Unofficial Portkey Archive

Author's Note: Sorry it's been a while since the last update… holiday madness! Thanks a million to all of you who review- I appreciate all comments; praise and constructive criticism alike. This is a rather long chapter, hope you enjoy and please keep the reviews coming!

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CHAPTER 7: Sympathy for the Devil

Hot water had never felt so good. Harry knew they didn't have much time before the aurors would wake up and he and Draco would need to be gone before that point. He also knew there was a lot to be done in that short time span, and much to be sorted out. Still, after weeks of sleeping on the floor without a proper change of clothes, the hot water felt too miraculous against his skin to pull himself away.

When he finally did step out of the shower, the bathroom was quite steamy. In his brief imprisonment at Malfoy Manor, Harry had really only seen the filthy chambers where he was locked up. The rest of the house was of a whole other caliber unlike anything Harry had ever seen. It was both ancient like Hogwarts, with grey stonewalls, but also sleek and elegant like something he had seen in a photo of a millionaire's mansion he had found in a magazine that had been discarded by Aunt Petunia. The Manor had gleaming marble floors in some rooms; lavish polished wood in others, endless corridors adorned with portraits that mumbled muffled words from behind silk coverings, and if there was one thing to generally be said, the detail of every ornament, etching, statue and piece of furniture was beyond immaculate.

Even the bathroom he stood dripping in was massive with a tub the size of a small pool and a sink big enough to bathe in. Over the sink was a large rectangular mirror framed by silver serpents, which overlapped each other in intricate knots and weaving circles. Harry cleared the steam from the mirror with his hands so he could get a proper look at his reflection, and had it not been for the familiar emerald green eyes glaring back he would not have recognized himself. In the past couple weeks his hair had grown a bit longer than he usually wore it, and he had a bit of a beard appearing as well. He decided to do away with it all, and using the wand he had nicked from one of the snoring aurors he shaved his head and face both, until his lightning bolt scar was left staring out starkly from his forehead. Normally he tried hard to cover it, but why bother now. He was recognizable to the whole world, and if he got seen an autograph request would be the least of his worries.

The familiar jagged line on his forehead wasn't the only scar in the collection these days. There were the scars from the war, and those from before that. And more than anything there were those scars, which came after the war; from his days as an auror, chasing evil through dark alleyways and sometimes paying the price. He ran his fingers over an especially pronounced wound on his torso. This one had caused Hermione to become quite upset with him as he recalled. He had bled all over her house, and yet again they had argued about his job and what it was doing to him. Right now he wished he had listened. He had never told her how truly close a call it had been that day. If she hadn't kept the self-healing potions stashed in the medicine cabinet for him he certainly would have died.

Draco had vaguely noted that Harry might as well help himself to the finding some clean clothes to wear ("so your stench doesn't give us away Potter") and so once Harry had dried off he dressed himself in an ensemble of black, black and more black. It seemed to be the only color that the Malfoys owned. The outfit was simple enough; slacks with a belt, sturdy leather boots and a long sleeved v-neck t-shirt that fit surprisingly well. When Harry found Draco afterwards, Draco's outfit was an entirely different matter.

Draco was dressed to kill in the most literal sense. Unlike Harry's militant approach of shaving his entire head, Draco clearly had some skill for carefully cutting his precious platinum hair. It was carefully combed and looked tidy and well groomed. But it wasn't Draco's stylish hair-do that surprised Harry. It was that the Slytherin was wearing a strange suit of armor complete with an array of flashy and deadly looking weapons.

"What ARE you wearing?"

"Showing your ignorance again Potter" Draco replied smugly. "Dragonhide armor was worn in ancient times of battle as it deflects many spells and curses."

"Why doesn't anyone still wear it then?" Harry asked skeptically.

"Because it's incredibly expensive. Dragons are rare, and the art of making dragonhide armor is long lost. This particular suit you are seeing has been in the Malfoy family for hundreds of year." Draco's old familiar boastful drawl was becoming prevalent again and it nearly made Harry gag. "This one fits me quite perfectly, and when I saw it in the armory I thought why not? Whoever has been on this killing spree is using a very strange and undetermined form of magic. I'd think that a little extra protection can't hurt."

"If only your parents had that same philosophy when they shagged the world could have been spared you!" Harry quipped, and while Draco wanted to be wounded by it (and he did pull off a convincing scowl) he found that it was a bit funny, and uncharacteristically witty for Potter, who was by all other accounts as charming and intelligent as a Mountain Troll. "You mentioned an armory?"

"Yes, the Malfoy family wouldn't have lasted as long as we did if it weren't for a collection of especially nasty devices and weapons."

"Can I... see it?" Harry asked.

"I'm not letting you lay hands on any of the items" Draco said, showing Harry through a large set of double doors and into a room with a dome roof and rows and rows of weaponry.

Harry had never been one for fighting and bloodshed. It had been thrust upon him since childhood, but he never adopted a sense of pleasure from his work. It was simply about fighting for survival out of necessity. Still, he was more than a bit wowed by the Malfoy Manor weapon cache.

"How didn't these get confiscated from you after the war?"

"This room is invisible unless it's shown to you by one of Malfoy blood. You stupid aurors had no idea it was here. The lame revealing charms you used missed quite a few things."

"Apparently" Harry muttered, making a mental note that if life ever went back to normal (and that was becoming an increasingly distant prospect) he would need to discuss these matters with the auror department at length. "Why did you show me this room if you're not going to let me take anything?"

Draco sighed. Truthfully, while Draco had learned to become a much better master of his fear and hatred, he was still a show off at heart. He had shown Harry just to see the stupid look of wow on his face as he beheld the incredible heritage that was the Malfoy lineage. Now he somewhat regretted his lack of humility. "Potter, many of these items are ancient. Each one of them has a history that you couldn't even hope to wrap your infantile mind around, each has a legacy of blood honor. Letting you use these would be like a slap in the face to my ancestors."

"Well, I was just bathing nude in your ancestors' sacred tub, and then a dried myself off with a Malfoy crested towel, after which I quite literally got into your pants. Oh, and did I mention I killed Voldemort? Sorry to say Malfoy, I think your ancestors are already rolling in their graves."

Draco pictured smashing Harry's face in repeatedly with a large mace that was only a few steps away from being handy. Then he pictured pulling the sword from his back and stabbing Potter through the mouth, effectively shutting him up for good. But there was the Unbreakable Fucking Vow, and so instead of all that delightful bloodshed, Draco pushed his aggression away from thought. "I'm not sharing."

"Fine" Harry responded as he wandered the aisles. "I suppose with the armor being so rare and all that's got to be one of the only suits left in the world."

There was a glint in Draco's eye, and once again his boastful nature got the best of him. "The Malfoy family owns a half dozen."

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `

A week passed since Harry's letter had arrived, and there had been no additional communication. Shortly after discovering Privet Drive abandoned, there was news from the aurors staked at Malfoy Manor that they had been attacked. None were hurt, they had simply been put to sleep by a very cleverly concocted Mist of Slumber potion. Two were missing their wands, but nothing else had been stolen. The auror investigative team was able to determine that both Draco and Harry had been present, that they had taken time to bathe in separate wings of the house, and that they had taken some food. Aside from that, there was nothing missing from the inventory that had been done of the Manor beforehand.

Hermione was able to determine a few critical facts from this otherwise vague discovery. Harry and Draco were certainly working together-- Harry never would have been able to create the complicated and possibly lethal Mist of Slumber. Now that their alliance was obvious, she could do nothing more than wonder why. If Harry was truly insane and evil it would make sense that he might team up with Draco Malfoy, that they might have some common sadistic goal. But they had not hurt the aurors, and there had been no indication that Harry was not in control of himself. Since his escape from the prison there had not been a single unusual spike in magical activity.

She had to keep reminding herself that while it was all perplexing, it was also actually quite good news. Somehow Harry appeared to be in control of himself, which meant whatever he was up to was probably very important. Additionally, knowing him the way she did and based on the content of his letter she was quite certain that he was still trying to protect her. He couldn't turn himself in even if he wasn't afraid of being killed, because he would be locked up and examined for weeks before he could get back to what he did best. Fighting evil. She wished there was a way he could come back to her though. She was still essentially a prisoner hiding behind the wards at the Burrow, and it was quite exhausting. There had been no further indication that she was still at risk, but there were also no further developments in resolving the question of who had threatened her and killed the auror at her house. It was driving her mad knowing that Harry was most likely out there trying to solve the great mystery and most likely in danger, while she was sitting around like a damsel in distress. She didn't like it one bit.

Then, there was another difficult factor, which was the Ron Weasley Factor. Hermione had tried to explain to Ron that she was sure Harry was doing the right thing. Ron simply could not believe that the right thing would ever involve Draco Malfoy, and the more she tried to convince him the angrier he became. Ron had not left the Burrow, but he avoided all conversation and eye contact with her. Hermione was lonely and dreadfully bored.

The next time she received news of any sort of development was again from O'Rourke. Another former Death Eater had been found murdered in Knockturn Alley. The same curse had been used, leaving the victim nearly slashed in half. Aside from that, there was no evidence as usual. Ron was quite certain that this proved that Draco Malfoy was the killer.

"He's on the loose, stole a wand just three days ago and now a body turns up?"

Hermione didn't bother to argue with him. Additionally, she did not find Ron's line of logic conclusive. Last they knew Harry was with Malfoy, and it was unlikely he would just stand there as his new friend returned to his gruesome killing spree. Still, the possibility that Harry could be assisting Draco drove Ron to a new level of fury towards Harry, and Hermione found avoiding Ron was the best way to avoid hexing him into oblivion. So she continued to be bored and lonely.

On the 25th day since Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had made their prison break, Hermione regretted that she ever felt sorry for herself about being bored. On the 25th day, those who had threatened her came to deliver on their promise.

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `

Harry felt the cool wind hit his face, and when he inhaled the salty scent of ocean flooded his senses. It felt refreshing, and for some reason it made him think of Hermione. Well, he knew why really. Growing up he had never really gotten to go to the ocean. The Dursleys would sometimes go on getaways to the seaside, but Harry mostly got left with Arabella Figg. The few memories Harry did have of the beach were those of Dudley forcing him to eat sand and getting so severely sunburnt he couldn't move for days. Hermione had changed that for him a few years back...

He had just returned from a particularly disturbing mission involving the disappearance of children and a mass murderer. He was feeling completely out of sorts- it was the sort of mission that made him feel desolate and hopeless. He wondered why he bothered to fight evil when there would always be more of it. So much bloodshed, so many good lives torn apart and he witnessed it all.

He had a few days off so he went where he always went, Hermione's home, which he had recently purchased for her. She demanded she slowly pay him back, and while he admired her persistence he couldn't have cared less about the money. The simple symbol of having a place to come back to meant the world to him, and with Hermione living there it was more than just a house-- it truly was a home. It was the way she cooked the old-fashioned muggle way, the way she carefully tended to her gardens, and how she decorated with such precise neatness but also colorful personality. It was the simple gesture of pouring him tea and asking how he was, and if he didn't say much (and he rarely did) she would distract him by rambling on about any old thing just to keep him entertained. Even Hogwarts no longer felt like home to him after all the blood spilled there. Hermione had created a space where he could feel slightly like himself again, and that was invaluable.

Coming back to her home after that particular mission he didn't think any amount of tea or idle chatter could keep his mind from going to dark places. So when he arrived and found she was off at work he quietly locked himself in the guest bedroom and willed himself to cry. He thought tears may be a sort of catharsis, but no matter how hard he tried he was simply too dried up. He curled up in a ball, and found a nightmare-ridden sleep.

When he awoke, it was to the sensation of having articles of clothing whipped at his sleeping form. He blinked hard and discovered his face was half covered by a pair of trunks, and there was a towel dangling from the edge of the bed. "Whaaa..." he asked, looking at her and not comprehending. She was standing silhouetted in the doorway, arms crossed in that trademark bossy, no-nonsense pose he had some to adore.

"You've been sleeping for quite long enough. It's the morning and we're going to the beach" she declared. "Put those on and let's go."

Before he could protest she had turned from the door and marched off, leaving him no option but to oblige her. For whatever reason, she decided to drive. They rarely drove places, but since they were both muggle-raised he did own a car, which he kept parked at her house (it was often the subject of much wonderment from her witch and wizard neighbors). That day she decided they ought to go for a spin, and upon reflection Harry thought it was quite clever. With the windows rolled down the fresh air rushed over them and the bright sun brought some feeling back to his numb body and soul. When she cranked up the car's stereo he actually started to feel a strange glimmer of happiness, something he had thought was impossible given all he had witnessed.

They reached the beach and he could smell the salt water right away. It made him feel more like his 20-year-old self, and less like an old man bogged down by the troubles of the world. It cleared his mind like cobwebs and decay being blown away from his brain. He could feel the warm sand under his feet and when they sat down to the picnic she packed he could really enjoy food for the first time in weeks.

The water was cold but he didn't care. It gave him a rush and he dunked under again and again, splashing about like a child. Once he caught her watching him, and there was a strange expression in her eyes. He had never seen her look at him quite like that, and so he dove back under the water once more to wash it from his mind. He wanted to think of nothing and to submerge himself in purely physical sensations like the taste of salt on his tongue and sting of the water on his eyes. When he came back up she was gone, and he could see she had retreated to her towel, where she lay far away glistening in the sun.

Even from such a distance he thought she was painfully beautiful, and he wondered if he could ever express what her friendship meant to him. And standing there in the water, he finally felt a few tears slip loose from his eyes.

That memory was a pleasant one, albeit bittersweet. It had come in a time when he was in great need, and she had responded to that need with no fuss or drama. Somehow she had just known what he needed, and ever since then the sea reminded him of her.

He knew he would have to write her again once he and Draco moved on. They had been spending the past week hiding out in a Malfoy family retreat- a very old and particularly drafty castle right on an ocean cliff. Draco had explained that his family had not used the place in centuries as it was outdated and nearly uninhabitable. Hence, it was a perfectly safe but perfectly uncomfortable place to stay.

When they left Malfoy Manor it had been with wands, money and some basic supplies. They had also taken numerous books including Tom Riddle's diary, the one that mysteriously ended and failed to chronicle of the gap between being Riddle and becoming Voldemort. Draco had a strong hunch that this gap of time had to do with the murder of his parents and the various others. Harry wasn't as convinced and he said as much that night after coming in from the ocean and finding Malfoy still laboring over his studies.

"If they are killing the old Death Eaters off because they know some burning secret about Tom Riddle, then it could have happened at any time in his life. What if he referred to it in his other journal? You know, the one I stabbed with a Basilisk fang."

"Because I know that it was around the time when this journal was being written that Tom Riddle became very excited about something very secretive and powerful."

"How could you possibly know that if it isn't mentioned in the journal?"

Draco sighed, slamming the book he was trying to study from his a loud BANG that echoed through the mostly empty castle. "Taking Greyback's fangs wasn't a total waste of time. I have found one particular memory that keeps ringing through my head. Something Tom Riddle said to Fenrir Greyback years ago, when the two had only just met and he was seeking to form an alliance with the werewolf. He said... There are some magics, so difficult and ancient that they were nearly lost to the years. Some magics, which even the great wizards of our history hadn't the slightest idea about. These magics, these are what will make me beyond immortal, and greater than legend. Mastering these magics will make me a God."

"Hmm, you sure have that memorized well" Harry said, suspicious.

"Well Potter, it's winding through my brain every other minute. I can keep pushing it away but it keeps coming back."

"So Tom Riddle thought he stumbled upon some sort of incredible magic."

"Yes, something that would make him very strong. Something that possibly did contribute to his power as Voldemort."

"Well that's brilliant, but awfully vague, and probably not even associated."

"Hence why I'm speaking with you now Potter. It's time to do some digging."

"Digging?"

"You have all of Riddle AKA Voldemort's memories. You have learned to control them, so you should be able to look into them and see where he went."

"You said yourself they aren't organized! It's not exactly like an archived, indexed source of information now is it?!" Harry asked, incredulous.

"No, but if you really try to focus that wet noodle you have for a brain, you might be able to see something."

"Or I might blow this place to smithereens! I barely have control as it is, and confronting memories that include my parents' murders along with hundreds of others is hardly a way to test myself. I don't want to look into his mind; the little glimpses I saw were quite enough. If it didn't totally drive me mad the first time, it certainly will now."

Draco stood, his face tight as though he was trying to control some nearly irrepressible emotion. When he spoke, it was clear what that feeling was. Rage. "Listen Potter, I have gone along with the Unbreakable Fucking Oath for weeks now. I patiently sat with you as we tried to teach that sluggish brain of yours a little self-control. I shared my information with you; hell I even fed and clothed you at Malfoy Manor. I have bent to your every whiny little need and concern, even though everyday I see your ugly face is the worst day of my life. I have swallowed my pride, controlled my need for redemption, and battled my hatred for you. But this DRAMA has got to get in check!" Draco was yelling now, and Harry felt a slight tremble under foot. Malfoy was causing the room to shake. "It's time that THE BOY WHO LIVED acts like THE MAN WHO DESERVES MY FUCKING TIME! Because right now you are showing what a waste of precious life you are and what a unless prat you've always been!"

The room was definitely shaking now, so hard that a piece of the already crumbling stone ceiling shook loose and landed only an arm's length from crushing them both. This reaction snapped Malfoy from his anger, which had left him red faced and panting, his fists balled up so tight his fingernails were cutting into the skin of his palm and little rivulets of blood had appeared.

Harry simply looked at Draco with awe. "You did wandless magic."

"I didn't know I was capable" he snarled in response, turning on his heel and marching away. As he left, he shouted over his shoulder, "If I had known I would have broken myself out of that bloody prison and left you to be murdered."

Harry was left alone in the silence of the castle, and ultimately he knew that Draco Malfoy had a point. And that was something he never thought he would admit to. Even if Malfoy was wrong and Tom Riddle's disappearance had nothing to do with the murders, it as still perplexing and somehow Harry knew it was important. He walked back to the ocean to try to clear his mind once more. He was going to have to try to tap into Tom Riddle's memories, not for Draco Malfoy's sake, but because he needed to know for himself.

He wasn't sure what it would be like, how it would work. But he knew one thing for certain; it would hurt like hell.

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `

It was nightfall when there was the distinct sound of a far off explosion. Hermione had been nodding to sleep over a book, but the sound woke her in a split second. She ran to the window and looked out into the darkness outside of the Burrow. She couldn't see anything, but the next explosion shook the entire house so hard she stumbled. It lit up the night sky, colliding against the invisible wall of the wards the aurors had set.

She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and the first thought that flashed into her mind was they're coming for me. She had never been the direct object of attack, and for the first she truly knew something of how Harry had always felt. I am putting everyone here at risk, I should have left ages ago, if they die it will be all my fault.

Despite these flashes of panicky thought, this was not Hermione's first brush with danger, and she was first and foremost a survivor. She reached for her wand and ran downstairs, where the Weasley clan was in a state of chaos.

"Whatsgoingon?" Ron shouted over a third explosion that caused Mrs. Weasley's cooking pots to tumble from the cupboard and all over the floor in a crash so wild it caused them all to jump.

"They finally found where she's hiding" O'Rourke announced, having just strode through the door. She looked wild with aggression; her eyes alight with a fire to match the color of her hair. She looked every bit the role of auror, and the threat of violence seemed to bring her to life.

"Who's coming?" Ron responded, holding his wand out and looking frantically about himself as though the doors would be kicked down at any moment.

"Whoever threatened Hermione you stupid sod!" Ginny responded with more fury than usual. Hermione was quickly learning that Ginny was no longer the little sister with a schoolgirl crush.

"Well, that doesn't give us a whole bloody lot of information now does it?"

"Language Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley responded shrilly. Hermione had always admired how this kind hearted motherly woman was also a powerful witch and something of a warrior to be reckoned with. She had seen Molly Weasley defeat Belletrix Lestrange, a moment she would never forget.

"What if it's Harry?" Ron asked, as the fourth explosion nearly sent him to the floor. "He blew up half the auror department, and now he's running about with Draco Malfoy. Could it be him?"

"Why would Harry come after us like this?" Hermione spat, annoyed as every by Ron's stupidity. "The wards aren't designed to keep him out, there'd be no reason for the theatrics, even if he wanted to kill us which clearly he DOES NOT!"

"Enough of the bickering!" O'Rourke interjected, her demeanor leaving no room for argument. "I have been ordered to fall back and see you to safety. Now that they've found the location it's only a matter of time before they break down the wards."

"We can't leave the Burrow to be destroyed!" Ron argued. "We don't even know anything about them, we can probably take them on and end this thing now."

"Absolutely not Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley roared.

"We have already lost enough in this family. We are not losing anymore children, especially not over a house" Mr. Weasley chimed in for the first time.

"Let the aurors do their job" O'Rourke agreed. She pulled an old baseball hat from her bag. "This portkey will take us to the auror department. We can wait there until we receive..."

But O'Rourke never got to finish that thought, because the next blast ripped open the wall near where she was standing, and the explosion sent pieces of their beloved home everywhere, filling the house with smoke and dust. Hermione could barely see or breathe, but she had not been knocked down and so she choked through the acrid air and moved blindly through the debris, looking for the spot where O'Rourke had formerly been standing. She started to dig through the pile of glass and wooden splinters when she was pulled back violently by strong hands.

She turned to face Ron, who she could barely make out through the smoke even though his face was inches away. He was yelling something but she couldn't hear him, and she realized he ears will still ringing. Slowly his voice cut through in waves "we need.... to get... you out of here!"

She pushed him violently away and turned back to the spot where O'Rourke was buried, digging frantically once more. Ron tried to grab her again, but this time she turned her wand on him, and he seemed to recognize the stubborn determination on her face. He began to dig as well, and soon they were joined by Ginny, Molly and Arthur.

When they got to the bottom of the debris Hermione didn't need to take a pulse. A plank of wood had embedded itself straight through O'Rourke's chest, and her eyes stared upwards, unblinking and glassy. Hermione felt a strangled sob escaped her lips, but Ron continued to dig in search of the portkey that O'Rourke had just been holding.

Hermione didn't care about the portkey, or the fact that the house was now on fire. She was tired of running and hiding, and she turned from watching her friend scrambling on his knees, and walked straight through the hole in the wall and out into the night air.

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `

Harry had walked deep into a quiet field. By now it was dark, and the stars were the only light he needed. He was simply looking for someplace quiet and far from where he could harm others. He wasn't sure what sort of adverse effects might come from tapping into Riddle's memories, but he had a feeling accidental magic was a safe bet.

He sat cross-legged in the tall grass and tried to think of a way to access the memories. It wasn't exactly intuitive, especially since his experience was nothing like Draco's. He still didn't know why he was experiencing Riddle/Voldemort's memories and emotions, and thus he knew nothing about confronting them. He was rubbish at occlumency and legilimency, which were the closest things he had ever experienced to co-consciousness.

That thought brought up another more salient one. He had seen a little of Voldemort's world through his dreams, and perhaps if he could focus in on those images he could discover more. He closed his eyes and tried to picture nightmares he had long tried to leave behind. He heard Voldemort's voice echoing, he could hear the hiss of Nagini, and slowly dark shapes took form and became increasingly clear... and then he slipped into a world unlike he had ever experienced.

When legimens had been used on Harry in the past, it felt like a dream, and while it had a sense of being real, it was nothing like what he was experiencing now. It was like a vivid memory, but clearly not his own. The way his body felt was different, and his emotions and perception of things were changed. In fact, the whole world looked different from what he was used to experiencing. It was almost as though the contrast on life had been turned up, but it made the shadows all that much darker.

He felt his mind glide into a memory; he was walking down a hallway and his stride felt strange, almost like gliding. He could observe all this, but he couldn't control any of it. He was the prisoner in the mind of another, and it was a disconcerting feeling. Even more disconcerting was the way things began to jump rapidly around him and change. It was like he was flying through time and grabbing glimpses of things; a Hogwarts corridor, a book lit by candlelight, Lilly Potter falling lifelessly to the floor, a group of masked people in robes, Belletrix Lestrange with a look of worship on her face, Harry himself as a little boy looking beat up with the Sorcerer's Stone in hand... Faster and faster the memories blurred by until they were unrecognizable and Harry wanted to escape, wanted to return to his own consciousness, but he didn't know how to stop it now.

And then, suddenly, he heard the exact same words Malfoy had spoken to him, but this time the voice had changed, and he could feel his mouth moving through the memory, and he knew he was experiencing the memory from Tom Riddle's point of view. No, more than that... I'm in Riddle's mind he realized. He could feel his heart beating as one with him, sense his thoughts, and even feel, smell and taste everything Riddle was experiencing.

"There are some magics, so difficult and ancient that they were nearly lost to the years. Some magics, which even the great wizards of our history hadn't the slightest idea about. These magics, these are what will make me beyond immortal, and greater than legend. Mastering these magics will make me a God" Tom Riddle was saying as he watched the creature Fenrir Greyback with a mixture of disgust and intrigue. They stood in a clearing in the forest, a place Riddle had chosen as it was a safe distance from Hogwarts grounds and deep enough in the forest that even the Centaurs wouldn't be a problem. Riddle knew from careful studies that Centaurs could not be controlled, and could get violent. As such, he avoided them and they avoided him when he wandered the forest at night. Luckily, they cared for little but their own affairs.

Riddle had heard tales of the feared Fenrir Greyback, a vicious werewolf who was developing momentum in a personal mission to spread lycanthropy. Riddle found it disturbing and disgusting, truly a sin against pure blood to turn a wizard into a mangy beast. Still, such savagery was useful if controlled and so he had tracked Greyback down and they had struck a deal. Riddle briefly explained his future aspirations, and agreed to allow Greyback to turn any mudbloods and blood traitors along the way. With the deal in place, Tom Riddle dreamed of a bloody path ahead of them. Just the idea was almost seductive in its alluring nature. Additionally, he fully intended to kill all the werewolves when he gained full power. He didn't share all of his secrets with Greyback of course.

He did choose to share the secret of his upcoming plans as they stood in the darkness of a cold winter night. His days at Hogwarts would soon be at an end, and the next phase of his plans would commence. He needed to let the werewolf know that he was leaving but would be back in due time, and to patiently await future orders like a good little doggy. He told Greyback about how he had discovered a new path of magical power, and that it would make him unstoppable. He felt Greyback believe him as he spoke, and that was good. It was important that those who followed him in the days to come trust his indestructibility wholly. An indestructible man would never face mutiny and would always be feared. And being feared was the thing Riddle craved the most.

Fear was like a drug and he could never get enough of it. Watching others cower and fall, watching them shudder under his gaze-- it was all arousing in a way that he could never describe to those who had not experienced it. He intended to reach a day when his name was so associated with fear that people wouldn't even dare to speak it aloud.

Tom Riddle told Fenrir Grayback what he needed to know. He would be gone for some extended period of time to strengthen his magical powers, and when he returned they would change the world forever. Greyback nodded, his hideous eyes filling with a look that mixed discomfort with excitement.

Riddle walked slowly back towards the school, knowing that the wolf would follow him until the end. This caused a smirk slowly spread across his face, and what remained of Harry's consciousness recognized this sensation. Riddle was thinking about tasks left to complete before he could begin his journey-- he thought of horocruxes yet to be created, about seeking a position to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, and about many other orders of business. Hogwarts loomed in the distance, looking massive and wonderful, and then is slowly faded away into darkness.

When the darkness subsided, Harry was in a new memory, and through Tom Riddle's eyes he watched the dingy setting of Knockturn Alley pass his vision. It was near dusk, and as he passed a shop his head turned a moment and he caught his reflection in a shop window; young and handsome with a straight confident posture, jet-black hair and piercing dark eyes. Even though Harry's consciousness knew he was just reliving a memory, it still shook him to look into a reflection and see his enemy staring back so calmly.

He turned down an alleyway so tight and dark it was hardly noticeable, and soon came upon a door with peeling black paint. He yanked it open and inside was a small square room that offered no lighting except for a few dim, smoke stained lanterns. When his eyes adjusted he could make out bar stools and saw that it was indeed a pub of sorts. There was nobody there except for a man whose back was turned as he entered.

Riddle took a seat at the bar, and glanced sidelong at the man who was sipping some dark substance from his glass. The man was very tall, with pale features and a perfectly straight nose. He looked young, maybe around thirty years old, and he was dressed in an almost old fashioned manner, with a well tailored black jacket and a crisp white button up. Neither Riddle nor the stranger spoke at first. There was no bartender in sight, so Riddle simply stared straight into the rows of liquor bottles, watching his warped reflection flicker in the dim candlelight.

"Were you followed? The man asked.

"No Damon."

"Of course not" Damon responded, slowly smiling in a way that gave his otherwise flawless looks a sinister appearance. "You are always careful Mr. Riddle, otherwise you couldn't have gotten away with things as long as you have. All those killings... I don't normally condone such behavior but it is clear that your ambition exceeds normal reasoning. Although, these horocruxes are taking a toll on that youthful beauty. Dark magic is said to do that you know."

"I'm not concerned. When you teach me to channel magic as you have I will fix the damage."

"Don't be so certain" Damon admonished, but he said nothing more on the matter. "Are your affairs in order?"

"Yes, I have finished what I needed to do. My followers will wait loyally for my return. I gave my leave of absence at Borgin and Burkes today."

"Very good. I hope you are certain your supporters will wait loyally. Your return may take quite some time, and when you do return you will need to raise an army for the cause."

"I have no doubts about their loyalty" Riddle responded, his tone resolute.

"I believe you Mr. Riddle... one final matter. I will not be instructing you to channel magic personally. I sense a great destiny for you Tom, but I have to be certain you are capable. I am sending you to the place where it all started for me..."

The bar faded away once more, and when the next memory surfaced it was many years later. It was disconcerting slipping so far though time, and the physical changes were clear. Where before Harry could sense Riddle's youthful strength, his confident posture and his almost elegant gracefulness, he now felt changed. His skin felt tight across his face, and there was something of a nagging sickness inside that he could not put his finger on.

He was gathered at Malfoy Manor, and seated around the table were the usual Death Eaters, but they looked much younger. In fact, many of them were about the age of his own parents when they died. So much time had slipped away, and whatever occurred between had caused Tom Riddle to become Lord Voldemort.

Despite the sickening effects dark magic had on his body and soul, Voldemort felt a thrill of power as he spoke to his disciples. They clung to his every word, some with outward devotion (Belletrix Lestrange) and others with trembling fear (Narcissa Malfoy). Despite Belletrix' enamoured stare, it was Narcissa's aversion and frightened demeanor that truly gave him a rush. He could feel the raw power he had over them all, and soon many more would follow.

He spoke of his plans, but again there were things he did not say aloud. Harry could sense this. While Voldemort was more certain than ever in his power, there was also a nagging disappointment in the back of his mind. Something had not gone according to plan since the time he had been a young man meeting the mysterious Damon in Knockturn Alley. Voldemort kept assuring himself that none of that mattered, but it was clear it bothered him. His pride had been injured in some way, and this spiked Harry's interest.

Yet all too soon it was slipping away and again he was thrown uncontrollably through time, witnessing horrible moments of torture, murder and pure evil. Harry saw Lilly Potter begging for the life of her son, and he could feel Voldemort's sick, lustful pleasure in the moment. Her screams... Harry was always hearing her screams and thought it would never end...

The screaming continued but he realized the voice had changed. Harry was the one screaming, as he lay drenched in sweat, lying flat on his back in the middle of the field. He opened his eyes and the world above him spun dizzily, the stars dancing until he gradually regained his normal vision. Shakily he rolled onto his stomach, trying not to vomit as he breathed heavily, the scent of the Earth gradually calming him. After about an hour he was able to get to his feet and he walked back to the castle.

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `

Hermione felt a strange silence take her over as she left the Burrow burning behind her and marched towards the source of the explosions. This had happened to her on occasion, moments when her determination could block out all external stimulus and she was afforded a single focus. Her wand was drawn and she moved swiftly across the grass.

There were aurors on the front line poised for battle, and beyond them was a sort of mist that shrouded the attackers from sight. When they emerged, they were clothed in dark robes, and for a moment she thought that they were Death Eaters. But no, their faces were not covered. They were unrecognizable faces of men and women who betrayed no emotion and advanced in a single line. Also significant to her initial observation was that they did not carry wands.

The aurors stood their ground, wands pointed, unsure what to do. And then they started to drop around her. The distinct green Avada Kedava curse could be seen in the night sky, amongst some less recognizable shades. But there were no wands... no incantations. She hit the ground hard to dodge a curse that whizzed by her head.

My God... they are using wandless, wordless magic she realized as her body was pressed against the dirt. Overcoming the initial shock she raised her wand and cried out a stupify charm, which hit an advancing witch and she fell instantly. Wandless and wordless, but they still fall like everyone else.

She began to attack the robed assailants from her place on the ground, sending a barrage of curses and spells that hit some but missed many. They were fast and maneuvered with the athletic grace of trained aurors, but they were also able to block spells with a wave of the hand when they saw them coming. She jumped back to her feet and started to retreat with the rest of the aurors as they were quickly being overtaken. Still, she walked backwards fearlessly firing everything she had (which was quite a lot). Her skills were quickly making her a primary target, and she nearly realized this too late as she just barely sidestepped a curse that caught the arm of the auror on her right and severed it from his body. Despite the horrific nature of this incident she tried to maintain focus. That was the same curse that's being used to kill the Death Eaters she realized with certainty.

And then there were arms wrapped tightly around her from behind, and in a flash she was no longer on the battlefield but standing in the dark hallways of Grimmauld Place. She struggled free from Ron's hold and barely controlled the desire to slap him. As her eyes came to focus in the dark house she saw that the other Weasleys were there as well, and she barely controlled her outrage.

"We need to go back!" she yelled, already preparing to apparate.

"We can't" Ron argued, also trying to keep his voice from approaching hysteria. "Kingsley arrived shortly after you ran off. They opened the wards so we could all escape, there's no point to going back."

"Yes there is! What about the dying and wounded aurors who won't be able to escape?"

"Casualties" Ron mumbled, not liking the word but knowing it had to be said. She stared at him with an expression that revealed such pain that he couldn't bare it.

"Ron is right dear" Mrs. Weasley said slowly. "I am afraid we need to face this the way we have faced horrible times in the past. The Burrow is gone, and lives have been lost."

There was a long silence.

"We don't know anything about these people. We don't know why they're doing this to us, or why they were offing past Death Eaters in the first place. We don't know how they're capable of the magic they showed us tonight. They are now our enemy and we know NOTHING of who they are or what their purpose is" Ginny said, breaking the silence. She couldn't make sense of any of it. It had been not so long ago that she was playing international Quidditch and dating boys and her biggest problem was trying to forget the final battle and cope with the loss of her brother. Now the feeling of fear and danger was back and the only word to describe the way she was feeling the weary.

If Ginny felt weary, Hermione felt positively exhausted. She wasn't used to being so unprepared. Ginny was right, they knew next to nothing about what they were facing and lack of knowledge was one of Hermione's worst nightmares. Furthermore, the Boy Who Lived was nowhere to be found. While Hermione had always been the brains of the trio, Harry had given her confidence and had also provided leadership. She didn't consider herself a leader, but in that moment everyone was looking to her like she might have answers. But she had nothing.

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `

Draco was sitting far above the ground in a crumbling castle tower. Up here the wind from the ocean was even more forceful, and due to the decaying state of the ancient Malfoy property there was hardly anything to block the cold from hitting him. Draco felt confused, and worried and tired. And he didn't like any of those feelings. In fact, he hated them. It made him feel weak, it made him loathe himself once more, and he couldn't stop flashing back to not so distant memories that he normally deflected with such skill.

He thought of how his parents begged and pleaded at the feet of Voldemort and how he joined them. He thought of how he helped to kill Albus Dumbedore, a man he secretly admired because he was only person Voldemort feared. He thought about all the times he had been rude and callous and cruel just to feel less alone and afraid. Mostly he remembered what a spineless worm he had always been and would always be. In those years that Draco struggled to control his fear and in those years that he was a puppet to the Dark Lord, he had found solace only in the concept that he was keeping his family safe in some way. His parents were not perfect people; they were cold, judgmental, and often cruel to even him (especially Lucius). But they were his family, and if there was one thing that remained true to Draco after all that had happened, it was that blood was important. But when they were murdered, he had hidden. Now he had no family left to protect.

Which brought him to the matter of confusion. He didn't know what he was doing. He was chasing shadows in the night, and he wasn't sure how much of it was real and how much he had imagined. He had become so caught up in the process of searching, he worried he was beginning to just make things up. He had tortured Fenrir Greyback to get his fangs to try and see into a jumbled mess of memories he could barely decipher. He knew the pain Greback felt as the fangs were ripped from his mouth because sometimes Draco could feel the memory pass over his consciousness. He said nothing about it because he knew he deserved it. Greyback was a terrible creature and a murderer, but torture was not a thing Draco prided himself on. He was not a sadist like Belletrix Lestrange.

But he also wasn't a saint like Harry Potter. This name brought further confusion. Draco didn't understand how he had come to chase shadows alongside his enemy. But Potter wasn't his enemy anymore. Whoever killed his parents was. Potter was simply a childhood rival and a stupid prat but not an enemy. Malfoy was nothing like Potter, and he knew that innately. He would never be as twisted as Lestrange, but he could also never be as good as Potter. And that was where Draco's least favorite emotion came into play; envy.

It wasn't that Draco envied Harry's saintliness. No, in fact he despised it as a weakness. What he envied was that Harry could still be good after everything he had faced. Harry Potter, who had apparently grown up unfed and unloved, but still found loving and loyal friends. Harry Potter who chased shadows since he was a boy, while Draco lived behind them. Harry Potter who still went into the dark and somehow found light. This is what Draco envied. Because living in the shadows was worse than fighting them; it had made Draco a cynical and angry creature and the self-loathing never ended.

The final thing that weighed on Draco's mind as the cold wind roared towards him from the black night was the fact that he had used wandless magic. There was only thing that Draco and Harry shared in common and that was that they were both possessed by memories that were not their own. Draco wondered if co-consciousness could really lead to wandless magic abilities. His lack of knowledge on the subject made him uneasy. There were so many questions on his mind it exhausted him.

And so he staggered back in the night and fell heavily to the ground, leaning up against a pile of stones that had once been part of the castle walls. He had long removed his armor since it was currently unneeded, and now all he had on was a thin charcoal grey jumper and his black slacks to protect him from the cold ocean air. He sat, head bowed, and continued to think until footsteps approached.

He could recognize the sound of Harry's footsteps by now, which was a strange thing. While Harry and Draco were about the same height, they had a very different build. Harry had spent the past few years physically training as an auror and he was wider and more muscular. Draco had spent that same time conditioning his mind through books and research, and so he was more thin and wiry. Harry walked with heavy steps.

They said nothing to each other for a moment, both just embracing the sting of the icy wind, and looking up into the stars. Finally, Harry spoke. "Before Tom Riddle disappeared, he met someone named Damon at a strange back room in Knockturn Alley. He was ready to learn about some sort of new magic, something he seemed to think would give him great powers."

"How old was he when this happened?" Draco asked sharply, rising to his feet with renewed energy.

"He was around our age I would say, hard to be certain. He had just resigned from Borgin and Burkes, and planned to leave for some time."

"Yes, that is exactly the time frame. Riddle killed Hepzibah Smith, then his diary ended. However, if you look at the records it will show that only shortly after he gave his resignation from his first place of employment and then he was gone for quite some time. It is speculated that he traveled, learned more about dark magic, continued to gain support and make connections. But of course, there are no real details."

"Well, for at least some of that time I would say it clear he was with this new mystery bloke, Damon."

"Always more mysteries" Draco mumbled.

"Tell me about it" Harry said, and there was almost a smile of his face. Draco looked at him a moment and wondered what hell it had been like for Harry to see the world through the eyes of one of the most evil men to ever live.

"We need to go to Knockturn Alley, try to find the place you saw in your dreams."

Harry nodded, and turned to head back down the steps. "At least we're one step closer" Harry called out, his voice echoing up the staircase as he made his way down. His voice was nearly lost in the wind and he was now out of sight, but Draco nodded anyways.

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `

Hermione had no answers, and for most people that would make them feel entirely defeated. But for her it was like a sudden kick of adrenaline, a boost to her exhausted mind and without even cleaning the soot, dirt and blood off that she has accumulated from the battle at the Burrow, she headed to the small and dusty library that Grimmauld Place had to offer.

She knew that it was a long stretch as there were barely 500 books in there, but Hermione Granger didn't know what else to do in times of struggle but to ally herself with the nearest book. She pulled the oldest and most cobweb infested book she could find off the shelf and aimlessly started to read.

The Burrow is gone because of you. O'Rourke is dead because of you. The words shot up into her consciousness like a rocket, and suddenly she realized that the neatly handwritten words on the page were becoming blurry. She was crying. Where is Harry? she thought desperately. True, she had solved many of the riddles they had faced together, but she had always had his strength and unwavering support behind her. Right now she needed that, and she didn't think anyone else in the world could provide it. What if Ron's right? What if Harry has gone mad and aligned himself with Malfoy? What if MY Harry is gone forever?

A soft knock on the door made her jump and she hastily wiped away the tears that had found their way down her cheek. A second later Hermione was surprised to see Luna Lovegood's blonde head popping in through the crack in the door. A moment later she was followed by Ron and then Ginny.

"I thought maybe you could use some company" Luna said, her tone as dreamy and calm as ever. "Ronald and Ginny quite agreed."

"Have you been crying?" Ron asked brashly, and when Ginny shot him an exasperated look he blushed a bit.

"I feel badly about everything... about you losing your home..." suddenly she felt she might cry again so she fell silent. In an unexpected display of affection, Ginny suddenly moved forward and wrapped Hermione in a hug, and she was surprised by how good it felt to be embraced in that moment; how much less alone she felt.

"It's not your fault Hermione" Ginny whispered in the older girl's ear. When they parted, Ron was still standing there looking sheepish, but finally he too bent down and hugged his female best friend, patting her awkwardly on the back.

"I know we disagree about Harry, and maybe I've been hot headed about it. But I want you to know I'm not mad at you. I'm just glad that you're okay... that we're all okay."

Caitlin O'Rourke isn't okay Hermione thought to herself. The other aurors aren't okay.

"Mum is busying herself tidying this place up so we can stay here the night while we figure out what to do next. I know the Burrow took a beating back there, but it may still be standing... I dunno..."

Hermione felt doubtful based on all the fire and shrapnel that had been surrounding them when they left, but she didn't say so, simply giving Ron a weak smile and keeping his hand in hers as he stood there. "Luna, what are you doing here?" Hermione asked, suddenly remembering the appearance of the former Ravenclaw.

"Oh, I suddenly had the strangest feeling that something bad was happening to you all. It must have been a Grumbling Whirlyflack that told me. After the war I was told about how the Order had hidden here, and so I thought I should come see if you were safe." Hermione thought that Luna had made a lot of leaps in logic and quite possibly had some strange power for divination, but now was not the time to deduct the actual fact in the whimsical blonde's words. "What are you reading?"

"Oh nothing, just some book about..." Hermione suddenly realized she had been mindlessly reading but not absorbing a word, and when she looked back down at the page she frowned. "Apparently I've been reading about the medicinal purposes of Monkshood. I thought maybe I would find something. I don't know what I thought. I don't suppose you know anything about wandless magic Luna."

Hermione had only been joking, but Luna looked pensive. "A Quibbler source of mine from Paris recently tried to contact me about having seen a Petterbeak in her neighborhood, but that's obviously foolish."

They all just stared at her, confused. "Foolish because... there's not such thing?" Ron ventured.

"No, foolish because nobody can see a Petterbeak, they're invisible!" Luna responded, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I still don't see what that has to do with wandless magic" Ron yawned, slumping down in an armchair that let out a large puff of dust upon contact.

"Well, Petterbeaks are known to latch onto witches or wizards and allow them to perform wandless magic. My contact wanted me to come investigate because she claimed to have seen a woman in her neighborhood in a black clock perform wandless magic because she had a Petterbeak on her back."

Hermione suddenly snapped back to being alert once more. "Did you say a black cloak?"

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `

There was no point in waiting until the next day to visit Knockturn Alley. Both Draco and Harry were wide awake, and they had spent quite enough time waiting. After Draco came down from the tower they suited up, grabbed their belongings and apparated to Diagon Alley, which was quiet aside from a few pubs, which were still serving to boisterous customers. Harry looked through the lit glass of these establishments and envied the warm fire, hot meals and soothing alcohol they were enjoying inside. He thought of the few times when he had been away from work and managed to spend some time drinking at these places with Ron. Now he wished he had made more time for such simple pleasures.

They quietly turned down Knockturn Alley, a place that never seemed to sleep. There were muffled conversations from dark corners, and the pubs here were overflowing with visitors, but the warm aura of those in Diagon Alley was missing. These pubs had no cheerful laughter and boisterous music. Instead they were packed with seedy characters crouched over card games, glaring with hostility at the dark hooded figures who passed outside. There were WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE posters plastered to the filthy brick walls, and they reminded Harry of Sirius. However, instead of seeing the tortured screaming face of his Godfather, Harry saw himself staring back with a calm expression. He was unconscious when they put him behind bars, so all they had to use for his mug shot was the yearly photo taken for his auror profile. Draco's mug shot on the other hand was far more nasty looking. He snarled and sneered as he moved about the frame.

As they walked through Knockturn Alley Harry felt small glimpses of Riddle's memories overlapping with his own. He was able to control these however, and they helped guide him to the very obsolete alleyway that led to where they needed to go. They alleyway was so dark and narrow that even looking directly at it Harry could barely distinguish it from a shadow against the wall. He wondered if it was clocked by a concealment charm, and he decided this was more than likely the case. This place where they were headed clearly did not welcome strangers off the street.

Harry and Draco had to turn sideways to fit through the opening, and once inside Harry's shoulders still brushed against the walls as he walked. Luckily it wasn't a long walk before they were upon the black door with peeling paint (needless to say, the paint was far more peeled than it had been in Tom Riddle's distant memories). Harry and Draco exchanged a glance and then quickly opened the door, their stolen wands poised.

But there was nobody inside.

The door had been unlocked, and there was dim lantern lighting as there had been in the memory, but there were no patrons, no bartender. It was utterly empty. "There must be somebody around" Harry mumbled, looking for a back door, and no sooner had he said that when a panel next to the door popped open and an old man appeared. The man had a crooked spine, which made him look even shorter than he already was; he barely cleared the bar. His sparse white hair was in wild disarray, and he had the same look as many in Knockturn Alley-- unbathed and shifty.

His eyes could barely be seen behind an impressive set of massive white eyebrows, but there was a look of confusion in them. Still he said nothing, gesturing to the bar to offer them a drink. The two boys approached warily, and then took a seat. In the back of Harry's mind, he realized he was sitting in the same exact seat where Riddle had sat, and Malfoy was seated in Damon's spot.

"Firewhisky on the rocks" Draco drawled, not dropping his wand but laying it on the bar top where the little wizened old man could clearly see it.

"Same" Harry nodded.

The man quickly provided their drinks, and then began to retreat back behind the panel from where he had came in, but Draco stopped him with a quick word. "We need to ask you if you know anything about a man, a man who was here a long time ago. You look old enough to remember him."

The old man shook his head and attempted to turn away quickly, but Draco reached over the bar and grabbed his arm tightly, forcing him to swing back and face him. "Have some manners" Draco said snidely. "I haven't even told you his name."

Harry picked up from there. "His name was Damon. He looked to be about 30 years old, with pale, well-defined features. He had dark eyes, and somewhat curly auburn hair that fell just below his ears. He was here with a young man who I'm sure I won't have to describe. He was meeting with Tom Riddle."

The old man tried to struggle frantically in Draco's grip now, making muffled, indiscernible noises. He was short but squat, and he nearly broke loose, but it was Harry who grabbed him the second time, and he hauled the old man over the bar nearly effortlessly, throwing his body to the ground where he pinned him down.

Draco watched, fascinated as Harry did this in a single motion. Physicality had never really been part of Draco's repertoire but he saw it as quite effective as Harry loomed menacingly over the bartender. "I am not looking to hurt you, but I'm not here to play games" Harry warned, his tone calm but tense as the man continued to make garbled sounds.

Harry was about to speak again when he stopped suddenly and released the old man. "His tongue's been cut out" Harry said, his tone a mixture of exasperation and pity. He helped the man up then, but he backed quickly away from Harry when his hood fell down, revealing his scar quite prominently. "I told you I don't want to hurt you, I'm sorry. Can you write at all?" The man shook his head in a hurried NO and Harry nodded. "I'm sorry this was done to you. I cannot let you run off just yet, in case you call for help. Sit, drink if you like while we look around."

The old man looked surprised, and he nodded his understanding. Potter and his never ending saintliness Draco thought with disgust. A moment ago Potter had been flinging the old man around like a bag of flour, and now he was genuinely concerned. "Well, now we really have nothing to work with" Draco sighed. "Just another dead end."

"Not quite" Harry smiled slowly, walking to the back of the room. It was shadowy and he had barely seen it, but there hanging in the corner was a dusty old painting of a man who lay sleeping, a pint beside his head. They could hear the man snoring softly and Harry knocked promptly on the frame. "Wake up" he ordered. "I have a question to ask you."

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `

"I have a question to ask you Luna" Hermione said hurriedly after Luna had confirmed that a black cloak was involved. "Did your source mention if the spell was done without an incantation?"

"Yes, she did now that you mention it. She said that her neighbor had always been a quiet witch who stayed to herself and always spent nights in her flat. Which was why she was rather surprised when she saw her out on the street after midnight in an all black cloak. My source said that the woman didn't see her watching from her balcony above, and she levitated a large stone and grabbed something from beneath it, but she didn't use or a wand or say an incantation. Which is why my source thought at first it was an Invisible Sprillwink that had picked up the stone, but we all know those never go further south than London."

"Naturally" Ron responded, a bit of amusement in his otherwise troubled expression. "What do you think it all means Hermione?"

"Well, it could mean several things. Perhaps Luna's source had a bad vantage point and didn't see that the woman actually used a wand. There's also the possibility that the source is a total wacko and made the whole thing up. But there's a third possibility; perhaps Luna's source saw one of our attackers."

` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `

"Whaddyawant?" the drunken sleeping man in the picture slurred, waking from his snooze with a belligerent attitude.

"As I said, I need to ask you a question" Harry repeated.

"Nobody ever speaks to me no more" the drunk man lamented, picking back up the glass he had left idle on the bar table.

"Well today is your lucky day" Draco said, snidely joining the conversation.

"Oh yah, realll lucky being awoken from a pleasant dream of strippers and whores for a couple ugly blokes getting in my face."

"You can't dream..." Harry started, but Draco cut him off. He did not feel like getting into a long side tracked conversation about the feasibility of art having consciousness. Draco asked him about the mysterious Damon and his meeting with Tom Riddle.

"Ahhh, dredging up old secrets are we?" the main asked, raising his eyebrow and then nearly toppling off his stool and out of the picture frame. "Well, you're dumb and ugly blokes. Why would they put a picture of me in here if I could repeat secrets? They banked on me being fully inebriated, which I always am. Can't remember a thing."

"Well, if you say so then" Draco sighed, not believing him one bit. "Enjoy going back to your solitude. God knows when somebody will notice your shoddy little painting back here again. You know, I covered every painting back home to shut them up, but I noticed instead that they still whisper. They go mad in their loneliness. Imagine that! Pictures going mad, as if they have a brain. But let's go Potter, we'll find another way."

Not getting Draco's game, Harry was about to protest, but the painting spoke first. "Ah wait, wait! Maybe, if you gents could spare an hour to pull up a table and join me for a drink I could remember a bit of value."

"I had a feeling" Draco smiled slyly. "You're more clever than you let on."

"They try to keep us quiet here, me and the dumb old mutey. But unlike the mute, I am sharp" he said this with a hiccup. Harry and Draco obliged his request, dragging a table over into the corner and the bartender brought them a couple refills on their beverages. Apparently Harry's kindness had won him over.

"I recall young Tom Riddle well" the drunk man began. "There are many characters who come here for the privacy it offers. That's all this place is really... a room for dirty business to be conducted. I don't even know who owns it to be honest. Hundreds of years ago I hung in a much finer establishment than this... it was the great hall with massive pillars and ale flowed like a river..."

"Ahem" Harry coughed, bringing the drunk back to the topic.

"Yes, well anyways, where was I... oh, I've been hanging in the corner here for about two hundred years now. Can you imagine! I was just stuck up here in the corner like yesterday's news. Anyhow, I've seen many strange folks come and go, but few with such a dark presence as that young Tom Riddle. I could see it even back in those days. He was first invited here by a man who called himself Damon. He looked young, but he was hundreds of year old. I know because I have a good memory for faces, and I'd seen him once, long ago. Damon invited young Riddle here specifically because he had been following some business with horocruxes... whatever the hell that means.

Anyways, Riddle was initially suspicious of how Damon knew so much about him. He didn't like it one bit, and he drew his wand on him, but he was instantly disarmed! Never seen anything like it, the wand just flew from his hand and the Damon bloke, he just laughed. And that's how Riddle found out about Mental Channeling."

"Mental Channeling?" Draco and Harry repeated in unison.

"Yes, that's what Damon called it. He explained that it was very ancient magic, magic that was used before wands were invented. He didn't go into great detail as to how it works, but he told him that it requires great powers of mental concentration to channel magic so it can be used wordlessly and without wand. He said it was a magic that exceeded anything modern day wizards could do because it was raw and natural. Of course, Riddle was fascinated, and it wasn't long before he pledged his allegiance to Damon in exchange for being trained."

Harry heard Damon's words echo through his mind... I hope you are certain your supporters will wait loyally. Your return may take quite some time, and when you do return you will need to raise an army for the cause.

"Damon was trying to raise an army" Harry said slowly.

"Yes!" the drunk man shouted, almost exuberantly. "That part he did get into a bit more detail about. You see, he had recruited Riddle because he saw that he was incredibly ambitious, and Damon needed people like that. According to himself, he was training people across the world in Mental Channeling."

"Bloody hell, for what purpose?" Harry said, suddenly fearful to think that there could be witches and wizards worldwide with exceptional powers and dark plans.

"He felt that the wizard world had grown weak. He did not share Riddle's concern for blood purity, but he did feel that magic had lost much of its strength, and that wizards were somehow less than they had been in days of old. Mostly though, he was fixated on restoring a sense of order to the wizard world. As he said, every hundred years or so some insane dark wizard or witch would rise to power and everything got flung to chaos. And to be honest, being as old as I am, he was quite right. The faces change, but the plot doesn't; world domination, mass murder, fear and destruction. Damon sought to bring greater power back to the wizarding world, to organize it somehow."

"He wanted to control it like all the rest" Harry argued angrily.

"You say `wanted to' like it's in the past" Draco interjected. "But it's clear to me that the plot is still in motion. Wordless, wandless, untraceable magic was used to kill my parents, and is being used to kill any Death Eaters whom Voldemort was stupid enough to share his knowledge with. They are rising up; they are looking to take power and start `organizing'. And it starts with cleaning out anyone who may have the knowledge to oppose them."

Harry tried to grasp this in his mind. If everything Draco was saying was true, there was a power out there that was greater than anything he had ever heard of, just lurking and waiting to rise for at least decades, but possibly centuries if the painting was right and Damon really was hundreds of years old.

It seemed insane, it seemed unreal... how could something so vast escape the attention of those like Albus Dumbledore, or the aurors for that matter? But it had been clearly kept a close secret. They had recruited only those who had the ambition and ability to raise their own rings, and each society was secret and loyal. Even the source of their magic, this "Mental Channeling" had been kept out of the books and away from common knowledge. And they would kill to keep it that way.

"They have been hunting down every Death Eater that ever knew Tom Riddle before he became Voldemort" Harry said slowly. "That's why they needed Hermione to unseal the records... there were still a few loose ends to tie up. They don't want any memories to exist of their power, even if it was just a whisper."

"Exactly, so when they come to power, they will be able overthrow the rest of the wizarding world with very little struggle" Draco responded. Both men had ignored the drunken painting now, and were brooding into their nearly empty cups, trying to grasp the implications of this discovery. "But why have they waited so long? If Tom Riddle was trained, and he had the Death Eaters at his ready, we can presume there were many other factions around the globe equally prepared to rise up."

Harry let this sink in before it called back another memory he had received from Voldemort's memories. The very last coherent memory before it all went berserk again... he had seen the Death Eaters through the eyes of not Tom Riddle, but Voldemort. Time had passed and he felt rush of power and the urge for violence but something else, something strange and almost out of place. "Disappointment" Harry nearly whispered. "Tom Riddle left a young man, prepared to learn the greatest magic of all time, but he returned Voldemort; a twisted monster who had grown in power but never mastered wandless magic. Voldemort never learned Mental Channeling, something went wrong."

"And I bet whatever went wrong, he wasn't willing to be so loyal to Damon... if he ever was. I'll bet Voldemort decided he would create his own uprising right here in jolly old Britain."

"Which is what slowed the whole thing down!" Harry added quickly. For the first time in what felt like ages, the shadowy pieces of a confusing puzzle were coming together to make a picture. Tom Riddle was recruited by Damon, who represented a network of powerful wizards and witches looking to seize control and reform the world of magic. Riddle was promised great power, but somewhere along the line his lessons failed, and he defected. Still, he grew in power and in his egotistical mind he decided he didn't need Damon or anyone else; he could rule it all alone. But in his rise to glory, he got in the way of Damon's quest.

"Damon was already old and wise, he could wait. They had been waiting for who knows how long, what was a few more decades?" Draco said as though reading Harry's thoughts. "He saw Riddle turn into Voldemort and lose whatever shades of sanity he had left. And Damon knew that it would waste resources to fight him. Even after Voldemort was defeated the first time, he still waited patiently."

"Waited until all the horocruxes were gone" Harry agreed. "Then erased all evidence of any role he played in Voldemort's early days. Which means... they are planning to initiate the uprising soon." Harry paled. Through this all, he had expected that at worst they were dealing with an unusually cunning vigilante mad man. He could never have predicted a conspiracy that went to this depth, with magic that far exceeded his understanding. This went way over his head, and having Draco Malfoy as his only ally in sorting it out was a dreadfully frightening realization. "They are rising up to take over... everything" he gasped, and then it hit him. If their first order of business was to exterminate all the Death Eaters from the early days, if it was their prerogative to erase all of the breadcrumbs that Harry and Draco had been chasing, there was only one person coming between them and their goal.

"Hermione" he choked, and before Draco could react Harry had disapparated.

Harry arrived in the middle of a field that should have been right outside of where the Burrow stood. Although it was now past midnight, he didn't need light to smell the charred wood in the air, and the stars provided just enough glow for him to see that Burrow had been burned to the ground.

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