he had been judged unworthy, Harry corrected himself. The second thing he realized was that his body did not ache at all.

Standing up, Harry rubbed his eyes and replaced his glasses. He shook his mess of a head and kept his eyes shut for a moment longer. He had a strange sensation in the back of his mind. He suddenly got the notion....he was no longer alone.

“Took him long enough,” came a snide voice to his left. Harry turned and was floored by what he saw. Standing there in translucent glory was Salazar Slytherin. His face was long and thin, and his eyes a deep seeded green a few shades darker than Harry's. He was glad in a forest green robe with silver and purple trimming, the hood lifted over his head partially casting a shadow over his eyes, as much as a shadow could ever fall over a ghost. “What are you gawking at boy,” Slytherin snapped at Harry, causing Harry to back away a bit in fear.

“Leave the boy alone,” came a more reassuring voice from behind him, directly across from Slytherin. Harry turned around again and saw the lady Hufflepuff. She was slightly heavy set with golden hair tied in style similar to that of a certain transfigurations professor Harry knew. Her mouth was drawn with a smile, and her cheeks seemed to actually be rosy. These were unlike ghosts he had seen before.

“For we are not ghosts,” came another female voice to his right. Harry turned again and found Rowena Ravenclaw standing there, taller than the other two. Her face shone with more beauty, but seemed to hide a mind of keen intelligence. Her eyes were bright, open, and a deep blue, and they oddly brought calm to Harry.

“We are merely memories, preserved in statues,” came the deep voice from before. Harry turned to the position he had been facing before and laid eyes on the tallest of the bunch, one Godric Gryffindor. His short auburn hair was lined with gray streaks throughout, and a beard hung down to his chin. He was clad in armor while the other three were in robes, and a makeshift sword hung from a scabbard on his belt. Harry stared at all four of them, not knowing what to say.

“You....you....” he stammered, pointing at them in succession. Helga laughed at this.

“Yes, we get that reaction a lot. We are the Founders Four. And you are Harry James Potter, Lord of the House of Warrens and heir to my ancestral line.”

“You are also Lord of the House of Seldon,” came Rowena's voice, calm as ever, “and heir to my ancestral line.”

“You indeed are the Lord of the House of Potter,” Godric chimed in, his face partially beaming downward at his living descendant, “and heir to my ancestral line.”

“It would appear that by sheer luck,” Salazar sneered, “that you are the Lord of the House of Draven, and my rightful heir.” Harry gazed up at the ancient wizard, and had a question on his lips. He didn't know if he dared to ask the founder a question.

“Speak up boy,” the man yelled, apparently not enjoying the gawking.

“Well sir, I thought that Tom Riddle was your heir?” There was a silence as Slytherin considered the question. Slytherin's face twisted slightly as he made his reply...surprisingly in parseltongue.

“Do not speak to me of that close-minded fool,” Salazar hissed. He gazed down at Harry, seeming to dare him to reply.

“I did not mean to offend,” Harry returned in the same language. Salazar's eyebrow cocked at this.

“Interesting,” came the calm voice of Ravenclaw. “I sense that there are many levels to your character young Lord.” She closed her eyes and Harry felt as if he was being stripped bare. It was similar to when Snape had used legilimency on him, but different. Rather than the violated feelings that Snape brought forward, Harry felt at peace as he could sense Ravenclaw reading his thoughts and memories. “He has been through much for one so young,” she stated, not opening her eyes, “and yet there is a good mind here despite his difficulties.” She frowned as she pushed forward, “And there is more...one who has dampened his power considerably. It hinders his natural ability.” She opened her eyes and stopped her probing, dwelling on her own thoughts for a moment. Harry still felt the probing however, and quickly turned to see the other three doing similar movements.

“He is loyal,” Helga simply stated with a smile, “almost to a fault. He cares for his friends more deeply than anything, and would do anything for them.”

“Yet he is blind in his loyalty,” Salazar retorted with a frown, “He is faithful to those who have chained him and shuns those who could help him...but why?”

“It is not for the reasons you think Salazar,” came Gryffindor to his defense. “He has been tormented from a young age, he is fiercely loyal to those who show him any type of affection. This is through no fault of his own.” This argument only brought a slight perhaps from Slytherin's lips.

“His courage runs deep,” Gryffindor continued, making his own assessment. “He has faced danger and he has faced it alone. When no one else believed him he stood firm and stayed by his ideals, loyal and true.” Harry knew they had been talking about the events of the previous year when no one had believed him about Voldemort.

“He feels the pain of loss,” came Rowena's soothing sounds. “He feels it deeply. His parents were taken from him long ago...and more he has cared for have died.”

“He blames himself,” Helga said, a frown on her face, “It is not his fault. No doubt more of his upbringing.”

“We should judge him on the merits of his own character, not on the flaws of his protectors and guardians,” Gryffindor argued. “And his character is the strongest we have seen in 900 years by far.”

Slytherin remained silent for a few moments before opening his eyes and staring right at Harry's scar, “He is marked by he who sought my heritage and failed. It is a mark that has governed his destiny and still to this day seeps his power.” He paused a moment and closed his eyes, “There is a cunning here he has been afraid to tap into because of the machinations of others. He has allowed himself to be manipulated.” Harry rose to defend himself, his mind stripped bare and raw emotion showing through, when a laugh arose from Gryffindor.

“Courage indeed! He would curse you if he had the ability Salazar.” Harry looked at Slytherin, a glint in his eye and almost detected a hint of respect coming from the darker wizard.

“He recognizes, deep down in his heart, even if he has not admitted it to himself, that there is more to the world than the light and dark. He knows there are shades of gray. He himself is a shade of gray.” Finally the four were silent, and Harry looked at them all as they one by one opened their eyes and stared at him.

“We have judged your character. Your spirit. We are ready to render our verdicts, Helga, if you will begin.” Harry turned to the shorter Hufflepuff and gazed into her brown eyes. It was oddly calming to him.

“Your warm heart and strength of character have joyed me greatly. I, Helga Hufflepuff, do hereby judge you as worthy to accept my ancestral line.” Harry's eyes went wide and the notion. He had passed at least one of the Founder's tests....he turned to Ravenclaw who kept her eyes fixed on him.

“He has much to learn but his potential is far too great to ignore,” she said, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “I Rowena Ravenclaw, do hereby judge you as worthy to accept my ancestral line.” Harry smiled again, his mind swimming with possibilities. He turned to Slytherin, not expecting much.

“Saving the boy's lack of confidence in his own ability and strength,” Salazar began, “I cannot find a flaw with him. Certainly not like the last one's to come before us. I, Salazar Slytherin, do hereby judge you as worthy to accept my ancestral line.” Harry was bowled over by the admission, and mentally chuckled at what Hermione would say. Finally, he turned to Gryffindor...

“I must say this is a surprise,” the Scottish man spoke with a heavy accent, “I never thought we'd see the day when someone like you would grace our presence. I, Godric Gryffindor, do hereby judge you as worthy to accept my ancestral line.” Harry smiled and saw the room light up for the first time since he had awoken. Alternating colors of flames appeared in the room, varying from green, to red, to blue, to yellow, and back again in quick succession.

“Harry James Potter,” Gryffindor continued, “son of James Winston Potter, Lord of the Houses of Black, Potter, Warrens, Seldon & Draven, you have been judged worthy to receive the ancestral lines of all the Founders Four. As a result, when you go forth from this place you will received our signet rings and bear all the power they carry.”

“You can circumvent the governors of Hogwarts,” Helga chimed in, and Harry's eyes widened at this.

“You can help shape wizarding law for years to come,” Salazar joined in.

“And you can protect those you care about,” Rowena added.

“In addition,” Godric continued, “You shall be bestowed with ten gifts in total: Two from each of us and two from us collectively.” He looked at Hufflepuff, a gesture followed by Harry, who smiled at the elder woman.

“To you my heir I grant you the power of Charms. Many of the Charms you already know were invented or perfected by my line, and when you receive my gift you will be able to cast them effortlessly. I also give you the gift of tongues. You already speak Salazar's language, but with my language you will speak the ancient tongues of the goblins, the tongues of the elves long since departed from this world, and many other races.”

“To you my heir,” Ravenclaw began, “I grant you the gift of runic magic. It is a lost art in your time, and those who practice it barely scratch the surface of its power. I grant you the understanding of its power and its consequences. Further, I grant you the gift of control, over your mind and emotions. You shall leave this place fully trained in the mind arts that I invented.”

“To you my heir,” Slytherin continued, more than a hint of joy in his voice at the mayhem this was likely to cause, “I grant the knowledge of potion-making. As with Lady Hufflepuff and Charms, I and my line are the creators of many of the potions that exist today. Secondly, I grant you the knowledge of curses and their counters. They are viewed by many as so called dark arts....but I know you shall use them to dispense true justice, not merely fight a pointless war.”

“And to you my heir,” Gryffindor finished, “I grant you the knowledge of Transfiguration, including the ability to become an Animagus. Your father had this ability when he faced me some years ago and were it not for his close-mindedness, I might have considered granting him a similar gift. Finally I grant you the gift years of neglect has denied you, that of a sound body to match your sound mind. When you leave this place your flaws will be erased. Which leads us to our collective gifts.” He paused and raised his wand, a gesture followed by the others, leaving Harry a bit dumbfounded and awestruck.

“For to long has your soul labored under the weight of these curses. Some were placed there to dampen your powers. Others were placed there to block your memories. One was even placed there to terrify others at your mere presence. And the one granted to you by the one you know as Voldemort seeps away at your strength and may one day threaten your very life. We shall lift these curses forever more, and set you free from their burden. Furthermore, you shall have access to all of our remaining worldly possessions that the goblins have stored for us. No doubt many of them have left their care these many centuries, but you will know them and what they can be used for, when the time is right. Now, Harry James Potter, Heir of the Founders, do you accept these gifts.”

“I do,” Harry said, muttering the only words he could.

“Very well...so mote it be.” The four founders began to chant in a druidic language that Harry didn't understand, but the words rang through his ears, shaking him to his very magical core.

Suddenly Harry was wracked by a great pain as he felt the weight of fifteen years of curses being lifted from his spirit one by one. Knowledge flooded his mind, and he swore he could feel his physical body change slightly at the surge of power. Magic swirled around his soul, penetrating every fiber of his being, and pain slowly gave way to a semblance of calm. Harry felt himself being levitated off the ground, supported by the essence of his new powers. After what seemed like a lifetime of power surging through him, he felt himself sink back down onto the floor, his mind shutting down, and blackness overtook him.

A/N: This is not a typical super!Harry destroys everything in his path story. There is still some vulnerability here as Harry adjusts to his new powers and deals with the rest of the world. It's also going to be a long story, and Dumbles will probably be more evil than I would normally have him but such is life in my crazy brain.

Please review, I greatly appreciate the positive response this story has generated thus far.

Portkey A/N: I understand that the next few chaptersa may appear to give Harry a materialistic, rather shallow need. Understand that he is acting in two ways....one in a need to try and do things he's never had the chance to do (something to be explored a bit later) and second to try and get things as much to normalcy as possible by providing a distraction for Hermione. You'll understand why he needs to do that by the end of this chapter (For those of you who may not have caught this at ff.net).

Chapter 4: The Cold Fire

It was a long time before Harry awoke from the slumber. His body ached all over and he couldn't take much stock of what had happened. It was all a bit of a blur to him. Groaning a bit he shook his head as his eyes fluttered open.

“My lord....my lord are you alright,” came a raspy voice from off to the side. Harry was uncertain. He certainly didn't feel alright, unless you considered feeling like you'd been hit by a stampeding hippogriff as alright. Groaning again he risked sitting upward. He felt the blood rushing out of his head as he sat up and held his head in pain.

“Yeah....yeah I'm fine,” Harry said, in a little bit of a lie. His head was throbbing, but not in the usual way. It wasn't centered around his scar. In fact, he didn't feel a thing from his scar. 'Odd,' he thought to himself. Rubbing his eyes a moment, he felt that his glasses were gone. Reaching around on the desk for them, he risked opening his eyes to try and find them. When he opened his eyes, he was shocked.

The world suddenly came into perfect focus.

Harry sat in amazement for a moment and waved his hand in front of his face. It was clear as crystal. Slowly but surely an enormously large grin formed across Harry's face, followed by a few bouts of almost uncontrollable laughter. After several minutes of this, the same raspy voice of Orlock brought him out of his insanity.

“My lord are you sure you're alright? Should I call St. Mungo's.” Harry controlled his breathing and nodded his head.

“I'm fine Orlock it's just that,” he stopped a moment and considered Gryffindor's words. If this was part of his gift then....”Orlock I need a mirror.” Orlock looked at the wizard with a strange expression on his face, and then simply snapped his fingers, causing a full bodied mirror to appear in front of him. Harry stood up and walked toward the mirror, his mouth agape at what he saw.

He was easily at least four inches taller, and his bony body had filled out considerably. It was lean, yet muscular, not unlike that of Gryffindor himself. Harry glanced over his features and mentally frowned when he saw that his clothes no longer fit him. Looked like he'd need a new wardrobe sooner rather than later.

He noticed that his face hadn't changed much and neither had his eyes, though there was a slight change there. He could detect a hardness, a brimming confidence lurking just beneath the surface much like Ravenclaw had. But there was also a kindness lurking next to it, no doubt from Hufflepuff. Harry smiled as he saw the makings of a small goatee on his chin, much in the same style as Slytherin. His hair had also become a literal rat's nest, having grown in the back. It now hung down just past his shoulders to the middle of his back. It made him feel a bit like a rockstar he noted, though he highly doubted Mrs. Weasley would approve. As he took stock of his newly reformed facial features, his eyes drifted upwards to his forehead, and he was shocked at what he saw.

The scar was still there, but it was barely visible unless you knew what to look for. It was nowhere near as pronounced as it had once been. Harry felt it hesitantly, and felt no pain, no darkness emanating from it whatsoever. It looked like an ordinary scar, more like a birthmark than anything really. At this Harry laughed again. He turned to Orlock quickly, instantly regretting the restriction his new clothes had on his anatomy.

“Orlock, I was wondering if maybe...” he gestured to his clothes and Orlock simply smiled and laughed.

“Haven't you listened my lord,” he replied, as cheekily as a goblin could ever really reply. “You are emancipated. You may use underage magic. In fact if you hand me your wand...” Harry reached into his pocket and pulled it out, handing the wand to Orlock. Orlock muttered something that Harry instinctively knew he shouldn't have understood, but seemed to actually make sense to him. The wand glowed blue for a moment then stopped. Orlock handed the wand back to Harry and explained. “I've removed the tracking charms the Ministry places on those wands of yours. You'll be able to freely use magic.” Harry smiled again, but it faded fast. He was certain he couldn't remember a spell to transfigure clothes....until he scanned his mind. He searched and found the right spell, and almost effortlessly with a wave of his wand his muggle clothes had transfigured into normal black wizarding robes not dissimilar from his Hogwarts robes. Harry whistled at the display as he looked down over himself again, but mentally reminded himself he still would need to go shopping later.

“Ahem,” came the goblin's voice from below, causing Harry to look down. “If you're done my lord?” he asked, motioning to the mirror. Harry simply nodded and sat back down, placing his wand back in his robes. Orlock snapped his fingers and the mirror vanished, and he tottered over to a shelf on the wall. There he grabbed a small box and brought it to Harry. Opening it, Harry saw four rings similar to the ones he had been presented before. “These are the signets of your ancestral lines,” Orlock explained, “they work in the same way as your other rings. Simply slip them on and they will merge together to form one ring.” Harry nodded and did as he was told, slipping on each ring one at a time and watching them fade and merge with the Potter ring that still rested on his finger. Each one resembled a stylized version of the respective house seals at Hogwarts with ornately carved representations of the familiar animals carved into each one. Finally when Harry had taken all of the rings, Orlock handed him a key.

“In conclusion my Lord,” Orlock stated, “This is a master key that will work for all of your vaults here at Gringotts. Furthermore should you wish to do so, you may sign up for a Gringott's Card, similar to a Muggle Credit or Debit Card, which will withdraw the coin automatically from your vaults.” Harry smiled and took the key, he then frowned slightly as the next question dawned on him. His plan needed this point.

“Orlock, what properties do I have deeds to. I mean certainly I have some property included in these houses.” Orlock smiled again and began to walk with Harry out of his office.

“Yes of course. I am uncertain of all the contents of your inheritance, but I do know of a couple of properties off the top of my head. Grimmauld Place in London comes from the Black family vault, as well as the Potter Manor in Scotland. I will appoint a goblin account manager to see to it that any questions you have are answered.” Harry considered it for a moment and turned back to the goblin.

“Griphook.” Orlock paused and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “I would like Griphook to be my account adviser if it's quite alright with you.” Orlock shook his head and smiled again.

“I have been alive for over 400 years my Lord and never have I heard of a wizard asking for a specific goblin by name to be their account manager. Yes it can be arranged that way.” Harry smiled. Griphook was a goblin he could trust, he thought, as much as the goblins could be trusted anyway.

“A few more things Orlock,” Harry said as they re-entered the Gringott's main lobby. “Firstly I need the location of Potter Manor. Secondly I need a way to get there.” Orlock nodded again and summoned a small piece of parchment, glancing it over he wrote something down and handed it to Harry.

Potter Manor may be found at

44 Snidget Lane

Valerian, Scotland

“As you can see,” Orlock explained, “the manor is under the protection of the Fidelus Charm and has been since your grandparents death some years ago. We goblins are privy to that information. That parchment also acts as a portkey. Simply state the address and you'll appear about 5 miles outside of the village, so as not to give away the location. As for a mode of transportation I figured you might, so I took the liberty of withdrawing this from your godfather's vault before your arrival.” Orlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a small toy motorbike and an instruction manual, handing them both to Harry. “Simply tap it with your wand and it will grow back to your size. It has anti-crashing charms and instant-learning charms so that even a clumsy beginner could ride it like a professional.” Harry got a goofy grin on his face as he suddenly realized the source of his dreams as a child of a flying motorbike. He pocketed the bike and book. The goblin and the lord walked towards the front door, where Harry offered his hand to Orlock, who took it in surprise, having come to expect weird behavior from this particular wizard.

“Thank you Orlock and...as far as anyone knows,” he leaned forward a bit, “none of this ever happened.” Orlock nodded.

“Of course my lord. As I said we here at Gringott's treat our customer's privacy with the utmost of care.”

After a small trip to a teller to acquire a Gringott's Charge Card, Harry was out of the bank and his smile still hadn't faded. He began to stroll down the alley when he spotted something off in the distance.

Alastor Moody.

Harry silently cursed himself and ducked out of the way behind a building as quickly as he could to hide from the ex-auror. He had forgotten that Order members would be out looking for him when he didn't come back to Privet Drive with his uncle. He went through his mind as to how to get out of this one. It wasn't like he could just change his shape all at once.....

Harry went through his mind a moment before remembering everything that had happened. No time like the present to give it a try. He tried to remember the incantation for a transfiguration to hide his features and for a small charm that he picked up from somewhere in the back of his mind to have people not notice him. As was the case before the spells came to him effortlessly and he could feel the subtle changes in his face as he fell under glamour. Taking a deep breath, Harry raised the hood on his robe in a fashion similar to a certain Founder he knew and stalked back down the alley, headed for Madame Malkin's. He passed by Moody, and the ex-Auror didn't spare him a second glance. His rapidly spinning eye stopped on him for a moment but quickly passed on. Harry inwardly smiled and snaked forward to his next stop.

/ - / - / - /

It was several hours later when Harry emerged from the store with several shrunken bags and a big smile on his eldered face. Madame Malkin's had been practically bought out of their fanciest robes, almost all of them made out of acromantula silk and created with painstaking care. He had also made note to purchase a few things in the armament department as well, adding a black wand holster to his right arm that released his wand into his hand with a thought rather than drawing it out. Harry of course had made sure to hide his features under glamour. After all, there would be no sense in ruining his fun now.

A stop at Flourish & Blotts to find books on various subjects was next on his list. But as he stopped to glance through the titles, he found that he could decipher many of the simpler books he looked at. Putting away a smaller book on runes and understanding even the most advanced concepts it had to offer naturally, he shook his head and left the store. He would have to sort out how much he knew and how much he didn't before he could stock his library.

For all he knew he did have a fully stocked library anyway.

After a quick stopover at eyelops to replenish his owl treat supply and a once look over of Quidditch supplies and Harry was ready to leave. However he knew he had one thing left to do. He went back to the Leaky Cauldron, nodding to Tom who just gazed at him wondering as he passed. Harry climbed the stairs to room 3B and entered, finding his trunk there. Pulling out his wand he shrunk his trunk and dropped it in the pocket of his newly acquired silver and red robes. Harry thought for a moment before again deciding on the right course of action. Nodding to himself, he shouted out to no one in particular, “Dobby!”

It took a few minutes but eventually the house elf popped right in front of Harry. “Mister Harry calls Dobby and Dobby is here,” the elf said, breathing deeply as he did so. He gazed up at Harry and his brown eyes went wide. “Mister Harry Potter sir?”

“Yes, it's me Dobby,” Harry said smirking. He was bound to have that affect on people the next few weeks, not that he didn't mind it. Harry leaned down and noticed the deep breathing of Dobby. This next surprise would impress the house elf for sure.

“What is wrong Dobby? You look tired.” Dobby's eyes went wider than saucers at this revelation, and he backed away fitfully, pointing his gnarled finger at the young wizard.

“You....Master Harry Potter just spoke the House Elfs language! No wizard in over a thousand years has spoken the house elfs language!” Dobby continued to stammer a bit, drawing a grin from Harry.

“I say that surprised you. Now tell me, what's wrong?” Dobby took a few deep breaths, trying to collect himself. Once he had his ears lowered and his head hung low. He too spoke in the elven tongue, speaking more comfortably.

“It is Winky sir. She has fallen ill. Her magic is failing her. If she is not bonded with another wizard soon, then poor Winky will fade away and die.” He fought back a sniffle, but Harry simply raised an eyebrow.

“Why must she be bonded? I thought she was a free elf?” Dobby nodded and explained.

“It is true there are free house elves sir, but it is an ancient magic that keeps us here in your realm. We are the last remnants of the race of high elves that once populated your lands, outcasts from their world. In order to remain here we must be bonded with a witch or wizard. It is how the house elfs magic works. If an elf remains unbonded too long then their magic will leave them and they will perish into oblivion.” Harry stood in shock at the horrible fate.

“But, you're a free elf!” Harry exclaimed, slipping back into normal tongue.

“Yes sir. Just because we's are bonded doesn't mean we's have to be slaves. Dobby bonded with Master Harry Potter sir that day he helped Dobby become free. Winky hasn't bonded.” Harry thought of it for a moment before coming to a quick decision.

“Very well then,” Harry said, smiling at Dobby. “Then she can bond with me as well...if you are agreeable to it that is.”

“Oh....does Master Harry Potter sir mean it?” Harry nodded, causing Dobby to jump with glee.

“What do I need to do?” Dobby shook his head to explain, but was quickly interrupted by a small popping sound. There, looking better than she had in ages, stood Winky, smiling at the two of them.

“Master Harry Potter sir....you saved Winky's life!” the female house elf squealed with glee. Dobby and Winky proceeded to dance around like madmen at this, and Harry could only smile at the display. After a while Harry coughed to get their attention, and both house elfs looked up at him with eternal gratitude in their eyes.

“Now that you're bonded to me,” Harry began, “I have a favor to ask the two of you. See, I have this new house up north and I need someone to help me...”

“Consider it done sir,” Dobby interjected without question. Winky nodded in return. Harry smiled and flushed the piece of parchment out of his pocket. Showing them the address the elves nodded and snapped their fingers, popping out of existence. Harry smiled again and nodded. He walked out of the room and shut the door behind him. After telling Tom he was finished with it, he thanked him again for the silence and left him a small tip. Harry walked out into muggle London, making sure to transfigure his clothes into more normal attire for said world, he stalked down the sidewalk until he got to an abandoned alleyway. He absentmindedly cast a notice-me-not charm as if they were going out of fashion, and then stopped for a moment as he realized what he just did. Shaking his head he reached into his pocket to pull out the motorbike, when he heard a distant hoot. He gazed up into the clouds and saw a snowy white owl, closely followed by a smaller owl that Harry recognized as Hermione's. Raising an eyebrow he held out his arm for Hedwig to land on. The owl landed and regarded him for a moment, taking in his newly acquired features, before lifting her leg with a small piece of paper attached to it. Harry conjured a small stand out of thin air for the two birds and then pulled out the piece of paper, and read it.

Death Eaters. Attack. Parents Dead. Come Quick. 15 Harold Street in Kensington.

The blood drained out of Harry's face at the notice of this. His features grew cold at Hermione's short plea for help. He flew into action quickly. First he pulled out the piece of parchment for his house and showed it to the owls. The two birds quickly took flight without a second thought. Harry then got ready to pull out his motorbike when another thought popped into his head.

Apparition.

He had never really apparated before, but the knowledge was standing there in the back of his mind. He focused on his target. He made a slight turn and in a flash was gone.

WARNING: There's a nasty bit of magic that takes place early on. The first of some rather gruesome deaths. Consider yourself warned.

Chapter 5: Recovery

Harry reappeared outside a neatly manicured neighborhood. He took stock of the situation around him. He was in a higher class neighborhood from what he could tell. The houses were all larger than they were in Little Whinging, but like the small suburb they were almost exactly the same, save for the one behind him.

Harry turned and saw the house completely darkened. A lump formed in his throat and he frantically scanned the sky for a sign of the Dark Mark. Not finding one he hoped and prayed that he wasn't too late.

Harry bolted through the front door, wincing as he knocked it off its hinges. His face contorted with a mixture of pain and anger at what he saw next. There at his feet were the dead bodies of Hermione's parents, their faces frozen with the pain and torture one could expect from the cruciatus, and the light unmistakably absent from their eyes. Harry leaned forward to glance at them for a moment before standing up again and taking in the rest of the house. He made note of the blast marks that dotted the walls. Undoubtedly Hermione had put up a fight. Harry swallowed down a lump in his throat, forcing the bile to sink downwards. He heard a few movements coming from upstairs, and he slunk back into a shadow, concealing himself temporarily.

He watched as from downstairs three men in black robes came walking down. One in the back he didn't recognize, but the two in front he immediately recognized from the graveyard as the elder Crabbe and the elder Goyle. He fought back the urge to go running after them immediately, instead trying to listen to them quietly.

“Filthy little winch has got to be here somewhere,” Crabbe said in his low pitched, rather dull voice. He walked over and kicked an orange pillow that had been in his way, something that Harry realized was the corpse of Crookshanks.

“What was that noise we heard anyway,” Goyle asked, staring down at the open door.

“Be on guard,” the other man said, raising his wand. “We're not alone.”

Harry's features darkened considerably. He would be discovered sooner or later and he needed the element of surprise on his side. He unsheathed his wand and felt a burning rage growing deep in the pit of his stomach. From deep inside his mind, knowledge of curses flooded forward and his wand hand twitched to life. Jumping out of the shadows he fired the first thing that popped into his head.

“Avello Viscus!” a nasty looking purple beam shot out of the end of his wand, nailing Goyle right in the chest. In almost an instant the skin was literally ripped off of Goyle's bones, and the body collapsed in a pool of blood. Crabbe and the other man stared down in shock at Goyle's remains, and then stepped forward to face their attacker. They were too slow however....or at least Crabbe was. “Eviscero!” Harry yelled, firing the disemboweling curse straight at Crabbe, who made a loud squishy sound as his entrails were scattered out onto the floor in front of him and he collapsed. The third man raised a hastily made shield and made his way towards the front door, apparently trying to get away as quick as possible. “Levicorpus!” In an instant the man was turned upside down in midair by his ankles, leaving him to stare at Harry with a frantic look in his eyes.

“Please, please don't kill me.” Harry snarled as he stared down at the man, the cold fire of rage burning within him still. How many people had begged for mercy at this man's feet he wondered, only to have their pleas fall on deaf ears. Still, Harry needed a messenger, someone to tell Voldemort that the kid gloves were off. Harry released the curse and conjured a pair of chains to wrap the nameless Death Eater in. He leaned forward and stared into the man's rapidly shrinking violet eyes, Harry's own emerald glaze glistening with righteous fury.

“You tell your master,” Harry spat out, “that I'm not playing games anymore. The Rightful Heir of Slytherin has returned, and I won't put up with his little temper tantrums anymore.” The man frantically nodded, leaving no doubt he had the message. Once Harry made sure it was ingrained into his memory, he summoned some knowledge from his newly acquired abilities. Carefully picking which memories to leave out, Harry muttered, “Obliviate...” and in an instant the man's eyes glazed over as he forgot one important detail, the true identity of his attacker. “Soporifor...” Harry added, sending the man into a deep, painless sleep. He walked over to Crabbe, who was barely breathing but still alive, suffering from pain. Harry contemplated the killing curse to ease the man's pain, but knew that death would come soon for the portly man. He also obliviated Crabbe's memory. Suffice it to say, there wasn't enough left of Goyle to erase the memory of.

Harry took several deep breaths as he surveyed the carnage around him. He wondered frantically how Order members could have let that happen, a notion quickly set aside by the fact that he still hadn't found Hermione. Harry frantically started searching the house, but she was nowhere to be found alive or dead. Harry wondered if she had gotten out somehow, escaped to find help. He was about to go upstairs when a voice from the back of his head told him to calm down and take control. Harry nodded, not at all bothered by the prospect of listening to voices in the back of his head given everything that had happened in the last 24 hours, and closed his eyes. He felt out with his magic, driven by unseen skills, and tried to track down Hermione's aura. He felt a little silly after a while, and was about to give up when he felt a flicker. Off in the corner. Opening his eyes and turning around, but keeping his mental focus, Harry slowly walked into the kitchen and noticed a slight depression against the wall that would have gone easily unnoticed. Harry walked over and knocked on the wall, finding it made of metal and hollow. He had heard of these panic rooms before. Hermione must be inside.

“Hermione!” Harry called out, hoping beyond hope she was still conscious and still breathing. “Hermione it's Harry! I'm here to help you!” There was no response. Harry tensed up and felt a knot at the bottom of his stomach grow in intensity. “Please god,” Harry thought to himself, “Don't let her be dead.” Harry pointed his wand and silently unlocked the door. He mentally moved the wheel that needed to turn to open it from the other side and, stepping back a few paces, watched it as it flung open.

He immediately dodged out of the way of an incoming expelliarmus that nearly nicked him in the arm. Instinctively Harry dived for cover and looked over at his bushy haired attacker. His heart sank when he saw the fear and anguish in her eyes, her face callous with tear stains and blood falling from a few cuts on her arms and brow. Harry slowly stood up and approached her, and she stood up as well.

“H-Harry....is that you?” she stammered out, getting a nod from her friend. Almost desperately she dived into Harry's awaiting grasp, her eyes no longer fighting back the emotions of everything that had happened. Harry embraced her and held himself out for her to cling onto. He quickly realized though that if any passing muggles came by and noticed the door....he'd rather not deal with the Bobbies right now. Harry pulled away from Hermione, almost forcing himself away she clung to him so tightly, and looked her in the eyes.

“We have to get out of here,” Harry said as calmly as he could. Hermione just nodded. “Where are your things,” Harry asked, and Hermione gestured to the upstairs. Harry sighed, he didn't want to take her past her parent's bodies. Clutching her tighter he said. “I'm going to apparate.” She looked at him widely. “Hold on,” before she could argue they popped out of the room.

They reappeared in Hermione's bedroom which appeared virtually untouched. Harry didn't take much time to look around, simply grabbing her school trunk and summoning a few outfits from an open wardrobe. He hastily threw them in the trunk, slightly embarrassed by some of the clothing he had to handle, and then summoned a stack of books that were sitting on Hermione's desk. He didn't take the time to gather all of the materials, though all things considered it was relatively empty. Hermione herself simply grabbed a small album and tossed it on top of everything. Harry didn't regard it much and instead shrunk the trunk and stuck it in one of his many pockets.

“Harry, how are you...” Hermione finally asked, trying to deal with everything at once.

“I'll explain later...let's get you out of here.” He thought of places he could go. He didn't want to put Dobby and Winky in a spell after seeing them so happy. Nor did he want to take Hermione away from all of this in case they needed something later. And he personally didn't want to be around if and when the Order finally showed up. Finally deciding on a course of action he grabbed Hermione close and apparated away. They reappeared in the backyard a moment later, and Harry looked at Hermione closely. He whispered a few small words of comfort. Pointing his wand skyward, he shouted “Morsmordre!” A green light shot out and sparkled for a moment before a gigantic skull with a snake coming out of its mouth appeared in the blue sky. Harry didn't hesitate a moment longer when they apparated away from the scene, just a few minutes before Aurors appeared in the backyard to deal with the scene.

/ - / - / - /

Harry and Hermione quickly reappeared just outside a small hotel. Harry scanned the area with his wand, prepared to obliviate any muggles who happened to be wandering by, but in the small village he had apparated to, there were not many people around. Sheathing his wand he held his hand over Hermione's forehead and whispered a few words that she couldn't understand. There was a small glowing from her face, and her cuts healed. She frantically looked around but her eyes quickly locked into Harry's Harry could feel the fright radiating off of her in palpable waves, and the feelings of helplessness nearly ripped him to shreds. He had a million thoughts raving through his mind, but he needed to get them into the hotel and dealt with. Harry transfigured his clothes without a thought and did the same for Hermione, all the while she continued to stare at him.

“H-how did you know?” Harry looked at her and managed as much of a grin as he could.

“Hedwig found me. I told you she'd find me.” Hermione tried to laugh, but it didn't come out. Instead she forced a half-smile and simply looked off in the distance. Harry held her hand and began to lead her into the hotel. He didn't notice how desperately she clung to him.

After getting them a small room for the night, Harry removed his and Hermione's trunk and set them off to the side, unshrinking them as he did. Hermione had gone in to take a shower, something he reminded himself he needed to do as soon as possible as well. Harry looked outside at the waning sunlight of the dusk and gave a deep sigh. He had been close today, all too close at losing her. It was not something he wanted to remind himself of. A few more minutes and if they had found her then....Harry didn't dwell on the idea.

He simply wondered when it was that he had noticed Hermione in this way, as his best friend in the world, the one person he really couldn't live without. He couldn't put his finger on it but something was different between the two of them, some kind of unspoken bond that had formed between them that ran deeper than friendship. Harry hadn't had time to consider it but with the rush of new information and events that had transpired, for the first time he examined it closer.

It was an odd feeling to be certain, something light and certainly much more pleasurable than many of his own personal feelings had been in his life. He thought hard to remember a time when he had actually felt the feeling before, and he struggled to claim it. There was only one instance in his long history, far back in first year, at the very end. It was when Hagrid had given him the album of his parents. As he sat on the train and contemplated the pictures, feeling the warmth and the joy radiating from their faces. It was all encapsulated in a word that brought Harry's breath to a standstill.

Love.

He dismissed the thought almost as immediately as it came to the forefront. In love? With Hermione? Harry shook his head and tried to get the image out of his mind. Sure he cared for her, and she meant more to him than probably anyone still alive, but he couldn't be in love with her. Could he?

The sound of a door opening shook Harry from his internal thoughts and he glanced up at the bathroom door. Hermione stumbled in, her hair hanging loose and her eyes a bloodshot red. She was clad in a simple red robe that the slightly upscale hotel provided for usage. Circles were starting to form around her eyes, and Harry could tell that she had been crying. Sighing he stood up and helped lead her to her bed. She sat down and hung her head, almost in shame at the day's events. Harry leaned forward and lifted her chin, bringing her eyes directly into contact with his.

“Hermione, I'm sorry,” he began. “I want to say the pain will go away but....” her eyes squinted a bit, holding back tears. “Look, if you don't want to talk about it now then...” she stopped him at that and took a deep breath. Her eyes glazed over slightly as she recounted the tale.

“We sat down to have some tea,” she began, her eyes awash with the memory replaying itself in the back of her mind, “When those three apparated right into our living room. I didn't even have time to react I mean...I got my wand out and tried to stun them but....” her voice caught and she leaned forward. Harry put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and she continued. “They disarmed me and used the....cruciatus on my parents.” The tears were flowing freely from her eyes. “They just sat their and tortured them, laughing all the time and all I could do was watch. And then they killed them, like they were rotting pieces of meat.” She nearly screamed at this and Harry leaned forward and embraced her, letting her cry into his shoulder. He absorbed the memory in his mind and his face darkened. Why had no one come he continuously asked himself. Dumbledore had promised her parents that he would protect them...so why hadn't anyone? His face contorted more with anger at the old man, who was quickly rising up on his list of worthless assholes in his opinion. The sound of Hermione's cries dropping to whimpers and short sobs brought him back as he pushed away from her and allowed her to continue.

“They were going to do that to me when...I don't know what. But I just waved my hands and the air just became pitch black. I summoned my wand but I knew I was no match for them. So I ran to the panic room and hid there till you came. Somehow Hedwig and Thoth flew down to the window and I scribbled that note to you. You were the only person I thought to call.” Her head hung low again and she snickered. “I know you have your own problems and shouldn't have worried about me but...” she was cut off by Harry, who lifted her chin and stared directly into her eyes.

“Listen to me Hermione. Don't ever think that way. I would never consider you a burden. You have always been there for me through everything, and I will always be there for you. I promise.” Harry offered a small smile which Hermione returned.

“Th---thank you Harry.” They both sat their a moment, unsure of how to continue. She regarded his features for a moment before she tugged on the slight goatee he was sporting. “Where did this come from,” she asked, almost desperately trying to change the subject. Harry mentally rolled his eyes. He had nearly forgotten in all the ruckus.

“Well, that's a long story...” Harry sat back and dropped on his bed, mindlessly casting a silencing charm on the door which drew an eyebrow from Hermione. She said nothing though and let him explain his tale.

/ - / - / - /

It took several hours, till nearly 1 in the morning, before Harry had finished his tale, up to and including the destruction of the death eaters at the Granger residence. Hermione just sat back as she always did, taking in all of the information and processing it bit by bit. She looked at him oddly, and he felt a rush of shame cross his face.

“I know I probably should have stunned them but....I don't know what came over me...it was like this rush of anger and power that came out of nowhere. I didn't even know those curses existed yesterday but....” he trailed off and caught a slight smile on her face.

“You saved me didn't you? You stopped them from hurting anyone else didn't you?” Harry was going to protest but Hermione stopped him. She breathed deeply, a hint of both sorrow and anger lying just beneath her gentle features. “Harry....stunning them won't work. Not with them. You did what was necessary.” The finality in her voice made it so that Harry couldn't argue the point anymore. Hermione sat back up and went through the rest of the information.

“Why didn't Dumbledore tell you all of this? I mean...he must have known! From what you tell me it was common knowledge that your father underwent the ritual. And your mother! Why didn't he say anything to you?” Harry just shook his head.

“You said we shouldn't trust him,” he suddenly remembered. “What made you say that.” She shook her head and a small bit of anger crossed her face.

“It was just before we left school. He pulled me and Ron aside and said we shouldn't write to you this summer. That you'd want to be left alone. But I knew that was just rubbish, that you would go crazy cooped up there all by yourself. Then the thing on the train...” she trailed off and the anger grew. “He definitely placed those curses on you. I mean, power blocks aren't all that uncommon for particularly gifted magical children but....memory blocks? And that thing with your uncle? It doesn't make sense.”

“None of it makes sense,” Harry repeated, his fist clenching slightly at what else Dumbledore had failed to tell him. Hermione saw this and asked him what it was. Harry grumbled a bit, and Hermione leaned forward, urging him to continue.

“There's a lot he didn't tell me.” He breathed deeply as he continued. She needed to know about the prophecy, and he knew he could trust her more than anyone. “Just before I was born,” he continued, “a seer made a prophecy.”

“I know,” Hermione replied, confused, “but it was destroyed at the Ministry.” She cringed slightly as she remembered that day, something followed by Harry.

“Except one other person heard it in its entirety. The person the prophecy was made to, Dumbledore. He showed it to me after the battle, in his pensieve.” He stood up and started pacing back and forth across the small room, as he recalled the prophecy in his mind.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...” he trailed off, stopping his pacing and sitting down on a small desk chair next to a television cabinet. Hermione mouthed part of it to herself, and her eyes went wide.

“But that means that you...” Harry simply nodded. Hermione bit her bottom lip and trembled. Tears started to fall down her face again, and Harry walked back next to her.

“'Mione, it's alright. I can live with this. I don't know why he didn't tell me but....” she waved her hand and tried to collect herself.

“Listen to me ranting on and you have all this to deal with. Jesus Harry I'm sorry for burdening you with this.” Harry pulled her close again and let her rest her head on his shoulder.

“I told you, you will never be a burden to me. I want to help you. I need to help you.” He stopped short at the last statement, and was eternally thankful that she didn't catch it. They sat there for a long time, neither one moving. Harry could hear Hermione's breathing even out and he looked down, finding her asleep. He smiled at the thought of her falling asleep in his arms. As gently as he could he picked her up and laid her gently on the bed next to him. He then followed suit, transfiguring his clothes again into more appropriate nighttime attire, and laid down in the other bed. Before turning out the lights he looked at her again, bathed in the moonlight seeping from the open window, and he smiled. Waving his wand he shut off the lights and drifted off into as peaceful a sleep as he could manage.

A/N: We shall depart the particulars for a small moment for the next chapter, though there might be a small part about them towards the end. Rather we shall focus on the machinations of the other two sides in this war, that of Voldemort and Dumbledore. I hope you all will enjoy.

A/N: As promised this chapter focuses more on the machinations of Dumbledore and Voldemort in response to Harry's disappearance.

Chapter 6: The Best Laid Plans

It was not a good day to be Albus Dumbledore.

After the train with the students had left for the summer, Dumbledore had planned on relaxing for a couple weeks or so before attending another session of the Wizengamot, and then settling in to his summer plans of watching over young Harry and running the Order of the Phoenix. It was going to be a simple, rudimentary summer as far as he was concerned.

And so it was quite to his surprise when he was disturbed from a mid-afternoon nap by a rather loud bang that came from his office. He shook his head in surprise and tried to concentrate. Quickly his eyes went wide as he realized what could cause such a loud bang. Rushing from his private quarters he entered into his office, checking a few of the instruments that had been repaired since Hurricane Harry had blown through a few weeks earlier. To his eternal surprise, none of them were working. All the clicking, buzzing, puffing and whirring that had been his constant companion for many years had stopped and the room was a deadly silence.

Dumbledore had a grim look wash over his face. The first conclusion that popped into his head was unthinkable. He fumbled around in a desk drawer for a moment searching for something, and breathed a sigh of relief when he pulled out a small malachite stone that glowed with power. Whatever had happened, the boy was still alive.

His next thoughts were to try and determine what else had happened. The devices in his office were designed to monitor the numerous wards and protections that surrounded the young Mr. Potter. For them not to work meant that something was wrong with him. He of course had first checked on Harry's life stone....which would have been destroyed had he been killed. Finding that unchanged, he came to an almost equally horrific conclusion.

Whatever had happened....it had taken away those wards at the same time. Fear once again came over the face of Dumbledore for this meant two things for certain: that Harry was no longer at the safety of his aunt and uncle's house and, more frighteningly, he was no longer under Dumbledore's supervision and control.

Albus closed his eyes and counted to ten, attempting to calm himself. He knew that one day this might happen, that Harry might get wise to his plans. But this was not beyond salvageable yet. The boy had proven to be surprisingly thick-headed when it came to the obvious at times, and Albus could always obliviate the knowledge of what had happened from his mind.

It wasn't like it would be the first time he had done it.

Dumbledore sat down and sorted through some papers. He came upon a small piece of parchment that he had received the afternoon previous and re-read it again.

Headmaster

I understand your concerns. I won't be leaving here without an escort. I really have nowhere else to go now anyway. I just hope I can get to the Burrow as soon as possible.

Harry

Of course Dumbledore had no intention on sending the boy to the Burrow, at least not till the very end of the summer. Molly was getting more and more nervous about the promised plan, Arthur was quickly becoming a bit of a nuisance to have to deal with, and the young Ronald was starting to ask too many questions. The boy's relationship with the youngest hadn't even stepped forward to the point where the headmaster would approve, but he could always speed things along in that department should he choose to.

Albus considered the word “Escort” for a moment. he knew none of the Order members would help out Harry without express instructions from him. The only one who would, Remus Lupin, had been kept off the guard watch for that expressed purpose. The other people whom Harry could accept as escorts were his aunt and uncle, and Dumbledore had seen to it that that would never happen.

Hadn't he?

The gears in Dumbledore's mind came to a slow conclusion, piecing together certain events from the day previous and it all came back to him in a rush. About an hour after the train had left Hogsmeade he had heard a slight disturbance in one of the protections on the boy. He had spent the better part of a day trying to fix it, but had eventually given up. He was simply going to reapply the ward at a later date, and he had assumed that Harry had done something when he broke the monitoring devices to disrupt it. But....maybe someone else had actually....

Dumbledore frowned as he realized that someone must have used a cursebreaking spell on Harry and lifted that particular protection inadvertently. He grumbled to himself about meddlesome kids and some such things and sat down at his desk, grabbing a quill as he did so. He had to find Harry....he had to get rid of whatever the nonsense was that had spurred this on in the first place...and he had to reset the status quo.

No, it was indeed not a good day to be Albus Dumbledore.

/ - / - / - /

They could hear the screams emitting from the throne room. Screams of discomfort and pain as their Dark Lord writhed in agony. In a rush his Inner Circle, or what was left of them anyway, stormed into the throne room, and attempted to offer Lord Voldemort comfort.

For his part, Voldemort sat on his black and red throne, holding his head as a massive migraine was settling over him. Some force....some otherworldly magic was driving back the tendrils of his mind and it was causing him great pain.

None of the Death Eaters dared approach the Dark Lord, for fear of being killed for their insolence. Finally Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the closest to him, leaned forward and attempted to calm him.

“My Lord,” she asked, with none of her usual sarcastic singsong voice that she used when tormenting others, “Are you....”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” Voldemort screamed, and a red bolt of energy struck Bellatrix, sending her spinning off the throne and halfway across the lit hall. She got up to her feet, nervous, her eyes awash in fear at the display. Then, just as suddenly as the pain had come, it stopped. The Dark Lord sat on his throne, breathing audibly and sweat dripping down his brow. His snake-like nostrils flared open and shut rapidly. Bellatrix slowly pressed forward, as did the other Death Eaters, approaching cautiously with wide looks on their faces.

“Leave me,” Voldemort commanded in a deep growl, “And summon Caliban to me as soon as he arrives.” The frightened Death Eaters bowed and did as they were told. As soon as he was alone, Voldemort rubbed his eyes and held onto his head. A popping sound in front of him caused him to reopen his eyes, and in an instant his wand was out, firing a cruciatus at the blonde haired man that had arrived. After several seconds he relinquished the curse.

“Take that as a lesson Caldwell,” Voldemort commanded, “never appear before me unannounced again.”

“A thousand pardons my lord,” Caldwell replied, kneeling both in pain and for forgiveness. “But I have a message to deliver to you.”

/ - / - / - /

Dumbledore sat in his office, staring at the three men who were gathered around him. Mundungus Fletcher was simply sitting in a chair, his head hung low, after the verbal thrashing that Dumbledore had given him for letting Harry slip by unnoticed. Sturgis Prodmore was also sitting back, contemplating everything that had happened, not saying much of anything.

The main focus of the room was on Alastor Moody, as he clunked back and forth across the room in a pacing motion, his face curled into a scowl and his mechanical eye rapidly swaying to and fro to take in everything around him. Moody stopped for a moment and took a swig from his hip flask. He grumbled under his breath as he replaced the flask and turned towards Dumbledore with his twinkling eyes regarding him.

“Tell us again Alastor.” he asked as calmly as could be expected for a time like this, “Did you find anything in Diagon Alley?”

“I told you already Albus,” the ex-Auror screamed in frustration, “I went up and down that alley a hundred times. I even went down Knockturn a couple of times just to be thorough. And I saw nothin!” Alastor continued to scowl at the headmaster, his good eye fiercely blinking at his irksome failure. Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, slowly contemplating everything, before he spoke again.

“It's obvious that's where the boy went,” he finally stated, pretty certain in his own mind that he had in fact gone there. What had spurred him to make said journey was beyond Dumbledore's grasp at this point. For all he knew the boy could have just gone a shopping spree at the Quidditch store. But that didn't explain why Moody couldn't find him.

“What makes you so certain,” Prodmore interrupted, finally standing up from the small chair he had conjured there. “He might have just hightailed it out of Britain for all we know. The boy's godfather did just die.”

In truth Dumbledore had considered such a move on Harry's part, but had dismissed it equally. One thing had not gone wrong with his plan...Harry had far too many connections in the wizarding world to simply disappear. Shaking his head, he reiterated said suspicions to Prodmore, silencing him for the moment. Albus hung his head in frustration slightly when he heard a roar coming from the fireplace. He looked up and saw a pink-haired Auror come stumbling outwards, shaking off her robes as she did.

“I hate floos,” Tonks muttered to herself before turning to Dumbledore. “Wotcher Professor,” she greeted, never really letting her eyes venture directly at Dumbledore. Albus raised an eyebrow at this.

“Ah Tonks....good to see you. Have you checked Grimmauld?” Dumbledore clasped his hands together, hoping for the best.

“Yes,” she answered, taking an offered seat from Prodmore. “He's nowhere in sight. If he was there or if he was hiding we certainly couldn't find him.” She took another deep breath and let some of the stress of the day ease out.

“We?” Tonks froze up at this as she quickly turned to Dumbledore, guilt ridden on her face.

“Look....Remus knows that house better than I do and...” she trailed off as she saw Dumbledore close his eyes and begin to rub his temples. This was the last thing he needed. Getting Lupin involved was just asking for trouble.

“I don't suppose you mentioned why we were looking for Harry did you?”she slowly nodded and the circular motion on Dumbledore's temples increased slightly. Now things were really starting to spiral out of control. Dumbledore had placed Tonks with Remus to try and encourage the man to seek a life outside of Harry, to try and hold him at bay for the time being at least until the prophecy was fulfilled. It wouldn't do to have a werewolf who could go stark raving mad at a moment's notice in charge of the savior of the wizarding world.

“I'm sorry Professor,” Tonks sheepishly replied, leaning her head down again, “I know you want to keep Remus out of the loop but....sometimes it's hard with those amber eyes of his and....”

“I forgive you Nymphadora,” Dumbledore replied, offering the best smile he could. She flinched at her given name, but simply nodded in return. “The important thing is that we try to find Harry and get him back to his relatives before we lose him for good. We simply can't have him gallivanting around unprotected.”

“Did you check with the Weasley's Albus?” Moody asked, his eye turning slightly toward the ancient wizard. Dumbledore shook his head.

“If he was there Molly would have notified me immediately.” Or at least he hoped she would. Actually it might not be a bad idea to check up on them. Dumbledore's thought process was interrupted again by the flash of green flames from his fireplace and this time the voice of a familiar Auror speaking out for him. Excusing himself he walked over to the fireplace and leaned in, observing the floating head of one Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“Kingsley,” Albus said, feigning happiness, “Fancy you calling at a time like this. Have you checked on the tracking charms I asked you for.” The Auror nodded but his face was more than grim. “What's wrong?” Albus asked, his face immediately turning pale.

“There was a Death Eater attack this afternoon,” Albus' throat closed up, “in Kensington.” His throat reopened fully. “The victims were the parent's of one of your students...Hermione Granger.” Albus raised an eyebrow at this and in the back of his mind, his promise to protect her and her family echoed firmly, nagging against his conscious. Shaking his head he nodded to the Auror who continued.

“There's something strange about this attack though....some things that won't be included in the official report.” Albus nodded slightly and raised his eyebrow again.

“Very well, I'll floo to your office immediately and we can apparate to the scene from there.” Kingsley nodded and his head vanished from the fireplace. Dumbledore turned around and noticed the four people in the room with him. He hoped they hadn't overheard much.

“Alastor,” Dumbledore began to bark out orders before anyone could say anything, “Take Sturgis and try Diagon Alley again. Speak with the goblins this time....he would have had to stop by Gringotts to get money.” Dumbledore hoped beyond hope he hadn't done anything else while there. “Mundungus, check with your connections and see if anyone named Potter had checked into a muggle hotel recently. Tonks, go back to HQ and keep Remus there. For heaven's sakes don't let him go looking for the boy. Tell him....anything to get him off the trail.” Tonks nodded, a sorrowful look creeping over her face. Dumbledore noted it and filed it away for later use. As the four of them scattered to conduct their assignments, Dumbledore lent against the wall, his face frowning greatly. Things were rapidly getting beyond his control, but they weren't completely sunk yet. If they could just find Harry...everything would be back to normal soon.

The attack on the Grangers entered his mind and he headed off to assess the situation. Shame at the idea of Hermione Granger being dead barely entered his mind.

/ - / - / - /

There was a palpable silence in the Great Hall of Riddle Manor. The old house had been renovated to look more like a castle fortress than a large home over the years, if for no other reason than to match the outer attitudes and inner desires of its owner. The Great Hall was almost as large as the one at Hogwarts, was constantly dark save for the few torches that hung on the supports along the side and was almost constantly filled with a creeping mist that could suck the joy right out of you. It was into this environment that the large elm doors swung open and a large man came stalking through.

His solid black robes billowed at behind him not unlike a certain Hogwarts potions master, though at this man's side was a small belt that had a dagger sheath at the right side. His long gray hair flowed behind him as well, and his face was heavily scarred from battles long since over with. He kept his gaze forward, deep blue eyes glistening in the torchlight, as he made his way forward to the end of the hall, where a large black throne carved out of onyx and studded with rubies and other precious gems sat. Sitting in it, was Lord Voldemort. The man knelt forward as he approached his master, closing his eyes as he did.

Voldemort regarded the man for a moment before his face let a wry smile escape. “Ah Caliban,” he began in a whispered tone, “You have returned to me. I trust your latest prey was....dealt with?” Caliban looked up at his master and stood to his feet, respect having been shown. He reached into his robes and pulled out a pale white arm, blood dripping from the end. He turned it palm up, revealing the Dark Mark still burned into the skin, and threw it to the side.

“The blood traitor Igor Karkaroff is no more, my lord,” Caliban replied, his voice raspy and filled with venom. Voldemort smiled again.

“You have done well Caliban. I shall not forget it. Now....I have a new mission for you. Please, have a seat.” Voldemort grabbed his wand and conjured a chair for Caliban to sit in. The wizard obliged, taking a goblet of liquid when it was offered from a cowering House Elf. Voldemort did the same, his eyes never leaving Caliban.

“You might remember the one quarry you never found for me,” Caliban grimaced at the mention. He didn't like talking about his failures, especially in front of the Dark Lord. “Well he has gone missing again.” Caliban raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

“For quite some time now I have been aware of a special bond between my enemy and myself. It seems that the curse that resulted in my unfortunate absence some fourteen years ago had an interesting after effect. I can sense him, sense what he is thinking, and in turn he can feel my emotions and sense my presence.” He paused and closed his eyes. “However today I was racked by a great pain in my head. When it had subsided I felt out for young Harry, and could not sense him. The link had been destroyed.” He opened his eyes again, the piercing red gaze glancing out at no one in particular. “This is ancient magic at work. No magic that the boy or his worthless protectors possess would be able to destroy the link utterly.” He took a sip of his drink and continued, Caliban just continuing to listen.

“I want you to find him Caliban and bring him to me. If I cannot torture him through our shared minds, then I shall torture him in person.” The anger hidden in his voice even made Caliban pause. If it had been any other person Caliban would have told him he was wasting his time with a fifteen year old boy. If it had been any other person Caliban likely wouldn't have given them the time of day. But this wasn't any other person.

“Very well my lord,” Caliban replied, setting his goblet aside. “I shall find this Harry Potter and bring him before you....alive.” He motioned to take his leave but Voldemort lowered his hand.

“There is more,” Voldemort replied, his face slightly cross. Caliban nodded and sat back down. “Would you like to hear a story Caliban?” Not waiting for an answer he motioned for another Death Eater standing there to come forward. “Bring me Caldwell,” he commanded, and the Death Eater obliged quickly.

A side door was opened and a half-bloodied man in tattered robes was thrown at the feet of the Dark Lord and his servant. Caliban had met Jonas Caldwell once or twice, and was frankly unimpressed with the posturing Death Eater. Caldwell's beaten violet eyes gazed up at the Dark Lord and at Caliban, fear outlining each side of them.

“Caldwell,” Voldemort hissed, “Tell our guest the story you told me.”

“We---we were sent on a raid to a house in Kensington,” he began, his voice shaky as he figured what was coming as soon as his tale was over, “We killed some parents of a mudblood friend of Potter's. She escaped and we went looking for her.” He paused, his throat raw from telling the tale. Voldemort grimaced at him and pulled out his wand.

“CRUCIO!” The jagged red bolt of energy struck Caldwell square in the chest, and the younger Death Eater screamed in agony as he withered away under its power. After several seconds Voldemort removed the curse. “Finish the tale!” he commanded.

“When we came back downstairs,” Caldwell continued, still breathing heavily, “We found this...other man. He used a flesh eating curse on Goyle...and a disemboweling curse on Crabbe. He left me alive....and gave me a message for my master. He said that the true heir of Slytherin had returned, and that he would not tolerate my master's temper tantrums any longer.” Caliban scowled at the disrespect for his master, but surprisingly Voldemort had a smile on his face.

“Thank you Jonas. That was a wonderful story...and you tell it so well.” He picked up his wand and tapped it on his chin, as if deep in thought. “Now...I know the muggles have a saying....something about don't shoot the messenger...” Hate quickly flashed over his features. “AVADA KEDAVRA!” The killing curse shot out of his wand quickly and suddenly, engulfing Caldwell in its cold lifeless embrace. Caldwell slumped forward, his eyes glazed over with the sweet release of death. Voldemort simply replaced his wand and looked back to Caliban.

“I want you to find this...imposter heir of Slytherin. Find him and bring him before me, so that I may show him the true power of Salazar Slytherin, Greatest of the Founders Four.” Caliban nodded and stood, before kneeling down before his master.

“I shall do as you ask. You shall have them both before you, and they shall writhe in agony at your feet. None of them shall ever question the power of Lord Voldemort again.” Voldemort smiled and almost let out a slight laugh.

“There is one more thing,” Voldemort said as he motioned off to the side. A shorter, fully clad Death Eater came forward, thought he looked to only be a teen. His gray eyes stared ahead, in awe of everything going on before him. He too knelt down in front of his master as Caliban stood up to take him in.

“This is Draco Malfoy, Caliban,” Voldemort began, “Lucius' son. He is a little wet behind the ears but our young dragon has the makings of a superb Death Eater. I want you to take him under your capable wing on this mission. Show what is required of those who take my mark.” Caliban gazed down at the boy and simply nodded to his master.

“I shall do as you ask,” Voldemort smiled again.

“Of course you will Caliban.” He turned back to Malfoy, who kept in a kneeling position. “You will follow this man's orders as if your life depended on it, for it truly does. Do you understand me young dragon.”

“Yes my lord,” came the curt reply from the younger Malfoy. Voldemort nodded to them both and waved his hand in dismissal. Caliban backed away slowly from Voldemort before turning and taking his dramatic leave, Malfoy tottering closely behind trying to keep up.

Neither spoke to one another for several minutes as they headed out of the Great Hall and down a flight of stairs to a small armory. Caliban threw open the doors and began to search about the table for various items. Malfoy entered in slowly, a bit out of breath from the harried pace that his counterpart kept up with. He shut the doors and looked upon the man, his telltale sneer quickly drawing across his face.

“They tell me you're a tracker,” Draco began, slowly stalking behind Caliban who did not halt his search to listen. “They say you're no better than the Dark Lord's pet bloodhound.” Malfoy snickered. He kept his nose firmly planted up in the air, trying to pry himself under the skin of his new mentor. “I am heir to one of the most respected and feared pureblood families in the world. I expect you to show me the respect that is mine by right.” Caliban looked up and stared at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye. A small smile appeared on the man's face, followed by a slight laughter. “Why are you laughing,” Malfoy demanded to know.

In no short order Caliban had Draco pinned against the wall, with his wand pointed firmly at the prodigal son's quickly gulping throat. Draco's eyes went wide and fear quickly etched across his face. Caliban maintained his smile, but his overall countenance took on a much more sinister aura. “I will show you exactly the respect you deserve,” he spat out, continuing to hold the boy with unseen force to the wall. “That is to say....none at all. I don't give a damn who your father is or who the hell you think you are. To me, you're nothing but a sniveling whelp who has a long way to go before you earn any of my respect.

“In my care you will learn everything you need to know. You will learn the ruthlessness and the cunning necessary to be a Death Eater. Your raw talents, numerous they might be, are as of yet unrefined, and until they are you are more of a liability to me than anything. Were it not for the Dark Lord's personal interest in your training, I would just as soon leave you abandoned at the roadside.” Draco was quickly getting more and more fearful of the man, who tilted his head sideways.

“What's the matter Malfoy? No snide comebacks? No trademark Malfoy sneer? Pity....I thought you'd have more backbone than your father.” Caliban waved his wand forward and Malfoy shot from the wall, landing in a heap on the floor in front of a table.

“You're nothing but a worthless worm Malfoy. A sniveling coward who will go to the other side whenever it suits him. You aren't worthy of the name Death Eater, and unless you do exactly as I say you never will be. Follow my instructions and you shall be rewarded....by not being punished. The Dark Lord grants me wide berths on these training exercises....and I can be very creative with my curses.” He let this linger for a moment, letting the dread settle over Malfoy a little longer. Once he had finished, Caliban sheathed his wand and handed a bundle of clothing to Malfoy.

“Put these on, they're different from your regular robes.” Before Draco could question him further, Caliban stormed out of the room, locking the door as he went.

/ - / - / - /

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat at his desk, patiently looking over some paperwork that had just been handed to him. Apparently Igor Karkaroff, former headmaster of the Drumstrang Institute and former Death Eater had been found dead, his body washed up on shore, his left arm cut off. The method of his murder led to only one conclusion.

Caliban de Montesquieu.

Caliban was one of the most ferocious Death Eaters that the Dark Lord had at his disposal. He was a tracker, capable seemingly of hunting down anyone anywhere, and when he was instructed to kill someone, he spared no expense of his wrath. Little was known about the man other than he emerged as one of the first followers of the Dark Lord during the first war. No one even knew his real name. It had been thought he might have been a friend of the Dark Lord before he became Voldemort, but this like many other legends of Voldemort's past was pure speculation at best.

Kingsley shook his head and set aside the man's file. It wouldn't do to dwell on such horrific thoughts at a time like this. He had to keep his mind clear for Dumbledore. As if on cue the small fireplace inside his office lit up with a green hue and Dumbledore came out of the flames, his face drawn and his eyes devoid of their characteristic twinkle. Shacklebolt stood up and shook the man's hand, his face equally drawn.

“Thank you for coming Albus. Any news on...” Dumbledore shook his head.

“We've seen neither hide nor hair of the boy Kingsley,” Dumbledore replied, trying to sound as worried as possible. “He's out there on his own. We have to find him soon.” Kingsley frowned again, causing Dumbledore to look at him suspiciously.

“I think I can help with that,” Kingsley replied. “Let's go to the scene. The house is 15 Harold Street in Kensington.” Dumbledore nodded and in no short order they had both apparated out of the office.

They arrived in front of the abandoned house near sundown. Dumbledore noticed how in place it looked with the rest of the neighborhood, and sensed the muggle repelling charms around the house proper that would turn people away from its gaze so that they wouldn't notice the partially unhinged door.

“Ok,” Kingsley began, slowly walking up to the door, “The official story is that three death eaters apparated into the living room of Muggle-born witch Hermione Granger. Miss Granger attempted to fight back but was disarmed, and made to watch her parents tortured and killed. Then she used some bit of accidental magic to get away and hide in one of those panic rooms some muggle houses have. The Death Eaters then argued amongst themselves at the scene, causing one of them, Jonas Caldwell, to kill the other two, Gregory Goyle Sr. and Vincent Crabbe Sr., before firing up the dark mark and apparating out. Miss Granger apparently also got to her things and her whereabouts are currently unknown.” Kingsley stopped as they approached the door, and let out a deep sigh.

“I assume the reality of it is far more interesting?” Dumbledore asked, though in truth he already knew what the answer was.

“You don't know the half of it,” Kingsley responded, opening the slightly ajar door all the way. Dumbledore stepped inside and immediately stopped.

Dead in front of him were the corpses of the Granger parents. Though Dumbledore had only met them once or twice, they seemed to be highly sensible people. He could easily ascertain that they had been tortured and killed as Kingsley stated, their faces were carved statues of someone who had been suffering under the cruciatus. He glanced over and internally grimaced at the next scene. Off in the distance were the bones and flesh of what Dumbledore assumed to be a death eater given the state of his robes. Obviously he hadn't lasted very long there. The man closer to him, a man he recognized as Crabbe the elder, was also very much deceased, his intestines having spilled out halfway from his abdomen onto the floor. The smell was rather overwhelming, and Dumbledore waved his wand, casting a charm to make it smell faintly of blueberries.

“So far this seems in line with your tale Kingsley,” Dumbledore stated, stepping further in and making sure to avoid the Granger's bodies. “Frankly I don't understand what the problem is.”

“The problem is,” Kingsley replied, “that there's more to it then the official report.

“The first part happened just like I told you, far as we know. But there's a bit more there. Seems that once Miss Granger made her way to the panic room she got a message out.”

“A message?” Albus' mind was working quickly to try and figure all this out, “To Whom?”

“We aren't certain,” Kingsley admitted, “But I have my own suspicions about that I'll get to in a moment. Regardless whoever got the message was the one who apparated here, and the one who did this.” He pointed to the two Death Eaters. “We actually found Caldwell here, alive but under a deep sleeping charm. He had his memory wiped, but kept saying something about delivering a message to his master. He managed to get away....somehow.” Dumbledore nodded with a frown. Caldwell had once been a star student at Hogwarts...a pity it had gone for naught.

“What makes you think that someone else killed Crabbe and Goyle?”

“Because we checked their wands. None of them fired off any spells of that type. We even think that this mystery person was the one who sent up the Dark Mark.”

“And Miss Granger?”

“We think she left with this mystery person or ran off on her own. The Panic Room was open when we got here so she did leave. We checked her room too. Her school trunk and several books are gone.”

“Remember those tracking charms you wanted on the boy's owl?” Dumbledore nodded. “Well, they took affect the minute the bird arrived at Harry's home. Almost immediately after arriving the owl flew here, to this house, stayed for a while, and then left again. The time in which it left almost directly coincides with the time that the attack would have taken place near as we can tell. The bird then went to just outside Diagon Alley in muggle London, where suddenly it vanished.”

“It vanished,” Dumbledore turned astounded. There's only a few things that could erase the Ministry's tracking of an owl....and Dumbledore couldn't think of any viable ones right now. Kingsley simply nodded. Dumbledore paced slowly through the living room, his mind uneasy with what was happening. He had already arrived at his conclusion, even if heart didn't want to believe it. Kingsley sighed and walked back to his friend.

“Albus--I think Harry might have done this.” Dumbledore nodded and said nothing else, motioning for Kingsley to leave. Shacklebolt held up for a second, placing small devices on the four bodies in the room. “This will mark them for pickup relatively soon,” he explained, “I wanted you to see the scene first hand.” They both walked outside, unaware of the instant apparitions going on behind them by the Magic Reversal Department.

“Thank you old friend,” Albus said, keeping his distance from the Auror as he seemed to stare off into nothing.

“Albus,” Kingsley replied, sounding very grim, “If Harry did this I have to know. And we have to find him. We can't have a vigilante on our hands killing Death Eaters on his own whim.” Dumbledore nodded and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

“I don't think we should dwell on this for too long Kingsley. After all....the official report is just as good for now.” Kingsley stared at him blankly for a moment....

...before his eyes glazed over from the memory charm being placed on him almost immediately. Kingsley began to shake his head and Dumbledore grabbed him by the cuff of his robes, apparating back to the Aurors office, leaving 15 Harold Street in the first real peace it had seen in quite sometime.

Chapter 7: Potter Manor

Harry didn't sleep much that night. After about a half hour of fitful sleep he gave up and simply sat on the edge of his bed, watching the slow rise and fall of Hermione's chest. He was content to simply sit there for hours, watching over her. Protecting her. Occasionally she would start to toss and turn, no doubt in the grips of a nightmare about her parents. Harry would lean forward and whisper comforting words to her, and that seemed to ease her anguish and allow her to drift back to sleep. Harry didn't really understand what spurred on this peaceful watch that he maintained over his friend. Perhaps it was the Hufflepuff he had gained bringing out his loyalty to her. Or his inner Ravenclaw allowing him to bring inner tranquility to the tortured mind.

Looking at it subjectively, Harry liked to think it was just because.

At some point Harry did manage to nod off slightly, for when he awoke Hermione's bed was empty. His eyes quickly darted around the room, only to settle on the girl sitting in a chair against a window, her hands cradling something or other. Harry slowly got up, his muscles stiff from the awkward way in which he had slept, and he slowly padded over to Hermione. She looked up at him, rapidly trying to dry her eyes. Harry glanced down at what she was holding, and his breath took a pause. Briefly he had caught a flash of some photos from Hogwarts. She quickly closed the book, but the look he gave her let her know the jig was up. Sighing, she opened the book.

“It's an album I made. I was going to give it to you for your birthday but....” she trailed off as she handed the book to Harry and allowed him to flip through the pages. The book was constructed from a hard leather binding, colored red and gold Harry noted, and filled nearly to the brim with photographs from his first 5 years at Hogwarts. He suspected that Colin had taken many of the pictures, but that wouldn't explain his victory at his first Quidditch match ever. Or shots of the Leaving Feast in 1st year. Harry didn't question it however, and simply allowed him to be overtaken by many of the memories.

His eyes settled on one picture of the DA, and his eyes crossed the visage of the man he considered his brother, Ron Weasley. To be certain Harry wasn't entirely sure how the Weasley's would react to this bit of news given everything that had happened to him, but he hoped that they would accept it. He didn't want to lose Ron as a friend. His eyes crossed the picture of Ginny and he too felt a longing to keep her as a friend. There had been a short time when he had thought that something more was developing there, but it had passed almost as quickly as the school year had faded. Closing the album, he simply looked at its cover and muttered...”Thank you 'Mione.” He looked up at the young girl, perhaps for the first time as a young woman, and offered a genuine smile. Hermione returned it, and they both stayed there a moment, enjoying each other's company.

After a few moments Harry excused himself to take a shower. As he stood under the hot water, he leaned forward and let out a long deep breath. The gravity of the situation was beginning to weigh on his mind, and he slowly took to trying to relax the tension out of his muscles. He stood in the steam filled room for several minutes, rapidly inhaling and exhaling the relief his pent up frustration and anger. As he did, his train of thought took several different directions at once. The muddled feelings that he had for Hermione. The ramifications of his actions the day previous. Sirius' Death. Everything circled around his in his mind as he came to one final conclusion.

Dumbledore.

Thinking of the old man he had trusted slowly began to make Harry's blood boil as he pieced everything together. It was so bloody obvious now....everything that had happened in his life had been perfectly orchestrated by Dumbledore. The man had sat back with his god damned lemon drops and watched as Harry's life played before him like some symphony. A symphony written and composed by Albus Dumbledore.

He had sent him to live with the Dursley's.

He had allowed Snape to violate him.

He was at least partly responsible for his godfather's death.

Add to those three immutable facts the recent discoveries of those damnable curses on his soul and....Harry could hear a slight crack in the mirror of the bathroom as he considered everything, and silently forced himself to calm down. After he was certain he could continue without blowing the place up, he began to focus on Dumbledore once more.

The casual way in which Dumbledore seemed to interfere with Harry's life may have upset him more than even the actual act. Who was this man to dictate Harry's life? Just because he was considered the greatest sorcerer of all time did not give him the right to interfere so directly in another person's life. Doing so meant he was no better than that which the old man claimed to stand against, namely Voldemort.

Harry almost chuckled at the irony.

He shut off the water and used a small charm to dry himself off. Throwing on an old polo shirt and some jeans, he reminded himself he'd have to get a proper muggle attire to go along with the massive number of wizard's robes he had purchased. Furthermore he knew Hermione would need some new clothes to...and a place to stay....

Harry came out of the bathroom with his mind slightly dazed. Hermione was still sitting on her bed, glancing at the photos, her hair still hanging loose and her eyes still partially puffy and red. Harry could tell she had been crying again. The poor girl had been traumatized in way's that Harry didn't possibly understand.

“Harry,” she asked, closing the book and looking at him with worry adamant in her eyes. “Where are we going to stay. I mean, I know you're emancipated and everything but....well I'm still sixteen for a few months. And they could still try to take you back to the Dursley's....” Harry frowned. The girl needed to do something besides worry. Inwardly he thought for a moment, trying to allay her latest concerns, but he was certain that underneath it all there was an underlying problem that they had to confront. He thought back to anything that might help him with her obvious concern to be left alone again, to be taken away from safety. His knowledge of technical matters concerning wizarding law were sorely lacking. He looked down at his hands, eying the Potter ring as he did so. The conversation with Orlock the day previous and an idea came to his head.

“I think I can help you with that. I can make it so that Dumbledore can't touch us.” Hermione flinched at the spite that shone in his voice at the use of the headmaster's name, but she didn't call him on it. Harry held out his hand, extending his ring finger. “Place your wand on my ring,” he asked, recalling the ancestral knowledge that seemed to be inherent to the ring. Hermione tilted her head slightly.

“Harry, what are you going to do.” Harry didn't answer, and merely motioned for her to perform the requested action. Hermione kept a solid look on Harry, wary of anything out of the ordinary. After several seconds, she pulled her wand out of her pocket and placed it on his ring. There was a slight red spark as she did so.

“I, Harry James Potter, Lord of the House of Potter, do hereby and forever more recognize Hermione Jane Granger as a friend of the House of Potter and shall offer her the safety and protections of my house till such a time when she releases me from this oath. So mote it be.” The room darkened a little as the ring glowed with power, excepting the ancient oath. When it was done, Harry let out a deep breath and sat back down on the bed. Hermione just stared at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What just happened,” she asked, pocketing her wand again.

“I just made you a friend of my house,” he said, idly running his fingers through his hair. “Essentially that makes me like your legal guardian. And since I'm emancipated, they can't do anything to me. Locking me up at the Dursley's would be like kidnapping.” He offered as much of a smile as he could, frankly a little embarrassed at how quickly the idea had come to him. He silently hoped that she wouldn't rebuke him for the gesture without asking her first. Hermione contemplated it for a moment, before nodding her head and releasing the same sorrowful smile that had been a constant companion on her face.

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper again, and Harry smiled back. For once she didn't press him on why he had done it, or how he had done it, but simply sat there, the explanation from the night previous being enough in her mind. Harry could still see the lingering affects of something they needed to talk about lurking at the fringe of her mind. Hermione seemed apt to not want to talk about it. Before Harry could bring it up she changed the subject again.

“So, are we going to this new house of yours?” she asked, trying to sound curious. Harry paused and simply nodded.

“Yeah, I'm kind of eager to get there myself. But first we need to get you some new clothes.” Hermione looked down at herself and frowned.

“But Harry-I don't have any money.” She cast a deep frown, one that almost made Harry's heart ache at seeing it. Shaking his head Harry managed a small smirk.

“Oh but I do. And before you say anything let's just get one thing straight. I can't have a friend of the House of Potter not be treated as a friend of the House of Potter. That means you are going to go and buy however much you want or need....no questions asked.”

“But...”

“No buts,” Harry interjected, his smile growing wider. “I need some more muggle clothes anyway so at least you won't be alone.” He paused for a moment before setting his new album in his trunk and shrinking both of them. Handing Hermione's to her, she gave a slight smirk and headed out of the room.

He left her aside as he checked out of the hotel, using his Gringott's card to pay for everything. Once that was taken care of he walked with Hermione back behind the hotel, ready to show her his other new gadget. Part of the 16-year-old kid in him was thrilled to death at the prospect of trying out Sirius' old motorbike, though the sight of it still filled him with sadness as far as his godfather was concerned. Once they had reached the back of the hotel he removed the shrunken bike and tapped his wand on it. In mere moments the bike had enlarged to its full-size, and Harry got his first real up close look at it.

The bike appeared to be about 20 or so years old, but it shone as if it were brand new. It was heavily covered with black chrome with orange and grey flame decals added along the sides. Harry paced around the bike a few moments, softly touching it with his hand. Hermione merely stood back and watched the whole display. Harry looked up at her, and got the biggest grin he had on his face on quite a long while.

“So...” he began, the grin not leaving his face, “You ready to go shopping?” Hermione looked at him with her hands firmly placed on her hips, a smirk riding across her face.

“Harry James Potter,” she scolded him incredulously, “You don't honestly expect me to ride that...monstrosity?”

“It's not a monstrosity,” Harry replied, feigning hurt at the remark. “This...is a work of art.” He extended his hands again to present the bike to Hermione, who simply approached it and regarded the look on Harry's face as he made his way around it. It had been months since she had seen the boy she considered to be her best friend this happy. More than a small part of her wanted nothing more than to just curl up into a ball and welcome oblivion, but seeing him like this. Seeing him actually happy, managed to simply shut out the darkness, if even for only a moment. Shaking her head, she grabbed the helmet that Harry offered and slowly lowered it over her head. Straddling the bike she sat behind Harry and firmly grasped his waist after he too mounted the bike.

“Um-Harry,” she suddenly asked, “You do know how to ride this thing right?” Harry glanced back at her with an evil glint in his eye as he revved the engine.

“Only one way to find out,” he barked, and before she could question him further they were off.

They started off slowly, Harry working out the kinks of learning the bike. The beginner's learning charms worked wonders however, and allowed Harry to get comfortable with the signals and braking of the bike. He noticed that Hermione never really let go of his waist at all, holding a firm grip without breaking it once. Internally, it made Harry blush slightly.

Once they made it out onto the open road, Harry began to push the bike closer and closer to its limits. As they sped up, Harry felt the grin on his face go wider and wider, and at the same time felt the grasp on his waist go tighter and tighter. Harry let out a yell in excitement, ignoring the glares he was likely getting from behind. Eventually as the speed became more constant, he felt the grip lessen, and he smiled as he could instinctively feel Hermione relax.

After about an hour's ride they pulled up to a small town somewhere off the main road. They stopped in a small shopping district, parking the bike further away from the rest of the cars and walking the rest of the way. Hermione didn't say anything for a few seconds, and Harry just kept his head down, a grin still firmly plastered on his face. Finally he spoke up. “So...did you like the ride?” He glanced over and could see the corners of Hermione's mouth twitching just a bit as she fought with her own self-composure.

“Next time,” she replied, trying to keep as straight a face as possible, “Try not to scream to much.” She offered a smile to him and headed into the shopping mall. Harry simply stalked after her.

Several hours later Harry and Hermione emerged from the mall with several bags in tow. Having shrunken them down to fit into a magically expanded jeans pocket, they walked up to the bike, but instead of grabbing a helmet, Harry tapped the bike twice with his wand, after making sure the coast was clear, and shrunk it down. Hermione looked at him oddly as he placed the bike in his pocket temporarily and flushed around for something.

“Harry, what's going on?” she asked, crossing her arms and tilting her head to the side slightly.

“I'm getting out a portkey. It'll take us to my house...well...one of my houses....anyway...” in truth Harry still wasn't certain how many properties he owned. He'd have to check with Griphook soon. He pulled out the slightly crumpled piece of parchment and held it outward. He motioned for Hermione to take hold of it as he clearly intoned. “Potter Manor, 44 Snidget Lane, Valerian Scotland.” After a few seconds he felt the familiar tugging sensation at his navel and was sent spinning. A few moments later he and Hermione landed a bit ungracefully on a small patch off the side of a gravel road. Picking themselves up and dusting themselves off, Harry placed the parchment back in his pocket and pulled out his motorbike. Hermione merely looked around, a bit confused.

“The portkey took us 5 miles away,” he explained, unshrinking his bike as he did. Pulling out the helmets, he handed Hermione's hers and placed his on his head. “We just need to go a short ways up the road.” Hermione nodded and sat on the bike. Harry smirked a little at how much more eager she seemed to be this go around. Revving the engine again they took off down the road. They passed through a small village that couldn't have been more than a few houses and shops wide and as quickly as they had appeared they were replaced by the wild fields of Scotland.

Harry slowed as he neared a small inlet street marked as Snidget Lane. He turned left, almost instinctively following the road to Potter Manor. After traveling a few hundred yards they came to a stop in front of a large, ornate steel gate. The gate was surrounded by a large limestone fence that seemed to go on for several yards in both directions. Behind the gate was a continuation of the gravel road they had been traveling on. Harry stopped the bike and pushed down the kickstand, taking off his helmet as he did. He slowly walked towards the gate and glanced through the bars. The only thing he could see in the distance was the tree lined road leading up to a circle drive. Off in the corner was a small orchard that seemed to be fairly young as opposed to the rest of the local vegetation. He focused on the address in his mind and saw a building suddenly pop into view.

The manor house was larger than any other house Harry had ever seen. It appeared to have at least four stories to it and nearly spanned across his entire field of vision. At each corner there was an old style parapet making the house look more like a castle than a home. He heard a sudden gasp beside him and saw that Hermione had joined him. They both stood there for a long time, admiring the beauty of the home. Harry's eyes flushed over a bit when he swore he saw a quidditch pitch off to the side near the Orchard. Once they had finished their staring Harry tried to push open the gate and found it firmly locked. He tried a few more times to no avail.

“Well that's odd,” he said, a small fraction of his mind suddenly gripped with panic. What good was a house if you were locked out at the front gate. Frowning he looked at the iron doors with a raised eyebrow, when something caught his eye. There was a small hole, near the center of the entrance. Small enough for a key of some kind, or maybe even.

Harry stepped back a few paces and held out his hand. He clenched it into a fist and stuck the Potter ring firmly into the gate hole. There was a short delay, followed by a slight vibration along the iron bars. After this had passed, the latch lifted and the gate swung open. It didn't take but a few seconds for Harry and Hermione to jump back on the bike sans helmets this time and ride the short distance up the road to the house, the gate slamming shut behind them.

As they drew closer to the house they were even more amazed by its beauty. The house was covered on the front by several hedge bushes and ivy was growing up along the reddened brickworks. They stopped at the end of the circle drive, parking the bike right in front of the large mahogany doors that were the centerpiece of a small porch that looked like it had been built on relatively recently compared to the rest of the house. Harry stood up and remained silent, tears slightly forming at the corner's of his eyes. Here at last he had his home.

A pair of small pops in front of the pair brought them back to the here and now. Harry looked down at his newly hired house elves, Dobby and Winky, and saw them smiling equally at him. They had replaced the mismatched clothes they had been wearing before with more well-made clothing, each with the Potter family crest emblazoned on the front. Harry smiled back, and he hoped that Dobby had been up to the task he had given to him the night before when Hermione had been asleep. Hermione simply looked down and stared at them wondering.

“Dobby,” she asked, a frown suddenly appearing on her face, “and Winky? What are you two doing here away from Hogwarts?” Before Harry could interject or explain, Dobby decided to answer for him.

“Dobby and Winky is bonded to Master Harry Potter Miss Hermy,” Dobby said innocently enough. Hermione got a disappointed look on her face, and glanced up at Harry, her looks demanding an answer.

Raising his hands in his defense, Harry managed to blurt out, “House Elves have to be bonded to a witch or wizard in order to stay alive. They're free elves not slaves...and I--I'll pay them whatever they want!” Harry backed away a little bit. As powerful as he might be magically, he didn't want to face down Hermione Granger in full blown S.P.E.W. mode. Her faced softened somewhat however at the explanation and she simply nodded her head. She motioned for him to open the door, and Harry stepped forward and did as he was told.

And their breath was instantly knocked out of them.

The doors opened to a large entryway that filled nearly two floors. A large winding staircase descending from both ends and covered in velvet carpet wrapped around the entryway. As they slowly sauntered into the main entry hall, their feet cautiously moving across the tiled marble floors, they gaped in awe at the twin crystal chandeliers hanging above either end of the staircase.

“Incredible,” Harry whispered to himself. This was more than he could have hope for in his wildest dreams. He kept a wide eyed look plastered on his face as he took in the gigantic room, taking in every inch of it. It was several seconds before he felt himself being rushed along by Dobby for the tour of the remainder of the house.

It took them several hours to tour the whole house, sans the basement level which Harry promised himself he'd explore later. The first floor contained the entryway, a formal sitting room and living area, an elegant dining room, and a smaller parlor with a breakfast table off the rather large kitchen. It also contained an ornate ball room that caused Harry to internally blush as he remembered the disaster that had been the Yule Ball, save for one special moment. Next to the ballroom was the room that caused Hermione's eyes to light up like candles on Christmas eve.

They exited the ballroom and entered a massive library that spanned two floors. There were several tables and chairs for studying on the first floor, and the bookshelves that lined the wall stretched all the way to the second floor. Straight above the middle of the room was a wooden scaffold suspended by what appeared to be magical chains, no doubt another sitting area for reading and research. He practically could hear Hermione's mind racing, formulating reading schedules and the like for her and him. Quickly he grabbed her arm and led her up to the second floor, promising to visit later. She pouted slightly, but allowed Harry to see the rest of the house.

The second floor had a few bathrooms and guest rooms in it and a rather large lounge with picture view windows overlooking the Quidditch pitch in the distance, but not much else. The third floor contained all bedrooms, including the master bedroom that Harry would check out for himself later. He also skipped one other room on purpose till after they had finished the tour. The 4th floor was completely different from the layout of the rest of the castle. As opposed to the elegant hardwoods and marble floors this was cut out of the brick and mortar that made up the outside of the house. There wasn't much up there anyway, other than archival room with several scrolls that Harry made a note to go through, another two guest rooms and several storage areas that could be converted into whatever might be necessary at the time. Satisfied with the tour, Harry and Hermione made their way down to the third floor again, stopping at the door that Harry had skipped over previously.

“What's so special about this room Harry,” Hermione asked, stopping in front of the door rather impatiently. Harry simply got a big grin on his face and opened the door. When Hermione looked in her jaw had dropped.

Her room had been set up much like the one in her own home had been, but with a few changes of course. There was no computer on the desk, instead replaced with a quill and several rolls of parchment. Her bed was covered in the same quilts and sheets, though they were magically expanded to cover the much larger bed. Other than that much of its original feel had been retained. Harry smiled and nodded to Dobby, who just held his hands together and offered the closest equivalent to a blush a house elf could give. Harry then turned to Hermione, and noticed the glassy look and shimmering circles forming in the corners of her eyes. He moved towards her, concerned that he might have overdone it, that maybe this was bringing too much back to her too fast. “'Mione,” he asked, a bit nervously.

He was nearly knocked over by the desperate embrace that came over him seconds later. He stood there stunned for a fraction of a second before he returned the embrace, offering a soothing whisper to Hermione who seemed to be on the precipice of falling into the depression that had gripped her last night. They stayed that way a few moments longer, before a sigh clued Harry in to Hermione's more stable demeanor. He slowly backed away, and she just nodded to herself. She then gazed up at Harry, her brown eyes never wavering from his face. “Harry, this---this is too much. You didn...didn't have to...” she trailed off again, her eyes still a bit soggy from the previous episode. Harry felt a strong protective urge building up inside of his gut as he stood there. He held firm and waited for Hermione to look up at him.

“I know,” he replied, “I wanted to.”

A/N: Definitely shorter than other chapters but given the intensity of where it went you'll understand why I refrained from putting any other scenes in there afterwards.

Chapter 8: Being There

Harry Potter couldn't sleep. His mind was filled with too many avenues and trains of thought to be able to sink into the peaceful world of slumber. So it was at that notion that Harry found himself sitting in a large chair in the master bedroom, leaning forward with his hands nestled underneath his chin, staring at the roaring fire. The grandfather clock behind him struck twice, an indication of the late hour. Harry let out a deep sigh, and simply kept his eyes firmly on the fire.

He was truthfully beginning to wonder if this was going to become an overt ritual of his: sitting and thinking as opposed to actually sleeping. He briefly contemplated meditating a bit, to try and use some of the mind-numbing calm that his Ravenclaw inheritance seemed to have given him, but he couldn't get his mind in an orderly state enough to begin the process. Not to mention that he still wanted to be alert. Though he was certain enough of wizarding law to think that Dumbledore couldn't touch him, and he was pretty certain that no one could find him here, a small part of him still wasn't sure.

He silenced his wrenching doubt and settled on another matter entirely. Hermione. The notion that he was in love with Hermione had replayed itself again and again in his head, and it was making more and more sense the more times it did. He went over everything about her in his mind, her cleverness, her inner and outer beauty. But more than anything it was simply her presence. It wasn't any one thing that Harry could pinpoint that made him want to be around her, it was simply the fact that he wanted to be around her. There didn't need to be any other reason.

Harry sincerely hoped that was what it meant to be loved. He also kept his feelings bottled up for now, he didn't want to put Hermione through anything further, especially if she didn't reciprocate his feelings.

Sighing, he walked over to the large desk that was set against the wall in the master bedroom and pulled out a sheet of parchment. He had been contemplating how to handle the possible situation brewing with the Weasley's, the closest thing he had to a family. He also wanted to get in contact with Remus, who was probably the only person he felt he could truly trust outside of Hermione.

More than once on the previous year Sirius had made it known, to him at least, that the things that Dumbledore was doing were highly out of bounds. At the time Harry just thought that his godfather had meant the Occulumency training with Snape. Looking back on it with new knowledge Harry realized that there was more to that. He idly wondered why his godfather hadn't mentioned anything to him in more specific detail, but figured that he would've if he could've. No doubt Dumbledore would have tied that loose end up as well. If it weren't for the old man's disrespect of the goblins, Harry would probably still be in the dark.

Thinking of Sirius again made him come to another realization. He no longer blamed himself for the man's death, at least not like he did just a few days prior. Simply looking at the problem from a disengaged perspective allowed Harry to see who the blame truly lay with. He deserved some of it, he reminded himself, for falling into that stupid trap of Voldemort's. But Bellatrix deserved most of the credit, she sent Sirius through the veil in the first place. Dumbledore had some of the blame for keeping Harry out of the loop for so long. He chided himself partially when he thought that Sirius might have been to blame himself for taunting Bellatrix as well.

Shaking his head, Harry put these thoughts aside and focused on the parchment in his hand. He decided to write Ron first, but not to let too much information out. He trusted Ron, but he didn't want all of this information to fall into Dumbledore's hands. He knew he'd have to borrow Hermione's owl as well, Hedwig was too easily recognizable.

Correcting himself, he remembered that nice little disillusionment charm he'd recently inherited, garnering a snort as Harry reminded himself he still needed to digest all of this information that popped up at random times. Sighing again he began to write the letter.

Ron,

I know I've probably given you a right scare about my disappearance, but I had to get out of that prison. I couldn't stand being there for a moment longer, the place just reminded me too much of the lack of control I've always had over my life. Also if you've heard about the attack on Hermione's house then rest easy, she's with me someplace safe. I can't tell you where right now, in case this letter gets intercepted. It'd be best if you burned it after you're done reading it come to think of it.

So much has happened that I hardly know where to begin. Needless to say I can't reveal everything yet. It's not that I don't trust you, it's just that I don't trust all the people around you.

Dumbledore has been using me. Probably for years. I don't know everything he did to me, but I do know he placed a lot of curses on me long ago. One of these caused my muggle relatives to go mental just at the sight of me. I guess Dumbledore wanted me to look to him as a grandfather figure or something after years of being abused and tormented by the Dursley's. I also think he might have done something similar to Snape, but I can't be sure.

Furthermore he placed memory charms on me to keep me in the dark on a certain incident that happened when I was six, when Remus rescued me for a week from that hellhole in Little Whinging. I just now remembered about it when the curses were lifted. He also put power blocks on me, keeping me from using my full magical potential.

Finally, he kept me in the dark on a prophecy that was made when I was born between me and Voldemort. I won't go into all the intricate details, but the basic gist of it is that it's gonna come down to me and him in the end. Would've been nice to know that and....I don't know....train for a while.

Sorry, I'm venting. You can see why I'm a little hesitant to reveal too much. Rest assured when I think the coast is clear I'll tell you everything. I imagine if Dumbledore finds out you got this letter he'll say that I've been bewitched or I'm in trouble or something. Please keep all of this to yourself as much as possible. Write back if you think it's safe, but only use the owl I send you. Any others might be tracked (or they can't find their way).

Again, I'm alright and so is Hermione, for the most part. She's had a rough time of it, but that's to be expected when your parents get killed. I hope to see you soon.

Your Best Mate,

Harry

Harry re-read the letter again and, confident that he had been secretive enough while still being forthcoming, set it aside. He pulled down another piece of parchment and stared at it blankly for a few minutes, anger boiling up in the corner of his mind as he replayed the remembered scene from his newly revived memories.

He had been in a particularly nasty row with his Uncle Vernon. Harry had actually had the gumption to stand up to the man and Vernon had smacked him halfway across the room. To Harry's luck Remus had happened by to check on him, a fact unknown to Dumbledore. Remus found him beaten and bloodied and instantly took him out of the house. He spent a week with Remus, which Harry now remembered to be one of the best weeks of his life, and he had learned all about his heritage and his parents in the process. That is until Dumbledore showed up, took Harry back to the Dursley's and erased all knowledge of the event from his mind. Harry guessed that the manipulative old codger had done something similar to Remus, which is why it had never been brought up.

Harry decided he needed to talk to the man face to face, in order to get all his feelings about Dumbledore, the Order, everything that had happened out in the open. Remus was the closest thing Harry had to a father now that Sirius was gone. He only hoped he could get to the man without crossing Dumbledore. As certain Harry was that he could eventually take down the old man, he didn't want to play all of his cards just yet. He wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to have some last trick up his sleeve that even Harry with all of his newfound power couldn't deal with. Placing quill to parchment, he wrote a short note to Remus.

Mooney,

I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good. I also solemnly swear that I'm alright. I'm sorry to have given you a scare, but it's necessary. As you may now remember, you should know how I was treated at the Dursley's all these years and I had to get out of there, protection or not. Needless to say I'm someplace safe, someplace where Voldemort nor Dumbledore can get to me.

If you remember what happened ten years ago, then you should know why I don't trust the headmaster anymore. I ask you to please not tell him of my contacting you, or of the fact that Hermione is staying with me right now. There's a lot we need to discuss Mooney, and we need to meet face to face. If there's anyway we can secure Grimmauld I can meet you there, or once I have heard from Gringott's I can find another place.

Only send Hedwig with a reply. She'll know the way.

Harry

Harry rolled up the second pieces of parchment and walked over to the window. He quickly tied both of them to Hedwig's ankle and pulled out his wand, gently tapping her on the head. She let out a perturbed coo at this, and slowly vanished into thin air. Harry stroked where her feathers were, and imagined the glare he was getting.

“Go to Ron first and wait for a reply. I made it so that only he can see you. Be sure to go directly to his room, not to the main post area. Then go to Remus. Come back safe Hedwig.” He heard the flutter of wings as the owl flew out into the night sky. Satisfied, Harry closed the window and yawned, his insomnia shattered for the moment.

He was brought back to the world by a loud scream coming from the room next door. His eyes went wide and he bolted out of his bedroom. He turned the corner and quickly yet gently opened the door to Hermione's room. There he found her tossing in her bed, screaming to non-existent Death Eaters and crying in anguish for her parents. Harry jumped onto the bed as softly as he could, and tried to wake her up.

“Hermione....Hermione it's okay! It's me...Harry! You're safe!” The cries didn't work, and Hermione continued to thrash about trying to hit Harry as if he were attacking her. Harry had to hold her down to the bed as she continued to struggle. He kept hold of her wrists, repeatedly speaking her name and trying to snap her out of it. Finally she seemed to calm down a bit, and her tear-stained eyes opened a small slit. She glanced up at Harry, who slowly released her wrists.

“H-Harry?” she questioningly asked, fear still gripping at the edges of her face.

“Yes 'Mione, it's me. You're safe now. They can't hurt you.” He could see the tears start up again as she became fully awake. Harry merely picked her up off the bed to a sitting position and kept a steady embrace, letting her cry into his shoulder once more. After several minutes, he heard muted whispers coming from her.

“It's my fault,” she kept repeating to herself. Harry pushed her away slightly and repositioned himself on her bed, making certain to stare directly into her eyes.

“Hermione, listen to me.” She started to look away but he firmly repositioned her face in front of his own. “Don't look away, listen to me....please.” She kept her head in position in front of him, her gaze not wavering.

“This. Is. Not. Your. Fault. I know where those thoughts can take you, and I'm not going to let you go down that path.” He paused a moment, contemplating his words as she still appeared to be on the verge of breaking down again. She interjected to try and argue.

“Harry, I couldn't fight back. In....In my dream I just kept hearing their screams and seeing their faces. I couldn't...I just....” she fell apart again, and Harry held her as best he could, still whispering in her ear.

“Those were three trained Death Eaters. I doubt any 5th-year student, even me, could have taken them down if they got the jump on me like that. You did all you could.” She pulled back and sniffed, as if she was going to protest again, but Harry stopped her.

“Hermione, these people are cruel, twisted, evil human beings. They did this to your parents, not you. You are nothing like them. You are a kind, generous, caring person who loved your parents and fought with everything you could to try and protect them. I know it hurts, it'll probably never stop hurting. But you have to remember the good times you had, and cherish those memories, rather than let yourself be consumed by one horrific moment in time.” Harry breathed deeply, allowing what he had said to come over Hermione before he continued.

“And you're safe from them now Hermione. I promise you that I will never let them hurt you again. I will always be there to protect you, to help you, to be there for you.” At this Hermione finally broke free of his grip and leaned back, her eyes still glistening in the moonlight.

“You don't have to say that Harry,” she said timidly. “I know you're just trying to make me feel better. I am better now, thank you.” She was avoiding something, Harry decided, and he pressed forward, shaking his head.

“No 'Mione, I'm not just trying to make you feel better.” He sighed and stood up, suddenly unsure of where the conversation was heading. He leaned up against the wall, trying to collect his thoughts. He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder, and turned back to Hermione.

“Harry....I don't understand,” she said with a hint of question in her voice. For the first time Harry saw the outlines of hope in the corner of her eyes, and he nearly raised an eyebrow at it.

“I mean that....” he trailed off again. If he was going to go all the way with his feelings, he had to do it right. “Do you remember the Yule Ball?” he asked, appearing not to change the subject. Hermione merely nodded, a bit of a frown on her face.

“I'm not thinking about what happened during but what happened after. I came back to the common room and I found you there, crying in the firelight.” She began to smile at this. Harry had sat with her for a long time, not really saying anything or making any kind of overt gesture. He merely was there, letting her know that, even if Ron had been a right foul prat about the whole affair, he didn't think that she was “fraternizing with the enemy.”

“Just being there changed something 'Mione. When I'm around you I just....I feel completely at peace. It feels like I'm almost...whole.” He stopped short, surprised at his own words. “And seeing you like this I just...well I need protect you. It's not a matter of wanting to do it, or doing it because your my best friend even. I just have to....for my own sake.” He turned away, his own countenance failing him for a moment. He could feel the tension in the room rise to permeable levels. Finally he sighed, adding in a hushed tone, summoning every ounce of his inherited courage to do so, “'Mione, I think I'm in love with you.”

There was a deafening silence in the room, only broken by the slight chirping of crickets outside. Finally, Hermione spoke up, her words almost as hushed as Harry's. “You---You love me?” she asked, causing Harry to painfully wince as he fought back tears. He kept telling himself that he had just blundered everything, that she didn't feel that way about him and that he was going to be throughly smacked around for even saying such a thing. Holding back his emotion, Harry simply nodded, and let out a shuddered affirmation.

There was another long pause, and Harry could hear Hermione moving to directly behind him. He sighed, mentally resigning himself to whatever was going to come next. He slowly turned around, and waited for the worst.

Instead he saw wide-open eyes, with tears of joy hugging the folds of her eyelids, and an almost dumbfounded look of relief and joy settling over her, a far cry from the exasperated looks of fear and horror that had been there moments before. Harry's own countenance lightened greatly, as he allowed himself to hope beyond hope for just one brief moment. No words were spoken, as the two of them came closer together. Harry leaned forward slightly, cradling her head in his hands for a short while, and pressed his lips against hers.

The kiss lasted for a good several seconds, neither one wanting to break the moment. Sadly it did pass, and they broke away from each other, each one's breath coming in pants at the intensity of the emotions. Hermione merely stared deep into his brilliant green eyes, her face a little flush, and said behind enraptured tears, “I love you too.”

A/N: I sincerely hope that I haven't rushed this relationship bit, but the fic has taken on a life of its own in terms of ideas and when that happens, pacing tends to go by the wayside. Fortunately there's a lot of innate trust and background to work with here, so it's not like I'm building it from scratch.

For those who read my other works, I haven't abandoned them, this one has just come to me quicker than the others and hence is the one I update more regularly. Rest assured the other updates will come soon.

And to those curious about my own loyalties as to which shippers I do or do not support, I pretty much am open minded to anything short of the slash pairings (just not my personal cup of tea) as long as the story is well-written. I tend to follow canon pairings and H/Hr pairings in my own works because, to me, they are the most interesting and the easiest to write.

Coming up next will be another split-character chapter as we get reactions from Ron, Lupin, some more with Caliban/Draco and a little humorous bit involving Harry/the goblins/Dumbledore.

Portkey A/N: I feel I must interject once more to remind you that there will be minimal Ron bashing in this particular fic (the same applies to all the Weasleys, apart from Percy.) Primarily this suits plot purposes in the future.

I will have another H/Hr fic that might be more unkind to the Weasleys, particularly Ron, but not Ginny, simply because in these fictions, fangirl super!Ginny from HBP does not, nor will she ever exist.

Chapter 9: Plans of Action

It was long into the morning before Harry awoke. His eyes were forced open by a stray line of sunlight that refused to be denied entry into his happy little world of slumber. Grimacing a bit as he forced himself awake, his eyes fluttered open to find that he was, in fact, not in his room. Almost immediately his eyes shot open as he tried to ascertain his surroundings. Large bookcases? Lavender quilts? A small black owl sleeping by the window?

His fear quickly subsided as he realized where he was, and it was replaced by a joyful feeling of contentment. He remembered what had happened yesterday, and felt as though a great weight had been lifted off his chest. For the first time since Sirius' death, he was certain that someone cared for him. Not for their son's friend. Not for the last remnant of past friendships. Not for the Boy Who Lived. Not for some ultimate tool. Someone cared for him...Harry James Potter. The smile didn't leave his face as he thought of what had happened after their short conversation last night, and a slight blush crept across forwards. They hadn't gone too far, but for someone that had barely ever been loved in his life, it had certainly been far enough.

It was at this moment that he realized that a certain bushy haired friend of his was no longer in bed. He looked around for a bit, his eyes straining against the morning light. He heard a slight giggle from off to the side and his head immediately turned. Sitting at her desk was Hermione, her hair done in a loose ponytail and her face filled with pure joy. Judging from her clothes and appearance, Harry guessed that she'd been up for quite some time.

“You're cute when you're confused like that,” Hermione said childishly, a grin still firmly plastered on her face. She stood up and padded back over to the bed and sat next to Harry, who was still trying to shake the sleep out of his eyes. She wrapped an arm around his waist and jostled him a few times, letting out a content sigh. Harry just looked at her cockeyed.

“What's with you?” he asked, smiling himself. He obviously knew, but seeing Hermione this happy made his own happiness all the more increased.

“I'm just...I don't know. I just can't stop smiling.” Her face did dim slightly, causing Harry to frown slightly. “I still miss them but...” she seemed to nod to herself, saying something that Harry couldn't quite make out. He was going to press the issue, however Hermione just looked at him, and forced anything he was going to say out of his mind. She resumed her previous demeanor and leaned into Harry slightly, allowing him to just hold her. “When did you figure it out,” she asked, not needing to explain what 'it' was.

Harry thought for several moments. When had he figured out he was in love with Hermione, or at least thought he might be? He logically thought back to the hotel and the protective feeling he had felt for her, but dismissed that as the culmination of something more. He got the same feelings after seeing her stunned at the Ministry, even the time at the Yule Ball and the time as far back as seeing her petrified in their second year. Failing to reach a specific moment, he simply shrugged at his reply.

“I guess...I've always felt this way.” He gave her a slight squeeze, “I figured it out just recently I suppose, but I've always had these...feelings.” He stopped there. He still wasn't completely certain on these types of situations and his words were failing him. He looked down at Hermione and asked, “How about you?”

She thought for a few moments as well and came up with a more coherent answer. “I guess it's the same. I've always felt something...there. First time I could tell was third year though. After we used the time turner, and we were waiting for our past selves to emerge from the Whomping Willow. Seeing you carry on about Sirius and the home he would give you...I think I knew then that if nothing else in my life I wanted to see you happy.” She grinned back at Harry, who held her closer.

“Mission accomplished,” he mused, and kissed her softly on the top of her head. Standing up, much to her protests, he headed for the door. “I need a shower,” he stated, getting a nod from Hermione.

“I'll be in the library,” she said with more than a hint of anticipation in her voice. Without waiting for him to clear out Hermione grabbed several rolls of parchment and headed off, no doubt planning on what she would read first in her mind. Harry merely chuckled at the display and headed for the master bath to take his shower.

/ - / - / - /

Ronald Weasley was currently engaged in an activity that would astound and amaze anyone that knew him in the slightest. He was sitting at his desk, frowning over a book, somewhat meticulously jotting down a few notes.

Not that he had anything else better to do, other than worry of course. His two best friends were currently missing and for all that Ron knew might be dead or worse, held captive by the Death Eaters. He was trying to do his homework early, in a vain attempt to keep his mind off of everything. Unfortunately the garden was woefully gnomeless, so the mindless activity was denied him. He couldn't even fly at the moment, given that his mum was keeping them all indoors for safe keeping at the moment.

Growling to himself, he slammed the quill down on his desk and dropped his head onto the parchment. Worry once again gripped his mind and he broiled over everything for what had to be the fiftieth time in the last two days. Though it didn't temper his worry any, he always had a notion that something like this to happen to Harry, especially after the tournament. His friend was always in some kind of danger, and in truth that was part of the reason that Ron had gotten over his jealousy of the famous Boy-Who-Lived. Particularly after the Department of Mysteries, seeing him that devastated as the last of his family sank into oblivion would have the effect of displacing any jealous feelings.

Hermione on the other hand was a conundrum in and of herself. Given the circumstances surrounding her disappearance, Ron was more than a little worried about her. Even if she wasn't being held captive by the Death Eaters, she needed to be somewhere where she would have proper support. Ron didn't know how to provide that, but he figured that his parents did.

In truth Hermione was a problem in an odd sort of way, considering their relationship. Ron thought he might fancy her, at least partially, but the more he dwelt on those feelings the more confused he got. He wasn't certain if his feelings were love, lust, or none of the above. Looking to the only real example he had of such relationships, he certainly knew that Hermione and he could never be like they were. The thought almost sickened him.

Still, he cared deeply for her, even if it was only in a brotherly sort of way. As it was Ron suspected that Hermione had no feelings for him outside of being a friend. Harry on the other hand...

To the contrary of what most people would tell him, Ron was very observant about how the way people acted around one another. Though he could be a tad bit more than thick-headed at times at connecting the dots concerning the latest transfigurations or charms essay, Ron could easily determine the status of interpersonal relationships, even if the parties involved couldn't see it for themselves. To that end, Ron had often suspected that Hermione fancied Harry. He only hoped that they would live long enough to see those feelings come to fruition. He stifled a tear leaking out of his left eye and stood up, glancing over towards a chess set. He could play against the charmed set again, see if maybe he could get his mind off of things.

An errant gust of wind blew through his room and alerted Ron to a sudden presence on his desk. Turning around he heard the faint sound of eggs cracking against a frying pan, and to his amazement saw a familiar snowy white owl appear out of thin air.

“Hedwig!” Ron exclaimed, earning him a reproachful hoot as if the bird were telling him to keep his voice down. Ron raised an eyebrow at the bird as she held out one leg for him. He noticed the second letter on her other leg, but didn't pry into it. He quickly took the letter and unfurled it, reading it as quickly as he could.

A couple of minutes later Ron's face was pale as a ghost and he was at a loss for words. Something had happened. That much was certain. And as perturbed as Ron was at not knowing what it was, he couldn't help but notice the ferocity with which Harry stated that under no circumstances should the headmaster be told of the correspondence.

Ron's immediate reaction was that Harry must be under some kind of spell, given his devotion to Dumbledore's cause the entire previous year. He must have been under the imperious curse or something. As he contemplated it though...he shrugged off the thought. Harry said he'd been able to throw off the imperious when he had told Hermione and Ron about the graveyard incident.

Ron went through his disorganized mind again. Slowly the conclusions that needed to be made came closer together, and he looked at the letter with flushed anger in his face. If Harry wasn't enchanted...if he wasn't under some kind of spell...then everything he had said was true. Ron couldn't even fathom that headmaster doing the things that Harry accused him of doing, but inside a small part of him was screaming at the top of its lungs to believe his best mate.

Ron began to pace back and forth, digesting this information with everything else that had been going on. For some time now Ron had been aware of something not quite being right. He had heard his mum and dad, speaking in whispered tones and encouraging certain behaviors out of their two youngest children. His mother in particular had been particularly a nuisance, overtly encouraging Ginny to, what it seemed like to Ron anyway, seek out Harry's affections. She had been doing something similar to him with regards to Hermione, but that had stopped for a brief moment in 4th year when she had gone absolutely cold to the girl with that article in the Prophet.

Ron stopped short, as if a light had suddenly been turned on in his head, and several seemingly random occurances suddenly clicked together. It made a mixture of emotions cross over his face simultaneously. Anger blended with sorrow and guilt, followed by a sheer determination racked with insatiable fear. The effect it produced was all-encompassing and quite quickly reduced Ron to an emotionally numb mass.

He glanced over at Hedwig and pulled out a piece of parchment. Scribbling a quick reply he tied it to the owl's leg and watched in a half-awestruck state as the owl ruffled her feathers and disappeared yet again. The soft flap of her wings was the only clue she had gone anywhere. Ron glanced down at the letter Harry had written him and picked it up quickly. He folded it several times over and went over to his bed. He slid it underneath the mattress, hiding it directly in the center, and prayed that no one would find it. First chance he got, he would burn the thing, but for now it would work.

Ron went back to his desk and sat there, his mind working a million miles a minute. A plan was slowly forming in his mind, certain conversations and confrontations that would need to be made. He had several questions for a certain headmaster of his, and several for his parents as well. The only thing that escaped his lips as he turned back to his books, a frown coldly forming on his face, was “How could they?”

/ - / - / - /

Draco Malfoy stalked into his room, exhausted. He had been everywhere the night previous, and didn't protest as much as he could have over his less than stellar living accommodations. He collapsed onto his bed and went over the events quickly in his mind.

Having left the Death Eater headquarters, Malfoy and Caliban had traveled straight to a muggle neighborhood, much to Malfoy's discontent. Despite this, he was surprised that none of the bloody creatures had so much as looked at him and his newly christened mentor. Draco asked why, but Caliban had brushed him off. Caliban had seemed preoccupied with things, merely keeping his head held high as if he was following something. He walked several feet before stopping. He looked out down the road, and Malfoy thought the man had gone completely mental, before Caliban summoned his wand from his wrist and held it out. With a bang a large double decker bus appeared out of nowhere. Caliban shoved some money at the conductor and Malfoy eyed the man contemptuously.

Grimacing Draco remembered the moment well. He had protested about traveling in such gruesome accommodations, earning a glare from Caliban. A moment later Draco had felt a mind-numbing bliss fall over him and against his will he found himself marching onto the bus.

After a short time on the wretched bus he found himself being led into a dark back alley that Draco knew led to Knockturn. They made a brief turnoff where Draco had felt the effects of the cruciatus, something his aching body reminded him of repeatedly.

Once arriving at Knockturn they traveled straight to Diagon Alley. Caliban stopped near the entrance of Gringott's, his eyes following the trail of the alley back towards the Leaky Cauldron, and then leading off towards Madame Malkin's. Motioning for Draco to follow him, they tracked to the clothing store before stopping at Flourish & Blotts for a brief moment. They then had stalked to the Leaky Cauldron, making no motion to stop as they rushed through the bar and traveled two or three blocks to another abandoned alley. Once there Caliban looked around, confused for a moment, and then had apparated them here.

The events played themselves over in Draco's head at a breakneck speed. His muscles still twinged with the after-effects of the cruciatus, and his pride was more than a little stung with the way that Caliban had treated him in the brief time he had known the man. Summoning up his resolve, Draco sat up on his bed, filled with the notion once more that he was personally chosen by the Dark Lord to be on this mission. That worthless mudblood of a hound was merely there to chase bones and fetch Potter and that foolish imposter slytherin, Draco kept telling himself. Standing up, Draco was prepared to march out of the room and let Caliban know who was in charge again.

That was until Caliban forced the door open and a stunner shot straight at him, blowing him back against the wall and shaking him to near unconsciousness. Malfoy groaned as Caliban used his wand to force him up to a standing position. He gazed at the boy, unremittant hatred lurking on every corner of his face as he spoke.

“Lesson One of being a Death Eater,” he began, speaking in almost a scholarly tone, “The Dark Lord is an extremely skilled Legilimens. Unless you plan on training your mind to be an Occulumens like myself or your beloved Professor Snape, then I suggest you keep your insulting thoughts out of your head. I don't appreciate your candor on my assignments.” Draco's eyes went wide. Caliban had been reading his thoughts?

“Yes,” the man said simply enough, lifting his wand high into the air, “and you should remember well to keep them hidden next time. CRUCIO!” The red beam hit Draco hard and he fell to the ground, screaming and writhing in agony. He had felt the effects of the cruciatus once or twice before, but never with as much hatred and force as now. The pain continued for several seconds, before Caliban let up. Draco continued to cry in pain, tears flowing freely as his limbs continued to spasm at irregular intervals.

“Petrificus Totalus,” Caliban intoned, instantly stopping all of Malfoy's movement. His body wanted desperately to fight against the curse, to try and relinguish all of the pain by exercising his muscles and stretching them out. Binding them up gave no release for the pent up suffering, and Malfoy's eyes bulged at his overly strained nervous system. Caliban merely stared at him for a moment, driving home his point, before releasing the curse. The pain shot out in one desperate scream and Malfoy flayed out, nearly unconscious from the affair.

He laid that way several moments, his body wracked with light sobs and every nerve ending lit ablaze. After a few minutes, Caliban moved from where he was standing and pulled out a potion from his belt. He knelt down and forced it down Malfoy's throat. It tasted rotten, with a mixture of flavors that nearly made Draco gag on reflex. Caliban silently rubbed his throat, making sure the potion went down. In almost an instant the pain seemed to ebb away slightly, though a lingering ache still remained. It was enough that Draco was able to sit up and collect himself. He tried desperately to clear his mind of every single thought going through there at that very moment. Caliban smirked.

“You learn fast,” he replied, forcefully lifting Malfoy up by the arm and setting him up on the bed. “Most of the servants I train are not so quick on the uptake.” He paused a moment before moving a chair to the other end of the room, sitting across from Malfoy. He gently placed his wand in his lap and folded his hands, not at all hiding the fact that the pain could return at any moment. “My cruciatus is not nearly as powerful as the Dark Lord's, should you truly make him mad. I believe I may be the only one who has ever felt his true wrath.” He paused and got a far away look in his eye that made Draco wonder for a brief second. Caliban quickly returned to the present and pulled two books out of his robes. Handing them to Draco, he smirked.

“The top book is a guide to mastering occulumency. I instruct all of my apprentices to engage in the exercises, if for nothing else than to help their patience and their inner control. The second book is for our plans...” he waited for Malfoy to open the second book, a golden covered pamphlet actually, and scan through it.

“This is a book on parliamentary procedure,” Draco noted, seeing that it was published by the Ministry of Magic. “What good is this to us?” he asked, not letting his arrogance interject into his voice.

“Your father is currently in Azkaban,” Caliban explained, “and even when the Dark Lord frees him it is going to be some time before he can resume his place in the Ministry. Sadly for him, the old Imperious trick isn't going to work this time.” Draco restrained an angry outburst as best he could at the smile that formed on Caliban's face. Instead, he merely offered a question.

“You have a problem with my father?” Caliban looked at him, almost with a hint of a glare forming.

“I have a problem with anyone who thinks that being a Death Eater is nothing more than a fashionable cause. Your father sways in which ever way the wind blows. Should the Ministry destroy the Dark Lord tomorrow he would go cowering down in front of their hero Potter.” After a sneer he added, “And you'd be right next to him.”

Almost all of Draco's control lashed out at this, and he felt his wand slip into his hand. Caliban eyed him for a moment, but said nothing. After several moments Draco calmed down and placed his wand back in its holster, not eager to have a repeat performance under the cruciatus.

Caliban sighed, but continued with his plans. “Regardless of my feelings, the fact is that your father did hold a seat on the Wizengamot. Since the Malfoy line is a patriarchal one, and you are currently the only male heir of that family, you shall inherit his seat until such time as he is free from Ministry charges.” He paused before adding, “Make no mistake, you're liable to lose a good chunk of the power that he once wielded. I half-suspect that as a move to save face the Minister will force the Malfoy's to fork over a large portion of their fortune, but since you have no true enemies on the body and more than a few friends, you won't lose all your power.

“That book is so that you don't bungle your appearance at the session in two weeks time. I want you to know the procedures backwards and forwards. Since no one suspects you are marked, you are a potential advantage to our mission. You are able to go places, see things and overhear conversations that I cannot be privy too. Success will be rewarded. Failure...will we won't dwell on that.” Caliban finished and stood up, as if to leave, but Malfoy wouldn't let him.

“I have a few questions for you,” he asked, trying to sound as curious as possible without being forceful. Caliban looked at him and sighed, sitting back down. For whatever reason, he chose to indulge the younger man. “Earlier today,” Malfoy began, “we went all those places without the mudbloods and the idiots of the Ministry seeing us. Surely they'd recognize you.” Caliban nodded and answered.

“The robes I gave you are charmed,” he explained. “To all outward appearances you and I are simply a non-descript pair of wizards travelling through the alley. We went to Knockturn first in case they didn't work, which can be a problem sometimes.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “And yes, they would recognize me.”

“What were we doing there anyway?” Malfoy asked, this time a bit impatient. “It's obvious Potter wasn't there.” At this Caliban simply chuckled.

“Ah but he was there, at least a few days ago. You see, wherever a witch or wizard goes, no matter how weak they may be, they leave a magical resonance trail. This trail is easily distinctable to someone of my talents, and we were following Mr. Potter's. The neighborhood we first appeared in has been his safehouse for some time, a fact that the Dark Lord knew of but was unable to act on due to the wards surrounding the boy. Following that trail I knew he went to the alley, and stopped first at Gringott's. The damn goblins set up a masking charm on their building preventing me from investigating further, but suffice it to say there was a second trail of his leading out of the bank, one that was much stronger than the first.” He contemplated for a moment, allowing Draco to interject.

“How could that happen?”

“Uncertain,” was the only reply Caliban gave, now throughly engrossed in his own thoughts. He later added, “Something must have happened to him inside the bank, and we'll have to make the right contacts to find out what. Regardless he stopped at Malkin's and then at the bookstore before leaving the Alley. He went to that back area three blocks from the Leaky Cauldron and then the trail suddenly vanished.”

“Vanished?”

“Yes, as in he must have apparated away.” At this Draco snickered.

“Potter? Apparate? He can't even brew the simplest healing salve right. If he apparated his innards are probably scattered across half of London by now.” Caliban scowled at him, holding his wand upwards, causing Malfoy to cower back in fear.

“Need I remind you that the boy was certainly capable enough to defeat our Master when he was a mere infant, and he has faced him thrice since then and emerged relatively unscathed each time. It would not do to underestimate your enemy Draco.” The glimmer of his wand against the waning room light more than stopped any remark that might have come to Malfoy's lips at that moment.

“For now,” Caliban continued, lowering his wand, “I will make with my contacts and find out what I can. We still have no idea what this heir of Slytherin is like and given the fact that the Ministry has scoured the scene of the raiding party by now, it's doubtful we'll get any kind of lingering trail on him. Regardless we'll wait here for the remainder of the day and tomorrow as well. Perhaps luck will transpire to our way.”

/ - / - / - /

The soft chiming of a clock awoke Remus Lupin from his self-induced nap. He nearly jumped out of his chair, and looked around uncertain of his surroundings. Once he was awake he sighed to himself and hung his head in frustration.

It had been two days since he had learned from Tonks that Harry had up and vanished, and he was going stir crazy just sitting here. He should be out looking for the boy, not bottled up in this run down mansion waiting for the next Death Eater to waltz right up and do Merlin knows what to the poor lad. However, he still had a bit of respect for the headmaster's wishes, and thusly allowed himself to remain here while slowly going stir crazy.

His own obedience was spurred on by the fact that Tonks was there to comfort him. He had taken respite in her presence, as it eased the pain of loss that he felt for losing his second brother for the second time. He wasn't sure if she spurred any other feelings beyond that, and to be quite frank in his current condition he was in no mood to think it over anyway. Still, at the back of his mind, having her there made things better, if only by a small margin. He had no question in his mind however that she was likely there, at least partially, on Dumbledore's orders to keep him there while the headmaster and the rest of the Order searched for Harry to place him back to the safety of his muggle relations.

Remus sighed and leaned forward in his chair, resting his chin on both of his hands. He sank into deep thoughts about a certain subject that had only recently appeared in his head. Something about that concept, the 'safety of his muggle relations,' cause Remus a great deal of concern. In truth it always had, as if there were some hidden truth that lay just beyond his grasp, just beyond his recollection. It was frustrating to say the least. When he had approached Harry on the subject once or twice about how his aunt and uncle treated him, the quiet boy had merely muddled his way through what Remus could tell were half-truths and outright lies. However Remus could tell that he was obviously uncomfortable with the subject and had not broached it with him again. The more he dwelt on it however the more he chided himself on the fact that he hadn't explored it more...for some strange reason.

He was broken out of his stupor by a peck on the window. Raising an eyebrow he gazed over and stared befuddled at the window. He had expected an owl to be there from the sound of the pecks. Making sure his wand was firmly within reach he slowly paced over to the window and opened it a crack, large enough for him to stick his head out briefly and look around. At first he saw nothing but heard the distinct sound of fluttered wings. Turning around he was quickly floored by the appearing sight before him. There, sitting on the bed, was Harry's familiar, Hedwig.

Remus nearly ran over to the bird and frantically pulled out the offered piece of parchment. He read it quickly, eager to garner any information about Harry's whereabouts. When he finished reading the letter his face was equal parts confused and concerned. He read the letter again, making sure to commit every syllable to memory. When he was finished, he sat down on the bed, trying to figure everything out.

What was it he was supposed to remember? Harry seemed adamant that there was something key that Remus was forgetting, and for the life of him he couldn't even fathom what it was. One thing was certain, this much Remus knew. He would respect Harry's wishes on the matter. Though he knew Dumbledore would likely kick him out of the Order for doing so, Remus truthfully felt like he had little else to lose.

Flushing around on a desk for a piece of parchment he wrote a reply, including a place he knew they could meet securely the next day if possible. Sealing the parchment carefully and handed it back to the owl, who promptly disappeared and flew out of the room, leaving Remus staring for a moment. He hadn't figured on Harry or Hermione being capable of casting that complex a charm. Shrugging it off, he moved to gather a few of his things. He was leaving Grimmauld tonight, and he would not be coming back for some time.

/ - / - / - /

The day passed in relative quiet for Harry and Hermione, as each of them had eventually found their way to the library and was looking over books and such. Hermione had nearly been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information in the Potter Family Library, but she had eventually taken books from all sorts of subjects and began to read, absorbing every little tidbit of information. As had been the case at the bookstore, Harry found that the simplest books on Potions and Charms were below him, and some of the more advanced ones were not sailing so far over his head. Finally he had decided to brush up on his history of magic, merely as an afterthought. Surprisingly he found he was actually enjoying the subject, without an ancient spirit droning on about the stuff.

He was halfway through a partial history of the wizards of Egypt when he heard a solemn hoot from overhead. He looked up and saw the reappearing Hedwig flying towards him. He smiled partially when he saw the two pieces of parchment in the owl's talons. Hermione looked up as well, quick enough to see the final bit of the disillusionment charm fade from Hedwig. She sat, wide-eyed for a moment, as the bird swooped down at Harry's side and held out the parchment for him.

“Thank you girl,” Harry replied softly, gently stroking the bird's head as she almost glared at him, as if to say she wasn't moving another inch without some sleep. A nod and smile from Harry was the only gesture needed for the bird, who flew into another area of the house, no doubt looking for a place to sleep. Hermione walked over from the chair where she had been sitting towards the couch where Harry was, and he scooted over to make room for her. She eyed the pieces of parchment with a bit of worry in her eyes.

“I owled Ron and Remus this morning,” he explained. She frowned at this, she didn't want to be found by anyone. But at least it was people they could trust. Harry seemed to read this fully and placed a reassuring arm around her shoulder. “I used a disillusionment charm with a time delay effect on it,” he explained mechanically, as if it were common variety magic. “Essentially Hedwig couldn't be seen unless she was in the presence of Ron or Lupin.” Hermione's eyes went wide at this, a gesture not unseen by Harry. He pushed it aside for a moment and pulled out the first letter. He noted from the quick scribble of handwriting that it was from Ron.

Harry,

I don't know quite what to make of this, but your secret is safe with me. I just hope we can talk when this is all over. I got a bad feeling you won't like what I tell you.

Send my best to Hermione

Ron

Harry was to be honest a bit stunned with the reply from Ron. He had half-expected the redhead to be vehement about trying to squeeze every little detail out of him. Chalking it up to good luck, he mentally noted to be able to talk to Ron as soon as possible. He would do it now, were it not for the fact that Ron would be unable to escape from his parents, whom Harry was currently listing as firmly under the camp of Albus Dumbledore for the time being. He pulled out the second letter, far more lengthy than the first, and began to read it.

Dear Harry,

I'm glad to hear from you. More than you can possibly know. I don't understand why you've run off like this, or why you've decided to give everyone a right scare. But I suppose it could just be a rebellious streak coming out in you. Just like your father in that regard.

I will however respect your wishes on this matter and not divulge the contents of our conversations. Suffice to say Sirius was not and I am not entirely pleased with the Headmaster regarding certain, shall we say, elements of your education. I believe this is one of the things you wish to discuss.

I am also curious as to what it is I am supposed to remember. I have an inkling of what you're talking about, at least to the point that it's something important, but I hope you can jog my memory. In regards to a meeting place, Grimmauld is not secure. Tonks is here almost constantly and there are several Order members in and out. As it is I have decided to take a leave of absence from the Order for the time being until such time as the Headmaster will have regained my trust. To that effect I will return to my cottage in the south of Wales tomorrow night.

However, I do not think that place is secure either. To that end, I suggest you meet me at Gringott's tomorrow. I will have already reserved conference room 5 for a meeting with the goblin's at three o'clock in the afternoon. Hopefully you will be able to show. This is the one place we can be certain Dumbledore will not be able to hear us. Hermione is welcome to come too should you feel the need to protect her more. If you are able to come, please inform the goblins that you've accepted my invitation. You can call them via the floo or by owl, the floo would probably be the quickest and most secure way.

I have no doubt you will have ways of getting around without being seen. To that end, I eagerly await speaking with you again Harry.

Sincerely,

Mooney

Harry put down the letter and stared out towards nothing. Hermione took the opportunity of grabbing the letter from her and re-reading it herself. She placed it down and saw the determined look in Harry's eyes.

“Harry, I know you're more powerful now but...if Dumbledore or...if Voldemort catches you then...” Harry looked at her, a somber tone on his face.

“I'm not going to walk around on eggshells 'Mione,” he replied, simply and candidly. “We are safe here, and I can take steps to make sure we're safe out there. I trust the goblins, in fact I've been meaning to go see my account manager anyway.” He contemplatedit for a moment before standing up and heading towards a fireplace in the corner. Hermione rushed over to him, causing him to turn and add “Don't worry, it'll be alright.” He offered a faint smile, which Hermione regarded for a moment before smiling back.

“I'm going with you,” she said firmly, “If for my own sanity.” Harry nodded and Hermione went back to her books.

He turned back towards the fireplace and grabbed a pinch of powder from the jar on the mantle. Throwing it into the fire he clearly intoned “Gringotts Bank.” A few moments later a nameless goblin appeared in the fire. “Hello, I'd like to speak with Griphook please.” The goblin appeared a bit bewildered that the wizard would actually want to speak to a named goblin, but said nothing, just as quickly vanishing back into the fire. A few moments later Griphook's face appeared.

“Ah, Mr. Potter. I've been expecting your call.” The goblin offered a toothy grin. “And firstly might I thank you for naming me your account manager. It's certainly a large promotion for me.”

“I trust you,” Harry offered up simply. “I would like to meet with you tomorrow morning regarding my accounts and the properties I own.” Griphook nodded and wrote something down.

“Very well, 9 o'clock sharp then. Is there anything else?”

Harry paused for a moment and decided to end a nagging question at the back of his mind. “A letter I got from Haiden Orlock said that my trust vault has had several withdrawals over the years. Have you found out from who?” Griphook frowned and shook his head.

“Unfortunately no. Whomever did has covered their tracks well. Speaking of the Haiden though...he forgot to mention to you after your inheritance ritual.” Griphook was about to go on, but Harry cut him off, catching him off guard with the language he used.

“I'd rather speak of that in a more secure manner.” he stated plainly in the goblin language. He knew the floo was more than likely secure, but this bit of information was important to keep to very few people as possible.

“You speak the goblin tongue,” Griphook replied, more than a little impressed. “Haiden Orlock said that you were a wizard full of surprises. Anyway, he failed to mention that several of the possessions of the Founders were left in our care, but several more have been taken over the year's by Dumbledore and the school. I was wondering if you would like them returned to you.” Harry smiled and got a wicked grin on his face.

“Yes, certainly, as soon as possible, so long as he doesn't know who's taking them back,” he replied, with more than a bit of mischievous venom seeping into his voice. Griphook nodded and bid Harry farewell, and quickly the flames returned to their natural glowing orange color. Harry backed away and allowed a Cheshire grin to form on his face. He'd give half the gold in his vaults to see the look on Dumbledore's face if the goblin's acted with the immediacy he expected them too.

/ - / - / - /

Albus Dumbledore, though still a bit of a frazzled mess over dealing with the Potter disappearance, had allowed himself to temporarily indulge in a well-meant dinner. He wasn't quite sure what had happened to a couple of house elves on the payroll, but had quickly dismissed them when they had vanished. Nevertheless he cared less really, the food was still good. And he had decided to spoil himself this evening, dining on Ravenclaw's own personal china and with Hufflepuff's personal cutlery.

He was about to dig into the meal before him when the doors to the Great Hall burst open, and Albus looked up to see Argus Filch running in like death itself was at his heels. Albus put the fork down and stared at the caretaker, who's panicked look made Dumbledore pause.

“Headmaster,” the squib yelled, clearly out of breath. “Things---things are---disappearing---all over the castle.” Dumbledore eyed the man for a moment, before trying to reassure him.

“I'm certain you're just imagining things Argus.” At that Albus plucked a piece of steak up with the silver fork and prepared to place it in his mouth. There was a faint poofing noise, and the steak that had been stuck instead spiraled to the ground with a rather resounding splat. Albus looked down confused, noticing that the fork...and the rest of the cutlery had gone missing. A few moments later and he heard a few more poofing sounds.

As he stared out through the open doors he saw suits of armor, tapestries, and paintings disappearing at random. He heard a poofing sound closer to him, followed by the annoying sound of food landing flat on the table. He glanced down and mumbled under his breath when he saw his dinner was no sitting flat on the table...with no plate to go with it. A moment later the goblet he had been using disappeared as well, causing pumpkin juice to splash all over himself and his food.

“Sound the alarm Argus!” Dumbledore finally screamed with a bit of anger in his voice. “The castle is under attaaaaaaaaack!” He couldn't finish the sentence correctly, seeing as how his golden throne of a chair, straight from Salazar Slytherin no less, had just left him. Dumbledore fell backwards, landing rather hard on his arse. And causing a snarl to form under his normally calm demeanor.

A/N: Thought I'd end on an attempt at humor there. The meeting with Lupin comes next chapter. Special Thanks to harmswife for the idea to have Lupin meet Harry at the bank, a brilliant idea that I have no qualms with incorporating!

Chapter 10: Newfound Assets

To say that Nymphadora Tonks was in a good mood would be a gross mistruth. To say that she was in a bad mood would be an overstatement. To say that she was throughly confused would be the understatement of the century.

Tonks was currently sitting in the library of 12 Grimmauld Place, home of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black for at least three generations and formerly home of her favorite cousin Sirius. Currently the house was home to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, a fact that Tonks was unfortunately reminded of constantly.

She honestly didn't know how she had been drug into all of this in the first place. She had only passed auror certification three years prior, and even then just by the skin of her teeth. To many she was the rookie. A new kid on the corps who was more than a tad clumsy and more than a little wet behind the ears.

A lot of that had changed when Alastor Moody had come and recruited her for the Order of the Phoenix. Many within the corps still regarded her as “the new kid,” but to her own sense of self she could always say that here she was something different. Something special. She was fighting against Voldemort in ways that most of the Aurors couldn't even imagine.

A lot more of that uncertainty and lack of self-confidence had been changed the day she met Remus Lupin. Perhaps it was the man's innate kindness and his willingness to see the good in others that drew Tonks towards him. She honestly couldn't put a finger on the exact thing. Needless to say, however, she considered herself smitten with him.

Which was the reason why she was currently mired in this particular quandary. Dumbledore had instructed her to watch over Remus. In essence, she was acting as his prison guard, keeping him locked up in headquarters until Harry had been found. Doing so raised more than a few ethical questions in Tonks' mind. If she cared for Remus, then how could she possibly treat him this way, spying on him and telling every one of his moves to the headmaster? It was enough to make her head and her heart throb in pain.

Another thing Tonks truly didn't understand what Dumbledore suddenly had against the man. It was obvious to her at least that all Remus wanted to do was find Harry and bring him back to safety. Why in the world would Dumbledore avoid an advantage of that? Why did he think Remus was trying to control Harry?

The questions mulled over in her mind several times but she was unable to come up with a satisfactory answer. It was getting late, and they had to continue the search in the morning. Hopefully by then she'd be able to sort things out in her head. She stood up from her chair and was starting to head for the stairs and her bedroom, when she saw Remus hurry by, with a bag in his hand. Quickly moving out of the library and towards the entryway, she tried desperately to catch up with Remus.

“Remus!” she called out. “Remus wait! Where do you think you're going?” She finally stopped him just near the front door, when he turned around and had a slightly perturbed look in his eye. He was not angry, Tonks could figure that out immediately. But something had obviously set him off. She gazed into his eyes and thought she saw him trying to....think of his response?

“I'm going to look for Harry,” Lupin replied, finally setting his bag down and reaching into his robes for something. “I'm not going to sit here cooped up like Sirius did. For all I know he could be lying dead in a gutter somewhere.” He paused a moment, as if trying to retone his response.

“'Dora,” he continued, causing Tonks to listen more intently. “Don't think I'm a fool. I know Professor Dumbledore is keeping me here because he somehow thinks that I'm going to be foolhardy with Harry. Well I'm not. That boy is the only link I have left with my friends and better yet my family. I have to go. I'll be at my cottage in Wales.” He solemnly looked at her for a moment, before beginning to turn away and head for the door.

“Wait,” Tonks yelled again, causing Remus to turn back, the perturbed look on his face again. “Dumbledore ordered you to stay here Remus,” she stated as firmly as she could. Remus offered a half-smile.

“It's been twenty years since I was at Hogwarts and he still orders me around,” he mumbled to himself, before handing a small piece of parchment to Tonks. “That is my resignation from the Order of the Phoenix. I promise I won't go blabbing to any aurors I happen to see on my way. I'm through with this war. I'm going to keep Harry safe, and that's that.” He motioned again to leave.

“Wait,” Tonks yelled a third time, causing a more annoyed look to appear on Remus' face. “What about...” she bit her bottom lip, trying to think of a delicate way to say this. Remus seemed to read her mind though, and he took her hands into his.

“I have thought about it,” Remus said quietly, and he leaned in and kissed her on the lips. She whimpered slightly, but returned the kiss, making it slightly deeper. She was abruptly cut off by Remus backing away, and she saw a resolute look in his eyes, tinged with a bit of sadness. “I also remember a former mentor of mine telling me about having to decide between what is right and what is easy.” He turned away again, not looking back at her as he finished with, “Goodbye, 'Dora.” On that note he opened the door and walked out into the London nightfall, leaving Tonks with a few tears leaking out of her eyes.

/ - / - / - /

Harry's alarm was set for 6:30 in the morning, early enough for him to be able to get some breakfast and a shower. He awoke a little early actually, but felt refreshed after the long night's sleep. He glanced over and saw Hermione laying next to him, a peaceful calm exuding from her slumbering form. It brought a smile to Harry's face. She had found her way to his bed while in the grips of another nightmare. Just being near Harry seemed to calm her nerves enough, and knowing that she was calm and able to sleep allowed Harry's own sleep to come much more rapidly.

As it was he laid there for nearly an hour, watching Hermione sleep and keeping her close to him. When the wake-up alarm he had set up went off, he saw Hermione stretch out slightly and open her eyes. As they fluttered open, the first thing they saw was Harry's own bright green eyes sparkling back at her. She looked confused for a brief moment, before settling into a small smile.

“Good morning,” Harry said softly. “You're cute when you're confused like that.” Hermione nearly giggled and slapped him gently on the arm. Her smile quickly faded to a slight grimace as she stood up and headed towards the window. Harry frowned, mirroring her emotional state. Standing up, he followed her and draped his arms over her shoulders, pressing his head next to hers. “'Mione?” he asked, and from the reflection in the window he could see some tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

“I hate this,” she muttered. Before Harry could misinterpret her words, she continued. “I hate that I have to come crawling to you like a little girl scared of her own shadow every time I go to sleep. I hate being this....weak.” She seemed to calm down as she got the last words out, and Harry spun her around, planting a soft kiss on her forehead and then looking in her eyes.

“'Mione, your parents were killed. It's understandable that you'd have nightmares. Believe me, I've had my fair share.” She offered him a grim smile to his self-deprecating observation. “And you are most certainly not weak,” Harry continued, “You are the strongest person I know. You're loyal, gifted, and if I do say so myself, astonishingly gorgeous.” Her face turned a deep red color. “There are many words to describe you Hermione Granger....but weak is most assuredly not one of them.” She bit her lip, as if to say something else, and Harry merely embraced her. After a few more moments they broke away and Hermione chirped up.

“When did you get so good with words?” she asked playfully. It was Harry's turn to blush slightly, and he turned away, ruffling his longer hair in the back as he did so.

“Must be the Hufflepuff in me,” he finally said, though there was partial exasperation on his countenance. “Truth be told I still don't know everything they did to me.” As he sat down somewhat dejected, Hermione could tell for the first time that something else was bothering Harry, something deeper that thus far he had hidden from view. But she hadn't the slightest clue what it was. For now she offered what help she could.

“After we're done at the bank today,” she offered, sounding as resolute as possible, “We'll sit down and figure out how these powers of yours work. You probably just need to train your body to make the knowledge second-nature to you. Also...” she hesitated a moment before continuing, “once we've figured out everything you know I want you to teach me.”

Harry turned back around, a somewhat shocked look on his face. “'Mione...I'm no teacher. I can barely handle myself sometimes and...” he was stopped as Hermione firmly shook her head, her lips tightly drawn in a McGonagall sort of way.

“You were a teacher last year Harry. Remember the DA? The reason we all escaped from the Ministry with just a few bumps and bruises is because you taught us so well.” She walked up to him and held onto his arm, and she could see the debate raging in his mind through his eyes.

“A lot of good it did us in the end,” Harry muttered under his breath. “We got out but just by the skin of our teeth. And Dumbledore needed to save me. And it didn't help Sirius at all.” He paused for a moment at the mention of his godfather and then continued. “And if I had been a good teacher or better yet, a good friend, I would have known not to lead you all there in the first place.” Hermione paused, trying to formulate an answer in her mind, but Harry waved her off. “Don't worry about it 'Mione. I'll try and teach you what I can, but first I have to figure it all out for myself.” Hermione frowned, obviously annoyed by the fact that Harry was shutting her out of the conversation. For the moment however, she let it slide. Harry walked out of the room, grabbing a change of clothes as he did, and headed for the shower. Sighing, Hermione stood up and headed for her own room for a change of clothes and her own shower.

Two hours later they found themselves putting the finishing touches on a well-made breakfast. Harry downed the rest of his pumpkin juice and set the glass on the table. With a slight pop Dobby appeared next to him, and began to levitate the dishes off the table.

“That was a great breakfast Dobby,” Harry remarked with a smile, “You really are a great cook.” Dobby stared at him and offered his usual crooked smile.

“Thank you Master Harry Potter sir. Yous are the first person to compliment Dobby or thank him on breakfast. Winky did help too.” Harry continued to smile back.

“Well then tell her I said thank you.” Dobby nodded and popped out of existence, dishes following him. Harry looked over and saw Hermione shaking her head.

“At least they shouldn't call you Master,” she said somewhat firmly, though even she knew it was a losing battle.

“He occasionally calls me mister,” Harry remarked, ruffling his fingers through his hair. “But I gave up on trying to stamp out generations of conditioning as far as house elves were concerned.” Hermione was somewhat surprised at his honesty, but simply shrugged it off. She noticed his hair, and a frown formed over her face. For the first time since the whole ordeal began, she took in all of his features. She liked the improvements, though the no-glasses thing was hard to get used to. The long hair though...

“Harry,” she finally remarked, “Maybe we should see a barber before you go to Gringotts. You should at least look presentable.”

Harry smirked and waved his wand in front of him. A small mirror appeared and he glanced at it with mock interest, as if he were seriously considering his features. “I don't know,” he playfully replied, “I think it makes me look kind of roguish.” Hermione stifled a giggle and shook her head, which made Harry smile even deeper. He saw Hermione grab her own wand and approach him, but hesitate slightly. After thinking about it a few moments she turned to sit back down. “'Mione?” Harry questioned, not understanding.

“I'm underage,” Hermione said with an almost dejected look across her face. “And I know you don't want to be found. Wouldn't do to have a ministry owl come in here flying with threats of expulsion.” Harry nodded and pulled out his own wand. He tossed it to Hermione, who caught it in a surprisingly graceful motion.

“Use mine,” he said simply, “The goblin's removed the tracking charms. I can have them do the same to yours when we go today.” She eyed the wand tentatively, but finally nodded and set down her own. She walked over to Harry and waved the wand, muttering “Formo Saeta” as she did. Harry suddenly felt his hair go completely limp, and Hermione set about removing bits and pieces from the back and sculpting it up. Harry tried to watch in the mirror but Hermione set it down on its face, rather forcefully, to keep it a surprise. When she was finished, she waved the wand again, muttering, “Finite Incantatum.” Harry felt his hair seem to gain new life again and he heard a mumbled sigh from Hermione. Grabbing the mirror he looked at his head and saw a similar hairstyle to his original one, though much shorter. Much to his joy, Harry's hair was still sticking out in several directions. He turned to Hermione with a smile on his face, and she handed him back his wand. “I suppose you can't beat genetics.”

/ - / - / - /

About an hour later Harry and Hermione found themselves strolling down Diagon Alley. Hermione was more than a little nervous, but the glamor charm that Harry had placed on the both of them kept her mind at ease somewhat. As they made the short journey down the alleyway into Gringotts, Hermione kept a close eye on anyone who seemed to wander too closely to the young couple. Harry squeezed her hand firmly as he felt her grip tightening.

It was only a minute or so, though more like a lifetime in their minds, when they arrived at Gringotts bank. Once inside Harry felt the glamor charm immediately cease, something he half expected to happen. He also knew that due to his status and the likely huge amount of assets he held here, nothing short of the death sentence from the goblin chieftain himself would cause him any trouble while he was inside the bank.

Still, he made certain to keep Hermione close and flicked his bangs down forward to hide the remnants of his scar. Without his glasses and without the scar being so overstated, he figured that no one would recognize him. He noticed that Hermione was even closer to him now, even though it was likely that no one they knew would be in the bank. Attracting the attention of the nearest goblin, he was directed back down a similar hallway he had been in before. They stopped at the fourth door on the right hand side and Harry walked in.

The office was smaller than Haiden Orlock's had been, though that was to be expected given the status and title of the goblin in question. Still, it was a relatively cozy atmosphere. The walls were stone and a small fireplace was set in the center on the right hand side. A small mahogany desk was set up at the front, with two chairs nestled in front of it. Behind the desk sat Griphook, filling out some paperwork. He looked up and gave a toothy grin as he saw his client walk in.

“Ah, Mr. Potter,” he said with a slight flourish on the end. He looked over at Hermione and added... “and guest. Thank you for coming today.” He motioned for them to sit down, which they did. Hermione offered her hand for the goblin, a bit more relaxed now that they were away from the prying eyes of the public.

“I'm Hermione Granger,” she said with a smile. Griphook was a bit taken aback by the outward show of equality from the witch, but still accepted it quickly. After the introduction he tottered back behind his desk and flushed out a small piece of parchment.

“Now,” he began, handing the parchment to Harry. “That is a quick overview of the properties and liquid assets that you currently hold here at Gringotts. This excludes Vault #2, the Founders Vault, which has no money in it but does hold the possessions we...ahem....repossessed last night. It is broken down by family. Though there may be no liquid assets in the vault, we still listed it for your records.” Harry nodded and glanced over the parchment.

Summary of Assets for Harry James Potter

Vault #133: Draven Family Vault

832, 337 galleons, 11 sickles, 4 knuts in liquid assets

Property: Castle Draven in Scotland; Appraisal Value Approximately 5, 000, 000 galleons

Property: Villa in Marseilles, France; Appraisal Value Approximately 250, 000 galleons

Vault #297: Warrens Family Vault

129, 573 galleons in liquid assets

No Property Assets

Vault #304: Potter Family Vault

18, 722, 093 galleons, 3 sickles in liquid assets

Property: Potter Manor in Scotland; Appraisal Value Approximately 8, 000, 000 galleons

Property: 7 Phoenix Court in Godric's Hollow, England; Appraisal Value Approximately 64, 000 galleons

Vault #687: Potter Trust Vault

49, 007 galleons, 14 sickles, 6 knuts in liquid assets

Value to be reset to 100,000 galleons on July 31 per year till 17th birthday of trustee

Vault #711: Black Family Vault

22, 344, 229 galleons in liquid assets

Property: 12 Grimmauld Place in London, England; Appraisal Value Approximately 93, 000 galleons

Property: Walburgia Black's Estate in Wiltshire, England; Appraisal Value Approximately 2, 000, 000 galleons

Property: Black Top Plantation in Hellsmuth, Virginia, United States; Appraisal Value Approximately 1, 500, 000 galleons

Vault #801: Seldon Family Vault

577, 666 galleons, 13 sickles, 1 knut in liquid assets

No Property Assets

Total Value of Assets

Liquid: 42, 654, 907 galleons, 4 sickles, 11 knuts

Property: 16, 907, 000 galleons

Total: 59, 564, 907 galleons, 4 sickles, 11 knuts

Harry's eyes were currently as wide as saucers as he contemplated the amount of money at his immediate disposal...not to mention the properties that he had. The money in the Draven family vault alone would be enough to last him his entire life. He heard a gasped sigh from Hermione next to him, and realized she must have seen the totals as well.

“In addition there are several family heirlooms in the main family vaults. Those vaults are simply where the money and deeds are kept. Any other types of property, books, scrolls, armaments, whatever, are stored in our High Security Vaults. As I mentioned before the Founders Vault is High Security Vault #2. The Potter Vault is number 7, Black is 13, the Seldon vault is 24, Draven is 31 and Warrens is 36.” He paused a moment, drinking from a small goblet on his desk before continuing. “The master key you received will work for the asset vaults, but not the high security ones. Should you wish to access them personally, we can do so today. Should you want certain items removed from there, a goblin security team can do that for you.” Harry nodded, leaning back in his chair and seeming to think some things over.

“Griphook,” he began, “What if I want to sell some of these properties? Or transfer ownership? Is it possible to look into that?” Griphook offered a nod and handed Harry a rather large ledger.

“That documents all the transactions in and out of your vaults from the moment you took possession of them. It also includes an inventory of all the items in your high security vaults. Sadly it does not show the transactions out of your trust vault due to the cleverness of the perpetrator.” Hermione looked puzzled as she glanced at Harry.

“Perpetrator,” she asked. Harry nodded. He had left this part out of his story.

“One of the things the Haiden told me in his letter that started this whole thing was that someone was stealing galleons out of my trust vault. There's about half in there of what there's supposed to be.” Hermione's look was a strange mixture of inquisitiveness and anger at this little revelation. She obviously was trying to figure out who would do such a thing. In anticipation of her reply, Harry merely shrugged. “We don't know who did it. Whoever it was covered their tracks to well.” Hermione merely nodded, but Harry could tell that the wheels of thought were quickly spinning in her head.

After discussing a few of the investments in some of the businesses that Harry was now owner of, including the somewhat interesting point that between the Black, Potter & Seldon holdings he now had majority ownership of the Daily Prophet, the meeting with Griphook was concluded. Harry made sure to have many of the scrolls and books from his high security vaults transferred to the library at Potter Manor, a fact that nearly made Hermione squeal with glee. Forgoing the chance to see his vaults for the moment, Harry had Griphook remove the tracking charms off Hermione's wand and bid him farewell, adding a few galleons to the goblin's income for applying the service. Harry did make sure to check with Griphook again to make sure that he was still on for his meeting with Remus for later in the day.

As soon as they left the bank they felt the glamor charm resume and they walked with a bit more confidence. Still, in all their care they did not notice the blonde haired woman following from the bank, her own eyes devilishly glimmering in the sunlight. Rita Skeeter knew a good story when she saw one, and having a story about the Boy-Who-Was-Lost becoming the Boy-Who-Was-Found would certainly apply.

A/N: I know I said the conversation with Lupin would be this chapter, but the Skeeter plot idea came into my head and this is the perfect place to introduce it, so I'll cut it off here, leaving you wondering what role Rita will play (aren't I an evil bastard? ;P)

If anyone is interested in whatever I'm reading at the moment, or what spurs my own inspiration for these wild and wacky tales of my own, then click on to my C2 community, The Cold Turkey's Leftovers for whatever ails ya.

A/N: Yes, Dumbledore has had everyone wrapped around his little finger. Yes, he's probably a bit too evil in this fic. But that won't stop me from keepin this gravy train rolling.

As a result of my promise to include the conversation with (Rather than delay it for another chapter), this chapter is slightly longer than my normal updates.

Chapter 11: Conversations and Memories

If one were to stumble upon the Burrow in its current state, at first you would think it was in as normal a position as it had always been. Granted it still looked as if a stiff wind would blow it over like a house of cards in a tornado. Granted there was still the occasional banging on the pipes from a ghoul in the attic. But these were normal, everyday occurrences as far as the Burrow was concerned. More than not it was part of the place's rustic charm.

Seeing a garden gnome flying into the next county however, was not likely part of its rustic charm.

Molly Weasley sat from her kitchen table, watching her youngest biological son clean out the garden of the gnomes whose unfortunate fate it was to wander across the fence this morning. For Ron the action was cathartic in nature, and he almost seemed to be hunting the pesky little creatures like a cat on the prowl for its dinner. On some small level it disturbed Molly.

Ron had become much quieter in the last couple days, though that was likely due in part to his being worried for his two best friends, one of whom Molly secretly hoped Ron harbored feelings towards. She had no problem with the young Miss Granger, in fact she thought they made quite a nice pair.

Nice and out of the way, perhaps, but a nice pair nonetheless.

Silently she continued to watch Ron as she thought back to everything that had transpired over the last week or so. It had started simply enough, with Ron and Ginny being told not to write to Harry so that he could be alone with his grief. The Headmaster then had mentioned something about moving Hermione and her parents to the Burrow for a short while, for their own protection. Of course Molly and to a certain extent Arthur had ulterior motives for having the Granger's over. Molly certainly wasn't above playing matchmaker, and sadly Ronald seemed to have inherited his father's loyal heart and his thick-headedness at the same time. Yes, she kept telling herself, Hermione would make a nice wife for Ronald someday.

That plan had gone up in smoke with the duo of blockbusters that had come the next day, when Harry had vanished into thin air and Death Eaters had attacked the Granger residence. Hermione and Harry's fate, as far as the Weasley matriarch knew, was uncertain.

A couple of days later Ron had sulked downstairs, even more silent than usual. Since that time barely three words had been spoken by the boy, and when he was approached about it he just said he was worried about Harry and Hermione. Perfectly understandable of course, from Molly's point of view. It was certainly the response she expected out of him.

Ginny...Ginny had not taken to the news in the way that Molly had expected. Oh the girl was worried, that was certain, but not nearly as much as Molly had hoped for. If things were going truly as they were supposed to, then she should be a right mess at the moment. As it was, she was worried, but allowed herself to be distracted by the usual summertime activities. All things considered, Molly internally frowned, she was taking to Harry in an odd sort of way. Her girlhood crush had been replaced by a more sisterly type of affection, though there was a hint that there might be a lingering attraction there on her part.

Idly, Molly sipped her tea, and recalled that she'd have to do something about that as soon as possible. She wondered if she still had that book she had used to help Arthur along.

The thoughts didn't roll around in her mind without a tinge of guilt attached to them. More and more she had been feeling that pang of conscience that told her that the promise she had made to Dumbledore several years ago wasn't worth it, that they were better off now and that the old man had no control over their lives, but a more cynical and practical part of her told her that the web of lies that she had built could only be escaped by doing one thing, and that one thing was completely unspeakable at this point.

She barely noticed Ron walk in from the garden and begin to stalk upstairs, not even bothering to say hello. Molly contemplated speaking to him, but thought better of it. After all, he probably wanted to be alone, and to Molly's opinion, that was best for the time being.

/ - / - / - /

From where Hermione Granger was sitting, life was too much of an emotional roller coaster; one that she felt at nearly every twist and turn was going to toss her right off at any given moment. She had gone from the lowest of lows, seeing her parents killed while she was powerless to stop it, to the highest of highs, finally having Harry tell her that he loved her in such a short timespan that it really made her head spin.

Of course she had no idea what Harry must be going through. Finding out that you're the heir to five of the oldest wizarding lines in Britain, heir of the Founders of Hogwarts, a multi-millionaire and in love with your best friend all in the course of a week was bound to have a profound impact on one's psyche. However Harry just seemed to take it all matter of factly. Whether he was truly that calm or was merely focused more on Hermione's own problems was unknown.

For now they were currently sitting in a small Italian Eatery a couple of blocks down from the Leaky Cauldron. They had journeyed back to muggle London to eat an early lunch before going back to the Alley to visit Mr. Ollivander and then going back to the bank to seek out Lupin.

“'Mione?” Hermione shook her head and looked over at Harry, who was glancing up from his menu and staring at her with those bright green eyes of his. “You know what you're going to order?” he asked, a bit worried that she had been silent for a while. Hurriedly she glanced down at her menu.

“Er, yeah, um...” she paused and glanced down at the menu, “Chicken Tortellini sounds good.” Harry nodded and glanced back down at his menu before closing it when a waiter came and took their orders. A few moments later the waiter was gone and Harry looked back at Hermione.

“What were you thinking about,” he asked nonchalantly. Hermione stared at him for a moment, trying to piece together a response, before coming up with a conversation they needed to have.

“Harry, how are you dealing with all of this so calmly? I mean, after everything that's happened you just are acting like nothing's changed.” She had a small amount of frustration at his lack of emotion at times, but tried to keep it hidden as much as possible. Harry merely looked at her, his look unwavering.

“It is a wonder I haven't gone flying off the handle isn't it?” he casually replied, a smirk on his face. He tried to contemplate an answer, and the silence was nearly driving Hermione insane. “I guess it's just this calming presence in me. I mean, everytime I get angry or upset I have this little voice of control in my mind that tells me to calm down and helps me analyze things.”

“But...w-what happened at my house,” Harry's features darkened, as if he were afraid of something greatly, and almost immediately Hermione regretted her conversation. “I'm sorry Harry, I was just curious that's all.”

Harry took a deep breath and paused for a moment. “It's alright 'Mione,” he said. He paused again, taking a sip of water, before continuing. “What happened there was similar...but different. I had this presence in me that fueled my anger and allowed me to cast those curses.” He contemplated this for several moments, as did Hermione. Hermione was the first to reach a conclusion, and gently leaned forward and held her hand over Harry's.

“You're not a bad person Harry,” she stated firmly. “Everything you did was because you were trying to help me.” She hesitated for a moment, before making her next statement. “Dumbledore's ideas of how to fight this war are wrong. I see that now. We all dwell inside a shade of gray, and there is no imaginary line we cross between light and dark. And if there is then it's not dictated by the spells we cast.” Harry looked straight into her eyes, and Hermione offered a smile. “You came to protect me. Those Death Eaters were only looking out for themselves and in causing pain and suffering. That's the difference.”

“I guess,” Harry said, smiling. Their conversation was interrupted by the waiter who brought them their lunch. Slowly they began to eat, not many other words exchanged between them. Eventually they came to near the end of the meal, when Hermione chimed in again.

“So,” she said with a smile. “You're an animagus. What's your form?”

“Don't know yet,” Harry answered back, blushing a bit, “I guess I sort of forgot about it.”

“We really need to figure all this knowledge out,” Hermione said with a smile and a laugh. Harry smiled back, but that quickly turned to a frown as his eyes glanced to the side. Hermione followed his eyes, trying to find out what the problem was. She noticed Harry unsheath his wand, a bit surprised considering where they were. After Harry glanced around for a few seconds to make sure no one was watching, he silently conjured a small glass next to him. He picked up the glass and slammed it down onto the table, holding it firmly against the surface. At tis moment Hermione saw what he had trapped, and had to keep from letting out a vile hiss.

Trapped beneath glass was a rather angry, and rather colorful water beetle. Taking a cue from Harry's nod. Hermione slid the glass towards her and put it in her lap, holding her hand firmly over the top. Harry motioned for the waiter to get their check, and in a few minutes they had paid and were outside. Turning down a small alleyway, they checked for any onlookers before setting the glass down on the concrete. Harry pulled out his wand, pointing it straight at the beetle, which was cowering in the corner. “Animagus Aperio,” he clearly intoned, and a small gray light shot and hit the beetle, which quickly shattered through the conjured plastic and was replaced by the slightly dazed looking Rita Skeeter. The reporter got her bearings and looked up, quickly seeing two of her least favorite people in the world holding wands straight at her.

“You've got about ten seconds to explain to me how you found us and why you're here,” Harry commanded, more than a hint of anger in his voice. The stern glare that the young witch next to him gave Rita was more than enough to back up Harry's words. Standing up, Rita dusted herself off as best she could before putting on her best smile.

“Well, these glasses aren't for show you know,” she wryly said, pointing at the horn-rimmed spectacles that outlined her face. “These babies see through even the most complex glamor charms.” Harry arched an eyebrow. That wasn't satisfactory to him in the back of his mind, given that he had passed by undetected by Mad-Eye Moody of all people.

“No lies Rita,” Harry said, pointing his wand a little further at the witch. Rita huffed, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face as she did.

“Fine. I saw you coming out of the bank and trailed you alright!” Some people just had no sense for dramatic flair. “And as to why I'm here...news baby.” Harry and Hermione both looked at each other, and then straight at her again. “Oh come on. You didn't think you're disappearance would go unnoticed did you?! You're the boy-who-lived, the Chosen One, the...” Harry held up his other hand.

“I would hope our little arrangement had taught you a lesson Rita,” Harry calmly but coldly said. “Apparently not. I hear the fine for being an unregistered animagus has gone up recently.” To this, Rita merely smirked and pulled out a small piece of paper, flashing it before the other two. “What's that,” Harry demanded to know. Hermione paled slightly as recognition dawned on her face.

“It's an animagi registration license. She must have registered with the Ministry.” Harry's features darkened slightly, as Rita held on to her smug look.

“Yes, and I believe I have you on underage magic use for that little animagus revealing spell. And conjuring that glass in front of nearly twenty muggles. I would think you had more caution Mr. Potter. Won't look too kindly to have the wand of the Chosen One snapped now would it.” She devilishly smiled as she continued. “Of course, if you were to give me the exclusive as to where you've been hiding out the last week...” she paused and looked at Hermione, “and other such sordid details, I'm certain we could come to some sort of agreement.”

The look on Harry's face was disconcerting as far as Rita was concerned. At first he simply kept a straight, unflinching gaze upon her. Then, briefly, there was a slight crack at the corners of his mouth. It happened again, longer this time, and lingering on as a sort of half-hearted smirk. Before long Harry had begun to chuckle, and then broke out into a full-on laugh that borderlined on a maniac cackle. Even Hermione looked at him strangely as he finally calmed down, but with a cocky smirk instead of the grim drawn frown that he had previously.

“That's the best you have? That's the best you could come up with to try and blackmail me?” He shook his head in mock indignation. “Rita I must say I'm disappointed, I thought you were more resourceful than that. Regardless however, it won't work, seeing as how I was emancipated...and I can make your life a living hell.”

Rita arched an eyebrow. The boy was bluffing. He had to be. Apparently Harry could see her calling his bluff as well. “I assume you recognize this,” he said holding up his right hand. There, situated on his 4th finger was a rather large gold ring with an ornate lion carved into it. Rita stared at it for a long time, before recognizing it as the Potter family ring. When her face realized what she was seeing, Harry forcefully stated, “Black.” With a small flash the ring on his finger changed to a slightly smaller silver one with a black stone set in the middle, the all-too-familiar Black family crest. Rita let out a bit of a gulp. Finally, Harry forcefully stated again, “Seldon.” The ring changed a third time, being replaced with another gold band, this time interwoven with silver with a jade stone set in the center. She recognized all three rings...and her face instantly went pale.

“Judging from your reaction I assume you know what my being head of these three houses means,” Harry said plainly, after changing the ring on his finger back to the Potter crest. “It means I have a 61 stake in the Daily Prophet, more than majority ownership, and given my connections within the rest of the wizarding world, I can make it so that you are never published again. Not for an expose on me, not even for a weather report for a Quidditch game.”

Harry kept as straight a face as he could on the outside, though on the inside he was practically beside himself with glee at the turn of fortune. For her part Hermione merely stood back and watched, her wand lowered slightly, a smirk forming on her face as well. They both gazed down at Rita, who was outwardly trying to maintain her composure, but on the inside screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Of course,” Harry continued, his voice adding inflection at the end, “I'm sure we can come to some sort of an arrangement.” After a few moments of contemplating her limited options, Rita let out a deep sigh and lowered her head slightly.

“Fine fine whatever just...whatever.”

“Good, firstly I want you to give your word that you'll not tell a soul that you spotted us. Secondly, I want you to sit back and wait patiently.” Her eyes went wide at this.

“And what am I supposed to do while waiting, twiddle my thumbs?” Rita removed her glasses and stared directly into Harry's eyes. “I still have to eat you know.”

“Oh I know,” Harry replied with a smile, “And that's why I'll set you up with a monthly stipend from Gringott's. I'd say...double whatever the Prophet is paying you a month to simply work freelance.” At this point Rita was regretting removing her glasses, given the way that her eyes were comically bulging out. “I assume that is acceptable. For your pay you will simply wait until needed. At which point, I promise you a story that will make your career legendary, far more than any ratting out of little old me could give you.” Harry lowered his wand completely, casually flicking it towards Rita before sheathing it. “What do you say?”

Rita simply sat there too stunned to notice anything or to reply to anything. A few minutes ago she was about to jump on a particularly juicy news story, and now she was being offered essentially free money to sit on her bum and then be handed, supposedly, the biggest story of her career on a silver platter.

He had her at the free money.

“Very well Mr. Potter,” Rita said with a fake smile, shaking Harry's hand. “I assume you will set up the details.”

“Of course,” Harry returned with equally fake pleasantries. “I'll owl you tomorrow once I have the stipend set up with Gringott's. It's been a pleasure doing business with you Rita.”

“The same to you Mr. Potter.” Once again false smiles and bravado were exchanged, and the two of them broke off, Rita turning around the alleyway, more than likely finding a way to spend her newly gained wealth, and Harry just standing there, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Hermione waited several moments before she finally spoke. “Harry, what just happened?” Harry rubbed his head, scratching behind his ear with one eye slightly closed as he matter-of-factly responded.

“We just cut off a potential enemy and gained a potentially valuable ally.” He smirked and then planted a small kiss on Hermione's forehead, effectively silencing her for the moment. “Trust me 'Mione. I made it so that she won't even think about double crossing us.” He left it at that, though Hermione wondered whatever Harry's magically enhanced mind had thought of.

Down the street, Rita's unflattering mind did consider the possibility of betraying her new benefactor, when she suddenly felt a rumbling in her stomach and a sudden urge to find the nearest bathroom.

Harry merely kept a smirk on his face as they walked back towards the Leaky Cauldron. “What are you going to have her write about,” Hermione finally asked, stopping Harry just outside the pub. He turned around, the smile gone, replaced with a look that was a pure mixture of anger, frustration, and an odd sort of righteousness.

“Dumbledore,” was all he said.

/ - / - / - /

Nigelius Ebeneezer Ollivander liked to think he had a good head on his shoulders. Even at a spry 182 years of age (and getting younger as he liked to say) he still remembered every single wand he had ever sold and to whom he had sold it. If he thought hard enough he could probably remember what he had for breakfast on the morning of the day he had sold the wand. This knowledge was something he prided himself on, and he made sure to state it to every single one of his customers.

And so it was that a very obvious frown crossed his face when a young couple he didn't immediately recognize came into his shop. As he searched their faces he couldn't for the life of him place them. Still, he hid his frustration as he stepped out of his spindly chair and approached them.

“Good afternoon,” he said with a smile. “How can I help you today?” He offered as cheery a disposition as he could, though from the look the taller man was giving him, Ollivander half-suspected he had an inkling of the old man's frustration.

Quickly Ollivander felt a tentative probe into his mind. He almost immediately recognized the tendrils of legilimancy coming from one of the customers. Quickly Ollivander shut off his mind and closed his occulumency shields to full bore, and the intruder was quickly expelled.

“You're an Occulumens,” the man said slowly, with a small smile drawing across his face.

“Yes,” Ollivander replied, his face drawn. “And would you mind explaining why exactly you used legilimency on me?” He wasn't one who normally got angry, but the affront by this individual was quickly getting on his nerves. To Ollivander's surprise however, the man showed a sheepish smile as he pulled out a wand that Ollivander seemed to recognize.

“Sorry about that,” he explained, “But I had to be safe.” With a wave of his wand, the man's features changed from that of an aristocratic blonde to that of the famous Harry Potter. His female companion likewise transfigured, revealing a rather charming bushy haired witch that Ollivander took a moment to recognize as one Hermione Granger. Ollivander stared at the two of them as recognition dawned on his face.

“I see,” he continued, breathing deeply to settle his nerves. “Well I can certainly say when I sold you that holly wand with a phoenix tail feather Mr. Potter, I predicted great things for you. It's nice to see that you thus far haven't disappointed me.” He turned to Hermione. “And you Miss Granger, with your wand at 9 3/8”, vinewood, dragon heartstring core that is surprisingly stiff, I hear you're the brightest witch of your age.” She blushed slightly, but had a deep seeded sadness that lurked beyond the humility. Ollivander didn't pry however.

“Mr. Ollivander sir,” Harry politely interceded, “I need a second wand.” He glanced over at Hermione. “And I was wondering if you had any wand holsters. Madame Malkin's has a limited selection, and I figured you might have a better one.”

Ollivander stared at Harry for a moment before his reply. He contemplated reaching out with his own legilimency, but figured that if the boy was a skilled legilimens, he probably had his own occulumency shields that were as hard as diamonds. He also briefly contemplated using it on the girl, but held off for fear of appearing too overbearing. Instead he merely put on a slightly stunned face. “I do have a wide variety of holsters Mr. Potter, but why on earth would you need a second wand?”

“A year ago, when Voldemort came back, he and I dueled each other. I assume you know what happens when brother wands duel one another.” Ollivander nodded.

“I see. Well while I can understand your reasoning Mr. Potter, I'm afraid that what you are asking is a bit difficult even for my prodigious skills.” He paused for a moment and looked at a softly clicking grandfather clock in the distance of the shop. “That is of course unless you have a pressing engagement.”

Glancing down at his own watch, Harry frowned. They were due at Gringott's for the meeting with Remus in less than an hour. “I'm afraid we do,” Harry answered, before inquiring “Why should it take that long?”

“You remember the difficulty I had in fitting you for your first wand,” Harry nodded, “Well as I said then...the wand chooses the wizard Mr. Potter. To find another wand that would fit you would be...rather difficult. Not impossible mind you, but very difficult.” He gazed down at Harry, allowing his eyes to twinkle slightly in the faint candlelight. “But come back when you have some more free time, I'd be more than up to the professional challenge.” Harry nodded, and motioned to look at the wand holsters, when Hermione finally spoke up.

“I don't suppose you sell books and wand making?” she asked, her voice a bit more than curious. Ollivander turned towards her, completely caught off guard by the question, while Harry merely smiled and shook his head slightly, apparently clued in to some inside joke that Ollivander wasn't privy to.

“I suppose I can come to some arrangement,” Ollivander finally answered, before adding “Though I doubt they'll be of much use to you. After all, the art of wandmaking is a skill that takes years to even begin to understand, let alone master. I myself have had 8 apprentices, and the shortest tenured of those stayed with me the better part of 11 years.” Inwardly however, he smiled at the woman's enthusiasm at learning the subject. He walked behind him and grabbed a few dusty tomes off the shelf, eager to make the deal.

Nigelius Ebeneezer Ollivander liked to think head has a good head on his shoulders, and that good head was telling him there was a good deal of money to be made.

/ - / - / - /

Remus Lupin was currently sitting in the conference room that he had rented out for the afternoon. Normally he wouldn't do much business with the goblins. It wasn't anything against them personally, to be truthful, it was just that ever since he was a boy going to Diagon Alley for the first time he had a severe uncomfortable stance around them. However, for Harry's sake of privacy, it would be best that they held this meeting here.

He had arrived early, of course, as was his custom. However judging from the small desk clock in the room Harry had not taken to such promptness. It was now ten after two, and Remus was beginning to worry that Harry had decided not to show after all. His worries were lifted however a moment later when he heard a slight click and quickly turned towards the door. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Harry...and Hermione, both looking as they should have.

It still amazed Remus to no end how much Harry looked like his father, from the perpetually ruffled black hair to the wire-rimmed spectacles dotting his face. Seeing him now, Remus was reminded of this fact all at once, and had to hold back a tinge of sadness in his heart. He saw Hermione close the door behind them, and saw the young woman walk with more than a hint of sadness lurking just behind her features, although all things considered it was understandable.

“Harry,” Remus solemnly whispered, standing up and embracing the young man whom Remus considered his last link to his friends and, in most ways, considered him the closest thing he'd ever have to a son of his own. They stayed that way for a while, before Harry broke away from embrace and took a seat next to where Remus had been sitting. Remus walked over and gave a hug to Hermione, offering a solemn “I'm so sorry about what happened Hermione.” She nodded onto his shoulder, and Remus could tell she stifled a sob. Breaking away, they each took their seats, Remus moving to across the table from Harry and Hermione. It was not lost on him that they were sitting closer than they normally did.

“Where have you been,” was Remus' first question. He had many, but that seemed to be the most pressing. Knowing that they were in fact safe and unharmed answered many potential questions that Remus was glad to have never asked. Harry stared at him a moment, his eyes slightly twinkling in the room's ambient light. Remus was throughly confused by the gesture. He hadn't seen that twinkling in anyone's eyes save but for one person, Dumbledore. Hermione seemed to clue in to what Harry was doing before Remus could, and reassuringly rubbed his shoulder.

“Werewolves are most immune to legilimency Harry,” she explained, causing Harry to turn to her and smile. “The nature of their condition makes them nearly impossible to read...even for Dumbledore. I doubt even V-Voldemort would be able to fully gain what he wanted out of him.” Harry nodded, and let out a deep sigh of relief, while Remus watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow.

“Since when did you know legilimency?” he asked, pointing a finger at Harry. “I was under the impression the lessons Snape was giving you were...not going well.”

“You could say that,” Harry replied with a smirk. Remus immediately noticed the tone of the young...man's voice had changed slightly. It sounded, just from that one statement, to be a bit more confident then the last time that Remus had spoken with him. “To answer your question...well...maybe it's best if I start from the beginning. I assume you know about the prophecy?” Remus nodded, his brow furrowed. James had told him the prophecy shortly after it was made. “Well then I know where to start.” He motioned to Hermione.

“On the way home from Hogwarts, I was reading a book on cursebreakers. I was always interested in the career and had thought about it after I graduated.” She paused a moment, hesitant about something, but then continued. “I saw a spell in the book that would allow me to see if there were any kind of curses or enchantments on a witch or wizard. Knowing what little I knew about Harry's scar, I cast the spell to try and see what effect it had on his magical aura. I was surprised to find there were several curses on him, many of them I couldn't figure out what they were.” Remus' eyes went wide as he looked at Harry, who maintained an even countenance throughout the casual explanation. “I cast a small cursebreaking spell that was within my ability, and that seemed to disrupt one of the curses a bit but it was hard to tell for certain. We got to Kings Cross before I could research further.”

Harry picked up the story seamlessly. “I was taken by my aunt and uncle following that, but for some reason I didn't understand at the time, they were treating me better than normal. Not well...but not like they usually do. I was in my room, admittedly sulking a bit over...” Harry paused a moment as well, and Remus nodded his head at the gesture, “right...Hedwig came through the window and gave me a letter from Gringotts.

“The first thing the letter said was that someone, we don't know who, has been pilfering from my trust vault for some time. But that wasn't even the most intriguing news.” He took a deep breath, and held out his hand. For the first time Remus noticed a rather large gold ring on his finger, but couldn't make it out beyond that. “Potter, Black, Seldon, Warrens, Draven,” Harry clearly stated in rapid succession. There was a moment of hesitation before 4 more rings, each of different style and metal appeared on the other fingers of his hand. Remus stared at them all individually, quickly coming to a realization of what that meant.

“But...how...” his mind wanted to go in a thousand different directions at the moment, but after a few minutes Remus calmed himself down and managed to come to a conclusive first statement. “Harry, you're not even sixteen yet. There's no way you could have those rings!”

“Haiden Orlock said something similar, but he explained that due to the Black's family standing with the goblin nation that I could become lord of that house before I legally came of age. By doing so, I was officially emancipated. Once that happened, I was able to inherit those other houses. The Warrens and Seldon titles were passed down through several generations of muggles before they came to my mother. The Draven line was patriarchal, descended from my dad's side of the family.” He paused, breathing deeper. Remus could instantly tell that there was something else.

“There was more in that letter,” Remus plainly said, without a questioning undertone to the statement. Harry nodded, and looked at his fingers again. Chanting the name Potter once the original ring returned, while the others vanished into thin air.

“After I learned of my inheritance, Orlock informed me of another little tidbit that our esteemed headmaster saw fit to leave me in the dark on. The Potter, Warrens, Seldon and Draven families are all direct descendants of the Four Founders of Hogwarts.” Remus was certain that if he wasn't firmly planted in his seat, he would have collapsed. “I underwent the inheritance ritual and they judged me as worthy to be their heir. As a result they greatly expanded my spell and potions knowledge, gave me the ability to speak several different languages, improved my mental and emotional control, changed my physical appearance, and removed all of those bloody curses that I had on me, including the link with Voldemort.” He stopped, and looked as if a bit of a burden had been lifted off his chest.

Remus sat there, shocked. Part of him wanted to think that this was all an elaborate prank. After all Harry was James' son. The majority of what he said however, Remus accepted. Harry would have no reason to lie to him. And there would be no way that Hermione would be in on the joke too. Finally, he spoke up.

“Wow, that's...that's amazing Harry.” Harry seemed to nod with a soft smile on his face, a bit overwhelmed by it himself. Remus then frowned. “I thought you said they changed your physical appearance.” Harry nodded, and pulled his wand out from his sleeve. Waving it across his face, Remus looked away for a moment, before turning back to Harry with an astounded look on his face.

Where once the Harry he knew had sat, now was a different, and much more mature individual. His hair was a bit messier than before, and a fair bit longer as well, though it looked to have been recently cut. His face had an edge to it that spoke of wisdom beyond his years. His body had filled out rather considerably, and he was a bit taller as well. Harry removed his telltale glasses and flung his hair into some sense of order in the front, revealing to Remus that his famous scar had been reduced to a mere afterthought.

“I see then,” Remus said, almost a little sad. For whatever reason, in that moment any connection to the past Remus saw in Harry was irreparably damaged. For the first time, Remus saw Harry as truly his own man. Quickly changing the subject, Remus continued. “What about these curses? What were they?” Almost instantly Harry's features darkened.

“There were several,” Hermione interjected, her own voice betraying her anger. This also surprised Remus, though surprise was a feeling he was quickly growing accustomed to. “One of them, the one I tried to get rid of, seemed to take his...relatives...innate fear of magic and multiply it a million times. I think that explains his treatment and their hands.”

“But...who in their right mind would do such a thing?” Harry's eyes were definitely showing signs of anger right now, and it scared Remus partially.

“There's more,” he fiercely returned. “There were power blocks that kept me from reaching my full magical potential. That damn scar of mine kept the link open with Voldemort. And...there was a memory charm.” He spit that last part out, obviously perturbed about it more than anything.

“Is that the memory you spoke of in your letter?” Harry nodded. “I'm sorry Harry but I still don't have the foggiest as to what that memory would be.” Harry nodded, a look of knowing on his face.

“I figured as much. The old codger probably put one on you too.” He pulled out his wand. “Let's see here...” he closed his eyes, seeming to feel out with some unseen force, and his face twisted a bit as he seemed to find what he was looking for. “Yep, that's a memory charm alright.” He opened his eyes and looked at the dumbfounded Lupin. He sheepishly smiled, “Sorry, I still don't have a handle on everything I know yet.” Remus smiled.

“It adds to the dramatic effect though.” Harry seemed to chuckle at this, and Remus was partially relieved to have some of the seriousness lifted. The moment passed quickly however, as Harry pointed his wand at Remus' head and intoned, “Memoria Cubus.” Instantly Remus felt a pain in his head, as something was coming to the forefront.

He remembered coming upon Privet Drive some ten years ago. He remembered seeing Harry alone and beaten. He remembered taking him to his cottage in Wales, teaching him all about the magical world and telling him stories about his parents. He remembered happiness. He remembered Dumbledore coming and taking Harry back. He remembered forgetting it all.

The next few moments were an enlightened experience for Harry. He had never seen Remus get truly angry before. In one moment the man's calm demeanor and gentle amber eyes reverted to a more feral, wolflike state. His eyes narrowed as he seemingly pieced everything together, and his eyes became a bright shade of yellow. Quickly figuring it all out, Hermione jumped into action.

“Professor Lupin,” she shouted from across the table, leaning forward to take the older man's hands. “Calm down...it's us...we're here.” Lupin looked at her, and Harry thought for a split second he might attack her, but it quickly passed as Remus calmed himself and took a deep breath.

“Dumbledore has a lot to answer for,” he simply stated, before regarding Harry with determined eyes. “I can't say how much help I'll be. But if you need anything Harry, Hermione...anything at all. Never hesitate to ask.”

A/N: Probably more with Lupin in the next chapter, mostly concerning the next major plot event, as he learns where Harry and Hermione have been staying and reacts to their relationship. Caliban clues in on the identity of the Lord of Slytherin, but frustrates Malfoy in the process and we also learn something of his past. And if I think about it long and hard enough, everyone's favorite greasy git might show up.

I've also contemplated adding a plot piece that would definitely help things along in terms of characterization, and settle my own qualms as to who Book 6 should have been named for. That will probably show up to, if I get courageous enough.

A/N: Just don't hate me when this plot twist gets thrown into the mix. It was my initial thought the moment I heard the title of the sixth book. And just as an instant spoiler, I'll tell you right now the Half-Blood Prince isn't Snape in my story. Hopefully it doesn't create too many plotlines through the story.

For those wondering this is the first part of what I've deemed “The Heir Trilogy.” Eventually there may be additional ships introduced, but I'm undecided on whether or not to make them an integral part of the plot or merely an aside.

Chapter 12: The Half Blood Prince

Seeing the determined look in Remus' eyes was enough to make Harry and Hermione both broadly smile. Harry in particular realized quickly that if his plans for both Dumbledore and Voldemort, should he choose to go through with them, were to succeed, then he would need allies. Remus was now firmly listed in that camp.

Remus let out a deep sigh, his frustration alleviated somewhat, and he shook his head in disappointment. “I can't believe Dumbledore would do something like that,” he said, a tinge of sadness evident in his voice. “After everything he's done, how can he resort to these kind of tactics.”

Hermione shrugged, nearly at a loss for words. “Maybe he's just doing what he thinks is best,” she replied, trying to reconcile her lingering support for the headmaster and the evidence of the last week. She let out a hiccuped sob as she thought about things long and hard, before she quietly said, “We can't go back.”

Harry looked at her, nearly going into full protective mode at the sound of her voice. Gently he laid his hand in hers and softly spoke, “Can't go back where 'Mione?”

“Hogwarts,” she said in equal silence. Harry just sat there, contemplating the gravity of the statement. He hadn't even given thought to Hogwarts and going back in the fall, given the events of recent days. Hermione composed herself and wiped a few tears from her eyes. “At least I don't think I can. Not after everything that's happened. I just can't go back and pretend like everything's as it was. Going to Quidditch matches, sitting in the common room and the Great Hall. It'd all be a lie.” Harry nodded slightly, partially in agreement and partially in support.

“It's a decision we can make later love,” he replied softly, pulling her into an embrace which she fervently returned. They sat that way for several moments, before a slight cough brought them back to reality. Immediately they broke about and turned to Remus, who had a wry smile on his face.

“So,” he asked playfully, “When did you two decide to join the party?” Harry and Hermione looked at him strangely as he continued to smile. “That is to say, when did you finally figure out that you two make a great couple.” There was a slight blush from both of them and Remus quickly dropped the subject. His face turned grim once more as he continued. “I think the apt question is, Harry, what are you going to do about him? From what I understand of what you've told me, being the heir of the founders grants you the ability to overrule the governors of Hogwarts, and as such you could choose to boot out Dumbledore if you so desired.”

Harry immediately shook his head. “No,” he stated simply. “For all of his meddling the old man still has his uses.” He paused a moment, contemplating those uses. “Without Dumbledore, I don't think there'd be anything holding Voldemort back from attacking Hogwarts. He is the only wizard Tom ever feared, after all.”

Remus nodded thoughtfully, while Hermione merely kept a close eye on Harry's emotionless face. She was quickly becoming adept at reading Harry's moods, a skill she soon realized she had always really possessed but had never been able to put into words until recently. Right now, he was deep in thought, struggling with himself over whatever the best course of action might be. A contemplative mood was one she was not used to seeing on Harry's face, but given everything that had happened it was somewhat understandable. After several moments of silence, she placed her hands on Harry's arm and spoke softly. “Harry, if it comes to it we might have to consider that....” she paused, trying best how to say what she was thinking.

“That Dumbledore is becoming as big a problem as Voldemort is,” Harry said staring forward, not looking at her. Hermione looked up and bit her bottom lip, nodding slightly. “To be honest I've thought of that.” Harry let out a deep sigh, lowering his head slightly. “For all that he's done I can only hope that he didn't have malicious intentions, and that everything he has done was in some twisted way what he thought was right.” He stopped for a moment before smirking to himself and adding, “Besides, even with all that I've learned I don't think I'd be able to take him down if he decided to force the issue.”

Remus merely nodded. “You are right about that Harry. Though he is far past his prime, Dumbledore is still an extremely gifted wizard.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, obviously perturbed about something. “If only we had more time to learn what we need to know, so that we can stand up to Dumbledore and take down Voldemort.” Harry sat dejectedly for a moment before a sharp gasp of air from Hermione drew his attention towards her. “'Mione what is it,” he asked with slight worry hidden in his tone.

“Time,” Hermione replied, her eyes focused on nothing in particular. She then turned to Harry with a wry smile on her face, “I think we might be able to solve that problem.”

/ - / - / - /

Draco Malfoy was not in a very good mood at the moment. Once more he had been hurried out of his current hiding place, taken somewhere to hunt, and no sooner had they left then he found himself right back here again. Once more as well he found himself convienently kept in the dark about the findings of this particular hunt.

Something had set Caliban off, that much was certain. The man had sent a house elf with something to eat for Draco and then had stalked off to his own room, informing Draco to continue working on his occulumency exercises and study parliamentary procedure. Draco had to admit, the occulumency exercises were allowing him to obtain a level of calm and serenity that he hadn't thought possible, but the calm he had achieved had the side effect of granting him a bit of distance from which to explore his current situation.

He had been raised with the concept of blood purity ingrained in him. He knew of the ways of Death Eaters in vague terms but he had always been told of the heroic deeds against people like Dumbledore and his ilk. Needless to say, his short time in the service of the Dark Lord and as Caliban's apprentice seemed to question those heroic virtues. He had his firsthand experience with that earlier today. Traveling to what Caliban had termed the scene of the crime, they found that three muggles had the misfortune of being there when they arrived. Caliban had wasted no time in dispatching two of them and then disabling the third. Caliban had instructed Draco to kill the third.

It sounded so academic the way that Caliban had said it. Kill her. In line with the ideology he had been told of since he was a young boy, Draco figured it should have been that simple. He knew the incantation, knew it all too well. Yet when it came to it he found himself with a mental block. He had pointed the wand at the woman, had thewords on the tip of his tongue, but something about the pleading look on her face gave him pause and caused him to lock up, unable to move or say anything. Caliban had apparently realized his hesitation, because a few seconds later he had killed the woman himself.

To Draco's surprise, Caliban didn't punish him for his failure. Instead they had apparated back to their hideaway, where Draco currently found himself.

After organizing his mind for the final time tonight, he slowly stood up and exited his room. He meandered down towards the living area. He crept around towards the corner and glanced over, searching for Caliban. He still had some questions for the man, and he wasn't going to be left out of his mission.

He found the elder man sitting on the floor, his legs crossed and his eyes closed. He appeared to be meditating. Draco was about to disturb him when he felt a flicker of energy come off of Caliban. A few moments passed and Draco could begin to see the vestiges of an aura forming over Caliban's entire body. Whatever he was doing, it required massive amounts of concentration. Draco felt the creeping tendrils of legilimency radiating outwards from Caliban in all directions, and in an instant he threw up his makeshift occulumency shields and stood their watching. Idly he made his way over to the couch and sat down, never once wavering from staring at Caliban, intent on figuring out what in the world he was doing.

/ - / - / - /

Voldemort awoke with a slight start. He could feel the creeping sensations of his serveant trying to reach him from across vast distances, muttering to himself he stood up out of his bed and waved his wand, lighting the candles in the room.

For a all-powerful Dark Lord, Voldemort's room was somewhat lacking in decoration. It was simple brick and mortar with a few furnishings set around and several candles lighting it. A small fireplace in the corner provided him with a link to his Death Eaters. Voldemort did not approach the fireplace however. Wrapping himself in his dark green bathrobe, he sat on a small chair in front of the fire, his eyes reflecting the small but intense fire that roared to life at his approach. He sat their a moment, his hands intertwined, before an image began to flicker in front of him. It was ill-defined at first, before taking the form of Caliban de Montesquieu. Caliban's spirit knelt before Voldemort, showing him proper respect.

“Why have you disturbed me Caliban,” Voldemort asked coldly, his eyes never blinking at the apparition before him.

“Forgive my intrusion my lord,” Caliban replied in a voice that echoed as if he stood in an empty hall, “But I have uncovered a piece of information that I feel you should receive as soon as possible.” He paused a moment, staring on an even keel with Voldemort. The Dark Lord kept his straightedged glance on the projection, never once blinking, before he motioned for Caliban to continue.

“This had better be about Potter,” he spat out, crossing his legs and resting his arms on the sides of his chair. “Snape has been less than helpful in digging up information from that idiot Dumbledore.” A small frown crossed Caliban's face at the mention of that name, before he continued.

“It does, but unfortunately I cannot report that I have found his hiding place. It will take some time yet...” he trailed off, apparently rethinking his words, before continuing. “Young Malfoy and I today traveled to the scene of the crime as it were....the house that you sent Caldwell, Crabbe & Goyle to. Once there I was able to discern four magical resonance trails that I could identify. One was that of the Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. A second was what I guessed to be that of the mudblood that you sent Caldwell to kill.” He paused, seeming to grow angry with the next bit of information.

“Continue Caliban,” Voldemort said with a bit of anger in his voice, “Lest you try my patience.” He knew currently there was little he could do to Caliban, not that he would anyway, but he allowed his anger to swell up as a show anyway. Caliban, used to such displays, virtually ignored it.

“The other two trails were powerful, incredibly so. There's no doubt in my mind that one of them was this self-professed heir of Slytherin.” He paused again, his normally calm demeanor replaced with a small bit of fury before dying down. “One of them was Dumbledore, and despite his past I doubt he would lay such a claim now. The other trail....was Potter's.”

Voldemort stroked his chin, the firelight eerily mimicking the angry storm clouding his mind at the moment. “Are you daring to claim that my enemy is an heir of Slytherin?”

“No my lord,” Caliban quickly corrected, “I am insinuating that he is claiming to be an heir of Slytherin. There is no doubt in my mind that such claims are false.” He paused a moment before adding, “I'm not certain why he would make such a claim, but we shall discover it once I bring him before you.”

Voldemort nodded and glanced over at the fire for a moment, seeming to be deep in thought. After several seconds he turned his gaze back to Caliban's projection and asked, “How goes the training of young Malfoy?”

Caliban frowned and let out a bit of a sigh, “He may look like his father,” Caliban concluded, “But he doesn't have his father's temperment....nor his killer instinct, yet. Give me time, I'm sure that with enough prodding he'll learn to utilize his hatred.”

Several moments passed before Voldemort asked, “Are you going to tell him the truth?”

“Yes,” Caliban replied simply, “Perhaps that will bring him to his senses.”

/ - / - / - /

The Order of the Phoenix, or at least a small portion of it, was currently gathered at Grimmauld Place, summing up the current situation. Dumbledore sat in the kitchen with his Order gathered around him, sans the recent resignation of one Remus Lupin. To his left the Weasleys, McGonagall and Tonks all sat, while to his right Snape, Sturgis, Moody and Hesta Jones flanked him. Dumbledore was actually trying not to nod off while Hesta Jones droned on about the Ministry tracking vampires or some such thing. She monotonously went on at a steady pace, clearly trying to impersonate Professor Binns as best she could. He glanced around and saw that he wasn't the only one. Sturgis was already fast asleep, while Moody had his good eye shut and his magical eye was drooping. Snape seemed disinterested, while Molly and Arthur seemed to be conversing in a nonverbal manner that annoyed Dumbledore to no end. Only McGonagall seemed to be paying attention, and even she was beginning to fade.

By far the most interesting response was that of Tonks. The young auror had acted dejectedly all day, her normally vibrant hair color drooped down to a mousy brown that was well out of order. Dumbledore filed a mental note to converse with her at a convienent opportunity.

After what seemed to be ages, Hesta finished her discertation and sat down. Dumbledore cleared his throat to awake the snoozing Order members before he asked, “Is there any other business to conduct this evening?” He turned to Snape, hopeful that the man had some answers.

The Potions Master slowly stood up, a slight sneer across his face. He was tired, more tired than Albus could ever remember him looking, as if he had been through some kind of ordeal. Whatever it was, Severus didn't broach the subject. He merely glanced over at the headmaster, a slightly worried look inching into the edges of his countenance. “Headmaster,” he began, “After some time I have managed to garner a bit of information about the Dark Lord's current plans. Since his attack on the house in Kensington a week ago, he has laid low because of someone he perceives to be a threat to him.”

Albus raised an eyebrow. His conversation with Kingsley had given him the identity of who had stopped the attack in Kensington. It was one of the few things he knew for certain about Harry's actions of the last week. He of course knew based on that little family gift he had of tracking magic. He thought briefly how Voldemort might know, while Snape continued.

“Someone stopped the attack on the house, someone incredibly powerful. This person was also claiming to be an heir of Slytherin.”

Dumbledore nearly fell over in his seat. Quickly he tried to compose himself, and he glanced around to see if anyone had caught the reaction. Fortunately, only Moody seemed to catch on, as did Snape to a certain degree. Snape dismissed it though as merely surprise and kept talking.

“Furthermore, Voldemort has learned of Potter's disappearance. According to what was said in private chambers, something has interfered with the link between Potter and the Dark Lord. To find out what, and to find this heir of Slytherin, Voldemort has dispatched Caliban de Montesquieu to hunt them down.” Dumbledore winced at the ferocious Death Eater's name. Snape finished his tale, leaving out one important detail that no one else need know about at the moment, and sat down.

“Thank you for this information Severus,” Dumbledore said with as much of a feigned smile as he stood up. “This meeting is concluded. Arthur, Molly could you wait for me outside please.” The two Weasleys nodded and everyone made their way towards the exit. Albus kept watch as everyone left, everyone that is except Alastor Moody.

Dumbledore's feigned happiness immediately disappeared the moment the last Order member was out of the room. He instantly let out a grumbled sigh and slouched back down in his chair. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lemon drop, tossing it into his mouth without a second thought. Moody simply sat and watched it all, not saying anything for a few moments, before he finally interjected.

“You knew you couldn't fight this forever Albus,” Moody said with an even keel. “That prophecy....”

“The prophecy is none of your concern Alastor.” Dumbledore interjected quickly. “And it has not come to pass...yet. There is still time to stop it.”

“Did you perhaps think that there might be no fighting against it?” Alastor stood to leave, and as he made his way out the door Albus muttered under his breath....

“Every single day since it was made, old friend.”

/ - / - / - /

Harry was currently staring at Hermione with what could best be described as a gobsmacked expression on his face. Hermione had just suggested that the solution to their problem was simple really. They needed more time, so why not make more time.

As Harry went through the motions of figuring it out, he quickly settled on the notion of a time turner. But that wouldn't work, Harry quickly reminded himself, for two very important reasons. Firstly, a Time Turner could take you back a few hours, a day at most. He had no real desire to spend the same day over and over and over again. The second, and more practical reason, was that all the Time Turners had been destroyed in the Department of Mysteries. The memory caused him to momentarily shudder.

“That's the beauty of it Harry,” Hermione had said with a smile, “We don't need a time turner....we have you.”

And so it was that Harry found himself completely and utterly lost. Sensing the look of profound confusion on his face, Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes. “Honestly Harry,” she smirked, “Haven't you ever wondered how a time turner works?” Harry shook his head.

“It's a combination of things really,” Remus interrupted. “The actual time travelling is caused by arthimantic constructs that are rather complicated. The Time Turner itself is constructed and enchanted by way of ancient runes.” Suddenly a light clicked on in Remus head, and seemingly in Harry's as well.

“So, you think that if I use my inherited knowledge of runes, that I'll be able to construct a Time Turner?” He paused for a moment, going over the plan in his mind. “But I haven't the slightest clue when it comes to artihmancy.”

“That's where I come in,” Hermione said. “I was going through some of the books in your library and you have some on arithmancy. It'll be tough, but between the two of us I think we can do it. And better yet, we can probably improve it. We might even be able to get a year's worth of training in the timespan of a single day.” Harry stood there for a moment, before a large grin began to spread across his face.

“Have I ever told you you're brilliant Hermione,” he replied with a chuckle. Hermione giggled and nodded.

“Once or twice.”

Remus looked at the two of them and proceeded to stand up, “I'll try and run interference with Dumbledore to keep him off your tail. But whatever you're going to do to him, I don't suggest you hide forever.” He paused for a moment, considering something, “You do know Harry that as head of those 5 houses you are entitled to five votes on the Wizengamot?” Harry nodded. “There's a meeting of the body in about two weeks. I suggest you make your presence known there.”

Harry's jaw set and he nodded. “I intend to be,” he said with firm resolve, “The old man has a lot to answer for.”

/ - / - / - /

Draco sat there for what seemed to be hours, keeping a close eye on Caliban. It came as a quick startle to him when the tendrils of legilimency radiating off of him faded away and Caliban's eyes shot open. He stared ahead, looking past Draco for a moment, before turning a cold blue gaze on the younger Malfoy. He sneered slightly, before standing up and dusting himself off, anticipating Draco's question as he did so.

“It's a modified form of astral projection. Only skilled legilimens can engage in it. It serves me as a direct link to the Dark Lord.” He paused a moment before smirking, “You must be coming along well on your occulumency lessons if you were able to detect the tendrils of legilimency coming off my meditating mind.”

“We're you contatcing the Dark Lord about our mission,” Draco quickly asked, changing the subject. The inquisitive glare Caliban was giving him was a bit disconcerting, as far as Draco was concerned.

“Yes,” Caliban said simply, “I confirmed my suspicions that our two quarries are one in the same.”

Draco's eyes shot wide at this. “You mean to tell me that Potter has the audacity to call himself an Heir of Slytherin.” The boldness of Harry's claim made Draco's insides churn with bile. “How's that even possible. Sure the Potter name is one of the oldest in Britain, but his mother was a mudblood, a filthy winch.” He paused before he added, “And he hangs around with Weasel-bee and that worthless mudblood know-it-all. There's no way he could make such a claim.”

Surprisingly Caliban chuckled. “Believe it or not Malfoy, that is your decision. But as I said before, do not underestimate our enemy....even if he is a half-blood.” He paused before adding, “Would it surprise you to learn that our lord and master is himself a half blood?”

If Draco wasn't sitting down he likely would have collapsed. His countenance took a grim turn. “You lie....” He briefly contemplated pulling his wand on the blasphemer, but kept his anger in check for the moment. Caliban lied, and pulled out his own wand.

“Oh I do not...and I can prove it too. I, Caliban de Montesquieu, do hereby swear on my life and magic that all that I have and will reveal tonight is, to the best of my knowledge, true.” There was a bright glow from his wand as the oath took affect, and when it ceased Caliban placed his wand in his pocket. He looked around, as if waiting for a bolt of lightning to come crashing down from the sky. “Since I'm still alive I must be telling the truth.” Draco's expression quickly turned from anger to disbelief. There was no earthly way he was possibly telling the truth.

Caliban merely smiled, it was time to give the boy the motivation he needed.

“Of course, Voldemort isn't the only one telling lies about his heritage....” He sat down and leaned forward, his blue gaze piercing directly into Draco's soul and a wicked smile also crossing his face.

“Just like Voldemort, just like Potter,” he finished, “You, Draco Malfoy. You are a half-blood as well.”

A/N: I hope you see the connection of Half-Blood Prince? (Draco is prince-like, hence the title?). I'll explain his heritage, as well as Caliban's in the next chapter, though if you'd been paying attention you should be able to take a stab as to what connections Caliban might have in his past (the giveaway is in this chapter).

We check up with Ron in the next chapter, and get the scoop on Dumbledore's little deal with Molly and Arthur as well, followed by a desperate act by a desperate man. Meanwhile Harry and Hermione make their preperations for their training, and if I feel like it we'll explore the basement of Potter Manor.

Again, I apologize for the serious delay in getting this chapter out. But I hope it was worth the wait. I realize the short chapter is a bit disheartening....but it's all setting up to the big Wizengamot meeting and Harry's training. And there is death on the horizon, but it's uncertain who yet.

A/N: All the stuff about Draco's heritage is what I would have pointed to had I written Half-Blood Prince. Of course if I had written Half-Blood Prince I probably would have written the other Potter books as well, and then things would have been much different now wouldn't they of.

Chapter 13: The Healing Process

Time came to a standstill for Draco Malfoy. The words of Caliban still reverberated through his mind echoing like a deep song in a widespread canyon. At first they didn't latch onto anything, the sheer absurdity of the notion that he, the scion of Lucius Malfoy, would be a half-blood was complete and utter nonsense. He found himself eagerly anticipating the painful death and loss of magic that would surely overcome this arrogant mudblood standing in front of him.

He waited for a few seconds, still certain the death was yet to come.

Another few seconds passed.

And another.

Soon thirty seconds had passed, and Caliban was still very much alive, with that ever present smirk still plastered firmly onto his face.

Draco scowled, though a small nugget of fear and doubt managed to creep its way into the back of his mind. His anger began to show, and he could feel his wand slip out of the charmed holster Caliban had given him and fit neatly into his hand. Caliban looked down, his smile broadening a bit more.

“What are you going to do Malfoy, hex me?” He barked out a laugh. “As if you could even muster enough daring to curse me.” He tilted his head, toying with Draco's emotions. “Perhaps you're going to use an unforgivable on me then?” His smile grew even broader. “That's certainly what your father would do. I've just spilled the proverbial beans on his deepest, darkest secret....even a spineless worm like your father wouldn't hesitate to kill me where I stand. But then again....we know you're not your father.” Caliban leaned forward, drawing closer to Draco, who by this point was seething. “You're nothing but a half-witted halfblood....nothing more than a filthy mudblood.”

It was all Malfoy could take. He fired off a few cutting hexes towards Caliban, confident that the older Death Eater wouldn't be able to dodge them or put up a shield in time. To his surprise however, Caliban merely flicked his wand and the curses flashed off of him harmlessly. Caliban laughed as Draco sat wide-eyed at the display, his mouth slightly dropping for a moment, before it shut again as anger once again filled his face.

“You're a liar,” Draco said flatly, “I don't know how you did it...but you faked that wizard's oath. There's no earthly way that what you're saying is true.”

Caliban shook his head, “I falsified nothing.”

“Your name,” Draco replied in return, his face becoming much more confident. “It's not really Caliban de Montesquieu. That make the wizard's oath invalid. You can lie till your blue in the face.”

“Clever little mudblood,” Caliban mused, earning another glare and snarl from Malfoy. “But alas you are wrong again. Though Caliban de Montesquieu may in fact not be the name given to me by my blood father, it is the name I have taken as my own since then. So in fact, my oath still rings true.”

Draco's eyes resumed their widened stance, if what Caliban said was true then.....No, it couldn't possibly be true he told himself. There was no way. It went against everything he had ever been told, everything he had ever known.

“It's quite a tale really,” Caliban mused, speaking to himself if no one else. “You're father loved Narcissa Black, but unfortunately an errant curse in her fourth year had left Narcissa infertile. Lucius wanted to marry Narcissa, but knew he would need an heir if he was to be allowed to inherit the Malfoy fortune without it passing on to one of his brother's. Fortunately for him, only a few people knew of Narcissa's....handicap. So he turned to me for help. I found him a muggle wench that he raped and left pregnant. Nine months later....you were born. I then dispatched of your birth mother, and handed you over to Lucius.” He thought for a moment before adding, “I suppose he could have used a witch instead of a muggle stripper. Lord knows I would have liked to use my cousin Molly, but then again he didn't want any Ministry entanglements.” Caliban finished and sat back, twirling his wand in his hands. “So, the point is, don't assume your enemy to be weaker than you simply based on his blood. Voldemort is a half-blood....I was born of pureblood ancestry....sorted into Slytherin just as my father was. Yet Voldemort is three times the wizard I could ever hope to be in terms of raw magical ability.”

Draco was stunned, virtually near mental collapse as everything came over him at once. Finally, unable to latch on to anything else, he asked, “Who were your parents?”

Caliban smirked and then frowned in rapid succession. “My birth name was Agamemnon. My mother was Madeline Prewett. My father.....was Albus Dumbledore.”

/ - / - / - /

Harry threw another book over his shoulder and grabbed the next one from his stack. Thus far he was having trouble finding exactly what runes should be used in the construction of a Time Turner. Sadly, the Ministry seemed to deem such information as better suited as being kept out of the public domain.

He had found a few runes dealing with time travel, but none that would enchant an object with such a property, at least not without a great deal of effort. Though he had a vague intuition of what to look for, having never taken ancient runes before he wasn't able to rely as much on his inherited knowledge as before. He guessed that since he couldn't conceptualize it in his own mind completely, he was having trouble finding what he was looking for.

Idly he took a break for a moment to glance over at Hermione. Since they had returned from the bank she had thrown herself into various book about arithmancy and surprisingly some about ward construction as well. He tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowed with worry. She hadn't really let up much since this whole thing had begun, diving in with fervent tenacity into every task she could find and essentially following him around by the hand without taking the initiative. It was this second aspect that told him that this was not the normal Hermione, and frankly it worried him.

He tried to quash the nagging voice in the back of his head that the only reason she had said that she loved him was because of the death of her parents. That the only reason she was there was simply for protection and for someone to try and make the pain go away. And if that's all it was, he told himself, he would be there, despite what it would mean for him. Regardless of that though, he knew that she should be grieving more than she was. She was throwing herself into her work, trying hard to think about anything else but the fact that her parents were dead.

It was only in her nightmares that he saw the brief snapshot of what lay beneath her studious activities and her gentle demeanor. As much as he didn't want to bring that to the forefront, he knew from firsthand experience how much such grief could eventually consume a person if it wasn't confronted, at least somewhat.

Of course, thinking that and doing something about it were two completely different things. She seemed happier, even if he told himself that she wasn't. She needed closure, and for whatever reason it was going to be incredibly difficult to give her that. Harry had sent Dobby to the Granger's house to retrieve many of her items as he could. Many of the magical items that were left behind the first time around had since disappeared, as well as, Dobby was sad to report, the bodies of Hermione's parents. Hermione had remarked once that she had no other family to speak of, at least none in Britain, and as a result Harry wanted to be able to give her parents a proper burial, wherever that might be. Much to his disappointment however, the bodies had been taken, more than likely by Ministry Officials. Not being able to bury them properly might hinder his plans for helping him heal Hermione. Sighing he glanced back down at another book, though his eyes couldn't help but wander upwards to glance at Hermione every so often. Internally, he vowed to do everything he could to help her come to grips with things.

Little did he realize the gears in motion to stop him from doing just that.

/ - / - / - /

Time passed slowly as Draco processed what Caliban had just said. He was still somewhere around his father knocking up a muggle woman who turned out to be his mother, though a part of his mind was running circles around the notion that Caliban had just claimed to be, and for all intents and purposes was, if the Wizarding Oath held any water, the son of Albus Dumbledore, leader of the light.

“I suppose it is an irony,” Caliban mused to himself, leaning back. If he wanted Draco to listen, it didn't show. “The Leader of the Light's only son becoming the servant of the Dark Lord himself.” He pulled out his wand and pointed at the open kitchen door. A bottle of brandy came whizzing out, followed by a small glass tumbler. Waving his wand over the glass after he caught it, a couple of ice cubes fell in, and he poured the brandy a few seconds later. He leaned back, swirling around the brown liquid, caught up in his memories. “Voldemort and I were schoolmates. He went by Tom Riddle then, until I found his heritage for him. He also helped me in ways that are best left a secret between friends....between servant and master.” He took a shot of the brandy as his features darkened for a split second.

In Caliban's mind, memories of his father were dredged up from the small corners of his subconscious where they had been buried. The death of his family, all in the name of some vague constructed concept of the greater good, was a sore point to him. He quickly took another shot of brandy, reminding himself that they were no longer his family. His family was still very much alive. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Draco, who to this point had still said nothing.

“You're awfully quiet,” Caliban said with a smirk. “Perhaps there's some part of my claim you wish to deny some more.” He frowned when he saw there was still no response from Malfoy. Caliban sat the glass down and walked over to Malfoy. He waved his hand in front of the boy's face and snapped his fingers a couple times. Caliban sneered as he saw the catatonic state that Draco's mind had locked up in. No doubt a symptom of the boy's training in occulumency. Because of the severity of the information presented to him, and the internal war that was going on inside his mind, Draco had withdrawn into himself as a defense mechanism. He wouldn't be good for anything for a few hours. He expected the boy to attack with rage, to fight back with every ounce of fervor he had physically, not just internally. Muttering to himself, he pointed his wand at the nonresponsive Malfoy and uttered “Soporifor...” Draco slumped forward, immediately falling to sleep. Caliban levitated the young Death Eater off the ground and gently guided him to his bed. Once he was securely put away, Caliban shut the door and locked it, leaving Malfoy alone to his thoughts.

/ - / - / - /

Arthur Weasley sat in the parlor room of number 12 Grimmauld Place, pacing back and forth while his wife sat in silence. In truth, much disagreement over their actions the last few years had driven a bit of a wedge between the two lovers, and though they still cared deeply for one another, Arthur knew that there was a strain on their marriage that had never been there before.

He often wondered nowadays how they found themselves in this mess in the first place. What role did his family exactly play in the grand scheme of things? Though the Weasley family was one of the oldest of the pureblood families, of the current lines it was only predated by the Potter and the Dumbledore lordships, it had rarely interceded in politics and the like. Arthur himself had a seat on the Wizengamot, though his vote had been suspended, as had his pureblood status for a time to his family's financial situation. Time had mended that to the point where they were no longer swimming in debt.

Dumbledore had helped with that, Arthur reminded himself. Which unfortunately was part of the problem he was in.

The overtures had started innocently enough. Dumbledore had suggested to Arthur that he tell his son Ron that Harry Potter would be on the express that day. Dumbledore had suggested that Arthur offer the boy a place to stay in times of need (though Arthur would have done the latter without prodding).

It was in recent years that Dumbledore's subtle meanderings had become increasingly overt. With the return of You-Know-Who to the forefront, Dumbledore had taken what appeared to be an unhealthy interest in the personal life of Harry Potter, particularly when he hadn't seemed to keen on giving the boy a proper home in the first place. Arthur wasn't stupid, and neither was his son. Ron had seen the bruises, seen the lashings on Harry's body and when he had figured out what had caused them he had immediately owled Arthur to tell him, to try and help Harry. Dumbledore's intercessions had stopped that train of thought almost immediately.

Now the interest Dumbledore had was in Harry's lovelife. Albus seemed to be encouraging Molly and he to move their daughter Ginny into a relationship with Harry, which all things considered made sense at least from the Weasley point of view. Ginny had been saved by Harry from that awful creature in the Chamber of Secrets, she had become an auxiliary to Harry's central group of friends, and most of all she had been infatuated with Harry Potter from the moment she had laid eyes on him. To Albus Dumbledore, and to Molly Weasley to a lesser extent, that seemed to be enough.

Arthur wasn't so certain. Seeing his little girl perhaps through new eyes for the first time this year, he had come to realize that her infatuation with Harry Potter was in fact with Harry Potter....not with Harry the young man that Arthur considered to be as close to his own as he could be without red hair. Furthermore Ginny truly did seem to be over Harry, at least in a romantic sense.

Yet Molly was insistent at trying to match the two up, in addition to setting up Ron with Hermione Granger. Dumbledore supported her measures, and Arthur felt left out in the cold.

Yet he was still confident that, despite his eccentricities, Dumbledore had the right intentions in mind, which was why he was willing to go along with things, for the moment. Arthur had never been one to really take the initiative with defying anyone, particularly Dumbledore. It was this lack of ambition that might have landed him in this hot water in the first place, but it'd also been what kept his head on straight for several years as well.

A small click of the door leading to the kitchen broke Arthur from his reverie, and he and his wife looked up to see Albus Dumbledore walk in, very much looking like a 150 year old man. Dumbledore sat on a chair across from them, breathing heavily, as if he had been through a long ordeal.

“Albus, is something wrong?” Arthur ventured to ask, his concern for the man apparent.

Dumbledore seemed to compose himself for a moment and waved the Weasley patriarch off. “I'm fine Arthur, really,” he said with a sigh, though a frown was still readily apparent on his face, “I just have a horrible truth to relay to you.”

“It's about Harry isn't it,” Molly spoke up, her voice quivering a bit at the end.

“It is,” Dumbledore replied dejectedly. “I'm afraid that what Severus said has caused several pieces of the puzzle to fall into place, and many things which were not quite apparent before are apparent now.” He paused a moment, thinking, before nodding his head and turning back to Arthur. “I trust you know of the protections placed on the Granger residence.” Arthur and Molly both nodded, having the same protections placed on their own home recently. “Those wards are foolproof, I designed them myself. There's simply no way that a Death Eater could have broken them down, certainly not one as dimwitted as Jonas Caldwell.” Dumbledore brought his hand to his mouth, apparently upset by whatever conclusion this had led him too.

“Albus, what are you saying?” Arthur asked, his tone a bit harried. He had added it up in his own mind, and couldn't believe what the man was selling.

“I'm saying that they either were aided by someone from the inside, or they never attacked in the first place.” He paused a moment longer, and looked the Weasleys dead in the eye, “I'm saying Hermione Granger is a Death Eater.” There was a bit of a stifled gasp from Molly, but Arthur ignored it. He lowered his head slightly, enticing the slightest of glares towards Dumbledore.

“Is that so,” Arthur said with a touch of sarcasm in his voice. “Why would the Death Eaters include someone who was a muggleborn?”

“Voldemort is a half blood himself,” Albus clearly stated, “And perhaps Miss Granger simply wishes to get ahead in our world. Whatever her reason I believe that she has placed Harry in great danger.”

Arthur smirked, and Dumbledore could tell he wasn't buying the story. “Let's assume for a moment that you're right and that she has been acting in league with the Death Eaters....couldn't she be under the imperious curse?”

“I don't think so,” Albus said thoughtfully, hoping to get somewhere with Arthur. “She has too well organized a mind to be bewitched so easily.”

“And Lucius Malfoy didn't...” Arthur trailed off. This was still a bit of a stickling point as far as he was concerned. Albus didn't broach the subject however, and merely turned towards Molly.

“Has Harry contacted either Ron or Ginny at all this summer?” Dumbledore asked with worry in his voice. Molly stood up straighter, moving closer to her husband.

“No, at least not that they've told me.” She paused a moment, thinking something over, “I'm certain that Ginny would tell me if they heard something, but Ron might not if he was asked not to.” Dumbledore nodded.

“Perhaps I should have a talk with young Ronald. He deserves to know of this betrayal. In the meantime, I'll inform Magical Law Enforcement that they are to put out a warrant for the arrest of Hermione Granger both for the murder of her parents and for the abduction of Harry Potter. There's no doubt in my mind that these two events are connected. Go back to your family and floo me if you here anything.” Arthur kept a firm gaze on Dumbledore, and Molly turned to him. She saw the anger readily at the forefront, and interceded before Arthur could give the elder man what for. She ushered him out of the parlor and towards a fireplace.

As soon as they were out of sight, Dumbledore let out a sigh. There was nary a kernel of truth in his story, but they needn't know that right now. It was for the best anyway, he quickly told himself. If those two never got together then.....Dumbledore didn't allow himself to dwell on it any further. He headed towards the fireplace himself, eager to get a good night's sleep.

Watching over all of it, the portrait of Walburgia Black, who had been pretending to be asleep for the exchange, muttered to herself about how she would have been proud to have Albus Dumbledore for a son.

/ - / - / - /

“This is so frustrating!” rang through the library of Potter Manor, causing Harry to look up from the book he had been glancing through and stare at Hermione. She angrily flopped down the book she had been reading for the third time that day and dropped her head into her hands. Silently, Harry stood up and walked over to her.

“The constructs are just too complicated,” she said with a resounding sigh. “It's just too many variables to account for in going back in time. Too many loose ends to get the spell to work.”

“Loose ends,” Harry inquired, his interest perked.

“Yes, loose ends. It's not really a technical term.” She bit her bottom lip, staring down at the desk trying to figure out a way of explaining it. “It's kind of like a quilt. If you have too many loose threads in the quilt, then it unravels or it isn't complete. It's the same way with any spell construct. The more complicated the spell, the more potential for loose ends. The equations are sound, it just would take me ages to be able to apply them in a more constructive sense.” Frustrated again, she pursed her lips and sat in thought for several moments, before Harry gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It's getting late,” he said softly, “And we've both had a long day. How about we get something to eat and then pick this back up in the morning.”

“You go on ahead,” she said, not turning towards him. She waved her hand toward the door and grabbed another book, “There's a few more things I need to look up.” Harry frowned, and stood watch as she opened the book again. She was avoiding something, Harry quickly decided, something she needed to confront. Silently, he waved his hand and the book slammed shut before Hermione could place her hands in it too deeply. She turned to look at him, a mixture of shock and anger on her face, but Harry remained calm.

“'Mione, you need sleep. I know you haven't slept well the last few days, just a few hours here and there.” She tried to interject but Harry stopped her. “You also haven't eaten anything since this morning.” Sighing, she set the book aside and stood up, heading towards the door.

“Fine,” she said with a resigned tone in her voice, “I'll get something to eat. But I have to keep at this Harry.” She paused a moment and smiled, “Really I'm fine, I'm not tired at all.” Harry shook his head and Hermione frowned slightly. Since when had he become so perceptive?

“No, you're not fine Hermione. Look, I know that you still have nightmares, I still have them too.” He sighed, sitting down himself, “I can't say I fully understand everything you've been through.” He paused a moment when he saw that Hermione had made his way back to his side, her eyes a little misty, “I never knew my parents like you did and while Sirius was like a father to me, I didn't know him but for a couple of years at most.” He took her hands into his, trying to be supportive as the tears flowed freely down her face. “The nightmares will fade with time, and when they do you'll be left with 16 years of happy memories with your parents.” He paused a moment before adding, “I'll get you a pensieve if you want, so you can always have those happy memories on hand whenever you want them.”

Hermione nodded, but didn't say anything. She tried to smile a bit and wiped the tears from her eyes. Harry could see that the healing process had only begun, but that things could move forward slightly. A small drawn frown at the corner of her mouth drew his attention, “What is it 'Mione?”

“Their bodies,” she whispered, stifling a choked sob as she did. Harry simply nodded.

“I sent Dobby to get your things and their bodies after we left but...when he got there their bodies had been removed.” He sighed apologetically, “The Ministry probably took them. I can inquire about that as soon as possible if you'd like.”

Hermione smiled as much as she could and nodded her head. She stood back up and offered her hand, “Let's get something to eat,” she said. Harry smiled back. It was the best thing he'd heard that day.

A/N: Ron next chapter, as it gives me a place to start up. Also we'll solve the mystery of the time-turner and what they'll do, have some more Tonks/Lupin discussion (mainly Tonks) and probably explore the basement level of Potter Manor.

My question to all of you is, should I handle the training in several chapters, elongating everything immensely but giving you more detail or should I have them emerge from the training without discussing it and instead referencing it at various points throughout the story as necessary and thus speeding the story along?

Portkey A/N: As has been alluded to in some of the reviews, this story was originally posted on fanfiction.net. Thus the reason for the frequent updates has been solely based on me importing my chapters into portkey (I'm up to 20 chapters, by the by). Feel free to read ahead if you so choose.

I have left most of the author's notes in the fic untouched from ff.net, so you might see some of my thought processes as they've evolved. There are certain things that I've alluded to there, but nothing really important at the moment. Still, they're good for posterity's sake.

Once I have caught up on importing this to portkey, expect less frequent updates. I'll try and get a chapter out every eight or nine days, but I make no promises.

A/N: It is my belief that the majority of the wizarding public are mindless sheep who will believe whatever they are force fed. Dumbledore is respected by most (key term there) and given the innate prejudice against muggleborns already in place, they will believe Hermione is a Death Eater if they're told it enough times, especially if Dumbledore is the one telling them. As for the central core of characters, I can say (and most of you would guess) that they would not believe Dumbledore, or at least not take his word for it without serious consideration.

It may seem out of character for my Dumbledore, who has acted very subversively in his meddling and evil shenanigans, but as I said before this was a desperate act by a desperate man. And it will make sense before the end of this trilogy, I assure you of that.

As to Harry being lazy, that's merely leftover from canon Harry, though this chapter will probably erase that from the trait list of one Harry Potter.

In reference to the training, my plan is to simply continue what I've been doing, that is to say focus on the other various storylines that are coercing within this fic. I'll simply focus more on their character arcs and occasionally check back in with Harry and Hermione for various plot elements and training episodes. I expect the whole training regiment then to last two or three chapters, with everything else filling out the required exposition. Anything left out that I feel to be important later can be referenced via flashback. When we get through on the other side, it'll be straight into our first action scene and the first major canon character death (although there may be another one before we get there, I'm undecided).

Chapter 14: Tomorrow's a Long Way Off

Harry awoke the next morning with a frown on his face. The nightmares of Sirius had returned that night, a sign that even he hadn't moved past anything at all. Still, they had been worse before this had started all things considered. Struggling with his sheet he eventually flicked it off and grabbed his glasses. He both smiled and frowned at the notion that for the first time in a few days, Hermione Granger was not sharing his bed. He hoped this was a sign that things were starting to get better, but he internally frowned to the fact that he was starting to get used to sharing his bed with her. It came quite naturally, almost too naturally.

Sighing, he stood out of bed and grabbed a quick shower. Once he was satisfied with his state of appearance, he made his way downstairs to the dining area. There he slightly frowned when he saw Hermione sitting at the table, idly chewing on a piece of bacon and stroking Thoth's head while at the same time reading through another book. She looked up at him and smiled, though there was a tiny hint of a look like she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Harry simply shrugged it off.

“Morning Hermione,” he said with a smile. “How long have you been up?”

“Only about an hour or so,” she said with a returning smile. She marked her place in the book and set it aside. She glanced at Harry with a cockeyed smirk on her face, and Harry could almost instantly tell that it was the look she gave him whenever she had just figured something of immense importance out. Before Harry could ask what it was, she cut him off. “Isn't it about time you show me what that animagus form of yours is?”

Harry blushed slightly and nodded his head. Truth be told he had nearly forgotten about it in the course of events. He himself didn't even know what his form was. Though there was no time like the present to find out. Closing his eyes he scanned his memory for the required knowledge. As time had passed he was finding that accessing his vault of stored knowledge was getting easier and easier, at least of the concepts that he had a fundamental understanding of before the inheritance. Once he was certain he had a firm grasp on the skill, he willed it to happen, and instantly felt a change come over him.

When he opened his eyes he instantly noticed that he was significantly smaller than he had been, though he felt that he was still standing on two legs. His posture was slightly cocked forward, and he tried to stretch out his hands. A flood of sensations came into his brain, not the least of which was a sense of direction that he was not used to having.

Stretching out his arm, he found that he no longer hands at all. Turning his head slightly, his human mind was shocked to find a wing where his arm once was. A slight turn to the left found the same thing. Instinct seemed to take over and Harry flapped both of his wings toward the ground, earning a slight upward lift. A few more trial and error sessions and he found himself flying up to the kitchen table, where he regarded Hermione with what he could best describe as an awestruck look. Forcing himself back into human form, Harry felt his normal mind completely reassert itself. He took a couple deep breaths as he sat, knelt down on the table. Looking up at Hermione, he asked “What's my form look like?”

“Oh Harry,” she managed to whisper out, her hands covering her dumbstruck mouth. “You're a beautiful raven. Black as night but with the most brilliant green eyes I think I've ever seen on a bird.” Harry gave a smirk and moved himself off of his table. Sitting down next to Hermione, he was surprised when a plate of food almost immediately appeared in front of him.

“I see Dobby and Winky have been keeping busy,” he said with a smile as he lifted his fork and took a bite of scrambled eggs. “You know we haven't explored the basement level yet. Maybe we can do that today,” he idly wondered. There was a brief moment before Harry looked up at Hermione, who was still staring at him with wonder in her eyes. “'Mione?” he ventured to ask, a little bit of worry in his voice.

“That was brilliant,” she finally managed to say. Her senses seemed to come back to her and she shook her head slightly. “You're going to have to teach me that for sure when we do our training.”

Harry frowned. “I hope you've found something that I haven't. I'm still stumped on how to make the runes work to keep the time turner anchored in enchantments without the power fading from it.” Hermione smiled and pulled her book back in front of Harry.

“I have it all figured out,” she said with a tinge of pride in her voice. “Instead of going back in time and muddling about with all of the rules about paradoxes and stuff, we'll simply make more time the old-fashioned way.” She made a motion to the various equations on the page she was holding. “We'll simply slow time down instead.”

/ - / - / - /

Nymphadora Tonks was certain of one thing, she had a headache.

No scratch that, she had a migraine.

Come to think of it, migraine might be an understatement.

She had rolled out of bed this morning, still confused about the whole situation with Remus, confused about her role in life, her duties as an auror and as a member of the Order of the Phoenix. All things considered, it was enough to give her a headache in its own right.

Being instructed to find and bring to justice Hermione Granger....that was something that was migraine inducing.

Tonks had only met the witch a few times, but found her to be a rather cheery person to be around all things considered. She was awestruck by how much Hermione knew about their world and the drive to learn as much more as she could. She was also impressed with her depth of character and her sheer amount of courage, even if she didn't recognize it in herself. The girl was the true definition of a Gryffindor.

So for Albus Dumbledore, a man she thought she respected and thought had many if not all the answers to accuse, no, just flat out and say that Hermione Granger was a Death Eater made absolutely no sense.

Shaking her head as she made her way to the kitchen of her mother's home in Stratford, she grabbed the pot of coffee off the broiler and poured herself a cup. If there was one muggle custom she had taken to greatly, it was a morning cup of coffee. Sighing almost contently as she smelled the fresh brew, she took a sip and headed for the kitchen table. She sat there for a moment, alone with her thoughts, trying to muddle out any kind of conclusion that she could. She didn't notice the blonde haired woman coming down the stairs. She walked through the entryway and made her way to the dining room, taking time to smile at Tonks.

“Good morning dear,” she said with a mildly chipper voice. Tonks didn't look up at her mother, simply pretending to read the copy of the Daily Prophet on the table.

“Morning mum,” she said offhandedly, trying to dismiss her mother in an indirect manner. If nothing else she didn't want to discuss things with her mother. It was too awkward and would probably muck things up even worse. However Andromeda Tonks was rather intuitive, especially when it came to her own daughter. Cocking an eyebrow, she sat down next to Tonks and folded her hands on the table.

“What's wrong 'Dora?” Tonks sighed and dropped the paper, looking at her mother, who had a calm mask of serenity etched over her face, though concern was readily apparent if you knew where to look.

“Nothing,” Tonks replied, shrugging it off. “Just some stuff at work.”

“Oh,” Andromeda looked downward a bit, fiddling with her hands, though it wasn't long before she had her eyes back up and staring at her daughter. Tonks tried to ignore it, turning back to her coffee and paper, but the nagging stare from her mother irked her in all the right places.

“I'm just so confused,” she finally admitted, throwing down the paper in frustration. She hung her head partially in anguish and partially in shame, trying her best to control her emotions. Her mother was silent, but simply slid over and wrapped her arm around her daughter in a show of support. After several moments of silence, she broke away and stared at her daughter.

“I understand your work keeps you from giving me specific details,” she paused, letting Nymphadora's gaze turn upwards toward her, a few tears shining in her eyes, “But I'm here to help you anyway I can 'Dora. So....why don't you tell me what it is that's bothering you, as best you can.”

'What isn't bothering me,' Tonks thought to herself as she began to tell her mother the story of Remus Lupin, deciding that her mother's lack of knowledge about the Order limited the amount of information that Tonks could give. When she had finished, she looked at her mother with bloodshot eyes. “I just don't know what to do,” she confessed. “I don't know if Remus has feelings for me, or if he does how deep they run. I don't know how I can reconcile everything at work with....whatever this is.” She finished her tale and sat there, nearly in tears. Her mother merely regarded her with a comforting, yet stoic expression on her face. Finally, after several moments, she leaned forward and lifted her daughter's chin, drawing her attention.

“These matters are never easy dear,” she began, pulling her hand away and leaning back in the chair slightly. “When I began dating your father my family tried to do everything to stop me, from love potions to threats of physical harm. They stopped short of the imperious curse, but I wouldn't have put it past them.” She took a long pause and then firmly kept on. “But in the end I married your father and everything worked itself out. Do I miss the comradery that I had with my sisters? Yes, there's not a day goes by that I don't wish that we could have what we used to.” She grasped her daughter's hand again. “But what I gained is so much more than that, that I wouldn't think of trading it.

“I don't know if this man loves you, or if he even has feelings for you. Only he can answer that question. But I do know this. When it comes to matters of the heart, only the heart can help you decide.” Her daughter smiled at her as best she could, and the two women embraced.

“Thanks mum,” Tonks said in a whispered tone, before standing up and heading out of the room. She had a lot to do that day if she was going to set things right. All of a sudden, her headache didn't appear to be that bad anymore.

/ - / - / - /

Ginny Weasley coughed as the dust began to settle in the Weasley family attic. The ghoul that normally tormented them had been banished for the time being, courtesy of a rather violent outburst from her older brother Ron.

Ginny stood back and watched Ron as he methodically searched through several boxes of stored items in the attic, organizing it as best he could and plowing through the task without the usual reckless abandon that he would. She knew that something had been amiss with her brother for quite sometime now, particularly since the disappearance of Harry and Hermione. He was overly quiet and prone to violent mood swings whenever someone tried to broach the subject with him. The only one he didn't really explode against was Ginny, and after seeing what was left of their brother Charlie after he had tried to get him to open up, she was thankful for that.

Still it worried Ginny. He could be an insensitive prat at times, but he was still her brother. She knew he needed some kind of outlet for his anger, aside from blowing up the nearest garden gnome that happened to wander by. Edging closer to her brother, she cleared her throat and tried to talk to him.

“Ron...is something bothering you?” She immediately chided herself for the direct approach. She saw her brother stop, and turn slowly back to her, his anger flaring up again as he spoke.

“No Gin, absolutely nothing is wrong with me,” he responded in a sarcastic tone. “My best mate and another close friend have gone missing and might be dead for all I know and no one will tell me a damn thing about either one of them.” Ginny noticed a small tinge at the corner of his mouth, something that was off setting to her and her alone, but she allowed him to continue. “So, no Gin, I'm bloody well perfect!” He scoffed at her again and went back to his cleaning.

“Hey, this isn't my fault Ronald, so don't go chewing me out and acting like an insufferable prat!” Ron stopped but didn't turn to look at her. “You don't think I'm not worried about them to? Yeah, I'll admit, I'm probably not as close to them as you are, particularly Harry. But they're my friends too.” Ron turned back, the fierce look on his face somewhat tempered by the tears leaking out of Ginny's eyes. Several tense moments passed before Ron approached Ginny, and offered her what support he could. They hugged each other for what seemed to be several minutes. When Ron heard her muffled sobs slow he broke away, a lopsided smile on his face.

“Feel better then?” Ginny laughed and smiled through still falling tears. “Sorry I tore into ya Gin, but it's just so frustrating. They're just keeping us in the dark on everything ya know?” Ginny nodded feeling the same frustrations. “But I'm sure they're alright. Hermione being the brightest witch of her age and all...and Harry wouldn't go down without a fight.” Ginny raised an eyebrow, since when had Ron become an optimist? Something irked at her mind. The look that he had given her, that momentary lapse in his facade of anger hinted at something. It was the same kind of tick that practically every Weasley male gave off, subtle yet incredibly damning if you could recognize it. If you knew what to look for, it was virtually impossible for any of them to lie you.

“What're you hiding Ron,” she flat out stated, her hands coming up to her hips in a very Molly-esque fashion. For a split second, guilt flashed across Ron's face, followed by a look of confusion mixed with innocence.

“I'm not hiding anything Ginny.” He started to lash out again with defensive anger, trying to shift the subject away from him.

“No, you are,” Ginny replied flatly, her tone stopping Ron's misdirection dead in its tracks. She quickly went through her mind about what it might be he was hiding. The little look had come after he had said that no one would tell him anything. Did that mean that....her eyes went wide at the realization.”You've heard from them....haven't you!?” Her mouth went wide as Ron was caught off guard, and quickly looking for a way to deflect the conversation again. At that moment, Ginny was certain she had him.

Ron apparently realized it to, as he hung his head in defeat for a brief moment, before walking over to the door and shutting it quickly. He locked it from the inside, so as not to be disturbed. He glanced around the walls, seemingly paranoid about being heard, and then proceeded to pull up a chair. “Might want to sit down Gin,” he said with a sigh, “This could take a while.” Ginny nodded and pulled up another of the older chairs that were stored in the Weasley attic. Once she was situated, Ron began, outlining everything he had to say in his mind, and taking things one step at a time, virtually like a chess match.

“A few days ago I got a letter from Harry. He said he was fine and that he had Hermione with him. Aside from her parents being dead, she was alright too.” Ginny sniffed but motioned for Ron to continue. “He also said that Dumbledore has been using him for years. Put all these curses and hexes on him and stuff.” Ginny's eyes went wide.

“But....why....how....that can't be right! Are you sure it was Harry that wrote that letter Ron?” Ginny's mind was working a thousand miles a minute. Why in the world would Dumbledore put any kind of curse on Harry.

“Yes, I'm sure. The letter was delivered by Hedwig and I recognized Harry's handwriting.” He paused a moment before adding, “And I don't think he'd be under the imperious either. I don't think anyone could use that curse on him.” There were several uneasy seconds of silence that followed.

“What sort of curses? Did he say what they were?” Ginny was now rattling off questions like bullets from a gun. Ron sat back, bewildered by it for a second, before taking the first question.

Nodding his head, he answered, “Some kind of spell made Harry's aunt and uncle go mental at the sight or mention of him he said. Another was some kind of memory charm about a time when Harry was rescued from the Dursley's. He also mentioned something of a power block, said it was keeping him from using his magical potential, whatever that means.”

“It means he wasn't nearly as powerful as he should've been.” Ginny got a far away look in her eyes. “Merlin....he's done all the things he's done with those kind of curses on him?!” Ron simply nodded.

“It gets worse,” he said flatly, anger seeping into his voice. “Much worse.” He was about to continue when the voice of their mother called down from the kitchen. Working frantically, Ron turned to Ginny, “Not a word of this to anyone Gin. Promise?”

“But....Mum can help him if...”

“Harry's fine Gin! So's Hermione! You can't tell anyone about this, not even Mum, and especially not Dumbledore!” Ginny looked a bit taken aback, before she nodded her head.

“Fine, if you say so. But If I find out that they've been hurt...”

“You can Bat Bogey me to Timbuktu if they get hurt Gin. Merlin knows I'd deserve it.” The two siblings stood up and exited the attic. Making their way downstairs, Ron stopped a few landings short of the bottom floor when he saw who happened to be sitting in the Weasley kitchen.

“Ah, Mr. and Ms. Weasley,” came a cheerful yet somber voice of Albus Dumbledore, “Just the two people I wanted to talk to.”

/ - / - / - /

It took several hours, but with the house elves help Harry had drawn the right runes on the cornerstones of Potter Manor. Essentially the spell would work to slow time to make one day outside the equivalent of 18 months inside within a given range. They had chosen the house proper for the range, simply based on energy requirements. The downside of course was that they couldn't leave the premises until the spell wore off. Seeing as how they wouldn't need to leave for anything really, due to the house elves, it wasn't a huge sacrifice to make.

Once the runes were in place, Hermione set about energizing various focusing crystals placed over the runes, drawing on her arithmantic calculations to get the temporal fields aligned in the proper motion once the incantation was recited. When she was certain she had it right, after triple checking her calculations of course, she joined Harry in the center of the house.

“Remember,” she said as she shut the door to the small circular room, “We need to read the incantation at the same time. We have to combine our magical energies to be able to get the spell right, and we'll probably both be tired for a few minutes afterwards, but if it works....”

“Then we can start on our way to ending this,” Harry said firmly, with resolve in his voice. “We can get rid of Voldemort once and for all and then get on with our lives.” Hermione smiled at him, and the two of them interlaced their fingers. Gripping their wands, Hermione nodded to Harry. “On three,” he said in response. “One...two....three!”

“Tardus Tempus Duodeviginti Mensis!” There was a slight delay as they held both their wands aloft while chanting the words. Then quickly a bright yellow light shot out of both of them and encompassed the entire room. It shone brightly as it expanded to encompass beyond the room, expanding to the whole of the house. Just as quickly as it had grown, it shot backwards, collapsing back into both of them. They collapsed onto the floor, both partially exhausted from the expenditure of energy. After several minutes, Harry looked up, out of breath, a bit of a grin on his face.

“Did it work?” he asked. Hermione pushed herself up to a sitting position, also out of breath.

“I don't know,” she responded, “There's only one way to find out.” After catching their breath, they got to their feet and rushed as fast as they could to the entryway of the house. Hermione hesitantly approached the door and opened it. She took a few steps outside, and smiled as her progress was blocked by a field of energy. She turned back to Harry. “It worked.” Harry smiled back.

“I hope you don't mind being cooped up here for 18 months with only me for company.” Hermione very nearly giggled and walked over to Harry, planting a small peck on his forehead.

“I think I'll manage. Now, I'll have a study schedule for us by tomorrow, err....what should be tomorrow....when we wake up.” Harry laughed at the confusion and motioned for her to follow him.

“Sounds great 'Mione. Now I know I promised you a tour of the basement level.” Hermione nodded and they headed downstairs.

The basement was designed much like the top floor was, with brick floors and walls instead of the decorated hardwoods and marble stone. They walked down a small hallway which had several doors leading off into different directions. Choosing the first door on the left, Harry opened it, and was stunned by what he saw.

Standing before them was a long hallway lit by torchlight. All along the wall various portraits stood positioned. Harry and Hermione both silently down the dead-end hallway, coming to a stop near the far wall. All of the portraits seemed to be asleep, and according to the names, they appeared to be the former heads of the House of Potter.

“Harry, this is....” Hermione trailed off when she noticed Harry was glancing at the portrait at the farthest end of the wall, tears shimmering in his green eyes as he regarded it. “Harry....what is it.”

Harry never turned to her. Almost completely ignoring her, he muttered aloud in disbelief “Mum...Dad?”

A/N: Ah-Ha! The triple cliffy. Rest assured we'll find out more about these plotlines as time goes on.

I want to respond to some constructive criticism I received from a reviewer, constructive criticism I greatly appreciate by the way. My writing is truthfully marred by some colloquialisms that may seem out of place to anyone who really doesn't know me, and sadly that is the downfall of my writing style. I speak in these same mannerisms, and I have some strange uses for these sayings that would appear to be abnormal to some but make sense to me. The typos and such are simply from lack of time and improper care, in combination with trying to get the chapter out ASAP once it's completed. I tried a beta reader once long ago, but didn't have the patience for it. That said, I will try (maybe starting next chapter ; P ) to get better with the proof reading.

As for this story being heavy on cliches, that was the warning at the beginning. In my defense I avoided the cliche “evil prat Ron” that these stories tend to have, and I have to date only found one story that has Draco as a half-blood. Seeing as this is a trilogy as well, I feel there will be some more original ideas as we progress further along. Please bear with me on this. I understand the cliches are there, but to be honest I find them as a small sacrifice to a greater goal. There are elements of this story that haven't even been hinted at (sort of actually, but not in a direct manner) and will help move it along with time.

Thank you for the constructive criticism though, it helps me try and improve on my writing in the future.

We'll pick up with the Potters in the next chapter, as well as Ron and maybe some Crumple Horned Snorcacks (Or Black Haired Nose Weebles, whichever I prefer).

Portkey A/N: If those who haven't read ahead didn't hate Dumbledore before, you probably will after this chapter.

A/N: I don't know if I've taken the time to properly thank all of you for reviewing my story. The response that I have gotten has been overwhelming to me...so thank you for choosing to enter my own little corner of the fanfiction universe. I won't waste your time overly blabbing, there's a lot to get to so....onward!

Chapter 15: Reunions and Confusion

Harry watched with fascination as the slumbering figures in the painting before him slowly came to life. The man was first. He was nearly an exact duplicate of Harry, save for the shorter hair and glasses. The older man blinked his eyes for a few moments, having been laying on the couch, before turning back at the two people staring with mouths wide open at him. He furrowed his brow a moment, before realization seemed to set in. Smiling, he called out to the other side of the parlor room in which the painting was set.

“Lily...Lily wake up!” A rather attractive red-headed woman stirred from the armchair that was seated in the background of the painting. She yawned for a moment, before opening the most brilliant green eyes Harry had ever seen. Once she recognized what was going on, she literally jumped out of her seat.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, somehow recognizing her son from the timespan of nearly a decade and a half. The couple both joined together in the foreground, standing as close as they could to the canvas surface, and to their son.

Harry's eyes were misting over quite rapidly. Never in a million years did he ever think that he would see his parents outside of the few silent photographs he had in his album. But here they were, straight in front of him. Maybe not flesh and blood, but it was as close as he had ever felt to them. Hesitantly he pressed a shaking hand onto the canvas, trying to feel anything but paint on its surface. If he tried hard enough, he thought he almost could. For her part, Hermione merely stood back, watching the scene, tears of joy and sorrow intermixing in her eyes.

The two figures in the painting each had tears in their own animated eyes. “Hello son,” James said with a quivering voice, “It's....it's been a long time.” Harry simply nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“You look so much like your father,” Lily noted, similar emotions running rampant over her face. She took a moment to clear her eyes, before she added, “My baby boy is all grown up.” Harry instantly felt a bit of red hit his cheeks, an emotion he was not quite used to. All the same, it gave him a deep warm feeling.

“There's...so much I want to say to you,” he said, trying to find the right words. He had often dreamt about what he would say to his parents if he ever got the chance to meet them, even if it was for just five minutes and never again. Now that he had come to it, the words weren't coming to him. He turned to Hermione, looking for some show of support, or rather looking for help on the matter. “Um....mum, dad. This....is Hermione Granger,” he brokenly said, leading Hermione to in front of the portrait. A moment later he added with a blush, “She's my...um....girlfriend.” He was no good at this.

Hermione joined him in blushing, and the two painted figures smiled with another round of tears dripping from their faces. “It's nice to meet you Hermione,” Lily said politely, all the while James simply smirked.

“I see you take after your old man with the ladies Harry,” he joked, causing Lily to slightly elbow him in the gut. He overplayed the gesture, and acted as if he were mortally wounded, bringing levity to the situation, and a smile to everyone's face. After a slight round of laughing, James looked around, glancing about the view of the portrait as if he were looking for someone. Lily ignored him, and presented the first question on her mind.

“How are you dear,” she asked her son, a small hint of worry in her voice. “I mean....how are you doing all things considered?” She laughed and sobbed at the same time as tears broke out of her eyes and James placed an arm over her shoulders. “Listen to me I've turned into a sodding hosepipe,” she quirked, earning a smile and a kiss on the head from James.

“It's understandable love,” he explained, “It's been so long.” He turned to Harry and Hermione. “It's been a long time since we awoke. This portrait was painted just after you were born, and memories were placed into the enchantments here until...well you know.” Harry grimly nodded. James seemed to be confused for a moment before he asked, “What year is it anyway?”

“It's June 1996,” Hermione offered, rather mechanically.

“1996....almost 15 years...Merlin's beard.” James eyes went wide as if he were deducing a puzzle, something that Lily seemed to already figure out.

“Harry, we don't mean to be rude but....” she paused a moment, considering her words and her suspicions, “Why didn't Sirius bring you to visit us sooner? I'm sure he'd told you all about Potter Manor when you were younger.” Harry's joy quite suddenly vanished, leaving a slight scowl on his face. “Son,” Lily asked, worry more evident in her voice.

“Sirius didn't raise me,” he finally said, his voice quivering with frustration and grief, “Aunt Petunia did.” James' eyes went wide at this as he nearly did a double-take.

“Petunia?! Petunia Dursley!” he exclaimed, filled with shock, when he calmed himself down, he apologetically added, “Harry I am so sorry you had to live with her and....that oaf she called a husband.”

“Now James,” Lily said a bit too Hermione-like for Harry's comfort zone, “They aren't all bad. Sure they're a bit....inflexible, but they aren't exactly monsters.” She turned to Harry, who had a grimace on his face. “Harry?”

“They may not be,” he finally responded, “Or at least might not have been. But....certain people saw that they didn't....treat me....well....” he choked on the words, hanging his head slightly in shame. Lily saw this, and nearly fell to her knees crying.

“Oh Harry,” she gasped with exasperation, “I....I had no idea that....” she couldn't get the words out of her mouth. James just stood there unblinking, still trying to grasp one last element.

“But....how could Sirius let you stay with them?” he asked, certainly befuddled by his best friend's lack of appearance in front of him. Surely he would have shown Harry where Potter Manor was. Or for that matter he would have visited them himself. Harry tried to answer, but the grief was coming to the forefront, shutting down his answer. Hermione stepped in, tears streaking down her own face slightly.

“He didn't really have a choice in the matter Mr. Potter,” she politely explained. “After what happened 15 years ago he confronted Peter Pettigrew,” James immediately scowled at the name, “But Peter faked blowing himself up. Sirius was charged with the murder of Peter and betraying your location to Voldemort. He spent 12 years in Azkaban before he escaped” James and Lily's eyes went wide at this, but James still had a befuddled look on his face.

“But....Dumbledore shouldn't have allowed that! He knew Wormtail was the Secret Keeper....he should've....”

“HE WHAT!” The roar came from Harry, who had quickly wiped the worry from his eyes and replaced them with burning fury. “He knew?! That old wanker knew Wormtail was the Secret Keeper all along!” Harry gritted his teeth, despite his mother's chidings for such language. There was a bit of a flicker in the light of the torches, and James and Lily looked around as if the whole house, or at least their painted domicile was shaking. Several cries of surprise came from the other portraits in the room, and some of the occupants went running for whatever cover they could find. Hermione snapped her head towards Harry and could see the cold fire of rage burning behind his green eyes, their gaze boring into the stone wall in front of him.

“Harry, calm down,” Hermione quickly commanded, patting him gently on the head. “Harry you have to calm down now,” Harry closed his eyes, his fists clenched as he tried to calm himself through deep, meditative breaths. After several seconds he finally opened his eyes and let out a long sigh.

“Perhaps you should start at the beginning son,” James said, sitting down next to his wife on the drawn couch. Harry nodded and he and Hermione conjured a pair of chair on which to sit.

“Right, the beginning is as good a place to start as anything....”

/ - / - / - /

To his credit, Ginny thought the moment they entered the kitchen, Ron was staying in complete control of his emotions. If what he was saying was true, then Ron should tear Dumbledore limb from bloody limb upon seeing him. She wasn't so sure, her experience with the diary had taught her not to take anything for granted. But she wanted to give her brother the benefit of the doubt.

“Please, sit down,” Dumbledore asked, and the two of them robotically obeyed the command. They sat across from the aged wizard, regarding his demeanor. He had the same omnipresent smile on his face, and his eyes were twinkling like mad as he stared at both Ron and Ginny. For the slightest of moments a frown came over his face, but it passed as quickly as it came. Ginny did notice though.

“Is something wrong Professor,” she innocently asked, channeling her twin brothers at that moment. Dumbledore seemed to recollect his thoughts and he muddled around in his robes for something.

“I'm afraid there is,” he said with a resigned smile, as he pulled out a small sack. “Lemon drop?” The Weasleys shook their heads. Dumbledore shrugged and tossed one into his mouth. After several seconds he continued.

“You're very observant Ms. Weasley. I'm afraid I have bad news concerning your friends Harry and Hermione,” he paused a moment to gage their reactions. Ron maintained a steady pulse, but Ginny was a bit worried on her face. Perhaps another look would be in order. Silently his eyes began twinkling again as he looked at young Ronald Weasley, gently probing his mind with legilimency while the young man stood oblivious. After several moments he internally frowned at confirming his initial probe's suspicions. The problem was worse than he thought....far worse.

“What happened to them,” Ginny finally asked, her eyes going wide, interrupting Dumbledore's probe. “Are they....”

“I don't know,” he answered, turning his gaze towards Ginny. He used the same technique on her, finding that she knew the basics of what her brother knew, and that she was putting up a bit of a worrisome front for Harry, this was even more disconcerting, for Dumbledore's own personal quest. He ended his probe and continued, “Harry's whereabouts are still unknown, but we would know if Voldemort had killed him. However, it would appear that you all have been betrayed.” He paused a moment, he wasn't sure how well this was going to go over...but maybe....yes that could do quite nicely. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing that Miss Granger was the brightest witch of her age after all.

“Evidence has come to light,” he continued, “That your friend Miss Granger is in league with Voldemort. I believe she is a Death Eater.” The reaction was almost instantaneous. Ginny kept up her facade, but Ron couldn't stand it. He scoffed at the headmaster, and stood up in anger.

“Hermione a Death Eater?!” he screamed, “That's the biggest load of tripe I've ever heard!”

“Ronald Weasley!” his mother yelled at him, growing red in the face, “Mind your manners!”

“I'm not going to sit here while he calls one of my best friends a Death Eater!” He was realizing quickly that if things continued that his confidence would be betrayed. With that, he calmed himself down enough to storm out of the kitchen. There was silence before Ginny stood up.

“I'll go after him,” she politely said, and her mother shooed her off. When she was gone Molly sat down across from Dumbledore.

“I'm sorry,” she said with a whispered sigh, “It must just be too much to take for them.” In truth she had some of her own doubts about the older man's sanity, but she wouldn't express those in front of him right now.

“It's perfectly understandable,” Dumbledore stated somewhat grimly. He made to ponder a moment before he asked, “Has Ronald been acting out of sorts recently? Prone to anger? A bit defensive of Hermione?” Molly thought back a bit. He had been acting out of sorts, but she assumed that it was out of worry for his friends. “I thought as much,” Dumbledore said with a frown.

“What?” Molly asked immediately, “What is it?”

“I'm afraid Miss Granger might have Ronald under the imperious curse.” Molly went wide and she held her hands in fear. “Rest assured he is in no position to be harmed or to be taken advantage of however. With aurors on the hunt for Miss Granger, she will be brought to swift justice soon. And then the curse can be broken.” Molly was in full protective mode, and she worriedly glanced at the clock on the wall. Ron's hand wasn't at mortal peril, so things had to be going right.

“All the same,” Dumbledore continued, “It would probably do not to let him outside too much, and to keep him and his sister out in the dark on Order affairs even moreso than usual. And screen his mail regularly, just in case he receives instructions from Miss Granger that way.” Molly simply nodded, her eyes not leaving the clock. “I'll see myself out.”

Dumbledore pulled another lemon drop out of his robe. It would only be a stop-gap measure, but it would help things along. More troublesome was what Ronald knew of the protections he had placed on Harry, and by proxy what Harry knew. If two plus two did indeed equal four in this case, Dumbledore had a long way to go before re-establishing a status quo, or at least something as close to it as he could get.

/ - / - / - /

All things considered, Remus Lupin told himself, life was one big pathetic fallacy.

It was currently raining outside his small cottage in the hillsides of Wales. The cottage was a rather small thing. It was merely a living room, a small kitchen which led into a smaller parlor/dining room, a downstairs bathroom and a very small study area. The second floor was equally small, with the master bedroom and bath and a small guestroom across the hall from the master. Remus was currently seated in the small study area, trying his best to read over procedure for the Wizengamot. He had a good idea where Harry might be, and planned on visiting him soon enough.

He had few books on the subject of parliamentary procedure, but had procured as many as he could find from his limited selection. Most of his study area was taken up by older and used books that were barely held together by a combination of sticking charms and spell-o-tape. Some were even held together by that greatest of muggle inventions, duct tape. Remus took a quick look around the area and sighed. It wasn't much, but it was all that he could afford, given the anti-werewolf legislation passed by Umbridge and her pureblood voting block in recent years. He only hoped things would get better soon.

He noted the silence of the room, and it practically brought tears to his eyes. He was the last one...again....he had come to realize. He had lost all of his friends once before, and just when he had found Sirius again, he was gone once more, this time for good. It practically broke his heart. Sniffing, he took a look at the photograph that hung over his desk. It was of his graduation day at Hogwarts. His younger self was standing off to the side, smiling shyly at the camera, but being jostled into the main group by Sirius. The traitor was on the other side, and in the middle was a young James and Lily, taking turns posing for the camera. Things were so much more carefree back then, even with the looming shadow of Voldemort hanging over the horizon. This was the only photo he had left of those days, most of the rest had been destroyed in a fire that had consumed his family home just outside Sussex in the Time of Burnings. Several homes had been destroyed that summer, not just his. The Weasley's ancestral home for one, had been a noted casualty of the spree of fires.

He let out a deep sigh and reached over for the bottle of Ogden's that was seated on the edge of the desk. Taking a deep swig of it, only to find it frustratingly empty, he half-drunkenly tossed it aside against the wall, taking some measure in the sound of it shattering into a thousand pieces against the wall. Loneliness was his constant companion at times like this, and as much as he was trying to throw himself into working on behalf of Harry and Hermione, he still couldn't shake off the fact that right now, he'd give almost anything just to have one last conversation with Sirius.

He shook his head out of a small stupor and resumed leafing through a small pamphlet when he heard a knock on the door. His eyes immediately lifted away from the parchment and glanced down the hall to the old wooden door barely hanging in its frame. He carefully pulled out his wand and headed for the door. After another somewhat hesitant knock he kept his wand at the ready and slowly opened the door.

It was the last person he expected to see there. There on his front step, soaked in the rain, her hair drenched in a cliche fashion, was Tonks. Remus nearly did a double take as he stared at the young woman before him, the wolf within frantically scanning the horizon for any sign of the Order members who might have followed her there to try and drag him back kicking and screaming.

“They're not there,” she said with a sigh, her eyes going to the ground slightly, “I never told anyone where you went.” She stifled a small sob and tried to smile as best she could.

“'Dora, I,” Remus was uncertain what words to use. He cleared his throat, suddenly finding it very dry. Finally, after licking his lips in a nervous twitch, he asked, “What are you doing?” Tonks let a few tears slip by as she walked closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Doing what is right....” she closed her eyes as the distance between them shrank slowly, “Instead of what is easy....” She trailed off, as the two of them embraced and kissed each other, standing in close proximity for several minutes in each other's company. Remus Lupin thought to himself that life being a pathetic fallacy wasn't so bad after all.

/ - / - / - /

All things considered, it was a good day for Luna Lovegood. Her father was currently hunting for the elusive Web-Footed Cornwallies that had been plaguing the fjords of Finland for quite some time, and would make for a great exclusive story for the next issue of The Quibbler. She had offered to go with him, but he had insisted that she stay behind to protect the house from....something or other.

Luna was currently passing the time reading ahead in her books and jotting down some notes for her O.W.L.'s to come the following year. As she did so she idly twirled a necklace that she kept with her at all times. It was a small, silver brooch with the crest of an eagle etched into the metal studded around the outside with five small emeralds. It had belonged to her mother, Esmeralda, and was the only thing that Luna had left to be reminded of her, at least in the physical sense.

She sighed and put down her quill, staring off into space for a moment. Her face was a mask of unperturbed calm, but across her mind worry for her newfound friends. Like so many she had no idea what had happened to Harry or Hermione, just what the papers had said and what Ginny had told her when she came to visit. Having never really had true friends for the better part of her life, she was genuinely worried for what might have happened to them, though she suspected that they were fine.

The clock in the main room gently sounded the lunchtime hour, and Luna closed her book and snugly tucked her brooch beneath her shirt. She was about to go into the kitchen to make something to eat when she heard the telltale soft pop of an apparating visitor into her sitting room. It didn't worry her so much, her house was under the Fidelus charm (her father was rather paranoid) and anyone who would apparate directly into the sitting room was likely one of father's friends. Sighing, she walked into the sitting room. “Father isn't here right now,” she announced to the unidentified visitor. “He won't be back for some time.”

“I do not wish to speak to Jeremy today,” the visitor reply, his raspy whisper of a voice immediately drawing Luna's wide-eyed gaze, “I came to speak to you...Selene.” Luna shook her head as she saw the man in front of her. He was clad in black and silver robes, a hood covering most of his face, though a wrinkled chin and a few errant whiskers stood out. His eyes were a glowing yellow in the midday light, and he offered a toothless smile that made Luna cringe everytime she saw it.

“Lazarus,” she said with surprise in her voice, “I wasn't expecting you.”

“Rarely do people expect me,” the elder man replied, hobbling his way to a small chair. He let himself down with an audible groan, and took several deep breaths as he closed his eyes for a second.

“Why are you here,” Luna matter of factly asked, as she moved a footstool to the end of the chair. Lazarus responded by placing one foot on the offered support, and a slight chuckle.

“I came to see if you have been anymore successful in determining the whereabouts of Mr. Potter. Our agents have been everywhere, but I must admit we have been rather distracted since your stunts in the Department last month.” Lazarus shook his hand at Luna. “You were very naughty Selene. You should have known better than to lead Harry into such a situation.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Luna asked, shrugging her shoulders. “He was determined to go.”

“I suppose. In the end it was necessary...it's funny how fate both directs us and is directed itself by the choices that we make.” Lazarus paused, but before he could continue Luna rolled her eyes.

“Not another speech on the intricacies of fate and prophecy please,” she seemed to plead, offering him a cup from a conjured pot of tea. “I heard it all when you inducted me into the Department of Mysteries as a junior operative.”

“Of course you did,” Lazarus said, pulling his hood down and taking the offered cup. His face was as wrinkled as the bony hands that reached out to take the tea, covered in spare patches of white hairs and liver spots. Taking a sip, he thought for a moment, his yellowed eyes twinkling madly as he tried to remember something. Shrugging it off, he leaned forward and continued. “You have proven a valuable resource, and this relationship has been mutually beneficial. I hope that with our further training and your continued support, we can make you a full fledged Unspeakable by the time you graduate Hogwarts. Just like your mother was. Just like your father is.” He took another sip of tea, “But until then I must ask you to keep your eyes open and your ears pressed to the ground. I fear that Albus has set things in motion that have been foretold for centuries now, and we must be ready to make sure that they don't unravel in the process. Young Mr. Potter, and his friend young Miss Granger, will likely find themselves in the center of a firestorm. The bits and pieces of the prophecy are coming to light, and as they do, you must be ready to aid them anyway you can.”

Luna simply nodded. Such was the fate of all her family, as it had been for centuries, and would continue to be for the centuries to come.

/ - / - / - /

Harry finished his tale, leaving James and Lily speechless. Both of them had tears in their eyes, having grieved over the loss of friends, the anguish of Harry's life, and the betrayal of Albus Dumbledore. Several moments of silence passed before Hermione chose to make her voice heard for the first time of the tale.

“That is why we are here,” she clearly stated with resolve, “To train ourselves to defeat Voldemort once and for all.” Lily looked at her with sparkling green eyes, the same ones Harry had often gazed upon her with, and smiled.

“We'll help anyway we can dear,” she said wearily. James merely nodded his head in agreement. “We can't do much beyond give you advice, maybe tell you things that might come in handy.”

“You can be there,” Harry said with a smile dotting his own face. “All my life I've dreamed and prayed for a family...for parents who could say how much they loved me. No one actually said that they loved me and truly meant it until Sirius did in third year, and since then only Hermione....” he paused and grasped her hand, squeezing it for support. “Even if you're not here in the flesh, I still want you to be a part of my life, even as you are.”

James smiled proudly at his son. “Harry, I'm sorry we were taken from you. It isn't fair what you were prophesized to do. But we gave our lives to protect you. And though it would appear that some tried to make that sacrifice in vain,” his eyes steeled with resolve, “We'll make sure that their efforts are dealt with too.”

Several more moments of silence passed, before Harry and Hermione stood up, each eager to visit later with Harry's parents as soon as they had something to eat. As they disembarked from the portrait hall, Hermione glanced back at Harry and saw him staring down at where his parent's photo was. She couldn't help but feel that she was intruding on a very private moment, though she silently wished, silently prayed, and silently hoped that she could find a new family with Harry's newly discovered one.

A/N: James and Lily will simply provide a sounding board at times for Harry and Hermione should they ever have personal problems. There's also another plot point that will involve them later, but they will not come back from the dead....just exist as wizarding portraits.

Caliban/Draco will probably dominate the action for the next few chapters, as Draco attempts to sort out the various complexities of his origins: Caliban will also have a nice father/son reunion with Dumbledore, so maybe you can see more of what makes him tick.

A/N: Just a couple notes. Molly is still mentally damaged by the loss of her brothers to Voldemort's first reign of terror. So when Dumbledore mentions “Imperious” it immediately conjurs up those feelings, hence her focusing on the clock.

Someone asked this and I wasn't clear on it in the story. The Time of Burnings that Remus mentions took place during the first war, just before Harry was born. The timing isn't really important though.

Keep your eye on “Lazarus,” He plays a bigger role in the later stories of this trilogy. Speaking of which, I anticipate this one planned out to around thirty to thirty five chapters, so we're nearing the halfway point.

Chapter 16: History Lessons

Draco Malfoy awoke slowly, his head spinning from the previous night's excursions. Or was it night yet again. His sense of time was off kilter to say the least.

His head was throbbing, that much he could suss out without thinking. He staggered out of bed, trying to orient himself to his surroundings. He remembered that he was in the safehouse granted to him by Lord Voldemort. He remembered he was in the company of one Caliban de Montesquieu. He remembered his mission.

He remembered his world crashing down around him.

He shook his head violently in defiance, a decision he nearly regretted considering the headache he was sporting at the moment. But he continued to tell himself that there was no way Caliban was telling the truth. The idea was ludicrous. However for the first time, a tiny voice spoke up against him from the back of his mind, causing him to forget all of his pain.

But what if he isn't lying.

For the first time Draco allowed himself to dwell on that question. What if Caliban was not lying to him? What if Draco was a half-blood like Caliban said? What if he was the son of Lucius Malfoy and some unknown muggle pulled off the street corner? What did that mean to him?

It meant he was worthless, he immediately told himself. It meant that he was exactly the thing he had ridiculed Potter and Granger for being since the day he had met them. It meant he was a mudblood, unworthy to grace the world of magic.

“No,” he forcefully screamed putting his fist into the wall next to him. The lights flickered as the angry outburst reached its crescendo. Draco quickly tried to think of anyway he could disprove Caliban's secret.

He could ask his mother, but that was nixed as he sadly remembered that his mother had vanished for the moment, something that he hadn't allowed himself to think about for a good long while. He quick shoved aside that line of thought.

His Aunt Bella should be able to shed light of the subject, provided she was cackling insanely when he asked her. he went through his mind trying to think of anyone who would be able to tell the truth, anyone he could speak with anyway.

It hit him.

How obvious it was.

He could certainly swing it, they'd have to let him see him if he was just a visitor. Regardless of everything, one thing still rang true...

Draco's thoughts were interrupted by the opening of his door. Caliban entered, a firm smirk on his face. He glanced over at the slight depression in the wall and then back at Draco. “I see you're awake,” he flatly stated. Draco paid him no heed, instead standing up and glaring at him.

“I'm going to visit my father,” he calmly announced.

/ - / - / - /

3 weeks into training

Things were going well, Harry told himself, as he awoke from his sleep. Aside from initially being unable to tell the difference between night and day, everything had gone off without a hitch. He had finally begun to master a lot of the spells he was lucking himself into, and as a result was beginning to show Hermione some of the finer points of the advanced defense spells and charms that he knew (though, he readily admitted, she took to them even quicker than he did).

Sighing contently he stood up and walked over towards the window of his bedroom. For the first time in his life, it seemed that things were going his way. Away from the manipulations of Dumbledore, away from the clutches of Voldemort, he was simply allowed to live for the first time in his life. Though he was helping Hermione along with her grief, all the while dealing with his own in short spurts, time was getting better. Reconnecting with his parents portraits had been a far greater liberating experience then he could have imagined. He had the picture moved from the portrait gallery to the main dining room where they could join he and Hermione for meals, or rather just idle conversation during meals.

He heard a small noise outside his bedroom and it immediately shook him out of his stupor. Glancing around he summoned his wand to his side and cautiously exited the door. He didn't think Hermione was up, or rather something told him she wasn't. It might have been Dobby or Winky, though they were normally quiet wherever they might be.

Slowly he stalked down the hallway, making his way to the library where he heard the noise again. Looking up at the ceiling, he saw Thoth settling into the roost they had made for him. He smiled...it had just been the owl...

....Harry froze. Nothing could leave the house right now. They had let the owls out to stay the day outside the time warp so they wouldn't starve to death from lack of hunting grounds.

Harry tried to turn but was immediately blasted with a stunner into the armchair on the overhead reading area in the library. He grimaced as he tried to turn to face his attacker, only to have his wand blown out his hand by a disarming spell. He held his hand in pain, and went red with anger as he saw his attacker.

“Hello Harry,” the figure of Albus Dumbledore said calmly, “I'm glad to see that I found you safe and sound.”

Harry didn't give him a chance to continue. Immediately in a rush of anger he leapt out of the chair and forward at Dumbledore. His right fist was cocked back, ready to unload a vicious cross to the man who had played symphony with his life. Dumbledore waved his wand, a motion that was lost to Harry in his blinded rage. Instantly he felt his body go stiff and his momentum carried him forward. Full Body Bind. He was trapped.

“That was very irresponsible of you, escaping like that Harry,” Dumbledore chided him, glancing down at him. “You are far too important to be this reckless.”

“Go fuck yourself old man,” Harry spat out, with all the anger he could muster as he fought against the curse.

“Such language,” Dumbledore softly said, shaking his head in full on grandfather mode. “What would your parents say to such lack of disrespect? What would Sirius say?”

“DON'T YOU DARE MENTION HIS NAME!” Harry's anger came to full boil and he fought against the body bind with all of his might. In one fell swoop he managed to break the curse and get to his feet. Before Dumbledore could react Harry tackled him from the ground and spiked him down. He unloaded several fists to Dumbledore's jaw, wanting to feel it break beneath his onslaught. Somewhere in the melee, Dumbledore managed to cast a stunner, somewhat weakly, and force Harry off of him. Dumbledore staggered to his feet while Harry tried to shake off the effects of Dumbledore's spell.

“CATENA!” Dumbledore yelled, and instantly iron chains wrapped around Harry's form, driving him down to the ground again. Dumbledore felt his jaw and looked at the blood trickling down from his lip as it stained his hand. Grumbling to himself, he knelt down in front of Harry, who still struggled against the chains that bound him.

“I think I've indulged your little temper tantrum long enough Mr. Potter,” he coldly said, far more angry than Harry could ever remember. “It's time to take you back to the Dursley's where you'll be safe and end all of this Heir of the Founders nonsense.” Harry's eyes went wide. “Yes, I hope you didn't think I wouldn't know about your little inheritance. I'll simply replace the protections I put on you, for your own good.” He paused a moment before continuing. “Don't concern yourself with Miss Granger, she'll be sent to relatives in America where she can properly be cared for. In fact...it's best if you don't remember that any of this ever happened.” Harry struggled as hard as he could, tried to think of any spell that could get him out of this as Dumbledore pointed his wand at Harry's head, just a few inches from his eyes.

“OBLIVIATE!”

/ - / - / - /

In the same instant that the dull gray light flooded Harry's subconscious line of vision, Harry Potter awoke from his nightmare, his breathing ragged, and sweat dripping from his brow. He took several seconds before he could gather his surroundings, and when he did he heard the soft sounds of a woman's voice.

“Harry...Harry it's alright. It was just a nightmare.” He struggled to focus, his mind still a bit groggy from sleep. Before long the image of Hermione, a sight that never looked sweeter, clicked in his mind.

“Hermione?” he asked, still breathing rapidly. She nodded, gently rubbing his hair as realization began to draw on his face. Finally he pulled away, leaning his head forward, taking more controlled breaths as he struggled to keep his emotions under control. Hermione leaned forward, tilting his head up slightly so that his eyes met hers.

“Tell me Harry,” she firmly asked, “Tell me about your dream.”

Harry nodded, letting out a bit of a shuddered breath. “I had woken up, and then I came out to see about a noise.” He paused a moment, his throat suddenly very dry. Taking the cue, Hermione waved her wand and conjured a glass of water for him. After several grateful gulps, Harry set aside the glass and continued his tale. “The noise was Thoth flying around, but I knew that couldn't be right cause the owls are outside the time warp. I turned around and was stunned and disarmed by Dumbledore.” Hermione's eyes went wide. “He and I fought for a few minutes and then he chained me up. He told me he'd sent you to America and then he was going to obliviate me when I woke up.” He shook his head, trying to shake the images loose, and Hermione quickly enveloped him in a hug, kissing him on the top of his head.

“It was just a dream,” she whispered, “Just a dream.”

“I know,” he quietly said, “But it felt so real. I...I thought I was going to lose you.”

Hermione pulled away, keeping her fingers intertwined with his. “Oh Harry,” she said with a small smile, “You won't ever lose me. Not now, not ever.”

/ - / - / - /

Caliban considered his charge before him. Draco was adamant, that much he could immediately tell. Arching an eyebrow and chuckling inwardly, he mused, “Are you now?” To his credit Draco stood firm, unwavering, never backing down from Caliban who had heretofore intimidated him whenever possible. “I don't suppose there's anything I can say to dissuade you from this course of action,” Draco firmly shook his head, and Caliban noticed the wand that was held not so inconspicuously in his hand.

It was almost enough to make him smile.

“I suppose you are still continuing on this futile effort to prove me wrong?” Draco scowled at him, yep that was it alright. “Though you are likely wasting your time, I shall not object to your going to Azkaban.” Caliban walked out of the room heading for his own bed. Draco cocked an eyebrow and slowly followed him. After a few minutes of standing in Caliban's doorway, the older Death Eater emerged and handed a small medallion to Draco. “This will protect you from the worst effects of the dementors. Though most of them have abandoned the prison, there are a few whom have remained loyal to the ministry.” He stalked out of the room, leaving Draco standing there holding the small blue medallion on a thing gold chain. Shaking his head he stalked after Caliban.

“Not going with me,” he asked from behind, causing Caliban to stop in his track. Glaring back at him from over his shoulder, he merely offered a plaintive look.

“As I have said on several occasions, I am recognizable on sight, which is why I wear the glamor charmed robes that I do. These charms are canceled on the prison island. I'd rather not hand myself over to the ministry thank you very much.” He paused a moment before adding, “And having had the experience of nearly getting my soul sucked out on two or three occasions, I'd rather not face that again as well.” Draco's face darkened at the idea of having one's soul sucked out. Despite his own experiences with the Death Eater's in his third year, he couldn't fathom the thought of that.

Suddenly he was very worried for his father.

Caliban must have been reading his mind, given the smirk that came across his face. “I highly doubt that your father had had that experience yet, though it must be harrowing for him to be locked up in such a hopeless situation.” Draco scowled again, but held his emotional thoughts in check. It would be best if Caliban didn't see the whole truth behind this question.

“Why is he still there anyway,” he flatly asked, “Shouldn't the dark lord have freed him by now.” At this Caliban immediately turned toward Draco completely, his countenance flawlessly shifting from that of off-handed disinterest to anger.

“It is not your place to question the Dark Lord's motivations young dragon.” He paused a moment both for added effect, and in allowing something to cross his mind. He seemed to internally debate with himself over something, before continuing. “But I suppose since you have advanced in your occulumency lessons far faster than I would have hoped, you can be trusted with certain....secrets.

“Mind you what I am about to tell you I only tell you because the Dark Lord's own personal instructions are to train you to be a member of his inner sanctum. Not his inner circle, his inner sanctum, a small group including myself and your father. We alone know of his closely held secrets, and it is in this respect that I offer you the knowledge.” He sat down on a small chair, and Malfoy sat across from him. Caliban glanced around the room several times, as if looking for something or more accurately someone. Finally his paranoia seemed satisfied, as he summoned a glass tumbler and bottle of scotch. Pouring himself a glass, he placed the bottle on the table and put his feet up, looking Draco squarely in the eyes.

“Voldemort has not always been as he appeared now. He was born in 1925 Thomas Marvolo Riddle, the son of Thomas Riddle Sr., a muggle, and a witch named Merope Gaunt. The Gaunts were once one of the most influential families in all of Britain, but decades of squandering their wealth and inbreeding had reduced them to a pitiable excuse for a pureblood family. Their folly had led them to be expelled from the Wizengamot, a rarity to be certain. By the time Tom was born, there were only a handful of them left.

“Merope seduced Riddle Sr. by way of a love potion, but when she discovered she was pregnant she decided to come clean with him. In a fit of anger Thomas Riddle left Merope, and she later died of a broken-heart, shortly after giving birth to Tom. For the first few years of his life, Tom Riddle grew up in a violent, abusive orphanage, that is until his 11th birthday when he got his Hogwarts letter. He came to Hogwarts, was sorted into Slytherin, where he quickly became one of our brightest students.

“I was a year older than Tom Riddle, and even I was amazed by how much raw potential the boy had. I saw what my father was trying to do, trying to mold him into a single-minded weapon, for what purpose I was not certain, but I tried to protect him as much as I could.

“Then came the war with Grindelwald. Shortly after Tom graduated, he joined me in one of Grindelwald's legions. I had since rebelled completely against my father for reasons that are my own. There he saved my life, on more than one occasion, which is why I serve him to this day. Following the end of the war we laid low, gathering strength, gathering followers, and most importantly, securing the Dark Lord's immortality.”

“Immortality?” Draco whispered, his voice speaking in hushed tones. Caliban nodded.

“Yes. By all accounts he should have died that day the killing curse hit him, but he was saved by the fact that he and I had created a Horcrux. A Horcrux is an object that is imbued with a portion of a person's soul, severed from their mind and body by the act of murder. As long as the Horcrux remains intact, the soul of a person cannot die, but rather remains earthbound in a sort of half-death. It is in this state that I found Lord Voldemort some years ago, before he engaged in a ritual that allowed him to return to the body that he currently inhabits.” He took a long sip of his drink before continuing, “This Horcrux is the most valuable of objects, obviously. The object we chose was the schoolboy diary of young Tom Riddle.” His face darkened at this, but he continued, “Your father was charged with safeguarding this object, but our trust was apparently...misplaced. He mishandled it by using it to try and kill mudbloods in your second year, the whole “heir of Slytherin” business?” Draco nodded in affirmation. Though he had suspected his father had something to do with that, he wasn't completely certain. “The end result was that the Horcrux was destroyed. Fortunately I had found Voldemort by that point, and had managed to create a rudimentary body for him to temporarily inhabit, while the other times he was allowed to possess my body.” He paused, his eyes twinkling in the light, before he coldly said, “That is why your father is allowed to rot in Azkaban, because he failed so greatly.”

Caliban finished his drink and set the glass on the table. He glanced up again, staring straight at Draco, “You are not to repeat this to anyone, do I make myself clear.” The glimmer of ferocity that lurked just beneath his eyes left no room for Draco to doubt. He nodded his head silently. Caliban glanced at him for a moment, trying to read him Draco quickly deduced. Draco reinforced his occulumency shields to full boar, but still felt Caliban break through, unimpeded by his defenses. Caliban kept up the assault for a few moments, before grabbing the glass he had before. Pulling out his wand, he muttered “Portus.” The glass glowed blue and shook violently for a few moments before settling down. He handed it to Draco. “That glass will act as a portkey to take you to the docks where they launch the boats to take visitors to Azkaban. Might I warn you...I don't think you'll like what you see. Azkaban has a way of making people....brutally honest.” Draco glanced at the glass with contempt, and then back at Caliban.

“Well then there won't be any doubt then now will there,” he clearly stated, “When my father sets you right that is.”

Caliban smiled, “We shall see, young dragon.”

/ - / - / - /

4 months, 14 days into training

“The key to being an animagus is simply being at peace with yourself,” Harry explained, as Hermione nodded, “I mean when I become Corvax, it's like I have a second presence in my mind. You have to withdraw into yourself and find that presence, whatever it might be, and that will allow you to change.”

Hermione laughed as she wrote something down on a piece of paper, “You'd think that there was something more simple to this, like taking a potion or something.” Harry laughed as well, shaking his head.

“'Fraid not.” He yawned and stretched out a little. “What do you say we take a little bit of a break,” Hermione nodded, standing up.

“I'll take dinner in the library, there's a few spells you showed me I want to research.” Harry frowned a bit but nodded his head, and Hermione walked off towards the library. Sighing as soon as she was out of earshot, he turned back and walked toward the sitting room.

There he found his parents, chatting with some of the figures in other portraits. Upon seeing their somewhat dejected son enter the room, they shooed away Great-Grandpa Gavin Potter (something that Lily thanked Merlin for being able to do) to his portrait and turned towards Harry. “What's wrong dear,” his mother asked, gentle in her voice and with worry tinged at the edges of her face.

“Nothing really,” Harry began, trying not to look at his mother's picture. He knew if he looked at her then it wouldn't be long until he was spilling all the beans.

“Might as well give it up son,” James playfully said, “When Lily wants to find something out, nothing's going to stop her.” Harry glanced up and smirked at his father, before frowning again and sitting down at a chair in front of the portrait.

“It's just that....Hermione has been real distant lately. I guess with everything that we've been doing these last few months, it's just been so hectic that it seems like we've grown apart.” He shook his head, “I don't even know if anything is wrong but, I just get this feeling.” He dropped his fist on the table in front of him and leaned back in the chair. “I'm no good with this sort of thing.”

James chuckled at his son's plight. “Men never are Harry, it's not just you trust me. It took me three years just to realize that I loved your mother, and even longer for me to get the gumption to ask her how she felt about me.”

“And during that time,” Lily joined in, “We fought like cats and dogs. But it all worked out in the end.” She paused for a moment before she got a bit of a mischievous smile on her face, “James dear, would you leave me and Harry alone for a moment.”

“Oh Great Circe,” James said over dramatically, rolling his eyes in the process, “She's got one of her brilliant ideas again.” Lily nudged him in the ribs and James waved her off, going to another portrait to leave Lily and Harry alone in the room. Once he was gone, Lily turned to her son.

“There might not be anything wrong at all dear,” she said smiling, “But there are certainly ways of just making her feel good that you can try to help things along.”

/ - / - / - /

Albus Dumbledore walked out of the Dursley's home, rubbing his eyes repeatedly. A conversation with the family to try and track Harry down the direct way had turned up nothing, and they seemed to be more brutish towards him then he had expected. They wouldn't do as a suitable place for Harry any longer, his use with them was over. Three memory charms later and he was clear of them for good. Besides, it might help him get back in Harry's good graces if he at least appeared apologetic about one of his protections gone horribly wrong, even if it was only a half-truth.

Tossing a lemon drop into his mouth, he sighed and began walking towards Arabella Figg's house. He would need to modify her mind as well. As he went through everything in his mind, he was amazed at how quickly everything had unraveled. Years of careful planning for this moment had come undone. He'd made these kinds of missteps before, when he had been confused about certain elements of the prophecy. Maybe if he had listened to Lazarus then, things might have turned out differently.

But it was far too late to change things now.

As he turned the corner, almost instantly he felt a familiar sensation of magic appear before him. It took him a moment to recognize who it was, but when he did his eyes went wide and he turned around. There sitting on a park bench was someone he had not seen for twenty years. It brought ache to his heart to see him again, and made him immediately grab his wand in defense.

“Hello father,” Caliban coldly greeted Dumbledore, “It's been a long time.”

A/N: The confrontation between Caliban and Dumbledore will happen next chapter, merely as Caliban starts to dig deeper for his own personal information. Also we'll see Lucius and Draco meet in prison, and a bit of an overly romantic scene involving Harry and Hermione.

That dream sequence is an altered version of one in S'Tarkan's fantastic fiction Harry Potter and the Nightmares of Future Past.

Chapter 17: Fathers and Sons

Father and son stared at each other for a long time. Neither one wanted to break the stalemate that held them at bay. For Caliban, it was a matter of principle. For Albus, it was simply a matter of shock and awe.

Principle won out this day.

“Agamemnon,” Dumbledore whispered in a failing voice, his bottom lip trembling a bit not out of fear, but rather out of sorrow and anguish. Caliban's face broke its calm serenity, a scowl quickly escaping the actor's mask. Jumping down from the ledge on which he was sitting, he rounded towards Dumbledore, surprisingly without his wand anywhere in sight.

“You have no right to call me that,” he viciously spat, “Agamemnon Dumbledore died over 60 years ago...you saw do that, didn't you father?” Dumbledore stood firm, though his eyes underscored the sadness in his heart. His words did ring true, striking at a nerve that was particularly raw given his recent, prophetic failures.

“Words cannot express my regret over what I did to your mother and sister,” Dumbledore began, hanging his head slightly. Caliban cut him off.

“Spare me the sob story father, I've long since gotten over their deaths.” He cocked his head to the side, “Might I ask why you're here?”

“That is none of your concern, son,” Dumbledore more sternly replied. Quickly he pulled out his wand and pointed it at his son. “Stupefy!” Much to Dumbledore's surprise, the stunner simply sailed through Caliban as if he weren't even there. Caliban smiled, while Dumbledore stared at him blankly for a few moments before realization dawned on him. “I see,” he whispered, frustrated at the fact that it was only his son's astral projection and not his actual form. Caliban chuckled at the display.

“As you can see, my mental acuity has....how can I put this....improved since we met last. I've found a way to project myself using legilimency. Normally an astral projection can only be sent to people who are asleep, but I can send my self-projection to anyone...anytime.” Dumbledore filed away the information for later use. Even if everything else had changed, Caliban's propensity for boasting certainly hadn't. Undeterred, Dumbledore threw up his occulumency shields at full bore, trying to block out Caliban. Though his image flickered for a few moments, it did not fade away. Dumbledore's eyes went wide, as Caliban chuckled once more. “And as you can see, I have far surpassed your feeble attempts to shut me out of your mind. You should be thankful that the distance I put between us prevents me from reading you directly. Should I confront you in person, it would be another story entirely.”

Dumbledore didn't let the slight against his abilities hurt his ego, at least outwardly, and once again held firm, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Why are you here,” he forcefully demanded to know.

“Information, but I see you've already drained that well dry. Needless to say I'm certain you had the same idea I did, milk the boy's aunt and uncle for any information regarding his whereabouts. Apparently though, if there was any information, it is gone now.”

“And why would you venture that guess?”

Caliban rounded Dumbledore and continued. “Because I know how you work...father: tying up loose ends, subtly moving people around like pawns on a chessboard.” He paused, tilting his head to the side and smirking at his father, “And this one in particular. There's something about this one. I haven't seen you this incensed since you tried to make Voldemort into one of your pawns, and failed.”

“My affairs are none of your concern,” Dumbledore flatly stated. Glancing around, he finally noticed that there wasn't anyone around the area.

“Confundus charm...” Caliban said with a smile, “I think you'll also find your dear pet squib is rather...how do I put this....indisposed, currently.” Dumbledore grew wide as he ran off towards Arabella Figg's house. It took him only a few minutes before he reached the home. He ran up the front porch and threw open the front door.

Inside was Mrs. Figg alright, stuck to the wall, her face a mask of pain and torture. Around her lie her cats in various states of dismemberment and beheading. Dumbledore was sickened by the sight. He turned rapidly, looking for his son. He could feel his magical signature everywhere around him.

“You don't think I'd be so daft as to still be here,” came a voice from behind him. Dumbledore turned to see the still shimmering visage of Caliban de Montesquieu, standing as arrogantly as ever.

“How could you,” Dumbledore coldly asked, to which Caliban scoffed.

“As if you aren't capable of such actions.” His glare turned deathly. “Need I remind you of the state in which I found mother...” Dumbledore grimaced, the effect Caliban was apparently looking for. He turned as if to walk away, before stopping and glancing over his shoulder at Dumbledore. “Do not judge that which you have wrought, father.” At that, Caliban simply vanished, leaving Dumbledore, chided and somewhat humiliated, alone with his thoughts.

/ - / - / - /

It wasn't long after Caliban had gone off on another of his hunts that Draco used the portkey the elder Death Eater had given to him. All things considered Draco was glad to be away from him. Though the feeling was decreasing everyday, it seemed that whenever he was around Caliban, there was some unsettling presence behind every callous look and every smug chuckle. It was as if there was more to this simple mission than what Caliban was letting on.

Draco slowly walked along the short pathway towards a small wooden boathouse on the fog-drenched shoreline. He got the impression that it was perpetually twilight here, probably because of the constant presence of dementors nearby. Silently he clutched the medallion around his neck. He knew he was a ways off from the island, and that the dementors shouldn't be affecting him just yet. Still, the experience of simply being around one of those creatures was not one he wished to relive anytime soon.

He approached the boathouse and spotted an older man, dressed in what Draco would customarily refer to as tattered rags. The man spotted him as well, giving him a smile that revealed a few rotten teeth barely hanging onto his gums. Draco had to mentally hold himself back from vomiting a bit

“Afternoon guvnah,” the man said in a tone far too chipper for the mood around him, “I s'pect you'd be 'eadin for Azkaban then right?” Draco simply nodded. “Right'o. Jus' need ta know what yer goin for...can't be too careful what with 'Ou-Know-Who runnin' around.” Draco played nice and offered a placating smile.

“I'm here to see my father,” he replied as matter of factly as he could, “Lucius Malfoy.” The older man's smile faded a bit, but he nodded his head and motioned for Draco to follow him on the boat.

“Stay close to the center,” he instructed, taking his place near the bow, “And watch the seas, it could get bumpy.” Draco nodded and took his seat in the old wooden boat. No doubt the only thing holding the wooden planks together were magical bonds. After taking several moments to acclimate himself to the rocking of the boat, the old man waved his wand and the small craft cast off from the dock, headed out into the misty fog.

Draco was alone with his thought for the half-hour long trip. Though the old man tried a couple of times to strike up a conversation, Draco waved him off and kept to himself much of the way. In his mind he was running through everything that had happened to him since he had been marked by the Dark Lord. Just a few weeks ago he was the self-anointed prince of Slytherin house, who would eventually follow into his father's footsteps, perhaps even surpass them and become Minister of Magic one day. Then he would be able to carry out the noble birth of allowing purebloods like himself to attain total domination over mudbloods like Granger and worthless halfbreeds like Potter.

Now he sat on a boat to visit his father in Azkaban prison, looking for final confirmation that he was in fact that which he said he was on the most basic level. Though he couldn't consciously say it to himself in so many words, on a subconscious level he knew that he was looking for assurances that everything his life was based on wasn't a lie. He was looking for his identity. Caliban had said that Azkaban made a person brutally honest, so in his mind the idea of his father lying to him at this juncture was out of the question.

Did Caliban's story hold plausible weight? Perhaps...Draco had to admit that much. Did he believe him? Not by a longshot. He didn't trust Caliban as far as he could throw him...so it would come as no surprise to Draco if the man was a lying fool. He'd hex him five ways to Sunday if that was the case, provided he could bring himself to do so.

It was a nightmare he had that flashed into his mind at this thought, of the muggle he had failed to kill. The look in her eyes as she knew her life was done for. Those blue rimmed eyes that begged him for mercy. It was something that Draco had no experience with, though a few Slytherins who had crossed him over the years might have begged for mercy when he sicced Crabbe and Goyle on them. The stare was his constant companion recently, even visiting him in the waking hours. To say that it had shook him to the core just a bit was not an understatement.

“Ah, 'ere we are then.” Draco was pulled out of his thoughts by the old man's voice. “Azkaban Prison, still as ominous as evah.” The boy looked up, and his mouth opened slightly in awe. Emerging from the fog was a rocky expanse with little to no beach on it. There was no vegetation aside from some moss on the stones surrounding a very short path leading from an old wooden dock. Further in the distance Draco saw a massive stone wall, flanked on either side by parapets standing high in the twilight sky, each one. He felt a shudder go through his system, and glanced down to see his pendant glowing. Even though it was working, he could still feel the gnawing chill of the dementors, even from this distance. The old man appeared to be unaffected. Either he was used to the sensation...or he had long ago been driven insane to the point where the dementors didn't effect him as much. Draco wouldn't have been surprised by either. Regardless the old man spryly moved towards the pier, gripping it strongly with his hand and casting a rope around the edge of the wooden walkway. Once the boat was secure, Draco hastily jumped up onto the dock. “I'll be 'ere waitin for ya,” the old man explained, his smile having fully returned. Draco didn't turn towards him, instead walking up the shoreline towards the large iron gates that housed the prison.

Much to Draco's surprise, there were no hit wizards or anyone patrolling the walkway between the parapets. He guessed that since some dementors were still there, it was enough to keep prisoners in line, at least to the Ministry's way of thinking. If the given situation was any different, he might have laughed at their incompetence.

Slowly the iron gates swung upon, giving an ominous rumbling sound as they did so. For added effect, Draco felt a sudden rush of wind coming from the courtyard of the prison. It caused a shiver to run up and down his spine several times. Collecting his nerves, he marched into the courtyard.

Draco really had no idea what to expect, not being acquainted with either muggle or wizarding prisons. Had he been more familiar with muggle prisons, he'd be surprised by the lack of chainwire fences, or even barbed wire ones. The courtyard, if one could call the slate gray rock quarry that, was wide open and surrounded by the high stone wall that he had seen on the outside, with two matching parapets off in the distance at the far end corners. Roughly in the center of the courtyard was a large, more modern looking building, with a series of brick long houses, three or four in total on either side, each with simple wooden doors. Draco followed the makeshift path through the gravel yard towards the central building.

Upon entering, he was greeted by a large room, with two tiers of prison cells extending off as far as the eye could see. He had to force down the bile that crept into his throat when he saw a few dementors patrolling the upper catwalk. Steeling his resolve, he headed forward toward a large reception desk, where an older woman sat. She looked up at Draco, seemingly disinterested in her job, and glanced him over. “State your business and present your wand for verification,” she mechanically stated.

Draco glared back. “Draco Malfoy, here to visit my father Lucius.” He handed his wand to the woman, who took it and glanced it over. She waved her own wand, producing a small piece of parchment as she did so.

“12 1/3 inches, cedar wood, harpy feather core,” she plainly stated, handing the wand back to Draco before pointing off to the side. “Visiting room is over there for low security prisoners.” Draco arched an eyebrow: his father was considered low security....after the stunt he tried to pull? He didn't say anything however, and slowly walked towards the small room over in the corner.

The room was as drab as the rest of the prison, simply four brick walls and a barred entrance on the door. There wasn't even an auror standing guard, just another door off to the side where prisoners entered and exited. Draco sat at a small table for several minutes, waiting for his father, when he heard the door next to him slowly click open. He gazed up, eager to see his father for the first time in some weeks, but his heart fell to the floor at the sight.

The man before him was not regal. He did not carry himself as he normally did. Instead of the full-faced, confident visage that Lucius Malfoy presented to the world, Draco was greeted by the sight of a sallow, lanky, drawn man who seemed resigned to death and despair. It almost caused Draco's mouth to gape open. Lucius gazed up at his son, staring at him with eyes that held not the fire of someone ready to show the world what for, but rather the ice-cold glare of one who had come to grips with their fate. Still upon seeing Draco, Lucius got a small glimmer of hope in the corners of those very same eyes. He slowly shuffled into the room, his hands bound by manacles, his normally resplendent robes replaced with the gray striped uniform of Azkaban prison. He sunk down into the chair across from Draco, and let out a deep sigh.

“Son,” he croaked out, his voice hoarse for some reason. Draco hoped it wasn't from shouting in fear, but a part of him knew better, “I'm glad to see you.”

“So am I,” Draco said, trying to offer a bit of a smile. There was something wrong with this picture. This was not the man that Draco grew up idolizing. This was someone entirely different. “How are you,” Draco asked, knowing full well the answer to that question.

“I am surviving,” Lucius flatly said, though his face revealed that this was a bit more for Draco's comfort than it was for the sake of factual clarity. Still, it was an honest response, one that Draco was looking for. “And yourself?”

“I've been taken on as an apprentice,” Draco said, a bit of pride seeping into his voice. Lucius glanced up at this, staring towards the door.

“Feel free to say anything,” he whispered, “But don't speak too loudly. They might hear you.” Draco stared at his father. There was obviously no one there. Tentatively, he reached out with his legilimency as best he could, sensing for any presence. Though he was still not yet completely skilled in the practice, he detected nobody. He shrugged it off, staring back at his father.

“I am working with Caliban,” he quietly said, causing Lucius' eyes to go wide. “The Dark Lord instructed him to train me.” Draco slowly looked at his father, staring straight at him. “That's partly why I'm here. I need you to clarify something for me.”

“Of course son,” Lucius said in a manner far more caring than Draco had ever heard from him before, “Anything.”

Draco took a deep breath. The nagging feeling had returned to the back of his mind. “Well, Caliban told me a story. About....origins. He said that....” he was suddenly embarrassed to reveal this, as if it were a stain on his soul he was showing to the world. “He said that I was a...halfblood.” Draco glanced up at his father, trying to judge his reaction. At first, Lucius just sat there, unblinking, unmoving. He seemed to be going over in his head what was just said. As time pressed on, Draco began to panic. No, he told himself. Say Something. SAY ANYTHING! Lucius did not say anything, simply staring down at his hands now. Tears of desperation began to form at the corners of Draco's eyes. He had to be thinking of a way to deny it. It couldn't be true....it wasn't. Lucius stared up at Draco, and then quickly looked away.

Then, and only then, did Draco finally admit to himself, that it was true.

/ - / - / - /

4 months, 22 days into training

Harry Potter had never been so nervous in his life.

He briefly thought that might be an understatement. After all, the times coming home to the Dursleys after he'd done better than Dudley on a test...or other such occasions had to be nerve wracking, but for an entirely different reason obviously. He had been practically scared stiff while fighting the basilisk...and while being chased down by the dragon during the first task. But all those were more akin to fear than they were to just plain being nervous.

So, Harry quickly decided, he truly had never been so nervous in his life. Why was he so nervous? Because this was the night he wanted to be special for Hermione. Just a simple night where they could be together.

More than once Harry had allowed himself to worry about Hermione's depth of feelings. Perhaps it was just the shock of her parents death that had spurned her reaction. Perhaps it was the need to be protected that led to her returning his proclamations of love. There was only really one thing that Harry was certain of as far as his relationship with Hermione was concerned, and that was his own feelings. He knew now, more than he knew anything else that he loved practically everything about her. Any hesitation that may have existed was throughly erased with the past four months of interaction.

His parents were being as encouraging as they could be in their present state. His mother in particular was trying to alleviate his fears as simple paranoia. Her justification for this line of reasoning befuddled Harry; it was in the way Hermione looked at Harry. Harry turned over this idea in his mind several times, but for the life of him couldn't figure out what it meant. Whenever he asked his father about it, he merely concluded with Lily and said that Harry would understand in due time. Harry hoped beyond hope that that time was tonight.

He had spent about a week planning for it, trying to nail down every detail. It was a little more difficult, having to navigate around Hermione in the process and being unable to leave the grounds of the house, but with help from both his parent's portraits and Dobby and Winky, he thought he had managed to pull it off. He hoped he had, anyway.

Quickly Harry shook his head and focused his mind on the task at hand. Summoning up his courage he made his way into the library, where he knew he would find Hermione. She was currently sitting at a table on the lower level, perching her way through a book on some of the more obscure potions that seemingly had died out over the years. Approaching her from behind, Harry cleared his throat, causing Hermione to turn around and smile at him. Her smile nearly bowled him over effortlessly.

“Hi Harry,” she greeted, continuing to smile at him. Harry finally collected himself and smiled back. He sat down next to Hermione, who motioned towards the book she was reading. “I found some potions that might prove useful in the future. Not just to us but to our friends. There's one here that might actually help Neville's parents....” she trailed off and tried to find her place in the book, but was distracted by the stare she was receiving from Harry. Slowly, she turned up to look at him, seeing the look of happiness and peace awash over his face. “What's wrong?” she asked, smiling back at him.

“Nothing right now,” he said with a sigh, “Right now...despite everything else going on outside...at this very moment there's nothing wrong as far as I'm concerned.” His countenance was broken by the simultaneous chuckle that they shared. “That was horribly corny of me wasn't it?” Hermione tried to assure him that it was sweet, but the grin on her face kept her from doing so.

“Actually,” Harry said, acting as if he'd had a brilliant flash of insight, “I take that back there is something wrong.” He stood up and offered an arm to Hermione. “You haven't had anything to eat yet.” Hermione blushed at the accusation.

“Well...I...” Harry shushed her and took her hand.

“Care to join me for dinner 'Mione?” Hermione smiled back.

“It would be my pleasure.”

Dinner went off without a hitch, as Dobby and Winky had outdone themselves once more. Though it had taken some getting used to, Hermione was quickly getting used to the idea of having house servants. As long they were paid, of course. For some reason, Harry had insisted on them using the formal dining room, and each of them had dressed up in some fancier robes that they had found in one of the bedrooms. She was currently putting the finishing touches on the soufflé that had been served that night, when she looked over at Harry, who was regarding her with something akin to disbelief. Whether or not it was because he considered himself impossible lucky to be in this situation or for some other reason, it made Hermione arch an eyebrow.

“It occurs to me,” she finally said with a smirk adorning her face, “That we really have never had a formal date until now.” Harry thought for a moment, before standing up, a grin firmly plastered on his own face.

“Actually I've thought about that,” he said solemnly, kneeling down in front of her as he rounded the table, causing her to gasp in wonder. “Hermione, there's a lot of things I wish I could have done differently over the years. A lot of them I can't make up for, but there is one that I'd like to rectify this evening if you'll let me. Will you accompany to the ball tonight milady?”

“Ball...what ball?” Hermione immediately got an inquisitive look on her face, but her heart was racing as to what he might be implying. To answer her question, Harry stood up and took her by the hand. He led her out of the dining room, and towards the large bronze doors that made Hermione gasp in anticipation.

“This ball...” Harry said simply, waving his wand as he gestured for the doors to open. Hermione didn't have time to notice that her clothes had been transfigured into something more elegant, as she gazed into the ornate ballroom. The walls were interlaced with gold trim and molded columns built into the wall all around at about three foot intervals. The high ceiling was enchanted apparently, as it appeared to be a moonlit sky with thousands of stars shining down on the marble floor. Candelabras were lit all around, and flowers had been decorated at various points along the wall. Hermione took in the sights, taking a few steps before she realized that her clothes had changed. She glanced down to see that she was now clad in an exact replica of her dress robes from the Yule Ball. Quickly she turned to Harry, who had one of his trademark sheepish grins on his face.

“I couldn't think of anything else,” he said, scratching the back of his head. His clothes as well had been transfigured, this time into a near duplicate of his own dress robes from a year and a half ago. The only difference was the Potter family crest which rested on the right breast pocket of the outer part of the robes. “So,” he asked again, “Would you care to accompany me to the ball tonight.”

Hermione laughed, holding back a few tears of happiness at the surprise. “Of course,” she replied, curtsying in time. Harry offered his arm and the two of them took to the center of the dance floor. Harry blushed a bit as he pulled out his wand, and pointed towards the corner of the room, where a small phonograph had been set up.

“It's not exactly the Weird Sisters,” he said with a small smile, “But it's the best I could manage.” With a wave of his wand, a rather elegant waltz began to play. Much to Hermione's surprise, Harry grasped her waist, moving to dance with her.

“Harry,” she said more in surprise than in outrage, “I thought you hated to dance.” Harry chuckled a bit.

“Maybe because I've never danced with you?” he offered, giving her that grin that made her melt inside. Smooth Move Potter, Hermione thought to herself, and she took his hand in response. Though the dancing was far from professionally graceful, it was a marked improvement over his Yule Ball performance from what Hermione could ascertain.

Suddenly she knew what the topic of discussion between Harry and his mother must have been over the last week.

For several hours it seemed like, through several songs, they danced in each others arms, never once breaking from each other's company. Finally, the record stopped, and Harry and Hermione looked straight into one another's eyes. “Enjoy yourself,” Harry asked softly.

“Yes,” she replied, sinking her head into his chest. “Thank you for this Harry. You have no idea how much I wanted the real thing to be like this.” Harry's eyes suddenly went wide, with a brilliant resolution clicking in his mind. She wanted to go with him to the real Yule Ball?

Suddenly everything his mother had said made perfect sense. Merlin he had been delusional to not see it sooner than he had.

“Harry,” Hermione softly said, drawing him out of his thoughts. He glanced down and saw a tinge of worry in her eyes. He smiled at her, offering her his heart. Here, in her arms, was the one place he never wanted to leave. And if nothing else, she felt at least as strongly as he did.

Hermione Granger loved him. Such a simple statement, and yet such an earth shattering one as well.

“Hermione....I love you more than anything,” he said quietly, causing her to smile in return. They were getting used to this permanent smiling thing they had going on between them. Subtlely, Harry began to lean forward, Hermione following suit. Their kisses were tentative at first, not furiously paced or even drawn out. Though they had kissed, and even cuddled before, it was as if they were exploring each other's bodies for the first time.

Off to the side, as the young witch and wizard grew more impassioned, Dobby the House Elf watched with a smile on his face. With a wave of his hand, the phonograph player transfigured into a rather comfortable bed, and scooted towards the young couple. He figured it might get good use tonight, underneath the starry sky.

A/N: I figured I'd end a chapter on a high note this time, rather than the cliffhanger that I did have planned for the ending. Draco's reaction to the truth will be posted in the next chapter, as well as a new assignment for him and Caliban. As well we'll get a bit of training summarized as we get towards the end of the time warp.

I'm also waffling on who exactly may or may not die in the upcoming battle.

Sorry if that fluff scene was horribly written. I'm no good with this emotional mumbo jumbo.

A/N: I originally had thought not to include the Draco/Lucius scene, but the little muse in my head got the better of me, so in it goes. For posterity sake, I was listening to “Gollum's Song” from the Two Towers soundtrack while writing it. Just seemed to fit.

I replied to the reviewer who raised this concern, but I'll go ahead and address it here as well. Hermione will NOT, I repeat, will NOT be getting pregnant in this fic anytime soon. It would seriously detract from everything else going on (and lord knows there's a lot going on here). In fact the only reason I ended the fluffy scene the way I did is because they've spent the last four and a half months (in their time) with no one but each other (other than the elves, but we won't even go there) so it makes sense that the feelings they already had for one another would be amplified.

Chapter 18: Juxtaposition

The plethora of emotions swirling through Draco Malfoy's head were leaving him quite flustered. There was still disbelief at accepting the truth, that his whole life story had been a lie up to that point. But this was quickly fading away with each downward glance and heart-worn stare. This disbelief was quickly being supplanted with a new emotion, hatred.

Slowly but surely the look on his face began to change. It went from looking like he had unexpectedly been hit by a stunner to one of increasing fury. Lucius apparently couldn't sense the oncoming storm, continuing to glance down at the table in disillusioned horror. “Draco....I don't really know what to say....” he tried to explain. Bad choice of words that was.

“Is that so,” Draco began, clinching his fist in frustration. “Perhaps you should start with why in the name of Merlin you decided to lie to me my whole life. Maybe you should start with why you taught me all of those things about muggleborns and halfbloods being pathetic and worthless. Were you talking about me...father.” He spat out the word father, as if it pained him to say it.

“I never thought about you that way Draco,” Lucius forcefully stated, showing more fire than he had the entire time he had been in Azkaban. “I have always known that you would be destined for great things.”

“THEN WHY DID YOU LIE TO ME!!!” Draco asked fervently, slamming his fist down on the table. “If I was always destined for these great things you talk about, then what was the harm in telling me the truth!?”

“It's....complicated. I couldn't very well expose the truth while your grandfather was still alive....he would have disowned me. And....with everything that went on...it was easier to live a lie than face the truth.” Draco scowled at his father, who had been reduced to a sniveling wreck of a man. Any hint of the man whom Draco had spent his life emulating had been utterly and completely destroyed.

“That's no excuse,” Draco said in a low tone. He paused a moment before asking, “Does the woman I called mother know about this?” Lucius silently nodded his head, and Draco frowned. He hung his head in anger....and in shame. Shame at what his father had been reduced to. Shame at himself for everything he had ever said or done in the name of pureblood supremacy. It was hard not to consider himself a falsehood, nothing more than a walking, breathing, fully functional lie. Glaring up at his father, he asked in an even lower tone, “What was her name?”

Lucius did not look up from the spot on the floor he was staring at intently. “Who's name?”

“My mothers...” Draco replied fiercely, closing his eyes in scorn. “My birth mother's name.”

Lucius didn't move, but responded flatly, “I didn't know her full name....just what Caliban told me. Her last name was Breyerson....aside from that I don't know.” Draco nodded, filing the name away for later use should he ever need it. Once more he examined his father, the last part of his youthful soul searching for any small part of the noble yet callous man whom Draco related to more than anyone in the world. Finding none of this, he lowered his head, staring intently at the table for a long time. One other emotion crossed into his mind, one that he did not expect to feel at this particular moment in time...gratitude towards Caliban for telling him the truth, despite his hand in the plot.

Draco sighed, and slowly stood up, making his way to leave. It was at this that Lucius finally stared up at his son, a pleading look on his face.

“Please son....forgive me for what I've done. I--I see now that I should have told you the truth....and I promise to you that I'll...” he was interrupted by the death gaze that came from his son, as Draco whirled around to regard Lucius, tears glimmering in his eyes.

“Caliban was right,” he said, fighting back the emotions, “This place does make a person brutally honest. I see you for what you are....an empty shell of a human being.” He turned away, before adding, “Goodbye father...enjoy your new life.” At that he walked out of the room, leaving Lucius Malfoy stunned speechless for the second time that day...and the final time of his life.

/ - / - / - /

15 months into training

“Expelliarmus!”

“Caecus!”

“Diffindo!”

“Wingardium Leviosa!!!”

Harry Potter was a bit beside himself as he tried to break out of his current predicament. He grew red with embarrassment while Hermione just laughed, holding him within the confines of the levitation charm.

“Oy, this is not funny,” Harry said with a mock scowl on his face. Hermione got a smirk as she waved her wand around a bit, jostling him around. Harry got a smirk on his face in response, and silently sent a curse of his own creation towards Hermione. Almost immediately he was rewarded with a sharp thud on the ground as he landed, while Hermione was trying to deal with the break-dancing curse that Harry had invented out of nowhere, seemingly. “Bet you wish you hadn't taught me arithmancy now, hadn't you,” Harry mocked, watching Hermione spin on her head on the ground, and trying incredibly hard not to laugh out loud.

“Watch yourself Harry!” Hermione said, finally breaking out of the curse. She extended her hand in an exaggerated motion, something which took Harry by surprise momentarily. He tried to duck once he realized what was happening, but couldn't move out of the way fast enough. A helmet from a suit of armor in the corner of the dueling room came flying towards Hermione, smacking Harry in the back of the head. With a groan Harry fell forward, holding his head in pain. Hermione stared down at him, making sure he was okay at first, before smirking at him. Harry for his part just looked up at her and shook his head.

“What is that, five times in a row?” he asked.

“Six,” Hermione replied in a singsong voice that annoyed Harry to no end.

“Hey, that first one didn't count. Winky helped you!”

“Anything Goes...remember? Besides, you beat me four times today, so I'd say we're even.” Harry shrugged as Hermione helped him up to his feet. Dusting himself off, he walked over and grabbed a small vial of potion, downing it in one gulp to cure his oncoming headache. Laughing to himself, he turned around, sheathing his wand in his holster. Hermione walked over to him, doing the same.

“I hope that you aren't giving up just because I keep beating you,” she cheekily said. In all her life Hermione never would have given herself to being any kind of flirt, but the year long stay with Harry had caused her to become much more open and capable of expressing her sense of humor. Harry found it refreshing as well, and the two of them had become even closer in the ensuing months since Harry's idea for a Yule Ball redux. As their relationship grew more intimate, they each found the things that drove the other one mad....be it in the throes of passion or just in a normal day.

Harry smiled at her and wrapped his arms around her neck. Placing a small kiss on her forehead, he stared directly at her. “Just tired for today. We've been at it since this morning....let's get something to eat.” Hermione smiled back and nodded, returning his affectionate gesture. Separating themselves temporarily, they intertwined their fingers and made their way towards the dining room. About halfway their, Hermione broke away, stating that she should probably take a shower before dinner. Harry smiled and made an overly dramatic gesture in concurrence. The two parted ways, heading towards their respective showers to freshen up after a long hard day at work.

Hermione stood in the shower, letting the warm water wash over her. In her solitude she allowed herself to dwell on the year she had spent with Harry. In more ways than one it had been the best times of her life, a fact that she admitted both with a tinge of guilt and a sigh of relief. She could now look back on her parents with a sense of joy at the good times she had shared with them, something that Harry had helped with immensely both with occulumency training and with his creation of a pensieve for her to store those memories in. For some reason Harry seemed intent on its creation, though he didn't say why. Hermione didn't question him, though, trusting him to know what he was doing.

She was also surprised with her growth in terms of pure magical ability. She had long ago accepted that she was above average when it came to that department, but working with Harry seemed to increase that tenfold. It also helped that Harry was a natural teacher, relating to her in ways that made every concept, no matter how foreign, seem easier than it actually should have been. Once he had mastered all of the knowledge that the spirits of the founders had seen fit to endow him with, he too had become far more powerful in terms of overall ability.

Most pleasurable to her, however, was the growth they had experienced in their relationship. She had long ago placed Harry in the category of “best friend” and thusly as off limits to any type of romantic attachment, she had come to learn that she was simply denying herself based on her old standby views of herself. She thought herself as Plain Hermione Jane, as the girls in primary school used to call her, the bucktoothed, bushy-haired bookworm. Harry had help her overcome that label which she had internalized, and as a result she was open to more ideas as far as romantic relationships were concerned. It didn't hurt that Harry returned her feelings with just as much intensity either. although he seemed a bit nervous the last few days, he had become her constant companion, and Hermione very much doubted that it was possible for two people to be anymore in love.

Finishing her shower, she headed out of the bathroom and slipped into a fresh change of clothes. She was about to leave her room when Harry caught her in the hallway. “Hi,” he said, partially out of breath. Hermione cocked an eyebrow, but said little about it. “I want to show you something I just found in one of the bedrooms,” he said, waving her forward. Hermione shrugged her shoulders, smiling at his obvious excitement, and simply followed him.

They made their way to an unused bedroom at the end of the hallway. Harry quickly rushed into the room and went towards the opposite wall. Hermione initially didn't see anything different about the room; it had all the same furnishings as the other unused rooms in the mansion. The only difference was what Harry was pointing to, hanging on the wall. It was a tapestry of some type. Hermione looked forward, and her eyes went wide at what she saw.

At the bottom of the tapestry was clearly written in scarlet lettering “Harry James Potter.” There was a golden, solid line that linked him up to a dotted line between the names “James Winston Potter” and “Lily Rose Evans Potter.” She remembered seeing this same thing in Grimmauld Place and she gasped at what it was. It was the Potter Family Tapestry.

“Harry, this is...” she said in awestruck fashion, as she slowly approached the fragile cloth. Cautiously she ran her fingers softly across the names, tracing the lines upward. The tapestry traced upwards several different directions, but it was four lines she followed with interest. The first led directly to Harry's father James, up from James' great-grandfather Gavin Potter, and all the way up to Godric Gryffindor. At Gavin, there was another line that went up as far, this time from Gavin's wife's side. She followed the line of Nellie Draven straight up to Salazar Slytherin.

From Lily's side she saw the line come to a witch named Maggie Seldon. From there the line split up two ways, going from Evangeline Warrens up to Helga Hufflepuff, and from Jacob Seldon to Rowena Ravenclaw. She stared at the names of the four founders, as if physically confirming everything she already knew to be true.

“This is my family,” Harry said with a degree of reverence, and Hermione turned to see a small tear seeping out of the corner of his eye. She knew more than anything he had always wanted a family, to prove that he belonged to some lineage, and though many of the issues he had growing up with the Dursley's had been laid to rest in the year long sabbatical they had taken from the rest of the world, occasionally they would still rise to the surface. Instinctively Hermione grabbed Harry by the shoulder, and Harry nodded his head as a sign that he was alright at the moment. Clearing his throat, he turned to Hermione, the joy still apparent in his eyes, though there was something else entirely lingering just below the surface.

“All my life,” he began, not allowing Hermione to inquire about his hidden depth of emotion, “I've only wanted one thing....a family. You, Hermione, have been a part of that family since the moment you came into a train compartment looking for a lost toad.” Hermione's breath caught as a fleeting thought passed through her mind. He couldn't be possibly....

“And despite everything that's happened between us....or rather everything that's happened to us.” His face darkened slightly before he continued on. “We have remained the best of friends...and now I think I can safely say we both love each other. I know I certainly do.”

“Of course I love you,” Hermione quietly said with a smile on her face, her own emotional control beginning to fail her, “And I'm overjoyed you consider me part of your family.”

Harry smirked, fishing around in his pocket for something. Hermione's eyes caught this motion, and she gasped as her thoughts were proven right by his next motion.

“Actually, I hope it's more than just consideration,” Harry solemnly stated, falling down to one knee and holding out a small box towards Hermione. Flawlessly he opened the box, revealing a large cut diamond with alternating emerald and topaz stones surrounding it in a circular motion. “Hermione...nothing would make my family more complete, and nothing would make me more happier...than if you were a part of it permanently.” He swallowed a bit as he finally concluded, “Hermione Granger....will you marry me?”

Hermione choked back a sob as she smiled broadly. Nodding her head, she brought an even wider smile to Harry's face as he slipped the ring onto her finger. “Oh Harry,” she excitedly said, “Of course I will!” With that the two embraced fervently, and kissed each other with equal passion. And though they weren't in the room at the time, the portrait of James and Lily Potter couldn't help but smile.

Neither one of them noticed either, but a small scarlet thread wrote Hermione's name on the Potter Family Tapestry right next to Harry's, the two joined by another golden embroidery.

/ - / - / - /

Caliban de Montesquieu sat in the living room of his safehouse, meditating as usual. His confrontation with his father had left him partially drained, and he needed to recharge his mental energies. This was also because of the rather taxing conversation he had with Lord Voldemort that same day, as he had received new instructions from his master.

Something more about the conversation with Voldemort had him at odds with himself. Voldemort appeared to not quite be himself. It wasn't anyone thing that he could pinpoint, but something about him was...off. Caliban had shrugged it off, and chose not to focus on the imperfection.

Deep down in his heart of hearts he knew what was going on, but much like his father would in similar circumstances...he chose to ignore the obvious when it didn't suit his purposes.

A rather loud pop appeared in front of him, and Caliban opened his eyes to see Draco Malfoy appear before him, returned from his visit to Azkaban. Almost instantly Caliban could tell that Draco had learned the truth first hand. He chuckled to himself, wondering exactly what Azkaban had done to the haughty Lucius Malfoy.

No matter, he told himself, it was time to gain more of the boy's trust.

“Hello,” Caliban calmly said, greeting Malfoy as he slumped down on the couch, not staring at anything in particular. Caliban got up from the floor and sat across the table from him, staring intently at Draco. Quietly Caliban sent a weak mental probe towards Draco...only to have it swatted away automatically. It brought a smile to Caliban's face.

“You were right,” Draco flatly said....his face not changing from its stoic state. “I'm a...half blood.” He winced as he said it, as if he were reliving the truth of it all over again. Slowly he lowered his head, a few tears leaking out of his eyes, but through it all he maintained a somewhat controlled appearance, despite the raging inferno of emotion that was likely going on beneath the surface.

Just what Caliban wanted.

“You are,” he firmly stated. “But that means little in the long run.”

“Easy for you to say!” Draco finally exploded, staring at Caliban with righteous fury. “My whole life has been nothing but one huge lie. Everything I ever knew, everything I was ever taught is nothing but one fucking lie!” Draco sat there fuming...before he finally whispered...”I hate my father. I hate everything he's become.”

“You were right the first time,” Caliban countered, causing Draco to stare at him ferociously. “That is to say, you don't hate what he's become. You hate him. Pure and simple, no additional qualifiers needed.” After several moments, Caliban leaned forward, staring Draco in the eye, despite the fact that he was staring off into the corner of the room.

“But regardless of that, you do appreciate one thing that Lucius Malfoy did stand for...the ascent of power. There is one universal truth in this world Draco, there exists only those who gain power and those who are too weak to seek it. And I know for a fact that you are not weak.

“And now is your chance to prove it.” he continued, causing Draco to stare at him. “We have received new orders from the Dark Lord. We are to attempt to smoke out Potter the same way we managed to smoke him out the first time.” Draco looked down, trying to figure out what that meant. When he reached his conclusion, he glanced up at Caliban.

“Weasley?” he simply asked. Caliban nodded in affirmation.

“Your father has been reduced to what he truly always was, a sniveling coward. Prove that you are not him. Prove that you are Draco Malfoy....one of the powerful.”

A/N: This is the action scene I promised at the end of training (which will come in the next chapter), so the next one will be rather big in terms of length....unless I decide to split it up in two, I haven't decided yet.

The marriage plotline is necessary to protect Hermione. You'll see why in a couple of chapters.

A.N: As I type this out right now, I'm unsure of who may be dead by the end of the Weasley affair. Suffice it to say you could probably guess who won't die....but that number is pretty small. Only about five or six characters are truly safe at this point....and that's only because I have use for them later in the story (and its sequels). Everyone else is fair game...

To start off, remember that as far as the population at large of the wizarding world is concerned, Hermione Granger is a Death Eater for now. Only the intimate characters close to her think differently.

Chapter 19: Battle at the Burrow

Cornelius Fudge was not a happy Minister for Magic.

Calls for his head had been set aside for the moment, given that the savior of the wizarding world had gone missing thanks to that muggle-born turncoat Hermione Granger, of that much he was certain. Like any calculating politician, he knew when the winds of change were blowing against him, and almost overnight his stock had plummeted from being the stalwart against radicals like Dumbledore and Potter to being considered a blind nitwit who couldn't see past the end of the nose on his face.

Idly he scrunched his face and smoothed out his robes as he listened to Dumbledore drone on about something particularly unimportant in the hunt for Potter and Granger. Fudge didn't really care, as long as Potter remained at large he was safe. He could still be a rock of stability.

Of course, if he could find the boy first and save him from the clutches of this Granger woman, then everything could be turned even more to his advantage. That above all else was paramount.

“Cornelius are you listening to me,” Dumbledore asked, a frown on his face. Fudge set aside his machinations and looked at the elder wizard with disdain. How this senile old fool still held more power than him was a mystery to him. Every chance he had tried to discredit him and break free of his shadow had failed. Of course it was partially because of Albus that he had become minister for magic in the first place...but that was ancient history as far as Fudge was concerned. Now, he was a hindrance to Fudge cementing his power permanently, and hindrances deserved to be removed.

“Yes Albus,” Fudge said with a fake smile. “We'll find the boy yet. I have aurors searching day and night for him. We've gone to twelve hour shifts round the clock.” Albus raised an eyebrow towards him, but said nothing in response. Fudge made a motion to glance at his watch and he huffed in mock hurriedness. “I'm afraid I must attend to a meeting with the Unspeakables Albus. I'll call your office later and we can chat then.” Albus nodded, having no real desire to be greeted by the Unspeakables on this particular occasion. Slowly he stood up, cordially shaking hands with Cornelius before turning to leave, aware of the scowl that was forming on Fudge's face the moment that Albus opened the door and began to leave.

As he wandered down the hall he thought long and hard about what exactly he would do when Potter came back from hiding. He couldn't just wash his hands of everything that had happened and send him back to the Dursley's, that was no longer an option. With Caliban actively searching for him, it might just be safer to lock Potter away from everyone...

If what the two Weasleys knew of the situation was true, he would have to do things to mend fences with the boy. For now he'd probably have to accept that he was going to be friends with the Granger girl...at least until Albus could move things along to set him up with young Ginny Weasley. Arthur could no longer be counted on in that department, and he knew that Mrs. Weasley was wracked with guilt about that. Perhaps more financial intimidation would be necessary.

Of course, he couldn't take everything that he had read at face value. The Weasleys were frustratingly difficult to read with legilimency, for whatever reason. Molly was rather easy, not being a Weasley by birth, but Arthur was a puzzle that Albus sometimes couldn't crack. All of the children had exhibited this same family trait in varying degrees. Ronald and Charles for example were the easiest to read, while William and Percy were middle of the road. The twins had been the most difficult, and Ginevra was turning out to be more like them than her youngest elder sibling.

If worse came to worse, he reminded himself as he got back on track, and the circumstances were correct, he could always temporarily use the imperious curse on Harry...at least until you could reinstitute some compulsion charms and loyalty potions into the boy's system, followed by a healthy bit of memory modification. He'd probably take direct control of the boy.

It crossed his mind that he had tried the same thing 60 years ago when he was grooming the next Minister for Magic in young Tom Riddle...but that it had gone horribly awry. Needless to say, he wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Albus looked up and mentally cursed himself when he saw who was fast approaching him. Three individuals, two men and a woman, each dressed in ceremonial black robes with an ornate sun symbol as the clasp were walking towards the Ministers office. The Unspeakables. Though Albus hadn't kept up entirely with the members of the Department of Mysteries (he knew their operatives were everywhere but didn't know who they were), he knew these three.

The two in the back were the representatives on the Wizengamot as far as the Unspeakables were concerned...or at least two of the representatives. The head Unspeakable Lazarus was also an elder member of the body, though the house he represented had long since been declared extinct to the point where only Albus knew his true identity. Malcolm Greengrass and Clarissa Zabini were both junior Unspeakables as far as Albus knew, and simply were the political arm of the otherwise autonomous department. They represented the department in all budgetary matters, which is what Albus assumed the meeting with Fudge was about.

They flanked an older man, who's short blonde hair and slightly distant eyes were a dead family giveaway. Albus had known Jeremy Lovegood back in the 40's when he had been a student at Hogwarts. He considered him a bright, albeit slightly deranged individual, always obsessed with security and protection. Security of what he wasn't quite certain, but that was beside the point. Albus put on a fake smile, knowing full well that these three wouldn't be fooled at all by his charade.

“Hello Jeremy,” he cordially stated, causing the three to stop in their tracks. “Malcolm. Clarissa.” The three of them cocked their heads slightly, staring at Albus in a somewhat unnerving way. Jeremy was the only one who spoke.

“Albus....how is Hogwarts these days?”

“Well, Jeremy. And I can say your daughter is doing quite well too.”

“That's nice to know. Now if you'll excuse us...we have a meeting to get to.”

Albus nodded, not wanting the conversation to extend further. His hair went even more white when he heard the telltale sound of a walking stick falling to the ground. Slowly he glanced over Jeremy's shoulders and saw a short, hunched over ancient, hobbling his way towards the group. Lazarus no longer struck an imposing figure as Albus no doubt assumed he had in his youth, but he was still a formidable presence. Especially to someone with Albus' gifts. The magic radiating off the man spoke of age, wisdom, and above all else power.

“Albus,” the old man croaked, a toothless smile emerging on his wrinkled face. “We were just talking about you a few days ago old friend.” Albus knew that Lazarus was a blatant liar...they had long ago ceased being friends. Especially after the demands Albus had placed on him a few years prior.

“How are things in the Department Lazarus,” Dumbledore asked, quickly changing the subject to a much more manageable one.

“They are coming along quite nicely,” Lazarus said thoughtfully, “Although we can certainly do without any of your little...adventures...in the future Albus.” He gave a sly grin. “But I suppose everything turned out for the best as far as you're concerned.

Albus nodded his head, unfazed. Bowing and taking his leave, he hurriedly rushed past the four Unspeakables and made his way to the nearest fireplace to get back to the safety of his office.

As he rushed by, Jeremy leaned forward and spoke to his mentor. “You should have obliviated him when you had the chance sir.”

“Perhaps you are right Jeremy,” Lazarus said with a small tinge of regret in his voice. “Or perhaps not. Time will tell. He may yet have a part to play in the Grand Scheme of Things.” Jeremy's eyes went more focused than normal, but Lazarus waved him off. “We won't discuss such things in these unfriendly confines. Now come, I understand we have a budget meeting to attend to.” Jeremy nodded, his eyes returning to their former state, before they began marching towards Fudge's office yet again, the three junior members flanking their elder leader at a steady clip behind him.

/ - / - / - /

Arthur Weasley closed the latest copy of the Daily Prophet, fuming. The nerve of Dumbledore to outright call Hermione a Death Eater, he thought to himself, and without a single shred of evidence. Whatever Snape had said in the meeting seemed to strike a chord with Dumbledore to the point where he would haphazardly make this leap of logic. Whatever it was, Arthur hadn't the slightest clue, it still didn't justify this course of action as far as he was concerned.

To be quite frank he was tired with Dumbledore's subtle interference in his family's life. If it weren't for the fact that Albus had saved them all those years ago, he wouldn't have stood for it this long. As it was he was quickly gnawing on his last nerve. Sighing to himself, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as he did. Everything was becoming more and more complicated as things wore on. Back in the old days, with the old house, with the old Order, everything was much simpler. Even when the time of burnings occurred and the darkest days were yet ahead of the Weasley family, Arthur seemed to feel that he had a grasp on things. Now that control was slipping through his fingers, and he felt powerless to stop it.

As he opened his eyes after rubbing them to fight the oncoming headache, he saw his wife wander into the living room. Her fact was downtrodden, with worry stretching at the lines at her eyes. She slumped down next to Arthur, her eyes flashing to the copy of the family clock that she had made and had placed in practically every room. When she was satisfied that everyone in her family was safe and sound for the time being, she let out a small sigh of relief. Turning to Arthur, she tried to hide her obvious worry and discomfort, but failed miserably.

“Molly,” Arthur began, “You can't be doing this to yourself. You'll be sick with worry.” She hung her head in resignation as she realized her ruse had failed. “I'm sure that Harry is fine, wherever he is. And certainly you can't believe this rubbish about Hermione.” Molly looked away a bit, formulating her response. Arthur stared at her blankly. “You don't believe it, do you?”

Molly sighed. “I'm sure what to think dear,” she said with exasperation pulling at her voice. “Professor Dumbledore has done so much for us...and even though none of it makes sense, it's hard not to believe him.” She let out a sigh, again glancing up at the clock. “I have to believe that everything we've done on his behalf is for the better Arthur. If not, then what does that make us?”

Arthur looked Molly square in the eye, trying to offer every last bit of support he could. “No one is perfect Molly. If we've made mistakes, it's because we were led astray by a man who, its clear to me at least, has some kind of ulterior motive. I'm not sure what it is, and maybe in the end it will be for the best.” He paused a moment, contemplating whatever his next course of action would be. If he was going to break with Dumbledore, this might be his only chance to do so.

His thought process was interrupted by a solid knock on the door. Arthur and Molly turned towards the door, and then towards one another. They certainly weren't expecting anyone. Cautiously, Arthur approached the door, holding his wand at the ready. He opened the door, pointing his wand at the figure on the other side, almost immediately letting out a sigh of relief when he saw who it was.

“Amos,” Arthur said softly, dropping his wand to his side, “You scared me half to death.”

“Sorry about that Arthur,” Amos Diggory said with a smile on his face. “May I come in,” he firmly asked.

“Yes, of course.” Arthur turned away, not noticing the glint of pleasure in Amos Diggory's face as he stepped through the doorway. The two men quickly walked over to the family room, and Amos greeted Molly cordially. “Would you care for a cup of tea Amos,” Arthur asked. Amos politely shook his head.

“No, I'm afraid I'm here on...Order business.” The mood quickly darkened. “Mad-Eye wanted me to drop by and tell you about the new meeting place.” Arthur raised an eyebrow at this.

“Albus didn't tell us that you had joined the Order,” he quietly said. Amos simply shrugged, tapping his watch discreetly a couple of times. Molly took the opportunity to glance up at the clock in the room as she often did, and she automatically froze at what she saw.

Four of the hands had swung all the way to Mortal Peril.

The next several seconds were a blur. There were two soft pops and a pair of stunners fired directly at the Weasley adults. Arthur attempted to dodge both of the stunners, only to be knocked back by another one from Amos Diggory. The three individuals stood over their prey, as Molly and Arthur each tried to get to their feet to fight of their attackers. “Catena!” was yelled by the youngest of the three, and the only one wearing a Death Eater mask. The other newly arrived person was recognized by Arthur with fear. It was Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Hello traitors,” Bella said in a singsong voice as she twirled her wand around, taunting the two of them. “We've come to have a little discussion with you.” Arthur tried to sit defiantly, as did Molly, who simply glared at Amos.

“Who are you?” she demanded to know, garnering a snicker from “Amos.” In a matter of moments, Diggory's features began to shift, and he screamed out in a bit of pain as he grew slightly taller and more aged. His robes shifted to that of midnight black, with a belt with several pouches wrapped around his waist. Caliban stared at his prey, his smile never wavering.

“Mr. Diggory sends his regards,” Caliban said with a sinister tone to his voice. “I'm afraid he's now permanently...indisposed.” Caliban leaned forward, staring directly at Arthur. “I hear the Weasleys are notoriously loyal...we'll have to see now won't we. If Dumbledore is hiding the boy....then you will know where he is.”

“Even if we did we wouldn't tell scum like you,” Arthur said fervently....spitting on Caliban in the process. Caliban wiped his face, staring at his hand for a moment. His eyes wandered towards the side for a moment, before a smile came over his face again. In one quick motion he turned and fired some kind of spell wordlessly, his hand firmly planted on his temple as he did so. There were two soft thumps in the room adjacent. Caliban motioned for Bella and the masked Death Eater to retrieve the two individuals he had mentally stunned.

Molly and Arthur's eyes widened in fear when they saw the unconscious forms of their two youngest children, bound in chains, thrown at their feet.

/ - / - / - /

18 months into training

The sounds of birds chirping, simulated to act as an alarm of sorts, is what awoke Harry this morning. He yawned a bit, stretching out slightly, but gently moving when he felt a warm presence at his side. Hermione seemingly protested his movement, nestling up closer to him and wrapping her arm around his chest as she struggled to stay asleep. Harry smiled, placing his head on her head and slowly stroking her hair. He sighed contently, feeling that encapsulated in this one moment was all the joy he had been denied for so long in his life.

He and Hermione had started sharing the same bed regularly following his proposal about three months earlier, by his count anyway. It was hard to keep track of exactly how much time had elapsed they had been so busy. But the training had certainly been well worth it. In addition to increasing their raw magical potential exponentially, Harry and Hermione had managed to work together to increase spell knowledge, innate combat skills, and general physical ability. Hermione had also mastered the animagus transformation, her form being one that fit her quite well: an owl.

There was a flutter of noise near his window, causing Harry to raise his eyebrow in suspicion. Softly he disengaged from Hermione's embrace, allowing her to remain asleep despite the absence of her Harry-sized pillow. He tiptoed over to the window, glancing outside for the first time in a while. There he saw Hedwig fluttering at the windowsill, Thoth not far behind. Harry noticed that they were closer to the house then they should have been able to be....which meant only one thing.

In a rush, he walked over to Hermione, still making sure to gently wake her. “Mione,” he whispered, shaking her softly. Despite a few initial protests, she finally sighed and creaked one eye open.

“Whaisit,” she mumbled in between yawns, still groggy from the pleasant dreams she had been having. Harry stared down at her, mesmerized for a moment, before he shook himself back to his reason for waking her.

“The spell has worn off,” he said plainly, and to this Hermione rose from bed a bit quicker. “It's been a year and a half,” Harry said, almost a hint of sadness in his voice. Going back had been something he hadn't wanted to discuss so soon. He simply wanted all this to last forever, away from the war....away from the prophecy....away from everything.

“Harry,” Hermione asked, concern in her face. Harry turned to her and his sadness faded away almost instantly. He couldn't do that to Hermione, though she'd probably go along with it if he asked. And also he couldn't do that to himself. He had spent the first ten years of his life hidden away from the world, and in some ways had remained that way the last five years. It was high time he took on the world head on.

All the better if he had the woman he loved by his side.

“I guess we should figure out our next move eh?” he said. Hermione bit her bottom lip, sitting down on the bed, ignoring the fact that she was half-naked at the moment given the comfort level that had developed between the two of them. Leaning back, she stared directly at Harry.

“In addition to Professor Lupin,” she began, “I think we can bring Ron in on everything that Dumbledore did to you, Harry.” Harry thought long and hard about this idea. He trusted Ron implicitly, but he was still questioning how much his family might have been involved Dumbledore's manipulations. Something Ron said in his letter back to Harry, about Harry not liking what Ron would have to tell him gave him a great amount of pause.

“I agree,” he finally said. “He's our best friend, he deserves to know.” He paused a moment before adding, “I don't think we should tell him about the Founders though. Dumbledore could read his mind. Unless we can teach him occulumency or until the Wizengamot meeting.”

“Speaking of which,” Hermione said, summoning her bra from across the room nonchalantly. “We need to see Professor Lupin. He might have dug up some information on how you can go about claiming your seats.”

“I've done some research in that area too. It's fascinating some of the archaic laws that are still on the books as it pertains to the ancient houses. But first we should see Ron before anything, he might still be worried sick about us.”

Hermione bit her bottom lip again. “You know that Dumbledore might show up if we appear at the Burrow.”

Harry's features immediately darkened. “I realize that,” he said. Noticing the worried look on Hermione's face, “Look I promise I'm not going to kill him the first time I see him. He's still far too powerful in a political sense for me to deal with that way. I think once we have Rita in place and I can take some power on the Wizengamot, we'll be able to more accurately deal with Albus Dumbledore.” He smiled when Hermione did and helped her to her feet. “But we can eat some breakfast first. The Burrow will still be there when we finish.”

/ - / - / - /

Ron's head was throbbing, that was the only thing he could feel inside the blackness of the moment. He groaned, struggling to open his eyes. Slowly they fluttered open as he tried to remember where he was and what he was doing. He remembered hearing an explosion from downstairs, and he and Ginny had raced down to find out what it was. He remembered spying on three....

It suddenly hit him in a flash and his eyes went wide. Immediately he began to struggle against the chains that held him together, gasping in surprise when he was levitated to a sitting position in a chair in front of him. He turned his head and saw his sister next to him, also beginning to regain consciousness. Next to him on his left side was his father, bleeding from the mouth, but his eyes staring defiantly ahead. There was a similar posture from his mother, and at last Ron turned to face his assailants.

He almost gulped when he saw Bellatrix Lestrange staring right at him, her manic eyes dancing back and forth in her somewhat empty head. Next to her was a masked man that Ron thought he recognized from the long blonde hair sticking out of his hood. However he couldn't place him no matter how hard he tried. In between the two of them was an older man, his violet eyes almost filled with mirth, twinkling madly as they stared right through him.

“I see then,” he said with a hint of pleasure in his voice. “So the two young ones have been in contact with young Harry. Very interesting. Very interesting indeed.”

Ron's face went pale. How could he possibly know about that? Was he using that legilimency that Harry was talking about studying with the greasy git last year? He had only seen twinkling like that once before, in the eyes of Dumbledore. He tried to turn to Ginny nonchalantly to get some guidance, feeling the stares of his parents at the back of his head. However Ginny was still to out of it to adequately help Ron out of this jam.

“I don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about,” Ron spat out, bluffing completely. The man's features quickly became much more fierce, and he pointed his wand straight at Ron, muttering a single word.

“Crucio...”

The pain would have dropped Ron to his knees almost immediately, and he certainly couldn't help from crying out in anguish. Muffled by his own cries he heard the screams of his mother and father as they watched on helplessly. Ron doubled over as much as the magical chains that surrounded him would let him, feeling like every inch of his body was being stabbed by searing hot knives. After what seemed like an eternity, the jagged crimson beam was let up, and Ron was left sitting hunched over, gasping from breath, still crying out in agony.

“Perhaps you will learn not to lie to me in the future blood traitor,” the older man spat out. He paused a moment, glancing over at Ginny, and then at the Weasley parents. “Still, perhaps you don't know anything. Perhaps this is all just a clever ruse, after all...the Weasley's are notoriously difficult to read with legilimency...for whatever reason. I suppose being natural occulumens simply runs in the family. And talented though I might be in the mental arts, I don't know how much I can trust you all.” He paced back and forth, staring at each Weasley in turn for a few seconds before moving on to the next. “If you are lying, then I know of an easy way to lure the truth out of you.”

“We don't know anything,” Molly pleaded, tears running down her face, her facade by the signs of seeing her children hurt in front of her eyes.

“Maybe....maybe not,” the man replied, “I know you don't share the talent of natural occulumens cousin Molly, given that you, like me, are of the Prewitt line. But while you may not know, perhaps your loving husband does.”

He turned to Arthur, who though he was hurt to the core by seeing the onslaught on his youngest biological son, maintained his defiant and stoic countenance. “Arthur Weasley....yes I remember you from the first war. Your love of muggles has gotten you in more trouble than you care to mention I'd venture. How ever could you abandon your pureblood heritage Arthur, your father would be so disappointed in you?”

“Leave him out of this,” Arthur vehemently said. “And we don't know anything. So just get out of here.”

“Since when are you in the position to make demands traitor!” Bellatrix joined in, literally spitting in Arthur's face. The third man, seemingly younger than the rest, did nothing, much to Ron's surprise when he could coherently formulate a thought together through the veil of pain he was being put through.

“Perhaps a little motivation will jog your memory Arthur,” he said, turning towards Ron and Ginny. “But which one should it be....the boy's best friend....or the mudblood whom the master took a liking to some time ago.” He moved back and forth between the two, pointing his wand at each of them.

“No, please, spare them!” Molly pleaded, earning a well placed bonebreaking curse on her arm from Bellatrix.

“I have a splendid idea,” the man said as if he had just made some earth shattering discovery. “Why don't you kill the girl....apprentice.” He turned to the masked man, who stared back with something akin to wonder in his cold grey eyes.

“Me?” he seemed to question, his voice muffled by some unseen force.

“Yes, you. It's high time you show your strength as a Death Eater. You know the incantation, now get on with it!” The man moved to the side, and the boy hesitantly lifted his wand towards Ginny, who had finally regained consciousness. Molly cried out in horror, while Arthur struggled vainly against his restraints. Ron could only stare in horror and shock at what he was seeing.

The boy held his wand at a shaking pace, seemingly debating internally with himself as to what to do. Ginny tried to keep a brave face, but fear shone through like a lantern in the darkness, illuminating every end of her face. Finally, the boy summoned as much resolve as he could and yelled “AVADA....”

He never finished the spell. He screamed in pain as he was fired back from his position with a loud bang, slamming hard against the wall and lying their unconscious. Bellatrix and the other man stared at the fallen Death Eater, with the man shaking his head in frustration.

“The fool,” he muttered to himself. “I'll deal with you later mudblood.” He turned back to Ginny and Ron, staring straight at Ron. “When you want to get a job done...” he said, pointing his wand at Ron. Immediately Ron got a wide-eyed look in his face, fear gripping at the very edges of his soul, the lingering effects of the cruciatus a distant memory in the one moment before oblivion.

“EXPELLIARMUS!”

Twin beams shot out and struck Bellatrix and the other man, disarming them immediately. A variety of other spells flew towards them, and almost immediately the man through up some kind of shield, scooping up Bella in the process and taking cover. Ron turned his head to the voices, and immediately his hopes were sprung anew.

“HARRY! HERMIONE!” he shouted, causing everyone else to turn at the new figures in the room. Ron was gobsmacked at their appearance, not just the obvious bit of them being there, but the appearance they had taken. Harry had grown nearly six inches since the last time Ron had seen him, and his glasses were auspiciously missing. He had also filled out considerably as far as musculature was concerned. But most of his attention was on Hermione. His jaw practically dropped when he saw how stunningly gorgeous she was in her righteousness. Harry and Hermione both walked over to the Weasley's breaking the magical chains that bound them.

“Where have you been!” Molly immediately asked, gripping Harry in a ferocious bear hug. She also hugged Hermione, seemingly having made her decision concerning the muggle-born witch's loyalties in her own mind.

“It's a long story,” Harry said solemnly, turning back towards the still raised shield. Behind it he saw Bellatrix, a person who made his blood boil, and another person he didn't quite recognize. Oddly enough he looked a bit like the younger Dumbledore Harry remembered having seen in Tom Riddle's diary all those years ago, but that was probably just coincidence, Harry decided.

“Well well, it would appear our little plan worked,” the man spat out in anger. “But of course allow me to introduce myself. I am Caliban de Montesquieu, personal tracker to the Dark Lord. And at last I meet the famous Harry Potter. I've been longing for this day for quite some time.” Harry clinched his fist around his wand, as did Hermione.

“You're going to pay for everything you've done Death Eater,” Harry said triumphantly. Bellatrix looked ready to attack, but Caliban held her back, instead reaching behind him.

“Accio Apprentice!” The masked Death Eater flew towards Caliban, and he held him at his side after a wandless feather-light charm. “As much as I'd like to test myself on this day, I will not. But rest assured Mr. Potter, we will meet again, now that I have your signature fully memorized.” He smiled, reaching into his belt for a small orb that he held discreetly in his hand. “But until then, allow me to give you something to remember me by.” Instantly he tossed the orb onto the floor, causing blue smoke to fill the room. “AVADA KEDAVRA!” Caliban shouted, and the sickly green beam shot out of his wand, stopping at a body and causing a large thump to the floor. There were two loud pops, as the Death Eaters vanished.

“VENTUS!” Hermione yelled, causing the smoke to dissipate. Harry looked around fervently trying to see if anyone was hit by the killing curse. His eyes went wide with sorrow, frustration and anger, when he saw the lifeless body of Molly Weasley curled up onto the floor next to him, her arms still clung to his legs in their normal vice-like grip.

A/N: I was all set to kill both Weasleys at one point in this chapter, but I decided to spare Arthur for the time being. I almost killed Ron as well, but gave him the pass as well. The reason I wrote what I did at the beginning A'N was because of the fact that I truly didn't know who would die when I started writing this chapter.

Sorry that there wasn't much of an actual “battle” per se. But the reasons why will be stated next chapter. Also next chapter, Ron's reaction to his mother's death....as well as Ginny's. The Order attempts to apprehend Hermione. And something you've all been waiting for may finally happen.

A/N: You really shouldn't read anything into whom I left on or off the potential to die list in the last chapter. At one point or another, I had all of them potentially lined up for death, save for Draco, Caliban, Harry & Hermione. In fact, one of the “reasons” I mentioned in an earlier author's notes as to why this isn't an H/G fic was, at the time, because Ginny was going to wind up dead at this point in the story. If I don't write slash, you can certainly bet your bottom dollar I won't write necrophilia. My intention on Molly is to hammer home the point that you might not have enough time to change your ways. May be a bit preachy, but there it is.

Chapter 20: A Death in the Family

The silence of death lingered over the room for several seconds, as the dust settled from what had been a quick, but costly confrontation with the band of Death Eaters. Harry simply stared down in disbelief at Molly's lifeless body, his mind not quite fathoming what was happening. Her deathly gaze stared up at him in a state of surprise....a look all to reminiscent of Sirius.

“NO!” came a high pitched wail from behind Harry. He turned, wide eyed, seeing Ginny with her hand to her mouth, tears rushing out of her eyes. All at once she rushed past Harry, and he moved to the side in a mechanical fashion. Ginny fell to her knees, seemingly incapable of seeing what was lying in front of her. As Harry and Hermione stood by, Ron and Arthur moved quickly around Ginny, hugging her fiercely., tears readily apparent in their eyes.

Time slowed down for Harry, this time in a figurative sense as opposed to a literal one. He kept a close eye on Molly Weasley, how close she was to him....more importantly how close she was to Hermione. If the beam had gone the other way, if she hadn't of been there than...

He tried to silence such thoughts for now. It would not do to dwell on them in their current situation. His friends needed him. Following Hermione's suit, he too came around the Weasley's, comforting them as best he could, and sharing in their grief. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it dawned on him that he had lost one of the closest things he'd ever had to a real flesh and blood mother.

She had died, without a singular thought from that Death Eater. The one named Caliban. He had killed her without even a second gesture. As Harry sat there with his arms firmly planted over Ginny's shoulders, the face of Caliban de Montesquieu was etched into the dark corners of his mind. Revenge was sworn by the more shadowy part of his soul.

And he was not the only one who made this vow then and there.

Harry tried to say something, to try and break the grief-stricken silence, but he was interrupted by several pops around him. Instinctively he and Hermione stood up and had their wands at the ready, in case the Death Eaters had returned. Harry was able to catch a flash of who it was out of the corner of his eye, catching a dark skinned man in blue robes appearing a few feet from him.

The next several seconds moved in a blur. Spells flew back and forth as the group of assembled witches and wizards, Harry and Hermione doing their best to shield both themselves and the Weasleys. Ron finally came to his senses a few moments later, joining the fray on his friend's side. After several misses and blocked shots, which left the Weasley living room in a state of great disarray, Harry decided he had just about enough of this. Dropping down to the ground, and motioning for Hermione and Ron to do the same, he performed a series of complicated motions with his wand, while Hermione shielded them all.

“CONGELO!” There was a bright blue wave of energy that flew across the room, and the attackers were quite literally frozen in their tracks, as small blocks of ice encased the feet of every one of them. They all stopped their onslaught momentarily in response to this new attack....only to be met from rapid fire disarming spells from both Harry and Hermione. The five attackers were thus left disarmed, partially frozen, and staring down the business end of the wand held by a rather annoyed Harry Potter. Harry scanned the crowd, instantly picking up a few faces he off handedly recognized. Only one face stood out amongst the others though, one he could put a name with. His identity made Harry's lower lip snarl in disgust.

He kept his wand pointed straight ahead, and pointed right at the gaping mouth of Kingsley Shacklebolt. “And what do you think you're doing here?”

“Harry!” Kingsley shouted out in somewhat genuine surprise. “What are you doing here?! We've been looking everywhere for you.”

“Have you now,” Harry snidely asked. He had nothing against Kingsley in principle, and actually respected the man slightly, but at the moment he was pretty much distrustful of anyone outside his core group of friends and loved ones, particularly those who belonged to the Order. He raised an eyebrow at not seeing Tonks anywhere, figuring that she would be with any Order contingent if they followed procedure like he thought they would. “Now explain why you're here, and why you're trying to take our heads off.” Harry said, turning back towards Kingsley, his wand still focused on the Auror.

“We heard a disturbance in the wards on the Burrow,” Kingsley stated, his eyes darting slightly to the side as he explained. “Albus told us to....” Kingsley stopped the moment that he mentioned Dumbledore's name, seeing the look of sheer anger come over Harry's face. He then turned to Hermione again, and tried to break free of the ice, pleading with Harry as he did so. “Harry you have to snap out of it! She's got you under some kind of spell!”

Harry's anger quickly turned to confusion. “What in the bloody hell are you talking about?” he asked, looking at each of the five Order members in succession, stopping on Kingsley again.

“They think Hermione is a Death Eater,” Ron said from behind Harry, “It's the load of tripe that Dumbledore has been feeding everyone since you disappeared.”

“It's not a load of tripe!” Sturgis Podmore shouted defiantly from the side. “She murdered her parents and....” he never got the chance to finish the sentence, as a full powered Reducto landed right in front of him, blasting him from his frozen prison and sending him hard into the wall, where he slumped to the ground. Harry turned and gripped Hermione around the shoulder, trying to calm her frayed nerves slightly.

“I would have thought better of you Kingsley,” she scolded, lowering her wand slightly. “What possible shred of proof did he have that I was a Death Eater....other than his own conjecture.” Kingsley thought for a moment, hanging his head slightly.

“None, just something Severus said that gave him the idea.”

The threat neutralized, Harry summoned all of the opposing wands and laid them at his feet, content to leave the members of the Order frozen to the floor for the moment. He turned back to Arthur, who was still cradling Ginny, who had cried herself into a state of sleep and shock at what had just transpired.

“We need to get her to St. Mungo's,” Arthur solemnly stated, gesturing to his deceased wife. “It's merely a matter of record, but they need to perform a magical autopsy to determine the course of death, and we need to file a report with the Ministry.” He looked up at Harry, “Please stay here with Ginny. I'll see to this.” Harry nodded, taking Ginny in his arms as Arthur fought back the tears in his eyes, scooping up his wife. As he vanished with a pop, Harry couldn't help but understand fully why it was that Arthur Weasley was a true Gryffindor.

Hermione placed a hand over Harry's shoulder, as Ron cradled his sister in a comforting fashion, as she sobbed in her sleep, and Kingsley and company merely stared at the scene. There was another pop, this one a bit louder, and Harry turned to see who had come in, his wand at the ready should it be another Order member.

Every muscle in his being froze at the sight of Albus Dumbledore in the Weasley living room.

/ - / - / - /

The screams of young Draco Malfoy could be heard throughout Riddle Manor in Little Hangleton. Inside the self-made throne room of Lord Voldemort, the young man withered away under the power of the cruciatus, held on him by his lord and master. Draco managed one pleading eye to open slightly, staring at his mentor Caliban, who merely stood next to Voldemort with an expressionless mask on his face. Finally Voldemort lifted the curse, maintaining his composure as he did so despite an obvious wince at the end.

“Let that be a lesson to you, young dragon,” Voldemort sneered, “Never fail me like that again. Now get out of my sight....all of you.” Draco managed to get back to his feet, keeping his mind blank for the moment as he stumbled out of the throne room. Out of the corner of his eye as he saw Caliban block his view of Voldemort, though not before a pained expression crossed Voldemort's face. The oak door slammed shut behind Draco, as he shivered in lingering pain and the ambient cold of Riddle Manor, wondering to himself what in the world was going on.

Inside the throne room, Caliban meticulously looked over his lord and master, who was taking deep breaths at the prolonged effort he had just put forward. “I thought I told you to leave me,” Voldemort angrily spewed, causing Caliban to nod.

“That you did, but I can't help but find myself compelled to stay.” There were several moments of silence before Caliban added, “It's happening faster than we expected, isn't it.” Voldemort was silent for a long time, before he sighed and closed his eyes, nodding his head in affirmation. Caliban nodded back, reaching into his robes and pulling out a beaten piece of parchment.

“I acquired the ingredients for the potion that you require,” he flatly said, handing the parchment to Voldemort. “Have Severus brew this by the next full moon, and it should buy you some more time. Though remember that this is far from a permanent solution.” Voldemort kept his head down, fighting back some measure of pain, as Caliban turned and took his leave.

“Agamemnon,” Voldemort called out after Caliban, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. “Don't speak of this with Draco. We may need him to know certain things, but not this.” Caliban turned back nodding his affirmation, before walking out of the throne room.

Draco stood back to the side, waiting on Caliban as instructed. When he saw the man silently walk out of the throne room, he detected the minutest of emotions on his face, something akin to sadness. Draco was about to ask what was wrong, but one glare from Caliban silenced him quickly. Caliban merely stalked off, Draco following close behind. When they were a good distance away from the castle, Caliban finally stopped, and glanced over his shoulder at Draco, staring a hole straight through him.

“The Dark Lord cannot stand for your failure,” he simply stated, “Do not let it happen again, or it may soon be the undoing of us all.”

/ - / - / - /

When Albus Dumbledore had learned of the wards at the Burrow had been disturbed, he knew immediately what had happened. He had, in fact, designed the wards himself. They were designed to only allow three people outside of the Weasley family into the home without setting them off, and since they were blood wards, they were relatively strong. Only himself, Harry & Hermione...as well as any who would accompany them, would be able to make it in unscathed.

He of course had ulterior motives for making the wards this way. Though Harry & Hermione would be able to get in unscathed, they would trigger a second set of spells that would alert Albus to their presence, should they choose to reappear there. It was this set of wards that had gone off in Dumbledore's office that afternoon. He immediately contacted Kingsley and sent the squadron he had organized for this very reason. He had instructed them to move swiftly, capturing Harry before anyone could tell who they were and bringing him back to Grimmauld, where Dumbledore could personally undo the damage that had been done on him.

All of this was in the name of protecting the boy, of course, and separating him from that growing annoyance named Hermione Granger. Dumbledore was beginning to hate her. The public smearing was going well enough, he had fooled most of the people, though Arthur and Molly had proven to be steadfastly annoying in their denial.

Fifteen minutes after their departure from Grimmauld, Albus was beginning to get worried. They should have been back by now. He stood pacing back and forth in front of the parlor room fireplace, waiting for any word on their return. Increasingly the prospect that something had gone awry was growing in his mind, as was the notion that he would have to step in and do something about it personally. It was not a step he was above taking, but it was certainly one he would like to avoid if at all possible.

Finally, after waiting a couple more minutes, Albus could not stand it any longer. Steeling himself to whatever he might find, he quickly apparated straight into the Burrow's living room, his wand pointed at whatever, ready to stun them.

When the world came back into view, he was momentarily stunned out of his own thought processes when he saw the scene in front of him. There was Kingsley and three of his Order members, their feet encased in solid blocks of ice, staring straight at him. Quickly he turned, and locked eyes with his quarry.

The piercing emerald gaze of one Harry James Potter barreled through Albus Dumbledore, slicing through him like a hot knife through a cold stick of butter. Dumbledore tried to think fast, his mind racing at what he should do. Taking the boy directly was out of the question, he had undoubtedly been the cause of the predicament the Order members now found themselves in. Besides that, there were too many witnesses to his plans at the moment. There was really only one thing to do...talk his way out.

“Harry! Thank Merlin you're safe!” he exclaimed, summing up all the bravado he could. Subtlety, he launched a small probe into Hermione's mind, on the off-chance that Harry might have picked up some degree of occulumency from Severus...

....only to have his probe savagely shred to pieces by the afore mentioned witch, much to his surprise. Hesitantly, though with anger pulsating out of his eyes, Harry walked towards Dumbledore, his wand falling to his side slightly. Albus thought this might be going better than he had hoped, perhaps Harry wasn't as clued into his plans as he thought....

That thought was destroyed immediately. In a quick flash Harry threw a right cross into Dumbledore's face, knocking the elder man backwards at an alarming rate, sending him staggering towards the wall, which he held onto desperately to maintain his balance. Albus took three deep breaths and stared up at Harry, who's wand was fixed on him, an eerie blue glow pulsating on the tip as he literally radiated with power. Things were not as Albus had thought, they were far worse.

Surprisingly, Hermione had her hand on Harry's shoulder, seeming to calm him, making things go even worse in Dumbledore's mind. This was far worse than any power Harry might have unlocked pursuant to his heritage.If they were together than.....no it couldn't be. He couldn't be the Heir. It was impossible!

Still, all the same...

“Harry....you have every right to be angry,” Albus finally said, resigned to the direct approach, “But understand that anything I did was for your own....”

“DON'T say it old man!” Harry spat out, turning his gaze from Hermione towards him with a crescendo of ferocity. “Don't tell me that it was for my own fucking good! I've had enough of your protections....a lot of good they do people.” Albus stood wide-eyed at the display, this was far too eerily reminiscent of a conversation he had with a young Tom Riddle some 50 years prior. “And I've had enough of your lies and half-truths,” Harry continued, his fist clenching in anger.

“I have never directly lied to you Harry,” Albus said with great affront, “I may have with held information for your.....for other reasons....but I have never lied to you.” Harry glared at him with no end, and looked to be on the verge of hitting him square in the jaw once more, but something held his anger in check.

“But you have Albus,” Harry said with a great lack of the respect he had once given his headmaster. “Maybe not directly as you said, but you have lied to others about me. About Hermione.”

“Words cannot express my regret over that accusation. It's quickly become clear in light of new evidence that I was mistaken in that regard.” Deep down, Dumbledore was seething, but knew that this mea culpa needed to be done if he had any hope of gaining control of this power. “I will print a retraction in the Daily Prophet tomorrow when we announce your return.”

“You'll print your retraction,” Harry said in reply, “Or you'll regret it.” He sighed, looking back over at Ron, who was gobsmacked by the entire display, “I have friends who need me right now. I have people whom I care about I need to help out right now. I have no more time for you old man. I'll deal with you later.”

“Harry, I insist we return to Grimmauld, if the Death Eaters find you here....” Harry winced at that, but turned coldly back towards Dumbledore before walking off.

“I think the way in which we dealt with your little Order of the Roasted Turkey should alleviate any concerns you have over my own well-being thank you very much. Now get out of here, all of you.” He glared at everyone in turn, and without a word the ice holding them in place broke and their wands all flew to their hands. Albus turned to Kingsley and nodded, and quickly everyone apparated out of the Burrow.

Once they were gone, Harry let out a deep sigh of both relief and frustration. Hermione placed her arm over his shoulder, hugging him gently in the broad daylight. Ron merely sat in wonder, staring at the two of them. “Bloody hell,” he whispered, causing Harry to look straight at him.

“There's a lot we need to discuss mate,” he said with a serious tone in his voice, “When your father gets back, we'll tell you all about it if you want to hear it.”

A/N: Harry let's Dumbledore go because he wants to be there for Ron and Ginny at the moment, not deal with his own personal issues. Secondly it's for the reason stated in the last chapter, Dumbledore still wields too much political power for him to just up and kill the man.

The Weasleys find out most of the truth in the next chapter, while Harry plans out some of his next moves.

Portkey A/N: I'll be updating this in correspondance with ff.net now. Hopefully will have something put together by the end of the week for both this and my other story.

A/N: Been a while simply because I'm involved in a real life writing contest....and because I was on self-imposed hiatus from Potter-world in anticipation for the final book. Rest assured I'll get more out in the weeks ahead (maybe even days, if the writing bug hits.)

I also want to say this much….Albus Dumbledore does not know everything. That’s the only hint I’ll provide you to tantalize your clue-seeking methods.

Chapter 21: The Weasley's Courage

The five witches and wizards sat around the Weasley family table, a steaming cup of tea in front of each of them, silence filling the ambience of the room. Everyone looked down at their drinks, unsure of what to say next. Harry and Hermione had spent the last few hours since Arthur's return from the Ministry telling the tale of their training, leaving out the parts about Harry being Heir of the Founders for the moment. Several minutes passed as Harry had just finished his tale, and he resituated himself in his seat.

“Bloody hell mate,” Ron said quietly, glancing up at him and Hermione, “It's about time you figured out you two were made for each other.” There was a solemn chuckle at that, and Harry placed his hand over Hermiones. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a small wince cross Ginny's face, though it passed as quickly as it came.

“I'm happy for you,” Arthur said smiling, “If anyone deserves to be happy it's you two.” He looked down at the table again before glancing back up, “You mentioned something about an inheritance Harry. What exactly did you mean if you don't mind me asking?”

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, “Remember the letter from Gringott's I mentioned before? Well when I went to the bank, they told me that I had been left lordship over the House of Black. Because of that, I was declared emancipated and could inherit the houses my parents will had left me.” He paused a moment before holding up his hand. “Potter, Black, Seldon, Draven, Warrens,” he shouted at a subdued volume, and in a flash all five family rings appeared on his fingers. The Weasleys looked at the rings with some degree of awe enfixed upon all their faces. “There's more,” Harry continued, pulling away his hand, “4 of those families are descended from the Founders of Hogwarts. By passing a test of theirs, I was named the Heir of the Founders.”

Silence once again descended over the Weasley kitchen. “Bloody Hell,” came the whispered response from Ginny, who gazed back and forth between Harry and Hermione.

“I understand this is a lot to take in,” Harry said resolutely, “And it's probably not the most appropriate time to be telling you. But I felt that you all should know. Only Professor Lupin knows anything else about what I've told you, and I can't be certain exactly how much Dumbledore knows or doesn't know.”

“It's alright Harry,” Arthur said taking a sip of his tea, “And I thank you for trusting us with this information.” A few moments passed before Arthur wiped the dejected look from his face.

“I think dad has something he wants to tell us too,” Ron finally said somberly, turning towards his father. Ginny's face hardened somewhat as well, while Hermione just looked on puzzled. Harry half-cocked an eyebrow in response.

“Is this what you needed to tell me Ron,” he asked, to which Ron nodded his head. The group turned back towards Arthur, but Harry shrugged them off. “Look, whatever you guys did for Dumbledore is forgiven, by me anyway. It's obvious that we've all been pawns of his for years, and there's nothing we can do to change the past.” He paused a moment before Hermione continued for him.

“And I don't think that now's the time to be discussing such things anyway,” she added, to which Ron gave an apologetic nod.

“I'm going to go call the others,” Arthur said somberly, standing away from the table. “Fred & George will be here straight away, and Bill is back from Egypt so he shouldnt be too far behind. Charlie will take a day or so to get here from Romania. I—I don't know about Percy, no one has seen or heard from him in three weeks.” He paused before turning towards Harry & Hermione, “You're welcome to stay here as long as you like. You can use Percy's old room, it'd be big enough for the both of you.” The fact that he was allowing them to share a room together was not lost on any of them.

“Thank you Mr. Weasley,” Hermione politely said, standing up as she did so. Ron quickly followed suit, heading to his own room without much more than a word. Before long everyone assembled had gone away for the night. Harry lingered on the longest, and he gave one last look at Arthur.

“I...I'm sorry this happened sir. Maybe if I....” Arthur waved his hand in dismissal almost immediately.

“Harry, if you and Hermione hadn't shown up when you did, then we'd all be dead. Don't blame yourself for anything that happened here today Harry.” Arthur stopped a moment to think things over, turning towards the lit fireplace.

“Sir....” Harry cautiously asked, approaching him from behind.

“It was something Caliban mentioned, he called Molly his cousin. He seemed to know everything about our family, as if he were schooled in the old lines.” He smiled to the flames and turned towards Harry, “It's probably nothing. Just trying to find meaning....that's all. Get some sleep Harry, you've had a long day.” Harry turned and walked up the stairs, looking down at Arthur Weasley for a long time as he took every single step. As he drew further and further away, tears began to trail down Arthur Weasley's face, and before long he was silently sobbing into the firelight. Harry knew enough to leave the man alone with his grief.

/ - / - / - /

Albus Dumbledore was upset.

No, strike that, he was angry.

Angry probably wasn’t even a strong enough word at this point. Pissed off would more than likely be the appropriate term.

Yes, pissed off would do nicely.

He paced back in forth in the parlor at Grimmauld Place, going over in his mind everything that had just happened. The good news…Harry was back. There wasn’t any danger of Voldemort getting his hands on him anytime soon. Dumbledore would feel loads better if Harry was under his thumb and safely within the confines of Grimmauld Place, but at the moment that was beyond him.

But, at the same time, there in lie the source of his frustration.

To be honest things could not have gone worse for their meeting. Harry had shown no modicum of the respect he once held for the headmaster. Albus had no doubt that Harry was aware of everything that he had done in the name of protecting him, and apparently this knowledge was what was driving his rebellion.

Coupled with this fact was the idea that Harry could be the Heir of the Founders as well. Albus wasn’t ready to go so far as to make that leap of logic, but if his research and his guesses were right, Harry certainly had the right pedigree to lay a claim to those four houses, long bereft of lordship.

The problem that Albus had with that definition was, of course, that the prophecy said that the Heir would be lord of five houses bereft of lordship, not four. For the life of him, the headmaster could not figure out what the fifth house would be. He also reminded himself that that particular part of the dreaded prophecy spoke of the other Heir…not necessarily the Heir of the Founders.

Sighing, he sat back down in a chair, mentally reminding himself that it was a good thing Bellatrix Lestrange had no recollection of this house. When she had inherited the Black Line….it would have been easy for her to capture them all.

A fleeting thought passed through Albus’ mind, but nothing ever came of it, much to his later chagrin.

He refocused his mind on the task at hand: namely rebuilding fences with young Mr. Potter. He would have to convince Harry….and most likely Hermione as well…that they needed him to fight Voldemort. Albus did have no doubt that Harry would not reneg on THAT prophecy. He would attempt to find and kill Voldemort, if for no other reason than to get revenge for his parents and Sirius, Dumbledore had seen to that much.

So the trick was that he would have to find a way to convince them that he had knowledge they required for Voldemort’s ultimate and final demise….

….final demise….

Dumbledore smiled as a new plan began to form in his head. He turned it to the side when he heard the door open and the person of Severus Snape came walking into the room, robes billowing behind him in a dramatic fashion. “Severus,” Dumbledore said with a smile, putting aside his thought concerning Potter & Granger for the moment, “What is the latest information of Voldemort? I know of an attack on the Burrow but little else about the attack.”

“From what I could discern, headmaster,” Snape began to say, pacing back and forth in the room in front of a stationary Dumbledore, “Is that the attack was conducted by three Death Eaters: Bellatrix, Caliban and young Draco Malfoy.” He paused at that name, but continued onward just the same, “Draco was punished for his apparent failure to kill one of the Weasley’s, but then was sent on his way before the Dark Lord dismissed us all.” He paused again, uncertain of how to continue.

“What is it Severus?”

“I think the Dark Lord is ill….seriously ill. He was visably shaken after holding the cruicatus curse for a prolonged period of time on Malfoy, and when he dismissed us all, Caliban stayed behind. Furthermore, I received instructions to brew a very rare, and very difficult potion with somewhat exotic ingredients.”

“Such as?” Dumbledore asked, his brow furrowed in feigned curiosity.

“Skin of a gargoyle, tongue from a Chinese Fireball, Baslisk Eye, things of that nature. It is unlike anything I have ever made before, but I found what it is for. The potion is a variant of unicorn blood, ultimately, but without any of the side effects. Unfortunately the more you take it, the less effective it becomes, until it is no longer effective at all.”

“Why would Voldemort make such a potion?”

“You and I both know the answer to that question Headmaster,” Snape said, turning with ever a hint of a smile on his face, “Simply put, Voldemort is dying. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but if the potion proves ineffective, he will not be long for this earth.”

“Severus,” Dumbledore immediately stated, his eyes narrowing deep in thought. “You will not sabotage this potion. You are far too entrenched in the enemy camp to risk that now.”

“But….Albus….this is a chance to end this war…”

“The war will not end with Voldemort. And there are other forces at work that are far beyond your comprehension Severus.” Snape looked to protest more, but Dumbledore held up his hand. “Need I remind you of what you owe me?” Severus stopped and shook his head, “I didn’t think so. Now make that potion as best you can. As often as needbe. There is some information that I hope Voldemort to let out before his eventual demise. Rest assured, he will be dealt with soon enough.”

/ - / - / - /

Harry awoke startled, his face covered in sweat, his mind a wash with the last images of a fading nightmare. A fading nightmare that, thankfully, was fast becoming a forgotten one.

Hermione had died, in his nightmare. She had died in his arms at the hands of Caliban de Montesquieu. Quietly but frantically he turned his gaze to the side, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as he did so. He breathed a deep sigh of relief when he saw Hermione’s peaceful sleeping form next to his, apparently undisturbed by his movements. Letting out another deep breath, he got out of bed as quietly as he could and walked out into the hallway. He quietly padded his way down the stairs and out the backdoor, stopping a few steps outside, and looking up at the evening sky. He didn’t have much recollection of his dream anymore, but the odd feeling of premonition had once again crept into his mind, one he quickly quashed down.

The safe and comfortable life he had tried to make had been shaken to the core by the afternoon’s events. And, much to his infinite guilt, it wasn’t the death of Mrs. Weasley that was the source of the disturbance: it was who hadn’t been killed. The more he dwelt on those few seconds, the more he shuddered with how much could have gone wrong. Hermione was central to his world now. If anything had happened to her.

He clenched his fist in resolve. That wouldn’t happen, he wouldn’t let it. Caliban would be captured and dealt with. Bellatrix would pay for everything she had done. Whomever that other guy had been would suffer the same fate, he told himself. No one would be allowed to hurt Hermione….or even threaten her.

“Harry?”

He turned towards the worried voice and saw the beautiful sight of a living Hermione set against the pale moonlight. Quickly his concern returned and he headed towards her, cupping her hands in his. “I’m sorry…did I wake you?”

“No…you didn’t….I just woke because of a feeling and….when I noticed you weren’t there I got worried.” Harry nodded and offered what he could of a smile.

“I just needed some fresh air,” he said, hoping that she wouldn’t linger on the subject for much longer.

“Harry….is something wrong? You’re trembling.” She held up his hands and grabbed them tightly, using one of her hands to feel Harry’s forehead. “You’re in a cold sweat! Harry’s what’s wrong.” Harry sighed and turned away, glancing up at the moonlight.

“I had a nightmare….where you died in my arms,” he confessed, trying to hold back the worry that was readily apparent in his wavering voice. Hermione for her part was silent for a moment, absorbing the tale of his dream. Quickly however she moved forward, embracing him from behind.

“That’s not going to happen,” she said resolutely. Harry glanced back, fear ever present.

“How do we know that Hermione? If that curse had been just a few inches over then you would have been hit. I just….after everyone I’ve lost and everything I’ve gained with you….I just don’t know what I’d do without you.” He paused, trying to collect himself, a few tears escaping his eyes. Hermione held his head up, staring right at him, never faltering in her speech.

“It’s not going to happen because I won’t let it happen. You won’t let it happen. I’ve just found you Harry James Potter, there’s no way I’m going to lose you now that I’ve found you.” She offered a slight smirk at this, and Harry chuckled in amusement. Wiping his eyes, they stared at each other for a moment longer, before trailing off into a long, passionate kiss. When they broke apart, Hermione spoke up, “Shall we get back to bed?”

“Yes….yes I think we should.”

/ - / - / - /

The sun shone down on the Weasley family plot that was located far off in the corner of their property. Several people stood gathered around a recently buried plot with a fresh granite headstone placed in the center, a somber look on all their faces. Everyone of the Weasley children hung their heads in grief, never letting the slightest bit of mirth cross their faces. Off in the distance, Harry and Hermione stood, their heads equally held low, and behind them Remus and Tonks stood, maintaining a respectful distance.

“Molly Weasley was…first and foremost….a loving person,” Arthur began, breaking the silence. “She was a caring mother, a good friend, and the most faithful and trustworthy companion that anyone could want in this life or any other. She was, at her heart, what we all strive to be….someone who would sacrifice anything for the good of those they loved. And in everything she did, she had the thoughts of everyone of her children near and dear to both her mind, her heart, and her very soul.” He paused, the emotion of the moment overtaking him, as Ginny began to breakdown in tears, Bill hugging her as she did so.

“G-Goodbye Molly,” Arthur concluded, holding up her wand over the gravestone, before snapping it with an earthshattering crack. “May we see each other again in the next great adventure.” Arthur dropped the two halves of her wand over the dirt, and watched as the magical core turned to dust and was scattered in the slight summer breeze. Harry and Hermione came closer now, hugging the various Weasley’s as they shared in their grief.

Several hours passed before most of the group had set aside for the funeral reception, a somber celebration of the life of Molly Weasley. The guest list at the reception was larger than the one at the private ceremony in the Weasley graveyard, but it was still a relatively small gathering. Of course, Albus Dumbledore was nowhere to be found.

Harry and Hermione had set aside a table where Ron, Arthur, Remus & Tonks had joined them. After being assured that Tonks was trustworthy and not a spy of Dumbledore’s, Harry began to explain everything he and Hermione had done during the training.

“I want you to teach me everything you can,” Ron said flatly, “I’m not going to let my family be hurt like this again.”

“You’re not going to go get yourself killed Ronald,” Arthur said with a bit of sternnes in his voice.

“I won’t,” Ron replied, never looking at his father, simply keeping his gaze fixed on the table. Hermione placed her hand over his and Harry nodded in affirmation. Remus cleared his throat, drawing the attention to himself.

“Harry, I think there’s a problem that we have to address here. That problem is how exactly you’re going to go about claiming the seats you have on the Wizengamot. Everything I have seen says that in order for long bereft houses to receive new lords or ladies, you must have your claim seconded by one of the old pureblood families on the council.” Almost immediately Harry began to turn to Arthur, who quickly shook his head.

“The Weasley’s lost their seat some twenty years ago because of our financial situation. Dumbledore helped us retain our pureblood status, but not our political power.” Harry frowned at Dumbledore’s name, but looked across the crowd, his eyes coming to an older woman in a rather funny-shaped hat. A grin came across his face.

“I think we might have a solution to that problem, Mooney old boy.”

A/N: Yes, the woman mentioned at the end is Augusta Longbottom, so Neville will get some airtime here shortly.

How much Ron is trained won’t be addressed as much in this chapter, as he won’t be the only one receiving training or helping Harry & Hermione hunt down Voldemort. Remember we’re still in the early first three weeks of the summer holidays from Hogwarts, so the summer months will still have some time to go.

A/N: I'm well aware that people want to see this prophecy I keep mentioning. Rest assured you will....in bits and pieces. This is primarily due to the nature of what that prophecy is. Suffice it to say, it is a large one with several components to it.

Also, to answer a Portkey reviewer's question, there is no “5^th Founder” of Hogwarts. However, as was implied in the last chapter, there is likely more than one heir floating around out there. In fact, you’ll find out more about this point in this chapter.

Chapter 22: Power Plays

Neville Longbottom's summer was not exactly unfurling like he had expected it would. After the incident at the Ministry he had expected to settle into another quiet summer of tending to his greenhouse and plants, awaiting the bad news as far as his O.W.L.'s were concerned. Instead, two of his best friends had turned up missing (the how and why still being sketchy at best), one had been accused of being a Death Eater, and then just this morning he had been told by his Gran that they were going to a funeral reception and that Harry and Hermione had turned back up, and furthermore that Hermione was no more a Death Eater than he was (something Neville could have told you from the beginning, had anyone bothered to ask him.)

So it was with great interest that he arrived at the Burrow that morning, mixed with sadness at the passing of Molly Weasley and full of questions concerning his friends disappearance. He chided himself internally for this not really being the time for such questions, but still a part of him couldn't help but be the least bit curious.

He stayed back at the Burrow as was typical wizarding custom for anyone not of the immediate family or not to be invited to the procession. From what little he had been able to gather of the proceedings from snippets of the past three days issues of the Prophet and conversations with his Gran, Hermione's parents had been killed a little over a week ago, at which point she and Harry effectively disappeared from the wizarding world. Since that time, the Prophet had begun printing outlandish stories about Hermione actually being a Death Eater, stories that two days ago had suddenly died off with a complete retraction by the Prophet. Furthermore it seemed that the Prophet might be shutting down for a few weeks to come into contact with “new management” as the paper put it.

Currently Neville found himself in the peripheral of a rather boring conversation between his Gran and Jeremy Lovegood about budget matters for the Department of Mysteries, something about a shortage of funds in the last few weeks or some such thing. On more than one occasion he glanced around the area, knowing full well that the Weasleys had returned, but unable to catch sight of Harry or Hermione.

When he did, his jaw dropped.

Both of them appeared to be at least two years older, both taller by a few inches (Harry by several), both had filled out in terms of musculature (Hermione in terms of beauty), and both were completely different from the two people he had seen just under two weeks ago.

Harry, sans glasses Neville noted, made eye contact with the wizard, and the gaze spoke of a weary soul with a fire buried deep inside of it, though Neville could hardly put such poetic license to it. All he knew at that moment was that it chilled him to the bone. Seemingly gone was a Harry who was gentle, if not a bit reserved, and he had been replaced by someone who had a serious bone to pick with the world. He and Hermione slowly made their way over towards Neville, ignoring the looks they got from the rest of the on lookers who had no idea what was going on.

“Hey guys,” Neville sheepishly said, earning a smile from the two of them. Hermione walked over and hugged Neville, a gesture which he returned, followed by a hearty handshake from Harry. “Don’t you two go disappearing on us again. Gave us quite a scare it did.”

“Sorry about that,” Harry said with a bit of a grin on his face, a grin that belied an internal anger that did not go unnoticed by Neville. His face suddenly took on a much more serious tone, and his stance became much more confident. “We can discuss things later Neville,” Harry formally said, causing Neville to raise an eyebrow. “For now I wish to talk with your grandmother, the Lady Augusta Longbottom.” To say Neville was surprised at Harry using the old forms. He didn't think he had any knowledge in that department. Idly out of the corner of his eye he caught a glint from Harry's ring finger. Glancing down he saw a familial ring, which granted Harry the right to speak in such terms. Setting aside his shock and surprise for the moment, Neville quickly assumed his own rather formal posture, realizing that there was only one thing to do if Harry legally possessed that ring.

“I shall make your request known Lord Potter,” Neville quickly replied, his posture perfectly straight and his face a complete mask of the confusion he was feeling at the moment. There was a slight chuckle behind him, and almost immediately his posture sank back to its normal form.

“I see you've taken those lessons quite well Neville,” the elder woman said with a rather prideful smile on her face. She was a rather aged woman from the look of her, clad in white robes with a customary vulture hat on her head. Her hair was a deep white, though her eyebrows still retained a slight copper tint to them. Harry stood and glanced straight into her pale green eyes, and she stared right back. “So at last I meet the man who is responsible for helping Neville advance himself so far this year. I must say it is a pleasure to see you again Mr. Potter.”

Harry arched an eyebrow, his form forgotten for the moment. “Again?”

“Yes, your parents were close with my dear Franklin and his wife. The last time I saw you was when you were just a year old. I see you've grown into quite a strong young man.” She smiled at him, and turned her gaze to the side. “And you must be the Hermione I've heard so much about.”

“Yes ma'm,” Hermione said politely. Augusta looked her over, giving her a good through examination with her eyes. She then turned to Harry. “If you wish to discuss things concerning the ancient lines with me, we must do so alone, only....those of blood may hear such things.”

A glow of anger crossed over Harry's face, but faded as quickly as it arose. “Hermione is my betrothed and the future Lady Potter,” Harry said plainly, causing Neville to nearly faint, “As such, she deserves to know such things.”

Augusta smiled, “Very well Mr. Potter, but let's not go calling her Lady Potter just yet. First you must reclaim your status with the Wizengamot.”

“And it is in this that I request your help, Lady Longbottom,” Harry said, once more returning to the more regal speech that he had used before. “As you yourself have stated, my parents and your son were good friends, and it is in these tidings of friendship that I seek your help in reclaiming the heritage which is rightfully mine.” Internally, Harry balked that he was beginning to sound like Draco Malfoy with all the claiming of inheritance titles, but he knew that this was the only way he could impress someone as rigid as Augusta Longbottom...assuming Neville's description of his grandmother was accurate.

A wry smile formed on the Longbottom matriarch's face, and she nodded her head slightly. “This is neither the place nor the time to discuss such things, but you may come to our manor house in Derbyshire tomorrow evening for dinner.” Harry nodded, and Augusta turned away. Neville simply stood there, staring at his two friends.

“Don't worry Neville,” Hermione said with a smile on her face, “We'll give you the details tomorrow.” Neville nodded, but couldn't help but feel that he had been left behind once more.

/ - / - / - /

Draco Malfoy closed the book on parliamentary procedure, having read it for what seemed like the hundredth time since his apprenticeship to Caliban had begun.

This was the only part of Caliban's plan that seemed to make sense to Draco. After all, the Dark Lord did need spies on the inside of the Ministry. More than that, though, he felt himself filled with a small degree of pride. Here he would be able to show people exactly how useful he could be. He could show his father, the sniveling ingrate, what Draco Malfoy was capable of. He could show Caliban, most importantly, what he was capable of.

Whatever had spurred this change in Draco's attitudes towards Caliban was uncertain, but to himself he regarded him as more of a father figure than his blood relation at this point. It was a quick transition to be certain, but part of it probably had to do with the fact that Caliban had actually awakened Draco to his true heritage, something for which Draco was quite thankful for, even if he was still morbidly ashamed of it.

Shaking his head clear of such thoughts, Draco walked out of his room to get something to eat. As he passed by the main living room of their small safehouse, he found Caliban sitting on the floor, various pieces of parchment scattered all over the place and books stacked eight or nine high. The elder Death Eater worked feverishly, scanning through all the parchments and other papers with a quickened pace, occasionally jotting down a few notes here or there. Draco cocked an eyebrow, and out of the corner of his eye Caliban caught the gesture.

“Research,” Caliban explained, answering the unasked question. “The Dark Lord has asked me to study the ancient lines, looking for one of the heirs.”

“Heirs?”

“Yes, heirs to the great witches and wizards of antiquity. There are some ancient documents written by some of the greatest thinkers concerning who they might be, but Voldemort seems to think that they'll emerge soon.” He paused, a grin forming on his face, before he went back to work. “I am currently scanning the old lines for the Heir of the Four Founders of Hogwarts. After I have finished that, I will seek out both the Heir of Morgan LeFey and, ultimately, the Heir of Merlin.”

Draco’s eyes widened, “The Heir of Merlin? Is there such a person?”

Caliban shrugged his shoulders, “Perhaps. It is a known fact that Myriddin Emrys had no other family, nor did he have any offspring to carry on his magical line. Still all the same, many scholars have written about the heir of Merlin. The legend goes that just before his death, Merlin made a prophecy to his students of the day, a prophecy that stated his power would return one day in one who would be greater than him.”

“But….how could you find such a person….if there’s no blood then…”

“Remember your own experience young dragon,” Caliban snapped, causing Draco to be silenced momentarily. “In any event, you needn’t concern yourself with such details. Finding the Heir of Merlin is not our primary goal at the moment. Have you studied the book again?”

Draco glared at the man from behind his chastised face. “Yes, I’ve memorized it from cover to cover.”

“Good, you realize that your fortunes will be greatly affected by Lucius' stunt. It is likely a good deal of your wealth will be taken away as payment for your crimes, but we have enough influence left on the council to prevent the Malfoy lines eradication from the lines of the pureblood families.” He paused a moment, glancing at another piece of parchment, before turning back to Draco, “In any event, your task is simply to hear things. Do not make a scene above all else. And for Merlin’s sake, DO NOT REVEAL WHERE YOUR LOYALTIES LIE!” A fierce look came over Caliban quickly. “If it is discovered you are marked, then our influence will be greatly hindered. You have failed us twice before Draco, and I have interceded on your behalf on both occasions, sparing your life. Fail me again, and I don’t have to tell you what the consequences will be.”

Draco stood there, somewhat worried at the tone Caliban was using. As quickly as he had become angry, however, he calmed back down. “I trust you shall not fail us however, and I have every confidence in you Malfoy, remember that.” With that, Caliban turned back to his work. Draco went towards the kitchen, his mandate swirling around in his head, before he came upon another thought. He turned back around.

“Potter….he claimed to be an heir of Slytherin…..is there any chance that he….”

“Perhaps he is the heir of the founders,” Caliban said without looking up at Draco, “But do not concern yourself with it. If he is, it will soon be discovered.”

/ - / - / - /

“You still haven’t told me why we’re here…”

Jeremy Lovegood was three days removed from attending the wake of Molly Weasley, and was in no mood to be kept in the dark any longer. Silently he stalked after Malcolm Greengrass, his Unspeakable’s robes billowing in the surprising wind in the underbelly of the Department of Mysteries. Together they walked down the darkened hallway, heading towards an unnamed room. Malcolm turned back with a tiny hint of irritation in his eye.

“I don’t know why he summoned us down here Jeremy,” he confessed, turning back, “And frankly I don’t care. When Lazarus says it’s time to do something, it’s time to do it.” Leaving it at that, he went back on his way, with Jeremy following him all the way.

They wound around the corridors several ways until they came to a literal dead end. Standing there with her dark hair resplendent in the slight torchlight was Clarissa Zabini, her eyes filled with the same confusion that the other two men had. In front of her was Lazarus himself, his wrinkled and potmarked face fully exposed to the light, giving him an ominous appearance. “Good, good, you’ve all come.” He offered his toothless smile to the three of them, and turned towards a flimsy looking wooden door.

“Why are we here Lazarus,” Clarissa asked, placing her hand on the elder wizard’s shoulder.

“My time on this earth is coming to an end,” he confessed, “I know not when the end will come, but it will as with all things.”

“But you can’t die,” Jeremy said suddenly, “You’ve been here since….”

“Yes, I know Jeremy, but such is the way of things. Death is nothing to fear, at least not for one who is of sound mind and body.” He paused, as if deep in thought, “It is my wish that I live to see my affairs put in order, but should I not, then it is up to you three. Thusly, why we are here in front of this door.” He turned to face all three of them. “This door remains locked at all times, my friends, for behind it is the story that no one else knows, at least not in its entirety. It is a story that must be told however, and you three shall be the ones to pass it on to those who need to know it.”

“What are you trying to tell us?” Malcolm finally asked, as Lazarus turned back towards the door, his eyes closed as the latch suddenly clicked.

“Everything….”

/ - / - / - /

Two weeks went by in relative calm in the wizarding world. To everyone’s surprise, the attacks by Death Eaters, which had become more and more frequent in the previous days, had ceased since the return (at least sightings of) their savior the Boy-Who-Lived. By and large the wizarding public went about their business, unaware of the simmering tensions just below the surface of their society.

Out over the Scottish landscape Harry stood on his balcony, watching the starlit sky, he glanced up at each of the constellations in turn, never really noticing their beauty until now. Growing up in the suburbs of England didn’t allow one to have an appreciation of the night sky, since the stars were often drowned out by the lights of the city. In his youth, Harry had regarded the stars as the object of his ultimate desire, freedom. Stars meant he was outside, away from the Dursleys, away from his cupboard, away from the living hell that was his life.

He had escaped that, and come into something so much better. It had cost him much, but both he and his love agreed that, despite the losses, it was something they relish living in. Harry smiled as he felt the form of Hermione Granger nestle up next to him.

“Tomorrow’s the day,” she said to the air, and Harry nodded his head into her bushy mane.

“Yes, it is,” he plainly stated. “Tomorrow’s the day we ensure that our lives are never interrupted again. Tomorrow is the day we take the first step towards our life together.”

There was a long pause, as Harry and Hermione simply stood out on their balcony, taking in the night air all over again. “Harry,” Hermione said hesitantly, causing him to look down at her with worry.

“What is it love?” he asked, a tinge of worry in his own voice.

Hermione bit her bottom lip, as if to say something, but held her tongue, “It’s nothing. I don’t want you to worry.”

“Worry about what,” Hermione shook her head. “Tell me Mione,”

“It’s just that….Oh Harry I’m scared if Dumbledore has some other trick up his sleeve that’s all…” she stared at him with a few tears leaking out of her eyes. Harry hushed her and took her in an embrace.

“He won’t,” Harry said with resolve, “And he won’t rule our lives anymore.” Harry looked up at the sky once more, wishing to tell the old fool to his face that Hermione and he were free, forever free from Albus Dumbledore and his machinations.

Across the country, Albus Dumbledore stared into the same sky, a glass of brandy in his hand, looking very much like his son, his mind turning in ways to ensure that it would never happen that way, oblivious to everything going on around him.

A/N: The long-awaited Wizengamot meeting will take place in the next chapter and several plot threads will come to fruition. That won’t end this fic though, as their will be an aftermath of the Wizengamot, another confrontation between Harry and Dumbledore, more stuff with Draco, and the eventual conclusion to Caliban’s hunt for Harry.

For those with keen eye, you would have caught that the Heirs Caliban was searching for, the Heir of LeFey and the Heir of Merlin. Idly enough, The Heir of LeFey is the title of the second part of this trilogy, with The Heir of Merlin being the third part. Their identities will be discussed at a later date.

A/N: Here’s the long awaited Wizengamot meeting chapter. I’ll try and get it all in one chapter, the meeting proper that is, and the confrontation afterwards between our two main parties will be next chapter.

Some of my scene sections might be a little shorter than most, but it’s simply for dropping some plot points and speeding up the action.

I’m not certain if I was clear in the last chapter, but Hermione is worried about something other than the meeting. Just a small little plotpoint that won’t have much bearing in the long run, other than giving me something to write about fluff-wise.

Feel free to guess on whom the Heirs might be, or what the deal with Lazarus is, or whatever, I always enjoy seeing your theories and thoughts based on my writings and any possible clues I might leave hidden throughout.

As always, thank you for choosing to read my story.

Chapter 23: The Wizengamot

He ran, as fast as he could he ran. His brother was dead, his parents were dead.

The screams, he could remember the screams more than anything. That and the man’s eyes as he hunted them down, those piercing, violet eyes.

He had managed to escape the attack, as suddenly as it had happened. His parents had never stood a chance, their blank stares forever haunting his nightmares. He didn’t know how long he had been running since his younger brother died off, it could have just been a few minutes, and it could have been a lifetime for all he knew.

There, in the bush, a snapped stick. He was still hunting him, that man with the piercing violet eyes. He had to get away, find some place where he could hide. Where his friends would be. He desperately tried to think of a place.

The Burrow! He would be safe there for the moment. Ginny would protect him. The great Harry Potter would protect him. Summoning up every ounce of his courage he ran into the night, hoping to Merlin he had chosen the right direction, and that those violet eyes couldn’t hunt him down.

/ - / - / - /

Albus Dumbledore was a happy man.

No, scratch that, he was ecstatic.

The plan had been so simple, so obvious, that he had nearly overlooked it. In all of his machinations and long-drawn out affairs, perhaps he had lost appreciation for the sublime ease in which one could operate. He had to smile at how fate had once again twisted itself to meet his needs.

Miss Granger was, in fact, an orphan in the wizarding world. Since she was not yet of age, she would obviously need some kind of guidance in the few months before she turned seventeen, something that, Albus was quite certain, only he could provide. All it would take was a little impassioned speech at the Wizengamot meeting tonight, a grant him custody of the young woman.

With Miss Granger firmly under his control, Dumbledore surmised, one of three things would happen. Perhaps Harry would come in tow with her, after a little heart to heart between Hermione and Albus set things straight between them and Hermione was able to convey those feelings to Harry. If that didn’t happen, then Harry would mount some kind of foolish rescue attempt, and Dumbledore could set things right the hard way.

This was of course assuming Hermione came willingly. If she didn’t, well there was always the chance of accidents happening to his new young charge. Such was the way of things, after all.

Dumbledore adjusted his robes one final time, confident that things were moving in his direction for the first time in a long time. The robes of a Wizengamot member, when in legislative session, were quite splendid, a long flowing royal purple with white trim and a golden W written on the crest, with whatever families crest etched firmly on the opposite side. He took one last look at himself in his mirror, before heading towards his fireplace. There was a solemn squawk from across his desk and Albus turned to look at Fawkes, who glared at him reproachfully.

“Now don’t you start that again you ruddy bird,” Dumbledore said with a tiny bit of vitriol in his voice, “I don’t want to hear another peep out of you.” He turned away, smirking to himself, “It’s not as if you can do anything to stop me anyway.” Fawkes merely continued to glare, and turned away from him. Albus grabbed a pinch of floo powder from the jar on his mantle and tossed it into the fire. “Ministry for Magic,” he shouted as he walked through the emerald green flames.

/ - / - / - /

Draco Malfoy paced back and forth outside the Ministry Building, awaiting the arrival of Caliban in his charmed robes. Caliban had something about needing to tie up a loose end before the meeting that night, which Caliban for some reason was insistent on being near, despite the personal risk to himself. It seemed roughly out of character for him, especially considering how calculating and measured every move he had taken to this point had been.

Still, Draco couldn’t help but feel that Caliban had a good reason to do what he did.

In the corner of his mind he felt a small tugging sensation, causing him to turn around. There walking down the street was Caliban, dressed in a style that would not attract attention to anyone who wasn’t paying close enough attention. Draco was a bit surprised at how easily he recognized the elder Death Eater and how he had sensed he was coming, but he said nothing about it to himself. Caliban navigated his way towards Draco, a smirk on his face.

“Did you do whatever it was that was so important?” Draco asked, and Caliban nodded, reaching into his belt and handing Draco a small chain.

“Wear this,” he instructed, “It will help further your occulumency shields, in case one of the Wizengamot members, such as my father, tries to read you.” Draco took the gold chain and glanced it over for a moment. It seemed vaguely familiar, as if he had seen it before, but he wasn’t quite sure. He slipped it over his neck and tucked it under his robes, not feeling any different at the moment.

“Where will you be,” Draco asked, as Caliban glanced around, searching out for any hidden dangers. He turned and fired off a small smile at Draco.

“So eager to make certain I’m here to bail you out?” Draco scowled, but Caliban simply chuckled, “Rest assured I will be nearby enough should anything unexpected happen. Needless to say, the Dark Lord is interested in the success of this portion of our mission. As I have told you before, should you succeed in ingratiating yourself within the legislative body, then the rewards will be great. Fail….well we won’t linger on that possibility.” Draco nodded a slight look of worry on his face. “You’d best be on your way. David Parkinson will make certain you successfully ascend to your seat.”

Draco turned away, his mind awash with that possibility as he looked down at his hand and saw a silver and platinum ring, with the two metals intertwining around a small amethyst stone. The Malfoy family ring. He let out a sigh as he walked towards the phone booth, entered the code, and descended below to the Ministry.

Caliban simply stood back and watched. Even if nothing else worked, this had to, everything would depend on it.

/ - / - / - /

Augusta Longbottom led her two young charges towards the entryway for the Wizengamot chamber. Harry was clad in the proper robes; all five of his family crests etched onto his breast pocket, while Hermione had been given a proper set of robes to be seated in the gallery, hopefully hidden away from anyone who might want to give her trouble. Seeing her status as the future wife of the Lord Potter, she was allowed the privilege of attending meetings, though not voting at them.

They made their way through a discreet back hallway, hiding away from the rest of the crowd. As they stopped at massive double doors, Augusta turned and looked at the two of them. “Wait here,” she instructed, “When I announce you the doors will open and you may proceed.” She turned to Hermione, “You can enter the gallery through those side doors. It’d be best if you didn’t walk out onto the floor with him.”

“Forgive me if this whole thing doesn’t sound a bit contrived,” Hermione said with a bit of disapproval in her voice. Augusta stood firm, but smiled a small bit.

“Believe me when I told my father the same thing young lady. Things are better than they used to be, however, and perhaps there will be one day when the Wizengamot proper is given to elections like the muggle world. But until such a day, this is the way we have set up our government.” She turned and looked at a small clock on the wall. “I should be going, I will summon you shortly.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied as she turned away, “Thank you for everything.” Augusta stopped and closed her eyes.

“It is I who should be thanking you, for everything you have done for my grandson. He is now gaining the confidence he needs to one day lead my family.” Augusta turned and glanced at Harry, “And one day, I may call upon you again to help foster that confidence more.” Harry nodded his head, and Augusta slightly bowed hers, turning and walking through the doors, shutting them as soon as she entered the chamber.

Hermione and Harry stood in silence, Hermione pacing back and forth for a few moments before heading into the gallery. “Do you think it was wise not to establish your link with the Founders Harry?” she asked, leaning against the wall slightly. Harry thought for a moment, before turning and nodding his head.

“The fewer people who know about that the better. It can be our ace in the hole, so to speak. If all else fails, then I can use that position to force Dumbledore out of Hogwarts, so he can do less harm.” He stopped and closed his eyes, rubbing them repeatedly, “No matter what he’s done, a small part of me still wants to believe that it wasn’t out of spite, that there was some kind of grand plan that we just don’t know about yet….” Hermione walked over and gave him a deep hug.

“It’s natural Harry, we just want to believe that we can’t be used like that.” Harry nodded into her shoulder and Hermione leaned forward, giving him a chaste kiss on the forehead, “I should be going,” she replied. Harry nodded, giving her a last smile as she went through the side door, leaving him alone to his thoughts for the moment.

Harry stood there for a long time, his mind working in a few hundred different directions. He quieted himself and tried to focus on one thing at a time. Dumbledore could certainly be dealt with later, as he was no longer in a position to influence his life. Once Harry had established himself in the wizarding world that he wouldn’t be trifled with any longer, he had no doubt that Voldemort would be quick in attempting to discern his location. The first task would be to train close friends to help him. He knew that Ginny and Ron would be trained in a similar fashion that he and Hermione had done, and he suspected that Neville and Luna would likely join them as well. In all he expected a few people to join him for training, and he would take as many as he could. They needed to be trained, he told himself, in case it was a long time in trying to end this war.

The fact that he had no idea where to begin on finding Voldemort didn’t help matters. And the one person he could possibly turn to for help on that matter was pretty much out of the question at the given moment. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed Dumbledore to some degree.

A rustling behind him alerted Harry that he was no longer alone. Quickly he turned and saw the most peculiar sight he had seen in quite some time. There, clad in the same robes as him sans a family crest, was a short little man. All told he looked like Flitwick after being on the receiving end of an Engorgio charm, though with quite a few more wrinkles. His eyes were a slightly glowing yellow, and his mouth was devoid of any teeth. All told he looked like a mummy who had been unwrapped and re-animated. The man hobbled forward, leaning heavily on a large wooden cane that Harry quickly surmised was actually a staff.

“At last I meet the famous…Harry Potter,” the old man croaked, offering a hand which Harry shook.

“Do I know you?” Harry asked, not quite shaking the feeling that there was some connection to this man that he couldn’t quite muster.

“No,” the man said with a smile, “You don’t even know my name….or perhaps you do? Nevertheless, it matters not. You may call me Lazarus.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Harry said in an even tone. He had a strong vibe of distrust from the man, but the feeling was unlike any he had ever felt before. It was strong, almost overpowering, yet vaguely familiar at the same time.

“Likewise. I trust you will now what to do when the time comes….now if you’ll excuse me.” Lazarus hobbled off, leaving a rather confused Harry Potter standing there as the old man went through the doors.

As soon as the doors shut, Lazarus turned back and thought to himself, “Merlin help me if I’m wrong.”

Harry stared at the doors for a long time, before he heard another body coming. Quickly he ducked behind the entry to the gallery, turning around to see who it was. Much to his surprise, Draco Malfoy was coming down the hallway.

/ - / - / - /

“This session of the Wizengamot will come to order!”

The chamber of the Wizengamot was one of the larger rooms within the entire Ministry complex, with a high vaulted ceiling and several circles of chairs around the spiraled ramp ways that led to a large podium in the center, where currently Albus Dumbledore sat. Off to the side was a large set of double doors, which led to the back entrance to the chamber. Other, smaller entrances were scattered throughout the hall to allow for entrance to family members and invited guests of the body politic. The Wizengamot House of Lords, the body that made the majority of wizarding law, was made up of roughly 30-50 members, including the Minister for Magic and his staff who were automatically granted seats, regardless of family lines. The membership fluctuated as new houses were added and removed from the noble lines based on economic status and any surviving members of that house. Several chairs sat empty, in accordance with houses which were devoid of membership, but had not been expunged from the record due to having been occupied within the last 100 years prior. In the four cardinal directions, four chairs stood in a prominent fashion, signifying the permanent status of the Founders Four of Hogwarts, four witches and wizards who had forever saved the Ministry in the days following the death of Merlin.

Dumbledore sat in the middle as everyone flocked in around him, relishing the attention. He scowled as the Unspeakables contingent filtered in, the three Wizengamot Lords and One Lady whom formed the political arm of the Department of Mysteries. Lazarus grinned at him, only causing Dumbledore to grimace even more. He cleared his mind, ready to begin his newest master stroke.

“Before we move on to business that as Chief Warlock I fear must be addressed, I understand there is a matter of ascension to deal with.” He turned towards David Parkinson, a small-minded man with a rather large overbite and thinning black hair, who stood up and approached the podium.

“A young wizard wishes to claim the seat of the House of Malfoy. Though he is not yet of age, the by-laws of this house state that he may be allowed to assume his father’s seat because of Lucius Malfoy’s arrest and conviction.” Dumbledore nodded, the Malfoy seat was rarely vacant because of its by-laws that could even allow a ten-year-old to assume its position, albeit with restrictions.

“Bring the young man forth,” Dumbledore motioned, and large double doors opened in front of him. He glanced down at the young Draco Malfoy, and sent a slight probe into the boy’s mind to see if he was honest and unlike his father. Surprisingly he felt his probe rejected by an ironclad mind, and Draco looked up at him with a look akin to contempt. Dumbledore readjusted himself in his seat.

“Draco Malfoy….son of Lucius, heir to the House of Malfoy, you are aware that your house has committed severe crimes against this body and its members.”

“I am Chief Warlock,” Draco answered, bowing his head, “And I humbly submit myself before this august body on behalf of my house, ready to receive whatever punishment you deem fit to give us.” Dumbledore internally scoffed, he had no time for this sort of thing. He did notice however a person sitting in the stands that attracted his attention. He tried to concentrate and feel out with his magic, to see if it was who he thought it was, but there were too many people in the room to get a good feeling. Setting it aside however, he looked down at Draco.

“We shall move for reprimand later,” he announced, causing a small murmur into the crowd, “For now let it be written that Draco Malfoy is hereby authorized to take the seat of the House of Malfoy….if it is without objection?” There were no voices in dissension, “So mote it be.” There was a loud boom, and Draco was ushered to a chair on the left side of Dumbledore, a bit surprised at the lack of punishment for his house, but certainly not cursing his good fortune.

“Now, if we can move on,” Dumbledore said, his voice clear, “There has been a great tragedy that has befallen one of the….” There was a quiet cough from below him, causing Dumbledore to turn at the source.

“With apologies Chief Warlock,” the Lady Longbottom replied, approaching the podium, “But there is one other matter of ascension to adhere too.” Dumbledore internally rolled his eyes while the rest of the crowd murmured, having not been told of any other ascensions for that evening.

“Very well Lady Longbottom, you may speak.”

“This man wishes to claim his rightful inheritance, and take his place in our world; a place which I feel is long overdue. He seeks to claim lordship over five houses bereft of lordship.”

Several reactions came as a result of this. The majority of the crowd went up in arms at this announcement, given the fact that someone claiming to be the heir of five houses was either a cruel joke or a horrible mistake, though the fact that the Lady Longbottom would stake her family’s reputation by bringing someone of this nature forward lent credence to the latter rather than the former. Four of the members sat quietly, not giving away a reaction either way, though Lazarus smiled a bit when he heard the words of five houses bereft of lordship.

Albus Dumbledore suddenly went very pale, and felt the color drain out of his face. He was certain that if he sat there long enough he would begin to feel his heart slow down in his chest. It wasn’t the fact that she had proclaimed an heir to 5 houses, it was the way in which she had said it that set off the alarm bells in his mind, whether it was intentional on her part or not. “B-Bring him forward,” Dumbledore stated, trying to control himself and hope beyond hope that this wasn’t who he thought it was.

It was.

“May I present Harry James Potter, son of James, Proclaimed Heir to the House of Potter, Black, Seldon, Draven & Warrens.” There was an uproar from the crowd as Harry entered through the double doors and stood before the assembled body. He approached Dumbledore, who looked as if he had seen a ghost. Dumbledore said nothing, but behind him one of his loyal followers, Alastor Moody, stood up.

“How can he claim lordship over those houses,” he bellowed out, “He hasn’t reached age yet!”

Harry remained calm, turning towards Mad-Eye and firing him a glare that even made him take a second look. “It is well-known the fact that the goblins may have a say who inherits lines that are bereft of lordship, pursuant to the Articles of Peace established between the International Confederation of Wizards and the Glorious Goblin Nation well over 400 years ago.” Above Hermione smiled that Harry had been able to gleam some measure of information from those history of magic lessons after all. “Upon the death of my godfather, Sirius Orion Black, his will was executed, granting me lordship over the House of Black.”

Another voice chimed in from the crowd, “Sirius Black was a murderer! You have no right to mention his name in these hallowed halls!”

Harry bit his lip, and fought back the urge to unleash a curse upon the fool of a man who had thrown in their two cents. “Sirius Black was never convicted of any crime, merely sent to Azkaban awaiting a trial that never happened. As such, he was never stripped of his titles and lordships, and his will was never declared null in void. Upon his death he bequeathed the title of Lord Black to me.” He paused as the crowd continued to mull about in disbelief, before continuing, “Upon accepting this title, I was in effect declared emancipated,” Dumbledore gulped, “and my other titles were passed down to me from my mother and father.”

Silence befell the room, as everyone stared at Harry, the boy who had gone from hero to crackpot to savior to adult in less than a year’s time. All turned towards Dumbledore, awaiting his next move.

But Dumbledore didn’t quite know what to do….his plans were bollocks now. If Harry had a vote on the Wizengamot, let alone five, he didn’t have a hope of engaging his latest scheme. Completely powerless to stop things, Dumbledore cursed fate once more and fell back to his default, he’d simply bide his time till the opportunity presented itself.

“Very well,” he said in a tone more somber than he would have liked, “Let it be written that Harry James Potter is hereby authorized to assume the seats of the House of Potter, the House of Black, the House of Warrens, the House of Seldon & the House of Draven. If there is no objection….”

“I object!”

There was a loud cry as everyone turned to see Draco Malfoy with his wand pointed straight at Potter. Harry quickly drew his own wand in response, but not before Draco could complete his spell. “SECTUMSEMPRA!”. Internally, Draco smiled at the spell that one of his mentors, Severus Snape, had taught him. He would use it on Potter and get out of there before anyone knew what had happened; having single handedly captured the enemy of the Dark Lord.

He didn’t count on Harry throwing up a powerful shield wordlessly….or for a stunner to send him flying out of his seat and sprawled out onto the floor. Harry stood up and walked over Malfoy, ripping his sleeve and exposing the dark mark clearly branded on his forearm.

The Aurors were quick to jump into action, moving towards Draco with wands drawn. There was a loud bang however, and a very large plume of smoke that appeared in the middle of the hall, visible to all but Albus Dumbledore, who saw the man in the center. He whispered…”Caliban…”

The smoke dissipated and Harry caught a glimpse of the man who stood between him and Draco, seething with anger as soon as his visage became apparent. It was the man who had killed Molly. Without thinking Harry jumped to his feet and fired the first curse he could think of…”PECTURIS SUBSISTO!” he yelled, and a jagged yellow beam crackling with energy shot out at Caliban. Caliban moved his wand in a circular motion around himself, as he was drawing fire from all sides.

“PROTEGO MAXIMO!” A large dome of light erupted around the two of them protecting Caliban and Draco. Caliban stared straight at Potter, before looking at his father and reaching into his belt, his shield beginning to weaken.

“This is not over!” he shouted, before tossing out a small wooden doll at Harry. “ANIMUS!” he shouted, causing the wooden doll to grow and expand to enormous sizes. Harry jumped back as he saw the rather large golem appear in front of him, cursing himself when he saw Caliban and Draco disapparate from view. The rest of the Wizengamot ran in terror, while Hermione jumped next to him. Harry & Hermione looked at one another and joined hands, intent on giving their magic a little extra boost with a dual spell.

“SIMULA REDUCTO!” The dual blasting curse shot at the ill-formed golem, causing it to explode into a thousand splinters, and scattering all over the hall. When the commotion had died down, and the dust settled, Harry and Hermione stared at the headmaster, daring him to do something to them. Albus simply cleared his throat.

“I suggest we recess till tomorrow evening,” this was met with a chorus of nods and echoes of thank Merlins. Dumbledore stood up, brushing himself off as he passed by Harry & Hermione, saying under his breath.

“And you two and I need to have a little chat.”

/ - / - / - /

Draco came too in his safe house, completely oblivious to his surroundings, almost instantly he was overcome with excruciating pain, as a cruciatus curse blanketed his body and caused him to convulse violently at the same time.

He did not know how long the curse was held on; time seemed to come to a standstill. He nearly blacked out again. But somehow he managed to maintain his consciousness, and after several minutes was left a quivering mass on the floor, his breath ragged and sweat dripping from his brow. Hesitantly, he looked up seeing Caliban glaring at him.

“You have failed me, young Dragon, for the last time.”

Draco swallowed hard, “I was trying to fulfill our mission!” He exclaimed, earning a quick kick to the gut. “If I had succeeded….”

“IF you had succeeded we would not be having this conversation, now would we?” Caliban knelt down in front of Draco. “And to think, I saw some of myself in you. Perhaps it was merely a fool’s hope….a belief beyond desire that you would be more like me given your….descent.”

Draco’s eyes widened and he stared up at Caliban, adrenaline flowing through his veins. Caliban stood up, and Draco forced himself to do the same. “What are you saying?” he demanded to know, his wand hand itching.

“Come now Draco….you wouldn’t think that I didn’t have my fun before your father as far as your wench of a mother was concerned, now did you?” Draco’s eyes darkened, though he winced in pain greatly as he did so. “It was a longshot I admit, but you’re taking to occulumency so quickly and your latent ability to sense magic gave me a small sliver of hope.”

Draco’s wand suddenly found its way to his hand. Caliban looked down at this and smiled, reaching into a side pocket and grabbing something discreetly as he did. “What are you going to do now? Kill me? As if that were possible.”

Draco said nothing, merely shaking in a mixture of pain and anger.

“Though it is the only way out. But you and I both know you’re incapable of casting a killing curse. You’ve failed at that twice before.”

The words were on Draco’s lips….and Caliban stood firm.

“Though I suppose that’s enough to expect from a worthless mudblood such as yourself….you shame me Draco….you shame everyone….including your mother…”

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

The pale green bean shot out of Draco’s wand, but Caliban was quicker than Draco’s reflexes. In an instant a small gem was between Caliban and the beam, and Draco was forced to his knees as the gem glowed with power and the killing curse shot straight into it. Draco felt his strength leaving him, as he collapsed under the weight of his own curse. After several minutes Draco’s wand slipped out of his hands, breaking the connection, and clattered to the floor, practically useless. Draco took several weak breaths, as Caliban merely stood before him, eyeing the gem.

“A rather useful invention I picked up from my time in Egypt,” he explained, “This doesn’t stop a killing curse; rather it merely absorbs magical energy. It acts for me as a thurmatalogical battery, making my powers far greater than they would be otherwise.” He cocked his head as Draco reached for his wand, and Caliban merely kicked it out of the room.

“You’ve lost Malfoy,” he whispered in a quiet voice, “You’ve lost everything. I admire you for finally being able to show enough backbone to be able to cast a killing curse, you might have had potential.” Caliban held his own wand up, a bright green glow at its tip, “Sadly….we will never know it.” Caliban pointed his wand right between Draco’s eyes….the last thing he remembered was the bright flash of light, and then all Draco Malfoy knew was darkness.

A/N: Well, there’s a long chapter done and finished. The long awaited Dumbledore/Harry chat will happen next chapter, as well the beginning of some more training for Harry and his friends.

A/N: I’ve avoided talking much about the seventh book; simply because I feel nothing more needs to be said. Fanon has and always will be more interesting, and in a lot of cases better written than any of J.K.’s adventures, interesting as they might be (and as well-written as they might have been).

To that end, I hope you will enjoy my own twisted little niche of the Potter Universe. If anyone has been waiting for a verbal smackdown on Dumbledore, you’re going to get that in spades this time around. You’ll also find out the identity of the person who was being hunted at the beginning of the last chapter, though if you were extra observant, his identity wasn’t that difficult to guess. You’ll also get a closer look at the workings of the DoM.

Chapter 24: Harry Potter Unbound

Ginny Weasley was waiting with baited breath for the outcome of the Wizengamot session and was hoping that Harry and Hermione would be alright. There wasn’t much to do at the moment, her father was currently at the meeting, making sure everything went according to plan, and she was feeling a bit vulnerable, even with Luna and Neville there with three of her brothers.

Ginny sighed and walked towards the window, staring up at the sky. There were things happening here that she didn’t quite understand, or at least didn’t want to understand. And as selfish as it sounded to her, one of them was the pang of jealousy she felt for Harry & Hermione.

True enough, deep down she pretty much realized that those two would eventually hook up. Still, it didn’t make finally burying her childhood crush on the great Harry Potter any easier. As much as she knew she had to move past it, she couldn’t help but feel that she might not find anyone who would give her the time of day. Yes, she had dated Michael Corner for a short time, and she had gone on one Hogsmeade date with Dean Thomas, but other than that people gave her a wide berth. Since the whole episode with the Chamber of Secrets, a lot of people still treated her with kid gloves, as if she’d go off the deep end or something.

She smiled as she thought of the boys who didn’t treat her that way, and came to Colin Creevey. She liked Colin well enough, but probably not in “that” sort of way, but she could tell that the boy was absolutely smitten with her from his reactions in classes and the like. Show Colin was doing, she hadn’t heard from him in a while.

There was a sharp knock at the door, and Ginny turned to see Ron walking in, his head hung a bit low as he glanced at her, taking her silence as permission to enter.

“Ron what’s wrong?” she asked, worried that something had gone horribly wrong.

“Everything,” he whispered, sitting down in the chair at her desk and placing his head in his hands. There was a long silence before Ron added, “It’s funny. I always thought those two would wind up together, but I never believed I’d be this much of a third wheel.”

“What are you talking about Ronald?” Ginny said softly, leaning down next to him.

“I know I’m not the brightest guy, or the handsomest or…well…much of anything. But I could always be counted as one of Harry’s closest allies. I always thought I’d be there with him…at the end you know.” He laughed, as if coming up with some kind of joke that only he knew the punch line to. “I guess it won’t be that way now.”

“They’ve offered to teach us what they can Ron,” Ginny reminded him. “Once we learn what they know, then we can help them end this war. We can….” Her face darkened and took on a slightly more shadowed edge, “We can get our revenge for mum.” Ron glanced up at her, an equal scowl on his face, and nodded his approval.

They were interrupted by the sounds of footsteps running up the stairs, and both of them turned to see Neville rushing in. “You’d better come downstairs now,” he said in a hurry, and quickly all three of them descended into the Weasley living room, shocked to find Colin Creevey, beaten and bloodied, laying on the floor, Luna tending to his wounds.

“What happened to him?” Ginny asked in desperation, and Luna looked up at her, for the moment the distant look in her eyes gone.

“We don’t know,” she explained, “He just stumbled in through the back door and collapsed on the kitchen floor when Ronald went upstairs. Neville and I managed to bring him in here,” she paused and glanced down at him, “I think he has a mild concussion and a few scrapes and bruises, but other than that he’ll be fine.”

Ginny glanced back down at her friend, before setting her resolve again, as Colin seemed to cry out for his parents and his brother. She had no doubt what had happened, Colin was a muggle born after all. The Death Eaters had obviously done this. Colin must have just managed to escape.

“We’ll get dad to take him to St. Mungo’s when he gets back,” Ron said quietly, “For now let’s just let him rest. Poor bloke’s probably been through a lot.”

/ - / - / - /

Percival Weasley didn’t exactly know where he was going at the moment. He had just been acting as a junior scribe for the Wizengamot meeting that had ended rather abruptly, and in all the ruckus he had been corralled into following Jeremy Lovegood into the bowels of the Ministry.

Percy was at a bit of a loss for what had just transpired. Truth be told he could care less what happened to Potter or Granger, they had always been more trouble than they were worth in his opinion. Still, the calculating part of him knew that with Potter in a position of power, if he had any possible inclinations for advancement he’d have to sway to their side, something that would prove difficult considering his actions of the previous year.

He knew that there was a good chance You-Know-Who was back, despite his distrust for Potter and his somewhat lesser distrust of his former headmaster. Even still, he had stuck with Fudge because his political sense had told him that he had the best chance of winning out.

His political sense had obviously been wrong.

“Right this way Mr. Weasley,” Lovegood said coldly, leading him down a winding corridor further into the Department of Mysteries. They traveled down through the torchlit corridor a few more feet before coming to a stop at a small wooden door. “This would be it. Lazarus will see you.” Jeremy bowed his head and turned around, leaving Percy with a somewhat befuddled look on his face.

“What does he want,” he asked somewhat petulantly, “He can’t just dictate who will see him and who won’t.” Jeremy turned and looked, regarding him with a somewhat….odd smirk on his face.

“You say that now,” he quipped, before nodding his head again and turning back down the hallway. Percy blinked and shook his head, confused. Undaunted, he turned back towards the door, and forced it open slowly.

The office was large, larger than the minister’s office from what Percy could tell. It had a high vaulted ceiling with a crackling fireplace set in the corner. Shelves of books and parchment that seemed to be older than the air in the room lined the walls all the way to the ceiling. Over in the corner was a small globe, with various lit portions of different colors and hues blinking all over it. In the opposite corner was a bubbling cauldron, with ingredients being added by an invisible hand. In between the two was a large walnut desk filled with all sorts of papers, quills and other odds and ends, the image of a cockatrice carved intricately on the front of it.

“Ah, Mr. Weasley, please come in and sit down.” Percy turned and saw a short man sitting in a rather plush armchair by the fire, glancing over a book. Percy cocked an eyebrow at the odd looking man, who stared back at him with eyes as yellow as the fire that roared to life next to him. Percy sat down in a similar red chair to the one the man was sitting in, a bit more nervous than he had been before. Though he had seen Lazarus from a distance, he had never spoken with the man, and it was suddenly an intimidating action indeed.

“You wanted to see me,” Percy said evenly, cutting straight to the point.

“Yes, please, join me for a cup of tea.” Lazarus pointed a long jagged wand at the corner and a silver tea set came floating over, pouring two glasses as it did. The two cups placed themselves in front of the two men, a lump of sugar dropping firmly in Percy’s, whose eyes lit up a bit.

“How did you…” Lazarus shushed him, pointing to his head with his wand.

“I have my methods Mr. Weasley, please, enjoy yourself. It’s so rare that I get company besides my usual friends.” Percy took the cup and took a sip of the liquid, remarking to himself that it was rather flavorful.

“Now, I asked you down here because….frankly I need your help son.” Lazarus leaned back in his chair, setting his book down and reaching into his robes, pulling out a small flask. He summoned his cup of tea to him and poured a small bit of the golden tinted liquid into the cup, before screwing the tip back on the flask and pocketing it. He sipped the tea, while Percy regarded him with an arched eyebrow. Lazarus smirked, “You didn’t think someone my age wouldn’t need to take medicine, now did you?”

“You said you needed my help,” Percy answered back, steering the conversation back on track.

“Yes…I do. Let’s be frank Mr. Weasley….Cornelius Fudge is doomed. That much is certain.” Percy nodded blankly, sensing the doom for his mentor. “All it will take is a proper candidate to stand for vote against him in a no confidence motion, and it will be curtains for him. The question is who will be that candidate?”

“And who will make such a motion?” Percy added, “Fudge has a good deal of clout with some of the members of the Wizengamot.”

Lazarus got what could best be described as a wicked gleam in his eyes, “You just leave that part to me. What I need from you, is a viable candidate.”

Percy blinked. “You can’t seriously mean you want me to run for Minister?”

Lazarus chuckled, “No my boy. You are far too young, even by normal wizarding standards, to be considered for such a position….no offense intended.” Percy nodded, feeling no slight. “No….it is your father I want to run for office.”

Percy spit out his tea.

“My father!” he shrieked, “You can’t be serious.” Lazarus did not flinch.

“No, I very much am serious. Your father, despite his eccentricity, garners great respect on the council, particularly from its newest member.” He took a sip of his tea before continuing, “Currently there are only two people who could stand for the position and be elected: Amelia Bones is one and would probably be acceptable, but she doesn’t want the position. The other is Rufus Scrimgoeur, and frankly that is a disaster waiting to happen.

“Scrimgoeur doesn’t have the political experience to deal with the infighting of the body, and from my perspective he is dangerous because he is one of the few remaining aurors who holds a grudge against my department from the first war with Voldemort.” Percy winced at the name. “Furthermore he is far too dependant on Dumbledore. We need a minister who will be more independent in his thought, and given your father’s current situation, I think he will be just the man.”

“That aside,” Percy said with a cross tone, “He won’t run for the position. He’s far too happy where he is now.”

“I’m certain you can persuade him otherwise.”

“Me?! He won’t even spare a glance at me!” Percy exclaimed, “We’ve been out of sorts for months now. I barely even got invited to my own mother’s funeral.” Percy paused a moment, before continuing, “I understand what you’re asking of me, but it’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” Lazarus angrily said, causing Percy to double back in fear. Lazarus allowed his anger to fade quickly, before he smiled and said, “Just highly improbable.” Percy slightly rolled his eyes when Lazarus’ countenance fell, but the elder wizard continued unabated. “Of course, should you succeed, we will be rather indebted to you. I think you can guess how much being owed a favor by the Department of Mysteries can mean to a person of political ambition, such as yourself.” Percy arched an eyebrow and thought about it for several moments. It was true, being in the good graces with the Unspeakables harbored a good deal of perks for someone on the fast track to political greatness, such as he considered himself to be.

There was a loud whispering sound to the side of him, and he glanced over to see a small gold colored ball roll down a large metal halfpipe, stopping down by the oak desk. Lazarus smiled and carefully stood up, walking towards the desk with his cane in hand. He grasped the semi-transparent ball and shook it, opening it slightly, and Percy heard a whispered voice fill the air.

“For the heir may never lose their magic to those they would stand against…”

Then, just as quickly as the voice appeared, it faded away, and Lazarus had a bit of a frown. He tossed the ball into the fire, causing it to roar in intensity, and Percy was certain that if he listened hard enough he could hear the whispered voice screaming towards its inevitable doom.

Lazarus walked over and stared straight at him, “Pay no attention to that,” he commanded, and Percy was left wondering what had just happened. He felt a tiny pinprick at the back of his mind, and saw a great flash of light, before he found himself staring at Lazarus, pocketing something in his robes. Percy felt as if there was something that needed to be said, but couldn’t quite remember…

“So, as I was saying,” Lazarus continued, sipping at his tea, “Get your father to run for Minister, and the Department will be prepared to offer you a position as junior Unspeakable.”

“I still say it won’t work,” Percy said, regaining his composure, “And if you’re expecting me to influence Potter….”

“That,” Lazarus confessed, “Would be beyond my highest expectations for you. In time, perhaps you will be a valuable asset. Do this for me, and then we will discuss your future.”

/ - / - / - /

Harry and Hermione sat in the drawing room of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, each with stern looks on their face as they awaited the arrival of Dumbledore. Both of them wanted to end this once and for all, to make the break with Dumbledore that would cement their own independent status in the wizarding world.

The room was a rather lavish affair, with purple satin curtains draping over enchanted windows that showed a faux landscape outside. There was a large granite fireplace against the north wall, which Harry leaned against and Hermione sat next to. Harry had removed his formal robes for the moment, transfiguring his clothing into something a bit more casual to give the appearance that he wasn’t nervous. Hermione had done the same.

Truth be told, he didn’t quite know what to expect, so a small part of him was very much the opposite of his appearance.

They both turned and saw Dumbledore slowly walk into the room, an emotionless mask on his face. He walked over and stood in front of the two of them, never breaking gaze from either one. Hermione stood up and moved next to Harry, showing her support with the man she loved. Dumbledore saw their hands intertwined, but did not miss that their wands seemed to be at just a quick grasp’s reach.

Dumbledore could feel the power radiating off the both of them. They had obviously been in some kind of training, Harry’s performance in the Wizengamot and their dual performance at the Burrow spoke to that for certain. But Dumbledore was uncertain at how much their raw power had increased until that very moment. Seeing them in their current state caused the grey hairs to stand up on the back of his neck and turn a bright shade of alabaster white.

Still, Dumbledore decided that maybe the direct approach was once again the way to go. It might illicit some degree of sympathy and patch things up to a certain degree. It would certainly be a start.

“Harry, first allow me to once again offer my sincerest apologies to you…for anything that I may have done to….”

“Anything you might have done?” Harry coldly asked in a rhetorical fashion. He lowered his head and glared at the headmaster, “How about putting me in a home where I was violently abused for fourteen years? How about putting a block on my abilities that kept me from achieving in my classes and hindered my education? How about not telling me the truth about my heritage? How about kidnapping me and sending me back to that hellhole when I had been rescued from it!? Is that what you want to apologize for old man?”

Dumbledore straightened himself, “You must understand, I was only trying to protect you. I did what I deemed to be best for you. I admit they were complicated because of my love….”

“You said that your actions were complicated by love for me, right?” Harry glanced over at Hermione and offered the briefest of smiles before turning back to Dumbledore. “I’ve felt love sir. I know what it feels like now, I know what it looks like, tastes like, and sounds like, and everything else about it. What you did had nothing to do with love….it had everything to do with keeping me under your thumb.”

“Harry,” the headmaster said in a shocked tone, “How can you even say such a thing!?”

“How could you do such a thing?” Hermione chimed in, her voice screeching with unshed tears, “You’ve a lot to answer for Professor, not the least of which is why you lied to Harry…and why you lied to me.” Tears began to flow unbroken from her eyes as she broke away from Harry and glared straight at Dumbledore. “You said they’d be safe! You told them right to their face that no harm would come to them! Those were your exact words you worthless piece of shit!”

Dumbledore took two steps backwards as he felt a spike in energy from Hermione as she angrily moved towards him. He did his best to look reproachful. “Miss Granger….Hermione….what happened to your parents was a great tragedy. But you must understand that we can not always live up to….”

Hermione silenced him with a solid push from an unseen force, knocking him back against the wall. “Don’t try and weasel out with your grandfather attitude! Harry trusted you! I trusted you! WE ALL TRUSTED YOU!” Harry embraced her fiercely from behind, not needing a complete explosion at this point, and Hermione fought against his grasp. Harry held firm however, and eventually Hermione’s cries of anguish became sobs of sorrow, as she collapsed into his arms in grief and frustration. Harry held her gently and cradled her, all while Dumbledore watched in silent horror.

After several minutes Hermione pulled away from Harry and whispered to him, “I’m sorry….”

“Don’t be,” Harry answered back tenderly, before kissing her gently on the lips. They broke away from one another and Harry suggested, “Perhaps you should go back to the Burrow. They’ll want to know what happened.” Hermione nodded, before disapparating with a silent pop back to the Burrow. Harry’s lingering gaze on where she had stood quickly hardened, as he took one good long look at Dumbledore, who quickly readjusted himself.

“Honestly Harry, she has a bit of a tem….”

Harry shut him up quickly with a silencing jinx so powerful, even Dumbledore couldn’t break it. “You’re going to listen to me old man,” Harry said forcefully, making Dumbledore feel rather small with his display, “You’re going to sit there and listen to what I have to say.

“First…and foremost,” Harry’s eyes became dark as the full force of his Slytherin heritage came to the forefront, “If you do anything to make Hermione cry like that again, I will kill you where you stand, slowly and painfully. Bit by bit, inch by inch I will annihilate you.” Harry toned down his countenance a bit, before continuing.

“Secondly, I’m through with you. We both are. I can’t speak for Ron or Ginny or the rest of the Weasleys, but I’m sure that they’re pretty much finished with you too.”

Dumbledore fought against the silencing jinx, finally breaking through to say, “Harry….you must defeat Voldemort….you’re the only one who can! The prophecy!”

“The prophecy doesn’t mean shit to me Dumbledore. I’ll beat Tom, but I’m not going to do it for you, or for your stupid prophecy. I’m doing it in the name of everyone who has died standing opposite that wanker. And when I do….you will likely never hear from us again.”

Dumbledore blinked several times, but said nothing.

“You won’t step into our lives ever again Dumbledore. No more lies. No more manipulations. You will NOT ever have a say in how my life is run again, do I make myself absolutely clear?” Harry canceled the remainder of the jinx, allowing Dumbledore to breathe fully.

“I won’t manipulate your life Harry, but you must understand that even with your political stance there will be certain rules to follow when you return to Hogwarts in the fall….” Harry chuckled, causing Dumbledore to break off.

“Haven’t you heard a single damn word I’ve said you idiot?! I said we’re THROUGH! That includes your bloody schooling. Hermione and I did enough of that at the man….where we were staying to more than cover our N.E.W.T.’s anyway. And we’ll teach anyone of our friends that wants to learn the same things.”

“But Harry, Hogwarts is the only safe place for you!”

“Like hell it is. I’ve nearly been killed more times I can count at that place.” He paused trying to calm himself down. “I love the school headmaster, but I don’t trust you. Not as far as I can throw you.”

Dumbledore stood up, evening himself with Harry. “But you need me,” he said in a cold tone, increasing his own intimidation factor slightly. “You have no clue where Voldemort is Harry. Nor do you know anything about how to defeat him. I know how he survived all these years; I know how to kill him. Without me, you’re stumbling around in the dark, hoping you can find a candle and a match.”

Harry pursed his lips, trying not to let his frustration at this fact show. “We’ll manage,” he said confidently, “In the meantime….stay out of our life…” Harry turned away, leaving Dumbledore standing there, before he added, “Oh and one more thing.” Harry turned back with a smile and a semi-evil glint in his eyes, “The Order of the Phoenix is no longer welcome at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.”

“You have no right…”

“I have every right,” Harry said fiercely, “Seeing as how I own the house now. Sirius left it to me, and I’m doing what he would have wanted…kicking you out.”

“Sirius would want us working together, not apart like this,” Dumbledore said softly, trying to play on the boy’s attachment with his godfather, “He wouldn’t approve of this at all.”

“Oh yes he would,” Harry said in defiance, “And before you say anything, so would my parents. And don’t you even think about trying to use Sirius’ memory against me again, seeing as how it’s your fault he’s dead in the first place!”

“And how did you arrive at the conclusion,” Dumbledore said, not faking hurt this time.

“I know for a fact you were lying about what you knew as far as Sirius not being the secret keeper. You knew Wormtail was it.” Dumbledore paled but for a moment, before a thought clicked in his head as to how Harry would know that information.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Dumbledore lied, causing Harry to scoff.

“Of course you don’t,” he sarcastically said, before turning to leave.

“Harry,” the headmaster called back, causing said wizard to stop in his tracks. “Is there anyway I can make amends to you?”

Harry glanced back straight at Dumbledore, before saying with finality, “No.”

A/N: And so ends that part of the chapter. We’ll get more about Colin in the next chapter, as well as beginning another round of training at Potter Manor.

Unlike last time, this time we’ll focus more on the individual training for two or three chapters (it will be a shorter time in the time warp all around), focusing mainly on developing side-character relationships and increasing their strength before a final showdown looms in the near future.

A/N: Once more we enter a tiny bit of a lull as the deck is set up for the next few chapters. Caliban will be MIA for a couple of chapters, but there is a good reason for that. You also get the real reason why Hermione was worried before the Wizengamot. There may come a small point in this chapter where you will think I went against something I commented on in an author’s note earlier, but if you read a bit further in the section you’ll see why I did what I did.

The chapter title refers to “Dumbledore’s Army,” or at least the core group of it. You should be able to guess what happens as far as their loyalties.

Chapter 25: Mutiny

Harry appeared in the front yard of the Burrow, his mind buzzing with all of the implications of what he had just done. He had no doubt that he hadn’t heard the last of Dumbledore; the old coot would still try to run his life from afar. Still, he hoped that he had begun the process of separating himself, and more importantly his family, from Dumbledore’s influence.

He still had reservations about doing the obvious thing, which was kicking him out of Hogwarts altogether. He still wasn’t sure how he would stack up against Voldemort in a one on one duel, and Dumbledore could still be used to his advantage of being the one wizard that Voldemort ever feared.

He slowly walked into the living room, and was surprised to find everyone gathered around a lone person in the middle of the room. Arthur was bent over him, tending a warm cloth to his forehead. Harry’s eyes widened as he recognized the person as Colin Creevey. Quickly he moved down next to Hermione, who was across from Arthur.

“What’s going on,” he asked with some degree of desperation. He wasn’t exactly close to Colin, but he had a knot at the bottom of his stomach if his hunch about what had happened was right.

“He came in like this,” Neville explained, sitting across from Harry. “He stumbled into the backdoor and collapsed on the kitchen floor. Luna and I drug him in here just before Mr. Weasley came home.” Harry nodded and turned towards Hermione, who seemed to have collected herself quickly after the episode with Dumbledore.

“Death Eaters?” he asked to her rhetorically, pretty much already knowing the answer. Hermione nodded her head, and pointed to Colin’s left arm. Harry looked down, and was sickened to see a reasonable facsimile of the dark mark carved into Colin’s arm. From the pattern of the mark, someone had rather quickly used a razor blade on his flesh, probably by means of magic given how detailed the mark was. Colin appeared to be sleeping it off, though he still had beads of sweat on his face. Harry felt his blood run cold at the sight of him.

“He’ll be alright,” Arthur said, standing up, “I don’t even think he’ll need to go to St. Mungo’s other than for….that.” He pointed at Colin’s arm, frowning as he did so. “The wound seems to have stopped bleeding for now, but it’s deep enough that I don’t think any amount of magic is going to prevent scarring.” The group nodded, each with a solemn look on their face. Luna stood up and headed for the fireplace.

“Father will be returning soon,” she said, “I really should be there to greet him.”

“I’ll take you,” Neville offered, “None of us should be by ourselves right now. I should be getting home too anyway.” He turned back towards Harry, “I’ll be back tomorrow Harry. I have some things to discuss with you after I have a talk with Gran.”

“I’ll be back as well,” Luna said. Harry smiled at the both of them.

“Thank you, the both of you. Go home to your families.” They nodded and grabbed a pinch of floo powder from the jar, throwing it into the fire and stepping into the green flames to the Lovegood’s residence.

“Here Ron,” Harry said, leaning down and grabbing Colin’s left side, “Help me get him into a room.” Ron nodded and lifted up the unconscious boy’s right side, the two of them taking Colin up to an unused bedroom.

Once Harry and Ron had settled Colin in for the night, they both went back downstairs and gathered around the dining room table to discuss the night’s events. They filled in Ron and Ginny on the conversation with Dumbledore, and Arthur eyed them with a bit of frustration in his eyes as they told the tale. When they finished, Arthur set down his cup of tea and looked straight at Harry & Hermione.

“I know what Dumbledore has done to the both of you, to all of us but,” he pursed his lips and thought about his reaction, “Are you absolutely certain you won’t return to Hogwarts? It does offer some degree of safety, and given your status as the heir…” he trailed off as Harry held up his hand. Hermione offered him an apologetic smile.

“It’s something we discussed at length,” she explained, twining her finger’s with Harry’s, “And we both came to the decision that we just couldn’t go back. It’d be like saying that everything was alright, that nothing had changed. But things have changed; too many things have changed for us to simply ignore them.”

“But you can’t throw away the rest of your lives just for this mission,” Arthur said in a somewhat frantic tone. “At least go back to finish your education…”

“There’s nothing at that school that Hermione and I can’t learn on our own.” His face fell slightly as he added, “But I understand if you want Ron and Ginny to go back. That’s not my decision to make.”

Arthur looked at his two youngest, seeing the hardness on their faces, and sighed as he glanced down at the table, “That’s a decision they’ll have to make,” he whispered, before looking back at them. “Understand that you’re future may be greatly effected if you don’t go back, but if you do then there will be consequences as well. Harry & Hermione might be immune to whatever Dumbledore’s plot is directly, but…”

“He could use us to get to them,” Ron said, finishing his father’s sentence. He nodded his head and stared right back at his father. “I already know I’m not going back. I’ll be of age in nine months, and you can still get a job with the Ministry even with just O.W.L. scores to back you up. If nothing else,” he let out a sigh, “I’m sure Fred & George can give me a job at their store.”

“I don’t know,” Ginny softly answered a far-off look in her eyes, “I haven’t even taken my O.W.L. tests yet, but I’ve never really felt like I belonged at Hogwarts till last year.” Ron rubbed her back in a show of support, and she smiled at him, “All the same, I don’t know if I could go back anyway. Not with everything else going on.”

“We’ll understand whatever decision you make,” Hermione reassured her, and placed a hand on hers, getting a small smile from the youngest Weasley. Ron cleared his throat and turned towards Harry.

“Of course, I want you to teach me everything you know,” Harry nodded, before a wry smile came over his face.

“Who are you and what have you done with Ron Weasley?” Ron gave an affronted look, but quickly chuckled, and the whole table jumped at the small chance of some mirth being added to the proceedings. Harry waited till the moment passed before nodding his head again.

“We’re going to take you and Ginny to Potter Manor, where we’ve been staying for the last few days. If Neville and Luna want to join us, then they are welcome to as well.”

“Somehow I get the feeling Colin will want to join us when he wakes up,” Ginny added, and Harry nodded in affirmation.

“Right, once we’re their, Hermione and I will use a spell to slow down time so that one day equals close to a year.” Ron’s eyes went wide.

“Brilliant,” he said enthusiastically, causing Harry to smile and turn towards Hermione. He paused for a moment when he noticed that her eyes were pointed downward, and her hands were folded in her lap.

“Mione?” he asked concern in his voice. Hermione looked up at him and smiled.

“I have something I need to talk with you about,” she replied, with a bit of nervousness in her voice.

/ - / - / - /

Albus Dumbledore paced back in the back room of the Hogshead Pub in Hogsmeade, the makeshift headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix at the given moment. The moment Harry had stated that the Order was no longer welcome at Grimmauld Place, anyone associated with the House had been unceremoniously dumped on the street in front of the house and were unable to get back in. Dumbledore himself had tried to floo to the house, only to be comically spit out of the flames, landing in a heap across from the fireplace in his office. For lack of a better place to meet at the moment, Dumbledore had chosen his brother’s bar. Aberforth was currently off gallivanting with some manner of creature, in truth Albus really didn’t want to know what his erstwhile brother was doing in his spare time.

Things couldn’t have gone much worse with Harry at their last meeting. Between Miss Granger’s emotional explosions (something about which caused Dumbledore pause, but nothing of great consequence) and Potter’s flat out refusal for his help in defeating Voldemort had steamrolled a good portion of his machinations.

Still, he had to remind himself, the meeting wasn’t a total loss. Based on the fact that he knew that Harry was the head of several ancient lines, he now had an idea as to where to look for him. If he had to guess, he’d stake his fortune on Harry holing up at Potter Manor.

Problem was, he didn’t know where exactly that was.

It was a problem he could deal with, certainly. Given enough time, he’d be able to find out the information one way or another.

The question was what to do with it once he had it. From Dumbledore’s perspective, there were only two choices: either try once more to control Potter as he had tried to do with Tom Riddle, or to simply give up on Potter as a potential source of power.

Given the fact that the prophecy seemed to be coming true, at least what part of it he knew, the latter seemed most viable. All he needed now was a way of setting the board in motion in such a way that he could deal with Potter and Granger…permanently.

He was disturbed from his thoughts by the door to the bar opening. He looked up and saw Alastor Moody stagger in, his hair wet from the rainstorm outside. “Alastor,” Dumbledore greeted.

“Albus,” Moody returned, shaking his head and removing his trenchcoat. “I haven’t been able to breach the wards. Whatever Potter did, he did it permanently.”

“I have no doubt Alastor, Grimmauld Place is a very old house that has been in the Black Family for years and the wards on it are extensive. Talk to William, I’m sure he…”

“That might be a problem Albus,” Moody interrupted, taking a seat across from him and staring at the fire. “Bill Weasley resigned from the Order this evening, along with three others. We’re losing manpower fast…whatever rift that existed between you and Lupin seems to have spread to the rest of the Order. You’re strongest supporters are still shored up, but we’ve lost a great deal of the newer members, such as Tonks and the Weasleys.”

“That is unfortunate,” Dumbledore replied, half-distracted. He moved towards the blinding rain that blew in sideways against the glass. There was a loud crack of thunder, and Dumbledore’s countenance seemed to stiffen slightly as he turned back towards Moody. “Alastor, I think it is time we rethink our strategy….Perhaps Voldemort is not quite the ultimate evil we thought him to be.”

“Albus?” Moody leaned forward, his fake eye fixated solely on his old friend.

“You know of the Prophecy which mentions Harry…I have no doubt that he is the subject of that prophecy and that Miss Granger is the love that he will meet in his youth and grow to marry.” He paused, considering his words for a moment, before summoning a small glass of firewhiskey. He took a sip and stared out into the space, the firelight twinkling madly off his eyes as they seemed to change colors in the twilight. “What concerns me most is another quatrain of the prophecy which concerns the Heir of Morgan LeFey.”

Moody’s eyes went wide, “I thought you said Voldemort was the Heir of LeFey?”

“Perhaps…perhaps….but still it worries me.” He took another sip of whiskey and turned towards Moody, “We must be prepared to take steps if necessary. I have recently discovered the locations of several artifacts that Voldemort was hiding. If we can convince Harry to work with us if only for a short while…”

“Given everything you’ve done Albus,” Moody said scowling, “That may be difficult.”

Albus took an even breath, glaring at his friend. “You presume too much Alastor. Anything I did was for the greater good, you know that.”

“I do,” Moody clarified, “And I beg your pardon if I insulted you sir. But the fact remains that while you know that, and I know that, Harry doesn’t know that, or at least chooses to ignore it.”

“More the reason we should be on our guard, just in case.” Dumbledore stood up and turned towards the rain again, “If Harry refuses to help us defeat Voldemort…we may have the makings of another Dark Lord on our hands. And I intend not to let what happened twice before happen again.”

/ - / - / - /

Hermione Granger paced back and forth in the room that she and Harry shared at the Burrow. In her hands was a device she had procured on a side trip from the Wizengamot, stopping at a small druggist’s shop just outside Kensington where she used to live. It held the results of a test that both excited her and frightened her to no end.

It was a pregnancy test.

Truth be told she and Harry hadn’t exactly been too careful during their time at the Manor, especially towards the end when they had become more…intimate…with one another. She had performed contraceptive charms before they engaged in sexual activity, but given her inexperience with said charms and the somewhat rushed mood they were in at times, they could have been performed incorrectly. The more she worried about it, the more she began to doubt whether or not she had actually performed them at all one or two times. She hadn’t given much thought about it until a couple of days prior, when she had realized that she was late in her period. She knew of a magical spell that could tell her the answer, but the muggle test was just as (if not more so) accurate as the magical test.

Now how to tell Harry.

She was thrilled with the prospect of starting a family with Harry, that didn’t scare her in the slightest. What did scare her was the idea that they were both so young, neither one officially of age yet (though both of them had physically aged beyond their years in the time warp. How could they possibly be mature enough or responsible enough to care for a child? How could they even begin to care for a child with Voldemort and possibly Dumbledore still lurking out there to make their lives a living nightmare?

A small nagging portion of her mind asked the question: What if Harry doesn’t want a family? She tried to ignore that part of her subconscious.

She was broken from her thoughts and pacing by Harry walking into the room, softly setting the door shut, and sitting down on the bed. His emerald eyes looked deeply at her, and the small nagging portion of her mind died away quickly as she felt the love radiating out of his concern for her well-being. “What’s wrong Mione?” he softly asked, motioning for her to sit down next to him on the bed. She nodded her head and did so, still cradling the small device in her hands, hidden from view. Harry placed an arm around her neck and held her closely, and Hermione allowed herself to be enveloped by him, letting all of her worry and fear die away for a single moment as she embraced herself in Harry’s loving care. “You’ve been acting strange tonight, something’s gotta be bothering you.” Hermione nodded into his chest, and wiped away a tear she didn’t know that she had shed. Taking a deep breath, she pulled away from him and folded his hands into her lap, looking him dead in the eye.

“Harry, you know what we did…with each other…in the time warp?” She let the question linger for a moment till a pleasurable understanding overtook Harry as he recalled the memory. Hermione took another deep breath and added, “There’s a chance that we might not have been properly protected.”

Harry sat there silent for several moments, his eyes widened a bit. Hermione added, “I’m late on my period. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything but…well…there’s a chance that…” she trailed off, and Harry nodded, letting out a staggered breath at the bombshell that had been dropped, but had yet to explode. He stood up for a moment, pacing towards the door, his hand ruffling through his hair. Hermione looked down at her hands and meekly added, “I—I stopped at a druggist before I came back here to get a test that will tell me if I’m…well.” She was having trouble even saying the word. Harry looked back at her, concern obvious in his mind. He saw the tears that had once again begun to leak out of Hermione’s eyes, and he sat back down next to her, placing one hand on her face and pulling her gaze directly towards his.

“Hermione, I’d be lying if the prospect didn’t scare me half to death. I mean, this is being a father, something I know nothing about, and something that is a huge responsibility, even bigger than the prophecy.” He paused a moment, considering his words, before he trudged on, “But I want you to know, that no matter what that test says, I will always love you. And whatever the outcome, you won’t face it alone. We’ll be together to face it.”

Hermione’s eyes seemed to light up with tension easing out of her face. “Do you mean that Harry?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said with a smile. He then added, “And I also want you to know, that there isn’t a single person on this earth that I could consider starting a family with besides you.” Hermione gave a bright, broad smile, and the two of them kissed each other passionately. When they broke away, she looked down at her hands. Slowly, she opened one hand which had been firmly closed over the indicator….

…and felt a wave of relief wash over her when she saw the minus sign appear.

“Oh thank Merlin,” she exclaimed, only to stop herself when she saw Harry’s face fall slightly. “That’s not what I meant Harry,” she quickly amended, “I mean that I don’t know if we’re ready to start a family yet, and with Voldemort and…” she was silenced by a quick kiss from Harry, effectively putting an end to her rambling. He broke away, and smiled at her.

“I know what you meant,” he answered, moving a lock of hair from her face. “For what it’s worth, you’re going to make a great mother someday.”

“Not as much as you’ll be a great father someday,” she replied, causing Harry to lean back and smile.

“It’s hard to think about sometimes,” he solemnly said, as she leaned back into his chest and felt contentment. “The future that is. I mean…there’s so much promise in just thinking about it cause…”

“Cause it means we’ll get through this,” Hermione finished, looking up into his eyes. “And we will get through this Harry. Together.”

“Together,” he repeated, holding her tighter. “No matter what,” he whispered silently to himself, as the two of them slowly drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

A/N: Just felt like a bit of fluffiness was needed there, as well as more dynamic relationship-building between Harry & Hermione. We’ll get the training up and running next chapter, while focusing on Colin for a large portion of next chapter.

A/N: D’OH! Someone (thank you, alix33) pointed out a major gaff in the last chapter during the pregnancy scare scene, where Harry said there was no one he would want to start a family with. I have since changed that (here and at either portkey or ff.net, depending on wherever you’re reading this at the moment) error and the corrected version is now the only version.

If I had to guess there’s less than ten chapters left in this particular part of the trilogy, and then we’ll move into “The Heir of LeFey”, the second part of this series.

Just as an aside, I modeled the physical description of Lazarus after “Nicodemus” from The Secret of NIMH…the movie not the book.

Chapter 26: Biding Time

Sunlight slowly filtered in through Colin Creevey’s shut eyelids. Acting on instinct alone, they slowly opened in response to this new intruder, and he blinked several times as the light nearly blinded him. He was disoriented for a moment, not sure where he was, but a lingering pain in the back of his head coupled with a burning sensation on his arm brought a rush of images into his mind.

He remembered running through the forest, shouting voices, unspeakable pain & cold piercing eyes that faded from a violet to a blue and back again with growing intensity. The flood of memories came at him like a vicious onslaught, and his psyche was overwhelmed. He let out a high-pitched wail of fear as he fully came back into consciousness, completely unaware of his surroundings.

He heard several steps from beyond a closed door, only to jump in fear when the doorway swung open. After a few moments he recognized the figures that stood in the doorway. He first saw, what at least appeared to be anyway, Harry Potter standing at the edge of the room. At the same time though, it didn’t look like Harry at all. The figure had no glasses, had longer hair, and was generally better put together and taller than he had remembered from just a few weeks ago.

Next to him stood Hermione Granger, equally changed in terms of musculature and height. Both of them looked to be two or three years older than when Colin had last saw them. Still, he recognized them enough to confirm to himself at least that it was them. This was a fact compounded by the third figure in the doorway.

Ginny Weasley had always attracted Colin’s fancy. Not only was she attractive, but she was about the only person in their year who didn’t treat him as a tag-along to whatever else was going on. Yet seeing her now brought a mix of emotions to the forefront. Despite whatever other emotions there might be however, relief was chief among them.

“Where am I?” Colin finally asked, having gained control of his breathing for the moment.

“You’re at the Burrow…” Ginny responded, walking closer to him and sitting down next to him on the bed. “You came stumbling in beaten half to death last night. How are you feeling? Are you hurt?” Colin did a mental check of himself, and hung his head in sadness.

“I suppose,” he whispered, as the full force of his loss began to sink in. Tears began to well up in his eyes, and Ginny leaned forward and gave him a deep embrace, allowing him to cry on her shoulder. In the entryway to the room, Harry & Hermione intertwined their fingers, Hermione leaning her head onto Harry’s shoulder and Harry silently wiping away her unshed tears.

They all stood this way for several moments while the gravity of the situation slowly passed over them. Finally Colin got his emotions under control, and backed away from Ginny, smiling at her in gratitude and fighting back more choked sobs. Harry took the time to move forward and sit down across from the bed, Hermione standing right behind him. Colin turned and looked at them, reading the unsaid question on the tips of their minds.

“I don’t remember much of what happened,” he confessed slowly, as he tried to recount what had happened the night before. “Dad had just gotten home from work. I…I was setting the table for dinner…I think. Dennis was helping mum…in any event we heard a loud explosion in the backyard, and there were five or six men who attacked us. Dad…dad tried to fight them off. He actually got one with one of his hunting rifles. I don’t think he died though. I—I tried to fight them off, using what you taught me Harry but…I wasn’t quick enough…I…” Colin leaned forward again, cradling himself as the tears threatened to overtake him once again. Harry placed a hand on his shoulder causing Colin to stare right up at him.

“Listen to me…this is not your fault Colin. You didn’t kill your parents, or your brother, or anyone else. The Death Eaters did it.” Colin let out a shudder and slowly nodded his head. He glanced down at his arm, hate and anger filling his face as he saw the mark carved into his arm. “Does that hurt?” Harry asked, pulling his arm forward.

“A little,” Colin said blankly, his voice not wavering from emotion. Harry pulled out his wand and waved it over, trying to heal away the worst of the scarring. The mark faded away, but did not disappear completely. Still, it was only somewhat visible, much in the same way that Harry’s own scar had diminished in light of events. “Thanks,” Colin replied as he flexed his arm once Harry was finished. He got a far away look in his eyes, and he slowly walked over towards the window, staring outside and ignoring everyone else in the room. Sorrow mingled with anger as his emotions began to swirl around in his head. “I’m going to kill them,” he growled under his breath. “I’m going to hunt them down and kill them all.” Harry appeared to be momentarily taken back by this, having never really seen Colin this angry before. Even with his parents and brother dead, a small part of his mind told him that Colin couldn’t be pushed to such bold statements of action.

Then again, he told himself, death could push a person to do practically anything. He vaguely recounted his first attempt to cast an unforgivable in the wake of his godfather’s death and more recently using dark curses against death eaters and Caliban in response to the deaths of those close to the ones he loved.

“Maybe we should get some breakfast,” Ginny said, causing everyone to nod in a solemn fashion. Ginny was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable with all the talk of death and such, her own mother’s death still very near to the surface. They all stood up and marched down the stairs to discuss things more at length over breakfast.

/ - / - / - /

Jeremy Lovegood was at a slight loss for words as he walked into Lazarus’ office. What had happened last night when he had spoken with his daughter upon returning to his home was a bit of a quandary that he hadn’t quite gotten over yet. He had expected her to report on whatever it was Potter was doing at the Burrow, and more importantly where he was staying at the time. Much to his frustration, she wouldn’t budge, merely saying that she would be joining them wherever it was they were going for a day or so.

He was beginning to feel both frightened and excited from this independent streak in his daughter. He was excited because it was, for the first time in several generations, the beginnings of a chance for his family to break free of the oath that they had taken so many years ago. It frightened him because he didn’t want his daughter to be the one to anger Lazarus. Though Jeremy was uncertain as to what powers the old man possessed fully, he had no doubt after learning of Lazarus’ true origins that he was likely one of if not the most powerful wizard alive in the whole of Britain. Furthermore, he himself was duty bound by unbreakable oath to help Lazarus fulfill his ultimate goal: the complete execution of the prophecy of Merlin, by any means necessary.

He found said elder currently examining one of the many texts that lined the walls of his office, his yellow eyes darting this way and that as he scanned the ancient tome for whatever it was that he needed. Upon hearing Jeremy enter, Lazarus lifted his eyes from his book and smiled a toothless grin at his friend and counterpart.

“You’re here rather late Jeremy,” Lazarus noted, glancing up at the clock on the wall, “Or have I stayed too late? One can never tell with time.” He set aside the book, ignoring it as it flew up to the top shelf on the wall and organized itself neatly into its pre-determined slot, and regarded Jeremy. “I trust you’ve had a chat with your daughter?” Jeremy internally winced at Lazarus’ foresight into such matters.

“Yes,” he mechanically replied, sitting down across from Lazarus and running a hand through his hair, “And I must say she was far less forthcoming with information than you would have liked.”

Lazarus arched an eyebrow, and pulled a small flask out of his robes, taking a swig of the golden medicine before motioning for Jeremy to elaborate. “All she would say is that Harry was safe wherever he was, and that she was going to wherever it was he was staying in order to better train herself for the war to come.” Lazarus stroked his chin, leaning back in his chair as he did so.

“And you didn’t extract the information as I’ve instructed you to in the past,” he matter of factly asked. Jeremy’s face darkened considerably.

“I won’t use legilimency on my own daughter, unbreakable vow or no. I refuse to cross that line.” Lazarus smirked and raised his hands in defense.

“Now now, I was just rhetorically asking Jeremy. There’s no need for you to get offended.” Lazarus leaned forward a bit, clasping his hands in his lap and looking down at the floor. “Selene has become bonded with the young boy and his friends, that much is certain. Still, her loyalty is something we can use to our advantage.” He stood up and walked towards the globe in the corner of the room, viewing a few of the lights that twinkled madly at various points all across its surface.

“What information do you have from our operative inside the Order?” Jeremy asked eager to change the subject.

“He spoke with Malcolm yesterday,” Lazarus replied, moving back towards his desk. “Things are moving towards a final confrontation far more quickly than I would like. Not all the plans are in line for everything to move forward.” He briefly contemplated the fireplace, before turning back towards Jeremy, “It is conceivable that we may have to swallow our pride and assist those that we have spurned in the past.”

“You can’t be serious,” Jeremy yelled, outraged as he stared at his mentor.

“It is an unfortunate sacrifice we must make for the sake of the prophecy unfolding as it should.”

“Did you ever stop to think that the reason the prophecy even exists is because you’ve kept its memory alive? It would have been lost to the ages years ago, and without it things may have turned out completely different!”

Lazarus looked a bit affronted, and glared straight at Jeremy. “You and I both know the consequences of what will happen to our world if the heir of Merlin never emerges. The Prophecy is very clear on this matter, if nothing else. The time of our world and the muggle world merging is drawing nearer every day Jeremy. With the progress that muggle technology and science is making, it is merely a matter of time before the statute of secrecy is broken.” Lazarus allowed his magic to flow out of him unabated for a moment, causing the effect of Jeremy cowering back to the corner like a small mouse. “If we left things to Dumbledore, then our world would be left to its own devices. It’s not like any type of merger could even touch him with the measures he has taken. And if left to Voldemort than the muggle world, and eventually ours, would be consumed by never-ending death and destruction. The only way to ensure a peaceful transition is for the heir of Merlin to come forward.” He finished his long speech, taking a deep breath and another shot from his flask, allowing his magic to draw downwards from the imposing visage he had cast just moments ago. Jeremy shook himself clear and stood up, breathing deeply in relief.

“Of course you are right,” he replied, “But in your attempts to ensure the Prophecy’s fulfillment, do not allow yourself to become that which you stand against, as Voldemort and Dumbledore have.”

“That is not a threat,” Lazarus replied, sitting back down in his chair, “We will wait, then, until we receive another report from our operative in the Order. Then we shall decide what the next best course of action is.”

/ - / - / - /

The silence was palpable at the Weasley breakfast table, as the assembled group slowly picked at their food, none of them feeling particularly hungry at the moment. Arthur glanced around the table, seeing the seriousness and somber looks on everyone’s face, and offered as much of a chipper smile as he could.

“Molly always used to sing songs at the breakfast table when you two were younger,” he reminisced, drawing everyone out of their stupor to stare at him. He got a far away look in his eyes as he stared against the wall, not really looking at anything. “She had a beautiful voice, kind of what I’d expect a siren to sound like.” He laughed, glancing back down at his plate, allowing the memories to sit awash over the room.

“She would want us to remember these things,” Ron said quietly, tossing his fork down onto his plate. “She would want us to remember the good times we had with her.” Harry nodded his head, and felt Hermione’s hand grip his strongly. He could almost feel a bit of grief ebbing away from her own parent’s loss, though time had gone by from the incident.

Colin frowned as he leaned forward, no real show of emotion on his face as he looked down at the table and meekly joined in on the conversation. “It’s hard to remember anything about my parents right now…or anything that’s ever happened to me for that matter. It’s all like one big blur right now.” He paused and Harry regarded him for a moment.

“You’ll be able to move on,” Hermione said to all of them, “It’s hard and it will take time, but things will get better. I promise you.”

Ginny finally looked up from her plate and stared at Harry, “Whatever you guys want to do as far as the war is concerned, we’ll support you. But the man who killed our mother…he’s ours.” Harry stared right back at Ginny, a frown pulling at his face.

“Don’t think that killing someone is as simple as just pointing your wand as saying Avada Kedavra.” Colin shuddered at the words, the memory still fresh in his mind. “It takes true hatred to cast that spell,” Harry continued, “And it rips away a part of you, no matter how justified you are in killing someone…whether it’s for revenge or for whatever other reason.” Arthur cleared his throat, drawing Harry away from the beginnings of a tirade.

“Unforgivables should not be used lightly by anyone,” he firmly stated. There was silence around the room as his words were taken to heart. They were interrupted by a loud rushing sound, and they all quickly went into the living room, wands drawn, their fears alleviated when they saw Neville emerging from the fireplace.

“Sorry to drop in on you,” he sheepishly replied, dusting himself off from the trip. “Gran says it’d be good for me to go on this training exercise, especially since it’ll only be a day as far as she’s concerned. I didn’t tell her about the time spell.” Harry nodded.

“Glad to hear it Neville,” he said, giving the wizard a firm pat on the back. There was another sound and the group turned to see Luna walking out of the emerald flames. She turned and looked at all of them, a few tears still apparent on the sides of her cheeks.

“Everything alright Luna?” Ron asked, moving a few feet towards her. Luna turned and regarded him for a second before shaking her head in response.

“No…father was just a little less than happy about me going to stay with you, even if it was only for a day.” She wiped away her cheek and shrugged off everyone’s concerned looks. “I’m fine, really.” Harry noticed a small glow emitting from the pendant on her neck, and raised his hand towards it.

“What’s that,” he asked. Luna looked down at the pendant and arched an eyebrow.

“It’s something that belonged to my mother. But it’s never done that before, except for last night. Must be the Curly-Haired Vorthats in the air acting up again.” Luna looked back up at everyone just staring at her and smiled. “Well what are we waiting for? Let’s get to this house of yours Harry.” Harry shook himself out of his stupor.

“Right then.” He glanced around the room and found a small piece of parchment and wrote out the address of Potter Manor on it for everyone to see. “Pass that around and be sure to memorize it. You won’t be able to see the house unless you do.” Once the paper had been passed around the group a few times, it was handed back to Harry who promptly burned it. There was a quick visual check to make sure that the visitors had brought along an array of trunks and traveling bags, save for Colin who would have some of Harry’s things magically shrunk down to fit him. Harry glanced around a bit more, settling on a poker next to the fire place as a proper object. He whipped out us wand and muttered, “Portus,” under his breath, causing the poker to glow a bright blue and shake violently for a couple of seconds before falling still. “Grab hold of this, and be sure to keep that address in your mind.” The group did as they were told; a few seconds later they all disappeared in a swirl of brilliant color and light.

Arthur Weasley sat staring at his now empty house, and gave a sad smile to no one in particular.

/ - / - / - /

The group was thoroughly impressed with Potter Manor, having been given a short tour by Harry & Hermione. They had been told they would all be sleeping on the third and second floors, since the house had more than enough space to accommodate them. They all had been shocked by the portrait of Harry’s parents hanging high in the dining room, which for some reason brought a smile to Harry’s face.

Once they had been settled in, they were all summoned to a central room in the basement. It hadn’t taken Harry & Hermione as long to re-energize the runes and re-calibrate the temporal fields this time around, both due to having done it before and their increased experience having been through the time warp before. Everyone gathered together, assembling in a circle as Hermione directed them, Ginny between Colin & Neville on one side and Ron & Luna on the other. Harry & Hermione stood in the center.

“Once we do this, you’ll be stuck here for 18 months,” Harry explained one final time. “If any of you want to back out, this is your last chance.”

“I’ve been with you two this far mate,” Ron said with a small smile on his face, “You’re barmy if you think I’m going to back out now.”

“We owe you our lives Harry,” Ginny added with a small tear out of the corner of her eye, “We’re going to help you finish this.”

“You both saw something in me that I didn’t even see myself,” Neville replied, “The least I can do is help you win this.”

“It’s fate,” Luna whispered, causing Ron to look at her slightly before she caught herself. “I can’t let the Austrian Warbles take over the magical world. So I’m in.” Ron filed away the slip-up for later use.

“I have nothing else to live for,” Colin said reflectively. He got a resolved look on his face as he nodded his head towards Harry.

“Alright then.” Harry turned to Hermione, who smiled at him lovingly. They each took the others hand. “Raise your wands into the sky and repeat the incantation we taught you earlier. Everyone did as they were told.

“Tardus Tempus Duodeviginti Mensis!”

A/N: I was initially going to leave them in the time warp for six months, but this allows me for more character building development time, as I think I finally have a way of resolving some of the issues I’ve had trouble picturing in my own mind.

Arthur & Percy have their little moment in the next chapter, but we’ll mostly deal with training for the particulars.

A/N: It occurs to me that, thus far, you know how the principles operate in terms of magical ability and/or machinations, while you don’t know that about Lazarus. To be honest I never anticipated the Unspeakables having a big role in the story when I first thought to include them (and Lazarus as a character in particular), so this problem never really came up. To that effect, I’ve included a little bit of Lazarus working his magic that ought to reinforce Jeremy’s notions from the last chapter.

Remember the time that elapses throughout the snippets of training I provide, so don’t be surprised if people start displaying skills they didn’t have before. There’ll be more with Percy/Arthur in the next chapter as well, to give it more airtime.

Chapter 27: The Ministry’s Shepherd

1 month into training

Ron collapsed back into the provided couch in the training area of Potter Manor, sweat beating down off his brow and his breath coming in short gasps. He nearly keeled over in thanks when Dobby popped into the room and provided him with water in a conjured bottle. Taking a deep drink, he threw down the half empty bottle in his lap and looked around at his companions, each of them in varying states of exhaustion.

Neville was the worst off, though the training thus far seemed to have the most dramatic change in the young man. A lot of the weight he had gained around his midsection was beginning to turn into firm muscle, and Ron had to admit that he was quickly catching up with the rest of them. Ginny and he were next up on the list as far as tiredness went, the first two weeks had been the worst, but they were starting to get the hang of it. The Weasley addiction to the game of Quidditch was beginning to get them back in shape.

Surprisingly to him at least, Luna and Colin were keeping up with Harry and Hermione now, at least at the onset of physical training. Colin insisted it was from years of dodging bullies in school that he had become naturally fast, while Luna confessed that she often went on morning jogs when her father was away on business.

His eyes glanced over towards Luna, who was just finishing up her final lap around the indoor track. He felt his face flush a little as she sat down next to him, grabbing an offered bottle of water from Dobby. “You can stop staring Ronald. I know there’s no Bleeblesprouts that have taken over your mind.” Ron lowered his head and began muttering to himself.

“Um…err…well that is…say Harry, what’s the next stage of the training after this?” he asked, suddenly eager to change the subject. Harry turned and looked at him, having finished his run long ago. He arched an eyebrow at his best friend’s sudden blushed appearance, but said nothing about it.

“After we finish the crash course in body work, we’ll start on spell training and mix in some basic training in the martial arts. Apparently one of my ancestors studied in the far east, so you guys will learn some basics.”

“Martial arts?” Ron questioned, turning towards Hermione for clarification.

“It’s muggle fighting techniques from East Asia.” She explained, taking a sip of her water. “Harry’s great-uncle apparently knew mostly kempo and some jujitsu.”

“Bless you,” Ginny remarked, as she walked over closer to her friends after finishing her final lap, Colin and Neville not far behind. Harry snickered, and Hermione slapped him on the arm. “Did I miss something?”

“No..just an inside joke,” Hermione explained, glaring at Harry who offered the most innocent look he could. Her glare melted away to a smile as she turned to the group. “Let’s get back to work on spell techniques.”

“Let’s take a break first,” Ron whined, leaning back on the couch, “I don’t think I could levitate a feather right now.”

“It’s not all bad Ron,” Neville said with a cheery disposition. His face then took on a wry grin, though I do want to know why our hosts haven’t exercised as much as we have this past month.

“Simple,” Luna said matter of factly as she blankly stared at the wall, “They get most of their exercise at night.” Hermione’s face went crimson, and Harry wanted to bury himself in the ground at the moment.

“OI!” Ron yelled at Luna, “I do not want to know about my best friends’ sex life!” He shuddered at the thought, while Ginny walked away and remarked over her shoulder.

“I never would have guessed Hermione was a screamer,” Ron nearly choked on his water, as did Colin, while Hermione made tomatoes jealous with her coloring. Neville chuckled into his arm, while Harry thought of rather ingenious ways to hex Ginny to Hades and back.

“Well,” Colin said, clearing his throat, “Why don’t we get back to work and get everyone’s minds off of this?” Harry nodded his head in affirmation, and Hermione never looked so eager to begin a lesson.

/ - / - / - /

Arthur Weasley moved about his office that morning, cleaning up a few files, reorganizing his filing cabinets, taking a few enchanted objects down to processing for proper disposal. But as he now sat in his immaculate office, his files neatly stacked next to him and all of his bins of trash emptied, one prevailing thought that had been running its course through his mind once again came to the forefront.

He was alone.

He had tried to ignore this fact since Molly’s funeral, but it was becoming harder and harder to ignore. With his youngest two’s disappearance for a day (though he knew it to be far longer than that) especially, the fact was becoming harder to ignore. Frustrated a bit, he stood up and took leave of his office, informing his higher ups that he’d be taking the rest of the day off to deal with personal matters. In a time like this, Arthur decided, there was little else to do but set aside a table at the Leaky Cauldron and get plastered.

He was on his way to the lift that would take him to the Ministry atrium, when he heard someone clear his throat from behind him. He turned, and his face became neutral the moment he saw his son Percy standing there, staring at him.

“Hello father,” Percy said in an even tone, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Son,” Arthur returned in a similar fashion. Both of them stood there for a moment longer, the ice between them beginning to thicken. “Care to share a lift? I was just leaving for the day.” Percy said nothing, but merely nodded. The two of them then walked to the gold lift, Percy slamming the door shut behind them.

They rode in silence for a few moments, before Arthur heard his son given a heavy sigh. Turning towards him, he saw Percy’s head pointed straight towards the floor of the lift. “Did you ever feel like you’ve made yourself out to be a right foul git? Did you ever wake up one morning and look at yourself in the mirror, and not like what you saw staring back at you?” Arthur arched an eyebrow at his son’s questions, but was honestly not surprised. To the Weasleys, family above all else mattered.

“Yes, on a few occasions,” Arthur replied, staring out as the Ministry atrium came into view. “And on more than a few occasions I’ve had my head chewed off when Merlin knows I’ve deserved twice as bad as what I got.” He finally turned and smiled at his son, “But in the end family forgives family, regardless of everything.” Percy glanced up at him, and offered him a half-hearted smile.

“Join me for lunch?” he asked, “I have some things I need to discuss with you about how best to help Potter.”

Arthur looked a bit taken aback, “How do you know what he’s up to?”

“I don’t…know everything that is…but it’s clear something has happened. Maybe if I knew I could help you somehow, or we could position ourselves to be in a better position to help him.” Arthur thought about it for just a moment, before an even wider smile crossed his face.

“Very well,” he replied, motioning for Percy to exit the lift as it came to a screeching halt in the Atrium of the Ministry. The two then walked side by side towards the exit from the Ministry building. Amidst all the hustle and bustle of the Ministry’s comings and goings, neither one noticed Malcolm Greengrass standing near the Fountain of Magical Brethren, smiling as he watched them leave together.

/ - / - / - /

Three and a Half Months into Training

Ron Weasley was having trouble sleeping. For some reason a nagging feeling at the back of his head kept telling him to wake up and explore this house a bit more, if only to get a walk in. He wasn’t sure why this was the case, but he had the unconscious urge telling him something wasn’t quite right.

He grumbled to himself as he threw off his covers for the third time that night and crawled out of bed. If he could ever find his way to the blasted kitchen, he surmised, maybe he could get a glass of warm milk and something to eat that would help him doze off. He slowly opened his door, careful not to wake anyone, and waved his wand outward, muttering out loud “Lumos.” A bright light shone down the hallway, and he began making his way towards the kitchen. He took a look out at a couple of windows and smirked at the spell work that Harry & Hermione had provided, creating a false skyline complete with night and day for the duration of the time warp so as to allow them to be able to sleep more regularly.

As he walked down the hallway, the open door to the library caught his attention. Slowly, he moved a bit closer and peered in, curiously checking to see if someone had just left it open. At first he didn’t find anything, simply empty couches and tables with a few books scattered about. He was about to leave, when he caught a faint glow coming from below on the bottom floor of the library. He silently moved his wand forward a bit over the edge of the scaffold and peered downward.

“I heard you come in,” came an ethereal voice from below, and Ron let out a small sigh of relief at seeing Luna lying on the couch, curled up in the corner, reading a book and idly cradling her pendant which was still emitting a small glow in the simulated moonlight. Ron walked down the spiral staircase to the first floor of the library and sat down next to Luna, extinguishing his wand as he did so. He looked over Luna, his throat going very dry at the sight of her in a silver nightgown with her pale blonde hair framing her almost angelic face. Idly, his eyes wandered downwards, stopping on the necklace that she kept in her left hand.

“Why does it do that?” he asked, realizing he had never really thought about it before. Luna looked down and let out a small sigh, setting down the book in front of her.

“I don’t know,” she confessed, removing the chain from her neck and setting it down on the couch in front of her, staring at it for a long time. “It was my mother’s. She gave it to me before she died. All she ever told me about it was that it would protect me.” Ron continued looking at the pendant for a while, before she added, “It’s actually not glowing as much as it did when we first got here, and it varies in intensity.” Ron nodded, and stared out the window, enjoying Luna’s company for a while, before turning back at her.

“So, couldn’t sleep?” he asked, and she silently nodded, closing her eyes. Ron dared to move a bit closer, and glanced down at the book she had been reading, “The Annals of Merlin? Find something interesting in here?” Luna turned and looked at the book without blinking, before turning back at the window.

“Just some things I needed to research,” she answered back, trying not to give it any importance. Ron felt that innate sense that something wasn’t quite right here. Luna had acted a bit more moody, even for her, trying her best to mask it with tales of fanciful creatures and other such things in ways that had not gone unnoticed by Ron.

“Is something bothering you?” he asked innocently enough, as if he were trying to deduce the reason for her not sleeping. She offered a miniscule wince at the question, but quickly masked it.

“It isn’t anything you need to worry about Ron,” she said honestly, standing up from the couch, moving to leave the room.

“Please,” Ron hastily answered back, stopping her by grabbing her wrist. “Luna let me help you please.” She hesitated for a long while, staring deep into his blue eyes, looking for…something…and Ron felt the beginning tendrils of legilimency beginning to creep forward. He immediately slammed his occulumency shields down at full bore and felt his temper flare up slightly, not noticing the more intense glow coming from in front of him for the briefest of moments. “What’s the big idea,” he angrily yelled, and Luna turned away from him, tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry its just…” Ron felt his anger subside and he walked after Luna, waiting for her to calm down a bit.

“Hey, I’m sorry I yelled alright. Don’t go all teary eyed on me.” Luna let out a half chuckle and turned towards him. They stood there for a brief moment, when in a fit of courage Luna leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. Ron was surprised initially, but did not fight back against her, eventually feeling his body lighten under the intense pressure. Just as quickly as it had arrived, the fleeting courage of Luna ebbed, and she pulled back, leaving a dumbstruck Ron where he was standing.

“I…umm…I’m sorry I did that,” she said, blushing furiously, the crimson in her cheeks a stark contrast to her pale skin and her eyes glossing back in forth from their normal dream-like state. Ron felt heat rising to his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his head, uncertain of what to say next.

“I’m not,” he blurted out, realizing what he’d just said a moment later and turning an even deeper shade of red. The two of them nervously chuckled, and sat back down on the couch, neither one saying much of anything. Luna finally took a deep sigh and changed the subject a bit.

“I’m afraid of something that I have to tell Harry,” she confessed. “It’s something that my father asked me to do, and I’m afraid Harry will think I betrayed him if I tell him.” Ron nodded his head, uncertain of where she was going. “I never really had friends before you guys accepted me, despite my eccentricities. Oh sure I had a few friends, Ginny sort of was my friend, but I never had any close friends to speak of. And…I don’t want to lose you guys.”

Ron nodded again and leaned forward, folding his hands and staring directly at her. “My family manipulated Harry for most of the time he was in Hogwarts. Unknowingly Dumbledore maneuvered us into becoming his friend, trying to pair him off with Ginny. If things hadn’t changed and my mum hadn’t….there was a good chance that she would have tried to use a love potion on him this year to get Gin and Harry together. She might have tried it with me and Hermione too. I told Harry all of this and you know what…he forgave me and my whole family. Harry’s an understanding bloke, I’m sure if you come clean with him…he’ll understand.”

Luna shook her head stubbornly. “This is different; this is something I knew about going in. I wasn’t manipulated like Dumbledore manipulated you and your family.” She took a deep breath and stared straight at Ron. “I’m a junior operative for the Unspeakables. My father is and my mother was a full-fledged Unspeakable. He asked me to give up the location of Potter Manor when I get back.”

Ron tilted his head and stared Luna directly in the eyes. “And do you intend to?” Luna shook her head, causing Ron to smile at her. “Then there’s no problem! You haven’t done anything Luna. Just by being a member of these Unspeakable thingies, you aren’t breaking any laws.” He got a bit more serious for a moment before he dared to ask, “What do they want with Harry anyway?”

“I don’t know, but my father keeps saying something about the Heir of Merlin. Lazarus, their leader, came to me when Harry had disappeared and asked me if I knew where they went. I didn’t at the time, and he told me to just keep my eyes open.” She let out a brief sigh and lowered her head. Ron tilted it upwards, staring directly at her.

“Tell Harry all this and I’m sure he’ll understand. Hell, I’m more impulsive then he is, and I already forgive you.” They both chuckled stood to get up.

“I should be getting back to bed,” she said, yawning slightly. Ron nodded and started to head back for his own room. They were a part for a moment before Luna called back to him.

“By the way,” she said hesitantly, slightly blushing again, “I didn’t mean what I said…about being sorry for kissing you. I…umm…actually enjoyed it a bit.” Ron felt his cheeks turn pink a bit, as he smiled back at her.

“So did I.”

/ - / - / - /

Lazarus sat in his office, unconcerned with the goings on in the outside world at the moment. Some things weren’t exactly going as well as he had hoped, but in a day or so, he was certain things would move at a reasonable pace. Idly he reached out and touched a small silver crow on his desk, causing a bird to come flying from the rafters and land on his desk. He handed it a piece of parchment, and the crow promptly flew off towards Gringotts Bank. He sat for a moment, taking a sip of his flask before a small bell at the side of his desk tolled. He glanced up at the door, his yellow eyes twinkling madly in the dim light, and stared at it for several seconds before it swung open and a squad of aurors poured into his office, followed by Cornelius Fudge and Delores Umbridge. “Minister,” the elder wizard politely said, standing up and hobbling his way over to in front of his desk. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I’m afraid the war, Lazarus,” Fudge said with impunity, “There are several artifacts in this office that could help the effort against You-Know-Who. You’re being ordered to vacate the premises while my aurors search the grounds.”

Lazarus cocked an eyebrow, “Surely you remember Cornelius, that the Department of Mysteries is autonomous from the rest of the Ministry, even in times of war. Feel free to examine some of our artifacts in the other rooms, but in this office, I’m afraid I must refuse you.”

“Do you know who you are talking too?” Umbridge shouted at the top of her lungs, stepping forward towards Lazarus in front of the aurors. “Now stand aside old man before we arrest you for treason!”

Lazarus simply chuckled, “I must say Delores, though I have seen you exhibit cunning and intelligence before, as well as your own twisted sense of loyalty to the Minister, bravery has never been something very becoming of you. I’m sure your ex-Gryffindor students would be proud.” Umbridge grew even angrier at the commented and pulled her wand out from her sleeve.

“Allow me to deal with this traitor sir!” she offered, but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Lazarus stand a bit taller, his eyes glowing more brightly than they had just moments before.

“Sad way your teaching career ended Delores. I heard they were none too happy with some of the things you said.” Umbridge felt fear crawl into the back of her throat as ghostly images began to envelope around Lazarus. Slowly they took a more defined shape, taking the form of five or six centaurs flanking the head of the Unspeakables.

“Stay back!” she shouted, walking backwards at a quickened pace, “Stay back you dirty beasts!” Lazarus merely smirked and motioned with his head, causing the apparitions to go charging after Delores, who was overcome with fear at the hallucinations. She ran past the minister and out of the room, down the hallway, forever convinced she was being pursued. Fudge turned and glared at Lazarus, who merely stood their in an unassuming fashion.

“What did you do to her?!” he demanded to know. After hearing Lazarus chuckle a bit, he yelled at the four aurors standing next to him. “Arrest him!” After a few moments hesitation, the aurors summoned their courage and moved forward, their wands drawn at Lazarus.

“I warn you,” he said in an even tone, “I do not treat those who flock to the Ministry’s shepherd mindlessly well. Think about what you are doing.” The four aurors paid no attention to these words however, as they each fired a stunner at the older man, who with a wave of his hand caused them to disperse into nothingness. The four aurors stared in disbelief, as Lazarus slowly lifted his staff, and banged it down on the ground, causing a wave of magic to spread across the floor. The aurors all motioned to attack him again, but were quickly overcome with horrific pain. The Minister watched on in terror as the four aurors were slowly transformed before his eyes, both mentally and physically, into nothing more than common variety sheep. After ten grueling minutes of the process, they all moved about the office without a care in the world, before quickly vanishing into thin air. The Minister stared up at Lazarus, who glared at him.

“You’re little attempt at a takeover has failed Cornelius, much to your chagrin, for soon I will have a new minister who will not interfere with my affairs.” He closed his eyes, before smiling and adding, “I suppose you can take solace in the fact that you won’t remember a thing about it.” Fudge was just about to object, when he felt a pinprick at the back of his mind, and faced a great flash of light. After a moment’s disorientation, he looked at Lazarus, who had a chipper look on his face.

“I’ll send those budget requests to you tomorrow Minister, thank you for coming by. It’s so rare I get visitors.” Fudge nodded his head and turned to leave, still befuddled as to why he had gone to the Department of Mysteries in the first place.

A/N: More Arthur/Percy, training including dealing with Colin and Ginny & a burgeoning Ron/Luna relationship as well…and a reappearance by Caliban and Voldemort’s inner circle.

A/N: There’s been a lot of speculation concerning Luna’s necklace as of the last couple of chapters. More about its power will be revealed later on in this story, like within the next couple chapters.

Sideships won’t get near the airtime that Harry/Hermione have gotten, save for one (or two, depending on how you look at it). As such, don’t be surprised when the relationships do a complete 180 here in this chapter (at least there’s been a small amount of hints and foreshadowing).

Chapter 28: Enigma

The self-decorated throne room of Lord Voldemort was more alive than it had been in some time with the latest gathering of the dark lord’s inner sanctum. The latest success of an Azkaban prison break courtesy of Fenrir Greyback and Bellatrix Lestrange saw Antonin Dolohov, Rudolphus and Rabastian Lestrange returned to the fold of the Death Eaters. Joined together with Snape and Pettigrew, the small grouping was currently mingling about, awaiting orders from their master.

“What is this I hear of him being ill,” Rudolphus finally said loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’ve known the Dark Lord for well over 20 years, and I can never remember him once coming down with something as pathetic as a common chill. Nor does a common chill require such an intricate potion to treat, such as the one that Severus had to brew for him.”

“What are you suggesting, husband?” Bellatrix asked, more than a tinge of anger mixed in with her voice.

“I am suggesting that for us, whom have been so loyal to the dark lord, to be lied to in this fashion is insulting.” Rabastian nodded his head in agreement.

“It is not your place to say these things Rudolphus,” Fenrir said, stepping forward, “You are not the second-in-command.”

“And where has he been?” Rabastian chimed in, stepping in front of his brother. “Caliban has yet to grace us with his presence. For the better part of the last two days he’s been holed up in his quarters, meditating on something or other!”

“If you ask me,” Rudolphus said in a chuckling manner, “I’d say killing the Malfoy whelp has caused Caliban some pain. I think he was too attached to the boy.” Rudolphus and Rabastian both laughed, only to be shot back by two successive stunners. They both slowly got to their feet and stared at where the spells had come from, seeing Caliban emerge from a darkened room at the back end of the throne room. He looked much more tired than he normally did, as if he’d been at a long and arduous process, but his blue eyes flickered violently in the firelight, becoming violet at times before turning back to their natural color.

“Reports of my…”going soft”…are greatly exaggerated, Rudolphus,” he clearly stated, assuming his position next to the vacant throne of Voldemort. “And you would do well to remember your place. Loyalty is rewarded…remember that.”

“Of course Caliban,” Rudolphus replied with feigned courtesy as he helped his brother to his feet. “Where is our Lord and Master?”

“He is recuperating from his illness,” Caliban calmly stated, “And as such he has sent me to deliver your latest instructions.” The Lestrange brothers looked at each other, causing Caliban to arch an eyebrow. “Is there something you two wanted to say to me?”

“Far be it for us to question the almighty Caliban,” Rudolphus said in a chiding tone, “But don’t you find it the least bit convenient that when our enemy reappears stronger than ever is exactly when He becomes ill?” Caliban said nothing merely glaring at Rudolphus. “Exactly what I thought.” Rudolphus smirked a bit, before feeling a choking sensation in his throat. Slowly he began to gasp for air, falling to his knees as the gathered Death Eaters looked around for the cause. Bellatrix fell to her husband’s side and turned to Caliban, a pleading look in her eyes as Rudolphus began to turn a rather impressive shade of blue.

“That’s enough!” she screeched, staring straight at Caliban. Caliban regarded her for a moment, before blinking. Rudolphus began to cough and gasp for air as the hold was broken on him, and he struggled to his feet, supported by his wife and brother.

“Remember your place Rudolphus. The Dark Lord is not as merciful as I am.” Rudolphus continued to glare at Caliban, but nodded his head in understanding. “I have instructions for all of you concerning the latest movements that need to be made. We need to bolster our forces so we can strike soon. From what Severus has told us, there has been a split between Potter and Dumbledore. This is a rift we can exploit. With the light forces divided and the Ministry still mired in petty political squabbles, the time to strike is now.”

“We would be stronger if you’re apprentice had not bungled his appearance at the Wizengamot!” Dolohov shouted from behind everyone else. Caliban glared at him, effectively shutting him up.

“Draco has been sufficiently punished for his failures, I have seen to that.” He changed the subject back to the servants standing in front of him, gesturing to the Lestrange clan. “You three go to the giants and make certain that they are still on our side. After that, consult with the merfolk in the Black Lake. We must ensure that they are on our side, or at the very least neutral when we launch our assault on the castle.” He turned his gaze towards Fenrir, “You return to your pack Fenrir, and solidify their support. I do not want to hear anymore of this traitor Lupin turning them from our ranks. Dolohov,” he reached into his robes and tossed a roll of parchment at the elder wizard. “I want you to bring me the wizards and witches on that list. The Dark Lord requires them. This is a task of the utmost importance.” Dolohov nodded and pocketed the list. “As for you, Severus, continue with your surveillance of the Order and report back on anything of significance. You are all dismissed.” The lot of them turned and walked towards their various assignments. Out of the corner of his eye Caliban noticed Pettigrew slinking away. “Not you Wormtail.” Peter stopped and turned towards Caliban, shaking a bit with fear. “I need you to come with me.”

The two of them traveled out of the throne room, walking to the back out of sight and sound of everyone else in the inner sanctum. When they were in another room, Caliban waved his hand, forcing the door to close shut. Caliban calmly walked over to a small table and poured himself a glass of brandy. “You know Wormtail,” he said with his eyes closed, his back turned to Pettigrew, “I never did properly thank you for bringing our Master back in the way in which you did.” Caliban slowly opened, his eyes, and in one fell swoop dropped the glass and spun around, pinning Wormtail to the wall with his hand forcefully gripping his throat. “Did you have any idea the consequences of that ritual should the link between them ever be broken?!” Pettigrew tried to answer, but Caliban merely threw him to the ground, sending him sprawling to the opposite wall. “Because of you he is dying!” he screamed, causing Pettigrew to stare at him blankly.

“He…he’s dying!?” he said with a questioned voice. Caliban simply nodded his head and returned to another glass of brandy.

“Slowly, yes. More specifically his magic is leaving him. Bit by bit, day by day, it is leaving him. The potions he takes help, but much like simple patches to the cracks of a dam, they are only a temporary solution.” Caliban took a sip of brandy and continued. “Soon all the reenergizing potions, nourishment potions…even Severus’ panacea potion will be unable to stop the ebb of magic from him. And once his magic is gone, it will only be a short time before the black enchantments that have disfigured him in an attempt to gain more power backfire on him. Think of it as a fire, using his magic as its fuel source. Once the fuel is gone, the fire turns to another source…his own body.”

“I—I had no idea,” Peter said in a soft voice as the full weight of this information hit him. “Why haven’t you told everyone?”

“You saw what the mere hint of weakness did to them. Even the most loyal of his servants are beginning to doubt him.” Peter nodded, before his next question came out.

“Why are you telling me, then?”

“Because should anything happen to me, you are the only one skilled enough with the ancient ways to perform a new ritual. This is what I have sent Dolohov to accomplish; I need individuals who know of an ancient ritual which will permanently transfer Voldemort’s soul to a new host body.”

Peter’s eyes went wide as he slowly connected the dots. “Potter?” he questioned, and Caliban merely nodded.

“Since Potter revealed himself as heir to five houses, it is likely my father will be able to deduce where he is hiding out. Once enough time has passed, I will merely extract the information from him.”

/ - / - / - /

16 months into training

“I still like the name Potter’s army.”

Harry groaned for the third time at the dinner table, rolling his eyes once more while Hermione just silently chuckled to herself. The group was currently eating after another hard day of work, Harry and Hermione at the head of the table, Luna and Ron at the other end, and the other three situated around the sides. Ron shook his head and stared at Luna, who had her usual blank stare on her face.

“Luna dear, I love you to pieces, but sometimes you can just be mental.” Ron took a sip of butterbeer before continuing, “Potter’s army sounds like a bunch of militant herbologists…no offense Neville.”

“None taken,” Neville said with a cheery grin on his face. His gaze moved slightly towards Ginny, then back to his plate. Harry noticed the lingering moment, but said nothing.

“Why do we even need a name,” Colin suggested, ripping into his steak. He continued chewing, and slowly rubbed his temples as he swallowed.

“Everything alright,” Ginny asked, concern in her voice. Colin nodded, taking a deep breath.

“It’s just these headaches I get sometimes. Nothing too major though, they’ll pass. I’ll take some headache potion after dinner.”

“Did you always used to get them,” Ginny asked again, and Colin shook his head.

“No, it started a few months ago, about the same time we were starting occulumency training. I guess the strain on my mind takes its toll.” Hermione nodded her, head, setting her fork down.

“It’s relatively common to develop headaches when learning occulumency at such a young age, unless you’re a natural occulumens like Ron & Ginny are.” She paused as she seemed to remember something. “When Harry first taught me I had these horrible migraines, so it’s nothing unusual.” Colin nodded his head, though he seemed to have something more he wanted to say. Excusing himself from the table, he went to take a potion and lie down for a while.

As he slowly walked up the stairs, Ginny looked at him from afar. He was still having a hard time remembering some things from before his parents were attacked. And though he wouldn’t admit it, it was still bothering him. She took the time to finish her dinner, and silently, avoiding the notice of her brother, walked towards Colin’s room. She hesitantly knocked on the door a few times, hearing no reply from the other side. Silently she checked the door handle and, finding it unlocked, slowly opened the door.

Colin seemed to gather himself quickly, wiping away his eyes and staring at Ginny wide-eyed. “Did you need something?” he asked, trying to look busy as he could. Ginny carefully walked into the room, a reserved look on her face, suddenly somewhat nervous at this

“Is your headache any better?” she asked. Colin nodded, offering a half-hearted smile.

“Yeah, it is.” After she didn’t leave, Colin sighed and motioned with his hand, the door closing behind Ginny. “Would you like to sit down?” he offered, motioning towards a rolling desk chair. Ginny nodded and took a seat in front of him, as he sat down on the bed, folding his hands in his lap.

“What’s wrong Colin,” Ginny finally asked, causing him to shudder with a measured breath. “Is this about your parents?” Colin slowly shook his head, and began to tell his tale.

It was several hours before he had finished telling her about the strange dreams of memories he couldn’t quite grasp. About how some things he could remember with crystal clarity, while others were mere phantoms on the horizon of his mind. Though he had confessed some of this in the past, Ginny had no idea that he was so troubled by it. Slowly she made her way over towards the bed, wrapping her arms around him as he held his head, partly in shame, and partly in fear.

“Sometimes I seem to lose myself,” he quietly said, “As if I don’t really belong here.” He paused a moment, before looking at Ginny, “I’m scared Gin. I’m scared that this anger I keep feeling inside of me is going to consume me.” Colin looked back down momentarily, before Ginny forced his head upward, her eyes drilling straight into his.

“Listen to me closely Colin. You are not a bad person.” Colin started to shake his head but Ginny kept him from doing so. “No, you are not a bad person at all. You are one of the kindest people I have ever met. What happened to you was a tragedy, but it’s happened to all of us. We’ve all felt some kind of loss in this war. All of us have lost one or both of our parents and whether or not it’s separated by the distance of time, we all still feel that loss.” She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath before continuing. “But we can draw on each other as our strength. You aren’t in this alone, you have friends. I…we, care about you Colin.” Colin seemed to catch the slip-up, as he stared at her with a bit of wide-eyed surprise, shaken out of his stupor.

“I thought that…I mean you said that…” Ginny smiled softly and placed a hand on his lips, effectively silencing him.

“Maybe it just took some time, maybe it just took some growing up. Who knows…but know that I do care about you…deeply.” Colin licked his lips when Ginny pulled away, and a brief moment passed between the two. Slowly, hesitantly at first, the two of them moved closer, kissing each other tentatively. They quickly became more impassioned, their bodies giving into the heat of the moment. It was a night neither one would soon forget.

/ - / - / - /

“You want me to what!?”

Arthur Weasley sat dumbstruck as he looked at his son, who had just suggested that he run for Minister for Magic. He had barely been on speaking terms with his son that morning, and now he found himself sharing a political discussion with him in the middle of a conveniently empty Leaky Cauldron, where the most unlikely of subjects had come up.

“I have it on good authority that you could win,” Percy said once more, not really skirting the truth of the matter. He absentmindedly sipped at his tea, leaving his father at a loss for words once more, before he added, “You have to admit one thing at least, that Fudge is doomed as Minister.”

Arthur seemed to shake out of stupor at this remark. He glanced around to make certain no one was in earshot, before he leaned in closer to his son and answered. “Yes, I’d agree to that. But you shouldn’t be saying such things. You’re in an even more precarious position than I am as far as your job is concerned.” Percy smiled at him.

“Always looking out for me aren’t you.” There was a moment of shame that crossed over his face, but was quickly replaced with a reassuring smile, “I have other opportunities should the need arise, so don’t worry about my future.” He paused for a moment, rethinking his strategy, “Think of it this way: wouldn’t it be a lot easier for Harry and everyone fighting You-Know-Who if the Ministry supported them? I mean its one thing for the Minister to openly acknowledge that You-Know-Who’s back from the dead, but it’s another thing entirely for him to actually do anything about it.”

“You have a point there,” Arthur replied, nodding his head, “To be honest I’m surprised he hasn’t been sacked yet the way he’s been dragging his feet. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for a cue to act or something.”

“Exactly,” Percy exclaimed, softly banging his fist on the table. “Despite all his bluster, Fudge has always taken his cues from Professor Dumbledore, and from what you tell me that may not necessarily be a good thing.” He paused a moment, deep in thought about whether or not he should go with his next line of thought, before finally deciding to pose a hypothetical. “What if Professor Dumbledore doesn’t want this war to end?”

“I find it hard to believe that he’d be capable of letting that much suffering go on. The man is human after all.”

“Yes, he is, but so is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Being human doesn’t necessarily guarantee a conscience. I know you haven’t told me about everything he’s done in manipulating us or Harry.” Arthur nodded his head, no intention of giving that information out to someone who he wasn’t speaking with just three hours prior. “So if he’s capable of that, who knows what he’s capable of.

“The Ministry needs someone who isn’t so dependant on Dumbledore. They need someone who is there own man. Now from what I can see, there’s no one who could win an election that fits that description except for you. The brass ring is there for the taking, all you need to do is actually take it.” Arthur sat for several minutes, thinking things over. Truthfully he wouldn’t mind being Minister one day, though he figured that was a kind of dream that a lot of people would have. He could finally make a real difference in the world if he did…still; the pressure might be too much.

“Why are you asking me to do this all of a sudden,” Arthur finally asked, changing the subject. Percy seemed a bit caught off guard from the question, but reset his stance firmly.

“It’s what I think is best,” he said in a sort of half-truth. “The only way we’ll ever be able to win this war is to break free of the influence of people like Dumbledore and Fudge. And…” he paused a moment for dramatic effect, “It’s the only way we can prevent this from happening again. This is the third dark lord we’ve had this century, all of them about 20 years apart and each one worse than the last. Something has to change before we destroy ourselves…and as much as I have said to the contrary in the past…Potter is probably the best catalyst for change that we’ve ever had. His past allows him to be sympathetic to the human condition, something that other people don’t have a clue about. We have to help him anyway we can.” As he said the words out loud in a rudimentary fashion, they seemed to bounce back and absorb themselves into Percy’s psyche, almost as if he was convincing himself that this was truly the right course of action.

Arthur sighed, taking a last sip of his butter beer. “I guess all I can say is that I’ll think about it son. I might ask Harry first, see what he thinks. I’ll also want to consult with Ron and the rest of you children. I won’t do it if the family needs me.” Percy smiled, nodding his head.

“That’s all I can ask for,” he replied, giving a smile that was for the first time that day, 100% genuine.”

A.N: We’re coming up into the home stretch of the first leg of the trilogy. Next chapter, Harry and his friends emerge from the time warp…Dumbledore’s search for Harry’s home goes awry…and Caliban springs his trap.

A/N: Here we go with another of my patented plot twists designed to cause you to go “huh?” No one heretofore has guessed (though someone came close) as to the roles certain characters play within the story. However, that will change here. I’ve played this one as close to the vest as possible, while not completely firing it out of left field.

I almost included a line from Caliban that would have clued you in further, but decided against it. Instead I make it the chapter title here, so that might clear a few things up right off the bat. Read on for some more answers. Just remember that as far as magic is concerned, all things are possible. It may be a shorter chapter, but I couldn’t resist the cliffie.

Chapter 29: A Fate Worse Than Death

Arthur Weasley sipped at his morning tea, glancing over the Daily Prophet as he did so. The daily rag carried most of the usual stories about nonsense and other things, though the lead story was of particular importance to him, as it concerned the latest jailbreak from Azkaban. The two imprisoned Lestranges and Antonin Dolohov had been sprung from the wizard prison, something which unnerved Arthur greatly. Combined with the still on the loose Caliban de Montesquieu and Bellatrix Lestrange, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had reassembled most of his inner circle.

Much to his surprise, he felt little vindication or satisfaction at the barely mentioned news item that Lucius Malfoy had been found dead in his sleep upon further inspection of the prison.

As he continued scanning the paper for anything else of note, his mind wandered back to the conversation he had with Percy the day prior. He wanted to believe his son was sincere, he truly did. But there was something about the suddenness with which Percy seemed to warm up to him. Maybe it was simply a young man realizing his mistakes and wanting to reconnect with his family, a motivation spurred on by the fact that his mother had died.

Whenever he tried to think of an ulterior motive for Percy, he kept coming up empty. In actuality, Percy stood to lose more than he did to gain by Arthur becoming minister. Yes, he would be the son of the minister, but he would lose his position as assistant to senior undersecretary Delores Umbridge in the bureaucratic shakeups of power that always followed a new administration (Arthur was taking delight in thinking of ways to sack the afore mentioned undersecretary).

Perhaps that above anything else was the greatest case for his son’s sincerity, simply because he had no other place to go. It might not exactly be the reconciliation that Arthur was hoping for, but it was the start of something at least. That brought something of a smile to Arthur’s face as he took another sip of tea.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a slight glimmer of light. Tossing down the paper, he immediately tried to see what was causing the faint image. Before his eyes a silhouette began to appear out of thin air. At first the image was blurry, more an incongruent mass than the visage of anyone in particular. But as a few moments passed by he began to notice details in the person. After several seconds the figure came into enough focus that Arthur immediately knew who it was. “Colin?” he asked in a disbelieving voice.

Colin’s visage sheepishly grinned and nodded his head. “Sort of,” he explained, “It’s actually a form of astral projection mixed with legilimency. Hermione was reading about it and so we decided to give it a try. I was the only one who could do it though, even Harry wasn’t able to.” Arthur blinked a couple of times before Colin continued, “They sent me to tell you we’ll be flooing over if that’s alright.” Arthur shook himself out of a stupor and nodded his head.

“Yes, of course.” Colin smiled again and his image faded just as quickly as it had arrived, and a few minutes later Arthur’s fireplace flared to life with emerald flames. Out of the hearth emerged six figures, and Arthur felt tears come to his eyes as he saw two of them.

Harry & Hermione had changed the least, though their faces spoke of another year’s wisdom under their belts. Neville had transformed the most it seemed, turning a large portion of his bulk into a leaner, muscular form, and Arthur was amazed at how much like his father he now looked. He turned to Luna and saw a confident young woman. Gone was much of the spacey detachment that she had left the house with just 24 hours prior. He also couldn’t help but notice how closely she stood to Ron.

His son…Ron had shot up like a weed, towering over pretty much everyone else in the group. He too had filled out considerably, bearing a striking resemblance to his oldest son Bill more than anyone else. He felt his eyes sting as he saw Ginny standing behind him, also more grown up than she had been, now looking more like her mother than ever before. Finally he saw Colin, but didn’t really notice how much everyone else had changed drastically in comparison to Colin, who appeared relatively similar to what he had before.

“Welcome back,” Arthur cracked, clearing his throat and wiping away any lingering tears of happiness, “I trust everything was successful?”

“It was wicked,” Ron said with enthusiasm, “You’ll have to see their house dad, it’s literally got everything.” Everyone laughed at Ron’s enthusiasm, and Arthur motioned for them to follow him into the kitchen. Once they were situated, he began to listen to the stories of the year and a half they had spent in the time warp, captivated by every single one of them.

/ - / - / - /

Professor Dumbledore closed the last book he could scrummage out of the restricted section about the ancient manor houses and their locations in frustration. Once more, any mention of Potter Manor was frustratingly mum about its location, outside of the general area of the British Isles. Given what he could remember of the family’s history, Dumbledore guessed that it was somewhere in the Scottish lowlands. He had no way of proving this of course, but it was as close as he had come.

He was beginning to get desperate. He had even contemplated going to Lazarus as a sign of friendship in order to at least track Potter down and have a bead on his whereabouts. He dismissed such thought quickly of course; he wouldn’t have put it past Lazarus to have been the catalyst that caused this whole mess to begin with.

He had even tried to get Minerva to go along with the idea of opening the book of Hogwarts students, which would list their current location for distribution of letters. Even though he was headmaster, he could not directly access the book without the agreement of his deputy, and once Minerva had learned of the reasons for his wanting to access the book, she flat out refused him. Dumbledore snarled, he would have to deal with insubordination at a later date, he decided.

More frustrating was that Snape had reported that the Death Eaters were becoming quiet. Aside from Dolohov beginning to hunt down some of the more ancient wizards in Britain, including Florean Fortescue and Nigelius Ollivander and sending emissaries to the giants and merfolk, Dumbledore had no idea what his son, and by proxy Voldemort, was up to.

He slammed his fist onto his desk and stood up angrily, turning away from his desk and glancing out of the window. His carefully laid plans were now in ruins. Things were going exactly as the prophecy intended, what he knew of it anyway, and with each passing day he knew that his day of atonement was drawing closer. He snarled in anger and frustration.

“Watch your temper please. I'd hate to see you keel over so soon.” Dumbledore’s eyes widened and his face went as white as a sheet as he immediately recognized that voice. He pulled his wand out of his robes and flipped around, pointing it directly at the image of his son. “You might as well put that away,” Caliban said smirking, “We both know I’m just a projection.” Dumbledore stared at him angrily, before lowering his wand and sighing.

“What do you want,” he muttered as he slumped down in his chair. Caliban snickered and circled around the desk, examining Fawkes’ perch and finding the newly reborn chick sleeping in a nest of his own ashes. He shook his head in a mixture of annoyance and happiness and turned back towards his father.

“Why do you always ask questions you already know the answer to?” he rhetorically asked, smirking at his father. “But who says I’m here for malevolent purposes? After all…can’t a son worry about his father? Can’t he drop by unannounced and visit him, even if it is only a mere figment of the mind?” He dropped the sarcastic tone and rounded Dumbledore, who sat firmly rooted in his chair.

“What makes you think I’ll tell you anything?” he asked, not playing games with his son.

“I don’t expect you to tell me anything,” Caliban confessed, “But I thought I’d offer nonetheless. You can’t blame someone for simply going through the motions after all.”

“Go away,” Dumbledore finally said with force, “I have nothing to say to you.” Caliban’s smirk faded, and he glared at his father.

“I thought as much. But I suppose I can be a good boy and listen to you just this once.” He turned and started to walk away, but stopped suddenly, “Oh by the way, have you ever read Hogwarts: A History?” Dumbledore simply glared at him. “I thought not. It really is a fascinating book. You learn so many things, like how the elves use something called the Come and Go room to get whatever they need, like how there’s a secret passage out of the Slytherin common room to the basement of Zonko’s joke shop and…” Caliban’s eyes suddenly became very fierce and he forcefully rushed towards Dumbledore’s desk. “How anyone of the headmaster’s bloodline can use the right spell to circumvent the school’s anti-apparition wards!”

Dumbledore realized a second too late the implication that this was, in fact, not Caliban’s astral projection, but rather Caliban himself. He quickly threw up his mental defenses, but found himself under a severe mental strain as his son bombarded him with a terrible assault. For several minutes the two of them stood there, their eyes locked in a never-ending staredown, as their minds did vicious battle. Suddenly Caliban closed his eyes and began to get the information he was looking for…”Harry….Potter…may be found at….Potter…Manor….now, where is that? And once more…why Potter?” He continued to search for several moments longer, and Dumbledore felt himself pushed back in his seat, before the onslaught suddenly let up. Dumbledore lurched forward, exhausted from the attack. “So, you think Potter is the Heir of Merlin, interesting.” Caliban smirked. “I’m ashamed father,” he said snidely, “I thought you would know where the Manor was by now. No matter…there’s always Plan B.” Dumbledore struggled to reach for his wand, but before he could point it at his son, Caliban vanished into thin air.

/ - / - / - /

“So we need to figure out how Voldemort survived that night in Godric’s Hollow,” Harry finished explaining, lining out his final plans. “The problem is we spent the last three months of our time searching for something, but we couldn’t find a thing. Sadly the one thing my family library is lacking is information on the dark arts.”

“You could check Grimmauld,” Arthur suggested, “Even though I think Sirius threw away most of the really dark books, there’s liable to be a lot more information there then there is anywhere else.” Harry nodded, but was distracted by a groan of pain from Colin, who held his head in pain.

“Sorry,” Colin mumbled, “Just another headache. I guess the astral projection took more out of me than I thought it would.” Colin took an offered glass of water from Ginny and drank it rather thoroughly. “If you don’t mind, I need to go for a walk.” Arthur nodded and Colin moved out the back door to get some fresh air. Hermione noticed out of the corner of her eye Ginny biting her bottom lip, as if she needed to tell him something, but kept this notice to herself.

“As much as I hate to say it,” Harry said finally, “Dumbledore may be our only option.” Everyone looked grim at the prospect, and spoke nothing more of the increasingly likely possibility.

“Maybe Remus has some ideas,” Ron suggested, and Harry nodded his head.

“He’s been staying at Grimmauld with Tonks, looking up things in the library and doing some degree of research. We’ll have to see if he came up with anything there.” He turned towards Arthur, “Did anything happen while we were away?”

Arthur smirked, and told them the tale of Percy asking him to run for Minister of Magic. To say that Harry and his cohorts were gobsmacked would be a small understatement. “Bloody hell,” Ron whispered, an exclamation shared by pretty much everyone else at the table. He shook himself back to reality and looked at his father, “I think you should do it. We need all the help we can get to beat You-Know-Who, and having you as Minister would be a great asset.” Everyone else seemed to share the sentiment, and Arthur sighed, sipping the last of his tea.

“We should move forward carefully,” he said finally, after contemplating everything in his head. “I doubt very much that Fudge will go down without a fight, and we can’t afford to lose our newfound credibility with the public.” Everyone agreed, and slowly started to break apart, with Neville and Luna returning to their respective homes and Harry going to Grimmauld to check on Remus. Hermione stayed behind to talk to Ginny, trying to figure out what was wrong with her.

/ - / - / - /

Colin sighed contently as he walked through the trail towards Ottery St. Catchpole. It was hard to believe it had actually only been three days since his parents and brother were killed, and though he still felt the pangs of loss at thinking of them, but they had lessened considerably.

Behind him he heard a noise, and he instinctively had his wand in his hand and turned around to see if he was being followed. He scanned the wooded area, calming himself down when he didn’t see anyone. Sighing to himself in relief, he pocketed his wand and turned back around…

…only to see a man staring straight at him…a man with piercing violet eyes. Colin became gripped with fear as he saw the man once more, the same one who plagued his nightmares, and the man who had killed his parents. He saw the violet eyes flicker to a deep shade of blue before becoming the other color once more, and he finally had a name to put with the face…

…Caliban de Montesquieu.

Colin pulled out his wand again and fired the first curse he could think of. The cutting spell skittered harmlessly off of Caliban’s wordlessly cast shield, and Caliban pulled his own wand out and pushed Colin back with great force, slamming him against a tree and causing his wand to clatter to the cold ground below. Colin stood up and rushed him, hoping that his martial arts training would give him the advantage.

“PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!” Caliban yelled, causing Colin to stop dead in his tracks and fall to his back. Caliban smirked and pointed his wand at Colin, lifting him slightly off the ground, “Now is that any way to great your old friend?”

Colin literally spit in Caliban’s face. “You’re not my friend, murderer!” he said harshly. Caliban feigned hurt.

“You have no idea how deeply that strikes me my dear boy. I’m just here to help you.” Caliban cocked his head as he moved Colin to a sitting position. “After all, I can explain your headaches are so sever…and why your memories still aren’t in tact. It’s really quite simple, it’s merely a side effect of…me.”

“What are you talking about?” Colin demanded to know. Caliban chuckled.

“Ah my poor young fellow, I see you haven’t changed a bit. But perhaps dropping the façade would allow a bit more light on your current situation.” Caliban flicked his wand and caused Colin to stand up, a full-body mirror appearing before him. Colin internally screamed in fear as Caliban let out a deep sigh, and a great weight seemed to be lifted from his mind. Colin literally saw his appearance melt before his eyes, becoming something much more monstrous and much more terrifying.

Caliban smiled at his newly returned apprentice. “You’ve been saved from a fate worse than death young dragon. Welcome home Draco…Welcome Home.”

A/N: *dodges tomatoes* Okay, honestly, did anyone see that coming?

The strange explanation next chapter, as well as a drastic choice that Draco must make.

A/N: I’m hoping there’s only three or four more chapters left in this arc of the trilogy, including this chapter.

I will say a few things before we begin however, the main hint that something was up was Luna’s necklace. A) It started glowing the moment “Colin” entered the Burrow. The Unspeakables thing was a red herring (for the most part). B) Luna’s mother told her that it would protect her. And C) During Ron & Luna’s conversation, the necklace glowed more when Luna used her legilimency, thus the clue that the mind arts were involved (as will be explained shortly). Draco’s involvement wasn’t nearly hinted at as much, other than the fact of convenience that Colin entered the story the same time that Draco exited it. Many of you accurately caught on that I never explicitly said that Draco was dead.

There was one other clue I forgot to add, which was that of Draco’s necklace, given to him at the start of the Wizengamot meeting by Caliban. If I had mentioned that (entirely my fault for forgetting it till after I posted the last chapter and re-read where I had come from) then it might have been a bit clearer. The carved dark mark on Colin’s arm was another potential giveaway, though that led down the generic death eater road.

Again, this is probably a shorter chapter than I would like, but I’m moving towards a climax here. Essentially this is the second part of Chapter 29, with a final confrontation set to begin next chapter.

Chapter 30: Draco’s Choice

Draco stared for several moments into the mirror, a myriad of emotions running roughshod through his subconscious. He recognized the face that stared at him in the mirror as Draco Malfoy. He knew that it was him, but why he was wearing that face was entirely a mystery. He was Colin Creevey! Not Draco Malfoy!

Wasn’t he?

Caliban made sure that the boy’s wand was securely in his grasp before releasing the bodybind. The moment Draco felt his body released from the curse he lashed out with a hard right cross towards Caliban, something which Caliban caught hard on the jaw before firing back a bolt of mental energy that leveled Draco and shattered the mirror that he had conjured. Draco struggled to his feet, and stared daggers through Caliban. “What trick are you playing at?” he yelled out in anger.

Caliban merely grinned, “It’s no trick. Quite to the contrary as a matter of fact, as I’ve released my little “trick” that I had on you.” Draco heard enough, and once again charged Caliban, catching him off guard with a mixture of the martial arts he had learned at Potter Manor and simple schoolyard fighting that he had picked up from Crabbe and Goyle. Caliban dodged most of the strikes, but caught a hard kick to the gut that drove the wind out of him. Deciding he had enough, Caliban moved swiftly, grabbing Draco by the throat with a vicelike grip and holding him there. “I see you need to have your memory jogged.” Caliban threw Draco against a hard tree and pulled out both of the wands he was holding. “Crucio!” The unforgivable shot out of both wands, driving Draco to his knees in blinding, searing pain. Caliban forced him completely to the ground, pouring all of his malice and hatred into the spells, causing Draco to cry out in anguish. He finally relented, and left Draco lying in a heap on the ground, arrogantly tossing his wand down on the ground in front of him before kneeling down and pointing his own wand at Draco’s head.

“Perhaps this will help. Memoria Cubus!” A pale gray light shot out of Caliban’s wand and hit Draco square on the temple. Time seemed to come to a standstill for Draco, as a flood of images came roaring to the forefront as the memory charm was lifted. After several seconds and many deep breaths, Draco turned over and stared at Caliban. Struggling to his knees, Draco stared a hole straight through Caliban.

“What did you do to me?” he asked, his voice dripping with venom.

Caliban merely laughed. “It’s really quite simple when you think about it. If there was one thing that I learned from my father, it’s that you always have to have a Plan B. You…were my Plan B…and my Plan A for that matter.

“I anticipated your explosion at the Wizengamot. You see I had suspected that Potter had obtained some kind of political power due to the fact that Bellatrix didn’t inherit the title of Head of the House of Black. If that had been the case, then I knew you would likely try to impulsively take him, with no regard for the consequences of your childish actions. And sure enough, so you did foolishly get yourself thrown out of the legislative body. But you were still of value to me, as a spy of sorts. Of course I could never get you close enough to Potter to get any valuable information on him, so I had to improvise.

“Enter Colin Creevey, a young muggleborn wizard and his family. Colin was close enough to Potter, or at least his friend the young Weasley girl, that he could work as a substitute. So before your meeting I went on a little hunt, for him and his family. His brother and parents I killed on the spot, but Colin put up some fight. In the end, he died, like he was fated to.

“Remember the necklace I gave you before your meeting, the one that hasn’t left your neck since?” Draco glared down at the simple chain that hung around his neck, a simple locket of Colin and Ginny now accompanying it. “That particular chain acted as an anchor for my legilimency. You see, after your failure I knocked you unconscious and performed a complete memory charm on you, and then imprinted young Colin’s memories onto your mind. From there, I simply cast a glamour projection spell on the necklace, which coupled with my own mental strength, projected an image of young Colin. That was why your memories were incomplete, because I could not retrieve all of Mr. Creevey’s memories before I killed him. Your headaches were also a direct result of your own occulumency fighting against my legilimency, trying to overcome the illusion.” Caliban closed his eyes as Draco fought against shock and disbelief, “It was a risk to be certain, I had no way of knowing if the occulumency shields Potter and his friends had would hold off my image, but alas my own training and skill in the mind arts surpass even the heir of Ravenclaw herself.”

Draco seemed to sputter out, “You…you know about that?”

“Of course I do. Once I knew which houses Potter was the heir of, it was merely a matter of scouring the ancient texts before I found the truth of his lineage.” Caliban backed away as Draco stumbled to his feet, before continuing, “The unfortunate truth is that for some reason I cannot directly read you now. No matter…I’m always game for doing things the hard way. I want you to tell me the location of Potter Manor.”

For the first time Draco smirked and laughed, his mind still blanked by the new information and lingering pain of the cruciatus. “And what makes you think I’d help you? After everything you’ve done?”

Caliban chuckled, “Silly boy, look down at your arm.” Draco did so, and saw the Dark Mark once again firmly emblazoned there. “That mark is a sacred oath, a sign of your loyalty to the Dark Lord even if you have switched sides in your own mind. Once that mark is branded onto your arm, forever more will you be labeled as a Death Eater. Perception is reality Draco, not yours but that of the wizarding public in general. To them, you are nothing more than a fool who tried to kill their savior in the middle of the Wizengamot chambers. The Ministry is on full alert to arrest you and snap your wand on sight.” Draco’s face fell, but he tried to hide the fear in the veracity of Caliban’s speech.

“And what do you think that Potter will do when he learns the truth? Or his friends? Or…” Draco’s face fell dramatically, and Caliban smirked, “I see then. There’s a “her”…must be the young Weasley wench.”

“Don’t call her that,” Draco spewed out, ready to charge Caliban again despite the fact that he could barely stand. Draco’s hand picked up his wand and pointed it right at him.

“Come now,” Caliban said smirking, flashing a bright gem in his hand, “We both know what will happen if you try that old trick again.” Draco’s wand fell. “As I was saying, what do you think they will do when they find out the truth? They won’t believe your story…you’re Draco Malfoy, a mortal enemy of theirs for the last five years.

“The way I see it Draco, you have two choices. You can ignore me, maybe you’ll even get away, but if the Ministry doesn’t find you then Potter will…and then you will have something to answer for. Either he’ll annihilate you or the Ministry will send you to Azkaban for the rest of your life. Or…” Caliban lowered his head and stared straight at Draco, “You can do this one last task for me, and I will free you from your burden.”

Draco’s breath caught. “What are you promising?”

“I’m saying if you help me catch Potter and bring him to the Dark Lord, then I will remove the Dark Mark from your arm. You can then go on your merry way to wherever it is you want to go. Disappear into the muggle world, go to Australia, whatever. In fact…I can even give you a family.” Draco sat wide-eyed as Caliban continued, “What if I told you that your mother…your real mother….isn’t actually dead? What if I told you that I took pity on her and spared her life, merely modifying her memory to match circumstances?” Draco glared.

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not. Her name is Miranda Breyerson…I acquired her from a man named Charles van Houtan in a pub called the Dragon’s Head just outside of Manchester. I can take you to her; give you the family you no longer have here…” Caliban moved closer to Draco. “Or not…the choice is yours. So I will ask you one last time…Where is Potter Manor?”

/ - / - / - /

Hermione was in a quandary emotionally. On one hand, she was joyed with what she had just found out. On the other, she was nervous as to what that meant for Ginny. Either way, she could barely wait to tell Harry…that Colin and Ginny were going to get married soon.

She generally considered it a good thing and moved on. She had flooed back to Potter Manor and was waiting for Harry to get back. She was curled up in the library searching through a tome Luna had given her concerning possibilities for what Luna had called the Heir of Merlin, but could not find anything concrete about this supposed prophecy. That Luna was a junior unspeakable caused her no worry.

She heard a whooshing sound from the library fireplace and immediately stood up and closed the book when she saw Harry emerge from the floo, wiping the ash off of his shirt and pants. The grimace on his face clued her into the answer to her next question, but she asked it just the same. “Did Remus and Tonks find anything?”

Harry shook his head and slumped down in his chair, Hermione sitting on the edge and draping her arm around his neck. “Absolutely nothing. Remus has a few leads, but nothing concrete. He said he still had a few books to go through, but that Sirius had thrown out or destroyed so many of the dark ones that it was likely the secret died with them.” Harry let out a long sigh and leaned forward, his fingers clenched together as he mired himself deep in thought. Hermione rubbed his back, trying to ease the tension that was building in his muscles.

“We’ll figure it out Harry,” she said optimistically. “After all, when is there been anything we couldn’t figure out if we tried hard enough?” Harry smiled a bit, but his face quickly turned grim once more.

“The problem is how many more people will die between now and the time that we do figure it out?” Harry sighed, standing up and slowly walking across the room, “While everything they’ve done has been a tragedy, in one sense we’ve been lucky that they haven’t tried to attack Hogwarts, or Diagon Alley or the Ministry again. But how long will that luck hold out?”

Hermione stood up, approaching him slowly, “What are you suggesting Harry?”

Harry swallowed and looked at her with a mixture of frustration and sadness, “We need Dumbledore. He’s the only one who knows how to beat Voldemort.” Hermione nodded, but bit her bottom lip as if deep in thought. “What is it?” Harry asked, immediately clued in to her action.

“It’s just that…how do we know that he will try to manipulate us with that information? What if he lies to us about that?” Harry walked over and rubbed Hermione’s arms, looking her dead in the eye.

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take. Maybe if it’s outlined as a cost-loss sort of thing. He stands to lose just as much if Voldemort wins as we do. I don’t think he’d jeopardize that in favor of searching for some long lost heir.” Hermione nodded, and Harry hugged her, enjoying the feel of her against him. They stood that way for several moments.

“By the way, I have something to tell you,” Hermione said, breaking away and smiling up at him. “Ginny told me that Colin proposed to her and that she was going to tell him yes!” Harry smiled back at her and led her to the couch, the two of them laying down and moving close to one another.

“That’s great for the both of them, they deserve happiness.” He sighed contently and then asked, “When do you want to get married?”

“Soon,” Hermione said with conviction after thinking about it for a couple of moments. “I want to be married soon. It feels like years since you asked me.” Harry chuckled at this and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “But seriously, we should do it soon. Nothing huge, just a small ceremony with our friends.”

“I hope the press doesn’t get wind of it, the last thing we need is a huge event like that. It would provide too much of a target.” He paused a moment before adding, “We should have it here at the Manor…or one of my other properties that’s under the Fidelus Charm.”

Hermione moved upwards and turned to stare at Harry, a naughty glint in her eye. “Have I mentioned you are a very clever man?”

“I’m getting married to a very clever witch,” he responded while smiling, “Something must have rubbed off.” Hermione giggled, and the two of them began to kiss each other in slow, yet intense motions. The mood was quickly interrupted however by a frantic pop.

“Master Harry Potter sir!” Dobby exclaimed, dancing back and forth on his heels with great worry, “There’s someone approaching the front door!” Harry broke away from Hermione and the two of them glanced down at Dobby and then back at each other. Grabbing their wands, they rushed out of the library as fast as they could towards the front door.

The door swung open and they rushed out, waiting to see who was approaching. They stopped when the recognized two figures slowly strolling forward, seemingly without a care in the world.

“YOU!” Harry yelled as he recognized the man, the one who had killed Molly, stop dead in front of him. He glared even deeper when he saw Draco Malfoy standing next to him, his gaze pointed downwards and not looking at anyone.

“Mr. Potter,” Caliban said with a snide grin on his face, “I told you we would meet again. And I never…ever…miss an appointment.”

A/N: The confrontation between Harry & Caliban will take up the next chapter, hence why this chapter is shorter.

A/N: I will get this all into one chapter.

One address before we get into the action. A couple of reviewers asked how Draco was able to reveal the location of the Manor if it was under the Fidelus Charm. Take your pick…either it’s because Draco lived there for 18 months (and a part of him considered it as “home” and thus would be allowed under the provisions of the Fidelus Charm to reveal its location) or Draco simply led Caliban to the general location and Caliban’s inherent wizard-tracking abilities did the rest. It bears little weight on the story in the end.

I apologize in advance if my battle descriptions are somewhat lacking.

Chapter 31: Life and Death

Caliban merely smirked as he stared at Harry and Hermione, who quickly had their wands raised, and were certainly thinking to themselves how best to plot a defensive strategy. Caliban took one look at Harry, and quickly deduced that it would be best to separate the two of them. Alone, Potter would be vulnerable. United with the girl and he’d be much stronger, he easily surmised.

“Now now,” Caliban asked with mock sincerity, “We have no quarrel here. Voldemort just wants to have a little chat with you Mr. Potter, that’s all! If you’ll just come along with me, I’m sure we’ll have all this business settled in no time.”

“Save it!” Harry exclaimed, raising his wand a little higher, and turning the corner of his eyes towards Draco to see what he was up to. To his surprise, Draco merely kept his gaze turned downwards, not making eye contact with either Harry or Hermione. Caliban glanced down at Draco as well, and smiled broadly.

“You’ll have to forgive my friend here, he’s feeling a little shell shocked after everything I’ve put him through.” He circled Draco and put him between Caliban and Harry’s wand. “You two are probably wondering how exactly I found you, right? Well you have Draco to thank here, he unwittingly aided me greatly. Of course you wouldn’t have recognized him as he is now.” Hermione noticed the word’s used by Caliban, and focused greatly on Draco’s demeanor. Caliban thought for a moment, and briefly allowed a silhouette of Colin’s face to appear over Draco’s still bowed head. Hermione’s breath caught, and Harry lashed his teeth as he put two and two together.

“Where’s Colin,” Harry immediately growled, and Caliban’s smile grew even wider.

“I’m afraid you’ll find that Mr. Creevey is…shall we say…permanently indisposed.” Caliban began to laugh loudly, and Harry stood by long enough. He launched a barrage of silent curses towards Caliban, causing the elder wizard to toss Draco roughly to the side and dodge out of the way. In one fell swoop he aimed his wand skyward. A yellow bolt of energy shot skywards and exploded high above their heads. Caliban immediately yelled at Draco as the yellow energy rapidly expanded downward in a spherical motion, “Keep the mudblood out of this!” He fired his hands towards Hermione, pushing her out of the way and beyond the yellow sphere.

“Hermione!” Harry yelled, rushing over to reach her. Caliban fired up a wall of flames to separate the two of them as the sphere collapsed down around them, effectively cutting them off from one another. Harry could see Hermione get to her feet from inside the dome, a faint shadow moving in contrast to the pale yellow glow of the sphere. He turned slowly as he heard Caliban laughing at him.

“You can’t get to her I’m afraid. This sphere is specifically designed for dueling, to make sure that it keeps us in and, more importantly, others out. Don’t even bother trying to find a way to take it down.” Caliban twirled his wand around and removed his robes, revealing a black tunic and long black pants not so different from muggle jogging attire. Harry simply kept his gaze fixed on Caliban, loosening the collar on his polo shirt to allow for greater movement. “I have been looking forward to this Mr. Potter.”

“You’re going to pay,” Harry cursed at Caliban as he knelt down and examined Caliban’s stance. “You’re going to pay for everyone you’ve killed. You’re going to pay for killing Molly.”

“Cousin Molly?” Caliban questioned. “I still don’t see what the big deal about that was. For you maybe, it was a defining moment in your life. For me…it was Wednesday.”

Harry’s anger flared up at the dismissal and he immediately fired a sharp yellow curse towards Caliban, which he easily dodged. “Refracto!” The bonebreaker curse was fired in rapid fire motion by Caliban, and Harry ducked and weaved, dodging every single one of them.

Suddenly Harry stopped in his tracks and buried himself in the ground. “Reflectus Maximus!” A mirror-like shield appeared in front of him, and four of Caliban’s curses immediately shot back at him, forcing him to run the opposite direction and dive for cover. Harry immediately stood up and pointed his wand at Caliban. “Reducto!” The blasting curse missed Caliban’s feet by mere centimeters, blowing a gaping hole in the ground where he had stood. With Caliban on the defensive, Harry whispered, pointing to the ground, “Serpensortia!” A rather nasty looking snake popped out of his wand, appearing on the ground, which Harry knelt down in front of and quickly spoke in parseltongue “Bite him on the ankles.” The snake nodded its head and Harry stood up, cursing himself that Caliban had seen part of the exchange. The snake slithered towards Caliban, causing the wizard to stand there, periodically dodging various hexes from Harry and reflecting some back with his own mirror shield.

“CONFUNDUS!” The snake was immediately confused by the massive charm from Caliban, who then conjured a silver axe out of thin air and fired it right at the snake, lopping its head off in the process. He glared at Harry, and both of them took a deep breath. “Very well done, I see the Dark Lord has pushed you to train yourself well. But how much of this is you, and how much is just your blood…how much is just the gifts of the founders…” Harry cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t think you could keep your secret from me, did you?”

“We all have secrets,” Harry said, preparing for another assault. As he stared at Caliban, the familial resemblance to Dumbledore briefly crossed his mind.

“Very well done,” Caliban said smiling, having caught the fleeting thought that escaped Harry’s mental shields, “I am Dumbledore’s son.” The momentary gasp from Harry allowed Caliban to fire a piercing shot right at his shoulder, causing extreme pain in Harry’s left arm. “Never let your guard down for a second,” Caliban scolded, before launching another volley of curses towards Harry.

/ - / - / - /

Hermione watched with horror as Harry disappeared behind the golden veil that enveloped a good portion of the front lawn of Potter Manor. If she concentrated hard enough she thought she could see the silhouettes of the two wizards beginning to move around each other, and after several moments she began to hear spellfire. Frantically she lifted her wand, trying to think of a way to pierce the golden dome. A stunner flew across her field of vision, causing a small dent in the front porch staircase of the manner, and she turned and glared at Draco. “I can’t let you do that,” he coldly whispered, not speaking with the malice or venomous hatred she expected to hear.

“How could you,” she angrily asked, barely speaking above a whisper. “How could you do that to us? To Ginny?” Draco winced at the name, and glared harder at Hermione.

“Don’t pretend to think you understand this Hermione,” Draco coldly replied, “I didn’t have a choice…”

“THERE’S ALWAYS A CHOICE!” Hermione shouted back. “Whatever your problems we could have helped you!”

“Not after impersonating Creevey, even if it was against my…” Draco stopped, catching his emotions and breathing deeply. “None of that matters now…once this is over with I’m going to leave this war behind.” He turned his head as he heard Hermione chuckle.

“You actually think that they’ll let you go that easily? That’s naïve, even for you Malfoy.” Draco sneered. Hermione once again turned to the dome, “I’m going to help my fiancé, regardless of what you say.” Draco merely raised his wand.

“You will try…” Hermione fired a cutting curse at the dome, only to have Draco blast it back with a counter curse of his own. Several more times Hermione tried various spells to get into the dome, and more of them were met with counters from Draco. Angry, Hermione turned her focus to the pale-skinned youth. Their curses began bouncing off one another in a well-timed verse of light and color. Hermione quickly analyzed the situation, noticing that Draco seemed to have fallen back on his old standby of simply using spells, and not utilizing footwork. As she began to dodge and weave around him, firing fewer spells while Draco began to magically exhaust himself from all the missed shots.

“Losing your grip Malfoy?” she goaded, but surprisingly not getting the intended reaction of Draco’s anger getting the best of him. Instead Draco adapted, moving closer in time with Hermione’s movements. Hermione still dodged more, being the quicker of the two, but Draco’s shots began to miss by mere centimeters

Hermione finally began to fire off more curses of her own, finally catching Draco with a stunner that sent him spinning down to the ground, his wand clattering to the ground next to him. He slowly stood up, rubbing the dust off of his robes and picking up his wand, staring at Hermione as he did so.

“Nice try,” he said, charging at her with reckless abandon. Hermione through up her guard, only to be blind sided with a sharp slashing motion with Draco’s wand, cutting a deep gash in her left upper arm. She retaliated physically, landing a sharp jab to his abdomen and driving him back with a roundhouse kick to his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Draco flew backwards and ricocheted off the dome,

“You don’t understand,” he whispered, “This is all I have left. This is my last chance at finding my true family.” He glared deeply at her. “I appreciate everything you did for me, but you were living a lie.”

Hermione cocked her head to the side, “How much of it was a lie…and how much are you unwilling to admit was the truth?” Draco didn’t answer. “Whatever he did…it wasn’t completely recreating Colin. That was still you in there.” She paused before she added, “She said yes, by the way. Ginny said yes.”

Draco was floored as he felt a sudden wave of peace come over his being, which was quickly drowned out by abject fear and frustration at his choice. In fury he fired a massive curse towards Hermione, allowing all of his self-anger to boil to the surface. “Sectumsempra!”

/ - / - / - /

Caliban skidded across the ground like a stone across a pond as a rather powerful blasting curse hit the ground in front of him, causing him to repel backwards from the sheer reflective force. He regained his footing and jumped to his feet, a mixture of a smile and a snarl on his face as he both enjoyed the challenge and was frustrated by Potter’s growing advantage over him. “I must admit,” he said between breaths, “You’re better than I thought.” He dodged out of the way of a jagged yellow curse that could have severed his head clean off. Caliban stopped and stood, focusing his mind. “But I’m afraid the fun ends here.” Harry tilted his head slightly, and stood in amazement as several clones of Caliban seemingly appeared out of nowhere. “Let’s see if you can find your way through this!” The various Caliban clones began firing several shots at Harry, who dodged and weaved as best he could, deflecting the rest of the shots with a materialized shield with the four founders crests carved onto its silver lining. Still, he knew he couldn’t maintain this forever. He had to do something to gain an offensive upper hand. He reached out with his mind and tried to find where the real Caliban was. Around him he felt the tendrils of legilimency everywhere, so much so that it threatened to overwhelm his senses. Off to the corner though he felt a tinge of emotion, anger and hatred, and he focused himself there, firing as strong a curse as he could manage. “Pecturis Subsisto!” He yelled, and Caliban barely had time to move before the heart-stopping hex hit him squarely in the chest, instead nicking him in the foot. He fell to the ground, clutching his chest in extreme pain, and frantically muttering a counter curse to the spell, causing his astral clones to dissipate. Harry didn’t hesitate, firing five spells at once to try and finish off Caliban. Caliban dodged two, the other three hitting him in various places and causing him extreme pain and gashes to form all along his body. He once more slid against the dirt, picking up speed till he slammed full bore into his own dome. He fell forward, sitting on all fours, his breath labored and his mind practically spent.

“It’s over,” Harry said quietly, his wand shaking from his own anger at this man as he pointed it straight at him. Surprisingly Caliban looked at him with almost a hint of triumph in his eyes.

“So it is Potter,” he said in a voice nearly gleaming with pride, “So it is. The question is, do you have what it takes to do what is necessary?”

“You saw what I did to Crabbe and Goyle,” Harry answered back, his gaze never wavering.

“But I have enough left in reserve to keep going if you use pedestrian curses like that. We both know there’s only one thing that will stop me for good.” Harry didn’t notice the sleight of hand as Caliban pulled a small object from his belt. “Certainly you inherited enough of Slytherin’s heritage to be able to cast the spell. So why don’t you get your revenge here and now? I’m willing to bet you can’t. That you’re just as weak as your parents and godfather before you.” Harry’s anger spiked. “We both know you’re merely delaying the inevitable. If you can’t utter those two little words and really mean it…then you’ll never win in the end. And everything…and everyone you care for will be nothing but a memory!” Harry willed his hatred forward.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” Harry watched the green jet soar out of his wand, but instantly felt a draining sensation out of his body as Caliban stood up and blocked the killing curse with a small gem. Caliban laughed madly as the curse was stopped dead in its tracks, and Harry felt his strength quickly ebbing away from the maintained connection. Frantically he tried to break the spell, but found himself unable to move his arm, the connection a fully established, nearly unbreakable link.

“Poor Harry,” Caliban said, his maniacal laughing fading away as Harry fell to one knee, “Giving in to hatred the one time you shouldn’t have. Such is irony…” Harry grimaced and forced himself back to his feet, suddenly getting an idea from the back of his mind. “What are you doing?” Caliban asked, his eyes going a bit wider at the change of events. Harry’s yelled as pain wracked his body and he forced his way forward. Caliban held his ground, still trying to keep the gem fully intact; feeling it begin to shake from the overwhelming amount of power it was absorbing. He howled as the he heard a small crack, and then a loud boom as the gem was overloaded with power and exploded into a thousand pieces, sending both Harry and Caliban flying sky-high. The dome surrounding them crackled with energy and shattered just as the gem had, and both Harry and Caliban landed with a thud.

Draco turned and looked at the both of them, as did Hermione from her position on the ground as she lay, wrapped in chains, blood lying in a pool from a wound on her leg. She screamed, “Harry!” as she saw him fly skywards and land several meters away. Draco merely remained stoic as he watched the two figures, waiting to see which one had emerged the victor.

It was Caliban who stood up first, barely scraping himself to his feet. His black tunic had been completely burned away, exposing a muscular yet scarred chest that had fresh wounds dotting all around it. He held his left arm to the side, completely broken and barely hanging from the strands of flesh that left it connected to his shoulder. Limping forward with one eye swollen shut from blood, he moved towards Draco, offering a jagged-toothed smile. “Well done young dragon,” he croaked, coughing up a bit of blood and spitting out a broken tooth. He looked down at Hermione, who glared at him through her blinding pain, trying to will him to die on the spot. Caliban merely lifted his right hand and wand and shot her with a stunner, knocking her partially unconscious for the moment. He then turned towards Harry, who was beginning to stir, his own shirt ripped in two and his body covered in mud and gravel, but not nearly as broken as Caliban’s. Caliban lifted his arm and forced Harry to be drug through the ground towards his feet, making sure to take his wand from him after he did so.

“That was a one of a kind artifact,” he spat at Harry, glaring down at him. “But it served its purpose, you’ll be no better than a squib for a few hours.” He turned towards Hermione, and back at Potter, flipping him up to his back, causing him to scream in pain. He then turned to Draco. “You have done well Draco, and you have fulfilled your part of the bargain….however.” Draco stared up at him. “The Dark Lord’s instructions were to bring back Potter alive; he said nothing about the mudblood.”

“HERMIONE!” Harry yelled, causing Caliban to kick him in the ribs to try and shut him up. Caliban forced his mind on Harry, effectively pinning him down with unseen force. He turned back to Draco.

“Kill her,” he ordered… “Kill her now.” Draco stared back down at Hermione, who was beginning to come too. He extended his wand, letting it sit fixed on Hermione for a long while as Harry tried to think of anyway he could get Hermione out of this, his body held down firmly by Caliban’s unseen mental weight on his chest and his magic failing him for the moment. “What’s the matter,” Caliban asked, “It’s the only way you’ll ever see your mother again half-blood! Now kill her! I know you remember the words…”

Draco continued to stare at Hermione, a tear leaking out of his eye. “Yes…” he whispered, “I do.” As quick as he could Draco turned and pointed his wand at Caliban. “AVADA KEDAVRA!” For the second time in his life, Caliban didn’t expect a spell of this magnitude, and failed to dodge it in time. The killing curse nailed him square in the chest, causing him to spin in the air repeatedly as he was driven back. He landed with his face pointed skywards, lifeless blue orbs staring up at the azure blue sky.

A/N: The final chapter of this arc is entitled “Fallout” and will set the stage for the second part of the trilogy. If I’m feeling really creative, I’ll give you a taste of things to come at the conclusion of the final chapter of “Heir of the Founders.”

A/N: We come to it at last, the final chapter of The Heir of the Founders. I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to review this fic, as it is by far generated the most response out of anything I’ve ever written in any fandom. I’ll say more in the closing author’s note, for now let’s get to the final part.

Chapter 32: Fallout

Draco stood in the rising noontime sun, his hand beginning to shake violently with anger and nerves as he struggled to maintain the plethora of emotions that went through his mind. He lowered his arm slightly, and looked at his left forearm for a long time, seeing the dark mark branded there. In a rush of hatred, he sliced at his arm with his wand, effectively cutting off his left forearm and clutching the stump in great pain as he collapsed to his knees. Through veiled tears of agony he saw the pale flesh land with a gentle thud on the dirt ground below, the Dark Mark still writhing as it faded away into nothingness on the dying flesh. Shuddering with pain, he flicked his wand towards Hermione, causing the chains to disappear. With great effort she sat up, moving her wand to her half-open wound and muttering a few healing spells to cauterize the wound, before rushing over to Harry.

Harry merely lay on the ground, watching all of this take place with a dumbfounded look on his face. He staggered to his feet when he saw Hermione stutter-step her way over to where he was, and the two of them embraced each other fiercely, immensely relieved that the other one was alright. Draco maintained a blank expression on his face for several more seconds, before Hermione turned and looked at him. Slowly she walked over to him, causing him to stare up at her, seeing tears of gratitude in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered, placing her hands over Draco’s bloody appendage and muttering a long, complicated string of words under her breath, causing Draco’s arm to quickly grow back, with a bit more color than had been there before. Hermione moved away and Draco lifted his new arm up, moving his fingers around to make sure they worked, before standing up and staring at the ground.

“How…why…” Harry finally managed to say, looking back and forth between Hermione and Draco. “Why did he…”

“He was deceived,” Hermione explained, quieting Harry’s questions as the both looked at Draco who seemed to pay them no mind, so lost he was in his own thoughts. “Caliban tricked him into impersonating Colin.” She paused, smiling a small bit, “I guessed that there was some good in him after all. It may have been something of Colin in there those 18 months, but he was still there too. Some of it had to be him.”

Harry stood dumbfounded, “But…he’s Malfoy! He’s never shown a bit of concern for either one of us!”

“Maybe it was just part of the way he was raised. He never got a chance to change, never got a second chance at life. Maybe it was all he needed.” She nudged him in the ribs, adding with a playful tone, “And if I was wrong I would have kicked his arse.”

Draco seemed to smirk at this from behind their backs, and looked over his shoulder, merely adding, “I thought you were holding back.” Harry merely shook his head, trying to allow some degree of levity into the moment, holding back a strong emotion at that point. Draco merely turned and stared at Caliban.

“I don’t know if he told you this, but he’s Voldemort’s right hand. Without him, the Death Eaters are going to be hurting for quite a while. He was also Dumbledore’s son.” Hermione’s mouth dropped while Harry simply nodded his head.

“He mentioned that,” he calmly replied, and Draco nodded in return and turned away, looking to leave. “Wait!” Harry called back, causing Draco to stop in his tracks. “You can help us. You know Voldemort’s secrets.” Draco smiled, and closed his eyes.

“I’m already a marked man Potter,” he said quietly, before turning back to him. “I’ve done my part. Anything you need to know you can find on your own. Besides…I don’t have all my memories restored from the block he put on me. If I find anything important, I’ll find you. But until then…don’t go looking for me.” He turned away for a second time, and let out a shuddered breath, before adding, “Tell Ginny everything. And tell her I’m sorry.”

“So you’re going to just walk away then?” Harry asked angrily. “You have just as much to fight for in this war!”

“And what exactly is that?” Draco mused in a condescending manner. “What do I have left to fight for other than petty revenge?” His countenance softened. “You two have each other. Weasley has Lovegood. I…”

“Have Ginny…” Hermione said quietly, and Draco lowered his head.

“Not anymore. She deserves better than me.”

“Where will you go,” Hermione asked, moving closer to Harry and effectively stopping him from saying anything else. “Like you said you’re a marked man.”

“I’m going to find my mother,” Draco said calmly, “My birth mother. She’s a muggle…and Caliban gave me her name and where he left her. I’m going to find her, and try and reconnect with a new life.” On that note, he simply disapparated away, going off to wherever it is he felt he was needed. Harry and Hermione stared at the empty space where he stood.

“I don’t trust him,” Harry said finally, “But I hope he finds whatever he’s looking for.” He turned to Hermione, a few tears escaping his façade. “Never scare me like that again,” he croaked, before hugging her as if his life depended on it once more. Hermione returned the hug with equal intensity.

“I could say the same about you,” she said, sniffing away a few tears before they kissed each other deeply, enveloping themselves in each other’s company. After a couple of seconds, they broke away and looked at the broken, dead husk that had once been Caliban de Montesquieu. “So,” Hermione said sighing, “What do we do about him?”

Harry thought long and hard about the possibilities, the fact that he had almost lost Hermione weighing heavily on his mind. He had to end this, now, while he still had everything to live for. Before they got another chance. Never again, Harry promised himself. He would make the choice…the choice between what was right and what was easy.

“I know the best place for him,” he said quietly, moving towards his fallen foe. “And it’s in doing something we have to do.”

/ - / - / - /

Fenrir Greyback stalked his way into the throne room of Lord Voldemort, uncertain as to why he had been called. He slowly swung open the doors, noticing the Dark Lord looking a bit disheveled as he held a broken stone in his hand. “Fenrir, come closer so I can get a good look at you,” he quietly commanded, gesturing for him to move forward. Fenrir did as he was told.

“What is your bidding My Lord,” Fenrir asked, bowing his head in a sign of respect.

“Do you know what this is?” Voldemort asked, showing a small malachite stone to the werewolf. Fenrir shook his head. “This was Caliban’s life stone. The fact that it has been destroyed means only one thing…that Caliban is dead.” Voldemort paused for a long time, his gaze intense. “Worse yet…he was betrayed by Draco Malfoy.”

“Malfoy?” Fenrir asked in shock. “But I thought that he was…”

“Dead?” Voldemort added, finishing Fenrir’s sentence, “No, Draco was merely a pawn in Caliban’s chess game. The reason I know he has betrayed us is because of a spell Caliban placed on young Malfoy’s person. Had Caliban been killed by Potter or any of his friends, Draco would have automatically portkeyed back here. The fact that it hasn’t happened means that either Draco is dead as well or that Draco has killed Caliban. And since Draco’s life stone is still intact, although his Dark Mark seems to have been destroyed somehow, I choose to believe the latter.” His blood red eyes, which had drifted to be shut in the course of his tale, suddenly shot open, narrowing to razor-thin slits as he stared at Fenrir. “Find the young dragon,” he commanded, “Bring him before me, so that I may show him pain that he has never even dreamed off in his wildest nightmares.”

“It shall be done,” Fenrir quickly said, taking his leave of Voldemort quickly before he himself was on the end of Voldemort’s wrath.

Voldemort stood for a long time, staring at the broken stone. “You shall be avenged my friend. You shall be avenged.”

/ - / - / - /

Dumbledore continued to grumble to himself as he tried to mull his way through copious amounts of needless paperwork. As he settled into a routine, he would startle himself occasionally as the hours ticked by on the large clock in his office and a chime broke his concentration. After what seemed to be several hours of this routine activity, he heard a small click on his door and glanced upwards. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw the two figures enter his office. “Harry,” he whispered, genuinely shocked to see him entering his office.

“Professor,” Harry said coldly, and for the first time Dumbledore noticed that Harry seemed to be carrying something, a large package if it could be described as such. To the naked eye it appeared to be nothing, but Dumbledore knew better, guessing that the package was actually contained underneath Harry’s invisibility cloak. Glancing through the guise, he saw a large sheet wrapped around the bundle. As he traced the outline of said package, his eyes widened even further as to what it was.

“I see you can still see through invisibility cloaks,” Harry flatly mused, setting his bundle down on the ground and removing the family heirloom. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Fawkes, staring intently at him as if pleading with him for some reason. Harry shook it off and turned his eyes back to the headmaster. Hermione stepped forward and waved her wand, causing the head of the blanketed bundle to unravel itself, and Dumbledore leaned over to see what it was.

He fell back in his chair when he saw the scarred face of his son, Caliban, staring up at him lifelessly. “How…what…” Dumbledore stammered, standing to his feet and rounding the desk, looking down with a mixture of sadness, spite & curiosity at his dead son’s face.

“He tried to attack us,” Harry explained, his voice still even, “He was…I killed him.” Hermione turned her head and looked at the bold-faced lie from Harry, but let the matter rest for the moment. Dumbledore turned and looked at him, measuring him closely.

“You killed him,” he asked, his voice dropping as the temperature in the room fell slightly.

“Yes,” Harry replied, “In self-defense. But he mentioned that he was your son. I thought you should do what you will with his body.” Dumbledore sighed and shook his head, staring at his son.

“Agamemnon was deceived by Tom Riddle,” he craftily said, “May he find peace in the next life.” He rounded his desk once more, a plan forming in his mind almost immediately. “I hope this reinforces the point I tried to make about your needed to be protected Harry.”

“Save your speeches,” Harry snapped back. “If you think this changes anything fundamental between us, you can forget it right now.” Dumbledore nodded, his face not breaking its stoic mood. “The only thing it has brought to light,” Harry continued, “Is that this war has to end, regardless of what I have to do to end it. If that means working with you to stop it, then so be it.” Dumbledore smiled.

“I’m glad you’ve come to your senses Harry. Now if you’ll just accompany me to a secure…”

“Don’t even try to start manipulating me like you did before old man,” Harry spat. “All I need from you is how to beat Voldemort. How did he survive all those years? How is he surviving now? What do I have to do to kill him?”

“Those are all viable questions Harry,” Dumbledore replied, a twinkle returning to his eye that had been absent for quite a while. “In time, I will help you defeat him. After that,” he sighed, “We’ll let the fates decide that.” Dumbledore stood up, offering his hand forward towards Harry. “Truce?”

Harry stared at Dumbledore’s hand for a long while, trying to keep his anger in check. Letting out a deep sigh and glared straight at Dumbledore, grasping his hand firmly. “Truce.”

/ - / - / - /

“And I believe that is the last of what we owe you.”

Lazarus leaned back in his chair, moving the bag of galleons across the desk to the short figure in front of him. “Thank you for all of your assistance Haiden Orlock.”

“It has been my pleasure sir,” Orlock said, snapping his fingers and shrinking the gold so that he could place it in his breast pocket. “I was just merely fulfilling my duties two years ahead of schedule. Why you insisted on doing it now isn’t my business at all, but I am the slightest bit curious.”

“It’s simply a matter of timing,” Lazarus said, briefly taking a sip of golden liquid from a crystal goblet, “Nothing more needs to be said on the matter. But you’re involvement in getting Potter to his inheritance sooner will hopefully pay dividends in the future. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a meeting to attend to Haiden.” The Haiden Orlock nodded his head and scampered off the chair, moving towards the fireplace and disappearing into the emerald green flames. Lazarus smiled his toothless grin and turned his chair around, facing a rear door to his office which stood open, and a shadowed figure in billowing black robes standing in the doorway. “Janus,” Lazarus greeted enthusiastically, “I was beginning to think you had forgotten about our meeting.”

The figure scoffed and moved into the torchlight, his pale and sallow face revealed to be that of Severus Snape. “Must you use my codename in our meetings Lazarus?”

“Why not,” Lazarus said smiling, disregarding the matter, “It’s not as if you don’t use mine.” Snape cocked an eyebrow and took a seat in front of Lazarus, the afore mentioned wizard spinning back towards the front of his desk to face him. “What news do you bring me of Voldemort and the Order?”

“There has been a major happening,” Snape said quietly, sipping a glass of brandy that appeared in his hand, “Caliban de Montesquieu is dead.”

Lazarus blinked several times. “Albus’ son?”

“Yes. Agamemnon.” Lazarus sighed and stood up, walking with somewhat renewed vigor around his desk and taking a good long look at a small piece of parchment that was neatly tucked away in one of his many tomes.

“This is disconcerting,” he said in a hushed tone, glancing deeply into the firelight. “Who killed him?” he asked, turning back to Snape.

“Potter has claimed it was him,” Snape said in response, “But the Dark Lord is convinced that it was Draco Malfoy, Lucius’ son, that did it. Voldemort has dispatched Fenrir Greyback to find Malfoy and bring him back.” Lazarus nodded, moving further towards the fire. “To be honest I don’t know how this is bad news Lazarus? Caliban was the Dark Lord’s right hand….”

“And his conscience…” Lazarus said sighing, cutting off Snape. “For all the evil of Caliban de Montesquieu, he was the lesser of two. Tom Riddle has known nothing but pain and deception. The one love he knew he sacrificed as a means to an end, just as Albus did all those years ago. Caliban was the last surviving link to his sanity, and without him, I fear the worst.” Lazarus rounded back to his chair and stroked his chin, deep in thought. “Things are moving along far faster than I anticipated. It seems that we know even less of the prophecy than we first thought.” He turned his gaze back to Snape. “There’s more isn’t there?”

“Potter and Dumbledore have formed a…tentative alliance…to destroy the Dark Lord and the source of his immortality.” Lazarus smiled, chuckling to himself, “What’s so funny?”

“It’s nothing,” Lazarus said mysteriously, “Just the craftiness of that old codger has to be admired. Don’t worry yourself about it.” Severus was about to say something, when he felt a pinprick in the back of his mind and a great flash of light. Momentarily confused, he listened as Lazarus seemed to finish his debriefing. “Continue to report on any suspicious activities Janus.” He said, and Snape nodded his head. He finished his brandy, and stalked his way out of the office.

The firelight danced off of Lazarus’ eyes as he had a far away gaze in his eyes. “I will not forget the promise I made to you my master,” he said to no one in the darkness, “I will not fail you or your heir.” He closed his eyes and smiled to himself, “I cannot fail.”

Finis

A/N: Another mysterious note to end this arc, wrapping some things up and leaving some degree of questions left. I promise you all of this and more will be addressed in the coming fic “The Heir of LeFey.”

As a taste of things to come: We will be checking in periodically with Draco and his search for his mother. Ginny’s reaction to Draco’s true identity will shake her faith…but may drive her to another. Harry & Hermione WILL get married towards the beginning of the next fic, and the hunt for Voldemort’s immortality will begin. Furthermore we’ll explore why Dolohov is hunting down ancient wizards for said Dark Lord. Remus and the rest of Harry’s friends have significant points of interest in the next story as well.

Finally, I want to thank each and every one of you who have made this a wonderful experience for me. I have never received a response to a story like this one has generated, and seeing the reactions that it garners makes every suffrage of writer’s block worth it in spades. I hope you have enjoyed this as much I have enjoyed writing it, and it won’t be too long until the Heir of LeFey, the second part of the “Heirs” trilogy follows.

Peace and Love,

James