The preparations had been completed a day earlier.

   Lines of writhing grey magic drifted and twisted around the room like a spider’s web, glowing brighter whenever a book or potion was touched, all surrounding a massive wooden armchair with thick plush cushions and a high back. Four sapphires were lodged in the legs of the chair, and they sparked a deep blue with every touch of the grey tendrils.

   And in front of the armchair was a single table, and on that table was a single book, carefully flipped open to two exact pages. The words on the right page were glowing red, and it almost seemed that they were poised to leap clean off the page.

   There were no words on the left page – just a black void, as if the entire paper had been soaked in ink and pitch.

   Bellatrix’s eyes were wide with lustful hunger as she watched the Dark Lord step into the room, his practiced gaze analyzing every inch. The grey tendrils did not touch him, but instead bent around his every motion, as if they were inviting him forward.

   “My Lord,” she whispered, “is it to your liking?”

   Voldemort paused, and then turned slightly. “It will do.” His skeletal fingers traced the grain of the table as he took a seat. Immediately, the letters on the book’s page leapt free, soaring into the air and growing in a dizzying spiral as they began to rotate around the chair, the tendrils beginning to burn white at their touch. “If you speak of the plan we discussed… while elements of it lack a certain subtlety I would prefer, I understand its purpose.”

   Bellatrix’s eyes were dilated with fervour. “It will destroy him, my Lord –”

   “Of that I have little doubt. Now listen very carefully, Bellatrix, for my instructions will not be given a second time,” Voldemort said, his voice implacable as he drew a vial full of purplish powder from his robes and set it above the book on the table. “Upon the signal from Nott, I will activate the magic. I may be gone for as long as two days, or as short as ten hours, but I am not to be disturbed under any circumstances. If the Italians decide this is the moment to make their appearance, advise them to not test my patience. When the circle of letters around me glows green, I will make my return within the hour.”

   “I understand –”

   “I do not think you truly do, Bella,” Voldemort said, his voice sharp and ominous. “I am not to be disturbed. You will keep watch on the door to this laboratory and ensure that I am not to be disturbed. If someone wishes to disturb me, first make all efforts to persuade them otherwise before dispatching them. If there is an attack upon this house and I am disturbed, I expect to see nothing more than your bleeding, disembowelled corpse in front of my door.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “And even then, I will find ways to make you suffer for your failure.”

   Bellatrix raised her chin proudly. “None shall disturb you, my Lord. I swear it.”

   The Dark Lord did not answer, instead opening the tiny vial of powder and carefully pouring it into a neat pile on the table. With a prod of his wand, the  powder ignited and glowed an emerald green, and soon a faint scent of scorched metal began to fill the room.

   “Now we wait, my Lord?” Bellatrix breathed, her wide eyes fixed on the flame.

   “Yes,” Voldemort replied softly, gazing deep into the fire. “Now we wait.”

***

   Zabini carefully scanned the hall once more before hastily shutting the classroom door, exhaling heavily.

   “Colloportus. Nobody’s close. We’re safe.”

   “For now,” Malfoy spat, raking a hand through his hair as he glared at Zabini. “It’s only a matter of time now – Moody’s got McGonagall and Flitwick and those damnable Weasley twins hunting us –”

   “And they will concentrate in the dungeons, where they think Slytherins will hide,” Zabini said coolly, drawing his wand. “Or they’ll assume we went with Nott down into the chamber – not that we’ll be this close to Gryffindor Tower – Malfoy, get off your ass and grab the other end of this table, we need more space.”

   Malfoy glared at Zabini, but grabbed the other end of the table and hauled it next to the desk, where they set it down silently. Malfoy had already cleared the desks to the sides and front of the room, leaving an open space in the center, plus a small barricade near the front of the room.

   “We should have more light,” Zabini said tersely, scanning the room. “Malfoy, light more candles –”

   “There’s enough light as it is,” Malfoy spat, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ll get what we need. And I don’t take orders from you.”

   Zabini gritted his teeth. “Okay, fine, then you’ll take your orders from Nott when he drops by to give the signal. We’ve only got one shot at this.”

   Malfoy didn’t answer, only looking towards the darkening window – the looming clouds around the setting sun were casting the sky an unsettling shade that looked far too much like blood…

   “Malfoy? Damn it, what the fuck is wrong with you now –”
   “I don’t see why we – as in you and I – should be involved in this part of the plan,” Malfoy said, fighting to ignore the unpleasant feeling welling in his gut. “It’s Nott’s job, he should –”

   “Oh, for the love of – Malfoy, we’re at the bloody end of this!” Zabini snarled, grabbing Malfoy’s shoulder and spinning him around. “This is the fucking end – once our job is done, you and I can get the hell out of here and nobody has to know –”

   “And then what?” Malfoy spat, yanking himself out of Zabini’s grip and drawing his own wand. “On the run, while Moody and Potter and Merlin only knows what else chase us down? My family’s suffered enough!”

   Zabini looked as though he wanted to curse him into quivering bloody pieces at that second – and in his gut, Malfoy almost wanted him to try – but the black Slytherin took a deep breath and gritted his teeth.

   “I’m not letting you leave until the job is done,” he growled, his voice barely rising about a whisper, as he flung one of the windows open, “because knowing your luck, you’d squeal the second Moody found you and everything we’ve done would be less than useless.” He glared at Malfoy with pure undiluted hatred. “You’ve picked a bad time to turn into a worthless dragonshit, Draco. What’s wrong, you’re too weak to watch it? Grow the fuck up.”

   “I am not weak,” Malfoy said in a low voice, his hands trembling with barely-controlled anger. “But there are lines, Zabini, of good taste and decency, a code that we must follow –”

   Zabini spat onto the floor. “That,” he said icily, “is what I think of your precious little code. You think things are going to be any easier when you join with him?”

   Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, but in the corner of his eye, he saw something shift in the shadows. He twisted and snapped his wand up –

   “Oh, don’t get hasty, Draco, I’m here with presents,” Nott said, his eyes dancing madly as he tossed two brooms through the air – one for Zabini, one for Malfoy. “And though I didn’t catch all of the argument –”

   “A shame,” Zabini hissed, his gaze never leaving Malfoy. “‘Cause then you’d probably get something else besides a ruined face.”

   “- My part in this plan is completed,” Nott finished, a cold smile appearing on his face as he clapped his hands together. “Now, I think we should get behind that barricade and start enchanting it. That way, in case something goes funny, we’ll be prepared.”

    His insane eyes landed on Malfoy, and Malfoy felt a chill race down his spine. “Yes, Draco, for anything.”

***

   “Okay, do we have everything?” Harry asked, eyeing his two simulacrums lying within the wreckage of the Shrieking Shack. His second simulacrum was covered by some lightweight rubble, invisible if one didn’t know exactly where to look. The other was laying primly on the stone, dressed in the best professional robes Tonks could find. “Wands?”

   “Duh,” Tonks said, giving hers a twirl and launching a light shower of pink sparks into the air.

   “Paperwork and passes?”

   “In the bag.”

   “Antidotes?”

   “Courtesy of whatever I could raid from Alastor’s supply when he wasn’t looking,” Tonks said with a wink as she jingled a small cloth bag before tucking it into her own professional robes.

   “Toiletries, extra robes, all that junk?” Harry asked with a frown. “I know I didn’t pack those…”

   “All in the trunk, Harry,” Tonks said. Her smile deepened. “You know, considering how much time you spend being a woman, you’d think you’d get more familiar with –”

   “Ha ha, very funny, we’ll laugh about it later,” Harry replied tersely, crumpling up the list. “Sirius was in position about an hour ago around six, and he said he would pass along any scouting he got to Cassane, who we’ll meet inside –”

   “Harry, you don’t need to tell me,” Tonks said calmly, shouldering her bag as her hair went blonde and lengthened. “Are you okay? You seem a bit tense –”

   “This is our big chance to prove to the world that Voldemort is back,” Harry said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice as he stepped over the fallen beams towards the hole that once led underneath the Shrieking Shack to the Whomping Willow. “And considering everything, I really don’t want to screw this up.” He sighed as he stepped into the hole. “To be honest, I’d rather be at Hogwarts hunting for bloody Malfoy than doing this.”

   “Well, think of it this way,” Tonks said lightly. “Given the time sink, and comparing the date when we went in and when we came out, we can guess for every hour or so in Hogwarts, it’s about two days out here. Hell, we’re lucky we left Hogwarts when we did, we got out here with a day to prepare before the conference.”

   Harry snorted. “And strangely, I still think Moody will get more done than we will.” He sat on the rough earth of the tunnel and tried to find a decently comfortable spot. “Did you find out if the tunnel is still open?”

   “Apparently Sirius took a walk down it while we were in Hogwarts,” Tonks called down, glancing into the hole. “You ready?”

   Harry closed his eyes, and in his mind’s eye, he could see the bright silvery cord connecting him to his simulacrum. He concentrated hard –

   And then he snapped his eyes open –

   “Tonks…”

   “Yes, Harry?” Tonks replied lightly.

   “I can’t see too well with you standing directly over my head, but…”

   Tonks chuckled. “But what, Harry?”

   “You’re not wearing underwear.”

   “And that means I’ve got one of two appealing options,” Tonks replied without missing a beat. “But since we’ve got a bit of a time crunch, I’ll let you get up –”

   Harry breathed a little easier, but he couldn’t help feeling a rather peculiar feeling as he got up. Even despite the biting chill in the morning air, he felt very warm all over. This is weird…

   “-And save the rest for later tonight,” Tonks continued sweetly, “‘cause due to that rooming switch I confirmed yesterday, we’ve only got one room at Bonaccord Hall, and it’s only got one bed.”

   And suddenly it got a whole lot warmer.

   “Yeah,” Tonks said with a wink as she took Harry’s hand, “Moody’s definitely not getting done more than us the next few days. You ready?”

   Harry shouldered his bag and took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

   She turned away from him, and they Disapparated, leaving the Shrieking Shack behind.

***

   Bonaccord Hall, to Kemester’s eyes, looked very much like what it was: a building that suffered the triple flaws of too much money, too little time, and a designer with too many ideas courtesy of the donors eager to see their money put to good use.

   No wonder the damn thing is so big, Kemester thought, stifling a snort as he tugged at the collar of his smoke-grey dress robes. And none of it looks like it remotely goes together or matches. Yeah, no surprise why Fudge declared it ‘one of the best new buildings in Britain’.

   “So?”

   This time, he did snort. “It’s ugly as sin, Reed, what else do you want me to say?”

   Larshall chuckled and shook his head. He had recovered with speed, and it hadn’t been long before he was back to full service again – for which the overworked Hit Wizards were all grateful. “Never knew you to have aesthetic sensibilities.”

   “Yeah, well it’s a damn sight better than Azkaban, that’s for sure,” Kemester muttered, glancing down at the pile of fancy papers in his hand. “And you’d think that the International Confederation of Wizards would at least try to make their paperwork sensible for the occasion –”

   “Come on, Dmitri, it’s the first opening of the Hall,” Larshall said patiently. “You’ve got to give them something to celebrate –”

   “Nothing for us to celebrate,” Kemester grumbled, glaring at the building from the tree he and Larshall were standing beneath. They had a few minutes more left of their break, and Kemester was intending to use all of them. “And considering most of the bloody Aurors aren’t even pulling their weight…”

   Larshall groaned. “So Shacklebolt is apparently on a deep-cover assignment, get over it –”

   “And so is Tonks?” Kemester retorted. “I haven’t seen that bloody Metamorphmagus in weeks, what does she think she’s playing at?”

   Larshall raised his hands helplessly. “If Scrimgeour gave them clearance –”

   “I know, I know,” Kemester replied harshly, glancing at the silvery shape streaking towards them. “And it looks like break’s over – come on, Reed.”

   “Dmitri Kemester and Reed Larshall, you two are to report to security,” the lioness Patronus said briskly in the firm voice of Amelia Bones. “Kemester, try not to start an international incident.”

   “Yeah, yeah, no promises,” Kemester muttered, crossing the grounds (which looked far better than the building itself, in Kemester’s opinion) and entering through the heavy bronze doors of the front entrance. The marble entrance hall was designed to impress, with a sweeping domed ceiling and columns lining the walls, but Kemester could spot the rushed work in the cracking around the bronze doors lining the walls and the stone on the floor, which was already scuffed and beginning to show wear.

   And it didn’t help that the entire room had been haphazardly cordoned off for a makeshift security checkpoint. The other evidence this place was badly designed, he thought to himself, repressing a scowl. No good place for security…

   “- he’s not leaving anything behind –”

   Kemester snapped out of his thoughts as he reached the small security station at the end of the hall, where a group of Hit Wizards were talking low voices. “Clyvis, what’s going on?”

   “The enchantments keep picking up weird disturbances all around the grounds,” Clyvis replied gruffly, eyeing Kemester with barely contained contempt. “We’ve sent a few teams around, but they haven’t found anything.”

   “Could it be people planning to attack or break in?”

   “No evidence anyone’s even come onto the grounds from those points,” Clyvis replied, his expression lightening with sympathy as he turned to Larshall. “No, we’re thinking that it’s ‘reporters’ who didn’t get media clearances trying to get in. You two on security? Good, grab some Probity Probes and get to the main check-in point by the far left doors – that’s where everyone signs the book and clears their papers. And Kemester, I know you’re an ugly motherfucker but try not to scare the diplomats, okay?”

   Kemester forced back his urge not to scare everyone and throttle Clyvis. Instead, he gave a wave of his wand, Summoning a Probity Probe from the pile into his hand. “Come on,” he muttered, moving to the check-in desk and bracing himself for the inevitable intolerable rush.

***

   Rita Skeeter was amazed – she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and in the strange world where she worked as a reporter, that was saying something.

   “You’re telling me what?” she demanded, snatching the paperwork from the check-in desk and scanning it again. “That my –”

   “Your papers have been revoked, Miss Skeeter,” the young blond man in purple Confederation robes replied brightly, a note of uncertainty beginning to creep into his voice as he watched the expression on Rita’s face. “It says in my lists here –”

   “I don’t give a damn what your bloody paperwork says!” Rita snapped, her notepad and Quick-Quotes Quill snapping to her hands as she rounded towards her photographer. “Bozo, get back a little, I want this to make the front page –”

   “Ma’am, please be reasonable –”

   “Who else is on that list?” Rita interrupted, her hand darting forward and snatching the paper before the wizard could say another word. “Oh, what do you know, it’s just my name and that of Paulus Amoccio, the two who happened to write an article exposing the truth about Fudge! Oh, Bozo, we have such a story here –”

   “Ma’am, I’d ask you to return that list immediately!” the wizard began heatedly, rising to his feet, his hand going to his pocket where Rita guessed was a wand. “These are directives co-signed by the Minister for Magic himself –”

   “Of course they are!” Rita snarled. “But he’s not the one running this damn show, get me the man who is! I want to see Nathan Cassane, right now –”

   “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down –”

   “Cutter, take a seat.”

   Rita’s eyes snapped up to see a new figure approaching, Probity Probe in hand – a very familiar figure.

   The man – who Rita guessed was named ‘Cutter’, went red at the sight of the Hit Wizard. “Sir, she’s been denied clearance.”

   “And I’m vetoing that,” Kemester growled, glaring at Rita and Bozo with disappointment.

   “Sir –”

   “I’m your superior officer,” Kemester barked, turning his glare on Cutter, “so do you want to keep embarrassing yourself here, or should we take this outside?”

   Rita couldn’t help but restrain a smirk at that comment – with his face looking as though it had been attacked with a man with a chisel and machete, Kemester didn’t even have to try to look imposing.

   Cutter held Kemester’s gaze for a few seconds before relenting, hastily stamping the papers and ushering the two through to where Kemester’s shorter partner was waiting.

   “You caused a scene –”

   “They wouldn’t let me in –”

   “And with that sort of unprofessional behaviour, it’s a wonder why,” Kemester snapped, keeping his voice low as he brandished his Probity Probe and carefully ran it over Rita’s arms and legs. “Take out your purse.”

   Rita slid her purse across the table as Larshall’s Probity Probe brushed against her back. “I have a right to be here, people need the truth –”

   “Yeah, it’s a shame Fudge isn’t interested in that much these days,” Kemester replied curtly, scanning through her rather large purse with his Probity Probe. “But that’s not the reason I let you in. I need someone to keep an eye out for funny business that I can’t catch.”

   “And you think there’ll be much?” Rita asked immediately, her eyes lighting up eagerly as she took back her purse. “Do you have anything –”

   “Skeeter, you’re not interviewing me,” Kemester snapped. “Your job is to keep a low profile – I’ve got a bad feeling about this already.”

   “And you think her being here is going to alleviate that?” Kemester’s partner asked in a wry voice. Rita shot him a glare, but the heavy-set man only shrugged in response.

   “Not particularly, but at least I know someone – besides you, Reed – is on my side in this building,” Kemester muttered. He quickly stamped Rita’s papers. “Quarters for the press are in the south wing, and keep that damn quill to yourself.”

   “It’s my job –”

  “I don’t really care,” the Hit Wizard retorted. “I got you in here, I can throw you out. Now move along before I change my mind.”

   “He seems on edge, Bozo,” Rita muttered as she hurried away, her thoughts racing as she raised the tip of her quill to her lips. “Maybe something is going on…”

***

   “I’m going to have to report that,” Cutter began, his irritating whine of a voice already slicing a fresh headache in Kemester’s mind.

   Kemester looked at the thin young man – all one hundred and fifty pounds of him – and snorted. “Okay, sure.”

   “That was co-signed by her employer,” Cutter continued angrily, waving the paper in the air. “Not just the Minister –”

   Wait, what? “You’re saying Barnabus Cuffe signed off on blocking Skeeter from coming in?” Kemester asked disbelievingly. But then again, if he’s in cahoots with the Minister, I really shouldn’t be that surprised… still, something seems off…

   “Yes, that’s what I said,” Cutter replied with a sniff. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I need to handle these two ladies here. Papers, please?”

   Kemester turned away from Cutter with disgust – but then stopped in midstep.

   Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

***

   “Yes, it looks like everything is in order,” the young blonde man said with a professional smile, handing the papers back to Tonks. “Just up that way to where that grotesque creature wearing a Hit Wizard uniform is standing for security.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “He’s difficult.”

   Harry could hardly repress a snort as he took his own pass from Tonks. “Yeah, when is he not?” Shouldering his bag, he moved along the cordoned path to where the man was standing, thick arms crossed over his chest and a very angry look on his face. “Hello, Hit Wizard Kemester.”

   “What,” Kemester growled, his voice barely controlled, “are you two doing here?”

   “Called to deliver testimony,” Tonks replied brightly, sliding her bag across the table to where Kemester was standing. “Now come on, we’ve got lots to do, can’t afford to get bogged down here.”

   “Of course you can’t,” Kemester snapped. “Nymphadora.”

   Harry forced himself not to visibly tense or show shock – much easier in his simulacrum than with his regular body – but it was a near thing. How does he – does he know that it’s –

   But Tonks seemed unfazed by Kemester’s words. She simply drummed her fingers on the table, her cheerful smile never fading.

   Kemester glared at her for a long few seconds, and then snatched her bag and pulled it open. “Reed, come give me a hand – Reed! Damn it, where the hell –”

   But Kemester’s partner was nowhere to be seen, and Harry frowned. He could have sworn the man was just there…

   “Fine, I’ll do it myself,” Kemester snarled, and brandishing his Probity Probe, he proceeded to give both of them a very thorough frisking, and when he found nothing, he looked even more frustrated.

   “We really don’t have all day, Mr. Kemester,” Tonks said, sliding her papers across the desk, her smile never wavering.

   Kemester looked as though he wanted to punch her, and Harry couldn’t help slide his hand towards his wand, but Kemester restrained himself to stamping their papers with impressive force.

   “Here’s your paperwork,” he said roughly. “Your quarters are with the delegates in the North Wing.” He turned to fix Tonks with a penetrating glare. “And you and I will exchange words later, Nymphadora. Now move along.”

   “Shouldn’t you wish us a good day?” Tonks asked sweetly.

   Harry hastily grabbed her hand and pulled her ahead, even as Tonks laughed softly at the expression on Kemester’s face. “Are you trying to get us killed here –”

   “Just a little fun,” Tonks replied with a wink, tossing back her shimmering blonde hair in a motion reminiscent of Fleur. Need to make sure I ask Cassane about Fleur, Harry thought to himself. With so much going on, I’m going to forget –

   “Besides,” Tonks continued, “it’s not like he can do anything.”

   “Does he know who you are?” Harry demanded anxiously, his eyes darting back to where Kemester was standing. “Tonks, he could expose us –”

   “We’ve got a mutual arrangement,” Tonks replied, but her smile faded a little. “He won’t expose us if he values his career.”

  “Or his life.”

   The new voice from directly behind them nearly made Harry go for his wand, but Cassane only laughed loudly and clapped his hands on their shoulders, a wide smile on his face.

   “Someone’s in a good mood –”

   “Have to keep up some appearances,” Cassane replied easily, tipping the brim of his hat to Tonks and Harry in turn. Unlike the other Ministry workers and Confederation officials Harry had seen, Cassane’s robes were a rich charcoal grey with the same unusual cut that made them seem like a blend of older Muggle fashion and wizard robes – although the rich burgundy ascot added a very different flair to the outfit. “The Ministry wants to present a jovial front to the world, giving the past year and a half.”

   “Hence the ascot,” Tonks guessed.

   “No, that’s because I look simply amazing in it,” Cassane corrected her with a wink as they began walking though the cordoned line. “So, I spoke to our mutual friend Snuffles, and while he was unable to penetrate the protections surrounding the Hall, he did manage to set up his own little defensive perimeter in case something goes wrong outside.”

   “What about if something goes wrong in here?” Harry asked, glancing back at Kemester.

   Cassane paused for a few seconds. “Oh, things will go wrong in here, I can guarantee it.” He took a steadying breath. “But that, we must manage as it comes. Go get settled in your rooms, and avoid the press as much as you can. Fortunately for us all, there is no luncheon today.”

   “You keep going on about them,” Tonks asked curiously, “are they really that –”

   “Yes,” Cassane replied, shivering. “Oh Merlin, yes.”

***

   “And where the hell did you get off to?” Kemester demanded heatedly, glaring at Larshall as he hurried up. “Damn it, Reed, could have used you back a few minutes –”

   “Had to take a piss, sorry,” Larshall apologized quickly as he picked his Probity Probe up from the table. Then he glanced forward – and his face went red as he saw the older man – a militarily-dressed, rather weathered-looking man with a flag pin to his lapel – waiting patiently on the other end of the table. “Oh, damn…”

   “That’s all right, young man,” the man replied with a kindly smile and a very distinctive American accent. “Man’s bladder waits for nobody, I’m afraid, particularly as you get older.” He glanced at Kemester. “Will that be all, sir?”

   “Yes, Representative Adams, that should be all,” Kemester replied, shooting Larshall a quick glare as the older man gave Kemester an informal salute that Kemester smartly returned.

   The second the representative was out of earshot, Kemester turned gloweringly to Larshall. “Reed, you’ve got to be more careful – if that was the Russian or Transylvanian representative, you could have been eaten alive!” Kemester shook his head. “Maybe literally if it was the Transylvanian – thank god it was the American.”

   “He seems nice enough,” Larshall mused, scratching his temple.

   Kemester snorted. “Yeah, and if half the stories are true, the hell he’s been through out in that bloody backwater of a country made him a force to be reckoned with.” He glanced at the slowly growing line of representatives and their aides queuing up. “I get the feeling this is going to be a long day.”

***

   The grey flash lit the laboratory for a brief second, and Bellatrix started, but Voldemort did not move a muscle, watching every second as the light died away.

   The signal had been given.

   He stretched out his left hand and pressed it gently against the black page of the book, his fingers neatly spreading across the blackness, as if they were spanning a pit.

   “Remember, Bellatrix,” Voldemort said calmly, pointing his wand at the green flame, “I am not to be disturbed.”

   He didn’t need to speak a word. The single spark jumped from his wand and touched the flame, and it immediately died. The remaining powder began to move of its own volition, darkening to violet, crystallizing…

   A second spark jumped free, and the scent of scorched metal changed, and became distinctive, unlike anything Voldemort had smelled before…

   Around him, he could see light creeping from the sapphires embedded in the chair, filling each of the grey lines of magic with fiery light that crept around him like a nest of writhing energy, a million different connections to a trillion different possibilities…

   A third spark jumped from his wand.

   The purplish crystal flashed and Voldemort watched with satisfaction as the world around him dissolved into nothingness.

***

   Harry very quickly discovered why the luncheons of the International Confederation of Wizards were so infamous.

   It wasn’t because the food was either terrible or unrecognizably foreign, or because he had to keep swallowing antidotes to prevent against the certain poisoning – most of which meant he couldn’t keep anything down – or even because of the alcohol that everyone was liberally sampling.

   No, if it had just been all that, Harry thought, this would still be bad, but it would at least be engaging – the real problem is that everyone here is bloody insufferable.

   He barely managed to snag a glass of water from a passing waiter and moved to an ivory-coloured pillar at the side of the room, breathing a sigh of relief as he waited for Tonks to come back from the bathroom. Just hope that nobody makes their way over, or certainly not that drunken Swedish delegate who kept hitting on me…

   But a minute later, he saw Tonks stagger towards him, looking extremely pale as she hastily wiped the back of her mouth with her hand.

   “Feeling any better?” Harry asked consolingly.

   “The crab cakes have to be poisoned with something,” Tonks replied shakily, biting back a swear as she took Harry’s glass of water and drained it in a single gulp. “Good thing you avoided them –”

   “You’re welcome,” Harry said sarcastically, looking down at his empty glass. “You know, that water was not easy to get.”

   “I’ll make it up to you later,” Tonks replied, carefully surveying the room. “You know, we’ve already been at this damn thing for the past three and a half hours, and Fudge still hasn’t shown up, or any of his entourage – you’d think the host of this whole affair would make an appearance.”

   “Maybe he’s meeting with Cassane,” Harry reasoned, keeping his eye on the crowd and watching for another waiter with water even as he felt his stomach grumble unpleasantly. “Haven’t seen him either. You kept away from the press?”

   “As much as I could,” Tonks replied in a low voice. “We’re not very important at the moment, so they don’t really have a reason to talk to us just yet…”

   “But I do.”

   Harry turned, and he saw a very handsome man toying with his wine glass, with greying hair, bright eyes, and a clever smile.

   Harry had to fight back the urge to recoil – because he recognized the man instantly from Cassane’s memories.

   “My name is Willard Parkinson, of Parkinson & Baddock, largest wizarding law firm in England,” the man said lightly, extending his hand. “I’m quite sure you two, as young witches practicing magical law, have heard of me.”

   Harry forced his expression to remain neutral as he shook the man’s hand. Can’t give away that I know him – though if he’s as good as I’ve heard… “It would be hard not to have, Mr. Parkinson – what, ah, brings you here?”

   Parkinson extended his hands in a gesture of welcome. “Well, Miss Desdame, you and your partner have managed to attract quite impressive cases and clients. I mean, to be the legal counsellor to Harry Potter… well, it’s impressive, to say the least.”

   Harry tensed, but a strange smile was creeping onto Tonks’ face. “I suspect, Mr. Parkinson, that you’re here for reasons other than the Confederation session.”

   “Am I that transparent?” Parkinson said with a laugh, but something in his eyes had changed. He seemed much more wary now. “Well, then why don’t I lay my cards on the table: I would like to buy your legal practice and absorb it into my own.”

   Harry couldn’t believe his ears – the ‘legal practice’ was a complete sham! We’ve never even prosecuted a case before a court –

   And Parkinson probably knows that.

   Tonks recovered first, and her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think,” she began slowly, “that our business interests coincide all that much –”

   “I don’t think you completely understand where I’m coming from on this offer,” Parkinson interrupted, his eyes gleaming as his smile never wavered. “Miss Vuneren, I am prepared to offer you two a very large sum of money for the practice – payable as soon as everything is moved to the head office.”

   “Or,” Tonks finished, crossing her arms over her chest,” as soon as you have possession of all of our case files.”

   Parkinson sighed. “Really, Miss Vuneren, why be so antagonistic? I am presenting you with an excellent offer –”

   “One that we must unfortunately decline,” Harry interrupted, his tone icy.

   Something definitely changed in Parkinson’s expression now – the look in his eyes was malevolent. “In that unfortunate case, I would feel obliged as a member of the legal community to call the integrity of your firm into question, and I’m certain that the Department of Magical Finance would want to take a look at your books.”

   Harry felt his gut twist with fear. “You don’t have that authority –”

   “Would you really want to base your careers on that assumption?” Parkinson replied, taking a sip of his wine, his tone as light as if he was talking about the weather. “Good day to you, ladies – my offer expires at the end of the session.” And without another word, he strolled away.

   Tonks swallowed hard and glanced at Harry’s empty glass. “Damn, no water left –”

   “You drank it all –”

   “I think I’m going to be sick,” Tonks said hoarsely. “The bastard – Voldemort sent him, I’m sure of it –”

   “So much for this secret identity,” Harry muttered, glancing down at this simulacrum. “Do you think Cassane could do something about him –”

   “If Cassane could do something about Willard Parkinson, he would have done it fifteen years ago,” Tonks muttered fervently. “For Merlin’s sake, when is the luncheon going to be over?”

   “Not soon enough,” Harry replied anxiously. Got to think of the mission – there is a point to all of this… we’ll have the chance to inform the wizarding world of the truth…

***

   Hermione stared down at her heap of notes, a growing feeling of horrible unease growing in her stomach. No, this can’t be true… this really can’t be happening…

   “Ron, come over here!”

   Ron looked up from the chess game he was playing with Neville with distinct irritation. “Can it wait, please?”

   “Yeah, I’m winning for once,” Neville said brightly.

   “Only because my head might explode all over the board, and it requires all my willpower to prevent that from happening,” Ron muttered, staggering to his feet and moving to Hermione’s work table in its usual place by the side of the common room. “What’s going on?”

   “Okay, do you remember me talking about that theory regarding the age cycle present in the attacks?” Hermione began anxiously.

   “Hermione, you say a lot of things,” Ron replied tiredly, “and I’m sorry that I don’t remember all of them –”

   “I remember,” Neville said, hurrying over. He shook his head with remembered distaste. “It was kind of icky, if I remember correctly.”

   Hermione rolled her eyes. Boys. “All right, well, I’ve been re-examining the theory with the new results that we have from the attack this morning.”

   “That you slept through.”

   “Doesn’t mean I don’t have the right to analyze it!” Hermione retorted, jabbing down at the papers. “Besides, Professor Moody filled me in on the details – anyway, I started taking another look at the cycle. The attack on the Ravenclaw girls – that symbolized conception and birth. The attack on Dennis and Filch was childhood, the Hufflepuff professor spirit was a young impressionable adult –”

   “You forgot Luna,” Ron interrupted.

   “I’m fitting her in, Ron,” Hermione replied reprovingly. “Now, according to what Professor Moody told me, she was possessed by two spirits too, or so he thinks – except I think they may have been from different houses, one from Slytherin, one from Ravenclaw.”

   “But how can you assume that she was a Slytherin –”
   “She spoke Parseltongue, Ron,” Hermione said impatiently, “it’s a fairly reliable assumption.”

   “So does Harry, and he’s a Gryffindor!” Ron replied with irritation, putting a hand to his forehead. “Hermione, your theory’s got some pretty big holes holes –”

   “Just listen, Ron! I remember Harry saying that the ‘Slytherin’ ghost left of her own volition, and that he would ‘see her again’ – well, what if that means that in the next possession, he’ll encounter that ghost again?” Hermione glanced from Neville to Ron with excitement. “We can then pinpoint the ghost –”

   “Is this why you called us over?” Ron interrupted, closing his eyes as he winced, “to inform us that you might be able to find out who this ghost is, provided you spend another few days in the library?”

   “No, no, that wasn’t it,” Hermione said quickly, pulling her last page of notes out of the pile and carefully laying it flat on the table. “If we take the young Slytherin possession for Luna as the teenager, and the suicidal Ravenclaw ghost as a young woman, we may have a pattern, with the Fat Friar symbolizing advanced age –”

   “Excepting we’re missing the Slytherin and Gryffindor possessions in between,” Neville pointed out, tapping the paper.

   “And that’s exactly it,” Hermione finished, taking a deep breath. “I hypothesize one of our houses will be attacked next – and I suspect it’ll likely be a Gryffindor, considering it’s Nott, Malfoy, and Zabini causing the attacks.” She glanced at Ron, who was holding the edge of the table for support. “Ron, are you okay? Do you follow everything –”

   “I didn’t get to have your little nap this afternoon, Hermione!” Ron snapped, his eyes clenched tightly shut. “I don’t’ think I’ve slept in days, and I really hope you have a point to all of this.”

   Hermione swallowed hard. “Well, here’s the thing: if we consider these attacks as coming in a cycle, the final attack will be a Ravenclaw possession… and I don’t think it’ll mean good things for Hogwarts.” She glanced at her two friends, her expression grave. “I mean… ravens are symbols of death, and the last stage of life after old age is…”

   “Death,” Neville murmured nervously, some of the blood leaving his face.

   “Ravenclaw is just a name –”

   “And names are important, Ron!” Hermione replied heatedly. “You-Know-Who certainly always thought so, and it would be just like him to try something like this.”

 “So… so what now?” Neville asked hesitantly.

   “Hopefully Moody catches Malfoy and strings him up by his ankles like Filch always threatened,” Ron said darkly. “Otherwise…”

   “I just need to get a few books from the library,” Hermione said distractedly, her mind racing. “I need to confirm my hypothesis – probably wouldn’t be bad to talk to Professor Moody either…”

   “Are you going to need any help?” Neville asked as Hermione began shoving her notes into her bag.

   “No, I’ll be quite fine,” Hermione reassured them as she slung her bag over her shoulder, giving Ron a look of concern. “Ron, you should really lie down if your head hurts that badly, I’ll see if I can brew something to make you feel better when I get back, okay? Just go back to your chess game, I’ll be back soon.”
   “Okay,” Ron muttered. “Thanks, Hermione, you’re the best…”

   Hermione smiled, and then hurried towards the portrait hole. Clamouring through it, she rushed down the stairs. Probably best to get the library across the upper floors –

   “Hermione!”

   She nearly stumbled as the familiar voice stopped her in mid-step. Her thoughts nearly scattered as she glanced down the corridor she had just passed by going down the stairs – and she could hardly believe her eyes.

   “Harry?”

***

   The small room they had been assigned was plain – certainly not on the level of the hotel room they had used when breaking into the Department of Magical Finance – but it was serviceable, and Tonks eyed the bed with longing the second she stepped into the room. The curtains were already drawn, and the lights were already dimmed –

   “I’ll go down the hall, try to get some ice,” Harry said quietly, barely stifling a yawn. It was already getting late – the dinner and dedication ceremony for the Hall had dragged on for hours…

   Tonks smiled wanly. “Not too much,” she called after Harry before slowly closing the door. “Don’t think we’re going to do much drinking before we…”

   Her voice trailed off, and her hand slipped to her wand. “What are you –”

   “I said we were going to talk,” Dmitri Kemester said evenly as he stepped out of the shadows. He crossed his arms over his chest with impatience as he sat down on the bed, “And now’s a good time – took you long enough.”

   “You broke into my room –”
   “Actually, for security, the entire team has keys,” Kemester interrupted, drawing his own wand. “I didn’t touch any of your things.”

   “I’ll be able to verify that if you did,” Tonks spat, stepping more into the room to where her trunk was propped against the wall. “Damn it, Kemester, what are you doing here?”

   “I should ask you the same question,” Kemester replied coolly. “What are you doing here? I didn’t even know you and your ‘partner’ received an invite.”

   Tonks glanced at the walls and ceiling with distrust. “You’ve swept the room already?”

   “Obviously.”

   She lowered her voice. “We have evidence of his return – enough that a certain someone thinks we should present it to the Confederation.”

   Kemester’s eyes narrowed. “Really.”

   “Really,” Tonks replied, shaking her head. “I can still hardly believe it.”

   “Does Fudge know?”

   Tonks only stared at Kemester, and he let out a long slow whistle.

   “That’s… dangerous.”

   “Well, it’s about bloody time,” Tonks replied with a huff. “At least then we don’t have to keep lying.”

   “Except for whatever this is,” Kemester said, with a knowing look on his face, “because this certainly is not a Ministry-sanctioned operation.”

   “And we already had an agreement about this,” Tonks countered, drumming her fingers against her wand. “I do some hunting for your leak in the Department, and you keep your mouth shut.” She took an unsteady breath. “Unfortunately, from what I’ve seen…”

   “You’ve got nothing.”

   Tonks gave him a cold glare. “I could argue that I was busy doing other things, but I know you wouldn’t buy that.”

   “Tonks, I want results,” Kemester retorted calmly, rising to his feet, his scarred face shadowed in the dim light of the room. “And that means you had better give me something of value or I will go to Scrimgeour, and you won’t be an Auror for much longer.”

   Tonks’ fists were white-knuckled as Kemester walked towards the door, but she knew attacking Kemester would solve precisely nothing. I just need to find clues or evidence of something… hang on, wait a second –

   “You were surprised to see us here,” she said aloud to Kemester’s back. “That we got an invitation –”

   “Normally invitations go to people affiliated with the Confederation or the Ministry,” Kemester replied with irritation. “Not fraudulent lawyers.”

   “Then why the hell did Parkinson get an invitation?” Tonks retorted, her hair darkening spasmodically. “I mean, he’s not affiliated with the Ministry –”

   Kemester paused in mid-step, and then turned around, his eyes burning. “Parkinson isn’t here, Auror. I personally searched every bloody person coming into this building –”

   “Well, then somebody has Polyjuice Potion or we have a security breach,” Tonks replied softly. “You might want to take that back to your team.”

***

   “I’ll be in the next room, ma’am,” Bozo said, handing Rita a stack of photographs as he shouldered his tripod for the camera. “Make sure to call if you need any additional negatives for development.”

   Rita quickly flipped through the photos as she fumbled for her room key – given her name had been stricken from the list, it had been difficult to find unoccupied rooms, but thankfully Bozo had managed to snag two from a rejected news team. Nothing particularly striking in these pictures, but not every picture is for the front page…

   She finally managed to fit her key into the lock and slipped into the darkness of the room –

   Where a hot blue spell nearly took off her head.

   The photographs clattered to the floor as she began to transform, her perspective dropping quickly to just above the floor. She felt her eyes compound, giving herself a new view in the darkness – there were two figures, moving fast.

   And I’m faster.

   She felt as if she was strapped face first to the underside of a broom or Muggle car as she raced across the floor, streaking towards the window, where she could get outside -

   The incoming spell seemed supernaturally slow, and she easily darted aside, racing towards the wall. The entire world went perpendicular as she zoomed up the wall towards the open window –

   Which slammed shut with a painful echoing crack.

   The vibration caught Rita off-guard, and she felt her legs slow, lose their grip on the wall –

   She didn’t even have a chance to dodge the next spell.

   She felt herself changing, growing rapidly, her perspective warping as the room became darker and darker...

   And without warning, she was human, sprawled on the floor. She scrabbled to her feet in the blackness, stumbling on her heels as she went for her wand –

   “Stop moving, or you die.”

   She froze, acutely aware of the wand now shoved against her back. “I’ll scream, and –”

   “Imperio.”

   And without warning, all of the thoughts of screaming vanished from her mind. A warm pleasantness filled her mind, and she felt perfectly content –

   “Turn around.”

   It seemed like the most natural thing to do, so she did turn around. Immediately she felt her wand plucked from her pocket, but she didn’t seem to mind all that much. Everything was quiet and safe…

   She blinked rapidly as a light on the tip of a wand was lit, revealing a very familiar, very handsome face.

   “You,” Willard Parkinson said disapprovingly, “are not supposed to be here.”

   “Neither are you, and was the Unforgivable really necessary?”

   Parkinson sneered. “Are you squeamish?”

   “No…” the man’s voice trailed off, “but it really does seem unprofessional –”

   “There are times where it pays to be unprofessional,” Parkinson said sharply, glaring at the unseen figure lurking the darkness. “You already paid off the photographer?”

   “Bozo’s been looking to get rid of her for a long time,” the unseen man replied with a deep chuckle. “What are you going to do with her?”

   “She’s your reporter.”

   “A thorn in my side, more like,” the voice corrected with a snort, and even despite the pleasantness making her not want to bother with thoughts, she recognized the voice… oh, she knew that voice…

   There was a muttered word, and a second wand lit, revealing the satisfied expression on Barnabus Cuffe’s surprisingly handsome face.

   “Right now, however…” Cuffe continued, stepping closer and surveying Rita with a strange expression, “I have no need of her services. And despite my… distaste for this crude affair, you may do with her as you will. I trust she will serve you well.”

   And without warning, she heard a voice in that rich pleasantness of her mind – a familiar voice, screaming at the top of its lungs…

   “-I MADE HIS CAREER, I SAVED HIS HIDE, I WAS THE REASON THE DAMN PAPER WAS SO SUCCESSFUL, THEY READ BECAUSE OF ME, NOT THAT WRETCHED EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING –”

   She suddenly felt Parkinson’s hand began to caress her cheek as the pleasantness faded away in her brain, and she fought to keep her face expressionless. Just a few more seconds…

   “Anything,” Parkinson mused, his hand sliding down her neck towards her chest. “I like the sound of that…”

   Rita kept the vacant smile on her face – and then rammed her knee into Parkinson’s crotch.

   “FUCK –”

   She heard Cuffe begin to move forward, but she wasn’t going to waste time. Even as she felt Parkinson’s hand clench on the front of her robes, she slashed out with her fingernails, hoping to get her hands on her wand or Parkinson’s eyeballs –

   She hit something. She wasn’t sure what – the light wasn’t staying still – but she heard Parkinson howl and something wet on her fingers. She heard a clatter as something bright struck the floor –

   The wand!

   She dove for it, her fingers snagging on the familiar grain –

   “Stupid bitch!”

   Cuffe’s foot slammed against her ribcage, and she could feel something crack horribly, but twisted away from him, concentrating as hard as she could, hoping to feel the compression –

   It was like she had been hit with a saucepan, and she toppled back again –

   Onto stone, not carpet.

   Dimly, Rita could hear alarm bells ringing and figures running in as she tried to regain her senses, but something felt strange – like she couldn’t feel anything below her waist, like there was nothing even there…

   And then she heard the voices, drifting in and out…

  “…Anti-Apparition Enchantments propelled her straight here into the holding cell…”

   “…no wonder she’s splinched herself – someone get dittany, we need to close these wounds and recover the missing body parts…”

   “…hey, isn’t that Rita Skeeter…”

   “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!”

   She knew that voice, and her eyes fluttered open as she could see a burly figure shoving his way to the front, kneeling next to her, his scarred face twisted into an unfamiliar expression of concern…

   “Skeeter, what the – why the hell did you try to Apparate –”

   “Parkinson,” she whispered, a bubble of blood leaking through her lips. “Parkinson… Cuffe… tried to… they said they would… ”

   Dmitri Kemester’s eyes widened. “You said Parkinson? Are you absolutely – no, of course you’re sure.... Reed, get a fucking stretcher, we need to get her to St. Mungo’s NOW!”

   She heard a clatter as Hit Wizards rushed forward, but for the moment, she didn’t care. The pain was almost muted as she grabbed Kemester’s hand.

   “They tried to…” she whispered again, “they would have…”

   “Shh,” Kemester said quickly, “I know, I know… fuck, I’m going to get them, Rita, I fucking swear I’m going to get them – call in an alert, goddamn it, she’s lost most of her fucking torso not to mention the leg, I need the dittany NOW –”

   “They need to know…” Rita whispered, her vision beginning to whirl as it darkened around the edges. “The story…”

   And then it all went black.

***

   Kemester rose to his feet, and drew his wand as the Hit Wizards rushed in around them, carefully moving Rita Skeeter’s unconscious, maimed form onto the stretcher.

   He closed his eyes, and fought to control the raw fury boiling up inside of him as his breathing accelerated. Something got past us, and it… and it…

   “Dmitri, we’re going to get her to St Mungo!” Larshall shouted, as two other Hit Wizards rushed away with the stretcher. “Dmitri –”

   “Get me Nathan Cassane,” Kemester growled, his voices somehow cutting through all of the noise. “I want him here. After Rita’s been taken out, lock down the entire Hall – nothing in or out. After that, I want Nymphadora Vuneren and Clarissa Desdame in this office, I want Minister Fudge in this office, and most importantly, if I don’t see Barnabus Cuffe and Willard Parkinson in this holding cell in the next five minutes, I will personally go and find them and paint the walls with the blood of their severed cocks!”

 

***

   “I thought you went back with Tonks,” Hermione said with confusion, as Harry came closer. “I mean, you said you were –”

   “I had to come back,” Harry interrupted, his eyes fixed on Hermione with a strange intensity. “I needed to talk to you.”

   Talk to me… that’s not typical… unless… “Are you coming to talk to me about the theories?” she asked breathlessly. “About the spirits –”

   “Shh!” Harry whispered quickly, glancing up and down before gesturing for her to come closer. “Inside the classroom, we don’t want to be overheard.”

   Hermione nodded silently, and turned the nearby doorknob – and it was locked.

   “Should we try the next one –”

   “No, I’ve got it,” Hermione said irritably, drawing her wand. “Alohomora!”

   The lock clicked, and Harry shoved the door open. Hermione moved inside first, glancing around the unused classroom, where most of the desks were piled up along the side of the room, leaving plenty of open space.

   “Right,” she began quickly, dropping her bag on the floor and kneeling next to it, scanning through the clutter of papers. “So, here’s what I found out –”

   She reached inside her bag to pull out her diagram – just as Harry’s boot connected with her face.

***

   The inner conference room was silent, and despite the ornate and cushioned furnishings, nobody was comfortable. It hadn’t been a pleasant night in the slightest, and from the look on Kemester’s face, Harry guessed that it wouldn’t get better any time soon.

   “I don’t think we have any other options, at this point,” Cassane began quietly, folding his hands. “Word of this will spread all across the Hall, and we will have an international incident on our hands. Another one.”

   He looked up and faced Cornelius Fudge. “Minister, you have to cancel the remaining session and call a formal investigation.”

   “And risk losing even more of our international standing?” Umbridge asked, her voice filled with annoyed incredulity.

   “Rita Skeeter is critically wounded – possibly dying,” Kemester growled, “and the culprits are running free through this very facility – and all you bloody care about is –”

   “Kemester,” Scrimgeour said with a warning tone, glaring at the enraged Hit Wizard. “Remain composed, or I will have you removed.”

   “I told you he was dangerously unstable,” Umbridge said in a stage whisper, nodding at Fudge, who was eyeing Kemester with a deeply suspicious expression. “Clearly not fit for active duty –”

   Kemester leapt to his feet, his wand in his fist. “You miserable –”

   “Kemester!” Scrimgeor snapped. “Sit down.”

   “He’s on edge, and justifiably so,” Cassane said coolly as Kemester dropped into his chair, hatred radiating from every pore, “considering who the implicated parties are –”

   “The editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet and the head of the most prestigious wizarding legal firm in the country!” Fudge exclaimed, tossing his quill onto the table. “Such wild accusations, particularly from a reporter who wasn’t even supposed to be on site –”

   “Because you didn’t want unfriendly press,” Cassane interrupted, leaning closer and fixing Fudge with a grim stare. “Don’t think I didn’t see right through that, Minister.”

   Fudge reddened, but lost none of his bluster. “The fact remains, she wasn’t supposed to be here –”

   “And neither was Parkinson,” Kemester hissed, his scarred face twisted into a sneer.

   “Then if he got in, whose fault was that?” Fudge shot back triumphantly, pointing at Kemester. “Your team said Bonaccord Hall was supposed to be impenetrable!”

   “We don’t have the time to place blame,” Scrimgeour said tersely, glaring at Kemester again. “What we need to decide is how to proceed with this and handle the damage. Hit Wizard Kemester, your professional opinion?”

   “Seal and cordon the entire building,” Kemester replied immediately, cracking his knuckles. “Search every inch of it. Interrogate every person here, get every scrap of information that can possibly be attained. Mobilize our back-up to raid the Daily Prophet and the offices of Parkinson & Baddock, and confiscate every file.”

   “You only have the word of a reporter –”

   “An eyewitness reporter,” Kemester snarled.

   “A paparazzi reporter,” Fudge replied scathingly. “Given her own unauthorized presence at this conference, I would hardly take her word.”

   Didn’t stop you before, Harry thought bitterly.

   “Parkinson’s presence can be confirmed,” Kemester said, pointing at where Harry and Tonks were sitting, very distinctly out-of-place. “Those two encountered him during the luncheon.”

   “He presented us a business offer,” Tonks added, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “He wanted to absorb our practice.”

   “And before you say anything,” Cassane finished, fixing Fudge with a warning stare, “I can vouch for the two of them.”

   Fudge looked very disgruntled at that news. “Fine… fine, then there is nothing wrong with calling in Parkinson and Cuffe and asking them a few questions, but we cannot cancel the Confederation session for that!”

   “Do I need to emphasize again,” Kemester said, his voice quaking with rage, “that Rita Skeeter was nearly assaulted and is likely dying at this very instant –”

   “You’ve emphasized it plenty,” Scrimgeour said curtly. “Mugwump Cassane, you believe the conference should not continue?”

   “I’m deferring to Hit Wizard Kemester’s judgement on this matter,” Cassane replied calmly, raising his hands. “As he is the lead investigator of this case – unless, of course, he is overruled.”

   A brief expression of shock crossed Kemester’s face at the acknowledgment of Cassane – a look that briefly caused Harry to grin, but Fudge was undaunted.

   “The session must continue,” he said flatly. “I am the Minister for Magic, and that is my decision –”

   “Well, forgive me, Minister,” Cassane replied calmly, “but in this case, I feel I should defer to someone with experience dealing with investigations – namely, Auror Scrimgeour? Well, Rufus, what is the plan?”

   Scrimgeour took a deep breath, and looked at Kemester, and then Fudge, his golden eyes darkening as he looked down at the table.

   “At this time,” he said grimly, “I must defer to the Minister.”

   Kemester didn’t snap to his feet this time, but the look of shock and fury on his face was mirrored by Harry and Tonks alike. How can they – why the hell is he siding with the Minister on this now against Cassane –

   Cassane’s eyes narrowed. “I truly hope,” he began, “that this decision does not stem from any… residual feelings you may have towards –”

   “Not everything’s about you, Cassane,” Scrimgeour said with a scowl as he rose to his feet. “However, Kemester’s investigation will continue throughout the course of this session. He will be allowed to interrogate witnesses and suspects – with the provisions of diplomatic immunity, obviously – and we will begin policy meetings tomorrow, so we can get this over with and send the diplomats home.” Scrimgeour fixed Fudge and Umbridge with a stern glare as they immediately began to protest.

   “We have an important schedule to keep –”

   “We shouldn’t risk making the delegates feel uncomfortable –”

   “Most of your delegates spent all of lunch today running back and forth from the bathroom to vomit,” Scrimgeour snapped, “so one would think that discomfort is part of the package, particularly if it could be saving their lives.”

***

   Kemester seethed as he stormed from the inner conference room.

   He didn’t understand it. How could Scrimgeour do it – why would he jeopardize the integrity of the entire investigation, make things that much more difficult –

   “Kemester!”

   He paused in midstep and turned as Scrimgeour approached. “I’ve got work to do, sir, so let’s make this brief.”

   “I don’t like your tone, Hit Wizard –”

   “I don’t like the fact you jeopardized our entire investigation!” Kemester roared, his temper finally breaking loose. “What the fuck are you playing at –”

   “Keep your voice down!” Scrimgeour hissed, seizing Kemester’s robes and fixing him with a furious stare. “If I hadn’t agreed with Fudge, I would be fired before my ass left the seat, and you had better bet that Cassane would not have objected to that!”

   Kemester yanked himself out of Scrimgeour’s grip as he reigned in his temper. “Good enough reason.”

   “That being said, and despite your terrible behavior, I still want you in charge of this investigation,” Scrimgeour continued. “I want you to go to St. Mungo’s, to get Skeeter’s statement when she wakes up.”

  “I’m better here –”

   “Larshall and I will handle things here,” Scrimgeour replied, “and I’ll bring in Amelia Bones as soon as she gets in. Rest assured, there will be justice.”

   “Justice…” Kemester whispered bitterly. “Tell me, Scrimgeour, you knew my father – do you think, in the end, he got justice?”

   And with that, he turned down a side corridor and left Scrimgeour standing in the hall, a shocked look on his face.

***

   “You didn’t put up much of a fight in there –”

   “Because ultimately, this can still work in our favour,” Cassane replied bracingly as he, Tonks, and Harry reached the door to their room. “The investigation will catch Parkinson and Cuffe, and we’ll still have the chance to make our statement. In fact, we’ll get to make it even earlier.”

   “Parkinson said he would expose us to the Ministry,” Tonks said worriedly, raking a hand through her hair. “No matter how good our statement is, it wouldn’t survive contact with that argument.”

   “And considering he’s on the run now, he won’t have the chance to make that argument,” Cassane countered with a satisfied grin as Harry unlocked the door. “Get some sleep, you two – tomorrow’s going to be a big day, and for once, everything will be just fine.”

***

   Pain exploded across her face as she reeled back from the blow, falling hard against the stone, her wand slipping from her fingertips and skittering across the floor –

   Her conscious mind hadn’t caught up with what happened – all she knew was that she needed her wand, and she rolled onto her front, stretching out wildly for her wand –

   The boot came down again, and Hermione screamed in pain she heard the cracking sound of breaking bones and the crunching sound of broken bones being driven into the stone.

   Tears began streaming down her face, and she tasted something that tasted horribly like blood in her mouth as she fought to pull her hand free from beneath the boot, which was now twisting downwards –

   Then before her disbelieving eyes, she saw a hand – Harry’s hand – dart down and snag up the wand.

   Her wand.

   Her mind had caught up with everything now – and it refused to believe what it was seeing.

   The pressure on her hand lightened, and she snatched it back – only for another explosion of agony as she moved her broken fingers –

   CRACK

   The spell hit Hermione without warning, right across the face. She felt her nose crunch at the blow, and fresh blood spill into her mouth. She toppled backwards, and she clumsily tried to avoid landing on her broken fingers.

   It didn’t work.

   She opened her mouth to scream in pain, for help, for anyone – but to her shock, no noise emerged from between her lips. She suddenly couldn’t hear herself breathing –

   “Close your mouth.”

   Hermione knew that voice – it was Harry’s.

   No. This can’t be happening.

   Harry extended his wand, no expression on his face.

   This is a nightmare – I’m going to wake up, I have to wake up, this isn’t happening –

   The spell from her wand hit her directly in the face.

   This blow wasn’t as strong, and she quickly recovered, opening her mouth to scream –

   But she couldn’t. Something had been stretched over her lips. She raised her good hand to her face – it felt sickeningly like skin, like her lips had been slathered with fresh skin and fused together –

   “This isn’t a nightmare, Hermione.”

   She couldn’t catch her breath, she could only breathe through her nose as she scrabbled back –

   Only for the stone to liquidify beneath her. She tried to scramble up, the tears rushing down her face – only for another spell to catch her ankles and drop her hard back into the stone-turned-mud of the floor. The mud coated her robes and covered her hair, mixing with the blood -

   “This is real, Hermione.”

   Her eyes were wide as she fought to pull herself up again, pulling at her fused lips as hard as she could, fighting against the agony exploding through her –

   And then the stone around her hands and ankles solidified, encasing them in solid, inescapable rock. She was sprawled across the now-solid floor, her hair suddenly heavy, her legs spread in a painfully awkward position

   She felt her heart pound wildly, uncontrollably, in her chest as she saw Harry – no, it couldn’t be Harry, it couldn’t be him, it just couldn’t –

   “Oh, it’s me,” Harry replied, a trace of a grin crossing his face as he watched her try to yank herself free of the rock with no success. He raised his wand to his lips, and without a word, it began to glow red-hot. “It’s Harry, Hermione – you know it’s me.”

   It has to be Polyjuice, her mind screamed, it has to be Polyjuice or something, it’s not him, he wouldn’t –

   “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you should,” Harry whispered, answering her thoughts, his voice abruptly cold. “But I don’t need to lie – it’s me, and you know it.”

   But then he smiled – and for the first time in her life, the sight of that smile filled her with gut-wrenching terror.

   “But enough talk – I think it’s time we take off some clothes, and turn this into a night you’ll never forget.”

***

   It always amazed Tonks how easily the Ministry wasted money.

   The waiting room they were standing it could have easily been spartan, with a few simple tables and chairs, perhaps with a few tasteful paintings. Instead, the room was a lavishly appointed monstrosity of mahogany and dark stone. The two doors – one to the Conference Chamber, the other to the rest of the Hall – were stout and unnecessarily heavy. Paintings in gilded frames were strewn haphazardly along the walls and even the twin arched windows were embossed with metallic frames.

   None of it made her feel the least bit better – and from the pained look on Harry’s face, she guessed the same was true with him.

   “You think that introductions would go a little quicker,” he muttered, moving up to one of the windows and squinting to look outside through the piercingly bright dawn. “Or that Cassane would speed things along –”

   “There are always delays when it comes to this sort of thing,” Tonks replied with a shrug, “even more likely considering that Scrimgeour bumped everything up to today.”

   “They still haven’t found Parkinson or Cuffe.” Harry took an unsteady breath. “I don’t get it – why go after Rita Skeeter, of all people? I mean, how could they have known she was even here, she wasn’t supposed to be on the list!”

   “Maybe she found out something nobody wanted to know,” Tonks replied after a few seconds of thought as she toyed with a stray lock of blonde hair. “I don’t know, Harry – hopefully, when Kemester takes her statement, we can get something.”

   Harry closed his eyes, and Tonks stepped closer with growing concern. He’s not looking great… granted, our sleep last night was interrupted, but I’d think he’d be okay…

   “What do you think will happen?” Harry asked suddenly, looking out the window into the snow-covered courtyard. “What do you think Fudge will say?”

   “I think Cassane will be able to shout him down, or at least prevent him from commenting during our presentation,” Tonks replied, idly reaching back and scratching her shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll get the chance to say our piece.”

   There was a rattle at the door to the hall, and Tonks glanced over to see the door open a crack, and Kemester’s partner Larshall poke his head inside.

   “They’re just coming in now, ladies,” he said, a little breathless from pushing the heavy door open. I’ll come back around to the other door and let you two in when it’s time for your speech.”

   “Thank you,” Tonks replied curtly, turning back to Harry as Larshall pulled the door shut with a loud grunt.

   “You have to wonder,” Harry said, almost unaware that he was speaking aloud, “what Dumbledore’s doing, whether he’d think this is the right thing to do. He made a speech saying that Voldemort is back, and look what happened to him.”

   “Times have changed,” Tonks said calmly, ignoring the pit of nervousness in her own stomach. “Changed a great deal. Considering everything that’s happened, both with Hogwarts and with the Ministry…”

   Harry slid his hand into hers. “Well, this is the moment – after this, the war starts for real.”

   “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

   Tonks’ blood ran cold – she knew that voice. But it can’t be… not now…

   She whirled around at the same moment as Harry, and Peeves laughed loudly as he floated lazily around the room, as if he was doing nothing more dangerous than telling a crude joke.

  But this time, his expression was different. There was something about his smile, something that made the hair on Tonks’ back stand up on edge.

   He knows something.

***

   Click.

   The first time Nott had snapped the camera, Malfoy had been caught off-guard, and he had nearly jumped up. But then he had seen Zabini’s disgusted sneer, and he had settled back down behind the piled desks, out of sight, out of mind…

   It was better to be out of mind – particularly considering the scene in front of them.

   He had felt the same thrill of horror and anticipation he was sure Zabini and Nott had felt when he saw Granger and Potter enter the room – but that thrill was gone the instant Potter’s boot had collided with Granger’s face.

   From that second on, he had just felt sick.

   Click.

   He could tell Zabini’s eyes were on him – he knew the other Slytherin was watching him for any slip, any sign of weakness. And so he kept his face implacable, even as Granger was hit again and again…

   He closed his eyes and fought to control the feelings in his gut, the traitorous thoughts in his mind that were screaming for him to do something, anything, to save her from this…

   “But enough talk – I think it’s time we take off some clothes, and turn this into a night you’ll never forget.”

   His eyes snapped open uncontrollably. Blaise simply folded his arms, his face expressionless. Nott was practically salivating at the scene.

   He watched Potter stalk closer before crouching between Granger’s trapped legs, his wand glowing white-hot.

   Click.

   She couldn’t scream. Despite how hard he tried, he couldn’t tear his gaze away, not see the tears rolling down her face, not hear the ripping sounds of cloth tearing…

   Click.

   He saw her jerk in agony, like a hand puppet twisting at every subtle gesture of the puppeteer…

   Click.

   Her fused lips were red, the cries bottled behind as the ripping sounds grew louder and blood began to trickle and pool around Potter’s boots…

   Click.

   The tears were still coming, but her brown eyes were rolling back as her struggles faltered. She couldn’t close her eyes, but he could tell her mind was trying not to comprehend what she was seeing.

  It was futile.

   Click.

   The struggles slowed, and now she only moved when he moved her…

   She was just a marionette, a broken doll.

   And the blood was slowly seeping across the cracks in the floor.

   Click.

   And with second, he knew that there would be no coming back from this, no redemption, not even a just reward…

   Just damnation.

   Click.

   The line had been crossed.

   No, he thought suddenly, the line had been crossed long ago. This is just the breaking point.

   The fear of defiance was gone – the growing fury had burned it away. He didn’t care if his actions would damn him.

   “I’m already damned,” he whispered.

   Zabini’s eyes widened. “Draco –”

   He leapt to his feet, his wand already glowing, clarity burning his eyes.

   I should have done this long ago.

   “Blaise, Nott, I quit. EXPULSO!”

***

   “Peeves, I think you should know that I am about this close to –”

   Peeves shook his head with mock sadness. “Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry, all those threats – and yet you already know there’s not a thing you can do to me, even with all of your strength.”

  “I dunno, Dumbledore destroyed the soul of that old caretaker,” Harry snarled, taking a step closer to the poltergeist, who floated carefully out of reach. “Maybe I should give the spell a little try –”

   “And miss all the important things I might have to say?” Peeves replied with a giggle as he zoomed out of the direct sunlight towards the marble fireplace. “Jeopardize all that?”

   Tonks felt a horrible feeling well up in her gut as she stepped closer. “Are you trying to tell us there’s been another attack?”

   Peeves cocked his head sideways. “Maybe,” he drawled, drawing out every syllable of the word.

   “Son of a bitch, not now!” Harry swore, looking around the room wildly. “Tonks, we need to contact Moody –”

   “Oh, I’m sure by now he knows,” Peeves interrupted, his eyes gleaming with malice, “but I think the damage may have already been done…”

   “What do you gain from this, Peeves?” Harry snarled, pointing his wand straight at the laughing poltergeist. “What kind of sick pleasure do you get from this?”

   Peeves paused, and a truly evil smile grew across his widening face.

   “You know, Harry, I could ask you the same question.”

   Harry frowned, but Tonks suddenly felt a rush of horror – along with realization. No… oh god, no!

   “You see, Harry,” Peeves continued, dropping closer to Harry, “if you leave a backdoor, eventually, someone’s gonna use it.”

   She knew her hair was darkening towards black, but she didn’t care. Oh god, oh no, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening!

  Peeves finally stopped moving when he was an inch from Harry’s wand.

   “So, now I’ve just got to ask – between the science experiment and Miss Granger, who really gets you off?”

   Then Peeves vanished into thin air, leaving Harry standing stock-still, his eyes suddenly glassy.

   “Tonks.” His voice was strangled. “Give a good speech – I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

   “Harry, what the – HARRY!”

   But it was already too late. The simulacrum froze – and then crumpled to the floor, utterly lifeless.

***

   “MALFOY, WHAT THE -”

   Malfoy wasn’t wasting time focusing on Zabini, even as his Exploding Curse hit the door, blasting it to flaming tinder. His focus was on Potter, yanking his hand free and rising to his feet –

   “Confringo!” Malfoy bellowed, slashing his wand violent. “Confringo, you fucking bastard, confringo, CONFRINGO!”

  Potter dove for cover – but Malfoy’s spells weren’t aimed at Potter.

   He heard the crack of breaking stone, and saw Granger’s legs slump with freedom as she stirred feebly. Amazing she’s still conscious –

   A flurry of spells streaked past him, and Malfoy yanked his attention back to the fight. Potter was coming back, raising the wand.

   “Traitor.”

   Hatred roared up inside him like a tidal wave, how his family had been treated like less than dirt, how he had lost his handsomeness by playing a decoy, how he had tortured fellow students –

  “AVADA KEDAVRA!”

   There was a flash of bright green light, and Malfoy could hear the sounds of speeding death…

   And then he saw Potter hit the floor, unmoving, the body abandoned and still as a corpse.

***

   He felt himself zooming through space, towards a purplish glow…

   His chair rocked back with a thud as the purple gem flashed, and Voldemort’s eyes snapped open.

   “My Lord!”

   He watched vacantly as Bellatrix rushed forward, but his mind was focused on the inevitable.

   Draco Malfoy has betrayed me. He even tried to kill me.

   “Bellatrix,” he said, mustering all of his calm as he rose to his feet, his muscles stiff from the long hours in the chair, “please gather Lucius and Narcissa, and bring them to me immediately. They have something they must answer for.”

   Bellatrix’s eyes flashed with a mixture of shock and fear. “Did… did something go –”

   “Potentially,” Voldemort hissed. “Before you leave, have the Italians made their appearance?”

   “The main delegate is currently waiting for you, my Lord.”

   “Bring him down,” Voldemort said curtly. “This should not take long.”

  Bellatrix nodded, and then paused. “My Lord,” she began slowly, licking her lips, “did the mission… did you –”

   “Yes,” Voldemort replied, allowing a note of triumph to creep into his voice. “Success.”

   Bellatrix smiled madly, and with a short bow, darted away. Voldemort bent and picked up the Book of Inversion and Duplex from the table and carefully eyed it.

   “A valuable tome,” he mused aloud, snapping the book shut as he fit it carefully into his bookcase. “I must make the time to utilize it further.”

   He heard heavy steps on the stairs, and he straightened as he moved back to his chair and folded his hands. Any moment now…

   “My Lord,” Bellatrix began, “Lord Abnigus of Naples.”

   The Italian man was clean-shaven, his grey hair plastered flat around his head beneath a large black hat. To Voldemort’s immediate distaste, the man was enormously fat, and smelt as if he hadn’t bathed in well over a week. And judging by his corpulence, he thought to himself, it wouldn’t be hard to believe. Wearing heavy, violet robes, Lord Abnigus was a massive presence in the room – one that Voldemort did not find welcome in the slightest.

   The Italian bowed shortly to Voldemort – a gesture Voldemrt did not return. He didn’t even rise from his seat.

   The Italian flushed. “I would have thought,” the man said haughtily in Italian, “that the great Lord Voldemort would have better manners.”

   “That would imply the great Lord Voldemort cares an iota about your presence here,” Voldemort replied. “Bellatrix, your errand?”

   Bellatrix gave the fat man a disdainful sneer before Disapparating, one the Italian seemed to completely ignore, his watery eyes focused completely on Voldemort.

***

   “NO!”

   Malfoy turned and ducked instinctively – and it saved his life, as an avalanche of desks they had used as a barricade flew straight at him. As it was, he stumbled as a few desks hit him hard across the head and shoulders, knocking him back –

   He chanced a glance upward – and immediately rolled sideways, away from the curse. He kept moving, not wasting time to look back. One look had told him everything he needed to know.

   Nott had lost his goddamn mind.

   Malfoy kept moving, seizing his broom off the floor as he moved towards the window, nearly getting hit by Zabini’s curse –

   And then he got an idea, and without thinking, he acted.

   “Accio camera!”

   Nott screamed as the camera ripped itself from his hand and soared straight into Malfoy’s grip.

   “Draco, the camera,” Zabini growled. “Don’t compound your treason.”

   “Everyone will have heard the explosions,” Malfoy said, forcing his voice to remain steady and keeping a firm grip on the broom and camera. “You might want to start running.”

   “Draco –”

   Malfoy forced back the brief feeling of foreboding and regret – he had chosen a new side.

   I’m sorry, Blaise.

   “Goodbye.”

   And with a blur of curses exploding around him, Draco leapt on his broom and soared out the window into the bloodshot sky.

***

   The first thing he noticed was the dust.

   Harry shook his head and coughed as he pushed himself up. The room was thick with rubble and broken desks, and blood was sprayed haphazardly across the ground.

   He heard hammering footsteps slowly fading – someone was running away…

   He blinked twice and began to gingerly rise to his feet – and then he felt something sticky on his left hand. Sticky... and wet.

   He looked down, and he felt bile rush to his mouth. His hand was soaked in blood and something else that he didn’t quite recognize that smelt foul…

   And then he saw her. She was lying limply on the ground, her robes in tatters around her, her panties shoved back…

   And then Harry suddenly knew where his hand had been.

   At that second, he suddenly remembered. He remembered scrambling up from the dust of the Shrieking Shack and sprinting down the tunnel. He remembered rushing into the school and racing up several flights of stairs. He remembered seeing Hermione.

   He remembered hitting…

   “Oh god,” Harry whispered with growing horror, looking at his hand. “No… no, no, no, please –”

   Hermione was stirring now, her motions stiff and halting as she sat up.

   He remembered hitting across the face, trapping her in stone, stripping her –

   Her liquid brown eyes met his, and Harry felt a rush of horror.

   “Hermione, please… it wasn’t me, you know it wasn’t me, I swear it wasn’t me –”

   Her wand had fallen close, and her fingers wrapped around it.

   “Hermione, you… you know I’d never do this to you!” Harry said desperately, choking back bile and tears. “Look, there’s this magic called simulamancy – I, I used that, Voldemort must have –”

   She staggered to her feet, holding her robes closed around her with one hand and her wand with the other. Her lips were open – the curse fusing them had faded – and Harry could see them trembling.

   “Hermione, it was Voldemort, it wasn’t me,” Harry pleaded, his breathes coming in short gasps. “Hermione, you know I would never… would never…”

   “Harry…”

   The word came limp from her lips, and tears filled her eyes again. She staggered back, nearly tripping on the debris, but she recovered quickly.

   “Hermione, stop… please, let me – Hermione!”

   His anguished cry echoed uselessly in the room.

   “My god… it, it wasn’t me,” Harry whispered brokenly, tears tracing tracks through the dust on his face as he stared down at his bloody hands. “It wasn’t me…”

***

   “I must confess,” Voldemort began slowly in Italian, not bothering to meet the Italian’s gaze, “that your presence here is… unexpected.”

   “You broke our pact!” Abnigus sputtered, glaring at Voldemort. “You utilized the magic we gave you for dark purposes!”

   “I do not believe you are fit to judge my purposes,” Voldemort replied, his eyes narrowing at the Italian’s gall. “We had an agreement.”

   “That you broke!”

   “Then name your price, if this is such an issue for you,” Voldemort said exasperatedly. “I would be willing to pay it.”

   “Such magic,” Abnigus said loudly, “is not bought with gold!”

   Voldemort was rapidly growing tired of the Italian’s game, and he rose to his full height, looking down on the foul-smelling man. “And who are you,” he said in a low voice, “to make such demands, in my house?”

   “No demands will be made,” Abnigus said, his expression suddenly very smug. “For as you have broken your bargain, we will rescind ours.”

   Voldemort paused. “What did you say?”

   “Our agents have brought down the barrier you have erected around the Black residence,” Abnigus continued, rising to his own feet with shocking grace, “and the remaining magic you chose to weave around the Ministry.” Abnigus’ watery eyes sparkled with a strange confidence. “Your spells are broken.”

   He just said those words in English, Voldemort thought suddenly, his hand sliding to his wand. He is more than he appears –

   “And who are you,” he repeated, “to defy Lord Voldemort with such bravado?”

   It came out of nowhere, but Voldemort was faster. His shield blocked enough of the light, and he squinted at the Italian, who seemed to be shifting beneath his eyes…

   “I know that smell.”

   Voldemort froze – the voice was distorted, but it sounded familiar.

   “So you’ve taken action at last.”

   The light wasn’t fading, but he could see the slimming outline, rimmed in fire, an unearthly sound beginning to ring through the air…

   “And I suspect, given your competence, you were successful… I see the purpose of your trap, attempting to keep me incapacitated for so long…”

   “Who are you?” Voldemort growled. “Who are you?”

   And then the light faded, and he could see – and his heart nearly froze inside his chest.

   Violet robes and a shimmering cape of a million colours. A pointed hat. Buckled boots made of dark, gleaming dragonhide.

   And a pair of half-moon spectacles set on a crooked nose, over sparkling blue eyes blazing with fury.

   It can’t be.

   “I will not kill you here, but there are things far, far worse than death, Tom,” Albus Dumbledore said in a low voice, filled with a controlled anger unlike anything Voldemort had ever heard before.

   He raised his wand and pointed it at Voldemort’s head. “And I believe it’s about time you experienced them.”