Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance

Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance

Chapter 1

It was a hot July afternoon in Little Whinging, as a skinny bespectacled underage wizard with untidy jet-black hair was doing something no wizard would ever do – watching television. If you count dozing off on the couch in front of The Matrix, mouth falling open, as watching television. Rarely did Harry Potter ever get the whole of Number 4, Privet Drive to himself without being locked alone in his bedroom or, more likely, in the cupboard under the stairs.

Having to visit a wedding ceremony in London, Harry's uncle and aunt, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, remembering Moody's warning, were forced to leave him alone in the house. A very reluctant Dudley had gone too, although he would have preferred to pick up another fight with the gang from the neighboring locality. Free to do whatever he wanted for the evening, Harry had decided to spend the time watching the Muggle movie The Matrix from Dudley's DVD collection, if not for the Muggle paranoia surrounding the film, then at least to keep his mind free of other things. Unlike the normal teenager wizard who worried over school results, girls, the Quidditch League, brooms and so on, Harry Potter had to cope with much more. The recent happenings in the wizarding world. The rise of Voldemort. The prophecy. Sirius. Harry tried his best to keep these thoughts away during daytime (As if the nightly doses in nightmares weren't enough!) by scrutinizing the Daily Prophet, reading up his school books, completing his homework and indulging in Muggle hobbies like reading fiction. Hermione really ought to be impressed, he had thought.

“Alohomora!”

The front door of the house, which had been twice locked by the Dursleys, burst open, jerking Harry awake from his peaceful slumber, which was itself a rarity in the life of Harry Potter. The dream had been of a martial-expert-Harry tackling dozens of suit-wearing Death Eaters with a gun shooting laser bolts looking remarkably like stunning spells, all mind controlled by the artificial intelligence known as You-Know-Who. Shaking of the dream, Harry stopped for a moment to wonder why the heroine was looking like a cross between Cho and Hermione (What the hell am I dreaming of!?) before he remembered the source of the interruption.

Not expecting the Dursleys to be back so soon, Harry cautiously went over to the front door, wand out. A tired-looking middle-aged man with light brown hair, flecked with gray, was standing at the door, the wand that had opened the door held in an out-stretched hand.

Harry gaped in surprise before blurting out, “Lupin!?”

Remus Lupin had taught Defense Against the Dark Arts to Harry's class in Hogwarts before he was sacked when it got out that he was a were-wolf. He had also been a close friend of Harry's father James and Sirius Black. Beside him stood another ex-DADA teacher, ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody, who had spent the major part of Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts locked in a trunk, while an impostor disguised as him taught his classes.

“Hello Harry, how are you doing?”

Lupin tried to smile, but barely succeeded. Harry guessed that Lupin, like himself, wasn't taking the loss of Sirius, in addition to the turmoil that the wizarding world was in, well. Moody, unsurprisingly, didn't even attempt a smile.

“Evening Potter! A good idea to keep that wand out. We are taking you Mrs. Figg's house,” growled Moody, his magical eye taking in each-inch of the Dursleys' house.

“So why are you here?” said Harry.

"This place is not secure lately . . ." Lupin answered.

“But Dumbledore said that this house is safe!”

“Of course it is! But once you are outside the compound, you're on your own,” said Moody.

“Harry, there has been an attack, but we cannot say much here,” added Lupin in a low voice. “We'll explain at Mrs. Figg's. We'll have enough time until your aunt and uncle return.”

“But first . . .” said Moody gruffly, tapping his wand over Harry, “I'm going to Disillusion you.”

Harry felt a familiar sensation as if a cold liquid was trickling down his body. A moment later he found himself taking the exact appearance of whatever was behind him.

“OK follow me, Harry, while Moody will take up the rear.”

Harry did as he was told, wondering sulkingly why two grown-up escorts were required to accompany him for the short walk to old Mrs. Figg's house. As if he couldn't take care of himself. But his thoughts soon traveled to Mrs. Arabella Figg's house, which he hadn't visited for the past few years. He used to spend his holidays there at a younger age when the Dursleys went away in vacation.

The house looked same as before, old and slightly battered. Mrs. Figg, a batty old squib, was talking animatedly with one of her pet cats, whom she called 'Mr. Tibbles'. She greeted Harry with a warm smile.

“Hello Mrs. Figg. Er . . . I never thanked you for standing as witness for me in the hearing . . .” Harry greeted her, unsure of what to say.

“Don't mention it Harry! Your mother was a very good friend of mine . . . a fine young lady she was,” at this she started sniffing into a handkerchief. Harry did not feel like continuing the conversation.

He couldn't have even if he wanted to, since to his astonishment, he found the face of the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, smiling at him from the fireplace. Harry had been very much enraged by Dumbledore's attitude towards him and Sirius the year before, which were in fact intended to protect them. He was a little ashamed of the outburst that this had culminated to in Dumbledore's office, with Harry practically demolishing the office in his anger.

Dumbledore was currently giving instructions to Lupin and Moody. Harry caught something about Ministry officials being present in the area and Mundungus Fletcher being in hospital, before Moody, Lupin and Figg exited from the front door ("See you later Harry!"), leaving him alone with Dumbledore's head.

“Good evening Harry. I assume you have calmed since our – ah – discussion in my office last month.”

Dumbledore's eyes lacked the nearly ever-present twinkle, which, Harry thought, was either due to some grave crisis that had just taken place, or because he was disappointed with Harry's behavior. Harry sincerely hoped it was the first reason, and then mentally kicked himself for such selfish thinking.

“Hello Professor. I am sorry for loosing my temper like that . . .”

“No Harry, I am the one who should apologize for keeping you uninformed. But I am here to discuss more urgent matters. As you may have guessed from my conversation with Remus and Alastor, there has been a Death Eater attack on Mundungus when he was on his way to Little Whinging from London. He managed to escape but it seems that they knew he was in charge of your protection. Ministry Aurors have been stationed in your area to be on the lookout for Death Eaters.”

Harry gulped as Dumbledore paused for the news to sink in. If the Daily Prophet was to be believed, this had to be the first Death Eater attack after the skirmish in the Department of Mysteries three weeks ago. But that brought back memories of Sirius' death, so Harry shut that thought out. At least this explained why he had been escorted by Lupin and Moody. But he hadn't seen any Aurors, so they must be under Disillusionment charms, he thought, as he was now under. Or Invisibility Cloaks.

“But how did Fletcher escape?” asked Harry.

“As you know, Mundungus is a member of the Order. We have methods of knowing when a member is under attack from the enemy which Voldemort didn't know of. I contacted Fudge, who apparated ministry Aurors to the location. Since the Death Eaters were few – they do not generally come out before the dark – Mundungus was able to defend himself until the Aurors arrived.”

“But why . . .”

“You must understand Harry, that time is running short and I'm sure your questions will be answered when the time comes. You may have remembered that Voldemort failed in possessing you for long in the Ministry hall. The power that drove him out also diminished his Legilimency powers, but he will regain them soon. Hence it is of utmost importance that you are capable of Occlumency before he recovers his former ability to delve into your mind.

“From what Professor Snape has informed me, I gather that you can fight off the Legilimency curse on your own, which is similar to resisting the Imperious curse. But it is important to learn to clear your mind of all thoughts – this prevents the curse from affecting you when your consciousness is weak, like when you are asleep, when it is not possible to resist. Unlike what you think, this will not stop you from experiencing Voldemort's true emotions, unless he himself practices Occlumency. Occlumency is similar to what Muggles call Meditation. It will shut off your own feelings from Voldemort and prevent any magical influence including forced visions from reaching your mind.”

That was news to Harry. “You mean if I practiced Occlumency, I'd still have seen myself as the snake attacking Mr. Weasley?”

“Yes you would, unless Voldemort was able to prevent it from reaching you by practicing Occlumency himself.” Dumbledore smiled. “Occlumency will not seal your mind from true visions. You will have to practice clearing your mind of all thoughts. You can do this twice a day – once before you sleep at night and again just after you wake up in the morning. This will also help in having dreamless sleep, which I daresay you are lacking very much.”

Harry nodded. He would give anything to stop the dreams that he witnessed in his sleep. He would have mentally cursed Snape for not explaining Occlumency to him, but caught himself as he remembered that anger, even directed towards Snape, would only cloud his mind.

“Now I have other matters to attend to,” Dumbledore broke into Harry's thoughts. “I expect you will take this practice seriously.”

“I promise I will Professor.”

“Your aunt and uncle will be back in a short time. Remus and Alastor are waiting for you outside to accompany you back to your house. I know you may dislike this, but you must not roam outside your house alone especially after dark, as the protection that runs through you and your aunt's blood is only effective inside the house.”

Harry knew the protection Dumbledore was referring to; it was the result of his mother sacrificing her life in order to protect him from Voldemort when he was baby. It was the reason Dumbledore had insisted Harry to stay in his aunt Petunia Dursley's house (who was his mother's only alive blood relation) during summer, even though the Dursleys' disliked him with all their heart.

A major part of Harry's anger and frustration, that was directed towards Dumbledore and Harry's friends the year before, was the direct result of him being stuck in the Dursleys' house all summer without a drop of news from the wizarding world.

But if the weeks after Sirius' death brought a change in Harry, then that was in controlling his temper. He perfectly knew the danger in roaming the streets after dark – only last year he and his cousin Dudley had almost been soul-sucked by two Dementors right there in Little Whinging. And the recent attack on Mundungus Fletcher only aggravated the risks.

“I understand, Professor” was all he could say.

Harry caught a flicker in Dumbledore's eyes as his head left the fireplace – unless mistaken, Harry could only recognize it as pride.

* * *

Two days passed since Harry's meeting with Dumbledore. The digital clock on the desk read 11:45 PM. Harry was staring blankly, quill in hand, at a 3 foot long parchment under a lamp-shade, empty except a bold heading that read “USES OF METALS IN POTIONS AND THEIR EFFECTS”. However, Potions where the last things on his mind.

' . . . and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . . .' The words of the prophecy still burnt like fire in his memory. It did explain a lot of things to Harry – why Voldemort had tried to kill him while he was a baby – his destiny was to kill Voldemort or to die in the attempt. '. . . and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . .' What power did he have that could he have that Voldemort didn't?

Dumbledore had mentioned a force, locked somewhere in the Department of Mysteries, that was more wonderful than human intelligence, more powerful than the forces of nature, and more terrible than death. It was this force that had saved Harry from Voldemort possessing him. Harry drooled, pondering over the nature of this elusive force; his Potions essay lay untouched.

Harry suddenly found himself in a deserted alley, bordered by lamp posts, none of which were glowing. From the square houses that surrounded the alley, Harry judged that it was a Muggle neighborhood. The were was an eerie quietness in the moonlit atmosphere. Apparently it was very late into the night. No lights were lit in any of the houses.

Harry had never seen this place before, yet he somehow knew where to go. He moved – but he wasn't walking – he was slithering. He could feel his fangs, dripping with poison. Adrenaline pumping with excitement through his veins, he swiftly neared the house. He needed to get inside the house. He proceeded towards the door – there were letters on the nameplate – they somehow sounded familiar – GRANGER.

The scar on Harry's forehead exploded with piercing pain. He abruptly brought up his hand to cover his scar, but in the darkness his hand came in contact with the bulb socket of the lamp instead, giving him a nasty electric shock, which doubled the pain in his scar. A moment later electric power to the whole of Little Whinging was cutoff.

For a few seconds Harry groped about in the darkness, trying to recover from his trance, until his eyes adjusted to the darkness in his bedroom. Harry was sure that the vision he had seen was for real – the feeling was exactly the same as that he had while seeing the attack on Mr. Weasley. Hermione and her parents were in danger; he had to contact Dumbledore without wasting a second.

Harry tried to keep his head cool and think (which required quite an effort considering his scar was still screaming with pain) . . . An owl would take too much time . . . but he could go to Mrs. Figg's – it would take less than a minute if he ran. Grabbing his wand, Harry quietly rushed down to the main door, making sure the Dursleys were asleep. They were sound sleepers – a power failure in the middle of the night had little effect on their slumber. Harry guessed that it was well past midnight.

Silently opening the front door, Harry ran as fast as he could towards Mrs. Figg's house without creating a racket. Devoid of electricity, Privet Drive was plunged into darkness, somewhat similar to what he had seen in the vision. Harry narrowly missed bumping headlong into a lamp-post. The streets were empty of any sign of life.

Although it was difficult in the darkness, Harry finally reached Mrs. Figg's house and knocked on the door. He waited for ten seconds before knocking again. Still no answer. He was getting impatient. He knocked thrice more, louder each time, pressing his ears onto the door, but could not hear any movement. The emotion that gripped Harry could be described in one word – PANIC. God Dammit! Think straight, he pleaded with his brain, which was currently having the direction sense of a bat trapped in a rock concert hall.

In a moment, he made up his mind. He'd have to go to the Granger's house himself. He quickly made his way back to 4, Privet Drive, examining his plan for flaws. He'd already broken his word to Dumbledore about not venturing out of the Dursleys' house after dark. If there were Death Eaters lurking about, then they would have already come for him.

Coming back to his bedroom, Harry grabbed his school bag, which always contained his money bag, invisibility cloak and map, put in his broom – he didn't know why he needed it, but took it nevertheless – and ran out stealthily to the street. The Dursleys' undisturbed snores still filled the house.

Time was running out . . . at least five minutes had passed since he had woken up. Not knowing exactly what to do, Harry held out his wand meekly, as if hailing a cab – an action that would have been quite normal to a Muggle observer, if not for the fact that the street was practically deserted of cabs, or for that matter, any human presence. Just when Harry was about to give up, a starkly purple colored triple-decker bus appeared out of thin air in front of him, 'The Knight Bus' written in gold letters over its windshield.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Stan Shunpike at you ser . . . Oi! If it ain't young Harry Potter . . .” the conductor began. From his previous experiences, Harry knew that calling Stan 'talkative' would be an understatement.

“Hello Stan,” Harry said, showing him Hermione's address in a slip of paper, “I need to get here urgently. I'm willing to pay higher for a really quick trip.”

Stan read the slip, muttering something than sounded like “Muggle address” and handed it over to the driver.

“No problem Harry, come on aboard! We have just one other passenger, you see business is . . . ”

“How much?” Harry cut him off again, climbing aboard, while the bus started with a jerk. Harry paid the required galleons and sat in a chair, glancing at his Muggle wrist-watch in his impatience to count off the seconds. However, the second hand was not moving at all. Just what I needed now – my watch getting stuck. Frustrated, he was about to ask Stan the time, before he remembered that wizards generally didn't wear personal Muggle time-pieces – students being an exception. He'd worry about his malfunctioning watch later.

The trip to the Granger's house, which would have taken more than an hour on Muggle transport, took a little more than a minute – partly because the roads were empty, but mostly due to the fact that the bus apparated most of the way. The driver seemed to have taken Harry's extra pay to heart. Yet, on reaching his destination, Harry was forced to fight away the disquieting thought that he could be too late.

All the street lights were off, just as Harry had seen in his vision; a large power blackout seemed to have occurred – but Harry had other worries to ponder upon. He scrutinized his surroundings, trying to relate them with his vision, which was tough job considering that the vision was from the point of view of a snake, the darkness not helping the task at all. Eventually he recognized the house that the snake had been heading for – it was located just opposite the one he had been facing.

In a few quick strides Harry reached the front door, his heart beating madly, and his eyes caught the nameplate, shining in the moonlight bearing the words “Granger”. So far the vision was corresponding with reality. But so had been the vision about Sirius in the Department of Mysteries . . . Doubts formed in his mind if this was just another of Voldemort's tricks . . . But then why hadn't he been attacked yet? Brushing off his thoughts aside, Harry concentrated on the task at hand.

For a moment, Harry contemplated searching the house compound for slithering creatures – but if there had been a snake then it would have found an opening into the house by now. A picture flashed into his mind of a poisonous snake crawling on a bed. Trying his best to ignore it, Harry knocked sharply on the door and waited. This knocking business, brought about by the lack of electricity, was getting to his nerves.

No reply came. Swearing under his breath, Harry knocked louder. No movement . . . just when he was about to consider using magic to force open the door he heard someone walking inside. His heart gave a leap of relief as the door opened to reveal a middle-aged man holding a candle. It took a few moments for Harry to recognize Mr. Granger in the flickering candle-light, whom he had last seen at King's Cross.

“Yes??”

There was an edge to Mr. Granger's voice which instantly made Harry feel guilty for disturbing them in the middle of the night for a vision he realized might just be a hoax.

“Hello Mr. Granger, er . . . I'm Hermione's friend from school, Harry Potter.”

Harry felt Mr. Granger's scrutinizing gaze before he caught a look of recognition grazing the man's eyes. He thanked his stars that Muggle's didn't read the Daily Prophet. He wouldn't have rejoiced at the idea of Hermione's parents thinking they were anything more than friends.

“Who is it dear?” came a woman's voice, which Harry guessed belonged to Hermione's mother, from above the stairs.

“It's a friend of Hermione's”, Mr. Granger replied back before addressing Harry a little more warmly than before, “Well good to see you Harry. Hermione speaks a lot about you, but she's not here. What brings you here at this time of the night?”

The fact that Hermione wasn't here was news to Harry. But he stopped himself from wondering about her whereabouts, as her absence meant that he would be alone in battling the snake if he had to – he shivered at the thought – he had tried to avoid thinking how he would tackle the snake on his own, considering that it was being possessed by Voldemort, and it did not help matters that underage wizards weren't allowed to do magic unless it was a life threatening situation. Scratch that . . . unless the ministry believed that it was a life threatening situation – only the previous year Harry had to face a full-fledged trial for expulsion from Hogwarts when he had used a Patronus charm to save his cousin and himself from being soul-sucked by two Dementors.

“Well . . . Mr. Granger, you might think that this is just a joke, but it's not. This is really important – I've just had a vision of a magical snake – it's possessed by Vol . . . well a dark lord – Hermione may have told you about him. I saw the snake heading towards your house in my vision. I tried to contact the school headmaster but I couldn't. So I came here to warn you.”

Harry now wished that it would all turn out to be a mistake, foolhardy though it might make him seem to Hermione's parents, and he could go back to the Dursleys after saying his apologies.

“Hold on a second – you're saying that there's a dangerous snake lurking about here, and he's being controlled by a dark lord – do you mean Voldemort?” Mr. Granger said coolly.

Harry nodded. “Then Hermione must have told you about him. Please sir, you've got to believe me . . . ”

But as if on cue the stillness was shattered by a scream from the above. The look of coolness on Mr. Granger's face was instantly replaced by a look of horror as he rushed towards what Harry made out to be the staircase in the dim light. Harry followed suit, his heart pounding madly.

On reaching upstairs, Harry held out his wand and whispered “Lumos”. This was a life-threatening situation enough – expulsion or no expulsion. He gasped at the sight that met him – a 6 foot long serpent was slowly crawling towards Mrs. Granger trapped in a corner of the doorway. She looked petrified with shock.

Harry's scar was throbbing madly, and this was nothing like the usual – almost constant – irritation in the scar that he had been experiencing ever since the Vodemort's redemption a year ago. This extreme pain was something he only experienced when Voldemort – or apparently a creature possessed by him – was nearby. It was making thinking nearly impossible.

A few seconds elapsed before Harry realized that he would have to divert attention of the snake away before it struck at Mrs. Granger. Mr. Granger was having no luck even after shouting at the top of his lungs. Then it came to him – he was a Parselmouth. He concentrated at the snake before opening his mouth to speak.

“Leave her alone! I'm the one you want.” he hissed.

The snake turned abruptly towards Harry at the words, which were unintelligible to humans. Its green eyes glittered eerily in the darkness. It slithered toward him baring its fangs, which here dripping with venom.

“Well, well well . . . how nice to see you Harry! Although your presence here is not at all unexpected . . . in fact . . .” and the snake broke off, a look of triumph gleaming in its eyes.

Harry could have recognized that venomous tone anywhere. What did he mean by expecting Harry?

“Voldemort,” he spat, still speaking in Parsel-tongue, “What do you –”

But he was cutoff by a sudden jerk as a strong hand clasped his collar from behind.

“What do you think are you doing, boy?” Mr. Granger growled.

Harry was taken aback by the sudden hostility in his voice but regained his senses when he realized how suspicious hissing to the snake looked – in his second year all the students in school except Ron and Hermione had believed him to be the Heir of Slytherin just because he could speak Parsel-tongue.

He was about to come up with a convincing response when several things happened in quick succession. The green-eyed snake, taking full advantage of the chance offered to it, lunged at Harry's wand arm. Harry barely managed to pull his hand out of the way before its fangs sunk into his trousers, leaving an intense stinging sensation just below his knee. Meanwhile Mr. Granger had let go off Harry's collar and brought a glass vessel, which he had been supposedly holding in his free hand, crashing down on the snake's skull – or where it had been a moment ago as it instantly veered away from the danger area.

Harry stared at his right knee, as blood seeped out, soaking his trousers. He pulled up his trouser to inspect the wound, two deep circular marks made by the poisonous fangs. He would have only a handful of minutes before the poison spread through his bloodstream, which would surely be fatal.

“See how these stupid Muggles treat you Harry? You risk your life for them and what do they you pay in return? Join me Harry and I'll make your life worthwhile.” Voldemort was enjoying the game.

“If you think I'll join you Voldemort, then you probably need a mental check-up.” Harry hissed back through gritted teeth.

But a stab of excruciating pain filled his right knee. He knew that he would have to be admitted to St. Mungo's immediately, if he was to have a chance of survival. He doubted if he'd reach a Muggle hospital in time, let alone a wizarding one. Yet he couldn't give up now; if he did, none of them would live. And then it struck him.

Not wasting a second, Harry pulled out the pocket-knife Sirius had given him, and sliced away the flesh around the wound, which was now bleeding profusely. Trying his best to ignore the pain, Harry yelled “Stupefy! Stupefy! STUPEFY!” But the snake expertly dodged all the stunning spells emerging from Harry's wand. The next moment it turned towards Mrs. Granger who, showing admirable courage, had almost flattened its tail by a lamp-shade.

Harry knew this was his chance. Working up all his concentration, he yelled “Impedimenta!” The snake was blasted away a good three feet through the air, landing in a heap in the corner opposite to the one Mrs. Granger was standing in. Harry cautiously crept up to the snake, to be able to aim a stunning spell. But the snake had not given up yet. Just as Harry got within striking distance, it lunged straight for his throat, fangs outstretched for the kill.

However, Harry was prepared this time. His stunning spell hit the snake right in between its eyes and it slumped to the ground harmlessly. It was then that he noticed the dark red color that the right half of his trousers had taken before he passed out.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N 1: You reviewers really made my day! One day I upload my first chapter and the next morning I have 18 positive reviews staring back at me. I can only say WOW!!! I hope to keep it as interesting... All reviews, suggestions, criticism, flames welcome.

A/N 2: For those of you wondering about Sirius' knife, the explanation's here in this chapter. Thanks to Dragon of Slytherin at FanFiction.net for pointing it out.

A/N 3: I've changed the rating from PG to PG-13, to be on the safer side.

A/N 4: URGENT! Beta-reading volunteers needed.

Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance

Chapter 2

“ ... don't like this. We need to get Harry to a hospital.”

“How's the problem.” Mr. Granger was pacing around in his living room, frustrated to his limits. The power blackout – a nuisance in itself out of the blue – had been accompanied by dead telephone lines and non-functioning electrical appliances – even those powered with batteries. His car refused to start, his battery-powered torches and clocks had stopped working – all in the middle of the night. And this phenomenon was not limited to his house; the whole neighborhood was clouded in darkness. He shuddered to think of the consequences this would have on their lives in the morning.

And add the fact that they had just been attacked by a creature belonging to strange serpent species – strange not as much due to its horrible features as due to the fact that it vanished as soon as it fell unconscious after it was hit by whatever magic his daughter's friend had performed on it. The same friend, a boy of about sixteen, who'd just risked his own life for their sake. And he'd been suspecting him...

Being doctors – dentists to be accurate – rational thinking came as second nature to the Grangers. As hard as it had been for them to accept the fact that their daughter had been admitted to a school of witchcraft, only now had they witnessed magic with their own eyes, something their daughter had been yearning to show them for years, and this was not, they realized, a collection of parlor tricks. This was serious.

“Honey, he's waking!” Mrs. Granger's voice broke the silence. She had just cleansed Harry's wound with an antiseptic and covered it tightly with bandages to stop the bleeding – which otherwise hadn't been showing any signs of stopping by itself anytime soon. She had appreciated his quick thinking in cutting off the flesh with a pocket-knife. Yet she was unsure of his condition – and there was the danger of the wound catching infection from the knife. She was jerked alert from her worries by movement in her previously unconscious patient.

Actually Harry had been awake but still for quite a few moments, wondering over the occurrences of that night. The first thing that had struck him, as he lay awake, was that his scar had stopped paining – he'd almost got used to it for the past hour or so. From the fact that Mrs. Granger had not finished dressing his wound yet, he knew that he couldn't have passed out for more than a few minutes.

Considering the way Voldemort reacted to his presence, he was now almost certain that the attack was a trap laid by Voldemort to lure him to the Granger's residence. If Voldemort really craved to hurt him or the Grangers, then he would have sent Death Eaters or at least a few more snakes. But why didn't Voldemort use a deceiving false vision like he had used before?

Maybe he was still too weak to try it... or Harry's own practice with Occlumency might have prevented him – though he wasn't sure how much (or how little) he could have progressed in barely two days. But the million-dollar question – or more appropriately, million-Galleon in this case – still remained unanswered: Why did Voldemort want to bring him here?

He was now inspecting his surroundings through unfocused eyes – the absence of glasses making the task considerably more difficult in the dim candle-light. Still he could make out Mrs. Granger, apparently engrossed in dressing his wound with the expertise of a trained medical practitioner, although said training was actually in a different discipline. He chuckled inwardly, remembering how Dudley used to be mortally scared of his dentist, making his aunt's task of coercing her son for weekly appointments (which were necessitated of course by Dudley's wanton consumption of anti-teeth sweets) infinitely hard.

The slight dizziness – probably due to the loss of blood – that Harry had been feeling after waking was slowly ebbing away. Apart from the pain in his wound, he didn't suffer from any adverse effects of the snake-bite – evidently he hadn't been poisoned. At least it seemed that he'd live, he thought, marveling at the resourcefulness of Sirius' knife – it could unlock locked doors, repair itself magically (as it had done after the unfortunate outcome – a molten blade – of forcing it to open a sinister door in the Department of Mysteries), and now it had saved him from a snake-bite. Only if Sirius were here... No! Stop it Potter, you've got other problems to deal; lamenting over Sirius' death isn't going to bring him back.

Longing for a better look at his surroundings, Harry moved his neck to scan his bedside for his glasses, catching Mrs. Granger's attention.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Her voice was kind and soothing – not betraying even a drop of the concern that resided behind it.

“Fine, just a little dizzy.”

“The bleeding has stopped and you're not showing any symptoms of poisoning, though I'm no expert. Still I think we should admit you to the hospital. We'd have called an ambulance, but the phone lines are dead and... Are you really sure you're OK?”

“Yes Mrs. Granger. And I don't think a Muggle hospital – er – I mean a non-magical one could treat me even if I was sick, you see the snake wasn't a normal one. I don't think a non-magical hospital would have the anti-dote.”

Mrs. Granger nodded, but did not seem too convinced at this.

“How long was I unconscious?” Just to be sure. As fas as Harry remembered, he'd just stunned the snake, and it was bound to wake up after a few hours. Getting rid of it was another addition to his list of worries.

“Not much... a quarter of an hour. And the snake's gone.” This was Mr. Granger, who had just left his pacing to hand Harry his glasses.

“Gone? How?”

“It disappeared. You mean you didn't vanish it?”

“I just stunned it. Voldemort must have disapparated it. It means traveling to a different location in an flash.”

Mr. Granger nodded and then paused as if thinking what to say, before looking at Harry directly in the eyes.

“Look Harry... We are really grateful to you. If you hadn't come at the right time, then we would have been helpless. Hermione speaks very highly of you, and we can see that it's true. I'm really sorry for shouting at you...”

“No Mr. Granger. It's nothing really... Hermione or Ron would have done the same for me.” Harry didn't feel very comfortable being praised after he'd just walked right along with Voldemort's plans. But speaking of Hermione reminded him of her absence. “Where's Hermione?”

“She left last week for what she calls the Headquarters. For some training – what was it – Animus did she say?” said Mrs. Granger looking at her husband for help, who on his part had resumed his pacing.

“Animagus!” Harry exclaimed. “Hermione's taking Animagus training?”

“That's what she said – you didn't know? She must have wanted to surprise you.” Mrs. Granger suggested hopefully.

And surprise she did, Harry thought bitterly. To be truthful, he hadn't really given much thought to becoming an Animagus; yet subconsciously, he'd always marveled at the idea of being able to assume an animal form. In their own days at Hogwarts, Harry's dad and his companions Sirius and Peter Pettigrew had undergone Animagus training on their own to accompany their werewolf friend Remus Lupin in wandering around the castle and the Forbidden Forest.

If his dad could learn to transform to a stag on his own then he himself was capable too. Then why wasn't he informed about the training – why wasn't he given a chance? He imagined Ron and Hermione being trained over the summer to become Animagi, the very thought of him being left out, unsettling. Or did they think he was incapable of 'shouldering the responsibility' as Dumbledore had reasoned for not appointing him as a Prefect? Or was he supposedly incapable of controlling himself in an animal form – as the Daily Prophet had been announcing all through last year? You're losing yourself Potter, there must be a reason... Harry somehow managed to silence his rambling thoughts, forcing his attention to a more pressing concern.

“The phone lines are dead, did you say?” he asked.

“Yes. We tried to use the cell-phone, but that's not working either. I wonder what you're aunt and uncle – the Dursleys aren't they? They must be really worried...” Mrs. Granger replied, worrying herself.

“No they hardly care and anyway they must still be asleep... What's the time now?” Harry said, remembering that his watch was stuck.

“Must be nearly one... The clocks have stopped working...” Harry's eyes widened at Mr. Granger's reply. “There's something sinister going on here – the power's gone, phones are dead, cars won't start... I'd say that nothing electrical is working and I hardly believe that there's a scientific explanation.”

Harry was baffled at the implication. It was not everyday that London faced a power blackout – or modern Britain for that matter – but it could be blamed on technical failures. But what they were experiencing – even in Little Whinging, he realized – had only one explanation.

Here he was stuck without protection (and hardly able to defend himself thanks to his injury) in the dead hours of the night, open to attack especially when Voldemort knew of his location. And the fact that the Grangers, like all Muggles, were helpless without electricity hardly helped matters. All he could think was that he'd have to contact Dumbledore, and fast. Hedwig, who was back at the Dursleys, would do. And he couldn't stay here.

“I need to go...”, he managed, making an attempt to get up, before being prevented by Mrs. Granger.

“No Harry, you need to rest!”

“But we're unsafe here,” Harry argued, explaining to them that he would go to the Dursleys, making use of the magical Knight Bus, and send an owl to ask for protection. He also had to promise that he would then head off to St. Mungo's, the wizarding hospital, before the Grangers were finally convinced enough to let him leave.

After a hasty midnight snack – all sugar-free of course – and repeated thanks from the Grangers, Harry found himself alone, staring at the lifeless road, illuminated by the full moon – no doubt being stared at by helpless werewolves all over Britain. He involuntarily straightened his glasses, subconsciously scanning his surroundings for wandering werewolves – although he knew that the chance of finding one in the Muggle vicinity was as good as Professor McGonagall teaching Divination.

Shrugging off his baseless fears he stood on the pavement putting his weight on his left leg, which was the only outward sign of his injury since he'd used a cleaning spell on his trousers to rid them of the blood stains – since he'd already broken a dozen rules, some more magic wouldn't hurt, he had assured himself.

Holding out his wand, he summoned the Knight Bus, hiring a ride to Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging. Even through his own preoccupation with his mind, Harry noticed the subdued state of the conductor, who only an hour before had been in his usual talkative mode. Might just be a bad day for business, Harry reasoned, noticing that he was alone in his deck. I'm just giving too much thought to trivial matters...

The trip took a little less than half an hour this time, but Harry was too pensive to notice the difference in duration. In fact he almost failed to realize that his wrist-watch had stared working again, before the glowing streetlights caught his eyes as the bus screeched to a halt a couple of blocks away from the Dursleys' residence.

But as he alighted from the bus, he felt his heart drop down to the road, not to mention his wand which met a similar fate, at the sight that awaited him. Stan had noticed it too, if the expression on his face, as he called out to the driver to get out of the place, was anything to go by. But Harry's brain didn't register the Knight Bus' departure, nor the fact that he was stepping right into the gutter, before he tripped over it and fell nearly on his face with a muffled yell.

The piercing pain in his scar was back, now accompanied by a scratched elbow and a painful leg. But his gaze was still fixed on the starless sky. A gigantic emerald-green skull was floating above, shining in sharp contrast to the night sky. A moving serpent was protruding from between its bare teeth, like a tongue. The Dark Mark. It took a few seconds before Harry regained his senses – only to feel the agony of his scar and injuries, now multiplied with cold fear.

Hastily, full of anxiety, he made his way to the Dursleys' house but didn't have to walk far before he saw his worst fears coming true. Number 4, Privet Drive was engulfed in flames, surrounded by neighbors, who were making futile attempts to subdue the fire. Apparently the Dark Mark looming overhead was invisible to the Muggles.

Harry was on the verge of casting a freezing spell – the fact that he was in front of Muggles notwithstanding – but realized that he'd dropped his wand back near the gutter where he'd fallen. His temple was bursting with pain and despair. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the arrival of an ambulance, closely followed by Muggle police vehicles flanking the fire brigade, sirens filling the atmosphere, which was glowing with bright dancing light from the flames.

Not being able to restrain himself any longer, he quickly donned his Invisibility cloak – he didn't want to be recognized by the neighbors, who positively thought that he had been attending a school for juvenile criminals – and infiltrated the crowd of onlookers that had gathered around the house, carefully avoiding physical contact. Firefighters were directing water and dry carbon dioxide at the flames, which were retreating back at a painstakingly slow speed. After a few minutes in which Harry looked on paralyzed with horror, medical staff carrying three stretchers emerged from the burnt remains of the house... unmistakably Mr. & Mrs. Dursley and their son in them. His throat went dry... No he wouldn't look...

He ran from the stomach wrenching sight, limping slightly, and hardly caring to keep from stepping over many a foot – he missed a certain rat with a silver paw observing the crowd from the shadows, with a definite smirk on its face.

Harry didn't know where he was heading, letting his feet carry him as far as he could get from the place. Granted the Dursleys had been mean to him, even ill-treated him; but they didn't deserve to die. And why? Only because he, the-Boy-Who-Lived, had happened to be their nephew? Uncle Vernon had been right – he should have left the Dursleys after the Dementor incident last year. Damn Voldemort, Damn Dumbledore – saying that the house was safe – and DAMN LIFE... Why did everyone have to die for him? First his parents... then Cedric Diggory... then Sirius... now the Dursleys...

Madness. Lunacy. Insanity.

A blind rage engulfed him, as he began punching the cement wall beside him with bare knuckles. Before long, the pain became unbearable, bleeding knuckles added to his list of injuries. The anger gave way to a deeply strong and uncontrollable emotion, the back of each of his eyes was burning madly, as was his throat. He broke down leaning against the bloodstained wall.

Harry covered his face and squeezed his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to stop the sobs threatening to burst out. Breathing deeply, he tried to calm himself; but the silent sobs went on, tears streaming freely down his face. He cried like never before, feeling utterly hopeless. Why?... Oh why did he have to loose all those who loved him? How he longed for his mother and his father... whom he had only seen as ghosts in his fourth year, and in his horrible nightmares. How he desperately missed his mother's love... no one to hold him, sooth him as he cried helplessly.

Now he didn't have his godfather too... all due to his own foolishness... only if he'd listened to his friends' advice last year and refrained from falling into Voldemort's trap. And again he'd fallen for Voldemort's trick today. If the Dursleys died, it would be squarely his fault. But what could he have done? If he hadn't gone to the Grangers, then they would have been assaulted by the serpent.

Thoroughly exhausted and writhing in pain and depression, Harry knelt down, using the wall as a support. He stayed there, miserable as ever, as time stretched on.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Harry stood up. Wiping his burning red eyes on his shirt, he vowed to himself. He'd suffer all hardships and go to the end of the earth – but he would never let anyone hurt those whom he cared for – Hagrid, the Weasleys, the Grangers. He was ready to face Voldemort, even if it meant laying down his life, but he wouldn't let anything happen to his best friends. Not if I can help it.

And crying like a baby isn't going to help, he scolded himself, regaining his composure. Picking up his bag and Invisibility cloak, which had been thrown away uselessly a few minutes ago, he began the task of searching for his lost wand. But not for long, as it was still lying seemingly untouched where he had dropped it in shock after seeing the Dark Mark – which had faded by now. The screaming sirens had also halted sometime, unnoticed by Harry in his melancholy.

Somehow overcoming bouts of exhaustion and sleepiness – a direct result of the eventful night, which was showing no indication of ending – Harry decided that going to the Order Headquarters at his godfather's house would be the right thing to do. The question was how. He didn't fancy hitching a ride on his broom, like he had done last year, especially since he didn't have anyone to give directions. The Knight Bus wouldn't help him either since the address was secret, and he didn't relish the idea of meeting Stan again, who'd evidently seen the Dark Mark too. Then he got it – he could use the fireplace at Mrs. Figg's house... that is if he could find some Floo powder there.

Silently he made his way to Mrs. Figg's presently uninhabited residence. His wrist-watch was showing 12:30 AM, because of the fact that it had lost approximately an hour during Harry's excursion. Somehow Harry felt that the power blackout and accompanying 'unexplained' complications were strangely related to Voldemort's plans. It was too much of a coincidence...

Reaching the front door, Harry used Sirius' knife (That's the second time it saves the day, he mused) to open the lock, after he had made sure no one was present inside by repeatedly ringing the bell.

To Harry's surprise, the fireplace was still burning inside – apparently Mrs. Figg must have had to leave in a hurry, he reasoned. As he had hoped, he found a bag of the magic powder right beside the fireplace. Throwing a pinch into the fire, which took a green color, Harry shouted “Number twelve, Grimmauld Place” before entering it.

After the all-too-familiar whirling sensation of Floo travel – requiring him to hold his glasses in place – Harry found himself emerging from the fireplace at the Black residence. It was just as gloomy as he remembered, gas lamps flickering along the walls, which were covered with wall-paper and ancient portraits. A chandelier – which served more as a shelter for web-weaving spiders than as a showpiece – glimmered overhead in the eerie light.

“Anybody home?” he called out, then mentally cursed at himself, remembering too late about Sirius' mother's shrieking portrait – who as if on cue, had launched herself into her favorite pastime – screaming her lungs out with all the obscenities she could think of to insult the house's current inhabitants. From the repeated occurrences of “Mudblood” and “Muggle-obsessed Blood-traitors” in her creative speech, Harry guessed that the Weasleys and Hermione must be here.

Not a moment later, he could hear footsteps rushing down the stairs. Ron emerged from the stairway, closely followed by Ginny, Hermione, the twins – who had left school last year to work on their joke shop, and last but not least, Mrs. Weasley, who was making every effort to force the scrambling kids to go back upstairs to bed. Way to make a grand entrance, he commented at himself.

“Harry!” Ron greeted, a wide grin plastered on his face as he shook hands with him. At a height of 6 feet, he made Harry, who stood at 5' 7'', look like a dwarf. Next moment, he was crushed into a customary hug by Hermione (bushy brown hair all over his face), and this time – to Harry's dismay – followed by another from Ginny (red hair all over his face). Harry's already bruised ego found some consolation in the fact that he was still taller than the two girls.

As he exchanged greetings – half-hearted to be truthful, as he was greatly spent out – with the twins, Mrs. Weasley managed to shut up the portraits – whose members had been engaging in a free-for-all screaming contest.

“Now, now girls! You've got to let him breathe!” Fred remarked.

“And how come you two don't greet us like that, huh?” George challenged, mockingly.

“Neither me,” Ron added.

“Oh, he's just so attractive – we girls just can't resist him!” Ginny replied back, not one to be outwitted easily, and only managed to change Harry's face to her hair's color in the process.

Harry had every reason to be in an off mood – from the many occurrences of the night to his discovery that Hermione and possibly Ron were taking Animagus lessons. Still he couldn't help but feel a little cheerful with these people who were like an extended family to him, managing a slight smile at them.

Nevertheless his despair and exhaustion did not remain hidden for long, especially from Hermione who had taken the equivalent of a Five Year Diploma course on Understanding Harry Potter, and her expression soon changed to a mixture of worry and curiosity.

Evidently Mrs. Weasley had noticed it too, since she dropped her previous angry stance (How dare he defy Dumbledore's orders and pop up to this place in the middle of the night?) to adopt a more understanding one.

“It's good to see you Harry dear, but unexpected. Is something wrong?”

Something wrong? No, not at all. Everything's gone wrong. Anyway, he'd have to recount it sometime, why not get it out of the system now? So Harry narrated the whole eventful night – starting from his vision, leaving out nothing.

Half an hour and many gasps later, Ron was looking at him as if he'd just swallowed a bunch of petrol flavored Every Flavor Beans ®, and Hermione was on the verge of tears. Ginny was putting up a brave face, while grim expressions mirrored over the twins' faces, without any trace their usual mirth. As for Molly Weasley, she was watching Harry with – if it were possible – a mixture of disbelief, sympathy and fury.

“Oh Harry, I'm really sorry!” Hermione finally broke the silence that lay for a full minute after Harry finished.

Mrs. Weasley speechlessly hugged Harry, who on his part was extremely grateful for the much needed love.

“It was really unfair on you dear. But we'll discuss the rest tomorrow morning. You really need to rest now.” She said finally. “Are you sure the snake-bite doesn't hurt? We can still get you to St. Mungo's ...”

“No Mrs. Weasley. Really, it doesn't hurt at all and considering I made it so far, the poison didn't enter my bloodstream.” Harry replied truthfully.

Nodding, she added sternly to the rest of the group, “No talking with him or amongst yourselves now. Ron, you'll take Harry straight to your room and make sure he goes to sleep now. Is that clear, all of you?”

However, on the way to his and Ron's shared bedroom, Harry suddenly registered the fact that his previously injured knuckles were looking and feeling as good as new, and the scratch that he'd suffered in his elbow was nowhere to be seen. Disbelievingly, Harry reached down to peek under the bandages covering his now painless snake-bite. To his utter astonishment, they wound had disappeared altogether – the blood stains on the bandage being the only proof of its existence.

He wanted to speak to Ron and Hermione about this new development, but didn't utter a word under the strict gaze of Mrs. Weasley as the children and the twins headed to bed. It would have to wait till morning, he thought, drifting off to sleep the moment he hit the bed.

* * *

Nightmares usually plagued Harry's sleep at night, and tonight was no exception. There was the mandatory visit to Godric's hollow, complete with a baby Harry, his parents and Voldemort. What followed was a new replay of Sirius' death – Harry still marveled at the number of horrible ways in which Sirius had died in his dreams, each time Harry being a helpless onlooker.

Today, he tossed and turned in his bed as he saw firemen holding fire hoses, pointing them at Sirius. But wait... the firemen were looking remarkably like Dudley's gang – Harry could distinctly make out the leader as Dudley himself. And the substance emerging from their hoses was not water but fire. Sirius was being burnt alive by Dudley's gang, as Harry watched from a distance, wand outstretched.

He opened his mouth to cast a freezing spell to wipe out the flames, but all that came out was “Stop it Big D! Or I'll call you Diddykins!” and he kept repeating it over and over again, unable to stop himself; now joining a bellowing contest with Sirius, who was screaming in agony.

All of a sudden, the noise stopped, accompanied by an abrupt change in the scenery. The rich smell of sea reached Harry's nostrils. He could feel a cool and soothing breeze, blowing through his hair and clothes. Opening his eyes, he found himself standing alone on a beach, ankle deep in aqua-blue water. Wave upon wave of cool frothy water smashed upon his feet, giving a pleasant tickling sensation.

Looking up at the vibrant yellow sky, Harry gasped at the fascinating sight that met his eyes. There were not one but two suns – or stars should we say. One of them was hovering just above the horizon, giving a bright orange tinge to the white cottony clouds scattered all over the sky. The other one was much higher up, glittering with a golden yellow color. Yet the atmosphere was cool and satisfying.

As Harry stood there enjoying his delightful surroundings, he was aware of a strange warm sensation engulfing his body and mind. It seemed as if all unhappy thoughts and memories were being sucked out of him. The feeling was the exact opposite of the one with Dementors, but even the memory of Dementors was fading away from his mind.

All he could feel was pleasure... extreme satisfaction; nowhere had he had such a gratifying experience, not even while flying on his Firebolt. Pleasant memories of his life flashed through his mind. A red-haired woman with emerald green eyes caressing him as a baby... A smiling bespectacled man with untidy black hair holding a brown teddy-bear before him... An eleven-year old Harry being told by Hagrid that he was a wizard... Innocent childhood adventures with his best friends Ron and Hermione... Discovering that he had a godfather with whom he could live... Winning the Quidditch cup for Gryffindor... Making up with Ron after completing the first task of the Triwizard Tournament... Hermione giving him a friendly kiss on the cheek after alighting from the Hogwarts Express...

Half of his mind wanted to pinch himself, to see if this was really a dream, but the other half resisted – if this was a dream, then he didn't want it to stop. Needless to say, the latter half won effortlessly. Harry turned in his sleep, his face beaming with happiness.

* * *

Ron Weasley was a late riser by birthright. During holidays, anything earlier than 9 AM was midnight to him. Consequently, when he was rudely pulled out of bed today two full hours before his usual wake-up time, the culprit – his dear considerate sister – was rightfully entitled, he decided, to a decent rebuke, to the extent that she felt totally ashamed of her atrocities towards mankind – in this case, himself. In other words, Virginia Weasley was deeply in trouble.

However, the moment he took a look at the bed beside his own, he temporarily forgot all his grudges towards his younger sister, because the person lying there – in deep sleep, no less – brought back to his mind all the happenings of the previous night.

It all started with Dumbledore calling all the Order members to an emergency meeting at 8 PM, and less than half an hour later they all apparated to an undisclosed location. Even with the help of the new and improved Extendable Ears ® by Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes ®, the kids were unable to uncover their destination.

And six long hours later, Harry of all people appeared out of their fireplace after having one of the most frightful experiences of his life. Pondering over the connection between the incidents of last night, Ron emerged out of his bedroom, only to find Ginny and Hermione staring at him with anxious expressions on their faces.

“What's the matter you two? And what was the big idea, waking me up at seven, huh?”

For an answer, Hermione shoved a newspaper into his hands – today's edition of the Daily Prophet, he ascertained. His jaw dropped as he read the headlines...

DEATH EATER ATTACK ON MINISTRY FOILED; HEAVY CASUALTIES

[To be continued...]

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author Notes: With this chapter, this fic crosses two milestones: the 10,000 words mark – which I seriously intend to take past 40,000, and the 50^th review. Loads of thanks to all who reviewed with some special mentions below (If you want to be in this list, then write a review that stands out – it need not be positive) :-

k a w a i i n e s s, dreamer43: Words can't express what it feels to be likened to the great JKR – the one and only one who started it all. You. Just. Made. My. Day. Period.

Emerald Earth: Get a grip, the show has just begun! You ain't seen nothing yet... And no I'm not keen on killing Mr. Weasley .................. yet (ha! Just kidding)

Mella deRanged, The X-Woman: Special thanks for the great reviews.

Dedicated to all the one-liner – hem, hem – reviewers who spent their precious time in Reading & Reviewing this fic. Keep 'em coming. One more thing: This is a feel-good chapter, mostly conversation – what I'd call the calm before the storm.

[Note: Re-uploaded with some punctuational mistakes fixed.]

Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance

Chapter 3

It was a bright morning – not to mention hot – as Harry blinked in the sunlight falling squarely on his face, swearing at the thoughtful person who'd left the window open without a shade.

“Kids these days,” remarked a green-robed wizard with a shrewd face and a pointed beard, shaking his head at Harry from a portrait hung on the wall adjacent to Harry's bed. “A little later and he'd have missed lunch... And hear his creative words! Fancy calling himself a Gryffindor...”

Phineas Nigellus. Harry recognized the past headmaster of Hogwarts – not that he liked him, and part of his dislike for Phineas was derived plainly from the fact that he was wearing Slytherin robes, and like all Slytherins, lost no opportunity in insulting Gryffindors. Evidently, he'd been instructed by Dumbledore to keep a watch on Harry, since he hardly spent anytime in this portrait otherwise.

It was a little late in the morning – 10 o'clock to accurately quote his wrist-watch. Surprisingly, Harry found himself well rested and rejuvenated from his sleep but what was more surprising was the fact that he didn't remember having a nightmare at all – a first, ever since he returned from the third task of the Triwizard tournament. But he did remember having a vague dream – some seashore... but that was it. From what he could recollect, he had had a dream starting and ending with a seashore.

However, as he headed off to the bathroom, the previous night's events came flooding back to his mind – his brain working overtime to enlighten itself with answers to the hundreds of questions plaguing it. It was then that the fact dawned on him – he had forgotten all about Hedwig. His heart nearly stopped for a few moments before he remembered that he had left Hedwig's cage open – presumably she must have freed herself when the fire started. Breathing a sign of relief, he headed off downstairs to grab some breakfast.

“Hey Harry, you sleepy head! It's past eleven and here I was thinking I was a late sleeper!” Ron called out, the lack of his usual animated voice not escaping Harry's notice. He was sitting along with Hermione, Ginny and the twins – looking like they were having a deep conversation.

“What??”, Harry voiced his thought aloud. I've been bathing for an hour? But he regained his composure on taking a look at his watch – it was still showing 10:15. Realizing that he'd forgotten to correct its time, he quickly rectified his mistake before joining the group.

However, unlike the usual topics of discussion such as Quidditch, the Order of the Phoenix or some new best-selling invention of the twins, Harry judged – from the five worrisome faces staring at him – that today's topic was much more grave. Probably me, he deduced. And Mrs. Weasley was nowhere to be seen.

“You must be hungry. I'll get you some sandwiches,” said Ginny, rushing to the kitchen.

Harry was trying to prepare a convincing speech – the gist of which being that 'I'm alright and you don't need to worry about me' – before he caught the words “Death Eater” on a copy of the Daily Prophet lying on the couch.

DEATH EATER ATTACK ON MINISTRY FOILED; HEAVY CASUALTIES

In what was the worst incidence of violence in the Ministry of Magic since the Goblin revolutions, Ministry officials teaming up with Aurors were able to recapture the Ministry premises after a fierce battle with Death Eaters who had seized it earlier last night.

According to Ministry sources, the Ministry was attacked by a large contingent of Death Eaters, allegedly under orders from He Who Must Not Be Named, just after working hours ended on Tuesday. The increased security arrangements, placed by Minister Fudge after the reappearance of He Who Must Not Be Named, were unable to contain the ambush.

Consequently, Aurors, flanked by Ministry workers, U.S. Enforcers, who were apparated by the U.S. Department of Magic, and the Hogwarts staff, led by Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts headmaster and Chairman of the International Confederation of Wizards, launched the largest wizarding assault in Great Britain in recent times, to recapture the Ministry premises. 37 people were killed and more than 70 injured in the ensuing battle spanning the whole night, as the allied forces were able to defeat the Death Eaters, who disapparated to their unknown hideout the moment their numbers diminished.

The injured were rushed to St. Mungo's, but sources indicate that the more serious cases were transported to a secret location, which the Ministry refuses to disclose. “The Minister requests the public to stay united in these tumultuous times, and promises that the Ministry will direct all efforts in bringing the wrongdoers to justice,” said Percy Weasley, personal aide to the Minister, also squashing rumors about the Minister's resignation.

Coming only a month after the Ministry-acknowledged return of He Who Must Not Be Named and the realignment of the Azkaban Dementors with the Dark side, this new episode has left the wizarding populace in a state of shock. Meanwhile, the international magical community has openly condemned this blatant act of terrorism by the Dark forces, and pledged its full support to the UK in eradicating these perpetrators of evil...

Harry reread the article again, letting the news sink in – the sandwiches brought by Ginny lay forgotten.

“Welcome to the war...” Fred broke into his thoughts, with a tone of finality in his voice, earning a glare from Ginny.

“Dad's slightly bruised but OK if that's what you're wondering,” Ron said, “but some Order members were injured pretty badly... At least that's what Mum said before she left for the meeting.”

“Who's injured? Lupin? Tonks? Moo...”

“We don't know anything yet,” Hermione cut him off.

“Mum refused to tell us much... you know how she is. But it seemed that she knew something as she left pretty hurriedly,” George added.

“They're not holding the meeting here?” wondered Harry.

“Apparently not. I think Dumbledore suspects our using Extendable Ears – not that they helped a lot.”

“Um... so how's your joke shop doing?” Harry asked the twins, attempting to change the subject.

“Splendidly, sales have been steadily picking up since we set up shop in Hogsmeade,” replied George, brightening up.

“And we can't wait for the school term to start...” added Fred, then added in a gloomier tone, “But after this attack, I'm not sure if we'll sell much.”

“Yeah... the economy won't take this well.”

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a sudden knock at the window.

“Hedwig!” he exclaimed, as Hermione rushed to the window and disentangled an envelope from the owl's legs. Hedwig fluttered inside to land on Harry's shoulder.

“She flew in early morning. As the other owls were not here, I used her to send a letter to my parents.” Hermione explained at Harry's questioning look.

With a pang of guilt, Harry realized that he had completely forgotten about the Grangers – he was supposed to ask Dumbledore for arranging for their protection. But his thoughts were answered by Hermione.

“Mrs. Weasley already asked Dumbledore to send some security wizards to my house. And they are fine if they could send back a reply.”

Harry, having lost his trunk and its contents in the fire at Privet Drive, sent off Ron to find some owl treats, who on his part promptly delegated the task to Ginny, joining his brothers in talk about their business. A few moments later, as Harry and his owl both were engaged in their breakfast, Hermione came over, handing a newspaper clipping to him.

“You might want to see this – my Dad sent it. Its from a Muggle paper about the power cut you said about.”

Harry read it aloud for everyone's benefit. Contrary to what he had expected, the Muggle scientists were able to explain the absolute electrical breakdown – apparently they had put the blame on some cosmic radiation emitted by a supernova a couple of thousand light years away. From the expressions portrayed over the other's faces, it was clear that only Harry and Hermione understood what this meant.

“Muggles are that intelligent? And they still don't understand magic!” exclaimed Ron.

“Of course they are. You don't even know about their complex science and technology – they use it to get over the limitation of not being able to perform magic,” Hermione replied. “Anyway we're getting off topic here. Harry, what do you think was the cause?”

“Well, my guess is that some witch or wizard – most probably Voldemort – purposefully cast a spell to annoy Muggles.”

“That's exactly what I was thinking too... Maybe there's a spell for it. I'll just have to check the library when we get back to school... Or even better I'll check in the one at Diagon Alley.” said Hermione, earning an eye-roll from Ron.

Fixing him with a glare, she went back to her letter. Ron on his part asked Harry for a game of chess – his favorite pastime, favorite partly due to the fact that he seldom lost in it. Meanwhile, Ginny agreed to serve as the twins' new tester on the promise that they'd buy her a new broom before the term started.

After a few careless moves – his mind was too preoccupied to dedicate it to the game – Harry looked up to find Hermione gone completely pale in the face, the envelope clutched tightly in her hands.

Ron noticed her too. “Whassa matter Hermione?”

“Wha... No nothing really,” she answered, eyes still fixed directly on Harry. A moment later she shook her head and went upstairs.

“What was that about?” Harry thought aloud.

Ron shrugged. “Must be that time of the month...”

“WHAT!?” Harry blurted out, a little too loudly. It couldn't be THAT. In fact he had recognized the look on her face instantly – it was the one she gave him when she was worried about him. And he had a sneaking suspicion on what the reason for her worry could be. However, he didn't feel like discussing that yet, so he dropped the subject.

Ginny, who had evidently heard Ron's remark, was glaring at him with a an expression that undoubtedly redefined the phrase 'If looks could kill'.

“Hey Ron! Harry! What about your OWL results?” called out George suddenly.

“Yeah! What about them? Don't tell me that you forgot the most important step of your life – as the Pig-Head used to call it.”

Harry had no problem in deciphering the descriptive epithet Fred used to describe Percy Weasley, who had practically alienated himself from the rest of the Weasley family – in his own words, his loyalty lay towards Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. What Harry did have a problem was in the fact that he had lost his sealed OWL results (he had agreed with Ron and Hermione to open their results together) along with his other possessions in the fire.

Ron, from his expression, didn't seem too enthusiastic about it. But Hermione, who had supposedly been upstairs, rushed down at the very mention of exam results, all causes of worry forgotten.

“Oh Yes! I almost forgot!”, she squealed in excitement, literally jumping up and down – apparently ignoring the fact that such behavior, which hardly suited a supposedly mature girl going on sixteen, would have almost brought the others down to their knees with mirth, if not for the fact that Harry was wearing a dejected expression on his face. It didn't go unnoticed for long.

“Harry! Don't you want to see your OWL results? You two did get them didn't you?” asked Hermione, puzzled.

“'Course I want to see them...”, he replied, “But I lost them.”

“You lost them?” repeated Ron.

“Perfect! Even me and George couldn't think of such a wonderful excuse!” said Fred, failing to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

“Except for the one in which we tried to hide the whole summer in the Quidditch stadium during the world cup... and then there was the owl repelling charm we tried to use...” added George, racking his memories.

“We thought that was a good idea, until the Hogwarts owls ended up giving the results to our Dad in his office.”

“Not to mention that we were cut off from owl post for a whole month.”

“Shut up you stupid gits! Isn't it obvious? He lost them in the fire at his relatives' house,” stated Ginny, glaring at her brothers.

“Oh well, you should write to Dumbledore to send you another copy. I guess we'll just wait till you get yours,” said Hermione to Harry, trying her best to hide her disappointment.

“No... you two open yours. Most probably I'll get mine tomorrow.”

“I think we agreed to open them together.”

“She's got a point Harry,” added Ron hopefully, his expression clearly indicating that this was the first 'right' point she had ever had. “We could wait till tomorrow.”

“C'mon Hermione, we are together. I know you can't wait to open yours,” persisted Harry, then stealing a laugh at Ron, “Though I can't say that about you, Ron...” He earned a friendly punch for a reply.

“So are you two gonna open or not?” questioned Ginny, quite interested herself, in seeing their results.

Finally – to Ron's apparent dismay – Hermione gave in, rushing back upstairs to get her results, followed by Ron. Meanwhile, Harry borrowed a piece of paper and quill from the Fred, and composing a quick note to Dumbledore, he sent it away with Hedwig.

Unsurprisingly, Hermione had secured all the 15 OWLs that she had taken, 12 of them with Outstanding grades – Astronomy Practicals, Herbology and Ancient Runes being the three in which, to her disappointment, she got Exceeding Expectations. Her announcement of her results was followed by a round of whooping and congratulations, not to mention hugs from Ginny, Harry and Ron.

“ 'Mione beats the Pig-Head! 'Mione beats the Pig-Head!” The twins broke into a chant, soon to be joined by Ginny, making Hermione blush to a shade of crimson.

Ron on the other hand, fearing the worst, passed his mark-sheet to Harry without taking a look at it. “I dunno... maybe you should open it mate.”

“You're not so bad yourself Ron... 10 OWLs!” said Harry, handing over the mark-sheet to an extremely relieved Ron. He had failed in Astronomy Practicals, Potions Theory, Divination and History of Magic. Harry's announcement was met by pin-drop silence, only broken by the sudden appearance of Mrs. Weasley and Nymphadora Tonks from the fireplace.

“Oh hello Harry. How are you feeling?” asked Tonks, her hair glowing with a bright shade of purple.

“Fine.”

Mrs. Weasley broke into a rant, condemning the Dark side's cunningly engineered activities – Harry noting the fact that she had no reservations about spelling 'Voldemort'. Apparently, the attacks on the Grangers and the Dursleys had not been expected even by Dumbledore. Moreover, she informed Harry that his violation of the Restriction of Underage Wizardry and Statute of Secrecy laws had not been recorded by the Ministry, since it was busy battling the Death Eaters at that time. He noticed that she had deftly steered clear of any mention of the Dursleys.

“Dumbledore told Harry that the Dursleys' residence was safe... That's why he had to live there. Then how come Voldemort was able to destroy it?” asked Hermione, as if reading his mind.

“It was,” Tonks answered this time, “He wouldn't have been able to touch it if he hadn't taken Harry's blood in his resurrection. The protection diminished after that... It now required at least two people directly sharing his mother's blood to be present at the same house – Harry and his aunt in this case.”

Harry didn't wish to pursue the subject: he wasn't ready to discuss the Dursleys' fate yet, nor was he very enthusiastic about telling Fred, George and Ginny about his mother's sacrifice. The others realized this and dropped the subject.

“Mum, did you know that Hermione scored 15 OWLs, and Ron got 10... I can't believe it!” exclaimed Ginny, to be followed by another round of hugs and congratulations – this time the recipients being both Ron and Hermione.

“Young Ronnie got more OWLs than the two of us put together –” remarked Fred, while his mother was ecstatic.

“No wonder they made him a prefect,” added George earning a glare from Ron and Hermione each.

“That reminds me Harry. Dumbledore just got your owl a few minutes ago. You'll get a copy of your mark-sheet and list of books by owl tomorrow,” stated Mrs. Weasley, then facing her kids, “We'll be leaving after lunch to meet your dad. Hermione and Harry, you can come too if you wish?”

Intruding upon a family affair wasn't too appealing to Harry, even if he and Hermione were practically treated as family members by the Weasleys. Besides, he had a confrontation planned for Hermione, which he would prefer to have alone.

“No Mrs. Weasley, uh... I need to get some homework completed – I lost it all in the fire. And I um... I'd like Hermione to help me with it.” he said, earning sympathetic looks from the others.

Hermione just nodded, but raised an eyebrow at him when nobody was watching. You've spent five years in her company, Potter, and you still can't hide a lie from her.

“Later,” he mouthed.

* * *

True to his words, Harry had spent the uneventful afternoon in completing his 3-foot long Potions' essay – the one which, in his opinion, he had aptly named “The Essay That Started It All”. Tonks had stayed behind after the Weasleys' departure, and now was immersed in the latest edition of Witch Weekly ®. Hermione, on the other hand, had sat engrossed in her thoughts the whole time, her efforts, in pretending to read the newly revised edition of Hogwarts: A History, in vain, since the fact that she hadn't been turning the pages didn't escape Harry's notice.

She was presently correcting his essay, marking out sentences that were irrelevant and adding some of her own. Harry waited patiently for her to finish before speaking.

“There was something worrying you after you read your parents' letters. What was it?”

“What are you talking about?” she said, a touch of irritation in her voice.

“It was the Dursleys, wasn't it?”

That alarmed her.

“How did you... What makes you think so?”

“Look Hermione, its no good pretending okay? I just put two and two together – you were obviously distressed about something your parents had written to you, and the look you gave me clearly indicated that it was me you were worried about. That meant some news from the Muggle world. And what else could it be?”

The look she gave him indubitably said, Since when did you get so smart?, or so he interpreted. But she was silent. Meaning affirmative.

“Are they dead?” he asked, throat going dry.

“Its not just that, Harry. There's more.”

“Which mean they are.” He could have kicked himself. Why did he have to ask? Only if he had left them last year... Why did he take Dumbledore's ad...

“They aren't,” said Hermione, making him look up at her eyes. “Dudley's alive. And its not your fault Harry, so don't go on blaming it on yourself. I can as easily blame it on myself, since I'm the one who left my parents to come here.”

“To get Animagus training,” snapped Harry, not bothering to keep his accusing voice down.

A look of surprise grazed her eyes, to be replaced by a sudden burst of temper.

“I JUST KNEW IT! I knew you'd be mad about this... but Dumbledore and McGonagall insisted... and it was all for helping you. But I knew you wouldn't understand. Go on now – what are you waiting for – BLAME ME!”

The last thing that Harry wanted now was to have a fight, though half of him would just love to do it. He was extremely annoyed with himself owing to the fact that even though the Dursleys had never treated him as a part of the family, he was still responsible for what happened to them. But he suppressed his anger by staring fixedly at the floor, fists clenched, counting down from three hundred. He missed the tear-drops falling on his Potions essay.

“I'm so sorry Harry,” she said, openly weeping now.

When he finally looked up at her, his heart broke on seeing her swollen eyes, tears making glittering paths on her face. He had never seen her cry like this before. He sincerely hoped he'd never have to again. And yet a part of him, to his disgust, felt that she deserved it.

“I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have brought it up now. Its just that... You could have told me. Ron could have told me.”

“I know. But I just started last week with Professor McGonagall. Ron was just as pissed off as you – if not even more – when he discovered that he did not have the ability... Anyway, with all this happening, I don't suppose she'll be able to teach me this summer. Once we get back to school, you can get started too.”

Silence reigned, as Harry went over it in his head. And then he had to face the fact that Mr. & Mrs. Dursley were no more.

“You said there's more. Did something happen to your parents? Are they all right?”

“No, its not that... they're fine, all thanks to you risking your life.” She cutoff Harry from retaliating, “Its... well I'll show it to you but you must promise you'll keep your head cool.”

At his confused nod, she went upstairs, only to return with another newspaper clipping – from the Muggle paper The Guardian – which she reluctantly handed over to him. The heading made his stomach drop a few feet below the floor.

2 KILLED IN FIRE: TEENAGER SUSPECTED

Little Whinging, Surrey: A major fire was reported in a residence in Privet Drive, an hour after midnight today, killing two residents Vernon and Petunia Dursley, while their son escaped with critical burns. The authorities have not ruled out arson or homicide, the prime suspect being a 16-year old nephew of the victims, staying with them, who disappeared after the incident. Named Harry Potter, he is alleged by neighbors to be mentally unbalanced and possibly under the influence of drugs. Police officials are working on the case, but refuse to comment further.

Take a deep breath.

BLAST!

Breathe in, Breathe out.

A second gas lamp exploded, sprinkling the carpet with glass shards and oil. Before hesitating for a moment, Hermione pulled him into a crushing hug, and not without effect as a third lamp was spared from a fate similar to that of its two neighbors.

“Calm down Harry, I trust you... We all trust you. I'm sure that the ministry will arrange for some memory charms. And if it comes to that, my parents will testify for you.”

Harry wanted to say something. Say that he was OK – not that he was – maybe he could calm himself just by saying it. But his voice seemed to have left on vacation... All he could do was hear his heart beating twice the normal rate, basking in the warmth of his best friend's arms, inhaling the sweet and tranquilizing smell of her shampoo.

Hearing the sound of footsteps coming from the stairs, they had to pull apart – reluctantly in Harry's case. Apparently Tonks, who had been rectifying her lack of sleep last night, had heard the sound of the exploding lamps.

“What happened here?” she demanded, her eyes on the debris of the lamps scattered on the floor.

Harry's voice was still holidaying on some far-off island. Sensing this, Hermione spoke up.

“Harry just got a little carried away... the events of last night and his aunt and uncle's demise. Anyway he's recovered now.”

Harry just nodded, desperate to prove his sanity.

“You're right... No problem there, I'll fix them – broke quite a few myself,” said Tonks, relieved. Then pointing her wand at the broken glass, she shouted “Reparo!”

The spell worked, but not as expected, as all the broken pieces attempted to rearrange themselves to a single lamp (“OOPS!”), only succeeding in crashing into each other and forming smaller pieces in the process.Five minutes later, with some help from Hermione, the lamps were as good as new.

* * *

If there was one thing in her life that Hermione Granger never attached much importance to – then it was sleep, apart from useless girl-talk and cosmetics of course. Instead of wasting one-third of her life-span dozing in her bed, she would rather spend much of that time in uncovering the secrets of the universe – in other words, reading.

After an uneventful evening of playing exploding snap with Harry, Tonks and the Weasleys, followed by a celebratory dinner in honor of the OWL results, the kids had been forced to go to bed early by an insistent Mrs. Weasley – even her husband had been unable to plead their case. So faking sleep, Hermione silently decided to catch up on some of her reading. The only problem was that her current favorite – Hogwarts: A History revised 1996 edition – was lying on the couch in the living room.

Having made up her mind to sneak downstairs to retrieve her book, she was silently stepping down the stairs when her ears caught the sound of someone speaking – it was unmistakably Harry's voice, and coming from his and Ron's shared bedroom.

“Of what concern is THAT to you, Ron?”

She knew this was wrong, but she couldn't keep herself from eavesdropping.

“Look mate, just answer me OK?”

“Do you Ron? You do like her, don't you?”

“I asked you first. And don't make it such a big deal... A 'Yes' or 'No' would suffice.”

Hermione had a sneaking suspicion who the object of the argument, which her two supposedly best friends were sharing, could be.

“Oh! Is that so? And what if I say 'Yes'?”

“Horse-shit Harry! Why can't you just confess that you love Hermione?”

Her heart skipped a beat. I shouldn't be listening to this! But no matter how much her conscience was against it, she could not help hearing the answer.

“FINE! I love Hermione... she's my best friend, and unlike you, she's always been by my side – why shouldn't...”

However, he had no chance to finish, as there was a thud outside of someone falling on the landing. Indeed it was Hermione, who had involuntarily reacted, tripping over the stairs, before her brain had even registered the second part of his reply.

“Hermione?” A pair of wide green eyes behind glasses were staring at her from the door.

Within a moment she had decided that this had to be definitely the most embarrassing moment in her whole 15-year and 10-month old life. Not that Harry was feeling much different, she noted, if his deeply red face was anything to go by. She gulped, getting up, and making a an enormous effort to not blush.

“Did you hear us?”

“I can explain...” And what exactly was she explaining? “I didn't mean to hear you... I was just coming up the stairs.” Hope the American Annual Academy Awards ® committee are watching this, a mocking voice in her head remarked.

Her hopes of an Oscar were smashed by the crimson blush creeping up her face. Not to mention that Ron had just emerged beside Harry, equally wide-eyed and wide-mouthed.

“You didn't misunderstand me, did you?” asked Harry.

Frantically shaking her head, she made a rush for her bedroom. The problem didn't lie in understanding him; where it did lie was in understanding herself. The different emotions she had experienced during the two parts of his answer were, to put in plain words, something that she could not, or more appropriately, did not want to explain – not even to herself.

She missed the words that her two best friends spat at each other, both shocked at her reaction.

“She likes you.”

A/N: Okay, okay! Enough of the melodrama. Next chapter, we're going to switch back to Action/Thriller mode. Not to mention a few more bombs ;-) Keep reading...

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author Notes: Heart-felt thanks to all those who reviewed. Hey! The number of people having me in their favorite author lists dropped after last chapter. Was it that bad? Oh OK, I'll try to improve myself.

By the way, thanks to the 'temperamental' nature of ff.net, many of the reviews that readers have painstakingly posted just got sucked into a black-hole. I really like to read your reviews and hence I'm extremely put off by this.

*many dramatic sobs later*

And... The special reviewer awards go to... *dramatic pause*... Emerald Earth, CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur, abigfan, dreamer43, JaimeyKay and The X-Woman. *applause!!* You guys are a constant source of encouragement.

john (jwbartle@yahoo.com): Hey come on, Harry can't be such a superhero, can he? And you're expecting me to give him as many OWLs as Hermione? Well that's out of the question since Hermione took 15 OWL exams (and passed all) while Harry and Ron took just 14. Guess why...

JaimeyKay: OK I admit that was goof-up on my part. Anyway, as far as I can recall, Harry saw her cry during the troll incident in their first year. They were just 11 then and not even good friends, so it doesn't make much of a difference. And then she cried in 3^rd year, but that was too suppressed.

Dedicated to all HP cruisers, irrespective of shipping preference. Unless you're shipping slash... Ugh! YUK!

Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance

Chapter 4

She sat up with a start, the words reverberating in her head – “She likes you”. Shaking her head, Hermione looked around to find herself sitting on her bead in her pajamas. She let out her breath in a deep sigh of relief, as the realization dawned on her that she had been dreaming all along; otherwise she wouldn't have heard the final exchange between the two boys. Ginny was sleeping soundly in her bed near the opposite wall.

Hermione had never known that a dream could make someone feel so embarrassed. What a dream that was! She couldn't decide whether to classify it as a dream or a nightmare; but whatever it was, it was definitely another reason that would go into her list of why one shouldn't oversleep. She decided to pursue what she had intended to do in the first place before she fell asleep. Quietly she made her way downstairs, which was completely deserted at this late hour. This time she was able to sneak back with her book, without any untoward incident.

(A/N: *ducking tomatoes* Betcha didn't expect that!)

* * *

A delicious aroma filled the morning air, as the occupants of Number 12, Grimmauld Place sat at the dining table, devouring their breakfast. Harry was in high spirits, for the first time since the incident at the Department of Mysteries, and it was not due to Lupin being present at the table, though knowing that Lupin was all right after the attack on the Ministry would have been enough to cheer him up. The reason for his cheerfulness today was framed in its enlarged form in its rightful place on the wall between those of Ron and Hermione – his OWL results.

Contrary to what Dumbledore had promised, it took four long days for his OWL results to arrive, which Harry spent either brooding to himself under a magazine covering his face, or by engaging in an indoor Quidditch match – in which the size of his bedroom would be enlarged to a size equivalent to that of a basketball stadium by Fred and George. But when the mark-sheet finally arrived that morning, all his annoyance at the school staff for sending it late was washed away. For the past half hour, he had been sneaking glances at its enlargement on the wall, just to make sure he had read it correctly.

O.W.L. SUBJECT :: GRADE :: PASS STATUS

1. Astronomy Theory :: Exceeding Expectations :: Pass

2. Astronomy Practicals :: Acceptable :: Pass

3. Care of Magical Creatures :: Outstanding :: Pass

4. Charms Theory :: Exceeding Expectations :: Pass

5. Charms Practicals :: Exceeding Expectations :: Pass

6. Defense Against the Dark Arts Theory :: Outstanding :: Pass

7. Defense Against the Dark Arts Practicals :: Outstanding with +1 extra credit :: Pass

8. Divination :: Poor :: Fail

9. Herbology :: Exceeding Expectations :: Pass

10. History of Magic :: Dreadful :: Fail

11. Potions Theory :: Exceeding Expectations :: Pass

12. Potions Practicals :: Outstanding :: Pass

13. Transfiguration Theory :: Exceeding Expectations :: Pass

14. Transfiguration Practicals :: Outstanding :: Pass

OWLs Passed: 12/14

Total Score: 28

Overall Ranking: 4

Needless to say, everyone had been delighted by Harry's results, especially Hermione, who ended up giving him his birthday present early – which was a book titled Occlumency for beginners: A Complete Guide. Harry on his part had returned the favor by thanking her for the tenth time for her constant nagging which had forced him to study. Even Ron was cheerful, although to a lower extent, as he himself hadn't done bad. In fact, his happiness would have been paramount, if not for the fact that his mother and Hermione had been repeatedly scolding him that he would have done as good as Harry, only if he had put in a decent effort.

Harry had missed the second and third positions in his year by 3 and 2 points respectively to Draco Malfoy and a Ravenclaw girl he didn't know off. Of course Hermione was way ahead at a score of 42, the highest tally in almost two decades. But Harry had no complaints, since he had made the requirements of Auror classes – barely in case of Potions. In addition, his life-long ban from Quidditch was scrapped and he had been restored to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Not even the mumblings of Kreacher, the ill-mannered house elf, could dampen his mood today.

Just as everyone was finishing their breakfast, Harry's thoughts were interrupted by George.

“Witches and gentle-wizards,” he began, winking his eyes, “We have an announcement to make!” He was grinning from ear to ear, an identical smile portrayed on his twin brother's face.

Everyone except Mrs. Weasley at the table looked up at him expectantly. To Harry's puzzlement, Mrs. Weasley, who had been in a good mood all morning, abruptly got up from her chair and rushed to the kitchen, fuming. He wondered if it was something about their joke shop.

“Fred and me are being sworn into the Order today.”

Harry didn't know what to feel. He was happy for the twins, but he also felt a twinge of envy – Fred and George's adventures were nothing compared to what he, Ron and Hermione had been through. Being part of the Order was very appealing to him – at least he wouldn't have to wait for year end crisis-induced-talks with Dumbledore to know about Voldemort's plans. And he felt he deserved to be in the Order since he was the one marked by Voldemort according to the prophecy. But he silenced his thoughts; thinking about the prophecy would simply result in lowering his spirits.

Looking around the table, he found Mr. Weasley glowing with pride. Lupin and Tonks, on the other hand, were smiling at the twins. Meanwhile Ron, Hermione and Ginny were wearing expressions of envy on their faces, like himself.

“You were supposed to keep that a secret,” said Mr. Weasley, with a mock expression of anger, then smilingly added, “But since you have already spilled the beans I would also like to add that we are inducting two other members into the Order. Amos Diggory, from the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and Cassandra Mathews, who works in Shacklebolt's department in the Ministry.”

At the mention of Cedric Diggory's father, Harry was visibly upset. The death of Sirius and of the Dursleys came flashing back to his mind. He wondered how many deaths he'd have to witness now that he had been chosen by the prophecy. Stop it... Think about your OWL results! But he couldn't bottle it all within himself; he wished he could speak about it to Ron and Hermione, who were presently sending worried looks in his direction. After a much heated debate in his mind, he finally convinced himself to share the prophecy with them. He excused himself from the table, where Mrs. Weasley was waging a one-woman war on the rest of the adults to dissuade the twins from entering the Order. Shooting meaningful looks at his best friends, he quietly went up to his bedroom, leaving the door ajar.

A few minutes later, a knock on the door was followed by Ron and Hermione entering the room, wearing puzzled looks.

“Harry, you're hiding something from us.” It was a statement.

Before he could change his mind, he recited the prophecy to them. It was still etched into his memory as if Dumbledore had told him about it only a few minutes back.

“– but I was the one who Voldemort tried to kill. So you could say that he unknowingly chose me over Neville, fulfilling the first part of the prophecy.”

“I expected something like this... Why else would he spend all these plotting to kill you?” said Hermione, making Harry look up from his hands, which he'd been examining intently all this time.

“You expected? Well you never said so!” said Ron, frowning at Hermione.

“I didn't say I knew it. I wasn't sure, was I?”

Ron was about to retaliate, but a look from Harry made him change his mind.

“It said that V-Vol... Voldemort didn't know about some power kind of thing you have. So what is it?” he asked instead.

“Well... Dumbledore did speak of some mysterious power – its under study in a room in the Department of Mysteries. Its supposed to be very wonderful and terrible at the same time. And... Wait! He said that it took me there to save Sirius, and again it saved me from possession by Voldemort, and that's because he detests it and can't stand it. He – I mean Dumbledore – said something about my heart... Yeah that's it, I couldn't close my mind, but my heart saved me.”

For a few moments, each of them pondered over the meaning of what Dumbledore had told him. Even Harry hadn't given much thought to Dumbledore's remarks.

“Doesn't make much sense to me... And you never said Voldemort was trying to possess you,” said Ron, breaking the silence.

Harry stared at him for a moment. Did he want to tell them about it? May as well, he decided, if it helps to decipher this power.

“This happened in the Ministry Atrium, just after it seemed that Voldemort had fled from the scene. All of a sudden, my scar seemed to burst... and I – well I found myself sharing a body of a snake. It was weird and extremely painful – I couldn't see anything, but I could feel Voldemort using my mouth to speak...He was telling Dumbledore to kill me and I somehow knew that he was possessing me.”

“So how did you fight him off? Did Dumbledore use some spell?” asked Ron.

“No he couldn't do anything. And that's what puzzles me... I didn't even attempt to fight him. The pain was just too much – all I wanted to do was die, and...” said Harry, his voice breaking at the end.

“And what?”

It took a few moments for Harry to find his voice. A part of him didn't want to go on, but he knew he had to.

“I thought of Sirius... I hoped that I'd be able to meet him after death. After that I don't remember much – I just kept thinking of Sirius, and all of a sudden the pain vanished. Next moment I wake up to see Dumbledore staring at me, the hall full of people.”

Hermione, who had been silent all this while, mumbled something.

“What?” asked Harry and Ron at once.

“Well its obvious, isn't it?” she said.

From the expression mirrored on the faces of the two boys, nothing could be less obvious than whatever she was talking of.

“What forced you to go after Sirius? What willed you to face death? What is it that Voldemort does not possess and despises most?”

“Er... the saving-people thing?” asked Harry, confused and slightly ashamed. But Hermione simply shook her head.

“Courage? Bravery?” suggested Ron.

“Even Voldemort has courage, Ron. What I'm talking of is love.” Turning to Harry, she continued, “Can't you see that is was your mother's love that saved you as a baby? Then it was your love for Sirius that made you go after him. Again it drove out Voldemort from your mind. You were thinking about Sirius, Voldemort just couldn't stand your love for him.”

“But... but how can love be terrible and powerful and all that?” asked Harry, puzzled.

“How do you know if its not? We have experienced love for friends, love for parents – even you Harry, you loved Sirius like a parent. But there are other forms too – more powerful forms.”

That silenced him for a while. Yes, he had loved Sirius like a parent – he was the parent Harry had never had. Not even Mrs. Weasley, who cared for him so much, could make him as happy as Sirius used to. But Sirius was no more... he had learned to accept that fact over the past few weeks. Hermione's suggestion did make sense, but he couldn't understand why Dumbledore had kept something so simple from him. Maybe Dumbledore had wanted him to find out on his own.

“And what about this power being studied in the Department of Mysteries? How can you store love in a room and study it?” questioned Ron, apparently not convinced yet.

“That is something that puzzles me too. We'll just have to wait and see.”

* * *

“Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services,” the cool female voice rang out, as the grilles slid open to expose a corridor lined with doors.

Arthur Weasley emerged from the lift, a certain urgency in his stride. The corridor was deserted, as had been the lift, which was not unusual considering that it was much earlier than working hours. A fierce storm was raging outside the enchanted windows, a direct result of the underground weather maintenance spells going haywire due to last week's attack. Turning left at a corner, he was about to push a heavy oak door before he caught sight of the man who'd been responsible for his early arrival at work.

A surreptitious nod was exchanged – an onlooker would have missed it if he didn't know what to look for. Not that there were any. Kingsley Shacklebolt walked straight in a direction opposite to the one Arthur had taken a few moments, turning at a corner under a sign that read “Wizard's Toilet”. Exactly fifteen seconds later Arthur followed.

“Morning, Arthur,” said Kingsley, his face contorted into a worried grimace.

“Hello, your note said its an emergency. What's wrong?” asked Arthur, casting a special locking spell and a Silencing charm on door after shutting it.

“I'll get right to the point. It's about Potter's relatives. Mr. & Mrs. Dursley died in a Muggle hospital minutes after being rescued from the fire.”

“Yes I know that. It was in the Muggle tabloids.”

“Then you do know that the Muggle Police are suspecting the boy of murder?”

“Yeah I read about it... But that isn't worrying you, is it? Can be taken care of by Memory Charms.”

“No its Fudge. He's believing the story and has charged him with homicide.”

“WHAT!?” When Arthur had got Kingsley's emergency owl post earlier this morning, he had expected some new clue about You-Know-Who's intentions in sending Death Eaters to capture the Ministry premises. He certainly hadn't expected this. “How can he do that? This is Harry Potter, and I've known him for five years – he'd never do something like that. Has Fudge gone mad?”

“I'd think he already is. Seems like he still hasn't got over his hatred for the boy. Moreover, he's got evidence.”

“Evidence? But Harry wasn't there at all. You heard his version of events, and we checked it. And then there was the Dark Mark...”

“Yes there was, but only Potter saw it, Figg's whereabouts are still not known. The Law Enforcement department ran a recent-magic detection check around the Dursleys' residence. They found multiple Incendio spells and a Dark Mark conjuring charm. Fudge claims that since no other wizards were staying in that area, Potter was the one.”

“This is absolutely ridiculous. Whoever heard of a sixteen-year old being able to conjure up a Dark Mark?”, said Arthur, not bothering to keep his voice down.

“Well, Tom Riddle to name one. Anyway, I'm not implying that Potter was lying. The point is that we have no non-Muggle witnesses to provide an alibi for Potter.”

The fact that Harry might have to go through a trial like last year for breaking the underage magic laws was daunting enough. Expulsion from Hogwarts and confiscation of his wand would result, but hopefully the Order would find a way to go around that. However, facing the charge of murder was a completely different matter – a life sentence in Azkaban being the most likely punishment. In Arthur's opinion – or for that matter, of everyone who cared about him – Harry had already gone through a lot, without Cornelius Fudge's involvement. Harry was like a son to him; he wouldn't let this happen to the boy.

“We can hide Harry in the Order hideout. Its under the Fidelius; they'll never find him,” he suggested.

“I had thought of that too. I wouldn't have called you urgently if it was just about Harry.”

Arthur noticed that Kingsley was looking at him straight in the eyes now. He had to admit that he was puzzled now.

“What is it, Kingsley?” he asked, his mind racing.

“Fudge already knew about the existence of the Order from Percy.” At the mention of his traitorous son, Arthur visibly cringed. But Kingsley continued, ignoring him, “This morning, Fudge got this piece of paper from a source which he refuses to disclose.”

Kingsley pulled out a sheet of white paper from his pocket, handing it to Arthur, whose eyes grew wide in horror as he read the script, which was in a vaguely familiar handwriting.

Arthur never swore, at least not since he became a father. But he couldn't stop himself from blurting out, “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL!?” The letter read –

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

* * *

The ocean stretched far and wide, its water pure, salty and transparent like tears – not of sorrow but of ecstasy, reflecting the vibrant gold sky stretching over him endlessly. Warmth like no other coursed through his veins. He watched with satisfaction as clouds flew over him as if in fast-forward, inhaling the fresh and fragrant air. Whatever place he was in, time, apparently, had no meaning here. He would have stood there for eternity if he hadn't experienced a sudden jerk, his surroundings dissolving abruptly into nothingness.

Or was it darkness, since his ears were filled with a resounding noise. Opening his eyes, he discovered that he was lying in bed, his wrist-watch flashing 6:35 AM. The source of the noise was a handsome-looking owl screeching near the window, seeming familiar. Wearing his glasses, he looked over at Ron, who was sleeping so deeply that Harry seriously doubted if anything short of an earthquake would wake him. Apart from Ginny of course. But Harry wasn't able to spend much time looking around, since the owl outside was making every attempt to get his attention.

However, on nearing the owl, Harry momentarily paused, making sure he wasn't seeing things. It was Hermes. Wondering what Percy could be writing to them for, he detached a cream-colored envelope, bearing the seal of the British Ministry of Magic, from its legs. It was addressed to Ron. Unable to subdue his curiosity, he ripped open the envelope, reasoning that Ron wouldn't mind.

Dear Ron,

I hope you receive this in the best of your health. First of all I'd like to congratulate you on securing 10 OWLs, which is just two less than my score. This gives me confidence that the time is not too far off when you will grow out of your unhealthy friendship with Harry Potter and the influences of our disillusioned family to follow my footsteps in carving a place for yourself in the world. It is this reason that compels me to write this letter to you in these perilous times, even though you disregarded my previous advice.

We have reason to believe that Potter, who has been charged with the murder of his Muggle relatives, is hiding in Grimmauld Place with you and other followers of Dumbledore. And let me inform you that this hideout is no longer inaccessible to our Aurors. Even as you read this, Ministry Aurors have been stationed around your building, waiting for the Minister's signal. Your fireplace has been disconnected from the Floo network. I must warn you that anyone found resisting the Aurors from taking Potter will be charged with assisting a murderer and preventing the course of the law.

In my opinion, it is in the best of all our interests that you hand over the Potter boy to us without resistance. Even if you don't, Ministry officials will come in anyway. But if they are met with no resistance, then rest assured that I will personally mention your contribution to the Minister of Magic himself.

With best intentions at heart,

Percy Weasley

Harry's hands went numb holding the letter as he stared at it for a full two minutes, the paper soaking in his sweaty palms; his mind was behaving as if someone had cast a brain-locking spell, if such a thing existed, on him. Ministry Aurors were after him... He was charged with murder... Hideout was no longer inaccessible – what did Percy mean? A shiver ran through his spine as a few possibilities passed through his mind – none of them to his liking...

Recovering from his stupor, only one thought filled his terribly panicked mind – to get out of the place immediately, and he couldn't risk being seen, if Percy was truthful when he said that Aurors were stationed outside.

He wriggled into a T-shirt and a pair of jeans that were a few inches too long – all borrowed from Ron, since he had lost all his own clothes in the fire. In fact Ron's clothes fitted him better than his own ones, which were left-overs from Dudley in the first place. Trying not to think what Ron or Hermione – or for that matter, Dumbledore, Lupin or Mrs. Weasley would make of his actions, he quickly scribbled a note to Ron saying that he was leaving.

All this while, his brain put itself on overload to think of a way to get out without alerting the others or the Aurors outside. Mrs. Weasley would have been up by then, so he couldn't leave by the front door. That left only one option... He would have to fly out of the window on his Firebolt... And if he could cover both himself and the broom with his Invisibility Cloak, then neither the Aurors nor any Muggles would be able to spot him. Of course Moody would be able to see through, but Harry doubted that Moody was present in the house.

Suddenly having an idea, he composed another note, this one for Dumbledore, explaining his reasons for leaving in as few words as he could manage.He refrained from mentioning his mode of escape, just in case Hedwig was intercepted. Opening his bedside window to its full extent, he sent out Hedwig with the note. Then jumping over his broom, he draped himself with the Invisibility Cloak; his knapsack – containing some wizard money, the Map, a borrowed quill and some spare scrolls – was strapped to his back. He would have to be very careful, he realized, since he would still be seen by someone who happened to stand exactly below him.

At that very moment, a commotion started downstairs... He could hear people shouting curses at the top of their voices... A few seconds later, the sound of footsteps running up the stairs reached his ears, along with a few cracking sounds just outside his bedroom.

Frantically peering out of the window, he could see the road below was deserted. But he couldn't be sure – there might be Aurors posted under Invisibility cloaks themselves, or Disillusionment charms. Taking a final look at Ron, who was still snoring peacefully through all the noise, Harry decided that it was now or never. Before he could act, however, the door was flung open with an unlocking charm, and three cloaked figures barged in. For a moment, Harry, with a stab of panic and disappointment, was sure that he had been captured.

“Where is he?”

“He was supposed...”

“LOOK! The window...”

They couldn't see Harry through the Invisibility Cloak. The three Aurors rushed towards the window, wands outstretched; but Harry was quicker. Zooming out of the window, he flew straight to top of the trees and shrubs bordering the lane – it was unlikely that anyone would be standing among these. A few stunning spells randomly sent by his pursuers missed him harmlessly. He didn't dare to look back, his only objective being to put as much distance between him and Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

Going at full speed on his Firebolt, his seeker's eyes were able to catch a snowy figure flapping its wings and flying towards north – Hedwig he guessed. Little did he know that the owl would never reach its destination. He had other things on his mind – starting from what his destination would be. He had no idea what he'd do now... Maybe go into hiding like Sirius... He shuddered at the realization that he was now a fugitive, charged with a crime he had no hand in.

With a heavy heart, he glided away on his broom, the golden rays of the rising sun dazzling his eyes. The cool morning wind rushed through his hair, sweeping away most of his worries. Flocks of birds on their early morning trips accompanied him, their sweet chirping filling his ears. The fact that he was able to escape to freedom, coupled with the newfound energy that filled his body while flying, spread a new hope in his heart.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author Notes: Thanks to all who reviewed and responded to my request. And sorry for the slight delay in posting this chapter. Here I'll try to clear some of the doubts.

The X-Woman: (You are the best!) (i) Draco's high score, legally obtained or not, just gives him another thing to brag about! (ii) How do you know that Ron didn't react? We saw it from Harry's POV, and he was too panicked to notice Ron's reaction after the Aurors barged in.

(You'll notice that I'm keeping silent on some questions, but that's 'cause I'm supposed to keep silent about them if I don't want to give the plot away. :-))

David305: (i) The Black house was connected to the Floo network in OotP, since Harry able to communicate with Sirius & Lupin through the fireplace in Umbridge's office. It might be possible that only the people who knew its existence would be able to Floo to it. (ii) I did mention that Harry packed his Firebolt, Invisibility and Map in his knapsack before leaving for the Granger's in chapter 1. About the Firebolt, I just assumed that he got it back before he returned from school in his 5^th year, since there's no mention of it in the end of the 5^th book.

OK, I want to clear this up before some of you get all emotional and start declaring your undying love for Hedwig: Honestly! All I said was that she would not reach her destination. What do you take me for? An owl killer or something?? LOL :-)

BTW, we've just broken the 100 reviews barrier on FFN! Also thanks to those who reviewed on Schnoogle and Portkey.org! Please keep reading and reviewing...

Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance

Chapter 5

The room was dark, eerie shadows creeping on the walls with a single flickering bluish white torch fixed on a table in the center. It was a bright morning in Scotland, but no sunlight ever entered the ancient dungeons deep under Hogwarts castle. All through his membership in the Order of the Phoenix, Arthur Weasley had never been to this room before; but such were the times, that his presence was warranted in the private office of the Head.

Arthur had just related his discussion with Shacklebolt to the two men before him – one was Severus Snape, cloaked in black, who seemingly had been finding the ancient runes on the walls more interesting than Arthur's speech. The other was Albus Dumbledore, in a form Arthur had not seem him in since Voldemort's first defeat in 1981. He was tense, if such an adjective were to be applied to his tall figure, clad in purple-and-white robes, emanating a power that rivaled the magic that was part of this ancient chamber.

“The Order has been compromised,” spat Snape, in a mood that would make his usual behavior towards students seem almost compassionate.

A shrill meow answered him, startling Arthur, who hadn't noticed the tabby cat sitting under the table before. It was evident, from their lack of surprise, that Snape and Dumbledore had known of her presence. The cat transformed before his eyes to a pale-faced Minerva McGonagall, who seemed to be searching for words to speak.

“How... I can't believe that the note was authentic... Albus, is there a way they could have got the note?” she finally asked.

“We can be sure that it was genuine. Only a note written by myself can reveal the location of the Headquarters.”

“And there was no way it could reach that Fudge unless we were betrayed,” added Snape in a spiteful voice.

Betrayal. That was something that Arthur did not want to contemplate, but the more he thought of it, the more it seemed that it was the only explanation. The Order had been betrayed.

“Obvious though it may seem, Severus, we must not jump to conclusions. And we will have plenty of time to assess the situation later. We must prepare ourselves... I believe that Aurors under orders from Cornelius will invade the Headquarters any moment now. We have no time to waste.” Dumbledore replied coolly, not betraying a single drop of the tension underneath it, before lowering his voice to mouth what seemed to Arthur to be an incantation.

The next moment he felt a strange sensation, as a clear male voice spoke with urgency in his ears, “Esteemed member of the Order of the Phoenix, the Head declares emergency and requests your immediate presence at the place of need. Please give your consent to apparate.” Apparently, this was the Order's way of calling its members urgently. Having being a member of the Order for only one year, this was a new experience for him.

With two pops, Arthur was left alone in the room with Dumbledore, who apparently was waiting for him to disapparate.

“Ah Arthur... All you have to do is nod your approval.”

Unsure of whether it would work, he simply nodded. A moment later, his surroundings disappeared and he found himself among a group of hooded figures clad in scarlet robes. To his surprise, he himself was in a similar clothing – the attire of Phoenix members. They were in a Muggle neighborhood, the early rays of the rising sun illuminating a lane before them.

The leader was undoubtedly Dumbledore, since he had lowered his hood – the only one to do so. They moved briskly after him in silence, unbeknownst to the Muggles living in the houses they were passing. Arthur had no difficulty in recognizing the place – it was Grimmauld Place. Most of the members were scanning the area for any sign of Aurors.

Before long, they were facing the Black ancestral residence.The front doors were ajar – a sign that things weren't normal. Arthur felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, his heart beating with anxiety for his family and Harry. With a sense of foreboding, he entered the house with the other members in stealth, lead by Dumbledore.

The corridor was shrouded in dim light due to the lack of windows – the fact that the wall lamps were extinguished not helping matters. Dumbledore stopped abruptly when they were just a few feet from the living room. They could hear voices, most of them belonging to persons whose identities were indiscernible to Arthur. Evidently, Aurors were still in the house. From what he could pick up, the Aurors hadn't found Harry yet.

“We must take them my surprise, and preferably by using disarming and stunning spells only,” whispered Dumbledore to the squad, before resuming their march, the old worn out carpet barely silencing their footsteps.

Wands outstretched, they rushed into the living room, red bursts of light heading in all directions. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could make out a dozen figures in Auror robes. Being a Ministry worker in profession, he had never imagined that the day would come when he would be dueling with Aurors. Dodging a stunning spell, he yelled “Expelliarmus!” at his attacker, but missed. Quickly taking shelter behind a sofa, he surveyed the room. Arthur could spot his wife, children and Hermione in a corner – they all seemed to be under body-binding spells, except for Ron, who was passed out. Hoping that his son was all right, he looked around for Harry, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Though the Aurors were putting up a good fight, they were on the losing side as the Order members had taken full advantage of the initial shock. And the fact that Tonks, who was among the Aurors, was silently sending spells towards the other Aurors, didn't help their cause. Seeing that he wasn't needed in the battle, he made his way to his wife and kids, keeping away from the line of fire. Reaching them, he cast the counter-spells to free them. By the time he had revived Ron, the battle was over.

“I would suggest you leave immediately,” said Dumbledore, in a calm but loud voice. Most of the Aurors had lost their wands; four of them lying stunned on the floor had just been revived by a few Order members.

“We don't fear you Dumbledore,” one of them replied gruffly, “and we shall not leave without Potter.”

“Bold though you may sound, Tyson, you haven't found him here. So you have no choice but to leave.”

“We do not take orders from you,” Tyson spat back.

Many of the Order members raised their wands at him, but they need not have done so, if the sudden horrified expressions on each of the Aurors' faces were to be considered. For the man standing before them was no longer an old school headmaster. To collective gasps from many in the room, they were facing Albus Dumbledore in his most powerful form, the defeater of Grindelwald and the only one feared by the Dark Lord. He was positively glowing with blinding white light, all traces of his age vanishing, as he spoke in a thunderous tone.

“DO NOT PROVOKE ME, FOOLS! FOR YOU WILL BE EXTREMELY SORRY. ONE LAST WARNING I GIVE YOU...” he said, aiming his wand on the cowering Aurors, who looked small and helpless in front of the towering figure before them. All the members of the Order were gazing at Dumbledore in awe, Arthur himself being one of them. He wondered why Dumbledore had needed their services – in this form Dumbledore looked capable of subduing a whole army of wizards all by himself.

In an instant, the Aurors had disapparated. Meanwhile, Dumbledore who had returned to his usual form, came over to Arthur's side. It took a few moments for the other Order members to recover from the spectacle that they had witnessed, before they followed, lowering their hoods. Arthur could spot Lupin, Moody, some Hogwarts' professors and a few others.

“Now please, will one of you explain to me where Harry is?” Dumbledore asked, facing the kids and Molly.

Apparently none of them had heard a word, for the moment they recovered from the previous shock, each one of them started speaking at the same time. It took a few minutes before the events were recounted by each of them separately.

From what Arthur gathered, Molly, Fred and George had been alerted about the possibility of the attack minutes before its occurrence by Tonks. Ron, Hermione and Ginny had still been in bed. The moment the Aurors forced their way in, the adults had done their best to hold them back, but were hopelessly outnumbered. After overpowering them, the Aurors had rushed upstairs to check the bedrooms, but were unable to find Harry in his bedroom. Ron, who shared Harry's bedroom, had woken up to three Aurors forcing their way into the room. Before he could grab his wand and send a spell, he was stunned, but not before he noticed that Harry was gone, and so were his belongings.

The Order members searched the whole house for any sign of Harry, but in vain. Mrs. Weasley had busied herself in preparing tea for all. Just when the others had given up, Tonks and Shacklebolt apparated in, Tonks still in Auror robes.

“Kingsley, Tonks. I have been expecting you,” greeted Dumbledore.

“From what Tonks here says, you could have taken on the whole bunch yourself,” remarked Shacklebolt, smiling slightly, but lost his smile to a glare from Snape, who was standing beside Dumbledore.

“I was part of the team who searched Harry's bedroom. I found these on the desk,” Tonks said, giving two letters to Dumbledore, “I hid them before any of the others noticed.”

Dumbledore read them silently before handing them to Snape and McGonagall, a look of comprehension in his eyes.

“I must say that Percy did more good than harm. Apparently Harry escaped away before the Aurors arrived,” he said, chuckling slightly.

“How can you say that Albus? Now Potter's alone all by himself in Merlin-knows-where. Who gave him the permission to run off?” said McGonagall angrily, who had just finished reading the letters.

Snape was about to make a comment on Potter's arrogance and rashness before Dumbledore raised his voice to get everyone's attention.

“I understand that all of you would like to know about Harry's disappearance. I will explain it to you in a minute, but first we must reach our new hideout, since the Ministry knows of our location and may send more Aurors.”

He muttered “Portus” pointing his wand at an empty tea-cup. Then he beckoned Ron, Hermione and Ginny – the only people who weren't members of the Order – to join him in touching it.

“Where is it?” asked Arthur.

“Wales,” said Dumbledore, before he disappeared along with the children and the Portkey. Next moment, Arthur heard the same voice that he had heard earlier that morning, asking his consent to apparate to whatever location the Head of the Order of the Phoenix had set. He nodded in affirmative, as did all the other members of the Order.

* * *

The sky was overcast, a light drizzle raining outside, as Hermione sat at the window in her bedroom. Ron, Ginny and the twins were roaming outside, exploring the village that they were staying in – Godric's Hollow. It was an old Muggle village having an appreciable wizarding population. The Potter's cottage – the very place in which Voldemort had killed Harry's parents – was the new temporary Order hideout.

Hermione had declined the others in their exploration trip, giving her health as an excuse. But, to be truthful, her physical health was perfect; it was her anxiousness about Harry that holding her back from joining the others.

It had been two days of hell for them since Harry's disappearance, and she didn't even want to imagine what Harry was going through. Just a week ago she had assured him that he would be trusted by everyone. How wrong she had been! This was turning out even worse than last year for him. She desperately wanted to talk to him, to tell him how much she trusted him, how much his friends trusted him and how they would stand by him forever.

But he was nowhere to be found. She recalled how her hopes were squashed for the third morning in succession when she discovered that the Order had had no luck in locating his whereabouts. What if Voldemort had got him? She cursed Harry's foolishness; for the hundredth time, she mouthed all obscenities at him for running away like that. Only if he had stayed, Dumbledore wouldn't have let Fudge's henchmen to take him. And then she rebuked herself – her own sufferings were nothing compared to Harry's life. She had no right to judge his actions.

Yet she couldn't help but want to meet him, at least have some contact. Dumbledore had expressly forbidden them from owling him, since the Ministry had means of intercepting and tracing owls. Only yesterday she had got into a fight with Ron to prevent him from flouting Dumbledore's orders by writing a letter to Harry. Gazing absentmindedly at her surroundings, she tried to think of a way to locate Harry without the Ministry or Voldemort's followers knowing too. It was true the Order was doing its best in this regard, but Hermione knew that it had other things to take care of – like find out how the Fidelius charm on the Black residence was breached.

It was then that the envelope lying on her desk caught her gaze. Having arrived along with her OWL results, it contained the book-list for the coming year. But it wasn't the contents that had grabbed her attention – she had already read them – instead it was the address on the envelope.

Miss Hermione Granger,
Second Bedroom from the Stairs,
First Floor,
Order Headquarters,
London.

“That's it!”, an excited voice shouted in her head. Dropping all pretense of sickness, she rushed to her trunk and pulled out her new edition of Hogwarts: A History.

* * *

Wednesday, July 31^st, 1996

THE-BOY-WHO-LIVED OR THE-BOY-WHO-KILLED? – The Daily Prophet

HARRY POTTER CHARGED WITH MURDER, ON THE RUN – The Magical Gazette

MINISTRY ACCUSES HARRY POTTER OF HOMICIDE – Wizarding Express

“Way to celebrate your birthday, Potter,” whispered a certain green-eyed boy sarcastically to himself, as he wound his way carefully through the crowds in Diagon Alley. The shopping spree that enthralled wizarding Britain, before the new term started at Hogwarts, had just taken off. His own images were staring back at him from the various newspaper stalls, ensuring total sell-outs as people of all ages thronged the stalls to get a glimpse of the shocking story.

Being under his Invisibility cloak, he wasn't afraid of being caught. His immediate concern was in taking care of his dwindling monetary resources. He had almost no Muggle change left, and his wizarding money would probably last him a week at the most. It was for this reason that he had built up the courage to enter Diagon Alley – until now he had been spending his times in Muggle public parks and getting his meals in Muggle restaurants.

He had his Gringotts vault's key in his money bag, but where the problem lied was in extracting the cash from the bank without being recognized. And thanks to the newspaper articles, it had been necessary for him to prepare a good disguise before he dared to enter the bank. Since he never bothered to cut his hair, it had been literally falling over his eyes. He had bought a good Muggle hair cream – which had cost him most of his Muggle money – and somehow managed to tame his hair, adopting a hair-style which perfectly covered his scar. And to his own astonishment, he had been able to transfigure his old-fashioned round metal glasses into one of those sleek Muggle rectangular models to go with his hair-style. He had even managed to darken the glasses to camouflage the bright green color of his eyes.

On the whole, he was satisfied with his disguise, and as he walked among the wizarding folk of London, his mind went back to the thoughts that he had been immersed in for the past three days. The more he had thought of it, the less wise his decision to run away from Grimmauld Place had seemed. But surrendering to the Aurors wouldn't have helped either, though he believed that Dumbledore would eventually find a way to clear his name. Yet he couldn't be sure, for the fact, that Sirius – even being innocent – spent twelve years in Azkaban, regularly kept flashing back to his mind.

Before long he could spot the snow-white marble entrance to Gringotts. Shrugging of his thoughts, he concentrated on the task at hand. The entrance was being guarded as usual by goblins, as scores of witches and wizards were passing through it. He reckoned that he wouldn't attract any attention if he simply moved with the crowd. Moving into a secluded corner, he removed the Invisibility cloak, tucking it into his knapsack. Cautiously, he emerged in front of the entrance. To his relief, no one seemed to recognize him in his disguise.

He went in with the crowd, staying as far as possible from the guards standing on either side of the entrance. Surveying the grand marble hall, he could not find any sign of Aurors. Since he was in desperate need of Muggle money, he first changed all the galleons he had into pound sterling. Then he quickly handed over his key to a goblin at the counter, observing the goblin's face minutely for any sign of recognition. When none showed, he followed the goblin to a dimly lit carriage-chamber to board a carriage that would carry them to his vault.

Once he had filled his money bag with coins, he and the goblin started on the trip back, the carriage moving slower than before due to the climbing required. When the carriage was less than 15 feet away from the chamber, Harry spotted two human figures standing in the chamber, who hadn't been there before. His heart stopped for a second at the sudden realization – he had been discovered.

Without wasting another moment, he pulled out the Invisibility cloak and draped it over himself. Though he had laboriously gone over how he would face any problems at the entrance, he had not expected an encounter with Aurors after he had withdrawn his money. However, seeing that there were only two of them, he quickly came up with a plan.

Aiming his wand at the back of the goblin driving the carriage, he muttered “Stupefy” with all his concentration, praying that goblins responded to stunning spells. The goblin driver slumped to the floor, unconscious, and the carriage halted immediately. Harry carefully stepped on the rails as one of the Aurors started in the carriage's direction to investigate. Harry, being invisible, hurried to the chamber, stepping to the left to let the Auror pass. He didn't have much time, he judged, before the Auror reached the unconscious goblin.

Reaching the door of the chamber, which was guarded by the second Auror, he sent a Silencing spell at the Auror. Realizing that Harry was invisible, the Auror aimed a stunning spell at where he thought he had heard Harry. But Harry, who had expected this, dodged expertly and cast a body-binding spell on his assailant. The second Auror was now running back towards the chamber, having seen the goblin and his unmoving partner. But Harry had already exited the chamber and was now dashing towards the entrance.

Any moment, Harry feared, more Aurors would be apparating in. And his fears were not in vain, as five cloaked figures popped in near the entrance, blocking any exit from inside. In his surprise at their appearance, Harry tripped over the hem of his cloak, miraculously missing a nearby middle-aged witch as he fell flat on the floor. However, a part of his feet were exposed in process, leading to a shriek of horror from the witch. That caught the attention of the Aurors, as they started raining stunning spells all over the place where Harry had fallen moments ago.

Pandemonium ensued as the public scrambled for the exit, Harry running with them. Knowing that there was no way the Aurors could calm the crowds, Harry took full advantage of the situation, and rushed out of the building, even if it meant getting trampled and push by many since he was still invisible. But nobody seemed to notice his presence, and before long Harry was speeding his way to the Leaky Cauldron, soaked to his bones in the rain that was deluging London city.

* * *

In another part of the same city, a short man, of about 20 years of age, was walking briskly down a deserted lane, bordered by old and battered buildings on both sides. The rain was pouring as heavily as ever, but a water- repelling charm on the man's dark green cloak prevented the water from seeping in. If any of the wizarding folk of England were present here, they would have immediately recognized this man – he was often seen in purple uniform, as the conductor of a triple-decker bus that served as emergency transport for stranded witches or wizards.

However, Stan Shunpike had excused himself from his work today – he had urgent matters to attend to, which couldn't wait. A forgotten copy of the Daily Prophet was clutched tightly in his hands, soaking wet in the rain.

Harry Potter. The hero of the millions of blue-collar wizarding workers like him all over Britain. The one who had defeated the Dark Lord as a baby, freeing them from the merciless hell that had once been Stan's childhood. Naturally, when the rumors of You-Know-Who's return started a year before, the Boy-Who-Lived had once again become their source of hope; as long as he lived, they had nothing to fear.

Stan cursed the Ministry, cursed the power-mongers like Fudge sitting at its top. Stan had always had a happy-go-lucky attitude towards life, but what he had read in today's newspapers had, in his opinion, simply crossed the limits. Not once had he believed the shameless jibes that the Ministry made on Harry's personality all through last year, but he, as most of his co-workers, had let them pass in good humor. But this new dirty game that Fudge was playing had to be stopped, and contrary to all the Ministry's claims, he had evidence to show otherwise. He was the evidence.

Not having any idea how to reach Harry, or any of his supporters, Stan had hit upon another brilliant plan. It was to carry out this plan that he had taken the day off from work. And it would be accomplished any minute now, as he neared his destination. A seemingly desolate building stood at the end of the lane, a battered signboard hanging at its entrance. Muggle eyes would not catch what was written on the board.

The Quibbler,
Head Office,
London.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author Notes: *Jumps for joy* Review count almost touches 200! How, you ask? 135(FFN) + 30(Schnoogle) + 32(Portkey) = 197.

I'm most grateful to everyone who reviewed, and guess what? I got my first flame! Though I'm ignoring the fact that all it contained were 13 angry-faces (calling them smilies would be ironic) and a 1/10 rating on Portkey against an otherwise average of 9.7/10. *rolls his eyes* Strange ways these flamers turn up... All I have to say is: [CENSOR: Portion edited out for being inappropriate for PG-13 rating] ;-)

Anyway, without much ado whatsoever, let's get on with the ride... (And PLEASE DON'T forget to review)

Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance

Chapter 6

The water sprinkling from the shower slowed down gradually as he turned the tap off. Then grabbing a towel, he proceeded to wipe himself dry. A few seconds later Ron emerged from the bathroom, his flaming red hair dripping wet with water. It was nine in the morning as he entered his bedroom to get into some clean clothes. The room was filled with a dull light – it was raining heavily outside, huge drops of water splashing against the glass window.

But it wasn't the rain that caught Ron's attention. A screech owl was hovering in the air near the window, making every attempt to pry it open and get inside – that is if owls could do such a thing. A ray of hope entered his gloomy mind – this might be something to do with Harry. But he silenced his thoughts, not wanting to get his hopes too high, as he opened the window for a moment to let the owl in.

It carried two packages addressed to him – one was a thin white envelope, while the other was a brown-colored cylindrical package, oddly looking familiar. Tearing open the envelope, Ron scanned the letter for the sender, then stared at it in surprise – the letter was from Luna Lovegood.

Ronald,

Hope you are fine. I am sending a free copy of the latest edition of The Quibbler along with this letter. Open it and you will see what this is all about. Consider it as a belated birthday gift for Harry.

By the way, congratulations to you, Harry and Hermione for your OWL results. Also give my best regards to Ginny. Looking forward to seeing you all at Platform 9¾.

With best wishes,
Luna Lovegood

For a fleeting second, Ron stopped to consider what news might be found in the magazine that would serve as a birthday present for Harry. He wondered if the girl had really lost her mind, if all she could think of were birthday presents and OWL results when Harry was in such deep trouble. Shrugging, he ripped open the cylindrical package. True to Luna's words, it contained the latest edition of The Quibbler. He didn't have to search for the article concerning Harry – the whole magazine was a special supplementary edition dedicated to the Boy-Who-Lived, mostly written by Rita Skeeter, who had entered into a long time pay-contract with Luna's father, the editor of The Quibbler, after the phenomenal success of her first article in the magazine last year.

Eyes widening, he read the feature article, and read it again just to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. In less than a minute, he had reached downstairs, in search of Hermione. She was sitting on the couch with Ginny, depressed expressions plastered on their faces. Evidently there had been no news of Harry from the Order.

“What's up Ron?” asked Ginny, taken aback at the smile he was giving them.

“Harry's got a solid alibi! He'll win the trial!” he exclaimed, unable to hold back the news any longer. All he got in reply was a simultaneous “What?” and “How?” from the two girls.

“You remember the bus Harry used to get to your house, Hermione? It turns out that Stan Shunpike, the conductor, saw the Dark Mark too.”

“Wha... you're sure?”

“Damn sure,” he said, handing over The Quibbler to them.

The two girls went over the article in remarkable speed, before Ron was enveloped in a hug of joy by his sister.

“Harry will be free!” she screamed, before noticing the doubtful look that Hermione was giving them. “Wait a minute... there's got to be a catch somewhere...”

Now Ron was eyeing them both with an odd expression. “What do you mean by a catch?”

“Er... you know about The Quibbler, right? I mean – it prints loads of rubbish too – so how can we be sure if what this article says is true?” said Hermione.

“Rubbish, you say? So the article about Harry last year was rubbish too?” asked Ron, his voice rising.

“Ron, you're forgetting that I was the one who had the idea for that article,” retorted Hermione, her hands resting on her hips, “and I'm talking about the stories The Quibbler publishes in general. Honestly! Do you believe in those stories of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and...”

“The lead singer of the Hobgoblins being the Sirius Black, and ancient runes which can be read upside down,” Ginny finished for her. “I know what you're trying to say, Hermione, but let's just believe for a second that this article is true. You have to admit that it fits with Harry's version of events.”

“Oh, all right,” said Hermione, with an air of defeat. “It's not that I don't want Harry to be free... Anyway, if this article is true, then we'll have to somehow find Harry!”

“I still don't think owling him would be a bad idea. There'll be hundreds of owls flying all over England. Assuming Harry's still somewhere around London, how can the Ministry possibly know which owl to trace?” said Ron.

“Ron does have a point,” added Ginny, looking expectantly at Hermione.

Hermione looked as if she was deciding whether to say something, before she spoke up. “Dumbledore must have had a reason for forbidding us... and I think I have a better idea. You remember the addresses on the letters sent to us from Hogwarts – they have our location down to the last detail, irrespective of what our permanent address is. Look at this...” she said, handing the envelope that contained her book-list.

Ron and Ginny looked at the envelope and then at her with puzzled expressions.

“Don't you two get it? They always seem to know our exact location whenever they write the addresses.”

A look of comprehension dawned on Ron's features. “You mean they can locate Harry too? Then why didn't Dumbledore say anything?”

“This could just be some charm that they put on the envelope, so that it reflects the recipient's current location,” said Ginny, at the same time.

“Exactly!” said Hermione excitedly. “I looked it up in Hogwarts: A History – don't you dare laugh, Ron – and I found that its the Auto-Address charm. Its a complex N.E.W.T. level charm, and not many can perform it... But I have no idea why Dumbledore doesn't use it or didn't tell us about it.”

“Maybe like you said, its really difficult – even for you,” said Ron. He suspected that he had hit a nerve – nobody in their right mind would put any piece of magic past Hermione Granger's ability, and that was mostly due to the fact that frankly no such spell, jinx or charm had been discovered as of yet, except for the unforgivable curses of course.

Hermione's response confirmed his suspicions. In less than a minute, the trio had decided to head off to the library at Diagon Alley to uncover more information on the Auto-Address charm, after informing Mrs. Weasley about the article just in case the Order didn't know of it.

* * *

“Is it ready, Severus?” a deep voice called out from the fireplace in the office, startling him from his work in the cauldron.

He reluctantly turned his attention from the simmering potion to the fireplace, to see the face of Albus Dumbledore eyeing him with a questioning look. Not that he hadn't recognized the voice already.

“It will be ready... in four minutes, thirty seven seconds to be exact,” he replied, glancing at the clock on the wall. If preparing a Polyjuice potion was difficult, then brewing an anti-Polyjuice potion was downright impossible – that is for everyone but himself. For the past three days, he had been doing just that and even a five seconds' miscalculation on his part now would render all his relentless efforts fruitless.

“Your skill in potion-brewing never ceases to impress me, Severus. The Order members are all present in the Room of Requirement, where I shall be heading for in a moment.”

“I gather that you haven't informed them of the surprise that awaits one of their number?” he asked, not bothering to hide his smirk.

“This may not give us our answer, Severus, or again it may. We will be expecting you as soon as your potion is ready.” Saying so, Dumbledore's head vanished from the flames.

Once the calculated time was up, Snape turned off the flames, then, picking up a goblet of Polyjuice potion from his desk, he dropped a strand of white hair from his pocket in it. A few pain-filled moments after drinking the potion, a perfect clone of Albus Dumbledore was staring back at him from the mirror. He filled another goblet with the just prepared anti-Polyjuice potion and drank it. He writhed in agony for a few seconds before returning to his normal physical self. In spite of the pain, he smiled to himself – the potion was ready.

Ten minutes later, he was in the Room of Requirement. All the current members of the Order – except Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall – were sitting around a rectangular table, wands left on a desk at a corner. Each was given a cup of the anti-Polyjuice potion, which they were currently drinking. Snape examined the expressions on each of their faces – some were outraged that they were suspected, some others were outraged that they had to drink the extremely foul-tasting liquid, while a few wore calm looks.

For a few long seconds, Snape wondered if he was mistaken in hoping that one of them was an impostor under the Polyjuice potion. It that was truly the case, then one of them had betrayed them, either being under the Imperius, or knowingly. But then all of a sudden, one of the members showed an expression none of the others were showing. It wasn't this expression of pain and the accompanied convulsions that stunned Snape – he had been expecting this. What did take him by surprise was that the person was Alastor Moody, or, to be exact, whoever it was who resembled his physical appearance.

A pregnant silence gripped the room – all had noticed the effect that the potion was having on Moody, and they didn't need explaining to comprehend what it meant. Finally,the convulsions stopped to reveal a short, unshaven man in a tattered overcoat, having ginger-colored hair and bloodshot eyes. Loud gasps echoed throughout the room as impostor regained his own physical appearance – Mundungus Fletcher.

* * *

He trudged along the dimly lit footpath, his Impervious clothes barely protecting him from the ice cold drizzle. His black hair was quite wet though, but his mind was too far away to notice inconsequential matters like the fact that he was shivering uncontrollably in the cold rain water soaking his hair and clothes.

He was the world's biggest jerk, he was sure of that. Life had made him. Was this life? Life was something people lived, what they planned for, what they had hopes of, something that was to be enjoyed and suffered in equal measures. No, bloody famous Harry Potter was never supposed to have a normal life. He would have nothing but misery all his life – complete with being wrongly accused of murder at the age of 16, but being the dramatic hero that he was, he was expected to put it all behind him, as if there was nothing he cared about less than his own life, and save the damned world from the villain at the same time. Only if it had been that easy...

Right from the fateful day he was laid at the Dursleys' steps with a damn scar on his forehead, he had lived nothing but hell. Like a coward, he had let himself be oppressed and bullied by the Dursleys and their friends. Then came what he thought was his one chance to shape his own destiny. He had been ecstatic – he was a wizard, and he had found a new home in Hogwarts. For the first time in his life he had friends who cared, who trusted him. How innocent he had been, knowing nothing of the prophecy that now dictated his life's sole purpose. Still, it had been, as far as he could remember, the best period of his life.

But he had to throw it all away... If it wasn't for his stupid interference, Voldemort would never had have a chance to retrieve the stone from the Mirror of Erised – Quirrel would never able to remove the stone from the mirror by himself. In his second year, he had, for once, done something right. But it was, in his opinion, purely based on luck, and there were only so many times a bloke could get lucky. Come third year, and he had made one of the biggest mistakes of his life – let Wormtail go free – even after he had heard Trelawny recite the prophecy of Voldemort's return. Next year, he made an even bigger mistake by accepting his entry into the Triwizard Tournament, and it had cost an innocent person's life. If bloody hero Potter had swallowed his self-pride and refused to enter the tournament, then the impostor would never have been able to go on with his plans. Voldemort would not have returned... and Cedric would be still alive...

As if he hadn't made enough bad choices. He had to act like a complete jackass all through the previous year, taking out his ill-formed anger on anyone and everyone around him, including his two best friends. Then, ignoring Hermione's pleadings, he had to drag not one but five other people to a battle with Death Eaters, which only culminated in the death of his godfather and near-fatal injuries to almost everyone else who had helped him. It had all been his fault – his obsession with being the hero – and ironically he was the only one who had emerged physically unscathed.

And it seemed he never learned from his mistakes. For, the moment he had learned that he was charged with murder, he did the very first thing that a guilty person would do – run away like a jerk. And that wasn't all... He had to make a reappearance in a foolish disguise in Gringotts, of all places, and stage another escape scene – this time in the midst of hundreds of terrified onlookers – confirming suspicions of his guiltiness.

If he was in need of money, he could have simply gone to Dumbledore instead. But did he really want to go back? He could take up some Muggle job in a small village or town – even if it meant doing manual labor, which he was quite experienced in, thanks to his stay with the Dursleys. He could leave the damned backstabbing magical community to fight Voldemort for themselves, and start a life of his own. Did he want to go back to a world where he was supposed to be a hero at every point in the hell that was his life? Where the very people whom his life was destined to protect kept trying their best to prove he was an insane murderer?

I don't.

You do. You can't deny it.

You're wrong. I don't want to go back to this selfish world where nobody cares for me.

Now who's lying? You do have people who care for you, and you care for them too.

THEY DON'T. They are all jealous of my fame and...

Shut it, Potter! You have best friends who would give their lives for your sake. You have others who are equally worried about you. Go back to them.

I won't.

Yes you will. You won't obtain anything by brooding in self-pity all day.

Give me one good reason why I should go back.

For the sake of everyone who's worried as hell for you now... for your best friends' sake... for her sake...

What do you mean, 'her'?

You very well know what I mean.

I have no idea what you're talking about.

Fine! Be that way. But you're still bound by the prophecy.

Damn the prophecy. I don't care what happens with Voldemort.

Yes you do... And face it – you don't have a choice.

I don't need a bloody choice! I'm not going back.

Then you don't deserve to be a Gryffindor. To think that Dumbledore called us the Heir of Gryffindor once. You're better of in Slytherin – always trying to save your own ass.

I'm not a Slytherin.

You'll be worse than a Slytherin if you don't go back now.

But...

“Watch were yer' goin', kid!”

Looking up he found that he had bumped into a large man, smelling strongly of alcohol. From the behavior of the man, it didn't take a genius to know that he was drunk. Harry backed off, surveying the place where his feet had unknowingly taken him. Although he hadn't come here before, he immediately knew that this wasn't a place he would like to find himself late in the night.

A little distance from where he was standing, he could make out a Muggle pub or nightclub or whatever it was... And from the looks of the people hanging around it, this wasn't exactly a place where a 16 year old could roam around freely. Mumbling “Sorry”, he turned around, heading for the opposite direction. But he was stopped abruptly by large hands grabbing his collar from behind.

“Hey fellas! Look what we got 'ere...”

Harry struggled unsuccessfully in the man's grip, and was soon surrounded a few others – all unshaven in filthy clothes, and drunk. Harry grabbed his wand in his pocket, his temper boiling. For a fleeting moment, he had a mad urge to hex them all – it would be a wonderful way to vent his frustration. But he restrained himself; he was in enough trouble already without breaking the law himself.

“Leave me alone,” he said, in a gruff voice.

In reply, the men just guffawed at him – in Harry's opinion, even a hyena must have sounded better than them.

“Ya got me scared kid,” said one of them in an animated voice, “Gimme yer' wallet an' we'll see ab' lettin' ya go.”

It took all his self-control for Harry to keep himself from cursing the Muggle thugs into oblivion. Maintaining his silence, he tried to think of a way he could escape with his meager belongings intact. Using magic was not an option since it would give his location away to the Ministry. He had used magic without being tracked in Diagon Alley, but that was because the Ministry didn't have magic-detection wards in wizarding places.

While he was still thinking of a plan, the man to his left reached out to grab his knapsack. Involuntarily Harry held up his hand to stop the man, and to his surprise was met with a sudden shriek of pain. Even in the dim light, Harry could make out black burnt marks were he had touched the man's arm. Quick as lightning, he reached behind his back and tightly gripped the hands holding his collar. The man behind bellowed in agony, while the others were too stunned to react.

Grabbing the opportunity, Harry ran from the scene as fast as his tired feet could carry him. For what felt like ten minutes, he kept running, before he finally stopped to catch his breath. Straining his hears for any sound of pursuers, he looked around to find that was in a deserted alley between rows of old buildings. Just when he started to wonder if he was lost, he heard a flutter that was coming from somewhere above.

He was just about to make a run for it, before his eyes caught the snowy source.

“Hedwig?”

His hopes soared when he noticed that Hedwig was carrying a letter tied to one of its legs. Must be from Dumbledore, he thought, suddenly finding the idea of meeting his friends very appealing. He ripped open the envelope addressed to him, heart beating in anticipation. But the letter wasn't what he had expected – it was completely blank.

Maybe it was under some script-hiding charm, he thought, remembering the Marauder's Map. He would probably have to reverse the charm to be able to read the letter. But he couldn't use magic, could he?

For a few minutes, he just stood staring at the letter, before suddenly it all clicked into place. Dumbledore, or any of his friends, wouldn't have sent an owl to him – owls could be intercepted or tracked. That left the Ministry and the Death Eaters, both of whom could have easily intercepted Hedwig when he had sent her to Dumbledore. That also explained why the letter was blank – it was only meant to find his location. Which meant that they were already on his trail... and he had lost precious minutes staring at the letter...

He had to get away from the place now, but he had to do something about Hedwig first.

“Listen, Hedwig! Keep out of sight and go to Dumbledore. Do you understand?”

The owl simply stared back at him for a few moments, before giving a hoot that sounded like a reluctant “OK”. Then she extended her snow-white wings and flapped away out of sight.

Harry was worried about her – she was his first and only pet. But now wasn't the time to worry about Hedwig's safety. Aurors or Death Eaters would be popping-up any moment, and though he would have preferred the former, he didn't like the idea of meeting either. Consequently, there was only one thing left to do, and he did just that. He ran.

* * *

“Ron! RON! Wake up, you sleepy head!”

Before he knew, he was being hit repeatedly on the head with some hard object. Resisting the urge to strangle his assailant – Ginny, no doubt – then and there, he opened his eyes, but had to shut them back again due to the brightness.

“Morning already?” he asked.

“You are truly pathetic, Ronald Arthur Weasley. You are in the library and not in your bed.” This wasn't Ginny. No, it sounded more like Hermione.

His suspicions were confirmed when he finally opened his eyes to see both his sister and his best friend scowling at him. Before him a comic book lay open – about the adventures of some 'Mad Muggle'. That would explain why he had been dreaming of himself riding a hippogriff in full cowboy gear through the deserted plains of Sahara. But he sobered up when he remembered the reason why he had been library in the first place.

“Well? Did you find the charm?” he asked again, acting as if the napping episode had not taken place at all.

“Yes! And that was hours ago. Hermione's going to try it now, so we thought we'd wake you up before you decided to spend the night here.”

To Ron's surprise, it was evening already. Evidently he had slept all through afternoon.

“Are you sure you can do it? I mean it could go wrong... if its such a complex one.”

“I'll try... I am willing to take the risk for Harry,” answered Hermione.

“What if it turns out like the Polyjuice potion?” he blurted out. Wrong thing to say, he realized, at the glare that he received in return.

“Would you like to do it, Ron?” asked Ginny.

That was out of the question. “OK I get it, you two! So what result are we exactly trying to get here?”

In reply, Hermione showed him a blank parchment. “I am going to cast the charm on this paper. If it works, it will automatically print Harry's current address. Then we could use it to track him down, since it will change itself to reflect the new address if he moves to...”

Before she could finish, they were interrupted by the librarian for the disturbance they were creating by their conversation. In a few minutes, they had returned their books, and headed outside. The lane was crowded, as the evening shopping rush had just picked up. They quickly made their way to corner table in Florean Fortercue's Ice Cream Parlor. Once they had ordered their cups, they decided to test the charm.

Pointing her wand at the parchment, Hermione recited an incantation – probably in Latin, Ron thought, but he could never be sure as he had never learned that language. When Hermione finally finished her chant, all the three of them looked expectantly at the paper, their ice-cream cups forgotten. But nothing seemed to happen – the paper was still as blank as ever.

“Guess it didn't work,” said Ron dejectedly.

“Try it again. You must have said pronounced something incorrectly,” said Ginny encouragingly to Hermione, who was looking extremely disappointed.

Hermione was just about to repeat the incantation, before a dot of black ink suddenly appeared on the paper. And it was moving, leaving a trail of black ink – as if some invisible quill was writing something on the parchment. Intrigued, the trio looked on as distinct letters appeared, forming into words –

Harry Potter,
...

A/N: I know that was cruel of me... Three different cliffies in one chapter! And to say the story has just begun... :-) Still, that gives you people quite a lot to rack your brains on. Stay tuned for the next chapter... And REVIEW please! Comments, suggestions, opinions, criticism... anything, but REVIEW!!!

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author Notes: Infinite thanks to all reviewers for submitting such wonderful reviews for the previous chapter.

By the way, since I don't live in the UK, I have no idea how the so-called Cockney (London East end) accent is spoken. I know that Stan speaks in this Cockney dialect, but please forgive me if the way I have depicted his dialogues do not match the dialect.

Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance

Chapter 7

The half moon was barely visible through the clouds in the rapidly darkening sky, as dusk descended over the streets of London, which were jammed with rush-our traffic as people were making every attempt to get home before any of their colleagues did. But the traffic was the least of all concerns to the cloaked man emerging from what was the head office of The Quibbler. Subconsciously he eyed the moon – as was his nature, due to the fact that its phases affected his lifestyle profoundly – while his mind was preoccupied with piecing together the incidents that had followed the battle over the prophecy in the Ministry, in its bid to uncover an underlying master-plan that they all could be overlooking.

His gait was brisk as he walked to a nearby taxi stand. He had very rarely used Muggle transport all through his life, but his current mission – which constituted bringing Stan Shunpike under the Order's protection – demanded it. After the outrage that The Quibbler article had created earlier that day all over wizarding Britain, the whole wizarding press was after Stan, and so were Ministry officials. But they wouldn't get to him before the Order did, if Phoenix operative Remus Lupin had anything to do about it. Besides, for an average bus conductor, Stan had quite cleverly hidden himself, probably under the advice of Mr. Lovegood, the chief editor of The Quibbler.

Remus had spent the past two hours inquiring everyone from Stan's relatives to his ex-coworkers (Stan had been fired from his job in the Knight Bus transport service the moment his article was published.) about Stan's whereabouts, before he had come up with the idea of contacting The Quibbler's publishers. After he had proved them his allegiance to Dumbledore – and consequently his support for Harry's innocence – he had been handed the address of a little-known Muggle inn somewhere on the outskirts of London city. It was this address that he was now showing to the driver of the taxi he had just hired.

“I'm in a hurry. How long will it take?” he asked.

“If we're lucky, it'll take three hours, sir, give or take another half,” replied the driver, as he started the car after activating its meter.

As Remus sank back in the worn out seat in the rear, the earlier events of the day raced through his mind.

Gasps of disbelief echoed throughout the room as the 'Moody' that had been sitting amongst them gradually turned into one of their former associates – Mundungus Fletcher. If Remus had expected anyone in that room to be disguised under the Polyjuice, then the last in his list would be Alastor Moody. Considering that Moody had spent a whole year at Hogwarts locked in a trunk, while an impostor personified him using the Polyjuice potion, he – of all people – was surely expected to undertake more precautions to prevent similar incidents again. So much for the man famous for practicing “Constant Vigilance” in every aspect of his lifestyle.

But what Remus – and possibly everyone else in the room – felt harder to believe was the fact that Mundungus Fletcher had betrayed them. The same person whom Dumbledore had given a second chance in life. The only person who had ever retired from the Order alive, though the retirement was forced after he had acquired seemingly handicapping injuries in the Death Eater incident in Little Whinging. Yet he was standing in front of them, healthy as ever. Only once before had Remus felt compelled to question Dumbledore's trust on somebody – in the case of Peter Pettigrew, and here was another blatant proof of a clear breach of that trust. Or was it?

“Mundungus,” said Dumbledore, perhaps the only person in the room still wearing a calm expression on his face. But the weirdest expression of all was plastered on Fletcher's face, who was still trembling – either, thought Remus, under the effect of the anti-Polyjuice potion, or in fear of Dumbledore.

The seconds ticked by on the large grandfather clock standing in a corner, the clicking sound of the moving second-arm reverberating in the otherwise silent room. But no reply came from Fletcher, though his face expressed a strange mixture of fear, anger, and . . . relief?

“Remus, please keep an eye on Mundungus. The rest of you may return to your duties. We shall meet later when this matter is cleared,” said Dumbledore finally; then facing Snape at his side, he added, “I need you, Severus, to get the other potion that I asked you to prepare. After that wait here with Remus until I return.”

Saying so, Dumbledore started for his office, the rest of the Order members behind him, before Fletcher suddenly stopped trembling and dashed towards Dumbledore, a weak croak escaping his throat. Remus had never observed the symptoms of any side-effects of the anti-Polyjuice potion before, but this certainly didn't seem a side-effect.

“Dumbledore . . . no don't go . . .” Remus could barely make out what he was saying.

What followed was even stranger. Fletcher came to an abrupt stop just before Dumbledore, a sudden rage flashing in his eyes before they went completely blank of emotion, as he pulled out his wand, bellowing, “Avada . . .”. But a dozen stunning spells had caught him squarely on the chest, making him land with a loud thud on the hard stone wall a few feet away.

Remus had distinctly heard the cracking sound of bone being fractured – probably the back-bone. Apparently Dumbledore had heard it too, since he immediately sent McGonagall to fetch Madam Pomfrey, the nurse-in-charge of the hospital wing in Hogwarts. Then he lead the rest of the Order members to his office, from where they would Floo to their respective destinations.

As Remus stood alone by the unconscious body of Mundungus Fletcher, he could think of only one explanation for Fletcher's strange behavior – he was under the Imperius curse. A few minutes later McGonagall returned with Madam Pomfrey, who quickly examined Fletcher for injuries, and performed some emergency healing charms.

A short while later, Snape rejoined them with a flask of Veritaserum, to be shortly followed by Dumbledore. A few drops of the Veritaserum was administered to Fletcher, before he was awaken by Dumbledore. His face and eyes were void of any emotion, indicating that truth potion was taking effect. What followed was a detailed interrogation of Fletcher, regarding the unauthorized disclosure of the location of the former Order Headquarters, mostly conducted by Dumbledore, with frequent interruptions by Snape.

From what Remus gathered, the attack on Fletcher in Little Whinging was staged by Death Eaters in order to put Fletcher under the Imperius curse. Neither Fletcher, nor the other Order members who had rescued him had any idea of the attackers' identities. But what became clear was that the Imperius curse was strong enough to force Fletcher to stun Moody when the latter was visiting him alone while he was recuperating at St. Mungo's. His unsuccessful resistance to the curse had rendered him unconscious, but on waking up Moody's body had disappeared – probably taken away by Death Eaters.

As time progressed, resisting the Imperius became more and more difficult for Fletcher, until he had to give in completely. Under the Imperius, he had been able to obscure his recovery by some clever spells, which had deluded the healers into believing that his magical injuries had taken away his ability to walk. While physical injuries could be cured by magic, curse-induced injuries were a different case altogether, requiring the correct anti-curse to heal. The loss of his ability to walk made apparition risky, resulting in confiscation of his apparition license, and in his retirement from the Order. Within four days of being treated in hospital, he had been able to recover most of his health. Consequently, a day after Moody's capture, he was discharged from the hospital, ridden to a magical wheelchair.

A Death Eater agent met Fletcher twice everyday, handing him the required Polyjuice potion, prepared for assuming Moody's physical appearance. He had unknowingly turned into an undercover agent for the Dark side, impersonating Moody. He had been able to preserve the note that Dumbledore wrote to disclose the Order Headquarters to the new Order recruits, which he had later handed over to the Death Eaters.

Dumbledore's questioning ability was one of his virtues Remus admired most, for in spite of Fletcher's incoherent answers, they were able to reconstruct the above version of events. Yet it still left many questions unanswered – such as why Voldemort would send the note to the Minister of Magic, and where he was holding the real Moody.

* * *

A cool female voice, coming from the speakers on the ceiling of the air-conditioned compartment, announced the name of the next station, jarring Hermione from her thoughts. The regularly appearing emergency lights sped by at 90 km/hr as the subway local rattled through the dimly lit tunnels under the streets of London. The compartment was fairly crowded, though the rush of commuters returning home from work had steadily subsided as the minutes had ticked by after 7 PM.

If not for the fact that she was about to finally meet Harry, she would have been in an off mood, thanks to the letter that was tucked away in one of her her jeans' pockets.

Dear Miss Granger,

We have received intelligence that you, an underage student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, are responsible for a complex charm that was recorded in the premises of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, Diagon Alley at twenty-two minutes past seven this evening.

You must be well aware of the fact that any form of underage magic is expressly prohibited outside school, as laid down by the Decree of Restriction of Underage Sorcery, dated 1875. Considering that this was your first violation of the rule, and taking into account your outstanding academic performance, you have been pardoned this time.

However, further spell-work on your part outside your school will result in your immediate expulsion from Hogwarts, as dictated by paragraph C of the said decree.

Wishing you the best,

Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk,
Improper Use of Magic Office,
Ministry of Magic.

Strange ways the mind works in times of crisis, she mused to herself. In her anxiety about Harry's welfare, the existence of the decree had totally slipped her mind, while she was trying the Auto-Address spell on the parchment. Another careless step, and you'll be joining Harry in hiding, she rebuked herself. On the other hand, the only remark Ron had been able to come up with, after reading the letter, was, “Hey! Does that mean me and Ginny can do magic once too?”

Not too unexpected, Hermione believed, of someone who had the greatest rule-breakers in Hogwarts, since the legendary Marauders, for brothers. And the fact, that his best-friend was the son of the leader of the Marauders themselves, did not help much either. And it was for the sake of this best-friend that Hermione, Ron and Ginny were in an Underground train, instead of Floo-ing back to Godric's Hollow.

She was amused at how much growing up with Harry, Ron and their misadventures had changed her. The Hermione Granger, that had entered Hogwarts at the ago of eleven, would never have conceded to she and her friends going off on their own to meet another friend, who, incidentally, was on the run from the authorities for a murder he had not committed. Here they were doing exactly that, and more amazingly, she was the one who had suggested it. She didn't even want to imagine the reaction of Mrs. Weasley when they finally returned back to the Order hideout, more than three hours later than the stipulated time.

To be truthful, she had been apprehensive about taking Ginny along, but she had no choice – if there was one thing Ginny had in excess, then it was her stubbornness, inherited, no doubt, from her mother. Presently, Ginny was sitting still with her eyes closed, probably feeling nauseous since this was her first trip through the London Underground. Ron, meanwhile, was busy gazing with fascination at everything from the retreating stations to the air-conditioner outlets to the automatically sliding doors – as if a whole new universe of possibilities had just unfolded before his eyes.

Before long, their destination arrived, and they emerged from the station, heading for the nearest taxi stand. With every step, Hermione's heartbeat increased a few notches, as her mind was filled with anxiety and anticipation for Harry's condition, whom she would be meeting in a short while – that is if the Auto-Address charm on the parchment was still functioning.

* * *

Not more than a few miles away, an invisible green-eyed teenager was swiftly walking in the direction that he hoped would take him to the Underground station. He had never been to this place before – due to the fact that his relatives had never taken him on any of their regular shopping trips to London. Consequently, he had had to take the risk of asking normal-looking Muggle bystanders for directions.

He was extremely exhausted after walking continuously for the whole day – his legs were almost ready to give up. But he drove them on, ignoring the pain in his ankles. He wouldn't rest before he reached the crowded safety of the Underground.From there, he would probably take a train to Grimmauld Place – which, as far as he knew, was still the Order Headquarters.

He was currently passing by an almost empty children's park – the children must have been at their homes, eating dinner with their families, he thought. A pang of grief gripped his heart as he wondered how his life would have been with his parents alive. But it was quickly replaced by an uneasy feeling as the prickling sensation in his scar increased all of a sudden. Probably my imagination, he tried to assure himself, willing his legs to walk faster.

However, for some reason, his legs weren't moving any faster – instead they started slowing down, in spite of his desperate efforts. Even his mind was slowing down, as a cold sensation penetrated his nerves. But it wasn't slow enough to not to realize the cause. Dementors were nearby.

His vision thinned and hearing became muffled with his mother's screams and Voldemort's laughter, the volume of which was ever-increasing in his head. But he wouldn't give up. With all his will, he tried to clear his blurring senses.For a moment during which his vision returned, he could spot four hooded figures gliding through the now deserted park.

It was now or never. Pulling out his wand, he forced his mind to think of his best friends, whom he was missing so much, and bellowed with all his might, “Expecto Patronum!”

Nothing happened. He said it a second time, and then for a third time, but all that emerged from his wand was a thin cloud of silver mist. Meanwhile, the dementors where drawing closer and closer. Even with his almost defunct eyes, he could see that there were more than four dementors – much more.

With a last bit of effort he turned around to make a run for it, but was only met with another horde of the same unearthly creatures. Blood-curling screams of his mother were filling his head... He could see Sirius falling through the veil in slow motion... He was almost on the verge of losing his consciousness... Desperate to his limits, he tried to create a Patronus for one more time, but to no avail.

That was it. There was nothing more he could do. His last thought was that he would probably be meeting his parents and Sirius soon. At last.

* * *

The dusk was replaced by a starless cloudy night, as the imposing commercial Muggle buildings of central London, whizzing past the taxi, gave way to small residential buildings of the suburbia. The air was warm, still and humid, a clear indication of impending rains later in the night. The destination wasn't much far off, the taxi driver had informed him. With some effort, Remus directed his thoughts to the task at hand.

With luck, he would meet Stan in the inn and take him to the new Order Headquarters in Wales. That is, unless Ministry officials or Death Eaters got there first. Remus wouldn't put anything past Voldemort's followers after their expertly crafted infiltration into the Order's inner ring. Of course, special arrangements had been made in the new Headquarters to detect the use of the Polyjuice potion in the future.

After another fifteen minutes, the taxi screeched to a halt opposite to a run-down inn, bordered by a few scattered shops on both sides and woods on the back. Paying the fare in Muggle currency, Remus stepped out of the taxi and headed for the inn's entrance.

A lone electric bulb lit the entrance hall, as Remus made his way to the cash counter – which also served as the enquiry desk. The man sitting at the desk, in shabby clothes, was completely ignoring Remus' arrival. He looked about fifty years in age and was immersed in a crossword puzzle.

“Excuse me...” said Remus.

“Yea?” The man looked up from his newspaper, not hiding his irritation.

“I'm looking for a friend named Stan Shunpike, who may be staying in this inn.”

“'Choo sayin'?”

Remus repeated, louder this time.

“Shunpike you say? Never 'eard of 'im.”

Not for a second did Remus believe him. Holding out a ten-pound note, he added, “Well I did. And you get another ten if he's here.”

After staring longingly at the note for a second, the man's demeanor changed completely. He pulled out a dusty register from under his desk, and started thumbing away the pages, occasionally dabbing his finger to his tongue.

“Stan Shunpike... 'ere he is. Room number 5 upstairs,” he said, smiling. “Remember 'im... strange lad, gave me the collywobbles. Come to think of it, he asked to be left alone... You sure yer' a friend?”

“Of course. He's been expecting me.”

Handed him the money, Remus headed for the staircase, passing a nearly empty bar in the way. Once he reached the upper landing, he quietly walked upon the creaky wooden floor to the third room from the stairs. With a whispered “Alohomora” and swift wave of his wand, he unlocked the door to the dark room. Lighting his wand, he could make out a man sleeping soundly in a cot near the sole window in the room.

Letting out the breath he had been holding subconsciously, he closed the door behind him, putting locking and silencing charms on it. The snoring man was unmistakably Stan, his pimpled face and large, protruding ears standing out. But they didn't have much time before others knew of this location. Remus shook the sleeping man awake.

“Wha... Who are you?” asked Stan, sitting up, his wand outstretched.

“Remus Lupin. I've come to help you.”

“Help me? 'ow didja find me?”

“Mr. Lovegood. I work for Dumbledore. We've got to get out of here. Can you apparate?”

“'old on a minute... You could be one of them Ministry Aurors... No wait, I think I've 'eard your name somewhere before.”

“I don't know what you're talking about. Remember that Mr. Lovegood gave me your address, so I am a friend. And we don't have much time before Aurors or Death Eaters do get here. Get your belongings... I've got a portkey if you can't apparate.”

Stan didn't look too convinced, but apparently he didn't rejoice at the idea of confronting Death Eaters either. It was decide that they would use the portkey, since Stan had never learnt to apparate. Once Stan was ready, Remus activated the portkey, which was in fact a Muggle ball-point pen.

“Five seconds to go,” he said, “four... three... two...”

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

The pen shot out of their grips, hovering near the roof for the remaining two seconds before vanishing completely, as they both looked on stunned, unable to react for a few moments. Finally regaining his senses, Remus scrutinized the empty corner from where the spell came, before the realization struck him – Disillusionment charms.

Stan's life must be protected at all costs – his prime objective as Dumbledore had put it. He had seldom failed the Order before, and he didn't plan to now. In a flash, he had aimed his wand at the door and unlocked it.

“Stan! They're here... RUN!” he commanded the pale faced man beside him, still too shocked to move. Finally Stan seemed to understand him and made a rush for the open door, but not before a hooded figure, cloaked in black, appeared right in front of the door, blocking any exit. Stan stopped dead in his tracks, paralyzed with shock and fear. Two other figures in similar attires followed, both in the corner which had only a few moments ago seemed empty. Before Remus had a chance to aim, multiple disarming spells had hit him and Stan.

Death Eaters, Remus instantly recognized. Evidently, their objective was to kill Stan. And Remus would probably be a pleasant bonus. They were all pointing their wands at the helpless duo, victorious smirks plastered on their faces – probably getting ready to cast the Killing curse, Remus concluded. There was no way he could take on all three of them by himself, taking into account the fact that both his and Stan's wands were with the Death Eaters. Unless...

“Look who we have here... our werewolf friend!” said the man near the door. Stan, on his part, went even paler, positively trembling in fright.

“Malfoy.” Remus could have recognized that voice anywhere. “I had no idea that Azkaban could be bought too...” Buying time was his best option – the other Order members would apparate in there any second.

“That is no concern of yours, Lupin. A dead man has no concern, anyway.” He laughed maniacally at his own joke, to be joined a few seconds too late by his associates.

Remus had no doubts about their identities. The thought that plagued him was why the Order members had not arrived yet – it usually took less than five seconds for a distress call to reach the Head. And he had been sending it continuously for a minute now. There could be just one explanation – Harry was in danger too, whose protection was, presently, a more pressing concern for the Order. Which left only one choice for him, if he was to succeed in saving Stan. The choice he had been most reluctant to take.

“Prepare to die, Lupin. But you'll have to watch this coward die first,” said Malfoy, aiming his wand at Stan.

He was about to cast the Killing curse, before a growl erupted from where Remus had been standing a few moments ago. It was the Death Eaters' turn to be shell-shocked, as gleaming red eyes, on a hairy body which belonged more to a wolf than a human being, stared back at them. Remus had willed his transformation – made possible by a special potion that Snape gave him daily; one which let werewolves have control over their transformations, though for a short while only. He had approximately ten minutes before he would lose control over himself; the animal part of his self, not being able to bear the absence of the full moon for much time, would change back to his human form.

Before Malfoy could recover, Remus lunged for his throat, baring his fangs. This was a feeling he had never experienced before – usually when he transformed, he would lose all coherent thought as his human mind gave way to pure animal instincts. But now, for the first time, he could experience all the raw animal power of his wolf form, while still possessing his human intellectual abilities – at least for now.

A mad craze for revenge filled his mind, as he sunk his teeth into Malfoy's shoulder. Revenge for what they had done to all those he had cared for. Malfoy had played an important role in the battle for the prophecy, which ultimately lead to Sirius' death. He could have killed the now-unconscious bastard then and there, but with a tremendous effort, he restrained himself, turning his attention to the remaining two, presently cowering, Death Eaters.

With an inhuman strength, he pounced upon them, injuring just enough to demobilize – taking life was not something he rejoiced in. For a moment he thought he had succeeded – Malfoy and both his associates were unconscious on the floor, and would be for at least another few hours unless help arrived. But that was before his sharp ears caught distinct sounds of loud spell-work downstairs. Stan had rushed out the moment Remus had attacked Malfoy. He was alone down there.

Remus leapt out of the room, dashing down the stairs four steps at a time on his four legs. The bar and the entrance hall were in complete disarray, the few Muggles who had been present were either stunned or – Remus shuddered at the thought – dead. But Stan or his adversaries were nowhere to be seen.

Gathering speed, he ran outside, but he hadn't been fast enough. Out on the muddy road, a figure was sprawled awkwardly, face downwards and unmoving. Remus didn't need to see the face to know who it was. Still, with the slightest bit of hope, he clumsily turned around the body with his paws. The lifeless face of Stan Shunpike stared back at him, eyelids open and revealing blank gray eyes. Extreme fear and despair were still etched upon the face – unresponsive to the wolf howling helplessly upon him.

With a newfound rage, he frantically ran around the area, sniffing and searching for the murderers – Death Eaters, no doubt, who had been waiting for them outside. But there was no living soul to be found. The only moving entity was the Mark, floating higher and higher in the sky; the mark that even Remus had grown to fear so much during the first reign of Voldemort.

Remus had failed. And the failure was probably due to his carelessness – he had never stopped to consider the fact that anyone could have followed his taxi to the location. The Death Eaters had evidently done just that, and succeeded in eliminating Stan.

But it wasn't his failure that grieved and irked him the most – it was the loss of the innocent lives. Lives such as this man's, who, though being weak, had dared to stand up to the authorities for the truth, throwing away his job and his family, and unknowingly sealing his own deadly fate. Lives such as those of the innocent Muggles back there in the inn, who had happened to be present in the way of Voldemort's followers. Lives such as those of the hundreds of children orphaned by Voldemort's quest for power, part of whose lives were lost even before they learned to speak.

A/N: I won't put much here except for a pleading request for reviews. And stay tuned for the next chapter...

Qool

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author Notes: Thanks so much for your great reviews... And now, I present you another episode of Harry Potter and the... 'Cliffie-fic' – er, sorry I meant 'The Sacred Alliance', whatever that means to you... (I was going to mention something about a 'Bullwinkle', but that would mean shamelessly quoting one of my dedicated reviewers – you know who you are!).

OK, before you conclude that I am fit for the mental ward at St. Mungo's, I'd like to point out the fact that putting cliff-hangers is the only way for me to have continuity in the story. So, even though I know that cliffies are injurious to readers' health, I can't help not using them. Makes sense? :-)

Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance

Chapter 8

The first rays of the new-born sun, peeking from behind the clouds, filtered through the curtains, illuminating the room with a distinct orange glow. Yet they did nothing to assuage her anguished mind, except waking it from its forced slumber. She had lost count of the number of times she had woken in the night, heart palpitating from another hideous nightmare of a dying Harry. And each time she wished that the events of last night had never taken place – that they were just figments of her own imagination, just like the nightmares. As she was wishing now.

Moving her bushy brown hair out of her eyes, she dared to take another look at the piece of parchment lying on the stand beside the couch, which had been serving as her makeshift bed. It was blank. Devoid of any print. Yet she couldn't believe it – there must have been something wrong with the charm, she tried to assure herself.

A few feet away Ron was snoring lightly on his couch, and beside him, on another sofa, were Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, who – being anxious about Harry herself – had for once allowed them all to stay there for the night, in spite of the misadventure they had gone on last evening. Ginny looked as if she had been crying – she probably still had residual feelings for their green-eyed friend, left-over from the crush she had for him in her younger years. But how Ron could sleep so peacefully escaped Hermione's mind, especially after the way he was acting last night. Boys in general, and Ron in particular, could apparently take this situation better than her and Ginny in particular, and girls in general. Either that, or Ron was a sufficiently deep sleeper for his worries to interrupt his slumber.

But Hermione would not let her emotions get hold of her. Logical thinking was her speciality; emotions were not. As far as they knew, Harry was still alive, though her doubts increased with each passing minute. Yet, she was still expecting, as they had been doing for the better part of the night, either Mr. Weasley or one of the other Order members to appear at the fireplace and say that Harry was all right. Heck, all she needed was some confirmation of Harry's well-being – not this endless suspense. And she didn't even want to think of the other possibility.

Being the only person awake, she let her mind wander to the events of last night, part of her hoping once again that pinching herself would get her out of this bad dream.

“How much time more?”, asked Ron, growing impatient by the minute. Evidently, Muggle travel was too slow for him.

“I dunno what's your problem mister... Ten minutes in the cab an' you've already asked that question for the third time. Its a car, for Christ's sake – not a plane!” replied the cab driver, forcing Hermione and Ginny to suppress giggles. He was not in a good mood either.

Looking down at the charmed parchment, Hermione could deduce that Harry was not staying at one place – he had changed streets twice since the trio had taken the taxi, and the block numbers in his address were constantly changing.

A little while later, they were walking briskly in the direction taken by Harry, according to her calculations. And adding to her excitement was the fact that a few Muggle bystanders had seen a boy exactly fitting their descriptions, passing through that lane only a few minutes ago. Ironically enough, he had been asking one of them for directions to the Underground station.

Heart beating in anticipation, she marched full-speed along with Ron and Ginny, scanning the residential area around them for any signs of Harry. They passed a few intersections and a mostly empty children's park, but Harry was nowhere to be found.

It was another ten minutes later that she took a look at the parchment. But what she saw confused her – the address had stopped changing.

“I think we must stop... Harry's stopped moving,” she said, showing the parchment to the others.

“Look, it says a public garden – was it the one we passed a few minutes ago?” asked Ginny, forcing Hermione to curse her carelessness. Why hadn't she looked at the parchment before?

“I dunno... it might be another one up front,” suggested Ron, “How many parks do these Muggles have?”

“Well, you may be right, Ron...” Hermione said, doing some quick thinking. Then it struck her. “Oh God! We forgot that Harry's got the Invisibility Cloak!”

Her exclamation was met with silence for a moment.

“Let's head back then,” said Ginny finally. “We could try calling his name or something...”

“But if he was using the cloak, then how come those Muggles saw him?” asked Ron.

“He might have taken it off when he was asking them for directions,” suggested Ginny, joining Hermione who had already turned to go back to the park.

The address did not change anymore, but something different about the parchment caught Hermione's attention – it seemed as if the script was fading. But she simply shrugged it off, blaming it on their dimly lit surroundings, as they swiftly retraced their path, her heart beating madly with excitement.

After a few minutes, in which Hermione checked her parchment repeatedly, they reached the park. From their distance, she could barely make out a few figures forming an irregular circle around a spot near the park's entrance. Initially she thought the street-lights were playing upon her eyes. But soon the figures became clearer, standing in a place which had been deserted the last time the trio had passed the place.

A number of possibilities raced through her over-working mind – none of them very appealing. Ron and Ginny, she noticed, were stiffening too. Since underage magic was not allowed, they were possibly walking right into a trap without any means to defend themselves. However, the fact that Harry was there too strengthened their resolve to move on, albeit cautiously.

A sudden coldness gripped Hermione as they neared the location, but it receded as soon as she felt it. But it wasn't the coldness that caught her off guard – it was the attire in which the figures were clothed. And to top it all, a huge translucent silver bird was hovering up in the air. With a closer look, she knew that it was a Patronus – in the form of a phoenix.

“The Order!” Ron blurted out, stunned.

A horde of hooded figures in scarlet robes were gathered together a few feet away, apparently in some deep discussion. Now Hermione was truly confused. For a few fleeting moments, relief swarmed through her. But it was soon replaced by apprehension – what could have possibly occurred in the last twenty minutes to warrant the presence of the whole Order?

“MISS GRANGER, MR. WEASLEY!” a harsh female voice shook them up from behind. “And... ah, Miss Weasley! WHAT are you three doing here?” It was a voice which Hermione had heard countless number of times before. Professor McGonagall.

They had now caught the attention of the other Phoenix members too. One of them came running over to where McGonagall had caught the trio.

“Did I hear you saying...”, started the man, in a voice they instantly recognized.

“DAD?” exclaimed Ron and Ginny simultaneously, to be followed by moments of stunned silence, before it was pierced by McGonagall, who seemed to be positively seething with rage.

“ARTHUR! I will NOT allow Potter's friends here. Take them back immediately!”

Mr. Weasley tried his best to calm her down, finally succeeding in returning her to the assembly of the Order members. Then he returned to where Hermione and the others were standing, bursting with questions. Hermione noticed that Mr. Weasley was himself not behaving like his usual self.

“Where have you three been?” he said in a tired voice, “Molly was so worried...” But he was interrupted with questions the three could hold back no longer.

“Where's Harry?”

“What happened, Dad?”

“Is Harry OK?”

To their dismay, he couldn't answer any of them. Ron kept pressing him without success, while Hermione turned her attention to the Order gathering. Most of them, she noticed had disapparated. The Patronus was gone too. Then suddenly everything fell into place – Harry... Order members... the sudden coldness... the Patronus. The realization hit her with a pang of anxiety – Harry had been attacked by Dementors.

But he could fight them away, couldn't he? Then what were the Order members doing here? Why hadn't they come for him before, if they could track him? Probably they couldn't track him, she reasoned, until Harry had performed some magic against the Dementors... But why wasn't Harry here then? And why had the charmed parchment gone completely blank?

Within a few minutes they were portkeyed away, despite their protests, to Godric's Hollow, without any answers.

A loud thud jarred her from her recollections, also waking all the other occupants of the room. The cloaked figure of Tonks had appeared at the fireplace bumping into the mantelpiece. One look at her pale face confirmed that she hadn't had a drop of sleep all through the night. It also suggested something else – something that made Hermione have second thoughts about wanting to hear her news.

However, Tonks wasn't alone. Behind her came Fred and George, with similar grieved expressions on their faces – something she had witnessed only once before. When their father's life was in danger. And what added to her apprehension was the fact that all the three new-comers were keeping absolutely mute and deliberately avoiding the others' eyes.

After an eternally stretching minute, George finally looked at his mother. But the few words he managed to choke out brought Hermione's whole world crashing down.

“Mum, he's gone... forever.”

* * *

The compound resounded with a cacophony of gunshots from the Kalashnikov rifles. Another inmate incapable of the labor, probably due to age, was meeting his/her deadly fate. Or perhaps it was just a warning to the others, proving that 'ill-behavior' was not tolerated. Or it could simply be entertainment for the guards, who hadn't witnessed human blood ever since the civil war came to an abrupt end two months ago.

But she didn't care – caring for others' lives was not an option here. Here it simply boiled down to the fundamental law of life – survival of the fittest. Discovered by some scientist named Darwin. Or so she recalled learning in the unreal dream that her past now seemed to be. Yet the memories still haunted her sometimes... Of a time when she cared for others... A past where she had known love...

And then there were the visions she had been having lately. Visions she couldn't explain... Of a people among whom she had once lived – people speaking in the only tongue she had learned in her eleven years of life before being brought to this hell. English. But now that life seemed so unreal...

A snarl from a nearby guard jerked her back to reality. She did not speak their language, like many others in the compound. But years that she had spent here had taught her well enough what the guard meant. Her skinny dirt-covered hands trembling, she forced the remaining tasteless watery substance that they called lunch into her mouth, before returning back to work.

* * *

The Dementors drew nearer, as Harry looked on petrified, his head exploding with pain and terrible memories. Reaching out its cold and lifeless hands, the closest one lifted his powerless self so that it could perform the final ritual. Voluntary movement not possible, Harry's eyes were nevertheless shut involuntarily. But nothing could subdue the foul decaying stink emerging from the creature, or the nerve-wrecking screams filling in his ears.

Being incapable of coherent thought, only flashes flooded his mind – flashes of his life... Sirius, who he thought he would be seeing again... And people who he would be not seeing again – Hagrid... Dumbledore... Lupin... Ron... Hermione... Somehow he held on to the last strains of consciousness, as he sensed an alien presence upon his lips. He didn't know what to expect... Pain? Liberation? The next great adventure after life? Or would he lose his consciousness altogether, ceasing to be a living soul?

However, what followed was totally unexpected. He was engulfed in total absolute darkness, but his consciousness was still there – he knew that, since he was still able to observe. Yet his senses seemed to have left him. Vision, hearing, smell, feel... All were gone. He could feel no body... No breath... No heart...

And then, gradually his thought returned. Enough for him to comprehend what had happened... But was this death? Then how could he still be able to think? But then this thinking was different, much different. Usually he thought in English, but now he wasn't thinking in any language at all. But the thoughts were somehow flowing... Even after he had left his body... That was all he could understand.

Then just as abruptly as it appeared, his thought vanished once again, taking his consciousness with it.

Null. Void. Vacuum.

He blinked his eyes, adjusting to the light. Disbelief. He could feel his breath. He could feel his heart beating... His hands... His feet... Vision, hearing, smell, feel... He could sense it all once again. Relief swept his heart, which was pumping with a new vigor. Emotions returned... Tears threatened to overflow his eyes – but these were tears of joy.

“I'm alive!” he couldn't stop himself from exclaiming aloud.

It was then that he directed his attention to his surroundings, and he instantly knew that this was not his world. It could not be Earth. And yet he remembered this place – he could have sworn he had come to this world before. He knew it from the cool breeze... the pleasant sensation in the atmosphere... the soothing fragrance that filled his nostrils. Probably he had visited it in his dreams, he concluded.

He was lying on the ground, fine soft velvet-like grass cushioning his back. Feeling strangely rested, he wondered how long he had been sleeping here. All his worries, memories of the recent incidents were driven out of his mind. The orange sky stretched over him, the gold-tinged clouds moving visibly faster than they did on Earth. Looking around, he could spot different species of colorful flowers on strange wild bushes.

Unable to resist his curiosity any more, Harry got up to his feet. Within a few seconds of inspecting his surroundings, he could conclude that he was on a slope; he could barely make out sparkling ice cover at the misty top of the hill. Strange sounds filled his ears – they were almost like music, as if horns were blowing somewhere with varying notes. Wondering the source of the sounds, he let his legs carry him to what seemed like a cliff to the plateau he was on.

And the view was breath-taking, to say the least. Hundreds of meters below him stretched a vast rain-forest... A river was cutting through the greenery, its source being what seemed to be a waterfall from Harry's distance. But that was where the similarity with Earth ended – or at least as he had known it. Because there were heads of gigantic creatures protruding over the tree-tops and Harry had seen them before. But only in books and Muggle movies.

Dinosaurs.

Or at least that was what the Muggle paleontologists called them, as far as he could remember. Needless to say, he was sure he was dreaming and pinched himself quite a number of times before giving up. It took him a few moments to realize the fact that these creatures were the source of the sounds, along with the huge bat-like flying creatures he could now spot in the sky.

And then suddenly he felt a strange sensation, as if something was behind him. He turned around immediately, but there was nothing – at least nothing visible. A sudden dread replaced his happiness – he had no idea what kind of inhabitants this strange world had. And who or what had brought him here?

Subconsciously he reached for his wand. But it was not with him. It was then that he noticed that he didn't have his glasses on either – and yet his eyesight was as sharp as ever. Who was he? Where was he? What had they done with him?

Willing his mind to his immediate concern of finding his wand, he darted over to the spot where he had been lying. But the wand was nowhere to be found. And then he sensed 'it' – whatever or whoever it was – again, this time to his right. Trying not to panic, he decided to try talking – though he doubted 'it' would understand English.

“Who are you?”

For a few seconds, no response came. And then he felt a presence in his mind... As if some entity was examining his thought signals... And placing its own signals in his head. But Harry could make no sense of it. Apparently, the entity couldn't either, since it was gone less than second later.

A few more seconds passed – silent except the backdrop of the distant booming sounds of the creatures – before his surrounding abruptly warped, as if he was being sucked out of this world with a tremendous force to some unknown destination.

* * *

For the second time since he had been 'kissed', Harry blinked his eyes open. Driving the memories of his strange experience out of his mind, he scanned his surroundings – but most of it was a blur. Apparently, his eyes needed the service of his glasses once again. At least that was back to normal.

A dim bluish white light illuminated the room, and from what he could make out, he was alone, lying on a bed similar to the ones in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Hoping that his glasses would be nearby, he tried to sit up. But the sudden shock of hearing a loud hoot brought him back to his lying position. That was before he registered the source of the cry.

“Hedwig!” he exclaimed. A snowy blur fluttered to his bedside, nipping his fingers lovingly.

“Welcome back, Harry,” a deep voice greeted him, which he didn't require much time to recognize. Dumbledore.

“Where are you?” he asked, unable to locate where the voice was coming from.

“I shall see you in a minute, Harry, but you must first rid your mind of all emotions.”

He guessed that this was probably necessary to prevent Voldemort from detecting Dumbledore's presence through him. But the problem lied in clearing his troubled mind. After five minutes of staring intently at Hedwig, he was finally satisfied with his mental state. Apparently Dumbledore sensed this too, since he instantly appeared beside Harry's bed, a brief twinkle grazing his eyes before they turned grave.

“We are in Hogwarts. This...” he said, flicking the blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles around the room, “is my private chamber. The office of the Head of the Order of the Phoenix, to be precise. And... Oh yes, here are your glasses.”

With his glasses on, Harry inspected the room – he had never seen it before in his five years at Hogwarts. Runes in ancient scripts were carved on the stone walls, while the ceiling was in the shape of a dome. The air was cool but stale. He was probably in the dungeons, he deduced.

The next few silent minutes were spent in Harry stuffing himself with enormous quantities of food and drink which Dumbledore had arranged for him. It was evident from his appetite that he had been unconscious for quite a few days. Eventually when he had eaten his fill, Dumbledore reappeared, clearing away the empty plates with a flick of his wand.

In the following hour, Harry explained his experiences in detail to Dumbledore, who listened patiently and calmly. But his eyes revealed something else altogether – a mixture of concern and sadness. Harry himself was totally confused – he didn't know what was real and what was dream anymore. Hell, he wasn't even sure if this was a dream or not.

“Well, it does seem that you've cheated death once again,” said Dumbledore finally, his brow tense, probably due to deep thinking.

“But why didn't I... I mean how am I alive? Could it be that the dementors didn't kiss me?” Harry somehow managed to ask.

“No they did. I saw them...”

“YOU SAW THEM!?” His temper was getting the better of him, despite his attempt at Occlumency. All through his years at Hogwarts he had simply believed that Dumbledore could take care of anything. And in spite of Dumbledore's failure to do so last year and the year before to some extent, a part of him had still believed that Dumbledore would be able to get him out of the situation. “Why didn't you do anything?”

“I'm truly sorry, Harry,” Dumbledore replied, without making eye contact. “But old age, I've learnt, does get in the way of... rapid action. I had no means of tracking you down until you tried the Patronus charm, though we had a general idea of your location. By the time we reached there, the dementors had already administered the kiss. And we all thought that it was the... end... Most fortunately we were wrong. But I admit that it was our fault... Miss Granger, I discovered later, did find a way, but she, your friend Mr. Weasley and his sister decided to meet you on their own, since even they did not expect this attack.”

“Hermione and Ron were there too? Did they see me?”

“They would have, since they reached the place much earlier than we did using a clever Auto-Address charm. But apparently they missed you, presumably due to your Invisibility Cloak, and proceeded to search the adjacent areas.”

“But the dementors found me...”

“Yes. Dementors cannot see, only sense.”

“But... Why couldn't I produce a Patronus?” he asked, this being one of the two questions that had been haunting him ever since he had woken up. “I've had lots of practice, really.”

“That is something that I myself am not certain why. However, I believe that Voldemort was using your connection with him to disorient you. And I might add that you were quite drained yourself... because of my inability to help you.”

“So how did I live?”

“I'm afraid I can't answer that correctly either. When we found you, you had no pulse – no sign of life. All magical and physical methods indicated so. For eight unending hours, all we did was use spell upon spell – half the Order was traveling all over the world, searching for some healer who could reverse the effect of the kiss. But we knew the truth even before we had started trying – there exists no way... no magical treatment that can bring back a soul sucked away by a Dementor.”

“But...”

“Please let me finish, Harry. There would truly be no way to save you if a Dementor sucked out your soul. And since you are still alive before us, this can have only one explanation.”

A moment passed in silence before Harry caught on.

“That the Dementor never sucked out my soul? But I felt it near me... you said you saw it...” he said, puzzled.

“But you did you really feel the kiss?”

“Actually, I didn't... Just as I sensed its breath on my lips, everything turned black, and... well, I've told you what happened.”

Dumbledore simply stared back at him, as if expecting him to figure out the answer on his own, which was exactly what he was trying to do. He didn't feel the kiss... But the Dementor had kissed him... Kissed his lips, to be precise. Which meant that he couldn't feel his lips. This just wasn't making sense, unless...

“You mean I – my soul – wasn't in my body anymore when the Dementor tried to suck it out?”

“That seems to be the most likely explanation. But mark my words, Harry. As far as I know, there doesn't exist a single human form of magic – Dark or not – which can voluntarily remove a living being's soul and then give it back after eight hours. Your experience confirms my suspicions, that whoever or whatever helped you might not be an Earth-bound creature at all. But then, we might be wrong, as you know from previous experience that dreams or visions can be fabricated.”

Harry didn't know what to say. So he decided to change the subject, albeit reluctantly.

“So is anybody coming to see me here?” To be truthful, he was dying to see his friends again – especially Hagrid, Ron and Hermione. If not for the companionship, then just to be sure that he was still alive.

At this Dumbledore adopted an even more grave expression than before. “The whole world knows that you are no more. And after a lot of internal debate, I believe that it is best that we keep it that way.”

“WHAT!? But sir...”

“Look Harry, please hear me out before you judge my decision. As I have said before, we tried for eight hours to heal you before giving up. Yet, in spite of the guilt consuming me, I still had some hope left. So I brought you – your body to be precise – to this room, putting a preserving charm on it, after I reluctantly announced your demise to the world. It was then seven in the morning, when I was alone in this room, that your breathing resumed.

“Initially I was filled with joy and relief. And I also wondered how your recovery was possible. But what interested me the most was the fact, that your miraculous recovery occurred the moment everyone else had left this room, just after my announcement – as if the person responsible for it had been waiting for the announcement, and somehow knew that I was alone with you before giving you back your soul. Why, was the question.

“It was then that I realized the advantage the Dark side had unknowingly presented us with. As long as you lived, Voldemort, knowing the first part of the prophecy, feared you – even more than he feared me – since you are the only person who can defeat him. Consequently, he has been employing all his resources to kill you – including blackmail and mind-control of the Ministry.”

“Do you mean that Fudge is under the Imperius?” asked Harry, bewildered.

“Yes, Harry, the way Cornelius has been going after you is not his nature at all. It is most likely the combination of bribes, blackmail and advanced forms of mind-control – more advanced than the Imperius, which the Order is currently investigating. Moreover, even in your death, you are a great leader. The moment your death was announced, outrage like never before rose against the Ministry. It has been just a week and a half, and instead of losing hope, the wizarding public has formed countless organizations – all under the common cause of uprooting the corrupt Ministry and defeating the Dark side, and half of them named after you. Some radical ones even believe that you will re-incarnate some day, and work endlessly towards that cause.”

Dumbledore chuckled slightly before continuing, “So, although Voldemort has all his resources free to unleash his new reign of terror, it will be most difficult for him to do that any time soon. And by that time, we will be able to train you in hiding, prepare you for the inevitable battle.”

To say that Harry was overwhelmed by Dumbledore's new plans would be an understatement. But did this mean that he would be locked up like Sirius? And he didn't even want to imagine what his friends might be going through after his 'death'. He for one was sure he would land up in St. Mungo's if anything happened to Ron or Hermione after Sirius. And how would he be able to spend even a year without their companionship? He needed them and they needed him. Unsurprisingly, Dumbledore seemed to read his thoughts.

“If you are wondering if you will be locked up in a room, then don't. Because you will be going to Hogwarts like any other witch or wizard of your age, albeit under a different identity. And until its absolutely necessary, no one – not even Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley – should know about our new arrangement. Except you, myself and Professor Snape.”

Harry had still not forgiven Snape for indirectly causing Sirius' death by not helping him in Occlumency. But you didn't make any effort either, a small voice in his heart scolded him. But that didn't justify Snape getting any special treatment. In fact if there could be one advantage of having a new identity, then it would be in escaping Snape's wrath, since he would not be a 'Potter' any more.

“Why Sna... I mean Professor Snape?”

“Because, as you will realize in a few days, he – being the Potions master – will play a very important role in your disguise.”

There was no way escaping Snape, he guessed. But that didn't clear up Hermione or Ron's case. They needed him, just like he needed both of them. At least he could say that Hermione did, and even Ron did – though he didn't show.

“Sir, I guess I will be seeing Hermione and Ron in school. But they won't know its me, will they? I've already gone through this – mourning over the loss of someone so close. I don't want them to go through this...” said Harry.

“It is this love for others that makes you great Harry... Its your decision, really, to tell them or not. I do trust them completely, but my advice would be to wait while you can... It will be easier for you to assume your new identity if none of your friends know, though it will be no doubt hard for them, as it will be for you to some extent. In addition, no... ah, spies... of Voldemort will be able to uncover your identity through your friends, even if they resort to Imperius, Polyjuice or Veritaserum.

“It is both for their safety and yours that I advice you to keep your identity a secret. You will know when the right time comes to disclose your secret to them. But as I said before, the decision lies totally with you, Harry, not me. As lies the choice of whether or not to proceed with my plans. I daresay you'll need time, and I'll offer you four days. I am sorry there isn't any more time on our hands, since we need at least two weeks, before term starts, to set up your new identity.”

“Er... I'll try to think, sir,” replied Harry, wishing he had Hermione and Ron to help him.

A/N: COUGH, COUGH *clears his throat*

Ladies and Gentlemen! The time has come for me to launch into a two-hour long detailed lecture on why readers should review Fan-fiction. So, unless you are looking forward to two hours of quality sleep-time, after which you'll have to review anyway, you might as well hit the review button now.

OK, here goes... blah, blah, blah, review, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, review, blah, blah, blah, review, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, review, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, review, blah, blah, blah, blah, review, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, review, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, review, blah, blah, blah, blah, review, blah, blah, blah, blah, review, blah, blah, review, blah, blah, blaaah ... zzzzzz [In an unexpected development, the speaker has fallen asleep too. 3-) ]

LOL

Tune in for the next chapter in approx. four days time...

Qool

[A.D.] (Hey! I just discovered that my real initials match Dumbledore's!)

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author Notes: Important announcement!! If you want to be notified by email when the next chapters are out, then just email me at the following address: arijit1985@yahoo.co.in

Dedicated wholeheartedly to all my reviewers, especially the ones who painstakingly review each and every chapter, and also the ones who write those really huge reviews – enough to put me in a good mood in one shot! (Keep 'em coming)

I guess I've picked up a bad habit of starting my chapters with flashbacks. Hopefully this one will be the last...

Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance

Chapter 9

A gloomy silence lay over the ward, except for the the occasional thunder and the constant buzz of the rain pelting outside. But as the man lay awake in the only occupied bed of the hospital wing at Hogwarts, his thoughts resided in the memory of another stormy day... in a different time...

It was a new ray of sunshine in the darkness that had befallen their lives... Voldemort had unleashed his reign of terror all over Britain, and despite the relentless efforts of the Order, hope was giving away to despair. No family that dared to stand for the Light was spared... There was killing everywhere, the Dark Mark looming almost constantly over the skies of Britain, and it was widely believed that the Mark would soon reach other European skies too.

With each passing day, the ranks of the Dark side increased and panic gripped the rest. Children were pulled out of school... Scores of Muggle-borns left the wizarding world for good... Trade and economy plummeted, bringing poverty to the wizarding masses. And the Ministry was acting more like an unquestioning puppet of Voldemort than a democratic institution of governance. But they wouldn't give up... As long as Dumbledore led the Light side, they still had hope left. It was all they toiled on endlessly for – in search for that elusive light at the end of the tunnel...

And yet, the gloom was at the back of Remus' mind that day, to be replaced by joy – something he hadn't felt for quite a long time, as he made his way through the narrow lane to the ancient manor, shielding himself from the rain-water with his cloak. He would have preferred to apparate directly to the Potter residence, but James and Lily had recently, under the recommendation of Dumbledore after the latest attempt on their lives, set up apparition-wards around the manor.

A sudden pop to his left alerted his senses, and he was almost taken aback on witnessing a large black dog appearing out of thin air. Almost, because he immediately knew it was Sirius, whom he hadn't seen in a couple of months. Only Sirius would dare to apparate in his Animagus form – unregistered, no less. The dog was currently barking happily as it made a dash for Remus, hitting him with a force that tumbled him backwards.

“Geroff Padfoot... get off now!!” he screamed at the dog, who was licking his face as if there was no tomorrow. 'Probably there isn't', a despondent voice said in his head, before being silenced forcibly.

“Its great to see you, Moony! Still enjoying your monthly midnight misadventures?” Sirius said, after he had finally transformed. Nothing – not even war – could change Sirius' anything-but-serious attitude to towards life, Remus mused. How wrong he had been.

“You too, Padfoot,” he replied, with a mock expression of sternness, “You know what? Apparating in that dog form of yours is gonna hurt you real bad someday...”

“Hey c'mon Moony, don't you start like Lily now. As if Prongs supporting her at every instance isn't enough! If I didn't know better, I'd say that she's got him under a love spell.”

“Yeah, yeah... Who could have guessed that the fiercest inter-house rivals would turn into die-hard lovebirds, marry and have a kid before you could spell 'Marauder'?”

“But you've got to admit that Prongs did have a bad crush on her...”

And so they continued, recollecting their care-free and 'innocent' adventures at school, as they entered the manor, greeted by 'Butler' the Potter family house-elf. Both of them carefully skirted any topics in relation to the ongoing war in their conversation, since this was not a time for such discussions – it was time for celebration, for hope that they would survive this darkness and make their dreams come true. Indeed they had taken a day off to do just that. For they had just learned that they were blessed with a niece or a nephew – Lily Potter would be giving birth to a new life in less than eight months.

However, when Remus finally spotted Lily, he was puzzled to see her walking dejectedly towards them, with a forced smile on her lips. He had expected a new spring in her steps, like she always did when announcing some new achievement – like scoring top marks in some subject or being appointed as the Head Girl. Her usually sparkling green eyes seemed as if she had been crying, as she half-heartedly greeted both of them.

“What's the matter, Lil?” asked Sirius, whose grin had evaporated on noticing her.

She remained silent, but the expression of anger in her eyes plainly indicated that she and James had been having one of their arguments – which had been quite rare ever since they became a couple at Hogwarts. Although Remus felt wary of invading his best friends' privacy, Sirius found no fault in pressing after her to spill out the subject of their argument, until they finally learnt that James didn't like the idea of having a baby in the circumstances that their world was in.

Promising Lily that he would hammer some sense into that 'thick skull' that James had, Sirius rushed to the bedroom where the man had shut himself off, while Remus simply followed. A few minutes later they found James brooding in an armchair in a corner, who stood up facing them the moment he heard their footsteps.

“Oh hello... Padfoot, Moony.” This was not like the usual James at all.

“Who are you, and where have you hidden our best friend Prongs?” asked Sirius, trying to lighten the mood.

“Look Sirius, I don't have time for jokes... Could we please meet later?”

“James, we are not joking,” said Remus, closing the door to the bedroom behind him. “Lily and you are having a baby – you should be jumping for joy like the rest of us, not sulking away like you're doing right now.”

“Oh yeah? Well I think I told you both to leave.”

“No you look, James! We aren't leaving until you tell us what's worrying you,” said Sirius, adopting a serious tone this time. On simply receiving a silent treatment, he pressed on. “Come on Prongs, for Merlin's sake, what's the problem? Isn't this what you wanted, what you always dreamed of?”

“I did...” James hesitated, before continuing, “But – I didn't expect this... You know Voldemort's after us! How are we going to raise a baby with the Dark side at our throats? What if something happens to me or Li... Dammit! I shouldn't have married Lily now, putting her life in danger!”

“I thought we had this discussion before, Prongs. What makes you think that your marrying Lily put her in any more danger than she already was before? She's as powerful as you or any of us, and you know that. And then she's Muggle-born – prime target of the Death Eaters. If you ask me, your marriage makes you both safer!” Sirius retaliated.

“No, you don't get it!” James exclaimed. “The Order's bound to need me, and face it – it's not the securest of jobs! Look at what happened to the Bones... the McKinnons... What if something happens to me? Who'll look after Lily and the baby?” He was literally screaming at the top of his voice now, and put his face in his hands when he had finished.

It took a while before Sirius and Remus were able to calm James down. But Remus would always remember the promise he and Sirius had made to James that day – they, along with Peter, being no less than brothers to him, would consider James' new family as their own, should anything happen to him or Lily. After all that was what best friends were for.

His heart pained at the memories, pained at how fate had played with their lives. Yes, the times had been bad, probably even worse than now. But they had dreams... they had hopes... and most importantly they had each other – young and inexperienced though they were. And here he was, seventeen years later, lying alone and hopeless, shunned by the whole world – no one in the world whom he could call his anymore...

Remus had failed James... he had failed Sirius... he had failed everyone. Harry Potter was dead, and he hadn't been able to do anything about it. There was nothing left he could do to relive the heartburn, to make his conscience forgive himself. He couldn't take the war anymore... he had lost too much in it.

Even after Sirius had left them, he had not relented – he still had Harry, and he would give his life to make James' dreams of his son come true. And yet here he was alive, nothing left to hope for, while Harry had left him too. He hadn't been there for Harry. And the rest of the Order had been too late.

A tug at his mind awoke him from his semi-conscious state. Dumbledore was beckoning him to his office. Getting up unsteadily – since the illness that he had caught after his forced transformation had not completely subsided yet, he headed for the headmaster's office through the deserted corridors and marble staircases of the ancient building that had once been his home.

Reaching the stone gargoyle at the center of an empty corridor, he didn't have to wait more than a few seconds, before a hidden door slid open behind the statue. Stepping on the spiral staircase, his mind raced through different possibilities why Dumbledore would need him despite the fact that he had not fully recovered yet.

“Come in Remus, I've been expecting you,” said Dumbledore taking his eyes off the circular window, when Remus had finally entered the office.

Keeping silent was the best option, if he didn't want to give away his plans of leaving the wizarding world on a self-imposed exile. Probably Dumbledore had already sensed it with his Legilimency powers, he thought dejectedly.

“Depression, you must know, does more harm than good.”

“And who gave you the right to judge my emotions, Dumbledore?” he retorted, his temper flaring. “Nor can you change my decisions.”

“I am not under the impression that I can. But there is something else that, I believe, can.”

Remus had never felt such rage against this man before – despite being the most powerful wizard in the century, Dumbledore had failed to save Sirius, and now he had failed to protect Harry. It was under Dumbledore's orders that Remus hadn't gone after Harry. Only if he had, he could have prevented the now-irreversible incident.

“Remus, I perceive the fact that I'm wholly and inexcusably responsible for your loss... and I rightly deserve your anger,” Dumbledore said, his old age showing through his voice. “But it is imperative that you know the truth before you make your decision.”

“You have one chance, no more,” Remus responded after much internal debate.

“Before I disclose this information, you must know that I have complete trust on you, Remus, which is akin to my rarely flawed trust on our other associates. And yet I have decided, after a lot of discussion with the concerned individual – and pleading on his part, to share this information with you and you alone, other than Severus. No one, not even the members of the Order are to learn of this.” He paused for the sake of comprehension, though it wasn't needed. “And I expect you to be part of this mission – though you must understand my obligation to use a Memory Charm on you if you decline, but I highly doubt that will be necessary.”

Curiosity got the better of his temper, as Remus nodded impatiently, trying to guess the possible nature of this secret information. But no reply came from Dumbledore, except for a slight smile and a nod. Instead a ruffling noise emerged from somewhere near the circular window opposite to Dumbledore. And what he saw made Remus seriously doubt his eyesight. Two delightfully emerald eyes were staring at him through round glasses, the characteristic scar and unruly hair unmistakable. As the rest of the Invisibility Cloak was taken off, Harry Potter stood smiling at him as Remus looked on bewildered.

* * *

Chaos reigned on the narrow lane, as scores of underage witches and wizards – some with their parents, and the others alone – thronged through Diagon Alley, determined to complete their last minute shopping for school before the vendors closed for lunch. The kaleidoscopic atmosphere brought about by the variety of robes, books, cauldrons, wands, pets, brooms, and, needless to mention, the young clientele – both of Muggle and wizarding origin and in corresponding attire – could be only matched to the equally rampant shopping spree before Christmas.

And yet the climate, though full of excitement and wonder, seemed subdued – in a slight but recognizable manner. Either that or her inner gloom was distorting her senses, Hermione concluded, as an assortment of growls, meows, hoots, screeches, croaks and hisses emerging from 'Magical Menagerie' threatened to render permanent damage to her hearing.

Cutting through the chaotically moving crowds, she made her way to the Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, ignoring the meaningful glances that were occasionally directed her, though it hurt – even after a month the hurt was still unbearable. But she moved on, frequently brushing her untamed brown hair from the sides of her face, which still bore indistinguishable signs of tears that had been silently shed over memories of shopping here with a certain emerald-eyed friend. The twins were there, animatedly conversing with their wide-eyed customers.

“Fred! George!” she called, catching their attention and causing them to drop their forced cheerfulness for a fleeting moment, as Fred beckoned her to meet him at the back.

“George and me spent the better part of last month perfecting them... fifty pieces as you asked.” said Fred, handing her a blue colored sack, when she had slipped in though the back door.

She pulled out a silver badge from the sack, examining it minutely. The letters 'S.P.E.W.' were carved in bold across the front, their black color in sharp contrast to the silver background. But welfare of house-elves was the last thing the badges would be used for.

“They've got everything you asked for,” Fred said, “A sort of two-way communication – you speak into one of them and the people wearing the other badges will hear you.” He then proceeded to demonstrate it to her, before continuing, “Then there are locator charms which give you a vague idea of the location of the wearer who's speaking. Last but not least, the badges become invisible when touched with the tip of the wand.”

“It's great Fred!” she said, trying to produce a cheerful voice, when she had finished examining a few badges.

“And we also added a feature of our own – the magic meter – the color of the letters 'S.P.E.W.' reflects the DADA skill of a person. The colors belong to the rainbow – red on one hand indicates a very high level of skill, while violet indicates the opposite. Needless to say, on a squib or a Muggle, the letters are simply black, as they are now.”

“By the way”, added George, who had just joined them, “it glows yellow on us... not bad, eh? Hope you like them.”

“Wow! I don't believe I could do all that myself!” she exclaimed, her chocolate brown eyes lighting up with delight, though the shadow returned after a fraction of a second. “Of course I like them. Someday you two could give Professor Flitwick a run for his position at Hogwarts”, she added, laughing for the first time in the past few weeks.

“Was that supposed to be an insult?” said Fred, screwing up his face. Evidently anything to do with the teaching profession would be high in their most-hated list.

“So... how's little Ronniekins holding up?” asked George, failing to hide the concern in his teasing voice. Ron had been avoiding them all through the past month.

“He's actually started coming down for meals, but other than that he hasn't talked much to me or Ginny ever since...” her voice trailed off, as she blinked her eyes, breathing deeply.

She had been totally wrong about Ron's ability to 'take' the situation. Indeed sleeping was the only part of his daily life which hadn't changed. Still he was better off than her, she thought inwardly – even her sleep was brutally interspaced with nightmares of the incident.

“Neither us... Probably blaming it all on himself...” said Fred, “Anyway, c'mon George, we have to get back to the public or they'll break in if we keep them waiting for long!”

“OK, see ya later, Hermione.”

Both of them were returning back to the customers, when Hermione suddenly remembered something.

“Hey, wait! How much do these cost? I didn't pay...”

“Forget it, Hermione! Just remember that we're just repaying what we owed to a close friend of yours,” one of them shouted back, before they disappeared behind the door.

Considering that there was no point arguing with them, she simply exited the shop and headed right, recalling Fred's words, “Probably blaming all it on himself”. Don't we all, a small voice questioned in her head, as she passed a crowd surrounding the latest Firebolt 2 Pro displayed in a glass case at the entrance of Quality Quidditch Supplies, her eyes subconsciously searching for any sign of some unruly jet-black hair.

There had been so many chances where they could have done something – preventing Harry from running away, tracking him before the attack, or remembering that he was under the Invisibility Cloak when they were searching for him. A difference of one minute and he would be alive. And yet she couldn't accept, as a lone tear trickled down her cheek, that he was no more – even though she had seen herself... touched his cold, lifeless hands...

Harry had been the one constant in her life – he was her first true friend, and if it hadn't been for him, she and Ron would never have been good friends... Harry had always been central in the trio's friendship, except for the short bout of enmity between him and Ron in their fourth year. It was Harry who had changed her – directly or indirectly – from the bossy unfriendly know-it-all she had been before she entered Hogwarts, to what she was today.

Ron did not talk to her – or for that matter anyone else – anymore. She did have Ginny, but they would never be close friends since they simply did not share the same wavelength. She desperately wanted Harry back... But who was she to deserve him, when she had herself been unable to help in his time of need?

Sighing deeply, she wiped away the tears, as she entered The Leaky Cauldron, making her way to the fireplace. Weakness did not befit the leader of the DA; she would have to be strong herself if she was to succeed in training the members to be fearless in front of danger, whom she would be meeting in a few minutes at the S.P.E.W. Headquarters, as it was known to the outside world. But to its members, who would be holding their first meeting before term started, it was the H-DAC or the Covert Headquarters of Dumbledore's Army.

* * *

The sky had taken a dark bluish shade of gray – reflecting the gloominess and lifelessness of the graveyard under it. A lone woman disturbed the still air as she made to leave the final resting place, taking a parting look at the marble stone in front of which she had been kneeling.

Julian Clayworth
(December 5, 1951 – November 1, 1981)

Her husband. It had been nearly fifteen years since he was killed along with eleven others in a massive gas explosion blowing up a whole street a few blocks from their home, depriving their only son of his father at the tender age of one. However, Mrs. Clayworth hadn't come here for mourning; instead she had come to get an inkling of the strength that she would have if he were alive – she needed it to survive the terrible ordeal she and their son were going though.

Sixteen year old Eric Clayworth had been diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia – or in layman's terms, blood cancer – two years ago. After an expensive chemotherapy treatment that lasted for nearly a year, he had been discharged, only to relapse in 3 months. Chemotherapy could no longer help him – what he had needed was a bone marrow transplant. In spite of extensive hardships that his mother had to undertake in order to raise the funds, they had gone on with the transplant – which had to be self-originating due to the absence of a sibling.

For a few months, everything seemed back to normal, as Eric resumed his studies at school. But only a few weeks ago he had again fallen back into a severe relapse, the final blow delivered when the doctors announced that treatment was no longer viable. Helpless and hopeless, he had been discharged from hospital, as Mrs. Clayworth held on to faith that he would somehow get well – but even that was slowly ebbing away.

The uneventful walk to her 1-BHK flat ended soon, since she skipped her regular visit to the church today – now it seemed that whoever was up there was bent on tearing her and her son's lives to pieces. Besides, she was desperate to spend the last moments of her son's life with him, as she took the lift to the third floor.

A man in strange shabby clothes, waiting in front of her apartment, caught her attention. A hood covered his head, which he lowered immediately on seeing her, revealing a scarcely shaved face with slightly graying brown hair. But the hair was in sharp contrast to the rest of his features, which showed him to be less than forty – though the wrinkles on his face indicated that he had gone through far more than normal men of his age.

Yet his appearance did nothing to assuage her suspicions.

“Quirrel,” he said, in a voice that confirmed her estimate of his age, “I gather you're Mrs. Clayworth?”

Declining his offer of a hand-shake, she said coldly, “I'm afraid I don't know you.”

“Neither did I until today.But that's hardly relevant to the purpose of my presence here.”

“And that would be?” she continued in her cold but slightly wavering voice, clutching her purse tightly.

He smiled lightly but reassuringly, and though it could be fake, the goodwill in it calmed her to some extent. “Your son... His illness to be precise. I have the means to cure it.”

A moment of disbelief and skepticism passed, but there was a sincerity in the man's voice which she could not ignore. “And why should I believe you, mister? I don't know why I'm even speaking to you... The question of cure doesn't arise...”

“I am aware, Mrs. Clayworth, that your son suffers from cancer and no Mug... scientific methods exist that can save him. Yet we – the people with me – do have the cure to the disease.”

A small hope rose in her heart, which she squashed immediately. “I can't trust you”, she said, keeping her tone straight, “As far as I know, you're one of those freaks promising a cure for a large sum, just to disappear with the advance payment.”

“We don't want your money,” he replied, his blue eyes asking for her trust. Instead of elaborating, he simply handed her a roll of thick cream-colored paper with handwritten letters in green ink.

Mrs. Clayworth,

I do not wish to alarm you, but we, whose identity I prefer not to disclose, do have the cure for your son's ailment. Mr. Quirrel, as our agent has introduced himself to you, has in his possession the magical potion, as you might like to call it, which eradicates cancerous cells from a person's body. Once this potion is taken, a person is immune to the disease for the rest of his life.

We, as a community, do not generally help the general public with our potions. However, we wish to help you since we require a favor in return. Provided that you accept our suggestion and your son is cured of his ailment, your son must donate exactly three strands of his hair on the first day of every month for two years at the most, starting with the first of September i.e. the day after tomorrow. Mr. Quirrel will personally come to your door-step at 6 AM to collect the strands on the first of every month until July 1998 or earlier if we do not need them anymore.

I understand that trusting us will be very difficult for you, especially since our treatment lacks any explanation that can satisfy your medical science. Hence, even though we are running short of time, we shall give you a night for making your choice whether or not to enter into this agreement with us. Mr. Quirrel will be arriving at your flat tomorrow morning at 6 AM to know of your decision, and administer the medicine if you agree.

I would like to assure you – and you will discover yourself – that the medicine takes effect in less than a day, and you may ask Mr. Quirrel to drink some of it himself to rest your concerns about its safety. You may decline our offer, but in that case you will have no memory of this meeting whatsoever. But if you choose to accept, it is of prime importance that you or your son do not voluntarily disclose any part of our agreement to anyone else.

May God bless you!

Yours sincerely,
(Identity withheld)

* * *

The dancing flames in the fireplace lit up the headmaster's office like daylight, as the two figures were engaged in formulating their further plan of action.

“Isn't there some other way?” Remus had just returned from his meeting with Mrs. Clayworth, and though he had put up a good act of calmness in front of her, he did not find the plan very appealing.

“This is our best option,” replied Dumbledore, “even if you find our methods similar to those of the Dark side. We have given the mother a choice, though I daresay she will not let go of this chance for her son to live. But if she declines, our task in changing Harry's features will be much more difficult. Modifying a normal wizard's outward appearance is almost impossible, except for a Metamorphmagus, of course, which Harry certainly is not.”

“But the Fidelius assures...”

“The Fidelius charm”, Dumbledore interrupted coolly, “is not secure when performed on a human being. Although I do have absolute faith in you keeping the secret, the secret-keeper need not disclose a person's identity directly to somebody for the latter to know. Suppose, for instance, a friend or teacher close to Harry finds out about his true identity and then is questioned under a truth potion. The questioner will know, without our knowledge, who Harry is impersonating as, and consequently can harm him easily. Hence Harry's disguise must be strong enough not to give him away to those close to him.

“Moreover, if Harry's disguise even remotely hints of his true appearance, the Fidelius charm will make him invisible to all except those who have been informed of his identity by you. And there's a third catch with the charm too, which I haven't informed Harry of. True love – and you know what kind I mean – can see through the Fidelius, but it won't see through the disguise.”

A/N: That's it for now... I know (or at least hope) you'll be back for more, so stay tuned... We will finally have Harry's POV in the next chapter.

I was contemplating whether I should write a review-poem this time to encourage you readers to review, but in light of my truly wonderful (sarcasm implied) poetry skills, I decided to spare everyone the trouble.'Cause I have faith that you'll review anyway! ;) And just to set your brain gears in motion, there is an interesting piece of fact about the Clayworths hinted in this chapter. Let's see which intelligent ones among you can figure it out!

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author Notes: OMG! Your reviews are doing wonders to my self-writer-confidence (if such a term exists), considering the fact that this is my first fiction ever (except for essays at school of course!).

For those of you who are puzzled by my choice of abbreviation (H-DAC) :-
H-DA stands for Headquarters of Dumbledore's Army. Add a 'C' for 'Covert', and lo and behold! What do you get? :)
Still puzzled? Read this chapter...

Dedicated to the founders of the S.P.I.W. (the Society for Promotion of Inter-Ship Welfare, or more appropriately, the Society for Prevention for Inter-Ship Warfare). And though this is an H/Hr fic, I'd plead all other shippers at FFN and Schnoogle to give it a try too – since, as you may have already discovered, the plot has much more than romance to it.

Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance

Chapter 10

“Legilimens!”

Harry braced himself, even though it was hardly possible in the fraction of a second before the spell emerging from Dumbledore's wand hit him almost unawares. The classroom around him blurred into vagueness, as a plethora of memories took hold of his senses, each following its precursor with precise timing, while a small voice was screaming illegible words at the back of his mind.

Eleven year-old versions of Ron and Hermione were introducing themselves to him on the train... A mountain troll in the girl's bathroom was doing its best to throw him off its neck while a bushy-haired girl looked on with anxious and puffy eyes... The whomping willow came nearer and nearer as he and Ron tried their best to slow down the flying car... An extremely scared Hermione held on tightly to his waist as he guided Buckbeak unsteadily to the tower...

“No, I'm losing control!” The sane voice was getting louder and louder, as the classroom came rushing back into focus a second later, leaving an extremely drained Harry in his chair. He simply stared at his hands – he was generally able fight off the Legilimens curse within a few moments, but what he had just witnessed was totally unexpected... and pleasant but painful with a considerable amount of self-guilt attached.

“Don't taunt yourself, Harry. That was a more than acceptable, if not an outstanding, performance.”

“But...”

“Memorable experiences are much harder to resist from being examined than their terrible counterparts. I knowingly employed the Legilimens curse for that purpose... Anyway, I suggest you return to your dormitory. We can continue our practice day after tomorrow. I'll inform you about the time tomorrow, after I return from the Ministry.”

“The Ministry? But school starts tomorrow...”

“Yes, and neither I nor the Ministry has been able to find a DADA teacher yet,” Dumbledore answered with a chuckle. “Hopefully I'll be back before the start-of-term Feast.”

Harry nodded, rising up on his still shaky feet, his mind still reeling from the memories.

“Oh, and Harry... Your new text-books and stationery have been taken care off by Remus. You'll find them in your new trunk under your bed. And you're exempted from homework,” Dumbledore added smilingly.

Harry's memory did record the information, but his mind was too preoccupied to process it, as he made his way to the Gryffindor tower, draping his Invisibility Cloak over himself to avoid being seen by the other recently arrived professors. A pensive and weary form of the old wizard was left behind, all pretenses of cheerfulness discarded.

* * *

Dear Ron and Hermione,

It's been almost a month since I've seen you and I know it is much much harder for you than me – though I do have some experience of what you may be going through. But what kills me is that I'm the one responsible for your suffering... If Dumbledore had forced me to do this, then I could have put the blame on him. But no, he gives me this damn choice... “It's your own decision Harry”. I don't know if you'll ever forgive me for my decision.

Life is hell without the two of you and it must be a hundred times worse for you... But I promise I won't conceal myself from you for more than a few months – Remus said it'll be OK to tell you guys once everything settles down. Though I wonder if you'll take me back as a friend then... Darn it! Half of me wants to explain everything in this letter and send it your way immediately, but I can't... It's for your own safety.

Heh! Believe me or not, but you're both more than a part of me than I realized before. Most of the time I find myself divided into the 'Ignorant Leap-before-you-look git' and the 'Logical and Righteous Know-it-all' – no points for guessing which part originates from whom. So the only thing I don't miss about you two is your constant bickering, since it still takes place all the time inside my head. Of course the voice sounding like Hermione has been winning lately. No offense meant, Ron – but you've got to face the facts of life, mate.

Hey Hermione, I've heard from Remus that you're leading the DA... Using the S.P.E.W. for covering it up was a truly original idea, but hey, that's what you're special for! I never really thanked you for the unconditional support you have been giving me ever since we have been friends, without hesitating to correct me when I'm wrong. And I'm sorry for the prat I've been all through last year.

The same goes for you too, Ron. I appreciate the fact that you've always stood up for me, even if it's against the omniscient Hermione (no offense!). And you're going to get a new surprise before Quidditch season starts this year. I'll just give a hint – Ireland won the last World Cup on it. Yeah, you guessed it right – I can't use it anymore because it'll give my identity away.

Once again I ask you for your forgiveness... But I'm just kidding myself – this letter can't reach you... not now. I am also truly sorry for deceiving Ginny, Fred, George, and the rest of the Weasleys. And Hagrid too, of course. If I was sending you this letter, I would have asked you both to convey my apologies to all of them, but unfortunately I'm not.

Anyway, I'll be seeing you both tomorrow in the train, though you'll have to wait a few more frustrating months to meet me. Take care.

Love and best wishes,
Harry

He crumpled up the letter, clenching his fists, as the agony of the Polyjuice wearing off coursed through his limbs. But it lasted only for a second, and he had even got used to that after going through the same process – and to Snape's hardly concealed delight – practically every alternate hour in the past week.

Now the only thing left for him to get used to was being in a new body 24 hours a day, seven days a week for the rest of the year. Not to mention, behaving as if he had suddenly undergone a personality shift – though, according to Remus, that would not be absolutely necessary. However, he still had to get used to his new identity. Throwing the crumpled-up letter into the fireplace of the empty Gryffindor common room, he went up to his dormitory – the one which would also house the other sixth year boys from tomorrow.

Hundreds of miles away, in an ancient manor in Wales, two teenagers woke up from the same dream. Hermione Granger, and, a floor below her, Ron Weasley. However, by the time the alarms announced the dawn of the hectic morning that would follow, neither of them had any memory of it.

* * *

Even the common eye could not ignore the fact that there was something different about King's Cross station on September the first, as family after family in strange wear, towing heavy trunks and the occasional owl cage headed for the barrier between platforms nine and ten, only to disappear into thin air. Security officials were having a field day, denying the existence of a certain “Platform nine and three quarters” to wide-eyed eleven year-olds. But in typical Muggle fashion, they simply shrugged it off on coincidence.

A dark brown haired boy of sixteen with gray eyes, his height and built average, was in the process of walking casually towards the said barrier, the fact that it was made of solid stone not weakening his resolve. Muggle onlookers simply blamed this unexplained behavior on his freakishness, which was evident from the unusual black robes he was wearing.

But the consequences of his colliding head-on with the stone wall were the last things occupying his mind. His mind was, in fact, going over the hundreds of details related to his present identity that Remus Lupin had been hammering into his memory all through the the past week. The wand that was stashed in his waist under his robes would not, in Remus' opinion, produce results as good as his original one, but neither would it hamper his magical abilities too much, at least after a few months of practice.

For the coming year, he would be under constant effect of the Polyjuice potion, specially prepared by Snape to have a twelve hour duration of activity. But that was the easier part. He would have to be under constant vigilance and tell countless lies to preserve his cover. Last but not least, he would have to restrain from showing his true talents to their full extent, his prodigal seeker skills in Quidditch being most prominent among them.

To the outside world, he had been Harry Potter once, also the famous Boy-Who-Lived to the magical community. Now he was just another normal kid (if magical ones could be called normal) – a transfer student from Ireland.

* * *

The shrill, piercing whistle broke through the combined noise of the hundreds of chattering voices, bringing the crowd at Platform 9 ¾ to an abrupt hush. The ensuing rush for seats in the six passenger coaches of the departing train was nothing short of utter chaos, and, in Hermione's opinion, could probably put the Goblin rebellion to shame, as she witnessed the scene from her compartment.

The sky was cloudy, though the presence of sunshine would hardly lift her spirits. In sharp contrast to the rest of the train, the compartment was shrouded in total silence as Ron and Ginny, who were sitting opposite her, did not deem it desirable to start a conversation, especially after the row they had been involved in, over Ginny being hugged by Dean Thomas – her new boyfriend – at the platform. And Luna, the other occupant, was, as usual, more interested in her copy of The Quibbler.

A voice emerged from the S.P.E.W. badge Hermione had pinned on her top. She recognized it after a moment as that of Ernie Macmillan.

“Hermione, Ron, Virginia... You've got to be here in the prefects' compartment. Hope you're listening, and be quick. The Head Girl looks ready to bite your heads off...”

If Ginny had any dislike to being addressed by her formal name, she suppressed it, as the trio made their way to the prefects' compartment at the front. The fact that she had been selected as a prefect had probably nullified it.

By the time they returned to their compartment, even Hermione was thoroughly bored by the hour-long lecture they had just received on the various ways of maintaining discipline, though she didn't show it. Neville had joined them too by now, but fortunately without any 'defensive' plants to show off.

Hermione spent most of the next few hours in analyzing Neville's homework, giving much required suggestions on improving them. Ginny and Luna engaged in some 'small talk', carefully avoiding any mention of the former Gryffindor Seeker. Meanwhile, Ron simply whiled away the time strategizing moves on his wizard's chess board, only looking up when the food trolley stopped by.

It was dark outside by the time they began to change into their school robes, a slight drizzle adding to the invisibility beyond the window. A strange feeling of homecoming enveloped Hermione as Hogsmeade station drew nearer, though it had been a mere two months since she'd left this place. Probably the concentrated magic associated with the ancient castle, she concluded. But she couldn't help but wonder if everything would be same without him. The answer was clear – even before they had entered the castle.

Never. Neither would she ever get over the loss.

But it wasn't supposed to be like this... She had never believed in Divination, and yet the prophecy that Voldemort had been after couldn't have been a fake considering the efforts that Dumbledore had spent in concealing it from Voldemort. On the other hand, Dumbledore had just let him die. She didn't know whom to trust anymore.

She was just marveling at the fact that Malfoy hadn't shown up to torment them yet – which she had been dreading in all honesty, since she didn't have any idea how she or any of her companions would react to Malfoy mentioning his former arch-rival, when the train started slowing down, its metal wheels squeaking against the rails. Puzzled, she scanned their surroundings from the window, and the low visibility notwithstanding, she was sure that this wasn't Hogsmeade station.

“What the hell?” Ron blurted out, when his chess set toppled over to the floor due to the abrupt jerk with which their carriage came to a halt.

“Somebody's hit the brakes,” said Hermione, “and we're not in Hogsmeade.” A sudden picture of dementors surrounding their carriage flashed through her mind, and her stunned heart skipped a few beats when all the lights went out.

“Is it... is it the dementors?” asked Neville, his voice shivering at the thought.

“It can't be – I'm not feeling their effects,” Luna's still-dreamy voice answered him. “Though I've heard about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks roaming about...”

“Anyone's heard Ginny moving?” interrupted Ron, groping around the place where Ginny had been sitting a few moments ago.

A moment of silence followed before a thud sounded near the compartment door.

“I'm here,” came the reply, “I'm going over to the prefects' compartment. They might need us.”

“No wait!”, said Hermione, “We should stick close... The train's not supposed to stop here, and we don't know who or what...”

A muffled noise emerged from the S.P.E.W. badge, pinned beside her Prefect's one on her robe. “This is Goldstein speaking to all DA members from the prefects' compartment. I've spotted a hooded group holding up the engine. Guards are investigating.”

A shocked moment passed in which a number of possibilities raced through Hermione's mind, before she replied back into the badge, marveling at its effectiveness. “Granger speaking from coach 5. Got you Goldstein. All members, if you are reading me, stay where you are. Alert other students and keep prefects with you if you can.” She hoped her strict voice hid her fear and anxiety, also wondering whether the other members had their badges out.

The other occupants of the compartment had fallen completely silent – all of them being members of the DA. Wands were drawn out, some held in trembling hands. Again the badges, now pinned on everyone's chest, came alive with sound. Or sounds, as several people started speaking at once, whose voices were mingled with shrieks, curses and explosive blasts.

“Shut up, you morons!” exclaimed Ron into his badge. “Goldstein, report in.” The noise from the badges died down, but no reply came from Anthony Goldstein, the Ravenclaw prefect, for the next few seconds.

Hermione had almost made up her mind to investigate before a bare whisper with a lot of heavy breathing filtered through. “Goldstein here... injured... Death Eaters... Guards and driver are down... they've got Padma. They want the Muggle-born students.”

Badges were not necessary to hear the ensuing panic that gripped the two hundred students on the train, in spite of the repeated efforts of Hermione, Ron, Ginny and the other senior members. Hermione's heart was racing... Almost half the students were of Muggle decent... And as far as she knew, there wasn't a single professor on board, though hopefully they would be on their way any moment.

“Granger speaking. Goldstein, ennervate the guards... Where're the Head Boy and Head Girl?”

A moment later a stern male voice came through. “This is Head Boy Hopkins from coach 1. I instruct all members of the Defense club, prefects and whoever else who's listening on this to assemble in groups with all younger students now! I repeat, stay in groups with minimum five above the age of 13, and DO NOT LEAVE the train. Use the Lumos spell for light. Be united and be alert. Aurors and professors will be here any minute. I repeat again... Stay in groups in compartments, keep your wands out and under NO circumstances must you leave your coach. And DO NOT PAN...”

“EMERGENCY at coach 6! Death Eaters entering from back end! Thomas reporting in,” came Dean Thomas' voice blaring from the badges.

“How many, Dean?” Ginny yelled, failing to hide her anxiety.

“About ten... STUPEFY!”

Terrified screams of first year students filled the air. Lighting their wands, the group rushed out to search their coach for younger students. Ginny, Neville and Luna went towards the back end, while Hermione and Ron headed in the opposite direction.

After checking two compartments filled with fourth and fifth years, Hermione was just reaching out for the door of the next compartment – the last on this end of their coach – when a hysterical voice broke though the other noises coming from her badge.

“Cho Chang here... There are too many of them... More than a dozen... They are using stunning spells in the next compartment. No choice but to get out of the train!”

“No! Fall back but DON'T leave the train,” Hermione shouted back. As if on cue, a horde of screaming students burst through the inter-coach connecting door in front of them. Even in the dim wand-light, she could make out Cho, Michael Corner, Justin and others – Muggle-borns like her among them. Not to mention crying first and second years.

Adult voices bellowing “Stupefy”, “Expelliarmus” and “Impedimenta” spells were following them. Now Hermione was herself panicked to her bones; the fact, that the Death Eaters were not here to kill, was hardly any consolation. Willing her mind to think, she found that she had only one option. Fall back!

Ron was pulling back terrified first years with him... Deciding to do the same, she caught hold of a two weeping second year girls by their hands. Red rays of light were bursting into their carriage through the connecting door.

“Reducto!” cried Ginny and Luna, who had joined them, aiming at the ceiling. It fell in, blocking the Death Eaters' path, only to be blasted away a second later. But Hermione's attention was soon snatched by an explosion at the other end. Dean, Seamus, Parvati, Lavender and some Gryffindor and Hufflepuff seventh years were running towards them from that side, younger students at their heels. Stunning and disarming spells were being exchanged by both sides, but the Death Eaters were pushing in.

Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she mouthed into her badge, “Granger here. Coach number 5. We are trapped from from both ends, please help!”

No reply came. But they couldn't give up, she told herself. Not after the efforts Harry had put into their training. There were at the most two dozen Death Eaters, and a total of about 50 sixth and seventh years in the train. They would just have to stall the Death Eaters for a few more minutes...

“Hopkins! Goldstein! Abbot! Where are you?” she tried again. Time seemed to freeze, as she waited for a response, but all that came was spell-work and frightened screaming. In quick succession, she searched the eyes of each of her companions – and even in the dim light, she could see nothing but fear and despair. Meanwhile, the Death Eaters on either side were on the verge of breaking their defenses.

Then just as all hope was seeping away, the badges sprang to life with a male voice, “Reading you, Granger. Kevin Burke speaking from coach 3, accompanied by revived sixth and seven years. We'll be there in thirty seconds.”

“Who's Burke?” Ron asked, his tone mirroring the puzzled relief that swarmed through her.

But the answer was never heard, as Death Eaters had broken in through both ends of the coach, leaving Hermione at total loss of any plan of action. However, Ron seemed to be doing some quick thinking.

“Weasley here”, Ron spoke into his badge. “All DA members in coach 5, push towards the front. I repeat, push towards coach 4.” Then turning to Hermione, he whispered, “C'mon, we'll have to defend the other side.”

“I'm coming too,” Neville called out, following them both towards the Death Eaters who were entering through the connecting door from coach 6. Ron and Neville rained stunning spells and hexes at them, while Hermione set up a shield charm. Two hooded figures fell unconscious, but a third figure had set up its own shield and was hurling spells at them with stunning precision, reducing the power Hermione's shield with each hit.

It was then that she noticed the sleek long hair of the Death Eater, reflecting the red light from the spells. And the sardonic smile plastered on the female lips only confirmed her identity – Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Burke speaking. A dozen Death Eaters in coach 5 are down. Hopkins is trying to restart the train. Her... Granger, where are you?”

Hermione wasn't capable of replying back, her head throbbing with the mental concentration required by the shield – it would not hold much longer... Just when she was about to give up, the lights came back on, forcing everyone to blink their eyes in adjustment. But that wasn't the only surprise... With successive bangs, the exit doors of the coach flew open, as figures in blue Auror robes barged in, hexing the temporarily blinded Death Eaters.

A magically amplified voice echoed through the train, “This is the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Aurors have surrounded the train. All students are requested to stay in their compartments and take cover under seats.”

First and second years were immediately rushed to the coaches at the front, while the others headed off in random directions in search of accommodating compartments. Meanwhile, the battle raging on in the last coach turned much fiercer, as both adult sides were using the Killing Curse freely. The remaining Death Eaters were hopelessly outnumbered.

It almost looked like the battle was over, from the abrupt stop in the sounds of spell-work, when the train started moving with a sudden jerk – in the backward direction. Something was definitely wrong. Swinging their compartment door open, Ron lead the way out, followed by Hermione and Neville.

Blinding green light filled the corridor, as the train's speed seemed to increase. When Hermione was finally able to open her eyes, the most stunningly bizarre vision awaited them. About twenty meters away, towards the back of their coach, a glowing green screen was suspended in mid air, its huge square boundary enveloping the coach breadth-wise.

Petrified Aurors were being sucked into it, with a force similar to gravity. It was probably a type of portal, she guessed, that the Death Eaters had conjured up to take them hostage. A moment later she realized that it was this force that was pulling the whole carriage into the screen, making the train move backwards, while the screen drew closer to her viewpoint. Muttering a Sonorus spell at her throat she yelled into her badge.

“Prefect Granger here. All students, move to coach 1. Come on, MOVE!”

Fresh screams of terror followed, as doors were flung open and students stampeded towards inter-coach connecting door. And then another realization struck her – not all the children were revived. With a frantic rush she started towards the fore, searching and reviving stunned students.

Even with the help of Ron and Neville, she couldn't do it fast enough. The glowing screen – which was now even sucking in the air around them – was bound to overtake them, considering the speed at which it was pulling the train in. They had just moved to the 4^th coach when a dark-brown haired boy joined them.

“Isn't there a way to stop that... thing?” he asked, in a voice that she instantly recognized as the one which had introduced itself as Kevin Burke.

“We don't know! It's a portal and it's sucking everything in... even the air!” she shouted back over the howling wind and rain blowing into the portal, her hair completely dislodged in the wind.

Aiming his wand at the metal link connecting their coach to the one that was partly inside the portal, Kevin yelled “REDUCTO!”. It took a few tries from all four of them before the link finally exploded, disconnecting the rest of the train from the coach that was being sucked in.

“Hopkins speaking from coach 1”, the badges came alive, “Engine's started.”

As if on cue, the train slowed down to halt, and then the wheels began to rotate in the forward direction, taking them away from the portal. Her heart still beating at twice its normal speed, Hermione watched the portal grow distant with each passing second, as it swallowed in whole the carriage they had left behind. The grassy terrain around the rails stretched out before them, shrouded in the eerie green light coming from the portal, trees and bushes swinging wildly under the portal's magical pull.

“Hopkins from prefects' compartment. Granger, report in please... Are you still there?”

“Weasley here in coach 4. The last two coaches, including all the battling Death Eaters and Aurors, got sucked into a flat screen that's giving off the green light. Hermione says it's a portal to Merlin-knows-where. No known student lost.”

A/N: To be continued...

Hope this chapter satisfies the action-lovers among you. I spent my whole weekend revising and rewriting it, though it still seems below the mark to me. Please comment! The next chapter will probably take a bit more time than usual to get posted, since I'll be engaged in college admissions.

Quiz: Do you know what motivates an author to post his chapters faster?
Answer: If you haven't already guessed it, then just REVIEW, and I'll probably give you the answer in the next. ;)

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author Notes: I'm so sorry for this chapter being late, but I lost two full days without writing a single word. Though the size of this chapter will probably make up for the delay... The story's reached a crucial point, hence I have to think scenes up and analyze them in my head from every angle before writing them – and the fact that college term starts around 15^th Sept. isn't helping matters. So the update frequency may fall for a while... But I'll keep posting at least a chapter a week.

And for those ignorant ones among you who think Ireland is a part of the UK, you're wrong. Although Northern Ireland is a province of Great Britain, the rest of Ireland is a separate nation, with it's own capital – Dublin. (At least that's what I learnt after some research, and of course, also from Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer – which is, in fact, a wonderful book, highly recommended for HP lovers.) But I myself don't live anywhere near the UK, so if you're Irish and know that I'm wrong, then don't hesitate to correct me.

Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance

Chapter 11

The rain dripped on, giving the huge stone walls a distinct sheen, that made the vast castle light up with a majestic radiance with each flash of lightning in the reddish black sky. It was the greatest of all magical structures in wizarding Britain, unmatched in its ancient architecture, raw magic surging through each brick, each stone of its seven-storied framework. Towers and turrets reached up endlessly into space, the atmosphere electrified with a magical aura.

And yet its breath-taking image had little effect on the utterly shaken students walking in a single file towards the carriages – thestral-driven to a few, horseless to the rest. The presence of Aurors, stationed at key locations in Hogsmeade station, only succeeded in creating a sense of foreboding in the already tense atmosphere, as Hermione, Ron and Ginny joined the other prefects in maintaining order among the students – which, considering everyone's mental state, hardly required any effort.

The sound of the pelting rain, coupled with the distinct noise of shoe against the wet soil filled the air. A batch of the Hogwarts staff, lead by Madam Pomfrey, was administering first-aid to any injured students. Meanwhile, a familiar voice was beckoning the first years, albeit in a subdued tone, and a single look revealed sagging shoulders and an unusual lack of enthusiasm in the burly figure's actions. Although Hermione smiled at Hagrid, her heart was breaking.

When the rest of the students had settled themselves in the carriages, Hermione herself, accompanied by Ron and Ginny, climbed into one held for them by Luna and Neville, who had also been holding Crookshanks and Pigwidgeon's cage for them. Even as the carriages started moving, she had a strange subconscious sensation that something was wrong. Scrutinizing her surroundings, however, she could not find anything out of the usual – except for the subdued atmosphere and the absence of Harry.

“What was that... portal thing?” Neville broke into her thoughts.

“From what I read,” Hermione replied, thankful for the distraction, “it's a magical tunnel that connects two points in space. Although portals are useful for transport of a large number of wizards at once, the Floo network and Portkeys are more generally used for traveling, due to the intricate magic required to set up a portal. Unlike apparition or Floo, portals can be used safely over extremely long distances. The last recorded creation of one was way back in the nineteenth century – leaving today of course – and that too using Dark Magic.”

By the time she had finished, even Luna had looked up from her magazine.

“How do you know if it was a portal... It could simply have been sucking everything to nowhere... like I dunno, a black-hole, maybe?” asked Ron.

Ginny, Neville and Luna were now staring at him, a substantial part their astonishment based on the fact that he was actually conversing, though his mention of a Muggle concept – which was equivalent to a superstition for the wizarding mindset – surprised them too.

“Bla... black-holes exist?” Neville asked disbelievingly, quickly eyeing the darkness around their moving carriage, as if expecting a black-hole to pop out of thin air any moment to suck them in.

“Honestly!” Hermione exclaimed, “You should all take up Muggle Studies. According to Muggle science, black-holes do exist, but not here on Earth. They are believed to be formed by the collapse of a gigantic star, squashing the matter contained in the star to an infinitesimally small space, thus increasing their combined gravitational force to such an high extent that it doesn't even let any light – let alone matter – escape its pull. Scientists believe that whole galaxies are held together...”

“OK, OK!” Ginny cut her off, warily eyeing Ron's exasperated expression, “We get it... So it couldn't be a black-hole. But why was it pulling things in?”

As much as Hermione would have liked to quote some more from her summer reading, she could not deny the fact that Ginny did have a point. And not having an answer, she inwardly made up her mind to spend some extra time in the library.

“I still don't trust that Burke guy,” stated Ron, looking determined to bring up the heated one-on-two argument he had been having in the train against Hermione and Ginny, both of whom chose to simply ignore his statement. The irritation that had gripped Hermione before they had alighted from the train, and had gradually receded away since then, was returning. Yet she was able to will her lips to keep tightly shut.

“Leave it alone, Ron,” said Neville, who apparently had had enough of the argument. “He was acting a little strange, but anyone will if one of their parents is killed.”

“Who knows?” Ron said shrugging dramatically, “He could be lying...”

“Just shut up, you... you stupid prat!” snapped Ginny, unable to restrain herself anymore. “You didn't think of that Reductor spell to save us all, did you?”

The carriage had halted, as had the others around them, with people hurrying off to the castle's entrance to avoid getting soaked in the rain. Even though Hermione noted this, she made no move to leave the carriage, since her temper had gotten the better of her, while her brain went into overload to think up a suitable rebuke for that distrustful bastard sitting before them.

“Yeah! My hero!” he drawled, then added with a scowl, “It looked almost as if he knew what that portal thing was. And don't be surprised when you find out that I am right.” And before anyone could respond, he jumped off the carriage, and walked to the entrance without looking back.

A few moments later Luna followed, after sending a slightly amused shrug at the others, Pigwidgeon's cage dangling from her hands. Ginny was fuming. And though Hermione herself was quite annoyed with Ron's behavior, she still couldn't shake of the feeling that something was wrong.

* * *

The lake was anything but still, as the fleet of boats cut through its turbulent waters, the growing form of the castle looming over them. Being a 'newcomer', Harry was taking the perilous route – made so by the raging storm – through the lake, accompanied by the terrified first years, who were shivering in the cold.

He had been at Hogwarts this very morning, but now it seemed like a totally different place, buzzing with activity as students and teachers got ready for another year. And the attack on the train gave more than an inkling of what this upcoming would hold for the students of Hogwarts.

And being the great Harry Potter, even in a disguised form, meant that facing the risks of what seemed to be another turbulent year at Hogwarts was just the beginning of all his concerns. The year hadn't even begun officially, and he had already been twice on the verge of giving himself up. But it was hard to think straight when the people you care about most are in danger.

Not that he had done miserably in the following confrontation. Build your fabrications on parts of the truth... Simple facts are the basis of foolproof explanations, Snape – an undercover agent himself – had told him. And he had passed... barely.

The compartment was stuffy, as many of its occupants were perspiring, despite the cold. His fellow sixth year Gryffindors surrounded him, along with Ginny, who to his surprise was a fifth year prefect. Ever since he had boarded the train, he had been determinedly avoiding all of them – he needed to get adjusted to his new self before he could handle them. And thanks to the life-threatening incident that had occurred a few minutes ago, he had ended up with not one, but all of them, except Parvati and Lavender – and that too, cramped together in a single compartment.

“Er... Hi, I'm Kevin Burke,” he said finally, to nobody in particular. Inwardly, he kicked himself. 'Ers' and 'Ums' weren't safe – they had been too common in Harry's usual speech.

Eyeing each of his companions, he carefully registered their responses. Ginny was looking at him with a blank expression, while Hermione flashed with a brief expectant smile that somehow seemed to be forced. Seamus and Dean had expressions of slight interest. Neville, who was sitting beside him, was sneaking curious glances at him – as if unsure of approaching him. Ron, meanwhile, was staring at him with barely concealed suspicion.

And he had every right to, Harry asserted, after his own foolish and uncalled for display of bravery. The above scrutiny was completed in a little more than a second. Reminding himself that he didn't know these people, he offered his hand to Ron.

“And you're...” he prompted, unsure of what to do. Being Harry Potter, he had never had any experience in taking the initiative in making new friends. People usually approached him at first sight.

When his offer was met with cold ignorance, he turned towards Neville, trying to shut out the feelings of guilt and hurt.

“Neville Longbottom,” Neville answered, hesitatingly taking his hand. “We're from the Gryffindor house at Hogwarts.”

“You're divided into houses?” He wasn't supposed to know anything about Hogwarts.

“Oh yes,” Ginny spoke up, “We have four houses – Gryffindor, Ranvenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Where are you from?”

“I was at the IIM – that's the Irish Institute of Magic, but I'm getting transferred to Hogwarts this year – my sixth year, actually.” Staring down at his hands, he once again went over all the details. And hoped that his thumping heart wouldn't give him away.

“You're from Ireland?” asked Seamus eagerly.

Uh-Oh. “Um... yeah, Dublin.”

“Seamus Finnigan, from the northern provinces,” he said, beaming and shaking his hand. “And this is Dean. We're sixth years too.”

“Oh... and, I'm Ginny Weasley and a fifth year Gryffindor prefect. That's Ron – my brother, and this is Hermione Granger. They are sixth year prefects.”

Harry exchanged smiles with Hermione and Ginny, while Ron simply nodded at him.

“Why are you transferring?” Hermione spoke up.

“Well, my Mum used to teach Counter-Necromancy at the IIM. But...” he paused, lowering his eyes to the floor. “Something happened.” He had rehearsed this act several times in the past week, and he knew that he had the attention of all the occupants of the compartment.

Taking a dramatically deep breath, he clarified, in what he hoped was a wavering voice. “She died. So I came to my Dad's Muggle place in England.” Think about Sirius, he told himself – and consequently, he didn't have to fake much of his grief.

Only the continuous splattering of the raindrops on the window could be heard for the next minute.

“Is Counter-Necromancy equivalent to DADA – er – I mean Defense Against the Dark Arts?” asked Hermione, in an attempt to change the subject.

“Yeah... It basically consists of spells, hexes and counter-jinxes to fight Dark magic.”

“How did you know about the DA?” said Ron, suddenly.

“DA? You mean Dark Arts?” Harry questioned, feigning puzzlement.

“No,” Hermione replied, “its a Defense club we have for students at Hogwarts.”

“Non-members, and especially transfer students, aren't supposed to know about our badges,” Ron added with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Oh, the ones with 'S.P.E.W.' on them? I discovered quite a few students lying stunned with those pinned to their uniform, and they were constantly cackling with voices. Figured that they must be some kind of gadget that you guys use for communication. Similar to Muggle walkie-talkies, you know? On picking one up, I heard Hermione here calling for help, so I responded.”

“And you knew who she was?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I did. She's Hermione Granger – the OWL top-scorer in Europe,” Harry retorted, making Hermione blush and scowl at the same time. Inwardly he marveled at his newly developed faculty for lying, though he did have a hard time keeping his hands from fidgeting.

The train was nearing Hogsmeade, and quite luckily for Harry, for he had no idea how much longer he could bear the suspicious glare Ron was giving him. Apparently, this could be much more difficult than he had expected. With the excuse of checking his non-existent trunk, he left the compartment.

* * *

The wind was cut off from the underground shore where the boats harbored themselves, allowing the people climbing out to readjust their cloaks around their shoulders. Lamp in hand, Hagrid led the way upwards through the shingles, the awe-struck first years clinging to each other for support as they gazed open-mouthed at the vast establishment, that would be their home for the next seven years of their lives.

Harry had once been one of them too, and even five eventful years later, nothing could subdue the wonder and pride that filled him as he followed the group to the castle entrance. Hagrid, who was not in his jolly self at all, knocked sharply on the oak doors.

A terribly enraged Professor McGonagall, flanked by Professor Sprout, opened the doors to the Entrance Hall, both of them dressed for the start-of-term banquet.

“Mr. Burke, will you please follow me?” asked McGonagall, though it sounded more like an order, and then headed in the direction of the ground-floor classrooms, while Sprout, the Herbology professor and head of Hufflepuff house, took up the task of leading the first years into an antechamber at a corner.

After what he had gone through in the train, Harry hardly expected anything worse from from the Gryffindor head-of-house, especially towards a 'transfer student', as he followed McGonagall with quick steps. But, as he passed through the corridor leading up to the courtyard, he could hear several voices emerging from a few classrooms on either side.

Usually students assembled directly in the Great Hall before the Feast – he could not remember the classrooms ever being used before the start of the term. Moreover, the voices hardly seemed to be those of children. Curiosity getting the better of him, he decided to risk a peek into one though the slightly ajar door, even as McGonagall walked before him unsuspectingly.

As he had guessed, there weren't any students there. Instead, he could spot a disgruntled form of Professor Flitwick, surrounded by groups of witches and wizards, who were all speaking at the same time – some in threatening tones. The short Professor was ineptly trying to calm the adults – who could only be parents of the pupils, anxious about their children. But he couldn't see anymore, since McGonagall had herself entered an unused classroom near the far end of the corridor.

However, what awaited him inside caused him to stop at the entrance for a few moments before slowly stepping in. The room small and dusty with a single boarded up window, and bright yellow lamps on the walls. A fireplace was located at a corner, that somehow seemed to be out of tune with the rest of the room, as if built recently. Behind the teacher's desk sat the unattractive figure of Snape, fixing him with a piercing glare – fiercer than usual. And for once, the look on Professor McGonagall's face easily matched Snape's in intensity.

“Come in, Potter,” Snape said contemptuously, “if you are quite done with the display of your heroic abilities.”

Too shocked to react at Snape's disclosure of his identity, he quickly eyed McGonagall.

“She knows. Though you must be disappointed that the rest of the school doesn’t, after all your efforts in that direction.”

“I...”

“You have no idea to what lengths we went to protect you, Potter,” Snape spat, spelling his name with particular disdain. “And your irresponsible arrogance gave it all away.”

It was then that he became aware of what he had done. Being a transfer student was suspicious enough, especially when inter-school transfers were highly uncommon in the wizarding world. In addition, he had successfully drawn all attention to himself with his performance against the Death Eaters, in front of the whole student body.

To top it all, another realization struck him. Why had the Death Eaters attacked the train? Why else, but to find him. And he had played right into their hands. Logic dictated that he had just given his identity away – and to Voldemort himself, no less.

With one dreading look at a fuming Professor McGonagall, he knew he was going to have it this time. Were they going to expel him?, he thought, his heart pounding abnormally. He could try to present his case.

“But there was no other way...”

“I cannot care less if your girlfriend's trapped...”

“Severus!” McGonagall interrupted. “Harry's actions, though careless, are nonetheless commendable. If the Death Eaters were indeed after the Muggle-born students...”

“Which they were not,” Snape retorted.

“They were after me,” said Harry morosely, bewildered that McGonagall had supported him, which he had been least expecting. But apparently her anger was not directed at him. Especially since she had called him Harry.

“Your thickness astonishes me beyond limits, Potter.” Snape smirked, before continuing, “There wasn't a way the Dark Lord could have known about your existence before your uncalled for heroics.”

Harry knew why not. The Fidelius charm. And he was astonished too – by Snape's ability to raise his temper a few notches just when he thought that it had reached its limit. Did he mean to say that the Death Eaters simply decided to take a stroll in the Hogwarts Express? And take a few coaches plus a bunch of Aurors as souvenirs with them?

“What do you mean... sir?” he said aloud.

“They came for me.” This was a new voice, one which Harry instantly recognized as that of Remus Lupin. Scrutinizing the corner from where the voice came, he could make out an almost transparent outline of Lupin's profile.

“Prof... er – Remus?” He was on the verge of asking why, when three sharp knocks emerged from the door, which had locked itself on its own.

In a few moments, Professor McGonagall had opened the door to reveal a thoroughly annoyed Flitwick, the Charms professor.

“They aren't listening, Minerva! They're threatening to take their children back unless they meet the headmaster,” he squeaked, his voice hardly audible over the racket the parents – who had now occupied the corridor – were creating outside.

McGonagall sighed before speaking, “Filius, you can go and join the others in the Great Hall. I'll handle the parents. And at no cost must you let the any of the parents enter the Hall.”

Nodding, Flitwick whisked towards the Hall – which was itself resounding with deafening noise and chatter. For once, it seemed to Harry that the Hogwarts staff were unable to maintain discipline. And evidently, the prefects weren't helping.

Snape followed McGonagall out of the door, and Harry was about to do the same too, before Lupin's 'Disillusioned' hand placed itself on his shoulders.

“Your going out there will only create suspicion, Harry.”

“Don't they know already?” he asked, fearing the worst.

Remus smiled slightly. “Snape was making most of it up. From our questioning – made effective by Snape's Legilimency powers, and a few memory charms – we've found that only a few DA members know of your... contribution. And none of them seem to suspect you except...”

“Ron,” Harry finished, eyeing the floor. “I had a chat with them on our way here.”

“As Kevin Burke, I hope?” At Harry's nod, he continued, “Even Ron suspects you only as a spy for the Dark side. So I gather the introductions went well.”

“Well, you could say so... But when did you tell Professor McGonagall?”

“About twenty minutes earlier, and you should've seen the reaction on her face,” Lupin said, chuckling. “For a moment, I thought she was more enraged at Dumbledore and Snape for hiding this from her, than at the Death Eaters. Though she need not have learnt about you if Dumbledore was present here.”

Remembering the cause for Dumbledore's absence, Harry wondered aloud, “Er... Remus, who could our new DADA teacher be?”

“As far as I know, it hasn't been decided yet.”

But Harry had a feeling that Lupin wasn't telling him everything. So he decided to press. “Who's the Ministry candidate?”

“None. After the way Umbridge ended up last year, no one wants to volunteer. But yes, there's a candidate – from our side.”

“And...” he prompted, hoping against hope.

“I'd let you guess. Let's just say that he is in this room with you,” Lupin said smiling. Then at Harry's apparent joy, he persisted, “But don't get your hopes up yet. Chances are that the Governors will scrape off the subject before...” Lupin never had a chance to finish, since a tall figure in white robes chose that moment to emerge from the fireplace, his trademark long white hair and beard shining in the yellow light.

Harry barely caught a nod exchanged between Dumbledore and Lupin, but his attention was soon grabbed by the commotion outside, which had reached a crescendo. With a flick of Dumbledore's wand, Harry was put under the Disillusionment Charm, before Dumbledore flung open the door with another flick.

A considerable part of the staff, and a few Aurors too, were engaged in calming the adults gathered in the corridor. They were more than fifty in number, and growing more and more restless by the second. But a sudden hush fell over the gathering at the sight of the headmaster, his twinkle-less eyes demanding absolute silence.

“I understand that you are here to question the serious lapse of security in the Hogwarts Express. Though I regret the incident, I assure you that none of the student body has been harmed. The Ministry has enforced special measures to prevent a repeat of such an incident. Hogwarts was and still is one of the safest places for your children to stay in, and we intend to keep it that way.

“I respect your concerns for your children's safety, but your presence here is only hampering our security arrangements. I shall contact each one of you individually as soon as possible, once the term has started. For now, though, I request you all to retire for the night after I make an important announcement. Yet I'm granting you a few minutes to clear any urgent doubts about our safety measures.”

On cue, several voices erupted, before Dumbledore was able to convince them to speak in their turn.

“You, Dumbledore, and your staff, are responsible for my daughter's welfare,” said a thin woman. “How is it that only Aurors came to the rescue of our children?”

Professor McGonagall chose to respond. “We – fourteen of us – are also responsible for the protection of the castle grounds. Moreover, we do not have magic detection equipment like the Law Enforcement Department does. And yet we managed to send a few of our staff members once the Ministry owled us – though the assailants had absconded by that time.”

“None of us are satisfied with your dedication to your student's safety. I will make a point to report this incident to the governors!” a man with sharp features stated, making Professor McGonagall visibly tremble in anger.

“I regret to inform you, Mr. Parkinson,” Dumbledore said in a cool voice, “that the Governing Council has been dissolved, giving autonomy to the Hogwarts staff until a new one is formed. And before you decide to contact your dear friend Mr. Malfoy, I'll also inform you that he has been debarred from all Ministry matters.”

“How dare you raise false accusations, Dumbledore? Lucius is innocent!” It was a woman's voice, whose owner was out of Harry's sight.

“Though it would my pleasure to contradict your statement, Mrs. Malfoy,” Dumbledore replied back, “your husband's debarment is not based on any crimes he has been accused of. Rather he is the victim of his own prejudice – also shared by the majority of our world.” He paused for a few moments, as a puzzled audience – including Harry – looked on expectantly.

“It has just been revealed that Mr. Lucius Malfoy is a werewolf.”

A stunned silence gripped the whole corridor, the chatter from the adjacent hall filling the corridor. Some people, Harry noticed, were fuming, while some others almost seemed happy to hear the news. The rest were genuinely shocked. And he could swear he heard a snort from the place where Lupin was standing.

“And, since it seems now that your doubts have been cleared,” Dumbledore continued coolly, “I'd like to present to you all our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Remus Lupin.”

* * *

“Abbot, John!”

A blonde boy shakily stepped up to the frayed and filthy hat propped upon a four-legged stool placed in front of the High Table, as Harry surveyed the Hall from his position among the nervous first years. At first glance, everything seemed normal with the older students sitting at their tables – some of them eyeing the newcomers with curiosity, while the rest chatting among themselves, sharing their summer experiences.

And yet, on finer inspection, one could catch the gloom that lay beneath the levity. It showed, despite their efforts at concealing it. They couldn't hide their grief over the loved ones they had lost in the ongoing war – one which none dared to acknowledge. They couldn't hide their apprehensions... Whose life would be next on the line? They could not ignore the fact that they had just scraped free of the same fate that had befallen the scores of innocent people caught in battle at the Ministry a few weeks ago.

“Burke, Kevin!” McGonagall called out, jerking Harry from his thoughts. “Sixth year transfer student from the Irish Institute of Magic, Dublin.”

He slowly walked over to the Sorting Hat, going over his house preference for any loopholes. Not that he expected to find one – not after the long discussion that he had had with Dumbledore, Snape and Lupin to reach his decision. Keeping his eyes off the student tables, he placed the hat lightly over his decently combed dark brown hair.

Immediately he could hear the hat speaking in his ears. “Ah... the Harry Potter! The Heir of Gryffindor, though Slytherin would fit you too... Come back, have you, for a second sorting?” it said mockingly. “Now wait a minute, you're masked... and you need to conceal your true identity...”

Put me back into Gryffindor.

“You can't be serious? That will surely give you away. Besides, don't they say? Keep your friends close but your enemies closer. Now Slytherin would be a good choice.”

It won't work. Being in Slytherin will simply raise suspicions about my behavior. And the last house that anyone, who suspects my identity, will expect me to get sorted into is Gryffindor.

“Very well. If you're so determined, then there's no choice but... GRYFFINDOR!”

Letting out the breath that he had been holding all this while, he took off the hat and walked up to the Gryffindor table, amidst loud clapping and cheering for the first Gryffindor induction of the year. He sat down at a chair beside Neville at the far end of the table, not daring to look at either Ron or Hermione. The best lie is the one closest to the truth. Snape's words again. Let's hope it works, he told himself, his mind still dwelling on the Sorting Hat's words.

Neville struck up a conversation with him, narrating all his experiments-that-went-wrong involving different species of magical shrubs, a misfiring wand, and lots of nauseating pus.By the time Neville had finished a gory recount of his experiments with a certain gnome-eating Gnawdish, all the first years had been sorted.

“Welcome,” Dumbledore said, standing up, “my dear students to another year at Hogwarts.” His voice was grave, as he continued. “And today, considering the circumstances under which we start our new term, I shall ask for a mere two minutes of your time before we begin our banquet.”

He waited for a few groans of disapproval before starting.

“As I see all of you young men and women sitting before me, impatiently waiting for me to finish this speech, there is one thought that strikes me. Even as we cheer and laugh in this gathering, I can sense the fear in our hearts – something that, being human, none of us can escape. Not me or any of your other professors. Nor any of you.

“Most of us are not even seventeen, and yet I can feel the fear that is ever-present in our minds – fear that we may never see our loved ones again. Fear that we may ourselves not live to see the world again. Indeed one of us has already left us forever.” A moment's silence – guilt-filled for Harry – followed, only to be pierced by a particularly loud nose-blow by Hagrid.

“It is this fear that compels some of us to join the oppressors themselves; that makes some others among us to resign to futures that seem bleak. Fear that forces us to enjoy moments like this while they last – not knowing what developments tomorrow would bring.”

His voice had almost reduced to a whisper, and yet it reached every corner of the Hall, making itself clear to each and every occupant of the Hall.

“And last but never the least,” he continued, raising his voice, “it is also this very fear that unites us in times such as these. That inspires us to cherish our liberty... that propels us to stand up for it. That drives us to fight back... to refuse to be suppressed... to defend our freedom – as you all have done today.

“Underage witches and wizards against the most ruthless sorcerers the world may have ever seen, all odds stacked against you. But, despite all odds, what was the outcome?”

The whole Hall was gazing at Dumbledore now, who himself was looking back them expectantly.

“Tell me, my dear friends. What was the outcome?” he asked again, stressing that the question was not rhetorical. A second ticked by in silence, before a second-year boy, sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table facing Dumbledore, spoke up in a small voice.

“Ww-we won?” he stammered.

“Pardon me? Could you all speak a little louder?” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling slightly.

“We won!” Most of the Gryffindor table had spoken this time, including Harry.

“I can't hear you yet!” Dumbledore chuckled, feigning puzzlement.

“WE WON!” Half the Hall.

“Not loud enough...”

“WE WON!” Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were now screaming at the top of their lungs, most of them standing up.

“Louder!”

“WE WON!!” The whole Hall had now erupted with a deafening chorus, echoing throughout the castle, as Harry had covered his ears to prevent any permanent damage.

“The school song!”

“WE WON!”

Laughter rang out through the tables, while a few sincere ones at the front, who had heard Dumbledore's words correctly, launched into the anthem... “Hogwarts, Hogwarts...”

Before long, the whole reinvigorated student body was singing the funny song – each one in his or her own favorite tune. Harry, not one with any knowledge of music to speak of, simply decided to follow the legendary Weasley tune that quite a few of the Gryffindors were singing in – lead by the two Weasley prefects.

People were singing and laughing all around him – genuinely this time. Even the Slytherins seemed buoyant, except for a few surrounding Malfoy of course. Malfoy, who had been uncannily well-behaved all this while, was glaring at the Gryffindor table, hatred stamped in his eyes. And it did not take much effort to find the object of his loathing – Hermione, who, having finished her song, was engaged in chatting with a seventh year.

As Harry looked on, Malfoy's glare turned into a smirk – an unhealthy look – which made a sudden bout of rage flare up in his chest. But a variety of delicious looking dishes chose that very moment to appear before them, grabbing both of their attentions. Dropping his temper, Harry plunged into the food, stealing occasional glances at his house-mates, especially Ron and Hermione, while Neville launched into a full-blown account of his experiences with a Merlin-knew-what plant, between his mouthfuls.

Eyeing the High Table, Harry could see the missing DADA position, knowing that it wouldn't stay that way for long. Dumbledore had earlier decided against disclosing the new professor's identity before classes started the next morning; it would only succeed in instilling more fear in some sections of the student body.

And Harry knew, as he felt the mirth-filled atmosphere around him – students sharing jokes... ghosts roaming about the Hall with amused expressions... teachers at the High Table engaged in light-hearted conversation... He knew now, why Hogwarts had been able to endure the centuries upon centuries of light and dark times, its foundations still strong after thousands of years – many of them in which the rest of the world had cowered in terror. Why Hogwarts had always been the source of hope... the Light in Dark times.

But would it endure the looming Darkness, that was slowly but surely drawing nearer to their world? One look at the rest of the Hall, and Harry got his answer. Chances were that it would.

Chances.

A/N: That's it folks! Tune back in a week (or sooner) for the next chapter. And feedback please... Comments, suggestions, your take on the plot... Anything, but REVIEW!

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author Notes: Hey all! Here's another chap ;). Thank you once again for reading and reviewing this fic!!

If you are wondering why "Kevin" does not speak in an Irish accent, I'll simply suggest that you re-read the train conversation in the previous chapter. :) Still don't get it? I'll give you a hint: It's about his Dad.

Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance

Chapter 12

A dull emptiness lay over the dark street, the downpour having reduced to occasional dribbles of cold liquid mingled with the chilly air. To the average observer -- not that there was one -- this particular lane in Hogsmeade would seem completely devoid of any human presence, and rightly so, at this time of the night. However, on closer inspection, the faint sound of suppressed footsteps pierced the silence ever so lightly, though that was about all, that indicated towards the concealed stranger's existence.

A mouse-like creature, on its nocturnal trip in search of nutrition, scurried out of the post-office, disturbing the sleeping guard with a frightened squeak. A room full of hungry owls was certainly not a healthy place to stay in -- especially if you were a rodent and valued your life.

The footsteps stopped for a few moments, in which the unsuspecting guard went back to his peaceful slumber. A whisper was muttered by an invisible mouth, after which no other sound was heard for a while -- not even the footsteps. Yet hardly distinguishable footprints -- even more so in the darkness -- turned around the corner and headed in the direction of an old building, dim light escaping through cracks in the wooden door.

With a slight shuffle, a hooded man in a dark brown overcoat appeared before the battered door, a silvery cloak clutched in his hand, which he quickly stacked underneath his coat. The wooden sign above read "Hog's Head Inn" in the light from the illuminated wand-tip.

The door creaking open, the man entered the dingy and deserted room that was the bar, his average profile silhouetting against the candle-light. Three sharp but brief knocks on the barkeeper's quarters and a couple of patient minutes later an old man with long graying hair and beard emerged, an air of mild hostility about him.

"I come with news for the bird of fire," the stranger said, eyeing the old man with half-hearted scrutiny. In fact, he was waiting for the correct response.

"Fire harms not the Phoenix, nor does death scare it," came the hoarse reply.

Without any acknowledgment, the stranger extracted a folded sheet of parchment from his coat-pocket and handed it to the old barkeep.

Contrary to popular belief, Aberforth was literate, though the years had diminished his vision. Unable to make out the writing on the parchment in the dim light, Aberforth reached into his shabby robes for his wand.But the stranger was quicker; within a moment the letter was illuminated with reddish light emitted by his wand.

The parchment bore an intricate seal, delicate designs proving its authenticity. Letters in a Medieval script were carved upon it, which translated to modern English would read, "Institute of Magical Crafts, Ireland". Addressed to his brother, the rest of the letter was in plain English.

And charmed. Only an associate of the Order of the Phoenix could read it.

Dear Albus,

I apologize for sending this note at such an inconvenient hour, but this matter may be of much importance to you.

A short while ago, we had inquiries from two sources, each within fifty five minutes of the other. One at our institution, the other at the Irish Ministry. I shan't go into details, but both seemed to be interested in Professor Burke, the recently deceased member of our staff. And I have reason to believe that they are associated, if not from the same party.

We answered them frankly, not disclosing anything that shouldn't be disclosed. It seems that they are convinced with our replies, especially after the second enquiry, at the Ministry, which, in my opinion, was intended to confirm the previously obtained facts.

Yours Sincerely,
Phoenix Confederate #11

"It will be delivered," Aberforth said with a nod.

Returning the nod, the messenger headed for the creaky door and vanished into the darkness. Aberforth, on his part, drew out his wand and muttered "Obliviate" aiming it at himself. A confused moment later he had no memories of the contents of the letter.His weary brain could do without some puzzling thoughts.

Shrugging to himself, he extracted some Floo powder from a pouch and threw it into the fire, muttering "Hogwarts Headmaster's office".

* * *

Not a single sound could be heard in the circular room that was the Gryffindor Sixth Year Boys' Dormitory, except a few irregular snores from the direction of Neville's bed. The first faint beams of daylight filtered through the clouds, giving the sky a bluish gray color, under his gaze through the bedside window.

A look at his watch coupled with some quick calculations revealed that Harry had exactly two hours left before breakfast. In a last-ditch attempt to make up for his lack of sleep, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to empty his mind of all thoughts. With the laborious Occlumency practice he had been going through last month, controlling emotions had become second nature to him. But disciplining his thought-process was an another matter altogether.

And the task becomes considerably difficult when the person you are thinking about is sleeping in the bed next to yours.

When it came to Ron's perception of the world, first impressions were of utmost importance. Opinions were formed on facts taken at face value. And his simple-mindedness, though advantageous in some situations, only prolonged the duration of his misconceptions. Add to that, an ego, that would place accepting a mistake publicly second only to death.

Not that Harry didn't have these problems himself. He did. But he also had a self-bashing conscience which always managed to crumble his ego in hours. Or days, in rare cases. Ron's would take weeks at the minimum.

Last night, it had almost seemed that he had broken the ice between them, as they had got engaged in a conversation with Dean and Seamus in weighing the chances of Quidditch World Champions, Ireland, in the upcoming Euro Cup in Germany. The Quidditch team being one of the few Irish topics Harry had spent time researching on, for his new identity.

However, the fragile illusion of some chemistry between them had vaporised the moment Ron discovered that "Kevin" was going to sleep in "Harry's old bed".

Sigh.

So close, yet so far.

And the total lack of interaction between Hermione and Ron had not escaped his attention, only succeeding in drowning him deeper in guilt. What if he were to really die in the future? It took quite an effort to shut that thought out, especially with the plethora of unanswered questions that it brought along, starting with what exactly had saved him... Only if he had Hermione's help...

With another sigh, he sat up, reaching for his trunk. His current insomnia called for drastic measures, if he was to have any rest before morning.

After some fiddling with the clothes in his trunk, his hands closed around the velvety surface of his Invisible Pouch -- an expensive but useful item that he had picked up in an old Magical Antiques' shop in Hogsmeade. Loosening the string around its mouth, he pulled out two flasks. The fact that he could not see their contents in the darkness did not prevent him from distinguishing one from the other.

One of them was cool to touch -- the Dreamless Sleep potion. The other was quite warm. Without doubt, the second flask contained the blue-colored Polyjuice potion, probably refilled by Snape only a short while ago.

Placing the warmer flask back into the pouch -- he would not need it until breakfast -- he uncorked the one containing the Dreamless Sleep potion, and swallowed a few drops. Hopefully that would be enough for two hours.

His last thought was that he would have to learn to brew some of it. Asking Snape for more wasn't something he would revel in.

* * *

Harry woke up to some gigantic monster trying its best to dislodge his left shoulder. By the time Harry managed to open his eyes, his hearing had cleared too. And it wasn't a monster -- it was the chubby form of Neville, calling loudly for him to wake up. A quick glance at his watch revealed that it was 8:44 AM.

"Gosh! Fifteen minutes to classes!" he exclaimed jumping out of the bed.

"You're some sleeper, Kevin. A minute more, and I was going to call a Professor."

Sleepily, Harry eyed the rest of the beds. As expected they were all empty. That Dreamless Sleep potion needed some diluting, he concluded. But thinking about potions, he suddenly remembered about the Polyjuice.He had last taken it after dinner. Somewhere around quarter to nine.

While his heart did a double somersault that he was sure would put gymnasts to shame, his watch confirmed that he had a grand total of sixty seconds before he changed back to good ol' Harry Potter. And becoming invisible in front of Neville, on the very first day of term, was not something he was looking forward to.

"Here, I got you your time-table," Neville interrupted his racing mind, handing him the sheet. "You've got Potions first up, which I won't be taking, so you'd better hurry up, if you want someone to show you directions... And Snape, the Potions Master -- remember the one with the hooked nose and greasy hair? He'll kill you if you're late..." Neville shuddered at this. Apparently the fact, that he was done with Snape for the rest of his life, didn't allay his fears for the man.

Harry checked his watch again. Thirty seconds left.

"Er... Thanks Neville, I'll be down in a minute. You'd better get going for your class."

"OK, you're welcome. But I have the period free, as do the others. Hermione's the only other sixth year Gryffindor taking Potions, you see? Snape's not very... popular around here, other than among the Slytherins." Saying so Neville made for the door.

But just as he was reaching for his pouch, Neville turned around. "By the way, you could ask the portraits for directions if you get lost. I'll be out in the Greenhouses with Professor Sprout. She wanted me to help her with preparations for our next class. Meet you there later! And watch the steps..." Though Harry appreciated Neville's helpfulness, part of him wanted to kick him out of the room.

Though that wasn't necessary as Neville had finally left.

By the time Harry reached the Great Hall, his uniform in disarray, and his haphazardly packed bag strapped to his shoulders, the only persons left were Crabbe and Goyle at the Slytherin table, frantically stuffing their mouths, as if this was their last meal. The free sixth and seventh year Gryffindors had already left for the common room. Grabbing a piece of toast with his left hand -- his time-table was clutched in the right -- Harry rushed off in the direction of the Dungeons.

Three minutes were left for the Potions class to begin, and Harry was faced with a dilemma. Finding his way to the Potions classroom on his own would look suspicious, but he could not ignore the truth in Neville's words.

When the average student arrived late for Snape's class, his/her House was sure to be stripped of five points at the very least. When Harry Potter -- disguised or not -- arrived late for Snape's class he could as well get ready for detention that very evening.

As he turned at the stairs for the Dungeons, he could spot the rigidly erect form of a brown haired girl in Gryffindor robes, walking briskly, a rather large bag clutched in her hands. "Hermione!" he called out before he could stop himself.

He would have slapped himself if Hermione hadn't looked behind. His voice was the only factor that had hidden his identity.

Gulping his half-chewed toast, he quickly began to make amends. "Could you... um, show me the way to the Potions claaAA..." The fact that he was stepping right into a vanishing step had totally escaped his overloaded mind.

He was just about to curse his luck when he realized the fall had done more good than harm to his case. Transfer students weren't supposed to know about the tricky staircases at Hogwarts. Instinctively he brought his hand to his temples, to check for broken glasses, before he remembered that "Kevin" didn't require glasses for his eyesight.

His breath caught in his throat, he got up from his awkward position on the stairs, using his palms for support. Ignoring the pain in his left ankle, he whipped out his wand and cast a Summoning spell to retrieve his time-table, which was currently floating away in mid-air. Hermione, on her part, was watching him with an annoyed expression -- which showed even after her apparent attempts at suppressing it.

Was she thinking his fall was deliberate? This was definitely going to be harder than he had expected.

"Darn the stairs," he muttered. "What kind of nutters designed this place?"

"Nobody's told you about the stairs? Hogwarts is full of such tricky stuff... Though you'll get used to it in a few weeks."

"Yeah, vanishing steps seem pretty amusing when you're not the one stepping on them," he replied smiling, as he followed her through the corridor.

A couple of minutes later, as they neared the Advanced Potions classroom, Harry decided to break the silence.

"Neville seemed to be truly terrified of this Professor Snape," he said, causing her to abruptly turn towards him. "Is he that bad?"

"Well, he is an expert in Potions... But yes, he's really terrible in particular to Gryffindors and in general to all students, except those from Slytherin -- his own house. He used to deliberately pick on Neville and Harry."

Neither of them felt like continuing the conversation. Soon enough, they were entering Snape's class, which incidentally had a grand total of eleven Sixth Years attending it. Padma Patil, Terry Boot and another girl were the three students from Ravenclaw, while two were from Hufflepuff -- Ernie MacMillan and Susan Bones.

Needless to say, Slytherin had the largest number among them. Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabbini and Theodore Nott. That would also explain why Crabbe and Goyle were still having their breakfast at the Great Hall.

Once he had finished the roll-call, Snape went about checking and criticizing the students' summer homeworks in his typical Slytherin-favoring fashion. Being a transfer student, Harry had been exempted from all summer homework -- and, watching the plight of some of his classmates, he had to thank his stars several times for it.

For the next hour and a half, Harry scribbled notes on distinguishing between Acidity and Alkalinity in potions, while Snape handed a flask to each of them for inferring whether the potion in it was Acidic or Alkaline. And all this went on, thankfully and amazingly, without a single Potter-jibe that Harry had gotten so used to in this classroom.

By the time the class-ending bell rang, Harry could not decide what was making him more uneasy -- the absence of any glares at him from Snape, or Hermione's silent treatment. The silence, he inferred, might have been partly due to his 'death', but mostly it seemed to be a by-product of the deep thinking she was apparently doing on some subject that seemingly warranted more attention than her potion. Not that he dared to ask what it was.

Consequently, when she asked him a question out of the blue, on their way to the greenhouses for Herbology, Harry's mind was on high alert.

"Kevin, could you see Thestrals near the stagecoaches..." She paused as if she had just remembered something. "Oh, I forgot you came by the boats!"

"Stagecoaches?" said Harry, keeping his face blank. "You mean the ones that were standing at the gates yesterday?" Inwardly, his heart skipped a few beats, as he realized what she was thinking about.

"Yes! Did you see any creatures pulling the carriages?"

"Er... why are you asking me this?" Why hadn't he thought of this earlier? Of course she wouldn't have seen the Thestrals, which she should have, since she had seen his 'dead' form.

"The Hogwarts carriages are drawn by Thestrals -- winged horse-like creatures..."

"Oh yeah, Thestrals! Aren't they visible only to witnesses of death, or something like that?" His mind was currently working extra hard to decide what answer would be safer.

"Exactly," Hermione replied, her puzzled anticipation showing on her face. "They were visible to you, weren't they?"

"Where? Near those horseless carriages?" Way to go, Potter.

Now he could clearly see that she was puzzled, her brow furrowed in thought. "But they aren't horseless... Haven't you seen... I mean..." she spluttered on.

"If you mean death, then no. I knew about my Mum a couple of days later after it... happened. I reckon you'd probably need to actually see someone dying, to be able to see Thestrals." He regretted saying the last sentence the moment he said it, as it instantly brought images of Sirius falling through the veil to his mind. And he could only guess what it did to Hermione.

But her expression soon changed to one of determination -- one that she showed every time she had some mystery before her which she could solve by a visit to the library. Harry made a mental note to check out any books regarding Thestrals from the library, first thing after Herbology class.

It was all he could do. Even though he hated himself for it.

* * *

Hermione was late for ADADA (Advanced DADA). Very late, by Prefect standards, especially for one who was supposed to be laying an example for others. She had spent the past two hours in the library -- thirty minutes of it borrowed from her truncated lunch, the rest of the time being free for her since this particular period was devoted to Advanced Divination, for those dumb enough to take the subject for their N.E.W.T exams.

However, unusual though it might seem, the whole time spent in the library was in vain, owing to the fact that she could not find a single book mentioning Thestrals. The one book in which she had read about Thestrals before, had already been checked out, according to Madam Prince. Tough luck.

She was sure she would uncover something in the restricted section, but even Prefects weren't allowed there unless they had a pass. Hoping that Hagrid would give her one, she hurriedly made her way to the ADADA class, part of her wondering who the 'secret' new Professor would be. Dumbledore was actually smiling when he had made that announcement earlier, so this Professor couldn't be that bad. Hopefully she wouldn't lose points for her lateness.

"... of the most important things in actual dueling is your instinct. Some of us may already possess this by nature -- they can duel instinctively. The rest have to develop it with practice, and believe me, nothing is unachievable with practice..."

Quite interested in what she was hearing, she paused before opening the door to the classroom, which was jam-packed with Sixth Years from all four houses. Five of them were Gryffindors -- all of them boys. Ron, Seamus and Dean were in a bench on the first row, while Neville and Kevin were sitting behind them. For some unfathomable reason, Parvati and Lavender had opted against taking ADADA -- though, if her guess was right, they would be cursing their decision the moment they learnt who the new Professor was.

He was currently eyeing her expectantly, as was the rest of the class. For a few moments, she simply gaped back in surprise, before remembering that she was late.

"Professor Lupin! I'm sorry I'm late but..."

"You were in the library, Miss Granger?" Lupin finished for her, smiling slightly, but it had almost seemed that, for a fleeting moment, a look of sympathy had grazed his eyes. A few snickering sounds came from the back. "You may take your seat for now. But remember that coming late will only result in your missing part of the lecture."

Avoiding the glares that a few Slytherins and Ravenclaws were giving her, she joined Neville and Kevin.

"Back to our topic," said Lupin, clapping his hands for attention. "Even the smartest witch or wizard would fail in a duel if he or she lacks a keen and sharp instinct. Simply the knowledge of all existing spells will not help you in the split second before your adversary curses you with, say the Stunning spell... or of the Unforgivables.

"One of the most effective maneuvers in dueling is something that doesn't require magic at all. In fact even a Muggle or Squib could do it." In the pause that followed, Hermione wondered in silence what Lupin could be getting at.

"Dodging. Yes, you may scoff at it, think that it is a cowardly act." Lupin significantly eyed the Slytherins as he said this, who were indeed scoffing at him openly. "But it's efficient -- in the sense that it will not drain your mental strength -- and believe it or not, it is the only way you can defeat the Killing Curse."

"Expelliarmus!" he exclaimed suddenly aiming at Dean.As far as Hermione could sense in the fraction of a second before Lupin finished saying the spell, Neville and Kevin had ducked beside her, while Dean was still sitting transfixed, as were the rest of them, including herself.

"And as you can see," Lupin continued calmly, catching Dean's wand, "dodging must be instinctive in order to be effective. It also forms the basis of several useful defensive maneuvers that we will learn later."

Handing Dean his wand, Lupin picked up a white chalk and began writing on the black-board.

Classification of spells :-

1. Space-based
2. Direction-based
3. Target-based

"Different spells reach their targets differently. Take the Stunning spell, for instance. Can anyone describe how this spell reaches its target?"

The fact that more than half the class raised their hands, besides her, did not astonish Hermione. After the incident at the train yesterday, anyone would remember that unmistakable red beam of light for the rest of their life.

Once Padma Patil had finished a vivid description of the spell that had hit her, Lupin resumed. "The Stunning spell falls in the first category. Who can guess the properties that characterize this category of spells?"

While Hermione was judging what properties would distinguish the three classes of spells from each other, Anthony Goldstein had already raised his hand. These Ravenclaws were quite fast, she would have to admit. Let's see if they can beat me.

"These spells travel through space to reach their target," he answered.

"Exactly, and hence they take time to reach you, which makes them the easiest to dodge. Three points to Ravenclaw. Direction-based spells, on the other hand, are instantaneous, and they affect the first target in the direction that you aim them in. Consequently they are harder to dodge than Space-based ones. Meanwhile, target-based spells will affect the target no matter what -- unless a counter-charm is used to prevent the target from being affected. Any amount of dodging will not help.

"Spells that do not fall into these categories exist too -- like the Conjuring spells, which do not have a target to reach in the first place. For now, we'll only deal with defending ourselves from the first two types.But before that," he continued, his tone suddenly challenging, "five points to the person who gives me one example of each type."

Hermione was the first to shoot up her hand this time. "The Summoning charm is a target-based one, while the Disarming spell is a direction-based one. An example of the space-based type, other than the Stunning spell would be..." She paused, searching her mind, before it clicked. "The Killing curse."

"Five points to Gryffindor," Lupin said, giving her a smile. "Now dodging on its own can hardly defeat your adversary. For that, we have a number of defensive and offensive maneuvers -- a combination of one or more spells and techniques. But what you'll learn here is mostly to develop your instincts. The best maneuvers in any duel are the spur-of-the-moment ones, since they can catch your adversary unawares."

Writing "Stun-Dodge-Disarm Maneuver" on the black-board, he said, "The most commonly used defensive maneuver. The Stunning spell, incidentally, is one of the few spells with a three-syllable incantation. Most have larger ones. Another spell with a short incantation, anyone?"

"Accio", Hermione replied again, earning two more points.

"With practice, the Stunning spell doesn't require much mental concentration either. Hence you can rain this spell on your adversary continuously with negligible mental exhaustion. As a result, it is primarily used to distract your opponent, as in this specific maneuver. Remember, the goal here is to first distract your opponent, then dodge his or her counter-strike if the opponent manages to dodge your Stunning spell, and aim a Disarming spell at him or her while doing so.

"Mental and physical concentration is necessary to judge the correct moment when you can hit your adversary. And the outcome depends largely on who can dodge-and-aim better."

For the rest of the period, the students practiced the Stun-Dodge-Disarm maneuver on their partners with mixed results and constant encouragement form Lupin. Seamus and Dean had paired up, as had Kevin and Neville, though Kevin didn't seem too happy about that. That left Ron with her.

She won most of the time, but that was, to her dismay, owing to the fact that Ron seemed reluctant at hitting at her.

"You've got to aim the Disarming spell at me, Ron, not at my wand."

"Yeah, right," as he picked up his wand from the floor, before abruptly sending a Stunner her way. But the aim being pathetic, partly due to the fact that he was still bent down, it had no chance of hitting her.

Taking the opportunity, she cast a Disarming spell at him, at which he promptly threw his wand high in the air. Though Hermione's spell hit him squarely on the chest, all he experienced was a mild jolt, since he did not have a wand to be disarmed of. A moment later he had caught his wand expertly with his Keeper's hands, as Hermione, Neville and Kevin watched in awe.

"Playing catch-catch, Weasel?" It was a mocking voice -- no points for guessing to whom it belonged. "Only if you could catch a Quaffle..."

"STUPEFY!" One Stunning spell could be dodged with some difficulty. Dodging four at once, in Hermione's opinion, was impossible. Proof in the form of an unconscious Malfoy was lying before them on the floor.

"Ennervate!" Lupin muttered, standing over Malfoy. "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Burke, I think I made it clear that you are to practice only on your partners." But he made no move to deduct points. In fact, Hermione was almost sure he had flashed a brief smile at Kevin.

* * *

The air was neither warm nor cold -- another of the many entities comprising the world, all of which seemed to be perched on a precarious cliff. What would follow next was unpredictable. Her heart clang to hope, like the sky seemed to be desperately holding on to the last rays of the setting sun. But she knew that it was useless to hold on… it would inevitably ebb away, as would the rapidly darkening orange glow in the sky… leaving nothing but darkness.

Coldness pierced the early night air, sending a shiver down her spine. For a fleeting moment, as the red orb of hope sunk below the horizon, the now dim orange glow surrounding it seemed to brighten, giving the false impression of a comeback. However, it was just an illusion… an illusion of hope that she was deceiving herself with.

But tomorrow, this sun would return from the other side of the world, heralding the warmth of a new morning. There was no way the other one could.

"Hermione," a distant voice beckoned her, but she hardly dared to let her eyes leave the horizon, lest she missed some sign of her hope returning. But she knew that it was nothing but an exercise in futility. There was nothing that could bring him back. And yet she couldn't let go.

A hand closed around her wrist, forcing her to blink her brown eyes in order to bring back her mind to reality. Unsurprisingly, no tears came -- she had shed too many of them.

"Hermione, we're here!" exclaimed Ron, trying to hide his irritation at her absentmindedness.

Tearing her eyes away from the last strands of daylight, she surveyed her immediate surroundings. Hagrid's old but welcoming cabin stood before them, its doors as inviting as ever.

A few knocks, and the door opened to reveal an over-enthusiastic dog, practically bouncing around them in excitement. A very annoyed Ron tried his best to keep Fang from licking his hands wet. And he had reason to be annoyed, other than the dog's amusing antics. Especially after the highly unrewarding search, that they had conducted together for the past two days in the library.

All traces of the smile that Fang's behavior had brought to her face vanished after the dog started whining the moment he realized that one of their number was missing.

"Good to see yeh both. I was wonderin', I was, when you'd turn up," Hagrid said, busying himself with preparing some tea.

When he finally faced them, Hermione could see that his eyes were considerably puffier than what they had been a few hours earlier in their Advanced Care of Magical Creatures class.

"How's Grawp?" she asked, as they sat on the armchairs.

"Oh, Grawpy's doin' fine. Maxime found 'im a girlfriend in France. That's where he's staying now. We won't be seeing him 'ere though." He paused for a sip from his cup. "He was dying to say goodbye to 'Hermy and her friend', I can tell you, he was…"

"Hermy? Seriously, Hermy?" Ron interrupted, chuckling, and earning a glare in the process.

"So how are yeh both holding up?" asked Hagrid, looking like he himself was going to burst into tears.

"We'll live, I guess," Ron chose to answer, failing miserably in his attempt at a smile.

Time to steer the conversation away from these melancholy-inducing topics, Hermione decided. With a sideard glance at Ron, she got straight to the point.

"Er Hagrid, we were doing some research on Thestrals, but couldn't find anything in the general section of the library. Could you, by any chance, give us a pass for the Restricted Section?"

Hagrid regarded her for a second before replying, "I like yer attitude, Hermione. Nothing like studying to keep yer mind of things, eh?" He smiled genuinely before continuing, "Of couse, I'll give you one. Just lemme write the note…"

He rummaged in a cupboard for some time, before drawing out a quill and a parchment. A few minutes later, the two Sixth Year prefects were on their way back to the castle, the permission slip, in Hagrid's almost illegible scribble, safe in Hermione's hands.

* * *

The world was black. Frantically Harry turned in all directions, desperately straining his eyes for a glimpse of his surroundings, but all that met his eyes was darkness. Absolute darkness.

But, just as he was about to give up, a dark grayish outline materialized before him, as if his eyes were adjusting to the darkness at an agonizingly slow rate. Fighting his impatience, he waited for the unidentifiable object before him to get clearer -- which seemed to be playing with his mind… its sight sharpening only when he looked away in annoyance.

After what seemed to be an eternal wait, when his heart was almost at exploding point, a single ray of dim light lit up his surroundings. A womanly figure was slumped against a wall, unmoving. But what captivated Harry most -- in a sickening way, that is to say -- was her profile. She was probably the thinnest person he had ever seen close-up, her ghostly white skin covering the fleshless bones of her hands and feet. Her hair -- its color indistinguishable -- was in total disarray, looking like it hadn't been washed for years. A gray cloth covered her, its details invisible. An empty wooden bowl lay at her feet, its size easily outmatched by a pet dog's dining bowl.

Diverting his attention to his surroundings, he barely could make out the rough stony texture of the walls bounding the tiny enclosure he was standing in. A rusty metallic door stood at one side, having a caged opening at its center. It was this opening where the light was entering from, though nothing was visible through it.

A sense of pity filled his heart, directed at the state of this woman, whoever she was. In fact, her age did not seem to be higher than twenty -- if not lower -- although her bony hands and feet were telling a different story.

Harry had a sudden urge to communicate with this woman -- that being the only course of action he could take. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He ordered his feet to move, but they seemed to have suddenly turned to lead. Was all this a dream? Some twisted figment of his imagination?

And then something did happen. The woman was raising her head, as if sensing his presence… A part of Harry longed too see her face… Who would it be? But another part of him was filling with increasing dread… fearing what the face would hold, as it raised itself gradually…

An abrupt blow in his abdomen jerked him awake. Quick as lightning, Harry sat up, cold sweat trickling down his temples. What met his eyes almost made him fall back in shock.

A short creature in strange clothes was jumping up and down on his bed, whispering hysterically -- if such a thing were possible. "Where is Harry Potter, sir? Dobby knows this is Harry Potter's bed! Please sir, where is my master?"

"Dobby!" he exclaimed in surprise, before remembering that he was not Harry Potter.

But, evidently, Dobby hadn't heard him, as he went about his hysterical behavior, his whispers getting louder and louder. "Everyone tells Dobby that Harry Potter is dead, but Dobby knows better… Harry Potter didn't die, did he, sir?" he went on, his eyes widening.

At Harry's silence, Dobby, assuming the worst, promptly busied himself in soaking Harry's bed-sheets with tears, calling himself unmentionables for not being able to protect Harry Potter. Warily eyeing the still sleeping forms of his dorm-mates, Harry cast a Silencing charm around his four-poster, before turning his attention to the house-elf.

When he discovered that talking to the house-elf wasn't working, he was forced to resort to drastic measures. Taking hold of Dobby by the shoulders, he forced the house-elf to look up at him.

"DOBBY! Don't blame yourself… you couldn't have done anything!"

"Sir is right, Dobby didn't do anything! Bad Dobby! Wretched Dobby!" and so he went on, trying his best to wriggle out of Harry's firm grip. Probably planning to do himself physical harm, Harry ascertained.

"Dammit Dobby! LOOK AT ME! Would Harry Potter have wanted you to punish yourself? Would he like to see you banging your head just because you didn't do something you couldn't have don’t in the first place?"

"But master is gone… everyone says so. Dobby wouldn't believe it, but he doesn't know what to believe when he finds that Harry Potter is not in his bed!"

"You're right, Dobby, Harry Potter is gone. But that doesn't mean that he's gone forever. Who knows?" Harry didn't know why he was telling this, but it seemed to be the only way to calm the house-elf.

As expected, Dobby reacted sharply to this. Looking right into Harry's gray eyes, he exclaimed, "Harry Potter may come back? But… but Dobby knows wizards don't come back from the dead!"

Harry simply stared back, not trusting his mouth enough to speak.

"Does sir mean that Harry Potter is not dead?"

"It's Kevin, not sir. And I don't know, Dobby. No one knows for sure. Did you know, for example, that You-Know-Who would return after Harry Potter defeated him?"

For a minute that seemed to stretch on forever, Dobby regarded Harry's words, his swollen eyes travelling all over Harry's face.

"Kevin sir is kind, yes he is! But Dobby knows he is just trying to calm Dobby…"

"No Dobby, I mean it," he replied.

Dobby seemed to quiet down after this, but he still wouldn't leave Harry's bed. After a ten-minute wait, Harry decided that he himself would have to drag the house-elf away.

"Come on, Dobby, your staying here won't bring Harry Potter back. I'll take you to the common room."

Dobby did not respond, but complied anyway, muttering incoherent words all the way, as Harry walked him downstairs, taking Dobby's hand in his.

He had expected the common room to be empty at this late hour, but that was not to be. For, a familiar figure was reclining on an armchair in front of the fireplace, a rather large book on her lap.

But all Harry's efforts in not disturbing Hermione's sleep were wasted the moment Dobby spotted her. The house-elf rushed to her with a new vigor, bellowing, "Miss Hermione!"

With a Herculean effort, Harry was able to pull back Dobby before he jumped onto Hermione's lap, but she had already woken by that time. Harry knew holding Dobby in this way would look suspicious. But what was he to do?

"Miss Hermione! Where's Harry Potter? Will he come back?" Dobby persisted, while Hermione eyed them both with surprise.

"Kevin? Dobby?"

A/N: Sorry, but I had to stop before this chapter became too long… Hope you'll be back for the next! And don't forget to leave a review, please!

By the way, this fic has been nominated in the Best Harry Potter Year 6 Story category in the first ever Harry Potter Fanfiction.net Fan Fiction Awards (http://groups.msn.com/TheHarryPotterFanfiction-netFanFictionAwards). (Thank you, Mella deRanged, if you're reading this!) Give the link a visit if you can spare your time... and maybe vote? :)

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author Notes: Apologies for the delay, but I'll cut out the explanation for I've been giving a lot of it lately. Thanks a lot for all the encouragement you reviewers have been giving me.

This story has recently won the Best Harry Potter Year 6 Fic award at the Summer 2003 Harry Potter Fanfiction.net Fan Fiction Awards. You'll find a link to the winners' list in my Bio. Thanks to all who voted in particular, and to all readers in general!!

Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance

Chapter 13

The breakfast was special; it seemed that the elfish chefs were out to prove a point or two to the newcomers on their first weekend at Hogwarts. Unfortunately their cooking hardly had any effect on the long-lost appetite of Kevin Burke, the new Sixth Year transfer student.

The queasy feeling that he was experiencing, was not rooted in the strange dream -- or was it a vision -- that he had had last night, although it was constantly present at the back of his mind. Nor did the following awkward encounter with Dobby and Hermione, which he had somehow managed to end quickly, have anything to do with Harry's queasiness.

And likely though it might seem, neither was Harry's restlessness a by-product of the shell-shocking news that the brown-paper covered copies of the Daily Prophet had brought on that otherwise lovely Saturday morning. On the brighter side, for the editors of wizarding Britain's most read newspaper, the guilty article did succeed in drawing the attention of most of the students -- irrespective of age -- away from the mouth-watering dishes laid on the tables.

Murmurs filled the Great Hall, as people debated amongst themselves the consequences of the new developments at the Ministry. To be truthful, the news had an almost unanimous approval among the Hogwarts student body, except for a few at the Slytherin table. In fact, even some of the teachers seemed to be in a better mood than usual.

"... but will Fudge go down that easily?"

"... father works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you know? So they have my family's full support..."

"Nineteen Aurors! Can't just vanish..."

"... Hufflepuff fourth year's got his brother among them, I heard..."

"... Bones? Is that woman related to Susan?"

"Their names are the same..."

"... hear most of the Ministry is siding with the DMLE..."

"... can't believe that the Daily Prophet is reporting this..."

"Fudge deserves it, doesn't he?"

"Of course he does. Mum says that bastard framed Harry Potter... even killed him..."

"... can she hold off You-Know-Who? Locate the missing Aurors? I'm sure Fudge can't!"

However, despite the renewed belief in the governing establishment of the United Kingdom, that this unexpected rift in the Ministry had rekindled in its wake, not even the elated feeling that accompanied this belief could drive away Harry's uneasiness -- the source of which was pinned on the notice board back in the Gryffindor Common Room.

And the crystal clear sky outside, showing through the enchanted ceiling of the hall, only succeeded in adding to his disquiet. Perfect Quidditch conditions.

Swallowing his only sausage, Harry stood up, determinedly walking in the direction opposite to Ginny's chair. She was currently taking down names of Gryffindors who wanted to try out for the Quidditch team.

Playing Quidditch had always been topmost among the things that Harry looked forward to, every year at Hogwarts. Indeed, Quidditch had been Harry's lifeline last year, before Umbridge had banned him from the game. And thanks to this cursed plan that he had agreed to be a part of, he wouldn't be catching a Snitch again anytime soon.

But not trying out at all might seem suspicious too, at least to someone with a mentality similar to that of Snape. So here he was standing at the base of the stairs to the Gryffindor tower, deciding whether or not to turn back and head towards Ginny. Not to try out as a Seeker of course -- his only options were Chasing and Beating. In other words, making a fool of himself at the Quidditch field.

Harry would have successfully executed his decision to walk upstairs to his dormitory and grab a textbook, had it not been for Dean.

"Kevin! Hey, Kevin... Are you good at Quidditch? We're having try-outs for the team and are really short of contenders!"

"No... I mean I don't think I am..."

"C'mon, give it a try, will you? Seamus and me are trying out too. And you know so much about those maneuvers!"

Gulp. He should have thought twice before entering into those Quidditch discussions. "But... I don't even have a broom!" Wait a minute... "A flying broom, I mean!" Good point.

"That shouldn't be a problem," Seamus, who was standing behind Dean, cut in. "You could use one of the school brooms, or one of our brooms."

"OK, here's a deal, Kevin," said Dean, momentarily eyeing Ginny at the table, "You try out for a Beater or Chaser's position, and I'll lend you my Comet 250 for practice."

Harry was about to refuse, but a sudden commotion from the Gryffindor table caught the three boys' attention.

"GINNY! Why is my name on your list?" Neville shouted in a high-pitched voice.

"Because I put it there," Ginny replied. "None of the Seventh Years are volunteering -- they reckon it'll interfere with their N.E.W.T. preparations. The other Fifth Years aren't trying out either. So I've decided that all Sixth Years must give it a try."

A loud crash followed Ginny's pronouncement -- Lavender had inadvertently dropped a jug of pumpkin juice, splattering it all over the table. Hermione, who was sitting beside Lavender, busied herself in casting cleaning spells. Neville and Parvati were too shocked to respond. Ron, meanwhile, seemed to have been caught unawares by a sudden coughing fit.

"And what exactly are you implying by that?" Hermione asked, once she had removed the juice-stains from the tablecloth. The group had captured the attention of the rest of the table by then.

"I'm saying that you, Parvati and Lavender should..."

"But honestly, Ginny, I can't fly! You have Second, Third and Fourth Years to choose from!" Hermione's retort was met with immediate groans of disapproval from the named classes.

"I'm in", Harry interrupted quickly. He was quite certain he would do much better than Neville or any of the girls in his year.

* * * * *

"Welcome, Gryffindor Quidditch hopefuls to this year's try-outs!" Dean's amplified voice echoed through scarcely populated stadium.

The sun's heat was on, Gryffindor being the last house to conduct their try-outs before lunch. Which meant that the three-member selection committee had a little more than two hours to choose three Chasers and two Beaters -- Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper, in spite of the improvements in their gameplay, had been asked to try-out again this year. The team captain would be chosen later, though Harry had a pretty good idea who it would be.

The irony , Harry thought. To think that two players with only a single year of Quidditch playing experience under their belt, along with the head-of-House, were going to select the rest of the team members. What was the legendary Gryffindor House Team coming to?

Shutting out his pessimistic thoughts, Harry surveyed the grand total of nine students besides himself, Seamus and Dean, who had come for the try-outs. Needless to say, Neville and the girls weren't present in this group, each of whom Harry scrutinized minutely from his vantage point with Dean, sizing up capabilities just from their appearance.

A school broom was clutched in his right hand; flying on Dean's had the danger of revealing his flying techniques.

"So first... the aspirants for the coveted Beater's positions in the Gryffindor Quidditch team!" A few spectators from the stands took this opportunity to initiate a mocking applause, only to be silenced by a stern glare from Professor McGonagall, who was watching from beside Madam Hooch in the stands.

"Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper, the former Beaters... People whom I name would please down to the pitch... Colin and Dennis Creevy..." He broke off as the trunk of Quidditch equipments that Ron was levitating to the field crashed open into a few empty seats in the stands, sparking off a rush by contenders and spectators alike to catch the freed Quaffles, Bludgers and Snitch.

But that was hardly necessary, as Madam Hooch whipped out her wand, bellowing "ACCIO!" In an instant, the various-sized balls zipped back to their respectful places in the trunk, which had been repaired by McGonagall a split-second before.

Clearing his throat, once everyone had settled back, Dean continued, "And the last two contenders are Seamus Finnegan, and me, Dean Thomas!"

And so the competition began, in which the six contenders had to hit a translucent orange-colored orb with one of the six Bludgers. What made this task quite difficult, was the fact that this orb -- conjured up by Madam Hooch -- was constantly moving in random directions, mimicking the movements of an extremely fast and agile Chaser. Moreover, the Beaters had the option of aiming at each other to distort their opponent's concentration.

Ginny and Hermione busied themselves in keeping track of the number of hits scored by each of the players. Harry, meanwhile, was entrusted with the task of picking up stray Bludgers that escaped to the stands. Not that there were any. Neither did any of the Bludgers hit the orb in the beginning, except for what seemed like a fluke shot from Jack Sloper.

Kirke and Sloper were quick to take position behind the Bludgers, but generally wasted too much time at aiming. Consequently, by the time they actually hit the Bludger, the orb was well clear of their line of fire. The Creevy brothers, on the other hand, had excellent aim. Flying speed was their downfall, resulting in very few Bludgers being actually accessible for them to take a shot at. Dean and Seamus had neither... It would suffice to say that they took more shots at the other Beaters than at the orb, only succeeding in passing the Bludger to their target.

On the whole, the pitch was in total chaos. Knowing the havoc that four professional Beaters can create in a full-fledged Quidditch match, one has to only imagine what can be expected from six clueless ones, the whole pitch to themselves. Thirty painful minutes later, by which time Harry had started searching his mind for a name for this new ruthless game he was witnessing, a shrill whistle from Madam Hooch ended the contest.

The score-board, that Ginny and Hermione were maintaining, read 7 hits by Colin, 6 by Kirke, 4 each by Dennis and Sloper, 3 by Seamus, and nil by Dean, amidst loud clapping by the spectators -- who were ever-increasing in numbers.

"Now friends," Dean resumed his address, apparently unaffected by his performance, "it's time for selection of the three new Chasers! And the competitors are..."

* * *

The corridors had a deserted look about them, mostly due to the fact that majority of the students were still having their lunch. Moreover, hardly any of them would venture towards Snape's office in the Dungeons on this free Saturday afternoon.

Harry, on the other hand, had an Occlumency test with Snape, scheduled less than ten minutes later. Considering the disastrous consequences of Snape's previous attempt at teaching the art to Harry, it was quite surprising that Snape had even agreed with this particular request of Dumbledore. Not that Harry liked the idea himself. But the fact, that he had failed miserably in his last encounter, combined with his recent improvements at Occlumency, strengthened his determination to prove himself.

In fact, he was actually looking forward to the challenge. No doubt, Quidditch can do strange things to one's self-confidence. Especially after playing well enough to secure a place in the House Quidditch team. Of course, considering the truly smashing skills of most of the other contenders, even the shaky school broom couldn't completely nullify the advantage that Harry's flying skills gave him. Handling the Quaffle was what he would have to work on.

But now wasn't the time to dwell on Quidditch skills, or lack thereof, in the current Gryffindor team.

Footfalls echoing along the underground pathway, Harry had almost taken the turn for the Potion Master's office, before something -- something, that, for some vague reason, seemed to be a misfit in its surroundings -- came to his attention. It was a door -- a metallic one, if his eyes weren't fooling him -- and in the daylight filtering through an opening in the roof, making an odd angle with its surface, it seemed to have a distinct shimmer.

His uncontrollable curiosity making the decision between Snape's office and the door quite easy for his mind to make, Harry walked to the door, which, adding to its strangeness, was not locked. Apparently, the room that the door opened to was some new addition to the dungeons, since it was highly unlikely that he could have missed it all these years.

Images of Dementors lurking behind the door threatening to take over his senses, he warily pushed the door open. The room was mostly dark, and totally bare except for the one object that Harry had least expected to be placed at its center.

A mirror. The mirror.

Five years had passed since Harry had last seen it... And there it was, tall as the ceiling, unchanged in its magnificence, strangely alluring... What would it show now?

Whispering "Lumos", Harry positioned himself in front of the mirror, pausing to read the inscription carved near the top in glittering letters.

"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi"

However, all that the mirror reflected was himself, silhouetted against the wand-light. A few puzzled moments passed before he realized what was wrong.

His own boring green eyes stared back at him, the color of his worse-than-usual hair in sparkling contrast. Only two things were wrong in the image. One, he wasn't wearing any glasses, and second, most strikingly, was the absence of the scar.

On the other hand, everything was wrong with the real Harry for a few breathless moments, as he frantically ran his hands over his face, examining its crevices. No, they were still alien... an alien face that he had been forced to live with for the past few weeks. A week and a half to be precise. And he was already yearning for his scar-ridden one.

The more time he passed staring at the scar-less and glass-less image of his original self, the more it made sense to him.

Harry's decision of going with Dumbledore's proposal was largely based on the fact that it was the safest way he could have kept studying at Hogwarts... safe for himself as well as his friends. But that reason hadn't been enough. It was the other subconscious appeal that the idea had to his longing for a life as a normal teenage wizard... the experience of an average boy's life, short though it would be, was something he had never imagined he would get to taste...

However, he had been wrong. Such a life was just as difficult, if not worse. During some moments in the past week, it had almost seemed that he was back to his elementary school days... no one he could call a true friend.

Nah! He just hadn't adjusted to this new way of life... Give it a few weeks, and he'd see the advantages, form new friends even...

But he didn't want new friends! He wanted Ron and Hermione back. He wanted Sirius back too, but that would be impossible. No, even a Sirius-deprived life would do. Yes, it was dangerous, but was this any better?

And then there was the other matter that had been bugging him ever since term-start... A matter that had become clearer and clearer with each passing hour after last night.

What he had felt with Cho was simply attraction... attraction to physical appearance. But this was much more complicated. And the fact, that he was currently deceiving her in a way nobody would ever forgive, did not help matters.

It was at this moment that a strange external feeling jerked him out of his thoughts. Tearing his eyes away from the ancient mirror, he turned towards the door. But he couldn't see it... not in the darkness. So how was he able to see the mirror?

"Lumos," Harry whispered to his already lighted wand, moving a step towards the direction from which he had entered. But his surroundings only seemed to be getting blacker. Slight but sufficiently visible traces of the afternoon daylight had been present in the chamber when he had entered it. And considering that he had been staring at the mirror for not more than ten minutes, this sinister darkness could not be explained away by the passage of time.

A stab of pain in his forehead brought Harry's attention back to the mirror. Something was changing in the image... a thin red line was gradually inscribing itself on the mirror-Harry's forehead. But Harry didn't have much time to examine it, for his own forehead was burning like a red hot furnace... The pain was unbearable... He could sense a few droplets trickling down from his forehead, the thickness of the liquid being much more than that of sweat.

And all he could do was scream in the agony...

By the time the pain had subsided enough for thinking, Harry found himself sprawled on all fours, his throat hoarse from yelling, and his lungs desperate for air. Settling himself on his knees, he groped about on the floor until his hands came in contact with his wand, which had fallen down unbeknownst to him, and extinguished itself.

Lighting his wand, Harry looked up at the mirror through his tear-filled eyes, missing the blood red drops that had fallen on the floor. And yelped in terror. For the reappearance of the red-hot lightning-shaped scar wasn't the only change in the image. The skin had turned much paler, while the green eyes had transformed into lifeless orbs of reddish black.

The lips had disappeared, the nose was different, and the hands had turned to long ghostly white fingers, pointed brown nails emerging from them. Glowing robes of green and black had replaced the Gryffindor uniform, the skull-and-snake symbol, stamped on the chest, glittering eerily in the wand-light.

But the biggest difference of all was the face, or more precisely, the expression splashed across it. It was smiling at Harry, in a way Harry had never seen or felt himself smile. A smile that was inherently evil.

If not for the scar, Harry would have almost mistaken this being as a younger version of Voldemort. This wasn't his desire... On the contrary, it was everything he believed against. Was it not?

But another thought gripped his racing mind. He had to get away from this mirror... Who knew what it was doing to his mind? Dumbledore had been right... It could make anybody go mad. It was making him insane already...

And Damn! Where the hell was the door?

All sense of direction leaving his throbbing head, Harry was about to dash towards a corner with his lighted wand in search of his door, before the sound of footsteps forced him otherwise. Examining himself as fast as he could, he was relieved to find that he was still Kevin. Until his hands landed on his forehead, where he could feel the distinct shape of the scar...

"Alohomora!" The door jerked open, flooding the room with mild daylight, while the last person Harry would have wanted to see stood at the entrance, his silvery blond hair gleaming in stark contrast to the general dimness.

* * *

Sirens disrupting the London afternoon calm, the two police vehicles dashed through the mild traffic, the source of the emanating smoke drawing closer by the minute. A fire-fighter van followed closely, its own siren adding to the alarm.

But the commotion above would hardly compare to the one taking place 8 levels below the ground. The sheer number of people apparating and disapparating at any instant would easily make any onlooker dizzy, if the magically amplified emergency alarms echoing throughout the facility hadn't already.

The cause for the emergency was largely unknown -- the very fact that the magical wards were malfunctioning was enough to warrant immediate evacuation, as was evident from the number of employees, in a myriad of uniforms, poring out of the overcrowded elevators.

Rumors, however, spread like wild-fire, but these only resulted in aggravating the rush, partly due to the fact that most of them, in one way or other, hinted at the involvement of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Four figures, all in blue DMLE robes, squeezed into an empty elevator headed upwards for the next batch of exiting Ministry workers.

Silence reigned between the level name announcements, as the elevator rattled on, though the telepathic conversation that these Phoenix members shared with their head wasn't being put to waste.

"Mathews, Smith," Shacklebolt chose to speak up, "Check out the Maintenance. Get them to stop these damn alarms the moment you get my signal. And do something about the weather."

Indeed, it was hailing snow like mad outside the magical windows. In the month of September.

"Level 1, Office of the Minister of Magic," came the automated announcement, as the grills opened to a deserted corridor, the distant blare of Muggle police sirens reverberating through the emptiness.

Great, just great, thought Shacklebolt. As if they didn't have enough problems already, they would now have to wipe out the memories of half the Muggle police force.

But he would have to worry about that later. His immediate concern being describable in a single word. Fudge. That word would also pretty much sum up the state into which the man had succeeded in landing the nation that he led.

"Nympharoda..."

"That's Tonks to you, Shackey!"

Shacklebolt would have blinked, had it not been for the graveness of the situation. And anyway, his eyes were already half-closed to protect them from the snowstorm raging through the windows.

Madness.

"No sign of Fudge yet anywhere below this floor, if that's what you were asking," Tonks broke through his thoughts. "Of course, I wouldn't put my trust on Diggory."

"Dumbledore trusts him..."

"Oh? And who trusted Fletcher? And considering all the efforts he made to save Potter, I would be a fool to feel safe with Dumbledore's trust."

"You could be a little more careful with your words. The telepathic link might still be functioning."

"Wonderful!"

He wouldn't have been able to say more even if she had wanted to, for they had reached the doors to their destination.

Intricately carved designs stood out in the blue emergency lights, though repeated Alohomora spells had little effect on the doors. Eventually a Reducto blast from Tonks did the trick.

The doors blasted open, revealing the interiors of Fudge's private office. Three wizards -- unmoving bodies of them -- lay on the floor, a pool of blood gathered near one's waist, while another's skull was cracked open, oozing fluids.

Apparently, using the Killing Curse hadn't sufficed for their murderer. Heart thumping, Shacklebolt rushed past the corpses, lighting his wand.

"Shit... Wha... This is sick..." he could hear Tonks muttering behind him. Though the paralysing sight before him had rendered his mind incapable of interpreting her words.

Dead. Fudge was dead. The very form of the man that was slumped on the armchair behind his work-table, unbreathing, guaranteed it. And yet Shacklebolt, not believing his eyes, reached for the pulse. The missing pulse. Unlike the bodyguards, no sign of violence could be spotted here. Avada Kedavra. The simplest and surest form of assasination.

"He's dead," he said aloud, partly to himself, partly to the witch now bent double examining something at a corner.

"Kingsley, quick!" she exclaimed suddenly, forcing his feet to rush to her side.

A barely recognizable youth lay sprawled at the corner, breathing hard, as his deep blue eyes bored into Kingsley's. There was something strange about them, but Shacklebolt had no time for contemplating what.

"Percy! Oh god... Tonks, go get some mediwizards. I'll contact Dumbledore and Arthur."

Meeting his eyes for moment, she paced out of the room. Meanwhile, Kingsley turned his attention back to the injured form of Percy Weasly. Droplets of blood were trickling down a raw cut near an eyebrow, and the left elbow seemed to be sticking out at an odd angle. The boy was trembling in fright, shock written all over his face.

But Kingsley was short of time.

"Percy! Can you hear me? Who were they?"

Percy blinked, but no reply came.

"Listen to me, Percy! It's Shacklebolt, Kingsley Shacklebolt! You'll be all right, do you hear me? But please try, son... Who did this? Who was it?"

The footsteps of approaching mediwizards drew Kingsley's attention away from his nonresponsive subject. Questioning Percy would be impossible for the next few hours.

He was about to give it a last try, before Percy finally gave a shivering whisper.

"Aurors... Unforgivables..."

"Aurors? What did you say?"

"Kill them all, I will... Bones..." Percy replied, in words interspaced with irregular breaths.

"Calm down, Percy... They're gone now. Who were they, did you say again?"

"Bones! She sent... I know..."

The medical experts had arrived by then, and conjuring up a stretcher they levitated Percy onto it. Shacklebolt followed them as they carried him away, hoping to get some clarification on the baffling answer, but Percy seemed to have returned to his silent state.

A/N: That's all for now folks! Send in your reviews, comments and plot-guesses using the review button than you can see below... And if you want to be notified of the next chapter update by email, just mail me at <arijit1985@yahoo.co.in>.