The White Elixir by Wizardora

Rating: PG13
Genres: Drama, Mystery
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 27/03/2009
Last Updated: 02/09/2009
Status: In Progress

A sort of 'Harry Potter meets 24' fic. A threat faces the worlds of Muggle and Wizard
alike, Harry Potter will be pushed to his extremes to save them both. He has just 24 hours to avert
disaster. post-Dh, epilogue compliant but H/Hr centric




1. Prologue
-----------



A/N: This is an experimental fic, sort of Harry Potter meets 24 (I'm obsessed with 24). It
will be a proper H/Hr fic that complies with all the rules. That said, it begins a few months after
the end of my removed fic *Tapestry* and is compliant with the storylines started there. It
isn't necessary to be familiar with that fic, though, as this is about Harry and only
references elements which came up in *Tapestry.* If the Mods have any concerns about this
story in light of the recent issues with had with a couple of my other stories I will be happy to
discuss it with them.

**Disclaimers: I do not own either Harry Potter or the structure of the TV series 24.**

When a threat faces the worlds of Muggle and Wizard alike, Harry Potter will be pushed to his
extremes to save them both. He has just 24 hours to avert disaster

Harry Potter and the White Elixir

Prologue

*The following takes place at around 1:45 am on the day of the Wizengamot Ministerial
Election*

Two high speed broomsticks shot through the clammy night, cutting through the air with barely a
sound. They were chasing a third and gaining fast, twisting and turning past the lamp posts and
trees, cutting a bizarre swathe through the otherwise ordinary suburban avenue. They were cloaked
in the kind of dark robes associated with their profession, billowing out behind them now as they
sped along. Clinging onto their brooms one-handed, they fired jets of different coloured lights
towards their target, nearing their mark as they closed in. It wouldn't be much longer now.

Up ahead, the man being pursued was tiring both in body and spirit. The effort of shaking off
his hunters was proving too much and he was losing the will to fly any further, knowing full well
that their superior brooms would soon be upon him. His tactic now was to find a safe haven and make
a fight of it or else make sure his message was passed on. Whatever happened, that one thing was
most important. His message, a communication of the greatest magnitude, must reach its destination,
even if it cost him his life.

The nightlife of the town was just about starting to filter into the streets. Gaggles of drunken
young men and women were falling about laughing or singing, or being helped into taxis or else
shunted into the back of numerous police vans dotted around the place. Knowing he must protect
Wizarding Secrecy at all costs, the hunted man dismounted his broom and threw it over a bridge into
the waters of the canal below, breaking into a run the moment he landed. He then made for the town
square to make his stand.

The cloaked pursuers dropped off their brooms with chilling elegance and glanced around the
silent back street. They moved forward with controlled menace, scanning the scattered pockets of
people mulling around the town square. The men separated, taking a side of the square each, keeping
close to the Muggles nearby. Both men knew the weakness of the Aurors - they would never endanger a
Muggle and this rogue Auror would be no different. He would sooner die than hurt one of these
pathetic drunks. It would be easy to kill him with them around.

The Auror was thinking the same thing himself. His heartbeat rose in his throat and he was sure
its heavy pounding would give him away. Sweat dripped from his palms and down his back, though it
was little to do with the sticky air of the hot night. He clutched his wand in a shaking hand,
aiming it towards first one then the other of his deadly stalkers, knowing full well that he
daren't fire off a spell. He wasn't the best shot in ideal circumstances but in this state
he was more likely to hit a Muggle than one of his enemies. He decided to switch his targets and
realised with a thrill of terror that he'd lost one of them.

It was only a second later that he felt the cold, smooth surface of a wand nestle in the crook
of his neck. A bolt of fear surged up his body and he threw up as it reached the top. Shaking and
weak he dared not move his eyes from the floor; even so, he could hear a second pair of footsteps
moving closer to him and sense the presence of both his pursuers as they loomed over him, ready to
finish him.

“Where is the amulet?”

One of the men was speaking into the Auror's ear, his voice gruff and carrying a stale
smell, loose spittle flying from his mouth.

“I don't know, I never took the amulet,” replied the Auror.

“You lie!” said the second man. He landed a heavy boot into the Auror's stomach and he
doubled up in pain.

Winded and sure he'd heard a rib crack, the Auror looked around in vain for help. A few
stragglers were passing by but wore the look of having seen late-night brawls before. They would
not be getting involved. The Auror thought this was probably for the best.

“I told you I never took the amulet,” he repeated. “I don't know what you want from me.”

“You saw things you shouldn't have,” said the first man. “You got in with us, made us
believe you were one of us, and all the time you were just a filthy spy.”

Another series of boots smashed into the Auror's body, sending him into the foetal position
where he tried to protect his head from the battering. All the while the attackers were hissing
about the treatment handed out to traitors. After a minute or so, they laid off.

“What we gonna do with him?” asked the second man.

“The Baron said we have to dispose of him,” the gruff-voiced man replied. He knows too much to
let him get back to the Ministry.”

“But we've got people *in* at the Ministry,” said the second man. “Why can't they
handle it?”

“Because this is what we're paid to do, moron,” said the other. “We gotta make sure he
can't talk….ever.”

“But the Baron said no using the Unforgivables. The Aurors can't be allowed to trace us
here.”

“No,” said the gruff man. “We gotta do things the old fashioned way.”

The second man gave a low, barking laugh. “Good. That's my favourite way”.

* * *

*1:55am*

With most of the late-night revellers safely away from the town centre Police Constable Karen
Rees was looking forward to getting back to Harring Street Station and filling out her paperwork
over a nice cup of sweet tea. It had been a fairly quiet night with only a couple of arrests for
the usual public order offences. She was just doing a final sweep of the town square when an odd
shape lying half in the shadow of the monument there caught her eye. She moved closer and her
senses were aroused not only by the sight of a pair of legs grotesquely bent into unnatural angles
but also by a trail of something dark running down from the plinth.

PC Rees raced up to the body and felt for a pulse. It was extremely weak and as she radioed for
help she surveyed the rest of the body. She could just about tell it was a man; his face had been
so smashed in that it was hard to make out a nose or the eye sockets. PC Rees felt a revulsion rise
up in her throat and tried to choke it back. She stood up to call for her partner when a faint
voice spoke.

“P-please…wait.”

The broken man was speaking in barely a whisper. PC Rees knelt down beside him and tried not to
look too much at his missing facial features.

“Try not to speak,” she said. “Help is on the way.”

“No time,” the Auror stammered. “I won't make it.”

“Stay with me,” PC Rees implored, though doubting anyone could survive in this state.

“Letter…ins-side pocket.”

PC Rees reached into what looked like a cloak that the man was wearing and found a deep pocket.
Inside sat a letter, which felt very damp. PC Rees guessed immediately that it was soaked with
blood. She had barely time to register her repugnance when the man spoke again.

“Must get that t-to…Harry Potter…matter of nat-national….security.”

“National Security?” asked PC Rees, suddenly heightened for different reasons. She glanced at
the crimson-stained letter. If there had been an address on the envelope it was illegible now. “Who
is Harry Potter?”

“You m-must get that to your Pri-Prime…Minister,” the Auror stammered. “Urgent. Do it yourself.
Tell no one about it.”

“The Prime Minister? How am I supposed to get a letter to the Prime Minister? It's not
possible”

“Find a way…you must,” urged the Auror with all the strength he had left. “Millions will die if
H-Harry Potter does not get that lett…*er*.”

With that, the Auror sighed out the last of his breath and died on the plinth.

-->



2. Chapter Two
--------------



A/N: This chapter is inordinately long; I'm sorry, it ran away with me. Don't hesitate
to let me know if its too long and boring and I'll scale down future ones. I cant see them
being all as long as this but I had to establish things. As always, let me know what you think.

- Ian

Chapter One

*The following takes place between 2:00am and 3:00am on the day of the Wizengamot Ministerial
election.*

PC Rees stood back and watched as the team of paramedics worked near the dead body. It had taken
three of them to move the poor soul's legs back into a position where he could be loaded on to
the stretcher to be taken to a nearby hospital. Rees could imagine the post-mortem report listening
any number of injuries as the cause of death. Yet while all this was going on, she couldn't
quite tear her mind away from the letter, known only to her and burning a hole in both her pocket
and her curiosity.

“Paperwork on this one's likely to keep you busy for the night.”

PC Rees' partner, PC Ross Jennings, had joined her near the ambulance and both watched the
scene before them. Jennings was an older man and Karen's mentor. She felt glad he was there,
reassured by his presence and certain that he would offer his time and experience to help her
complete the paperwork he was referring to. He had seen all this before having been a solider in
the Gulf War and later a homicide detective. This was supposed to be his `easy' job.

“Any early idea on cause of death?” PC Rees asked.

“Take your pick,” said Jennings. “The guy looks like he's been run over by a tank. Forensics
will have their hands full with this guy.”

“Any ID?”

“Nope; no wallet, no driver's licence, nothing,” said Jennings. “It's like he just
dropped out of the sky.”

“Look how he's dressed though,” said Rees. “With clothes like that he could easily be a
drifter. That`d explain the lack of ID.”

“He could have been on his way home from a party,” said Jennings. “If he is a drifter he
probably won't even be on Dental. That'd be a nightmare.”

PC Rees looked on solemnly as the paramedics wheeled the body towards them. His mangled face had
already been covered up and the looks worn by both paramedics spoke quite clearly that they'd
not seen the likes of this before.

“We're taking him to St. Philip's Infirmary,” said one of them. “We'll need to
co-ordinate with you for the Coroner's report. Harring Street Station is your nick, didn't
you say?”

“That's right,” said Jennings. “Did you get anything from him?”

“His pockets were empty. All he had was a leather pouch with some odd looking silver and bronze
coins, nothing I recognise. We'll pass them on to Homicide, see if they can't make some
sense of it.”

The body was eased into the ambulance and driven away from the scene. PC Rees looked pensively
around; the town square seemed to have an unearthly silence after all the activity of the past
fifteen minutes.

“Karen? Are you alright?”

“What?”

“You're a millions miles away,” said Jennings. “Are you sure you're okay.”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” said Rees.

“Seeing a body, especially one like that, is never easy,” said Jennings. “I can have a word with
Dr Regis when we get back to the station if you like.”

“I don't need a shrink, Ross,” said Rees. “I'm alright.”

“Karen, we've been partners for two years, I know when something's up.”

“Alright,” said Rees. “I'm not okay. I've done something and I'm not sure what to do
next.”

“Well that clears that up,” said Jennings sarcastically.

“Listen to me,” said Rees, a trace of urgency in her voice. “I need your help, Ross. I can trust
you, right?”

“Of course,” said Jennings.

“Then If I tell you something it stays with us, I cant have it going back to the Sarge.”

“What have you done? You didn't kill that bloke, did you?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” said Rees.

“Just kidding, Karen,” said Jennings. “Come on, spill it.”

“Well, before he died, the man spoke to me.”

“You said he was dead when you found him.”

“I know I said that,” said Rees. “But I wasn't sure what to do with what he told me.”

“Which was?”

“Between us, yeah?”

“Karen?”

“He gave me a letter,” said Karen, taking the blood-soaked envelope from her police jacket. “He
said I have to get this letter to the Prime Minister.”

“Come again?” said Jennings, taken aback. “You did say the PM, didn't you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Did he say why?”

“He could barely say anything at all,” said Rees. “He said this letter has to reach someone
called Harry Potter and that the Prime Minister would know how to get it to him. By the way he said
it, it was like he was the *only* one who could.”

“Harry Potter?” said Jennings. “Never heard of a Harry Potter in the government. You're sure
that was what he said?”

“Positive, Ross,” said Rees.

“He could have been pulling you leg,” said Jennings.

“It was said with his dying breath!” said Rees. “Not the best time to crack a joke, is it?”

“Alright, alright, don't get hysterical,” said Jennings.

“I am not hysterical,” said Rees. “He said it was a national security matter and I had to handle
this myself. But I don't know what to do. He said millions could die if I don't manage to
get this to whoever Harry Potter may be.”

Jennings looked concerned for the first time. His air had changed the moment the phrases
`national security' and `millions could die' came up. He smoothed the stubble on his chin
as he thought. PC Rees waited for her partner to come up with a suggestion. Presently, he began to
speak.

“You believe this message was genuine?” said Jennings. “That John Doe was serious?”

“Absolutely,” said Rees.

“Okay, here's what we're going to do,” said Jennings. “I've got a friend at Scotland
Yard who owes me a favour or two. I'll give her a call when we get back to the station, ask her
to run a background check on this Harry Potter and we'll go from there.”

“Thank you, Ross,” said Rees happily. “I don't know what I'd have done without your
help.”

“You can thank me by buying me a pint next time we're out,” said Jennings. “Come on, we have
to get back.”

* * *

*2:12am*

The waves of a calm tide lapped up along the beach and rolled gently over craggy rocks on the
picturesque Greek island of Zante. The soft hiss of the sea spray paled against the distant drum of
night-club music and the revellers indulging in the balmy night. At a private villa overlooking a
small stretch of secluded beach, Harry Potter slumbered and stirred. He made to reach over and hug
his wife, but she picked that inopportune moment to fart in her sleep. Harry recoiled and turned
away to try and drift off. It was a vain hope and he soon gave it up and got out of bed, making his
way to the balcony.

Harry leaned on the balcony rail and watched the reflected moon ripple in the dark waves.
Peering closely he could make out two figures strolling along the surf. It was his son, James, and
his girlfriend Celesca; they had taken to late-night walks along the water's edge and Harry
could think of no good reason to stop them doing it. After all, inviting Celesca had been the bribe
to get James to join the family on holiday and Harry didn't fancy arguing with his son in
relation to her. He marvelled that they found so much to talk about that spending all day together
wasn't quite enough, so they needed the night, too. Ginny had suggested they were sneaking out
to the nearby bars but though this suspicion had merit Harry had never yet caught them. James, he
well knew, was the equal of his namesake in cunning and, just like his Grandfather, would probably
revel in the challenge of not getting caught.

“Daddy?”

Harry was startled by the little voice speaking behind him. He turned to find his daughter,
Lily, standing there in her nightgown.

“Is everything alright, sweety?” Harry asked.

“Can't sleep,” said Lily. “I keep having bad dreams.”

“Come here and tell me all about them,” said Harry, who had learned to make time for Lily ever
since she'd run away six months earlier.

“I keep seeing bad things happening,” said Lily. “People dying and fighting. I can't stop
seeing them.”

“Have you been reading James's *Agent Cajun* books again?” asked Harry. “I told you
you're too young for them.”

“I haven't been reading them, Dad, honest,” said Lily. “Make these dreams go away.”

“Come here,” said Harry scooping up his daughter. “How about I come and sit with you till you
fall asleep? I'll stay with you and nothing will hurt you, I promise.”

Lily smiled and seemed pacified. Harry carried her to her room, which she was sharing with
Celesca, and tucked her into bed. He sat with her, smoothing her hair and watched as she drifted
off. Most parents would pass off such an event as an over-active imagination or too much cheese
before bed, but Harry was disquieted. Lily had been prone to prophetic dreams before and he had
often thought of testing her for latent Seer ability, but Ginny wouldn't hear of any
mind-probing. Harry lay there some time with an unaccountable sense of worry growing in his head,
leaving only when he heard James and Celesca returning from their walk.

* * *

The Scotland Yard offices were dark and largely deserted. A light drizzle was beginning to fall
and blur the few windows which still had lights on. One of these, on the third floor, was a filing
room; inside, Detective Inspector Susan Mills was thumbing through a sheaf of paper, alphabetising
witness statements from a recent robbery at the plush Knightsbride store, Harvey Nichols. The Yard
didn't usual deal with such crimes but as there were firearms involved DI Mills and a colleague
were called to investigate. She was just about done when someone knocked on the filing cabinet at
the end of the aisle. It was Siobhan, the night receptionist.

“Sorry to disturb you, Susan, but there's a call for you on line two. Says its urgent.”

“Thank you, Siobhan, I'll take it at my desk.”

The receptionist nodded and left while Susan shuffled her papers and made her way back into the
sprawling office space. It was eerie and full of shadows when empty and DI Mills harboured a secret
loathing for the place at night. Her telephone was ringing by the time she reached her desk and she
wasting no time in picking up the receiver.

“This is DI Mills,” she said. “Who am I speaking to?”

“Well that's a charming way to greet a friend,” said a jovial voice on the line. “I see Mark
still hasn't been able to talk some manners into you.”

“Ross Jennings! This is a surprise,” said Mills. “Sorry, I didn't know it was you.”

“Not to worry,” said Jennings. “Have you got a minute?”

“For you, I have three,” said Mills.

“You are charity itself,” said Jennings. “But I have a serious matter on my hands.”

“Go on,” said Mills.

“We picked up a body tonight, a John Doe,” Jennings began. “Beaten to death in Barnet town
centre.”

“You want some help with ID?”

“No, not that,” said Jennings. “Before he died, he gave my partner a letter and a warning.
Don't want to say too much over the phone. I need a background check on someone. Can you
help?”

“I've got to finish up a few things but sure, what's the name?”

“Harry Potter,” said Jennings. “I'm looking for government connections, maybe Secret
Service. Get back to me on this number as soon as you have anything, will you?”

“Yes, of course,” said Mills. “Any reason for this?”

“It's connected to the John Doe somehow, I'm hoping you can tell me more.”

“I'll see what I can find. Bye Ross.”

“Thanks Susie, I owe you.”

Her attention caught, DI Mills put off going back to her filing and fired up her computer. She
entered the name `Harry Potter' into all search filters and waited for the results. It took a
minute or two and churned out over eighty matches. Narrowing the search filters by age cut the list
to thirty, but none had either government connections or criminal records. Curiosity aroused, DI
Mills pondered a risk. There was one other database, an intelligence file that had restricted
access. DI Mills had infiltrated a hacker group once and had picked up some skills, some of which
she was debating about using now. She decided to take the risk; she owed Ross Jennings both her
career and her life, this was the least she could do for him.

Her breath caught with her heavy heartbeat as she began the hack. Soon she was staring at the
restricted section, partly smug at her ability to break in. She quickly typed in the name and hit
the search key. The computer immediately stopped and the screen turned red, the sign of a
high-priority security breach. DI Mills began to panic and tried to shut down the computer. It
failed and she could do little more than sit there and wait, shaking and wondering what was going
to happen to her. She didn't have to wait long.

The phone on her desk began to ring. Slowly, with her mouth dry, she picked up the receiver.

“H-hello?” she stammered.

“DI Susan Mills?” said a firm voice at the other end.

“Yes?”

“This is Agent Richard Scott, MI5. You have just accessed a restricted file. Explain what you
were doing.”

Quickly, and not at all eloquently, DI Mills gave a quick account of all that had taken place in
the five minutes since Jennings had called. There was a brief pause when she finished before Agent
Scott spoke again.

“I know of Ross Jennings,” he said. “He wouldn't have called you if it wasn't a serious
matter. Did he give you any more details than you've given me?”

“No, none,” said DI Mills. “What's going to happen to me?”

“We have to get to the bottom of what's going on before I can answer that,” said Agent
Scott. “Stay at Scotland Yard. I have to speak to my Director and I'll get back to you.”

He hung up. DI Mills quickly dialled a number.

“Susan? Have you found anything?”

“Ross, I can't talk for long,” she said. “I've activated some security protocol in
searching for this Harry Potter. I found nothing but he must be important; just searching for him
in the databases alerted MI5. They caught me doing it.”

“Oh, Susan, I'm so sorry,” said Jennings.

“Don't worry about it, I can look after myself,” said Mills. “Look, I have to go.
They're going to call me back. Stay available, okay?”

She hung up without waiting for a reply and sat staring at her phone, waiting for it to ring and
wondering what on Earth she'd stumbled in to.

* * *

A loud knock on the mahogany door of his office disturbed MI5 Director George Barnes from his
Brahms and Earl Grey tea. Piqued, he tapped the remote to turn off the CD and placed his cup back
onto its saucer.

“This better be good,” he thought as he pressed the button which deactivated the electronic door
lock. “Come in.”

“Sorry to disturb you, Sir,” said Agent Scott as he entered.

“You will be if this isn't important,” said Barnes curtly. “What is it?”

“A red flag on a database access,” said Scott. “I thought you should take a look.”

Sighing, Director Barnes followed Agent Scott from his office, down the burnished-wood panelled
halls and up to a work space on the main office floor.

“We detected unauthorised access to our database,” Scott began. “A DI over at Scotland Yard was
looking for a name. It activated a security protocol.”

“What was the name?” asked Barnes.

“Harry Potter.”

Barnes shuddered involuntarily. The associations with that name were of the highest secrecy and
made the experienced Director distinctly uneasy. His change of demeanour was not lost on Agent
Scott.

“You know this name, Sir?”

“I'm familiar with it,” said Barnes evasively. Scott couldn't know about Potter and what
he was connected with. Not yet anyway.

“Director, this name, this Harry Potter,” Scott continued. “I've not heard of it. But it
generated a Priority *0.5* breach. What exactly is a 0.5? If a directive from the Prime
Minister is Priority 1 what can a 0.5 be?”

“A matter of extremely high security,” said Barnes briskly. “A matter which supersedes the
Premier's office.”

“Sir?”

“What caused this breach?” asked Barnes, ignoring Scott's query.

“The DI was given the name by an ex-agent, a PC Ross Jennings,” said Scott. “Says he got the
name from a John Doe found dead tonight in Barnet.”

“I remember Jennings,” said Barnes. “Good guy. Excellent work in the Balkans on a Special Op I
recall. We need to bring him in.”

“I'll send a car.”

“No, I want you to do it,” said Barnes.

“Me, Sir?”

“Don't act like it's beneath you,” said Barnes shortly. “I'm not asking you to be a
taxi service. This is a matter of the highest nature if Potter is involved. That's all you need
to know right now. I don't want to risk these people. I need a capable field agent to bring
them in. Do as I ask.”

“But, Sir, can't you explain -”

“No, I can't,” snapped Barnes. “I have to speak to some people. You have your orders, Scott.
Get Jennings and that Scotland Yard DI, too. Bring them directly here.”

Barnes swept away looking worried and leaving Agent Scott severely nonplussed.

* * *

*2:27am*

Director Barnes had cherry-picked almost all of the senior agents under his command. A veteran
of thirty years in the shady world of intelligence service, Barnes had developed a deep
appreciation of the trust necessary for people to work around him and the competencies they brought
with them. He had picked them all, all except one. One, operating in perhaps the shadiest areas of
the entire Ministry, had been fostered on him from the very beginning and though he both trusted
and respected this man he couldn't help but dislike him.

He worked in an office deep in the bowels of the building and only the most senior people had
the specific clearance to get to him. Barnes tapped in his access code, swiped his card and moved
through the door at the end of a sloping secret passageway. There were no security cameras here, no
electronic locks, no motion detectors, nothing at all that worked with electric power. Still, the
whole place hummed with energy and activity as rooms dedicated to monitoring that *other
world* worked away on both sides.

At the end of the corridor, which seemed to house an ethereal mist, was a handsome oak door.
Barnes read the name on the brass plaque as he knocked three times. He was the Director of the
organisation but every time Barnes had to meet with this man he felt an inexplicable sense of
inferiority. It was true that he could probably do things to him which defied rationality but it
was more than just simple fear. The man had an air, a presence of power in which most people would
probably quake.

The door opened and Barnes entered. The Agent was sat near a roaring fire, though the room
itself bore no symptom of the flames. Indeed, it was positively chilly. The Agent was facing away,
half in shadow, and didn't even look up as the Director entered.

“Yes?”

“I have work for you,” said the Director. “An Agent is bringing some people here and I want you
to question them.”

The Agent still didn't look up from the sheet of parchment he was reading. “And why would I
need to do your interrogating for you?”

“Because this is to do with your specialist area.”

“How, exactly?”

The Agent may have been abrupt and slightly disrespectful but Barnes had always appreciated
forthright and frank people. He continued,

“They claim to have a letter for Harry Potter.”

The Agent looked up sharply, fixing his grey eyes on the Director as if considering him anew. As
always when this agent studied him, Barnes felt like he was being probed. The Agent seemed
satisfied.

“I will be ready.”

“Thank you,” said the Director. He looked at the Agent with the unshakable sense of begrudging
respect and left the room. The Agent didn't acknowledge him leaving. He was writing a hasty
note onto a corner of the parchment sheet. Tearing it off then folding it up, he moved to the
hearth and tossed it into the fire. The flames erupted green for a moment, then died away.

* * *

PC Rees filed away her report and made her way to the staff room to finish her tea. She was
disturbed by the contents of PC Jenning's conversation with his contact at Scotland Yard and it
was with no little wonder that she considered the events of the past hour. A dying man gives her a
letter and through a series of events the Ministry of Intelligence gets involved. It was almost
surreal.

Jennings was sat in the staff room watching his mobile phone over the rim of a coffee cup.
He'd been hoping Susan from Scotland Yard would ring but so far was out of luck. Rees sat
opposite him and for a few moments neither said anything.

“Any word from the hospital?” asked Rees presently.

“I got on to them when you went to file the report,” said Jennings, leaning back in his chair.
“They've sent his teeth to be ID'd but without any kind of name to go on they aren't
hopeful.”

“This is all so weird, isn't it?” said Rees.

“A lot of unidentified bodies turn up all over the country, Karen,” said Jennings. “It isn't
that uncommon.”

“But for the M I to get involved? That's not normal.”

“You're not wrong,” said Jennings, glancing again at his phone.

“No word?”

“None. If she gets into trouble, it's my fault. I asked her to do it.”

“And I asked you,” said Rees. “If anyone's to blame its me for getting you involved in the
first place.”

“What else were you to do, in the circumstances?” said Jennings. “Look, this blame-laying and
paranoid second-guessing will get us nowhere. We have to just sit tight and wait.”

They wouldn't have to wait long. Agent Scott was already en route having picked up DI Mills
from Scotland Yard. He gunned the car along largely empty roads and was making good time.

“Will I get in serious strife? Tell me honestly,” Mills was saying.

“I doubt it,” said Scott. “The name threw up a high priority signal. It could be that getting us
involved was the right move, even if you handled it in the wrong way.”

“I shouldn't have hacked the system,” said Mills. “What was I thinking?”

“Didn't you say you owed Jennings a favour?” said Scott. “Director Barnes knows him, too,
and he's a fair man. You might get lucky and get away with a slapped wrist and a lesson
learned.”

Agent Scott doubted his own words. Hacking into MI5's secure database was a serious offence
and warranted instant dismissal and criminal proceedings. It was an impressive piece of work,
though, and Scott thought he wouldn't be surprised if Mills was offered a tech job at the
Ministry. Her law-breaking might have landed her a promotion. He chuckled to himself at the irony
as he drove on.

* * *

*2:38am*

A car door slammed loudly outside Harring Street police station. PC's Rees and Jennings
heard it through the staff room window, which faced onto the road outside. A set of footsteps
quick-marched along the pavement and the familiar creak of the station door followed soon after.
Both the Constables shared the same sense of anticipation, fulfilled a few moments later as the
door opened and a man walked in. He was tall and broad and PC Rees couldn't help notice he was
ruggedly good-looking and worldly for his age. She coloured a little as he spoke to her.

“PC Jennings?” he asked.

“No, I'm PC Karen Rees, this is Jennings,” she said, introducing her partner.

Scott seemed to noticed her awkwardness but wasn't put off by it. Indeed, there was a hint
of a smile when he continued to talk.

“So you're the one who found the body?”

“Yes, but how do you know about that?” asked Jennings.

“Forgive me, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Special Agent Richard Scott, MI5.”

The air seemed to tauten in the room. Agent Scott continued nonetheless.

“I have DI Susan Mills with me. You called her?”

“Yes,” said Jennings. “Is she in trouble for what she's done?”

“That isn't something that concerns you at this time,” said Scott. “DI Mills gave me the
details of what happened tonight but we need to get to the bottom of it. I believe you have a
letter from the man who died this evening?”

“Yes, I have it,” said Rees.

“Good. You'll need to bring it with you.”

“Bring it? Where?” asked Jennings.

“I have orders to bring you both back to MI5 HQ,” said Scott. “It's simply for a debrief but
we have to be watertight on this. It's a matter of high security, that's all I'm at
liberty to say.”

“When do we leave?”

“If you have the letter, right now,” said Scott.

He moved to the door and held it open for PC Rees. Jennings followed but stopped to speak to
Scott.

“I know you have to get things done, but be easy with Rees, she's had a tough night.”

“I know you used to be an agent, PC Jennings, and you're well -thought of, but don't
tell me how to do my job,” said Scott. “You may have done things differently but my way works for
me, alright.”

Jennings glowered at Agent Scott but said nothing and followed PC Rees to the car outside. He
got in and saw DI Mills sat in the passenger seat.

“Susan, I'm so sorry I got you into this,” he said as Scott got in and began to drive.

“It's alright, Ross,” said Mills. “I probably wont get into that much trouble.”

“It was wrong of me to ask you to help,” said Jennings. “I took advantage of what's passed
between us.”

“Hey, what's the use of a favour if you can't ask for one back?” said Mills. “It'll
be fine, don't worry.”

“Why are MI5 involved in this?” asked Jennings. “I wouldn't have thought this would be a
matter for you lot.”

“The name Harry Potter flagged up a security issue,” said Scott. “As soon as DI Mills hacked the
system with that query it alerted us. Jennings - back when you were an agent what did you
understand about the Priority protocols?”

“The Priorities? My understanding was the lower the number the more serious a threat,” said
Jennings. “Priority One always concerned the Prime Minister, whether it was from him or to do with
him. Why?”

“The Potter name threw up a 0.5 Priority breach,” said Scott. “You ever heard of anything like
that?”

“0.5?” said Jennings, astonished. “What would that be?”

“My Director didn't say,” said Scott. “He didn't look comfortable when I mentioned
it.”

“An issue of security *above* the Prime Minister? Now that is big.”

“Could it be concerned with the Royals?” asked Scott.

“I always thought they were tied in to the Prime Minister's security,” said Jennings.
“Priority One again. This is really confusing.”

“Has anyone heard of this Harry Potter, then?” asked PC Rees.

“The Director knows who he is,” said Scott. “But he isn't telling. He made it quite clear I
wasn't to ask questions. Its damned peculiar for him to keep something from me.”

There was little conversation after that. The events required such analysis and thought that
only the odd wild conjecture punctured the silence.

* * *

An owl flying through the night reached a rural area of Shropshire and began to make a dive. For
any casual observer who might have been out wandering it may have looked for all the world that the
owl had spotted a field mouse and was shooting in for a meal. What they would have missed was the
leather pouch attached to the owl's leg. It carried a very important document and the person it
was intended for was eager for it to arrive.

The owl soared through the window of a country manor house, the only building of note for some
distance around. It was sheltered by a wilderness of forest on three sides and a large lake
provided a handsome prospect from the front windows of the house. The place was largely dark, but
in a stately drawing room a number of candles provided illumination for the activity going on
there. The owl flew into the room and nestled on a table so large it dominated almost the entirety
of the space.

“Is that the owl? Unhook the pouch.”

A man sat in an armchair with his back to the room had called out the order. He kept his face
covered at all times and was referred to by his assumed title only. The people who worked for him
called him the Red Baron.

“Haven't you removed that damned pouch yet?”

The Baron was an impatient man.

“It's tied tightly, its tricky to undo,” said a subordinate who had hurried to the owl.

“Remove that pouch, Armitage, or I will have *you* removed and killed for sheer
incompetence,” said the Baron. “That pouch contains the single most important document we have
acquired. All that will happen today hinges on it. I want it NOW!”

“I h-have it, Sir,” said Armitage, fearful and relieved. He had worked for the Baron long enough
to know he didn't hand out idle threats.

“Give it here,” said the Baron. Armitage handed him a large sheet of parchment which had been
magically resized to fit in the pouch. “Thank you, Armitage. Now get out of my sight.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Armitage scuttled away. The Baron perused the sheet and nodded at it's contents. He took a
handful of green powder and threw it into the fireplace before him.

“Nelson, we have the schedule,” he said into the flames. “Come into the drawing room.”

A moment later a stout man with a pencil moustache Apparated at the Baron's side.

“Ah Nelson, we have the schedule for Lucien Carlton's campaign tour today,” said the
Baron.

“Is that it there?” asked Nelson.

“Yes,” said the Baron. “There are a few places where he will be most vulnerable during the day.
You have two hours to produce a risk analysis for each one then we shall decide where to take him
out.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What is the progress on Plan B?” asked the Baron.

“The final ingredients are being delivered today,” said Nelson. “Once the potion is complete the
plan to administer it can proceed.”

“Excellent,” said the Baron. “Things are progressing well.”

“We do have one minor problem,” said Nelson.

“Which is?”

“The Weasley woman from Magical Law Enforcement,” said Nelson. “Potter may be out of the country
but she's been snooping around our operation for months. We've kept her at the fringes but
if one thing goes wrong -”

“It won't,” said the Baron. “Once we have word that Fallow and McCullough have dealt with
the traitor there will be no holes to exploit. Still, keep our tracker on Weasley. I don't want
her harmed, though. Not yet.”

“And Potter?”

“By the time this is all over there wont be a thing even the great Harry Potter will be able to
do about it.”

* * *

*2:48am, Auror Headquaters, Diagon Alley*

The emerald flames of the fire died away but the vitriol from the Special Agent hung in the air.
The junior Auror, Amanda Banks, didn't blame him; she wouldn't fancy being stuck as Muggle
liaison in their intelligence service. Still it was a job that needed to be done and times likes
these, when the two worlds came that little bit closer, were the entire reason that this special
role was set up in the first place.

Auror Banks was young and new to the job. She had not long completed her training having been
recruited straight from Hogwarts. The liaison agent had been furious that there were no senior
Aurors on site for him to deal with and no matter how hard Amanda had tried she couldn't make
him see that it wasn't unusual for the Aurors to be at home at this time of night. The late
shifts were always given to the juniors under the pretence of `essential training' but Amanda
knew it was just the sort of job the seniors could bequeath on their younger subordinates.

Amanda was just simmering over the way she'd been spoken to and feeling a little mutinous
when she heard footsteps behind her in the otherwise deserted office. She turned and jumped at
seeing a person right behind her.

“Stian! You scared the life out of me!”

“Sorry, Mandy,” said Stian Dahlgren, another junior Auror.

“I've told you before I don't like being called Mandy,” said Banks.

“Sorry, *Amanda,”* said Stian. He smiled his traffic-stopping grin and Amanda felt that
all-too familiar weakness in her knees.

“What are you doing here? I'm on the nightshift,” she asked.

“I was asked to help out,” said Stian. “With Head Auror Potter on holiday Deputy Weasley asked
me to help out with his workload.”

“He asked you?” said Amanda, affronted. “Why you?”

“Because I'm *flexible,*” Stian swooned. He swept up on Amanda and began kissing her
neck. She giggled and half-heartedly tried to fend him off.

“Stian! Not here,” she said breathlessly.

“Who were you talking to just now?” he asked, ignoring her false pleas to stop.

“The Auror who works for Muggle intelligence,” said Amanda. “He said there's been an
incident.”

Stian stopped briefly, then continued his ministrations.

“Muggle intelligence,” he scoffed. “It's a contradiction in terms. What did the liaison
say?”

“He said we might have to get hold of the Head Auror,” said Amanda, her voice breathless.

“He said there was an incident, didn't you say? What sort?”

“He wasn't specific,” said Amanda.

“I can think of a *specific* incident that I want to take place in the broom cupboard,”
swooned Stian.

Amanda giggled again. “No way.”

“Come on, you can be spared for five minutes from all this.”

Stian gestured around sarcastically at the empty office. Amanda was easily convinced.

“Okay, five minutes,” she said. “But you're such a bad influence on me.”

Amanda led the way out of the main office and into a side corridor. There was a large broom
cupboard there and she slipped inside. Stian was right behind her.

“Stupefy!”

Amanda flew into the back of the cupboard and was out cold before she hit the floor. Stian
considered her prostrate form with callous disinterest. Lowering his wand he closed the door before
sealing it magically and blasting the handle off. He strode into the main office and made for
Amanda's work station. There on the desk was the note regarding Harry Potter from the Muggle
Liaison Auror; Stian set fire to it with his wand and threw the ashes out of an open window. He
then made his way across to the Head Auror's office. Inside was a special device; all Aurors
were issued with a portable FlooPhone, a handheld ring of fire which allowed instant communication
through an adapted form of the Floo Network. Head Auror Harry Potter, however, could only be
contacted via this special router which filtered access to his own FlooPhone. Without it, he was
almost unreachable.

“Reducto!” Stian Dahlgren reduced the router to a thousand little bits. He pocketed his wand and
returned to the office.

* * *

Across London, at Downing Street, a telephone was ringing. It was answered by the head of the
Prime Minister's staff who seemed less than pleased at having to field the call. His attitude
changed swiftly when he realised who was calling.

“George, how are you? Sorry I was so rude, we've been getting a lot of calls from the Press
regarding this new Health bill. Its driving me mad.”

“It's fine, Martin, I understand,” said Director Barnes on the other end.

“What can I do for you?”

“I need you to wake the Prime Minister,” said Barnes.

“It's three in the morning, George, can't it wait.”

“No, it can't. I need to speak to him now.”

“He's got a long day ahead, George. A message is the best I can do.”

“Martin - I'm calling on a Point Five Priority.”

“Point Five?”

“Yes, now wake the bloody Prime Minister!”

* * *

The Baron was not happy. The two assassins had returned to collect their payment but The Baron
was less than thrilled that the target had not been properly dealt with.

“There were Muggles everywhere,” said the gruff-voiced man. “It was impossible to do it cleanly.
But it was done.”

“You're certain?” asked the Baron.

“We beat the life out of him and checked for the amulet,” said the assassin. “By the time we
were through he possessed neither.”

“You sound convinced and I am heartened by it,” said the Baron. “You will be paid once we
confirm he is dead. Armitage! Send word - I want Muggle hospitals checked for a recent corpse. Our
friend the traitor should have signed in by now.”

“Yes, sir,” said Armitage. “Search hospitals for Dafydd Roberts.”

“No,” said the Baron suddenly. “They wont have his name. Tell our men they are looking for an
unidentified body or a John Doe. Make sure they understand.”

* * *

*2:58am*

PC's Rees and Jennings followed Agent Scott down the long corridor. Scott was perturbed; he
was going to hand them over to Barnes to be taken to a classified location. It was getting far too
suspicious for Scott's liking. He didn't like being kept out of the loop. They met up with
Director Barnes at his office.

“I'll take them from here, Scott,” he said.

“Where are they going, sir?” Agent Scott.

“I can't tell you that,” said Barnes. “Its classified information.”

“I'm the Deputy of MI5!” Scott protested. “What gets classified from me?”

“This does,” said Barnes simply. “Go to your office and find something to do. I'll brief you
when the time is right. Rees, Jennings, follow me.”

Barnes didn't like keeping Scott in the dark but it was necessary for now. He intended Scott
to be his replacement and when that day came he would have to learn about all this. It was
life-changing stuff and would be as shocking to Scott as Barnes remembered it had been to him many
years ago. He put such thoughts from his mind and led the way back towards the restricted zone,
swiping through the door and moving once again into that strange mist.

“Where are we?” asked Jennings.

“Deep below the main building,” said Barnes. “That's all you need to know.”

They had reached the oak door and Barnes knocked upon it. A voice inside called to them and
Barnes led the way inside. The Agent was stood against the window on the far side of the room,
looking out onto the Thames. His blonde hair stood stark against the mahogany bookcase behind him.
He turned and fixed those grey eyes upon the two strangers, both of whom felt oddly exposed as he
surveyed them.

The Director spoke. “Malfoy - they're all yours.”

“Thank you, Director. I'll contact you when I'm done.”

-->



3. Chapter Three
----------------



Chapter Two

*The following takes place between 3:00am and 4:00am on the day of the Wizengamot Ministerial
Election*

Director Barnes closed the door quietly as he left Malfoy's office. The two Muggle police
constables were then left with this strange man in a most secluded part of the building. Neither
felt this was a good turn of events and that whatever had happened tonight was far more serious
than either had first thought. It didn't feel like a typical interrogation; the clichéd idea of
a bare cell was absent, replaced by a splendid office that wouldn't have been out of place as a
beautifully furnished study in a grand manor house. Still, the Agent facing them was possessed of
an unusual aura and his very presence made them uneasy.

“Please, sit,” said Malfoy, waving his hand towards them as he moved behind his desk. It came as
something of a surprise to both Rees and Jennings that there were now two chairs behind them,
though neither could recall seeing them there before.

“Who are you?” asked Jennings. “What is this place?”

Malfoy peered almost disinterestedly back at Jennings. “When I am ready,” said he, “I shall ask
the questions.”

The words were spoken in such a commanding way that made Jennings, war veteran and all, cower
back in his seat. He and PC Rees watched as Malfoy fiddled with several peculiar looking
instruments on his desk; all were spindly and other-worldly looking with one in particular emitting
a low humming sound. Malfoy adjusted them in an expert manner, though what they did was a mystery
to both the Muggles.

“Let us start at the beginning,” said Malfoy. He adjusted one of the instruments again. “What
are you names?”

“Ross Jennings and Karen Rees,” said Jennings.

The hum coming from one of the instruments changed to a lower pitch. Malfoy nodded as if he
understood.

“Tell me about the letter,” said Malfoy. “Which one of you found it?”

“I did,” said Rees.

“Did you read it?”

“No, the man who gave it to me said it was for the Prime Minister so I didn't open it,” said
Rees.

“Not even to check if it was booby trapped?” asked Malfoy.

“Excuse me?”

Malfoy stood up, exasperated with the Muggles already. He moved to look through the window
again.

“You say you didn't open the letter as it was intended for the Prime Minister,” Malfoy
began. “In that case we can assume you meant to try and give it to him at some stage, a supposition
further enhanced by the fact that you used Jennings' contact at Scotland Yard to try and
facilitate that.”

“I didn't try to facilitate anything,” Jennings protested. “I only asked DI Mills to search
for a name.”

Malfoy rounded on him. “It was a means to an end. Had she given you any useful information you
would have used it to try and carry out your task. Stop me if I'm wrong.”

Neither of the Muggles could respond. Malfoy continued.

“Had *that* course of events played out and this letter been placed, unvetted, in the hands
of the Prime Minister it would have been an incredible security breach. The letter could be an
explosive, contain a poison or other such substance and the leader of this country could have been
placed in jeopardy.”

The two police constables looked solemnly back at Malfoy; neither had considered this as a
possibility.

“As it is,” said Malfoy in a softer tone. “That scenario has been avoided and we find ourselves
in this situation. I just want to impress upon you the potential severity of any covert action
regarding the Prime Minister. To the matter at hand, describe the man who gave you the letter.”

“Well he was so badly injured I couldn't give you a description of his face,” said Rees. “He
barely had one left, to tell the truth.”

“His clothing then, and any items found on him,” said Malfoy.

“He was wearing robes,” said Rees. “He was on his back when I found him but I think the robes
would have reached the floor had he been standing.”

“Was he carrying anything unusual?”

“I didn't search him myself,” said Rees. “But the paramedics said he was carrying a pouch
with some foreign coins and a short wooden rod.”

Malfoy nodded as he listened and made several more adjustments to the spindly instruments. He
made a note in his parchment ledger, writing with a large feather quill. The two Muggles found this
as baffling as anything yet.

“Describe the coins,” said Malfoy. “Were they gold, silver or bronze?”

“They didn't find any gold but there were some of the others.”

“And the man said only that the letter was for Harry Potter?”

“Yes. He also said it was a matter of national security and that the Prime Minister could find
this Harry Potter.”

“Do you have the letter with you?” asked Malfoy.

“Yes, I have it here,” Rees replied. She took the blood-stained envelope from her pocket and
placed it on Malfoy's desk. He eyed it suspiciously but seemed unaffected by the state of
it.

“You found it in this condition?” he asked.

“Yes. Like I said, whoever did this really went to work on him.”

Malfoy moved to sit on the front of his desk and looked in the eyes of first Rees and then
Jennings. Both Muggles felt like Malfoy was looking through them, or more accurately, *into*
them.

“Right, you can go,” said Malfoy. “Director Barnes will be down the hall. Send him to me.”

“Is that it?” asked Jennings.

“What did you expect?” asked Malfoy. “I believe you have told me everything so this interview is
finished.”

“What will happen now?” asked Jennings.

Malfoy looked at him disdainfully. “It is none of your concern now. Your part in this is over.
Send Barnes to me.”

* * *

*3:11am*

Lucien Carlton strode along the deserted corridor enjoying the silence. It was the calm before
the storm and he intended to savour it as long as he could. Strong candles burned brightly,
lighting his way towards a large room at the end of the corridor. The low buzz of activity filtered
through the heavy wooden doors to the room and as Carlton stood outside them he thought he could
guess who might be up at such an unearthly hour.

Tom Kennedy, the campaign manager, jumped as Carlton entered the room. The papers he had been
sorting slid to the floor and he bent down quickly to retrieve them.

“You're up awfully early this morning, Tom,” said Carlton.

“It's a big day, Sir, I had to get an early start,” Kennedy replied.

“It's also going to be a long day,” said Carlton. “I hope you don't flag by midday.”

“I have a healthy supply of coffee to keep me going.”

Carlton chuckled. Tom had been there right from the beginning, pulling the long and thankless
hours behind the scenes. He would be an invaluable ally in the trenches of political warfare that
would surely characterise the day.

“So what, exactly, are you looking over at this unworldly hour?” asked Carlton.

“I've been reviewing your campaign schedule for the day,” Kennedy replied.

“Again?” Carlton was beginning to grow weary of Tom's edginess on this issue. “I thought
we'd gotten past this.”

“I still don't like it, Sir,” said Kennedy. “It's too open. The risk assessment is still
very high with too many exposed locations.”

“Tom, we're going to be travelling half way round the country today, of course there will be
open spaces.”

“I accept that, Sir, but I still think you should resist visiting the more, er, unsavoury
places.”

“Tom, these are the very people I've targeted my entire campaign,” said Carlton. “Those
voters whom the Ministry have lost touch with. Its there that this battle will be won.”

“Just as long as limbs aren't lost in the process,” said Kennedy, darkly.

Lucien Carlton chuckled again. Tom always did have an over-active imagination; it was what made
him such an ingenious campaign manager. He just had to hope this was one of his more fanciful
flights of fantasy.

* * *

*Avalon Heights, Cornwall. 3:15 am*

The sultry night air, turned balmy by a breeze from the coast, shrouded a figure as he passed
silently through the dormant main street of the second largest all-wizard dwelling in Britain. He
looked fondly at the local inn, *The Peacock's Tail,* remembering his wedding night spent
in chaotic revelry in the subterranean function room. He missed his wife; she had been a good
woman. She had been the perfect sacrifice to make to join the Brotherhood; nobody could have
provided a greater demonstration of his commitment to the cause. She was buried over in the
cemetery somewhere; the figure made a note to visit her grave once his task here was done.

There was a house at the far end of the village. Its large garden, the earth parched due to a
particularly hot summer, was surrounded by a rickety wooden fence which had certainly seen better
days. A pretty stone well stood in one half of the garden and though the bucket had been broken in
a Gobstones-related tantrum by one of the children of the house it was yet to be replaced. It hung
there, its ragged remains swaying in the breeze and the creak of its old hinge was the only sound
that could be heard.

The figure moved around the fence slowly towards a part of the garden thrown into deep shadow by
the house itself. He stepped carefully around the rusted remnants of an old bicycle, through a
wooden gate and into the back garden. Here stood a sign very similar to one which had once stood in
the front garden, but which had blown over in a storm and had never been replanted. The children
had thought it would be funny to write the sign backwards, seeing as it was going to stand in the
back garden. The figure read the sign. Had it been forwards it would have read “Sparrow's
Nook”, but as it was it looked like complete gibberish. The man, however, knew he was in the right
place. Reaching into his pocket he withdrew a mobile communicator and ignited it.

“Dahlgren? Are you there? I have arrived.”

* * *

*3:21 am, Auror Headquarters, Diagon Alley*

Stian Dahlgren looked up as his FlooPhone suddenly lit up, casting an eerie green glow around
the otherwise deserted Auror Office. He had just finished disabling all lines of communication
between the office and the Aurors; those that couldn't be disabled suffered the same fate as
Harry Potter's personal router and were destroyed. He wasn't wary of being caught as not
even the field Aurors were likely to be up at this hour. A voice sounded through his F-Phone; it
belonged to Callum McDonagh and Dahlgren couldn't help but snarl at the dour Scottish accent
which he had always hated.

“I'm here, McDonagh,” Dahlgren answered. “You're sure it's the right place?”

“Of course, it has the sign as I was told it would,” McDonagh replied.

“Good. Is there any activity inside the house?”

“No, it's all in darkness.”

“Excellent. The Baron did suspect that there may be some hidden security measures at such a
place.”

“Doesn't look any kinda high-tech to me,” said McDonagh.

“Coming from Dundee I suspect running hot water would seem futuristic to you, McDonagh. Looks
can be deceiving.”

“You shut your hole about Dundee,” said McDonagh angrily. “I'll have you if you say another
bad word about my home.”

“McDonagh, you're just a hired thug,” said Dahlgren coolly. “Don't get ahead of
yourself. You may well be able to beat me to a pulp but don't delude yourself that you'd be
able to get nearly close enough.”

Dahlgren smirked at the lack of response. He loved the idea of infuriating these barely human
idiots. He could almost hear McDonagh fuming down the line.

“What am I supposed to do now?” McDonagh said eventually, though the grinding of teeth was
clearly audible.

“Sit tight and watch for any movement,” said Dahlgren. “Get out of sight. If the Baron decides
to move on the house I'll let you know.”

“Got it.”

“Good. And remember, stay out of sight. The only advantage you have is surprise.”

“I can handle one little girl.”

“Trust me, McDonagh, the Weasley woman is no little girl. You'd be no match for her in a
duel. Stay put, you`ll hear from me soon.”

Dahlgren extinguished his F-Phone. He took something from his drawer before rising from his seat
and crossing to a room at the far end of the office. The door to this room was protected by an
array of enchantments, as the contents inside were of the highest importance. The room could only
be accessed by those with the highest level of authority and, with a system mirroring the one at
Gringotts bank, the stroke of one finger would bypass the spells and open the door. Luckily for
Dahlgren he'd been sent the hand of a person with just the right clearance level. He held it up
now and stroked it along the smooth mahogany of the door, watching as it melted away before
him.

Dahlgren tossed the hand aside as he entered the room. Magical equipment, the likes of which
he'd never seen, whizzed and whirred in front of him, scribbling information onto reams of
parchment which fell to the floor. Three pieces of equipment in here were inactive, each one with a
single word inscribed above them. They were known as Trackers and in order they read: *Imperious,
Cruciatus, Avada Kedavra.* Dahlgren drew his wand and reduced each one, in turn, to ruins. Then
he left.

* * *

*3:30 am, Thames Valley Water Main Station, London*

A large horn blew one long, loud blast to signal the shift change. Workers, tired and bleary
eyed from the late-night shift, moved away from their work stations, some heading for a quick
coffee in the canteen while others simply clocked out and made for the car park. A new set of
workers took over from their colleagues*,* some still yawning at such an early start time. The
morning shift foreman is called Stuart Jones and today he is regretting not taking that second
round of toast at breakfast.

“Good morning, Julie,” said Stuart as he passed by one of the workers.

“What's good about it?” Julie snorted in reply.

Stuart chuckled. Most of the people around him didn't enjoy working at such an early hour
and though he'd been doing it for several years he had yet to appreciate just how much others
hated it. He was aware that his jovial attitude annoyed the hell out of some of the employees who
had confessed to not being `morning people', but he still hadn't learned to check it.

Jones continued his routine checks of all the systems. Everything was in good order, which was
to be expected as people who used water at this time of the morning were definitely in the
minority. He was just about to go to his office and finish the paperwork when he spotted a man
standing under one of the large treatment tanks. Jones stowed his pen in his clipboard and made his
way across to great the stranger.

“Hello, can I help you?” Jones asked.

The man looked at him with dark eyes that made Jones uneasy. “Who are you?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” said Jones. “Do you have clearance to be down here? This area
is restricted to employees only.”

“I'm here for an inspection,” the man replied.

“I don't know about any inspection,” said Jones. He couldn't work out why, but there was
something about this stranger he just didn't like.

“Would you expect to know about an inspection?”

What a bizarre question, Jones thought. “Well as morning foreman I think I would have been told
if an inspector was coming here. This is highly improper if you don't mind me saying.”

“I'm from Health and Safety; it's a spot check, unannounced to review your work
practices.”

“Do you have any ID?”

The stranger handed Jones a laminated card bearing his face and credentials. Jones started,
caught off guard.

“This seems in order, Mister…Coles,” said Jones reading from the ID. “Sorry for my attitude,
your being here is just a little out of the blue.”

“That's the idea,” said Coles. “No chance for you to prepare this way.”

“Fair enough,” said Jones. “Where would you like to start?”

“At the treatment works,” said Coles. “Then at the pumping station. I want to make sure the
water is flowing as efficiently as it can be.”

“I'm sure you'll find we're running at optimum capacity,” said Jones.

“That's what I hope to find. Lead on.”

* * *

At the Auror office, Stian Dahlgren is checking in. His F-Phone is once again alight though a
different voice is coming from the green flames this time.

“It is done? You are certain?”

“Yes, Baron,” said Dahlgren. “The Trackers have been destroyed. The spells on them are
useless.”

“Then we can use the Unforgivable Curses without the Aurors detecting them?”

“Yes, at least until they discover what has happened.”

“Don't fret about that, my boy,” said the Baron. “By the time that happens it will be too
late and it won't matter. The Aurors will be finished.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You've done well, Stian,” said the Baron. “When you return here you will be well
rewarded.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“What's that I can hear?” asked the Baron. “What's that banging?”

“Oh that,” said Dahlgren. “It must be that silly junior Auror. She must be awake.”

“Deal with her, Stian. Permanently.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Dahlgren moved across to the cupboard where Amanda Banks was banging to get out. She was
screaming and ranting and throwing obscenities through the magically sealed door. Dahlgren drew his
wand and composed himself. Apparating inside would take a great deal of concentration and he was
out of practice with the Cruciatus Curse he planned to use on the feeble Miss Banks. He focused,
imagined the spot the other side of the door and turned into the Apparition.

* * *

*3:42 am, St. Philip's Infirmary*

The small medical centre was surprisingly full considering the time of day, stocked mostly with
drunks sporting minor injuries and several people who looked like there was very little wrong with
them at all. Alexis Algeron sneered at the sight of them. *Whatever happened to grinning and
bearing it,* he thought. Then again, they were Muggles; they couldn't be expected to have
any kind of pain threshold. A quick *Crucio* here and there and they'd soon know what real
pain was.

“Can I help you?”

Alexis had almost forgotten where he was.

“Ah, yes, sorry,” he replied, putting on a simpering voice much unlike his usual tones. “I'm
looking for a friend of mine. Disappeared in Barnet tonight. We were at a party and got
separated.”

The receptionist looked oddly at Alexis, clocking his appearance. It wasn't often people in
robes strode into the waiting room.

“Did the police ask you to come here?” the receptionist asked.

“The Police?”

“Yeah, to identify the body.”

“Body?” said Alexis in mock surprise. Secretly he knew this must be the place.

“Oh my God, tell me you knew,” cried the receptionist. “Please tell me you know what
happened?”

“I don't,” said Alexis. “That's what I'm trying to find out.”

“Oh God!” cried the receptionist again. “I'm so sorry. I assumed you knew.”

“Knew what? Tell me.”

“I don't know how to say this…I'm afraid your friend was attacked. The medical people
did all they could but it was too late…he died on route. I'm so sorry.”

Alexis let out an exaggerated gasp and dramatically fell from the counter. The receptionist
hurried around and helped him into a seat nearby. He waited a few moments for effect, and then
spoke.

“You're sure it's him, sure it's Dafydd?”

“We didn't know his name,” said the receptionist. “He didn't have any identification on
him.”

“No, he wouldn't have. He left his wallet at the party. That's why we've been so
worried about him. I just can't believe this.”

The receptionist looked pityingly at Alexis and he had to work hard to suppress a grin. He
always knew he'd have made a great actor.

“Can I see him, please?” he asked.

“He's in a pretty bad state,” said the receptionist. “I'm not sure you want to-”

“Please,” said Alexis. “I'll have to tell his family and I have to be sure.”

“Alright,” said the receptionist. “One of the nurses will take you to your friend. I'll
inform the police so you can make a formal ID.”

Alexis waited several minutes, watching the receptionist as she made a number of telephone
calls. Presently a nurse came by and escorted him to a room at the back of the infirmary. A body
lay inside under a white sheet and though Alexis asked for it to be moved back the nurse said it
was impossible to make a facial identification and that they were waiting on dental records.

“Could I have a few moments alone with him?” asked Alexis.

“Of course,” said the nurse. “I'll wait down the corridor.”

“Thank you.”

Alexis waited for the nurse to leave before moving to the body. He drew back the sheet and even
he was repulsed by the state of Roberts' face. Holding his nose against the stench of death he
checked for a pulse. There was none in the cold neck. He looked for the nurse and saw she was far
down the corridor talking to a uniformed policeman. Quickly, Alexis drew his wand and pointed it at
the body.

“Just to be sure. These Draughts of Living Death can be quite convincing,” he said. “*Avada
Kedavra!”*

The body didn't move. Voices outside the door drifted into the room. Alexis pocketed his
wand.

“Yes,” the nurse was saying. “Says he's a friend. He's pretty upset.”

“I can imagine…”

Both nurse and policeman looked around the room; the former startled, the latter suspicious.

“Where is he?” asked the policeman.

“He was just here,” the nurse replied.

They both stared into the room, empty but for the mangled corpse.

* * *

*3:49am, MI5 HQ*

Agent Scott flinched as he swallowed a mouthful of lukewarm coffee. As he did so a flicker on
his computer screen drew his attention. A window had popped up in the corner of the screen and he
cast his eyes over it with growing curiosity. It was a report from the Harring Street police
station in Barnet, detailing the mysterious arrival and disappearance of a man connected to the
death in the area that had led to an MI5 security breach. Scott read the report, found he could
make no sense of it and picked up his phone.

“Agent Miller,” said a voice on the other end.

“Hi Jenny, are you busy?” said Scott.

“No, sir, what do you need?” replied Miller.

“Could you get me a feed of the CCTV at St. Philips Infirmary?” asked Scott.

“St. Philips,” replied Miller, working away. “Here it is. You should be seeing it on your
screen.”

“Yeah, I see it,” said Scott. “Would you be able to show me playback from the last thirty
minutes?”

“Hold on,” said Miller. “I'm into their recordings. What are you looking for?”

“The John Doe murdered in Barnet was just ID'd by a man who vanished right after,” said
Scott. “I need to find him. Look for anyone strange.”

The two Agents, at different stations, scrolled through the footage. With the timeframe at
twenty to four a cloaked man strolled into the video.

“Pause! There!” said Scott. “This must be him.”

“What's he wearing?” asked Miller. “Is that a cloak?”

“Looks like that,” said Scott. “Matches the description of the John Doe's clothing. There
must be a connection. Thanks Jen.”

Scott hung up the phone and stared at the image. Within thirty seconds the phone was up
again.

* * *

Director Barnes looked at the vacant expressions of the three people in front of him. PC Rees,
PC Jennings and DI Mills all looked as though they'd just been blinded by a bright light, eyes
wide and surprised. None of them had a face which could be defined.

“Are you sure this is safe? There isn't any long term damage?” asked Barnes.

“To be honest, we've never studied it,” said Malfoy coolly.

Barnes was alarmed by Malfoy's lack of interest; this whole memory modification thing made
the Director very uneasy. He wasn't given much time to dwell on this, however, as his phone
rang and Scott's voice came over the speaker.

“Sir, can you come down to Ops, I think there's something you should see.”

“What is it?” asked Barnes.

“An image from the medical centre where our John Doe was kept,” said Scott. “There's a
strange individual on the CCTV. He's wearing a cloak, for Pete`s Sake.”

Barnes and Malfoy looked at each other, their expressions mirroring one another.

“We're on our way down,” said Barnes.

“*We*, sir?” asked Scott.

“I'll explain when I get there. Barnes out.”

The Director looked at Malfoy. “Come on, this might be your area of expertise.”

The two of them left the office and made their way along the halls towards the Operations
Centre.

“Do you think its right that I interact with your people?” asked Malfoy. “I'm sure you
haven't forgotten the nature of the agreement between your Government and mine.”

“Don't worry, your identity won't be compromised,” said Barnes.

“And if Scott starts asking questions?”

“Malfoy - I'm nearly sixty years old,” said Barnes. “I won't be around this place for
much longer. I intend Agent Scott to replace me and when that time comes he'll have to know
about you and your background. This seems as good a time as any to start that introduction.”

Malfoy didn't feel quite as convinced as the Director but his curiosity to see the images
Agent Scott had uncovered tempered any further complaint. The pair reached the Ops Centre, a melee
of computers and readouts and screens packed with information from just about everywhere. Agent
Scott was at a workstation nearby, bent over a computer terminal examining several images before
him.

“What do you have?” asked Barnes as he and Malfoy reached Scott.

“These pictures were taken from the CCTV at St. Philips in Barnet,” said Scott. “The dead bloke
found by Rees and Jennings, which led to all this mornings' carry-on, was taken there. I
requested that any information regarding what happened was to be flagged up on my screen as soon as
it was logged. Not long ago a police report was filed; it said that a man had arrived to ID the
body and though he was spoken to both by a receptionist and nurse the officers dispatched to the
infirmary couldn't find him. He was in with the body, on a closed ward, but somehow
disappeared. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. I pulled CCTV and I've contacted St.
Philips. They confirm that this is the guy.”

Barnes and Malfoy looked at the screen. The robed figure of Alexis Algeron leered back up at the
camera.

“Malfoy? Is this one of yours?” asked Barnes.

“Excuse me, sir, but who is this?” asked Scott. He eyed Malfoy suspiciously.

“Oh, forgive me,” said Barnes. “Agent Scott, this is Special Liaison Agent Draco Malfoy.”

“Liaison to what?” asked Scott, holding out his hand to Malfoy.

“Forgive me if I don't shake hands,” said Malfoy coldly, not looking up from the monitor.
“In dress I'd agree with you, Barnes. But I don't know him.”

“Is there anyway you can find out who he is?” asked Barnes.

“Get me this picture,” said Malfoy. “I'll send it to my office and see what they can come up
with.”

“Scott, print this off,” said Barnes.

Agent Scott looked warily, first at Malfoy then at Barnes. He checked his complaint as he
pressed the print button, then handed the copy to Malfoy. The wizard studied it hard but without
success.

“I'll send this to my people and I'll get back to you,” said Malfoy before turning on
his heel and leaving.

“Sir, who was that?” asked Scott as soon as Malfoy was out of earshot.

“I told you, his name's Malfoy.”

“But who is he?”

“Someone you're going to have to get to know very well,” said Barnes. “There'll be a
time to explain but for now just trust me. And keep an open mind on what he can bring to the
table.”

“Now what on Earth is that supposed to mean?” asked Scott.

“Trust me, you'll find out.”

* * *

Malfoy reached his office and lit his fire. He threw a handful of green powder into the flames
and called out for the Auror Office. There was no response. He tried a second and third time but
with no greater luck. Perturbed, he withdrew his F-Phone and tried to contact the office that way.
The little hoop burned viridian but no answer came to any of his enquiries.

“This is damned peculiar,” Malfoy said to himself.

He studied the image in his hands again. A wizard, undoubtedly, perhaps the one responsible for
the murder in Barnet. The magical law enforcement knew nothing of this man and now communications
with the Aurors were down. Malfoy looked at the picture again and smirked. They may be crude and
limited but perhaps there was something in these Muggle techniques after all.

* * *

*3:55am, Auror HQ*

A crash disturbed the quiet of the office. It was a severed metal door falling to the ground. It
had been teetering against a wall where it had been blown off a cupboard and now its misshapen form
had slid from its precarious position. It wasn't the only damage; several cubicles had large
holes in them, blast marks were scorched across the walls and reams of parchment, some charred or
smouldering, were strewn across the office floor.

Auror Amanda Banks looked up, breathing hard. Her long blonde hair was bedraggled and dirty and
parts had been singed off. She gingerly dabbed at a large tear in her pink cardigan, beneath which
a deep cut was throbbing incessantly. There were several rips in her jeans and she was sporting a
few lumps on her head and back. Groggily, she looked across the office and tried to compose
herself. Against a wall opposite, covered in smashed glass from a window above, lay the limp form
of Stian Dahlgren. He was barely alive and Amanda knew she'd need all her strength to get him
up and secure him. She summoned all her energy and set to work.

* * *

There was an underground station nearby to MI5 Headquarters, the car park of which had become
the unofficial smoker's hangout as cigarettes had been banned from any area of the Government
building. The car park was empty aside from one vehicle parked near the underground entrance on the
far side. A man was sat inside listening to the radio when a knock on his window startled him.

“What are you doing here? You're supposed to let me know when you're coming.”

“I didn't have chance. Look, this is important and I don't have much time.”

“What is it?”

“There was a security breach, some cops found the traitor. They hacked into Scotland Yard to
find out about Harry Potter.”

“What does this mean?”

“It means MI5 is all over this. The Director and the Shadow Agent are involved.”

“Damn it. This is a problem. What do they know?”

“They saw Algeron checking the hospitals. The Shadow Agent has his picture. If they ID him-”

“They won't. That's been taken care of.”

“What shall I do?”

“Keep your eyes and ears open; let me know if anything develops. I'll have to get this
information to the Baron.”

“I'll be in touch.”

“Ok. And Jenny, watch your back.”

“I will.”

Agent Miller kissed her companion hard on the mouth and hurried back towards her office.

* * *

*3:58am*

The Baron read the note in his hand and smiled. Things were going to plan. Not one hitch. The
traitor, Roberts, was dead, the Aurors were neutered and everything was on schedule. There was just
one last thing to check on. He picked up a small black book from a table on his side. Opening it to
the only page inside, he let a few drops of ink fall from a quill onto the page. They disappeared
into the parchment. The Baron waited.

*I'm here.*

Words had materialised on the page. The Baron wrote back.

*Is everything in order?*

-*Yes**-**.*

*You're sure you have Potter in your sights?*

-*I know his exact location**-**.*

*Events are in motion now. I'm counting on you.*

*-**I won't fail you**-**.*

*Good. I'll be in touch shortly. Stay reachable.*

The Baron closed the black book and sighed contentedly. All was well in the world. It was time
to begin the next stage.

“Armitage!”

A few scurried footsteps later and Armitage appeared in the room.

“Ah, Armitage, good,” said the Baron. “Fetch a quill and parchment and our fastest owl. I wish
for you to pen a note for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Armitage did as he was told and leant at his master's side, ready to scribble.

“Write this down,” said the Baron. “*It is time. Move in now.* Have you got that?”

“Yes, sir,” said Armitage. “Who shall I send it to?”

“It's for McDonagh,” said the Baron. “I want Hermione Weasley taken out of play. See that
it's done.”

*4.00am*

-->



4. Chapter Four
---------------



Chapter Three

*The following takes place between 4:00am and 5:00am on the day of the Wizengamot Ministerial
election.*

*Special Liaison Office, MI5 Headquarters, 4:01am*

Draco Malfoy thumbed through the sheaf of parchment pages in his hand. Each one bore a moving
picture and a raft of information, detailing everything from age to place of birth to known
associates. There was also a large stamp reading *Classified Document* along the top of each
one. These files were the restricted records of all the inmates ever held at the Azkaban wizard
prison, as well as anyone ever put on trial for a crime that would land them there. Also included
were the files of any wizard under surveillance by the Aurors or their associated agencies.

Malfoy studied each picture carefully, comparing it with the image from the Muggle camera on his
desk. It was certainly more difficult to make a positive identification; had the picture been
moving it would have been possible to get the subject of it to turn and show his face. As it was,
this limited picture would have to do. So Malfoy continued to look at one file after the next,
convinced that he would eventually find a match.

But it was slow work. There were literally hundreds of files to look through even after Malfoy
had thinned down the list by eliminating subjects who would be out of the age range of the man he
was looking for. He knew that even this wasn't a foolproof plan; Polyjuice Potion could be made
easily by a better-than-average Hogwarts second year and make its drinker look different to avoid
detection. As it was, though, Malfoy had little choice but to pursue this course.

A large pile of discarded files had accumulated on the desk by the time Malfoy found what he was
looking for. He checked and re-checked the still Muggle picture with the moving maniac before him.
The picture was a few years old and the suspect's hair had been shorter then, but there was no
doubt.

“His name is Alexis Algeron. He spent just under six months in wizard prison for a series of
violent robberies and assaults. He was also connected with an organised crime syndicate as a debt
collector and general thug. The syndicate always managed to cover their tracks, though, so no
formal charges were ever made against them or their members.”

Director Barnes looked at the two images in front of him, amused as he always was by the
magically moving picture.

“And this is the man responsible for killing the wizard up in Barnet?”

“It's possible, though it's more likely that he was just making sure he was dead.”

“How so?” asked Barnes.

“There is one curse - a spell - which causes death,” said Malfoy. “It's effect is instant
and certain. But it is also against our laws and special tracking devices detect if it is used. The
people responsible for the murder must have used other, less complete methods. Whoever ordered his
death probably wanted confirmation that it had been done.”

“To make a clean job of it,” said Barnes, nodding. “Is there anything else?”

“The syndicate I mentioned did have one unique quality,” said Malfoy. “It was linked to several
similar groups operating in your world. They used Fences to share services and resources. The
wizards provided protection for the Muggles.”

“And this Algeron character was one of these Fences?”

“It was one of his alleged jobs but nothing was ever proven,” said Malfoy.

“If he was linked to a crime gang maybe he came under our notice,” said Barnes. “Have this image
run through our system, cross-check it with people on our watch list. Maybe we'll get lucky.
It's hard to imagine our kind and your kind working together.”

Malfoy stared at the Director, his eyebrows raised.

“You know what I meant. Have Scott set you up a workstation and see if you can find a
match.”

“I'm not sure Agent Scott trusts me,” said Malfoy.

“Do you trust him?” asked Barnes.

“No,” said Malfoy, curtly. “And if he starts asking difficult questions my patience will run out
quickly.”

“Scott will come to me and I'll deal with him,” said Barnes. “Just find out what you can
about Algeron. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a phone call to make.”

“Who are you ringing at this hour?”

Barnes gave a sigh. “The Prime Minister.”

* * *

*4:09am, Zante*

Harry was sat up in bed, attention taut. He had heard a noise downstairs, though he didn't
know why he was so bothered by it; after all, the security measures on the villa made it a
near-impenetrable fortress to Muggle and Wizard alike. Despite this he couldn't shake a feeling
of uneasiness as he rose from bed for the second time this night and made his way from the
bedroom.

He stopped just outside Lily's room and peered inside. He saw his daughter sleeping soundly
in the bed nearest the window, her bad dreams seemingly driven away for the night. He looked at
Celesca's bed but she was nowhere to be seen. The bedclothes were disturbed and empty and Harry
felt a cold shiver tingle across his skin. He knew that both she and James had returned some time
ago and to find her bed empty added to his unaccountable feeling of dread. Senses on alert and wand
at the ready, Harry continued down the stairs. He stopped outside the door to the living area,
through which the sounds of movement were unmistakable. Slowly, Harry took a steadying breath and
opened the door.

He needn't have worried. There, on the floor before him, the source of the noise revealed
itself. It was merely James and Celesca sitting either side of a game of Wizard Battleships with
bowls of various sweets dotted around beside them. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, pocketed his
wand before either of the kids noticed it was out, then crossed the room to join them.

“Alright, Dad?” asked James without looking up. “Fancy joining us for a midnight feast - well,
of sorts.”

“I thought you'd be in bed by now,” said Harry, flopping down into an armchair nearby.

“Oh, you know, we're young, full of energy,” said James. “You must remember what that was
like, it the dim and distant past.”

“I may be old but you're still young enough for me to give you a smack on your behind for
your cheek,” said Harry. “But I wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of Celesca. Though by
the looks of this game she doesn't need my help.”

Harry was right. The board didn't lie; Celesca had destroyed nearly all of James's ships
- they were on fire and sinking fast - while her own ships were undamaged, sailing gaily around
with some of the little crewmen nonchalantly fishing over the sides. Harry had the sneaking
suspicion that all was not as it seemed; he could see Celesca boring her eyes into James and she
was sat on one of her hands, as though she were hiding something in it. Harry had a thought.

“You must be quite the master Battleships player, Miss Shaw,” said Harry. “You couldn't
cheat to win as convincingly as you are.”

Celesca looked up and flashed her most would-be-innocent expression at Harry.

“I'm playing fair, Mr Potter,” she said. “I promise. I'm winning, er -
*legilimately.*”

“Don't you mean *legitimately*?” James corrected.

Celesca grinned at Harry. “Yeah - that's what I meant.”

Harry chuckled and helped himself to a handful of sherbet lemons.

* * *

*4:16*

The light of the silent alarm threw that side of the room into a surreal glow. Triggered by the
unsuspecting intruder outside, it had alerted the owner of the house and she was now up and
dressed. Silhouetted against the light, Hermione Weasley peered through a gap in the curtains,
scanning the dark of her back garden in the hope of catching a glimpse of the person responsible
for triggering the alarm. It wouldn't be any of the neighbourhood pets - she and Harry and
devised the system to rule out domestic animals - and whoever it was remained within the borders of
the security field, as there hadn't been a second breach of the boundary. Which meant that
whoever was there was waiting, and most likely watching.

Hermione moved swiftly from her bedroom along the landing. She stopped first at Hugo's then
at Rose's room, rousing them quickly and quietly and trying to keep the situation calm. Rose
responded the better of the two children, adopting her mother's business-like attitude to any
situation. She helped Hugo to dress and tried to soothe his anxieties about being woken in the
middle of the night.

Hermione, meanwhile, made her way to a special room at the centre of the house. It was her
office away from the office; a room full of magical equipment linking her to the Magical Law
Enforcement agency. Using a special terminal connected to the MLE office, she checked the data
streams being compiled by the late-night workers but found nothing pointing to any major events
taking place. Her worries were eased temporarily.

“Rose, is your brother ready?” asked Hermione as she joined her daughter in her room.

“Yes, Mum, but what's going on?” Rose asked.

“I don't have time to explain now,” said Hermione. “I don't think it's anything
serious. I've just got a bad feeling, that's all.”

“It's because Dad's working late again, isn't it?” said Rose. She spoke quietly as
if she knew the question was dangerously loaded.

“His work is keeping him busy at the moment,” said Hermione, thrown by her daughter's
directness. “Though being at home alone isn't the most pleasant thing I can think of.”

“And it's worse with Uncle Harry being away, too.”

Hermione froze. “What do you mean?”

“Well he looks after you when Daddy can't be here, doesn't he?” said Rose. “You all look
after each other. But he's on holiday at the moment so it's just you.”

“Yes, yes that's it,” said Hermione. “But enough of this talk. Come on.”

“Where are we going?” asked Rose.

“To Grandma's,” said Hermione. “I've told her you're coming. She and Granddad are
waiting for you. Grab your night things.”

Hermione ushered Rose towards the master bedroom, stopping to collect Hugo along the way. Once
there she lit a fire in the grate of the hearth and took down the bowl of Floo powder from the
mantelpiece. Hugo and Rose took a handful each.

“Aren't you coming, Mum?” asked Rose.

“I'll be along shortly,” said Hermione. “I have to make sure the house is all locked up
first. Go on now, one at a time.”

The children did as they were told. As soon as Hugo had spun out of sight from the flames
Hermione extinguished the fire and made her way back to the office. She took out her Floo Phone
from the desk.

“Auror Office,” she said into the brass hoop.

She was met by nothing but silence. She tried again. Nothing. She tried using the special line
to Harry but found it as unresponsive as everything else.

“This isn't right.”

There was just one other option. Hermione, as the kind of person who likes to utilise all
that's available in every situation, had installed one telephone line into her office at the
Ministry. She had created an anti-magic bubble around the phone so that it would work in the
magical environment. She dialled the number now hoping that someone would pick up.

“Hel-hello? Is this on? How does this work?”

Hermione's heart swooped as a voice came down the receiver. “Aeric? Is that you? It's
Hermione speaking.”

“Oh, hello, Ma'am,” said Aeric. “Did I answer the thing right? I did what you told me to do
if it went off.”

“It's called *ringing,* and yes you did fine,” said Hermione. “Look, my intruder alarm
has been triggered here. I've tried getting hold of the Aurors but I can't seem to reach
the office. Is everything alright there?”

“Yes, ma'am, it's all normal here,” said Aeric. “I don't know why you couldn't
get hold of the Aurors. Is your F-Phone working properly?”

“I think so,” said Hermione. “I haven't bought the new model yet but it was working fine the
last time I used it.”

“It could be the upgrade,” said Aeric. “The system was being updated to improve connections and
coverage; it might have affected your service. I'll get onto Stian Dahlgren from here and see
if he knows about the problem. He did install the system.”

“Thank you, Aeric,” said Hermione. “If you reach the Aurors can you send someone out to me?
It's probably nothing but I'd like to be sure just in case.”

“Yes, ma'am, I'll get right on it.”

Hermione hung up. Despite Aeric's reassurance she wasn't satisfied that everything was
as it should be.

* * *

*4:22am*

Tom Kennedy closed the folder in his hands as Grabhardt entered the room. The wizard had never
trusted the security trolls in Lucien Carlton's service but he readily admitted that they did a
good job. They were ruthless and efficient, letting absolutely no-one get within ten feet of the
Wizengamot member. Today, Tom felt that this quality of service would be well needed.

“You wanted to see me,” Grabhardt said gruffly.

“Yes, thank you for coming so promptly,” said Tom. “I just wanted to go over some of today's
schedule with you.”

“The schedule was drawn up weeks ago,” said Grabhardt. “It is done. Why do you want to talk
about it again?”

“I'm concerned that there are some open gaps in the route we'll be taking,” said Tom.
“I'm worried about the Gamot.”

“The safety of Gamot Carlton is my responsibility,” said Grabhardt firmly. “Are you questioning
my plans?”

“I just think there are some areas which need tightening up,” said Tom, trying to be firm in the
swarthy face of Grabhardt.

“Such as?”

“Let's look at the plans,” said Tom. He presented Grabhardt with a roster for the day. “At
all the places Lucien will be speaking the security is fine. And for the most part we will be
Apparating from one site to the next. However, Lucien wants to take a carriage between several
locations which are near each other. I think there are points on these routes where he will be
exposed.”

“We can close off the Wizarding carriageways,” said Grabhardt. “This will reduce the exposure. I
will also assign a security detail to the carriage itself. Open travelling is always a risk but the
Gamot has insisted on this transportation; these measures are the best solution.”

“Thank you,” said Tom. “I'll get onto the Roadways Department at the Ministry and
co-ordinate the temporary carriageway closures from here.”

“You do that,” said Grabhardt, before turning on his pointed heel and walking out. Tom was alone
to his thoughts. He couldn't get rid of a niggling sensation that something bad was about to
happen. What with the gaps in the plans, the threats against Lucien that he was working so hard to
conceal…it was all taking its toll. He wanted to put it down to stress, but something kept
whispering that there was more to it. All in all, he would be glad for this day to be over with
everyone still in one piece.

* * *

*4:26am, Thames Valley Water, London*

Cillian Coles smoothed the lapels on his white coat and turned to the pressure gauge monitors.
He removed a small notebook from his pocket and began jotting down the readings from the gauges.
The substance had to be delivered at an exact pressure, one or two bars out would either neuter the
stuff or make it dangerous, apparently. Coles didn't know what *dangerous* meant in this
instance, but - if he knew his boss - it was right not to risk it.

Once all the readings were taken down, Coles moved across the office and peered through the
blinds. There were a few workers attending their stations nearby but no-one who would disturb the
office. Perhaps they didn't dare in the middle of the `inspection'. Coles smirked as he
thought how easy these fools were to deceive. He moved away from the office door and took out his
Blackberry, entering the information from his notebook into the electronic device. Once done, he
forwarded the information to his boss and sat down in the foreman's chair to wait for
instructions.

“You don't mind if I sit in your chair, do you?” said Coles. “I might have one of these
cigars, too, while I'm at it.”

The foreman didn't complain. If fact he couldn't, for at that moment he was face down in
the corner of the office, blood seeping from a bullet hole in his temple. He was stone dead.

* * *

*4:30am, Sparrow's Nook, Cornwall*

Hermione peered again through the gap in the curtains. Whoever was outside had concealed
themselves very well. The thickets and bushes towards the pond at the rear of the garden were the
most likely hiding place, but with the right magic the intruder could hide in plain sight.
Clutching her wand firmly Hermione moved away from the curtains and crept downstairs towards her
study.

The large desk at the centre of the circular room was as neat and ordered as always. The
polished writing space, watched over by a Hogwarts graduation picture, was free from any clutter, a
fact Hermione was glad of as she sat down in front of it. She tapped her wand three times on the
desk. Immediately after the third tap the centre of the desk flipped open and revealed a hidden
screen; a silvery mist swirled around inside it and fractured images rose and fell like corks
bobbing in a barrel. The chances of it working were remote, but she had to try.

For this was the most potentially damaging thing in Hermione's possession. Of all the
secretive things she owned or knew about as part of her work this was one of the most covert, and
certainly the most morally dubious. She and Harry and secretly set it up years ago when tracking
traitors and corruption at the Ministry and Wizengamot; it allowed them to monitor any wizard in
the world without their knowledge. It breached all the Wizarding Freedom Rights Hermione could
think of, but Harry and convinced her it was the only way to solve that particular case. And he had
been right. The magical beacons which allowed this tracking had been dismantled long ago, but Harry
and Hermione had kept one open, to allow them to communicate with each other securely and
privately. As she looked at the screen, Hermione felt the same pang of guilt that she had become
used to when opening it - for she had been using it a lot over the last six months - but her
situation quelled the sensation more quickly than anything else had.

“Harry?” she called into the misty swirls. Her screen flickered for a moment but then nothing.
Hermione sighed dejectedly. She hadn't really expected him to answer; he was on holiday and
wasn't likely to take his mobile relay with him there. Suddenly, for the first time since the
intruder alarm sounded, Hermione felt alone. She couldn't contact Ron at the Auror Office; she
couldn't contact Harry through his direct line or their private one. Just as she thought there
was nothing else to do, something burned against her chest. The coin dangling at her neck was
suddenly heating up.

* * *

Harry stared out from the veranda towards the private bay. It was so pretty lit by the moonlight
and he appreciated why James and Celesca enjoyed it so much by night. Harry had thought it was
because the darkness could hide them and their untoward activities from prying eyes, but now he saw
it was a truly romantic setting. He didn't know why, but as he considered this thought his
hands found their way, almost by instinct, to the gold coin around his neck, and he thought of
Hermione. He tried to chide himself; he had been so determined not to think about her on this trip,
but being here, looking at this scene, sent his mind to her. He turned the coin in his fingers
again and again, but quickly realised that it might cause her coin to react, and he was sure she
wouldn't thank him for waking her at such an early hour. He pushed the coin inside his shirt
and went back indoors.

James and Celesca had gone to bed now, leaving their empty sweet bowls littering the floor. With
visions of broken legs all over the place in the morning, Harry set to clearing up. Celesca, Harry
had decided almost at once, was a very good influence on James, but for all the improvements she
had borne in him domestication wasn't one of them. Harry was having bizarre thoughts about how
to coerce Celesca into making James more house-proud when a swift movement in his peripheral vision
caught his attention.

It had been a shadow, maybe an animal, but something had definitely passed the window above the
sink. Harry hurried across to it, deposited the bowls quietly onto the draining board and moved
back to the veranda door. His wand was out without him realising he'd even gone for it and he
gripped it firmly as he crouched at the doorframe He listened, trying to pick up any sound; a
scuffling of feet, heavy breathing, the sound of movement on the breeze. There was nothing. But he
was certain he'd seen something.

Staying crouched, Harry moved around the side of the villa, his un-shoed feet making no sound on
the cool paving stones. He crept around all sides of the building, staring into the darkness,
listening hard for any sound, each time met by nothing. He was about to give up as he reached the
veranda doors again when a shuffling noise inside stopped him in his tracks. He took a breath,
gripped his wand tighter yet, then pounced.

“Stop where you are!” cried Harry.

“Don't curse me! Don't curse me!” a frightened voice squeaked.

“Ginny? What the hell are you doing?” asked Harry.

“I could ask you the same thing!” said Ginny. “You've been gone from bed for ages. I wanted
to see where you'd gone.”

“I thought you were an intruder,” said Harry, pocketing his wand. “I was about to curse
you.”

“I know we've had our problems lately but that's going a bit far, don't you think?”
said Ginny, smirking.

Harry frowned at her, the smirk annoying him. “I don't think it's funny to make jokes
about it.”

“I know, you're right,” said Ginny. “We came here to get away from it all, didn't
we?”

“That was the plan,” said Harry.

Ginny stepped close to Harry, the silk of her nightdress clinging to her as a breeze swept it.
“Why don't you come back to bed?” she said seductively. “All the kids are asleep, we could have
some fun.”

“James and Celesca are only just gone,” said Harry. “And Lily's having another of her
restless nights. Chances are she`ll be up again.”

“I've never known a man make so many excuses not to be intimate with his wife,” said Ginny,
stepping back and fastening her robe. “Things didn't used to be like this between us.”

“We're not as young as we were,” said Harry. “And I don't think it's appropriate
with all the kids so close. These walls are paper thin.”

“Don't try and tell me you can't do a silence spell anymore,” said Ginny, crossly. “You
practically became an expert at them at the Burrow. My old bedroom door will always muffle sounds
pretty well.”

“I just don't feel comfortable with it these days,” said Harry. “And besides, since when did
you become an expert on men and their excuses?”

“Don't bring that up again, Harry,” said Ginny, sounding exasperated. “I let you use
Legilimency on me to prove I wasn't having an affair.”

Harry was thrown off guard. “I wasn't talking about that at all. What made you come up with
it? I was more concerned that you discuss our private life in such detail with your friends.”

“Oh well, all women do that,” she replied lightly. “I'm going back to bed. Are you
coming?”

“I'll be up now. Just want to check these doors are locked.”

“Suit yourself.”

Harry watched her go, churning her words over in his mind. She wasn't wrong; lately he
hadn't been at all interested in any physicality with his wife. Even hugging and kissing had
become a chore. He had put it down to overwork; he had been on a number of field assignments lately
and hadn't had much energy for anything else. He wondered now what Ginny's take on it all
might be, and why she would have brought up his paranoia about her relationship with the sports
writer at *The Prophet*. Or had *she* been spying on *him?* Did she have suspicions
about the shady areas of his life? Areas which he'd been able to keep quiet about by pretending
they were work-related. He felt the coin against his chest again and wondered if he had been as
cautious as he'd told himself he had been.

* * *

*4:42am, MI5 Headquarters, London*

“I don't understand why you are leaving, in the middle of an investigation. Your timing
couldn't be worse.”

Director Barnes was animated but Malfoy remained unmoved.

“Last time I checked this was a Muggle investigation,” said Malfoy coolly. “I'm sure you and
your team can deal with your side of this. Right now I have more pressing issues.”

“Communication breaks down every now and then,” said Barnes. “It happens.”

“Not to us,” said Malfoy. “Something is amiss. I have to check it for myself.”

Barnes was determined to keep Malfoy with him. A wizard on the loose connected with the current
situation made him uneasy. He may not have wholly trusted Malfoy, but he would have preferred him
nearby on a day like this.

“And what if more turns up to do with this Algeron character? He's your responsibility.”

“I know that,” said Malfoy. “For all we know this could all be connected. A wizard at a Muggle
crime scene doesn't occur very often, about as often as a breakdown in magical communication. I
don't make a habit of being caught with my breeches down, Barnes. I have to make sure.”

Malfoy fastened his travelling cloak, took one more look at Barnes and left.

The offices of MI5 and MI6 were separated by a narrow alley which led down to a set of
storerooms. Malfoy found himself here now, a familiar space conveniently secluded for Apparition.
He made use of it daily, but despite being used to the surroundings the place had a different air
to it tonight. Malfoy wasn't the sort to succumb to fits of paranoia or fear but as he stood in
the shadows, looking around for any signs of movement, he couldn't shake the sensation of being
watched.

He pushed the feeling back and Disapparated, reappearing on Diagon Alley. The street was
deserted, winding away into deep shadows in both directions. The wind rustled some discarded papers
and assorted litter as Malfoy strode along the street towards the entrance to the large marble
building next to Florean Fortesque & Son's ice cream parlour. It were here that the
Ministry of Magical Security was located, housing the Auror Headquarters and affiliated agencies.
Malfoy's feelings about Harry Potter were always mixed but as he looked up at this glorious
building even he had to acknowledge that this was one reform Potter had certainly gotten right.

Malfoy reached into his cloak and removed his wand. He tapped it against a Rune Panel in the
door and a small tube emerged to allow the wand to be inspected. This security feature not only
confirmed the owner of the wand through residual magical energy (similar to Muggle fingerprinting)
but it also checked that the wand was not booby trapped with any dangerous substances, curses or
surveillance spells. Malfoy was about to place his wand into the tube when a jet of purple light
shot across him and smashed into the doors.

The protective charm over the building rippled and shimmered as the curse hit it and dissipated.
Malfoy dived to his left to avoid the second curse aimed his way and rolled under one of the ice
cream parlour's tables, upturning it quickly to use as a shield. He peered over the top and
scanned the dark street; there were deep shadows opposite, perfect for hiding in.

“I need more light,” Malfoy whispered. He aimed his wand into the air and fired a spell. Three
white globes shot from his wand and hung high above the street for a second before exploding in a
shower of stars, lighting the place as though it were daytime. Across the street, cowering behind a
statue of a Quidditch player pointing the way to *Quality Quidditch Supplies,* Malfoy saw his
attacker taken surprise by the sudden explosion of light.

“Stupefy!” yelled Malfoy.

The jet of red shot across the street and took a chunk out of the statue. Shards of the debris
fell into the attacker's face and, taking advantage of his disorientation, Malfoy leapt out
from behind his table and began firing spells in his direction. The attacker was a skilled dueller,
however, and those spells he couldn't dodge he managed to deflect, even firing back a few of
his own. The pair duelled along Diagon Alley without either gaining a clear advantage. They were
outside Flourish and Blotts when Malfoy had a brainwave; instead of aiming a spell at his attacker
he fired it at the heavy awning (a large book and quill) hanging outside the shop. It swung down
from its hinge and knocked the attacker clean off his feet. Malfoy advanced on him, but his
opponent saw him coming and drew a handful of black powder from his pocket, threw it and
disappeared.

“Peruvian Darkness Powder,” cursed Malfoy. He scanned the blackness in front of him, knowing
full well it was futile. Footsteps fell in the distance up ahead; Malfoy moved around the powder
cloud to look up the street but it was deserted. Whoever had been there had fled and most likely
Apparated away. Malfoy stood there for some time considering the events before eventually turning
and headed back to the Auror Headquarters.

* * *

*4:50am, Sparrow's Nook*

“Okay, you can't reach Ron or Harry or the Aurors. You're on your own. It's time to
act. Come on, Hermione, pull yourself together.”

Hermione hated talking to herself and hated referring to herself in the third person just as
potently. It was something she tended to do when she was anxious and the trait irritated her
normally rational sensibility. She used it now to try and inject some self-belief into what she was
about to do. She had decided not to run, but to protect her home and find out what was going on.
The only way to do that was to capture the intruder herself.

She was in her study, looking down on a map of her house. She held her wand above the map and
cast a spell; a small ball of light eased from the tip and hovered around for a few moments. It
moved back and forth before eventually settling at a point towards the back of the garden. Large
hydrangea bushes occupied that part of the garden and the locator spell had pinpointed this as the
spot where the intruder was concealed.

Hermione moved to her back door and unlocked it as quietly as she could. She tapped her head
with her wand and felt the icy chill as the Disillusionment Charm swept over her. She stepped out
into the night and looked sharp towards the clump of bushes. They were so dense that even if it
hadn't been the middle of the night she doubted whether she would see anyone there. She
recalled a game of Hide-And-Seek, where Rose once had hidden behind it, as she moved along the edge
of the garden towards them. She knew the spell she'd cast should have made her almost
impossible to see but her heart beat hard with every step nonetheless.

* * *

When the door to the house had opened, Callum McDonagh had watched closely for someone to
emerge. It hadn't surprised him that nobody had left the house; the Baron had anticipated that
the Weasley woman would use a spell to conceal herself. McDonagh screwed up the message in his
hand, wondered whether the owl which brought it had alerted Weasley, then realised it didn't
matter where he killed her so long as it was done.

McDonagh reached into his pack and took out a pair of Muggle night-vision goggles. They had
already been configured to pick up heat signatures and McDonagh felt a grudging respect for Muggle
ingenuity as he looked through the lenses and saw, quite plainly, the glowing shape of a person
moving his way. He edged to the side of the bush and waited as the woman came closer and
closer.

* * *

Hermione thought she heard leaves crumple and crackle as she reached the bush. She thought
briefly about stopping but in that instant a clenched fist shot out from the bush and caught her
square in the jaw. She reeled back and toppled onto the lawn, dazed and stinging where the punch
had landed. She looked up to see the formidable frame of McDonagh lurch towards her. She scrambled
up towards her wand which had fallen away from her. It was an inch from her fingers when a boot
landed hard in her ribs, the pain and winding causing her to fall down again.

* * *

Harry's hand was still on the bedroom door when he heard the scream. Yanking the door back
open, he raced across the landing to Lily's room, her loud sobs clear even in the hallway.
James flew around the corner from his room, with Albus close behind, and skidded to a halt as he
and his father met. They entered the room together as Ginny scuttled up behind them.

“What is it? What's wrong?” said Harry rapidly as he moved to Lily. She was in a state,
crying her eyes out into Celesca's shoulder, jumping into her father's arms as he reached
her.

“I don't know what happened,” said Celesca, alarmed. “One minute she was fine the next she
woke up screaming. I've tried asking her what's going on but she is inconsolable.”

She wasn't wrong. Lily was balling hard into Harry's neck, her wet tears rolling down
his back. She was also white-hot; her skin stinging Harry's where they touched.

“James, run and get a towel, soak it in cold water, quickly,” said Harry. James turned to go but
Celesca flicked her wand and conjured an ice pack. She handed it to Harry who smiled and said; “Or
that'll do.”

They all sat there for a minute or two while Lily cried. There seemed little they could do to
calm her.

“What is it, honey?” asked Harry softly. “Did you have another bad dream?”

“It w-wasn't a d-dream,” she sobbed. “It was real.”

“Lily, I've told you your dreams aren't real,” said Harry soothingly. “They can't
hurt you.”

“They aren't going to h-hurt me,” said Lily. “Please, Daddy, you have to do something.”

Lily was speaking so passionately that Harry felt inclined to take her seriously. There was also
that something in her eyes, or rather behind her eyes, that was impacting on him. He had seen it in
her before; it was as though the natural colour had drained from her eyes and they had become very
unfocused. Every time she had one of these powerful and unsettling dreams her eyes seemed to take
on this quality.

“Do something about what?” he asked her gently. “If you aren't going to be hurt then what do
you want me to do?”

“It's Auntie Hermione, she's in trouble.”

Harry went very rigid. “Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

“Harry, she's been having bad dreams,” said Ginny, who Harry hadn't noticed sitting down
on the bed beside him. “Stop asking ridiculous questions and let her get back to sleep. She
isn't a Seer.”

Harry knew she was right. He took a breath and reminded himself how over active Lily's
imagination could be.

“Lily, sweetheart, your mother's right, it was just a bad dream,” said Harry.

“There's a man at her house,” said Lily, closing her eyes and talking as if she were
watching the scene. “He's attacked her. She's hurt but managing to fight back.”

“Lily that's enough,” said Ginny firmly. “I'm sure it was a very real dream to you but
that's all it was. Now everyone just go back to bed. Harry, make sure she gets some sleep.”

Ginny looked pointedly at him and Harry knew she was thinking about using magic to put Lily to
sleep. Slowly, everyone went back to bed, James being the last one to leave the room after saying
another goodnight to Celesca. Harry looked at Lily; she had stopped sobbing but was still
whimpering quietly. Harry couldn't leave her like that.

“Lily, it was just a dream,” he said softly. “That's all it was.”

“No, Daddy, it was more than that,” said Lily, shaking her head. “You have to believe me.”

“Believe that you can see the future?”

“It's not the future, its happening now,” said Lily. “I know *she* doesn't believe
me but she never does.”

“*She* has a name,” said Harry. “Its `mummy' to you. And she's right about
this.”

“Will you please just check on Auntie Hermione,” said Lily. “Just in case everyone's wrong
and I'm right.”

“I'll check on her in the morning, ok?” said Harry. “Come on, get into bed.”

Lily sighed in resignation and allowed herself to be steered under the bed sheet, immediately
turning to face the wall.

“It'll be too late by then,” she said. “Goodnight, Dad.”

There was nothing more to be said. Harry got up and slowly left the room. He had reached for the
handle to his bedroom when he paused. He didn't think it would hurt to check on Hermione. It
wouldn't take very long and it would put this whole issue to bed. There was also the other
inducement he didn't want to think of too consciously; hearing her voice would be quite nice,
too. Mind made up, he once again made his way downstairs.

* * *

*4:57 am, Somewhere in Shropshire*

“What do you mean Malfoy is at the Ministry?”

“He was too good for me, my Lord. He out duelled me, got the jump on me, I barely escaped with
my life.”

“Pity…*Avada Kedavra!*”

Marcus Flint dropped dead at the Baron's feet.

“If Draco Malfoy has managed to get into the Ministry then we have a serious problem.”

“Yes, Nelson, I realise that,” said the Baron.

“We should let Dahlgren know, so he can be prepared,” said Nelson.

“We haven't heard from Stian in over an hour,” said the Baron. “We can assume something has
happened to him. In any case, Malfoy will have him now.”

“We can only hope he doesn't break,” said Nelson. “He could compromise everything we've
worked for.”

“Stian will hold out for a long time. Even so, Malfoy is as callous and ruthless as any when it
comes to interrogation. He learned from Potter himself. He's even tougher so he can try and
clear his family's name. Stian will he hard pressed to hold out for long.”

“Let's hope he holds out long enough,” said Nelson. “Perhaps he has been killed. That's
something to hope for.”

“It won't matter if he is alive and does break,” said the Baron. “We're too far advanced
for them to stop us now. They won't even see us coming. I need to check on the progress of our
little surprise. Leave me now.”

* * *

Malfoy hid in the shadows as he surveyed the ruined office. Scorch marks on the walls, cubicles
smashed and debris everywhere. There were no Aurors in sight. He crept up to the corner of the wall
he was hiding against and peered around. There was someone crouched over a desk near the Head
Auror's office.

“Don't move!” cried Malfoy diving out of his hiding spot. A little voice squeaked in
surprise and Amanda Banks span around quickly. Malfoy could see her hair had been singed in places
and he felt less inclined to curse her.

“Please, Sir, don't hurt me,” said Amanda in a tiny voice.

“You're the junior Auror I spoke to earlier,” said Malfoy. “Where is everyone else?
Where's Dahlgren? Weasley? Someone should be on night duty.”

“That was me, Sir,” said Amanda. “Dahlgren took me by surprise. He did all this. He destroyed
the communication systems. We can't reach anyone.”

“Not even Potter?” asked Malfoy. He was now at her side and peered over her shoulder into the
office. “He took that out too?”

“Yes, Sir, everything,” said Amanda. “Not just that; he disabled all the Trackers too. The
Unforgivables can be used without us knowing.”

“Things are worse than I thought,” said Malfoy. “Where is Dahlgren?”

“There.”

Malfoy looked to where Amanda was pointing. Dahlgren was in a chair, restrained by powerful
magical binds.

“Impressive work,” said Malfoy.

“I'm glad you're here, Sir,” said Amanda, then suddenly began to cry.

“Auror, you must be stronger than this,” said Malfoy. “You've done the hard part. I'll
take over now, but I can't get this communication back up alone. I need your help now.”

“Yes, Sir, I'll get to it,” said Amanda, drying her eyes.

“Good girl,” said Malfoy. He turned to Dahlgren. “Now, Stian - you're going to tell me
everything I want to know, it's just a question of how much you want it to hurt.”

* * *

Hermione let out a howl of frustration and pulled another leaf from her bushy hair. She was
having a hard time accepting that she could have made so elementary an error and done everything so
wrong. It was an amateurish mistake and her reproaches on herself were violent. She didn't
think she'd be able to face Harry with the embarrassment of it all. She looked down at
McDonagh, out cold and suspended an inch or so off the floor.

“Right then, whoever you are,” she said to the prostrate form before her. “Maybe I can't get
hold of anyone to help me but I'm not totally useless at extracting information. A couple of
drops of Veritaserum ought to do the trick; but for breaking into my property, I think I'll use
the whole bottle! Let's see what you know.”

*5:00am*

-->



5. Chapter Five
---------------



Author Note: Hello to my tiny band of secret readers! I'm surprised anyone's reading, to
be honest, but I hope you precious few are enjoying it so far. Sorry about the long wait between
updates, any previous readers of mine will know that's not like me. Its just that the planning
and execution of each chapter takes *ages*! I don't know what I've gotten myself into
this for, lol. Which brings me onto `mega-chapter' alert. This one is long. Hope you like it
anyway. Ciao!

Chapter Four

*The following takes place between 5:00am and 6:00am on the day of the Wizengamot Ministerial
Election*

*Events occur in real time*

*5:00am, The Hermeticas Villa, Greek island of Zante*

The first hint of dawn was creeping slowly across the cloudless skies of the distant horizon.
The black of the night sky was shifting gradually to a deep azure; soon the first shafts of
sunlight would ping across the sky and shimmer in the waves below, the moon would slope down behind
the hills and the new day would have arrived. The late night Muggle revellers begin to drift home
from the clubs and pass the villa, not even knowing it is there.

Inside it, Harry quietly stepped outside with his F-Phone in hand and closed the veranda door
behind him. He sat down on the nearest patio chair and flicked the communicator on. A small green
flame shot around the golden hoop and Harry spoke into it.

“Hermione Weasley.”

He waited, for Hermione never did answer very quickly. He waited a full minute before the first
hint of worry slipped into his mind. He repeated his query and was met by the same static. Not for
the first time that night Harry felt the hairs tingle on the back of his neck.

“Ron Weasley,” Harry said into the hoop. No answer came back. He knew Ron was on assignment and
probably snoring in some hotel or another. “Auror Office…anybody.”

Harry threw down his F-Phone, now little more than a useless ring of fire. He got to his feet
and made his way back inside, heading for Lily's bedroom. Now more inclined to believe her he
wanted to know everything she'd seen. He reached her bed and gently shook her. She wasn't
sleeping.

“Honey, come with me, quietly,” said Harry, helping his daughter from bed.

“What is it, Daddy?” she asked.

“I'll explain when we're downstairs,” said Harry, closing the door gently so as to not
disturb Celesca. He then led Lily back down to the living area, sitting her one side of the
breakfast table before taking a chair opposite her. “Okay, sweetheart, I want you to tell me
everything about your dream. How it happened, what you saw - everything.”

“Oh, you believe me now?” she said acridly, reminding Harry strongly of her mother.

“I can't reach Aunt Hermione,” said Harry simply. “You can be angry with me later if you
like, but right now I need your help.”

“So she is in trouble?” asked Lily, looking terrified.

“I don't know, but I'm going to find out,” said Harry. “I need you to talk to me,
now.”

“Well, it started like it always does,” Lily began. “I was having a normal dream about something
stupid -”

“What was it?”

“I was, er, playing chess with a talking carrot, Dad,” said Lily. “The pieces were made of
cheese…”

“Okay, okay, what happened then?” asked Harry, stopping Lily in mid-crazy rant.

“Well then the dream just stopped and it felt like I was awake and watching my dream,” said
Lily. “That's what it's always like. It was dark but I knew I was in a dream again. Next
thing I'm at Auntie Hermione's house. A man was hitting her…she was trying to get her wand
but she'd dropped it and it was far away…he hit her again then she just looked at him really
hard.”

“Then what?”

“He sort of collapsed,” said Lily. “It was like she'd done a spell but she didn't have
her wand. That's not possible, is it?”

“Your Aunt Hermione is the most powerful witch I`ve ever known,” said Harry. “Nothing would
surprise me with her. Was she okay after?”

“She looked alright, but she was bleeding and limping.”

Harry felt an horrific jolt of pain at Lily's words, as though the image of an injured
Hermione cut through him like he was suffering himself.

“Daddy, you believe me, don't you?” said Lily. She looked so earnest that Harry's
weakness for her overcame him.

“Yes, sweetie, I believe you.”

She darted up and threw her arms around him. “I knew you would in the end. Mummy doesn't
believe me. I've told her *loads* of times but she tells me I'm making it up. She
wants to send me to St. Mungo's.”

“Lily, you're going too far now,” said Harry.

“No, Daddy, I'm not,” said Lily plainly. “I have the letter they sent to her. I hid it.”

“What? You're serious?” asked Harry, anger rising in him.

“Yes, Dad,” said Lily. “I don't know what she wanted me to go there for but please don't
let her take me.”

“No-one's taking you anywhere,” said Harry. “I promise. Now come on, back to bed with
you.”

“Daddy, I read in a book Celly left at home about a Sleeping Spell,” said Lily. “It said it can
make you sleep without dreaming. Can you do it on me?”

“Lily, I don't want to cast a spell on you,” said Harry.

“Please, Daddy! My dreams scare me and I'm so tired.”

Harry looked at her; she looked so fragile and helpless he gave in. “Alright, come on. Let's
get you some sleep.”

After Harry had put Lily out for what was left of the night he made his way to the bathroom and
shut the door. If all communications were down something bad was going on. He needed to find out
and there was only one quick way he could think of. Pulling off his neck chain he took the gold
coin which hung from it and held it to the light. The coin had a small dial and a button embedded
in the edging; the dial contained all the letters of the alphabet, pressing the button embossed
each letter onto the coin to make a message. Harry set to work.

- *R U OK -*

Harry had met many Muggles during his work and had become used to Muggle mobile phones and
so-called 'textspeak'. He and Hermione had found it a useful shorthand for communicating
using their coins. Harry touched his wand against the coin to send the message, then he waited, his
eyes fixed on the little golden disc. He didn't have to wait long for a reply, though the
answer chilled him.

- *No. Help, plz -*

Harry's head was swimming and he could barely collect his thoughts. There was only one thing
for it - he had to go to her. He headed for the bedroom to change.

* * *

*5:07am, Shropshire*

The Baron pulled the red scarf up around his face, fastening it to clasps in the hood of his
travelling cloak. The events of the morning were playing in his mind, and they unsettled him.
Everything to this point and gone smoothly and largely unnoticed. The traitor killed in Barnet had
infiltrated them on another assignment; the fact that he'd stumbled onto at least part of the
plan was just bad luck. But he was dead and the Baron was strongly convinced that he hadn't
passed on the information he'd uncovered. Even so, his confidence in the events to come had
been shaken. At this final hour, when the most important components of the plan were to be
implemented, some glitches had started to appear. The Baron was never one to leave things to
chance.

So overseeing this final delivery had taken paramount importance to him. No-one else could be
trusted with a task which had now become crucial. It was possible that the Aurors were alerted to a
coming threat; Draco Malfoy would certainly know something was afoot and he would have to be dealt
with soon. But that was for another time and losing sight of the nearest objective would jeopardise
everything else. The Baron would not let that happen.

“You are sure you want to travel alone?” said Armitage, helping the Baron fasten his scarf. “We
could send members of the Brotherhood to shadow you.”

“No, I want you all to remain where you are,” said the Baron. “We cannot arouse any suspicion
now that the Aurors may be on the lookout. It will be easier for me to work alone. I wont let the
plan fail now.”

“But, my Lord, the risk -”

“The risk of getting caught is minimised by my acting alone,” said the Baron. “My powers are far
greater than any of yours. I can move about undetected, and take on any foolish Auror who crosses
me.”

“Very well, Sir,” said Armitage, giving in. “I shall alert the brewers, let them prepare for
your arrival.”

“Good. Now I must go.”

The Baron turned and left the manor house. He moved a little away from the building, down the
sloping lawns to a dais set into the garden. It was the only point not covered by the
Anti-Disapparation Jinx which had been cast over the property; essentially, it was the only magical
way in or out for some distance around. The Baron stepped onto the dais and was about to
Disapparate when a whistle sounded from his pocket. Reaching inside, he took out the notebook he
always carried with him and turned to the first page. There was a message waiting for him.

-*We have a problem*

It was from the contact watching Harry Potter. This couldn't be good. The Baron reached for
his personal Self-Inking Quill and replied,

*What is it?*

*- Potter may be in play*

*How is that possible?*

*- Overheard a conversation with his daughter. Her special skill may have put him on to H.
Weasley being in danger*

*Does he believe her?*

*- He always believes his little girl. May not have gone too well with McDonagh.*

*The girl saw something again? I knew sending McDonagh was a mistake*

*- Doesn't matter now. Potter will try and reach Weasley. When he cant, he will go to
her*

*Then we have to proceed on an accelerated timetable. You have to keep him there. He cant
leave*

*- That wont be easy.*

*I know you'll do your best. It wont be long till we are ready. Keep Potter occupied for
as long as you can*

*- And if he resists?*

*Deal with him.*

*- And the kids?*

*The same*

*- The Shaw girl, too?*

*Kill them all. None of them can be allowed to be a problem, now or in the future. Make it a
clean job. I'm counting on you*

*- I wont let you down. I'll get to it.*

The message sank into the page and disappeared. The Baron closed the book and swore violently.
If Potter got involved at this stage it could present a real problem, especially if Hermione
Weasley had survived McDonagh's assault. Damn him! After all the special training to deal with
her, after all the planning and practice, the Muggles killed in the line of testing the special new
curses, McDonagh had been too weak to finish the job. Potter and Weasley must not be allowed to get
together, that had become the new priority. It was something to mull over as he went to fetch the
last delivery.

* * *

*5:12 am, MI5 HQ, London*

Agent Richard Scott compared the two pictures before him. The still image taken from a security
camera in a Barnet medical centre wasn't the clearest Scott had ever seen, but the man in it
was undoubtedly the same guy as in the second picture, a mugshot filed on the Criminal Records
Database. He had been caught at the scene of a particularly brutal gangland assault a year ago and
though he was cleared of any direct involvement, his details were taken as part of standard
procedures.

“It's definitely the same man,” Scott told Director Barnes as he presented the images to
him. “Our facial recognition software confirms a ninety-seven point four percent match.”

“That's conclusive enough,” said Barnes. “Any previous?”

“Nothing major,” said Scott, reviewing the file. “Using the alias *Alex Kidd* he racked up
a couple of speeding fines, a parking fine, was caught in possession of a Class B narcotic. Small
time villain, nothing to put him on our radar.”

“Until now,” said Barnes. “Seems like Malfoy was right.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” said Scott. He braced himself, knowing what light the
coming confession would place him in “I heard you two talking before he left. You were saying some
crazy things, things that might land you a little break in the Psyche Ward.”

“Is that a threat, Agent?”

The atmosphere dropped a degree or two.

“Look, I just want to know what's going on around here,” said Scott firmly. “It smells like
something big is going down and I don't like being asked to do the donkey work for some covert
Agent and be kept out of the loop on what its all about. Then I hear you and him talking about
magic and wizards. I'm supposed be your Deputy.”

“Richard, you're right, I'm sorry,” said Barnes. “I've tried to protect you from
this for as long as possible.”

“Protect me? From what?”

“An awkward truth,” said Barnes. “The truth that there are, in fact, two worlds that we live in.
One of which is very complicated.”

“What is it? Some sort of underworld?” asked Scott.

“More like a dual world,” said Barnes. “They have a complete social structure from self-ruling
government right down their own culture and laws. We work in tandem with them.”

“Who, or what, are they?”

“You heard me describe them as wizards and if you let your imagination run away with you on that
topic you wont be far wrong from who they are.”

“Wizards? You have to be joking,” said Scott. “You cant expect me to believe that?”

“Do you want to run this office some day?” asked Barnes.

“You know I do,” said Scott.

“Then you're going to have to trust me and accept this as the truth. I wanted to explain
this all to you closer to my retirement, run you through it properly. But you've stumbled onto
it now and with open protocols all over the place I don't have time to do that. You're just
going have to learn on the job today.”

“So what's Malfoy got to do with this?” asked Scott. “Does he liaise with
these…*wizards?”*

“No, Richard, he *is* one.”

“So, what, he can do magic? Pull rabbits out of hats, stuff like that?”

“Some of the things he can do you don't even want to know about,” said Barnes darkly. “When
Tim Pratchett handed me the reigns to this job he sent me out with Malfoy; I saw first hand what
magic can do. All of the training and skills you have are nothing against one of them with a wand.
Trust me, you don't want to have to learn that first hand.”

“What are you saying? That some of these wizards are bad?” asked Scott, suddenly more
serious.

“Malfoy saved my life from a very bad one. He was a servant of a deposed Dark Lord; Malfoy
called him a `Death Eater'. You should have seen the fight - the things they did to each other.
Malfoy was more powerful and won the day.”

“That's why you wanted to keep him here? In case this Algeron character came snooping
around?”

The Director nodded. “If that happened we would be defenceless.”

Scott looked at the photos in his hands with a new perspective. This whole day had suddenly
become a lot more dangerous.

* * *

*5:19am, Zante*

Harry had tried to be quiet whilst changing but Ginny had never been a particularly heavy
sleeper. He had woken her by landing on her arm as he sat on the bed to pull his shoes on. After
the initial volley of abuse about his clumsiness she cottoned on to the fact that he was dressing
to leave. Through the murky light filtering in from the windows she could make out that he was
fully clad for a journey.

“And where in the hell are you going at this time of day?” she demanded.

“I have to leave, I shouldn't be too long,” he replied evasively.

“Are you even going to tell me where you're going?”

“Something's come up that I have to take care of,” said Harry.

“That's twice you've avoided an answer,” said Ginny. “Tell me what's going on. Where
are you going?”

“I'm going to Hermione, alright? I have to see if she's okay.”

“Oh you have got to be joking me!” said Ginny.

Harry looked down at her. “Do I look like I'm joking?”

“No, but you look like you've lost your mind!” cried Ginny. “You don't actually believe
Lily's dream, do you?”

Harry turned from her. “I tried to contact Hermione. I couldn't get through to her.”

Harry thought it best not to let on about their secret method of communication.

“She's probably asleep,” said Ginny.

“I couldn't get through to anybody,” said Harry. “Something's up; I have to find out
what.”

“We came here to get away from all that for a while,” said Ginny.

“I cant just switch off,” said Harry. “If Hermione needs my help -”

“Oh come off it, Harry! Don't pretend like you need an excuse to go running off to her!”

Harry was stopped in his tracks. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you. You know that all she has to do is call you and
you`ll come running.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Harry, trying to remain composed. “Where on earth has all
this come from?”

“I`ve seen how you two have been together recently,” said Ginny sharply. “Cushy little chats and
field missions that you both seem to have to go on. You didn't really expect me to buy the
whole 'working late' excuse, did you? You're practically living in each others'
pockets. We might as well be back in Hogwarts again.”

“Now who's the one being dumb,” said Harry.

“I've always known there's a good chance I'd play second fiddle to Hermione,” said
Ginny carrying on as though Harry hadn't spoken. “But after she chose Ron I thought it'd
put an end to it. She married your best friend and *I've* given you twenty years of my
life and three children. You'd think I'd have earned a little loyalty from you.”

“I am loyal,” said Harry, guilt swelling in him. “There's nothing going on with -”

“Harry, I may be Ron's sister but I'm not nearly as blind or naïve as him,” Ginny
scythed across. “I know you care for Hermione - don't try and deny it - but I'm your wife -
you should care for me more.”

“I do,” said Harry quickly.

“Then prove it - stay here with me,” said Ginny. “Don't go running off to her.”

“But she needs me.”

“So do I.”

“That's not the same and you know it. She may be in danger.”

“Our marriage is in danger if you walk out of that door.”

The most awkward silence Harry had ever experienced now rose between himself and Ginny. He
looked at her and saw no trace of deception in her eyes. She was totally serious in her threat.

“You cant put an ultimatum like that in front of me,” Harry protested. “It isn't fair.”

“No, cheating on me with Hermione isn't fair,” said Ginny.

“I haven't cheated on you!”

“No? Then explain this.” Ginny reached for Harry's neck and yanked the chain out from his
shirt. “I know a Protean Charm when I see one, Harry. All the other DA coins were confiscated by
you and Hermione; I had one myself, remember? But I'm betting she has one just like this,
hanging at her cleavage just for you. By all means, Darling, correct me if I`m wrong.”

Harry didn't know quite what to say, though he certainly wasn't going to be baited into
a confession by Ginny's laden comment.

“How did you know about the coin?” he asked after a minute or so.

“I've slept with you for the best part of two decades,” she said bluntly. “You didn't
think I'd notice a chunky piece of gold around your neck? You didn't tell me what it was so
I assumed you didn't want to be asked. That's why I looked for myself while you slept.
I've known about it for years.”

“That's a sneaky thing to do.”

“Any more sneaky than having it in the first place?” Ginny asked incredulously. “You astonish me
sometimes, Harry.”

“If you're so convinced of my affair then why are you still with me? Why are we even
here?”

“To work on things,” said Ginny. “Because I still love you despite everything. We've had
problems, we both know it. You have yours with me and I have mine with her. I wanted to put some
distance between the pair of you so we could work on the cracks appearing in our relationship.”

“And that includes her being in mortal peril?”

“*Mortal Peril*!” Ginny spat dismissively. “Give it a rest, Harry.”

“I want to make sure she's okay,” said Harry defiantly.

“And *I* told you if you go to her its over between us,” said Ginny. “You choose.”

Harry stood there totally dumbfounded and with no idea what to do next.

* * *

*5:23am, Auror Headquarters, Diagon Alley*

Stian Dahlgren spat out a mouthful of blood, along with several fragments of tooth, as Draco
Malfoy turned away and flexed his fist a little more. Behind the scene, Auror Amanda Banks winced,
for though she was happy to see Dahlgren handed some tough punishment it wasn't the most
pleasant thing to watch. Malfoy pulled his chair a little closer to the traitor and eyeballed him
intently.

“I'll ask you this question again,” he said softly, dangerously. “Why did you do all
this?”

“Go to hell, Malfoy,” spat Dahlgren.

“Given my past I probably will, if there is such a place,” said Malfoy, grimly. “In the meantime
how about you stop wasting my time and tell me what this is all about.”

“I'm not going to tell you anything, you blood-traitorous scum.”

Malfoy sighed. He was torn in two; on the one hand he didn't really have time to go to work
on Dahlgren, on the other he could think of no more satisfying activity than forcing information
from a turncoat. Dahlgren was already bloodied and bruised from both his defeat by Auror Banks and
Malfoy's attempts to make him confess, but that was nothing compared to what Malfoy had in mind
for him.

“I was afraid you'd say that, Stian,” said Malfoy calmly. He got up and conjured what could
only be described as a tool kit, which he unfurled along a nearby desk. He turned to Auror Banks.
“Amanda, I want you to go and see if you can mend any part of the Unforgivable Trackers. We need
those things up and running.”

“But, Sir,” Banks protested. “They must be in thousands of little bits. There isn't any
chance of - oh, I see. You just want me from the room, don't you?”

Malfoy looked at her. “There are some things you should never have to see. Just try and repair
some of the damage this pile of filth has wreaked.”

“Yes, Sir, I'll try,” said Banks obediently. She left the room.

“Do you know where I work, Stian?” asked Malfoy conversationally.

“Of course I do - the scummiest job in all the Wizarding world,” replied Dahlgren acidly. “No
self-respecting Wizard would ever admit to that.”

“Quite,” said Malfoy. “Nevertheless, the Muggles at the Ministry of Intelligence have come up
with some ingenious methods of interrogation. In some respects, they are quite as effective as our
own.”

Malfoy picked up a surgical scalpel and twiddled the blade against the light.

“But you know all about our methods of extracting information, and we`ll come to them shortly,”
Malfoy went on. “I thought I might familiarise you with some of the Muggles techniques first…though
I'm not sure these blades have been sterilised. Ah, what the hell.”

Even in the dark, Malfoy could smell the stench of fear on the traitor before him.

* * *

Lucien Carlton felt as though he were trespassing as he looked through the scattered papers on
Tom Kennedy's desk. He thought to himself that it was a mark of how chaotic the coming day
would be; Tom's desk was usually immaculate and this jumble of documents was indicative of the
last-minute melee of election day. Carlton skimmed through them, looking for a copy of the first
speech he was due to make that day. It was time to start rehearsing for the biggest day in his
political life.

The speech had been re-written a least half a dozen times and the final draft was somewhere in
Kennedy's office. So far Carlton had checked an entire filing cabinet and the desk in his
search for it, yet so far it had eluded him. He sat down behind the desk, looking around the room
for inspiration. His eyes fell on a drawer in the desk; it had a key still in a lock at the centre
of it and it was the only drawer with such a feature. Nosing around wasn't usually something
Carlton encouraged but on this occasion curiosity got the better of him.

He unlocked the drawer. Inside, there was just one plain parchment envelope. Taking it out,
Carlton began to thumb through the contents, and they shocked him greatly. Each one was a death
threat towards himself, some written with a standard ink and quill, some with letters cut from
*The Daily Prophet* or *Witch Weekly* and stuck down haphazardly. He was just about to
start reading some of the finer details of the latest threats when the door opened.

Tom Kennedy froze, first from surprise at seeing someone sat in his chair and then from clocking
the envelope in Carlton's hand. The Wizengamot member remained unabashed, still too stunned at
the concealed threats against him. There was also a tinge of anger that he hadn't been informed
about any of this.

“Sir, you really shouldn't be looking at those,” said Kennedy, eventually.

“Shouldn't I, really?” replied Carlton with raised eyebrows. “Were you ever planning to tell
me about these?”

Carlton waved the assembled death threats in Kennedy's direction.

“I kept them from you to keep you from being distracted,” explained Kennedy. “Apart from the
letters there has been no concrete threat. Security is always high around you anyway, so I
didn't see the need to bother you with these.”

“I appreciated your motives, Tom, but I don't take - lets see - *twelve* death threats
so trivially, even if they appear to be idle,” said Carlton. “Do you have any idea who's behind
them?”

“Like I said, apart from the letters themselves there's been no activity,” said Kennedy.

“That doesn't mean there wont be any,” said Carlton. “It could literally be anyone.”

“We've got a team of special security trolls and an 24-hour Auror escort,” said Kennedy,
trying to quickly offset his boss`s paranoia. “We're as safe as can be.”

“I hope you're right,” said Carlton. “And I want to know if any more of these threats come
in, clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” said Kennedy.

“Right, I want to start going over my speech. If everything else is out of my control this is at
least one thing I can get right.”

* * *

*5:32am, The Technical Academy, near Hogsmeade*

The modest red brick building stood at the end of a winding lane which led out of the village
past the Hogs Head pub. On the second floor corridor Dr Satijanna Nigredo, the Sciences professor,
paused at the window opposite the girls' dormitory and looked around. There was nobody about so
she eased open the dorm room door and scanned the darkness inside. All the girls were still in bed;
some had cases half-packed already so that preparing to leave wouldn't intrude on Play Day, the
traditional light-hearted end to the school year.

Satisfied that everything was in order, Dr Nigredo closed the door and carried on to the end of
the corridor. She stopped at the top of the staircase that was situated there, but instead of
descending it she opened the door to a fire escape and stepped outside. Conscious of waking
anybody, Dr Nigredo made her way down the steel steps of the escape almost on tiptoe. At the bottom
she met her contact, waiting in an alcove by the rubbish bins.

“You're late,” he said.

“Have you ever tried walking in heels?” she asked. “You'd be late too if you tried scuttling
around with *my* shoes on.”

“Is everything set?” asked the contact.

“Yes, you can tell your boss all is ready,” said Dr Nigredo.

“He'll be glad to hear that - something going right. We've had a few slip ups
tonight.”

“Nothing to derail us, I hope,” said Dr Nigredo.

“No, nothing that serious,” said the contact. “Now you're sure you have the right girl?”

“Positive. I've been teaching her all year. I just checked her bed.”

“And she's there?”

“Fast asleep.”

“Good. You keep watching her. Do all you can to make sure she doesn't leave your sight for
any period of the day. You're our insurance policy in case her mother decides to try and be a
hero.”

“I know my role. The Baron trained me specifically for this task. I don't need you reminding
me of it.”

“Just so long as you don't get all emotional when the time comes. You know how you women
get.”

Dr Nigredo stepped closer to her companion in the dark, looking at him with cold intent.

“Do I look emotional?” she asked darkly.

“You never do, Satijanna. Just don't pick today to start.”

“Just go…and tell the Baron I await his orders,” she replied.

“Very well. I'll be happy to get out of here. Being so close to this many Squibs makes me
queasy. I can almost feel my magic sapping away. I don't know how you can stand it.”

“Are you serious? You obviously haven't seen what they pay me to teach these kids a Muggle
curriculum. Its obscene. I`ll miss the money when this is all over.”

“You'll be well compensated for your efforts. Kids from Wizard families being taught like
Muggles,” said the contact, shaking his head. “Basic education to be the dross of our society. I
yearn for the day when the Baron puts and end to these divisions.”

“You may get your wish very soon,” said Dr Nigredo. “Now go - the Baron doesn't tolerate
tardiness.”

Dr Nigredo made her way back upstairs, pausing at the fire doors to look back down, but her
contact had already Apparated away.

* * *

*5:37am, MI5 Headquarters, London*

“Your conference call is ready, Sir.”

“Thank you, Jenny,” said Director Barnes. He followed her from his office and into a private
conference room adjacent to the main Operations centre. Inside, a large plasma screen was mounted
on a wall at the far end of a long table. Director Barnes pressed several buttons on a control
panel set into the table and a picture flashed up onto the screen.

“Director Barnes, good morning.”

“And to you, Mr Prime Minister,” Barnes replied.

“I've been sketchily briefed about the situation,” said the Prime Minister. “Bring me up to
speed will you.”

“So far we don't know a great deal,” said Barnes. “After a man was found brutally murdered
in Barnet around midnight we've been doing what we can to trace his killers. Our most promising
lead is this man; he's a member of the Magical Community and goes by the name of Alexis
Algeron.”

Barnes pressed more buttons and brought up the file of Algeron as stored on their database. He
continued speaking.

“He's spent time in Wizard prison for serious crimes, but he also operates in our world.
Under the assumed name *Alex Kidd* he's been involved in petty criminal activities but
we've uncovered new evidence linking him to several organised gangs.”

“What kind of gangs?” asked the Prime Minister.

“Mostly Eastern European syndicates, especially Albanian drugs and people traffickers,” said
Barnes. “He's been spotted consorting with members of these gangs we've had under
surveillance in Cardiff, Sheffield and parts of East Anglia. we're in the process of compiling
more data on these leads.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“With all due respect, Sir, he's a wizard. It took some of their best people to catch him.
To us, he must be seen as a major threat.”

“What was he doing in Barnet?” asked the Prime Minister.

“We're still working on that, Sir,” said Barnes. “Our operational theory is that he was sent
to make sure the job on the man killed there was complete. If this is true we can assume there is a
bigger threat at work here. That man was killed for a reason and whoever ordered it wanted it made
damn sure that he didn't tell whatever it was he knew.”

“So this threat affects both us and the Magics?”

“We're working on that assumption, though as yet there's been no sign of what the
involvement from our side could be.”

“What steps are you taking to uncover this plot?” asked the Prime Minister.

“I've got our special liaison Agent checking with his people, hoping that perhaps
whatever's happening in their world might generate leads for us,” said Barnes. “We also have
this letter for Harry Potter. We don't know the contents of it, but it was specifically
requested that it be placed in his hands. We were hoping you could try and contact him. The wizard
who died said you'd be the one person who'd be able to.”

“I can get in touch with the Minister for Magic,” said the Prime Minister. “He has a personal
line to Potter at all times. I'll get him on to it.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Keep me appraised of the situation, Director Barnes. I'll make sure your calls have
priority.”

“Yes, Sir, I'll let you know what develops.”

The screen went blank. Barnes rested back into his chair and sighed. It had gone better than he
thought; he'd expected more grouchiness at this time of the morning. But the Prime Minister had
always been keen to cultivate a strong working relationship with the Wizards and took threats from
their world very seriously. Which brought Barnes back to his prevailing thought; Malfoy hadn't
checked in. He'd explained to him once why mobile phones didn't work around magic. Even so,
as he pondered the situation he was sure he wouldn't feel calm again until Malfoy returned.

* * *

*5:41am, Zante*

Lily snivelled into James's shoulder and he looked to Celesca for advice and reassurance,
though he doubted she could give him either. Albus was sat against the far wall looking out of the
window, pretending he couldn't hear the blazing row echoing along the corridor from the room at
the far end.

“It's all my fault,” Lily whimpered. “If I hadn't said anything they wouldn't be
fighting.”

“Look, Lil', if Dad believed you enough to try and contact Aunt Hermione, then found out
that something was wrong, then you were right to tell him,” said James.

“Do you really think so?” she asked, snuggling into his chest. “Do you think they're going
to split up?”

“Don't be silly,” said James. “That isn't going to happen.”

“Are you sure?” asked Albus, the cold tone in his voice surprising everyone. He turned to look
at them, stony faced. “They are rowing a lot lately. You don't see it because you're always
out with Celesca. I'm not saying that to have a go; its good that you have her to take you away
from this.”

James was amazed that his brother sounded so wise and worldly. “Do they really row a lot?”

“Not all the time, and never this bad,” said Albus. “But they niggle quite a bit. They say some
nasty things to each other sometimes.”

“Mostly they just don't speak for a bit then they're okay,” Lily took over. “I don't
know if it'll be like that with this one.”

“How have I missed all this?” asked James in disbelief. “Why didn't anyone tell me?”

“Would you have really wanted to know?” asked Albus.

“What, that my little bro and sis have had to listen to rows? Yes I'd have wanted to know. I
could have taken you out or something.”

“That's all very noble, James, but it wouldn't have made any difference,” said Albus
with an almost disinterested air. “They'd still be rowing either way. Besides, we're used
to it by now.”

James was having trouble believing what he was hearing; he was twisted inside with guilt over
not being there with his siblings and worry about the fact that his parents fought regularly. He
looked over at Celesca; she wore a look of guilt too, as though she felt she was to blame for
taking James away from the domestic troubles of his family. They all sat in ponderous silence,
wondering just how long the argument would go on for.

* * *

*Sparrow's Nook, Cornwall*

Hermione felt better. Guiltily so, but better nonetheless. She'd managed to get hold of
Harry, or rather he'd contacted her, and she'd been able to let him know that trouble was
afoot. She didn't know quite *why* he'd gotten in touch, but it made her insides
flutter a little as she considered wild possibilities and reasons. She was firmly confident that if
he knew she was in danger he would be on his way to help. The thought was enough to make her blush
and give in to girlish ideas, which was most unlike her. She snapped herself out of the thought;
after all, there *was* trouble afoot. If Harry was indeed on his way, she'd look a lot
better if she knew what it was before he arrived. The incentive set her back to task.

But it wasn't all going as she'd hoped. The goon tied up with her strongest magical
binds was proving most uncooperative; either that or he really did know only as little as he was
letting on. In the sensible part of her brain, Hermione knew she'd extracted all she could; the
amount of Veritaserum she'd forced down his throat guaranteed an honest confession. Yet she
still wasn't satisfied.

She'd learned that his name was Callum McDonagh and he took his orders direct from Stian
Dahlgren. At first, Hermione had rubbished this claim as she knew Dahlgren was an Auror. It then
dawned on her that not all wizards are good and that it could partially explain the communication
breakdown. She also knew now that someone called `the Baron' was involved and though this was a
less frightening name than Lord Voldemort, if he'd managed to infiltrate the Ministry he was a
threat not to be taken lightly.

The most concerning aspect for her personally was that McDonagh had confessed to being sent
there with a specific task - to eliminate her. Somebody wanted her dead and it was only her gutsy
nature that had kept her alive. This same person had disabled magical communication, essentially
cutting off the most powerful wizard alive from the events happening in his absence. Hermione was
reassured by the knowledge he was coming; together they could be a formidable force and whoever was
behind these deeds would have to face them soon enough.

* * *

*5:45am*

The Baron stopped as he reached the shelter of the shop doorway. It was an innocuous little
place, far removed from any prying eyes. Perfect for a covert operation such as this. He opened the
door and heard a little bell tinkle in the back as he stepped inside. Pale light filtered in
through dusty windows as the dawn sun continued to rise. The Baron stepped around plant pots and
garden ornaments, through shelves full of tools and bags of compost until he reached the desk. The
shopkeeper was there waiting.

“Good Morning, Neil,” said the Baron.

“And to you, your Lordship,” Neil the shopkeeper replied.

“You have my order?”

“As long as you have the gold,” Neil answered boldly.

“The goods first, as our arrangement had always been,” said the Baron. “You know I'm good
for the money.”

Neil reached under the counter and placed a handsome velvet-bound case in front of the Baron. He
flipped open the lid; inside were two vials of silvery liquid, a handful of leaves and some finely
chopped roots.

“The roots and leaves must be added to the poison first and allowed to dissolve,” Neil
instructed. “Then add the potion.”

“My brewers know exactly what to do,” said the Baron haughtily. “And the other will complete the
Elixir?”

“Yes.”

“You're certain?”

“It's the ingredient you asked for,” said Neil. “I've never brewed that potion myself
but this ingredient was the one you ordered. It's rare.”

“That's why I'm paying you extra for it,” said the Baron. He took the case and dropped a
pouch bulging with Galleons on the counter. He was about to leave when Neil slammed his hand onto
the case.

“For Merlin's sake don't get the vials mixed up,” he said. “The consequences would be
disastrous.”

“In what way?”

“The rare ingredient is difficult to obtain for a reason,” said Neil. “It reacts with hydrogen,
it makes it explode. If mixed with even a cup of water it could make a dreadful weapon.”

“Calm yourself, Neil,” said the Baron, half-chuckling. “I want to poison the water supply, not
annihilate it. I need to have a country left to take over once this day is finished.”

The Baron turned and left, clutching the expensive package inside his cloak. He felt a thrill of
excitement; this was it, the plan was really on now. The final stage really had begun. The potions
would be ready in just a few hours, as soon as these last ingredients were delivered. He had to
reach his courier soon, confident that she wouldn't let him down. There was too much at stake
for her not to comply. The Baron smiled, and Disapparated.

* * *

Amanda Banks groaned in frustration as she looked at the thousands of little pieces before her.
There were so many she didn't even know which bits belonged to which Tracker. It was totally
futile, but judging from the screams and agonised cries drifting in from the main office this was
the best place for her to be. She could only imagine what horrors Malfoy was inflicting on the
traitor, Dahlgren, though she was sure that horrible smell drifting in was burning flesh.

“Now does this part belong over here?” she said to herself, trying to drown out another loud
howl. Then there was silence for a good minute or two. “Oh, Merlin! He's killed him!”

Jumping up, Amanda ran back into the office but the sight she saw there made her turn and vomit
into a wastepaper basket which was handily placed nearby. Dahlgren was unrecognisable; he was
scarred and singed on his face but worst of all he had a dark, bloodied socket where his right eye
should have been. Malfoy had cut it out.

“Auror, are you alright?” asked Malfoy. “I told you not to come out here.”

“I thought you'd killed him,” said Amanda, wiping her mouth. “It went all quiet. I thought
he must be dead. Is he?”

“No, he's just passed out with the shock,” said Malfoy as though talking about the
weather.

“How?”

“I pressed this little knife into his skin a few times,” said Malfoy impassively.

“But it doesn't look very sharp at all,” said Amanda, looking at the blade.

“Oh, it isn't,” said Malfoy with a smirk. “I soaked it in hydrochloric acid first. See these
burn marks here and here. Quite amazing what the Muggles can come up with. Stian was quite
compliant after that; told me he takes his orders from someone calling himself The Baron. Not the
toughest of aliases, is it?”

“The Baron?” said Amanda. “Do you have any idea who that could be?”

“We've never heard of anyone going by that title,” said Malfoy. “When I wake Stian back up
in a moment I'm hoping he can elaborate on his confession.”

“And if he doesn't?”

“I know a few curses which can be very persuasive.”

There was a dark glint in Malfoy's eye that scared Amanda. She knew for certain that though
the interrogation was utterly barbaric, it was clear he was *enjoying* it. Malfoy was about to
wake Dahlgren when someone knocked on the wall at the end of the office.

“Who goes there?” demanded Malfoy.

“Aeric Edwards, Magical Law Enforcement. What the hell happened in here?”

“A traitor has sabotaged our communication networks,” Malfoy explained. “I'm interrogating
the perpetrator now.”

“Then she was right, we really do have a problem,” said Aeric.

“Who was right?” asked Malfoy.

“Hermione Weasley,” said Aeric. “She contacted us a while ago, said she thought there was an
intruder at her home and the F-Phone network was down. We've had a lot of owls with people
complaining of the same thing. I came here to see if Stian Dahlgren knew anything about the
problem.”

“He is the problem,” said Malfoy. “He destroyed all the relays. Everything is down.”

“Something major's happening, isn't it?” asked Aeric. “The Head of the MLE is in danger,
we can't reach the Head Auror, traitors all over the place. It cant be a coincidence.”

“Clearly not,” said Malfoy. “I recommend you go back to your office and co-ordinate a response
to this threat, try and work up any leads.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Aeric. “What will you do?”

“I'll find out who's behind all this,” said Malfoy. “This is an Auror matter, I suggest
you return to your own office.”

Aeric bowed and ducked away.

“Shall I wake him?” said Amanda, galvanised by the thoughts of a major threat taking shape.

“Do it,” Malfoy commanded.

* * *

“Good Morning, listeners, this is Caitlin Doyle on Earlybird Wizarding Wireless Network. I'm
here with Lucien Carlton, chief challenger to Minister for Magic, Horatio Spragg. Gamot Carlton has
a five point lead in the *Daily Prophet* political polls and he's here to convince us all
why your vote today should go to him. Good morning, Lucien.”

“Good morning, Caitlin, and to all the witches and wizards awake on this fine day.”

“Now, Lucien, you've been quite outspoken on Minister Spragg's social policies. Tell us,
what will you do differently?”

“Spragg caters far too much to the rich and powerful,” said Carlton. “He's more concerned
with tax breaks for the big businesses which fund him rather than remembering the people whose
votes put him where he is. I'm promising to get back in touch with the wizard in the street.
And as for Spragg's reforms - well, some have been downright foolhardy. He reversed the ban on
magic carpets yet cut funding on Memory Modification wizards to make the Muggles who spotted the
damn things forget what they saw! He's illogical, out of touch and there needs to be a
change.”

“And you're the man to bring that change?”

“I think so. I've clearly outlined my plans; more money for St. Mungo's and Hogwarts and
the research both institutions carry out; more money on developing affordable housing for magical
people; improved social care for the elderly and permanently baffled and the strengthening of our
links with foreign neighbours. We have to be leaders in the modern world.”

“One concern raised was that you were going to use public money to buy a couple of new Chasers
for the Tornadoes,” joked Doyle. “Second from bottom last year must have hurt you.”

Carlton laughed. “It left a mark on me, shall we say. I couldn't face my colleagues for a
good few days. But I can assure the voters that their hard earned tax Galleons won't be showing
up in a Tornadoes uniform should I win today.”

“I'm sure we're all glad to hear it,” said Doyle. “Right, we'll go to Ursula for the
weather then we'll get right back to grilling Gamot Carlton with *your* owled-in
questions. Keep it locked in to WWN…”

* * *

*5:52am*

The Baron pulled his scarf tighter around his face and knocked hard three times on the door. He
heard shuffling inside and prepared himself; this unwilling servant had proven to be useful but she
had a history of being recklessly brave. The Baron was always wary of her snapping on one of these
times and attacking him. He held onto his wand as the door slowly opened and a pair of terrified
eyes peered out from a messy fringe of dirty blonde hair.

“I was hoping you wouldn't come.”

“I am as constant as the Northern Star, Miss Lovegood.”

The Baron entered the house.

“Your husband is away, I presume?” he asked.

“I put a spell on him and sent him to his mother's as soon as I got your message.”

To anyone who had known her, hearing Luna Lovegood speak in such a frightened and serious tone
would have been quite a shock. Normally dreamy and unconcerned, this air of alertness would have
seemed most alien to a knowledgeable observer.

“You should relax, Miss Lovegood,” said the Baron calmly. “This is the last little job I have
for you; well, for now at least.”

“I want to see my daughter,” said Luna. “I want to know she's safe before I do
anything.”

“You are going to have to take my word that she is,” said the Baron icily.

“Why should I take your word? It means nothing to me.”

“Simply because you have no alternative,” the Baron taunted. “For if you don't do as I ask,
or you try to alert someone to what's going on, I will have no qualms about ordering her to be
killed. You know the drill by now.”

Luna shook with fear and tried to fight back tears rising in her eyes. She had no choice in the
matter.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Good girl,” said the Baron. “Same task as always. I want you to deliver a package. It's a
very important mission and I need to trust you to complete it. Because of this I want you to know
that I have an operative with little Aleri right at this moment. If you deviate from my
instructions your daughter's death will be the work of but a moment.”

Luna felt a tear slide down her cheek. She felt so terribly alone, powerless against the monster
before her.

“Where do I go?”

“Take this package,” said the Baron. He handed Luna a small box with the poison vial inside.
“Take it to the Thames Valley water treatment plant on the outskirts of London. My man will be
waiting for you there at the west entrance gate.”

“Thames Valley Water, west gate,” Luna repeated. “And then will you let me see my daughter?”

“She comes home tomorrow from that ridiculous academy Hermione Weasley founded for Squibs,
doesn't she?” the Baron asked. Luna nodded. “She will be escorted from there by my operative.
She will be delivered to you then.”

“Please don't hurt her,” Luna begged.

“That's entirely in your hands, Miss Lovegood,” said the Baron. “I don't want to harm
little Aleri, but if you force my hand…”

“I won't, I promise,” said Luna. “I'll do what you want.”

“Good. You'd better get dressed, my man is waiting for you. I'll show myself out.”

And he did. Luna simply slumped to her knees, and wept.

* * *

*5:56am, Auror Headquarters*

Malfoy raised his wand yet again. The word *Crucio* had already formed at his lips when
Amanda Banks threw out an arm to stop him.

“That's enough, Sir - he can't take any more. Look at him.”

Malfoy did so. He had reduced Stian Dahlgren to a jibbering wreck, drool running from his
lopsided mouth while his one remaining eye stared unfocused into space.

“He's told you all he knows,” Banks continued. “Killing him now lets him off being punished
legally for what he's done.”

“You may be right,” said Malfoy, pocketing his wand. “But we still aren't any closer to
uncovering the meaning of all this or who's giving the orders.”

“Perhaps that's how the Baron wants it,” Amanda suggested. “The right hand doesn't know
what the left is doing, sort of thing.”

Malfoy looked at her anew. “That's quite insightful. You think maybe he wants to keep his
own people in the dark? Each part knows only its own role?”

“Maybe,” said Amanda shyly, Malfoy's respectful tone putting pressure on her . “If Dahlgren
only knew to destroy the communications and give orders to this McDonagh person then he
couldn't endanger the plot if he was captured. His job here was dangerous enough -”

“As he was right under the noses of the Aurors,” said Malfoy ponderously. “Capture must have
been a possibility for his part in the plan. Ignorance of the bigger picture could have been his
contingency.”

“But if the lead stops with Dahlgren then we're stuck,” said Amanda.

“Not necessarily,” said Malfoy. “He mentioned this McDonagh character. He was sent to Hermione
Weasley, to kill her. Reluctant as I am to admit it I doubt he was successful. She's quite
powerful.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have to get hold of Harry Potter,” said Malfoy. “He needs to be brought in if something as
big as this is going down.”

“But how will you reach him with the communication compromised?” asked Amanda.

“Through Weasley, they were always pretty close. She'll know where to find him.”

“Sorry for repeating myself, Sir, but wont you have the same problem getting hold of her?” asked
Amanda.

“That guy Aeric who was just here said Weasley got a message to them,” said Malfoy. “It was
after Stian's handiwork because she was complaining that her F-Phone wasn't working.
I'm going over to the Ministry to find out how she did it and use it to reach her.”

“What shall I do?”

“Push Stian into one of the holding cells for now,” said Malfoy. “And stay here. The other
Aurors will be coming into work soon. They'll need to be appraised of the situation. Make sure
Ron Weasley knows everything when he comes in. He's Deputy of this office, he'll need to
take charge of the search for the Baron, though that isn't a scenario that fills me with
optimism. Lets hope I reach Potter first.”

Malfoy turned and made to leave the office. He stopped at the door and turned back to Amanda.
“You did well today. You have a bright future here.”

“Thank you, Sir,” said Amanda, blushing.

Malfoy nodded, then left the office.

* * *

*5:58 am, Zante*

Harry took one last look at Ginny. Her eyes were puffy and red but Harry was not about to let a
guilt trip and a few tears stop him from doing what he knew to be right. Ginny had repeated her
threat to leave him but he had decided she didn't really mean it.

“I'll be back in a while,” he said, fastening the clasp on his cloak.

“Don't bother hurrying,” she snapped back. “Give Hermione a kiss for me while you're
there.”

“Petulance isn't attractive, you know,” said Harry sharply.

“Neither is Hermione,” said Ginny, acidly.

Harry went to respond but didn't think he trusted himself to hold his true thoughts in if he
did.

“Look after the kids,” said Harry. “I don't want them leaving the villa until I get
back.”

“Whatever, *Sir,*” Ginny replied, sarcastically.

Harry shook his head at her childishness and went to the door. He had barely opened it when a
jet of light startled him. It hit him in the chest and threw him back against the wall. He tried to
move but was immobile. There was no mistaking the Impedimentia Curse. He heard Ginny give out a
little scream before she, too, was frozen stiff by the same spell. Harry looked up as two masked
intruders towered over them, wands raised in their faces. He was struck by immeasurable fear for
his children; had they been attacked first? Were they safe? Did the intruders even know they were
there? But there was another pressing thought on his mind; despite all the security measures Harry
had implemented, these men had managed to get in. How in the hell had they done it? One thing he
felt for sure was it wouldn't be long until he found out.

*6:00am*

-->



6. Chapter Six
--------------



Chapter Five

*The following takes place between 6:00am and 7:00am on the day of the Wizengamot Ministerial
election.*

*Events occur in real time*

*6:00am, Dublin, Ireland*

Padraig Kelly took one last, long drag from his cigarette and tossed the butt away. It was time
to return the call. If his partner was on schedule then very soon the British Government would be
brought to its knees. Padraig was eager to see it happen; he may not have been too comfortable
working with these wizard-types, but he would be prepared to overlook that if they delivered the
biggest prize since the struggle began.

“Declan, any word on our transportation?” Padraig called to his deputy.

“Not yet, boss,” came the reply.

“Give it another twenty then find out what's taking so long,” said Padraig. “We are on a
tight schedule.”

“Yes, boss.”

Padraig looked around the desolate field; it was just about light enough now to see the
nothingness for miles around. The shabby little hut protecting them from the winds and spray of the
Irish Sea was the only structure in sight. Padraig didn't like open spaces; he preferred
somewhere with a good solid wall to hide behind in case a stray bullet came his way. Still, needs
dictated today.

“Declan, I'm gonna make some calls,” said Padraig. “I don't want no disruptions.”

Declan nodded and Padraig moved a little away from the rest of his men. He took out his mobile
phone, pressed 3 on speed dial and waited.

“*Hello?**”*

“Coles, its Kelly.”

“*Yes, Boss.**”*

“What's your situation?” Kelly asked.

*“**The wizard guy**'**s just arrived, he**'**s setting up
his big pot,**”* Coles replied. *“**He says the last piece of the mix is on its
way.**”*

“Good. How long will it take to make the package ready?”

“*An hour, maybe less.**”*

“Right. Once that ingredient gets there you're gonna need help,” said Kelly. “The stuff
needs to enter the water in the right amount and at the right pressure.”

*“**I sent you the pressures already, boss,**”* said Coles.

“I know that, but in case anything goes wrong you're gonna need someone there to help put it
right. Find an engineer there, make it worth his while to help us.”

“*Will do. And when its done?**”*

“You know what to do.”

Kelly hung up the phone.

* * *

*6:03am, Zante*

Harry struggled against his binds but it was no good. His ankles had been tied together with
thick cord, his wrists twisted and bound in a similar fashion before being handcuffed to the steel
bars of the bed's frame. His arms were stretched above his head and he was pulled out on the
bed like he was on a rack. One of the intruders was fixing his ankles to the bedpost while the
other crouched over Ginny. She had been bound tightly and gagged before being pushed into the
corner, where she now lay in the foetal position, a wand pointed at her head.

“Who are you people?” Harry demanded.

“Shut that hole in your face,” the intruder replied, before smacking Harry with the back of his
hand. “I'll ask the questions. You give me wrong answers, you pay in pain.”

Harry heard Ginny whimper in the corner and he struggled against his binds. It was no good; they
were fastened tight and Harry couldn't get any purchase against them from the position he was
in. He was utterly at their mercy.

“Save your strength, Potter,” said the man over him. “You're going to need it.”

“Whatever you want from me, you wont get it,” said Harry staunchly. “No matter what you do to
me.”

“We'll see about that,” came the reply. “We'll see just how well you stand up under your
own form of scrutiny.”

An involuntary shudder rippled across Harry's shoulders. Long ago, when interrogating Death
Eaters and Dark Wizards was a new game, Harry had realised just how little scope there was when it
came to coercive questioning. He embarked on a series of spell developments, following the path set
by the two wizards he admired the most - Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape. If this man really had
learned how to perform the interrogation spells he had created then this was going to be an
excruciating experience. The man continued speaking.

“Yes, when we're done with you and your pretty little wife we might just let you loose.” He
bent his head close to Harry, who could smell his stinking breath, and spoke in an evil whisper.
“The state I plan to leave you in wont make you much help to anybody, especially that interfering
Weasley woman. With a bit of luck of course, she's already dead.”

Harry felt like a block of lead had fallen into his stomach. He screwed up all his strength, all
he had about him, and steeled himself for what was about to come. He was determined not to be
beaten by his own methods. The lead intruder, who'd be attending to him, went to check on
Ginny's binds, tugging hard at her wrists and ankles. Seemingly satisfied with them, he
returned to Harry.

“Okay, lets start with something simple and see just how much the saviour of the world can
take.” He raised his wand. “*Crucio!**”*

Harry bellowed in agony. Down the hall James Potter heard the sound and jumped with a start.

* * *

*6:07am, Magical Law Enforcement Offices, Ministry of Magic*

Draco Malfoy stepped through the open grille of the elevator and made his way along the
lately-polished floor of the corridor. He moved briskly down its centre, allowing the bustling
workers to make it their business to move around him as they went about their work. Malfoy was glad
to see the place a hive of activity; Aeric must have worked fast to mobilise everything so quickly.
It comforted Malfoy that, with such dangerous events in the offing, preparations were finally being
made to confront it; the ignorance and inactivity elsewhere had alarmed him.

Aeric was crouched over a workstation as Malfoy approached. Reams of parchment were streaming
out from beneath magically automated quills and Aeric was tearing them off and skim-reading them,
searching for any hints of what might be happening. He stopped as Malfoy approached and turned to
greet him.

“Auror Malfoy, Sir,” he said.

“Aeric,” Malfoy said in reply. “Have you discovered anything yet?”

“No, not yet, but we've not long got everything up and running,” Aeric answered.

“And what, exactly, have you done?”

“We've contacted all field MLE officers and sent them on fact-finding assignments,” said
Aeric. “We're checking their reports as they conduct their enquiries.”

“How can you reach them without the Floo Comm Network?”

“They carry Herald Tablets,” explained Aeric. “It's a relatively new thing we're
testing.”

“How do they work?” asked Malfoy.

“Each officer carries a small stone tablet,” said Aeric. “We have a bigger one here in the
office. When we inscribe something on it we can send it out to all the smaller ones. It's for
general bulletins, really, but that's all we needed here.”

“I see,” said Malfoy. “Have you come up with anything peculiar yet?”

“No, Sir, but like I said the first ones have only just started coming in.”

“Very well, keep on it. Edwards, am I right in thinking Hermione Weasley contacted you
*after* the Floo Network went dead?”

“Yes, Sir,” replied Aeric.

“How did she manage that?” asked Malfoy.

“She used a Muggle telephone,” said Aeric. “She had one installed in her office for
ultra-emergencies.”

“Take me to it.”

Aeric dropped his parchment and led Malfoy to a circular office in the corner. The door carried
a sign whose lettering was made of the same burnished brass as the ornate handles below it.

*H. Weasley, Director, Magical Law Enforcement*

Malfoy wrinkled his nose as he read the sign. Aeric held the door open for him to pass into the
office. Neat and orderly, the décor of the place was brisk and business-like. It wouldn't have
looked out of place at MI5, Malfoy thought to himself. In a special tray on the desk stood a
handsome 19th Century telephone, scarlet for the most part but the mouth and earpiece of
receiver were gold as was the circular dial.

“Shall I dial the number?” asked Aeric. “Madam Weasley showed me how to do it.”

“I know how to use a telephone,” said Malfoy crisply. “Just tell me the number and I'll do
it myself.”

“The number is 3-3-7-7-1-2,” said Aeric, affronted.

“Thank you,” said Malfoy. He began to turn the numbers on the dial. He looked up at Aeric, still
in the doorway. “That will be all. I suggest you get back to work.”

Aeric bowed away looking mutinous. Malfoy finished dialling and waited for Hermione to pick up
on the other end.

“Hello? Aeric is that you?”

“No, it's Draco Malfoy.”

“Malfoy?” said Hermione, sounding startled. “What in the name of Dumbledore are *you* doing
at the Ministry?”

“Chasing up the same problem that may have affected you,” said Malfoy coolly.

“How is that possible?” said Hermione. “How did you hear about that at MI5?”

“I'd rather not talk over the phone,” said Malfoy. “You never know who may be
listening.”

“I can assure you that this is a private line. It's very secure.”

“And I can assure *you* that I know far more about phone-tapping than you, considering
where I work,” said Malfoy. “No Muggle phone line is ever totally secure, and one leading to a
place like this would be easy to tap if the wrong people knew about it.”

“What are you trying to say? That -”

“Not over the phone!” hissed Malfoy. “We need to meet.”

“I can't leave here,” said Hermione. “I have an intruder tied up in my living room.”

“Really?” said Malfoy, grudgingly impressed. “That could be useful to the investigation.
I'll come to you and interrogate him.”

“He's already told me all he knows, under the influence of Veritaserum,” said Hermione
simply.

“Veritaserum isn't as accurate as it once was,” said Malfoy. “There's a Muggle drug
which inhibits its' effectiveness.”

“Is there really?” said Hermione.

“Yes, now listen, we have to meet. I have important information that only you can help with.”
Malfoy hesitated, knowing he had to give some information away for Hermione to acquiesce to the
plan. “It's about Potter.”

There was a pause at the end of the line. “You'd better come right here. Sparrow's Nook,
Avalon Heights.”

“In Cornwall?” asked Malfoy.

“That's right,” said Hermione. “I'll be waiting for you.”

She hung up, which Malfoy found rude. He shrugged off the sensation and moved back into the main
office. He found Aeric again.

“I'm going to see your boss,” he said. “After that I'll be returning to the Muggle
office where I work. I want regular updates of your progress but with the F-Phones down you're
going to have to use owls or traditional Floo Network methods. My fire at MI5 is connected to the
Floo Network - throw me hourly bulletins via that, more regular if something turns up.”

Malfoy didn't wait for confirmation of his orders before turning and leaving.

* * *

*6:15am, Carlton Election Campaign*

Lucien Carlton strode in front of the unlit hearth and read over his lines again. Even though he
acknowledged the importance of his message he had to admit that this was one area of his campaign
that was very boring. They were, however, some of the most pressing issues in the eyes of the
electorate and as such he had to ensure his words sat well with those he was targeting. He
didn't like to think of it in those terms at this time; the threat of being a target of a
different nature, himself, was still hanging over his mind.

“Should I really be saying less public money will be squandered?” asked Carlton. “Can we
actually guarantee that?”

“Not on all levels,” replied Tom Kennedy, sat on the couch. “But a few lines later you attach
the claim to the extravagant expenses that Spragg has racked up; the public like to know their
money will be spent on things which benefit them, not on lavish parties and gifts for his
contributors.”

“Do these economics really add up?” asked Carlton, eyeing figures on his sheet. “It seems very
sketchy to me.”

“Spragg's Feudal Finance policy never worked,” said Kennedy. “It was a decent idea - paying
taxes for your own community only - but it didn't work in poorer places. One of the main things
you're trying to sell yourself on is bridging the rich/poor divide. Spreading wealth evenly
across the country is a much better way of doing that, even if the aristocrats at the top don't
like it.”

“I believe you, Tom, you're the numbers man of this operation,” said Carlton. “I go on in
less than two hours and I don't feel prepared at all.”

Kennedy rose from the couch and placed a steadying hand on Carlton's arm.

“Lucien, we've been at this since you were elected to the Wizengamot fifteen years ago,” he
said. “We pulled it off when you ran to sit on the International Confederation of Wizards, and
again when we won the Chairmanship of the Council of Wizarding Commerce. We're old hands -
people trust you - stay focused on your message and we'll do just fine again.”

Carlton relaxed. “Thank you, Tom. I don't know what I'd have done without you.”

“Thank me when you take the Big Office,” said Kennedy. “Put me in the Under-secretary's
chair and I'll consider us square.”

“Alright,” said Carlton, chuckling. “Let's get back to it. I can't make any errors;
those Gringotts Goblins only let me deliver this speech on the steps to their bank so they can be
the first to shout me down. I don't want to give them any more ammunition than they already
have.”

* * *

*6:19am, MI5 Headquarters, London*

Agent Jenny Miller slipped away from her desk in the main Operations Centre and made her way two
floors down to the server room. Here she pulled down a secure terminal and logged onto the Air
Traffic Control server. She worked quickly, prioritising clearance for a private flight from Dublin
to Cardiff. She imputed the data, covering her tracks with a scrambler code. Once arrival and
departure had been verified she cleared her screen and shut down the terminal.

“Jenny? What are you doing here?”

It was Agent Scott. Jenny froze for a moment, but quickly regained herself.

“Sorry, Sir, I had to refresh the socket to the Serious Organised Crimes Agency,” she lied. “All
this cross-accessing is playing merry hell with our relays.”

“I'll take your word for it,” said Scott smirking. “I'm a technophobe, Jen, you know
that.”

“Yes, Sir, you've demonstrated that a few times,” she said, grinning back.

“I'm still your boss, Agent Miller,” said Scott lightly. “I can discipline you for back chat
like that.”

“I'd prefer you didn't make promises you don't intend to keep, *Sir*,” she
replied sultrily, stepping closer to him.

Scott shuddered as a waft of perfume ensnared his senses.

“Was there…*anything**…*you wanted me for?” asked Jenny.

Agent Scott thought of, and dismissed, several inappropriate answers very quickly. “I - er -
needed you to get me a copy of Agent Malfoy's personnel file. I need to, erm, give some things
a good look over.”

Jenny stepped closer again, her head almost touching Agent Scott's chest. Her scent was
intoxicating.

“I'll get on top of it right away,” she said breathlessly.

She left and Agent Scott hurried towards the staffroom for a cup of strong coffee. Jenny, on the
other hand, veered away from the path to the office and slid into the disabled bathroom. She
whipped out her mobile phone and dialled the number of her contact, checking her lipstick in the
mirror as it dialled.

“It's Miller, the flight's been cleared,” she said as a voice answered on the other
end.

“Excellent,” the voice replied. “Any other news?”

“Malfoy's gone, couldn't find out where.”

“We have Malfoy under surveillance. He's making a real nuisance of himself. The Baron is
considering extreme force against him once he returns from the delivery.”

“Then everything's on course?” asked Jenny.

“As long as Malfoy doesn't interfere too much we're right where we need to be,” said the
voice down the phone. “Once Kelly and his Muggle terrorist buddies get involved it'll draw
MI5's attention. Then we strike. They won't see it coming. I'll let you know when to
get out of there.”

“I'll be waiting,” said Jenny. She hung up, opened the door to the bathroom and, once
she'd decided all was clear, slipped out and made her way towards the Ops Centre. At the end of
the hall, Agent Scott, stepped out of the from behind the door to one of the interrogation suites.
He stroked his chin and wondered just what Agent Miller was up to.

* * *

*6:23 am, Zante*

Harry couldn't restrain another pained cry as a cut opened up on his forehead. Warm blood
oozed from the wound and slid down into his eye. The intruder and the room behind him were tinted
crimson for a moment until Harry blinked and returned everything to normal. At least as normal as
could be expected after a period of agonizing torture which had made every part of his body burn
with pain.

“I'll ask you again, Potter, where are they?”

Harry stared resolutely at the masked intruder but said nothing.

“I don't think you realise quite how much I'm enjoying this.”

The intruder raised his wand again and Harry felt his joints edge away from each other once
more. The pain was so intense he couldn't even cry out; the sound got lost in his vocal chords
somewhere and all that escaped him was the slightest of groans. The intruder lowered his wand and
Harry's body, which had arced up as his vertebrae had been stretched out, fell back down onto
the bed. He breathed hard and tensed up to endure the pain as a second wave hit him.

“Just give me an answer and it'll be all over,” said the intruder.

“I would give you an answer,” Harry panted breathily, “but my middle finger is tied up to the
bed.”

“*Imperio!**”* cried the intruder.

Harry felt the light-headed sensation of the curse as a welcome break from the pain. He took a
moment to compose himself, easily resisting the weak curse being aimed at him. He found it really
annoying that such a poor wizard had control over him and was sure Hermione would tease him about
it later. If only he could reverse the spell…

*“**Where are the field Aurors? Tell me**…”*

The intruder's voice washed over Harry's head trying to influence him, but Harry had
thrown off Imperius Curses ten times stronger than this one. He almost laughed at the thought that
this one could control him. Hadn't he managed, after many, many months of practice, to throw
off the version Hermione had cast on him while they trained? Did this punk think he could out-curse
Hermione? What a notion!

He felt it before he really knew what was happening. He was looking back at himself from the end
of the bed. His face was slack, his eyes distant and the thoughts Harry could hear weren't his
own. Suddenly, he had an idea.

*Untie me*, Harry thought.

The intruder began to undo Harry's binds when suddenly his comrade shoulder barged him and
knocked his wand away. Harry felt himself crash back into his own mind and the pain of his body
coursed through his consciousness once more. He groaned as it settled on him.

“What the hell are you doing?” yelled the lead intruder.

“You were about to untie him, you dickhead,” said the other. “What were you doing?”

“He turned the Imperius Curse back on me…without a wand,” said the first. He looked at Harry;
despite having him fastened securely to the bed there was no doubt that there was a look of fear in
the eyes of the intruder.

“Well, lets see if he can stand a double Cruciatus.”

Harry howled as the dual curses hit him. He didn't think he'd ever experienced anything
quite like it. The pain was blinding and Harry felt his senses slip away from his head. He tried to
snatch them back as a scream from Ginny broke the curses.

“No! Stop! Stop!”

She had managed to spit out her gag and was sobbing her pleas to the attackers.

“Don't worry, cutie,” said the lead attacker. “We'll give your lover a break soon
enough. We'll see how long he lasts as soon as we start giving you a bit of this
treatment.”

Anger welled up in Harry's chest as though a monster was struggling to get out. He roared
loudly and struggled hard against his binds, which moved as little as before.

“I see we have a new plan,” said the masked man. “A little bit more fun with Potter first though
- for trying to control my mind.”

* * *

Outside the door two rubber ears scuttled away down the hall. They reached the first room on the
left and the people listening into the small earpieces scooped them up.

“What's going on? What's happening?”

James looked at Celesca, her expression mirroring his own look of total horror.

“Don't ignore me!” hissed Albus. “And don't tell me nothing's going on. We can all
hear those screams.”

“It sounds like someone's got mum and dad tied up,” said James quietly. “I don't want to
know what they're doing to them.”

Albus changed in an instant. He leapt up and landed next to James. “Oh, god, what are we going
to do? What`s going to happen to us?”

“The best thing is not to panic,” said Celesca.

“Don't panic!?” said James incredulously. “Didn't you hear what's going on down
there?”

“Yes, I did,” said Celesca, shuddering. “But losing your head wont do any good. How are we going
to help them like that?”

James felt a surge of love so powerful for Celesca and her offer to help save his parents that
he almost forgot everything else. Her composed approach steadied him and he listened to her
intently.

“We have to think of something, we have to help them,” said Celesca, thinking aloud. “But
how?”

James looked hard at her. He didn't know exactly what they were going to do but he was sure
the plan wouldn't take long to form. After all, Celesca hated not knowing how to do something
and James was confident they'd have an idea sooner rather than later.

* * *

*6:31 am, Thames Valley Water, West Access Road*

Luna Lovegood Disapparated and felt the air of the morning on her face. It was handy that
she'd landed in a breeze; the cool air dried fresh tears which had rolled down her cheeks. She
felt bad enough that any of this was happening at all; bad enough that she was aiding this lunatic,
bad enough that her daughter was in danger and beyond assistance. She didn't want to give them
any more satisfaction through their manipulation of her by seeing her crying.

She made her way through long, unkempt grasses towards a gate nearby. A dirt track ran through
it wide enough to accommodate large Muggle vehicles. The gate broke up a long mesh of wire fencing,
most of it rusted and some with large sections torn away, flapping and creaking in the wind. A lone
figure stood huddled against the open gate and Luna made her way towards him.

“Excuse me,” said Luna quietly. The man turned around - Luna saw his face and gasped in utter
horror. “*YOU!?**”*

It was neither question nor statement but it was laced with corrosive hatred.

“Luna? Luna Lovegood?” asked the man. “What in the name of Merlin are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, you swine of hell!”

“No, Luna, you've got it all wrong -”

“Really, Ron? Then please explain it to me.”

Ron Weasley took off the black bobble hat which had been covering his head; his shock of red
hair must have stuck out for a mile in such a bland location. He looked pale and worried and Luna,
despite seething with anger that this man was involved with the threat against her little girl,
refrained from launching into a rant at him.

“Luna, what are you doing here?” he asked.

“Oh, no, you go first,” said Luna.

“It's a long story and if we're here for the same reason then we both know that time is
short.”

“I can't believe you're working for these people!” Luna spat.

“I'm not…I haven't got a choice…but you can hardly talk.”

“I haven't got a choice, either,” said Luna. “But they're blackmailing *me*.
What's your excuse?”

“I was on an undercover mission, top secret,” Ron began. “I had a tip-off about a major new
player on the Dark Wizard scene -”

“The Baron?”

“That's the one,” said Ron. “My tip said they were close to doing something big and I tried
to infiltrate them, to stop them.”

“You could have brought Harry into it,” said Luna hotly. “He'd have known what to do. He
could've stopped all of this.”

“I couldn't,” said Ron, desperately. “They have people inside the Ministry and the Aurors.
Harry would have made it a major priority - everyone would have known…the Baron would have
disappeared underground and our chance to bring him in would have gone…so I decided to go in
undercover, alone.”

“That was dangerous,” Luna observed. “But now that we know we're both involved we can help
each other to stop it.”

“It isn't that simple,” said Ron. “I think I've been under the Imperius Curse. The Baron
puts me under, makes me tell him everything that happens. There are loads of gaps in my
memory…”

“You have to do something,” said Luna.

“I've tried,” said Ron. “I tried to stay undercover to get close enough to stop what was
happening, but the Baron has no faults in his inner circle. There was no way in.”

“Then help me do something,” said Luna.

“I can't,” said Ron. “I'm too afraid of what will happen.”

“Please, Ron.”

“No, Luna. It's dangerous enough that I'm trying to infiltrate the Baron's crew by
myself.”

“But that hasn't worked out, has it?”

“Well, er, no. Things didn't go as I planned,” said Ron, pawing the ground with his boot.
“They found me out, made me help them. They say they are watching Hermione and my kids and
they'll do terrible things if I don't help them. All I have to do is pass stuff on. Its
kept Hermione safe for months now…”

Luna softened. She moved forwards and suddenly hugged Ron, feeling as though someone finally
knew what she was going through.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know,” she said soothingly.

“It's okay,” Ron sniffed. Her smoothed Luna's back, drank in the scent of her hair. They
broke apart.

“You'd better take this.” She gave him the package. “It's what the Baron gave me.”

“Thanks,” said Ron. “I have to tell him you were here, and give this to whoever I'm meeting
in there.”

Ron jabbed his thumb towards the plant behind him. Luna nodded and turned to walk away. Ron
spoke again, quickly and cautiously.

“How's Aleri?”

Luna stopped and closed her eyes.

“She's fine…I hope,” she replied.

“What do you mean, *you hope?**”*

“She's the reason I'm doing this,” said Luna, sombrely. “They have her; they're
watching her at school, ready to hurt her if I don't do as they ask.”

Ron swore loudly and violently.

“Luna, I'm so sorry - I'm sorry I didn't - sorry that they'd…damn these
bastards!”

Luna turned. “I think it'll be alright. Just do what they've told you and it'll all
be okay. She'll be fine if whatever they're doing works out like they want it to.”

Luna walked back to Ron and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Without saying another word she
took a few steps back, turned and was gone. Ron sighed, and made his way towards the water
plant.

* * *

*6:37am, Sparrow**'**s Nook*

Malfoy knocked three times on the front door and waited. A few moments later a gap appeared in
the curtain hanging in the long window next to the doorframe; it had been a while since he'd
seen her but Malfoy would recognise that bushy mane anywhere. It had hardly changed in twenty-five
years and it was the signifier that he'd found the right place. Next thing, locks unlocked and
Hermione was standing before him in the open doorway.

“Draco, you'd better come in,” said Hermione.

“Morning to you too, Granger,” said Malfoy stepping into the house.

“It's been `Weasley' for a good few years now,” said Hermione, leading the way towards
the living room.

“No need to sound so rueful - it wasn't like you were forced into it,” said Malfoy.
“I've just never gotten used to calling you that name; and besides - I thought I already had
quite enough insults for you to be going on with.”

“I see you still haven't found that sense of humour you've been missing all these
years,” said Hermione bitterly.

“Is this him? Is this McDonagh?” asked Malfoy, ignoring Hermione's snipe.

“No, I keep lots of people tied up around the house,” said Hermione sarcastically.

“What you do in the privacy of your own home is your business, Granger,” said Malfoy coolly.

“How do you know his name?” asked Hermione.

“I've just come from interrogating Dahlgren at the Auror Office.”

“Oh…is there anything left of him?”

“Not much.”

Malfoy gave Hermione that dark grin that she'd never liked in him. He may have gone a long
way to redeeming himself in Harry's eyes but she could never agree with him that Malfoy had
shrugged off all the Dark aspects of his dubious family.

“What did McDonagh tell you?” Malfoy asked.

“Just his name, his mission and that he took his orders from Stian,” said Hermione.

“What was his mission?”

“To kill me,” said Hermione simply.

“Oh…” said Malfoy. There was genuine gravity in his look, though Hermione wasn't entirely
sure she wanted his sympathy.

“What happened with Dahlgren? What did he do?”

“I'd rather tell all this to Potter, it's something he will need to handle himself,”
said Malfoy.

“Harry will bring me in on it anyway so you might as well just tell me,” said Hermione.

“Yes - I suppose there's still nothing that one of you does without the other involved
somewhere,” said Malfoy. “It'd be cute - if I was the sort of person who liked cute
things.”

“We don't have time for this, Draco,” said Hermione.

“Then just tell me where Potter is so I can tell him what's been going on.”

“That isn't going to happen,” said Hermione firmly. “Something dangerous is taking place and
I don't know the full story. Until I do I will only trust Harry.”

“I'm bringing you this information,” said Malfoy incredulously. “You should trust me.”

“I'm sorry, Draco, but I just don't.”

Hermione met his angry gaze with a steely one of her own. She continued,

“I've been attacked in my own home by a wizard sent on the orders of a Senior Auror. Forgive
me if I'm a little short in the trust department today, but think how you'd react if it was
Scorpius in danger.”

Malfoy swallowed hard. “You're right, Granger. You've been through an ordeal tonight -
but I still need to give this information to Potter.”

“If it's that big then give it to me, I'll take it to him personally.”

Malfoy's lip curled into a grin. “Finally, we get to what this little dance is all
about.”

“Oh zip it, Malfoy!” said Hermione, her face reddening.

“Why won't you just tell me where he is?”

“Because I'm the Secret Keeper to where he's gone,” said Hermione. “He trusted me to
keep his location private and that isn't something I'm about to break. The only way any
information, no matter how major, is going to reach Harry is through me.”

“Very well,” said Malfoy conceding. “Stian Dahlgren wrecked the Auror Office, practically
destroyed it. He took out all the Floo Comm relays, including Potter's private line.”

“That explains the F-Phone system being down,” said Hermione nodding.

“Furthermore,” said Malfoy, irked, “he obliterated the Unforgivable Trackers - if those curses
are used now we wont know about it.”

Hermione gasped. “Oh my word, things are worse than I thought. What's being done?”

“The Aurors are been called into the office,” said Malfoy. “A junior Auror - who was attacked by
Dahlgren tonight but managed to fight back and subdue him - is there to explain the situation. The
MLE has mobilised and is trying to generate leads.”

“Do they have any?”

“The only thing we have comes from Dahlgren. He said he takes his orders from someone calling
themselves The Baron.”

“I got that from McDonagh, too,” said Hermione, “ but that isn't an alias I've come
across. So Stian really was giving him his orders?”

“Seems that way,” said Malfoy. “The junior Auror had a thought that maybe all branches of this
plan are acting largely ignorant of the end game. Stian's job was to disable the F-Comm
Network, the Trackers and give McDonagh his orders. He didn't know anything bigger than
that.”

“So it could be that only the Baron knows everything,” Hermione speculated.

“That's my thinking,” said Malfoy. “There could be many parts to this, some which
haven't even emerged yet. Those involved know only their own part. It makes it very difficult
to stop.”

“But how did you get wind of all this?” asked Hermione.

“A wizard was murdered in Barnet tonight,” said Malfoy. “His face was unrecognisable but I'm
guessing he was one Potter's Primas.”

“The covert operations Aurors?” asked Hermione. “What makes you think so?”

“He gave two Muggle police officers this letter, said it had to be put into Potter's hands,”
said Malfoy. He handed Hermione the blood-stained envelope. “They were his dying words.”

“Have you opened it?”

“No, if it's from a Prima it's for Potter's eyes only,” said Malfoy. He smirked as
he added, “and yours as well, probably.”

Hermione turned the letter over in her hand. “You're sure about the origin of the
letter?”

“Yes, they use a special parchment,” said Malfoy. “Ink sinks into it and Potter has a special
tool which allows him to read it. It's a security precaution. The only thing you can read is
that symbol on the wax seal.”

Hermione looked at the symbol. “What is it?”

“A depiction of the eclipse of the sun and moon,” said Malfoy. “Light going into darkness - the
crest and motto of the Primas.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I was a Crow myself, once,” said Malfoy. There was something like fondness in his eye as he
recalled the memory.

“You were a Black Ops Auror?” said Hermione. “I never knew that.”

“Secrecy was everything,” said Malfoy. “Only Potter knew who we all were and we rarely worked
with the same people twice. It was where Potter trained me. He wanted me to be the best Prima so I
could be the most effective liaison to MI5.”

“Well his instincts are good and nearly always right,” said Hermione fondly. “And considering
you know more than anyone about what's going on I think we can say he was right on this
one.”

“We still need to bring him into this,” said Malfoy. “I'm going to go back and work with the
Muggles - I have a feeling that there is more to that side of events than I've uncovered so
far. You go to Potter, I`ll take McDonagh with me. I can interrogate him at MI5.”

“I'll go right to Harry,” said Hermione. “And keep your eyes peeled, Draco. If all the
Agencies have been infiltrated they're probably watching you.”

“I know they are, I'm ready for them.”

“Good luck,” said Hermione. She helped haul McDonagh to the garden and waited for Malfoy to
Disapparate with him before going back inside to change. Despite the impending danger she
couldn't hold back a swoop of excitement in her chest about where she was going. It was true
that Ginny would be about as happy to see her as she would a Blast-Ended Skrewt but it was a small
distraction that Hermione thought she could deal with tolerably well.

* * *

*6:42am, Carlton Campaign Office*

A knock on the door disturbed Kennedy as he was making final notes on the speech. Carlton
beckoned the knocker into the room and he entered. Tall and broad, he stood importantly as Carlton
addressed him.

“Yes, Auror, what is it?” he asked.

“Sir, I've just received a bulletin from the Office of Magical Law Enforcement,” said the
Auror. “The Auror Office was compromised tonight. They think it is part of something bigger.
They've raised the threat level to 3.”

“What does that mean?” asked Carlton.

“We've been instructed to add an extra layer of security around all members of the
Wizengamot, you included.”

“A Level 3 alert usually indicates an imminent threat with limited intel,” said Kennedy.
“Don't they know the precise nature of the threat or a target for it?”

“No, Sir,” said the Auror. “Investigations are ongoing but from what I can gather no-one knows a
great deal at this point.”

“They're coming, Tom, this is it,” said Carlton, pacing.

“Sir, relax,” said Kennedy. “We're quite safe here.”

“He's right,” said the Auror. “With the Aurors and the security trolls you are well
protected, Sir. However, you might what to considered revising your schedule for today in light of
this development.”

“Out of the question,” said Carlton.

“But, Gamot,” said the Auror. “The situation has changed and your plans have to change to
accommodate it.”

“Those aspects you are referring to of my tour today are vital,” said Carlton. “They are not up
for alteration. By all means add extra security, but on no account are we cancelling anything.”

“I think that is a mistake, Sir.”

“Your concerns are noted,” said Carlton. “But until there is something that suggests I am a
target of this new threat I'm quite happy to proceed normally. You may make the upgraded
security arrangements, nothing more.”

“Very good, Sir,” said the Auror. He bowed, and ducked out of the room.

Carlton looked down at Kennedy, his expression clear to read. “Don't add your weight to that
suggestion, Tom.”

“I wont,” said Kennedy. “I would not remind you of my concerns as you know them well by now.
Shall we carry on?”

* * *

*6:44am, Dublin*

A small Lear jet was refuelling on the little runway of the airfield. Padraig Kelly monitored
the loading of weapons and ammunition into the plane's hold, checking them off against the
roster on his Blackberry. Declan, his deputy, emerged from the undercarriage compartment and
approached.

“The crates are secured,” he said.

“Good work,” Kelly replied.

“When do we take off?”

“Fifteen minutes if we stay on schedule,” said Kelly. “We'll be in Cardiff within an hour.
What is it? You don't look filled with craic at the idea?”

“I'm sorry, Boss, but I just don't trust these wizardy-types father than I can throw
them,” said Declan.

“They've gotten this far,” said Kelly. “I'm not thrilled to be working with them either
but they've done stuff we've not been able to.”

“I know that,” said Declan. “But they've also shown they can be ruthless - how do we know
they wont just bump us off when they're done with us? We've seen what they can do - we wont
have much of a chance if they turn on us.”

“This Baron fella has kept his word so far,” said Kelly. “We keep our end up and I'm sure
he'll behave honourably.”

“I hope you're right, boss,” said Declan. “I'd better go check the last of these
boxes.”

Kelly watched him go. He didn't trust these wizards much, far less than he'd let on to
his men. Declan's words rang in his ears and he wondered whether he was doing the right thing
after all. Either way, it was too late to back out now. Declan had been right about one thing - if
the wizards got nasty they'd be nothing to stop them all being killed.

* * *

At the Thames Valley water plant, Ron Weasley found his way into the main treatment centre.
Cillian Coles - who he'd seen once before - was there, as was another wizard brewing a mixture
in a large cauldron. A third man - a portly and terrified-looking Muggle - was watching the gauges
and meters on a control panel in front of him. He was sweating, but Ron thought it had little to do
with the balmy August morning, and more to do with the pistol pointed at the back of his head.

“Ah, you must be the courier,” said the wizard. He had a pointed goatee beard and pencil
moustache. “I'm the Brewer. Elton Brewer, to be precise. Do you have a name?”

“I was instructed not to give my name,” said Ron coyly.

“Right,” said Brewer. “Is that the last vial?”

“I don't know what's in the package. I wasn't instructed to-”

“Look…right,” said Brewer. He had a strange, melodic sort of voice. “Give it here then.” Ron
handed over the package. “You may go now.”

“You are supposed to tell the Baron I gave you the package,” said Ron.

“It'll be taken care of,” said Brewer. “Now go.”

Ron obeyed and left. Coles turned to Brewer. “How long will this take?”

“You Muggles will never appreciate the beauty and power, the fine art of a softly simmering
cauldron,” said Brewer, lovingly adding the vial from Ron's package and stirring the mixture
gently.

“Just answer the question.”

“When it's ready, I'll let you know,” said Brewer. “In the meantime, if you raise your
voice to me in that manner again I will cut out your filthy, gypsy tongue and feed it to your
mother. Are we clear?”

Coles gulped, such was the power he felt at Brewer's intent laden words. He thought it best
not to answer, choosing instead to hold his tongue and watch quietly as the wizard worked.

* * *

*6:49am Zante*

James and Celesca returned to the bedroom. They'd been listening outside the door to the
master bedroom and neither liked what they'd heard.

“Well?” asked Albus as they returned.

“There are definitely two people in there,” said James. “We heard two voices.”

“What do they want?”

“They kept asking your father where the other Aurors were,” said Celesca. “I'd have thought
that they'd all be at home or at the Ministry somewhere.”

“No, they must have been after something other than that,” said James. “My Dad's always
going off on secret missions - my uncle Ron, too. They go on undercover jobs.”

“These people must want to know where they are, so they can attack them maybe,” said
Celesca.

“Has Dad told them anything?” asked Albus.

“No,” said James. “But it sounds like its as painful as hell keeping quiet.”

“What's the plan?”

“The plan, little bro, is that you're going to take Lily to our room and barricade yourself
in,” said James. “Don't even think about arguing.”

“Wasn't going to.”

“Oh - okay then,” said James, surprised that Albus was being so compliant.

“What about you?” Albus asked.

“We're going to try and help mum and dad,” said James.

They hurried Lily and Albus to the room furthest away and James made sure his brother understood
how important it was to block the door as quietly as possible. James returned swiftly to the other
room.

“Right, are we set on a plan?” he asked Celesca.

“We heard them say they're going to tort-…*hurt* your mum,” she replied. “That means
they're going to have to move her to wherever they've been working on your dad. We'll
go back to the room and when your dad stops yelping we'll know they're about to move on to
your mum.”

“And we burst in the door and hex for our lives.”

“Something like that.”

“Nothing that can go wrong there, then,” said James sarcastically.

“Got any better ideas?” asked Celesca.

“No.”

“Then shush up and lets go.”

“Celly,” said James, grabbing her arm as she tried to pass him. “In case anything goes
wrong…”

“Shut up, James,” she said hotly. She grabbed him by the neck and kissed him hard.

“I was hoping you'd do that,” he said, grinning.

“You're incorrigible, you know that? Come on.”

* * *

*6:52am, MI5 Headquarters, London*

Draco Malfoy slung the flaccid form of McDonagh into a holding cell. He then moved around the
room casting all manner of security spells and jinxes around the place to keep the prisoner from
escaping. Satisfied that the room was secure, Malfoy stepped out and made for the main office. He
found Director Barnes there, going over some paperwork with Agent Scott.

“Malfoy! There you are!” said Barnes. “We were starting to think you'd deserted us.”

“I have a prisoner in Holding Two,” said Malfoy. “I'll need an interrogation pack as soon as
you can get one.”

“A prisoner? From where?”

Malfoy looked at Agent Scott. “I'd rather keep that private.”

“Its okay, Draco,” said Barnes. “Scott knows - I brought him in.”

“Fine,” said Malfoy coldly. “I still need that pack.”

“Amazed that you'd need our stuff to help you,” said Scott, absently. “I'd have thought
we'd be far too primitive.”

Malfoy eyed Scott intently, sensing the slur in his voice. “Primitive still has its uses - you
still work here, after all.”

“Enough, you two,” said Barnes. “You're on the same team, remember?”

“What are you looking over?” asked Malfoy.

“A report from Ireland,” said Barnes. “One of the men at the top of our active list is on the
move.”

“Who is he?”

“Padraig Kelly,” said Scott, handing Malfoy a file. “Ex-IRA - you know who they are don't
you? Good - formed a splinter group to carry on the war after the Cork Accords. Been attacking
Northern Ireland for years and using Albanian and Middle Eastern gangs to carry out attacks on the
British mainland.”

“Uses other groups to cover his tracks, I suppose?” said Malfoy skimming through the file.

“Yes, only he's stupid enough to pay them in Euros from Irish banks,” said Barnes.
“We've been tracking him for some time.”

“Why haven't you brought him in before now?”

“We can't send Special Forces or Secret Agents into Eire now,” said Barnes. “It was one of
the agreements of the Accords. We can only have one full-time intelligence operative there at any
time.”

“You say Kelly's on the move?” asked Malfoy. “Where to?”

“We're trying to find that out,” said Scott. “Our man in Ireland tracked them to an
airfield. A Lear jet landed there thirty minutes ago and is being prepped to leave. It received
priority clearance for take off but we're trying to track where that order came from. Its
proving oddly difficult information to obtain. Once we have that we'll know their
destination.”

“When you know, tell me,” said Malfoy. “I'll go and meet them.”

“Excuse me, Sir, but this isn't a…*magic* matter,” Scott objected to Barnes. “I think
one of our own Agents should go.”

“Too slow, too obvious and too limited,” said Malfoy dismissively. “I can be wherever he ends up
in seconds.”

“Fine, but you take Scott with you,” said Barnes. “You still work with us and we have to be
accountable for whatever happens. Scott goes with you - that's the deal.”

Malfoy looked coldly at Scott. “Fine. Keep me apprised. I'll be in Holding Two.”

Barnes raised his eyebrows at Scott, who looked as though he found the idea of working with
Malfoy just as distasteful as the wizard did.

* * *

Harry struggled with what little energy he had left to free himself from his binds, but they
just wouldn't give. His face stung hard and he thought he could still feel the tread of the
boot of the intruder where it had impacted with his jaw. He had no energy left to fight; he could
only watch as they strung Ginny up in the position he'd been in for the better past of the last
hour. When the first spell hit her he tensed up at the sound of her screams. He had to do
something.

Focusing all the strength he had left, all that was keeping him alive, he looked over at Ginny.
Each yelp, each scream, lodged itself in his chest and chilled him. He focused again, trying to
keep his mind clear. Occlumency was one of the first bits of magic Harry learned to do without a
wand. It had led onto an natural aptitude of all kinds of mind magic. He had learned how to break
into a mind and control it. He intended to use the technique now to siphon Ginny's pain onto
himself, so she wouldn't have to suffer as he had.

Concentrating as hard as he could Harry broke into Ginny's mind. He felt the bizarre
sensation of crossing into her mind and prepared for the waves of agony to hit him again. Oddly,
they never came. Harry was startled; he knew he was in her mind as he recognised the sensation, but
there was no pain. He could hear her screams and see her thrashing about on the bed but there was
no doubt about it - she wasn't in any kind of pain at all.

*She**'**s putting it on**…* Harry thought. Anger, disbelief, confusion
all settled on him. There was only one explanation for this and Harry couldn't even solicit the
thought in his head. It was he worst, the grossest, the most unforgivable violation of everything
right and proper. He wouldn't believe it - it couldn't be true. But after what he'd
felt how could be deny it?

* * *

*6:57am*

Malfoy flicked through the file as he made his way to the holding area. He was only half
concentrating, thinking more about how much he could trust Agent Scott and how a domestic flight
plan could be so elusive. Something didn't add up and Malfoy didn't like it. Right now,
though, he had to focus - McDonagh had to know more than he was letting on. Malfoy was determined
to do all he could to find out what; after all, if he went to Harry Potter and said he hadn't
been strong-armed with McDonagh, after he tried to kill Hermione Weasley, he didn't think Harry
would be too pleased with him.

** * **

Ginny's last fake cry echoed away and for a moment all was quiet. There was then a sudden
gust in the room and, quite to Harry's astonishment, Hermione materialised right in front of
him. At the same time there was an almighty crash to the right; the bedroom door had been kicked or
blasted open and James and Celesca dived into the room.

“*Expelliarmus!**”*

“*Stupefy!**”*

“*STUPEFY*!”

There was a sort of zinging, rushing sound as the three spells blasted forth from the wands of
their casters. The wand of the lead intruder shot into the air as James' spell hit him;
Celesca's and Hermione's spells criss-crossed in mid-air and connected with their targets,
sending both the masked men slamming hard into the walls behind them.

“I should've used the Stunning Spell,” said James idly, moving forwards and rolling one of
the intruders over with his feet. “I feel like the odd one out. Dad!”

Harry's limp form was slumped against the wall nearby. James turned and knelt at his
father's side, working to untie him.

“Help your mother,” Harry whispered. It was all he could manage. “Hermione…”

Hermione crouched down beside him as James crossed the room to Celesca, who had already begun
working through the binds on Ginny's ankles. Hermione smoothed her hand across the bruises on
Harry's wounded face, then ran her wand all over his body, casting spell after spell after
spell - casting faster than Harry had ever seen her do before. Her eyes glistened in the morning
sunlight and Harry tried to reach up and dry them, but Hermione simply swatted his arm down. With
each spell he felt a little better and soon he felt he had enough strength to speak.

“How did you know to come up here?” he whispered.

“I Disapparated outside,” said Hermione. “But I heard Ginny's screams and came straight
up.”

Anger and confusion flooded into Harry's mind at the mention of Ginny.

“That'll do for now,” he said to Hermione. “I have to find out what's really going
on.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry ignored her and hauled himself up. “James - my wand.” James reached over to the bedside
table and handed the wand to Harry, who immediately felt the warmness of the holly and phoenix
feather as though it were an elixir. “Celesca, take James out of here, please. Can you make sure
everyone goes downstairs and stays there?”

Celesca quickly understood and nodded, but James was confused. “Dad, what's going on?”

“I'll explain later, James,” said Harry, “but right now your mother and I need to have a
little chat.”

There was such ferocious contempt in Harry's voice that James didn't resist as Celesca
slipped her arm into his and guided him from the room.

“Hermione?” said Harry.

She nodded. Pointing her wand at the door she said, “Reparo! Silencio!” The door flew back to
its hinge and glowed slightly as the silencing spell hit it. Harry limped to Ginny and looked
fiercely down at her.

“You'd better start talking and you'd better start right now.”

*7:00am*



-->



7. Chapter Seven
----------------



Chapter Six

*The following takes place between 7:00am and 8:00am on the day of the Wizengamot Ministerial
election.*

*Events occur in real time*

*7:00am, Carlton Campaign Office*

Tom Kennedy paced briskly around the office, focusing his quickstep in front of the desk near
the large window. His frustrations were growing, greatly exacerbated by Lucien's stout refusal
to change his mind. This stubbornness, so often a trait Kennedy admired in his boss, was now a
source of contention. His resolute expression, tinted with the slightest amused smirk, was serving
to send Kennedy's blood pressure through the roof.

“I've made my position clear many times, Tom,” Carlton was saying. “I'm not going to
alter anything now.”

“Despite the new warnings?” cried Kennedy. “Not only have the Aurors been put on a higher alert
footing but the Muggle Prime Minister has been in touch with Spragg to say that something big is
going down in their world. Something connected to us - and to Harry Potter. That doesn't
slightly concern you?”

“Of course it concerns me,” said Carlton. “But what good will changing our schedule do? The
threat will remain whether we do anything or not.”

“The difference being we might stay alive if we change our plans,” said Kennedy.

“Tom, Tom, you're being very dramatic,” said Carlton. “There isn't a shred of evidence
linking me to this threat. I don't know why you're worried so.”

“Twenty minutes ago you were convinced, yourself, that your imagined enemies were coming for
you. Now you`re suddenly smiles and joviality.”

“You know how I get,” said Carlton. “My paranoia and I are old friends. But I'm always
master of it in the end. I`m sure we`ll be quite safe today.”

“I just don't like it,” said Kennedy. “I've had a feeling all day that something bad is
going to happen. I put it down to nerves but then with these developments... I've objected to
your open travelling plan from the beginning and these events haven't exactly dispelled those
worries.”

“What are you saying, Tom? Are you going to abandon me at the eleventh hour?”

“What? No, of course not,” said Kennedy. “I just need to understand why you're being so
stoic on this point.”

“Tom, listen to me,” said Carlton. “I want the people voting for me to think I'm
approachable, one of them, even if that isn't entirely the case. I have to show my face, do the
rounds amongst the populous so they can relate to me. It's only a matter of time before news of
the alert level being raised breaks to the media. Once the *Prophet* goes into panic overdrive
and the radio picks up on it, people will start to worry. I want to be with them to show strength
in the face of this danger, to let the voters know I'm sharing it with them.”

“There are safer ways to do that, Sir,” said Kennedy.

“Perhaps, but they are less politically powerful. The Wizengamot is often viewed as an ivory
tower and if I try to sit in one - like the others will do - then all that I've tried to convey
in this campaign will be rendered meaningless propaganda. I have to do this, Tom, no matter what
the risks may be.”

Kennedy sighed. He knew that argument was totally pointless. If Carlton wouldn't change his
risky plans in the face of such obvious danger then there was no use debating it with him. For the
first time, Tom felt tired; tired of arguing sense against foolishness, tired of banging his head
against the brick wall of Carlton's stubbornness. Not once in the many years he had served the
Gamot had Kennedy thought of going a different way, but now, with all that was going on, the first
whispers of resignation slipped into the back of his mind.

* * *

*7:04am, Zante*

Harry continued to stare at Ginny. She had yet to respond to his demand and was simply sat with
her arms around her knees and looking about as afraid as anyone could. This was hardly a surprise;
the aggression in Harry's eyes would have made stronger people than Ginny tremble under his
gaze. For her part she continued to moan about the injuries she was feigning, an act which riled
Harry even more.

While they were playing this little game, Hermione was trying to understand it all. She had
obediently sealed the room as Harry had asked, even going as far as to check that all the kids were
now downstairs. She couldn't imagine the reason that Harry had made these demands, though
judging by the ferocity of his stare towards Ginny it was clear that her conduct must have
something to do with it.

“I'm waiting, Ginny,” said Harry. “Start talking.”

“I don't know what you want me to say, I really don't,” said Ginny desperately.

“The hell you don't,” said Harry.

“Please, Harry, I'm still in pain after what they did to me. I can't think properly to
answer your riddles.”

“LIAR!”

Harry slashed his wand through the air; almost immediately, Ginny let out a gasp and began
struggling for breath.

“Harry! What are you doing?” cried Hermione rushing over. She recognised the spell, an
asphyxiation jinx Harry developed to use in coercive interrogation. She never imagined she'd
ever see him use it on his wife.

“She's lying to me, she knows what's going on and if she wont tell me by choice I'll
have to extract the information another way.”

For the first time since she'd known him, Hermione was genuinely afraid of Harry. There was
such malice in his look and voice that she felt compelled to back away. That, however, was not a
habit Hermione was used to; besides, if Ginny was to have any chance of coming out of this
unscathed Harry must be made to see reason.

“Harry, stop,” said Hermione. “At least tell me what's going on.”

Harry looked at her and the anger in his face receded. He lifted his wand and broke the jinx;
Ginny fell forwards gasping for breath and gulping in lungfuls of air.

“You…b-bastard,” she panted. “Why the h-hell did you d-do that?”

“Why don't you tell me,” said Harry. “The longer you choose not to talk the worse this is
going to get.”

“Harry,” said Hermione firmly, taking him by the shoulders and moving him bodily to face her.
“If Ginny wont talk to you at least *you* can talk to *me.* What's happening here?
What's Ginny done wrong?”

“Why don't you stay out of it?” spat Ginny. “Can't you keep your nose out of our
business for five seconds?”

“I'm trying to save you here,” said Hermione.

“I don't want, or need, anything from you,” said Ginny acidly.

“Harry, can you explain to me why your wife has suddenly gone mental?”

“That's what I'm trying to find out,” said Harry. “I want her to tell me why it is that
she's pretending to be hurt when, in fact, there isn't a damned thing wrong with her.”

“Harry - I saw her being tortured.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” said Harry, throwing a dagger-laden look down at Ginny. “Can't
they, Dear?”

“I still don't know what you're talking about,” Ginny protested.

“One more lie, Ginny, that's all I'll allow you,” said Harry. “Twenty years of marriage
has earned you one more lie. Use it wisely - after that I'm really going to lose my
temper.”

“Harry, tell me what's going on,” said Hermione.

He turned to her. “Those two men over there broke in here tonight. That should have been
impossible - you're the Secret Keeper and I know you'd sooner die than break that bond of
trust. The only other way in is if a senior member of the family invites someone across the
boundary.”

“You can't think Ginny let these people in *on purpose*?” said Hermione. “Why on Earth
would she?”

“You can see for yourself that she isn't saying,” said Harry. “But even though it represents
the grossest of violations I can only work on the facts.”

“What facts?” asked Ginny. “Harry - you're scaring me.”

He leant down close to her. “Good, I'm glad. But if you think you're scared now just
carry on defying me. I'll make you wish you felt this good again.”

“Harry, I cant just watch you torture Ginny without a proper explanation,” said Hermione.
“You're breaking laws on so many levels.”

Harry turned to her and grinned slightly as he spoke. “Are you going to try and arrest me,
Hermione?”

“What - oh, no of course not,” she replied, slightly flustered at the look Harry was giving her.
“But really, Harry - you cant just do this without justification.”

“There are two facts,” Harry began. “Someone managed to breach our security and was able to
torture me. Secondly, these intruders *appeared* to give the same treatment to Ginny, only
they didn't. She was faking the whole thing.”

“How can you say I was faking anything!” Ginny cried. “You saw what they were doing to me.”

“I know when you're faking, Ginny,” said Harry bluntly. Hermione turned away, embarrassed.
Ginny raised her eyebrows and let that annoying smirk creep into the corners of her mouth.

“They were torturing me. I felt the pain.”

“You felt nothing,” said Harry. “Not a thing.”

“How can you know that, Harry?” asked Hermione.

“I used a modified Imperius Curse,” Harry explained. “I broke into her mind to try and take some
of the pain she must have been going through. She was screaming convincingly, after all. I entered
her mind and guess what? There was nothing, not even an ache in her toenail. It was all an
act.”

Hermione and Ginny gasped in unison, but for starkly different reasons.

“I can't believe you!” cried Ginny. “It's an outrage! You violated me! It's a breach
of the worst kind. You've crossed a line, Harry, breaking into my mind against my will.”

“Against your will is right,” said Harry. “Keeping me away from your deception must have been at
the forefront of your *will*. And how can you talk about breaches? You let armed men in here
to torture me; you let dangerous criminals near our kids! Were they next?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” said Ginny. “I'd never let anything happen to the children.”

“Sounds like a confession,” said Harry. “At least you aren't denying it. You *were* a
part of this.”

“I'm not a part of anything, you have to believe me,” pleaded Ginny. “You've got this
all wrong.”

“I've spent the last hour being put through the worst kind of agony,” said Harry. “The men
who did it must have gotten in here somehow. Only three people could have facilitated that and
they're all in this room. I rule myself and Hermione out as culprits, so that just leaves
you.”

“So you trust her more than me?”

“Yes, I do.”

Ginny looked like she'd been slapped and for a moment was unable to respond.

“Harry, perhaps I should go,” said Hermione.

“Yes, perhaps you should,” said Ginny. “You have no right to be here.”

“Ginny - shut up,” said Harry. “Hermione, stay please. I want you to be - hang on, why
*are* you here? In all this mess I haven't asked why you came.”

“Isn't it obvious? To continue her campaign as chief home wrecker.”

“One more word, Ginny, and I will remove your ability to speak,” said Harry dangerously.
“Hermione, tell me why you've come.”

“There are major problems at home,” Hermione began; Ginny coughed pointedly but Hermione simply
disregarded her. “The Auror Office was attacked in the early hours. All communication channels,
except owls, are down. It was an inside job and there are Muggle aspects to the whole thing which
are being investigated.”

“What happened?” asked Harry.

“Stian Dahlgren is chiefly responsible for the attack,” said Hermione. “He disabled the
communication and the Unforgivable Trackers. Luckily, he was subdued by a junior Auror and
interrogated, quite fiercely, by Draco Malfoy. All he gave up was that he took his orders from
someone fashioning themselves under the alias `The Baron'. This Baron character also ordered my
assassination.”

“What! Someone tried to kill you! Lily was right,” said Harry.

“I'm okay, don't worry,” said Hermione smoothing Harry's arm. Ginny scowled in the
background. “There are big events taking shape and right now its all a bit of a jumble. Malfoy came
to me with this information and demanded that I get you involved. That's why I'm here.”

“How did Draco get involved in this?”

“There was a brutal murder in Barnet this morning,” said Hermione. “A wizard was beaten to death
trying to get a letter into your hands. Muggle police picked it up and MI5 got involved.
Draco's been all over this from the beginning.”

“Do you have the letter?” asked Harry.

“Here,” said Hermione, handing it to him. “Draco thought it might be from a Prima.”

Harry stared at it. He ran his wand over the corner of the envelope, reading something Hermione
couldn't see. He closed his eyes as realisation dawned.

“It's from Roberts,” said Harry eventually. “He was on a deep cover mission with an
organised crime gang. He spent months trying to get close to the leader but never even penetrated
the inner circle. I'd bet my right arm he found out something dangerous and that its in this
letter. Did he have an amulet with him?”

“Draco didn't say, it was just the letter,” said Hermione. “Why would he have an
amulet?”

“I send all Black Ops Aurors out wearing special amulets which record any conversations they
have and any places they go. If Roberts had been wearing his we could have traced the people who
murdered him. If he didn't have it they must have taken it, which isn't good.”

“Why not?”

“It means whoever is responsible knows how the amulets work, though only top level personnel
even know about them” said Harry. “It means there is a leak in the Primas somewhere. This Baron
person knows our procedures.”

Harry suddenly contorted in pain, clutching at his side and falling to one knee.

“Harry! What is it?” asked Hermione.

“My ribs are cracked,” said Harry. “They're digging into me inside.”

“Come here, lift up your shirt,” said Hermione. Harry obeyed and Hermione stroked her hand
across the angry bulge in his torso, isolating the damaged rib. Harry winced as she did so. “I know
it hurts, I'm sorry. There isn't any other way.”

“Just do it fast,” said Harry. “You're tickling me.”

They exchanged smiles as Hermione began casting yet more healing spells. Suddenly, Ginny jumped
up from the bed.

“Get your filthy hands off my husband!”

Ginny halted at the end of the bed; Harry's arm had shot up as she moved and his wand-tip
was now resting on the bridge of her nose.

“You did this to me,” he said softly. “Now you can watch as it gets put right.”

Ginny glowered at Harry and Hermione in turn but didn't back down. The healing spell worked
quickly and soon Harry was back on his feet.

“Tell me about the Baron, Ginny. Do you know him?”

“How many times can I tell you that I haven't got a clue what you're talking about?”
said Ginny. “I've never heard of any `Baron' and I don't know why you're acting
like this.”

Harry could have cried out in frustration. He looked down at Ginny, who was still staring
angrily at Hermione, and was struck with an idea. Despite his claims, he didn't think he could
aggressively interrogate Ginny; he just couldn't bring himself to do it. The fact remained,
however, that she was definitely hiding something. The only way to find out what it was to make her
lose her focus on the lie. After seeing her react to Hermione's healing actions just now, Harry
thought he might know exactly how to rile Ginny into a mistake.

* * *

*7:14am, MI5 HQ, London*

Malfoy watched impassively as the gurney was wheeled out of Holding Cell Two. Under the sheet
lay Callum McDonagh, an expendable hired thug who had been more badly injured than Malfoy had
realised when he had begun his interrogation. He gave up only the same sketchy information he had
previously confessed to Hermione Weasley, despite Malfoy pushing him considerably harder. He was
just a pawn, a nothing in the larger events going on. Hurt by Hermione, then pushed too far under
aggressive questioning, Malfoy comforted himself that at least McDonagh had suffered a fate Harry
Potter would have approved of.

“Is it standard procedure in your world to kill your detainees during questioning?” asked Agent
Scott as McDonagh was wheeled past. “I wouldn't have thought he could have answered many
questions once he was dead.”

“He was dead before I even brought him here,” said Malfoy. “A bit like your personality.”

“Did he tell you anything useful?” asked Scott, ignoring Malfoy's jibe.

“Nothing I didn't already know,” said Malfoy. “Have you found the location of that plane
yet?”

“No,” said Scott. “We're repositioning satellites to track it but that takes time.”

“And still no idea where the clearance came from?”

“No,” said Scott through gritted teeth.

“It seems quite clear to me that you have a leak somewhere then,” said Malfoy. “Your enemies
have someone on the inside.”

“Nonsense,” said Scott. “Director Barnes vetted everyone who works here. He knows all their
backgrounds; none of them has any affiliation with terror groups.”

“Things can always change, Scott,” said Malfoy. “No human can ever omit ambition, especially if
there is a fat pay day at the end of it.”

“There are no traitors in this office!” said Scott hotly. “For all we know any leak could come
from you.”

“That's the right attitude,” said Malfoy. “Suspect everyone, because one of them is dirty.
But considering that I just killed a potential lead it shows how far I'm willing to go to get
to the bottom of this. Priority flight clearance can't come from anywhere and if I understand
your regulations correctly such things need to be recorded. If you cant find this information it
has either been hidden or erased. Clearly, someone doesn't want you to know where that plane
has gone.”

Scott looked at Malfoy and wanted to argue the point, but he knew the wizard's words made
sense. It was just that the idea of a leak inside MI5 abhorred him. He wanted more than anything to
disprove it but it did seem the most plausible theory. Their raised voices hadn't gone
unnoticed, though, and Director Barnes had been alerted to their exchange and approached them.

“I thought I told the pair of you to bury the hatchet,” said Barnes. “This has to end, now.”

“We were just discussing a difference of opinion,” said Scott.

“Yes, the opinion that being a trusting moron doesn't always reap rewards,” said Malfoy.

“Draco!” said Barnes. “What's the matter with you? Must you always be so
confrontational?”

“Yes, sometimes it's the only way to yield results,” said Malfoy.

“If you're so damned clever you tell us what you would do,” said Scott.

“Do about what?” asked Barnes.

“David Copperfield, here, thinks we have a leak,” said Scott. “He thinks the information about
the plane from Dublin has disappeared thanks to deliberate sabotage.”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that if two air traffic control centres and civil aviation can't find this
documentation then it probably isn't there to be found,” said Malfoy. “The plane was cleared to
take off and travel somewhere. That sort of clearance must have been authorised at a senior level
and things of that nature don't simply disappear. High level clearance, high level position to
erase it. It all points to a sleeper on the inside and considering MI5 is responsible for homeland
security I'd bet there's a good chance your mole is here.”

Barnes looked thoughtfully at Malfoy. “If there was someone here they could be passing
information out. They could anticipate our every move to stop whatever it is being planned. Scott -
go and set up a level four protocol; I want to know all communications coming in and out of here.
Close all unnecessary sockets; lets limit the people we talk to until this is locked down. I want
to make sure our backsides are covered today.”

“I'm not a techie, Sir,” said Scott.

“Fine, get Jenny onto it, she the best we have,” said Barnes. “Give her specific instructions to
filter all chatter and make sure she keeps her activities out of sight of the others. If we do have
a mole the last thing we want to do is let them know we're onto them.”

* * *

*7:20am, Zante*

James stared across the breakfast table. Lily looked exhausted and could barely keep her eyes
open; Albus on the other hand had folded his arms onto the table and was resting his chin on them.
James thought he was wearing a strange, almost mutinous expression but he was too confused about
other events to question him on it.

“I still don't get it,” said James to Celesca. “Why did my dad speak like that about my mum?
And why did he ask you to bring us all down here? I wish I knew what was going on up there.”

Celesca didn't answer. She had been pointedly ignoring all of James's entreaties for the
past twenty minutes. She didn't think she could bear to say to him what she thought was going
on, knowing how angry it would make him. But she couldn't shake the vision lingering in her
mind; those cold eyes had looked up at her in such a way to leave Celesca in little doubt of their
intent. It made her shudder to remember it and she was thankful that so far James had merely voiced
his frustrations in a general manner, sparing her the need to answer directly.

“Lily, you look so tired,” said Celesca. “Do you want to try and get some sleep on the
couch?”

Lily yawned widely. “I can't sleep.”

“Perhaps you should try,” said Celesca. She rose and guided Lily, who seemed too tired to
protest, across the room.

“What do you think Dad wanted to talk to Mum about?” asked Albus.

“I don't know, but he seemed mad,” said James.

“Mad about what?”

“Probably that people were trying to hurt her,” said James.

“Maybe he wanted her help to find out what those men wanted,” suggested Albus. “That's why
he wanted to get rid of you, so you wouldn't see it.”

“He didn't get rid of me,” said James. “He asked Celesca to help me make sure you and Lily
were okay.”

“You said he ordered Celesca to take you away,” said Albus. “He obviously didn't want you
there.”

“He didn't need me to be around, not when Auntie Hermione was with him,” said James.

“I want to know what *she**'**s* doing here,” said Albus. “Why would she turn
up at this time of day?”

James was shocked at the acidity in Albus's voice. “Why are you talking about Auntie H like
that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you cant stand her. Why the vicious tone of voice?”

“I'm not being vicious,” said Albus, though he didn't meet James's eye when he
spoke.

“We should be thankful she turned up when she did,” said James. “She saved Mum and Dad.”

“You and Celesca seemed to do half the work,” said Albus. “But Dad still only wanted Hermione
there, not you.”

“For which there're probably loads of reasons,” said James. “I just wish I knew what they
were doing. What do you think, Cel?”

“Um?” Celesca replied as she took her seat again. “What was that?”

“What do you think's going on upstairs? Why do you think my dad made you take me away?”

“I don't know, James,” Celesca replied quickly. “No idea.”

“Since when do you have no ideas?” asked James, grinning. “Come on, you must be curious.”

“I've already said I don't know, James,” she snapped.

The problem with Celesca trying to conceal something was that James had spent much of the last
six months with his eyes glued to her face. This had made him fairly tuned in to her expressions
and emotions and as he looked at her now he could see concern etched into every line of her
furrowed brow. His own condition changed as a result and he suddenly felt a lot more serious.

“Celesca, what is it?” he asked. “What are you thinking?”

“Please don't make me answer that.”

“Why not?” James asked. “Did I miss something upstairs? What happened?”

“James - *I can**'**t*!” Celesca replied desperately. “Please don't push
me on it.”

James got up and offered Celesca his hand. She knew it was pointless to resist and allowed James
to help her to her feet and guide her to the veranda. They made their way down the lawn away from
the villa.

“Right, tell me what happened,” said James.

There was such powerful concern in his voice that Celesca's resistance fluctuated. He seemed
only interested in the cause of her agitated state and there would be no stalling him in finding
out what it was.

“Ok, but please don't be mad at me for saying it,” she replied. Her voice was so small that
James felt himself shiver as though her worries had become his own.

“What could I be mad at?” he said, stroking her hand soothingly. “Just tell me what went
on.”

Celesca took a deep, steadying breath.

“I think your dad asked me to take you away because of - well…because of your mum.”

“My mum? What about her?”

James felt himself tauten. Already he had the sinking feeling he wasn't going to like what
Celesca had to say.

“Well, I think somehow - now don't be mad - that's she's, well…got something to do
with what went on.”

“Now that's just plain stupid,” said James forcefully, letting go of Celesca's hand.

“I knew you'd be angry. I'm sorry - I shouldn't have said anything,” said Celesca
timidly.

“Why would you say something like that? Its ridiculous.”

“I know it sounds like that, but James - you should have seen the look she gave me when I was
untying her.”

“What look?” he asked.

“Just pure loathing,” said Celesca. “Her eyes had no emotion in them. It frightened me.”

James stopped himself from ranting; the idea of Celesca being frightened quelled any anger he
might have been feeling.

“My mum…*frightened* you?” he said in a low voice. “Just by a look?”

“Yes, it was so cold,” said Celesca. “And James, I…I don't think she was in any pain. She
didn't look hurt to me; your dad had cuts all over him but your mum was unharmed.”

“Are you trying to say she was putting it all on?” said James angrily.

Celesca cowered away. Her voice was tiny when she spoke. “I don't know…I don't know what
I'm trying to say. I'm sorry.”

“No, I'm the one who's sorry,” said James softly, putting an arm around her. “I
don't know why I said that like I was blaming you. I'm just having trouble processing all
this. Is that really what you think, though?”

Celesca nodded. “When I looked at her I could tell she wasn't in any pain, and the way she
looked back said she *knew* that I could tell she was pretending. Her look was dark and
dangerous, like my knowing her secret would cost me in the end.”

“Bitch!” James jumped up and stormed away, pacing around and around.

“James, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

“Yes you should have,” said James. He was having difficulty gathering his thoughts. “It's
not you I'm angry at, Celly. It's me - and its *her*. That woman calling herself my
mother. My God - she let those men torture my dad! She must have. And - oh, Merlin! - you untied
her! You were right next to her! She could have done anything to you. Oh, Celesca - dearest,
loveliest Celesca - anything could have happened to you.”

He ran to her and began kissing her all over her head as though it would somehow erase the
imagined horrors James had placed her near. He walked away again, sat down, stood up again and
paced some more. The idea that he'd put her so close to such danger sickened him, so much so
that he ran to a nearby bush and threw up.

“James! Are you alright?” asked Celesca, hurrying over.

“No, I'm pretty far from alright,” said James, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He felt so
guilty he didn't think he could bear to look at Celesca. “I can't get my head around it -
you could have been hurt.”

“But I wasn't,” she said soothingly. “Nothing happened to me.”

“But it could have and it would have been my fault and I'd never have forgiven myself,” said
James. “She could have done -”

James didn't finish the sentence because the worst possibilities to end it were too horrific
to think on.

“*She**'**s* still your mother, James.”

James looked at Celesca incredulously. “If she'd hurt you I'd have never called her that
again.”

“That's sweet, James, but we both know that isn't true,” said Celesca.

“Celesca I love you more than anything, or anyone, in the world,” said James. “I tell you
honestly that if anyone purposely hurt you - my mother or not - they'd be dead to me.”

Celesca smiled and blushed in the morning light. “I'd kiss you but you have just been
sick.”

“I'm so, so sorry,” said James. “About all of this.”

“It's alright, I'm fine,” said Celesca smoothing his arm. “Let's just go back up to
the house and wait until your dad comes down. He said he'd explain everything to you. If your
mum has done something awful she has two of the most powerful people in the magical world to answer
to.”

“I just hope my dad has it in him,” said James. Celesca slipped her arm into his and slowly they
walked back up to the villa.

* * *

*7:27am, Thames Valley Water*

Elton Brewer scooped up the mixture in his cauldron with a long ladle. He scanned the contents
up close; it still wasn't the right colour or consistency. Brewer frowned that the process was
taking far longer than it ought. It was down to the fact that the potion was being prepared in a
much bigger quantity than Brewer had worked on before. It was setting everything back and the
delays were starting to frustrate the potion-maker.

“Is it nearly ready?” asked Cillian Coles. “My arm is starting to ache holding this gun up all
this time. I just want to get this over with and shoot this guy.”

The Muggle engineer whimpered as he tried to focus on the gauges.

“Please, don't kill me,” he begged. “I have a family.”

“So what?” said Coles. “You'd rather we killed them than you?”

“What?”

“You said you have a family,” Coles taunted. “Sounded like you were offering them in exchange
for your pathetic life.”

“No, that's not what I -”

“Will you please shut up,” said Brewer lightly, though he was smirking. “As entertaining as this
tormenting is I really need to concentrate. This can't go wrong and the margins are
exceptionally fine.”

“Is it nearly ready, then?” Coles asked again.

“Not nearly enough,” said Brewer bitterly. “It's taking longer than I thought.”

“Maybe you're doing it wrong,” said Coles.

“I think not.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because if I had brewed this potion incorrectly we would probably be dead,” said Brewer
casually. “One over measurement of the ingredients, one stir too many in either direction, adding
the elements in the wrong order - any of these would have been disastrous. If it hadn't
exploded then the poisonous fumes would have made our internal organs heat up and melt.”

“Nice,” said Coles, shuddering.

“As it is things are on track, if going a little slowly.”

As Brewer went back to his stirring the distant sound of approaching voices drew the attention
of all. Brewer looked up, concerned.

“I thought you said this area was off limits?” he hissed at Coles.

“It is,” said Coles. “They could be looking for the foreman. Or this guy.”

“Get rid of them,” said Brewer. “This mixture can't be moved.”

“We haven't got time,” said Coles. “We're going to have to bluff our way out.” He turned
to the engineer. “If you blab I'm going to gut your family personally.”

The engineer gulped. Brewer slipped behind one of the big treatment tanks as the voices grew
nearer. Soon enough two white-coated employees rounded the corner and happened upon the little
scene.

“There you are, Stevens,” said one of the men. “Why aren't you at your station? Come to
think of it - what's going on here?”

“Cillian Coles, Water Board,” said Coles, flashing his fake identification. “We're
conducting tests on the water quality. Stevens is helping me monitor the pressures.”

“This is highly improper. I've heard nothing about this.”

“The foreman dealt with me this morning,” said Coles. “This is a spot check. Its all above
board.”

“Stevens - is this true.”

Stevens, despite his overwhelming fears for his family, couldn't stand by and let these
people do whatever dangerous thing it was they were planning. It was bound to be some terrorist
attack and if thousands of people suffered because of him he didn't think he would be able to
live with himself. He swallowed hard and summoned up his courage.

“It isn't true, I'm -”

“You're what?” asked the man. “Stevens? What's wrong with you?”

The engineer's eyes had become unfocused and distant. When he spoke again his voice
didn't quite sound the same.

“I'm fine,” he said. “There are some purity issues. I'm running tests on this sample.
It's been cleared with management.”

“Just now you were going to say something? You said something wasn't true.”

“It isn't true that I'm testing pressures,” said Stevens. “We've done that. This is
a quality control issue. It shouldn't take long to be done.”

“Okay, if you say so,” said the man, looking doubtful. “We've got a briefing in an hour. All
department heads have to be there. Main office.”

“I'll be there.”

“See that you are. One hour, Stevens. In the meantime I'm going to look into this spot
check, Mr Coles. This is not proper procedure.”

“You do that,” said Coles. “And when you're proven wrong I'll expect an apology.”

Coles scowled at the man before he and his colleague left. Brewer waited until their footsteps
had died away before emerging.

“We don't have a lot of time. They'll be sniffing around again I feel.”

“How did Stevens just change his mind like that?” said Coles. “I thought he was going to dob us
in.”

“He was, till I stepped in,” said Brewer waving his wand. “Now let me get back to work.”

“What does this stuff do, anyway?” asked Coles, looking into the cauldron.

“It creates a lethal poison when mixed with water,” said Brewer. “Once people start turning
their taps on and ingesting the substance they will have very little time left to live. By happy
coincidence all the known antidote for the poison is in the hands of one man.”

“The Baron?” asked Coles.

“Exactly,” said Brewer. “It remains to be seen just how far the Governments of our two worlds
will be willing to go to save their citizens, but once people start dropping dead I'm sure
they'll prove to be reasonable to our demands.”

“What are they?”

“You'd have to ask the Baron,” said Brewer. “I think he's the only one who really knows
what he wants from this. As long as I get my five hundred thousand Galleons I really couldn't
care less what he does. I'll be on a beach in Bali by the time any of that goes down.”

Coles watched intently. To think that such an innocuous looking this could do so much damage was
slightly overwhelming, but to think of the genius behind the surprisingly simple plan was even more
so. It made Coles fearful of anything going wrong; he was starting to feel a cold shudder every
time the Baron's name was mentioned.

* * *

*7:32am, MI5 HQ*

“Malfoy, you should come in here.”

Malfoy had been making his way back towards his office when Barnes had caught him halfway.
He'd been intending to check the status of the Auror Office repairs and had half a mind on the
condition of Auror Amanda Banks, who had been pretty shaken up by the whole experience. Those plans
would have to be put on the back foot for now as Barnes seemed pretty urgent in his request.

“What is it?” Malfoy asked, following the Director to his station on the Ops floor.

“We've managed to track our mystery plane by radar,” said Barnes. Agent Miller turned in her
seat to join them. “It was just blind luck that one of our nuclear subs was on a routine training
patrol. We sent out a general request for intel on that area and got sent this back.”

“It's the flight path of a plane,” Scott explained. “The signature it carries matches the
one at the Dublin airfield. We've managed to trace it to an abandoned military airbase just
outside Cardiff.”

“Cardiff? That's several hours away by car. They could have escaped to anywhere by the time
we get there.”

“We've got local agents on the ground moving to that location, Draco,” said Barnes.
“They're giving us real time updates on their progress. They wont be long in reaching the
airfield and I want you here when they go in.”

“Why?”

“Because if it all goes tits up you and I are going to travel to this place by *your
methods*,” said Scott, so that only Malfoy could hear. “Barnes says you can reach anywhere
really quickly. If that's true, and anything goes wrong, we're going to have a small window
of opportunity to resolve the situation. You have to know what these people look like in case that
situation arises.”

“Any idea why they'd land there?” asked Malfoy.

“Apart from the obvious - decent road links, a busy city to hide in, short flight time - we
can't match anything up. We're hoping this develops a lead or two.”

“Barnes, can I speak with you privately?” asked Malfoy.

Barnes and Scott exchanged telling looks before the Director showed Malfoy to an empty area at
the rear of the room.

“What is it?”

“Any progress on your leak?”

“We're still monitoring communications but Jenny's not come up with anything yet,” said
Barnes. “You could be wrong, you know.”

“And I could be right,” said Malfoy. “I just need to know how much you trust Scott.”

“You don't think Agent Scott is dirty, do you? He's one of the most loyal Agents we
have.”

“Which provides perfect cover,” said Malfoy. “I'm perfectly prepared to believe that his
ineptitude is to blame for his inactivity; that the fact he's done next to nothing today is a
natural result of his incompetence. But if you expect me to take him with me to go after Kelly, I
need to know he isn't going to gun me down as soon as my back's turned. Bullets kill
wizards as well as innocent bystanders, you know.”

“I'd trust Scott with my children's lives,” said Barnes stoutly. “He's a good man. A
little cynical, I'll agree, but he's a fine agent. You can trust him.”

“I only trust two people in this world so don't expect me to take someone I barely know into
my confidence,” said Malfoy. “I just hope you're right about Scott. The consequences could be
dire if you're wrong.”

Malfoy went back to the workstation with Barnes left to dwell on far more issues than he was
comfortable with.

* * *

*7:37am, Zante*

Harry and Hermione were locked in near-silent conversation in the corner of the room. Harry
smiled inwardly at the look of fiery anger on Ginny's face; her rage was bubbling beneath the
surface and so far all he and Hermione had done was talk privately. Harry was more convinced than
ever that this plan would work but convincing Hermione was proving difficult.

“She's holding something back, that much is obvious,” Harry whispered.

“I agree, but she doesn't look like she's going to tell you anytime soon,” Hermione
replied.

“I can't interrogate her, Hermione, I just cant,” said Harry. “You do understand?”

“Of course I do,” she said gently. “I don't blame you if that's what you're
thinking.”

“Do you think you could get anything from her?”

Hermione almost laughed. “Because we're on such good terms!”

“I didn't mean by normal methods,” said Harry.

“I know that,” Hermione replied. “The answer is still no. She knows I've been trying to use
Legilimency on her and she's blocking me all the time. She's quite powerful.”

“I know. I taught her Occlumency years ago. That's probably why she's been able to hide
this plan from me for so long.”

“We have to find out what it is, how she's involved,” said Hermione. “I really can't
believe that she would have anything to do with the Baron situation, but I cant support the idea
that you being cut off from back home, and what's happened here, are unconnected. It would be
the biggest coincidence in history.”

“She's involved alright,” said Harry. “Her eyes flashed when I mentioned the Baron. It
isn't the first time she's heard that name.”

Hermione softened and stepped closer to Harry. “What's going to happen when you find out
what's going on? How are you taking this all?”

“I'm alright,” said Harry.

“Don't try and lie to me and think I wont notice it,” said Hermione. “Not after all these
years.”

“I'm cut up, wouldn't you be?” said Harry. “She allows me to be tortured, she endangers
my kids, who knows what else; whatever the reason turns out to be it wont excuse her. I don't
think I'll ever be able to forgive her, Hermione.”

“But what will you do with her?”

“I haven't thought that far ahead. I just want the confession.”

“And you really think this plan will work?” Hermione asked doubtfully.

“She hit the roof when you were touching me earlier,” said Harry. “You can almost feel the steam
coming from her ears that we're whispering over here. She's always had a violent jealousy
about our relationship - we can use that to make her slip up. If I pretend to be hurt and you
pretend to heal me - in increasingly erotic ways - she's bound to explode and let something
slide. It could put you in danger though.”

“I'm pretty sure I can handle Ginny,” said Hermione. Her voice dropped even lower. “Though I
must say you sound a little too enthusiastic about this plan.”

“And you still haven't said no,” Harry swooned back. “For a married woman you seem quite
open to this action.”

“I must admit the idea has its merits, even if Ginny doesn't crack.”

Harry and Hermione held a burning gaze for several moments, then Hermione nodded and the ruse
began. Harry turned around to face Ginny.

“Let's start this again,” he said. “The Bar- aargghh!”

“Harry, what is it now?” asked Hermione theatrically. Harry thought her acting was wonderfully
convincing.

“My rib, again,” said Harry. “I don't think you healed it properly.”

“Let me have another look,” she said. “Lift your shirt up.”

Harry did as he was told. Hermione caressed his skin and he felt it tingle under her touch.
Hermione feigned casting healing spells and muttered something about checking the other side. She
ran her fingertips across his abdomen.

“You feel very toned, Harry. Have you been going to the gym again?”

Harry looked at Ginny; her eyes were filled with fury.

“Yeah, only the last few weeks though.”

“Mmm, nice,” said Hermione. “I can see your ribs have been damaged on this side. Lift your shirt
up higher.”

“Argh, ooh, that hurts,” Harry faked, gingerly lifting his shirt even higher.

“Tell you what, why don't you just take it off completely?” said Hermione. “I can get a
proper look at you then.”

“Don't you dare, Harry,” said Ginny viciously. “Leave my husband alone, you tart.”

“Someone has to take care of him,” said Hermione. “And it clearly isn't going to be you, is
it?”

“What I do with my husband is absolutely none of your business.”

“Well perhaps I'm making it my business,” Hermione replied coolly. “Ooh, Harry - I can see
you've been working on your pecs, too.”

Hermione ran her nails across Harry's chest and he let out a little gasp of pleasure.
Hermione giggled exaggeratedly while Ginny looked ready to implode.

“You know, I'm really aching down by my waist,” said Harry. “Just below my belly
button.”

“What, here?” said Hermione. She traced her fingertip an inch or so above the drawstring of his
pyjamas; as she did so, she flicked her eyes up towards Ginny, giving her the most suggestive look
she could muster.

That was it. Ginny howled like a banshee and shot like a dart in Hermione's direction. Harry
leapt up and intercepted her, holding her back with some effort.

“You complete and utter whore!” Ginny screamed. “You'll pay for trying to break up my
family, you hear? God - if only that useless fool McDonagh had done his job properly you'd be
pushing up the daisies right about now!”

Hermione flicked her wand with an almost casual air and powerful binds gripped Ginny's
ankles and wrists and pinned her against the wall above the bed. Hermione looked at her with a sort
of callous pity. Harry pulled his shirt back on and stood up.

“I told you it would work,” he said to Hermione.

“Right as usual,” Hermione admitted. “I owe you a beer for that one.”

“Who's McDonagh?” Harry asked.

“The guy the Baron sent to kill me,” said Hermione. “He didn't know a great deal about the
plan; it seemed he only took his orders from Stian - though, clearly, Ginny knows who he is and
what he was doing, too.”

“Where is he now?” asked Harry.

“Malfoy took him for questioning but he was in a pretty bad state.”

“With a bit of luck Malfoy extracted something useful from him then took his worthless life,”
said Harry. He turned to Ginny. “The jig's up, sweetheart. You might as well just tell me
what's going on.”

Ginny looked frustrated, as though she knew she'd been had. It took her a few minutes to
compose herself before she spoke.

“I didn't know it was going to go this far, Harry, you have to believe that.”

“I think we're comfortably passed the stage where I believe anything you have to say,” said
Harry coldly. “Just tell me as close to the truth as your filthy mouth can get.”

“You have to know that I did this for you, for us,” said Ginny. “I only ever had your best
interests at heart.”

“Torturing Harry was in his best interests?” Hermione said lightly. “Pull the other one.”

Harry turned to her. “I think it'll be better if I do the talking now. I'm glad
you're here but this will be better if I handle it. Ginny - go on. Start by telling me what you
know about the Baron.”

“I don't know his real name,” said Ginny. “He approached me a couple of months ago. Said he
had a plan to restore quality to Wizarding life. He didn't tell me what it was.”

“What did he ask you to do?”

“Just spy on you basically,” said Ginny. “He wanted your daily schedules, places you went,
people you met. I would send him things every couple of days via a courier and he would pay me well
for the information. It was all really secretive.”

“And you went along with this? It didn't bother you that someone was essentially stalking
me?” said Harry.

“At first I went along with it, because the Baron brainwashed me into thinking it was for the
best, then I tried to pull out,” said Ginny. “He started asking me to do other things - plant
listening devices in the house, hold onto things that I knew were weapons -”

“You did what!” Harry thundered. “In our house! You exposed our kids to a risk like that! What
the hell were you thinking?”

“I know it was stupid but by the time I tried to get out I was in too deep,” said Ginny. “I
overheard some of his people talking about a plan to overthrow the Government, but I didn't say
anything at the time because I thought that there was an opportunity.”

“For what?”

Ginny paused before she answered.

“For you to be Minister for Magic.”

Harry just stared at her, totally dumfounded. She carried on.

“I thought if I let the plan carry on till almost the end I could confess to you, take you to
the Baron, you could stop him and then become Minister because everyone else would be out of the
way and you'd be inclined to do it. Everyone would beg you, because you'd saved them, and
you wouldn't be able to say no.”

“That is, without doubt, the single most insane thing I have ever heard,” said Harry. “Why…why -
that's all I can say at the moment!”

“Because you've never shown enough ambition, Harry,” Ginny explained. “Ever since Fudge its
been one bumbling Minister after another. First they sought advice from Dumbledore, then from you.
I thought, `what's the point in you advising the Ministers? Why don't you just become the
next one?' But you never seemed interested and I thought it was such a waste of your talents. I
decided to try and give you a little push and hope your natural modesty would do the rest.”

“This just gets better,” said Hermione, unable to resist. “It's not about
*Harry**'**s* ambition - its about your own.”

“I really didn't think it would go this far,” said Ginny. “And as for the torture, I
didn't think it would be as bad as it was. I thought I'd struck up an agreement with the
Baron for them not to be too hard on you.”

“You *planned* that? You let me be tortured!”

“It was the price I had to pay,” Ginny began. “In exchange for keeping you occupied and letting
you be tortured as part of it, The Baron agreed to get rid of Hermione for me. She`s wrecked our
marriage, Harry - I was angry and wanted her out of the way. You have to believe me that I never
wanted them to hurt you like they did, but it had to be real for my plan to work, I had to play
along. I had no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” said Harry feeling a kind of disgust that he`d never before known.
“And now I have one of my own to make.”

“What choice?”

“I have to decide what the hell to do with you,” said Harry. “First, I'm going to see my
children. They'll be going spare wondering what's going on, especially James. I have to
tell them the hardest truth I've ever had to disclose. Damn you for forcing me into this
situation, Ginny.”

Harry cast her one more disdainful look before beckoning Hermione to follow him downstairs.

* * *

*7:44am, MI5 HQ*

The voice on the speaker was grainy and breaking up. Malfoy listened hard to his words.

“The plane is up ahead,” the voice said. “I can see at least six men, all well armed.
They're unloading the plane; big crates, several of them. There is an armoured SUV just inside
the hanger. I cant -”

The speaking ended abruptly.

“Jones? Jones, what's going on?” said Barnes into his headset. There was no reply. He looked
gravely at Malfoy.

“There are two possibilities - either his equipment has failed or he is being prevented from
responding,” said Malfoy.

“I knew he should have waited,” said Scott. “Damned! He should never have gone in without back
up.”

“His risk was brave and necessary,” said Malfoy. “He has provided us with some vital
information.”

“At the cost of his life!” cried Scott.

“That is a distinct possibility,” said Malfoy. “And if true, I suggest we don't let his
sacrifice be for nothing.”

Malfoy made to leave, he was nearly at the door when he stopped. Turning back, he addressed
Agent Scott.

“If you're coming with me I suggest you get a move on,” he said. “And make sure you bring
your gun.”

* * *

Padraig Kelly looked over the map laid out in front of him. Declan was running through the
quickest routes to their destinations across the country.

“Team A can take the M6 to Manchester,” he was saying. “The Arab group is waiting there for our
delivery.”

“What about the Hungarians?” asked Kelly.

“The shipment arrived at Portsmouth Docks this morning,” said Declan. “It should be through
clearing in in transit in under an hour.”

“Good. We still have to reach the Romanians over in Birmingham. Getting there will be the most
tricky. What the hell does he want?”

Kelly frowned as the boundary lookout approached them from the landing strip. He didn't look
happy.

“What is it?” asked Kelly.

“I came across an intruder, I had to take him out.”

“You killed someone? Why?”

“He was on a walkie-talkie,” said the guard. “Sounded like he was telling people about us. He
was carrying this.”

The guard dropped an ID card onto the map. Kelly's face contorted in rage.

“You killed an MI5 Agent in the middle of an intel report!” he cried. “You idiot!”

“But he was telling them about us!”

“So what? We picked this area because it's remote and away from MI5's clusters of
agents. It would have taken them ages to get reinforcements here. We had time to get away. Now
they'll be coming in force.”

Kelly took out his gun and shot the guard in the head.

“We have to move faster,” said Kelly, picking up the dead guard's gun and removing the
silencer. “They'll be on their way now. And quickly.”

“How did they know we were here?”

“It doesn't matter now,” said Kelly. “They know we're here, that's all that`s
important. We have to move out as soon as possible.”

“Wont they still take time to get here?” asked Declan.

“Not as long as you think,” said Kelly. “The Baron said that MI5 has a wizard on their staff. If
that's true then they could be here at any time. We have to get moving as soon as possible.
Don't spare the whip, Declan.”

* * *

*7:48am, Zante*

Harry entered the living room to a cacophony of questions. Raising his hand to silence everyone
he slowly made his way to the table and sat down. All the events of the night were starting to
impact upon him and for the first time since it had all began he felt truly exhausted. He took a
tired breath and looked around at them all, registered the eagerness and anxiety on their faces. He
turned to Hermione.

“I need to speak with my children,” he said quietly.

Hermione nodded. “Celesca - why don't we take a walk?”

Celesca stood up and looked at James. He was on the verge of protesting but Celesca smiled at
him and he knew she had to leave. Reassured, James nodded in understanding and watched Aunt
Hermione lead Celesca outside.

“I know you'll likely tell her everything but this first discussion we need to have alone,”
said Harry, reading his son's thoughts.

“What's going on, Dad?” asked Albus.

“Where to begin?” said Harry. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Its all so
crazy.”

“Just tell us what she did,” said James.

“What who did?” asked Harry and Albus together.

“Mum. I know she's got something to do with this,” James replied.

“How did you know that?” asked Harry.

“Know what?” asked Albus. “What's going on?”

“James?”

“Celesca said Mum looked at her in a really nasty way,” said James. “Like she wanted to hurt
her. She wasn't in any pain, was she? All that screaming was just put on, wasn't it?
Celesca could tell.”

Harry sighed again. “It seems your girlfriend is full of surprises. Intuition as well as brains;
quite impressive.”

“Then she was right,” said James. He had accepted the truth but hearing his father confirm it
cut to him in the deepest way. “What has she done?”

“She let those people in here tonight,” said Harry. “This was her doing.”

“She let the ones in who hurt you!” said Albus quietly. “She cant have.”

“I know its hard to hear, boys,” said Harry. “I've tried to ignore it myself, but my body
aches as testimony to it.”

“Why Dad?” asked James. “Why would she do that?”

“It seems there's some sort of conspiracy going on back at home,” said Harry. “A rogue Dark
Wizard is trying to take over the world why I'm on holiday. Or something like that. Your mother
is part of it somehow; she had to keep me occupied out here while the plan unfolded at home.”

“That's nuts,” said James. “Why would she get involved in that?”

“Apparently she thought I could save the world at the last minute and would have to become
Minister for Magic,” said Harry. “Everyone else would have been bumped off and I'd have no
choice. She always fancied being First Witch of the Wizengamot- I just didn't think she`d ever
go this far to get it.”

“She's lost her mind,” said James, shaking his head. “So, what are you going to do?”

“That's why I'm talking to the pair of you,” said Harry. He turned to James. “As the
oldest I suspect you'll understand this better; I cant properly interrogate your mother, not
like I should. I've loved her for as long as I can remember and I just cant bring myself to do
it, despite what she's done. That's why I need your advice.”

“Advice? On what?”

“On what to do,” said Harry. “After what she's done - not just to me, but to you three and
whatever danger the world at large is now in - I don't think I can ever forgive her.”

“Are you going to split up?” asked Albus quietly.

Harry looked sadly at his son. “Your mother and I have been having problems for some time. This
may be the iron bar that broke the camel's back. I can't bear to be around her right now.
That's why I want your advice - on what to do with her. She's your mother and at this point
I think you probably love her more than I do. I want you to decide how we act.”

“She cant be allowed to get away with it,” said James sternly. “She has to be punished.”

“James! How can you say that! She's our mother!”

“What kind of mother puts her kids lives in danger?” said James angrily. “Not just that, but if
she is part of a plot then that's an act of treason. She has to answer for that.”

“You do know what you're saying, James?” said Harry slowly.

“If you cant punish her, Dad, someone else has to,” said James.

“Why are you being so horrible?” said Albus, tears running down her face. “You cant do this to
Mum.”

“But you think what she did to Dad - what she could have done to us - is okay?”

“James, you have to be sure before you make this decision,” said Harry. “There wont be any
turning back once its done.”

“Dad, she could have hurt Celesca,” said James quietly, feeling the guilt of it all swell up in
him again. “You say you cant forgive her for what she's done; well, I couldn't have
forgiven her, or myself, if she done anything to Celesca. I know you'll say I'm too young,
but I l-love her. More than anything. You say I'm too young to know what love is but if
anything had happened to her I really don't know what I would have done.”

Harry smiled fondly at James. “I would never say that you aren't in love, son. Anyone
who's seen you and Celesca together knows that. Anybody who knew what love looked like would
recognise it in you.”

“Then you know why I'm telling you to do this,” said James. “You cant forgive Mum for what
she's done - I can't forgive her for what she wanted to do.”

“James! You cant!” wailed Albus. “I like Celesca, too, but Mum wouldn't really have hurt
her.”

“You didn't see her, Al!” cried James angrily. “You didn't see Dad's wounds. If Aunt
Hermione hadn't come he might be dead, and we'd be next. Mum might have spared her own kids
but I bet she wouldn't have thought twice about getting rid of Celesca. I can't forgive
that. I can't stop hearing Dad's screams in my head. Aunt Hermione fixed Dad's injuries
but *I* can still see them.”

“Why are you calling her *Aunt* Hermione?” spat Albus, taking on that vile tone again.
“You'll be calling her *Mum* soon enough, probably.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” said James.

“You think I don't know what's really going on because I'm younger?” said Albus
waspishly. “I'm not stupid.”

“You're doing a good impression of it,” said James. “What are you on about?”

“All that stuff a few months ago,” said Albus. “That stuff with Rita Skeeter and her book; all
that stuff about Dad and *Auntie* Hermione - funny how that all just disappeared. Only it
didn't, did it? I heard Mum and Dad arguing about it; Mum crying to Uncle Ron about that same
thing - its not hard to work out. They`ve been having an affair for ages and now I'm expected
to believe its just coincidence that Hermione shows up when we`re on holiday. I bet they planned it
all so they could get married.”

“You've gone too far now, Albus,” said Harry. Each syllable was deep and weighted. Albus
quelled under his father's firm stare. “Your mother and I have been having problems for quite
some time, they started far before those events at the start of the year. They have no bearing on
what's going on now, and even if they did it's hardly an excuse.”

“I just don't want you to do anything to Mum,” said Albus quietly. “Not because of
Hermione.”

“Hermione has nothing to do with this,” said Harry. “This is your mother's doing. Hermione
arrived here tonight with information on what's going on back home. As Secret Keeper to the
villa she's the only one who could have told me.”

“But why her? Why not make Uncle Ron or someone else Secret Keeper, whatever that is?”

“Ron is on a highly dangerous undercover mission,” said Harry. “If he had been captured and
cracked under interrogation we'd have been in danger. As it was, your mother put us all in
danger anyway.”

“It could have been Aunt Hermione.”

“Stop it, Albus,” said James. “That's enough.”

“He's right to suggest it, James,” said Harry. “But the fact is your mother has confessed to
her crimes. She has to be punished for them, I just can't do it myself. I know its hard for you
to understand, Al, but it's the only right thing to do.”

“You're just angry because of what she's done, James too,” said Albus desperately.
“Maybe she's sorry for it all and wants to make amends.”

“No, son, I don't think she is,” said Harry softly. “She wanted your Aunt to be killed.
Despite what you think of her, would you want that?”

Albus looked solemnly at his father. For a moment Harry thought he saw a trace of Ginny's
malice in his eye, but then it was gone.

“No,” he said in a little voice. “No, of course I wouldn't.”

“Then you know we have to do this,” said James, trying to be consoling. “She has to be
punished.”

Albus looked forlornly at James, then at Harry, before closing his eyes and nodding his head.
Another silent tear rolled down his face. Harry got up to comfort him, but looked over at
James.

“You're sure about this? Remember, no turning back.”

“I'm sure, Dad,” said James firmly. “Send her to Azkaban.”

Harry nodded and with his eyes closed James marvelled at how much he and Al looked alike. He
felt a shudder at what he'd just done, effectively condemning his mother to the wizard prison.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that it was the right thing to do. He could see Celesca stood
in conversation with Aunt Hermione outside the veranda doors; imagining her beautiful face cut and
scarred, like he'd seen his father's, or devoid of life chilled him to his soul. It
reinforced the sensation that he had no choice, though he was livid at his mother for making it
that way.

That thought brought to James's mind a concept Albus raised in their row: Aunt Hermione as
his mother. Naturally resistant to the idea at first, it had lodged itself in James's mind. He
knew it would never happen, as she was married, but the idea of her being there for advice and
comfort whenever he needed it held an appeal that James felt he liked a little more than was
healthy.

* * *

*7:53am, an airfield near Cardiff*

Malfoy righted himself and glanced at Scott. The MI5 agent was staggering slightly and clutching
his chest. Malfoy smirked; clearly Side-Along Apparition wasn't the most comfortable form of
transport.

“That's how you people get around?” said Scott. “We're definitely getting a flight back
to London.”

“Stop being such a baby,” said Malfoy. “We're here now and we have a job to do.”

“How do you think we should play this?”

“Simple,” said Malfoy. “We go in, capture him and grill him for what he knows.”

“That could take time,” said Scott. “This guy is ex-French Foreign Legion, they're tough
hombres. He wont break easily.”

“You clearly haven't seen what I can do,” said Malfoy.

“You can cause him pain, I can cause him pain,” said Scott. “If he's well drilled it will be
difficult to crack him. And that wont get us anywhere.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“Taking him in now is pointless,” said Scott. “If we'd apprehended him in Ireland it would
have been different, but he's here now. I think we should conduct recon. Follow him, see where
he goes. Update MI5 so they can mobilise on the ground. Chances are he'll have people waiting
for whatever cargo they've brought with them.”

“So you think we should just follow them and let them lead us to those other groups?”

“You have a problem with that?”

“No,” said Malfoy reluctantly. “It's a sound plan.”

“Good. I'll radio into MI5 let them know what we're doing,” said Scott. “And I need to
have a go at Director Barnes for not telling me how awful that Spectre Travelling is.”

“Its *Apparition,* you oaf,” said Malfoy.

“Whatever,” replied Scott. “Just keep watch over that ridge.”

* * *

*7:57am Azkaban Wizard Prison.*

Harry turned away as Ginny was being processed. The icy chill created by the Dementors inside
barely penetrated the thick stone walls, but it mixed with Harry's heavy heart and brought a
depression to him that was hard to take. He was glad Hermione was with him; she was taking care of
everything and Harry only had to endure Ginny's repeated pleas for mercy from afar.

“HARRY! Please! I'm sorry, don't do this.”

Harry felt hot tears before he could stop them. He walked even further away as the emotion
overcame him. His breath caught as it rose and fell rapidly in his throat, joining with silent sobs
which made his whole body convulse. He felt beyond awful, beyond evil for what he was doing and
even his conviction that it had to be done didn't dent the sensation. Suddenly he felt smooth,
warm hands slide around his shoulders and he was being turned around into an embrace.

Hermione held him tenderly and cradled his head. Tears flowed ever more freely as the spectrum
of Harry's emotions from the last hour released themselves into her shoulder. She didn't
speak, not even to soothe him, allowing him to simply let out everything that he was holding
inside. It was several minutes before Harry was master of himself to speak.

“Is it…is it *done?*”

“It's done,” said Hermione gently. She dried the streaks of Harry's tears with the pad
of her thumb and kissed his head. “It's going to be alright.”

“If I forget to tell you how glad I am you're here -”

“Then I'll know you're back to normal,” said Hermione. “I know it probably isn't any
consolation, but I think you're doing the only thing you could.”

“I know it, but it's the hardest thing I've ever had to do, said Harry.

“I know, I know,” said Hermione. She drew Harry close to her again as though sensing another
bought of tears was on the horizon. It served to galvanise him.

“We have to go back, we have to stop this Baron bloke,” he said.

“There are other people who can deal with that for now,” said Hermione. “We have another things
to deal with first.”

“Such as?”

“Your kids, for a start,” said Hermione. “They can't be taking this well. They'll need
their father right now.”

“I know,” said Harry. “Albus has taken it pretty hard, he blames me for all this.”

“And me, I suspect,” said Hermione. “He gave me a choice look or two before we left.”

“He'll come around,” said Harry. “He's at that age where he still hasn't learnt how
complicated life can be.”

“I don't think anyone truly realises that, Harry,” said Hermione. “Just look at what's
happened today.”

“I'd rather not, just yet,” said Harry. “Come on, lets get moving. I cant explain this all
to the kids just now. But we have to get them somewhere safe. Whatever this plot is all about has
just cost me my marriage and I'll be damned if whoever's behind it gets away with it.”

“We'll stop them, Harry,” said Hermione. “We always made a formidable team. This Baron has
picked the wrong fight today.”

He recognised her firmness as the solidarity she'd shown him for the entirety of their
relationship. He loved it about her and it brought to him a sense of hope that things, however bad
they were now, would eventually get better. He stroked her face tenderly and together they
Apparated back to Greece.

*8:00am*



-->



8. Chapter Eight
----------------



-Chapter Seven

*The following takes place between 8:00am and 9:00am on the day of the Wizengamot Ministerial
election.*

*Events occur in real time*

*8:01am*

Ron Weasley moved quietly through the dimly lit hall, making sure to keep firmly within the
shadows created by the high walls on the right hand side. Across the way, doors set into deep
alcoves buzzed with activity; voices filtered out, machines whirred and all manner of other strange
noises meshed together to form a sort of collective drone. This was the Factory, and it was here
that all the Baron's plans had been born.

Ron tried to listen as closely to the voices as he could. Each room was dedicated to a different
part of the plan, though nobody but the Baron could enter all of them. Special charms had been cast
on the doors to scramble the voices inside but Ron listened hard anyway, hoping to catch a break.
After all, he'd once spoken Parseltongue by taking a chance - maybe he'd strike lucky
again.

Not that he could concentrate wholly on the task at hand. His conversation with Luna and her
disclosures about her daughter kept running through his mind. He felt sorry that she had been drawn
into this; at least he'd gone in with his eyes open, as it was his job after all. Poor Luna was
just another pawn being used to enforce the secrecy about the bigger plan.

Ron moved along again. He was about halfway down the long corridor when clear voices reached his
ears. He perked up and hurried silently towards them, adrenaline stirring within him. This was the
mistake he'd been hoping for. He reached a door which hadn't been shut and sealed properly;
it seemed that small pieces of debris fallen from the run-down walls had kept the door ajar. Ron
hid in the shadows of the alcove to listen to the conversation inside.

“What did he say?” said one voice.

“He said they killed a Muggle Intelligence agent,” said a second.

“Chances are MI5 will know about that by now,” said the first. “Malfoy will surely be on his
way.”

Ron tensed up in the alcove. He'd never warmed to Malfoy, despite Harry softening to his old
adversary. The mention of his name still generated in him a gutteral disgust.

“Have you told Kelly to watch out for Malfoy?” the first voice was saying.

“He already knows,” said the second. “But I did tell him to be extra vigilant. I'd ask the
Baron for specific instructions but he's yet to return from his jaunt out.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“Nope, none of my business. Probably killed a few people on the way, mind.”

“Maybe that's why he went out,” said the first voice. “Maybe it's been so long since he
killed someone he just fancied a bit of murder.”

“If that's true he'll get plenty of satisfaction today,” said the second speaker. “Mind
you, if the Muggles screw up it could make life a little harder. Don't know why we're even
involved with them.”

“Probably need someone to blame if it goes wrong,” said the first voice. “A pack of useless
Muggles make the perfect patsies.”

“Well as long as they keep doing okay, we shouldn't have a problem. They're pretty good
at blowing things up and right now they are on target.”

“Look, that's door's open there,” said the first voice. “Get over there and close it. If
the Baron comes back and sees it open we'll be whipped like crazy. You remember how bad a state
Dremora was left in?”

Ron backed away slowly as a silhouetted figure grew larger in the lighted window of the door. It
scraped closed and shut with a little click. Ron moved quickly along the rest of the corridor
feeling he had just enough new information to think on and wondering if he'd be able to get
lucky again.

* * *

*8:04am, an airfield outside Cardiff*

Agent Scott looked through his binoculars at the movements around the hangar a few hundred feet
away. He and Draco Malfoy had located the body of Agent Jones; the bullet-wound in the back of his
head confirming Scott's worst suspicions about the Agent's fate. They had taken his body
back towards the access road - or rather Malfoy had hovered the body back there by magic - and
found his specially modified Land Rover. Scott and driven the car up to a ridge and now he and
Malfoy were sat in the front seats watching the activity of Padraig Kelly and his men.

“I wish we could hear what they're discussing,” said Scott. “Don't you know any bits of
hocus pocus for that?”

Malfoy smirked. “Of course I do. I'm just sitting here twiddling my thumbs for the joys of
your company, Scott.”

“If you can do something, why don't you do it? Be useful instead of annoying.”

“Magic can do many things, but - like your binoculars there - it has rules. Without modifying
their voices directly there is no way we can hear their conversation from here. I know this is your
first brush with magic; Muggles always think there must be a magical solution to every problem.
Unfortunately, magic has its limits, too.”

“You might find this hard to believe,” said Scott, “but I know a thing or two about magic.”

“You're right, Scott,” said Malfoy. “I do find it hard to believe that you know as many as
two things.”

“Very funny,” said Scott. “I'm being serious.”

“As am I.”

“I had a run-in with one of you magic types before,” said Scott.

Malfoy sighed resignedly. “Look, Scott, if you have a story to tell me - and you insist on
telling it - please get to it quickly.”

“It's only now I've put it together,” said Scott. “I knew a girl, years ago; she was a
friend of a friend and we got on quite well. Then one morning, I woke up at my friends house after
a party and I was madly in love with this girl. I couldn't stop thinking about her. I was
totally besotted; she was my first thought when I woke and the last thing I focused on before
sleep. I practically followed her around for two years, then suddenly I just stopped loving her.
Just like that.”

Malfoy sniggered. “Sounds like a love potion to me.”

“That's what she said,” Scott continued. “Said she was a witch and that I'd been under
her spell, but she had grown tired of the deceit and hoped I might love her naturally by then. I
left her because she was so weird, but later I started to miss her.”

“Touching,” said Malfoy. “This is a very heart-rending story but do you actually have a
point?”

“It's just curious that if you magic-folk can do such powerful things why the hell would you
need a regular crook like Kelly?”

“We don't know that this situation and the one developing in my world are connected,” said
Malfoy. “All we know is that Algeron is tied to both Kelly and Wizard crime gangs. These things
could be independent.”

“Kelly chooses today to risk coming to England? You think that`s a coincidence?”

“We're in *Wales,* Scott. Your geography clearly isn't one of your *many*
strengths.”

“You know what I meant,” Scott snapped back. “And you didn't answer my question.”

“If I thought it was a coincidence would I really be stuck in this car enjoying your riveting
conversation?” said Malfoy. “Algeron has worked with Kelly and was sent to confirm the killing of
the wizard in Barnet. Chances are he was sent by, or at least reports directly to, the rogue Dark
Wizard behind the plot. There is a link between Kelly and the Baron, one I hope to exploit by using
it to find the Baron before he enacts his endgame.”

“And if you're wrong?”

Malfoy looked gravely at Agent Scott. “Then I hold out almost no hope of stopping this villain
before he carries out his plan; a plan which required the elimination of the two most powerful
people in Wizarding society. Whatever is going to happen must be stopped; if we fail the
consequences for both our worlds would be dire.”

* * *

*8:10am, Zante*

Harry watched as Hermione bustled around from room to room, readying the children to leave the
villa. He admired her; she was so in control, purposeful and with a genuine plan of action. He
envied it. He could barely collect his scattered thoughts as musings on each dreadful event chased
each other through his mind. Hermione stopped as she was making another cross of the landing; Harry
knew she'd seen him watching her and she smiled at him as she moved into the girls bedroom.

Celesca was in there alone finishing up Lily's packing. Her own trunk was already full of
her neatly folded clothes and assorted cosmetics and toiletries. She was just throwing Lily's
socks next to her favourite teddy bear when Hermione entered.

“Is everything nearly ready?” she asked.

“Almost,” said Celesca. “Just a few bits and bobs and we'll be all done.”

“Thank you, Celesca,” said Hermione. “You've been a real help.”

“It's nothing,” said Celesca shyly.

“I don't count saving Harry's life as nothing,” said Hermione. “If no-one's thought
to thank you for what you did tonight let me be the first to do so. It was very brave of you.”

“James would've done something anyway,” said Celesca. “I couldn't have him go charging
in on his own, all hot-headed. You know what I mean.”

Hermione chuckled. “Oh yes, more than you probably realise.”

Celesca bit her lip at Hermione's words, chewing over a thought in her mind. Hermione
noticed the change in her and pressed her to ask whatever question it was she was pondering.

“It's quite personal, Mrs Weasley,” said Celesca. “I wouldn't want to cause
offence.”

Hermione felt her own air alter. Curious as to what might offend her she assured Celesca that
she could ask whatever was on her mind without concern.

“Well, its just that I've been thinking over what Albus has been saying,” said Celesca
cautiously. “I was just wondering if there's anything in it?”

“I'm sorry, Celesca, but I really don't think that's any of your business.”

“Well there we disagree,” said Celesca firmly. “You see, I was part of all those events six
months ago - I saw how James took all those disclosures about you and his father's past
relationship. I was there to pick up the pieces of his confusion, his guilt, the shattered image of
the family he so adores. If he's going to go through that again I think I have a right to know,
to be forewarned.”

“Why would you expect anything to happen now?” said Hermione, a little taken aback by
Celesca's forthrightedness. “You were privy to all the details, all the reasons to why Harry
and I made the choices we did.”

“Only now those reasons are null and void,” said Celesca. “With Mrs Potter in jail there's
bound to be a temptation to take advantage of that opportunity.”

“How can you say such a thing! You're forgetting I'm married and have two children.”

“James thinks we're really alike,” said Celesca, continuing regardless. “It irks me
sometimes that he always compares me to you. The problem is he tends to be right a lot of the time.
And if you feel for his father what I feel for James, then I know how *I**'**d*
view a development like this. Then again, that's the major point on where we differ, Mrs
Weasley - I single-mindedly go for what I want. I'd never have been able to live with the
decision you made about Mr Potter. To be without James would be like being without air.”

Hermione sat down looking drained. Celesca suddenly felt awful, like she'd overstepped her
boundaries. She sat down next to her and waited, ready to be comforting. When Hermione spoke her
voice was strained.

“Can I give you one piece of advice, Celesca?” she asked. Celesca nodded. “Don't ever let
James go. Don't let anything come between you. For twenty years that's all I've done,
Harry too. It's been worse, and harder, than either of us could have imagined and I doubt
we'd ever confess just how hard to each other.”

“I didn't mean to sound petulant or like I was judging you, Mrs Weasley,” said Celesca. “I
just know how difficult this could be and I'm worried for James.”

“I know you are, its very sweet to see,” said Hermione, smiling. “I really like having someone
watch over him so intently. He is my favourite nephew - though don't tell him that. His ego is
quite large enough as it is!“

“I know, though that's partly my fault,” said Celesca reticently. “I indulge his vanity far
more than I ought to.”

“As any good girlfriend should,“ said Hermione, still grinning. “The truth is I don't know
what will happen between Harry and I. It isn't like this possibility has just emerged
overnight.”

“What do you mean?”

Hermione looked at Celesca, sizing her up. Satisfied, she continued.

“Six months ago, when all those revelations came out, it drew Harry and I closer than we'd
been for many years. We had to work together for the first time in ages and I don't think
either of us anticipated the effect it would have. We found that we had missed each other far more
intensely than either of us had realised. I think we'd just conditioned ourselves to be numb
around each other. Being brought together in such an intimate way again switched on an otherwise
dormant *something* that we've been either unable - or unwilling - to switch back
off.”

“Then Albus was right? You have been having an affair?”

“It feels that way,” said Hermione. “We haven't done anything about it but we've been
seeing each other a lot more, making excuses to spend more time together or talk in secret. You
understand, I expect, that magical sensation you get being around James that I feel when I'm
with Harry.”

“He's like an addiction,” said Celesca, nodding. “And there's never enough of him, no
matter how much time I spend with him I still pine at the times when we're apart.”

“Imagine that magnified,” said Hermione. “Harry and I have been apart for so long every time
we're together now its like we're trying to make up for lost time. There's always a
fear that we wont have enough time to make it right.”

“But you have children, its makes your situation very different.”

“And more difficult,” said Hermione. “I love my children and Harry's children so much; the
prospect of hurting them all has been the main reason that has stopped Harry and I from just
eloping.”

“You were going to elope?” asked Celesca.

“I thought about it, just before my wedding,” said Hermione, smiling girlishly. Celesca hitched
up her knees, waiting for the story. “When Harry told me how he felt for me, and I for him, I
seriously thought about running away. A few times I nearly asked him, but I was afraid to.”

“Why?”

“I was afraid he'd say yes,” said Hermione. “And I think he might have. But our lives were
here; we'd have either had to uproot all we'd ever known or face a world where everyone
close to us shunned us. It would have been worth it, and Harry would have endured it, but I really
thought he'd had enough of that sort of thing. We'd still be together, after all, albeit as
less then we wanted.”

“I couldn't do that,” said Celesca shaking her head. “Not even for a day.”

“I was glad he didn't come to my wedding though,” Hermione went on. Celesca gasped but
Hermione shushed her. “It was the best way. He was supposed to give Ron the rings but asked
Ron's brother, George, to do it. Made up some flimsy excuse not to be there, but he clearly had
no intention of going or he wouldn't have handed over the rings; in truth, if I'd seen
Harry there I might not have been able to go through with it.”

“So what did he do?”

“He never said, used the Head Auror Secrecy Act to hide where he really was.”

They sat for a moment in quiet contemplation; Hermione reminiscing, Celesca thinking about what
would happen next.

“You know, I think half of James will be okay with this,” said Celesca presently. “He really
likes you; I suspect the idea of you being his Mum doesn't exactly bother him.”

“He's a good boy,” said Hermione smiling, Celesca could tell, at the idea. “Though that
prospect is highly improbable. It would be a little Freudian though, wouldn't it?”

They shared a knowing grin.

“I have to go and check on the others, make sure James and Al haven't killed each other
yet,” said Hermione. She left Celesca alone and made her way to the master bedroom.

Harry was sat on the bed when Hermione entered. His trunk was packed haphazardly; clothes spewed
out at different angles and had no order at all. Hermione set them to rights with one deft flick of
her wand. She sat down next to Harry.

“How's everyone?” he asked.

“They're okay,” said Hermione. “James and Al are still squabbling over who's to blame
for all this and Celesca's taking care of Lily.”

“You were in with her for a long time,” said Harry. “What were you talking about?”

“This and that,” said Hermione evasively. “In any case, what were you doing spying on me?”

“I like watching you walk,” said Harry winking.

“Your wife's not been in Azkaban half an hour and you're already flirting,” said
Hermione.

“What can I say? I don't like time wasting,” said Harry. “Could you grab my shoes, for
me?”

“You just want to watch me cross the room, don't you?” said Hermione, standing up anyway.
She walked to the window under which Harry's shoes were hidden beneath last night's socks
and trousers. “Oi! Don't whistle at me, cheeky.”

Hermione looked around expecting to exchange little smiles with Harry but instead,
disappointingly, found him rummaging under the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“It wasn't me whistling,” said Harry. Another whistle sounded in the air, louder than the
first and Harry emerged holding a small leather-bound book.

“What is that?” asked Hermione, dropping the shoes and going over.

“Let's take a look,” said Harry. He opened the front page. Words were staring up at him.

*Ginny, I**'**m waiting for an update report. You**'**re
late*

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, then down at the book. It whistled again and more words
appeared.

*The torture should be over by now. If Potter didn**'**t confess he and your
kids should be dead. Where are you?*

Harry fumed at the words and even Hermione uttered a curse or two.

“This must be how they're communicating,” said Harry. “Ginny's been getting her orders
via this.”

“You think this goes to the Baron?”

“Who else?” said Harry.

“Hey Harry - we could use this!” said Hermione excitedly.

“Yeah, we could use it to find out where the Baron is and stop him,” said Harry.

“No, Harry, that wouldn't work,” said Hermione. “If we go asking things like that the Baron
will know something is up. He'll just destroy the book as soon as he knows.”

“Then what should we do?”

“He doesn't know what's happened to Ginny yet,” said Hermione. “We could use that. We
could pretend to be her. It'll buy us time to move around undetected. Hey - it might even be an
idea to let him think you're dead.”

“Problem there is he'll want proof,” said Harry. “When those two assassins don't turn up
he'll get suspicious. Though I agree we might have a better chance of success if I don't
appear to be actively involved.”

“Let's just answer him,” said Hermione. “He could give us-as-Ginny more instructions. We
might get a clue as to where he's going next.”

“Do you have a quill?” Harry asked. Hermione conjured one from thin air. “What shall I
write?”

“Maybe I should do it,” said Hermione. “You need a cool head for this and right now you
don't have one.”

Harry knew she was right and handed over the quill.

* * *

*8:18am, Gringotts Wizards Bank, Diagon Alley*

The crowd which had gathered at the far end of Diagon Alley waited patiently for the arrival of
the man for whom they had assembled. Mostly these people were journalists, though there were a
number among the throng from opposing political camps and a smattering of the general populous who
had gravitated towards the large podium and swelling crowd to see what all the fuss was about.
Presently, Lucien Carlton arrived flanked by half a dozen hefty security trolls and a consignment
of Aurors. There were more Aurors milling about in the crowd.

Tom Kennedy made his way to the podium. He stared around at the assembled faces below him;
somehow they all seemed swarthy and dangerous. It was as if being outside and facing the hitherto
hinted-at threats had suddenly made them that much more real. Photographers with their large flash
bulbs stood ready; journalists waited with pads and quills and a sea of faces looked up, Tom afraid
of each and every one.

“Ladies and gentleman,” he said to the crowd. “The Right Honourable Gamot, Lucien Carlton.”

Polite applause accompanied Carlton to the stage. Tom Kennedy slipped into the entourage and
wondered if he dared to go any further. The fear which had gripped him on the podium was nothing
like he'd ever known. It would be so easy to slip away now, to simply vanish down Knockturn
Alley and never be heard from again. The street was only a few paces away and Kennedy was edging
for it before he could stop himself.

Carlton was talking about tax reforms on the stage; Kennedy knew the speech by heart and the
last rehearsal of it was still playing over in his mind. He followed the words in his head as
Carlton delivered each one clearly and crisply. He was just reaching the part about allowing tax
breaks for poorer families when a pause in the rhetoric caused Tom to halt on his escape route to
Knockturn Alley. Carlton was saying something unfamiliar, something they hadn't gone through a
dozen times together.

“I'm sorry but questions will have to wait until later,” Carlton was saying.

“This isn't a question,” a gruff voice replied. “The Red Baron says hello.”

Tom turned in time to see the beginning of the melee. It stated with the speaker reaching for a
button on the podium and was quickly followed by an Auror darting forwards. He pushed Carlton
towards the marble steps of the bank as an explosion ripped through the podium.

Pandemonium followed. Fire leapt from inside the wooden structure, burning the banners attached
to it, which twisted and melted in the heat. Then the screams came. The photographers and
journalists nearest the podium were hit in the blast and were dead before their bodies, or parts of
them, hit the floor. The others scrambled for safety away from the explosion, running and yelling,
some crying. The chaos filled the place as people rushed to escape the scene.

Tom yanked himself free from the hoarding plate which had flattened him. His robes were on fire
and he tried to pull them off in a panic, eventually ripping the hem and tossing the smouldering
section away. He darted through the crowd, feeling like a fish swimming upstream into a current. He
reached the foot of the steps, span around the flaming podium and scrambled across the scattered
debris towards the place where Lucien should have been.

The Auror who had pushed him to safety was pinning Carlton down. His face had been blown
completely off and the disgusting sight of his featureless visage was something Tom was sure would
haunt him for years. He hauled the body away and checked for Carlton's pulse. It was there,
albeit very faint.

“I need a Healer over here!” Kennedy called. “And security. The Gamot is still alive!”

Immediately two of the burly security trolls arrived and flanked Kennedy and Carlton. Within a
minute or two a Healer was thrown before Kennedy by another troll.

“Will he live?” asked Kennedy as the Healer inspected Carlton.

“Difficult to say, he's very weak,” the Healer replied. “We have to get him to St
Mungo's.”

Tom drew his wand and lifted Carlton into the air. The trolls, and what was left of the Auror
escort, formed a corridor through which Kennedy hurried through in the wake of the Healer as they
made their way as quickly as possible to the Wizarding hospital.

* * *

*8:25am, MI5 HQ*

Agent Jenny Miller entered the ladies bathroom and closed the door. She quickly checked all the
cubicles for occupants; they were all empty and she choose for herself the last one in the row.
Once inside, she took out her mobile phone and dialled a number. After a few rings a voice, with a
deep Irish accent, answered on the other end.

“What is it?”

“I have news for you, Kelly. You're being watched.”

“I already know that,” said Kelly.

“No, you don't understand,” said Miller. “There are Agents with you now.”

“You're sure?”

“Positive. Agent Scott and the Shadow Agent, Malfoy, are in your area. They just radioed
in.”

“Do you have their position?” asked Kelly.

“A ridge, due west of the hangar,” said Miller. “I'm uploading a satellite grab of their
position. They are in an armoured Land Rover.”

Miller heard Kelly give orders to check out the position.

“Right, I have the image,” said Kelly. “How did they get here so damned fast?”

“Malfoy's a wizard, how should I know how he does things?”

“Because you're our inside man,” said Kelly. “This is your job.”

“Getting near the Shadow Agent is impossible,” Miller protested. “I've been here five years
and I hadn't seen him till today. Actually, he's quite fit; dark and broody. Just my
type.”

“You can shag him later, as long as you kill him afterwards,” said Kelly. “Right now I need to
know what they know.”

“Just that Jones is dead,” said Miller. “They're going to watch you and follow you when you
leave. You have to do something to get away unseen.”

“Leave that to me,” said Kelly. “Have you scrambled the satellite feed?”

“Already sorted,” said Miller. A noise distracted her. “Look, someone's coming in here. I
have to go. I'll be in touch.”

She ended the call and left her cubicle calmly. Cara, a junior analyst, was just entering the
bathroom. They exchanged the usual pleasantries as they passed but Jenny couldn't help but be
unsettled by the suspicious look Cara had given her. Had she heard anything? Jenny hoped not; Cara
was a sweet little thing and it would be such a shame if Jenny was forced to kill her.

* * *

*8:29am, The Burrow*

Rose dived up as Hermione emerged from her Apparition, clobbering her mother with a hug that
Harry thought she must have inherited from her grandmother. Molly Weasley followed suit, hugging
her daughter-in-law tightly and demanding to know what was going on. There was too much emotion for
an immediate explanation and Harry and Arthur exchanged knowing looks, then tried to usher the kids
to bed. As was the habit of them all, though, none were prepared to go without a whole host of
questions being answered first.

“Where are you going to go?” asked James.

“Where have you been?” asked Rose.

“What's going to happen to Mum?” asked Albus.

“Something's happened to Ginny? What is it?” asked Molly.

Harry raised a hand to silence them all. “James, I want you to make sure Albus and Lily get some
rest. Do it now. I'm counting on you to do this.”

“That's not going to happen,” said Albus, mutinously.

“You'll do as I tell you, young man,” said Harry sternly. “Unless you want me to deal with
you.”

Harry tapped his wand pointedly and Albus muttered a clenched-teeth `fine' and stomped from
the room. James followed, holding the door for Celesca, who was carrying Lily.

“Rosie, you go to, honey,” said Hermione, disentangling herself from her daughter.

“But, Mum, where have you been? What's going on?” asked Rose.

“I'll explain it all a little later,” said Hermione. “Just do what I say now, okay?”

“Alright, Mum,” said Rose, compliant as ever. As soon as she'd left the room and only the
adults remained, Molly rounded on Harry.

“Don't think you can dismiss us quite as easily,” she said. “What's happened with Ginny?
Where is she?”

“I think we'd all better sit down,” said Hermione.

“Why would I want to sit down?” said Molly, her agitation rising. “Nothing good ever gets said
once you're told to sit down.”

Harry looked at Arthur again. “Perhaps, we should sit down, dear? And how about a cup of
tea?”

“How can you think of tea with such mysteries going on?” said Molly, ever more shrilly.

“Actually, I'd love a cuppa,” said Harry.

“Me, too,” said Hermione, hoping to start a trend by taking a seat.

“Shall I do the honours?” said Arthur. The years Harry had known him hadn't dimmed the
tiredness in his voice. He waved his wand and four plain ceramic cups materialised along with a
brown tea pot, which began pouring tea of its own accord. Harry sat down and the others finally
followed suit.

“So, we have tea,” said Molly. “Now are you going to tell us what's going on?”

“It isn't easy to say,” said Harry.

“Or easy to hear,” added Hermione.

“So, it's finally come, has it?” said Molly sharply. “Are the divorce papers filed yet?”

Harry, Hermione and Arthur just stared at her. Arthur voiced what they were all thinking.

“What in Merlin's name are you on about, woman?”

“It's fairly clear, isn't it?” said Molly. “They've come here to tell us they're
divorcing Ron and Ginny and getting married.”

“Don't mind her,” said Arthur. “She's going a little batty in her old age.”

“Arthur Weasley I can still give you a run for your money,” said Molly.

“Of course you can, Mollywobbles,” said Arthur dismissively. He turned to Harry. “How about some
sense, old man?”

“Like I said, Arthur, you wont like hearing this,” said Harry. He began to explain, slowly at
first but more vigorously with Hermione's prompting, all that had happened and all they had
learned regarding Ginny. At first, neither of his in-laws believed a word of it, but their opinions
slowly turned as Harry revealed the scars which remained from his torture.

“Oh my god, my poor Ginny,” said Molly, weepily. “What could have possessed her to do such a
thing?”

“Believe me, Molly, I wish something *had* possessed her, with all my heart I wish it,”
said Harry. “But I could find no trace of the Imperius Curse or any other controlling spells on
her. As far as I can tell she was acting of her own free will.”

“But why, Harry? Why now?” asked Arthur, who had turned the pale grey of old porridge.

“All I can think is that with the election today it provided a transition period that was
perfect to exploit, even for her mad caper” said Harry. “That's probably why this threat facing
us is taking place today, too. Its all connected.”

“And you can't tell us anymore about it?” asked Molly. “You can't use it to explain why
Ginny has done these awful things? Harry - I know how much she loved you and the kids; you
can't think she's acted like this without some interference with her?”

“I don't know what to think, Molly,” said Harry. “All I know is that she allowed me to be
tortured, was prepared to allow me and the kids to be killed and is in league with Dark Wizards.
Aside from that little else matters.”

Arthur took off his glasses and rubbed his lined eyes. Molly let fresh tears flow from her
own.

“What will you do now?” asked Arthur eventually.

“Clearly we have to deal with this threat,” said Harry. “But this has to remain utterly secret.
No-one can know we've been here or what we've told you. Right now, The Baron thinks I'm
at Ginny's mercy. The longer he thinks that, the more time I'll get to counteract him
without him being aware of me.”

“You can, of course, count on our support, Harry,” said Arthur. “What can we do?”

“Nothing more complex than to look after the kids,” said Harry. “With Hogwarts still out of term
time there isn't anywhere safer I'd rather leave the children.”

“We'll take care of them,” said Molly. “But you will try and find a way to clear Ginny's
name?”

Harry took her hand. “I'll be looking for every avenue to do that, Molly. I promise you
that.”

“Where will you go?”

“We can't tell you that,” said Hermione. “The less you know, the safer you'll be.”

“Just as long as the kids are safe, that's all I care about,” Harry added.

“They'll be fine here,” said Arthur.

“We'll be leaving shortly,” said Harry. “I don't want the kids to see us go. Too many
awkward questions.”

“Are you asking us to keep them occupied for you?” asked Molly.

“If you wouldn't mind,” said Harry.

“Okay, but make your getaway quickly,” said Arthur. “You haven't raised one stupid or
incurious child between you. We wont be able to stall them for long.”

Molly and Arthur got up and left. Hermione wasted no time in turning to Harry.

“Right, lets go over the plan again,” she said.

“Okay, the first thing we have to do is read the letter Roberts sent me,” said Harry. “I have a
special tool that will do the job. I have one at the office but if I want to stay anonymous we cant
go there. It's a good job I keep a spare at home.”

“Alright. That's first,” said Hermione. “That may or may not generate more leads, but I
think we have to deal with what the Baron told us before we move on to anything else.”

“I know,” said Harry pensively. “He has some kind of poison that's ready, or thereabouts.
But it could be anything -”

“Or anywhere -”

“Which means we shouldn't waste our time looking for it,” said Harry. “Then we have the
situation with Luna.”

“How in the hell did she get involved in something like this?” asked Hermione, almost thinking
aloud. “It's so out of character.”

“*Too* out of character for my liking,” said Harry. “I'd trust Luna with my life; I
cant believe she would be complicit in a plot like this.”

Hermione looked dolefully at Harry. “Two hours ago wouldn't you have thought the same thing
about Ginny?”

“Point taken,” said Harry. “But Luna - seriously? You cant honestly believe she would do
anything bad without coercion? Ginny's ambition always gave her the potential to be ruthless.
Luna doesn't have a bad bone in her body.”

“Which is why we have to save her,” said Hermione. “If the Baron is done with her and wants to -
how did he put it - *get her out of his hair* then we have to get to her before he does.”

“Though he probably has a head start if he knows where she is,” said Harry ponderously.

“How long do you think the Baron will buy our story?”

“Who knows,” said Harry. “Long enough for us to get a foothold in his plans if we`re lucky. We
have him at bay for now, we shouldn't waste any time.”

“Do you really think we can stop this, Harry?” asked Hermione.

He moved closer to her, taking her hands. “If anyone can, its us. We have the letter and we know
we have to find Luna. It isn't much, but it's a start - and for now it's the best we
can do.”

“Then let's get going.”

Harry led the way from the house. As the back door closed, the one leading from the kitchen to
the staircase opened. Celesca, who had been on her way to fetch Lily a change of clothes, had heard
the entire exchange between Harry and Hermione from behind the door. She had almost cried out when
she'd heard them mention her Aunt and the danger she was in. Now, alone in the kitchen, Celesca
sat down, cupped her head with her trembling hands and wept uncontrollably.

* * *

*8:36am, Shropshire*

The manor house looked so much handsomer by daylight. The Baron had always thought so. The high
windows of the drawing room with their Eastern exposure provided wonderful illumination to the vast
space inside. At the moment, it threw light on the cluttered oval table at the room's heart.
The Baron poured over documents as members of the Viridian Brotherhood scuttled here and there on
the various tasks assigned to them.

The Baron was most interested in a report which he had just received. It detailed an attack on
Gamot Lucien Carlton, the chief challenger to Minister for Magic Spragg.

“So he survived, you say?” asked the Baron.

Armitage, the chief servant of the Baron, repeated his information. “Early accounts suggest so,
but he is still under intensive supervision at St. Mungo's.”

“How many fatalities were there?”

“Twelve, at early count,” said Armitage. “Including several Aurors and a few journos.”

“Good, I hate reporters,” said the Baron. “Can Carlton be gotten to at St. Mungo's?”

“Not without a full-scale attack,” said Armitage. “That annoying chief-of-staff he has, Tom
Kennedy, has upgraded security to a ridiculous level. Trolls, Aurors, you name it - even his ward
has been secrecy Charmed to death. We don't even know what floor he's on.”

“Nevermind that for now, then,” said the Baron. “Carlton's a stubborn fool. If he recovers
he'll try and go back to campaigning. We`ll have other opportunities.”

“This could be a stunt to win votes,” said Armitage. “You didn't actually order this, did
you?”

“Of course I did,” said the Baron lightly. “I had a feeling it would fail but I wanted Carlton
out of the way regardless. The old coot gets up my nose.”

They were disturbed by a rapping at the window. A large barn owl was outside trying to get in.
Armitage went to the window and unhooked a letter tied to the owl's foot.

“Open that Armitage,” said the Baron. “Read it to me.”

“It's from Brewer,” said Armitage.

“And? What does he say?”

“Just this - *It is ready.*”

“Such a ignorant prat,” said the Baron. “I might just kill him for incivility. It'd save me
a few Galleons.”

“Shall I arrange it, Sir?”

“No, not yet,” said the Baron. “If he delivers a workable poison he will have done his job. Keep
a few assassins on standby in case he's messed up the potion.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Right, Armitage, I want you to check on the stocks of the Elixir. Make sure the entire amount
is still there. Count it yourself - I don't trust these thieving gypsies I have working for
me.”

“Very well, Sir. What then?”

“All is going well, Armitage, don't fret,” said the Baron happily. “I have taken care of the
potion myself. That's under control. I have to dispose of our little courier but once she's
out of the way there will be no link back to us. That's a work in progress.”

“And Harry Potter?”

The Baron smiled beneath his scarf. “He's being taken good care of. If he isn't part of
this by now he'll be far too late to stop us if he ever manages to get involved. Malfoy remains
a problem, but I think I may have to eliminate him myself once I get a spare moment.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right, hurry along to check the Elixir,” said the Baron. “When you return we shall draft our
letter of demands to Spragg and his cronies.”

“And if they don't comply?” asked Armitage.

“Oh they'll comply,” said the Baron. “Otherwise a lot of people will be dead by
lunchtime.”

* * *

*8:40am, The Burrow.*

James had searched the entire house but could still find no sign of Celesca. He'd checked
Lily's room, only to find she'd sent her to grab some fresh clothes from her trunk;
he'd asked Albus if he'd seen her, only for him to suggest Celesca had finally realised
James was a no-good, rotten scumbag and left him; he'd looked on all seven floors of the house
and still she was nowhere to be found.

James stood at the kitchen sink and tried to think where she could be. It was entirely possible
that he'd missed her on his travels; the Burrow was a hotchpotch of a house and you could
easily get lost in it. He doubted she would go to the attic, as the scary ghoul who resided there
hated visitors. He was just about running out of ideas when he looked out the window and saw
Celesca, quite plainly, sitting in the potting shed at the bottom of the garden.

He made his way to her, considering that he was quite a fool for not looking outside in the
first place. He suspected that she might have needed a break from all the drama; he didn't
blame her and would certainly have liked a bit for himself. He was nearly upon her, however, when
he realised this wasn't at all likely; he could see her eyes were red and blotchy and
tear-tracks had cut through the light covering of dirt on her face, from where they'd knocked
the Floo Powder jar over when they had been Side-Along Apparated from Greece.

“Cels?” asked James, entering the shed. “Are you okay?”

She looked up at him with a wild sort of expression. “Do I look okay to you?”

“Do I really have to answer that?” asked James, knowing that to answer truthfully carried a
serious risk of hexing.

“My god, James, what am I going to do?” asked Celesca desperately. She sat down on an upturned
dustbin and burst into tears.

“What is it?” asked James, throwing a consoling arm around her. “What's wrong?”

“It's my au-aunt,” Celesca sobbed. “I h-heard your dad and Her-Hermione talking about her.
She's in danger.”

“Danger? What kind of danger?”

“She's going to be killed!” cried Celesca, before breaking down again. She was so
inconsolable that James didn't know quite what to do.

“My dad said your aunt's going to be murdered?” said James. “By who?”

“By the same guy who's threatening the world, the one they've gone to try and stop,”
wailed Celesca. “Oh, James, what's going to happen to her?”

“My dad and Hermione will stop him,” said James, trying to sound confident. “They're really
good.”

“But if this guy roped in your mum and has threatened my auntie to help him then they might not
be in time,” said Celesca. “They might not get to her and she wont know there are bad people after
her. No matter how good your dad and Hermione are they cant be everywhere at once.”

Celesca returned to sobbing. It was so unlike her to be so emotional; James had always seen her
as a stout pillar of strength and seeing her like this was devastating for him. He just
couldn't see how he could make it better. Just as he thought this, Celesca stopped crying.

“That's it, James, that's a great idea!”

“What? What idea?” said James. “I didn't say anything.”

“Oh, I know that,” she said brightly, waving her hand to dismiss him. “I can do
Legilimency.”

“The mind reading thing?” said James, awestuck. “That's seriously advanced magic.”

“Well, yes, I suppose it is,” she said, colouring. “But what am I saying! - that doesn't
matter right now. Your idea was great.”

“What idea?”

“The idea that we go and help Auntie Luna,” said Celesca. “I should have thought of it myself,
but you thought it for me. We do make a good team, don't we?”

“Oh no,” said James standing up. “I thought, `*I bet Celesca will want to go and help her
aunt**`*. I didn't think that's what we should do, or that it was a good idea. In
fact, I was trying to think of a way to dissuade you in case you came up with it.”

“But it's what we have to do, James,” said Celesca, standing and moving to him. “We have to
help.”

“Celesca, we cant,” said James. “We were told explicitly to stay here, that its too dangerous to
leave.”

Celesca looked shrewdly at him. “Since when did you start playing by the rules?”

“I put it down to the moment we started going out,” said James. “Richard says you neutered
me.”

“Then lets un-neuter you,” said Celesca. “James, please, I really need you badly now.”

“This is madness!” said James, though the call of adventure in him was slowly stirring after a
long coma. “My dad will kill me if I get involved. I don't know how we`d even get out.”

“That's the spirit,” said Celesca. “You're thinking like your old self. Just don't
*become* your old self and go off me.”

He kissed her softly. “Stop talking rubbish. You realise my father will kill me for doing
this.”

“And *you* realise that my aunt will *actually* be killed if we don't help
her.”

“You obviously think she's been forced into this then?” asked James. “There's no chance
she's actually evil and part of it?”

“My aunt is mad as a hatter but she's impossibly lovely,” said Celesca. “There is no way on
Earth she would get involved in something like this by choice.”

“Then how is she involved, do you reckon?”

“Who knows, but I think she must be being blackmailed or threatened,” said Celesca.

“Threatened?” said James. “My dad said she was really powerful. The way he talked about her made
it sound like she could look after herself.”

“She is deceptively gifted,” said Celesca, thinking hard. “What could they have threatened her
with?”

“Is she married? Has she got kids?” asked James. “Of course not, I'd have seen you chatting
to any cousins at Hogwarts if you had them.”

“That's it, James! You're a genius!” she leapt to him and kissed him deeply.

“I am?” said James, overwhelmed as he always became when Celesca's passions made her kiss
him in that particular way.

“I do have a cousin - Luna does have a daughter!” cried Celesca excitedly. “Only she's a
Squib. She goes to that school they built for Squibs outside Hogsmeade village.”

“Aren't they still on term-time there?” asked James. “I'm sure they have a different
calendar to Hogwarts.”

“You may be right,” said Celesca, concentrating again. James thought this might be her cutest
face. “In fact, it makes perfect sense. If Aleri is still at school these people could have
isolated her from my aunt. They must be threatening to hurt her if my aunt doesn't do stuff for
them. I wonder what she did? Not that it matters.”

“Why wouldn't they have just taken her away? Somewhere they could hold her?”

“They couldn't have kidnapped her from school,” said Celesca. “Wizard Registration Laws are
tight these days. Everyone has to be accounted for, especially children. They probably have a
teacher or someone on the staff who`s watching Aleri all the time.”

“Then we have to go there, to the Academy,” said James. “That's what they call it, isn't
it? If she`s still there we might be able to get to her. We`re young enough to pass for pupils
ourselves.”

“The only problem is, how?”

They both sat down at this thought. Getting to Hogsmeade was a big enough problem in itself, but
James knew that getting away from Grandma and Granddad Weasley was something else entirely. This
was going to take every ounce of cunning he possessed, but he couldn't let Celesca down.

* * *

*8:46am, an airfield near Cardiff*

Malfoy peered through the binoculars that Scott had just handed him. There was no doubt about it
- the gang was moving out. The armoured SUV's were rolling out one after the other from the
hangar and making for the access road on the opposite side of the airfield to where Malfoy and
Scott were positioned. As soon as the vehicles began moving, Malfoy jumped from the Land Rover.

“Where are you going?” hissed Scott. “We have to get after them.”

“They've left a guard behind,” said Malfoy. “He might have some useful information.”

“But the trucks?”

“There are too many for just one car to track,” said Malfoy. “We need more intelligence. We need
to find which car Kelly was in.”

“Fine, just get back in,” said Scott. “We can get over there much quicker by car.”

“The hell we can,” said Malfoy. He smirked and with a little *pop* was gone.

“Idiot!” said Scott. He turned on the ignition and gunned the Land Rover over the ridge and
across the airfield.

Malfoy was already on the landing strip, wand out. He moved almost nonchalantly across the
tarmac towards the hangar, keeping his ear out for movement. Something scraped to his left.

“*Stupefy!**”*

The spell hit an empty crate, which was blasted into hundreds of pieces. Malfoy watched the
glowing cinders fall to the ground and turned, annoyed to head back towards the hangar. As he did
so something erupted from inside the high steel walls. Malfoy instinctively cast a deflection spell
but he was too slow, and whatever it was caught him in the eye. He staggered about as balls of
light pulsed in his vision; he could just about see the outline of the hangar ahead but, panicked
and disorientated he fell to the ground.

The cool of the tarmac was settling. It served to help Malfoy gather his thoughts and recall his
training. He raised his wand to his eyes and began casting healing spells. Slowly, the popping
lights dimmed until they were completely gone and Malfoy looked up with clear vision. What he saw
didn't please him.

“I've never seen a wizard bleed,” said a man standing over him. Malfoy looked only at the
gun in his hand as he squeezed the trigger.

The muted gunshot echoed around the silent airfield. Malfoy, who had determinedly looked into
the eyes of his would-be killer, watched as the man fell to one knee and dropped his gun. The
bullet hole in his temple oozed blood freely as he collapsed into a heap on the landing strip.
Malfoy looked up at Agent Scott, his gun extended with wisps of smoke rising from the silencer
barrel. Malfoy got up.

“Don't expect me to thank you,” he said.

“Wouldn't have dreamed of it,” replied Scott, smirking. Suddenly there was another swift
movement, this time from inside the hangar. Scott didn't react quickly enough, but Malfoy was
now taut and alert. Not for nothing was he the best Prima Harry Potter had ever trained.

“*Protego!**”* He cried.

A gunshot erupted from the hangar. Scott turned, expecting to be hit by the bullet; he watched
in disbelief as it shot right for him but ricocheted away a few inches from his face. Malfoy
meanwhile had darted across the runway, spotted the assailant and had his wand raised again.

“*Sectumartus!**”*

A terrible, ear-piercing scream filled the air, followed by the metallic *clink* of a gun
as it fell to the floor. Malfoy walked slowly to the shooter, lying in a pool of his own blood
which was slowly growing in size. Scott joined him and nearly threw up; the shooter's arm was
lying a few feet away from his body.

“Handy little spell that one,” said Malfoy. He knelt down next to the shooter. “I can heal this.
Just tell me which car Kelly left in and you'll feel no more.”

“You mean that?”

“Absolutely.”

The shooter considered his options. “The blue car. He's in the blue car.”

“Thank you,” said Malfoy. He aimed his wand again. “*Avada Kedavra!**”*

The shooter was dead in an instant. Scott looked at Malfoy, unable to believe his coldness.

“You said you'd heal him!” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

“No,” said Malfoy. “I said he'd feel no more. I believe I kept my word.”

“He could have told us something,” said Scott. “You have to stop killing our leads.”

“He wouldn't have lasted long enough,” said Malfoy. “Besides, he wouldn't have told us
anything. These two were left behind as an ambush. I walked right into it. I must be losing my
touch.”

“They could have just been guarding the place,” said Scott.

“Guarding what? They were a diversion, nothing more. Kelly got away. They did their job in
delaying us.”

“MI5 had this place under satellite surveillance,” said Scott. “I'll get onto them to track
those SUV's.”

“Good, do that,” said Malfoy. “I'm going to see if there's anything useful in there.
Maybe they slipped up.”

They parted, though Agent Scott wasn't quite sure he was comfortable with turning his back
on this dubious wizard.

* * *

*8:50am, The Potter Manor, Silverton-On-Sea*

The house was empty and Harry speculated that this may have been the first time since he'd
bought the place that he'd entered it alone. Ludey, the house-elf, had been forced to take a
two-week holiday (in accordance with Hermione's house-elf welfare reforms) and the place had an
unnatural silence that Harry didn't like at all.

Hermione followed Harry across the threshold. She flung open the curtains and lit a few of the
candles, as though she felt that lighting the place would lift the gloom that she could sense too.
It was almost as if the house somehow knew that the family had been ripped in half and shared the
grief in its own way.

“Harry,” said Hermione gently. “We really should get a move on.”

Harry knew she was right, but found himself oddly rooted to the spot. He stood and looked around
the place; this was the home that he and Ginny had built for themselves, where they had raised
their children. It had once contained warmth, but now it was just hollow and empty, just like the
lies of twenty years of marriage. Harry felt anger before he could contain it, rearing up and
trying to burst from his chest like a caged monster. His wand was suddenly out.

“*Reducto!**”* Picture frames containing moving photos of Ginny were reduced to
glass-dust and wood splinters, their subjects looking scandalised. “*Reducto!**”* Her
Quidditch trophies went the same way. *“**Reducto! Reducto! RED-**”*

*“**Dissipato!**”*

Hermione's spell hit Harry's in mid air; they melded for a moment and then broke apart
and faded away. She crossed to him, dried the tears that he hadn't even felt flowing, then drew
him into a tender hug.

“I know you're angry,” she whispered softly. “But if you destroy your house, where will your
kids live?”

“I just cant stand to be here,” Harry said into her shoulder. “Everywhere I look I'm
reminded of her, of the lie.”

“Twenty years wasn't all a lie,” said Hermione. “I know you loved each other and you have
three wonderful children.”

The thought of his kids galvanised Harry. He lifted his head from Hermione's shoulder but
didn't break the embrace. Their faces were so close he could see his watery eyes reflected in
Hermione's own. Her skin seemed to be twitching.

“It bothers me that all that we've done, all the sacrifices we made for others, have turned
out - at least for me - to have been for nothing,” said Harry. “I adore my kids, you know that, but
I gave up the chance of having them with you so others could be happy. Look where my nobility has
gotten me - an ambitious, devious wife, three great kids, but I'll still end up alone.”

“You aren't alone, Harry,” said Hermione somewhat breathlessly.

Harry broke away from her. He knew had he stayed there they would have kissed and that would be
the end of it. Despite everything, he still clung on to the last shred of the morality which had
been the foundation of his sacrifice. Ginny was gone, but Ron was still his best friend and
Hermione's husband; they still had the kids and the wider family. Harry hadn't been a
heartbreaker twenty years ago, he wasn't going to be a home wrecker now.

“Harry?” said Hermione, the disappointment in her voice evident

“I've been alone for two decades, Hermione.”

“How can you say that?” she asked. There was a trace of something frantic in her voice.
“You've been married, you've had kids, you've got friends. How have you been
alone?”

“Because the one person I wanted to be with wasn't around me,” said Harry. “I don't
blame you, I don't. In the end you proved to be more noble than I. You've actually been
*happy*.”

Hermione looked aghast. “You're telling me you haven't been? But you were in love with
Ginny.”

“I loved her, yes, but I was never *in love* with her, if you know what I mean,” said
Harry.

“Then why did you marry her?”

“Because you'd already married Ron,” said Harry. “I never saw you do it, so I've never
really accepted it, till now. Now that I'm alone and you're unattainable.”

“Harry, I keep telling you that you aren't alone,” said Hermione.

“I'm not going to ask you to leave Ron and I'll think badly of you if you do,” said
Harry. He turned away from her. “I'm content enough that you're happy with Ron; its always
been what kept me going. You know, I didn't really agree with what we decided, not
whole-heartedly anyway.”

“What!? But you said -”

“Oh, I know it was for the best, and I'd probably end up making the same decision again if I
had it to do over,” said Harry. “But I never liked it. Not from day one. Part of me secretly hoped
you'd risk the Weasley's scorn and we could just vanish together and not be heard from
again. By the time the day you got married came along I suppose I'd given up hope of all
that.”

Hermione was crying now. Silent tears streamed down her face, Harry couldn't look at
her.

“I spent the day with Neville, you know,” said Harry, getting this out while he had the chance.
“He knew, I think. He always suspected some partiality on my side for you. We were getting ready to
go and he could see my heart wasn't in it. He just said, `it's Hermione, isn't it? You
can't watch it?' And he was right; I couldn't attend a wedding with you and see you
marrying someone else. He suggested we sod the wedding and drown our sorrows in the nearest pub.
He'd developed a bit of a thing for Luna, see, but she let him down gently - well, gently in
her own way.”

“Oh, Harry -” sniffed Hermione. “I always thought you had peace with Ginny. What was it you
always said - `peace after a life of war'?”

“What peace have I had?” said Harry ruefully. “No peace in my job; no peace with Ginny once the
lust wore off. My kids have given me my only solace. Add you and me putting shield charms between
us and my life adds up to quantifiable misery. Now this is happening.”

“Harry, I - I don't know what to say.”

“You have to say anything,” said Harry. “I don't want to mention this again. I just wanted
to say it once. Come on, we have to look at that letter.”

“Harry, we cant just leave things like this!” cried Hermione.

“We can and we must,” said Harry bracingly. “We're well practiced at it and, once again, the
world needs our help. We have to follow tradition and put ourselves on hold for them.”

Hermione didn't seem convinced that she could do that but Harry had already moved across the
room. A stack of bookshelves covered the far wall and Harry aimed his wand at them. He heard
Hermione move quickly, perhaps expecting him to go back to wrecking his house, but the books
weren't blown into a thousand bits. Instead, the shelf swung back to reveal a hidden
staircase.

Hermione followed Harry down the stairs into his private study. She gasped as she entered a
cavernous room dug many metres beneath the house. Every wall was decked with readouts and monitors,
as though Harry were keeping tabs on the entire world. Hermione checked herself, remembering that
at one time he probably was.

“What do you think of my office?” asked Harry, grinning.

“You still keep everything active?” said Hermione, checking some parchment printouts. “I thought
we'd disabled everything?”

“We did, but I rebuilt them,” said Harry. “The Auror office has to have some secrets,
Hermione.”

“Even from me?”

Harry looked at her. “Especially from you. You'd be well within your remit to arrest me for
wartime Intelligence practices during a prolonged peace. After all I've been through, I've
learned that you never can be too careful.”

“You should've showed me this,” said Hermione. “You know I wouldn't have arrested you. I
could have helped you - I don't like the idea of you facing these dangers alone.”

“Well you're with me now, when I need you the most,” said Harry. Hermione smiled warmly at
him. “Let's take a look at that letter.”

He took it from his pocket and unfurled it on the table. It was so splattered with dried blood
that they could barely read it, even after Hermione had tried a number of spells to clean it up. In
the end, they had to resort to holding it up and lighting their wands behind it, then squinting
hard to read the words. The parchment page was small and Harry found his face awfully close to
Hermione's, his cheek brushing her own more often than he thought was coincidence. It was
highly distracting.

*c/o Harry Potter*

*Sir, I have managed to penetrate the inner circle of the V. Brotherhood*

“That's the gang he was investigating,” Harry explained. He read on

*The gang is far more organised than previously thought, and have bigger plans than we
imagined. They have acquired the stocks of a rare universal antidote, the White Elixir. I believe
they are preparing a poison for which the Elixir may be the only cure. I have been unable to find
out what the poison is, where it is being stored or how they intend to use it. I have learned that
they are using a botanist, Neil Gardner, to acquire the ingredients for the poison.
I**'**m writing now as I have learned the true identity of the groups leader, The Red
Baron, and I believe my cover has been blown. You will not believe me when I tell you his name is
-*

As Harry and Hermione reached the name the parchment suddenly burst into flame, incinerating the
identity of this new enemy. Harry dropped the parchment and stamped out the flames. He picked up
the dishevelled remains and looked at the hole in the parchment where their biggest clue should
have been.

“Now, did you do that, or did I?” said Harry.

“I don't think either of us did, actually,” said Hermione.

“It caught fire, Hermione,” said Harry. “We both had wands behind it.”

“Yes, but look,” said Hermione, taking the parchment from him. “It looks like this parchment is
flame-proof.”

Harry looked at her incredulously.

“Oh, honestly, Harry -”

She took her wand and tried to ignite a corner of the parchment. It didn't take and Harry
watched it in astonishment.

“Then how on Earth-”

“It must be to do with the name,” said Hermione. “Someone didn't want this identity getting
out.”

“How is it possible to conceal a name?” asked Harry.

“Variant of the Fidelius Charm, a modified Taboo spell,” said Hermione thinking aloud. “Maybe
only the Baron himself can tell you who he really is.”

“He's thought of everything, hasn't he?”

“Except how powerful we are together,” said Hermione defiantly. “We have a lead now, this
botanist Roberts mentioned. Do you have access to the MLE databases here?”

“Er, yeah,” said Harry guiltily. “Over there.”

“All herbologists must register if they want to sell magical plants,” said Hermione accessing
the database through a Rune interface. “Even Muggle shops are monitored.”

“You think he'll be there?” asked Harry.

Hermione didn't answer immediately; she was concentrating hard and Harry had forgotten how
cute she looked when she did this. She scrolled through the names for a few minutes then suddenly
-

“Ah! Here it is! Neil Gardner, owner of Herbal Essentials, a small shop in Weymouth.”

“That's perfect,” said Harry. “Its small, out of the way. Perfect cover.”

“Then do you fancy buying me some Weymouth flowers, Harry?” said Hermione, before she could
think.

He grinned at her. “Only if you're a good girl. Now come on, lets get going.”

* * *

*8:55am, The Burrow*

Celesca waited patiently in the hall as James entered the bedroom. He doubted the plan; they
hoped to rope Al in as a decoy to occupy the grandparents while they slipped out, then provide
cover once the difficult questions came. James, however, knew how angry his brother was with him
and had serious reservations that he would go along with what they were asking.

Al was sitting on the bed staring out towards Stoatshead Hill. He scowled when James approached
him and shifted further towards the window when James sat down near him.

“How you doing, Al?” James asked.

“Like you care,” spat Albus.

“Look, when are you going to get passed this?”

“Get passed it!” hissed Albus. “You put our mother in Azkaban!”

“Yeah, and she deserved it,” said James. “Everyone but you thinks so.”

“And that makes it right, does it?”

“Yeah, kind of,” said James.

“What do you want, James?”

“I need your help.”

Albus scoffed. “That's rich. Your head's so far up your jacksie I cant believe it
sometimes. Why should I help you?”

“Its not for me, its for Celesca,” said James. Albus softened slightly. “I know you cant stand
me right now, and I honestly don't blame you, but don't take it out on her. We need your
help.”

Albus sat quite still and James could see the conflict raging in his mind. He'd always quite
liked Celesca and she'd always been nice to him; he was weighing up this against his vitriolic
distaste for James right now.

“Why do you need my help?” he asked eventually.

“Celesca's aunt is in real danger,” said James. “The same guy that made mum lose her mind is
threatening her. Me and Celesca are going to try and help.”

“Grandma and Granddad will never allow you to leave,” said Albus.

“I know, that's why we need you,” said James. “We have to have a diversion, something to
keep them busy while we slip out. I know this is something you can do.”

“But why should I after what you did to Mum?”

*“*Because you aren't like her,” said James. “You're a good boy and you know how to
do the right thing. Mum forgot that somehow.”

Albus looked solemn for the first time. “What do you want me to do?”

“Anything,” said James. “Anything that buys me and Celesca five minutes to get away.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“Her cousin goes to the Squib School by Hogsmeade,” said James. “That's where we're
headed.”

“Why are you going there?” asked Albus.

“Look, I don't have time to explain, will you do it or not?”

Albus thought for a few moments. “Fine. Go downstairs. Be ready to go.”

James ushered Celesca down the stairs and into a broom cupboard in the kitchen. It was actually
more of a broom-alcove, as the door had fallen from its hinges and not been repaired, but it
provided a good hiding place. Albus, meanwhile, had moved into the kitchen and placed a pan of oil
on the stove. He took out something from his pocket, unwrapped the unmistakable Weasley's
Wheezes wrapper and dropped it into the pan.

A sizzling sound filled the air, followed by the popping of oil. The sound made James think of
sausages and he felt suddenly hungry. This feeling vanished in an instant as the pan suddenly
caught fire; flames leapt from the stove and licked toward the ceiling and a little ceramic man
with a Muggle fire helmet on called out `Fire in the Kitchen!' really loudly. Grandma and
Granddad Weasley, who'd both been in the garden, rushed in and began dousing the flames with
their wands. James and Celesca meanwhile slipped out unnoticed while Albus gave flimsy excuses
about trying to cook breakfast.

Albus returned to his room to clean up while Molly cooked for him. He watched James and Celesca
stealing away towards the hill in the distance. He wondered vaguely if they knew the way to
Hogsmeade. Then he snarled at them and wondered just how he could use his information to land James
in real trouble.

* * *

*8:57 am, Minister for Magic**'**s High Chambers, The Ministry of Magic*

Minister Spragg, his PA, Bryony Moffett, and his Senior Undersecretary, Anubis Hardcastle,
looked at the letter which had just landed before them. They had all been present when the demand
for them to gather in the High Chamber had been delivered; though Spragg was not accustomed to
being dictated to, he thought he might entertain this one instruction, given the events of the day
so far.

The three of them now stared at the red, slightly smoking envelope before them. It had appeared
with a blast of red flame and was now waiting to be opened.

“Shall I do it?” asked Hardcastle. His deep, baritone voice was a steadying presence in these
uncertain circumstances.

“Open it,” said Spragg. Hardcastle did so. Immediately, a large red mouth shot forth from the
letter and hung disembodied in mid-air. In a magically modified voice, it spoke.

“To Minister Spragg. I am the Red Baron, responsible for the attack on Lucien Carlton this
morning and ready to launch another series of strikes against you. I have in my possession a
quantity of poison. Right now it is being entered into the water supply of the greater London area.
This network provides water for personal and industrial use to two-thirds of the country. One
mouthful of this contaminated water will cause a painful death within three hours. Right now, I
have only introduced a fraction of this poison into the water supply, as a sign of my intentions. I
have all the known cure for this poison and I will supply this to any infected persons; in exchange
I want your immediate resignation, the disbanding of the Wizengamot and all executive control
turned over to me. I give you one hour to comply, then the demonstration of my capabilities will
begin.”

Spragg looked horrified, aghast as the speaking ended and the letter burnt into ashes. It took a
few minutes to compose himself, during which he paced and sweated more than he had in a long time.
Eventually, he gathered himself together.

“Bryony,” he began, turning to his PA. “Set up a meeting with the Muggle Prime Minister, top
priority. Tell him to drop whatever he's doing and wait for my arrival. Hardcastle, assemble
the Cabinet and as many of the Wizengamot members as you can. Once you've done that, I have a
more difficult task for you.”

“What is it?”

“Find me Harry Potter, and for Merlin's Sake, man, find him fast.”

*9:00am.*



-->



9. Chapter Nine
---------------



Author note: I didn't have a great number of ideas for this particular chapter, that's
why its quick and jumpy. I just wanted to get past it because things start to really heat up after
this. That's why it isn't as good as some of the previous ones, just in case anyone wants
to shout at me.

Chapter Eight

*The following takes place between 9:00am and 10:00am on the day of the Wizengamot Ministerial
election.*

*Events occur in real time*

*9:00am, Ottery St. Catchpole*

James and Celesca hurried along the path leading around Stoatshead Hill towards the village.
James kept chancing glances over his shoulder, half expecting that Albus would have ratted them out
as soon as they were away from the house. As the Muggle shops and houses of the village came into
view, however, James began to relax a little, thinking that if his grandparents were in pursuit
they'd have caught up to them by now.

Celesca was trotting along at James's side, setting the brisk pace at which they were
walking. Her temporary euphoria at the inception of the idea had given way to all the concerns
which had plagued her before, coupled now with the added anxieties over what they were going to do
once they reached Hogsmeade and how they were actually going to get there in the first place.

The village was just beginning to come to life. Coffee shops and little cafes sent a sweet aroma
into the air, while James longed to linger at the window of a bakery where freshly cooked bread and
buns called to him. Celesca hurried him along however, past a post office and newsagents, along the
pedestrianised cobble street towards a stile at the end, which led out towards the main road in the
distance.

Sat around the rickety wooden fence, which the stile crossed over, were a group of Muggle
youths. James could barely make out their faces, as all five of them were wearing hooded tops, but
as they approached them he was struck by a sudden sense of foreboding. His sense of alert was
heightened, as though he could scent danger, and as they drew nearer to the group his instincts
became ever more pronounced.

The first jibe came as soon as they were in earshot. James couldn't make out much of the
content, though he was sure the one phrase he did hear -'oi, love' - wasn't aimed at
him. Celesca, scenting James's change in mood, gripped his hand to steady him. It didn't
really work; James felt his ire rising as he watched the group of youths laugh and slap hands. By
this time they were passing directly by them

“Oi, mate,” one of the youths, who was clearly the leader, shouted. “Lend us your girlfriend. We
could do with something to play with.”

“Ignore them, James,” Celesca whispered, though she quickened her step anyway.

“Oi, mate,” the youth called again, though slightly more aggressively. “I'm talking to
you.”

James heard movement and knew the gang were following them. He clenched his fist, disengaged his
other hand from Celesca and made for his wand.

“James, don't you dare,” she hissed. “We are not Muggle-baiters.”

“No,” James agreed. “But if they try and hurt you -”

James was interrupted by a forceful shove in the back. He turned and found himself face-to-face
with a spotty, pockmarked boy of about his own age. He looked like the sort of person who had never
had a coherent thought in his life.

“You deaf or something?” he asked, spitting slightly. “I said give us that pretty little girl
you're with. We wanna have some fun with her.”

James eyeballed the ugly youth. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. And that's not going to
happen.”

The gang laughed. The leader squared back up to James. “You're going to stop us are
you?”

The thug reached into his jacket and James instinctively jumped back. It was a good thing too;
the gang leader had taken out a flick-knife and opened the blade. James reacted quickly, smacking
it from his hand, but the response was for another of the youths to punch him hard in the face.
James reeled back, turned and pushed Celesca away and onto a verge nearby. He span round and
clobbered the nearest youth in one movement as the gang closed in on him. Something cracked, the
kid toppled away yelping in pain.

The next few minutes were a blur in which blows came, and were returned, from all directions.
Punches hit James in the head and side; his own fists connected with fleshy stomachs and bony
skulls; blood poured from cuts to his face and a tooth fell out from his mouth. But James was doing
well; three of the five gang members - including their leader - were in a worst state than he,
though he could barely make out the other two as one of his eyes was swelling up. What he did see -
and his world stopped for a moment - was one of the gang picking up the discarded flick-knife.

“James! Duck!”

James looked over to see Celesca, eyes full of fear and fury, standing on the grassy verge with
her wand raised. Instinctively, James dropped to his knees and rolled away.

“*Petrificus Totalus Maxima!**”*

James looked up to see a spell erupt from Celesca's wand the likes of which he'd never
seen. Instead of a single blast of light, a wide arc spread from the wand-tip and hit all five of
the gang members together. Each of them had their arms and legs suddenly snap together and they
fell to the ground, as stiff as boards. James looked up at Celesca with a sort of wondrous awe and
saw her fall to one knee; the effort of casting the spell seemed to have knocked the stuffing out
of her.

“Cels? Are you alright?” said James, scrambling up to her.

“Yeah, I'm okay,” she said, looking dazed. “But look at you! Look what they've done to
you!”

“I'll be okay,” said James, dabbing gingerly at a cut to his lip which was bleeding into his
mouth, while Celesca smoothed the bruises on his cheek and jaw. “Come on, we have to get
going.”

“We cant just leave them like that,” said Celesca, gesturing at the gang. “What if someone finds
them?”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” said James frantically. Celesca looked quizzically at him.
“Cels Bells, don't be dumb - you've just done magic outside of school. Magic reversal,
Improper magic use, Obliviators - they'll all be on their way. We have to get moving. We`ll be
no use to your Aunt if we get caught here.”

“Oh, yes,” said Celesca, suddenly fearful. “I didn't really think of it like that.”

James grabbed her by the arm and they hauled each other up. They took off down the dirt path as
fast as their shaky legs could carry them.

* * *

*9:06am, an airfield near Cardiff*

Agent Scott pushed the speedometer of the Land Rover past eighty. It sent the vehicle into a
state which would have made even the best traveller slightly queasy as the wheels bumped and jumped
over the uneven, off-road surface. They were following tracks cut into the grass by Kelly and his
gang, hoping to make up ground by the time MI5 reported in with their actual location.

Malfoy endured the ride as best he could. The jerking of the vehicle was causing the seatbelt to
cut painfully into his shoulder, while the constant shuddering was making him incline his head
towards the open window and the fresh breeze. He was determined not to show any weakness in front
of Scott, who seemed to be in his element; a car chase was a distinctly Muggle discipline and Scott
seemed to be revelling in being able to dictate proceedings.

Just when Malfoy thought he could feel vomit knocking on his palette, Scott swung the car
sharply to the right and out of the field. They were now on a country lane and the flat tarmac
surface was a much welcome relief, though there was no sign of any of Kelly's vehicles up
ahead.

“It's the only road,” said Scott. “This direction leads towards Offa's Dyke. Chances are
that Kelly will be making for the border rather than heading south.”

“How long does it take for a satellite feed to come up?” called Malfoy over the sound of the
engine. “They could be miles away by now.”

“When they have it I'm sure Barnes will send it to us,” said Scott.

“Did you find anything useful in those crates back there?” asked Malfoy.

“They stank of gunpowder,” said Scott. “Chances are they were weapons, or parts of bigger
weapons. And a lot of them. Twenty-four crates can store a small arsenal.”

“And if they needed so many vehicles they're likely to be targeting several places at once,”
Malfoy speculated.

“Or just targeting one big place,” said Scott. “We'll know more once we get the
satellite.”

“Radio in and ask.”

* * *

Barnes ignored the phone as it rang. Scott's caller ID came up and the Director hardly knew
what to say. He looked at the handset, vibrating slightly with each tinny ring, and tried to think
of the right words. It was always tough to disclose that mistakes had been made.

“Are you going to answer that, Sir?” asked Agent Miller, also looking at the phone.

“Its Richard,” said Barnes. “What am I going to tell him?”

“The truth, Sir,” said Agent Miller. “It's hardly your fault.”

“You're right,” said Barnes. “Put it on speaker.”

Agent Miller pressed the appropriate button. Agent Scott answered at the other end.

“Finally. I thought I was going to go through to answer phone!”

He laughed at his own comment.

“Scott, its Barnes. You're also on with Agent Miller. What's your current position?”

“We're heading due East from the airfield.” said Scott. “We can't see any other cars up
ahead. What's the progress with the satellite?”

“Ah, we've - erm - had a little problem with that,” said Barnes.

“What do you mean `little problem'?” Draco Malfoy's voice came over the speaker.

“It seems that the satellite rotate speed was set incorrectly,” said Barnes. “It didn't move
over your position in time.”

“What? Are you saying we have no satellite?” asked Scott.

“That's what I'm saying,” said Barnes, slightly sheepishly.

“Great!” said Scott. “So we could be going in completely the wrong direction.”

“We're moving the satellite to your location now,” said Miller. “If the roads are as empty
as you say we might get lucky.”

“Don't patronise me,” said Scott angrily. “That's not going to work and you know it.
Once they hit the motorways we're done.”

“We're exploring other avenues,” said Barnes. “When we have something workable we'll let
you know. Just keep on moving.”

“Down blind alleys?” said Scott. “Someone there needs to pull their finger out. We're
wasting our time out here and a dangerous terrorist is now loose in Britain with a planeload of
weapons. Get back to us if you have anything useful. Scott out.”

Barnes looked shocked at Scott's outburst, but knew his deputy was right to be enraged.
Miller rolled her eyes and went back to her station. Barnes, meanwhile, crossed the room to the
tech department. He took a seat near to Cara, one of the most promising analysts on the staff.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked, timidly.

“I'm hoping so,” said Barnes. “Tell me, Cara, how often are the satellites retuned?”

“Retuned, sir?”

“How often are their settings changed or refreshed?” said Barnes.

“Very rarely, sir,” said Cara. “They generally only get altered if they report an error in their
programming.”

“That's what I thought,” Barnes mused. “Would you be able to log onto a satellite and pull
off its data history?”

“Yes, sir, but why?”

“One of our satellites has malfunctioned,” said Barnes. “It hasn't done what we asked it to.
I want to see if there is a fault with it.”

“I can check it down in IT,” said Cara. “That's where the relays are.”

“Good. Its GeoSat 212. And Cara, do it quietly and report only to me. If you can mask your
activity, do it.”

“This is all very strange, sir, I'm not sure if I'm comfortable -”

“Cara, we may have a leak in this office and if we do I have to find out,” said Barnes. “But I
cant do it alone. I need your help. Can I trust you to be onside with this?”

Cara thought only for a moment. “Yes, sir, of course.”

“Good, then get going to IT,” said Barnes. “And remember - report your findings to me alone. If
I'm not available when you're ready, wait until I am. Wait five minutes after I leave then
go. Make it look natural.”

Barnes got up and made his way towards his office. Something just didn't add up and
Malfoy's claims of a mole seemed to have more weight that Barnes liked.

* * *

*9:12 am, Weymouth*

Two small *pops* signalled the arrival of two people in a forest clearing just outside a
small village. Harry and Hermione adjusted themselves and moved through the thin cluster of trees
and made for the smattering of shops close by.

“How did you know to Apparate here?” asked Harry. “Have we been here before?”

“I know the various bland places we pitched our tent in during the Horcrux hunt sort of blended
into one,” Hermione began. “But this one stuck in my head. It was where we stayed just before we
went to Godric's Hollow. Don't you recognise the village? It was here that we pinched the
hair of those poor Muggles to use in the Polyjuice.”

“Your woman was so mousy,” Harry remembered.

“And you were bald!” said Hermione.

“Yeah, not too far off that now,” said Harry, stroking the crown of his head where his messy
black hair was just starting to thin a little. He stopped himself from speaking; the memory of that
one, almost blissful week, where he and Hermione were alone and their normal selves, had risen to
the surface. It was the week where both had realised what it was they were feeling for each other;
a realisation snuffed out all too soon by Ron's return.

“Don't think about that,” said Hermione, as though reading his thoughts. “Who knows what
we'll do if we let regret take over us.”

“You're right,” said Harry. “I'll get past this, I promise.”

They walked in relative silence until they reached the row of shops, neither one knowing what to
say; it was as if an embargo existed on all subjects, or that any topic either could bring up would
lead to the one thing both wanted to say, and avoid, in equal measure. They were spared from having
to think too much on excuses as they arrived at their destination.

“Herbal Essentials,” said Harry, reading the sign. “ This is the place. Shall we?”

Harry opened the door and Hermione passed him. A bell tinkled somewhere in the murky reaches of
the shop as Harry entered. The place smelled earthy and damp; flowers of every colour sat in pots
and trays along the walls, while large plants and garden accessories dominated large steel shelves
running along the centre of the place. There wasn't much light; most that did come in entered
via the dirty front window, giving the place a dreary and murky atmosphere. Harry didn't like
it at all.

They made their way to the front of the shop. An antiquated till stood next to a truncated tree
on a counter whose paint was peeling and faded. There was an unearthly quiet to the darkness of the
place and Harry thought it was the perfect location for black deeds to be arranged.

“Can I help you?”

The voice spoke behind Harry and Hermione, causing them both to jump. A man, far younger than
Harry had expected, loomed out of the shadows cast by the high shelves and Harry couldn't help
feeling that he'd been waiting for them, perhaps even watching as they'd passed through the
shop.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” the man asked.

Harry regained himself after the initial shock. “We're looking for Neil Gardner. Are you
him?”

“Who's asking?”

“I am,” said Harry. “That is to say, *we* are.”

“And who are you?” asked the man, his eyes shifting quickly and nervously from Harry to Hermione
and then back again. “Trading standards? Floristry commission? Who?”

“We're here on behalf of … The Baron,” said Hermione dramatically.

“Who's he then?” asked the man, though he noticeably took a step away.

“I understand you've been trading with this individual,” said Harry, stepping closer.

“I trade with lots of people, its my job.”

“You are Gardner, then?” asked Harry.

“Yeah, that's right,” said Gardner. “Now what do you want?”

“Tell us what you sold to the Baron,” said Hermione. “What did he ask you to get for him?”

“Customer confidentiality is crucial for good business,” said Gardner. “I don't have to tell
you anything.”

“No, that's true,” said Harry, closing the gap again. “You don't *have* to tell us
anything, but if you know something, you *will* tell us. And trust me - it will hurt a lot
more if you don't tell us by choice.”

“I don't have to listen to threats in my own shop!” cried Gardner. “I think you should get
out. Go on, on your bikes.”

Hermione joined Harry at his side. “Talk to us and we'll be on our way.”

Gardner looked utterly nonplussed. “Okay, I have an invoice here somewhere …”

He went to the counter and rummaged under it for a few moments. Then Harry thought he heard
something click; it sounded like a gun cocking but before he could register it Gardner had sprung
up and fired a shotgun in Hermione's direction.

“HERMIONE!”

Harry's scream barely cut the air as the blast from the gunshot echoed around the place. He
turned his head to her, but Hermione wasn't where she'd been standing a moment before. He
looked around, wildly half-expecting to see bits of her scattering the floor, but there was
nothing. Harry heard the gun click again and, though he could barely think straight, dived to the
ground. The second shot ripped through one of the larger plant pots and Harry was covered in a
shower of earth and compost. Struggling to clear the stuff from his mouth, Harry heard several
things; first, muffled footsteps from the direction of the counter told him that Gardner was on his
way; second, the hollow sound of new cartridges being loaded into the shotgun reached Harry's
ears and he couldn't think to get up; then there was a little tinkling sound.

*“**Stupefy**”*

Harry didn't think he'd ever been happier to hear Hermione's voice. The thud of
Gardner's body crashing into the counter resounded around the shop and Harry felt
Hermione's hands brushing the dirt from his face. She cleaned his glasses and he looked up at
her.

“Good timing,” said Harry. “Where did you go?”

“Apparated outside,” Hermione replied, helping Harry to his feet. “My wand got stuck in a loose
thread in my robes. I had to yank it free, look.”

She showed Harry a tear in her robes. A gleam of white shone beneath the azure of the
fabric.

“Er … Hermione,” said Harry cautiously. “Is that your underwear showing through?”

“My what?” she looked down. “Oh my dear lord! Harry, don't look … *Reparo, Reparo,
Reparo!**”*

She cast the spell quickly with the most embarrassed voice Harry had ever heard her use, her
face taking on the deepest blush. The tear fixed itself and Hermione tucked her wand away, though
she couldn't look in Harry's direction. He grinned at her.

“You could have left it, you know,” he teased. “I'm sure I could have stopped myself from
looking … maybe.”

She slapped his arm. “You're incorrigible. Come on, lets get to Gardner before he wakes
up.”

They made their way back to the counter. Gardner had been thrown with such force by
Hermione's spell that he'd hit the counter and tumbled over it. His left leg was bent
beneath him, undoubtedly broken in several places. Harry rounded the counter, drew his wand and
pointed it at Gardner.

“Enervate,” he said.

Gardner woke slowly, looking drowsy. He glanced around but with three seconds the pain hit him;
his scream was shrill enough to smash glass.

“Tell me about the Baron,” said Harry.

“Aarrghh! My leg!” cried Gardner.

“The Baron,” Harry repeated.

“Harry, give him something for the pain,” said Hermione.

“No,” said Harry firmly. Hermione had made for her wand again. “If he talks to me, I'll fix
his leg. If he doesn't, I'll break the other one.”

“No! No! Please!” cried Gardner. “Make it stop! Make it stop!”

“Tell me what you know, then I'll help you,” said Harry.

“Alright, I'll talk, I'll talk,” whimpered Gardner.

“Don't tell me you'll talk, just talk,” said Harry angrily. He slapped Gardner.

“Harry! Was that really necessary?”

Harry looked up at Hermione. “No, I just fancied doing it.”

“I'll tell you everything,” said Gardner. “Just make the pain go away.”

Harry huffed, then pointed his wand at Gardner's leg. “*Torpeo.* That's a numbing
spell, but it wont last for long. If you tell me something useful, I'll heal your leg. If you
don't, its back to the pain.”

“Alright, I'll talk to you,” said Gardner, at ease now the pain was gone. “The guy you want,
The Baron, paid me to stock some illegal magical plants. I trade with wizards, I know some of your
Tradeable Items laws.”

“How did you get the stuff?” asked Harry.

“Couriers,” explained Gardner. “They'd turn up at all times of the day. Different ones all
the time. They'd leave stuff with me and I'd get paid to store it. Then the other courier
would turn up and she'd take the stuff, giving me the second half of my payment.”

“She?” asked Hermione. “There was only one person who collected from you?”

“Yeah, blonde piece, all dreamy like,” said Gardner. “Didn't seem the kind to be caught up
in something dodgy.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged pointed looks at the mention of a `dreamy blonde'.

“And when was the last time she collected from you?” Harry asked.

“A few weeks ago,” said Gardner. “But the Baron, himself, came today.”

“Today?” said Hermione. “He was here?”

“Yeah, picking up some rare ingredients I'd managed to get hold of for him,” said Gardner.
I've made a few contacts with wizards since I trade with `em.”

“What do these ingredients go in to?” asked Harry.

“One is the last bit of a poison,” said Gardner. “I had a list of ingredients to get and a
wizard mate of mine said that if they're put together right they made a deadly poison. Kills in
hours.”

“And the other?”

“Well, its for the cure, isn't it?” said Gardner. “My mate called it the `White
He-Licks-Her'. Sounds like a bad porn movie title to me.”

“What were the ingredients?” asked Hermione.

“Can't remember, I gave the list to my buyer,” said Gardner. “All I know is that one of them
makes hydrogen blow up. I told the Baron not to mix it with water or it'd explode. But he just
said he was going to poison the water.”

*Poison the water?* So that was the plan. Harry's mind went into overdrive. Gardner
seemed to have given up all that he was going to. Harry had to be good to his word, as Hermione
wouldn't let it be otherwise, and together they healed Gardner's broken leg and modified
his memory. They left the shop and made for the forest clearing again, discussing what they'd
learned.

“So the Baron is going to poison the water,” said Harry. “He must even have had someone in the
Department of International Magical Commerce in his pocket to import illegal plants. The guy really
does have his fingers in an extraordinary number of pies. I thought Gardner gave up his info
without much prompting, mind you. He was very helpful.”

“Yes, well,” said Hermione lightly. “Excruciating pain and a Confundus Charm will work wonders
for you.”

“You Confunded him?”

“Well … I just fancied it,” said Hermione.

“Why would anyone poison the water supply?” asked Harry. “Doesn't make much sense.”

“Actually it makes perfect sense,” said Hermione haughtily. “Water is essential to health and
industry. A society is only ever three meals away from revolution, or in this case one drink
away.”

“I don't get it,” said Harry.

“Think about it,” said Hermione. “If you poison the water and have the only cure -which I'm
betting is what this White Elixir is - then you can demand anything. What kind of government will
stand by and let their people die if they can prevent it?”

“Will it be possible to affect that many people?” asked Harry.

“Maybe, if the Baron strikes at the right place,” said Hermione. “He could target the reservoir
systems, water treatment facilities, the Evian plant.”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, if he targets the Evian plant the middle-class will be wiped out by next
Thursday!”

“Harry this isn't the time for joking!” said Hermione shrilly. “We have to act fast. If he
already has the poison we may be too late already.”

“You're right, I'm sorry,” said Harry. “We have to find Luna. If she was the courier who
the Baron used every time except today, she might know what the target is.”

“Lets hope so,” said Hermione. “She's all we've got.”

* * *

*9:21 am*

A few miles north of Ottery St Catchpole a hooded wizard moved slowly through thickets and
hedgerows lining the sides of a dirt track. There was only one house up ahead and as the wizard
drew near to it he felt the thrill of excitement build within him. His quarry was inside, unknowing
and in no state to defend herself. The assassin remembered his orders, though he doubted that the
fragile little woman he met once before is anywhere near as dangerous as his boss made out.

He made his way over the garden gate and up towards the house. He checked one window after
another, eventually stopping at the rear of the house where a door led into a small, circular
kitchen. Inside, listening to a Wireless set, a blonde-haired figure sat hunched over the kitchen
table.

*“**Alohomora!**”*

The assassin opened the door quietly, checking through the window to make sure his target
hadn't moved. She was still sat there, her position so fixed she might have been asleep. The
assassin crept into the kitchen, the tiled floor masking his light footsteps. He was a foot of so
behind the woman; he looked at her callously and raised his wand.

*“**Avada Kedavra!**”*

Green light blasted from the wand, illuminating the body before him. It didn't move,
didn't fall to the table or anything. Could an Avada Kedavra totally freeze a body? The
assassin hardly knew. He went to leave, but then thought it wouldn't hurt to check the body. He
stepped forward and pressed his fingers into the neck of the woman. It was hard and stiff, cold to
the touch. Surely the body should still be warm. He didn't have much time to consider it.

*“**Stupefy!**”*

The spell sent the assassin flying headfirst over the kitchen table and he landed in a heap out
of sight. Luna entered the kitchen and lowered her wand; she had been expecting an attempt on her
life and had been in the garden hiding her gnomes when the assassin had appeared. She had watched
him enter the house and attack the mass of odd bits of wood she'd transfigured into a mannequin
and stuck a blonde wig on. She advanced on him now, looking over his unconscious form and wondered
what she was going to do with him.

* * *

*9:26 am, The Burrow*

Albus was surprised to hear a knock on the door. Despite trying to look his innocent best after
helping James and Celesca escape, Grandma Weasley was still annoyed at him for nearly setting fire
to the house. She had unofficially banished him to the bedroom and Albus didn't argue; he knew
he'd end up telling her everything about James and he didn't want to waste the good
information by spilling his guts in a huff and getting no reward for it.

“What do you want?” he called through the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Oh, its you, Rose,” said Albus. “You can come in if you want.”

Rose entered the room and shut the door. “Is it true that you nearly burnt the kitchen
down?”

She had a sort of impish grin on her face and though Albus was still seething about everything,
he still recognised the kindred spirit that made he and his cousin get on so well.

“Sort of, though Grandma is going *way* over the top about it,” said Albus.

“What are you up to?”

“Not much,” said Albus. “Not much I can do stuck in here.”

“I know something you can do,” said Rose. “You can tell me what's going on.”

“Going on with what?” said Albus nervously.

“Don't play games,” said Rose briskly. “My mum wakes me and Hugo up at the crack of dawn and
send us here. A few hours later you all turn up looking like you've spent the night tickling
sleeping dragons, and then my mum just disappears with your dad again.”

“Yeah, she's been making a habit of that,” said Albus waspishly.

Rose looked stung. “What is *that* supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” said Albus.

“Don't give me nothing,” said Rose. “What did you mean by that?”

“Just drop it, forget about it,” said Albus.

“I'll do no such thing,” said Rose. She sounded affronted at being told what to do and Albus
thought she was a lot like her mother in that respect. A corrosive dislike for Rose crept up into
Albus's chest.

“I'm not telling you anything so you're wasting your time asking,” said Albus.

“Why are you being like this?” asked Rose. “When did you become such a horrible Slytherin?”

Albus's anger bubbled at being insulted by this bossy hag. His restraint was weak and broke
easily.

“I suppose the moment your tart of a mum started knocking off my dad!”

Rose looked like she'd been slapped and hit in the face by a strong wind at the same
time.

“What an awful thing to say!” she cried. “How can you say something like that?”

“Because its true,” Albus sniped. “She's been throwing herself at him forever. Now she's
gone and made him put my mum in Azkaban. She's even turned James against her. But I know the
truth, I know your mum's nothing but a no-good harlot.”

“My mum is not a harlot!” cried Rose. “Why would she put your mum, her own sister-in-law, in
Azkaban? Why are you making up these lies?”

“They're not lies, they're true,” said Albus, his voice rising. “She put my mum in
prison so she could get to my dad. You watch; all she has to do now is get your dad out the way and
her work will be done. She's probably gone to bump him off right now.”

Rose was stuck for words, but her own anger at these claims was rising in her chest. “My mum has
done nothing. If your mum is in Azkaban she probably deserved it. She always was a -”

She was stopped in mid sentence; Albus had stepped close to her and pulled out his wand.

“Another word about my mum … just one more word,” he said darkly. To his surprise, Rose smirked
at him.

“Don't bother, Albus, you`ll only embarrass yourself,” she said.

Albus looked down and saw Rose had drawn her own wand in a flash, or maybe she'd already
taken it out without him noticing. For several moments they just stared at each other. The next
thing they knew was the door opening suddenly.

“What is all this commotion going on in here?”

Grandma Weasley, alerted from downstairs by all the shouting, had come up to investigate. She
clocked one look at the pair of them, wands in each others' faces, gasped and then crossed the
room in one bound. She separated them, pushed their wand-arms down and clipped them both around the
ears.

“Now just what in the name of Dumbledore do you think you're playing at?” she yelled. “Rose?
Albus? One of you had better explain yourselves or there will be trouble in this room.”

“He called my mother a tart and a harlot!” said Rose.

“Only because she is one,” hissed Albus.

“Albus! Hold your tongue!” said Grandma Weasley. “And I suppose you insulted in kind, Rose?”

“No, I didn't!” she protested. “That isn't fair!”

“You were both shouting at each other,” said Grandma Weasley. “I seriously doubt you didn't
say *anything* bad, Rose.”

“Well I didn't,” she replied simply. “He was the one telling all the lies.”

“They aren't lies, you silly Muggle,” said Albus nastily.

“Albus, that's quite enough,” said Grandma Weasley. “I want you to apologise to your
cousin.”

“No chance,” said Albus firmly.

“Good, because I wouldn't accept it if he did!” said Rose. She wrenched herself free of her
grandmother's grip and dashed out of the room. Grandma Weasley turned to Albus.

“Now why have you got to going saying things like that for?”

“Because they're true,” said Albus. “My mum and dad have broken up and its her tramp of a
mother's fault.”

“Your father told me what happened out in Greece. Your mum is sick, or being controlled by bad
people. She did dreadful things to your dad.”

“How can you believe that!” cried Albus stoically. “She's your daughter.”

“I saw your dad's scars,” said Grandma. “Ginny did that to him. I don't want to believe
it either but Harry didn't do that to himself.”

“Maybe that dung-face Hermione did it.”

“That's not possible and I wont believe it.”

“But you will believe your own daughter did it?”

For a moment, Grandma Weasley was stumped. “I believe in what your father said. Look, he and
Hermione are going to find the people behind all this. He'll find a way to clear Ginny's
name. In the meantime I don't want you to go goading Rose because you blame Hermione for all
this, though I cant understand why you would. Your father wanted this kept quiet. I know you love
your mum but I'm sure you love your dad, too, and that you'll respect his wishes.”

Albus looked mutinously guilty for a moment. “I'm sorry, Gran. I'll be good. I
promise.”

“Its not me you should apologise to, but I think hoping you'll do that is going too far,”
she replied.

“I'll stay in here,” said Albus. “I'm not saying sorry, but I wont tell Rose the truth
again if you keep her away from me.”

“I have a feeling I wont have to work too hard to do *that,*” Grandma Weasley replied. She
got up, muttered something about checking on Lily then left, leaving Albus wondering if he could
worm a way to get at Rose into his revenge on James. He'd love to see that stupid bint knocked
down a peg or two.

* * *

*9:32am, MI5 HQ*

Cara logged onto the terminal in the IT room. There was no-one about so it would be easy to act
in secrecy, though part of her was worried that she may be being watched. She'd seen enough of
those TV shows to know that traitors tended to lurk in the shadows of deserted rooms, waiting to
strike if someone got close too discovering them. As such, Cara spent as much time looking over her
shoulder as she did looking at the terminal screen.

Accessing the satellite was easy, a process made quicker by the fact that MI5 had already been
communicating with the on-board computer and a link was still active. Cara latched onto the signal
and tapped into the memory logs. She wasn't expecting to find anything; satellites had an
extraordinary lifespan and rarely needed maintenance. She was amazed, then, when she found herself
faced by a number of logs pointing to remote access of the satellites' navigation, some were
very recent.

“This isn't right,” said Cara to herself.

She scrolled through the logs, noting the times and places they had been recorded. Amazingly,
most had used terminals from the very room she was in. Cara gasped as she reached the last one - it
was dated from not more than two hours ago. Cara accessed the deeper files on the system; they
revealed just one log-in code for the entire set.

“Agent *Miller?*” said Barnes, astonished. Cara had just briefed him on all she'd found
out. “Why would she do that?”

“I don't know, sir, but there's more,” said Cara.

“More?” said Barnes, exasperated by what he already knew.

“The rotate speed - how fast the satellite moves to a new location - was altered, but there was
more done to it. It seems the actual feed from the satellite had been changed, too. A single
section had been recorded and played in a continuous loop. It might have been some kind of failsafe
in case the satellite got to where we wanted it in time. Agent Miller didn't want us seeing
anything down there.”

“My god,” said Barnes, scratching his head. “Miller's the traitor. She knew everything. All
our movements, all our plans, everything.”

“Shall I alert security, sir?” asked Cara.

“No, not yet,” said Barnes.

“But sir, after what she's done -”

“She'll answer for it, don't worry,” said Barnes. “But right now we need her.”

“Need her?” said Cara. “She's impeding us, sir!”

“I know, she's evaporated our leads, but we need her to generate new ones,” said Barnes.

“I cant see her helping us to do that,” said Cara.

“Not by choice, no,” said Barnes. “But she's bound to be in contact with Kelly again. Cara,
I want you to put a trace on all her activities - all her calls, all her movements. If her key card
opens an electronic door I want to know about it. Can you do that without her knowing?”

“Yes, sir, with a scrambler code,” said Cara.

“Then do it, right away,” said Barnes. “But we cant let her know we're on to her. Keep
working normally, if she suspects anything, she'll withdraw. We have to let her continue to
work with Kelly. Once she slips up we'll be all over her like a cheap suit.”

* * *

*9:38am, The Knight Bus, somewhere in Derbyshire*

The great triple decker gave a big lurch and took off again. The seats rolled from side to side
as the bus careered up pavements and shot through miniscule gaps in Muggle traffic jams. Post boxes
and traffic cones jumped out of the way, lamp posts leant back and low bridges expanded as the
Knight Bus flew past and under them. The Muggles, bless them, saw nothing of course.

Celesca did her best to dab and clean James's wounds with a wad of cloth they'd been
given. It was blind luck they'd caught the bus in the first place, summoned to them when James
had stumbled to avoid a rat-trap in a field and thrown out his wand arm. The conductor had bought
their flimsy excuse about James falling down a river bank and tore them a rag from a large sheet,
which they usually ripped up to clean drink spillages and the occasional vomit puddle.

“This bleeding wont stop,” said Celesca helplessly. “We have to get this seen to.”

“We cant go anywhere that people might be looking for us,” said James. “It'll stop
eventually.”

He said the words but he hadn't yet confessed to Celesca that he felt extremely light headed
and that he was having trouble breathing, a side effect of the agonizing pain in his side which he
thought might have been a cracked rib.

“We'll be at Hogsmeade soon, we're one of the next stops,” said Celesca. “Maybe we can
find something up there to help.”

“Yeah, maybe,” said James. His eyes were becoming more and more unfocused and though the
movement of the bus didn't help, he felt that his dizziness was entirely independent. He
suddenly felt very scared, as though he were about to die. “Celesca!”

He groped for her but she was gone. He felt himself falling down, down, though he didn't
know to where. He felt very cold and shivery and frightened like he'd never been before. He had
become so used to being with Celesca that he never felt alone; but now, with her gone, he was
utterly by himself and terrified of the sensation. He groped around for her, catching hold of
something he was sure was hair. It didn't feel like hers - it was more matted and had the
consistency of old rope - but he wasn't going to let it go. He pulled hard.

“Watch it! I'm gonna be wanting ter keep me beard if yer don' mind!”

James looked up, colours swimming into view. Light flooded his vision and though he couldn't
see much, he felt overwhelming joy at not being dead.

“Celesca!”

“I see he won' be denied.”

“James! I'm here.”

And then she was. The warm, scented feel of her enveloped James's body and ensnared his
senses. He held her back, quite determined that he wasn't ever letting her go. He tried to get
up and hug her ever more intently but a sharp pain forced him down again. He opened his eyes,
seeing only the golden locks of Celesca's hair blocking his vision. She moved away at his yelp,
allowing him to see where he was.

“Hagrid! Where am I? How did we get here?”

“Looks like he took a crack or two on tha' noggin' of his,” said Hagrid. “Maybe we
should get Nurse Evesham back `ere.”

“Nurse Evesham?” said James. “Am I - are we at Hogwarts?”

“Yes, sweetie,” said Celesca. “I brought you to Hagrid's. I couldn't think what else to
do.”

“An' it was the right thing, an' all,” said Hagrid. “Gettin' in ter a spot of bother
with the Whomping Willow. Good thing I was in, really; I was supposed ter be playing Cluedo with me
brother.”

“Whomping Willow?” said James, confused. “I wasn't -”

“Maybe he has taken a knock to the head, cant even remember why we're here,” said Celesca,
cutting across and looking meaningfully at him.

He returned her stare with a quizzical one of his own. “Maybe I have. Why are we here,
again?”

“Oh, you have'n got ter go in ter details,” said Hagrid suddenly. “You find out how ter get
in ter the Shrieking Shack an' while you're in the area, an' the school's shut, you
pair o'lovers slip away from yer dad and try an' sneak in there. Don' take a genius ter
work out what yer up to.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” said James looking questioningly at Celesca.

“Look, Hagrid, you wont tell on us, will you?” said Celesca sweetly. “I don't want Mr Potter
to think anything bad about me.”

“Now why would he think tha`, yer a lovely girl,” said Hagrid. Celesca simply looked back at him
and comprehension dawned. “Ah, see wha' you mean. Don' fret, yer secret's safe with
me.”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” said James. “Look we'd better get going. Dad'll be wondering where we
got to.”

“Nurse Evesham said ter rest fer a bit,” said Hagrid. “I can go an' fetch Harry if yer like.
Up at the Broomsticks, is he?”

“No, I'm fine, really,” said James quickly. Gritting his teeth and holding back a wince, he
stood up. “We really should get going. Besides, we don't want him to know where we've
been.”

“Well, if yer sure,” said Hagrid.

“Yeah, thanks,” said James.

Hagrid showed them to the door. “Now take care you two. The village is tha' way - don'
try an' go back to the Shack firs', ter finish wha' yer started.”

“We wont,” said James.

“Thanks for the tea, Hagrid.”

“You had time for tea?” said James when they were out of earshot of Hagrid's hut. “How long
was I out for?”

“At least ten minutes,” said Celesca. Her lip was quivering and then, very suddenly, she jumped
into James arms so forcefully that she was lifted into the air. She was crying more uncontrollably
than anything James had ever seen. “You were so cold and I couldn't wake you up. I thought
I'd lost you. If it weren't for Hagrid and the Nurse ...”

She broke off and sobbed hard into his shoulder, apparently unable to speak her thoughts out
loud. James winced at the pain and Celesca broke away suddenly.

“Sorry, I didn't think,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“It's okay,” said James. “I'll be alright. I know Skele-Gro when I feel it. The pain
always lingers after the injury is healed.”

“It was only a fracture so it worked right away,” said Celesca. “But your lung had been
punctured and was taking on fluid. The Nurse had to siphon the liquid from your body. I'm going
to learn how to do that.”

“Why would you want to know how to siphon liquid from a lung?”

“No, not just that, dopey - I'm talking about healing spells generally,” said Celesca. “Some
wounds you can heal with a wand. I'm sure I saw a book on how to do it in the library.”

“You read far more than you need to,” said James. Celesca looked scandalised at the claim that
he thought it was possible to read too much. James retracted swiftly. “But if you want to take on
more reading, great. I love the library.”

“Since when do you love the library?” Celesca scoffed.

“Okay I don't,” said James. “But I love you, so I do through you. That`s how it works.”

“Ah, I see,” said Celesca, grinning wryly. “But that logic isn't universal; the next time I
catch you looking at those girls in *Playwitch* magazine, don't expect me not to clout you
because `*I**'**m supposed to love it too**'*.”

“I've never seen a copy of *Playwitch*,” said James defensively. “You'll have to
shown me an edition one day.”

“Shut up, James, or I'll break something of yours that not even Skele-Gro will mend.”

By this time they were passing through the village. James might have fancied nipping into
Honeydukes, but his stomach didn't feel up to digesting anything after being hit so many times.
They passed the post office and the Hogs Head pub and followed the path down the hill. There, a
handsome red-brick building stood before them. They made their way towards it, stopping at the
entrance gates.

“Right, lets go over this again,” said Celesca. “They keep the boys and girls separate in here
so I'll have to go in by myself while you keep watch.”

“I'll stay by that fire escape over there,” said James, pointing to a wrought iron staircase
clinging to the side of the building. “I'll keep the door open so you can run out once we get
your cousin.”

“Right, but where will we go then?” asked Celesca.

“We'll deal with that later,” said James. “We have to get your cousin first, and we
don't even know if she's there. Let's just get her and we'll think on the fly.”

“That's pretty much par for the course with us, isn't it?” said Celesca nervously.
“Okay, lets go.”

* * *

*9:50am, a manor house in Shropshire*

Ron looked over the scattered documents on the table. In front of him were a number of parchment
sheets pertaining to all sorts of things; multiple elements to this plan were laid out in plain
sight. Ron scanned through them; one piece stuck out from all the rest.

*Meet Kelly, 10:15*

Ron checked the clock on the wall. The meeting was taking place in under twenty five minutes and
Ron wondered if he`d be able to get to the meeting place himself in that time. As he thought on
this, voices filtered in through the door he'd left open.

“What's that door doing open? Is the Baron returned?”

Ron froze. He looked to his right; a red scarf lay discarded on a chair at the head of the
table. Footsteps drew closer to the room, stopping outside the door.

“You cant just go in there!” a second voice hissed. “Not without an invitation. You know how he
doesn't like to be disturbed.”

“And what if its someone snooping around inside? What about that?”

“What if it isn't?” said the second voice. “There's a lot going on; maybe the Baron
forgot to close the door. Do you want to take the chance?”

“Do you want to take the chance there's an intruder?” said the first voice. “If something
goes wrong or missing and the Baron finds out that we could have done something about it, how do
you think he'll react?”

There was a slight pause. “Okay, fine. But at least knock first.”

There was a knock on the door, which creaked open with the force. “Hello? My Lord? Are you in
here?”

The door opened completely, though the two speakers didn't see the door to a large closet
close as they entered.

“The room is empty,” said the second voice. “But this is the Baron's scarf.”

“I'm sure he has more than one. I'll just put this away over here.”

The voice was very close to Ron now.

“No! Don't move it! Put it back,” said the second speaker. “If the Baron finds it moved
he'll know we've been in here.”

“You're right,” said the first voice with genuine anxiety. There was a pause. “It was like
this, wasn't it? Draped over this part?”

“Yeah, just move it to the right a bit,” said the other voice, nervously. “That's it. Come
one, lets get out of here.”

A few moments later, the door clicked shut. Ron slipped out from the closet, grabbed the note
about the meeting time, which included a location, waited a few minutes then left the room as
carefully as he could.

* * *

*9:58 am, Thames Water, London*

Elton Brewer checked his watch again. It was time. He moved across to the cauldron; the slightly
shimmering fumes covered a black substance inside. Brewer reached into his pack and removed a
ladle; scooping a full amount into the ladle's dish, Brewer moved carefully across to an inlay
valve in one of the main water pipes.

“Open it,” he commanded.

“Are you sure we should do this? It isn't ten yet,” said Coles. He wanted to be sure.
“Let's give it a few more minutes.”

“The Baron said if the government hadn't capitulated by five-to, my orders were to introduce
a trace amount as a demonstration,” said Brewer. “I have already given them an extra few minutes.
The Baron demands results.”

“But I thought you said they'd cave in,” said Coles. “Why haven't they?”

“Spragg, our Minister for Magic, is a stubborn man,” said Brewer. “It was unlikely he would fold
without some inducement. I'm about to give it to him. Now open the valve.”

Coles did as he was told. Brewer spooned the contents of the ladle into the water flow, watched
it disappear and replaced the valve. He turned to Coles.

“Phone your boss,” he said. “He's meeting with the Baron shortly. Tell him to give him a
message from me. Tell him, *its begun*.”

*10:00am*



-->



10. Chapter Ten
---------------



Chapter Nine

*The following takes place between 10:00am and 11:00am on the day of the Wizengamot
Ministerial election.*

*Events occur in real time*

*10:01am, Shropshire*

The Baron checked his watch and realised it was almost time to leave. The Muggle, Kelly, would
be arriving at the meeting point soon, assuming everything was still on track. There had been no
news to the contrary; it seemed that this aspect, like all the others, was running just as planned.
There was just one thing running through the Baron's mind.

It had been over an hour since he'd had his last exchange with Ginevra out in Greece. Harry
Potter had been subdued by the sounds of her communication but the Baron was uneasy. Her messages
had sounded different, not quite a curt as he'd become used to. He had put it down to the
extremity of the situation - she had been in the process of torturing her husband, after all - but
it wasn't a satisfactory explanation. The importance of that part of the plan going well was
paramount; any possible hitch there gave the Baron cause for concern.

He decided it wouldn't hurt to be sure. Locking the door to his study, he took out the
little black book from his pocket and penned a simply enquiry into the first page. The words
disappeared and he waited; several minutes passed but there was no response. The Baron wasn't
suddenly panicked - after all, the last few messages had taken a while to be answered - and it was
entirely possible that Ginevra was dealing with the others in the villa The Baron was particularly
concerned about young James Potter and his girlfriend; the Shaw girl's name had been passed
around the Ministry offices as one to be highly watched for future development. To the Baron and
his spies, this meant a potentially dangerous enemy for the future.

After five minutes a niggle of worry entered his mind. He called his deputy to him.

“Yes, sir?” asked Armitage as he entered the study.

“Ah, Armitage, good,” said the Baron. “You are aware of this?”

He tossed the book to him. “Yes, sir, it's a communication device.”

“Indeed,” said the Baron. “I seem to be having problems with it. I've sent a message but
I'm getting no response. Explain that to me.”

“There are two possibilities,” said Armitage. “An unwillingness to respond or an inability to
respond.”

“Could the inability come from the book?”

“Possibly, sir,” said Armitage. “Or it could be something simple, like not hearing the message
tone or being away from the book when the message was delivered.”

“Or no longer possessing the book, or being captured or dead?”

“They are possibilities, sir, but very extreme ones.”

“They may be extreme, Armitage, but I don't want to overlook them,” said the Baron. “I have
to go and issue Kelly with his final instructions. If I haven't received an answer by the time
I return I want a team sent to Greece to assess the situation.”

“I'll have it ready by the time you return,” said Armitage.

“Good. Do you have the corpse?” the Baron asked.

“It is waiting in a van at the meeting site,” said Armitage.

“Excellent. And do we have Miss Lovegood to join her late husband yet?”

“No word from Johnson yet, sir,” said Armitage. “But he's one of our best. I don't think
he'll have any problems.”

“You underestimate people,” said the Baron. “It's a major weakness you have. Luna Lovegood
is by no means a pushover. I want to make sure she cant make a nuisance of herself. In addition to
a team for Greece I want one ready to follow Johnson if he hasn't reported in by the time I
return.”

“It'll be done, sir,” said Armitage.

“Good. Now fetch my travelling cloak. Kelly will be waiting for me. I don't want to be
late.”

* * *

*10:09am, Luna Lovegood**'**s house*

Hermione pushed open the gate and Harry followed her into the garden. The house looked
undisturbed and there were no signs of a struggle to be seen. On the one hand Harry was happy about
this - it meant that Luna probably hadn't had to fight off any assassins. But there was also
that little piece of Harry's mind that had learnt never to rule anything out; as much as he
loved Luna he couldn't completely dismiss the possibility that she was involved in these events
by choice. Harry only trusted one person in the world completely, and apart from her he could
easily accept anyone doing wrong. She, however, seemed intent on proving Luna's innocence.

“There aren't any security features here,” Hermione called back.

“Would you expect any?” asked Harry. “Not exactly Luna's style, is it?”

“No, but it might be if she was involved in a plot to overthrow the Ministry,” said
Hermione.

“The house looks empty,” said Harry, peering through a window. “She might not even be here.”

“Well, its still as good a place to look for her as any,” said Hermione. She knocked three times
on the silver door knocker. They waited a few minutes but there was no answer.

“Is there a back door?” asked Harry.

Hermione led the way around the side of the house. The back garden was empty, but a few
disgruntled-looking gnomes were peering out from under a hedge a little way up an embankment on the
far side.

“The door is open,” whispered Hermione. “Wands out, I think.”

Harry followed the instruction but moved in front of Hermione as they reached the open back door
of the house. He made a signal to Hermione that they were going to enter on a count of three; he
then made the count and burst in the door. It was something of an anti-climax to find that Luna
wasn't either waiting for them, wand-raised, or else spread out on the floor having been hexed
to death.

“What a strange looking thing to have in your kitchen,” said Hermione. She'd moved over to
the table where a mannequin wearing a blonde wig was seated.

“Maybe it's a decoy,” said Harry, joining her. “From behind it might look like Luna.”

“It doesn't look like there's anyone home,” said Hermione. “Why don't you check the
rest of the floor, I'll take the living room upstairs.”

They parted, but no sooner had Hermione vanished up the spiral iron staircase than did Harry
hear her yell loudly for him to get up there. Dispensing with the stairs Harry simply turned on the
spot and Apparated to the second floor. He emerged behind Hermione, who jumped with the shock of
seeing him materialise next to her.

“Couldn't you have just taken the stairs?” she asked, clutching at her heart.

“You sounded urgent,” said Harry. “You call, I come running - or Apparating in this case. You
know how it works.”

“Shut up, Harry,” said Hermione, trying to suppress a grin.

“What was the big emergency anyway?”

“Him,” said Hermione simply.

Harry peered around her to see a balaclava-clad man bound fast to a chair in the centre of the
room. Harry moved to him and pulled a little note which had been pinned to his cloak.

*“**To whoever finds this,**”* Harry read, *“**This man broke into my
house and tried to kill me. If you are working for the Baron, give him a message from me that I
will now find my husband and daughter and make them safe. Then I will do all I can to stop you. If
you are an Auror give a message to Harry Potter - I am sorry for my mistakes. I promise
I**'**ll make it right. Forgive me, love Luna.**”*

“Well, at least we know who's side she's on,” said Harry looking fondly at Luna`s
adieu.

“I think she knew you would come,” said Hermione. “She wouldn't have signed `Love Luna'
for just anyone.”

“If she knows something, she could have just told us,” said Harry, anxiously. “Now she's
going to try and do something on her own and put herself in who knows what danger. I don't want
her to put herself in harm's way because she thinks she has to make it up to me.”

He looked at Hermione, but she was looking back at him with such tenderness that he felt
disarmed for a moment.

“Should we interrogate this guy?” he asked, trying to plough on.

Hermione snapped out of her reverie and moved to the captive. She pointed her wand at him and
muttered “*Enervate**”**.* He stirred for a moment then came to, immediately looking
horrified at his situation and trying to break from his restraints. Harry felt a surge of respect
for Luna as her binds turned out to be utterly unmoveable.

“Save your strength, scum,” said Harry acridly. “The only way you're getting free of those
binds is when I deliver you to Azkaban.”

The assassin seemed to realise suddenly who Harry was. “Potter! Its you! You're supposed to
be dead.”

“Yeah, I heard that,” said Harry. “Sorry to disappoint you. Now tell me, what are you doing
here?”

“Screw you, Potter. I'm telling you nothing.”

“Why do people like you make things much more difficult than they need to be?” said Harry.
“Hermione …”

Hermione reached into her robes and drew out a phial of silvery liquid.

“Veritaserum,” said Harry, as the bound man eyed the phial. “You're going to talk to us, no
matter how much you`d rather not.”

“I'll never drink that,” said the assassin.

Harry stood up and punched the guy hard in the face. As his head snapped back his mouth opened
and, quick as a flash, Harry shoved his hand into it, pinning down his tongue with his fingers.
Hermione hurried over and poured a few drops of the silvery liquid down the assassins' open
throat. He coughed and spluttered as Harry removed his hand, wiped it on the assassins tunic and
returned to his seat.

“That's better,” said Harry. “Now tell me - why are you here? And tell me where I may find
the one known as the Baron.”

* * *

*10:16am, The Technical Academy, Hogsmeade.*

Celesca moved slowly through the empty corridor. She peered through one room after another but
they were mostly storerooms and the kitchens. At the very end of the hall she found the room she
was searching for. It was the laundry room and she slipped inside, moving across to the rack of
school uniforms on the far side. She looked for one her size, pulled it off the hanger and slipped
it on. It was beige smock and though it looked dainty on her slender frame it was very unflattering
and a little itchy around the neck. Still, it would blend her in well enough.

She left the laundry room and turned to head upstairs. She rounded the corner but in her hurry
wasn't watching where she was going and walked right into a teacher.

“Watch where you are going girl!” said the teacher, wincing slightly.

“Sorry, Miss,” said Celesca meekly. Her heart started pounding hard, she hadn't wanted in to
run into any adults, let alone literally *run* into one.

“I don't recognise you,” said the teacher. “What's your name?”

“Lizzie Robson,” said Celesca quickly. She glanced past the teacher to the room behind her,
which she'd clearly just left. There was a name plate on the door. “Sorry, Dr Nigredo. I was
just in a hurry.”

“Why are you still wearing your uniform?” asked Dr Nigredo suspiciously. “You should know that
we relax the uniform rule on the last day of term.”

“Oh yes, miss,” said Celesca, feeling foolish. “I just spilt something on my dress and all my
other clothes are already packed. I thought I could wear this for now.”

“Very well, but make sure you return it,” said Dr Nigredo. She was still eyeing Celesca
cautiously, as if not knowing what to make of her. “If you're heading in that direction you can
run an errand for me.”

“Yes, miss, of course,” said Celesca, thinking anxiously of how long she could risk being here
without being found out. She had a feeling her invented identity wouldn't stand up to much
scrutiny.

“Wait here.” Dr Nigredo went to her office and returned a few minutes later with a box. It was
full of files and documents. “Take this down to the office. I want it placed in my pigeon hole for
next term. See to it will you.”

“Yes, miss, right away,” said Celesca. She took the box, which was quite heavy, and made off
down the corridor. Celesca didn't risk looking around until she was at the end of the corridor
when she turned a corner; she looked back at Dr Nigredo - who she hadn't liked at all - and was
happy to see the corridor now empty.

She continued on, deciding to keep hold of the box as it would make a good excuse if she was
stopped again. She was now on a corridor with a lot more activity. Rooms here were full of children
mulling around; they were playing with toys or colouring in books or else just messing about. Each
room had a level of messy devastation to it that Celesca thought explained the lack of adult
presence everywhere. She imagined that a cup of coffee in the staffroom was preferable to
overseeing the chaos going on up here.

Celesca moved from room to room, scanning the occupants until she found what she was looking
for. In a room half way down, a little girl sat on her own at the centre of the room while people
played impromptu volleyball with scrunched up bits of paper around her. She was drawing something
and seemed quite oblivious to all else. She had a shock of dirty blonde hair and large silvery eyes
which looked constantly surprised. Celesca looked around, spotted a store cupboard across the
corridor, threw the box of files and her smock into it, then entered the classroom.

“Lesca!” cried little Aleri as Celesca crossed to her. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Aleri,” said Celesca sitting down. “Your mum asked me to come and pick you up. But we have
to leave now and we have to be quiet.”

“But shouldn't we tell the teachers, Lesc?” said Aleri. “They'll be looking for me”
“I've already seen them,” Celesca lied. “But we have to go quietly so the other kids wont try
and leave as well.”

“Okay,” said Aleri. She stood up and Celesca ushered her from the room. They had barely left
when they heard high-heeled shoes clip-clopping along an adjoining corridor. With barely a second
to spare, Celesca herded Aleri into the store cupboard and closed the door.

“What's going on?” asked Aleri.

“Ssh! You have to be very quiet now, okay?” said Celesca imploringly. “Stay absolutely silent
for a minute.”

The footsteps stopped every now and then and Celesca guessed that they were inspecting each
classroom in turn. The sound of voices also floated along the corridor. Dr Nigredo's was one of
them.

“I don't know who she was, I've already told you,” she was saying.

“And what name did she give?” asked a second woman.

“Lizzie Robson, Headmistress,” said Dr Nigredo. “But I knew I'd never seen her before.”

“What could she have wanted?” asked the Headmistress.

“I have no idea. Let's find her and ask.”

They had stopped right outside the door to the store cupboard now. Celesca's heart was
beating so loudly she was sure they could hear it outside. Suddenly, there was a gasp.

“There's a child missing!” said Dr Nigredo.

“How can you be sure?”

“Aleri Lovegood, I was watching her for - er - her parents. They said they were going to be late
collecting her. Now she's gone.”

Celesca held her hand over Aleri's mouth, suspecting she might call out. The next thing, the
sound of the two footsteps running down the corridor reached them. Once they were gone Celesca
slipped her head around the door to check all was clear, then ushered Aleri out.

“Celesca, what's going on?” asked Aleri. “I'm not going anywhere till you tell me.”

“You could be in danger,” said Celesca quickly. “I've come to rescue you. Come on.”

“In danger?” said Aleri, conversationally. “From what?”

“I don't know, but I don't like that Dr Nigredo,” said Celesca darkly.

“No, she is very mean,” said Aleri ponderously.

“How are we going to get out?” said Celesca desperately. “They'll be looking for us.”

Just then, as she gazed about helplessly, she spotted her exit. A fire alarm was mounted on the
wall. She tried pressing the glass in but couldn't break it. Out of options, she took out her
wand.

“*Reducto!**”*

The glass smashed and the fire alarm sounded through the school. All of a sudden there was an
almighty uproar and children began sprinting gleefully from the classroom. Celesca, gripping
Aleri's hand, allowed herself to be carried along on the wave of students heading for the
exits. She went down one corridor after another and then, after turning a corner, spotted Dr
Nigredo at the far end. She was inspecting the students as they passed; in a stroke of good
fortune, Celesca realised they had reached the part of the building where the fire escape was. The
door was open and she slipped through it unnoticed.

James was waiting on the parapet. He was surprised by Celesca throwing herself into his arms as
she emerged, but even more shocked as a face loomed at a window in the building. It looked
horrified and furious and James had to disentangle himself from Celesca and start running down the
steps.

“What is it?” called Celesca as she grabbed Aleri and followed James.

“Someone saw us, we have to go,” said James.

The three of them raced up the embankment and back towards the Hogsmeade path. They had just
reached the top, level with the Academy's main entrance when a voice shouted across the
yard.

“Stop there! Bring that girl back!”

A few adults were emerging from the porch at the front doors to the school. Then they were after
them, clambering fast up the muddy slope. The embankment fell into a kind of ditch at the top and
James crouched down into it.

“James! What are you doing?” cried Celesca.

“We'll never get away from them,” said James. “Take the girl and go to the village. Head for
the Hogs Head, I'll meet you there. I'll take care of these first. Go!”

Celesca didn't stop to argue and took off at speed. James waited, wand at the ready. The
first teacher reached the top; he was a balding man who seemed massively out of breath.

*“**Stupefy!**”*

James's spell hit him and he tumbled out of sight down the embankment. There was nothing for
a few moments, though James was sure he'd seen a dark-haired woman chasing them. Slowly, he
lifted his head. He had barely shown his crown when a spell whizzed by him. Surprised that anyone
here used magic, he leapt up quickly.

*“**Protego!**”*

The second spell hit his shield and bounced away, giving him time to fire off another Stunning
Spell. It hit Dr Nigredo in the chest and she toppled backwards down the hill and joined her
colleague in a little heap at the bottom. James admired his handiwork only for a second before
pocketing his wand and sprinting after Celesca. He caught up with her on the edge of the
village.

“Are they gone?” she asked.

“For now,” said James. “But we've used more magic. The Ministry will be able to trace us
here. We have to keep moving.”

“Where to?”

“My dad's map showed me a secret passage leading into the school from the pub,” said James.
“It's the best place we can go. Come on.”

* * *

*10:23am*

Padraig Kelly drove fast along the motorway. He'd always been a bit of a car fanatic but
this was something else. Even in the midst of dangerous plans he was taking time out to enjoy this.
His meeting with the Baron had gone well, so well in fact that his magical comrade had decided to
give him some extra help in reaching his destination. They had to be in London on time and so the
Baron had given a little magic push to proceedings.

That help now saw Kelly shooting along the motorway at over two hundred miles an hour, though
the car was handling as smoothly as if it were doing forty. The car had also been enchanted to miss
cars and other obstacles, to be invisible to Speed Cameras and other eyes and to generally be a
fabulous drive. The only downside was the stench of the dead body coming from the boot, but Kelly
thought the pros outweighed the cons on this one. It would be a real shame when the time came to
blow the car up.

“Run the plan by me again?” said Declan, who looked slightly green.

“Its simple,” said Kelly, swerving around a freight truck. “All we do is drive to Piccadilly
Circus and park up. We then blow the car up by remote. The body has had some magic done to it so it
will survive intact. The police will come and take it away and they'll see what the poison can
do.”

Declan glanced at the body in the boot, visible where the back seats had been removed and a
quantity of C4 explosive was piled in the space left. It was so horribly disfigured and mangled
that he couldn't look at it for long. “Remind me not to drink the water when we get to
London.”

“Yeah,” chuckled Kelly. “It'll be like being in Ibiza again.”

“Only instead of dysentery, our internal organs will bleed out from our bodies,” said
Declan.

“What can you say? They don't do things by halves, these wizards.”

“What are the other teams doing then?” asked Declan.

“Creating diversions,” said Kelly. “Trying to stretch the response teams thin. It'll put
pressure on if they cant contain us.”

“And what then? Once its done?”

“We get paid and the Baron takes over the country,” said Kelly. “Then he keeps his word and
returns our nation its sovereignty.”

“At last … we'll finally be free of the British and we'll be a nation, not a
province.”

“And filthy rich to boot.”

They both laughed and Declan went back to checking the explosives as Kelly gunned on further
towards their target. Just then the phone rang in the car. Kelly pressed it onto speaker phone.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Its Miller,” said a voice down the phone. “I've just heard from Teams B and C.”

“And?”

“They've picked up their loads and access cards from the locations I provided,” said Miller.
“They're heading to their targets.”

“Any problems?” asked Kelly.

“No,” said Miller. “But it seems your men at the airfield have been dealt with by Scott and
Malfoy.”

“That was expected,” said Kelly with a sort of callous disinterest. “They were left there for a
reason. Where are the Agents now?”

“Driving down blind alleys, waiting for instructions. Lets just say their leads have *gone
dead.*”

“Good, keep it that way. Make sure there are no slip-ups at your end. Malfoy and Scott must be
kept from us.”

“They will be,” said Miller. The phone clicked as she hung up.”

* * *

*10:30am,* *MI5 HQ*

Director Barnes paused the recording. Cara looked at him, waiting for orders. Agent Miller's
latest phone call was still playing in the Director's mind.

“Now do we arrest her?”

“Can you extract the information she sent?” asked Barnes.

“Not without direct access to her PDA,” said Cara.

“Then lets bring her in,” said Barnes. He pressed a button on his desk. A few moments later two
security men entered. “We are going to arrest Agent Jennifer Miller. Have men cover the exits and
you two join me when I emerge.”

The security men nodded and left.

“What shall I do, sir?” asked Cara.

“Go to your station,” said Barnes. “Pull up the software to read Miller's PDA - its likely
she's scrambled it somehow. It'll probably need decrypting.”

“I'll get the forensic recovery software up too,” said Cara. “She may have tried to erase
the data.”

“Good. Get to it.”

Cara left and Barnes waited. He fastened his jacket and tried to put a lid on the ire rising in
his chest. Presently, his phone rang - the security teams were in place. Barnes puffed up and left
his office; he wasted no time in crossing to Agent Miller, who looked up, baffled, as he and the
security officers flanking him approached and stopped next to her.

“Sir?” she asked.

“Don't speak, traitor,” said Barnes. “Jennifer Miller - I'm arresting you for acts of
treason against the people and Government of Great Britain.”

“What! This is outrageous!”

“Take her to Holding Cell Three,” said Barnes to the security officers. “Oh, and someone get
hold of Agent Scott. Tell him to get back here. I'd quite like Agent Malfoy to interrogate Miss
Miller.”

Agent Miller's wails and pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears as she was forcefully led away.
Barnes made his way to Cara's workstation.

“Is everything set?”

“It'll take a few minutes to integrate the software to my system,” she said.

“Fine. While that's doing go through Miller's stuff and her computer. Find what you need
and get started on cracking her PDA as soon as you can.”

* * *

*10:34am, The Lovegood House*

Harry looked up at the turreted roof of the rook-shaped building; it was marvellously eccentric
and Harry felt a pang of worry as the thought of its owner came to him.

“Where could she be?” he said loudly, his frustration getting the better of him. “I'm sick
of interrogating people who give us nothing to go on. Where might Luna have gone?”

“The list is vast,” said Hermione. “But I'm sure she's okay wherever she is.”

“I don't doubt it,” said Harry. “But how long will it stay that way?”

“Didn't she say she was going to get her husband?” asked Hermione. “Doesn't he work in
the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office? She could have gone to the Ministry. Harry - you don't
think the Baron would have attacked him, do you?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, he went for Luna's little girl,” said Hermione. “He obviously thought Luna's role
was important enough for that. Perhaps he went after the husband too, for insurance.”

“I hope that isn't true,” said Harry. “The guy is barely above a Squib in magical ability.
If anyone with even a little bit of power targeted him he'd be vulnerable.”

“Then perhaps we should try and get to him, make sure he's safe,” said Hermione.

“But that would mean going to the Ministry,” said Harry. “What would that do to our plan of
keeping a low profile?”

“Decimate it, obviously,” said Hermione. “But I really think we're going to have to. We have
no clues or anything. We should go back and find out if anything has developed.”

“You're probably right,” said Harry. He sat and thought for a moment. “But perhaps we
don't have to reveal ourselves at all.”

“If you're thinking the words *Invisibility Cloak,* do I have to remind you that
it's a bit small for us to fit under these days? We aren't kids anymore.”

“I know that,” said Harry. He glanced at Hermione's chest and she gave him a look that said,
quite plainly, that a slap would be coming if he didn't reposition his gaze. Harry grinned and
spoke again. “And besides, I gave it to James years ago. It was my parental obligation to pass it
on to him.”

“Ah, now I know how he sent me those cases of Honeydukes Chocolate,” said Hermione. “You really
shouldn't have encouraged him to assimilate your dubious morality.”

“Then I assume you returned all the bars he sent you?” said Harry, smirking. Hermione grinned
back but didn't answer. “Only a moral crusader when it doesn't affront your sweet tooth,
eh? What would your parents say?”

“They were gifts, it would have been rude to send them back, even if I had known they'd been
pilfered,” said Hermione.

“Keep telling yourself that,” said Harry. “But I think your weakness for hazelnut and fudge
might have something to do with it.”

“All this fine talk is getting us nowhere, Mr Potter,” said Hermione unabashed. “Weren't you
just about to impart a great idea on me?”

“I was,” said Harry. “Am I right in thinking you still keep a stock of Polyjuice Potion at
home?”

“Its always handy to have a cupboard full of useful potions,” said Hermione. “But I don't
think we have time to find a Ministry worker or two, subdue them, then Polyjuice our way into the
Ministry.”

“I agree,” said Harry. “But there must be some old stuff of Ron's back at your house. A hat
or something where we might find a strain of hair? I'll Polyjuice into Ron and walk in and find
out what's going on.”

“And what if you run into him?”

“Unlikely,” said Harry. “With all that's going on I'd imagine he'd be with the
Minister himself, coordinating the response to this threat.”

“There's so much that could go wrong here,” said Hermione, wringing her hands anxiously.

“What is it?” asked Harry, slightly amused. “Are you really scared of the plan? Or is it that
you're afraid that if I turn into Ron you might finally succumb to your urge to kiss me?”

Hermione looked at him. “Don't flatter yourself, Harry. You're not that cute.”

“I might believe you if I couldn't do Legilimency,” said Harry, grinning. “Come on, this is
about the only plan we have.”

“Alright, but I still don't think I should be seen,” said Hermione. “The Baron knows I
survived his attempt to kill me; I can't be seen at the Ministry in case he has spies who`ll
know I'm working against him.”

“Then I'll go in alone,” said Harry.

“Don't talk rubbish,” said Hermione. “I'm not letting you out of my sight on a day like
this. I know some spells. I can make myself invisible if I want to.”

“You can?” said Harry, impressed. “How?”

“You have your secrets and I have mine,” said Hermione airily. “Come on, lets get to
Sparrow's Nook.”

“Shall we Apparate alone, or do you want to Side-Along?” Harry asked teasingly.

“I'll `Side-Along' you in a minute,” Hermione replied.

“Don't make promises you don't intend to keep,” said Harry. He winked, turned and was
gone.

* * *

*10:39am, The Shrieking Shack, Hogwarts*

James aimed his wand at the pile of sticks on the floor and tried the spell again. His wand
flashed but, for the third time, nothing happened. Across the other side of the room, Celesca
groaned once more.

“James, it isn't going to work,” said Celesca. “One of Gram's Five Laws of Elementary
Transfiguration is that you can't create food by magic.”

“But I've seen my Dad conjure glasses of brandy before,” said James.

“No, it was probably more like Summoning,” said Celesca. “If you know where something is
there's a complex spell you can do that can sort of Summon it to you via Apparition. Your dad
probably knew where there was brandy and glasses and combined them together in a spell.”

“Well can you do that?” asked James.

“I've never tried it, but I'm not even sure of the incantation,” said Celesca.

They were debating this issue as little Aleri sat and watched them. She had asked for something
to eat and now they were trying to think of ways to get her some food. They had been unable to find
the entrance to Hogwarts in the Hogs Head pub and had instead fled to the Shrieking Shack.
Hagrid's assumption that they'd been there earlier had given them the idea.

“We cant stay here anyway,” said James. “Food or not.”

“Why? It seems a pretty good hideaway,” said Celesca.

“Because it wont be long until the Ministry comes looking for us,” said James. “And because this
is a pretty good place to hide they'll naturally come here. Besides, they might even speak to
Hagrid and if he says we've been here, they might check that we haven't come back.”

“Why are we hiding?” Aleri asked pleasantly. “Are you going to tell me what's going on
yet?”

“It's like this,” said Celesca. “Some bad people have been watching you, trying to get to
you. We've gotten you away from them and we don't want them to find us and take you
back.”

“I don't think I'd like to be taken captive,” said Aleri thoughtfully. “But I am hungry.
I didn't have much at breakfast, you see.”

“I know how you feel,” said James. He yawned widely. “I haven't had breakfast either.”

“What? None at all?” asked Aleri. “I think breakfast is the most important meal of the day. You
really should have tried to eat something.”

“I was a bit busy, what with coming to save you and that,” said James.

“Oh, well thank you,” Aleri beamed. “Skipping breakfast to help me was very nice of you.”

James smiled. This girl was a bit nuts but James liked her.

“Is there any other way into the school?” asked Celesca. “Another secret passage, maybe?”

“None that are still going,” said James. “There are a few collapsed ones, they're not safe.
And I don't fancy trying to get at the one under Honeydukes without my Cloak.”

There was a sudden scraping outside. James moved to the window and peered through the broken
beam of wood there.

“Damn it!” he said. “It's that woman from the school. There are a dozen teachers out
there.”

“Are they teachers? Or are they from the Ministry?” asked Celesca as she took a look
herself.

“Can't tell,” said James. “But I'm not hanging around to find out.”

“Where can we go?”

“Hagrid said there's a passage out of here which leads to the Whomping Willow,” said James.
He looked around frantically and spotted a large hole in the floor in the corner. “I don't know
what we'll do once we're there but I'd rather be around Hogwarts than here.”

“Agreed,” said Celesca. “Aleri, come on with us. Quickly.”

They scooted into the large opening at the far end of the shack and into a sloping tunnel.
Celesca turned and pulled a large crate across the opening and set off after James and Aleri. They
reached the end of the dark tunnel and James sat on a knot in the tree trunk. The branches
didn't move as Aleri and Celesca clambered out, but as soon as James moved away they began
flailing for him. He ran quickly away, escaping with just a few scratches.

“Right, we have to get inside the castle,” said James. “But how? Can any of the doors be
opened?”

“Alohomora wont work on the doors,” said Celesca. “They're magically charmed to resist
it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I've read *Hogwarts: A History.* It says so in there.”

“Okay, so doors are out,” said James. “Is there any part of the castle that's open?”

“The Astronomy Tower might be accessible,” said Celesca, thinking fast. “But we don't have a
ladder.”

James stared at her incredulously. “*A ladder?* Are you a witch or not?”

“Yes, but I can't *fly*, James,” said Celesca. “Unless …”

“Unless … we break into the broom cupboard by the Quidditch Pitch!” he said triumphantly. “Come
on.”

The three of them raced down the banks towards the stadium. It looked oddly forlorn with no-one
inside it. James reached the broom cupboard first, opened it with his wand and took out two of the
school brooms. He handed one to Celesca, who helped Aleri on in front of her, then James kicked off
from the ground and soared into the air. Wind rushed by him as he flew around the castle, up and up
until he reached the Astronomy Tower. He landed smoothly and waited for Celesca to follow.

“That was fun,” said Aleri as she slid off the broom. “It's a shame I don't have much
magic myself. I`d love to have a flying broom of my own.”

“Now what?” asked Celesca.

“Well, I think we're pretty safe up here,” said James. “You can get a good look-out from
this position. You keep an eye out, just in case we get any unwanted guests.”

“And what will you do?”

“Pilfering food from the kitchens is one of my best talents,” said James proudly. “I wont be
long.”

“Be careful,” said Celesca. “And try not to be seen. The portraits have eyes, you know.”

James winked at her, then disappeared down the spiral staircase.

* * *

*10: 46am, MI5 HQ*

Malfoy marched through the corridors and met up with Barnes, who was waiting for him. Agent
Scott joined them and together the three of them made their way into the observation room of
Holding Cell Three. Agent Miller was restrained in a chair, probes placed at her temples and
wrists, the information from these being monitored by another agent in the room. Cameras focused on
her face and eyes, ready to detect any signs of response to the coming interrogation.

“Have you asked her anything yet?” asked Malfoy, looking at a close-up image of Miller's
face on a screen nearby and flicking through a folder Barnes had handed him.

“No, nothing,” said Barnes. “We thought we'd stretch her out a bit. We've altered heat
and humidity in there to make it a little less comfortable for her.”

“Good,” said Malfoy. “Anything else?”

“We're analysing her things now,” said Barnes. “Phone records and conversations, computer
usage, her personal hardware is being checked. Most of it is sophisticatedly encrypted. Its slowing
us up.”

“Then lets see if I cant speed up proceedings,” said Malfoy.

He made to enter the room but Scott grabbed his arm.

“By all means, Malfoy, extract something useful,” he said. “But don't kill her. She has to
be punished properly for this.”

Malfoy looked coldly back at Scott. “Trust me, she will be.”

He entered the room. Agent Miller froze as she saw him, her wide eyes fixed on his wand. Malfoy
closed the door slowly, purposefully and strode across to sit opposite her. For a full minute he
just stared at her. Several times she shuddered under the intensity of his gaze but she didn't
look likely to crack. Malfoy placed the folder he'd been carrying onto the desk, opened it and
began to read.

“Well, Miss Miller, it seems you have been leading two lives,” he began. “You must know that
only one of these has a future. On the one hand you are Jennifer Allison Miller, a well-respected
and decorated MI5 Agent; you pay your taxes, haven't had so much as a parking fine, and you
even help your elderly neighbour with his Meals-On-Wheels service. Admirable stuff.

“The other life is lived in the shadowy world of international terrorism where, as an associate
of Padraig Kelly, you have been involved in the slaughter of people numbering into the high
hundreds, all part of his sectarian agenda. Your reasons and motives are your own and I don't
care for them; you can confess your sins to someone who gives a toss about a worthless traitor such
as yourself. My only concern now is what Kelly's plan is and what he and his gang are going to
do.”

“I don't know what you're talking about!” Miller protested. “This is all
ridiculous!”

Malfoy pierced her with a stare so forceful she had to look away. “You lie really badly. For
someone in such deep cover I'd have thought you'd be better at it.”

Malfoy raised his wand.

“No! Please don't do anything to me!”

“Then start talking,” said Malfoy. He rose from his chair and perched himself on the table,
lowering his head so his face was inches from hers. When he spoke his voice was barely louder than
a breath. “If you confess, I'll make this painless. If you lie again - and I'll know if you
do - then I will draw this out for my own amusement.”

“I don't know what you want me to say,” whispered Miller. Her eyes were full of tears. “Tell
me what I'm supposed to tell you and I will.”

“You're supposed to tell me the truth,” said Malfoy. He angled his wand at her again. “I
want to know about Kelly.”

“Wait, Malfoy,” whispered Miller. There was something of desperation in her voice. Malfoy bent
yet closer. “What if I could get you money? I know you'd like a whole shed-load of Wizard Gold,
wouldn't you?”

“Is that your feeble attempt at a bribe?” laughed Malfoy mirthlessly. “I would have thought
you'd at least have offered me sex.”

“Is that what you want?” she asked, trying to be sultry through her quavering voice. “Because
that can be arranged. I'll do things for you that you've never seen - heard of even”

Malfoy looked at her and scowled. “You disgust me. *Crucio!**”*

* * *

*10:52 am, Piccadilly Circus.*

Kelly and Declan looked up at the big neon signs flashing adverts around the large space.
Tourists were everywhere; accents and skin tones crossed over one another in a melee of cultures.
Kelly looked over longingly at the abandoned Audi, parked up illegally on a crossing. He held a
detonator in his hand and as they stood in the shade of a subway entrance he wondered vaguely if
the Baron would spruce up his old Ford Capri with the same spells he'd used on the Audi.

“Is it time yet?” asked Declan.

“Just another minute or so,” said Kelly. “I'm hoping those two coppers go over and try and
book the car. It'd be nice to take out a bit of the Filth with the bomb.”

Kelly watched and waited. He almost whooped with glee as the two police officers patrolling near
the Audi made for it. They looked in the windows, Kelly checked his watch, then pressed the button
on the device he was holding.

The explosion rocked the street. Even from the other side of the Circus, Kelly felt the floor
vibrate. A large plume of smoke engulfed the surrounding area and bits of steel and glass showered
the place. Sharp parts of engine components flew out wildly, hitting passers-by. There were dozens
of injured bodies lying near the car, the flames of which were now visible through the thick smoke.
Panic was everywhere; people ran and screamed, cars smashed into each other as they swerved to
avoid collisions with other vehicles that had skidded to a halt; some tourists were even taking
pictures of the scene. Amidst all the chaos, Kelly and Declan slipped into the subway and hopped
right onto the 10:55 Tube train to Charring Cross.

* * *

Scott skidded into the room. Malfoy released Miller from the curse and she slumped forwards onto
the desk.

“What is it?” asked Malfoy, alerted by the alarmed look on Scott's face.

“Massive explosion, just ripped through Piccadilly Circus,” said Scott. “It's chaos down
there.”

Malfoy turned to Miller. “This your doing?”

Miller looked up, her eye swollen and blood trickling down her chin. She smiled wickedly.
“You're too late, foolish wizard.”

“We'll continue this later,” said Malfoy. “Lead on, Scott.”

Scott left the room and Malfoy swept after him in his wake.

* * *

In another part of London, Harry held the potion up in front of him. Hermione was a barely
visible haze next to him as they stood facing each other in a deserted stairwell. She was so close
that her warm breath tickled Harry's cheek.

“Do you have to stand so close?” he asked. “Its quite distracting.”

“I know,” she purred. “Fun, isn't it?”

“For you, maybe,” said Harry. He looked away from her and dropped the strand of red hair into
the beaker of Polyjuice. It bubbled and curdled then turned a brilliant shade of scarlet. Harry
looked at it and laughed.

“Why does that not surprise me?” he said. “Is there anything to do with you Weasley's that
isn't red? It looks a bit like a glass of Crimson Boar.”

“Then let's hope it doesn't give you wings and you fly off,” said Hermione. “Come on -
bottoms up, Harry.”

The beaker was at his lips when a sudden explosion of noise shook the building. Harry looked out
of the window to see a large column of smoke drifting up into the London sky in the distance.

“Great god!” cried Harry

“That cant be good,” said Hermione pensively. “Get a move on, Harry. We have to find out
what's going on.”

Harry downed the potion and felt the immediate burning sensation as his body twisted and
contorted to Ron's form. Within a minute, the transformation was complete and Harry's feet
were in agony.

“Merlin's Beard he does have huge feet,” said Harry grimacing.

“Here, let me,” said Hermione. She cast a spell at Harry's shoes and he felt them elongate
and expand.

“Thanks, that's loads better,” he said. “How do I look?”

Hermione considered him for a moment. “Like the husband I should have had. Come on. Let's
get inside.”

* * *

*10:58 am, Hackney Medical Centre*

A patient lumbered in to the Doctor's office. His face was puffy and red and angry abrasions
had sprung up on his forehead and arms. He sat down with a yelp of pain and the Doctor began
examining him.

“How long have you had these?” the Doctor asked, pointing to the lesions, which were bleeding
slightly.

“Only the last hour, maybe less,” said the man.

“When did they start appearing?”

“I was thirsty and had a glass of water,” said the man. “It tasted funny. Then, no more than
five minutes later, the first spots appeared on my face. It was …”

Suddenly, he coughed and spluttered. A mouthful of blood spewed down his shirt along with what
the Doctor recognised as a sac from the lungs. The patient slipped out of consciousness. The Doctor
raced from his office.

“Receptionist! Call the emergency services immediately! Have them send a Hazardous Materials
team here right away. Tell them I think we have a Type Two pathogen here. I want you to initiate a
Code Three lockdown right now. Nobody enters or leaves this surgery. Do it now!”

*11:00am*



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