Harry Potter and The Sacred Alliance by _qool_

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 09/08/2003
Last Updated: 17/11/2003
Status: In Progress

Post-OOTP/6TH YEAR: Harry is back to Privet Drive after his fifth year at Hogwarts, still
recovering from the shock of losing Sirius. But what awaits him is nothing he has experienced
before - even facing Voldemort five times before cannot prepare him for... *Chapter 13 UP!*




1. Chapter 1
------------

***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.



2. Chapter 2
------------

**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: W*hy 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...]



3. Chapter 3
------------

**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 50th 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...



4. Chapter 4
------------

**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 3rd 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


Astronomy Theory :: **E**xceeding Expectations :: Pass


Astronomy Practicals :: **A**cceptable :: Pass


Care of Magical Creatures :: **O**utstanding :: Pass


Charms Theory :: **E**xceeding Expectations :: Pass


Charms Practicals :: **E**xceeding Expectations :: Pass


Defense Against the Dark Arts Theory :: **O**utstanding :: Pass


Defense Against the Dark Arts Practicals :: **O**utstanding with +1 extra credit :: Pass


Divination :: **P**oor :: Fail


Herbology :: **E**xceeding Expectations :: Pass


History of Magic :: **D**readful :: Fail


Potions Theory :: **E**xceeding Expectations :: Pass


Potions Practicals :: **O**utstanding :: Pass


Transfiguration Theory :: **E**xceeding Expectations :: Pass


Transfiguration Practicals :: **O**utstanding :: 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.



5. Chapter 5
------------

**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 5th year, since there's no mention of it in the end
of the 5th 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 31st, 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.*




6. Chapter 6
------------

**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!!!



7. Chapter 7
------------

**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



8. Chapter 8
------------

**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!)



9. Chapter 9
------------

**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!



10. Chapter 10
--------------

**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 4th 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. ;)



11. Chapter 11
--------------

**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
15th 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!



12. Chapter 12
--------------

**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 :-*

*Space-based*
*Direction-based*
*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? :)



13. Chapter 13
--------------

**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>.