The crypt has split open. I have crossed the River Styx, and I have reached the Island. The monument stands upon the island, the wheel beneath it spinning like a clock winding down… winding down to the raven.

   They will come for me, but it’s too late. They will find me, but it’s too late. They will fight me, but it’s too late.

  They may even kill me, but it’s too late.

  The plan’s been in motion too long, every cog playing its little role, every piece clicking precisely into place. Every piece of a glorious machine, built to sunder a soul, and guarantee a life eternal.

   They are the pieces the blond one and the black one never understood, the shards of the puzzle that only I was permitted to grasp. The pieces that were jagged, and tore bleeding wounds in my mind. They’ll never scab over, but I will never still the rush… that feeling of exhilaration as sanity flows away…

   Now I only need watch as he damns himself to find me.

   Nott’s eyes popped open, and he saw only darkness.

   “Come find me, Potter,” he rasped, his voice echoing in the chill hollowness of the chamber. “The raven’s waiting.”

***

  The Healer eyed the young woman sceptically. “Are you really sure this is necessary?”

   “The paperwork has all been filed,” the woman replied curtly, her strong accent only colouring her impatience. “Are there complications?”

   The Healer raked a hand over his balding head. “Well, no, but –”

   “Then what is le problème?”

   “The Healers haven’t even had a chance to examine the body yet!” the Healer protested, pointing emphatically at himself. “We only just got it from the Hit Wizards –”

   Her blue eyes narrowed. “Are you questioning the authority of this seal?”

   The Healer gave her a pained smile. “Well, no, but… look, we have a certain degree of procedure that needs to be followed around here, and –”

   “Je comprends,” the woman replied with a smooth nod, “but I do have a job to do. The body, s’il vous plait.”

   “Fine, fine,” the Healer replied tiredly, turning around to his filing cabinet, not noticing the young woman reaching into her coat. “I’m going to need your –”

   “No, you won’t,” Fleur Delacour whispered, gently pulling the paper from the Healer’s hand and angling her wand at the Healer’s shocked face. “Obliviate.”

    

***

   His office was dark when he entered, but he was used to it, deftly lighting a few candles with a nervous wave of his wand. Immediately, his office was flooded with light, gleaming through the window behind his desk that looked out over the press floor, where thousands of papers were printed everyday. His office had been lovingly soundproofed with enchanted mahogany, so he didn’t have to hear the clatter and whir of the factory below, but he knew it was there. He was in the heart of his paper, the heart of wizarding media in England.

   And while it had been a tumultuous few days, nothing could stop Barnabus Cuffe now. The previous few days, on the other hand, the affairs with Parkinson… that had been a different story.

   At least now I’m in my own environment, he thought uncomfortably, settling his bulk behind the desk as he shuffled through the stack of paperwork. Nothing all that urgent, nothing that required his immediate attention…

   “Just have to wait,” he muttered. “Wait for that blasted boy to show up with the photographs.”

   He looked up from his desk and peered towards the door. “Miranda, any owls for me?”

   “Just the one, Mr. Cuffe,” the young blonde receptionist said with a small smile, Banishing a small white envelope onto his desk. “Just arrived ten minutes before you did.”

   Cuffe eyed the envelope with a growing grin as he saw the thick lettering of the address in red ink. “Close the door behind you, Miranda,” he ordered, waiting until the oaken doors snapped shut before he quickly slit the envelope open, eager for the photographs to spill into his lap –

   There were no photographs. Only a small slip of paper, spattered in red ink, with five ominous words scrawled across the page.

   FIRE MAKES IT ALL BETTER.

   Cuffe frowned as he glared at the note. “What the devil does that –”

   He only barely heard the glass implode behind him before a hot whirring tire scythed into the office and crushed his skull.

***

  He tried to Disapparate away, but Kemester was faster, the Tracking Charm whistling from the tip of his wand and clipping Larshall in the shoulder. Immediately, Kemester knew where Larshall had fled – the roof of the hospital. He’s not running far… he’s got a mission to finish here.

   He quickly spun on his heels and after a second of discomfort, he appeared on the room. Immediately, the frigid winds clawed at his cloak, but he didn’t care – his rage was keeping him plenty warm.

   He spotted Larshall instantly and threw a curse, but his partner sidestepped it, his boots skidding on the uneven stone of the roof. Between the roof and the wind, Kemester suddenly realized, a misstep could prove deadly.

   “You know,” Kemester began hoarsely, his voice echoing over the chill night, “I just want to know why. Was it me? Was I really that bad?”

   “You were,” Larshall replied quietly, “but that’s not the reason.” He kept his wand raised to guard himself, not making a single move to attack. Kemester shot another quick curse, but Larshall deftly parried it into the stone.

   “How long?” Kemester took a careful step forward.

   “The very beginning,” Larshall whispered. “I’m amazed you didn’t see it sooner –”

   Kemester didn’t wait for another word, as lightning erupted from the tip of his wand. Larshall leapt out of the line of fire with the speed of a younger man, but Kemester could see something strange in the way he moved – almost as if Larshall was listless, only going the motions…

   “You were making it easy for me, Dmitri,” Larshall murmured, shaking his head as he stepped a little closer. “You told me all of your mad conspiracy theories, so I knew everything you were going to do in advance. You were so committed to your plan of bringing Potter in… I just had to watch you do it and stay in the background, and… enable Potter’s destruction.”

   Kemester’s eyes narrowed. “So you wanted him dead.”

   “No… no, worse. He needed to be ruined. Drove straight into the path of the Ollivanders’ explosion, so he took the blame.” Larshall took a shuddering breath even as Kemester fought back a hot tide of rage – he knew something had been wrong with that investigation!

   “But… but he needed to be alive too. Of course, sometimes you made things difficult… like when you decided to arrest Potter on the road to Hogsmeade and beat him within an inch of his life –”

   Kemester’s eyes widened as he raised his wand a little higher. “So you wanted Potter alive?”

   Larshall grimaced. “He… he needed to be alive, that was the plan… and you had to be kept alive too – you would have died at Hogwarts at Potter’s hands if I hadn’t dragged you out of there…” The stocky man suddenly twitched violently, and Kemester immediately launched another curse. This time, Larshall was barely able to deflect it.

   “You got caught at Hogwarts,” Kemester snarled. “That couldn’t have been part of your plan!”

   “But I dropped Bones’ peace settlement in the Floo Network,” Larshall replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he took another shaking step closer. “It could have ended the conflict months ago, taken Fudge completely out of the equation… hard to tell if I did it or whether or not it was just fate…”

   For the first time that night, Kemester’s rage abated. What was Larshall talking about? Was he being controlled by something, by someone? It wasn’t Imperius, but was it something else –

    “But I wasn’t out of the game for long,” Larshall whispered, “and neither were you. While you were beating the living daylights out of Snape and torturing Cuffe, I was freed… had plenty of time to fade into the background while you rifled through the old files, looking for that little scrap that I’d sent out weeks ago for a more complete restoration… it was needed to bypass the Fidelius Charm along with the house-elf, bring Black back into the picture –”

   I knew it, Kemester thought furiously, I fucking knew that paper had been stolen! “So Black was involved in this mess – and you were working with him!”

   Larshall laughed, but there was something weird about the laugh – it was almost as if the sound was being pulled from a different throat. It was off-key and awkward, almost as if Larshall had never laughed before.

   “We… we weren’t working with Black – we controlled the fool, nearly destroyed everything that Potter was seeking… but we really didn’t need to, considering you were doing a fine enough job. The vaults, Dmitri… it was ingenious.”

   “Everything went wrong with that,” Kemester whispered darkly. “Everything – including for your side! Malfoy was ruined!”

   A muscle twitched in the side of Larshall’s face, and he staggered slightly. Kemester fired another curse, this time shattering Larshall’s Shield Charm, but Larshall somehow kept standing.

   “Everything… everything went right, Dmitri – except you were poking at the holes, so I had to tell Umbridge about you… believe me, I didn’t want to send you to Azkaban, but you needed to be safe –”
   This time, there was nothing stopping the rage.

   “You – you betrayed me to that bitch?” Kemester bellowed furiously, his wand flashing as he spat curses. “I thought it was Sanders, not you… you –”

    “You had to be kept safe,” Larshall replied, a helpless note entering his voice. “I would have used Imperius like Wilson and I did on Sanders and the others –”

  “What?”

  “ – But Azkaban changed everything.” A particularly harsh gust of wind caused Larshall to stumble, but this time, Kemester didn’t attack. If this is truly Larshall, something’s controlling him… he’s saying too much, revealing everything, something’s up –

   “It was Malfoy who… who started it,” Larshall gasped. “He triggered it, and…and when Scrimgeour said he was going to blow it up, I had to do something… and in the end, I was the one left behind. Should have died there… but his spell took over… and I lived.”

   A chill shot down Kemester’s spine. So that’s how he survived. And probably why the robes he was wearing in the hospital had long sleeves…

   “And from there, I only had a few tasks left…” Larshall whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. “Inform them when Tonks and her friend arrived, dispose of the friend’s body, and silence Skeeter for good… and then…”

   “I stopped you,” Kemester said grimly, taking another step forward. “Reed, your arm – now.”

   Larshall shuddered, but without another word, he slowly peeled back his left sleeve…

   To reveal a shape that was unlike anything Kemester had ever seen. It wasn’t a Dark Mark, a red brand that Kemester would have recognized anywhere. No, this mark was a vivid, glowing green, and looked as if the veins in his arm had puckered to the surface and splayed a garish symbol across the skin, a symbol that looked like an eyeless face –

   “In the First War, he used this,” Larshall whispered in a strangled voice, “he used it to control and destroy those once their functions were completed – otherwise we can’t live –”

   “Reed, you need help!” Kemester screamed, his anger bleeding into panic as he rushed forward – only to hastily step back when Larshall shot a ray of hot light at him.

   “It… it could jump – Dmitri, you don’t know what he’s created, he’s going to take his tools –”

   “What tools?” Kemester demanded, angling his wand at the hideous mark. “Reed, I’ll blow it off, I swear to Merlin –”

   “It won’t –” Larshall suddenly dropped to his knees and let out an ear-splitting scream.

   “REED!”

   “You can’t save me!” Larshall shrieked, struggling to his feet as spasms tore through his body. “I’m the sleeper, the pawn, there’s another, you can’t –”

   “FLAMMA LACERO!”

   The arc of fire sliced through the elbow of Larshall’s left arm – and the limb evaporated upon contact with the flame. Larshall screamed again, this time the stump blazing like an unholy emerald ember…

   “REED, NO!”

   And without warning, the wind stopped. The spasms stopped. The air around them seemed to stop, and Larshall only looked at Kemester with bleeding eyes.

   “You… you were the worst partner I ever had –”

   Kemester choked back emotion. No –

   “–And the best friend I ever knew.”

   “NO!”

   “Goodbye, Dmitri.”

   And at that second, there was a spray of blood, as Larshall’s eyes exploded within their sockets. Kemester lunged forward as his partner staggered back –

   And over the edge.

   It wasn’t a long fall, but Kemester knew that Reed Larshall was dead before he hit the pavement.

   He heard a chorus of screams erupt from people below, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even care that he was probably visible, and would be blamed – there was a numbness spreading through his gut, a horrifying feeling of pure cold.

   Reed was the last.

   I’m alone.

   And suddenly, without warning, his mind focused on two words.

   “There’s… another,” Kemester whispered. “Another…”

   Another traitor. Another shadow. And from Larshall’s dying words, not a pawn, but a key player.

   “I’ll avenge you, Reed,” Kemester growled, pulling his hood over his head. “It’s not over yet.”

***

   The colour drained from Tonks’ face as she saw the body hit the pavement. The sodden crunch was audible even from her position across the street, but that wasn’t what Tonks noticed.

   “Well,” she whispered, “guess… guess that’s over. Come on, Remus.”

   She pulled her hood a little tighter around her face and began walking quickly, away from the scene, her mind racing as she tried to think through what she had seen. Kemester was on the roof… and Larshall’s eyes were gone… that’s Dark magic, Voldemort had him under something… wait a second, the simulacrum!

   HIS NAME IS HARRY POTTER.

   Not now, Tonks thought furiously, shaking her head and lengthening her hair enough to check the colour. I don’t need this now… but how the hell are we going to –

   “We have to get inside St. Mungo’s,” she said aloud, glancing at Remus.

   “One second you’re walking away, and now you’re saying we have to go inside?” Lupin asked incredulously, raking a hand through his thinning hair. “The Muggles are already running over, Tonks, we need to –”

   “That Hit Wizard took something Harry and I need!” Tonks whispered fiercely, pulling Lupin into a garbage-filled alleyway. “We go around –”

   “No time.”

   Tonks’ wand was in her hand, but Cassane waved it down quickly as he ducked out of the shadows. “Merlin, Cassane, what –”

   “It’s safe, trust me,” Cassane said abruptly, glancing at Lupin. “Mr. Lupin, glad to see you’re in better shape than the last time I saw you.”

   Lupin flushed red. “Likewise.” He glanced at Tonks. “Do we have –”

   “From the looks of things, I don’t want to know,” Tonks replied curtly. “Cassane, are you sure about this?”

   “I wouldn’t contact you otherwise,” Cassane replied in a low voice, with a curt nod to her direction. “Did the Hit Wizards see either of you?”

   “Don’t think so –”

   “Good, we don’t want that complication,” Cassane interrupted, turning back towards Lupin. “But it doesn’t change the fact that things are on the move. Mr. Lupin, it would be in your best interest to come with me and provide an eyewitness account to Scrimgeour.”

   “And how would that help?” Lupin asked with confusion. “He’d probably blame me for not saving –”

   “It lends weight to both of us,” Cassane replied, turning back to Tonks. “Seeing as Scrimgeour’s not exactly my biggest fan –”

   “Understatement of the century,” Tonks muttered.

   “It would do well for us to show Scrimgeour that the traitor in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has been identified and caught,” Cassane finished, taking a deep breath. “Even if… even if it appears some of his treachery was forced.”

   “Voldemort?”

   “Almost certainly,” Cassane replied darkly. “I’ve seen it before. But you, Tonks… you need to get to Gringotts.”

   Tonks cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, what? Why?”

   “Harry will be waiting for you there,” Cassane continued, glancing quickly down the alley. “He’s opening up the Potter Vaults, and he needs to talk to you.” He looked at Lupin. “Would you mind giving the two of us some space?”

   Lupin looked worriedly at Tonks. “I – I guess.”

   After he was out of earshot, Cassane stepped closer.

   “You’ve spoken to Harry?” Tonks asked anxiously. “What happened, why did he leave Bonaccord Hall –”

   “I don’t have time to explain it,” Cassane replied grimly. “Harry will, but that’s not the point. What matters is that we’re out of time, and that we have a way to stop the spiritual attacks at Hogwarts, but Harry will need you for this.”

   Tonks understood immediately. “You’re talking about simulamancy.”

   Cassane’s eyes were hard. “You knew this was coming.”

   Tonks took a deep breath and put her hand to her temple, the memory of the ominous voice in her head pounding harder and harder. “I know, it’s just… no, damn it, I can’t –”

   “There’s no ‘can’t’ anymore in this, Tonks!” Cassane snarled, stepping closer. “After what’s been done, after what Harry’s lost –”

   He paused, and took a heavy breath, his eyes growing shadowed in the dim light of the alley. “I can’t force you to do this – it must be of your own free will.”

   “Cassane –”

   “You might want to hurry,” Cassane said in a low voice, stepping around Tonks and moving towards Lupin, “because right now, it’s not just Hogwarts that is running out of time.”

***

   The engine thrummed beneath him as he revved on the gas, the shocks groaning with the impact of his tires hitting the stone.

   He had magically triggered the fire alarm enchantments, and the klaxon-like wail was splitting his eardrums, but he didn’t care – it had done its purpose, driving the employees to run screaming from the building, leaving it deserted.

   He raised his wand. The rational part of his mind had told him that it was a terrible, terrible idea, but he shoved that part of his mind back. He’d need to, if he wanted to have a chance of surviving this.

   Already he imagined he felt the chill in his bones, the clamminess drawn from a Dementor swarm closing in – but he had a way to stop it. He had his wand, and he had the spell.

   “Forgive me, James,” Sirius whispered, “but this is for your son. ABYSSUS INCENDIA!”

   His arm quaked violently as it exploded from his wand – a torrent of flame, mutating into the form of a serpentine dragon, its eyes maddened and blazing even hotter.

   Sirius snapped his eyes closed and concentrated as hard as he could, forcing himself to blot out everything around him. He could control it, he had to control it before it got bigger, he had to assert his will –

   And there it was. An explosion of hot pain burst against his temples, but Sirius forced it back, concentrating on the foreign thing in his mind – a seething, white-hot point of incoherent rage and flame, sending waves of raw pain surging through his head.

   But Sirius knew how to control it. He took in a breath of hot air and called to mind every memory of every injustice, every moment of torture, every second that had driven him to rage and hatred.

   He remembered the moment he heard James and Lily had been killed, and how he hadn’t cared that Voldemort had been driven into the shadows, but only that he knew the vermin responsible for it all was not the only responsible.

   He remembered screaming through the bars of his cell until he was hoarse, railing at the bitter injustice of a system, an injustice he knew deep in his gut that he was partially responsible for creating.

   And he remembered watching Harry’s composure crack, his godson’s rage and grief and desperation finally breaking out as he had realized there was nothing – and everything – he could have done to save his old friend.

   The rage was a wall against the pain, a shield curved outwards, causing the flood of agony to turn back on itself, burn white-hot upon itself, into something he could control and hold.

   “Destroy it,” he whispered, tasting blood in his mouth as he opened his eyes to see nothing but on a conflagration he had hoped he would never see again. “Destroy it all.”

   The Fiendfyre obeyed.

***

   The bank was warmer than the frigid winds tearing through Diagon Alley, but to Tonks, it seemed far colder.

   Despite the few other customers in the bank and the warm light of the crystalline chandeliers, she could see the goblins almost single-mindedly watching her. There had been little trust before when dealing with the creatures, but now that trust was long spent. Now there was just naked hostility.

   And here I thought they’d cause more problems for Harry, she thought to herself, with a single curt nod to the teller, who beckoned with two long fingers for her to approach.

   “Auror.” The creature’s voice was raspy, and utterly insubordinate. “What can I do for you?”

   “I’m here to meet with a friend,” Tonks said grimly. “He’s opening a long sealed vault, and we need to talk.”

   “I’m going to need a name.”

   HIS NAME IS HARRY POTTER.

   Tonks twitched against the strength of the voice, but returned the goblin’s gaze with a glare. “You know exactly who it is, don’t play stupid.”

   The goblin sniffed. “Griphook!”

   She turned, and a second goblin approached, eyeing her with obvious distrust.

   “This way, please,” he said curtly, pointing at one of the carts.

   They got in, and immediately the cart took off at a break-neck pace. Strangely, Tonks didn’t really notice the howling of the air around them. Perhaps it’s a new enchantment… or maybe –

   “I remember meeting with Mr. Potter on the very first day he came to Gringotts,” Griphook said loudly, directing the cart with decisive motions as they streaked down the tracks. “He didn’t acknowledge me when he came in this time.”

   “He’s probably got other things on his mind,” Tonks replied grimly, closing her eyes against the inevitable voice, but it didn’t come. I’m getting paranoid… goddamn it, this isn’t like you, Tonks, pull yourself together –

   The cart took a hard left turn, and Tonks grabbed a hold of the edge of the cart as they rocketed down a shaft she didn’t recognize, a shaft lined with shadows, where only a few scant torches lit the darkness.

   “Where are we –”

   “Your Ministry commissioned these during the war,” Griphook explained, his eyes narrowing with obvious disgust. “The Potters moved their money here in the height of the war to prevent any… acquisitions.”

   Tonks winced. Malfoy’s robbery here must have really stung – Merlin only knows what the Gringotts administrators did to the goblins that were on security… on second thought, best not to think of that –

   The cart screeched to a sudden halt, and Tonks was shoved painfully against the front.

   “Vault S-557,” Griphook said with a sniff, as Tonks stepped out the cart. “I will wait here. Potter is inside already.”

   But Tonks wasn’t listening to the goblin. She approached the solid bronze door of the vault, a bronze that had long ago been slathered with black paint, granite and mortar. From the look of the heaps of debris strewn in front of it, the reopening had been explosive indeed.

   But it was open, and Tonks couldn’t help but hold her breath a little as she pried open the heavy vault door, to see the treasure she and Harry had fought so hard to attain –

   The air left her lungs with quiet disappointment as she stepped inside – for there was no miraculous treasure. No jewels, no books of arcane knowledge, nothing but extremely neat stacks of Galleons.

  It’s the same way my paycheque comes in, she thought, stepping over a smaller stack and deeper into the vault. But then again, this was their job…

   “Not much to see, is it?”

   She glanced up, and there he was.

   Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the thick dark circles beneath Harry’s reddened eyes. It was clear he hadn’t slept any more than she had – and even more clear from his posture that it was just sleep Harry wanted, but something far more quiet and empty.

   “I didn’t think –”

   “Shh,” Tonks whispered, pulling Harry into a tight embrace, her hair darkening as she held him close, a lump rising in her throat. “What – what did he –”

   “He exploited us, Tonks,” Harry replied, breaking the embrace as he slumped against the chill metal wall. “He found about the simulamancy – and he used this body to go into Hogwarts and…”

   He shook his head violently, not meeting her eyes. “I remember absolutely everything that Voldemort did inside my body, and right now I’ve got the feeling that even if I wrench those memories out with a Pensieve it won’t fix things… it can’t fix those things –”

   The lump in Tonks’ throat grew even bigger. “I – I don’t know what I can say, Harry –”

   “You can’t say anything that would change this, Tonks,” Harry whispered, his voice echoing in the darkness. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate that you’d try… but it might be a while before you and I can… before we can –”

   “I’ll wait as long as you want,” Tonks replied instantly. “Harry, I swear, I’ll –”

   “No, we can’t wait any longer,” Harry interrupted, his green eyes finally snapping to meet Tonks’. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the grief, the horror, the guilt, the sheer rage behind them, unlike anything she had seen before. “We wait, we lose Hogwarts, and everything we’ve fought for becomes utterly worthless.”

   Tonks restrained a shiver at the sheer venom in Harry’s voice – this wasn’t the cold, calculating scorn she used to hear from Snape. No, this was the venom born of rage barely in check, held together with a fragment of control.

   HIS NAME IS HARRY POTTER.

   Shut… up… “Harry,” she began carefully, stifling the voice, “we need to –”

   “Voldemort thinks,” Harry growled, cutting her off in mid-sentence, “that if he attacks me like this, he’ll scare me away from ever using simulamancy again. He thinks – no, he knows I’m weak, and that stripping it away from me will slow us down, prevent us from ever finding Nott.” He stepped closer and gripped Tonks’ shoulders. “We need to prove him wrong.”

   Tonks closed her eyes. She had tried to tell him when they were sitting in the snow, but she hadn’t been able to bring the words forward. But now…

   “Harry, I don’t think I can.”

   It wasn’t the answer he was expected, and he took a step backwards, his expression mingled between shock and growing anger.

   “Tonks, we need to act – we need to stop him from –”

   “I tried to tell you,” Tonks whispered, her breath catching in her throat, “but… look, the second simulacrum we made, something went wrong, you know that!”

   Harry’s eyes narrowed. “All my spells in that simulacrum become exaggerated, what’s your point –”

   HIS NAME IS HARRY POTTER. HIS NAME IS HARRY POTTER.

  And this time, despite every rational instinct in her body screaming against it, she listened.

  This time, she gave in.

   She felt her hair lengthen to shoulder-length, and she could see it was black as soot. She felt her face narrowing, her nose lengthening, her body shifting to just the right height. She didn’t need to look in the mirror-polished walls of the vault to know her eyes had gone green.

   Harry took a step back, his eyes widening. “What in the –”

   “You’re looking at a female version of you, Harry!” Tonks cried, her voice raw as she blinked as fast as she could. “I hear this voice roaring in my head, saying your name, and I keep unconsciously shifting towards…towards this! It keeps happening, and it’s scaring the living shit out of me! The simulamancy affects me too, you know – and somehow… somehow it caused this!”

   “Tonks, why didn’t you tell –”

   She let out a bitter, bitter laugh. “Yeah, that’s just what you’d like to hear – the girl you’re fucking is transforming into a twisted mirror duplicate of you and slowly losing her mind along the way! No, that totally doesn’t sound like the worst sort of maudlin, self-indulgent angst and bullshit I’ve ever heard!” She snapped shut her eyes and concentrated as hard as she could, and in a few agonizing seconds, she had reverted to her usual form, with bright pink short hair and striking brown eyes. “Harry, it’s scaring the living fuck out of me, and if we use simulamancy again… if something goes wrong again…”

   Her voice trailed off as she slumped against the vault wall this time. “I don’t know, Harry. I just don’t fucking know.”

   There was a long few seconds of silence, and then Harry finally spoke up.

   “Tonks, it won’t be like the last time,” he said quietly. “We’ll be at Hogwarts, and we’ll be safe. Granted, there are some changes Cassane wants to make to the ritual –”

   Her eyes snapped wide-open. “What? What changes? Doesn’t he fucking know what he’s –”

   “I trust him, Tonks,” Harry snapped, “and that’s saying a lot, coming from me, but we really don’t have any other options now, not if we want to find Nott.”

   HIS NAME IS HARRY POTTER.

   Tonks closed her eyes, fighting back the voice. “Harry… Harry, I don’t know if I… fuck, Harry, I just…” She took a deep breath. “I can’t fucking articulate how terrified….” She met his eyes. “I don’t want to lose myself – that’s how it feels, it feels like I’m losing who I am and becoming something else, something I can’t control… something I don’t know. No… fuck, no! I’m not going to let that happen! Not to… not to this.”

   Harry didn’t respond for a long, long few seconds this time. He bent down, shoved a heap of gold into a small bag, and then straightened. Tonks closed her eyes, fighting to control her emotions… her fear, her anger, her –

   “Tonks.”

   She opened her eyes to feel Harry’s arms wrapping around her. Her embrace was hesitant, and she could tell Harry’s was as well, but somehow she knew there was something there. Something worthwhile… something she didn’t want to lose…

   “Tonks, we need to do this,” Harry said quietly, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I know… I know I shouldn’t ask for this, but I need your help. You’re the only one who can do the ritual, so we can find Nott and end this. Then afterwards, we can forget it. We can burn the goddamned books and walk away from simulamancy forever, but right now, we have to try one last time to make it work. If the theories are right and it works, I’ll see the path to that secret chamber in those visions I get, and I’ll be able to get down there and make sure Nott’ll never hurt anyone again – least of all us.”

   She could hardly speak – she knew it was what they had to do.

  “You know what you’re asking.” Her voice was quiet, barely a murmur. “Harry, look…”

   “Tonks, I love you.”

   Oh no.

   Oh Merlin no.

   He did not just say that. He did not just say that. Not that. No, not now –

   “Harry –”

   His grip tightened on her shoulders. “And I know you feel something for me, Tonks. I know you don’t understand it – fuck, I don’t understand half of this, but I need you to do this for me, for us. You’re the strongest woman I know, and I know you can beat any dark, twisted magic simulamancy uses to try and screw with your head.” Harry’s voice was shaking. “Please. If you love me… if this thing we have together means anything… hell, if anything we’ve done means anything to you –”

   It meant something, and they both knew it, but Tonks didn’t know how to describe it or explain it. Was it love, or was it something else, something borne of bad situations, worse luck, or even something darker?

   “Harry,” she whispered. “Please… don’t use that.”

   “I have no choice,” he replied, and she could see him visibly trembling. “You’re the one with the choice. Can you… can you do this for me?”

   She looked inward, and saw something of herself teetering on a brink. She didn’t know what was over that precipice, but she knew she didn’t want to go over it.

  But she had to make a choice. She had to say something…

   And in the end, she knew it wasn’t even really a choice – and that thought terrified her to the core.

   “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll do it.”

  She felt his arms tighten around her. “I’m… I’m sorry, Tonks. I’m so sorry.”

   “I know.”

   Harry stepped away from her, and their eyes met. She could see the grief and quiet desperation in his eyes, and wondered, briefly, what her eyes told him.

   “Do you… do you love me?”

   The precipice was yawning beneath her feet – and he was causing the ground to shake.

   “I don’t know,” she whispered helplessly. “If I’m still sane… no, if I’m still me at the end of this, I’ll… I’ll let you know.”

***

   It was a house Lucius hadn’t set foot inside in over two decades, not since he was a teenager, sneaking off with Bellatrix and Andromeda for a few scant hours of summer adventure. It had once been quiet and picturesque, a mystical cabin perched on the Cliffs of Dover, enchanted to extend out beyond the edge and overlook the English Channel below.

   Those days were gone. Rain lashed the cabin and trickled through the split crossbeams of the ceiling. Part of the cabin had fallen away, the levitation enchantments failing over years of neglect. The entire building had lost its mystic grandeur, and now stank of sea salt and mildew.

   Draco eyed the interior of the cabin with apprehension. “It’s… Father, I don’t understand why we’re stopping here –”

   “Because it is out of the way, heavily protected, and forgotten,” Lucius replied briskly, raising his lit wand to survey the cabin more closely. “It’s not ideal, but it is also the best place we have to plan our exodus. And considering Apparition across country boundaries is tricky on the best of days, this is a good place to utilize as a base camp. Narcissa, any stores left?”

   Narcissa scowled as she peeked out of the kitchen. “Nothing that hasn’t rotted past usefulness. Lucius, this kitchen is foul; I sure hope your contacts are planning on getting here soon.”

   “If my timing is accurate,” Lucius replied curtly, glancing at his watch, “they should be here momentarily. Draco, go to the upstairs bedroom and look under the old master bed – there should be a collection of brooms, in case we need to make an emergency getaway.”

   He heard Draco hurrying up the stairs, and he winced as the wood creaked badly beneath each footfall as Narcissa came closer.

   “We’ll be all right, Narcissa.”

   “You trust these men?” Her voice was worried – a worry that was echoed in Lucius’ gut, though he refused to acknowledge it.

   “Obviously not, but they know good Malfoy gold when they see it.” He gritted his teeth. “It’s not ideal, but it’ll work.”

   The doorbell rang, a clatter of old bronze bells. Lucius took a deep breath, and looked deep into his wife’s eyes.

   “We’ll get through this, Narcissa. We’re Malfoys, never forget that. We survive.”

   She nodded, and he walked towards the door, carefully drawing his wand –

   The door evaporated into smoke, revealing a group of cloaked figures, led by a bald man with bone-white skin and red eyes, and a steadily growing cold smile that made Malfoy’s blood run cold.

   “Well,” Lord Voldemort began softly, “isn’t this interesting.”

   Narcissa screamed and hastily stepped back, but Lucius tried to remain undaunted as he bowed as low as he could.

   “My lord,” he said, as calmly as he could, “I humbly offer you my dwelling –”

   The curse came out of nowhere, and suddenly Lucius was on his knees, gazing up at the Dark Lord’s dispassionately disappointed expression. He could see Bellatrix skulking in the darkness as Death Eaters flooded into the building, storming into every room and soldiering up the stairs.

   He saw Dolohov standing in the shadows, Draco’s friend Blaise standing next to him. Blaise’s expression was hard and cold, but Dolohov’s was just pity, as if to tell Lucius, ‘I told you so.’

   And he did, Lucius thought grimly, but I had my own path to take.

   He heard a scuffle and a shout on the stairs, and Lucius’ heart leapt into his throat as he saw two Death Eaters dragging his son down. Draco tried to maintain a vestige of haughty control, but the second the Dark Lord’s eyes landed upon him, his composure crumbled.

   “I wish I could say,” Voldemort whispered, “that I knew it would end this way.”

   Lucius’ hand tightened on his wand as his mind raced. He still had his wand, he hadn’t been disarmed – if he was quick enough, he could Disapparate –

   “So it’s a good thing that wishes can come true,” Voldemort finished, his expression becoming satisfied, like a snake after consuming a particularly excellent mouse. “While I will never claim to be prescient, I will state that it is a truly excellent event when things occur exactly as one plans.”

   Lucius’ breath caught in his throat. How long… how long had the Dark Lord known?

   “And to think, Lucius, I gave you and your son a chance,” Voldemort said lightly, shaking his head with disappointment, as if Lucius was a child who had spilled his drink. “I let your son become the scapegoat and not ultimately doom himself. I gave you missions of importance, Lucius. But then… you made a mistake.”

   Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “You failed, Lucius.”

   Narcissa let out a strangled cry, but Lucius didn’t move – he knew any hope of his survival counted on his composure in the next few seconds.

   “And I, ever the merciful and patient, was willing to watch and see if you could redeem yourself,” Voldemort continued, shaking his head. “But you kept failing me, Lucius, and instead of blaming yourself and striving to find my good graces, you stewed in your own waste. And don’t think I didn’t notice it, either.” Voldemort raised a finger. “But I think, of all of your failings, the one that irked me the most was your attempt to contact Reed Larshall. You knew he was controlled, but you didn’t know why or by whom, so you assumed that I was the one backing him, and thus you could use your status with me to find some measure of asylum.”

   Voldemort’s eyes flashed. “A great risk, Lucius – but unfortunately, Mr. Larshall’s allegiances were more complicated than that. It hadn’t mattered much – I had cut you out of my primary information chain long beforehand, just to be safe – but your temerity, your courage was just…”

   Lucius swallowed hard. “I – I apologize, my Lord –”

   “Apologies are wonderful things, Lucius,” Voldemort said grimly, “but they cannot erase facts. They cannot erase the fact that you failed to neutralize Harry Potter at the Zabini residence or inform me of his attack, so I could send reinforcements or even come myself. They cannot erase the fact you bungled your attempt to steal from the goblins, and started an unnecessary conflict there that could only complicate our plans.” The Dark Lord leaned close. “And they cannot erase the fact your son attempted to kill me at Hogwarts.”

   Draco let out a whimper as Voldemort now turned to him.

   “You crossed me, Draco,” Voldemort whispered, leaning close, his hand snaking out and seizing Draco’s chin. “You betrayed me. The chance to completely discredit Harry Potter forever died when you stole and destroyed those photographs.”

   Lucius’ gaze snapped to Dolohov, but the other man’s expression was stony. Incredible, Lucius thought disbelievingly. Dolohov took the photographs… I wonder if they’re truly destroyed –

   “Now, I am a very fair man,” Voldemort continued calmly, drawing his wand and lightly shoving Draco back against the stairs. “And while the treachery here has angered me, I’m willing to resolve this in a rational, sensible way. You both have your wands, and as little faith I have in both of you, I know that there is strength in the Malfoy line that I want to preserve.”

   Voldemort’s eyes gleamed as his lipless mouth parted into a smile. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You two are going to face each other, father and son. The first one to kill the other will regain my trust and my confidence. If the two of you choose not to kill, or to attack me, I kill all three of you and put the Malfoy line to rest. Now, Bellatrix has informed me this is most undesirable, but I feel a certain message needs to be made extremely clear.”

  The Dark Lord idly glanced down at his wand. “Personally, my bet is on young Draco here – after all, he had the courage to attempt to kill me – but Lucius has surprised me in the past. Come now, get up. We – and you most of all – certainly don’t have all day.”

***

   Night had finally come to Hogwarts.

   “We need to get to the Hospital Wing,” Harry whispered, sealing the secret passage concealed behind the one-eyed witch behind him. “Moody can wait –”

   “Yeah, try telling him that,” Tonks replied tersely. “But yeah, I get your point. Take the passage behind that tapestry, it’s faster.”

   They hurriedly crossed the corridor and ducked into the passage, lighting their wands with barely a murmur.

   “So you think this is going to work?” Tonks asked as they hurried up the narrow, winding stairs. “Cassane’s only human – he could be wrong about this –”

   “We don’t have any other options right now,” Harry said grimly. “If we did, we’d use them.”

   Tonks shook her head and gave a strange, bitter laugh.

   “What?”

   “It’s just that a few months ago, we were balking at using simulamancy not just because it involved killing someone, but because we were skittish about doing things with corpses.” She shook her head, her hair flickering between black and pink. “Now…”

   “If you have another idea –”

   “No, I’m not complaining,” Tonks said tiredly. “I just… it’s not where I wanted to be.”

   “That makes two of us,” Harry replied. Shoving back a thick velvet tapestry, they emerged in a new corridor.

   “Down the hall,” Tonks muttered, keeping her wand up as they edged towards the doors of the Hospital Wing. “I’ll take care of Pomfrey, you find our… our candidate for this.”

   “We have to be prepared for the fact that I could be out for a couple of days,” Harry said, taking a deep breath as he approached the door. “Tonks, if that happens… well, I honestly don’t know what we can do, ‘cause at least Nott will be moving at our speed if he’s at Hogwarts –”

   “I know, I know,” Tonks replied quietly, angling her wand towards the door. “You get the door – go!”

    Harry shoved the door open and stepped in, his eyes searching for the beds that had been curtained off. He could already feel the bile rising in his gut at what he was going to see, but he forced it back – he needed to keep a clear head and focus –

   “Stupefy! Obliviate!”

   The two spells streaked past him, but Harry wasn’t paying attention as he pulled back the curtains of the bed at the end of the row, already dreading what was coming.

   Su Li wasn’t moving. She had already been sedated, from the looks of things, but all the restraints were still very much in place. She had lost weight, and Harry couldn’t help but swallow back revulsion as he saw her wasted arms and thinning face.

   He could hear Tonks swallow hard as she looked down at the Ravenclaw. “We… okay, we need to get her out of the restraints for this to work – Harry, grab that table and drag it over here, we need something for you to lie on to do this… diffindo, diffindo –”

   Harry heard the catch in Tonks’ voice. “Tonks, if you’re not up to – I mean, if Cassane’s notes aren’t up to scratch –”

   “Everything he wrote made sense,” Tonks retorted hastily as she tugged Su’s legs free and began fiddling with the catches on the neck restraint, but Harry could tell she wasn’t comfortable. “It’s just… Harry, I just don’t know. This is so much worse than before, when we were just working with corpses. That magic made sense, it could be controlled, and even then we were guessing. Now…” She shook her head helplessly. “I don’t know, Harry.”

   Harry set down the edge of the table and pointed his wand at the entrance to the Hospital Wing. “Colloportus. Look, Tonks, I know this is going to be hard, but I need you to –”

   “You don’t need to tell me, Harry,” Tonks replied, forcing a weak smile as the neck restraint finally snapped open. “Let’s just… I’ll be glad when it’s over. Move the table a little closer?”

   Harry obliged, and she quickly slid the five simulamancy books across the table. Immediately, multi-coloured lights began to spill from between the covers, but Tonks ignored that as she began sketching a rough circle of lead around the beds.

   “Diffindo,” Harry murmured softly, and the final restraint around Su – the straitjacket – shredded apart. He peeled away the heavy fabric and tossed it outside the circle, now very acutely aware of Su’s chest rising and falling evenly.

   “You’d think she was sleeping,” he muttered to himself. “Got the potions, Tonks?”

   “Yeah,” Tonks replied, rolling back her sleeve and wincing as she picked up a silvery knife from her bag. “Okay, deep breath – oh, fuck, that hurts –”

   “Are you okay?”

   “No need to be concerned, I’ve taken worse,” Tonks said reassuringly, wincing as she guided the blood trickling down her arm into the flask with a gentle movement of her wand. “I’ve done this before…”

   Harry pulled the filmy white fabric from the bottom of the bag and spread it over Su. He couldn’t help but notice it shifting slightly with every breath the Ravenclaw girl took – and despite everything, he was still unnerved.

   “Tonks, are you ready?”

   She took a deep breath. “I think so. And now, the fun part.” She smirked, and for a second, Harry could see the warmth return to her expression. “Time for Harry to strip.”

   Harry returned the smile, trying to quiet the churning in his gut even as he pulled off his shirt. “Just think,” he said aloud, “when we last did this at Hogwarts, it was so awkward, I was so embarrassed –”

   “You still are,” Tonks noted wryly. “Just saying.”

   Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Yeah… yeah, I guess.” He slid off his pants and boxers and approached the bed next to Su. He glanced back at Tonks. “You sure this isn’t just some elaborate scheme for you to get in bed with me –”

   His voice was cut off, because Tonks had grabbed him and pulled him into a tight embrace. He could taste her lips on his as she kissed him passionately, hungrily, desperately…

   They broke the embrace, and Harry let out a nervous laugh.

   “I think that’ll help my concentration,” he said, climbing onto the bed.

   “Don’t – don’t mention it,” Tonks replied, shivering as she stepped around the table and raised her wand. “Just come home, Harry. Make it back, and we can end this mess once and for all.”

***

   Lupin couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

   “It’s not possible,” he breathed. “He wouldn’t –”

   Cassane glanced at Lupin. “Lupin, think about what you’re saying and about what you know about the man – you know it’s possible. You know he’d do it.”

   “It’s the reason we couldn’t bring more people to deal with this,” Scrimgeour growled, gesturing at the small team of Aurors gathered around Larshall’s corpse. “Combining it with ongoing security at the Confederation, we’re stretched to the limit.” The Auror’s glance snapped to Cassane. “And to think you managed to conveniently evaporate just when your influence could have quelled the pandemonium –”

   “There was nothing I could have said or done that would have solved matters at the Confederation,” Cassane replied curtly, “and frankly, my talents are better served out here.”

    “Well, maybe then you can tell me why the hell you haven’t responded to any –”

   “My counsel is my own, Rufus,” Cassane snapped, his eyes narrowing, “and by now, I’ve given you ample evidence that you can trust me. And right now, I’d rather focus on the disaster in Diagon Alley than on our own little issues. You say that Black is still on site?”

   “He’d have to be if he was controlling the Fiendfyre,” Lupin whispered with growing horror. He knew Sirius knew how to conjure up the hellish blaze, but he couldn’t remember his friend ever using it or attempting to control it… “And he’s far too good than to let himself get killed by it – sir, we need to –”

   “What we need,” Cassane interrupted, “is a wizard who is strong enough to contain the Fiendfyre before Diagon Alley goes up in flames. And with a man like Sirius Black behind it, you’ll need someone of my calibre.”

   “Good, that’s what I was hoping for,” Scrimgeour growled. “And I want Lupin to go with you.”

    “What, why –”

   “Because, ironically, I trust the werewolf much more than I trust you,” Scrimgeour snarled. “Lupin, if I remember correctly, for a brief period you held a rank as an Auror for the Ministry?”

   “Not for long,” Lupin replied carefully, forcing back the painful memories, “but yes.”

   “Then under the eighth codicil of the Auror Code, I’m deputizing you to act on my behalf in this case,” Scrimgeour ordered, his yellowish eyes narrowing as he glanced at Cassane. “You are to aid in this operation and inform me if things go foul. Ultimately, our goals remain the same: to bring Sirius Black into custody, preferably alive.”

   “You aren’t bringing in Dementors?” Cassane asked, raising an eyebrow.

   “If they weren’t helping us at Azkaban, there’s no guarantee they’ll help us here,” Scrimgeour snapped. “Before you leave, did you happen to see where that bastard Kemester went?”

   “He Disapparated –”

   Scrimgeour swore. “Wonderful. One more loose cannon that we can’t afford.”

***

   At first, all he could see was darkness.

   The ground below him was a mottled grey and black, but it made no sound as he trudged upon it. The sky was perhaps a shade lighter, but there was no light source visible in the sky. In fact, there wasn’t anything visible in the sky.

   Or around him. He turned and glanced around, but there was nothing. It was as if the ground were a piece of grey-black paper pasted against a slightly brighter shade. Nothing on the ground, nothing in the sky, nothing on the horizon.

   Harry exhaled and fought against the panic growing in his stomach. He took another breath and immediately coughed – the air was warm, stale and unpleasantly sticky, as if he had stepped into an abandoned rest home in the middle of a swamp.

   And yet even despite the utter barrenness of the world around him, Harry knew he wasn’t alone. There was something here. Something lurking beyond the horizon. Something he couldn’t quite see, but knew instinctively was there.

   He began to walk. Every step made no sound. The rational part of his mind told him that he was just walking towards nothing, but something told him that he was approaching something – something he needed.

   He heard a low rumble in the sky, and he glanced up to see a spark of golden lightning – but there was no thunder.  Somehow, the lightning seemed familiar, but he wasn’t quite sure how.

   He glanced down, and immediately stumbled – because with every step, the ground has streaked away beneath his feat. It was as if every step was taking him a hundred meters. Even in the bleak, inhospitable landscape, it was unnerving.

   “Got to focus,” he muttered, blinking twice as he stared off into the distance – but now he could see something. It was tall – and as far away as he was, Harry guessed that it was huge – but it was something.

   He took another few steps – and there it was, only ten meters away.

   He didn’t quite know how to describe it, but it looked like a grey stone wall, soaring high into the sky, so high that it looked like the sky and the wall were one and the same – and maybe they were, he thought uneasily – but this wall had one blemish. A single door, embedded in the wall, made of steaming black iron –

   And embedded in that door was the naked torso and head of Su Li.

   Whatever arms or legs she might have had were long stripped away, the shoulders and hips crudely grafted into the black iron. Her black, glossy hair hung around her pale face, hiding her dark, mirror-like eyes from anything that dared look on them. Her lips were bloodless, and as Harry stepped a little closer, he noticed that they seemed less like lips than a painter’s recreation of what lips painted on a doll would look like.

   A broken doll, embedded in a wall of iron.

   Instinctively, Harry felt torn between the desire to run closer and help or to run away from this horrid sight, but instead he drew closer – he knew he had to get beyond the doors, he knew he had to –

   Su Li looked up.

   Green eyes met black eyes, and Harry felt himself recoil from her hostile stare. He wasn’t welcome here – he wasn’t supposed to be here.

   But here he was, and he knew – somehow – that beyond that door was his answer.

   “You know why I’m here,” he whispered, the words echoing strangely in the air.

   She didn’t respond, but Harry knew that she was aware of him.

   “So you know I’ve got to get through the door.”

    No response, and Harry felt frustration boil up in his gut. Why wasn’t she answering?

   “Will you stop me?”

   But somehow, Harry already knew that she couldn’t stop him. He could put his hand on that black iron handle and shove the door open. He could walk past her, and never return, and the ritual would be complete –

   But there was a reason for this. There was a reason Su Li was here. There was a reason he was seeing this in his mind – or her mind, it very well could be, he wasn’t sure – but what reason? Why here, and why like this?

   “Is…” Harry coughed before meeting Su’s eyes again. “Is this a warning?”

   The painted expression curved upwards a fraction into a hint of a cruel grin, and Harry felt a brief rush of satisfaction. At least I’m figuring something out.

   He stepped even closer and raised his hand. Gently, he slid aside a lock of shining black hair to look into her eyes.

   “Is there any… is there any way that I can help you?”

    The utter scorn and disgust in her expression told her everything he needed to answer that question.

   If you had wanted to help, you wouldn’t have done this. You wouldn’t have come.

   Harry rapped on the black iron door with his knuckles. “Don’t suppose you’ll tell me what’s on the other side of this.”

   Her eyes told him all he needed to know.

   He looked a little closer at the door and saw, to his surprise, that words were engraved into it, just above the handle.

   Words that sent a chill down his spine.

The silent horror: most changing, least remembered.

   He looked back at Su. “Are you trying to tell me something here?”

   No response. In his gut, Harry knew he wasn’t going to get one.

   “Okay,” he breathed. “Here goes nothing.”

   The door was unlocked. He twisted the handle and stepped outwards –

   He saw it all. Laid before him like the Marauder’s Map. He saw himself instinctively find the way. Every little hint, every little clue, all laid before him. It was a path, a path he could easily take –

   But there were pieces missing. There was enough there to get him in, but nothing there to get him out…

   He heard the whip crack as he saw the ritual room. A circular room, a single arc of white marble connecting the mechanism and pedestal in the center to the crumbling edge around it. He could see Theodore Nott’s wasted face, his eager expression, his eyes burning with green and blue fire as his body warped and twisted beneath his eyes –

  And then it was pain. Every nerve was on fire, every cell of his being exploding, every iota of his conscience screaming in sheer agony…

  And then there was the voice. A voice that was so familiar, yet just beyond his reach. Smug, satisfied, contemplative in that of a chessmaster finally besting an old superior opponent, taking a victory that had long been held just out of reach. A voice that had finally achieved a hard-fought triumph, but did not revel – that was beneath it. No, this voice was savouring its victory, enjoying every moment, every word that slipped past.

   A voice without a source. A voice without a face. And yet a voice that sent a chill down the pain-wracked synapses in his mind that could still feel fear.

   “Well, this won’t do… there’s hardly room for three in here. I think it’s time to make a little… space.”

***

   His eyes snapped open, and Tonks’ breath caught in her throat as she saw Harry – not Su – sit up. There was something grim in his expression, but something strong.

   “You saw it,” she whispered. “But the ritual –”

   “It worked,” Harry said, taking a deep breath as he slid off the bed. “I can see the connection – it’s good, it’s there – but I’m not going to use it yet.” He shook his head. “Something tells me it would be… troubling.”

   “But you know where it is,” Tonks pursued. “You know where the tomb is?”

   “Oh, he knows.”

   Tonks spun around, and grabbed a hold of the back of the table for support. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Even Harry’s eyes widened as he grabbed his pants, hastily ducking behind the curtains.

   “Professor – it’s not what it looks like –”

   Dumbledore only gave Harry a wan, knowing smile. “Harry, I know exactly what it looks like, and as sorry as I am for what you have experienced, I cannot say that I am not proud of you.” The old man blinked twice and looked Tonks, and for a second, she could see pure sadness in the man’s sky-blue eyes. “And you, Miss Tonks – to you, I am truly sorry.”

   “Professor,” Harry said breathlessly, pulling on his shirt as he stepped back out, “what are you – you’re back.”

   “And I have been gone too long,” Dumbledore said, steel in every word, his eyes blazing with righteous conviction, “but that is a tale for another day. Harry, Miss Tonks, you have fought alone for too long – will you begrudge an old man the chance to learn one of the most ancient, forgotten secrets of his school?”

   “Of course not,” Tonks replied steadily, a grin despite herself appearing on her face. “Not in a million years.”