The Heir of LeFey

A/N: If you are just joining us, stop right here right now. This story is the second leg of the “Heirs Trilogy”, and those who have not read “The Heir of the Founders” will be hopelessly lost (I wrote the damn thing and I still get lost sometimes). I HIGHLY recommend that you read that first before reading this.

For those who have read The Heir of the Founders (or who wish to dive into the deep end of the pool), welcome back. Just as a quick recap: After Sirius dies, Harry finds out that someone has been stealing from his vault at Gringotts and, more importantly, he is the Heir of the Founders of Hogwarts. He also discovers that his mentor, Albus Dumbledore, has been manipulating him his whole life. Along with his newfound love (and eventual fiancé), Hermione Granger, Harry trained his mind and body to confront Voldemort and Dumbledore.

Unbeknownst to Harry, a dying Voldemort dispatched Caliban de Montesquieu, Dumbledore’s son, to hunt him down. Aiding Caliban in this respect would be Draco Malfoy, a newly appointed Death Eater, and someone who just found out he was the son of Lucius Malfoy (maybe) and a muggle woman. A confrontation takes place at the Burrow, in which Harry shows off some of his new skills…but not before Caliban kills Molly Weasley.

Harry assumes his seats on the Wizengamot, only to have an attempt on his life by Malfoy. Caliban saves Malfoy from his foolishness and apparently kills him. Unbeknownst to anyone besides Caliban and Voldemort though, Draco secretly assumes the guise of Colin Creevey, who along with Neville, Luna, Ron, Hermione & Ginny trains further at Potter Manor. After the training Colin is revealed as Draco, Caliban and Harry fight, and after nearly killing Harry & Hermione, Caliban is killed by Draco himself, who goes off in search of his muggle relatives. Harry & Hermione set aside their differences with Dumbledore, merely to end the war as soon as possible.

While in the background, the mysterious Lazarus continues to pull strings from his position as head of the Unspeakables, drawing out the Heir of LeFey and, eventually, the Heir of Merlin. Who these Heirs are, and what impact they will have, has yet to be seen.

Chapter 1: Hollow Pursuits

Thomas Flanagan was a simple man. He kept the local pub in the small British village of Walden’s Glen. The Dragon’s Head it was called, a relatively non-descript bar and inn that was the center of local activity. It had once been a booming industrial town that surrounded it, a growing center of commerce and industry back in the sixties and seventies. But now like so many other English towns, it was slowly being retaken by the pastoral countryside and small-time farmers that had called it home before the factories had come to town.

Thomas had no special talents he could speak of, aside from instinctively knowing what his customers needed. Then again, he told himself, such things were necessary for a barkeep. His customer base, small though they might be, had needs that had to be met. In times gone by Thomas had a partner to help him with their “other” needs. Charlie had been a bit of a sleaze bucket, Thomas had to admit, but he kept the customers happy by offering them girls on the side.

His mind was taken away from its reminiscence by the sound of a twinkling bell. Idly he heard the sound of a brewing thunderstorm outside, a sound that was quickly shut out by the door slamming shut. Thomas continued cleaning the glasses at his bar as a young man slowly made his way towards him. He wore a long grey trenchoat, his boots seeming to clomp heavily against the hardwood floors. He wore a pained expression on his face as he flexed his left arm repeatedly, clenching and unclenching his fist several times. He made his way towards the bar and sat down, his head hanging at a slightly low angle, his pale gray eyes staring straight at the ground. “Evenin’ sir.” Thomas said with a smile on his face, “Can I get you a pint?”

The man looked up at him with a curious expression on his face, as if he was trying to decide how best to answer him. Thomas could have sworn he saw the smallest hint of a twinkle in the man’s eyes, before he offered a half-hearted smile and nodded his head, tossing a fiver down on the bar out of his pocket. Something about the bill looked off to Thomas, but just as quickly as that thought entered his head, it vanished. Thomas took the bill and began filling a glass with the alcoholic beverage. “Ain’t seen you ‘round ‘ere before,” he said politely, trying to start a conversation, “Passin’ through?”

“Something like that,” the man said without hesitation, his mind obviously focused somewhere else. Thomas handed him the pint and some change for the bill. The man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a small slip of paper. “I’m actually looking for someone,” he said with something akin to hope in his voice, “And I was hoping you could help me.”

“Well I’ll do the best I can,” Thomas said, going back to his glasses, “I only know the people ‘round these parts and not much further beyond.”

“It’s a woman, from several years ago. Her name was Miranda Breyerson.” The young man sat with piercing eyes, staring straight at Thomas, who was a bit unnerved by it. Thomas scratched at his chin, trying to put a face with the name. “She would have been associated with a man named Charles Van Houtan,” the young man added. That made the connection Thomas was looking for.

“We are talkin’ ‘bout a lot o’ years back,” Thomas said, deep in thought. “I ain’t been partners with Charlie since…oh almost ten years ago. Back when he got busted for narcotics or some shit.” The man seemed a bit deflated, but pressed forward.

“And the woman? Do you remember her?”

“Come to think of it I remember one o’ the girls being named Miri or something. That could’a been short for Miranda.” He took a long look at the man, from a sunken expression to the beady gray eyes. Something about him…”Come to think of it you kinda look like her.”

The man chuckled, downing the rest of his drink. “Then you know why I’m looking for her.” He paused a moment, trying to think of another question, “So I take it you don’t know where she went?”

“No…after that incident, I think you know all about that, she disappeared. Last I saw of her was the backside of her car as she drove off, 7 months pregnant. Charlie might know though. He always kept better track of his girls than I did.”

“Where is he now?”

“Bout ten years ago he got arrested on some drug charges. Got released three years later. Last I heard he lived just outside of Kent.” The young man nodded, tossing Thomas another bill for his trouble, and walked out of the pub.

Draco sighed as he remained under the overhang to the entrance of the pub. He leaned against a post, rubbing his eyes in frustration. It had been nearly three days since he had set out in search of his mother, and the only lead he was given had just turned up dry. Granted, he still had a few paths left to explore, but this was a roadblock to be certain. He looked out into the stormy sky and wondered for a moment what Potter was up to, if he had found out how to beat Voldemort.

Draco shook his head, trying to stop his mind from such wanderings. A part of him was screaming at the top of its lungs that what he was doing was just like he would have done in the past, a selfish action that disregarded the greater good. At the same time, he told himself that he had already lost everything in this war, and he needed to find something else to hold on to before he drove himself insane. Sighing, he put up the hood on his coat and started to walk back into the rain, preferring to keep alone with his thoughts rather than take the quick way to get where he was going.

“Well if it isn’t the blood traitor!” came a deep voice from behind, causing Draco to stop in his tracks and close his eyes in frustration. Turning on his heel he saw two men standing behind him, two men he had at the very least considered underlings at one point in his life.

“Crabbe, Goyle,” Draco said flatly, before responding, “The Dark Lord must be desperate if he marked you two.”

“Stuff it Malfoy,” Goyle said in anger, holding his wand up. “The Dark Lord wanted you alive…guess it’s lucky for you we found you first!”

“Perhaps,” Draco responded, pulling his own wand out of his pocket and staring at the two of them. “Well, shall we then?”

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” Crabbe shot the killing curse first, only to have Draco summon a loose rock from the sidewalk below in its way, causing it to shatter into a thousand pieces. Crabbe was stunned momentarily, before Draco made a slashing motion with his wand.

“SECTUMSEMPRA!” Draco wasn’t aiming for any particular part of Crabbe’s body, but didn’t flinch when he saw the spell hit Crabbe square in the neck, instantly slicing his head halfway off his body and causing him to fall backwards in a shower of blood. Draco turned towards Goyle, who just looked down shocked at his fallen partner…before promptly running away screaming in terror. “Typical,” Draco responded, not showing any outward sign of emotion to what he had just done. He glanced down at Crabbe’s lifeless body and sighed. It wouldn’t do for the muggles to find him like this. He aimed his wand high and shouted “MORSMORDRE!” causing the Dark Mark to appear high in the sky, illuminating the dark gray clouds, before he disappeared with a loud pop.

/ - / - / - /

“I’m cursed…”

Harry looked on sympathetically as his fiancé held Ginny close. The red-haired witch was currently crying her eyes out on Hermione’s shoulders, her brother glancing back at her with a mixture of anger and sympathy in his eyes. Ron shook his head and looked towards Harry. “You don’t know where he went?”

Harry shook his head. “He said he was going to try and find his mother. Aside from that, nothing.” Ron nodded and turned back towards Ginny, who was trying to gain some modicum of composure.

“You’re not cursed,” Hermione assured her, leaning her head against Ginny’s forehead. “And Draco didn’t have a choice in the matter. He was forced into it. In the end…he made the right choice.”

“I know,” Ginny said standing up, a sudden out burst of anger catching Hermione off guard. “I know all that! That’s not the point.” She stopped, taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. “The point is….” She bit her bottom lip, hesitant to say anything more, but Hermione’s silent pleadings and confident, reassuring smile urged her forward. “Ever since the time with the diary I’ve been cursed Hermione. I mean, at first no one would even talk to me. And the one person I thought I liked, that way,” she motioned towards Harry, “Turned out to be exactly what everyone told me it was, a schoolgirl crush on the Boy-Who-Lived. Then when I finally find someone who loved me just as much as you and Harry love each other; when I finally find someone I love just as much as you two do…he turns out to be nothing but a fraud.”

“Some of it had to be Draco,” Hermione once again reiterated, “There’s no doubt of that in my mind.”

“All Malfoy’s ever been good for is trouble,” Ron said, taking a drink of his butterbeer.

“He saved my life and Hermione’s,” Harry said flatly, “That has to account for something.” Ron sighed, nodding his head in affirmation.

“I don’t know how much of it was him or not,” Ginny said with some measure of finality in her voice. “I fell in love with Colin Creevey…not Draco Malfoy. Nothing anyone’s said or that he’s done can convince me otherwise.” She fought back the tears in her eyes, wiping them as cleanly as she could. “What’s our next move,” she said to Harry, eager to change the subject. “You aren’t going to sit back and let Dumbledore lead you blindly are you?”

“No,” Harry said flatly, “No we’re going to find out what he’s up to. But in order to do that, we have to make it look like we’re playing his little game.” Harry sighed and leaned forward, wrenching his hands together as he explained his plan. “We can’t fight both the Order and Voldemort at the same time. If we work with the Order to some extent, then it will help take some of the heat off of us from the Death Eaters. Aside from Caliban, Voldemort has been unusually quiet these last few days.”

“You think he’s planning something big?” Ron asked a mild bit of trepidation in his voice. Harry merely nodded back to him.

“Yes, I do. I think he may go after the Ministry again…or Hogwarts. Either one would be a massively symbolic victory could he take it.” He paused a moment to catch his breath before continuing. “We need to figure out what’s keeping him alive, and then destroy it. All the while I’ll have Remus checking in to Dumbledore’s past and anything else I need him to help us with. Once Voldemort is out of the way, then we’ll deal with Dumbledore if necessary.”

“Are you still hoping that he is going to keep his promise to stay out of our lives?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know ‘Mione. He never explicitly made such a promise. I know he won’t put his own petty quest above trying to defeat Voldemort. He stands to lose just as much as anyone if Voldemort wins.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Ron added, sighing deeply, “Luna doesn’t trust him either, even more than you do. She says this Lazarus bloke of the Unspeakables doesn’t trust him either.”

“Has she told you anymore about the Unspeakables?”

“Only that they’re trying to find the Heir of Merlin, which we already knew. She’s been searching high and low and trying to subtley dig her father for information but, so far no such luck. Granted it’s only been about a day since we got back, but you catch my drift.” Harry nodded.

“It’s something we need to keep an eye on. From what little I saw from Lazarus the brief moment I met him, he’s obviously hiding something. He knows something that no one else does, and we need to find out what that is.”

/ - / - / - /

Peter cringed as he heard the tortured screams of Florean Fortescue once more, the first of many victims found by Antonin Dolohov. Fortescue had been apprehended for his information concerning horcruxes and how to remake them, though thus far such knowledge if it existed was frustratingly not being given.

He often wondered how it was that he had once fallen in with the Death Eaters. He knew deep down that he had thrown away so much for so little. Even if he had just generally been an add-on to James, Sirius & Remus, he was still their friend. With them he was someone important. With them, he had a family, and he had sold all of that away to be a member of the Dark Lord’s inner circle. What had that gotten him? Three of his closest friends from his past life were dead, he had spent thirteen years as a rat, and now he was party to mass murder and torture. Some consolation prize….

Maybe it was jealousy, the fact that without them he was a nobody. Maybe it was out of fear or coercion. Maybe a small part of him truly believed as the Dark Lord did concerning pureblood supremacy. Maybe it was simply a combination of all of the above. Whatever the reason, Peter knew that he had cast his lot long ago, and it was a grave he would have to lie in one way or another.

He stopped his internal thinking when he heard the screams stop. He turned towards the curtained opening and saw Voldemort stalk in, his face even more sallow and colorless than usual. His breathing was somewhat labored as Peter ran over to help him to a chair. For once Voldemort did not reject his help, something that unnerved Peter to no end. Quietly, Voldemort eased himself into a small chair near the fireplace, taking a deep breath as he did so. He set his wand on the table next to him and grabbed a goblet of puce liquid, drinking it fully before tossing the empty glass to the side and watching it shatter in the burning embers of the dormant fire. The fire seemed to roar to life upon his command, and Voldemort took a long hard sigh before gazing into its flames.

“I miss him, Wormtail.” He quietly said, in such a hushed tone that Peter nearly missed it.

“Miss who M-Master?” Peter stammered in response to the revelation.

“Caliban. With him gone…nothing seems to make sense anymore.” Voldemort almost offered a chilling smile in the dancing firelight. “He’d been with me since the beginning, the most loyal of all my servants. Now that he is gone…” he trailed off, his voice faltering slightly before his strength seemed to return with a great ferocity. “The young dragon is going to wish he was never born when I am through with him.” He turned towards Peter. “How go the preparations for the ritual?”

“We are close to having the necessary materials,” Peter said, his voice quivering in fear once more. “All we require now is a host.”

“That will not be a problem,” Voldemort said snidely, “Even if it isn’t who I wanted. We will simply make do.”

A/N: I hope Harry’s reasoning works for why he rejoined Dumbledore. Simply put he needs to find out what Dumbledore is up to, and the only way to do that is to go along with what Dumbledore is doing for the time being. Believe me when I say it won’t be a completely blind following.

Dumbledore will explain exactly what Harry’s up against in the next chapter.

A/N: Once more unto the breach…

Chapter 2: The Immortal Soul

It was an unusually cold summer’s day outside the Hogwarts castle the following morning. The air was unusually calm and still. Even the giant squid that dwelled in the lake was being unnaturally silent. The Whomping Willow moved slowly through the breeze, its branches not swinging at anything that might happen by. It was into this environment that six individuals materialized out of thin air. Each of them was dressed in rather normal, muggle attire. It was odd, particularly for people who were, on collectively, the most powerful group of witches and wizards in the whole of Britain.

Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom & Ginny Weasley all glanced around at their surroundings, each one of them wary of anything that might be lurking behind hidden shadows. When they were certain they weren’t walking into an ambush, they all moved their wands to hidden but readily accessible positions on their bodies and began the long trek up the path towards the castle.

“You sure this is smart Harry?” Ron asked as they drew closer to the front gate. “I mean…we could be walking into one of Dumbledore’s traps or something.” Harry stopped and fished around in his pocket for something, before pulling out a folded piece of parchment.

“I’m glad you reminded me Ron,” he replied, smirking. He pointed his wand towards the parchment while everyone else gathered closer to him. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” Though he had told them all about the Marauder’s Map, some of them had never seen it unfurled before. Harry set the map on the ground and watched as it slowly unfolded itself, showing in brisk detail the entire layout of Hogwarts. Quickly his seeker’s reflexes took over and he glanced about the map, looking for anyone who might be lying in wait in the castle. “As Hermione will be so quick to point out, no one can apparate inside Hogwarts.” He earned a playful elbow to the gut for that slight quip, and Hermione grinned at him as he overplayed the blow. “So, in effect,” he continued, “Anyone who’s going to ambush us must already be on the grounds. As you can see,” he gestured towards the map, “Other than the six of us there’s only four other people on the grounds. Filch is probably off complaining to Moaning Myrtle or something. Professor Trelawney is stumbling about, probably looking for her sherry bottles or something. Professor McGonagall is in her office doing paperwork, and Professor Dumbledore is right where he said he would be, waiting for us in the Great Hall.”

“What about Fawkes?” Luna asked, “Couldn’t people swoop in unannounced with him.”

“Possibly,” Harry remarked, pointing his wand back at the map, “But something about the way he looked at me when Hermione and I were in Dumbledore’s office was weird. It suggests that maybe he’s not happy with Dumbledore? Phoenixes are supposed to be light creatures after all.” No one had a response to that, so Harry simply tapped the map and muttered, “Mischief Managed,” causing it to fold back up neatly. He stuffed the map in his pocket and led them all into the castle.

Slowly they made their way towards the Great Hall, still keeping very alert of any errant people who might have eluded the map somehow. They were all startled when the Fat Friar came bounding out of a wall, being chased by the Bloody Baron yet again. After catching their breaths, they all stood before the doors to the Great Hall and with one gesture from Harry, the doors swung open.

They founded Dumbledore sitting not in his usual position at the staff table, but rather at a chair positioned at the head of the Gryffindor table. Harry smirked as he noticed that several items that once adorned the walls of the castle, and in particular Dumbledore’s golden throne, were suspiciously absent. He figured he had the goblins to thank for that.

For his part, Dumbledore looked up from whatever it was he was reading with a bit of a surprised look on his face as he saw the six young men and women enter the Great Hall and slowly take positions in front of him, never once turning their backs on him. “Harry, I don’t recall inviting your friends to this meeting,” he said flatly, glancing at each of them in turn.

“You didn’t think I’d be daft enough to come to a meeting with you alone, did you?” Harry asked, his voice brimming with resentment that was still barely contained beneath the surface. “Lest you forget,” he added, “I have every reason not to trust you.”

“Yet here you sit,” Dumbledore said coldly, “Because we need each other. It is a testament to your character that you are able to set aside an old man’s….”

“Can the grandfather act,” Ron said in haste, earning a reproachful glare from Dumbledore. The professor quietly tested their mental shields, save for Harry & Hermione, and found them frustratingly hard as obsidian. “And stay out of our heads,” he added, causing Dumbledore to wince as he was admonished.

“Forgive me,” he meekly said, “I was merely making sure you were who Harry thought you were. One can never be too careful.” Dumbledore eyed Harry who stared at him with an emotionless mask. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny wince slightly, confirming what he already knew.

“Cut to the chase,” Neville chimed in, “We’re here because Harry says you have information on how to beat Voldemort.” Dumbledore stared in slight amazement for a moment at the once timid and shy boy turned into a rather confident man brimming with power, a fact evidenced by how he said Voldemort’s name without ever once flinching. Knowing what he knew, that definitely should not have happened. Nevertheless Dumbledore resituated himself and picked up a small object from beside his chair and held it aloft.

“Before I tell you this, I must warn you Harry,” he said in an ominous tone, “That the more people who know this secret…the more likely it is that Voldemort will find out that we know.”

“My friends are staying Dumbledore,” Harry replied evenly, “And nothing you say will change that…Professor.” He hissed the last word, in a tone mixed with venom and sarcasm.

“Very well.” Dumbledore tossed the object into the center of the group, allowing them to see it. It was a small black book that most of them didn’t recognize at first, but Harry quickly realized what it was when he saw the bloody, gaping hole through the middle of it. Ginny squeaked when she saw it, and Neville draped his arm around her as she slightly quivered at the memory. “I trust you recognize this Harry?” Dumbledore asked.

“It’s Tom Riddle’s Diary,” Harry explained to the rest of the group, “It’s the one I destroyed in second year with the basilisk fang.” He turned towards Dumbledore, “What’s this got to do with anything?

“It has everything to do with this. That, Harry, is a Horcrux.” Dumbledore turned his eyes straight towards Hermione’s, where he knew Harry’s would go next. She shook her head at Harry when he silently asked her what a Horcrux was. Harry turned back to the headmaster, and Dumbledore resumed his previous ambience.

“What is a Horcrux?” he asked.

“I’ve seen them mentioned in a couple of books,” Hermione added, “But nothing ever says what they are.”

“I’m not surprised Miss Granger,” Dumbledore noted, “They are a magic most ancient and vile. Horcruxes are, in essence, vessels. They are living or inanimate objects that serve as the host for a piece of someone’s soul.”

“Someone’s soul?” Neville asked in a whispered tone.

“Yes. You see when someone commits a murder in cold blood; they lose a piece of themselves in the process. I’m not talking about killing in self-defense or in defense of someone you love. I’m talking about the deliberate act of pre-meditated, cold-blooded murder. Normally this piece of your soul would dissolve away into nothingness, forever lost to time and space. But there exists an incantation which can bind that soul fragment to an object of the caster’s choosing. As long as that object remains intact, then that person cannot die.”

“But the diary was destroyed,” Harry pointed out, “So that should have destroyed Voldemort, right?”

“I’m afraid not Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly, his eyes twinkling slightly, “I believe Voldemort created multiple Horcruxes, so as to provide for several layers of protection. Before you can defeat Voldemort, you must destroy these Horcruxes.”

“And how do we do that,” Ron asked, snickering, “It’s not like there’s a basilisk fang we can stab them with just lying around.”

“And what are they,” Ginny quietly asked, her eyes never leaving the diary.

“Normally simply destroying them in some manner will destroy a Horcrux,” Dumbledore explained, “But undoubtedly Voldemort will have designed traps and protections for his most treasured possessions. I believe he created seven Horcruxes. The first was the diary you see before you. Two others I found here at Hogwarts and promptly destroyed. One was a diadem that once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, and the other was a cup that belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. Of the four remaining Horcruxes, one resides inside of Nagini, Voldemort’s familiar the other three reside in objects that most likely once belonged to the Founders in some respect.” Harry nodded his head, making sure to check with the goblins on that little piece of information. “I will continue to search for them and, when I have found them, I will tell you where they are and how to destroy them. Then…and only then…will you be able to successfully go after Voldemort.”

“Shouldn’t we apprehend him,” Luna noted, “So that we could keep him under control until we found these things and then do away with him.”

“I’m afraid that would not be possible Miss Lovegood,” Dumbledore flatly stated, turning back towards Harry. “There’s a certain level of risk involved in letting him remain free, but to capture him would be nearly impossible and would incite the Death Eaters even more than they already are. We are fortunate in that Voldemort and his followers have been abnormally quiet since the Ministry episode, with only a few sparing attacks.”

Harry glanced him over and sighed, nodding his head, “Fine then,” he said, “We’ll wait for your information. But we will be looking for them as well.”

“I suspected as much,” Dumbledore noted, smiling. Harry and his friends stood up, once more not turning their backs on him ever. Once they had all exited the room, Dumbledore let out a breath, and turned his head when he heard clanking coming from the room behind his table at the head of the room. “You can come out now Alastor, they are gone.”

Alastor Moody slowly limped his way into the room, taking a quick swig of his hip flask before sitting down next to Dumbledore. “That Lovegood is going to be trouble,” he said directly, summoning a glass from across the hall and pouring his brandy out of his flask. “Especially if she’s in with her father.”

“I’m well aware of that Alastor, and will take steps to neutralize it should the move become necessary.” He stroked his beard, as if deep in thought, “I suspect that Lazarus does not yet have his claws set into Harry yet, and I will stop it if I can.” He turned and looked at Moody, “You’ve made all the necessary preparations then?”

“Yes,” Moody said in between bites of a bowl of oatmeal that had just appeared in front of him, “Everything is set up just as you asked.”

“Good,” Dumbledore replied, smiling deeply, “Very good indeed.”

/ - / - / - /

The group was silent as they made their way through the halls of Hogwarts, heading towards the exit. None of them made any move to talk about what had been said by Dumbledore, each of them digesting it in their own particular way. As they rounded the corner, none of them saw Professor Trelawney coming the other way, and Harry crashed into her, causing her to throw up all of her papers in a rather unsightly mess.

“Sorry Professor,” he muttered, bending over to help her pick them up. Professor Trelawney began to smile, but suddenly stopped and became very rigid as she leaned against the wall. Harry stopped what he was doing and looked at her, as did the others with a great deal of confusion.

Finally, in a deep, guttural voice that only Harry would recognize, she began to mutter aloud… “Heir to Five Houses…bereft of lordship…Heirs to a prophecy made before they are born…” everyone leaned in…trying to hear the next part. “Heir to Merlin…” she trailed off again, her sight becoming much more focused. She cleared her throat and smiled, “Oh Harry, fancy seeing you here.”

/ - / - / - /

Voldemort gazed out with disdain at his quivering servant, slowly tapping his thin finger against the side of his throne, his wand being twirled in his other hand. “So tell me if I have this right,” he hissed as he looked over the cowering mass. “You had Draco in your sights, knowing full well that my instructions were to bring him here alive. And yet, you attempted to kill him. Not only that but you failed, and then watched as your partner was killed next to you. And then you ran away like a cowering mudblood. Is that pretty much the basic gist of the story?”

Goyle slowly nodded his head before falling to his knees, “Please My Lord,” he pleaded, “Don’t kill me! Please…I’ll do anything. Just let me live!”

Voldemort scoffed, waving his hand at the begging Death Eater. “Killing swine such as you is below me. I won’t even acknowledge your worth by lowering myself to torture you.” Goyle looked up at him with hopeful eyes, as if he dared to hope for a moment that his execution had been stayed. Voldemort then returned his merciful gaze with a wicked glint shimmering in his blood-red eyes. “I’ll let Fenrir do it for me.”

Goyle tried to run, but was instantly held down by chains from both of the Lestrange brothers. Goyle shook in fear, and nearly soiled himself when Fenrir emerged from behind Voldemort’s throne. Voldemort turned towards the werewolf and smiled. “I believe that Mr. Fortescue gave us a rather interesting spell before we dispatched him. Perhaps you can find it useful?” Fenrir offered a toothy grin, unsheathing his wand and pointing it high in the air.

“Reproba Lunas Lucis!” he yelled, causing a bright white light to shoot out of his wand and illuminate the throne room. Almost instantly Fenrir started snarling in pain as he underwent his transformation. For his part, Voldemort merely smiled and stood up.

“I’ll leave you two to get more acquainted,” he said politely as he walked off, leaving the now very much soiled Goyle in chains, awaiting his fate. He casually walked through the curtain leading out of his throne room and into a side room where he kept himself holed away for many hours. There he saw Wormtail furiously scribbling away on a piece of parchment. “What are you doing Peter?” Voldemort chillingly asked, causing Pettigrew to shake in fear as he turned towards his master.

“I-Iwas just…trying to get a hold of what you asked me,” Peter stammered. The Dark Lord cocked his head curiously, slowly walking towards the desk and gazing down at what Peter was writing. Pettigrew dare not cover it up, for fear of being punished by Voldemort.

It was a futile fear. Voldemort’s eyes turned towards Wormtail, and with a quick movement Peter was forced against the wall, held their by an unseen force. “You were planning on asking for help from him!?” he hissed, causing Peter to grimace in pain.

“H-He’s the only one who knows where the last item is. We know where the cauldron and the altar are…but not the stone. We need the stone!” Voldemort tilted his head and Peter landed with a hard thud on the ground.

“Lazarus does not know where that stone is Wormtail…you’re confusing him with someone I once needed help from.” He kept a close eye on a foe glass in the corner of the room, brief images of Harry and his friends intermittently flickering on its smoothened surface. “Dumbledore has the Resurrection Stone. We must obtain it from him.”

“Dumbledore?” Peter questioned. “But that’s going to be close to impossible.”

“Yes, it would be,” Voldemort flatly said, before offering a sinister smile that nearly made Peter cringe even more in fear, “If not for the fact that he was foolishly setting it right where we needed it to be.”

“What do you…?”

“Relax Wormtail…” Voldemort said calmly, turning towards the fire, “You’ll know in due time.” He paused, mulling something over in his head before he added, “In the meantime perhaps it is high time that the world not forget our presence.”

/ - / - / - /

Harry and his friends sat around the table in the kitchen at Grimmauld place, each debating with themselves how best to move forward. Off to the side sat Remus Lupin, his hand thoughtfully stroking his chin as he contemplated some deep mystery in all of this.

“Something’s not right here. It just doesn’t add up.” Harry turned towards Remus, as did the others.

“What doesn’t add up Mooney?” he asked. At Remus’ urgings, Harry had begun calling him by his old Marauder’s nickname.

“You’d think that with all of the dark books in the library here at Grimmauld,” Remus explained, “That one of them would have some kind of description of what a Horcrux was. It seems a bit convenient to me.”

“Maybe so,” Hermione said, “But didn’t Sirius clean out the really dark books before he…” she paused when she saw Remus flinch a bit, “Sorry, I forget sometimes that it hasn’t really been three years.”

“It’s alright Hermione,” Remus said softly, clearing his throat. “I suppose you’re right, but it still strikes me as a bit odd.”

“I wonder if Dumbledore knew that thing was a Horcrux when you destroyed it Harry,” Neville pondered.

“He had to of,” Ginny whispered to no one, simply speaking aloud as if she were the only one in the room. “That…thing…is pure evil. When I was…I mean when…” she stopped and hung her head. Her experiences with the diary had been bottled up for a long while, not really coming to the forefront except in small bits and pieces. Now being confronted with the very object itself seemed to have awoken long dormant nightmares that had not plagued her for some time. Neville reached over and gingerly placed a hand on her back, a gesture quickly followed by Hermione.

“He probably did,” Harry admitted, scowling. “Yet another manipulation of his design no doubt.”

“But why,” Ron asked, “Why would he keep something like that a secret from you.”

“There’s a lot of why’s involved with Dumbledore Ron,” Remus said, “And it’s something I hope I can rectify. I’ve been looking a bit into Dumbledore’s past. Admittedly there’s not much beyond the basic details: he was in Gryffindor, his father was Archaeon Dumbledore. He defeated Grindelwald. Things of that nature.”

“There’s got to be more information on him,” Luna said quietly, “I’ll ask father if he knows anything. I think he’ll help us, even if Lazarus doesn’t want him too.”

“The rest of us will begin looking up information concerning Horcrux possibilities.” Harry looked at Hermione, who smiled back at him. Ron cocked an eyebrow.

“What is it you two are planning?”

Harry offered a sheepish grin after interlocking his hands with Hermione, “Well, we didn’t want to say anything to soon but…Hermione and I are getting married in two days.”

A/N: I told you the wedding would be early in the story.

Remus will play a larger role in this chapter, I promise you of that, as will the rest of Harry’s friends. You also might get some indication as to why Moody is following Dumbledore as he is.

Next up we get the wedding, I hope. Probably a longer chapter unless some other plot bunny hops into my head between now and then.

A/N: I’ve had bits and pieces of this chapter knocking around in my head for quite some time, but nothing ever really came to fruition until I sat down to write it. Still, I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 3: Conjungo Duos Animas

Everyone in the room looked straight at Harry and Hermione, both of whom had their eyes sheepishly downcast at the floor. Ron cleared his throat and muttered, “Well…that was unexpected. When were you planning on informing the rest of us?”

“Well, actually,” Harry explained, rubbing the back of his head while Hermione chuckled to herself, “About two seconds ago, really. We want to keep it as small an affair as possible. We also want to keep it a secret from the better part of the wizarding world.”

“That won’t last long I’m afraid,” Remus interjected. “The Ministry has a magical book that keeps track of the marital status of members of the Wizengamot. The moment the two of you are married, the book will reflect such a change. It won’t take long for the papers to spot such a significant change.” Harry’s face fell momentarily.

“It was probably too much to hope for to keep it secret for too long,” he admitted, “But maybe some of my connections with the press can hold off the tide for a short while.” Hermione nodded her approval of the plan, before they turned towards Ginny, who had a halfway incredulous look on her face.

“Even still,” she complained, still smiling though, “You have to do some kind of planning. After all, you only get married once.”

“That’s the wonderful thing about magic,” Hermione explained. “Harry and I already planned a lot of the details while we were in the time warp. Just a few spells here or there, and Potter Manor will be turned into the perfect wedding.” She lowered her head slightly. “Well, almost perfect. But even if my parents can’t be there in body, they’ll be there in spirit.” Harry rubbed her back, a gesture Hermione appreciated from him to no end.

“That’s all well and good,” Ginny countered, “But you’ve got to give me and Luna some time to find a dress.” She got a mischievous smile on her face, before it was quickly replaced by a rather unbecoming one. “I mean, that is…”

“Of course you’re all invited,” Harry replied, “And I’m sure you can come up with something.” Ginny nodded her head, a determined look on her face as she undertook this new mission. Without a moment’s hesitation, she and Luna were each off to another room, to begin a battle strategy. Harry got a large grin on his face, looking at Neville and Ron. “Ron, I hope you would like to be my best man. And Neville, of course, as a groomsman. Both of them smiled and nodded their heads.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron groaned, “This means I’ve got to say some kind of speech or something right?” Harry laughed.

“We’re not going to have much of a guest reception list. Just close friends and family are invited. We don’t want the press to get wind of this.” Harry’s smile was wiped off of his face when Remus cleared his throat.

“I’m afraid it won’t be that simple. Since you’re a member of the Wizengamot, the registrar there will automatically be updated the moment you two are pronounced husband and wife.” Harry nodded and sighed deeply.

“I suppose it can’t be helped,” he said, and Hermione nodded her head. She then looked seriously at Remus.

“Professor,” she said quietly, surprising Remus with her use of a professional title. “I was wondering if I could ask you a huge favor.”

“Of course Hermione,” Remus replied, smiling softly. “I’ll do anything.”

“Since my father isn’t here,” Hermione said in a hushed tone, “I was hoping that…maybe…you could walk me down the aisle.” Remus was momentarily floored by this, but quickly reconstituted himself and sat up smiling, unshed tears shimmering in his eyes.

“It would be my honor.”

/ - / - / - /

In Harry Potter’s mind, two days had never gone by so quickly. It had been a whirlwind of spellcasting, fittings, planning and most importantly anticipation. Now that the day had arrived, Harry wasn’t so sure that he wanted it to get here.

“Relax,” said Ron as he fixed his robes for what seemed to be the fourth time. “You two have been waiting to do this for, quite literally, years.”

“I know Ron it’s just that…” Harry ran his hand through his hair and began to nervously pace back and forth. “What if I screw things up? What if I forget my lines or something? What if I…” Harry stopped his line of questioning when he heard a chuckling coming from behind him. He turned and looked at the portrait of his father, who flashed a Cheshire grin at him. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

“You son,” the portrait said, fixing his own painted robes, “I was exactly like this when I married your mother, a complete ball of nerves. Of course it didn’t help that Sirius tried to prank me on my wedding day.”

“You never told me that story,” Harry answered back, somewhat fascinated. He also wanted to do anything at this point to keep his mind occupied off the wedding.

“Well, it was a rather stupid prank to tell you the truth,” James explained, stroking his chin as he tried to remember the details. “To be honest I’m surprised I even fell for the stupid thing. First he cast a constant color changing charm on my dress robes so that they kept alternating between neon green and a bright fuchsia pink. Then he fired a sneezing hex at me. Oh you should have seen Lily when she got her hands on him. I don’t remember the exact spell, but I do know his, wand is probably the nicest way of putting it, didn’t work properly for about a month afterwards.” Harry, Ron and Neville each laughed and cringed at the thought of it. “The point is Harry,” James finished, “Is not to worry. You and Hermione love each other just as much as Lily and I loved each other in life and still do in death. As long as you hold on to that love, there’s nothing that can destroy your happiness.”

“But what if we..”

“No buts Harry James,” the portrait said in a more stern voice, before smiling again. “This is your big day. Live it up.”

“Your dad...err…painting…err…”Neville scratched his head and smiled. “He’s right Harry. Just go with the flow of the day and everything will be right as rain.”

/ - / - / - /

“Maybe we should have waited.”

Ginny let out another sigh as Hermione stood on a pedestal while Luna fidgeted with her wedding dress. She had decided on a more muggle-style wedding gown, deciding against the traditional white wizarding robes that a pureblood would likely wear. As she fussed internally over whether or not Harry and she were rushing into things, Ginny finally slammed her hand down on the desk where she was sitting and looked at Hermione in frustration.

“You two have been engaged for over a year as far as you are concerned,” she said in anguish. “If you aren’t ready now, when will you be?” Hermione just stared at her wide-eyed, and Ginny sighed and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she replied, “All this wedding talk has got me thinking about…well you know.”

“I understand Gin,” Hermione replied, stepping down from the pedestal and walking over to her maid of honor. “And you don’t need to apologize. I know I’ve been making this into a fuss. I guess I’ve just got wedding day jitters.”

“That or the vinderbarls are biting again,” Luna said absentmindedly, as she fiddled with her own dress. “They’re often attracted to white dresses.”

“That too,” Hermione off-handedly remarked, having long since gotten used to Luna and her sometimes incoherent ramblings.

“Honestly I was the same way,” came a voice from the wall, causing Hermione to look up at the painting with Lily Potter in it. Though she was not alive, in the absence of her own mother, Hermione had taken to considering Lily’s portrait as a kind of surrogate parent. “But not nearly as nervous a wreck as James was. I honestly don’t think he ever sweated that much in his life.”

“I don’t know if Harry could ever be that nervous,” Hermione thought aloud.

“Trust me dear,” Lily said smiling, “All Potter men are nervous when it comes to women. Once James had realized that he was in love back at Hogwarts, he was barely able to say three words to me for nearly half a year. I guess the shock just kind of overtook him.” She laughed at the memory, a far away look in her eyes. “But one thing is certain. No matter how nervous Harry might be today, no matter how nervous you might be today, you two love each other. And that love can withstand any test, no matter what your age might be.” Hermione offered a genuine smile, seemingly feeling a bit of relief lift from her mind and her spirit.

/ - / - / - /

Potter Manor had never seen such splendor, at least not in this century. White ribbons and flowers hung from every nook and cranny of the makeshift chapel that had been set up on the front lawn. A few white chairs were gathered around for the small horde of guests that had been gathered together. They included the Weasley children and their respective dates, Augusta Longbottom & Nymphadora Tonks. At the front of the long red carpet that had been set up for the occasion stood two bridesmaids, Ginny Weasley & Luna Lovegood, each clad in scarlet red dresses that matched the carpet perfectly. To the right of them were the two groomsmen, each clad in more modern style wizarding robes that looked a closer resemblance to muggle tuxedos than more traditional formal robes looked (a fact that thrilled Ron to no end.) Augusta Longbottom looked on from the crowd already with tears in her eyes as she saw her grandson standing proudly by Ron’s side, wearing the crest of the Longbottom family for the first time in his life.

Next to the two groomsmen was Harry Potter himself. Though he had stared down mountain trolls, basilisks, werewolves, dementors, dragons and Lord Voldemort himself, he was still a bundle of nerves even now at the precipice of his joyful new beginning. His father’s words had done little to alleviate the nervousness that he was feeling at the given moment. A small part of him was worried not about the wedding, but rather the aftermath. He had something special planned for Hermione, something that had quite literally taken him years to finish, but he hoped that it worked. In front of him stood Arthur Weasley, smiling fondly down at the young man and remembering with a certain amount of grief and joy his own wedding day. He cleared his throat when he heard the opening chords to some muggle tune called the Wedding March playing from the enchanted organ that had been set up off in the distance. The whole of the small party turned towards a large white tent that had been set up at the base of the red carpet, and in unison gasped in surprise.

Walking down the aisle was Hermione, looking more radiant and stunning than anyone could have ever remembered her looking. Ginny and Luna each smiled at their friend as she moved down the aisle to full effect, literally causing everyone else in the area to be transfixed on her. Her flowing white gown had been trimmed with white pearls on both sides. Her normally curly hair had been tamed, framing her face in a picturesque way. A small blue brooch hung from her neck, standing out like an azure island in a sea of white. She blushed a deep hue of red as Remus confidently led her down the aisle, stopping at the end and placing her hand in Harry’s. Remus smiled at them both, wiping tears from his eyes, and taking a seat next to Tonks. Harry cleared his throat, trying to wipe the slightly gobsmacked look that he had set in from seeing her. Together, they moved forward as Arthur motioned for the music to die down.

“Witches and wizards,” he clearly stated to the crowd, “We have been gathered together here to witness the Union between Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.” Harry smiled when Arthur remembered his request not to be labeled with all of his inherited titles, breaking with tradition. “We have all witnessed these two go from young, talented children into young, confident, mature adults. They have chosen to embark on life’s great adventure together, forever binding their bodies, their minds, and their magic to one another. One without the other shall be forever incomplete, but together they shall share in a love that will stand the tests of time.” The crowd clapped at the pronouncement, as Arthur motioned for Ron to hand each of them the platinum wedding bands that they had chosen out. “And now, Harry & Hermione have each elected to read their own vows. Hermione…”

Hermione smiled as she slowly placed the ring on Harry’s finger, trying to hold back tears of joy. “Harry, I never had many friends as a young child. And when I first learned that I was a witch, I thought it was a chance for a fresh start. Those first two months were hard, despite the fact that I was distantly close to you. I thought that Halloween night that I had blown my last chance at happiness. And then that troll showed up, and there were you. A young boy who was everyone’s hero, playing the role for someone you barely knew. But as I grew to know you, I realized that the hero was just a façade. You were just a boy, just like me, someone who was looking for a place to truly belong. As time grew on, I knew that we were connected, and even if I couldn’t describe it at the time, I knew that I was in love with you.

“We have faced hardships together, and shall continue to do so. We have stared death in the face, and will continue to do so. But one thing will never change. I love you Harry James Potter, now and forever. Thusly, I willingly choose to marry you, to stand by your side till death to us part.” Harry smiled at her and looked down at his hands, gazing at the platinum wedding band that she had placed there. He fingered his own wedding band, and slid it on her finger, before gazing deeply into her eyes. In that moment, the world around him fell, and their existed only him, and only her.

“Hermione, since the day I met you I have cared deeply for you. I may not have always known how to show it, or how to fully express it, but you have always been a part of me. You are the piece that completes me. When I saw you there at the Ministry after being hit by that curse, my whole world stopped. Everything else didn’t matter anymore…just you. And that’s all I need to get by, just you. As long as I have that, then there will never be a need for anything else. You are the very air I breathe, Hermione, the very essence of my being, and I want to envelope myself in that essence for the rest of my life. I love you Hermione Jane Granger, more fully than I could ever love anyone else in a thousand lifetimes. Thus, I willingly choose to marry you, and forever make you a part of my being.” Hermione chuckled as she forced back a sob. She and Harry turned to Arthur, who smiled at both of them, and were completely oblivious to the few tears that were on everyone’s eyes in the rest of the wedding party.

“I think we can skip to the end after that,” Arthur said, causing the group to laugh slightly. “By the Power vested in me by the Ministry of Magic…and by the grace of Merlin, I now pronounce you man and wife.” He pulled their two wands from the altar in front of him and joined them at the point. “Conjungo Duos Animas.” There was a bright white light that emitted from both of the wands, one that temporarily blinded some of the guests. Just as quickly as it was created the light faded from existence, and Arthur set the wands aside. “I believe the muggle thing to do would be to kiss the bride.” Harry and Hermione both laughed and smiled, as they both embraced and kissed one another to thunderous applause from the group.

A/N: A total chapter of this one event. We’ll be back to normal for the next chapter as a few things get set in motion. I hope that wasn’t too syrupy for people, once again I’m terrible at mushiness.

A/N: Back to the usual mystery and intrigue that permeates my work. If Voldemort had been quiet before, that ends with this chapter.

A few things to set out from the get go…minor issues like some of the older character’s ages and the so-called defense professor’s curse are going to be ignored for this story. None of this bears too much weight on THIS story or its sequel, but will be a major part of a planned spin-off in this same universe. More on that later.

Chapter 4: A Reminder of Reality

To say that Harry Potter had never been happier in his life would be a gross understatement.

He felt as if he could walk on air at that very moment, the moment that Hermione kissed him and sealed their marriage vows for now and eternity. If a hundred dementors were to suddenly swoop down out of the sky, he was certain that he could fight them off with his patronus. Hell screw a hundred dementors, he felt as if he could fight off a hundred thousand.

Now as he sat at the small reception that had been gathered together (and once again internally thanked Dobby and Winky for the wonderful food), he couldn’t keep his eyes off of his bride. All the cares and worries of his life were but a distant memory. Dumbledore, Voldemort, the Prophecy…everything was nothing more than an afterthought everytime he stared at Hermione. When she stared back, he couldn’t help but blush a bit.

“What are you thinking,” she whispered to him.

“Just how lucky I am,” Harry replied honestly, grasping her hand in his. “I still don’t know what I did to deserve you in my life, but I’m grateful for whatever it was.”

Hermione smiled at him, kissing him on the lips. “You were just being you,” she whispered back, “That’s enough for me.” Harry smiled earnestly, and the two of them returned to the wedding feast.

There was a silent ringing of a fork next to a glass, and everyone turned to look at Ron as he stood up and got everyone’s attention. “Since I am the best man,” he said as soon as everyone was looking at him, some of them with strange looks on their face at the rather modern and more muggle custom, “I’ve been told that it’s my duty to toast the newlyweds.” Ron smiled and turned towards Harry and Hermione. “I’ve known these two since day one, and even then I guess I knew they were meant for each other. Oh sure, they both might be mental at times, but when push comes to shove they are the two best friends a bloke could ever have. If anyone deserves to be happy and have the kind of love that you share, then it is you two.” Harry and Hermione both smiled back at Ron, each one laughing slightly at his pronouncements. “Now, before the rest of this food gets cold,” he added to a chorus of laughter, “let’s hear it for the newlyweds.” Everyone clapped and held their glasses up in toast.

The rest of the reception went off without a hitch, including Luna catching the bouquet (something that Ron didn’t really get, nor did he understand the smile that came to Hermione’s face or Harry’s wagging eyebrows when she caught it). In time many of the few invited guests made their way from the mansion green and back to their homes. When the last of the guests had departed, Harry and Hermione were left with Remus & Tonks, the last ones to depart.

“Thank you again for your help Remus,” Hermione said for the thirteenth time that day, hugging him fiercely.

“And thank you for coming Tonks,” Harry then said, hugging her in a similar fashion. Remus & Tonks withdrew from the hugs and each held their hands together. “So when are you two going to tie the knot?” Harry asked.

“Difficult to say,” Remus replied somewhat sheepishly, his face suddenly becoming slightly pale. Tonks just laughed at him.

“Remus hasn’t asked yet,” she playfully said, punching him in the shoulder and causing him to feign injury. Tonks’ face then fell slightly, “But the ministry doesn’t allow werewolves to marry anyway.”

“We’ll see about that,” Harry replied forcefully, “Some of that old toad woman’s “reforms” are going to be done away with if I have anything to say about it.” Absentmindedly he rubbed his knuckles where he once had a scar ingrained.

“Harry,” Remus replied, changing the subject. “I hate to bring up the war at a time like this, but I think I’ve found a person who might be able to shed some light on whatever it is Dumbledore is planning.”

“That’s great Mooney,” Harry said cheerfully. “We still are in the dark about a lot of things he’s done: Why he sent me to the Dursleys, why he charmed you to forget where I was, things like that.”

“Yes I know,” Remus replied, clinching his fist in anger. “But hopefully this man will allow us to get to the bottom of this. His name is Demetrius Longshanks.”

“Why does that name sound familiar,” Tonks asked, finding this information out for the first time herself.

“He was an auror wasn’t he? I thought I read something about him in a book once.” Hermione replied, scratching her chin in thought.

“Yes he was,” Remus answered, “He was also the last person at Hogwarts to hold the defense position for more than a single year. He was the defense teacher during the time your parents and I were at Hogwarts, Harry. He was also a member of the Order during the first war and one of the closest friends Dumbledore ever had.”

“So why would he help us?” Harry asked, skeptical with this last bit of information.

“He and Dumbledore had a falling out towards the end of the war. I was never sure what caused it, but it had something to do with what Demetrius found out about Dumbledore’s past, or at least that was the rumor. If I can find him, I hope he’ll help me. If not, I might be able to convince Minerva to speak with him.”

“What would Professor McGonagall have anything to do with him?” Hermione asked, puzzled at this.

“Professor McGonagall and Professor Longshanks were…an item, for much of their time at Hogwarts.” There was a frantic popping sound, interrupting Remus before he could explain further. Harry and company turned to see Fred Weasley breathing heavily, as he ran towards them.

“Death Eaters…” he managed to say quickly… “Death Eaters are attacking Diagon Alley!”

/ - / - / - /

Lazarus kept a close watch on the events happening before him, and smiled when he saw the manifesto change to add Hermione’s name right next to Harry’s.

“United they shall stand…” he muttered to himself, before waving his hand over a crystal ball that lay on his desk and going back to his budget requests. Money had been so hard to come by these days, especially since he had to close off one of his largest financial boondoggles in order to move his plans along. The setbacks to fulfilling a prophecy, he mused to himself.

He heard a door open in front of him, and he glanced upwards, frowning internally when he saw Percy Weasley walk into his office. “Mr. Weasley,” Lazarus said quietly, “Is it time for your report already?” he rhetorically asked, making a show to look up at his clock like any doddering old man would do.

“Yes,” Percy said flatly, “And I’m happy to report that my father will stand for election for Minister…should a vote of no-confidence against Minister Fudge be called.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Lazarus replied smiling, “Especially since we allowed this to happen.” Percy raised an eyebrow, and Lazarus mentally chided himself again. A simple wave of his hand, and Percy had a confused look on his face. “So I suppose you’ll want what I promised you?” Lazarus asked, leaning forward on his staff as he stood up. Percy simply nodded, and Lazarus hobbled forward and held out his hand, a four colored ring suddenly appearing on his finger. “Percival Weasley, do you swear fealty within reason to my house, and to the Department of Mysteries, so help you Merlin.”

Percy kneeled as Lazarus gave the simplistic oath, and then confidently stared into the older man’s eyes. “I do,” he replied, before kissing the ring in a traditional fashion.

“Fealty with Honor…Bravery with Knowledge…Compassion with Reason…these are the things we strive for,” Lazarus said, moving back towards his desk. “Now, tell me,” Lazarus said, the screams of some of his servants echoing in the back of his mind as Diagon Alley burned., “What do you know about Minister Fudge’s personal life?”

/ - / - / - /

It did not take long for Harry, Hermione, Tonks & Remus to change clothes (Harry thanked Merlin for advanced transfiguration) and apparate straight into Diagon Alley. Unfortunately, the Death Eaters had been quick and precise with their attacks.

The store that was quickly becoming Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes was unharmed, miraculously, as was much of the rest of the Alley, despite largely superficial damage at several of the stores. The one store that had been devastated was Ollivander’s. More like ransacked, was the best word to describe it. Harry and his friends rushed over towards the mayhem, surprised to be joined by Ron, Luna, Neville & Ginny as soon as they arrived.

“What happened here,” Neville asked aloud, causing Harry to simply shake his head in response. The windows had been shattered, and many of the boxes that lined Ollivander’s back storeroom had been scattered all across the floor, wands discarded every which way. Large blast marks on the walls were impossible to decipher. They could have come from Death Eaters, or Mr. Ollivander, or from the discarded wands. They were simply too random and too numerous to discern their origins. Harry also noticed out of the corner of his eye that the wand that stood in Ollivander’s shop window was conspicuous by its absence.

“It would appear Mr. Ollivander has disappeared,” came a not so saintly old voice from behind Harry’s shoulder. He grimaced and turned to see Dumbledore approaching, flanked by two or three Order members.

“What happened,” Harry coldly asked, not letting his lingering anger and distrust get the better of him and break his façade. Dumbledore merely stared at him, twinkle absent from his eye, and gave a measured response.

“The Death Eaters attacked swiftly,” he said softly, “I would guess this was merely a way of reminding the Wizarding World that they are still very much a threat. We are fortunate however that, aside from Mr. Ollivander’s unknown whereabouts, there was minimal damage. Still, there were…casualties. Fifteen witches and wizards were killed, without any apparent attention having been paid to their blood status. Seven of them were purebloods, three were muggleborn, and the other five were half bloods…including Miss Chang.” Harry winced at this. Though he bore no real feelings for Cho any longer, it was still painful to see a person he considered a friend to die. Hermione gripped his hand tightly.

“Any idea why they sacked this place,” Ron asked, surveying the damage of the store. Luna looked it over as well, her eyes growing wide when she saw what was missing.

“The wand in the window,” she pointed out, “It’s gone!”

“Yes I’m afraid that may have been what they were after Miss Lovegood,” Dumbledore replied sadly. “That was the Elder Wand, a wand which grants the bearer special protections in duels. There is a fascinating story behind that.”

“Which we don’t have time to here…” Harry interrupted, not wanting the old man to distract them with fanciful tales, “Were any Death Eaters captured?”

“No,” Dumbledore answered, adjusting his glasses, “I’m afraid not.”

/ - / - / - /

Draco slowly walked into the Vanguard Inn just outside of Manchester. He had followed a trail of acquaintances and relatives to this point, searching for the elusive Charles van Houtan. He still didn’t have a good picture of the man in his mind, but he still pursued onward, truthfully telling himself that he had nothing else to go back to, and nothing else to live for at the present time.

He told himself this quite regularly, as a matter of fact, almost as if he were trying to convince himself.

He strolled up to the bar; ignoring the glances he got from a few of the patrons who were either plastered off their arse or halfway to that point. He ordered a pint of something called Guinness from the barkeep and glanced around the room. He could still feel the flickers of magic coming off of one or two of the people in the room, one trail incredibly faintly. Muttering to himself, he raised the collar on his jacket a little higher and hoped not to be recognized.

He had managed to get a copy of the Daily Prophet the day before and found, not to his surprise, that the Ministry was still after him as if he were the Dark Lord himself. News of his murder of Caliban apparently either hadn’t gotten out or was being kept under wraps. Draco didn’t know if Potter and Granger had told anyone of his deeds, but was certain that at least their closest friends knew. His experience with Crabbe and Goyle told him that Death Eaters were likely hot on his trail. It was definitely best to keep a low profile.

Sensing these magical resonance trails was something more of a concern for Draco, moreso than knowing that he was in the same room with at least one wizard. Caliban had certainly implied, before he died, that Draco might in fact be Caliban’s son rather than that of Lucius Malfoy. Draco personally doubted it, but the feeling still caused chills to run down his spine.

“Excuse me,” Draco called out, drawing the barkeep’s attention. “I’m looking for someone.” The barkeep waddled over towards Draco, running his left hand through his balding hair and scratching his bulbous nose with his right. “His name is Charlie van Houtan.”

“Charlie?” the barkeep replied quickly. He jerked his thumb over towards the left. “’E’s over there in the corner, probably mutterin to ‘imself again.” Draco tried to keep his joy in check, and simply nodded his head and moved towards the pointed direction. Much to Draco’s surprise, he felt one of the resonance trails, the particularly weak one, leading towards the figure in the corner.

From what Draco could gather, Charlie van Houtan was a real louse of a man. He was clad in denim trousers that obviously had not been washed in quite some time as well as a large black sweater that was five sizes too big for the small, meek looking man. He only had three or four tufts of hair sticking out of the sides of his head, and he looked to be near ancient if the wrinkles on his face meant anything. He was nursing what appeared to be his third or fourth pint, talking to himself about something or other. Draco took a deep breath and walked towards him. He stopped dead in front of him, palmed his wand just in case, and hovered over him before he announced his presence.

“Charlie van Houtan?” Draco asked. The man looked up and regarded Draco for a moment, bright gray eyes staring straight at bloodshot hazel ones. The man seemed to recognize Draco, as his eyes quickly gained some degree of coherence to them and the man quickly tried to dart out of harm’s way. Draco flicked his wand and caused an unseen force to pin Charlie to the wall. He struggled to get free.

“What do you want you murderer!” the man said in as hushed a tone as he could, obviously trying not to break the Statute of Secrecy for some reason, Draco guessed. Nevertheless, Draco flicked his wand again, muffling the sound around them and keeping the rest of the patrons from not noticing them at the moment. Draco released the man, but kept him firmly planted in his chair.

“I’m looking for my mother,” Draco plainly said, “Miranda Breyerson.” Charlie darted his eyes downwards but quickly tried to reassert himself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said as confidently as he could. Draco pointed his wand straight at Charlie, the red tint of a cruciatus shining on the end of it.

“Wrong answer,” Draco replied coldly, “Now where is she!”

“She’s uh….” Charlie started sweating bullets. Caliban had instructed him not to tell anyone about her whereabouts, but given that Caliban was no longer amongst the living, Charlie’s options seemed quite limited at the moment. “She’s in Stratford!” he said quickly, causing Draco to withdraw his wand.

“I have a few questions for you. First and foremost, why did you give her to Caliban in the first place? I know you’re a squib as well,” Draco guessed this last part, “So you might as well come clean. I know you can’t do anything if I don’t like what I hear.” He added force to the last part, causing Charlie to gulp deeply.

“She was chosen by Caliban himself,” Charlie admitted, “He needed a girl for some task, and I gave one to him. I pimped girls back in those days, young dames who needed a quick buck to support whatever drug habits they were getting into.” Draco grimaced at the thought, but allowed Charlie to continue.

“I thought he was just going to use her once and that was it, but she got pregnant afterwards. She left me after that. I never saw her till years later when I tried to atone for my past sins. I found out she got married, had a couple more kids, but she wanted nothing to do with me. Not that I blame her…I guess you must be that kid she was pregnant with.”

Draco remained quiet, and simply stood up. “Thank you for your help,” Draco replied. Quickly making sure that no one was watching, he performed a quick memory charm on the squib and left the pub quickly.

As soon as he was gone, Charlie van Houtan smiled. The brooch on his shirt glowed with power at blocking the memory charm. The Dark Lord would want to hear of this bit of information. Fenrir would want to hear this bit of information.

A/N: Voldemort’s use for Ollivander will be explained in the next chapter, as well as a closer examination of the inner politics behind the Death Eaters. Also, plans are made for Fudge’s sacking, though he might have something yet to say about that.

I mentioned a spin-off to this story, and it will be my planned Marauders era fic. It takes place in the Heirs universe and chronicles the events of James Potter, Lily Evans, Sirius Black and others during their times at Hogwarts. I don’t anticipate starting it anytime soon, but just so you know that it’s out there.

FF.net readers will notice that Demetrius Longshanks is a recycled character from an abandoned fic of mine.

Please bear with me as I try to fight my way out of another bout of writer’s block.

A/N: Things are still in a slow burn mode as far as the plotline goes, but we’re moving along at a much quicker pace than the previous story. Ergo I see this as being closer to around twenty chapters as opposed to the thirty that Founders was.

Chapter 5: Changing of the Guard

The Dark Lord sat at his throne, stroking his chin slowly, regarding the unkempt squib that stood before him. He knew that Caliban had kept a web of informants that he used to keep tabs on the wizarding world. One such person was Charles van Houtan. Apparently Charles was still bringing valuable information to him, even after Caliban’s death.

“You’re quite certain it was him,” Voldemort asked, continuing to stare a hole at the quivering coward that knelt in front of him.

“Y—Yes my lord. He spoke of himself in name and there’s no other wizard who would be looking for this woman.” Charles continued to shake as he looked back down at the floor below him. Squibs were rarely given the chance to be in the presence of Voldemort, let alone speak to him directly. The experience was unsettling to him to say the least. He dared to look around him, staring at the torchlight flickering off the speculative faces of many of the assembled Death Eaters.

Voldemort looked to the side at his trusted inner sanctum, the Lestrange brothers standing to his left and Dolohov standing to his right. Behind him sat Bellatrix, cackling maniacally to herself, while Fenrir stood next to the cowering simpleton, his at present non existent fangs figuratively dripping with Malfoy’s blood. To the side stood Pettigrew and Rookwood, each stoically looking on. Voldemort turned his blood red gaze back towards the squib, as he casually tossed his wand from one hand to the other. “Very good then,” he replied, giving his next action a bit of falsified thought. “You know, Caliban always thought very highly of you, for a squib that is…” Charles looked up, a bit of relief etched on his face, “And in keeping with the dearly departed’s wishes…perhaps I should reward you…with the sweet release of death.” Voldemort smiled a toothy grin while Charles stood up and started to run away. “AVADA KEDAVRA!” The green jet arced out of Voldemort’s wand, striking Charles in the back and sending him sprawling to the floor.

Almost immediately Voldemort cried out in agony and leaned forward, clutching his chest in pain. His face contorted as the shockwave of anguish rolled through him like an avalanche. Wormtail quickly raced to his master’s side, as did Fenrir and Rookwood. Bellatrix stopped and looked on concerned, while the Lestrange brothers merely stood back and watched. Voldemort seemed to collect himself after a few moments, and he frantically gazed around the world. “What are you all gawking at,” he muttered under his breath in a fierce tone, “Go back to your assignments!” Without further words, the assembled Death Eaters did as they were told, leaving Voldemort alone in his suffering.

/ - / - / - /

It was later in this very same room where Rabastian and Rudolphus Lestrange were pacing about, each one of them somewhat speechless about the day’s events. Rudolphus sat down in frustration on a small chair that had been conjured for meetings and the like, while Rabastian leaned against the wall, his face pointed downwards. Finally, Rudolphus broke the silence. “Perhaps we made the wrong decision, brother.” Rabastian glanced up at him, staring straight into his heavy set eyes.

“What do you mean?” he asked in reply, moving closer towards his brother. Rudolphus ran a hand through his thinning hair and glanced away at nothing in particular.

“We spent thirteen years of our lives in Azkaban. We never renounced him, never once. And how are we repaid? We, the most loyal of his servants, are shunned away from him.” He sniffed and turned back towards his brother, “Something has happened to him, that much is certain.”

“Perhaps he is still feeling the loss of Caliban,” Rabastian tried to argue. “He was the only thing you could consider a friend to him.”

Rudolphus scoffed. “More like a lap dog. When it came time to assault the Department of Mysteries, where was Caliban? When it came time to hunt the Longbottoms after our Lord’s disappearance…where was Caliban? When we felt our Dark Marks burn at the Dark Lord’s approach of our impending release at Azkaban, where was Caliban?” Rabastian looked downward, not having much of an answer. “I thought as much.” He stopped when he heard footsteps approaching, and then softened slightly when he saw his wife enter the room. “Ah, Bella,” he said as cordially as possible, “Perhaps you can shed some light on the Dark Lord’s predicament.”

Bellatrix shook her head. “Nothing, he has shunned me away from attempting to care for him. The only ones he speaks to anymore are Wormtail and Dolohov. Wormtail because he is suited to such matters, and Dolohov because of his mission.”

“We all saw how that curse affected him,” Rabastian said, trying to deduce the reasoning behind the Dark Lord’s seemingly deteriorating condition. “And Severus has been brewing potions for him nearly nonstop. If I didn’t know any better…” Rabastian’s eyes went wide as he came to a seemingly impossible conclusion, “What if our Lord is suffering from the same affliction as Caliban?”

“You mean the one Caliban suffered from years ago,” Bellatrix asked, with more than a scowl on her face, “The one he cured with help from my sister?”

“The same,” Rabastian replied. The implication seemed to hit everyone like a ton of bricks to the head. If Voldemort was losing his magic then….Rudolphus quickly set aside the thoughts.

“It can’t be,” Rudolphus said, waving his hand in a dismissive fashion, “There must be some other explanation.” They stood there in silence for a moment longer, before Rudolphus returned to his earlier point. “My point is that, perhaps he is not the Dark Lord we once thought him to be.”

“You would do well to hold your tongue, Rudolphus,” came a deep voice from behind them. The Lestranges all turned to see Dolohov walking in, a stern countenance on his face.

“And perhaps you would do well to hold yours,” Rudolphus replied, facing this threat to his authority, “Unless you wish to see who the better man is?” Dolohov stood firm, before Rabastian got in between them both.

“There’s no need to fight amongst ourselves,” Rabastian said calmly. He turned towards Dolohov. “Perhaps you can enlighten us as to the Dark Lord’s condition.”

“The Dark Lord is perfectly well,” Dolohov coldly replied, “There is nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

“Of course there’s not,” Rudolphus shot back. “Potter has grown immeasurably in strength…Dumbledore’s Order remains a threat…our Lord’s top lieutenant has died and all we’ve done is a scare tactic raid on Diagon Alley. We should have moved against Hogwarts or the Ministry by now!”

“Patience Rudolphus,” Dolohov answered flatly, “We will strike when the timing is right.”

“And when will that be,” Bellatrix chimed in. “I am as loyal as anyone in this room, but my husband is right. The time to act is now, before Potter gains anymore in strength. If Severus is to be believed, then the rift between he and the old coot has been mended to some degree. If they were to unite as one force against us…”

“The Dark Lord has anticipated this possibility,” Dolohov interrupted, “Rest assured that we are at work to stop such a plan from occurring.”

“Forgive me if I do not share your confidence Antonin,” Rudolphus returned, a smirk on his face. They heard a shuffling sound coming from the other side of the room and turned to look, all of them stopping when they saw Voldemort himself emerging from the shadows. He glared at the two Lestrange brothers through his blood red eyes, and lifted his hand toward them.

“You should share his confidence,” he said coldly, before violet streaks of energy shot out of his fingers and nailed the two Lestrange brothers straight in the chest. He held the modified Crucio for a few seconds longer, ignoring the simpering Wormtail behind him and the wide-eyed Dolohov across from him. He broke away the curse and left the two of them writhing in pain before he calmly turned towards Bellatrix, tilting his head ever slightly as he casually asked, “I trust there is no more doubt of my well-being?” Bellatrix quickly shook her head. “Very good,” Voldemort replied, before using the same technique on Bellatrix.

He then casually limped out of the throne room, leaving Dolohov and Wormtail to shuffle after him.

/ - / - / - /

Harry quite nervously paced back and forth in the Great Room of Grimmauld Place. He was tired of being cooped up. He was tired of simply waiting for another attack. He needed to go on the offensive.

And quite frankly, he couldn’t exactly pin his troubles on Dumbledore at the given moment, as the old man seemed as clueless as Harry as to the whereabouts of these Horcrux things he was looking for. Frustrated, Harry slammed his fist into the wall, wincing after he forgot to place a cushioning charm against the hard brick and mortar.

“Harry,” came a questioning voice from the entryway. Harry turned to look and smiled when he saw Neville standing there. “Everything alright there mate?”

“Yeah Nev,” Harry replied. Harry wasn’t exactly sure where the nickname had come from, but somewhere over the course of the last time warp they were in he had adopted it for his friend. Neville smiled back and walked into the room, sitting down on a chair across from Harry. “I just feel a bit like a caged animal right now,” Harry confessed, walking over and sitting down next to him. “There’s so much I could be doing, and we just don’t have the information right now.”

“Wait till Remus gets back from this Professor Longshanks bloke,” Neville suggested. “By then we might have some kind of idea of what angle the old codger is playing from.” He paused a moment before he stared down at the floor. “Harry, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…about Draco.” Harry turned to him, puzzled. “Do you know how much of Draco was there when he was in the time warp with us…and how much was an act?”

Harry thought long and hard about his answer. He didn’t trust Draco and certainly wouldn’t call him a friend. If nothing else he was simply trying to make a second chance for himself by all appearances, or simply laying low till the war blew over. “It’s hard to say really,” Harry finally answered, “All I know is that I owe him for saving Hermione’s life. I intend to let him find himself, if that’s what he truly wants to do, if that’s what you’re asking.” Harry arched an eyebrow and then asked Neville, “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Ginny would it?” Neville’s cheeks immediately flushed, and Harry smirked.

“That obvious, huh?” Neville sheepishly replied, trying to laugh at himself.

“Just a little bit. But even if she has caught on, I doubt she’d be ready for a relationship. Ginny just needs some time alone. Give her some time though, and maybe she’ll see what’s in front of her.” Neville glanced at Harry with something akin to hope in his eyes, before he resolutely nodded his head. “Just don’t force the issue or Ginny or her brothers will hex your man-bits into oblivion.” Neville laughed at the thought, though he internally cringed at the same time.

/ - / - / - /

The next two days passed by without incident in the wizarding world, and a rescheduled Wizengamot meeting dawned. Harry sat in his seat, glancing upwards at his wife who was seated in the place reserved for member’s spouses and betrothed. Only they were allowed to sit in on the proceedings. He turned his glance towards Dumbledore, not bothering to hide his contempt for the man at the given moment. Despite their truce, he still felt an unabashed hatred for all of his meddling; a hatred that had been simmered by nearly three years of detachment and retrospection on his situation.

“The chair recognizes the esteemed Lazarus, leader of the Unspeakables,” Dumbledore clearly intoned, and Harry stared over at the ancient man as he slowly stood up and hobbled out in front of the assembled party. Harry watched him closely, trying to garner any hint of his intentions from his countenance. He didn’t dare try to use occulumency on the man; as such a person was likely a master legilimens.

“Fellow delegates,” Lazarus began, his voice high pitched and raspy, a stark contrast from his normal speaking manner. “They say that history is doomed to repeat itself should we not learn from its mistakes. Speaking from the experience that only my advanced age can grant me, I know this to be all too painful a fact. I have lived for these many years to see three separate dark lords come and go. It saddens me that those in power have not learned from the mistakes of their predecessors.” He stopped momentarily to spare a glance at Dumbledore and then a grimacing Minister Fudge for a moment. Harry was prepared with his own nomination of Arthur Weasley at this session, but his interest was immediately drawn by this odd turn of events. If Lazarus was suggesting such a move, then did it mean that he was on his side?

“Now once again our world is threatened by one of these same dark lords of the past, and yet this august body’s leadership denied his very existence for nearly a year! A year that could have been spent in preparation that could have prevented the attack on my own Department a little more than a month ago. A year that could have been spent in preparation that could have prevented the attack on Diagon Alley just a few days ago.

“I cannot make such a motion; parliamentary law prevents me from doing so,” Lazarus confessed, “But know this…there must be a change of leadership…before it is too late. I implore you…stand up for yourselves…before it is too late for all of us.” With this, Lazarus sat back down at his place, clearly winded from the speech. Minister Fudge stood up from behind Dumbledore, his eyes clearly fixated on Lazarus.

“While I’m certain we all appreciate your candor, Lazarus, the fact is that your words are little more than a bunch of empty threats and an attempt to grab power.” Lazarus never once stopped glaring at Fudge. “You speak of history, yet you forget your own. Let us not forget who it was that held up crucial legislation that could have granted the use of Unforgivables by Aurors much sooner during the last war with You-Know-Who. Let us not forget who it was who started the war with the first dark lord you mentioned, the Dark Lord Rasputovitch.” Harry cocked an eyebrow. He didn’t remember that name from any of the History of Magic lessons. He didn’t catch Dumbledore’s flinch either. Deciding the time had come to act, and taking Lazarus’ words to heart, Harry stood up.

“I speak out now as is my right,” Harry said quickly. Fudge looked to protest, but a glance from Dumbledore stopped him. Harry didn’t notice the toothless grin that crossed Lazarus’ face. “I have been at the forefront of these attacks since I was a baby,” Harry began. “Voldemort…” Harry rolled his eyes when there was an audible gasp at the usage of his name, but pressed forward nonetheless, “Seeks to dominate the wizarding world through the use of two tactics: fear and politics. He has succeeded in regards to the former. You all fear to use his name, even when he was in exile for twelve years! In the latter, he nearly succeeded. Lucius Malfoy, a known cohort of our current minister, was revealed to be a Death Eater, and now sits a rotting corpse in Azakaban’s cemetery.” Harry glared at Fudge, who looked red enough to blow a gasket. “But Voldemort is not so strong that we cannot defeat him if we stand united under one banner. Whoever that person may be, it is clearly not Cornelius Fudge. Therefore, I move for a vote of no confidence against Minister Fudge.”

“Now see here!” Fudge began to shout, only to be drowned out by Dumbledore, who merely moved forward as if the Minister were not even there.

“Is there a second to the call of no confidence,” he said mechanically.

“I will not be ig…”

“I second the motion.” Harry turned and smiled when he saw Augusta Longbottom move forward.

“I move that the motion be tabled for now,” came a sing-song voice that made Harry’s blood boil. He glared right back at Delores Umbridge.

“Is there a second for the motion of tabling the issue?” No one spoke up, “The motion to table is denied. There has been a motion and a second….all those in favor.” Fudge tried to speak but was drowned out by the chorus of wands shooting sparks high into the air. “All those opposed,” Only a few sparks flew upwards. “Very well…the motion passes. As of this moment, Cornelius Fudge is no longer Minister for Magic.”

/ - / - / - /

Draco Malfoy didn’t know exactly why fate had steered him to this person’s door. He didn’t quite know exactly how to introduce himself. How does one claim to be another’s long lost son?

Nevertheless, he found himself staring at the home of Miranda Harrison nee-Breyerson. It was a rather nondescript house in a suburb of Manchester, nowhere near where he expected it to be. He flinched when he saw the normality of it, and allowed himself to hope for the briefest of moments. What would she say, he wondered. Would she simply dismiss him to the street? Would she break down crying? What would happen?

He figured he’d never find out if he simply stood out here for too long. Summoning up what courage he could, he knocked softly on the door. There was a long pause between the time he finished knocking and the time he heard the muffled barks of a dog from inside and the sound of scurrying footsteps. Quickly the footsteps approached closer, and the door swung open.

The woman had long blonde hair, just like Draco’s, and pale, hazel eyes to match. She was wearing nothing more than a pair of khaki shorts and a white t-shirt. She had a curious look on her face as she opened the door and spoke in an angelic voice, “Can I help you?”

“Yes..umm..” Draco cleared his throat, finding it very parched at that particular moment. “Are you Miranda Breyerson?” he asked bluntly, hoping to Merlin he had the right house.

“Yes,” she replied, staring at him curiously.

“I see then.” Draco swallowed a gulp of air, and figured there was no real delicate way of going about this. Once he had decided that, he simply moved forward as best he could. “My name is Draco Malfoy and I,” he heard an audible gasp from the woman, and he looked up to see unshed tears in her eyes as she looked at him.

“D-Did you say Malfoy,” she asked quietly. Draco silently nodded his head. The woman smiled and began to cry tears of happiness, before all at once enveloping Draco in a smothering embrace. Draco was caught off guard, but quickly fell into the embrace as well.

A small voice in the back of his head told him that, finally, he was home.

A/N: You’ll meet Longshanks in the next chapter.

A/N: I’m just curious, after you read this chapter, who do you think the Heir of LeFey is?

One minor goof-up from the last chapter. I said that Draco’s mother lived in a suburb of Manchester. I meant to write that she lived in Stratford. Sorry for the mix-up.

Chapter 6: Longshanks

Draco and his mother stood in the doorway of the Stratford home for what seemed like a long eternity, simply hugging one another. For Miranda, it was a matter of surprise and an exorcism of demons and fears from long ago. For Draco, it was a plethora of emotions that were running through his head at that particular moment. Joy, sadness, anger…all of them combined in a strange sense of calm and peace that radiated throughout his consciousness.

Finally the moment broke, and Miranda broke away from her son. “I’ve always dreamt of this day,” she confessed, wiping away her eyes sadly. “I never gave up hope that you would…” she stopped herself and coughed a couple of times, moving aside from the entryway. “Please, come in.” Draco backed away a moment, unsure of himself, before nodding his head and walking through the door.

It wasn’t a large house by any means, at least to someone who had grown up inside the vast expanses of Malfoy Manor. It had a cozy feel to it, Draco quickly decided, with simple cream colored walls on the hallway that led to a small family room at the end. Two flights of stairs went down towards a basement on the right side and up towards bedrooms on the left. Draco merely followed his mother into the family room, not certain what he would find.

“Ian,” Miranda called out in advance of her arrival. “There’s someone here who you need to meet.” Draco rounded the corner and stopped short when he saw a tall man in a plaid shirt putting down his paper and glancing up at the entryway. He had an army style buzz haircut that added to the aura of intimidation that surrounded him. Draco did not let him exercise this aura, merely standing there, emotionless. “Ian,” Miranda continued as he slowly made his way towards them, “This is Draco…my son. From…before.” Ian stared at his wife for a few moments, before realization seemed to dawn on him. Almost immediately his face went from kind but hesitant to a welcoming countenance, causing Draco to relax a bit more. Ian glanced down at him and offered his hand, which Draco welcomingly took.

“I hoped you’d find your way here son,” he said smiling, his wife standing next to him. Draco offered what smile he could. “Please, sit down.”

Draco made his way into the room and looked at all of the pictures that had been placed on the wall. It was slightly unsettling to him when he saw the figures in the portraits as still as statues, and he had to remind himself of the limits of muggle photography. His eyes stopped on a single large family portrait in the center of several other small pictures. In it he saw the two people in the room with him now, his mother and, he guessed, stepfather. Surrounding the two of them were three young children of varying ages. Draco assumed that they were the children of the two people in front of him; in effect they were his brothers and sisters. Suddenly the prospect of actually having a real family out there…something that wasn’t based on blood or based on loyalty seemed to be a real possibility. He had very little to base this feeling on, little more than hope, anyway. He felt his eyes start to mist over slightly, and he quickly tried to hide behind his actor’s mask as he sat down.

“There are so many questions I want to ask,” Miranda said softly as they sat down across from Draco. “How did you find us? What was your childhood like? God, I don’t even know how old you are off the top of my head.” She choked on a sob, and Ian draped a hand over her shoulder, offering her some comfort.

“I’m 16,” Draco said quietly. “And I have been looking for you for some time.” His eyes darted to the side, trying to figure out the best way of putting things. Finally, he glanced back at his mother. He had to be upfront and honest with her, he decided. He had enough lies to suit his lifetime.

“How much do you know about the man who was my father,” Draco asked directly, “Aside from the fact that his name was Malfoy?” Miranda thought for a moment, shaking her head slightly.

“Not much I’m afraid,” she replied meekly, trying to force down traumatic memories. “I was just a young, stupid girl trying to support a habit that would have wound up killing me. I was taken by this large man to a warehouse, where he and the other man…Malfoy…performed there…”

“What has that got to do with anything?” Ian interjected, obviously angry at Draco for making his wife upset at the memories.

“There’s something you should know about him,” Draco replied flatly. “He was a wizard…I am a wizard. Before you say anything…magic is indeed real. I can prove it.” Miranda and Ian each stared at him with dumbfounded looks on their faces as he pulled a jagged stick out of his pocket and pointed it over to the side. “Accio Picture Frame.” Sure enough, the picture frame he gestured towards shot through the air and landed straight in his hands. Miranda gasped, while Ian merely pointed in disbelief.

“H-How did you do that?” he managed to stammer out.

“Like I said,” Draco explained nonchalantly, putting his wand away and setting the picture frame down in front of him. “Magic.” He saw the two of them still staring at him in disbelief. “Perhaps I’d better start from the beginning.”

/ - / - / - /

Dolohov cast down the broken husk of Nigelius Ebenezer Ollivander in disgust, having drained the last bit of information he could have gotten old of the aged wandmaker. “He’s useless,” Dolohov announced in frustration, “There’s no more about the Resurrection Stone or how it could be used to reconstitute a soul.” Dolohov turned towards Voldemort, who watched the proceedings with an inquisitive look on his face, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“I thought as much. Caliban’s hunch turned out to be wrong.” Voldemort stood up and walked away, staring out the window at the starry sky above. “We’ll have to hope that the transference leaves enough of the host’s soul in tact to recreate a Horcrux.”

“My lord,” Dolohov suggested, moving forward slightly, “That will complicate matters greatly. I had always assumed we would use a dementor to suck the soul out of the host first.” Voldemort glared over his shoulder.

“I am aware of the risks Antonin,” Voldemort sad calmly. He then spun around and fired a small bolt of energy at Dolohov, causing him to launch backwards and slam against the stone wall. “Do not assume my friend,” Voldemort said angrily, “That just because Caliban is dead you can take his place as my advisor.” Dolohov groaned as he stood up and bowed before Voldemort.

“Forgive my impudence my lord,” he said regally, and Voldemort lowered his hand. Dolohov paused for several moments before he continued. “I am curious how you are able to perform wandless magic like that. I assumed that…” Voldemort cackled and walked away from Dolohov.

“You once again assume too much Antonin,” he said off handedly. “In my…current condition, I am merely using the magic that is seeping from my body as opposed to tapping into my own magical reserves. Doing so will slow the progression of my disease and allow me to maintain control over some of the more…independent minded of my minions.” Dolohov nodded, and at Voldemort’s silence, departed the room.

Voldemort stood in silence for a long time before he turned and walked to the side of his bedroom. He pulled at a torch handle and watched as the wall in front of him swung around, revealing a large cauldron filled with a silvery, mercurial liquid. He pulled out his wand and swirled it around the pensieve, waiting until the proper memory revealed itself. A moment later a large projection appeared over the pensieve, until Voldemort saw the ghostly memory of his old friend, Caliban.

“Hello, my master,” Caliban’s reflection said in a cordial voice, “I trust you have come to seek my counsel.”

Voldemort chuckled. “Even in death old friend,” he said, “You are the only one I can trust. I come to ask you of how far you came on the search for the heirs.”

“Yes, of course.” Caliban’s memory paused for a moment, as if accessing the information. Finally he spoke. “It is as we feared my lord,” he began. “Potter is indeed the Heir of the Founders by both blood and magic.” Voldemort grimaced, before motioning for Caliban to continue.

“It would appear that Potter underwent his inheritance ritual early. Why remains to be unsolved, but I believe that Lazarus may have been involved. The coming of the Heir of the Founders is one of the signs to the Prophecy of Merlin of which he was always trying to fulfill. The second sign is the revelation of the Heir of LeFey. Unfortunately, not as much is known about Morgan’s heir, save one: The Heir is not descended by blood from Morgan LeFey.”

“Then how do we know who it is,” Voldemort asked.

“The Heir will reveal themselves all in good time, I’m afraid. That’s all the ancient texts would say, and even that was treated with conjecture. If I had to guess,” Caliban paused, trying to add some figures in his head, “If the books are indeed wrong and the Heir is descended from a bloodline…one of the Weasley clan may be the Heir of LeFey.”

“Those blood traitors!” Voldemort exclaimed…

“It gets worse,” Caliban admitted coldly, “From that perspective at least. The Heir of Merlin is certainly not descended from a bloodline. This opens the great possibility that the Heir of Merlin may be muggle-born.”

Voldemort stopped for a moment, thinking. “You do not think it is…”

“It might be,” Caliban said quietly, “But it could just as easily be Potter as my father seems to think. In any event, I recommend caution in dealing with them. You need to know who the Heirs are, before confronting them.”

/ - / - / - /

The quiet ticking of a clock greeted Remus Lupin as he silently apparated outside a cottage long since considered to be abandoned. It had taken a good deal of searching by Tonks at the Ministry to find this residence, and Remus was surprised when he found it completely unremarkable as far as wards or protections were concerned. The door was even open in front of him as he walked forward, hence the ticking clock sound. He was certain this was the right place, but couldn’t understand why it seemed so…ordinary. It was as if time and space had simply forgotten the once great man who now resided there.

Indeed time had forgotten Professor Demetrius Longshanks, Remus reminded himself. No one had seen the Professor in nearly fifteen years. At least not since James and Lily were…Remus stopped himself. He kept his wand at close reach and slowly walked into the cottage, unsure of what he might find.

The house itself was much smaller than the manor house that Remus knew that the Professor possessed. The Longshanks were a moderately noble pureblood family. Though they lacked the wealth of the Blacks or the Malfoys, they were not as bad off as the Weasleys had become. Remus had once been to the manor as part of a training exercise his seventh year at Hogwarts, and remembered it as being the single largest home he had ever seen, aside from Potter Manor that is.

This cottage was one story…and didn’t appear to be magically enlarged on the inside. He walked straight into a main living area that was covered with dust and grime. Remus’ eyes shot around the area, noticing a tea kettle on the stove perpetually chugging away. There were very few photos hanging on the wall, save for one that Remus recognized as a photo of the first Order of the Phoenix. He slowly made his way over there, and was surprised when he saw many of the figures darkened out, as if they had been expunged from the photo.

“Who’s there,” came a sharp voice from across the room, and Remus turned to see a rather sorry sight. Professor Longshanks was little like the man who cut a gallant figure just fifteen years ago. His short auburn hair was now interspersed with flecks of gray. His bright brown eyes had dulled with age and no longer shone with either wisdom or joy, but rather were darkened by the specter of a troubled and confused mind. Remus slowly walked towards the professor, holding up his hands to show that he was harmless.

“Professor Longshanks,” he replied softly. “It’s your old student, Remus Lupin.” Longshanks looked at him confusedly, as if he were growing a second head or something. Longshanks kept his wand trailed on Remus.

“That’s impossible,” Demetrius said quickly, “Remus is dead. He was killed by Voldemort fifteen years ago.” Remus arched an eyebrow.

“No,” he said quickly, “That was James…and Lily. The Potters,” he said quietly. “Don’t you remember?” Demetrius squinted, as if to try and think of something.

“It’s…hard,” he confessed, lowering his wand. “I don’t…remember things like I used to. I don’t…I…” he growled and through a nearby vase against the wall. “I just don’t know!” he screamed, before slouching back in his chair. Remus just stared at the once mighty man, reduced to a near invalid.

“Why don’t you tell me what you do remember?” Remus asked, sitting down across from him. Longshanks seemed to relax a bit, no longer considering him a threat.

“I thought that….no wait…James did die…” he trailed off for a moment, trying to remember something, before his eyes went wide. “Harry…what about Harry?” Remus held up his hands.

“Relax professor, Harry is alright. In fact he sent me to ask you some questions about…” Remus dived behind the couch after Demetrius fired a stunner over his head. “Professor please!” Remus shouted.

“Liar!” Demetrius shouted back. “Harry couldn’t have sent you to deliver anything! He’s only a baby!” Remus quickly tried to placate him, but Demetrius wouldn’t hear any of it. “Don’t feed me any of your lies! You won’t trick me again Caliban! I know it’s you!” Remus finally had enough and grabbed his own wand. He muttered under his breath a body bind curse and launched it towards Demetrius, catching the old auror off guard and causing him to topple over. Demetrius struggled against the curse while Remus emerged from behind the couch, standing over him.

“Will you please listen to me,” Remus asked politely, causing Demetrius to calm down slightly. Remus sighed, wondering to himself what in the world could have happened to his old mentor. “It’s been fifteen years since James and Lily were killed,” he somberly explained, “Harry’s a grown man now, at least physically.” Remus had to remind himself of Harry’s trips through the time warp having physically aged him, if not legally anyway. Remus saw the calm and realization in Demetrius’ eyes and let the body bind curse off, though making sure first that Longshanks’ wand was out of his reach. Demetrius sat up and shook his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs. “What do you remember?” Remus asked. “Do you remember Hogwarts? Do you remember Professor McGonagall?” Demetrius’ eyes lit up at the name.

“Of course I remember Minerva,” he said warmly. “At least…I think I do.” He groaned as he tried to keep the images in his minds eye. “Everything is just a jumble. It has been for a long time…”

“What do you remember about Dumbledore,” Remus asked, trying to get to the reason he had come here in the first place.

“I…Dumbledore?” Demetrius looked at him questioningly. “No…not Dumbledore…Lazarus!” Demetrius snapped his fingers. “Yes it was…Lazarus who I remember. And…Regulus…Regulus Black!” Remus arched an eyebrow.

“Sirius’ brother?” he replied in a questioning matter. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“I…he was…searching for something and…The Heir…the Heir of LeFey!” Remus almost immediately perked up. Luna had mentioned the Heir of LeFey on a couple of occasions, though only in passing when compared to the Heir of Merlin. “I think he…no…was it Voldemort?” Demetrius slammed his fist against the wall, frustrated that he couldn’t remember it all.

“It’s alright Professor,” Remus said with a small smile on his face. “I’ll leave the address of where I can be reached on the table. If you think of anything else, please contact me.” Remus left the piece of parchment on the side table and walked away.

“Remus,” Demetrius called back, causing the werewolf to stop. “Harry is…well? He grew up…well…Dumbledore…I…” Remus sighed.

“He’s fine now old friend,” Remus said quietly as he walked away. “He’s fine now.”

/ - / - / - /

Harry let out a long sigh as he stared at the punching bag he had installed in the basement of Grimmauld Place as it swung back and forth after the drubbing it had just taken. He had received correspondence from the goblins that said that the objects they had seized from Hogwarts had no dark magic in them. He also made a request for one of the objects to be sent to his home once he learned it was there…namely the Sword of Gryffindor.

He also thought back to what had happened the night before in the Wizengamot. Fudge was no longer an issue, but Arthur’s election to the post was not assured. Rufus Scrimgoeur had also declared himself a candidate. Meanwhile, Dumbledore had moved for the motion to be postponed while the merits of the two candidates were reviewed, something that on the surface didn’t present much cause for concern, but Harry knew better.

Hermione slowly walked into the room and Harry allowed himself to be comforted by her presence. “Ron floo called,” she explained quietly, “They’ve finished helping the twins fix the superficial damage to the shop and should be back for dinner. He was going to get something for Luna…something about a token he said.” Harry smirked, knowing exactly what Ron was planning. “Okay, what is he up to,” Hermione asked, seeing the Cheshire grin on his face.

“Nothing important,” Harry dismissed, waving his hand as he grabbed a towel and wiped down his sweat drenched face. Hermione scoffed and walked over, grasping his sides and tickling him unmercifully, causing him to bark out with laughter. Hermione had discovered the fact that Harry Potter was ticklish during their first trip in the time warp, and it was a discovery that had caused a mixture of emotions in her mind. She was delighted to be able to bring a smile to Harry’s face so readily. She was saddened when Harry’s realization of this physical ailment was as awe-inspiring to him as it had been to her. Her anger towards the Headmaster had doubled when she realized that it was his meddling that had made it so. Harry finally forced her hands away and pinned her against the wall, kissing her senseless. They broke away after several moments, breathing heavily and looking into each other’s eyes.

“If you must know,” Harry said playfully, “He was going to get an engagement ring for Luna.” Hermione nearly squealed at the news. “I’d keep it quiet though.” Hermione nodded her head and the two made their way over to the couch in the basement, enjoying the company.

“If Dumbledore had had his way,” Hermione remarked as she leaned into Harry’s chest and he softly stroked her hair, “I would have probably ended up with Ron and you would have been with Ginny. At least that seemed to be what Ron thinks that he was planning.” Harry kept a straight face, before he glanced down at his wife.

“I like to think that our love could have broken through any potions they used,” Harry said softly. “But it doesn’t change the fact that Ron never would have found Luna had they done that. Nor does it change that Ginny would have never found…” he stopped himself, unsure of how do finish that sentence.

“She’ll come around,” Hermione said quietly, “She’ll come around.”

/ - / - / - /

Draco’s finished his tale with no small amount of effort in doing so. He was emotionally spent after finishing, and merely leaned forward, letting out shuddered breaths. For their part, Miranda and Ian stared dumbfounded at the young man who had just bared his soul to them. Miranda looked at her husband, who nodded his head at the unspoken question. Standing up, she walked across the room and embraced Draco deeply. Draco did not fight the embrace, eager to forget the world if but for one moment…despite the sudden nagging presence in the back of his mind of something more sinister around the horizon.

A/N: More with Draco and his parents in the next chapter, as well as a scene with Luna and her father. Meanwhile, Dumbledore gives the first Horcrux clue, and we’ll go on the hunt for it from there.

Once again, I ask, realizing I haven’t given too many clues, but who do you think is the Heir of LeFey?

Chapter 7: The Sound and Fury

The quiet ticking of a clock permeated through the office of the Department of Mysteries. A light from a single candlestick barely illuminated a small portion of the large desk at which Lazarus worked, his aged face barely showing through in the pale firelight. The hearth had long since been allowed to grow cold, and the silence of the room was practically deafening. The only noise other than that of the clock was the usual bubbling and simmering of the constantly brewing elixir in the corner behind Lazarus’ desk.

He sat there oblivious to the world around him, merely scribbling down a few notes on a piece of parchment in front of him. Occasionally he would dab his quill into the endless inkwell situated on the right hand corner, and then continue with his work. Silently he sat there, tediously looking over every detail, until a sharp knock rang through the halls of the office, echoing off the vast chamber within.

“Who is that?” he wondered aloud. Lazarus simply picked up his wand, a small jagged stick on this occasion, and flicked it towards the door. A long string of locks and bolts snapped into place, and the door swung open moments later. “Honestly Clarissa,” Lazarus began, waving his hands and causing the fire to roar back to life, illuminating the room somewhat, “I didn’t expect you this late.”

“Miss Zabini is not here,” the figure replied, emerging from the shadows to reveal herself as Delores Umbridge.

“Delores?” Lazarus replied with a mocked expression of curiosity, “What brings you into the bowels of my department?”

Delores smiled, giving off a look only an ogre’s mother could love. “You should know the answer to that Lazarus,” she replied icily, “given what happened the last time I was down here.”

Lazarus raised an eyebrow, mentally chiding himself for forgetting that small detail. “I see…” he continued, standing up from his desk and slowly making his way forward. “I suspect then that you’ve come down here to discuss this then?”

“No,” Delores replied, “I’m here to arrest you for assaulting a Ministry official and the Minister for Magic himself.”

At this, Lazarus chuckled. “My dear, I assure you that I did not lay a hand on Cornelius’ head…and that given the current political environment, you are in no such position to make such demands of me.”

“I am not making idle demands or threats Lazarus. You assaulted the undersecretary for the Minister for Magic…and more than likely performed a memory charm on the Minister himself. Such things are capital offenses.” She smiled at him before adding, “And as I will soon be Minister for Magic myself now that you have orchestrated Cornelius’ departure, you will be brought before the Wizengamot on these treasonous crimes!”

Lazarus smiled internally, before his face darkened in a dramatic fashion. “You accuse me of committing an offense against the Ministry which I represent woman,” he bellowed out, the flames in the hearth beginning to roar in intensity, whipped by an unseen wind. “You have insulted my honor and my dignity, and by the rights granted to me in the ancient rites of the Ministry…I hereby challenge you to a duel.”

Delores looked on in stunned silence, as she stared at the feeble old man before her. She knew that the old man routine was overstated so that he could hide his true power, she had seen as much when he had conjured the hallucinations the last time she was down here. Still, she had a supreme confidence in her own abilities, and pureblood etiquette designated that she not turn down this challenge. Thusly, she stood firm, and removed her wand from her side.

“Very well. I accept your duel!”

Lazarus creaked a smile, and leaned forward on his staff. “We shall work to disarm our opponent…and this shall be a duel without honor…” Delores’ eyes went wide momentarily as she understood the implications of such a duel. There would be no recourse if unforgivable curses aside from the imperious were used, aside from a moderate breach of decorum. There was a great possible chance of death.

Of course, she also knew that the same rules would apply for her as they would for Lazarus, and no matter how talented or powerful was, the Killing Curse was notoriously unbiased when it came to its effectiveness. She waited for a moment, her own resolve foolishly steeled in her mind, as Lazarus spoke once more. “Per custom, I allow you one last chance to apologize and yield the duel.”

“I forfeit that right,” Delores said, deciding to end this quickly. “AVADA KEDAVRA!” She smiled as the green jet arced out of her wand, heading straight for Lazarus, who merely blocked it with the stick of wood that he called a staff.

She didn’t notice the two sets of runes glowing green momentarily, or the shield that manifested itself over Lazarus. She noticed the feared curse impacting the shield and splitting off into two different directions. “H-how…” she managed to stammer, while Lazarus merely stood there, unaffected by the display.

“Perhaps there is more to magic than you realize Delores,” Lazarus said in a patronizing fashion…slowly raising his staff high into the air and then forcefully slamming it to the ground, causing a fine mist to fill the head office of the Department of Mysteries. Delores stumbled about in the mist, unable to see anything. As she randomly fired off curse after curse, causing the numerous tomes that filled the room to explode in a shower of parchment, she heard Lazarus taunt her from just beyond the mist. “For your whole life you have used your money, influence and family name to advance your career…blind to the fact that the world around you was changing…”

In one fell swoop, the mist disappeared, leaving Lazarus standing in front of the firelight. Delores fired a curse at the image, only to see it fly right through him and crash into the burning hearth. Much to her shock though, she heard neither the sound of the damaged hearth, nor the cacophony of spell fire that she followed it up with. In her mind however, Lazarus’ voice rang true... “…you have been deaf to those who did not share your egotistical worldview.”

Her hearing returned to her in a rush, as she began to hear a hellish symphony of her own voice. Every speech she had ever given before the Wizengamot, every tirade about pureblood supremacy and every double-faced lie she had ever told played throughout the room at once. She screamed, her voice going hoarse at the onslaught. In the midst of the roar, Lazarus concluded his speech. “Your entire career has been a rising tide of voices…so numerous and loud that they have drowned out your own true voice, making it amount to a tale told by a mute idiot…a sound and fury signifying nothing.” The myriad of voices died off in a blinding explosion that forced Delores back hard into the wall, and sent her wand clattering to the floor, technically ending the short duel.

The woman lay on the cold stone floor, stunned at what had happened. Lazarus hobbled over, looking down at her. “I doubt you can appreciate the significance of this lesson,” he said matter of factly, “As you are too far gone to understand your own personal flaws. To that end, perhaps some re-education is in order.” At this, Lazarus merely raised his staff in the air, and Delores screamed as she was levitated in front of him, unable to move.

At that moment, Malcolm and Clarissa entered the Department. They sat back on the edge of the scene, surveying what was going on. Malcolm made a move to stop Lazarus, but Clarissa held him back, shaking her head.

“I find you unfit of the position which you hold Delores Umbridge,” Lazarus said with an ethereal voice that echoed off the aged walls. “Therefore I shall take it from you as payment for your loss in this duel…so mote it be.” He slammed his staff down onto the ground once more, and a blinding rush of white light filled the room. Delores’ screams were drowned out by the rushing wind, becoming higher pitched as she faded into the maelstrom. With a loud crack, the wind died off and the light disappeared, revealing nothing but stone and mortar. Lazarus let out a deep breath, and motioned towards his desk. He stumbled forward a couple of steps before his flask came rushing towards him. He took a good long drink from it, before sitting it down, making sure not to waste a single drop of the golden liquid. Sighing, he turned and looked at Malcolm and Clarissa, offering the same toothless smile he always did. “What brings you down here at this time of night?” he asked in a grandfatherly voice.

/ - / - / - /

Ron Weasley was a tad bit nervous this day.

Scratch that, his insides felt like the consistency of a flobberworm.

He was certain of Luna’s feelings for him; that much if anything was certain. She certainly was never one to hide her feelings around those she cared for. During their time in the time warp at Potter Manor, Ron had fallen in love with the pretty, yet somewhat spacy witch named Luna Lovegood. He had discovered in the process that the spacy façade she presented to the world was entirely that…a façade. It was a defense mechanism that she had created for herself early on in her life to try and keep people at a distance, for a reason she had only recently disclosed to him.

The Lovegoods, centuries prior, had sworn an oath of allegiance to what would become the Department of Mysteries. Since that time, each generation of Lovegoods had served the department in its never-ending goal, whatever that happened to be. Luna explained that it involved something called the Prophecy of Merlin, but was unclear as to what that prophecy actually said. All she knew about it was the ultimate goal was the emergence of the Heir of Merlin.

Frankly he didn’t like that idea…and so he intended on doing something about it. Perhaps the Lovegoods were doomed to that oath…but not the Weasleys. As he considered the thought, his hands fingered the small ring he had in his pocket. He had wanted to pay for it himself, but knew he didn’t have the galleons to afford anything even close to worthy for Luna. With some degree of pride swallowed, he had asked Harry for a little help, with the promise that he would pay him back when he could. He chuckled back to the remark that Hermione had made that the old Ron would have let his pride get in the way of ever asking such a thing.

Ron ran a worried hand through his red hair, and took a deep breath. ‘Better now than never,’ he thought. He grabbed a pinch of floo powder from the jar atop the Burrow’s fireplace and cast it into the flames. “Lovegood residence,” he clearly intoned, after remembering the address in his mind after Luna had given it to him, before stepping into the emerald fire.

He stumbled out of the large fireplace in the Lovegood sitting room a moment later, muttering out “Nargles” quickly when he sensed the intruder wards about to go off. The wards quickly shut themselves off, recognizing the password. He glanced around the small room, noting the ticking clock hanging on the wall that was eerily reminiscent to the Weasley family clock, though there were significantly fewer hands on it. He saw the two hands pointed at home, reading Luna and Jeremy…however the third hand pointing at home caused him to raise an eyebrow, as he saw Lazarus pointed there as well. The two other hands were oddly named, one reading “Mr. Greenjeans” and the other reading “Widow.” Both of them were pointed at work. If he looked hard enough, he could have sworn he saw Luna’s hand wavering in its position, seeming to want to switch to traveling. Shrugging it off, he walked through the sitting room, looking for Luna. The sound of raised voices off in the distance clued him into their location.

He slowly walked into a large formal dining room, hanging towards the entrance. A large crystal chandelier provided light to the otherwise dimly cast room. Ron positioned himself just around the corner, peering around so that he could see what the argument was about. He had to keep his temper from going off the deep end when he saw Luna getting verbally berated by her father. Jeremy Lovegood was currently yelling about something or another, and Ron stretched out a little further and strained to try and hear what was being said.

“…what you’ll cost the family if he calls in our debt?” Ron heard the elder Lovegood shouting. Luna, for her part, merely stood there, seemingly unfazed by the whole episode.

“You’re letting a centuries old oath dictate our lives! Why should we have to live our lives based on what our ancestors did centuries ago?” Luna shouted back, standing up to face her father. Ron furrowed his brow in thought. What oath? he asked himself.

Ron watched as Jeremy looked ready to yell something back, before he took a deep calming breath. “Luna,” he began, speaking in a softer tone that made it harder for Ron to hear. “You’re my daughter, and I love you. You’re all I have left of your mother after she…after the accident…”

“Wait,” Luna said, cutting her father off. “You changed what you were going to say.” Ron could see a slight shadow pass over Jeremy’s face, and he didn’t say anything in response. “What were you going to say father,” Luna asked again, in a cold tone that Ron had never heard come out of her mouth before.

“It…it doesn’t matter now,” Jeremy replied, avoiding Luna’s questioning gaze.”

“She didn’t die in an accidental fire,” Luna sadly replied, lowering her head and closing her eyes. “Did she?” Jeremy didn’t answer. “Was it you?” Luna asked softly, a few moments later.

Jeremy let out a deep sigh and shook his head. “Lazarus,” was all he could reply. There was a long, cold, palpable silence that filled the room. Ron saw Luna silently turn away and begin walking from the room. “Where are you going?” Jeremy asked in a toneless voice.

“Away,” was Luna’s solemn reply. “To my friends, the ones who care about me….the ones who love me.” Luna stood there momentarily, staring at the back of her father’s head for a moment longer, before leaving the room.

Ron quickly moved away from the wall he was standing at, and made his way back to the sitting room, walking in just as he saw Luna appear. The two of them stared at each other for only a brief moment. All it took for Ron to bridge the gap was seeing the tears that were threatening to leak out of Luna’s eyes. He rushed over and hugged her fiercely, and she clung to him with equivalent emotion. Silently between the two of them, they walked towards the fireplace and headed back to the Burrow.

And in the dining room, a lonely man wept.

/ - / - / - /

The past three days had been the most peaceful and serene that Draco could remember in his lifetime. He had mentally distanced himself from all of the troubles of the wizarding world, allowing a measure of comfort to enter his life. All he had done was get to know his real mother, his stepfather, and become acquainted with a fascinating muggle device known as the television.

A part of him was completely surprised by the unconditional attention and care that was being given to him by his muggle relatives. Perhaps a part of him had expected, or perhaps feared, that he would be rejected outright once they learned of what he was and what he had done. But instead of fear, they had responded with kindness, an emotion that, at least in the true sense, Draco was unfamiliar with.

His childhood growing up had always been one devoid of any real affection. Having no cousins to speak of on his mother’s side (the one he had was completely forbidden to be spoken of) and two far younger cousins on his father’s side, along with no siblings, meant that any affection he was given was from his parents. His father was often cold to him, treating him less like a son and more like a possession to be trotted out for a social occasion. His mother was affectionate, but only from a safe distance. Given what he knew now, that seemed to make perfect sense. He idly wondered exactly how much Narcissa Malfoy actually cared for him, and how much of her affection was merely autonomic in response to her situation.

Shaking such thoughts out of his head for the time being, he stood up from the small guest room that they had given him for the time being. He made his way downstairs for a quick lunch, content with his life for the first time in a while.

He entered the breakfast room, stopping short when he saw that no one was there. He knew that their kids were still visiting their grandmother in Wales, so their absence was explainable. He idly checked a hanging wall calendar for the date, and frowned when he saw that there was nothing written on it to explain the absence of his step-family.

“Hello,” he called out, expecting an answer quickly. A few moments of silence caused a lump to form in his throat. He gestured with his hand and his wand came out, ready for whatever lay near. Slowly he crept through the kitchen, glancing around. “Hello,” he called out again, becoming even more nervous when he heard no reply.

He stopped at the door to the main room, and took in a deep breath. Counting to three, he barged in.

And again found no one inside.

Frustrated, he pocketed his wand and glanced into the backyard. He decided that perhaps they had just gone off without telling him. He turned around to head to the kitchen and get himself something to eat, hoping that they would be returning shortly.

His luck wasn’t that good.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noticed a small glimmer against the otherwise shadowed wall. He turned and glanced at it, his heart falling when he saw the telltale sign of the Dark Mark on its heading. He ran to the parchment, and plucked it off the wall. Frantically he scanned it, his eyes darkening when he read the news.

They had found him, and Fenrir Greyback had his family. Draco crumbled the parchment up and closed his eyes in frustration. He let out a sigh and silently walked to the front door. Letting himself out, he began walking to a safe spot for apparition. He knew where Fenrir would be hiding, the note had told him that much. He would have to fight again to save what little he had already gained.

He entered an open field, and apparated away. Off in the distance, a few seconds later, a second crack of apparition was heard.

/ - / - / - /

Ron and Luna exited the fireplace of the Burrow, still arm in arm with one another. Ron did his best to comfort his girlfriend, for the tortuous break she had made. They stopped short however, when they saw the rest of their friends gathered. “What’s going on?” he asked, turning his head towards Harry.

“Dumbledore’s contacted us,” Harry said coldly, “He’s found the Horcruxes.”