Minister For Magic Cornelius Fudge slowly drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, his face as expressionless as he could make it as he fought to control his racing heartbeat.

   Finally, he spun his chair and met Rufus Scrimgeour’s eyes. “Why was I not informed regarding this mission?”

   “Begging your pardon, Minister, but I did inform you of our extraction,” Scrimgeour replied coolly, gesturing towards an official-looking document on the Minister’s desk.

   “You informed me you were withdrawing certain prisoners from Azkaban,” Fudge growled, “and that you were transferring them to the Minister for parole discussions – you said nothing of the potential that the fortress could be destroyed!”

   “In all due fairness, Minister, if you had desired further information, you could have placed a further inquiry,” Scrimgeour replied, in an insufferably calm voice that made Fudge’s blood boil. He’s after my position, I can smell that smugness, that hunger for my power –

   “How did you find out about the attack in the first place?”

   “Hit Wizard Reed Larshall received a tip that parties with dangerous magic would be making a move for the fortress,” Scrimgeour replied after a few seconds. “So, after equipping him with a necessary failsafe in case of... complications, we got our prisoners – the ones valuable to the Ministry – out of Azkaban and transferred them to containment cells here.”

   “And since Mr. Larshall is unaccounted for and presumed dead, we don’t have identification for the tip?” Fudge snapped, his temper rising as his fingers drummed faster and faster.

   “With all due respect, Minister, it is a very good thing we got that tip – without it, every single prisoner in Azkaban would be freed, and the fortress would be in the possession of an enemy.” Scrimgeour stood and placed the stack of files in his hands on the desk. “These are the preliminary debriefings from the two team members that survived, plus a statement from Hit Wizard Dmitri Kemester.”

   Fudge knew the last name, and his eyes narrowed. “Umbridge mentioned the man – she told me he was mentally unstable, a danger to the Ministry –”

  “That is her opinion, and it has no legal weight,” Scrimgeour said, his voice abruptly dropping an octave as he fixed Fudge with a threatening stare. “Your Undersecretary has a lot to answer for, Minister – if she took pre-emptive action and sent him to Azkaban, she violated Wizengamot accords that afford Dmitri Kemester the rights to a fair trial. And from what I’ve read of his statement, if he had been allowed to complete his mission and had stopped your planned announcement the day the Ministry attacked, we wouldn’t have the testy situation we have with the goblins right now. Or at least it would be better controlled.”

   “Careful, Scrimgeour,” Fudge said warily, rising to his feet, “I don’t like your tone.”

   “And you shouldn’t,” Scrimgeour growled, “because between me and Amelia, we have to write about a hundred letters to the families of all the Hit Wizards and Aurors that died in Azkaban last night. And after that, I need to go and start training – I get the feeling we’re going to need a lot more people in my Department in the next few months.”

   And with that, Scrimgeour spun on his heel and stormed out of Fudge’s office, slamming the door behind him. The Minister huffed with disgust as he sat back down and flipped open the folders, beginning to read –

   “You don’t seem to be taking this as seriously as Scrimgeour would appreciate.”

   Fudge nearly jumped in his chair, and he glared up at the man who had seemingly stepped out of nowhere, an unreadable expression on his face. “For Merlin’s sake, Cassane, you have to make an –”

   “What, an appointment?” Nathan Cassane said lightly, and for his credit not sneering as he pulled his hands from the pockets of his brown overcoat. “So you can get to me when your time is right, Fudge? I don’t think that’ll work right now – the press is going to get wind of this, and they’re going to want answers on how an unknown strike force massacred your guards and seized control of Azkaban before the fortress was destroyed. Minister, do you have those answers?”

   Fudge shot to his feet. “I do not need you to tell me how to run my government, Cassane!”

   “Then tell me, Minister, what I should say to the International Confederation of Wizards and the press,” Cassane retorted, sitting down opposite Fudge and fixing him with a steely glare. “Because, as of right now, I don’t have a statement. I don’t have enough information. I have suspicions, but the world doesn’t want to hear my hypotheses – particularly if they don’t line up with yours.”

   “Cassane, what do you want?”

   “I want answers,” Cassane snapped. “Furthermore, I want your answers. I want to know who attacked Azkaban, I want to know why the fortress fell so quickly, and more importantly, I want to know why a hundred good witches and wizards died –”

   “What do you want me to say, Cassane?” Fudge snarled, his temper finally breaking. “That I didn’t see this coming, that I wasn’t adequately prepared, that I didn’t do enough to protect the guards? Any one of my answers to those questions will end my career, and with no Minister, what’s to stop the goblins from making another move –”

   “Cornelius, this is why I’m here,” Cassane said forcefully, rising to his feet and putting a hand on the Minister’s shaking shoulder. “I’m here to make sure we have answers that match, something that can work until we know more. Besides, cooperation with me will undoubtedly make the inquiry into the affairs of your office a lot easier –”

   “For the last time, I’m not firing Dolores Umbridge,” Fudge began heatedly.

   “Oh, we’re far past that,” Cassane said with a grim chuckle, doffing his hat and running a hand through his silver hair, rendering it even more untidy. “No, I want her arrested.”

   “Cassane –”

    “Fine, you can find a way to get her off on a lighter offense with a bloody fine, if you need her so much,” Cassane said exasperatedly, “but I want evidence on record. Hopefully, for her sake, she has paperwork specifying the conditions of Kemester’s incarceration – might save her jail time.”

   “Dolores likely has all of her paperwork in order,” Fudge said stiffly.

   “I hope so, for your sake. Now, I’ve already read through the debriefing papers, but we’re going to need more to present to the press – according to Shacklebolt’s statement, there were a significant number of werewolves on the island, and all of the prisoners were somehow freed – and they had their wands. We’re talking about extremely powerful magic here, Minister – somebody very dangerous.”

   “Sirius Black,” Fudge said suddenly. “He could easily be behind this, he escaped from Azkaban before –”

   But Cassane was shaking his head. “Black is very powerful, but he has no definitive sway with the nastier elements of the werewolves. And before you even say it, Dumbledore wouldn’t dare involve himself in this – remember, he was responsible for putting some of those people in that prison, and both of us know wherever he is, he has not taken leave of his senses enough to free the monsters of Azkaban and ally with werewolves.”

   “He’s a possibility we can’t rule out,” Fudge said hotly, “and it would make sense too – he could have spent the last two months in hiding, building his forces before moving on Azkaban –”

   “I refuse to support that statement,” Cassane said flatly, his icy tone brooking no argument.

   “Fine... and that means we have nothing. Although...” Fudge tapped his chin thoughtfully. “It could have been an inside job. A traitor...”

   “The only traitor that would have that sort of power would be...” Cassane’s voice trailed off as he arrived at Fudge’s conclusion. “Fudge, no.”

   “It makes sense, Cassane! Admit it, no reasonable man chooses to voluntarily accept the Warden position straight out of the Ministry,” Fudge argued. “Maybe he lost control –”

   “Nathaniel Charon was a good man,” Cassane said quietly, but his voice was filled with contained anger. “I served with him in the First War, he was a good man, and he would never –”

   “Maybe he cracked at Azkaban – the presence of the Dementors –”

   “Is not a good enough reason to blame a decorated Hit Wizard –”

   “Then maybe it was a plan!” Fudge’s eyes lit up. “Perhaps that was it! He utilized the Spire’s magic, freed the prisoners, contacted the werewolves, and then informed the Ministry, knowing this was his one opportunity to destroy all the Death Eaters in one fell swoop, just like he tried to do years ago!”

   Cassane paused, before speaking. “And what about the guards?”

   “Perhaps that is why he vanished,” Fudge replied thoughtfully, rising to his feet and moving behind his chair to look out his magical window at the murky clouds outside. “Out of guilt, he died with his men, or when the failsafe destroyed the fortress.”

   “The man had a better sense of honour than that –”

   “So he was under the Imperius Curse, then!” Fudge snapped, his patience running out as he turned around to glare at Cassane. “Damn it, Cassane, do you have a better explanation for this? It makes sense, and the public will accept the answer! Fortunately for us, Charon has no family – none of them will mind the statement.”

   Cassane didn’t speak for a long few seconds, and did not meet Fudge’s eyes, instead running his hand along the brim of his hat.

   “Fudge, while everyone else might believe that load that besmirches the name of a good man,” Cassane finally said quietly, looking up, his glinting brown eyes filled with disgust, “I won’t. And frankly, you and I both know there is a more logical explanation.”

   “And that is?”

   “That Dumbledore was right all along,” Cassane said in a grim voice. “That Lord Voldemort has indeed returned, and has chosen to seize Azkaban and free his servants.”

   Fudge’s eyes flashed as he winced at the name. “That’s insane and you know it – there’s no definitive proof He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned –”

   “It makes a hell of a lot more sense than Charon doing it,” Cassane said, his voice deathly quiet.

   “I thought you were a good enough politician by now to realize, Cassane, that without definitive proof that he has returned, people aren’t going to believe – I mean, nobody believed Dumbledore, that’s why he lost his positions –”

   “Fudge, you were behind that,” Cassane said, his voice unwavering, “so please don’t insult my intelligence.”

   “Then don’t insult mine!” Fudge hissed, rounding on Cassane, his heart pounding and blood rushing to his face. “It would mean the end of my career here if You-Know-Who was found to be back since last June – and that means more than relying on the word of Harry Potter! Whose side are you on, Cassane –”

   “This isn’t about sides, Fudge, it’s about facts.”

   “And right now, you don’t have any, just hearsay and extrapolations, the same thing you’re basing your damned inquiry into the Ministry on –”

    “Then what if I could get evidence one way or another?” Cassane snarled, rising to his feet and striding up to Fudge. “Definitive proof, incontrovertible?”

    Fudge raised his hands as he stepped around Cassane. “I’d love to see it.”

   “Then I’ll need some things from the Ministry,” Cassane said steadily. “Namely free access to the Department of Mysteries. Give me that and I’ll go along with your story – until I can find proof that proves or disproves Voldemort’s presence.”

   Fudge frowned as he moved towards his fireplace, pulling down a small silver pot. “Why the Department of Mysteries? And would you please stop saying that name?”

   “Between my library and extensive collection of artifacts, and the Department’s equipment, I may be able to create something to detect Lord Voldemort, and produce physical evidence that he is alive,” Cassane said steadily, blatantly ignoring Fudge’s wince. “It’ll be experimental – likely very risky, but right now, I’ll take anything.”

   Fudge hesitated – the Unspeakables didn’t like interference, and if Cassane did find something, it would only mean disaster –

   “Fudge, if it helps you make a decision, most of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement already believe that Lord Voldemort is alive and active,” Cassane said curtly, crossing his arms across his chest. “Although they’d refuse to admit it. Suffice to say, wouldn’t you prefer that Scrimgeour wasn’t the one to prove Voldemort is indeed back?”

   “Fine, the Department is open to you!” Fudge snapped with exasperation, unwilling to admit in the pit of his gut, Cassane had a point regarding Scrimgeour. “Just be discreet – I don’t want this getting out.” He tossed a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace, and immediately the fire roared green.

   “And where are you going?”

   “Muggle Prime Minister’s office,” Fudge said tightly. “And I’m fairly certain it’s not going to go well.”

*          *          *

   “I thought you’d be at the Ministry,” Tonks began slowly, sliding up onto the bar stool next to the cloaked man.

   “I caught a free moment,” the man replied curtly, his voice slightly muffled by his hood as he raised a glass of goblin rye and touched it to his scarred lips. “They’re releasing me to St. Mungo’s tomorrow, though, so I figured I’d make the most of my last night off.”

   “And you’re going willingly?” the ruby-haired Metamorphmagus asked quietly as Tom slid a glass of goblin rye across the bar. She snagged it easily. “Doesn’t sound like the Hit Wizard I grew to despise.”

   “Well, shit happens,” Dmitri Kemester snapped, finishing the rest of his drink and slamming the glass down on the creaking bar, hard. Tom threw him a disapproving look, but at the drop of a few Sickles, slid another tumbler of rye across the bar. “Surprised you’re here, though – thought you’d be with your little friend that joined in on our bout in Azkaban.”

   “She had other things to do,” Tonks replied shortly, sniffing her rye for a few seconds before taking a heavy swig.

   “What, report to Dumbledore, like the rest of your ‘Order of the Phoenix’ posse?” Kemester spat, turning to glare at her, burned skin crinkling around his eyes as he glowered. “How is it that only ‘Order’ members – and myself – got out of Azkaban alive –”

   “Dumbledore’s gone, Kemester,” Tonks growled, lowering her voice as her hair went a sodden azure. “Vanished completely, nobody knows where he is. Hell, why do you think Scrimgeour was so on edge when we were getting debriefed, he knows there’s no counterbalance anymore against whatever Fudge wants! He says one thing, he’s out of a job, and the last thing we need right now is unemployed Aurors or Hit Wizards, particularly ones with any skill.”

   Kemester snorted. “Fudge isn’t that stupid.”

   Tonks cocked an eyebrow. “You buy that, even with Scrimgeour in prime position to take Fudge’s job?”

   Kemester paused for a few seconds, listening to the surrounding din of the bar, and then gave a disgusted sigh. “I see your point.”

   “Thought so.”

   “And to think I spent two months in Azkaban in an attempt to save Fudge’s life,” Kemester said sourly, sticking a misshapen finger into his glass and toying with the edge of the strong liquor.

   “You were trying to save your own hide too, Kemester, don’t even lie,” Tonks said tiredly. “You gave Lucius Malfoy what he needed, and in return, he triggered his ‘new bank’ experiment, and when he screwed up, you were trying to cover your trail and protect the Minister from the screw-up. Shame Umbridge thought you were a dangerously unstable force – wonder where on earth she would have gotten that idea.”

   Kemester scowled. “You figured it all out –”

   “And to think, that if you had succeeded, the bombing in the Ministry would have killed a lot more Aurors and Hit Wizards than if they had been patrolling in Diagon Alley.” Tonks shook her head. “I was there, that attack was property destruction, only a few injuries – people actually died when the Ministry was gutted.”

   “And who, I reckon, was behind that?” Kemester asked with a snort.

   Tonks shifted in her chair, her expression emotionless. “Investigation isn’t coming up with leads – well, at least no leads that anybody at the Ministry can prosecute.”

   There was another loud clank – Kemester had drained another glass. “So you believe it too?”

   “With the evidence,” Tonks said slowly, “it’s hard not to.”

   “I tried beating the information out of Snape and got nowhere, and Malfoy was smart enough not to leak anything, but it makes sense,” Kemester muttered morosely. “Bloody wonderful. And I’m going to spend the time ‘convalescing’ in St. Mungo’s – a prime target.”

   “Umbridge won’t be able to touch you –”

   “If she got to that bastard Sanders, she can get to anyone,” Kemester growled. “And... and with Reed gone...”

   His voice trailed off, and he stared into his glass. “You ever lose a partner, Tonks?”

   “Aurors don’t usually get partners, the same way Hit Wizards do,” Tonks said quietly.

   “Reed... he went out like a fucking hero... and he did it to save me, what the hell does that say? That I’m worth saving, that my life has more value, next to his?” Kemester said bitterly. “Look at me, I’m a disgraced Hit Wizard everyone thinks is mental, what value is there? Was I such a great partner, in the end?”

   Tonks looked away – she hadn’t been expecting this sort of emotion, this sort of pain from Kemester, a man who had done his best to make hers and Harry’s lives hell. Maybe he has a soul after all. “He did it to save us –”

   “He threw the boot to save me,” Kemester spat, “knowing that I couldn’t walk with a broken leg – and knowing that he couldn’t make it out. He bit the curse for me – and what did I do to earn that?”

   “You don’t have to earn that –”

   “Then why don’t you just explain to me why everyone that was close to me dies?” Kemester snarled. “First my mother, then Bartholomew, and now Reed – and what have I been able to do, Tonks?”

   Tonks looked at the man’s horrifically scarred face for a long few seconds, biting back revulsion. But then she turned away and sighed. “Sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

   “What?”

   “You don’t want my anger and you certainly don’t want my pity,” Tonks said with a scowl. “No, you want an excuse to die, and right now, I’m not giving that to you – I’ll let your guilt keep you alive.”

   From the expression on Kemester’s face, Tonks guessed he was speechless – he clearly hadn’t been expecting that reaction, but right now, Tonks didn’t really care. A lack of sleep was doing nothing for her patience and less for her temper, and right now, she didn’t care an ounce about Kemester.

   “But just so you know,” she continued, oblivious to Kemester opening his mouth to speak, “we did manage to get your father out before Azkaban was destroyed.”

   Kemester turned away instantly. “I have no desire to talk to a traitor.”

   Tonks shrugged – it had been worth a shot. “Fine, that was my reason for coming here, so I guess –”

   “No it wasn’t.”

   “Excuse me?”

   For the first time that evening, Kemester smiled. It was a bitter, caustic grin, but it was a grin nonetheless. “I’m not a stupid man, Tonks, and while Azkaban didn’t help my looks or my mind, I haven’t forgotten anything important. You’re here because I know you impersonated an attorney who went along with Potter’s lawyer.”

   “And I know you kidnapped Harry Potter and proceeded to beat him to a bloody pulp in an interrogation room, so we’re even,” Tonks replied curtly, keeping her voice quiet.

   “For which he nearly killed me at Hogwarts,” Kemester retorted, “so my score with him remains open. But with the view of the public of Harry Potter – no, your crime has made you powerful enemies, and if it is found that you have any ties to the goblins as well...”

   Tonks carefully kept her expression blank, even as her mind exploded with panic. How the bloody hell would he know about Harry’s negotiations between the goblins and that Delacour girl? I can’t let on that I know...

   “We both have committed crimes to achieve our ends,” she said coolly. “You reveal, I reveal.”

   “And vice-versa,” Kemester agreed softly, “but the crimes you committed are more severe, and would make you some very powerful enemies – and I have nothing left to lose, Tonks.”

   She gritted her teeth as her hair went grey white for a few seconds before darkening immediately. “So what do you want?”

   Kemester beckoned for her to come closer, and against all instincts, Tonks moved in. Much to her surprise, despite the horrid injuries, it smelt like Kemester had actually taken a shower between the mind-numbing debriefing and coming to the Leaky Cauldron.

   “There is a leak in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” Kemester whispered, his raspy voice hot against her ears. “A big one – files have been raided, pieces are missing. If it is indeed true that You-Know-Who has returned, I suspect information is being passed to him.”

   “I already silenced an agent of Volde-”

   “This has been since the beginning, Tonks,” Kemester hissed. “Since the... since the encounter with the Muggle aeroplane, or at the very least the Gringotts bombing in August. Confidential information is getting out of files – Hit Wizard files.”

   Tonks paused – she hadn’t expected that. Sirius hadn’t mentioned a Hit Wizard agent when Voldemort had him possessed... “Do you think it’s a Hit Wizard?”

   “Possibly,” Kemester whispered. “Hell, it could have been Sanders, he was obviously under Imperius –”

   “But somebody would have had to put him under Imperius,” Tonks finished, following Kemester’s logic. “Do you have clues?”

   “I have an entire folder of information back in my desk – use that. I can’t do anything, considering after my... convalescence in St. Mungo’s, I doubt Bones will put me on any assignment besides a desk or training. But be circumspect.” Kemester lowered his voice. “If word got out an Auror was investigating a Hit Wizard on my request –”

   “Why me, then?”

   Kemester gave a disgusted snort and turned back to his refilled drink, which he took a long swig of, nearly draining the glass. “Because Reed is dead and you’re close to Potter – don’t give me that look, I’m not stupid! But that also means,” he added with another snort, “that you’re the only one I can trust with this.”

   Tonks gave the Hit Wizard an incredulous look – she could hardly believe what she was hearing, and the sheer ludicrousness of it all nearly brought a laugh to her throat. “You’re joking.”

   “I wish I was. And one more thing – most of this information is tied to the investigation of Sirius Black, which is something everyone has a vested interest in, so you’ll want to be cautious.”

   “Fine,” Tonks said with a scowl, sliding away and tossing a handful of silver on the counter. “I need to get back to the Ministry – don’t do anything stupid, Hit Wizard.”

   “One thing.”

   “What?”

   “You said you silenced one of his agents,” Kemester said in a low voice, and despite herself, Tonks stepped closer. It’s probably better not to be overheard anyways... “Who?”

   Tonks looked down for a few seconds, clenching her fist before she met Kemester’s eyes. “Wilson, Rogan Wilson. He was an Auror, and a Death Eater. He died at Azkaban.”

   Kemester blinked. “Really? How?”

   “I assume the fire killed him,” Tonks replied emotionlessly, her hair going matte black. “Either that or the blood loss.” She shrugged. “Or the wand shards driven through his penis and testicles, I really can’t be sure.”

   Kemester recoiled, wincing with imagined pain. “How did that happen?”

   Tonks’ eyes went bright green and her expression hardened. “What do you think?”

   And with that, she stormed out, forcing her hair back to bubblegum pink and her eyes purple as she fought against the seething pit of rage in her gut, very much aware that Kemester was watching her leave with a wary expression on his face.

*          *          *

   Harry slumped into the chair in Aberforth’s tiny kitchen and stared in disbelief at Sirius. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

   “I wish I was kidding,” Sirius replied with a disgusted snort, dropping into his own chair and leaning heavily on the table. “He fell asleep on the ride over – and he hasn’t woken up since. And from what I’ve seen... Harry, I don’t know –”

   “So you’re telling me that he’s... what, fallen into a coma?” Harry asked incredulously, raking a hand through his hair. “All that work, and now we can’t even get anything out of him?”

   “We knew he was sick when we pulled him out of Azkaban,” Sirius said tiredly, rubbing his eyes – neither of them had managed to get more than a few hours of sleep, the bloody memories were still too fresh. “From the look of him, it’s magical consumption – and judging the pretty shoddy medical care in Azkaban, it’s probably been untreated for years. At this advanced stage, we’re lucky the man’s still alive.”

   “Fantastic,” Harry muttered, slouching deeper into his chair, wishing that he could just close his eyes, get a few hours of sleep, maybe next to Tonks if he was lucky, instead of falling into a nightmare that woke him in a cold sweat. “Just fantastic.”

   Sirius sighed. “Look, Cassane’s on his way – hopefully, he’ll be able to help us. From the owl he sent me, he’s been dealing with the International Confederation of Wizards all day, I’m sure he’d want a break from all that... by the way, where did you hide your simulacrum?”

   “Both are hidden in whatever’s left of the Shrieking Shack,” Harry replied heavily. “Nobody goes there, so I think they’ll be safe... shit, Sirius, we’re lucky to be alive –”

   Suddenly, there was a rattle of hurried footsteps on the stairs. Harry and Sirius scrambled for their wands –

   “Relax, it’s just me,” Nathan Cassane said wearily, shutting the door behind him, and pulling off his hat to reveal a surprisingly dishevelled appearance.

   “Like hell it is,” Sirius growled, not lowering his wand an inch. “What did Harry –”

   “He slept with Nymphadora Tonks two nights ago, are you happy?” Cassane interrupted tiredly, hanging his cloak on the hook. “Now budge over, I want to see the judge.”

   Sirius dropped his wand and stepped to the side, allowing Cassane to enter the tiny guest bedroom where Harry and Tonks had slept together and where Claudius Kemester was now lying comatose.

   Cassane drew his wand and muttered a few words. Harry’s heart leapt into his chest when he saw both the old man in the bed and the tip of Cassane’s wand glow golden, but then the glow faded, and Cassane sighed.

   “It’s consumption,” he whispered. “Damn.”

   “You can’t do anything –”

   “If I could, I would have saved Charlus years ago,” Cassane replied, closing the door to the guest room and moving to one of the few empty chairs in the tiny room. “But there is good news – I’m certain he’ll wake. The Kemesters have a frightening tenacity.”

   Harry thought of the grotesquely twisted Dmitri Kemester and couldn’t resist a shudder. “I guess you could say that. Not sure it’s a good thing.”

   “Right now, the son is out of the picture,” Cassane said calmly, wordlessly Summoning the scotch bottle to his hand along with a few glasses. “After an internment at St. Mungo’s that he should have had months ago for a mental evaluation, Bones has decided to put him in charge of training, where hopefully the Ministry can begin to rebuild their forces. We all lost a lot of people at Azkaban.”

   “So did Voldemort, I saw that explosion,” Sirius pointed out.

   But Cassane was shaking his head, uncorking the bottle and generously pouring himself a glass of scotch. “We don’t know, Sirius. We just don’t know. Right now, I’ve been negotiating with the Minister and the International Confederation, trying to get a coherent story straight for the wizarding public that will hold up under scrutiny, and somehow the Prophet got word something’s up, so they’ve been clawing for whatever scraps of information they can find. Scotch, Sirius?”

   “Thank you,” Sirius replied, accepting the glass and swirling the liquid within it gently. “So what now, then?”

   “If we could have incontrovertible proof Voldemort is indeed alive and active,” Cassane said with a snort, “all of our lives would be a lot easier. Even Fudge is beginning to see that. And right now I’d settle for some proof that Dumbledore is around too.”

  Harry let out a long slow breath. “Well, right now I need whatever information Kemester Senior might have – those attacks at Hogwarts could still be happening, and if... and if those simulamancy visions –”

   “More glimpses,” Cassane muttered, “as visions imply an element of stable fact.”

   “Whatever – if I have another one of those, I might be able to find whoever’s behind the attacks, and how to stop them,” Harry finished impatiently. “And that’ll be one more problem off my list. But to do this, I need money, and the Potter Vaults –”

   “And with the judge out of commission, you really only have one option left,” Cassane said coolly. “The option I suggested in the beginning.”

   “Snape,” Sirius growled. “You know, I didn’t see old Snivellus at Azkaban.”

   Harry frowned – Sirius was right, they hadn’t seen Snape. “That’s a little strange – I got the impression that Voldemort threw everything he had at Azkaban – so where was he?”

   “It’s possible he’s dead,” Sirius said, unable to keep a note of vicious hope out of his voice.

   “Not Snape,” Cassane said emphatically. “We would have found the body if Voldemort was looking to make an example of him. No, I suspect he’s lying low, likely in hiding. I can check my old records, see if I can find any evidence of where Snape used to hide in his Death Eater days, I know I should still have those on file...”

   Harry glanced at Sirius. “Yeah, Nathan, I wanted to ask you about that.”

   “What, about Snape?” Cassane asked, taking a sip of his scotch.

   “Not exactly,” Harry said, carefully weighing every word. “I... I don’t know how to approach this –”

   Sirius was staring at Harry curiously, but Cassane simply downed the rest of his scotch, almost disinterested in Harry. Strange, Harry thought to himself, I thought he would have appeared more interested...

   “Harry, what?”

   “You have files on Snape,” Harry finally began, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Do you have files on Antonin Dolohov as well?”

   The glass slipped from Cassane’s hand, and shattered on the floor. A hasty Reparo form Sirius’ wand reconstructed it, but Cassane paid it no attention, his brown eyes fixed on Harry.

   “Why do you ask, Harry?”

   “Look, I remember that photograph you showed me,” Harry began quickly, “and I remember you telling me that he was originally on your team – I saw him in Azkaban, he said something... that the Aurors had no honour as long as you walked free...”

   A bemused expression crossed Cassane’s face. “That’s a strange thing to say, I was never directly affiliated with the Aurors, and neither was my team. And if I remember correctly, neither was Dolohov. A professional Quidditch player and an excellent duellist, but never an Auror.”

   “Okay, fine, but Dolohov definitely meant something when he said that,” Harry continued doggedly. “He wasn’t mad – not like Bellatrix was –”

   “You encountered Bellatrix Lestrange?” Cassane asked interestedly.

   “Long story, I’ll tell you later,” Sirius interjected, taking a swig of his scotch. “Go on, Harry.”

   “I don’t know,” Harry admitted after a few seconds. “It just seemed like Dolohov was trying to say something that actually meant something, if that makes any sense. Maybe... maybe he was blaming the Aurors for the death of his wife, I dunno – hey, wasn’t she on your team too?”

   Cassane’s expression was very sombre. “Yes, Regina was on the team.”

   “Do you have records, maybe indicating how she died?” Harry pursued eagerly.

   “Harry, what are you getting at?” Sirius asked with a frown.

   “I’m just trying to make sense of everything!” Harry retorted. “Dolohov mentions Cassane by name, and Kemester Senior mentioned a cover-up when we found him – there’s something going on, and if Cassane has records I can see –”

   “They’ll be woefully incomplete, I’m afraid,” Cassane said quietly, rising to his feet.

   Both Sirius and Harry looked up at Cassane, startled.

   “What?” Harry asked incredulously. “What do you mean, incomplete?”

   “Regina Dolohov died about the same time... about the same time my Cassandra passed away,” Cassane whispered, looking away into the tiny smouldering fireplace. “And after she and my daughter were killed... it’s hazy, Harry. Great gaps missing – everything’s in pieces, nothing directly correlates. The clearest memories I have after Cassandra’s death are nearly a year later, waking up in a St. Mungo’s hospital bed with Dumbledore sitting next to me, telling me I’ve had a traumatic nervous breakdown that rendered me comatose for a long time... I’m sorry, Harry, but I can’t remember the details of Regina’s death.”

   “They’d be on file,” Sirius argued.

   “I doubt it,” Cassane replied with a snort. “Most of the events that occurred in those years were never properly documented – the Ministry was in such disarray, besieged on all sides by Voldemort and the Death Eaters, the bureaucracy couldn’t keep up – particularly regarding events they’d rather forget.”

   But an idea was creeping into Harry’s mind. “Hang on a second,” he began slowly. “I think I’m asking the wrong person – Sirius, what do you remember? You were on the team with the Dolohovs too!”

   Sirius frowned. “I know I was...” He ran his hand through his long, tangled hair and his frown grew deeper. “But it’s mighty strange, I can hardly remember much of it. Azkaban did a number of my memories, let me tell you –”

   “No, it’s the Memory Charm,” Cassane said quietly.

   Sirius surged to his feet. “What?”

   “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Sirius, you agreed to it!” Cassane snapped, giving Sirius a glare. “Harry, just for clarification, in the contracts of every member on my team, there was a special clause indicating if they ever left the team, for confidentiality reasons, they would agree to a Memory Charm regarding their missions. So I suspect, when the team disbanded in February 1980 – from what I’ve been told, I can’t actually remember how the group broke apart, and by the time I regained my senses and was out of St. Mungo’s, Voldemort was gone – the contract was activated. It was to protect them, I might add,” he continued, raising his eyebrows at a mutinous Sirius.

   “Why? From who?”

   “From the lawyers of the Death Eaters, for one,” Cassane said with disgust, sitting back down and opening the scotch bottle again. “The ones that did get a trial often had the best lawyers money can buy – most provided by Parkinson & Baddock, one of the most powerful and prestigious legal firms in the country – and they did everything they could to slander those who brought in the Death Eaters. This was simply a partial way around their maneuvering, to protect my former employees, give them some plausible deniability.”

   “Fat lot it did me,” Sirius muttered.

   “Sirius, if I had been coherent and in possession of my full faculties, you would have gotten a trial,” Cassane retorted. “You know that.”  

   But Harry wasn’t daunted. “But Memory Charms can be broken – Voldemort said so himself in the graveyard last year –”

   “Not if you want the person’s mind intact,” Sirius said with a shiver.

   “Sirius is unfortunately correct,” Cassane said, picking up his glass and filling it again. “There’s a very good reason that Obliviators are extremely well-trained – once you place a Memory Charm on a person, breaking it is a very dangerous endeavour, and placing the charm on the wrong person or at the wrong time can have disastrous consequences, simply because the removal of such a charm is so difficult.”

   “We can try,” Harry insisted doggedly.

   “No, we’re not,” Sirius retorted, glaring at Harry. “This is my sanity we’re talking about, Harry, and I’m not willing to risk it like this, regardless of how good Cassane is.”

   “Even still, Harry, if you’re looking for the truth... have you had a chance to view the memories I gave you?” Cassane asked suddenly.

    Harry shifted in his seat. “In all fairness, I haven’t had access to my Pensieve. Do we have one here?”

   Sirius rolled his eyes. “I wish – I would have been able to sleep tonight if we did. Didn’t you say that you had one at Hogwarts?”

   “I do, but we don’t know how safe it is to go back there,” Harry said, shifting in his seat as he looked at Cassane. “With the temporal shift and the ghosts... that reminds me, did you talk to Bode?”

   Cassane finally cracked a smile. “Better.” Reaching into his jacket, he pulled from his pocket two impressively long metal rods – rods that couldn’t have possibly come from the inside pocket of his jacket –

   “Undetectable Extension Charm, Harry,” Cassane explained, handing the rods to a shocked Harry with a hint of a smile. “Very useful in times like these. In any case, these rods are classic ghost-removal equipment, tweaked slightly to operate within Hogwarts. The first,” he continued, point to the three-tined rod that strongly resembled a trident, “is an Ectoplasmic Harpoon. Hit a ghost with it, and it can’t move from the tips unless you release it.”

   “Will it work if I hit a person being possessed?” Harry asked, taking a hold of the chill, unadorned steel bar and testing its weight gingerly.

   “It should, Bode designed it that way. Now, the other rod you have there is an Ectoplasmic Projector,” Cassane continued, pointing at the rod in Harry’s other hand, which looked like it had a cheap Muggle satellite dish mounted on the top, with a tiny ring of pearls surrounding the base of the dish. “Once you ‘spear’ a ghost on the Harpoon, release it into the projector and it should be sent straight into the Department of Mysteries, where I will be able to study the ghosts in detail from my laboratory there.”

   “You have a lab in the Department of Mysteries?” Sirius asked incredulously. “How the hell did you land that?”

   “Fudge needed to give me something to ensure my cooperation,” Cassane replied with a tight smile. “I find it ironic he’s bribing me with something that will ultimately destroy his career.”

   “Whose career are we destroying now?”

   Harry twisted in his chair and pulled himself to his feet as Tonks slid into the room. From the look of her tangled, purple hair and shadows under her eyes, she looked ready to pass out. He wanted to pull her into a tight embrace, thankful they were all alive, but with a glance from Sirius, he raised his wand instead.

   “Identify –”

   “Harry, we slept together two nights ago, and right now, I’d be all for the sleeping again,” Tonks replied tiredly, staggering into a chair at the end of the table. “Now whose career are we talking about ruining?”

   “Fudge’s,” Cassane replied, raising his glass to his lips.

   “Might as well add my name to the list, then,” Tonks said, running a hand through her hair as Harry sat at the table next to her. “Kemester’s using mutual blackmail –”

   “What does he –” Harry began heatedly.

   “No, this time I don’t have a problem with it,” Tonks cut him off, placing her hand in his. “Apparently, he thinks there’s a mole in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – not just Sanders or... or Wilson. Another Hit Wizard, passing information to the Death Eaters.”

   Sirius sat straight up. “What the – since when? I didn’t see any when I was at the meeting, not besides Wilson!”

   “Does Kemester... have any ideas?” Harry asked, fighting back his surprise at the very notion of Kemester potentially being an ally.

   “He has files on it,” Tonks said with a snort. “In his desk, which I’m expected to retrieve. And with the Ministry as chaotic as it is right now, the last thing we need is another Hit Wizard-Auror conflict, particularly with the goblins as restless as they are.”

   “They don’t know about Azkaban yet,” Cassane said quickly.

   “They will soon,” Tonks said bitterly. “And as soon as they find out we lost a sizable fraction of our Hit Wizards and Aurors... yeah, this isn’t going to be pretty.” She rubbed her eyes. “And you’d think I’d be able to catch some sleep...”

   “None of us have, Tonks,” Sirius said quietly. “What about Kingsley? Any awkward questions about Harry?”

   “Other than the fact that I told him ‘she’ is a member of the Order – which he doesn’t buy – no questions that urgent,” Tonks replied, prompting a sigh of relief from Harry. “The questions will come, mind you, but right now he’s checking himself into St. Mungo’s – considering the burns he took fighting Voldemort, I’m amazed he lasted as long as he did. So what have I missed?”

   “I was just showing Harry the tools we’ll be able to use when there is another spiritual attack upon Hogwarts,” Cassane said, gesturing towards the rods sitting on Harry’s abandoned chair, “and given that Harry is showing an interest in Claudius Kemester’s memories, it would prove useful for him to return to Hogwarts. And in my opinion, you should go as well.”

   Harry started, as his heart jumped a bit inside his chest. That means more time alone with her... and that can only be a good thing...

   Tonks frowned. “The Ministry’s not going to let me take that much time off –”

   “You were already debriefed, and I’m assuming your reports have been filed,” Cassane cut her off, “so I’m assuming there wouldn’t be anything wrong with a short leave of absence for rest and recuperation. Besides, Moody and McGonagall should be kept up to date.”

   “I’m not saying I disagree, but with the time dilation, we’re talking about potentially losing a week of time at Hogwarts,” Tonks said carefully. “I won’t be able to extend my leave of absence that long –”

   “I’ll speak to Scrimgeour personally,” Cassane said carefully.

   “From what I’ve heard, he hates your guts,” Tonks replied sharply, her eyes narrowing. “You honestly think you’ll be able –”

   “Harry, you had blackmail on Scrimgouer, didn’t you?” Cassane asked unexpectedly.

   “Yes,” Harry replied cautiously, shifting in his seat. “I still do – wait, how did you –”

   “I assumed that was how you got out of a prison sentence for the issue this summer,” Cassane replied with a smirk. “Harry, I’ve seen it all before, and all the signs were there. But in any case, its existence is all I need to ensure Scrimgeour’s cooperation – and trust me, I have much worse on him.”

   Sirius snorted. “Seems like the only person without a job to do is me. Although, I could work with that. Maybe I should go to France for a little holiday –”

   “Not so fast, Mr. Black,” Cassane said, rounding on Sirius as he picked up the bottle of scotch. “While I’m ‘negotiating’ with Scrimgeour, I’ll see if I can pick up that file Kemester told Tonks about. I want you to pick through his notes and see if you can parse together an idea of who the mole is in the Department.”

   “That’s actually a good idea, Nathan,” Tonks said, her eyes brightening, “particularly considering Kemester mentioned that a lot of the information he collected were correlated to discrepancies into your whereabouts, Sirius.”

   “So talking to Moody, getting the Pensieve, and getting out?” Harry said, exhaling slowly. “Sounds easy.”

   “Right now,” Cassane replied tightly, “I’m not making any assumptions.”

*          *          *

   It took a little bit of careful timing, but before Harry knew it, he and Tonks had slipped into the secret tunnel beneath Honeydukes and he was tucking the Cloak into his bag.

   “Never seen this tunnel,” Tonks whispered, examining the stone steps critically. “This leads straight into Hogwarts?”

   “Yeah, it’s what I used getting out of here last time,” Harry replied, beginning to descend the stairs. “Light your wand - it gets dark, and it’s a bit of a walk.”

   They kept quiet as they descended the stairs into the cold dank passage, Harry leading and keeping a wary eye ahead in the tunnel.

   “Oops... oh –”

   Harry half-turned, only to catch the Metamorphmagus in his arms, an embarrassed grin on her face as her hair went red with her cheeks.

   “Slipped on the stair,” she whispered.

   Harry smiled, and on an impulse, he kissed her lightly as he helped her up. “You’re not as clumsy as you used to be, you know.”

   “Who’s to say that little trip wasn’t intentional?” Tonks asked, her voice daring Harry to take her in his arms again.

   “What, you want to... you want to do it here?” Harry asked with amazement, unbelieving of his luck.

   “Why not?” Tonks asked, her voice becoming sultry as her hair went curly and lusciously purple. “You could have me up against this moist, wet cavern wall... all the metaphors I could use...”

   Harry’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Are... are you serious?”

   And abruptly, Tonks winked at him, her hair going short and turning bright pink again. “No, but it’s good to know you’re horny and easy to tempt.”

   “Don’t forget I was the one who convinced you to stay back the first time,” Harry returned with a smirk.

   “Yeah... yeah, you did,” Tonks replied quietly. There was something off about her voice, and her expression, and Harry frowned.

   “Look, is something wrong?”

   Tonks looked as if she wanted to say something, but couldn’t figure out the words. “I...I...I dunno, Harry, I just don’t know.”

   Strangely, Harry felt something in his gut – the beginnings of panic. “Look, I know wasn’t great... I mean, I wasn’t really romantic, it was my first time –”

   “Really, I couldn’t tell,” Tonks replied sarcastically, but she gave Harry a small smile before his self-esteem took a nose dive.

   “I just... I just never would have thought... well, you know –”

   “That you’d be having sex with a smoking hot Metamorphmagus seven years your senior at fifteen?” Tonks asked, her tone unchanging as she spoke without missing a beat. “Harry, I’d have been shocked if you had expected that.”

   “Well, did you?”

   “Did I what?” Tonks retorted.

   “Did you expect to be... you know, with me?” Harry pursued, his voice slightly unsteady as he looked her dead in the eyes.

   For a long few seconds, Tonks looked into his eyes before looking down at the ground and sighing. “No, I... I never would have expected to do this. And does it feel weird... yeah, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t.”

   The knot in his gut had blossomed into full-fledged panic now, and Harry struggled for words. “Does... does that mean, you know –”

   “Harry, just because it was your first time doesn’t mean you were that bad,” Tonks said, her voice forcibly light as she twirled her wand around her finger and nearly dropped it. “You haven’t ruined men for me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

   “That wasn’t really what I was asking,” Harry said quietly.

   “I know,” Tonks replied, giving him a helpless shrug as she leaned against the wall. “Look, I never would have expected this or any feelings, or planned for them, or even dreamed of them... but it happened. And as much as I think about it, I can’t explain it either – and believe me, I’ve tried to. But... but maybe that’s the point, I guess. We can’t know or explain everything. And besides, it wasn’t like it felt bad or it hurt.”

   “No, not at all,” Harry said quickly, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. From a few of the noises she made when I was with her, I wasn’t sure. Whew.

   “Truth be told, it’s a little easier that you actually have a modicum of maturity,” Tonks admitted with another shrug. “And sure, the age difference is a little strange, but magic’s weird, and it helps I can always appear whatever age I want. If it makes you feel weird –”

   “To be honest, I was amazed it was happening at all,” Harry blurted. Immediately flushing scarlet, he hastily continued. “I mean, I felt like I was the luckiest guy on the planet.”

   Tonks laughed at that. “Damn right you did. Now come on, let’s get over to Moody. Are you cool, Harry?”

   Harry paused for a few seconds, but then nodded. “I think so. Even with the fight in Azkaban, I’m feeling a bit better. Moody taught me a few things to control my emotions so I don’t become a wreck like after the Ministry fight.”

   “Guess I might need to reacquaint myself with these lessons,” Tonks muttered under her breath, her darkening as she raised her wand and peered down the passage – but Harry had heard her, and was frowning again.

   “Are you okay, Tonks? I mean, you can talk to me –”

   “I appreciate that, Harry,” Tonks replied with a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “but I really need to talk to Moody. He’s got more experience than both of us. We should really get moving.”

   “Yeah,” Harry admitted, his eyes not leaving Tonks as she began walking down the narrow passageway. Why won’t she talk to me... but then again, maybe I’m not qualified to help her with this sort of thing. Moody was her trainer... yeah, he’s probably better helping her than me.

   “Shit!”

   “Easy,” Harry advised, as Tonks scrabbled to brace herself against the wall. “It’s slippery.”

   “No shit,” Tonks replied with a snort.

   “You know, I think I might have figured out why you like Glisseo so much.”

   He heard Tonks huff. “Oh yeah?”

   “Yeah, it’s because since you fall on your ass so often, you like seeing everyone else do the same,” Harry replied with a wide smile.

   She gave him an exasperated glare. “I’m not that clumsy.”

   “You nearly fell twice in this hall alone.”

   “It’s slippery!”

   “I didn’t fall.”

  “Oh go fuck yourself.”

   “No thanks, I’d rather you do it.”

   Tonks paused and turned around slowly, a slightly bemused expression on her face. “You’re getting better – I think I might be rubbing off on you. You know, you didn’t use to have anything when we talked – hell, I remember when you went all red when I was getting ready to break into Gringotts and I was ‘enhancing’ my figure.”

   “Well,” Harry replied with an insufferable tone that mimicked Hermione’s, “I have matured, after all.”

   “Okay then,” Tonks said with a sudden , sidling close to Harry, her hands snaking around him. “Let’s have some fun. Get dirty.”

   Harry could hardly believe it. “Are you serious?”

   “Hell, I already made most of the metaphors,” Tonks said, her eyes glinting brown as she undid the clasp of her cloak and tossed it against the opposite wall. “Let’s put some truth to them.”

*          *          *

   Dean Thomas rubbed his eyes again as he stared at the page in front of him, trying desperately to focus on the complex Transfiguration formulas behind Vanishing. Even though every student in Hogwarts was lucky if they got an hour of sleep each night, the teachers hadn’t chosen to lighten the workload.

   Beside him, he heard a disgusted huff. Despite his own frustration, Dean let a small smile creep onto his face.

   “Seamus, go get some sleep.”

   “Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Seamus snapped. “The essay’s due tomorrow, and I’m nearly –”

   “I’ll take a look at it,” Dean reassured him, setting down his own pages of notes and picking up his Charms textbook. “Try and get an hour of sleep, though – I can’t work with you huffing and swearing every few minutes.”

   Seamus stared at the paper for a few more seconds, and then tossed down his quill and gave his best friend a nod. “All right, thank you. Good luck parsing through that.”

   Dean nodded, and watched silently as Seamus slowly climbed the stairs, finally leaving the Gryffindor common room empty.

   Except –

   “There, he’s gone, now we can talk.”

   Dean started, but then he quietly pulled his wand free and tapped himself on the head, whispering the words of the Disillusionment Charm as he watched himself blend with the shadowy chair where he had been sitting. Yet despite it, he felt a little rush of anger – it was annoying, really. And you’d think they’d care to check to see if I was even still here... or they just didn’t even see me...

   “I thought Dean was working over there,” Hermione Granger said nervously, peering around the room from her spot with Ron Weasley by the fire. It was understandable why he might have missed them – he was sitting down, and there were a series of armchairs and tables and general debris blocking his line of sight. “I could have sworn he was –”

   “He’s not there, look?” Ron interrupted, a trace of annoyance in his voice. “He must have gone up earlier, he’s not there now. Now what did you want to talk to me about?”

   “The attacks, obviously,” Hermione said in a low voice. “Ron, it’s only a matter of time before there’s another attack, and I don’t want any more people to get hurt. And... and even though I was really scared before, that Malfoy was going to do something to us, with what happened with Ernie, Harry’s already informed Moody about it, and that did a lot to assuage my fears.”

   “Yeah, and Moody’s got my brothers working for him, trying to track down who’s behind this,” Ron said impatiently. “What’s your point?”

   “Ron, we both know Malfoy’s involved,” Hermione said urgently, leaning forward. “Probably Nott and Zabini too. And even though we don’t know how the magic works, I bet we could get one of them to talk in the right circumstances.”

   But Ron was already shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Hermione, I’m not doing Polyjuice Potion again – besides, considering how quickly the attacks have come, I really don’t think we would have time to brew the damn stuff again –”

   Dean could hardly believe his ears – since when did Ron and Hermione (and he assumed, by extension Harry) brew Polyjuice Potion, and why?

   “I’m not talking about Polyjuice Potion, Ron,” Hermione said anxiously. “I’m suggesting something a little more daring – we need to lure one of them out, into a trap of some kind. Maybe,” she added in a lower voice, so quiet that Dean had to strain to hear her, “maybe we should fake a message from You-Know-Who. We know that’s where he’s getting his orders.”

   Ron’s eyes widened. “You’re joking.”

   “It wouldn’t be that difficult, Ronald!” Hermione said with a huff. “Here’s my idea – we write up a message, make it look like it’s been sent from, I don’t know, a Death Eater or something – not from You-Know-Who himself. We say in the message that we’re giving Malfoy additional supplies or something and we tell him to meet us at a specific location inside the school, and then when he shows up, we pounce on him, feed him Veritaserum, and convince him to talk!”

   Dean frowned. It wasn’t a bad plan by any stretch, but even he could see the problems – and from the look on his face, so did Ron.

   “What if all three show up to the meeting – you know, as good as we are, Hermione, I’m not sure we’re that good. Or what if Malfoy sees through the ruse?”

   “If he sees through the letter, it’s not like we’ve made things worse,” Hermione said impatiently. “And if all three of them show up, if we catch them by surprise, we can nab all three of them and get answers quickly.”

   “Assuming they don’t set spirits on the lot of us,” Ron muttered uneasily. “Moody’s not going to agree with this, you know. It’s too risky – we don’t know what kind of magic is behind this, Hermione, or how they’re even summoning these ghosts.”

   “Look,” Hermione said tersely, “if Malfoy is stupid enough to get goaded into getting dunked in Harry’s acid cauldron – which didn’t help Harry’s cause in the least –”

   “The ferret deserved it,” Ron said, a surprising note of savagery in his voice. “Bastard.”

   “But if he was stupid enough to try goading Harry, it’s a reasonable assumption that if we’re offering him something, he’ll at least be intrigued enough to pursue us,” Hermione finished with a sigh. “Well, what do you think?”

   “I don’t think Malfoy’s going to fall for the bait,” Ron said tiredly, getting to his feet. “He’s stupid, but he’s not that stupid... and if he traces the letter back –”

   “Ron, please – if he is taking orders from You-Know-Who, more people could die –”

   Ron’s eyes flashed. “Yeah, and right now, considering I’ve lost a brother, I really don’t want to lose another one. Or a sister!” Ron caught himself before he raised his voice much more, but it was a near thing. “Look,” he began much more quietly, “I want to help, Hermione, but I’m worried about Ginny and the twins. Hogwarts isn’t safe anymore, not for anyone. If I knew there was a way we could keep them safe and go after Malfoy, it would be a lot easier, but these attacks are hitting innocent people. Hell, after Harry dunked Malfoy in acid, that Lovegood girl got attacked, and she was reportedly close to Harry, closer than either of us.”

   “And doesn’t that say something,” Hermione muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. “I really thought you’d be more on my side with this, Ron –”

   “I am on your side, Hermione!”

   “Then why won’t you help me?”

   “I didn’t say I wouldn’t!” Ron retorted heatedly. “I just have more to lose, okay?” He picked up his books and stacked his papers precariously on top of them. “Look, I understand that you want to do something, and if you come up with a plan that keeps everyone safe and sane, I’ll be more than willing to go with it, especially if it gives me a shot at Malfoy – just be careful, okay?”

   “Wait, Ron –”

   But Ron had already gone up the stairs to the boys’ dormitories, leaving Hermione seething by the fire and Dean alone with his thoughts.

*          *          *

    He could see her approaching him, her naked, sensuous body moving beautifully against the candle light, her straight dark-brown hair cascading down her pale back...

   He couldn’t help but stifle a small smile as he shrugged off his robes and took her by the hand, beginning to guide her to the silken bed only a few paces away... but she took a firmer grip, guiding him towards the bathroom, finished with white and black marble.

   He felt her hand caressing the small of his back, slowly creeping up his shoulder blades,  climbing up to his neck...

   And then her grip hardened.

   And with horrifying strength, she brought him down towards the toilet – except it wasn’t a toilet, but a glass cauldron, filled with bubbling aquamarine acid –

   “Fuck!”

   He snapped awake and flung himself out of bed, making a desperate run for the bathroom and the toilet.

   But the churning bile was rising in his throat – he could taste it in his mouth...

   Malfoy didn’t make it to the toilet. Instead, he bent over the sink and expelled the contents of his stomach without any grace or dignity.

   Wiping the sweat from his face, he looked down at the sink and almost retched again. Turning quickly, he darted back into the bedroom, retrieved his wand, and hastily Vanished the puddle of vomit clogging the sink drain.

   He looked up, and in the dirty mirror, he couldn’t help but recoil from his reflection. His once-perfect features now marred with twisted white scars. They had gotten a bit better in the few weeks since the accident, but they were still very visible. And no matter what spell or enchantment he tried to conceal or fix the scars, nothing seemed to work with any permanence.

   He was a nightmare... he had given his face to this cause...

   “Draco.”

   Malfoy looked down in the sink, not bothering to turn and look at Zabini, who was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. “Go away, Blaise.”

   “We need to talk.”

   “Leave me alone, Blaise –”

   There were footsteps, and suddenly Malfoy felt himself being pulled around to face Blaise’s terse, edgy expression. “I said need, Draco, and that means we’re not waiting,” he growled.

   Malfoy shoved Zabini’s hand off of him. “What, then?”

   “I think we might have a little problem with Nott.”

   “Nott’s always been a problem –”

   “Not like this,” Zabini growled, grabbing Malfoy and pulling him by the arm into the dormitory, towards Nott’s shadowed bed.

   “I don’t want to see –”

   “I don’t care,” Zabini snapped, “you’re going to see this.”

   He tore back the curtains, and Malfoy took a hasty step backwards, as he beheld Theodore Nott.

   Much to Malfoy’s relief, he was not nude – in fact, he was still in his school robes, even his shoes. His hair was tangled and matted, but Malfoy had been exposed to that particular travesty for as long as he could remember.

   But it was his face that made Malfoy’s gut churn. Nott’s jaw was clenched and contorted in a grimace, his eyes were wide-open and yet unseeing, and the veins in his neck were bulging horribly. He looked as if he was locked in the throes of terrible pain from the Cruciatus Curse... a curse that would never end...

   “He’s going insane,” Zabini said coldly, shutting the curtains abruptly and shielding Nott from the rest of the dormitory. “There’s no denying that now. Hope you understand now why the Dark Lord chose him instead of you – clearly, you got the better bargain.”

   “And I lost my face for it,” Malfoy snapped bitterly.

   “At least you still have your mind, you conceited shit!” Zabini hissed angrily. “But we have a problem on our hands – I’ve been watching Nott over the past few days and there’s a very real concern that his... instability will make him a liability, unable to follow the Dark Lord’s orders.”

   “If Nott loses his mind, I’m fairly certain he’ll be capable of the magic,” Malfoy said crisply. “There are plenty of insane people in the Dark Lord’s service.”

   “But his degeneration will make him easily spotted as a suspect, Draco,” Zabini replied in a very low voice. “And if we want the magic to remain controlled, as the Dark Lord told us was vital, we need to ensure Nott maintains a modicum of sanity, and that means the attacks need to fall back into a regular pattern. Whatever was tried with Macmillian hasn’t helped –”

   “Nott told me what was required for that particular attack required two stages!” Malfoy retorted. “Nott just needs to activate the second stage!”

   “It’s out of order –”

   “Then you contact the Dark Lord and get us targets that fit, Blaise!” Malfoy snarled. “By that logic the next attack should be a Gryffindor – and yet from everything Nott has told me, the Gryffindor ghosts or those tied to the house in some manner have proven most uncooperative.”

   “Then we might have to think outside the box,” Blaise replied, turning away from Malfoy. “I’ll have Nott send a message to the Dark Lord tomorrow morning – in the mean time, we need to keep his instability concealed, got it?”

   “Fine, fine,” Malfoy replied exasperatedly, turning away and moving back towards his own bed.

    “Malfoy.”

   “What?”

   “Quit feeling sorry for yourself.” Zabini threw a meaningful glance at Nott’s bed. “I think we both know by now that for us, it could be much worse.”

*          *          *

   The crisp, cool air of fresh winter snow, the slight wetness of snowflakes against his face, the scent of... well, anything that wasn’t the chill reek of rot and death...

   Yes, it is good to be free... and such a shame that I’m alone to see it...

   “Antonin!”

   Antonin Dolohov turned from his spot leaning against the balcony and bowed mockingly. “Ah, Bella, good to see you back at the manor. How was the, ah, excavation of Castle Lestrange?”

   “Ongoing, and this is not your manor,” Bellatrix Lestrange said icily, her eyes blazing with utter contempt. “To suggest otherwise –”

   “Bella’s, it’s not Nott’s manor anymore either,” Antonin said with a smirk, running his hand over his newly trimmed beard as he sauntered up towards Bellatrix. “I think it’s more of the Dark Lord’s manor now –”

   Bella’s eyes flashed. “Speak with such insouciance of the Dark Lord again, and I will sever your tongue and have the house elves cook it myself. I’ve always wanted to savour the tongue of an ass.”

   Antonin cocked an eyebrow as he cracked a slightly bemused smirk. “And how long did it take you to come up with that line, Bellatrix? Guess you did something in Azkaban other than mercilessly fucking your husband and his brother.”

   Bellatrix’s eyes hardened. “Move. We are summoned.”

   Antonin straightened and drew his wand, his expression instantly becoming serious. “He is in the laboratory?” he asked, walking next to her as they ducked inside.

   “He hasn’t left,” Bellatrix said, and Antonin detected with amusement the timbre of awe and barely restrained lust in her voice as they descended the stairs into the muted opulence of the foyer. “The magic harvested from the Spire... while incomplete, it only magnifies his power...”

   Shame none of us will get to see it... no, best not think those thoughts around Bellatrix, not while she’s in heat from newfound freedom...

   “So why us?” Antonin asked instead, his mild tone completely unrevealing of anything except curiosity.

   “Why you, I would find a more appropriate question,” Bellatrix snapped as Antonin graciously opened the door and then proceeded to step right in front of the witch as she attempted to step through it. “I would hardly find a crass excuse for a wizard like you with enough favour in his eyes –”

   “I was actually referring to you, because I have information,” Antonin interrupted, smugness leaking into his voice as they descended the narrow spiral stairwell. “What do you have to offer him, Bella?”

   Her expression was so similar to that of his Regina, he nearly paused in his tracks. So passionate, so full of fire... but then a look in her eyes told him all that he needed to know – the fire was still from burning sulphur, and the unquenchably dangerous instability had not gone anywhere.

   And now she was free to wreak all manner of hell on the wizarding world again.

   And apparently, Antonin noted with a growing triumphant smile, she was stymied by a simple question.

   “Information,” she finally hissed. “Valuable to his efforts.”

   “Oh, I certainly hope so,” Antonin said lightly. “I wouldn’t want you to go the way of your sister and her husband.”

   Before Bellatrix could snarl a retort, they had reached the door, a great mahogany barrier with a skull and snake carved across the smooth finish.

   “Enter,” the high-pitched hiss reached their ears the second their left hands touched the door. Once again, Antonin opened the door for Bellatrix, this time allowing her to precede him into the room – after all, he could be magnanimous in victory.

   The laboratory was surprisingly well lit, candles floating and strewn throughout the room, all emitting a different colour of lights. Books were scattered across the tables in a madness that Antonin knew was methodical beyond his comprehension. Dozens of potions sparkled in their flasks or were suspended in midair devoid of container, forming arcs of liquid and steam, frozen not in temperature but time.

   And in the middle of the room, where a massive, obscenely complex sprawl of glowing symbols twisted together in a design that defied natural geometry, stood Lord Voldemort.

   “Bella, Antonin,” Voldemort said quietly, never taking his eyes away from the magical snarl of an Arithmancy equation, “I appreciate your adroitness in your response.”

  Bellatrix bowed low, and Antonin did the same, albeit for very different reasons than Bellatrix. She revered the Dark Lord as a god amongst men – he simply regarded him as an extremely powerful wizard worthy of his respect and service, and his most likely ally in the termination of those who had ruined his life.

   “I have read your reports on the events in Azkaban,” Voldemort continued, in the same, almost-distracted voice, twirling his wand and driving the floating mass of equations downwards onto a waiting piece of paper. “And I find them both quite... interesting, to say the least, for they suggest an additional force that the Ministry or Dumbledore dispatched to Azkaban.”

   “I believe there may be some cross-over in that area, my Lord,” Antonin said in a low voice. “It would explain the appearances of the Hit Wizards, and the rescue of Dmitri Kemester.”

   “Which you aided.”

   “In order to gather more information and potentially identify and neutralize most of the strike team,” Antonin said with a shrug. “Which I did. Shacklebolt, Kemester, Larshall, Sanders, Tonks... and another witch that was not named.”

   Bellatrix suddenly turned to Antonin. “An unidentified witch?” she hissed, with sudden interest. “Dark hair, spells of –”

   “Disturbing potency?” Voldemort finished, his red eyes slits. “Yes, she was mentioned in both of your reports – and she intrigues me. An information source from the Ministry has placed her in at the scene of the Ministry attack seven weeks ago – apparently in the company of Harry Potter.”

    Bellatrix suddenly looked far more interested. “A little girl, working with that half-blood to defy us? Who is –”

   “You say ‘apparently’, my Lord,” Antonin interrupted, a slight frown crossing his face. “Why?”

   “Because all of my spies have given no information of this woman,” Voldemort said, his voice icy. “And while she appears young, the strength of her magic implies something different entirely. I suspect the Order has a plot that we must unravel – even despite Dumbledore’s absence.”

   “On that note, my Lord, another owl from the Italians was received by Nott today,” Bellatrix spoke up, her voice thick with anger. “They have the utter gall to threaten –”

   Voldemort was expressionless. “Let them bluster. They have no power here, and no courage to confront me here. But the Italians, as annoying as they might be, are not my concern at the moment. Bellatrix, I need more details of your encounter with this woman.”

   Antonin wisely took a step back.

   “Legilimens!”

   The spell hit Bellatrix like a saucepan, and she fell to her knees, her eyes glassy with lustful adoration as the Dark Lord concentrated, his wand pointed directly at the witch and shaking of its own accord in his hands...

   And just as quickly as he began it, Voldemort ended the spell. Despite himself, Antonin was a little disconcerted at the slightly perplexed expression on the Dark Lord’s face – as if something very strange, and yet very likely, had become apparent to the Dark Lord...

   “He called her ‘Harry’,” he murmured, his eyes shadowed as he turned to look at one of the arcs of liquid. “A strange name... unless...”

   He called her ‘Harry’... who is ‘he’, and why did he... Antonin frowned, absent-mindedly declining a hand to Bellatrix as she struggled to her feet.

   “I don’t see it, my Lord,” he confessed.

   Suddenly, the Dark Lord whirled, and pointed his wand at a bookshelf in the far corner of the room. Without a word, a book materialized in his hand, and Voldemort set it on the table. Another wave of his wand had the book open and frozen to a page, and the Dark Lord scanned the text, memorizing it instantly.

   “Perhaps,” the Dark Lord whispered, “but it is daring... and dangerous... and yet it would explain so much...”

   “My Lord,” Bellatrix breathed, still trying to catch her breath from the Dark Lord’s visit to her mind. “What is that book?”

   “One of the two copies of The Book of Inversion and Duplex,” Voldemort replied, “written hundreds of years ago by a wizard who dared not sign his name to either book. The ideas were years ahead of their time, but obscene in their complexity – and useless to those without the knowledge or the desire to pursue its magic.

   “Or,” he continued, closing the book softly, “without the necessary notes necessarily compiled from other sources. Notes even I have never seen, that I chose not to read due to the gross limitations of the magic I believed Harry Potter has attempted to utilize... but notes that could have been made available, by either of Harry Potter’s backers.”

   “Dumbledore,” Bellatrix growled through clenched teeth.

   “Not just him,” Voldemort said quietly. “And the presence, Bella, of the mutated half-blood Auror in all of this only reinforces my hypothesis. It appears that Potter is indeed a player in this game after all.”

   “I assume you speak of Nymphadora Tonks,” Antonin asked, his mind racing and trying in vain to follow the Dark Lord’s train of thought. “But what could she have contributed?”

   “Blood of a Metamorphmagus,” Voldemort said, giving his wand an experimental twirl. Suddenly, magical characters erupted into the air and merged into a complex mass of Arithmancy that Antonin didn’t even dare approach, much less understand. “And the necessary spells to activate the magic. But corpses would have been required...”

   And a few seconds later, a slash of Voldemort’s wand Vanished the symbols, revealing a cruel grin growing on the Dark Lord’s face.

   “Aphrodite Zabini... and Lucy Warrington,” Voldemort whispered triumphantly. “Both killed in Potter’s presence, if not by his very hand. The pieces fit – and reveal a weakness I enhanced months ago for entirely different reasons. A rare opportunity now presents itself.”

   By this point, Antonin knew the Dark Lord had long lost him, but he didn’t care – he suspected he was going to get a mission which would please him greatly. “What would you have us do, my Lord?” he asked.

   “At this point, your roles will be simple,” Voldemort replied calmly, waving his wand and conjuring a stiff piece of parchment with a list of titles written neatly upon it. “You are to find these works in the accumulated libraries of the Death Eaters, and retrieve them regardless of protest. Inform them they will be justly compensated, and deal with any resistance.”

   “And I, my Lord?” Bellatrix asked, her eyes wild with exhilaration.

   “Very simple, Bella,” Voldemort replied, his lipless smile growing. “You will work with me on a solitary task – the complete annihilation of Harry Potter’s mortal soul.”