Harry Potter and the Lady Thief (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

Chapter 24: Turning Point

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 23rd, 1996

Jeanne Dubois - she wasn’t about to change her name to Selwyn, not if she was expected to marry and take the name of her husband anyway - stared at Hermione and Harry. Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. “He’s been attacked. Hurt. Through his scar.” The two teenagers exchanged a glance. Jeanne went on: “And he’s Seen something. A murder...” she trailed off. Things fell into place. The Boy-Who-Lived was a Seer, and he had had a vision about which Dumbledore needed to be told. Related to a bloody murder. Blood magic.

Her eyes widened. Blood Magic. All those ‘meetings’, all this secrecy. The attack on Harry… “You know who’s murdering people!”

Hermione hissed, and Jeanne found herself staring at the tip of the other witch’s wand. How had the girl moved so quickly? She stiffened, torn between trying to flee or casting a Shield Charm, but Harry already had his hand on Hermione’s arm.

“No.”

“But…”

Jeanne saw the two exchange another glance, Harry shaking his head. Then the girl lowered her wand - partially.

“We need to call Dumbledore,” Harry said. “And you cannot tell anyone anything about this.”

“People’s lives are at stake,” Hermione added.

Jeanne had the distinct impression that her own was among those - should she not heed their warning.

“The fireplace,” Harry said, still leaning against Hermione. “Let’s go.”

After a second of hesitation, the girl started moving.

Jeanne swallowed, then followed them. Both because she wanted to know more, and because she didn’t think the two would leave her by herself. She almost drew her wand to levitate Harry, but stopped when Harry and Hermione looked back at her, both their wands raised.

Apparently, Sirius’s boasts about how talented his godson was when it came to duelling hadn’t been too far off the mark, she thought. But then, he was the Boy-Who-Lived, trained by Dumbledore himself. On the other hand, Sirius had never boasted about his secretary being particularly talented at duelling. Something else that had been kept secret from her. Had she been trained as one of Harry’s bodyguards? No, then she wouldn’t be gone from the house so often.

They reached the entrance hall, where the fireplace was. The two teenagers hesitated, then Harry pushed himself away from Hermione and walked, somewhat unsteadily, to the fireplace while Hermione remained standing, glancing back and forth between Jeanne and the boy.

Harry didn’t fall down, but he almost spilled the cup of Floo powder when he grabbed a handful. “Hogwarts, Headmaster’s Office!” As soon as the flames turned green, he stuck his head inside, propping himself up with both arms. “Sir? I need to talk to you. With Hermione and Jeanne.”

After a moment, she heard Dumbledore’s voice. “Of course. Come on through.”

Harry slowly stood up, then grabbed another handful of powder. A few seconds later, he was gone.

“After you,” Hermione said, gesturing towards the fireplace.

Jeanne pressed her lips together - she didn’t like being ordered around by a teenager - but this wasn’t the time to object. A step later, she found herself in a room filled with obscure devices, books, scrolls and a heavy desk - and facing Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard alive. And his phoenix! She barely remembered to step aside before Hermione arrived.

“Hello, Miss Dubois,” the old wizard said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Welcome to Hogwarts.” He nodded at Hermione. “Miss Granger.”

“Harry needs help!” Hermione burst out.

“I’m fine,” the boy protested. It wasn’t very convincing, seeing as he was holding his forehead.

“You’re not!”

“I have examined him, and I can assure you that he is in no immediate danger, Miss Granger.” That shut the girl up, Jeanne noticed. Dumbledore gestured, and two more seats appeared. “Let’s sit down. We should not discuss such matters while standing.”

Jeanne once more felt that objecting wouldn’t be a good idea, despite the old wizard’s friendly tone. Everyone knew that there was no wizard alive who could match him - and few countries which would dare to defy him.

Jeanne sat down, then felt a shiver run down her spine when Dumbledore looked straight at her, his eyes boring into hers. “I take it that you were witness to one of Harry’s ‘attacks’,” he said.

She couldn’t look away. “Yes, sir.”

“Based on the demeanour of our two young friends, I conclude that you have realised that there is more to this than simply someone attacking him.”

She nodded. Harry was a Seer, of a sort. Of a murder. And a murderer, whom Dumbledore - and Sirius - were hunting. “Yes.”

“You are correct. Harry is occasionally able to catch glimpses of certain events. Such as this murder by Voldemort.”

She gasped. The worst dark wizard since Grindelwald was alive? The man whose name all British wizards feared to say, was murdering people? Working blood magic? Hadn’t he been defeated? Destroyed? But it explained why Harry was in so much danger - and what Sirius was really doing. “You’re hunting him. You and Sirius,” she managed to say.

He inclined his head. “Indeed, we do - in utmost secrecy. Very few are aware of his return. And you now find yourself among them. And in danger.”

She swallowed. She hadn’t expected this. Sirius working with Dumbledore to hunt a murderer was one thing. But Voldemort? The only wizard since Grindelwald who was seen as Dumbledore’s equal? Sirius and everyone around him was in much greater danger than she had imagined!

What should she do? As Sirius’s girlfriend - and, possibly, fiancée - she would be targeted. Was already being targeted, she realised - their relationship was, after all, well known. Would she be safe if she broke it off? Did she want to break it off? Sirius was rich, handsome and charming, a good catch despite his tragic past. But this… was he worth risking her life?

She swallowed again. She liked the man, and could feel herself falling in love with him - he was exactly what her father wanted in a son-in-law, a rich pureblood wizard from an Old Family, and yet also the complete opposite: a radical, often reckless wizard who did not care about tradition unless it suited him, and with a passion few men could match - but was that enough to court death?

She heard Hermione sniff, and Jeanne pressed her lips together, suddenly angry. She wasn’t some timid British pureblood witch. She was born and raised in France! And the French didn’t run from danger - they fought! She raised her chin and scoffed. “I’ve been in danger before.”

Dumbledore smiled.

*****​

Hogwarts, August 23rd, 1996

The vampire was struggling, but his bindings held him fast and the slab of stone on which he lay didn’t budge. His mouth was open, long fangs visible, and he was screaming, but no sound escaped his pale lips - he had been silenced. A flick of a wand - a familiar wand - and deep cuts appeared on the vampire’s nude body. They didn’t bleed as much as one would expect and seemed to close slowly.

A bowl floated over to the vampire’s head. His nostrils flared and he froze for a moment. Then he stretched his neck, trying to reach the bowl with his mouth. In response, it slowly tilted and red liquid - blood - dripped into his mouth. He eagerly swallowed the blood, even licking his lips. And the cuts closed.

“Fresh blood is needed for the accelerated healing. An acceptable limitation.”

He saw a floating quill - a Dictaquill - write the words down.

The wand flicked and swished, casting several spells - uncommon or exotic detection spells and healing charms. “No change discernible.”

Then the wand was pointed at the thick curtains behind the vampire, and they started to move to the side, revealing a window - and sunlight fell into the room, right at the foot of the stone slab.

The vampire’s struggles intensified - it looked as if he was breaking his own limbs, trying to free himself - but the bonds, conjured ones, held. And as the curtain kept moving, the sunlight reached the vampire’s feet.

Smoke started to rise into the air and the pale flesh darkened under the sun’s touch. Red spittle was flying from the vampire’s lips as he threw his head back and forth, and red tears filled his eyes. He had to be in agony. And yet, the movement of the curtains didn’t stop, and neither did the sun.

His legs were dark as coal now and the sun’s rays had just reached his groin and belly when his feet erupted in flames, which quickly spread to his legs.

By the time the sun reached his head, his feet and lower legs had burned to ashes and fire covered his chest. He was shaking his stumps, which had slipped out of their bindings, but other bonds still held him. And the voice mercilessly recorded everything.

When nothing but a blackened skull was left of the creature, the voice stated: “Vulnerability to sunlight has been lessened, but is still fatal.”

Harry Potter fought the urge to vomit as he once again remembered his vision. Maybe he shouldn’t have copied his memories for Dumbledore, but completely removed them. No. He shook his head. He was no coward. He could endure this.

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice was far softer than usual. Almost hesitant.

“Nothing. Just a few unpleasant memories.” He tried to sound casual, but neither Hermione nor Jeanne looked as if they were fooled. Not with Dumbledore currently watching his memories in his Pensieve.

But Hermione huffed and glared at him, instead of pitying him, so he chalked it up as a partial success.

“What did you see?” Jeanne asked. She hadn’t said anything since Dumbledore had left the room to use his Pensieve.

He looked at her and she flinched, then frowned. He was about to tell her that it was none of her business, but Hermione was quicker. “That’s a secret for a reason. I don’t know it, either.”

“And neither does Sirius,” Harry added. The French witch - she certainly was acting more French than British - frowned and looked doubtful.

“It’s standard practice that you only are told what you need to know,” Hermione elaborated in what Harry thought of as her ‘lecture voice’. “It minimises the risks from spies, or of captured members revealing crucial secrets.”

His friend sounded quite convincing, though Harry was certain that she wanted to know what he had seen quite badly herself - she hated not knowing something.

“And what are you and Sirius doing?”

That was a question which Harry himself wanted answered. He had known that Sirius was working for Dumbledore, but Hermione? Hermione, who hadn’t known anything about fighting a few weeks ago, and was still learning how to move in combat without exposing herself? If Sirius had been risking her…

Hermione bit her lower lip.

“She is helping me with research, the details of which cannot be revealed.”

Harry clenched his teeth. He hadn’t noticed that Dumbledore had returned from watching his memories. If Moody found out…

The Headmaster sat down behind his desk. “As Miss Granger explained, information has to be strictly controlled in this struggle, or we could lose everything to a single mishap or betrayal - as we came close to doing in the last war.”

“But if you are the only one to know everything, that is a vulnerability as well,” Jeanne retorted. Harry almost scoffed - if they lost Dumbledore they would lose the war anyway.

“I’ve taken precautions should something happen to me, even as unlikely as I deem that,” Dumbledore answered with his usual smile. “In any case, with you now part of our forces, we have to decide how your talents would be best used. I think it’s obvious that you would work best with Sirius and his group.”

Jeanne nodded. Rather curtly, in Harry’s opinion, but she didn’t protest.

He didn’t know why Hermione looked as if she wanted to protest, though. Didn’t she trust the Headmaster? He had, after all, used Legilimency on Jeanne.

*****​

London, Greenwich, August 23rd, 1996

“...and the Headmaster said it was obvious that she would ‘work best with Sirius and his group’.” Hermione Granger pressed her lips together, controlling her annoyance, as she waited for Mr Fletcher’s reaction.

Her tutor shook his head and mumbled: “Old meddler.” More loudly, he said: “Well, it is kinda obvious. The witch’s as good as Black’s fiancée, after all, and it wouldn’t make sense to have her work with anyone else.”

“It also means that she’ll find out our secrets,” Hermione said, still frowning. She didn’t like that, even if the Headmaster trusted Jeanne - and had read her mind.

“Something Dumbledore certainly took into account. Might even consider it a good thing.” Her tutor shrugged.

“What? Why?” That made no sense. They couldn’t even tell Harry what they were doing, and now Jeanne would be informed?

“Probably thinks you need someone closer to your own age who you can talk with about what we’re doing. I’ve been thinking something like that myself, lately.” He leaned back in his seat.

She scoffed. “I could have talked to Harry about it.” If Sirius hadn’t told her not to. And if she wanted to force Harry to become a thief instead of an Auror. Which, if she was honest, wouldn’t be a bad thing - for her.

Apparently, her tutor also thought that would be the likely outcome. “Think he’d make a good thief? ’Cause that’s what tellin’ him means. He won’t stay back home any more than Black would.” He muttered something Hermione didn’t catch. Probably a curse. “And remember the rule.”

Never talk about heists to someone who’s not involved. She sighed. “He’ll be the only one in the house who won’t know about the heists.” But Sirius was insistent that Harry’s wish to become an Auror would come to pass. Anything for his godson, in other words.

Her tutor shrugged. “He knows we’re working for Dumbledore, just not what exactly. Same as we know he’s doing something other than Occlumency training with Dumbledore.”

Hermione wasn’t certain that this was the same, but telling Harry would mean revealing not just her secret, but her tutor’s and Sirius’s as well. Which would break another rule she had been taught as a thief. And she owed them too much to do that to them. “So, Jeanne’s going to help us.” Another untrained helper. And Jeanne probably wasn’t even a good fighter. And certainly not an animagus.

Mr Fletcher frowned at her. “She’ll be able to sound out marks, and you know she’s a dab hand with disguises.”

“Makeovers,” she corrected him.

“Same thing,” he said with a grin that told her she shouldn’t have complained to him about the hairstyle forced on her by the other witch. “And there’s another good thing about this, too.”

“Which would be?” Hermione couldn’t think of anything.

“She’ll be able to make Black behave.”

Hermione grinned. That was true - the dog wouldn’t be able to act as outrageously as he usually did. With his girlfriend being involved, he might even act a little less recklessly.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 23rd, 1996

Hermione Granger had informed Sirius beforehand, of course, using her enchanted mirror. It wouldn’t have done for him to blurt out secrets neither Harry nor Jeanne were meant to know. So when the wizard arrived home after the Wizengamot session had finally ended, he faced the frowning Jeanne with a smile. “I heard Dumbledore told you.”

“Yes.” Jeanne seemed unimpressed by Sirius’s smile, Hermione thought. “And only because Harry had a ‘vision’.”

Sirius nodded, then looked at Harry. “Dumbledore handled that.”

“Yes.”

“He was bleeding and shaking,” Hermione cut in, earning her a glare from Harry.

“I’m fine now,” her friend answered.

She bit her lower lip. She couldn’t blame Harry for this - it wasn’t his fault. And she couldn’t take her anger out on him.

“So… you’re going to join my ‘cell’, then, chérie?” Sirius said.

“That’s what Dumbledore said,” Jeanne confirmed.

Hermione suppressed a sigh - they had gone over that already.

“You’ll meet the rest of the members later, then. Standard rules,” Sirius added, with a glance at Harry.

Hermione’s friend grimaced. “I know, need to know and all that.” He knew, and he didn’t like it. But it couldn’t be helped, Hermione thought.

“And I think we’ll discuss what this means for us in private.” Sirius smiled at Jeanne.

She nodded, still rather curtly. Hermione wished she could sneak in and listen to that conversation, then berated herself for it - it would be wrong to intrude on the couple’s privacy like that. Even if she really wanted to know what Jeanne thought about this.

“Well, I’ll guess it’ll be just us this evening, then.” Harry’s voice interrupted her. He was smiling at her.

Hermione took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but Dumbledore needs my help tonight.”

His face fell, and she felt a pang of guilt. He must be feeling isolated, with everyone going to their own secret Order meeting. But it couldn’t be helped.

Even if she didn’t like it, secrecy was needed if they wanted to avoid another disaster like in the last war.

*****​

London, Greenwich, August 23rd, 1996

“Comment? Monsieur Smith? Hermione?”

At least Jeanne’s reaction to meeting the other members of their cell was satisfactory, Hermione Granger thought. The witch was even speaking in French!

“The name’s Fletcher,” her tutor said, gesturing to the seats he had arranged for them. “Smith’s just a cover.”

She gasped. “You…” then she turned to Hermione. “And you…”

Hermione grinned, then said in her best American accent: “I never left Britain. I just changed my style.”

Jeanne let loose with a number of interesting French curse words as she sat down heavily in the closest seat and glared at all three of them. “You played me for a fool!”

“No. We simply didn’t tell you the truth,” Mr Fletcher said.

“I wanted to, but I wasn’t allowed,” Sirius said. “Security, and all.” He shrugged and sat down himself.

Hermione glared at the dog. She didn’t know whether or not he was lying, but she didn’t like him blaming others for keeping Jeanne in the dark.

Jeanne blinked. “And Harry doesn’t know you’re working with Sirius,” she said to Hermione. “He thinks you’re working with Dumbledore.”

“Yes,” Hermione replied.

“This is worse than some of the novels I read in school!” Jeanne complained. “Why can’t you tell him? More ‘security reasons’?”

“Yes,” Mr Fletcher said. “But let’s talk about what we can tell you, instead of what we can’t tell to whom.” Jeanne didn’t look mollified, but she nodded.

“In short, we’re thieves,” Sirius cut in.

“We’re working as thieves,” Mr Fletcher corrected the dog. “Black’s not really a thief. More like an amateur robber.”

“‘Amateur robber’?”

“Would you prefer ‘hired wand’?”

“Yes, I would!”

Hermione sighed, then smiled apologetically at Jeanne, who was gaping again. “Now do you understand my reluctance to change my hairstyle?”

Jeanne blinked again, then started to smile. “Oh, it’s part of your cover.”

“Yes.” Finally she understood, Hermione thought.

Then Jeanne started to laugh, shaking her head, and Hermione pouted. It really wasn’t funny. She narrowed her eyes, then changed and jumped, landing on the witch’s lap.

The resulting shriek was eminently satisfying.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 24th, 1996

Sirius was late, Harry Potter thought as he pushed around his empty teacup on the breakfast table. Everyone was late, actually, but for him. He frowned as he looked at the unused dishes and silverware on the table surrounding him - it felt as if he were alone in his home.

Sirius and Jeanne had returned from their meeting with the other members of Sirius’s cell close to midnight last night, and had headed straight to their - Sirius’s - room. Hermione had arrived a little earlier, but had looked quite tired, and so he hadn’t tried to talk to her. And Remus was ‘busy at Hogwarts’, or so he had claimed. Probably off doing Order work as well - Harry was certain that Remus was part of Sirius’s cell.

So he had spent the evening alone, and it looked like he’d spend the morning all by himself too. Kreacher was nowhere to be found, but that was no surprise - the crotchety old elf was probably hiding in the walls again. And he had read the Prophet already - although having the newspaper to himself was a small consolation for eating alone. Well, almost alone, he added with a glance at the floor.

“Looks like it’s just the two of us,” Harry told Crookshanks, but the ugly tomcat didn’t even raise his head in response, ignoring him in favor of emptying another bowl of food.

“You know, the stray is much more sociable,” Harry said, “and doesn’t even eat half the amount of food you do.”

That earned him a half-lidded, rather dismissive glance from Crookshanks while the cat licked his lips.

Harry slumped and rested his head on the table. Today wasn’t a good day.

The sound of steps in the hallway interrupted his brooding. One person, long strides… Sirius! Harry leaned back on his chair and greeted his godfather with a glare.

“Hello, Harry! What a wonderful morning!”

It looked like it was ‘ignore Harry day’. “You slept through most of it,” Harry said.

Sirius laughed as he sat down and grabbed a croissant. “I can assure you that I did not,” he said with a distinct leer.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Where’s Jeanne?”

Sirius shrugged. “She decided to sleep in.”

“Ah.”

“It was a long day for her - finding out that we’re waging a shadow war was something of a shock.”

Harry would have liked to show Sirius how he felt about eating alone in his home, but this was too good an opportunity to pass up. “Speaking of,” Harry said, “Hermione only came home a little before you did.”

Sirius nodded, buttering up his croissant while the teapot filled his cup. “She is a hard worker.”

“Do you know what she’s doing for Dumbledore?” He wasn’t hurt that she hadn’t told him - a little, maybe; she could at least have told him that she was working for Dumbledore, security be damned, since she knew that he was working with or for Dumbledore as well.

“I only know what my cell does, not what others do for Dumbledore.”

So Hermione wasn’t in his cell, Harry thought. And she certainly wouldn’t tell him what she was doing. “I worry,” he said.

“Huh?” Sirius looked at him, then swallowed the bite he had taken out of the croissant. “What?”

“About what Dumbledore has her doing.” Harry shook his head. “He claimed that she’s helping him with research, but while she’s very smart, she’s only just finished her O.W.L.s. What can she do for him?”

Sirius shrugged. “She can find and file things - like books, notes and such. And she can read through books and look things up - she’s a very quick reader.”

“You think she’s working as his librarian?” Harry asked.

“Well, I can personally attest to the fact that she’s good at that kind of work. Although as I said, I only know what my group does.”

Harry couldn’t really see the Headmaster letting Hermione reorganise his personal library, as Sirius had let her. But what else would make sense? Dumbledore wouldn’t drag a witch who was at best half-trained into combat. At least Harry didn’t think so. He was about to speculate further, but a headbutt to his shin from Hermione’s monster interrupted his thoughts. He glanced down at the pushy cat. “You’ve had your fill.”

In response, Crookshanks meowed pitifully. Harry smirked - that wouldn’t work on him.

“What are you doing to Crookshanks, Harry?”

But it would work on Hermione. He winced before turning his head. He hadn’t heard her entering the kitchen either.

Before he could explain she was already kneeling next to her cat. “Oh, Crookshanks! Your bowl is empty! Didn’t anyone feed you?” She glared at Harry and Sirius.

“I did!” Harry protested while Sirius simply shrugged.

“Probably not enough,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “The poor thing is starving. Come on, Crookshanks, let’s get you some food!”

Harry sighed. His best female friend was hopeless when it came to cats.

*****​

London, King’s Cross Station, September 1st, 1996

“Mate!”

“Hi, Ron,” Harry Potter said, waving from his seat at the window. “I saved us a compartment.” As expected, the Weasleys had arrived on platform 9¾ in the last few minutes before the Hogwarts Express departed.

“Move it, Ron, we’re blocking the corridor!”

That was Ginny, pushing her brother inside. Harry nodded at her. “Hello, Ginny.” Just a normal greeting. Nothing to it.

“Hello, Harry.” She looked tense. At least the way her lips seemed to thin a little suggested that, in Harry’s opinion.

“Hello, Harry!” Luna exclaimed as she appeared next to Ron.

“Hi, Luna.” Harry smiled at her. She was wearing glasses not even Elton John would wear, not that he’d tell her that.

She leaned forward and twisted her head back and forth. “It’s free of Nargles too!” she announced. “Good choice!”

Ron nodded in apparent agreement.

“I thought you couldn’t see Nargles?” Harry asked.

“You can’t. But with the right spells, you can see the aetherical tracks they leave,” Luna explained. “And this compartment has no tracks.”

“Unlike the Prime Minister’s home,” Ron commented as he stashed his and the girls’ trunks overhead.

Harry froze. “The Prime Minister’s home?” They wouldn’t have…

“Yes!” Luna nodded. “We had to talk to a portrait of my great-grandfather on my mother’s side, so it would talk to the portrait in the Prime Minister’s office, which then could talk to the man himself, but it worked! We managed to talk to him. Face to face, I mean.” She nodded sagely. “Once he realised that we were wizard journalists he was very receptive to our warnings of the dangers invisible magical creatures pose to muggles.”

“To be fair, he was more concerned about Dementors than Nargles,” Ron added.

Luna pouted. “Those are not as dangerous as Nargles since at least wizards and squibs can see Dementors.” Then she perked up. “But he has sent an official request for help to deal with either to the Minister! That means the Nargles will soon lose their breeding grounds at Westminster!”

Harry didn’t know if he should be amused or concerned about this news.

“And it’s all thanks to your and Hermione’s help, mate!” Ron said with a rather sappy smile as Luna slipped off her shoes and put her feet up on the seat, leaning against him.

Concerned, Harry thought. Definitely concerned.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 3rd, 1996

“Alright, Albus’s latest mission sounds like a doozy. We just have to steal the purse of a Death Eater low-life named ‘Emile Fawker’ and replace it with one filled with leprechaun gold.” Sirius smiled and put down a few pictures of a disreputable-looking man on the table in his - their - basement.

He sounded far too confident, in Hermione Granger’s opinion. Even if it did sound like a comparatively easy assignment. Easier than breaking into the manor of an Old Family, at least. Although she wondered what its purpose was and whether the Headmaster had leprechaun friends. And if she would be allowed to keep the gold they stole.

“Fawker?” Her tutor scoffed and slid forward in his seat. “He’s a well-known thug in Knockturn Alley. He’s not an easy mark at all. Not that you’d know that, Black.”

“I for one have full confidence in Jeanne and Hermione,” Sirius shot back.

“We’ll do our best,” Jeanne chimed in, though she was looking slightly nervous, in Hermione’s opinion.

“So, we’ll be doing this in Knockturn Alley?”

“Aye,” Mr Fletcher confirmed. “Fawker favors the Drunk Pixie, a tavern in the middle part of the Alley. A dive full of cutthroats and worse. Not a safe place for two girls.”

“They’ll be with me,” Sirius said. “Even in disguise, I’ll scare off the riff-raff. Might have to make an example out of one of them, but that’s no great loss.”

Mr Fletcher scoffed. “Really? You have no idea. Two pretty witches with a ‘protector’? They’ll think you’re a pimp. And the Pixie’s regulars don’t like that kind of competition.”

“But wouldn’t they also mind seeing two whores by themselves?” Jeanne asked. “If the tavern’s controlled by a pimp.”

“They would try to recruit you,” Mr Fletcher said, “which is why you won’t be dressing as whores.” He grinned. “You’ll pose as hired wands from France, fresh to these shores.”

“Ah.” Sirius sounded almost disappointed, Hermione thought. “And you’ll be our native guide?”

Her tutor shook his head. “No. I’ll be around and keeping an eye out for trouble, but I won’t associate with you.”

“Can we pose as mercenaries?” Hermione asked. Her skill in Defence, while not as low as her O.W.L. result would indicate, wasn’t up to fighting a typical gang of thugs in Knockturn Alley. And she doubted that Jeanne was any better at fighting. Unlike Harry, she thought, trying not to feel jealous. Her friend was a natural at Defence, duelling, fighting in general. Sirius had often said so, and after several weeks of being trained by Harry, Hermione was inclined to agree.

“As long as you don’t try to duel the real hired wands, yes,” Mr Fletcher said. “Make that ‘as long as you don’t duel’, actually. If there’s a fight, focus on defending and dodging, and let Black massacre the enemies. It’s all he’s good for, anyway.”

“Hey!” Sirius sounded affronted. “I can pose as a criminal much better than anyone else here - I’ve been in Azkaban!”

“That’s nothing to be proud of,” Mr Fletcher retorted. “Anyway - don’t lose your nerve, and you’ll be fine. As long as you look like you can take care of yourself, the scum won’t bother you. Just don’t appear too arrogant or you’ll have all the local toughs trying to gain a rep by taking you down.”

Hermione didn’t like the way Sirius grinned at hearing that.

*****​

London, Knockturn Alley, September 3rd, 1996

Hermione Granger had thought the way the purebloods at the Smith’s ball had looked at her had been bad, but walking through Knockturn Alley in the evening, even dressed for fighting - in tight and low-cut duelling robes made out of dragon leather, slit in the front and back to reveal leather tights and knee-high boots - instead of in provocatively cut dresses, was much, much worse. The pureblood scions of the Old Families had seen a young and pretty witch from the New World who wouldn’t have the backing to create a scandal should she end up seduced by a rich young wizard. The denizens of Knockturn Alley, however… She suppressed a shudder. They looked at her as if she were a piece of meat. Literally, in some cases - like the hags hiding in a side alley and the man she suspected was a werewolf, judging by the scars on his face.

“Our robes might be a little too tight,” Jeanne remarked in a strong French accent.

“Not at all,” Sirius retorted. “We’re here to make an impression, after all.” His own robes matched theirs.

Hermione couldn’t help feeling that they looked a little too daring, and not dangerous enough, but Jeanne had assured her that the French duellists were renowned for looking like that.

She still thought that the only reason no one had tried to attack them so far was that by the time someone made up their mind whether they were as dangerous as they appeared, or simply too stupid to realise the danger they were in, they were already past the next corner, out of the line of sight of the would-be assailant. She hadn’t spotted Mr Fletcher yet, even though she had seen his disguise - rather shabby, tattered robes - earlier at home. But he had said he’d be nearby and she trusted him.

Another wizard with patched robes - didn’t he know the Mending Charm? Or was this a conscious style choice? Maybe the patches were enchanted - stared at her, his hood not hiding how he licked his lips. She forced herself to stare back until he looked away, flashing her wand to show she was ready to curse him.

She hated that she couldn’t see as well in the dark as she was used to when wearing her mask, or as a cat. She needed to enchant some prop glasses for these occasions. Glancing upwards, at the slanted roofs overhead, she wondered if she should have come as a cat, instead of as a hired wand. She dismissed the idea - she wouldn’t have been able to do much, and would probably have attracted even worse attention, judging by the kind of grilled meat a street vendor was offering despite the late hour.

“There’s the Drunk Pixie,” Sirius said, pointing ahead at a rather shabby looking house. A crude picture of a pixie diving into a wine glass hung above the entrance.

A man stumbled out of the tavern, holding his stomach. For a moment, Hermione feared that he had been cursed, but then he emptied his stomach on the cobblestones next to the door and staggered away.

“We best watch what we drink here,” Sirius said.

Hermione nodded as she straightened, pushing her chest out. She couldn’t look afraid or nervous. She was a hired wand, ready to curse anyone who crossed her. Not a nervous thief about to steal from a thug.

She hoped she could fool others more easily than herself.

******​

Hermione Granger’s first thought upon entering was that the inside of the tavern made the Leaky Cauldron look like a high-class restaurant. Her second thought was that it made the alley outside look safe. She counted about two dozen wizards and witches in the tavern, in various states of intoxication, and most of them were staring at her and her friends. She forced herself to stare back, twirling her wand between her fingers. She was posing as a hired wand from France - and the French had a reputation.

“Très pittoresque, à mon avis,” Jeanne said, looking around.

Sirius laughed loudly, then strode towards the bar as if he were alone in the tavern. Hermione followed him, a step behind Jeanne. Disgusting was a better description than colourful, she thought as she walked through a puddle of what looked like ale - or urine. Couldn’t anyone here cast a cleaning charm? If she had come as a cat, with her fine nose, the stench alone would probably have rendered her unconscious. Unlike the dog, of course - dogs thrived in such environments.

The bartender, a wizard who looked like he had some hag ancestry, looked at them as they reached the bar, neither greeting them nor asking what they wanted to order. Sirius wasn’t discouraged, of course. “Your finest wine, mon ami!”

“Est-ce qu’on doit s’accaparer une table?” Jeanne remarked. Hermione tensed up. There wasn’t a free table - would Sirius want to start a fight so they could take one? It would certainly serve as the distraction Mr Fletcher said he might need - but she hadn’t yet spotted her tutor...

“Non.” Sirius shook his head, his freshly dyed ponytail swinging back and forth. “On ne doit pas se mettre à dos les indigènes.” Hermione hoped no one in the tavern understood French.

“Five Sickles. Each!” the bartender barked as he levitated three glasses of wine to their corner of the bar.

Sirius flicked a Galleon at him. “Keep the change.” He swished his wand over the glasses in what Hermione recognised as a Poison Detection Charm. A sip later he grimaced. “Mon dieu! Quelle horreur! Si ca c’est le meilleur vin qu’on a trouvé ici ...” He shuddered.

Jeanne didn’t even bother to hide her distaste. “Dégueulasse!”

Seeing their reaction to the wine, Hermione decided not to actually drink from her own glass, but fake it instead as she searched the room for their mark and Mr Fletcher. She spotted their mark first. Fawker was seated at a corner table, with a hulking brute of a man who strongly reminded her of Goyle.

She couldn’t see his purse, though. Which meant she needed to cast several detection spells and get close enough to deal with whatever alarm charms Fawker had used. That meant she needed a table close by. Or… She nodded. The bathroom would do. “Je dois aller aux toilettes.”

“Ne touches à rien sans d'abord le nettoyer,” Jeanne said.

Hermione had no intention of touching anything, cleaning charm or not. On the way she noticed a very hairy thug who loudly sniffed the air as she passed - a werewolf? She couldn’t see any scars, but those could and usually would be hidden. She glared at him - werewolf or not, he certainly acted like a canine, and no self-respecting cat would let that go - and scoffed. Let him smell her perfume - her natural scent was masked.

He chuckled in response, but didn’t look away until she entered the bathroom. It matched the tavern, she noted with a shudder, then started to cast. Cleaning charms, first - several of them. She needed to be able to work without fearing for her health. A See-Through-Walls Charm followed as she turned in the direction of Fawker’s table.

It took her a few seconds to focus her enhanced vision on the mark - she saw much more of his companion than she had ever wanted to see - but once she’d managed, she easily spotted not just his purse, stuck to the insides of his robes, but also its contents. Too many Galleons for a wizard of his talent, at least as Mr Fletcher had described him. He had to be in the Dark Lord’s pay. Shaking her head, she pulled out one of the purses the Headmaster had given to Sirius and altered its appearance to match Fawker’s, before adjusting the number of gold coins inside.

Now she just had to deal with the charms on the mark’s purse. And she couldn’t study them without direct line of sight. She checked whether anyone was looking at the wall, then ended her charm. After shaking her head to readjust to her normal vision, she raised her wand and started casting.

Drilling a hole in the wall was child’s play. Placing a lens into the hole so she could see Fawker wasn’t that much more difficult. But dealing with the alarm charm - the alarm charms - on Fawker’s purse through her contraption was anything but easy.

Fortunately, Fawker’s charms were not the best, nor the most difficult. They would sound an alarm if anyone other than him touched his purse and prevented anyone from moving it with magic. Standard spells. It still took her several minutes to disable them, working at this distance, and she was sweating when she had finished.

A Switching Spell later, she held Fawker’s purse in her hand. Smiling, she stashed the stolen purse in her enchanted pocket and fixed her appearance. Mission accomplished. Now all they had to do was leave without Sirius starting trouble.

Or, Hermione added to herself as she found her way back to her friends barred by the canine ruffian, without getting into trouble herself.

The thug bared his yellow teeth in a parody of a smile. He had elongated canines, Hermione noticed, and she flinched, remembering how Tripe had almost killed her. But the ruffian was also deeply tanned, and his eyes were yellow, not red. Not a vampire, then, but probably a werewolf.

“Afraid, lil’ witch?” he drawled, his smile turning into a leer. “I thought you French liked it rough.”

Hermione couldn’t tell if the man was trying to start a fight or if he was trying to flirt with her - French witches had, at least among some British wizards, another kind of reputation as well. That he reeked of cheap alcohol didn’t help. But, ultimately, it didn’t matter - there was only one possible response to such a query from a dog. She sniffed, then hissed: “Vas te faire foutre!”

Apparently, the man understood that French obscenity - no surprise; he had probably heard it every time he’d accosted a French witch - and roared in response, his wand rising.

But Hermione was already moving, jumping to her right and casting a Shield Charm. That put a table of three other ruffians between herself and her attacker. Unfortunately, the thug was either too enraged to stay his casting - or too drunk to aim. A yellowish curse hit one of the three seated lowlifes in the back and sent him to the floor in convulsions. His screams silenced the whole room for a moment.

A sort of pain curse, Hermione thought as she ducked low. Not the Torture Curse, but she didn’t want to find out first hand if her Shield Charm could deflect it. What was Sirius doing?, she thought as another curse passed over her head. Dropping to the floor, she rolled further to the right as the two remaining thugs jumped up and started flinging curses of their own.

“Bouge-toi!”

That was Sirius’s voice! She glanced towards the bar just in time to see another thug fly through the air and crash on to a different table, the dog twirling his wand as Jeanne motioned to her.

Hermione glanced to her left. Her assailant was under attack by the two friends of the still screaming thug he had hit. But their aim seemed to be even worse than his. Nevertheless, this was an opportunity to rejoin her friends.

She took a deep breath, then jumped on the table in front of her. She ignored the startled yells from the two witches occupying it, took two quick steps, then leaped on the bar - and promptly slipped on the mirrored top, sending half a dozen glasses and bottles to the floor before joining them herself.

Cursing the sloppy bartender and glad that her shield had kept the broken glass on the floor from slicing her up, she jumped to her feet. Two men were between her and Sirius and Jeanne, one of them turning towards her. She sent him to the floor with a quick Stunner and Sirius’s next curse flung the other up against the ceiling. He crashed down on to the bar, crushing a few more glasses - without a Shield Charm to protect him.

“Allons-y!” Jeanne yelled, sending a Stunner towards the door. Sirius nodded and flicked his wand. Alongside the path to the door, the tables suddenly turned into wolves. That sent most of the riff-raff not already fighting - Fawker among them, she noticed - fleeing, and the three used the distraction to reach the door.

At the door, held open by Jeanne as Sirius covered the room, Hermione glanced back. The suspected werewolf had just finished smashing the last thug into the ground and was glaring at her. She sneered in response. Predictably, he roared again and came charging straight at her.

Her Stunner caught him in the chest before he had covered half the distance between them and he dropped to the ground.

“Quel chien stupide,” she mumbled as she left the dive.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 3rd, 1996

“I’m beginning to think that Black’s mere presence causes fights to start,” Mr Fletcher said half an hour later, when all of them were back home.

“What?” Sirius frowned. “It wasn’t my fault! She started it!” He pointed at Hermione.

Hermione Granger glared at him. “The dog started it. The other dog,” she clarified when she saw Sirius’s expression. “I think he was a werewolf.”

“He certainly acted like one,” Jeanne said.

“Yellow eyes, enlarged canines and a rabid attitude? Yes, that brute was a werewolf,” Mr Fletcher said.

Hermione pursed her lips. She didn’t like the stereotypes being thrown around, but that dog certainly had acted like the worst werewolf cliché.

“In any case, it wasn’t my fault,” Sirius said. “I didn’t start the fight - I finished it.”

“Technically, Hermione did, by casting the last spell,” Mr Fletcher pointed out. “But it doesn’t matter. Good work with Fawker’s purse.” He nodded at her.

“Thank you.” She smiled, even though she was a little irked that he had spotted her without her noticing.

Mr Fletcher nodded. “Woulda been better if you had left without starting a brawl, but that couldn’t be helped.” It hadn’t been her fault, Hermione thought. “I took the liberty of distracting the bouncer when the trouble started,” he went on.

So that was why the brawl had broken out without any security intervening. Hermione slowly nodded.

“What exactly was the purpose of this mission?” Jeanne asked. “Any member of an Old Family could easily replace the amount of gold Hermione stole.” Like Malfoy, Hermione thought.

“It will probably wreck one of Voldemort’s plans. Make him lose confidence in Fawker, or Fawker’s associates? Cause a rift - either between the Dark Lord and Fawker, or between Fawker and those he’s since paid? Hurt the tavern’s reputation?” Sirius shrugged. “Albus didn’t tell me much. But he wouldn’t have sent us to steal that purse if it wasn’t important.”

Mr Fletcher snorted. “Fawker’s rather important in Knockturn Alley. Losing the Dark Lord’s gold will rile him up. And Albus wanted his purse not just stolen, but delivered to him, right?”

Sirius nodded. “I dropped it off at Hogwarts before coming back here.”

Hermione’s tutor scoffed. “Wouldn’t surprise me if there’s already a cutpurse from a rival gang spending that gold in the Alley and bragging about pulling one over on Fawker.”

“Albus’s starting a gang war?” Sirius sounded both surprised and envious.

“Maybe.” Mr Fletcher shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. Gang wars start for other reasons too.”

Hermione wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted to know if she had just helped to start a gang war. Or whether the Headmaster was ruthless enough to set one up.

*****​

Hogwarts, September 8th, 1996

“Good evening, Harry. Please have a seat.”

“Good evening, sir,” Harry Potter replied as he sat down.

“You look like something is bothering you,” Dumbledore said, offering him some sweets, which he declined.

Harry was tempted to say it was nothing. He didn’t want to bother the Headmaster with his concerns, not when Dumbledore must have been very busy this week - Harry hadn’t seen him since the Welcoming Feast. Before he could say anything, though, Dumbledore went on: “Or should I say distracted?”

Harry sighed. “Yes, sir.” He licked his lips, trying to find the right words. “I was wondering if you had trained Hermione in Occlumency. Seeing as she’s helping you with your research.” The Headmaster wouldn’t let her help him with his research if she couldn’t even spot, much less protect herself against Legilimency, would he? Unless her research was meant to be leaked.

“Ah, do not worry. While Miss Granger is not trained in Occlumency, she is nevertheless adequately protected against Legilimency attacks.”

“What?” Harry stared at him. “There are other ways to protect your mind?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Dumbledore steepled his hands and leaned back. “They wouldn’t have been enough for you, given your special situation.” His connection to Voldemort, in other words, Harry thought. “But,” the Headmaster went on, “Legilimency is a rare skill. Few are proficient enough to use it without being obvious about it - which, given that such an act is as illegal as the unauthorised use of Veritaserum, serves as a quite effective deterrent for most. And even those who have mastered it require prolonged eye contact.”

“So, Hermione will avoid looking others in the eyes?” Harry didn’t think that would work well, given his best friend’s character. On the other hand, she rarely ventured out into Wizarding Britain by herself, and if she was with Sirius in the Ministry, few would look at her. That was his impression, at least.

“More or less.”

Harry pressed his lips together. That sounded both far too easy, and far too dangerous. But if the Headmaster thought it was enough… He nodded.

“Was that all that bothered you?”

“Not exactly.” Harry took a deep breath. “Have you found out what Voldemort is planning? All those murders, the blood magic… you saw my memories.”

Dumbledore nodded. “The clues I have gathered - many of them thanks to you - have allowed me to deduce at least two of his aims with some degree of certainty. First, he continues to undermine the Ministry. His agents are spreading his influence in many departments. My friends and I are opposing them, of course, but we do not know all of his followers. Not everyone who shares his views on muggleborns is one of his agents, after all.”

Harry didn’t think that that mattered much. Either way, they were helping Voldemort. But he already knew about that. “And the second? The ritual?”

“Ah, yes.” Dumbledore sighed again. “Unless your last vision was set up to deceive me - which I do not think likely - then Voldemort is searching for another way to gain what he considers immortality.”

“Isn’t he already immortal?” He had survived being blown to ashes, after all.

“That is a matter for debate. Or would be, were this known. He has not rendered himself immortal so much as he has prevented his soul from passing on to the afterlife. Instead, upon the destruction of his body, he turns into a shade. It requires a lot of effort for him to regain a body.”

Harry frowned. “He seemed to be able to possess people rather easily.”

“Possession is at best a short-term solution. A possessed body will not last long. Sooner rather than later, it will decay.”

Harry shuddered. The poor souls who had died like that, serving Voldemort… “But he made a new body, didn’t he?”

“Indeed, he has created an artificial body. From the looks of it, it is far more resistant to decay. However, I do not think it will last too long either - the laws of magic are harder to break than those of the Ministry.” Dumbledore smiled wryly. “Unfortunately, it seems Tom has found a way around this - or rather, a potential solution to his problem. Vampirism.”

“Oh.”

The Headmaster nodded. “A vampire’s body does not decay, despite being a possessed corpse.”

“He wants to become a vampire? Or possess one?”

“I think, given your last vision, that the drawbacks of vampirism - the vulnerability to sunlight chief amongst them, but also the hunger for blood; Tom would hate being a slave to his instincts, even though I suspect he already suffers from that to some degree - are unacceptable to him. He wants to be a vampire without any of the drawbacks.” He chuckled, once. “Many would be content with having solved a problem thought insurmountable. Not him, though. He would want a perfect solution. And ‘perfection is the enemy of good enough’, as the saying goes.” Dumbledore smiled. “We’ll have time to prepare his defeat while he tries to outdo himself. That is why I asked to speak to you this evening. As you know, I have spent considerable time researching your mother’s protection.”

Harry nodded, grimacing slightly - he was all too aware of that fact.

“And you also know how I was unable to move the blood wards on your aunt’s home.”

“Can you move them now?” Harry leaned forward. If they could further improve the protection of Grimmauld Place...

“I could. However, since your protection will end the day you turn seventeen, it would not serve any purpose. You do not need to spend any more time at your relatives’ home anyway, and Grimmauld Place is already protected.”

Harry pressed his lips together. What good was this breakthrough if it came too late?

“But that doesn’t change the fact that your mother’s protection is the key to defeating Voldemort. The Boy-Who-Lived is the only one who ever defeated him - or so he thinks.” Dumbledore shook his head. “I have to confess that I am at least partially responsible for your fame - I wanted to protect Lily’s reputation. A little child resisting the Dark Lord is a miracle. But a young muggleborn witch managing to defeat the Dark Lord with an unknown ritual?” He spread his hands.

Harry pressed his lips together. People would talk about her using the Dark Arts. And, as much as he hated to admit it, they wouldn’t be entirely wrong. She had used blood magic, after all. He shook his head. “So I’ll be serving as bait, then, and hoping he’ll personally try to kill me again?” He could handle that.

“Not exactly.” Dumbledore’s smile looked almost cruel, Harry thought. “I’ll be teaching you how to use your blood protection to attack and defeat him.”

*****​

 

Chapter 25: Complications

London, Ministry of Magic, September 10th, 1996

Saul Croaker prided himself on his ability to focus on his work no matter what was happening outside the Department of Mysteries. As the Head Unspeakable, he knew his duty, and unless something affected the research conducted by his department or the numerous artefacts safeguarded in its vaults, it didn’t concern him or his department. Ministers had disagreed in the past, but the Department was independent for a reason - you couldn’t trust politicians to treat its secrets with the caution and respect they deserved. As a rule, the short-sighted fools only saw an easy way to solve whatever problem they couldn’t deal with themselves.

But every rule had its exceptions - in this case, Albus Dumbledore. The Chief Warlock was one of the few wizards outside Saul’s department whose knowledge of magic surpassed his own. Who knew what Alchemy would look like today if Dumbledore hadn’t wasted his talents running Hogwarts and trying to reform Wizarding Britain. Merlin’s beard, the man had worked - worked! Not studied, worked! - with Flamel! If only he had joined the Department instead of becoming a teacher! But Saul’s predecessor either hadn’t been convincing enough or had - and justly so - suspected that Dumbledore would have replaced him in short order. Unspeakable Parkinson had always been more of a politician than a researcher. If it had been the other way around, he might not have made that fatal mistake when testing a new spell.

Saul shook his head. His thoughts were wandering again. But he didn’t even try to focus on his work. Not when Dumbledore was coming to ‘discuss a matter of some importance’. The last time he had done that, two Unspeakables had been revealed as Death Eater spies. And Dumbledore had revealed why he had been the one to defeat Grindelwald.

Saul winced at the humiliating memory. He had almost lost his position over that. That Dumbledore had missed a third spy, Rookwood, who was only revealed after Voldemort’s defeat, was no consolation. He should have been more attentive.

He had been more attentive afterwards, of course, although his methods might not have met Dumbledore’s approval - might. For all his principles, the man was ultimately rather pragmatic when it counted - but at least Saul was certain that there were no more spies among his staff. Almost certain. Which was why he was slightly nervous about the upcoming meeting.

As if on cue, the charm on his desk announced that his visitor had arrived. Saul pushed the unread reports and correspondence away and straightened in his seat.

“Good afternoon, Saul.”

“Good afternoon, Albus. Please have a seat.”

“Thank you for seeing me on short notice.” Dumbledore sat down, smiling as if Saul had had any choice in the matter.

“I always have time for the Chief Warlock.” As long as he was called Albus Dumbledore.

“Thank you. Your predecessor was not as hospitable.”

For a moment, Saul wondered - not for the first time - if Parkinson’s accident had actually been an accident. But then he told himself that Dumbledore wouldn’t have needed to go that far to get rid of an Unspeakable. So he simply nodded. “You wished to discuss a matter of importance?” Saul had no stomach for making pleasant conversation while that loomed over this visit.

“Straight to the point - something many members of the Wizengamot would do well to imitate.” Dumbledore’s smile grew wider for an instant, then vanished. Saul refrained from swallowing dryly. “I bring dire news. Your office is secure?”

“Of course.” Saul wanted to frown - to ask if his office was protected against eavesdroppers! Not even the Death Eater spies had managed to get that far.

“I trust that you are aware of the recent string of murders.” Dumbledore nodded.

“The ones the public thinks are related to vampires? Yes. Blood magic rituals, according to our investigation.” Saul allowed himself to smile. If Dumbledore had just come to warn him of that…

“Blood magic, indeed. But I would not have bothered you if we were dealing with a simple practitioner of that most questionable art,” Dumbledore said and Saul froze. The Chief Warlock leaned forward. “It is Voldemort, Saul. He is back.”

Saul narrowed his eyes. “He’s been back for years. You told me four years ago to tighten security around the Hall of Prophecies.”

“I did, and you managed to improve its defences significantly. A testament to the skill of your department.” Dumbledore sighed. “Which is why I have come today. I would like you to adjust its defences.”

“Adjust?” Saul frowned. Dumbledore had inspected the security measures the Department had added four years ago himself and had told him, in private, that they would give even Voldemort pause. So what adjustments could he… He drew a hissing breath. “You want to use the Prophecy as bait.”

Dumbledore nodded with a wry smile. “Yes. Voldemort has been busy researching a blood magic ritual and spreading his influence inside the Ministry. While the situation is not as dire as it was twenty years ago, I would rather stop him now than let him continue.”

“He will suspect a trap.” Voldemort hadn’t almost brought the country to its knees by being stupid.

“He might, but I will endeavour to convince him otherwise. Since he does not know that I am aware of his plans, I think he might take the chance, provided he learns of this new ‘weakness’ through channels he trusts.”

“Spies you mean,” Saul spat.

“Not in your department,” Dumbledore said, but Saul could almost hear the unsaid ‘this time’. “Since anyone who is the subject of a Prophecy can enter the Hall, it should not be too difficult to set up a visit by someone Voldemort can safely interrogate once the spies in the Ministry inform him.”

Saul narrowed his eyes. “A disposable stooge who just happens to be the subject of a Prophecy?” That would be very convenient. Too convenient.

Dumbledore smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a very familiar looking sphere.

“You faked a Prophecy Sphere?” Saul was almost as appalled as he was intrigued.

“Not exactly. I repurposed a blank one,” Dumbledore said.

Of course, he would be able to get his hands on what Saul had believed to be exclusive to the Department! “Everything has been set up already, then?” he asked.

Dumbledore inclined his head, still smiling.

And Saul knew that if he didn’t accede to this scheme, his successor would. “I hope you know what you are doing, Albus,” he said, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice.

“So do I, Saul.”

“And what if he doesn’t take the bait?” Saul asked.

“Then I will have to resort to a more dangerous scheme.”

*****​

Hogwarts, September 12th, 1996

When he heard the faint noise of footsteps, Harry Potter immediately stopped in the middle of the corridor leading to Dumbledore’s office and tapped his glasses. At once, his vision changed, and as usual, it took him a moment to adjust to suddenly being able to see through walls - and clothes. He had to focus his eyes in a certain way to actually see what was behind a specific wall, instead of being blinded by overlapping glimpses of everything in sight. But he was getting used to that, thanks to his constant practice. Constant Vigilance, of a sort, he thought as he looked through the wall to his left, into the corridor to the courtyard. Two witches - two Slytherins - were walking there. Greengrass and Davis. He frowned. They weren’t moving as if they were planning to attack him or anyone else - they weren’t even holding their wands - but it was late, close to curfew.

He changed his focus, peering into the satchel Davis carried. It was filled with plants. Perhaps they had gathered a few ingredients in the greenhouses since it was the night of the new moon. He refocused his sight anyway, to check if they were hiding anything under their clothes - he wasn’t a prefect himself, but if Slytherins were smuggling things into the school, then it would be his duty to inform Neville and Lavender. And if they were smuggling anything dangerous…

They weren’t, as he found out. He also found out that their reputations, at least as far as their bodies were concerned, were slightly overblown. Not that Harry was interested in them anyway - even if Sirius hadn’t taught him that witches from Old Families were bad news, doubly so if they were in Slytherin, those two had framed Hermione and gotten her expelled.

They were almost at the intersection, and he quickly and almost silently cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. While it wasn’t a real secret that he was receiving special lessons from Dumbledore, he’d rather not have Slytherins know his schedule. Even if they were not Death Eaters themselves, their parents might be - and all of them were far too close to the Malfoys.

“Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“Someone whispered.”

“It was probably just a ghost.”

When the two girls slowly stepped around the corner with their wands drawn, Harry was tempted to scare them - a few hexes Sirius had taught him would do it - but that would expose him. And probably cause some trouble for Dumbledore, should they go tattling to their parents. Malfoy had been rather quiet for months now, and Harry didn’t want to risk changing that just for a lark.

So he watched them pass, smirking at their nervous expressions, and didn’t move until they had turned the corner to the stairs. A few minutes later, he reached the Headmaster’s office.

*****​

“Learning how to use the protection your mother left you deliberately, and for things other than what she designed it for, will not be easy.” Dumbledore looked straight at Harry Potter with a very serious expression. “Nevertheless, it is crucial to defeating Voldemort. We cannot count on him trying to personally kill you as he tried and failed in 1981 and 1992. He might yet risk a third defeat; his arrogance and need to prove his supremacy is impressive from a certain point of view, but he is no fool.”

Harry nodded. He already knew that. Fool me once, and all that.

“So, since your mother used a ritual, you will have to learn how to use one yourself, if not her particular one, so you are familiar with the fundamentals. Then you will need to learn what your mother did to protect you. Only then you will be ready to use its power for yourself.”

“And all before my seventeenth birthday. No pressure.” Harry forced himself to smile.

Dumbledore chuckled. “I am confident that you will manage it, and with quite some time to spare. I have taken measures to slow his research down.”

“What if he takes so long that I lose my mother’s protection before he is ready to move?”

“He is acting more cautiously than in the past, but between his arrogance and pride, and since he believes himself to be immortal and is in need of impressing his followers to strengthen their resolve, he is likely to take more risks than would be prudent, if presented with a tempting opportunity.”

“You mean a trap,” Harry said.

“Precisely.” Dumbledore beamed at him.

“With me as bait.” Harry nodded. Voldemort wanted him dead anyway; better to use that against the Dark Lord than hiding from him.

“No.” The Headmaster shook his head. “Your courage does you credit, but after his two failures, Voldemort is unlikely to attack you personally. He already sent an assassin after you, after all. And that means that you have to be even more cautious, lest his next attempt succeeds.”

Or others might die - Remus and Ginny had almost been killed by the vampire trying to kill him. Harry pressed his lips together. He didn’t want more people risking their lives for him while he cowered behind the wards of Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place. “What else will tempt him out of hiding?”

“The prophecy tying your two fates together.”

“The what?”

“Did you never wonder why Voldemort tried to murder a baby? Why your mother created a ritual to protect you at the cost of her own life?” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

Harry had assumed that the Dark Lord had simply been trying to murder his parents and their entire family for fighting against him, as he had done so often in the last war. But if the Headmaster was asking like that… “He needed me for a ritual?” Harry guessed.

“No. There was a prophecy by a Seer, before your birth.” Dumbledore cleared his throat. “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…” he started to say as Harry listened with rapt attention.

*****​

“...will be born as the seventh month dies.”

Harry Potter’s thoughts were racing when the Headmaster finished retelling the prophecy. This was the reason his parents had been murdered. “So… we’ll be duelling? Me and the Dark Lord?”

Dumbledore frowned slightly. “Prophecies do not work like that, no matter what some people believe. As you may have noticed, the prophecy is rather vague. Easy to misinterpret - or to fit to events after they have already happened. Ultimately, a prophecy is only as powerful as the belief in it.”

“But it does fit. I do have that power. I already defeated him twice.” Harry didn’t remember the first time, but he wouldn’t ever forget the second time. Seeing Quirrell die slowly from the poison the Dark Lord had struck him with, the stench of burning flesh when Harry had jumped their possessed attacker, too late to save the teacher…

“You did, but you only received the power because Voldemort attacked your family. If he had ignored you Lily’s ritual wouldn’t have been completed. One could say that only Voldemort’s belief in the prophecy made it happen.”

“But if he already knows the prophecy, why would that be good bait for a trap?” Harry asked.

Dumbledore smiled. “Because he does not know the full prophecy. The spy who overheard it was discovered before the Seer had finished, and had to flee. And so Voldemort will have wondered for years what else the Prophecy said about him - and about you. Wondered whether it also held the key to defeating you. Wondered if he would have been able to kill you had he known the full prophecy.” He leaned back. “I do not think he will be able to resist the opportunity to get his hands on the entire prophecy.”

“And how long will that take?” Harry asked. How much time did he have to master this power?

“Do not worry. I have just started to set things in motion. There are several steps yet to be taken, all of them under my control.” Dumbledore smiled. “Keep in mind that he is not aware that we know about him, and about his plans. He is already at a serious disadvantage. Now let us get started with learning about rituals.”

Harry nodded. The faster they started, the faster they would be ready.

But he couldn’t help wondering if the Dark Lord would actually be fooled. And what they would do should Dumbledore’s plan fail.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 19th, 1996

Hermione Granger stared at her reflection in the full body mirror, turning slightly and looking over her shoulder. After a few - more than a few - attempts, she had finally managed to get an even artificial tan.

“That doesn’t seem like it would fool anyone. It’s just you, with a tan. And not even a deep tan.”

She didn’t glare at Jeanne. The other witch was correct - using a spray tan wouldn’t alter her skin tone enough to suffice as a disguise. There were other muggle methods - using full body makeup - but applying those would be even more time-consuming than using a spray tan.

“I don’t know why you even try these muggle methods.” Jeanne snorted. “Just use a Skin-Colour-Change Charm.”

“That is a known charm - if not as common as the Hair Dyeing Charm - and so people might check for it.” Which was why she was planning to use muggle disguises. They were far harder to use, but wouldn’t vanish after a single Dispelling Charm.

“A good cleaning charm would still strip all the makeup off your skin.”

She pressed her lips together. “Yes. Which is why I’m researching ways to combine muggle and magical methods.” Even though she hadn’t made much progress.

“You haven’t had trouble so far and your ‘catsuit’ covers you from head to toe,” Jeanne pointed out.

“It’s better to be prepared for all eventualities,” Hermione shot back. “And I can’t wear my suit when I’m posing as a debutante from the New World. I’d rather not lose my disguise in the middle of a ball.”

“Attempting to remove any kind of charm from a witch at such an event would be incredibly rude.” Jeanne sniffed. “Duels have been fought over less.”

“I don’t think I can count on that,” Hermione retorted. The sort of witches who had framed her as a thief wouldn’t be above ‘accidentally’ ruining a foreign upstart’s robes and makeup.

“I guess you are correct - I’ve encountered a number of very rude wizards and witches in Britain. But trying to expose a witch like that…” Jeanne shook her head. “That would never happen in France.”

Hermione doubted that, but she would certainly not try to defend the Old Families of Wizarding Britain. Not after what they had done to her. “So, I need to find a way to change my appearance that is not easily reversible, and yet easy to apply and remove when needed. It looks like I’ll have to find or create a potion to achieve that effect.” And she didn’t think she could feasibly create such a potion without spending an inappropriate amount of time on it.

Jeanne nodded in agreement. “You might need a discreet potioneer. Sirius certainly could afford the expense.”

Hermione glanced at the French witch - was that a barb aimed at the amount of gold he had spent on her debts? Probably not, judging by Jeanne’s expression. She nodded. “But finding someone who will not betray me, willingly or not, might be a little tricky.” The Weasley twins were certainly skilled enough for such a task, having opened their own joke shop in Diagon Alley immediately after taking their N.E.W.T.s, but Hermione didn’t know if they could be trusted not to spill her secret if they thought she simply wanted to play Cinderella or prank someone with a disguise. And to reveal everything to them… She shook her head.

Jeanne sighed. “I know. Sirius wants me to learn Occlumency, but finding a tutor who has the time to teach me and can be trusted is nigh impossible.”

Hermione shrugged. “As long as you avoid their eyes and maintain some mental discipline, you will be fine. And given the kind of robes you like to wear, I do not think too many men will be looking at your eyes.” She almost winced at her own words - she hadn’t meant to sound like a jealous witch.

Fortunately, Jeanne laughed. “Indeed. However, not everyone is susceptible to such distractions. Like Dumbledore,” she added with a frown.

Hermione shrugged. Of course, the Headmaster would check if Jeanne could be trusted. “There are not too many people like him.”

“But it only takes one of them - and they can disguise themselves as well.”

Hermione knew that also - if the Dark Lord had been a little more suspicious of a cat’s presence that time… “Yes. But we can only do so much.”

“We haven’t had another mission in a week, though.”

Hermione frowned at the other witch. “You sound like Sirius.”

“Perhaps.” Jeanne smiled widely. “He could have been born French. He is certainly brave enough. And passionate enough.”

Hermione tried not to frown and bit her lower lip. She was in no mood to hear more details about Sirius and Jeanne’s relationship. Not when her own love life was nonexistent.

Unfortunately, Jeanne hadn’t missed her reaction. “Oh, don’t be like that! You could find a lover of your own, with little effort.”

Hermione scoffed. “The frumpy muggleborn? Not even my closest friends think I’m attractive!” Of course, she had done all she could to make that happen, but still…

“I’m certain that they would change their opinion at once, should they see you right now,” Jeanne retorted with a grin.

Hermione glared at her and summoned her robe to cover herself. Or as much as the robe - a gift from Jeanne - managed. “They can’t. It would ruin my secret identity.”

“But you could easily have a lover in your secret identity. Miss Merriweather was very popular, as I recall. And you’re an adult witch now.”

Hermione scoffed again. “That wouldn’t be much of a relationship.” And she didn’t really feel any different now that she was an adult in the eyes of Wizarding Britain. Just another birthday spent without her best friends. And without her parents.

“Perhaps. On the other hand, many wizards might like an affair without many strings.” Jeanne smiled at her. “I think you might enjoy it as well, and learn a few things that will be very useful once you start a real relationship.”

Hermione glared at her, but the other witch simply kept smiling at her.

Much like Sirius, she thought. Far too much like the dog.

*****​

Hogwarts, September 26th, 1996

“Ron! Harry!”

Harry Potter watched Luna walk towards the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. She was waving a letter - opened, so the odds of it being cursed were low, or she’d have been the first victim. He still tensed slightly - the last session with Moody had focused on traps, and Harry had been checking pretty much everything with his glasses since.

“Luna!” Ron put his glass of pumpkin juice down and glanced at Seamus, who quickly scooted a little to the side, freeing the spot next to Harry’s friend. “Have a seat!”

Harry refrained from commenting that the two had been talking to each other right before breakfast - not even ten minutes ago - and so there was no need to act as if they had been separated for weeks. Especially since they weren’t a couple. Not yet, at least. But they didn’t deserve such comments from him. And doing so would make him look jealous, as Ginny would certainly be quick to point out.

So he took another bite out of his sausage - he already missed the croissants Jeanne had introduced at home - and listened to what Luna had to say.

“Daddy wrote me, look!” She put the letter down on the table and smoothed it out, almost toppling Seamus’s teacup in the process. The other student scooted a little further away in response. “He’s been in correspondence with the Prime Minister, you know.”

“Yes. You told me.” Ron smiled, rather sappily. He hadn’t told Harry that. At least Harry couldn’t remember being told.

“Yes. And now the Prime Minister has informed him that he has had both Westminster and Downing Street protected against Nargles and started an anti-Dementor task force. He wants Daddy on it since he’s the foremost expert on invisible creatures in Britain!”

“Great!” Ron looked like he wanted to hug her, Harry thought, but didn’t realise it.

He made an agreeing noise himself and finished his sausage.

Luna nodded several times. “But the Ministry is dragging their feet. They claim that the Dementors are under control and no threat to muggles and that there is no need to spend money on taking precautions.”

Ron scoffed. “Fools.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “They should destroy those monsters.” What they had done to Sirius…

“Impossible, mate.” Ron shook his head. “Can’t kill Dementors.”

“Daddy says we might simply not have found out their secrets yet,” Luna said. “But nothing is truly immortal.”

Harry certainly hoped that that was the case with Voldemort.

“Dumbledore supports the initiative as well,” Luna went on. “He said so in the Wizengamot.” She smiled. “The Chief Warlock’s support means a lot to us! People are finally taking The Quibbler more seriously!”

Harry doubted that, but he didn’t say that either. Although he didn’t doubt that the Headmaster had good reasons to support this ‘task force’. If the Dementors ever got out of control… He shuddered.

*****​

Hogwarts, September 27th, 1996

...and then stir five and half a times counter-clockwise until the liquid’s colour changes from turquoise to dark blue.

Sitting in the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter closed his eyes and pushed the Potions book away. What would happen if the colour didn’t change after stirring it five and a half times? The book didn’t say, but Snape would ask. The git always asked questions as if he expected Harry to fail at every attempt to brew a potion. He frowned. He wasn’t actually bad at Potions, no matter what Snape claimed. Certainly not as bad as, say, Neville, who had dropped Potions after the O.W.L.s. Harry was about average for the N.E.W.T. class in his own estimation - if he took Snape’s favouritism for the Slytherins into account. Still… “Why do you need a N.E.W.T. in Potions to become an Auror? Do they expect us to brew our own potions for work?”

He hadn’t expected an answer, but Ron looked up from his essay and gave him one anyway. “Percy told me when I asked him in summer. When the Auror corps was founded, you were expected to brew your own potions because the Ministry wouldn’t pay for them - they could save gold that way. But, as Aurors began to need more complicated potions, they had to drop that policy since an Auror couldn’t spend weeks brewing a potion. But the requirement stayed out of tradition.”

“I should have known it was something stupid like that,” Harry said.

Ron shrugged. “It’s not as if you need to have an Outstanding in Potions - an Acceptable is enough. Although knowing Potions can be useful if you’re investigating a case, or so I heard.”

“It’s still two more years with Snape,” Harry retorted, and smiled when he saw his friend wince - since Ron was planning to become an Auror as well, he would have to suffer through the same.

Movement on his side - he sat with the back to the wall, of course - drew his attention. He surreptitiously glanced over and saw that a witch from fourth or fifth year had just taken a seat at the table closest to his and Ron’s. She wasn’t looking at the book in front of her, though, but at him. That was suspicious.

“Do you know the witch to my left?” he whispered, leaning forward as if to ask Ron something about the text he was reading.

“Huh?” Ron glanced over. “Romilda Vane, I think. Ginny once complained about her.”

“She’s in Ginny’s year then?”

“No, fourth year.”

Vane didn’t look like a fourth year witch, Harry thought. He tapped his glasses. And she didn’t dress like a fourth year witch under her robes, either. That looked more like the lingerie Jeanne owned, actually.

And she was smiling at him.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, September 28th, 1996

Hermione Granger slowly walked down Diagon Alley as the sun went down over London. Her mark would soon finish his work and, according to what they had been told, head to his favourite pub, the Bent Unicorn, to drink a pint before heading home. But she didn’t want to get there too soon and then have to spend a long time waiting on the street outside the pub.

She reached ‘Quidditch Supplies’, and, as she had expected, the dog stopped following her in favour of staring at the broom on display. She gave his leash a sharp tug - they weren’t here to stare at brooms, no matter how nice the latest Cleansweep looked, and if someone started to wonder why a dog was interested in Quidditch, their carefully chosen disguises would be for naught.

The dog whined and glared at her, but she scoffed in return and scolded him. “Bad dog!” She had to use her wand to clean his now grubby snow white fur again and wondered how he had managed to get it dirty without slipping his leash - it looked like he had rolled on the ground in a side alley!

A young man chuckled at the sight, then smiled when he noticed her looking at him. He was rather attractive, Hermione noticed. And his humour didn’t seem to be aimed at her, just at her situation. But she was on a mission, and a friendly bystander could ruin their plan. So she glared at him, huffing, and then focused on cleaning the dog until the man had walked away.

They walked passed four more shops until they reached Gregor’s Gloves next to the pub. She wasn’t particularly interested in the shop’s wares, but this was the right location to wait for their mark. Predictably, the dog made his lack of interest in gloves very clear by lying down and pretending to sleep, but she could safely ignore him while keeping an eye out for their mark. Mr Fletcher and Jeanne, both disguised, were around as well, one opposite the pub checking the vegetables on display there, the other at a street vendor stand, eating a snack. Just in case.

Hermione had spent a few minutes in front of the display window, earning a few glances from the owner inside, when she spotted their mark walking down the Alley. Trevor Dicklebury, thirty-four years old, just old enough to have possibly fought in the last war before entering the Ministry, would be passing her in a minute on his way to the pub.

Or rather, she corrected herself, he would be passing her once he stopped staring at the new Cleansweep in the window. She ignored the dog’s growl - they couldn’t have known he would do that, and a dog looking at brooms was simply too suspicious.

Still, when Dicklebury finally tore himself away from the display, she almost sighed with relief. Showtime!

When the man was about ten yards away, she dropped the small object she had concealed in her hand to the ground. As planned, the transfigured mouse ran straight at Dicklebury. The man’s puzzled expression turned into a terrified one when Sirius started chasing the apparent mouse - straight towards him. Dicklebury managed to yell an instant before the massive dog crashed into him, throwing him to the ground, before continuing to chase his prey.

Hermione gasped and rushed to the man’s side. “Bad dog! Bad dog!” she yelled, then bent down to help Dicklebury up. “I’m so sorry - I don’t know what got into him. He’s usually such a well-behaved dog!” she lied. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?” she asked, holding on to his arm.

He shook his head, blinking. “No… I think not…”

“Really?” She sighed in apparent relief and smiled at him, pushing her chest into his arm. “But your robes got dirty! Let me remedy that!” She had her wand out and was casting before he could reply. And, as planned, she used the distraction caused by her casting several different cleaning charms to slip an enchanted Knut into his pocket.

“Thank you, but I think I’m fine now, Miss…?”

“Bennett, Betty Bennett,” she answered with a wide smile. “And you are?”

“Trevor Dicklebury.” He was smiling as well - and staring at her bust. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the dog returned with the mouse in his mouth.

“Snuffles!” she scolded him. “Drop that at once! You already ate! And you know what the Healer said about your weight.” She turned to Dicklebury. “I’m sorry, but I have to take care of my dog now - who knows where he found that rat!”

“I think it looks more like a mouse, actually,” Dicklebury said, taking a step towards the dog.

In response, the dog dropped the mouse on the man’s shoes and barked. Wincing, Dicklebury took a few steps back. The dog followed as Hermione grabbed the leash. “Bad dog! No biting nice people or you won’t get any supper!”

That made the dog growl and Dicklebury all but flee into the pub. Hermione shook her head and started to drag the dog away, berating him until they were out of sight and could duck into a side alley to apparate.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 28th, 1996

“Another successful yet simple mission anyone else could have done easily!”

Hermione Granger rolled her eyes at Sirius’s pronouncement. The mission hadn’t been too difficult, that much was true, but it had still required some training. And the fact that Sirius was a dog animagus had certainly helped. “You sounded as if it were a lethal risk when we prepared for this.”

“It was! If anyone had recognised my disguised form, I would have died of embarrassment!”

“I thought you looked rather adorable,” Jeanne said while pulling off her wig and restoring her rather drab robes to their usual daring style.

Sirius huffed. “I’m not supposed to look adorable!” And yet he was smiling.

“Not even to me?” Jeanne asked, stepping closer to him.

“Well....” He wrapped his arms around her.

“That’s our cue to leave,” Mr Fletcher, who hadn’t bothered to remove his own disguise yet, muttered. “Unless you have something to report.”

Hermione shook her head. “Nothing. Everything went according to plan.”

“Alright. See you tomorrow then. Tutor Smith’s!” The fireplace flashed green and he was gone.

Hermione glanced at the couple, lost in a passionate kiss, as she left the entrance hall. She had some reading and studying to do. And she needed to feed Crookshanks. She had no time to waste on romance, much less on a mere ‘affair without strings’, no matter what Jeanne said.

*****​

Hogwarts, October 1st, 1996

Vane was watching him again, Harry Potter noticed as he glanced at her. Just as she had done at every opportunity during the last few days. And she was still wearing lingerie under her school robes, unlike the other girls with her. She had the body for it, too, despite her age. At least he thought so. And long, slightly curly, black hair, dark eyes and full lips.

She must have noticed him as she suddenly looked away, then started whispering and giggling with her friends. Harry must have been too obvious. But he didn’t have a magical eye that kept spinning around and could look behind him. And he didn’t want one, either, if it meant giving up one of his own eyes. Even if it would make spying - checking on possible threats - without getting caught much easier. And peeping on girls.

“She fancies you.”

Harry whipped his head around and stared at Ron. “What?”

“Vane.” Ron twitched his head in the direction of the fourth year and her friends.

Harry pressed his lips together - he had thought Ron was busy with his homework. At least they had, as usual, cast a privacy spell before starting their essays.

“She’s a pretty one, but rather flighty, you know? At least that’s what Ginny says. A little boy-crazy. Or boy-who-lived-crazy,” Ron went on.

Harry frowned. “I don’t think that Ginny’s a fair judge of character.” They had broken up for a reason.

Ron shrugged. “Well, it’s what I heard.” He paused. “Do you fancy her?”

Did he? “She’s pretty.”

“She’s a fourth year, though. Younger than Ginny,” Ron pointed out.

“She doesn’t look like a fourth year,” Harry retorted. And she didn’t dress like a fourth year. Or fifth year. “And Ginny was a fourth year last year.”

“Ah.” Ron sounded as if Harry had just said something that wasn’t obvious. “You gonna ask her out?”

Was he? She fancied him. At least she acted like it. All the staring and giggling with her friends. But he was training to face Voldemort. Between the sessions with Moody and Dumbledore’s special lessons, he had even less time for a girlfriend than before his O.W.L.s. He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He could do without another pushy, demanding witch trying to monopolise him. On the other hand, having a girlfriend was nice. He missed the snogging. And the flying together. “Maybe.” He sighed. “But she could be a spy, too, couldn’t she?” It would be a good cover. And both Moody and Sirius had taught him about ‘honey traps’, although from slightly different perspectives.

“You think so?” Ron took another glance at the witch in question. “Have you told Moody or Dumbledore about her?”

“Not yet.” Moody might overreact. And Dumbledore… Asking the Headmaster to check out a potential girlfriend felt wrong.

*****​

Hogwarts, October 2nd, 1996

Harry Potter clenched his teeth and held his breath. This was the trickiest part of the ritual. The candles were lit, the incense was burning, but the freshly cut oak twig was still whole. He raised his wand and focused on the movements he had studied earlier. It wasn’t like casting a spell, not at all - slowly weaving complicated patterns with your wand instead of quickly swishing and flicking felt sluggish.

But he managed it, finishing the ritual with a figure of eight - according to Dumbledore symbolising eternity - and saw the twig crumble to dust - or ashes. And, an instant later, he felt wide-awake and energised. “Whoa!” He shot to his feet.

Dumbledore smiled at him. “Well done, Harry. You completed your first successful ritual.”

He smiled, then blinked. “I could have brewed a cauldron’s worth of Pepper-Up Potion in half the time this ritual took.”

The Headmaster chuckled. “And there you have the reason rituals are rarely used any more - for the vast majority of them, there are far more convenient and effective alternatives. However,” he went on, “for some, unfortunately often nefarious, purposes rituals are still the most effective, or even only, option.”

“Like the worst of the Dark Arts.”

“‘The worst’ is a matter of opinion,” Dumbledore said. “Ranking the horrors which the Dark Arts allow their practitioners to unleash upon their victims is a rather tasteless academic exercise. What purpose would it serve to argue about whether it is worse to use the Imperius Curse and force a father murder his children or to use the Torture Curse on him? None at all. But I digress. I chose this ritual for a reason: Since it works similar to a Pepper-Up Potion, you will have an easier time harnessing and redirecting the ritual's power than with other rituals.”

“Ah.” Harry nodded. “So… what now?”

“Now you redo the ritual a few more times to better familiarise yourself with it before we take the next step.”

Harry almost groaned. “I would think that I’d grow familiar with the ritual anyway while trying to learn the next step.”

“That may be the case, but it is better to ensure you have a solid foundation before you attempt to build on it. Especially when exploring new avenues of magic.” Dumbledore flicked his wand, and the candles lit themselves, and the incense started burning again before another twig floated towards the circle on the floor.

Harry sighed but dutifully took up his spot again.

*****​

Vane was in the common room, apparently reading a book when Harry Potter returned to Gryffindor Tower from Dumbledore’s office. She was by herself, though, not with her friends. And staring at him over her book.

Harry hesitated a moment - she could be a spy. Or he could have spent a little too much time with Moody. He was a Gryffindor, after all. And she was a fourth year. Even if she were a spy, she wouldn’t get the drop on him. He nodded to himself, then walked towards her. “Hi.”

Her eyes widened a little and her smile vanished for a moment. Then it returned. “Hi.”

He sat down at her table with his back to the wall, his left side facing her, and glanced at her book. “Quidditch Through the Ages?”

She nodded. “I love Quidditch.” She put the book down, though.

“Who doesn’t?” Harry chuckled. Even Hermione had come round. He leaned forward, left elbow on the table. “So, I noticed you’ve been watching me…”

“Ah…” She blushed and her smile grew slightly forced. She didn’t look like a spy at all. And she was pretty.

It was clear that Sirius’s advice was what fit this situation, not Moody’s. He smiled at her. “I’ve been watching you too,” he said, tapping his glasses.

“You have?” She licked her lips.

And she was very pretty.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 7th, 1996

Smoke - no, fog - filled the room. The bloody dog was hiding again. Hermione Granger clenched her teeth and flicked her wand, sending a volley of Paint-Splash Hexes blindly into the cloud blocking her vision as she quickly stepped to the side. She reached up to tap her mask’s left side. “Jeanne! Cover the other side!”

“Oui!”

Jeanne slipping into French was a bad sign - the other witch only did that when she wasn’t thinking clearly. Hermione crouched down and glanced over her shoulder. As she had feared, her ally was standing there in a perfect duelling stance, firing hexes into the fog. Hermione opened her mouth to warn the witch, but before she could speak, a spell hit Jeanne’s head, and her face and hair turned red.

No choice now. The French witch muttered curses as Hermione jumped straight into the fog, rolling over her left shoulder and coming up in a crouch with her wand aimed ahead. Now she just had to detect the dog before she was spotted.

“Stupefy!”

That was to her left! Eyes wide, she dropped to the ground and rolled to the side, sending a hex towards her left before jumping up and sprinting to her right. If she could flank the dog… She gasped when she felt her feet slide over the suddenly slippery floor. Ice! She didn’t try to stay upright but instead let herself fall down. A spell flew overhead, nothing more than a flash of red colour in the fog. She tried to stop her movement, but the ice was unnaturally slick, and her own momentum carried her out of the concealing fog.

And into the dog’s line of fire. Red paint covered her mask before she could react, and she lowered her head, muttering a few curses of her own. Defeated again.

At least she had lasted longer than Jeanne.

*****​

Hermione Granger walked into her room and closed the door behind her, then lay down on her bed and sighed as she rubbed her rear. Sirius’s aim had been as precise as ever during today’s Defence training session. And to think that Harry and Ron were going through even worse in their sessions with Moody… She clenched her teeth. If they could stand that, she could handle what the dog threw at her!

And she was improving, little by little - she wasn’t getting hit as often as before in their sessions. But she still was getting hit too often, she added with a frown. And she didn’t get back at the dog as much as she wanted to. Not that she needed to - a good thief was a master of escape, not a master of duelling. And cats won against dogs by outmanoeuvring them, not by outfighting them. Mostly. But still, she would love to put the dog in his place with her wand, instead of her claws.

She rolled on to her back and stared at the ceiling, sighing once more. Sirius and Jeanne were ‘resting’ until dinner. She knew what they were doing. And Harry had a new girlfriend, some fourth year named Romilda Vane. At least that was what Sirius had said.

And she was alone, with only her cat for company. Who was currently ignoring her in favour of shredding the latest toy she had bought for him.

Snorting, she changed, rolled over and buried her muzzle in her flank for a nap.

*****​

Hogwarts, October 14th, 1996

Harry Potter slowly moved his wand through the finishing touches of the ritual. Just… about… now! The twig started to crumble, the candles flickered, and he felt the ritual’s power well up inside him, filling him. Power he could use for something else! Light!

His wand lit up, shining light filling the room, and he sighed. That had been a silent spell, not a redirected ritual - he still felt the ritual’s effect. “Damn!” he muttered.

“Do not be so hard on yourself - being able to cast a spell silently is an achievement in itself.”

Harry shot the Headmaster a not-quite-glare. “Not the achievement I need, though.” Voldemort wouldn’t be impressed by a silent Wand-Lighting Charm.

Dumbledore smiled. “But you are making progress.”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, I’ll soon be able to do this ritual in my sleep.”

“This is not something that can be mastered quickly. It took me some time as well.”

Probably not as long as it is taking me, Harry thought. He didn’t contradict the Headmaster any further, though, and gathered the materials for the next ritual. There was no time to waste.

*****​

Two hours and four more failed attempts to harness the power of the ritual later, they finished for the evening and Harry Potter made his way back to Gryffindor Tower. It was past curfew already, not that he cared about that. But he cared about the fact that the dark hallways offered plenty of spots suitable for an ambush. Between a Human-presence-revealing Spell and his glasses, though, he would be able to spot anyone laying in wait for him. And thanks to his Cloak, they wouldn’t spot him anyway.

Like the witch waiting for him in the alcove outside the Fat Lady’s painting. Romilda. She was wearing lingerie again. No one else was around; the prefects would be patrolling the dungeons at this time. Perfect for a private snogging session.

He removed his Cloak before he turned the last corner - when he had surprised her from behind the last time, she had shrieked so loudly they had had to hide from the Gryffindor prefects afterwards - and didn’t try to walk silently.

As expected, she stepped out of the alcove before he reached it. “Hi!” she greeted him in a whisper.

“Hi!” He smiled as she jumped into his arms, forcing him to take a step back to keep his balance. “Sorry for taking longer than I thought.”

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, looking up at him. Then she pushed herself up on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck so she could kiss him.

Here was a witch who didn’t have to be nagged into a snogging session! Without breaking the kiss he moved his arms down, then lifted her up slightly, and pushed her back into the alcove. It was too close to the entrance to the common room but it was past curfew. And the thought of snogging right outside Gryffindor Tower was more than a little exciting. They were both Gryffindors, after all. Besides, he had his Cloak to cover them both.

Under the Cloak, he lifted Romilda up a little more, so she could wrap her legs around his waist and he had his hands free to slip under her robes while they kissed. She was a quick study, too, when it came to snogging.

He had pushed her robes up and over her head, entangling her arms, when he heard the footsteps in the hallway. The prefects? They should be on patrol for another twenty minutes!

“Wha...”

“Shh!” He put a finger on Romilda’s lips, silencing her. She looked nervous when he put her down and turned around, moving carefully so as not to pull the Cloak off either of them. “Stay close!” he whispered. She pressed herself into his back, arms wrapping around his chest, as he moved to the corner of the alcove and peered down the hallway.

When he recognised the two figures walking towards the entrance to Gryffindor, he blinked. Ron and Luna? At this time? Had they been off snogging? Ron had mentioned earlier today that he wanted to help Luna with her studies, but had he spent that long with her?

“...sorry we didn’t find any Humdingers,” he heard Ron say.

“Don’t be! It was a fun trip, almost a mini-expedition. We might have more luck in twelve days - they like to dance in the moonlight.”

“Good! I had fun too,” Ron said. “It’s late, though.”

“Past curfew!” Luna agreed. Harry saw her nod several times. She was standing close to Ron.

“I should walk you back to your dorm. Help you avoid the prefects’ patrols.”

Harry almost snorted. Ron hadn’t even noticed him and Romilda - he should have cast a Human-presence-revealing Spell. Moody would have a fit if he knew.

“You don’t need to. I can avoid them myself.” Luna’s hair flew around her head as she shook her head.

“I’d feel better if I were with you, though. What is it your father always says? ‘You never split the party’?”

“That’s sweet!” Luna said. “But then you’ll have to walk back alone.”

“Well, someone has to, and I’d rather it be me,” Ron declared. “And I can detect invisible people.”

“But not Nargles!”

“They’re not people, are they?”

“Right.”

“So… let’s go? The prefects won’t be in the area for another fifteen minutes.”

“Alright!” Luna turned around, then turned back and stepped right up to Ron. She pushed herself up on tiptoe, and kissed him on the lips. Or rather, gave him a peck on the lips. She had her arms behind her back too, instead of hugging him. It was cute, but it wasn’t snogging.

Ron was smiling widely, though, and held out his hand. Luna took it, and the two walked off towards Ravenclaw Tower.

Harry was shaking his head, watching them go. Ron had it bad. Then he turned around. “They’re gone,” he whispered.

“Good,” Romilda answered. “How long until the prefects return?”

“Ten minutes, at least.”

Plenty of time.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 29th, 1996

“They sealed off the Dementors.”

“What?” Hermione Granger looked up from the third chapter of ‘A Life in the Ring’.

“They sealed off the Dementors.” Sirius’s voice sounded as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. He pointed at the headline of the Daily Prophet.

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she reached out, but he pulled the newspaper away from her. “No, no. Not again. Get your own subscription.”

She bared her teeth at the selfish dog, but he didn’t budge. Jeanne giggled. And when Hermione glared at her, she laughed.

“The Ministry had the Dementors sealed up - in the deepest level of Azkaban. Dumbledore himself was involved, or so it says here.” Sirius shook his head as he read on. “Doubled the regular guards… Hit-Wizards. Curse-Breakers hired from Gringotts to improve the wards of the prison.” He snorted. “They can’t be serious. That must have cost a fortune.”

“About time!” Jeanne commented. “Dementors… We don’t need such monsters to guard our prisoners in the Bastille.”

“Paid for by the muggles?” Sirius lowered the newspaper. “What the hell is going on?”

Hermione blinked. This reminded her of… but… She noticed that Sirius wasn’t keeping a tight grip on the Daily Prophet, and used her wand to switch it with her book.

“Hey!”

She ignored his protests and skimmed the article. There! ‘Research into the threat ‘Nargles’ might pose to Britain ongoing. Muggles insisted.’ She looked up. “It’s the work of Luna and her father. They managed to convince the Prime Minister that invisible creatures pose a threat to muggle Britain.”

“Well, they’re right in the case of Dementors,” Sirius said, clenching his teeth. “Bloody demons!” he muttered, and Hermione saw that he was trembling, and holding her book so tightly his knuckles were stark white. Jeanne reached out to touch his shoulder and Hermione bit her lower lip. Of course he’d have flashbacks. She should have thought of that.

“Good riddance!” Sirius said, after a moment, holding Jeanne’s hand. “But the Minister wouldn’t have agreed to this just because the muggles wanted something done. It must have been Dumbledore’s work.”

That made more sense, Hermione thought. And if the muggles paid the bill, it would likely have been easy to push the proposal through. Probably bribed the Minister, too. “They’ll improve security, then.”

“Of course. That will make it harder for Voldemort to spring his followers from prison.” Sirius grinned.

Hermione forced herself to smile as well. She wasn’t completely happy, though - those changes would make it much harder for a cat to escape the prison, should she ever get caught. She would have to adjust her contingency plans.

*****​

Hogsmeade, November 2nd, 1996

There wasn’t anything wrong with a witch being honest about her desires and taking the initiative with her boyfriend, Hermione Granger thought. And the - predominantly muggle - double-standard regarding the sexuality of boys and girls was utterly hypocritical and deserved to be eradicated with extreme prejudice. And Romilda hadn’t made a single veiled comment towards her or shown any hint of jealousy, which put her far above the likes of Patil.

But Harry’s new girlfriend was still a vapid witch with an overactive libido and no sense of modesty, Hermione Granger thought as her best friend and his new girlfriend lost themselves in another French kiss right across from her. Of course, Vane had neither any reason nor any opportunity to show any jealousy if Harry spent the Hogsmeade weekend with his lips glued to hers!

She took a sip from her overpriced tea and glanced at her other best friend. Ron and Luna weren’t snogging, but judging by the way the two were staring at each other, they were probably wishing they were. At least Luna wasn’t taking notes on snogging any more.

Hermione sighed.

“Hm?” Luna looked at her. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” She shook her head, glancing at Harry, who hadn’t even noticed. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Perhaps Jeanne was correct about having an affair.

*****​

Hogwarts, November 4th, 1996

Harry Potter finished the ritual with his eyes closed. He didn’t need to see his wand to complete the figure. He didn’t need to watch the twig crumble to ashes. He knew what would happen by heart now.

And this time he was ready. He felt the energy entering him as if it were a mental probe entering his mind. And he knew how to deal with those. All he had to do was to learn how to deal with this. And he knew what he had to do for that, too. Clenching his teeth, he focused his will. Instead of letting the power rejuvenate him, he channelled it into his wand. It was almost like casting a spell. Just different. Almost like finishing a complicated spell. Directing the magic. The power. Even if that was just a mental construct, it helped.

When he opened his eyes, the tip of his wand was shining brightly and he felt tired. He threw his head back and balled his left hand into a fist. “Yes! Yes! YES!”

“Indeed. Well done, Harry.” Dumbledore was beaming at him. “You have taken a step that few ever manage.”

Harry nodded. “It was easy, once I could visualise it.” Occlumency had helped him a lot. It was all in the details.

“That is the most important step. Most of the limits of magic are actually the limits of our imagination. It is hard to do something if you think it is impossible.” Dumbledore sighed. “Unfortunately, most wizards and witches have a rather limited imagination. Few have a vision that goes beyond the familiar. And many of those who do abandon their dreams as soon as they encounter the first obstacles.”

“Well, knowing that there’s a Dark Lord out there who wants to murder me helps a lot in focusing the mind,” Harry said. “Maybe more people should try that?”

Dumbledore laughed, briefly. “Alas, most people would either be too afraid to do anything in your position or would try to ignore the threat.” He shook his head. “But I digress again. Let us ensure that you have mastered this feat before we proceed to the next step.”

Harry grimaced, but waved his wand in the now all too familiar pattern, rearranging the ritual circle. At least he would never, ever have to brew a Pepper-Up Potion again - he could do this ritual in his sleep now. Which certainly helped when he had had a late snogging session with Romilda.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, November 11th, 1996

Hermione Granger guided her broom towards the roof below her without worrying much about being spotted - between her Disillusionment Charm and the black-painted shaft of her broomstick, she was all but invisible in the dark night of the new moon. Besides, she would be out of the range of any Human-presence-revealing Spells anyway, unless they were cast by someone right outside the building below her. And this wasn’t Knockturn Alley, where such guards might be expected - even in the current cold weather.

She stopped her broom right next to the chimney. The house was old, but the wards were new - Mr Fletcher had said there had been an attack by Death Eaters during the last war that had left the building’s original owners dead and the wards torn down. The new owner, a Heathcliff Selwyn, who was suspected to work for the Dark Lord, hadn’t spent much gold on the house, and so his new wards were rather weak and directly anchored to the walls. It didn’t take her long to go through them. When she dismounted, her soft boots didn’t make any sound on the shingled roof. She left her broom hovering next to her and looked around.

From up here, she could see the entrance and part of Knockturn Alley. It looked far less daunting than on the ground below. The few lights made it almost look pittoresque, as Jeanne would say - Hermione was picking up more French words than she had thought. Few would be able to tell that there was a war being waged in the Alley. A war between thugs and Death Eaters. A war which she had helped start. She shook her head - she had a mission and no time for wool-gathering.

Even if it was an easy mission. Kneeling down, she studied the roof. She was at the right spot, according to Mr Fletcher. Right above the mark’s flat. A jab of her wand drilled a hole in a shingle that had darkened with age. She waited a moment, tapping her mask to enhance her hearing, but she couldn’t hear anything suspicious. Nodding, she pulled out a small vial, unstoppered it and let the contents - small artificial bugs that would record all words said nearby - slide into the hole.

A quick Mending Charm resealed the hole, leaving no trace of hole or bugs.

Mission accomplished.

*****​

Hogwarts, December 12th, 1996

Compared to mastering a simple ritual and then altering it, this was torture, Harry Potter thought as he once again tried to find whatever power his mum had left him as protection. Only he had no clue how and where it was supposed to be. Unlike with the ritual, he couldn’t feel any change. He couldn’t feel anything in his body that felt as if it didn’t belong. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to imagine the ‘blood protection’. To no avail.

Sighing, he slumped in his seat. “It’s no use. I can’t find any trace of this supposed power.” He looked at Dumbledore. “I’ll need to see what you see thanks to your spell.”

The Headmaster stroked his beard. “I fear you might be correct. I do not think I can teach you this particular spell in the time we have left, however. It is very complicated, and it took me quite a while to learn it.”

Harry muttered a curse under his breath. If Dumbledore took so long, he might as well give up.

“Although there is an alternative.”

Harry looked up. “Yes?” Anything.

“I can enter your mind and show you, but that is a rather dangerous course of action. We both will have to maintain perfect mental discipline, or the effects could be… uncontrollable.”

“What about showing me the memory?” Harry asked.

“That would not work - you would not see what I see, but what an observer would see.” Dumbledore inclined his head. “A quirk of the magic involved, I think. No, I need to impart to you my own vision, so to speak. A very dangerous undertaking even for those who have mastered Occlumency. Many wizards have gone mad in the past when they tried and failed to do similar things - although most of them tried to transfer a skill.” He looked at his familiar, and the phoenix leapt off his perch and landed on his shoulder.

Harry swallowed. That didn’t sound good. If something went wrong… On the other hand, if he couldn’t do this, Voldemort would win. He nodded. “Let’s do it!”

Dumbledore smiled. “I think we should wait a day, and be well-rested before we attempt it.”

Harry sighed, both relieved and disappointed. “Let’s just hope that Voldemort doesn’t make a move in the meantime.”

“Ah… I do not think there’s any danger of that happening. As much as I loathe saying it, I have to assume that my gambit has failed.” Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, rubbing Fawke’s head.

“He didn’t take the bait?”

“No, he did not. I set up a fake Prophecy for a supporter of his, allowing him to enter the well-guarded place where they are stored, but Tom has not contacted the man at all. He is being more cautious than I expected.”

That was really bad news, Harry thought. “So, what do we do then?”

“I have something in mind that he will not be able to ignore,” Dumbledore said. His smile slipped a little. “Although since it will be very dangerous for those involved, you chief among them, he will not expect me to take such a risk.” He sighed. “But sometimes, great risks must be taken, or all may be lost. After all, your protection will not last forever. Quite the contrary, in fact.”

Harry swallowed again.

*****​

 

Chapter 26: Preparations

Bay of Islands, New Zealand, December 27th, 1996

Oliver Anderson usually loved his job - mainly because being a customs official in Magical New Zealand didn’t involve much actual work. Especially at his post in the Bay of Islands. These days most travellers either took an International Portkey to the Ministry in Wellington or a muggle plane. Few ever used ships any more, and few of those who did sailed to the Bay of Islands. The only reason the Bay was still staffed was its historical significance. And the fact that the Australians still used the place to drop off their unwanted muggleborns - which meant all those of non-Aboriginal descent, of course - in accordance with the treaty of 1892.

But that only happened once a year, and the diplomats from the Ministry handled most of the work on those occasions - which was just fine with Oliver; no sane wizard wanted anything to do with the Australians.

Other than that, there were just enough travellers to keep Oliver from dying of boredom, but not so many that he had to work every day. Which meant he could spend most days reading and listening to the Quidditch broadcasts from Wizarding Britain in his office, conveniently kept cool with a few charms.

Most days, but not today, he thought, when he heard the chime informing him of a visitor. Probably a tourist wanting to go sightseeing. Or a muggleborn coming to visit the spot where they had arrived in New Zealand - some of them did that as if doing so would give them their memories back. Sighing, he turned the wireless off - it wouldn’t do to make a bad impression on a visitor - and slid the latest Quidditch Weekly into his top drawer before getting up and heading to the entrance hall.

It wasn’t a tourist, he realised with a gasp as he saw the man through the glass door. It was the Supreme Mugwump - Albus Dumbledore! Waiting in front of his office!

He ripped the door open in his haste - you didn’t leave the most powerful wizard in the world waiting. “Sir! Welcome to the Bay of Islands! How may I help you?”

“Hello, my boy.” The man smiled at him, teeth flashing in the midst of his thick beard. “I’ve just come to borrow one of your ships.”

“One of my ships?” Oliver blinked. What use might Dumbledore have for one of the old ships the customs office kept around? If not for their use by tourists, they would have been scrapped years ago.

“Yes. Even I can’t apparate to this particular destination, and this is the closest harbour with a ship available.” Dumbledore hadn’t lost his smile. “It’s been a while since I took my last trip on a ship, but it’ll come back to me quickly once I’m at sea.”

“At sea?” Oliver blinked. Dumbledore couldn’t mean… “Are you going fishing?” he asked, then wanted to hex himself for his inane question.

The other wizard laughed. “No, no, I’m not going fishing. Although once I’m done with my other business, I might take a little vacation.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I need to visit Australia, you see.”

“What?” Oliver didn’t trust his ears. No one went to Australia. And those who did didn’t return. Not alive. Dumbledore had to be joking. After all, he was still smiling widely.

“I need to visit Australia,” Dumbledore repeated. “And I need a ship to take me there - riding a broom over such a distance wouldn’t be comfortable, not at my age.”

“But… the dangers…”

“Oh, pish!” Dumbledore frowned. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Oliver gulped. He had no doubt that trying to tell the Supreme Mugwump what he could and couldn’t do would destroy his career. And he was Dumbledore - the Vanquisher of Grindelwald. If anyone could survive an encounter with the Australian wizards, it would be him. Hadn’t Barry from the office in Wellington told him repeatedly that even the Australians were stepping lightly around the ICW these days, all because of Dumbledore? “Alright then, sir,” he said. “Let me show you the best ship we have available…”

*****​

“...and this is how you control the ship’s speed,” Oliver finished his explanation. “However, it is advised not to sail without a full crew, including a navigator.” Not just ‘advised’ - regulations prohibited the use of the ships without a full crew. But Oliver had been in the employ of New Zealand’s Ministry of Magic long enough to know that you couldn’t tell that to the Supreme Mugwump.

“Navigation shouldn’t be a problem,” Dumbledore retorted blithely. “I just have to head west and I’ll make landfall sooner or later.”

“Err… yes, sir.” Oliver grimaced. There was no helping it - Dumbledore seemed determined to take this ‘trip’.

“Good, that’s settled then!” The man still hadn’t stopped smiling. “I’ll be off as soon as you’re back on the pier.”

“Right, sir. Err… do you want me to pass on anything to the Ministry? The Ministry in Wellington, I mean.”

“Ah… just tell ’em that I am off to Australia on private business.”

“Private business?” Oliver stared. What kind of private business did anyone have in Australia?

“Yes.” Dumbledore looked up at the sky. “I think you better disembark - I want to use the remaining daylight to follow the coast up north. Unless you want to come with me?”

Oliver apparated to the pier.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 27th, 1996

I could reach out and torch the paintings if I wanted, Harry Potter thought as he descended the stairs from the first floor to the ground floor of his home. Even when he didn’t focus on it he could feel the power his mum had left him. It was like a constant presence in the back of his mind, tempting him to use it. And he couldn’t. He couldn’t waste it. He could only use it against Voldemort. He almost wished that he hadn’t accepted Dumbledore’s offer - if he had discovered the power himself, it might feel more natural. Less like a pressure cooker about to burst.

“Open your mind, Harry,” Dumbledore had said. And Harry had done so. Had stared straight into the Headmaster’s eyes, unflinchingly. Hadn’t moved when Dumbledore had raised his wand and aimed it straight at his head. Hadn’t squeezed his eyes shut when he felt him enter his mind.

But he had gasped when his mind had suddenly been filled with a vision. Not a vision of Voldemort murdering people. A vision of himself, as Dumbledore saw him. Or Dumbledore’s spell saw him. Or felt him - it had been more than a picture. It had been knowledge. He had known what Dumbledore knew as if he had cast the spell and examined himself.

He had suddenly known the power the Dark Lord knew not.

Learning how to use it had been easy - the power, despite its origin, was not really different from the energy produced by the other ritual. But to know it, feel it and not use it… that had been hard. He suspected, but hadn’t asked to have it confirmed, that it was because of his Occlumency training that he could never truly ignore the power’s presence.

Harry shook his head when he realised that he had stopped in the middle of the hallway. He couldn’t act like this - Sirius, Hermione and Jeanne would grow suspicious. And Dumbledore had been adamant that Harry couldn’t tell anyone about this. Or about the Headmaster’s plan.

He sighed. He knew why he had to keep those secrets. He understood the Headmaster’s reasons and agreed with them. If anyone else knew about it the whole plan could be put in jeopardy. But to leave his family and friends in the dark still felt wrong.

But as Dumbledore had said - in war, you were often forced to do things you didn’t like but which were necessary. And Harry knew that his friends were keeping secrets of their own. Sirius had never told him what he was doing for Dumbledore, but Harry had his suspicions. Sirius was a skilled fighter, and there had been rumours about fights in Knockturn Alley, according to Moody. And he didn’t expect Hermione to tell him what she was doing for Dumbledore if Dumbledore himself didn’t tell him. Although, once again, he had his suspicions - he knew what Dumbledore was researching, after all.

He entered the kitchen, noticing that no one else but Kreacher was present. And Crookshanks, who was too busy stuffing his face to even glance at him. Hermione would be sleeping in - she did that a lot, Harry had noticed. She even took frequent naps during the day. She must be staying up, reading or researching, far too often. But it was probably needed for the war. And Sirius and Jeanne would have stayed up late doing… well, what Harry would like to do himself if Romilda were living with him.

He grabbed a croissant - warm and fresh - and had Kreacher fill his teacup. He missed his girlfriend. He truly did. Maybe… It wasn’t as if he had anything to do but wait. Wait and do nothing. Especially do nothing with the power he knew he had. A little distraction would only help him do what he needed to.

Smiling, he summoned a sheet of parchment and called Hedwig. He had a letter to send to his girlfriend.

*****​

Hermione Granger yawned as she entered the kitchen. It was far too early for any self-respecting cat to be up, but any later and she’d miss out on breakfast. Everyone else was already there. Sirius and Jeanne were feeding each other, Crookshank was waiting for her to feed him, as usual - he was such a good cat - she ignored Kreacher as he ignored her and Harry was… frowning at a letter?

“Bad news?” she asked, sitting down next to him and stretching her arms over her head, then rolling her neck. Which had the side effect of pushing out her chest. Which Harry didn’t even notice.

“No,” he said.

“Yes,” Sirius said. “He wanted to meet his girlfriend today, but she is busy with family.”

“Oh.” Hermione buried her first thought - the little witch probably didn’t want her family to know what she had been doing with Harry at Hogwarts - as she took a sip of her tea.

“It’s not bad news,” Harry said. “We can meet next week.”

“At the New Year’s Ball, right?” Jeanne said, smiling at Hermione.

“Ah, yes.” Harry looked surprised.

“You didn’t forget about the ball, did you?” Hermione asked.

“No, of course not.” He stared at the letter again. He had, she thought. Boys! He’d probably spend the entire ball snogging in the winter garden. Well, if Romilda was alright with missing out on dancing, then it was her own fault.

“Chérie, do you know if your friend, Miss Merriweather, will be attending the ball?” Sirius asked suddenly. The dog was smiling with that expression of innocence that didn’t fool anyone who knew him.

“Miss Merriweather?” That was Harry.

Jeanne frowned. “Ah, I don’t know. I haven’t had much contact with her since she went back to the New World.”

“Ah.” And Harry was back to brooding. Just because he couldn’t spend the day snogging with Vane.

Hermione scoffed. She was of a mind to attend the ball in disguise again. Just to test her skills, of course. And maybe establish another fake identity. She’d need an invitation, of course, but she should be able to get one without too much difficulty. Only if she wanted to go to the ball, of course.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 29th, 1996

Dumbledore missing! Ministry Cover-up!

Harry Potter winced when he saw the headline of the Daily Prophet, even though he had expected it. Dumbledore had told him it would happen, after all. But only him, and no one else. And today of all days everyone was early to breakfast!

He could hear Sirius mutter a curse under his breath as he started to read the article. “Seen in New Zealand... headed to Australia… Australia?” Sirius put the newspaper down and shook his head in apparent disbelief. “Merlin’s beard, why would he do that? It’s full of Australians!”

Hermione gasped. “Australia? My parents are there!” Harry felt guilty when he saw her scared expression. “Did something happen to them?”

“He would have told you,” Harry said quickly. “He wouldn’t have gone off without a word to you.”

She bit her lower lip. “But… if it was an emergency…” She stood. “I have to call them!”

And she dashed out of the kitchen as if her robes were on fire. Harry clenched his teeth. He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to worry about her parents, but Dumbledore’s instructions had been explicit on the matter.

“This could be a trap,” Sirius said. “A way to find her parents. Dumbledore said he would be away for a few days at least, but...”

Harry flinched under his godfather’s gaze. “I can’t tell you,” he said.

But judging by Sirius’s expression, he had told him enough anyway. “Hell! Australia?” He suddenly frowned. “Did he send the Grangers there in preparation for this?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry said. Not in the way Sirius meant, that much he knew.

“But you know what he’s doing.” It wasn’t a question.

Harry slowly nodded, pressing his lips together.

Sirius sighed. “And you can’t tell us.”

He shook his head.

Sirius cursed again. But he didn’t press Harry for an answer. Instead, he picked up the Prophet again and continued reading. “How did Skeeter find out about this?”

The Headmaster had arranged that, Harry knew. He shrugged anyway. “Coincidence? She might know someone in New Zealand’s Ministry who overheard something. News of Dumbledore travelling there would be a big thing, wouldn’t it?”

Sirius snorted. “Hell of a coincidence.” He shook his head again, and continued reading.

“Should we let Hermione go out alone?” Jeanne asked. She looked worried, glancing at the door through which Hermione had left.

“She’s going to muggle London,” Harry answered. He tried to smile confidently. “Unless she’s going to her home, she’ll be safe.” And she was too smart to go to her home to call her parents.

He still felt guilty for not telling her. And making her and the others worry.

*****​

London, Greenwich, December 29th, 1996

Hermione Granger clenched her teeth as she listened to the dialling tone and gripped the receiver of the payphone so hard that her knuckles turned white. Her parents should be at home - at their hotel. She had their travel itinerary memorised. Unless they had changed their plans on a whim without telling her in advance. That had happened before.

She pressed her lips together. How long would the reception desk take to pick up the phone? Bloody Australians!

“Hilton Darwin, Makepeace speaking. How may I help you?”

Finally! She forced herself not to yell and instead speak calmly. “Hello. I’m Hermione Granger. I would like to speak to Mr and Mrs Granger.”

“One moment, please.”

“Thank you.” She slid a few more coins into the phone. Just in case. And bit her lower lip.

“Hello? Hermione?”

Mum! That was Mum’s voice! “Mum! It’s me! What did I do on my sixth birthday?”

“You had a tantrum because your aunt had sent you a children’s book as a present, and not a ‘real book’. What did I tell you?”

It was Mum. Hermione smiled. “That I couldn’t blame her since I had never told her what I wanted. How are you?”

“We’re fine. We’ve been touring the city. We’re planning to go to the Kakadu National Park next.”

They were sticking to their itinerary, then. Good. “I’m happy to hear that.” She hesitated a moment. Should she worry her parents? They would have told her if Dumbledore had contacted them, wouldn’t they? Or would they assume that she already knew about it? “Mum, did anyone contact you?”

“You mean one of your friends?”

“Or acquaintances.” Any wizard or witch, actually.

“No. You’re the only one from home we’ve been in contact with - other than a few tourists like us, of course.”

Muggle tourists. So, the Headmaster hadn’t contacted them. In hindsight, that was rather obvious - Dumbledore would have asked her how to reach her parents before taking off. Hermione shook her head, berating herself. She had panicked and acted like a fool. But she was still relieved that her parents were fine.

“Dad wants to talk to you, too,” her mum said.

“Alright.”

“Hermione? How are you doing? Are you planning anything for New Year’s Eve?”

“The usual,” she said. Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Her parents just didn’t know what she usually did on New Year’s Eve.

“You can read a book at any time, dear. You should go out and have fun.”

“Dad! I’m going to have fun! Just my kind of fun!” she retorted, smiling despite feeling a little guilty. If her parents knew what she was doing… But they didn’t, and they were safe.

*****​

Half an hour later, back at Grimmauld Place, Hermione Granger’s good mood had disappeared entirely. “The xenophobia of Magical Australia is widely known,” she said, frowning. “And while the Headmaster is a very powerful wizard, and has dealt with similarly feared wizards himself, I doubt that he would risk a conflict with the Aborigines unless he had no choice.”

She saw that Harry was pressing his lips together and wasn’t looking at anyone else in the room. He had to know what Dumbledore was planning! “Harry?”

“I can’t tell you,” he said. “Sorry.”

She opened her mouth and drew breath to tell him that he very well could tell her, but Sirius cut her off.

“We understand,” the dog said. He glanced at her, and she frowned as she met his eyes. “Don’t we?”

He started to glare at her, and Hermione pressed her lips together. They were also keeping secrets from Harry, and her friend hadn’t complained about not being told what exactly Hermione was doing for the Headmaster. And yet, she wanted to know what Dumbledore was planning! But she sighed and nodded. If the Headmaster had wanted her to know, he would have told her.

Dumbledore knew what he was doing, after all.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, December 30th, 1996

Sitting near the lift, outside the Wizengamot Chamber, Hermione Granger watched the last members of the Wizengamot arrive for today’s special session - an emergency session in all but name - to discuss Dumbledore’s disappearance which had so scared Wizarding Britain. Including many members of the Wizengamot - she could tell despite their attempts to hide their fear; thanks to her cover as Sirius’s secretary, she was familiar with a number of his ‘esteemed colleagues’. Of course, any member of the Order of the Phoenix would have good reason to be concerned - they knew that the Dark Lord was back. But even wizards and witches she was certain were not involved in the war were scared. Like the Minister, she thought as she spotted him leaving the lift.

She narrowed her eyes when she saw who was walking at his side - Lucius Malfoy. The man who had framed her as a thief. The man who had gotten her expelled from Hogwarts and driven her family to ruin. The man who was one of Voldemort’s most important supporters.
He would pay for all of that, she thought as she hid her face behind a sheet of parchment and tried to catch what they were talking about.

“The people are demanding answers, Lucius!” Fudge prattled as the two wizards passed her, “And I can’t give them what they want without Dumbledore!”

“And they shall have them. Dumbledore might be ignoring the turmoil in the Prophet - his opinion of it is well known, after all - but he will not ignore a formal inquiry by the Wizengamot.”

“But what if he doesn’t know what we are doing?”

“Please, Cornelius! You know as well as I do that his friends will inform him.”

They passed through the entrance and the privacy enchantments of the Chamber cut off their conversation. She bit her lower lip. Usually, such conversations were protected by privacy spells. Fudge might be not the sharpest wizard in Britain - Hermione didn’t quite share Sirius’s opinion of the man; Fudge was an experienced politician, after all - but even if he might have forgotten to cast a spell, Malfoy wouldn’t have. But had Malfoy recognised her, and this was staged so Sirius would draw the wrong conclusions, or had he not expected her to be present?

She couldn’t tell. She knew Malfoy was a Death Eater, though, and he would want to check for his master whether or not Dumbledore was still alive. And seeing how scared everyone was - even the Hit-Wizards guarding the Ministry seemed nervous - Hermione had no doubts that Malfoy would succeed in having the Wizengamot formally require Dumbledore’s presence. Something the Headmaster couldn’t easily ignore without consequences. Whether he abandoned whatever he was currently doing - which had to be very important - or not, the Dark Lord would profit. Just like Malfoy would have planned.

And if Dumbledore was dead… Hermione clenched her teeth. He couldn’t be dead. Once again, she wished Harry would tell her what he knew. He would if she and Sirius pressed him. But they couldn’t. It would be wrong. Only an idiot would try to break security that way.

And yet she wanted to know what was going on anyway. Very badly.

*****​

Half an hour after the session had started, the lift doors opened again. Hermione Granger looked up from the draft of a proposal for next week’s session. A good thief had to keep an eye out, after all, as Mr Fletcher always said.

“Hello!”

Hermione blinked. “Luna?”

“Yes!” The blonde witch quickly joined her on the bench.

“What are you doing here?”

Luna held up an oversized notepad. “I’m here to report on today’s special session of the Wizengamot. Daddy couldn’t come - he’s investigating another Nargle sighting, although since you can’t see them, it might not be correct to call it a sighting, right?”

Hermione blinked. “I don’t think that’s how it works,” she said.

“Exactly!” Luna beamed at her. “We’ll have to invent a new word, then! Maybe ’hearing’?”

“That’s not a new word,” Hermione pointed out.

Luna pouted. “It would fit perfectly, though. And it would make sense.”

Hermione shrugged. As expected, Luna quickly cheered up. “So, what do you think will happen in the session? Will they pass the emergency bill to ban Dumbledore from importing drop bears?”

“What?”

“Dumbledore was last seen heading to Australia - which, as everyone knows, even muggles, is the home of the deadliest species known to the Magical World. It’s logical that the Wizengamot would be concerned about the danger of an invasive species being introduced to Britain’s ecosystem as a result of his trip.”

“I don’t think that the Wizengamot is concerned about that,” Hermione said. “As far as I know, the Wizengamot has assembled to discuss formally requesting Dumbledore’s presence.”

“To answer charges of smuggling protected species?” Luna asked, leaning towards Hermione with an eager expression on her face.

“I don’t think so.”

Luna huffed. “It seems that despite the progress made concerning the threat from invisible creatures, the Wizengamot continues to display an appalling lack of concern about the dangers to Wizarding Britain’s ecosystem.” She shook her head. “Daddy was correct; this is an important issue about which the public needs to know!”

Hermione sighed as Luna started to scribble down notes for an article Hermione was certain she didn’t want to read.

*****​

Sirius was in a bad mood, Hermione Granger noticed straight away when she saw him leave the chamber. That meant that the proposal must have passed. As Malfoy had planned.

“Mr Black! Can you tell us if the Wizengamot has taken measures to protect the ecosystem against invasive Australian species?” Luna piped up, apparently unaware of the man’s dark mood.

“What?” Sirius stared at the witch.

“Luna’s concerned about Dumbledore bringing drop bears to Britain,” Hermione explained.

Luna nodded. “And other Australian magical creatures. They might make good pets and perfect souvenirs, but one must not let one’s love of animals blind oneself to the danger they represent to British species.”

“I think that’s a question the Minister and Mr Malfoy should field,” Sirius said, pointing towards the entrance to the chamber. “They called the session, after all.”

“Alright!” Luna nodded eagerly.

Hermione cast a privacy spell as soon as Luna had marched off to ambush the Minister. “What happened?”

Sirius sighed. “No one knows where Albus is. Not even Doge has any idea. New Zealand’s Ministry doesn’t have any information and the Australians have ignored our inquiry. And so the Wizengamot approved Fudge’s proposal. Albus has a week to present himself to the Wizengamot or he might lose his position as Chief Warlock.”

She muttered a curse. That would help Voldemort immensely.

“He should have made arrangements in case there was an emergency session of the Wizengamot. The Chief Warlock cannot be incommunicado.” Sirius frowned.

“He wouldn’t risk losing his position, would he?”

“I don’t think so.” He pressed his lips together.

Hermione knew what he was thinking. There was one explanation for Dumbledore’s absence. But that would be a catastrophe.

*****​

Kent, Smith Manor, December 31st, 1996

“Australia? I can’t believe...”

“...Dumbledore’s been missing for…”

“...Zealand’s Ministry claims that…”

Harry Potter fought not to frown as he led Romilda to the dance floor. He was heartily sick of hearing everyone talking about Dumbledore’s disappearance. Especially since that seemed to be the only thing everyone wanted to talk about with him - that he had received special lessons with Dumbledore wasn’t the secret it should have been.

At least they couldn’t bother him on the dance floor - that would have been the kind of faux pas that led to not being invited to the next New Year’s Ball. He almost sighed with relief when the music started and he could finally dance with Romilda.

“You’re a good dancer.” She smiled at him.

“I can but strive not to embarrass you, milady.” He flashed her a smile of his own. She blushed. Sirius’s lines still worked, he noted. But then, he hadn’t really used any ‘old school charm’, as his godfather called it, on Romilda yet. If only it were a slow dance, he thought as he led her into a turn.

“Can we explore the Winter Garden?” she whispered as the song came to a close. “I’ve heard you can find some marvellous things there.” Her smile told him exactly what she meant. “You brought your Cloak, right?”

He felt his smile slip. “I would love to, but Sirius told me not to leave his sight.”

She frowned in that cute, pouty way of hers. “Isn’t he aware of what we do at Hogwarts?” She glanced over her shoulder at Harry’s godfather, who was chatting with Jeanne and an old wizard Harry didn’t recognise. “Or doesn’t he approve of me?”

“No, no,” Harry was quick to reassure her. “But with Dumbledore missing, he worries about my safety. I was attacked a year ago, remember?”

He felt her tense. “Yes.” She turned around herself, then returned to his arms. “But that was in Hogsmeade. We’re safe here.”

She didn’t know that there were several Death Eaters or sympathisers among the guests. And she didn’t know about Voldemort. So he quoted Moody. “Nothing and nowhere is safe.”

“Really?” Romilda didn’t look like she agreed with him. “Not even the arms of the Boy-Who-Lived?”

That was a perfect set-up if Harry had ever heard one. He grinned and leaned forward slightly. “Especially not my arms,” he whispered with a wink as he moved his hand a little lower down the small of her back.

She drew a hissing breath and he could see her cheeks gain some more colour. But she recovered quickly. “Well, your godfather could watch,” she retorted with a toothy grin.

Sirius would probably agree to that, Harry knew. But the thought of snogging while his godfather - or anyone else - was watching… He snorted. “We could go to my home, first, before I take you back to yours.”

“Mh.” She smiled as she slowly nodded.

Maybe he’d be able to forget all about Dumbledore’s plan for tonight.

*****​

Hermione Granger didn’t frown as she watched Harry and Vane dancing. She was too skilled in maintaining her cover for that, no matter how obvious it was that Vane wanted to drag her friend off to the garden or a dark corner elsewhere in the manor. If they were at a muggle club, she’d probably be humping his leg right there on the dance floor, Hermione thought.

At least Sirius and Jeanne were keeping an eye on Harry. It would be utterly irresponsible for him to go snog Vane with the Headmaster missing and Voldemort gathering his forces. And she was keeping an eye on her friend as well. She raised her glass to her lips and took another sip of the excellent wine.

“Are you enjoying the wine, Miss Davis?”

She nodded at Smith - Fairfax Smith. A cousin of Zacharias Smith’s. “I am, yes. Excellent vintage.”

“In these dark times, my uncle has made every effort to make this ball memorable.”

He was laying it on rather thickly, she thought. She had expected that, of course - he had done the same when trying to seduce Miss Merriweather. “It’s very impressive.”

He smiled as if it had been his gold that paid for the ball. “Are you certain that you’re not related to the Davis family?”

She managed not to frown. She’d get her revenge on that family as well. But she had to play her role. “Oh, I don’t actually know. My family emigrated to the New World a few generations ago.”

“Ah.” His smile grew wider, as she had expected. Implying that she was a pureblood, yet had no close relationship to the Davis family would make her even more attractive to a wizard from an Old Family looking to have an affair.

Unbidden, Jeanne’s ‘advice’ flashed through her mind. She dismissed it - again. She wasn’t looking to have an affair. And if she were, it would certainly not be with Smith. She glanced at Harry, who was dancing a little too close to Vane to be proper. She’d want someone with more intelligence and less bigotry. On the other hand, a dumb bigot would be ideal for an affair without any attachments - she certainly wouldn’t feel guilty for dumping him after she tired of him.

She blinked. Was she actually considering Jeanne’s advice? Certainly not! She had no need of a meaningless affair. Especially not when Dumbledore was missing and Harry was in danger.

Speaking of which, she should probably make contact with Harry. It would be far easier to keep an eye on him if he and Miss Davis were acquainted. She emptied her glass and looked around for a place to put it down. There was a tray floating nearby.
“Allow me!” Smith said, holding out his hand.

She handed her glass to him, and he turned towards the tray. She would have to ditch him before she could ‘meet’ Harry. Without being rude, too. That would require a little more time, she thought. But it didn’t look like Vane would succeed in dragging Harry off any time soon.

Smith returned and she was about to mention her wish to dance - that would get her close to Harry, and allow her daring robes to catch his eye - when she noticed a commotion near the entrance. And Sirius was moving towards Harry, without a care for the other dancing couples that he shouldered his way past.

He wasn’t the only one, either - she saw Amelia Bones march out, followed by Rufus Scrimgeour.

She clenched her teeth. What was going on? She couldn’t ask Sirius, not while disguised… But there was Mr Fletcher. She slowly made her way towards him, not bothering to hide her approach.

As soon as she stood behind him, she heard him whisper: “The Australians claim that they killed Dumbledore. They delivered his wand as proof.”

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 31st, 1996

Harry Potter heard his godfather sigh as soon as they were in the entrance hall of their home. Safely behind their wards. “Was that really necessary?” Harry asked as Jeanne closed and locked the door.

“What do you mean?” Sirius glanced at him.

Harry shrugged. “Leaving the ball early. Apparating home. Sending Romilda back with Tonks.” He hadn’t even been able to properly kiss her goodbye. He hoped that she would understand and not blame him for Sirius’s actions. And getting dragged away by his godfather wouldn’t have looked impressive either, he realised with a frown.

“Yes. Your safety takes priority.” Sirius didn’t quite glare at him.

“The Smiths’ home was safe. You said so yourself,” Harry objected. Voldemort wouldn’t risk exposure by having one of his followers among the guests attack Harry and the Thief’s Downfall at the entrance would defeat even Polyjuice Potion and the Imperius Curse.

“That was before I heard about Dumbledore’s... wand.” Sirius pressed his lips together. Jeanne squeezed his shoulder.

“Do you really think Voldemort would attack the ball?” Harry didn’t quite snort, but he came close.

“Better safe than sorry,” Sirius shot back. “At least until we know more. Dumbledore’s wand…” He shook his head.

Harry clenched his teeth. Everyone knew that if the Australians had the Headmaster’s wand, odds were that they were telling the truth about his death. Just as… He saw something move near the stairs and drew his wand before he realised that it was the stray. The cat was staring at him, seemingly frozen for an instant, before darting up the stairs.

Harry sighed and lowered his wand again. Hermione might claim it wasn’t her cat, but the stray certainly didn’t act like that was true. Then he blinked. They were still standing in the entrance hall, and his friend hadn’t shown up yet. “Does Hermione know about this already?”

“I don’t think so,” Sirius said.

“I’ll go tell her then,” Harry said. Hermione would want to know about this at once, he knew.

“Ah… she might already be asleep,” Jeanne said. “Or indecent. I’ll go fetch her.”

Harry snorted. “She comes to breakfast in her pyjamas.” And he had seen her naked thanks to his glasses anyway. Several times, he thought with a guilty feeling.

“Oh, you want to catch her naked? By all means, go ahead then!” Sirius said with a sudden leer.

Harry glared at him as Jeanne walked towards the stairs.

A few minutes later she returned with Hermione - in her pyjamas, as expected - in tow.

“Harry! Are you alright?” His friend moved towards him and, for a moment, he expected her to hug him. She stopped short, though, and looked him over.

“I’m fine,” he responded. “Sirius overreacted. Almost dragged me away from the ball.”

“Oh.”

He nodded, then frowned. Was that perfume? But she had already been in bed. Probably a new shower lotion, he concluded. “Romilda wasn’t happy to have her evening cut short either,” he added.

Hermione shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

He snorted. If Romilda didn’t understand that it was Sirius’s fault, Harry might end up both safe and sorry.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 1st, 1997

“...and Ollivander also confirmed it: It’s Dumbledore’s wand. His grandfather made it.” Tonks grimaced as she finished her report.

Harry Potter wasn’t the only one who winced upon hearing that. Everyone in Sirius’s living room did. Hermione reached over and squeezed his knee, and he felt another pang of guilt shoot through him. If she knew…

“Mate,” Ron said, looking grim. “You know what this means.”

“He’ll come for me,” Harry said. As expected.

“And he’ll have to go through us to get you.” Ron nodded and clasped Harry’s shoulder. “With the Headmaster… missing, you’re our only hope.”

Harry had to laugh at that, despite the situation. He glanced to his side and saw that Hermione was smiling. Ron looked confused. “What?”

“Nothing,” Harry said. “Just thought of something funny.”

Ron huffed.

“There’s more,” Tonks said. She looked at Harry. “Your presence is requested at the Wizengamot session tomorrow.” She sighed. “Sirius is talking to Fudge, that’s why he didn’t come back with me, but he won’t be able to reverse the decision even if he manages to convince Fudge. The Wizengamot’s panicking. At least the ones who aren’t Death Eaters.”

“Are they so scared that they want Harry to protect them?” Jeanne asked. She could sound a little less incredulous, Harry thought.

“They’ve heard about your special lessons with Dumbledore,” Tonks nodded at him. “And Malfoy’s been telling everyone that you’d know more about the Headmaster’s disappearance and that you have to appear to be interrogated.”

“Bloody bugger,” Ron muttered.

Harry expected Hermione to tell Ron to watch his language, but she nodded in agreement instead.

“This looks like a set-up,” she said with a snarl. “Malfoy demanding that Harry has to appear before the Wizengamot? It’s a trap!”

“You can’t go!” Ron agreed.

“That’s probably what Malfoy wants - if Harry doesn’t go, he’ll be a wanted wizard,” Tonks said.

Steps in the hallway made everyone tense, but when the door was pushed open, Harry saw it was Sirius. His godfather seemed spitting mad - he slammed the door shut. “That useless bloody fool!” He sat down in his favourite armchair and Jeanne moved to sit on the armrest. They held hands for a moment. “Did Tonks tell you?” he asked, looking at Harry.

“That Malfoy wants to lure me into a trap? Yes,” Harry said.

“Yes.” Sirius bared his teeth. “Fudge wouldn’t budge - Malfoy must have paid him a fortune. And the rest are scared. Even Doge voted to question Harry!”

“He doesn’t have to go,” Hermione said. “Even if the Wizengamot has the Aurors hunt him he’d be safer than there.” She stood. “We can move to a safe house.”

“There’s no house that’s safe with Dumbledore dead,” Ron said. “We should…”

Everyone froze as the door opened again. Then gasps and curse words filled the room.

“The reports of my death have been slightly exaggerated.”

*****​

The Headmaster was alive! Hermione Granger almost cried with relief. He must have succeeded at whatever he had been doing, and returned in time to counter Malfoy’s plots. Then she noticed that Harry wasn’t looking surprised. Nor really relieved. That meant…

“This was planned!” she blurted out, glaring at her friend. He had known the truth and hadn’t told her while everyone had been afraid and worried! “You knew the Headmaster wasn’t missing!”

Harry cringed, but before he could answer, Dumbledore spoke up. “Indeed. I apologise for deceiving you, and for having Harry keep my secret while you were left ignorant and worried, but I needed your reactions to be genuine to fool Voldemort.” The Headmaster slowly nodded with a faint smile.

Hermione blinked. “It’s a trap, but for Voldemort?”

“Yes, Miss Granger. What better way to trap him than by using his own plans?” Dumbledore’s smile grew.

“With Harry as bait!” Sirius stood, almost causing Jeanne to fall to the ground as he bared his teeth and snarled. “What are you…”

“I volunteered,” Harry cut in, standing as well. He was staring at his godfather “And no, I can’t wait until I’m an adult. Mum’s protection won’t last forever. If we don’t do this soon, I’ll be defenceless against him.”

Sirius clenched his teeth. If he had been in his dog form, he would likely have been growling loudly enough to scare a dragon. Even so, he made a decent effort, Hermione noticed.

“Please, Sirius.”

Dumbledore, probably wisely, didn’t say anything as Harry and Sirius stared at each other. Hermione held her breath.

Slowly, Sirius nodded and pressed his lips together. He was trembling. Harry stepped up to him and hugged him, but even then Hermione saw that it took Sirius half a minute before he started to relax. Jeanne was looking at them with a rather sad smile but didn’t move closer. And Ron looked like he wasn’t certain whether or not he should be present as Sirius and Harry whispered to each other.

After another minute, Sirius sighed, then released Harry and glared at Dumbledore. “So, what exactly is your plan?”

Dumbledore took a seat in an armchair he conjured - with a different wand than his usual one, Hermione noticed. Had he sacrificed his wand for this deception, or did he plan to recover it before tomorrow? “Voldemort will not be able to resist the opportunity with which he has been presented. In one fell swoop, he not only rids himself of Harry - the only one who can threaten him, or so he believes - along with the Order who will be protecting him, but also terrifies the Wizengamot and the Ministry by triumphantly announcing his return. And when he makes his entrance, Harry and I will face and defeat him while the Order and those among the Ministry’s wands willing to fight will take on the Death Eaters with him. With the Dark Lord defeated, his followers will break.”

Sirius scoffed. “The Aurors are worthless.”

“Hey!” Tonks glared at him, her wand twitching.

“Present company excluded,” he added hastily. “However, what makes you so certain that he’ll appear in person? He was defeated twice by Harry. He could just as well simply send his Death Eaters. Or use some imperiused Auror to try and kill Harry.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “He will not let someone else upstage him. Even if he might plan to avoid facing Harry directly, he will have to be present for his return to have the greatest possible impact on the country.” With a slightly grim smile, he added: “We have a spy in his inner circle.”

“It’s not Snivellus, is it? The Dark Lord would be an utter idiot to trust that git again after his first betrayal,” Sirius said with a sneer. Hermione had to agree.

“It’s not Severus,” Dumbledore answered, stressing the name.

“Who is it, then?” Tonks asked. “I’d rather not curse an ally by mistake.”

“If it’s a spy like Snivellus, then curse away. They’d deserve it,” Sirius muttered.

“They will reveal themselves once the trap is sprung; do not worry,” Dumbledore said.

“I think you are going a little overboard with the secrecy,” Sirius said in a bitter tone. “Do you even know everything that’s going on any more?”

Dumbledore sighed. “I would rather err on the side of caution than risk exposing our plan to the enemy.” He held up his left hand. “I do trust the Order members not to betray us, but it is better to be safe than sorry.”

Sirius flinched slightly at that. Hermione wondered if he’d realised that he’d be a hypocrite to complain about being kept in the dark while keeping secrets of his own from Harry. Not that she was any better - she wasn’t telling Harry everything either. But they could have told her. She was a good actress - she wouldn’t have let anything slip! They could have trusted her. It was probably the Headmaster’s fault.

“So, you’re calling the whole Order for this?” Tonks asked.

“Those among the Order who can fight. I have taken steps to ensure that we can use the Floo Network to enter the Ministry while our enemies will be stuck once the trap has been sprung.” Dumbledore leaned back. “That will also allow you to familiarise yourself with your allies, and avoid confusion during the battle.”

“Good.” Sirius nodded. “We’ll be the vanguard then?”

“Yes.” Dumbledore nodded at the gathered wizards and witches. “With the exception of Mr Weasley; his presence might tip off our enemies.”

“Like hell!” Ron jumped up. “If they know about Harry’s special lessons, then they know that I’ve been with him all the way! I’ll be with him.”

Dumbledore looked at Ron, but Ron didn’t flinch. After a moment, the Headmaster nodded. “Very well. I am certain your mother will understand.”

Ron flinched at that but pressed his lips together. “Harry’s my best friend.”

Dumbledore chuckled, once. “And I somehow doubt I or anyone else could stop you from coming along anyway. Very well.”

“But Hermione should stay at home,” Harry said. “We can claim she’s sick.”

“What?” Hermione glared at him and bared her teeth. How dare he!

“Be reasonable! You can’t fight as well as the rest of us. Putting yourself in danger for no gain makes no sense at all.”

“I can fight well enough!” She was tempted to demonstrate right then how well - on him.

“No, you can’t!” Harry looked at Sirius. “Tell her!”

When he didn’t correct Harry at once she glared at the dog. “If I’m not with you then Voldemort might suspect a trap. I’m your secretary.” Officially, at least.

“We can claim she’s sick.”

Now Harry wasn’t even talking to her again? Hermione huffed. “I can take care of myself and you know it,” she told the dog.

He coughed. “Well, you’re harder to hit than you were when you trained with Harry, but you’re not on the level of him or Ron. Or Tonks. I think you shouldn’t be fighting.”

She was about to tell the dog what she thought of his arrogance when Dumbledore spoke up: “I have to concur with your friends, Miss Granger. While you have been training hard with Sirius, your training focused on escaping when attacked - and tomorrow, we will be the ones attacking the enemy. Your presence might be exploited by the enemy to distract Harry at a crucial moment. Further, while you are correct in that you would usually be present at Sirius’s side, our enemy does expect Harry and his guardians to be scared after my apparent demise. It would not be very suspicious to leave you at home under those circumstances.”

Hermione swallowed her angry retort - with some difficulty. She couldn’t yell at the Headmaster. That would be pointless and make her look childish and stupid. And as much as she hated to admit it, he was correct - and yet not. She wasn’t as helpless or as useless as Harry thought. But he didn’t know that and he would worry about her. And that might get him killed.

But knowing that didn’t mean she liked it. Or wanted to admit it. Not that she thought she could say anything without yelling. So she clenched her teeth until they hurt, sat down and glared at her stupid friend and the stupid dog as they planned the ambush tomorrow.

*****​

Hermione Granger was about to go to bed - she’d have to get up early tomorrow to prepare - when she heard someone knocking on her door. “Yes?” she said, after a quick check that nothing incriminating had been left in the open.

The door opened and Dumbledore entered. “Good evening, Miss Granger. I am glad that I caught you before you went to bed.”

She tensed. She could handle Harry, and the dog would approve of what she was planning - anything to protect Harry - but the Headmaster… When he closed the door behind her and cast a privacy spell, she bit her lower lip. “How can I help you?” she asked, sitting down on her bed.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped over to her desk and sat down on her chair. “It is about tomorrow.”

She frowned. “You’ve made your opinion clear. I don’t like it, but I have to agree: We can’t risk Harry being distracted by worrying about me during the battle.” Which her stupid friend would.

He smiled. “While I applaud your wisdom, I have to point out that what you said doesn’t mean that you agree that you should stay away from the Ministry.”

She didn’t flinch - she was a good actress. And a good thief never admitted anything, even when confronted with the truth. “What do you mean?”

His smile only grew wider. “You would not be planning to sneak into the Ministry tomorrow in disguise, would you?”

She pressed her lips together. Why had she thought that she would be able to get one over on the Headmaster? He knew exactly what she was capable of. “That would be reckless.”

“Without a doubt.” He inclined his head. “But you have not denied it.”

She hung her head in response. “I can’t just sit here and wait. I’m not as bad as he thinks I am.”

“I trust you did not plan to enter the fight disguised as a stranger.”

“No!” she retorted. “That would be foolish.”

“What was your plan, then?” he asked in a calm voice, as if he was asking after her homework.

“Sneak in, ambush a straggler or two.” And keep an eye on Harry.

He shook his head. “I think our cause would be much better served if you put your talents to a different use.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Allow me to explain.”

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 2nd, 1997

Harry Potter couldn’t help feeling nervous as he waited in the entrance hall of his home. Soon he would be headed to the Ministry to trigger Voldemort’s ambush. That Dumbledore was already there - Sirius had checked twice through a mirror - was not as reassuring as it should have been; Harry knew it would come down to him to defeat Voldemort.

And that Hermione was frowning at him didn’t help either, of course.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She huffed and looked at the fireplace behind him. “The Headmaster was right.”

She didn’t say that Harry was right, he noted. “Well…” he trailed off. He didn’t know what to tell his best friend. She couldn’t come with him, but leaving her to wait like this felt wrong as well. He shrugged instead.

She bit her lower lip for a moment, then lunged at him, hugging him before he could react. Hard, too - but then, he knew how toned her body was. “Stay safe, you hear?” she whispered.

“Of course,” he said, patting her back. He hoped he wasn’t lying.

She sniffed - or sniffled; he couldn’t tell - and released him. Ron had a moment to brace himself before she hugged him as well. Harry could see him tense, then nod.

She released Ron as well and took a few steps back, facing them. “Remember: Stay safe. Don’t do anything foolish.” She nodded sharply at them, then marched off before they could say anything in response.

Once she had disappeared upstairs, Ron sighed and looked at Harry. “Luna was the same, yesterday.”

Harry nodded, then looked at the clock on the wall. Still not time to go. The Order would have already gathered at Hogwarts, at least those members who had no excuse to be at the Ministry.

“We’re not to go until Dumbledore gives us the go-ahead,” Ron said. “Percy has to secure the Floo Network first, or we might get rerouted.”

“I know,” Harry said, trying to hide his irritation. “I wouldn’t go without Sirius anyway.” He sighed. The waiting was the worst. Maybe he should have sneaked out last night and visited Romilda for a last snog. Or something more. But even if he had managed to evade Sirius and the others watching over him, her home wasn’t safe. He snorted. And Sirius and Hermione would have cursed him.

Ron polished his wand again as if that would help him fight. Harry looked at the clock again. Was it even working? He wanted to go now. To get it over with. Before he lost his nerve. Stick to the plan, he reminded himself. Everyone was counting on him.

When Sirius and Jeanne arrived in the hall, Harry was so startled he almost drew on his godfather.

Sirius didn’t seem to notice.

“Dumbledore called. It is safe to go to the Atrium, but he hasn’t spotted Voldemort yet.”

Which meant Harry had to be the bait to draw him out and couldn’t simply wait until Dumbledore had engaged the Dark Lord. He nodded, swallowing dryly.

“Let’s go then.”

*****​

 

Chapter 27: Culmination

London, Ministry of Magic, January 2nd, 1997

“Morning.”

Rodney Smith nodded to the two Hit-Wizards standing guard as he passed them, taking the stairs leading up to what the Ministry employees working there called the ‘attic floor’ - the floor above the Atrium’s ceiling, above all of the Ministry’s floors - where most of the maintenance charms were cast when needed.

Unlike the floor below the Department of Mysteries, where the anchors of the wards and the central Air-Refreshing and Cooling Charms were located, this floor wasn’t restricted to only a few key Ministry employees and heavily guarded. The charms maintained here were not crucial or essential, but convenient.

Although, Rodney thought as he approached the door to the floor, if the lifts stopped working and the water stopped flowing in the pipes, the Ministry would likely break down - most of his so-called colleagues would probably collapse after three flights of stairs, and he doubted that even a tenth of them could cast a Water-Making Spell. Or an Air-Cleaning Charm. Or any of the other spells cast here. And yet, none of them cared about those who kept all those spells going, as if that were beneath them.

He snorted as he opened the door. Not that he could blame them - he didn’t care about his co-workers either. Half-bloods and mudbloods, the lot of them, and a few purebloods too poor or too stupid to land a decent job.

Or, in his own case, too honest to lie and suck up to their superiors, and toe the Ministry’s line about equality as dictated by Dumbledore. He scoffed as he closed the door behind him and cast an Alarm Charm on it. But Dumbledore was dead, and the Dark Lord would show the fools the error of their ways. And those who stood for what was right, those who knew blood counted, would be rewarded.

Like himself.

He looked around. No one but him was present. The small area that had been turned into a mixture of office and break room was empty. He didn’t spot any bottles or newspapers stained with fat and vinegar, which meant that Clarke had had the last shift yesterday. She was a mudblood, but at least she cleaned up after herself. And after her co-workers.

One might even say she knew her place.

He chuckled, briefly, as he stepped past the battered ice box holding some beer bottles, and approached the plaque - or ‘headstone’, as his co-workers called it in a dim-witted attempt at humour - for the spells controlling the lifts and drew his wand. The Dark Lord’s orders were clear - Rodney was to sabotage the lifts first, then the Air-Cleaning Charms.

He was about to replace the spells controlling the lifts’ doors when he saw something move in the shadows. “Who’s there?” he yelled, then clenched his teeth. If one of his co-workers had missed the notification about the ‘schedule changes’ he had faked...

“Miaow!”

He blinked. A cat? Here? Had someone other than him shown some initiative and common sense and brought a cat to get rid of the mice and rats infesting the attic? He chuckled when he spotted a black cat eyeing him from behind a plaque listing the spells that controlled the Air-Cleaning Charms - not to be mistaken with Air-Refreshing Charms - on the third floor. “Better get away from there,” he said, making shooing motions with his hand, “you might not like the backlash when I disable them.” Or the poison spells with which he was to replace a select few of those charms.

As if it had understood him, the cat moved away from the plaque, towards the ice box and table behind him. “Good kitty!” he said, then turned around, back to work. He raised his wand - and froze when he heard someone behind him.

“Drop your wand!”

He swallowed. How had they managed to get through the door? He hadn’t heard the chime from his spell. If he botched the mission the Dark Lord had given him…

“Now!”

He dropped his wand, then watched as it jumped up and away, summoned from behind him. “I’m just doing some maintenance,” he said, slowly turning his head, then froze again. There was a figure with a black mask covering her entire face behind him. A witch - her black leather clothing left no doubt - with her wand aimed at him.

Fear gave way to hope. She wasn’t an Auror or Hit-Wizard. And while she wasn’t wearing black robes and a white mask, her outfit certainly looked fit for a dark witch. Who else would infiltrate the Ministry in such an outfit but a follower of the Dark Lord? He swallowed again.

“Disabling the Air-Cleaning Charms?” She had a rather husky voice, he noticed even as he cursed himself for speaking to the cat.

“I’m just following orders. Special orders.” If she was a Death Eater, she would understand what he meant.

“I see.” She nodded, and he started to smile. Were those stripes on her mask? Or...

Then her wand moved, and everything went dark.

*****​

Hermione Granger pointed her wand at the fallen wizard and cast a full Body-Bind Curse on him. As soon as he had snapped into a stiff position on the ground, she followed it up with an Incarcerous Spell, tying him up with conjured ropes. She hesitated a moment - she wanted to interrogate the Death Eater. Find out what he knew. Who had given him his orders. But she had orders of her own. And neither the time nor the Veritaserum to interrogate the traitor. So after a look at his badge and a quick check for poison vials or other dangerous items in his possession, she aimed her wand at his head and removed the last few minutes from his memory. It wouldn’t do to have anyone hear about a thief, or a black cat, in the attic of the Ministry.

Then she walked back to the Air-Cleaning Charm she had been in the process of unravelling when the man had disturbed her. It took her but a few more moments to finish her work. Finding the right conduits that transported the cleaned air down to the offices below her took longer, even with the notes she had been given - which, she suspected, had come from Percy Weasley. They weren’t in his handwriting, but she recognised the style from the notes Ron had passed to her when she had been revising for her O.W.L.s.

Smiling slightly, she cast a Bubble-Head Charm and pulled out the vials Dumbledore had given her, then unstoppered one straight under the conduit marked ‘3-2’. She didn’t see any smoke raise from the vial, but the light blue liquid quickly evaporated. An odourless and colourless sleeping gas - just what she’d expect from a renowned alchemist like the Headmaster.

Nodding, she moved to the next conduit. There were five more offices presumably occupied by traitors to neutralise.

Unlike Jeanne, she might not be allowed to openly fight at Harry’s side - if only she had been allowed to tell him that she wasn’t as helpless as he thought she was! - and, as the traitor sleeping next to her showed, she couldn’t risk fighting while masked either, or she might be mistaken for a Death Eater, but she would do her part to keep her friends safe.

She just wished she had been allowed to deal with Malfoy and his ilk in the Wizengamot.

*****​

Harry Potter stumbled and almost fell as he stepped out of the fireplace in the Atrium. Sirius moved to catch him, but he recovered before his godfather could reach him. One of the Hit-Wizards standing guard snickered and Harry clenched his teeth. If that idiot knew what was about to happen…

He took a deep breath as Ron appeared behind him, trying not to feel too jealous of how his friend didn’t stumble at all, walking out of the fireplace as easily and smoothly as if he were walking through a door. He couldn’t get angry over such petty things. Not when he was about to confront the Dark Lord himself.

He used a cleaning charm to remove the soot and ash from his robes and didn’t reholster his wand. While Sirius cast a privacy charm, Harry ran his free hand through his hair, using the gesture to mask how he tapped the frame of his glasses to activate its See-Through-Walls Charm. He let his gaze wander over the Atrium. As he had been told, the walls and floors of the Ministry had been protected against that kind of spell - apparently, as Sirius had explained, to keep employees from spying on their rivals, not because they feared ambushes. But the pillars and decorations hadn’t been protected and he spotted two people sitting behind the fountain who had drawn their wands but kept them in their robes. Two wizards he didn’t know.

“Two behind the statue,” he reported as he stepped up to his godfather.

“Tonks has an eye on them,” Sirius said in response, his head moving slightly.

Harry glanced over and saw a rather frumpy-looking witch cleaning a spill on the floor near the lift that led to muggle London above them. Another wizard seemed to be taking his time pruning the potted plants near the stairs. He knew there were no others in hiding, although Dumbledore said he had picked the Hit-Wizards and Aurors deployed in the Atrium with Madam Bones. They might not be in the know, but they weren’t traitors either. Not even the man who’d laughed at him stumbling. Still, that made three suspected spies nearby, but no Dark Lord.

And they couldn’t spring the trap until Voldemort appeared. Dumbledore couldn’t lock the Ministry down and call in their reinforcements until they knew their trap had worked. Which meant Harry had to keep acting as bait. What if Voldemort had grown suspicious and sent three assassins to kill Harry instead of coming in person? Could they really trust Dumbledore’s plan? It all seemed based on his still unknown spy. It had been easy to believe in the Headmaster back in Grimmauld Place, but now...

He took a deep breath and started to walk towards the lift, where two more Hit-Wizards stood guard. The two suspects hiding behind the fountain’s statue weren’t moving, but the one pruning the plants was looking at him. Harry tensed. The man was using his wand and could easily cast at him instead of at the ferns, or whatever those plants were - he didn’t remember them from Herbology.

Was Voldemort waiting until he was in the lift? Dumbledore had said they would control all of the lifts in the Ministry, but what if something went wrong? Harry didn’t want to die in a trapped cabin, unable to defend himself.

They were halfway through the Atrium now. Just about the worst position - no cover nearby, and everyone, even the ones hiding behind the fountain, now had a line of sight on him. He felt horribly exposed. Sweat started to run down his face and he expected a curse to fly towards him at any moment.

The lift doors opened and a young wizard strode out. Followed by half a dozen floating markers - Harry’s Human-presence-revealing Spell pointing out disillusioned wizards and witches. He wasn’t paying attention to them, though. He was staring at the wizard. He knew that face. He had seen it in his visions - and his nightmares.

Suddenly, he wasn’t sweating any more. Or nervous. He clenched his teeth and glared at the man and spat out: “Voldemort!”

He saw the eyes of the man - of the Dark Lord - widen for an instant and Harry flicked his wand up. Voldemort was already moving, though - falling into a duelling stance as a Shield Charm appeared around him. But Harry hadn’t been casting at the Dark Lord - he had aimed at the ground before him, conjuring a stone wall. An instant later, Sirius added another right in front of it.

Just in time to stop the fragments from Harry’s wall when Voldemort blew it up. Ron added another wall as the three of them were turning to run towards cover, followed by a second explosion. Harry clenched his teeth - where was Dumbledore? The other Death Eaters with Voldemort would cast any second now, and the Dark Lord would not keep blasting walls. If the Headmaster didn’t…

At that moment, the floor underneath his feet rose, forming a wave that both shielded Sirius, Ron and himself and carried them rapidly towards the fountain. The fountain! He gasped, trying to aim his wand while riding a stone wave - there were two Death Eaters hiding behind it! But when he was deposited behind the fountain’s marble basin, the wave freezing and forming a shelter covering half the atrium, he saw both of them on the ground - one face down in a spreading pool of blood, the other crumpled against the foot of the statue, the water around him turning pink.

Tonks! He flicked his head around - the Auror was fighting the suspect who had been pruning the plants. Both were using the pillars, which were already sporting dents and craters, as cover, stepping out from behind them to cast, before darting back into cover. But Harry had a clear line of sight on the Death Eater.

His Piercing Curse splashed against the man’s shield, shattering it. His Bludgeoning Curse missed the man - he had thrown himself to the ground - but Harry’s Blasting Curse hit the ground right next to him, throwing the man back and out of his cover. The Death Eater’s screams were cut off by Tonks’s next curse, and he collapsed in a heap on the marble floor.

Tonks started towards his position and Harry whipped his head around. The stone wave was still holding - Dumbledore’s spells were much harder to dispel or destroy, of course. But where… There! He saw the Headmaster in a corner, near the stairs, moving quicker and more gracefully than Harry would have expected as curses flew at him, some splashing against his Shield Charm, others being intercepted by floating blocks of shiny metal that whirled around Dumbledore. One of the guards stationed there was on the ground, missing most of his lower body and legs, the other had taken cover behind the closest pillar.

Dumbledore’s voice - amplified - filled the Atrium. “There’s no way out, Tom. We were ready for you.”

Harry couldn’t see what Voldemort and his followers were doing - the stone wave was blocking his line of sight. He cast a Shield Charm and was about to move to the end of the wave when he noticed something moving above him. A white cloud was rolling over the edge of the stone wave, sinking down towards the ground.

“Watch out!” he shouted, throwing himself away from the shelter. Ron and Sirius were slower to react and they went through the cloud as they, too, jumped back. Harry saw the cloud seep through their shields, disappearing as it touched them. Tonks stopped her sprint and fell to the floor. Or threw herself down, Harry couldn’t tell. The cloud hit the ground and formed a pool. An instant later, it ignited, creating a wall of fire.

And Sirius and Ron screamed as they, too, caught fire. Harry gasped, horrified, then stabbed his wand forward.

“Aguamenti!”

Water covered both, but their Shield Charms stopped it from touching the fire. “Drop the shields!” he yelled, then recast his spell. After a moment, the shields disappeared, and the water splashed over them, extinguishing the flames - for a moment. The fire reappeared as soon as the stream of water from Harry’s wand let up. That meant… “Flame-Freezing Charm!” Harry yelled as he cast, followed by Tonks. Sirius and Ron added their own.

For a moment, Harry stared at them - covered in flames but alive. Ron cursed. “Bloody Hell! Let’s get this stuff off! Scourgify! Scourgify!”

And the flames on the ground were growing closer - the liquid was spreading. Harry aimed his wand and vanished the closest part of the spreading pool while Tonks raised another wall as cover.

The fire stopped for the moment and, Voldemort’s line of sight still blocked by Dumbledore’s wave, Harry glanced at Sirius and Ron. Both looked awful, large parts of their hair missing, holes and blackened stains covering their robes, and their exposed skin… He winced at the sight.

“Wasn’t a dark curse,” Ron managed to say with a forced grin. “Hurts like one, though.”

Flashes drew Harry’s attention, and he almost started casting before he realised that the fireplaces in the Atrium were activating. To his relief, the first one out of them was Moody, a grin on his scarred face and his wand flashing. And, behind the old Auror, more Order members poured out of the fireplace, fanning out.

Not a moment too soon - Dumbledore was standing alone now, the second guard having fallen at his side, and was still facing the Dark Lord and his followers. And behind him, someone was descending the stairs. Harry’s eyes widened when he recognised Lucius Malfoy.

“Headmaster! Behind you!” he yelled, as loudly as he could, as he raised his wand - at that distance, any precise spell was likely to miss, and a Blasting Curse would endanger Dumbledore as well. That left a conjured…

But Malfoy was already casting, his wand flashing - and a red spell flew past Dumbledore, towards the Death Eaters’ position. Harry gaped.

And the Dark Lord yelled: “Traitor!”

A moment later, Malfoy collapsed, screaming and holding his left arm. Whatever was hurting him let up as soon as Dumbledore took a step forward, though, and sent more spells at the Dark Lord. Once more, the Headmaster’s voice rang through the entire Atrium. “Lay down your wands! The Dark Lord’s plan was doomed from the start. You are outnumbered and trapped. Surrender and your lives will be spared.”

“Sirius!”

Harry glanced to his side. That was Jeanne, rushing towards them, Remus right behind her, as the rest of the Order surged forward.

“Ron!”

And Mrs Weasley! He winced at her expression.

“Mum! I’m OK!” Ron lied.

Harry was about to say that it hadn’t been a dark curse when the lift to muggle London vanished in an explosion. He stepped forward, his Shield Charm stopping stone fragments from hitting him or the people behind him, as a dust cloud filled that part of the Atrium.

And then figures on brooms shot out of the cloud. Figures wearing black robes and white masks.

That lift was supposed to have been locked!, Harry thought as he sent a Bludgeoning Charm at the closest broom rider. The spell splashed against the man’s Shield Charm, but it was strong enough to push the Death Eater off course - and straight into another Death Eater. Both lost control over their brooms, one crashing and sliding several yards over the marble floor while the other flew into a pillar.

“Taking right!” Ron yelled as he caught that one with a Piercing Curse before the Death Eater, whose shield hadn’t survived the impact with the pillar, reached the ground.

Harry hit the other Death Eater with a Cutting Curse just as he was trying to get up and the man collapsed, blood spurting from the stump of his leg. Harry took him out with a Piercing Curse to the head before the man could stop the bleeding.

But at least a dozen Death Eaters were still left, with more coming down the shaft. And half of them were veering around, wands flashing as they aimed at Harry’s group while the rest flew towards Voldemort’s position.

A wall rose in the air in front of them, courtesy of Sirius, but it started to crumble after a moment as spells slammed into it.

“Above us!” Jeanne yelled as her curse missed a broom rider diving at them.

Harry jumped to the side as the floor near him blew up. Reductor Curse, he thought as he rolled over the floor, his shield dealing with the fragments thrown his way. A Blasting Curse would have been a better choice. Ron cast and missed the Death Eater as well, but Sirius got him with a Flame-Whip Spell that cut the man and his broom in two.

Harry glanced at the rest of the Order. Mrs Weasley was screaming - but she was standing and casting, and didn’t seem hurt. Mr Weasley had joined her, his own wand weaving. Remus was near Tonks, casting curses at a Death Eater circling above them. Then the remains of Sirius’s wall shattered, and Harry threw himself on the ground as half a dozen curses flew through the resulting dust cloud. He heard a scream behind him, but he couldn’t spare the time to check who was it - the Death Eaters were charging.

One was flying straight at him, yelling and casting wildly. Harry clenched his teeth and rose into a crouch as a curse passed over his head and another went wide. His own Piercing Curses didn’t miss - the first shattered the man’s Shield Charm, the second went through his throat, destroying his mask in the process. The Death Eater’s scream turned into a gurgling noise, blood shooting out of his neck as he crashed into the fountain.

But the other Death Eaters were now above him and the rest of the Order and curses started to rain down on them. One spell clipped Harry’s shield and only a roll to the side saved him from getting splashed with the green, sizzling liquid - acid or poison - created by the curse.

He rolled and came up with his wand leading, but the Death Eater had already pulled away. It didn’t matter - there were plenty of targets in the air. Harry hit another Death Eater with a Piercing Curse, shattering the man’s shield, a moment before a fire whip sliced into the man. He fell from his broom, clutching at his side, and didn’t get up. Harry hit him with a Cutting Curse anyway - Moody had played possum once too often for Harry to be sloppy.

The Order had rallied and curses started to fill the air, but most had trouble hitting the broom riders. Fortunately, the Death Eaters also had trouble aiming while flying at high speed inside the Atrium.

Unfortunately, Blasting Curses didn’t require much precision. Harry saw one curse hit the floor near two older wizards. The explosion left both of them on the ground, unconscious or dead. Another Order member ran screaming through the Atrium towards Harry - no, towards the fountain behind Harry. The wizard’s arms seemed to be melting, Harry saw, feeling sick. The man collapsed in front of Harry, his legs starting to liquify as well.

Harry aimed his wand, but he couldn’t think of a spell that would help the man. And then the wizard exploded, struck by another Blasting Curse, and Harry was thrown back, his Shield Charm shattering.

He landed hard, bruising his back on some rubble, and came to rest in a puddle - the fountain was leaking. He recast his Shield Charm as he changed position - always stay moving, Moody had taught him - and a curse struck the fountain behind him, shattering the marble basin. Water started to rush out, and Harry had to struggle to stay upright as he returned fire with a few Bludgeoning Curses. He missed the wizard, but the man’s frantic evasions caused him to fly into a pillar. That stopped his flight long enough for Harry to hit him with a Cutting Curse that almost cut him in two.

Breathing heavily and fighting nausea, Harry looked around. There were half a dozen Death Eaters left in the air. But a number were guarding the lift shaft - and that had to be closed up to prevent Voldemort from fleeing. They needed… Harry’s eyes widened. Sirius was on the ground, Jeanne kneeling next to him, sheltered by a crumbling stone wall, waving her wand.

He started to run towards his godfather, barely remembering to weave as he ran to present a difficult target. Sirius had to be alive!

“Harry! Duck!”

Harry dropped to the ground as soon as he heard Ron yelling, and a yellow curse barely missed his head, covering the ground in front of him with yellow goo - yellow moving goo that left a smoking trail as it started to flow towards him.

He rolled to the side and on to his back, sending a spell up at whoever was behind him - missing the Death Eater, who pulled up - then jumped up. Ron stood next to him, sending more curses at the Death Eater, but the man was a good flyer. Not as good as Harry, but better than most of the Death Eaters in the Atrium. He evaded Harry and Ron’s curses with seeming ease, even if doing so prevented him from casting himself.

And Sirius still needed their help! Harry sent another curse upwards, missing again. He was tempted to use his power, but he couldn’t. He had to save it for Voldemort. Had to wait until Dumbledore gave the signal.

“I’ll box him in!” Ron yelled and started to cast a volley of hexes. The Death Eater didn’t even bother dodging them, though, and let his shield absorb them. He was very good.

And he was casting at them again. Harry and Ron jumped to the side to evade the man’s Blasting Curse that left a crater in the marble floor big enough to swallow a half-giant. Harry cursed under his breath and stuck his hand into his enchanted pocket. “I’m going up!” he yelled.

But before he could pull out his own broom, the Death Eater started to scream as multiple gashes appeared on his body. He kept screaming as he lost control of his broom, flailing wildly as his body became covered with cuts. Sectumsempra, Harry realised - a dark curse popular with Death Eaters in the last war, Moody had told him. But who would...

“Don’t just stand there gaping, Potter!” he heard a familiar and hated voice. Snape! “We need to seal up that shaft!”

There was the Potions Master, his usual sneer on his face. “Move!” he bellowed.

Harry didn’t want to - but Snape was right. They had to close the hole, or Voldemort might be able to escape. He still glanced at Sirius. Mrs Weasley was there as well. And her husband.

Hating himself, Harry followed Snape, Ron at his side, and ran towards the handful of Death Eaters guarding the hole where the lift to muggle London had been.

*****​

Hermione Granger was about to leave the attic when she heard a chime behind her. She froze - had she made a mistake and triggered an alarm charm? It was coming from a plaque she had checked earlier. One of the spells controlling the lifts. Clenching her teeth, she cast a quick charm on the door to warn her of anyone opening it and hurried back.

It was the spell controlling the lift to muggle London. She tapped her mask to check it, then cursed - the entire spell was gone. But that wouldn’t happen unless… Unless the lift was gone. Someone must have destroyed it. But would that mean that the shaft had collapsed, or was it still open? And what could she do to check that?

Rush down to the Atrium? Her allies would mistake her for a Death Eater, and the Death Eaters would curse her anyway. Dig a hole through the wall facing the lift? She might be able to reach the shaft that way, but… that would take quite some time. She bit her lower lip. She couldn’t simply do nothing, could she? Dumbledore had said that that lift was taken care of, but…

“Two, I need some help.”

Mr Fletcher’s voice interrupted her thoughts. She tapped her mask. “What happened? Where are you?”

“Wizengamot Level. Runcorn was in his office. I took him out, but he got me with a curse. Can’t use my leg, and there are Aurors outside.”

She drew a hissing breath. He couldn’t reach the fireplace they were supposed to take to flee, then. That left… “Can you reach Dumbledore’s office?” she asked as she ran back to the stairs. The fireplace there was an alternative means of escape.

“Not without a distraction,” came the terse reply.

“You’ll have one!” she said as she opened the door. She didn’t bother with dropping a potion to the floor to change the colour of her fur. There was no time to be wasted.

A second later, a brown cat was racing down the stairs.

*****​

There were six of them, split into two groups - four forming a half-circle around the hole, rubble, probably enlarged, from the explosion serving as cover, and two behind the closest pillar - setting up a crossfire, Harry Potter realised.

Not the best odds, even with the other Order members behind Harry providing covering fire. He forced the thought away - there was no room for doubt when charging an enemy. He started to weave as he ran towards the pillar, Ron behind him.

Snape cursed - Harry’s change of course had forced the Potions Master to fall behind both him and Ron - but Harry didn’t pay attention to him. They could deal with the two Death Eaters there and then flank the others. And running at that angle they would provide a harder target for the enemy’s main force.

Several curses flew past them. A Blasting Curse blew up part of a bench, but the splinters and rock fragments were deflected by their Shield Charms. The two Death Eaters by the pillar stepped out from behind their cover to cast - they had a better angle; Harry was charging at them - but they cast hastily and their aim was bad. The first two curses went wide. Harry caught the wizard on the right with a Bludgeoning Curse that clipped the man’s Shield Charm and forced him to stumble back a few steps, interrupting his next curse as well. Exposed like that and off-balance, he was an easy target. Ron’s Piercing Curse shattered his shield, and Harry’s Cutting Curse sliced off the Death Eater’s wand arm and half of his face.

The other Death Eater was clutching his belly as he collapsed, coughing up blood - a whole lot of blood. Probably another dark curse from Snape, Harry thought as he threw himself behind the pillar, rolling over his shoulder and ending up in a crouch at the edge of his new cover - and close to the still twitching Death Eater he had killed.

He cast a Bubble-Head Charm and took a few deep breaths. “Ready.”

“Ready,” Ron said behind him.

“What are you waiting for?” Snape complained.

Harry tried to ignore the man’s complaints. Snape hadn’t been trained by Moody, unlike Ron and himself. “Let’s go!” he yelled, going low around the pillar and casting a Blasting Curse at the closest Death Eater near the lift shaft. He didn’t hit the man, but the heap of rubble serving as the enemy’s cover blew up nicely, and the cloud of dust thrown up covered the area long enough for Harry and Ron - and Snape - to dash over the open ground between them and the Death Eaters.

Harry reached the rubble first and ducked, keeping his wand aimed upwards. Ron fell in at his side. Snape arrived a second later, as the cloud was starting to settle. “OK, we’re going...” Harry started.

“Save it!” Snape hissed. “I have just the potion for this.” He pulled out a vial from his dark robes and threw it over the rubble. Screaming followed. “Stay away from the purple smoke!” the Potions Master said with the cruellest smile Harry had ever seen on his ugly face.

He crawled up on the rubble and peered over it, then swallowed. A purple cloud covered most of the floor in front of the hole leading to the lift shaft. Two Death Eaters were on the ground at its edges, screaming and jerking as they held their legs. Two more were backing away. “Taking left!” Harry said and flicked his wand, casting three Piercing Curses at the closest enemy. Two of them hit and the man went down with a hole in his chest. Ron’s Cutting Curse was stopped by a hastily cast Shield Charm, but Snape killed the man a second later with a Reductor Curse to the head.

“Now let’s seal this up!” Snape said, flicking his wand and turning the rubble on this side into a ramp which he slid down. “Don’t touch the smoke!” he said and dispatched the two Death Eaters on the ground with a Piercing Curse each.

“I’m not feeling suicidal,” Harry heard Ron mutter as the two of them climbed over the rubble and followed Snape. Up close, Harry saw that the legs of the two Death Eaters looked as if they had rotted off - robes, flesh and bones. He swallowed, glad for his Bubble-Head Charm.

Then he caught movement in the air above - someone was flying towards them. “Above us!” he shouted, throwing himself to the ground behind the closest heap of rubble. And he froze - if the Death Eater used a Blasting Curse and hit Snape’s rotting smoke…

“Wall! We need walls!” he yelled, conjuring one behind him.

Ron cursed as he followed Harry’s example, despite the green curses - Killing Curses - the broom rider cast at them.

Snape sent curses of his own at the attacker, but the man evaded them with a roll. Another curse hit the wall behind Harry, showering him and Ron with splinters. He clenched his teeth - they were in a really bad spot there, caught between Killing Curses from above and a poison cloud behind them. They were very fortunate that their attacker was much better at flying than at aiming.

“Can you neutralise the smoke?” he yelled, hoping Snape could hear him. Then he had to roll to the side when two more curses struck the rubble in front of him. Ron managed to drive the broom-riding Death Eater off with a few hastily cast curses, but Harry could see the man turning round in a skilled evasive manoeuvre. A very familiar manoeuvre, actually. One that Harry had seen numerous times on the pitch.

“Flint,” he spat, as he raised his wand. If this was the former Slytherin Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team, then he would add another roll before pulling to the left. Harry stabbed his wand forward and let loose with a Cutting Curse.

The Death Eater flew straight into it and the curse cut his broom in half. He screamed until he smashed head-first into the marble floor.

“Nice shot!” Ron said, looking around for another attacker.

“Stop congratulating yourselves!” Snape snapped. “We have a shaft to seal!”

Harry peered around the remains of the wall he had conjured and saw that the purple smoke was gone.

“Yes, it’s gone. I designed it to render itself inert after half a minute. Now stop dawdling!” Snape sneered at him. “We havARGH!” He clutched his left arm, doubling over. “The potion stopped…” he spat through clenched teeth as he stumbled through the rubble, exposing himself. “Have to…”

Snape never finished his sentence - a Killing Curse hit him in the chest and he collapsed. Harry whirled around. Who had… He froze. Voldemort had moved, and now had a clear line of sight to him and Ron.

*****​

Hermione Granger hissed as she closed in on the Atrium and heard the screams and explosions from the battle raging there. The battle in which her friends were fighting for their lives. Harry. Ron. Sirius and Jeanne. The battle she wasn’t joining. Couldn’t join. She rounded a corner, her claws ripping into the carpet, allowing her to keep running as fast as she could manage, and had a clear line of sight into the Atrium. And to the dead Hit-Wizard lying on the stairs in a pool of his blood.

The stench of blood - and worse - filled her nose as she jumped over the corpse, landing on a patch of carpet slick with blood. Spells were flashing in the Atrium, screams reached her ears, but she ducked her head and sped on, towards the corner that would provide her with cover. Mr Fletcher needed her.

Another spell slammed into the wall above her - a stray curse, or so she hoped. A glance didn’t show anyone aiming at her, but between the rubble, the huge stone wave blocking most of the middle of the Atrium, and the smoke rising everywhere, it was hard to tell. She pressed on, darting around the corner, down the next flight of stairs. Safe. For the moment.

She slowed down slightly, resisting the urge to stop and clean her paws, even though she was leaving bloody prints behind her. Another corner. And another. Then she heard footsteps. Many footsteps. She skidded to a stop, her claws ripping up the carpet, and reversed direction, dashing up to the next floor. She had to hide before she was spotted. A door was open, and she darted into the hallway behind it, then hid behind a potted plant, making herself as small and harmless-looking as possible. Just a cute cat scared by all the noise.

The footsteps reached her floor - and went past. “Rufus! Take your group and head to the gallery. We’ll need covering fire.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

That meant the footsteps were Aurors rushing upwards. She raised her head to peer through the foliage. A witch in dark robes stood at the entrance, her back to Hermione. She recognised the voice from her visits to the Wizengamot: Amelia Bones. “John, take two and check this floor for any intruders or traitors.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Dawlish! She bared her teeth. That dolt!

Bones went on: “The rest of you - with me. Don’t attack anyone not wearing Death Eater garments unless you’re attacked first!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Hermione saw more Aurors, and some Hit-Wizards in their grey robes, charge upwards, then ducked down when she saw Dawlish step into the hallway. Had he seen her? She tensed, waiting. She would either have to play the harmless cat or make a break for it. Dawlish would probably curse a cute cat on principle; he was just so stupid. She eyed the closest door anyway as she pressed herself into the space between the planter and the wall.

But Dawlish and his two stooges didn’t spot her as they trampled past, wands out as they looked for enemies in an empty hallway. Hermione waited a moment, then darted out from behind the planter and on to the stairs. She had her mentor to rescue.

A few more flights later, she reached the Wizengamot’s floor. She stopped on the last stair. Mr Fletcher would be in Runcorn’s office. But there were Aurors and Hit-Wizards in the entrance hall. She crept forward, her belly almost dragging over the floor, then peered around the corner.

The door to the floor was closed. Once more, she hissed in frustration. That would… actually make it easier for her, since she could take their original escape route afterwards. She crept back, then changed and tapped her mask behind the ear. “I’m outside the entrance to your floor. Be ready.”

“Ready,” came the terse reply. Mr Fletcher sounded tense - tenser than expected. Either the Aurors were getting close, or he was hurt worse than he had admitted. She tapped a small button on her mask, and her field of vision filled with dazzling colours as she perceived the spells in the area. The floor and walls were reinforced and protected against detection spells. Standard procedure. The door had the same spells, anchored to it, but there were new spells on it as well. An alarm charm, no, two of them - trickier than expected. And some spells to render the door impervious to various attacks. The Wizengamot’s guards apparently knew their business.

But she also knew hers. Better, even. Grinning, she pulled out a small metal box from her pocket and threw it forwards. It came to a stop at the door, and, with a flick of her wand, she dispelled the Shrinking Charm on it. Then she focused on the spells on the floor. Where was the…? There! She quickly dealt with the Anti-Fire Charm - it wasn’t a ward, and a tad sloppily cast - and a Cutting Charm sliced the jerry can open a moment later, spilling napalm on to the floor.

She grinned as she set it ablaze. That should serve as a distraction. She stepped back and tapped her mask again. “Distraction started.”

“I can hear them yelling. What did you do? Set fire to the place?”

“Yes.” It was only the Wizengamot, after all.

He scoffed but didn’t berate her for the collateral damage. A minute later, she heard him again. “I’m in Dumbledore’s office now. Get out yourself.”

“Will do,” she answered, and changed again. She had a fireplace to reach, and cats were smaller targets than thieves.

*****​

Harry Potter threw himself to the floor, behind the remaining rubble barricade. A reddish curse missed him by what felt like inches, and he had barely recast his Shield Charm and rolled to the side - Moody had taught him to change position as soon as he broke the line of sight - when the rubble exploded and propelled him further to the right and backwards.

He heard Ron curse, so his friend was still alive, but he couldn’t see much in the smoke and dust thrown up by the Blasting Curse. He scrambled on his elbows and knees, crawling further to his right, towards the closest pillar. If he could get better cover…

A gust of wind swept the dust away, and Harry stopped five yards short. Five yards without cover. He crawled back a few more yards, then conjured a wall linking the rubble and the pillar.

A moment later, the wall and part of the rubble in front of him turned into a green liquid that splashed on the ground. Harry cursed and scrambled further back. “Don’t take cover inside any craters!” he yelled to Ron. “Poison on the floor!”

“Bloody hell!”

Harry crawled forward, then peered over the rubble. Voldemort was almost in the centre of the Atrium now, but Dumbledore had him hemmed in with several transfigured and animated figures, as well as a near-constant barrage of spells. But the Headmaster looked hurt - his robes were torn, and he was limping, and… Harry couldn’t tell if that was blood on Dumbledore or just some daring pattern.

“Reinforcements!”

Ron’s yell made him look to his left. Aurors and Hit-Wizards were rushing from the stairs into the Atrium. And more of the red and grey robes appeared in the gallery above. Harry smiled - more than a dozen more wands, and the Death Eaters were down to half a dozen in the air and half that number on the ground. And Voldemort.

Then one of the Aurors pointed his wand upwards and blew the gallery apart from below. Harry gasped as several Aurors were thrown clear and fell down on to the marble floor.

“Bloody traitors!” Ron cursed as the Aurors and Hit-Wizards started to curse each other.

Whatever he was yelling was suddenly drowned out by a cacophony of shouts and screams - right next to Harry!

“Attack!”

“Bite!”

“Bite!”

“Charge!”

“Bite!”

“Feed!”

“Get them!”

Harry threw himself back, rolling over his shoulder and ignoring the pain from several sharp rock fragments digging into his back, and ended in a crouch, his wand aimed forward. What was… Snakes! Dozens of snakes were swarming over the barrier. “Snakes!” he yelled. “Watch out!”

To his surprise, the snakes stopped and looked around. His connection - they thought he was Voldemort! “Leave this room! Hide! Don’t bite anyone!” Harry yelled at them. When they obeyed and slithered away, he relaxed.

“Merlin’s beard, Harry!”

Ron was staring at him.

“What?” Harry asked.

“You…”

Ron couldn’t finish his sentence as the ground between them suddenly turned into a giant snake made of marble. Its coils started to thrash around, and only Harry’s shield saved him from being crushed. He was pushed to the side instead.

Ron wasn’t as lucky - the stone snake’s tail whipped around and flung him into the wall behind them, his shield shattering upon impact.

Harry was about to get up, but the snake darted forward, maw opening as if it wanted to swallow him whole. Harry rolled to the side and hit the snake’s gaping mouth with a Reductor Curse that blew up a yard-long fang but didn’t seem to do much more damage.

And the bloody thing was as fast as it was tough. Harry managed to scramble to his feet just in time to dodge the snake’s next strike. He rolled over his shoulder and came up running. A glance over his shoulder showed that the snake’s remaining fang was stuck in the floor. He sent a Blasting Curse at its neck, but his aim was spoiled when the snake’s tail whipped towards him.

It clipped his shield, shattering it, and slammed his left arm into his side, sending him sprawling on to the ground, his breath knocked out of him. He rolled to his right, then screamed when his left arm erupted in pain. Broken, he realised - he was familiar with the feeling from training. He flicked his wand, numbing his arm as he pushed himself to his feet. He had to keep moving, had to get away from the snake.

Another Blasting Curse blew the tip of its tail off when it pulled back for another blow - Ron! Harry’s friend was on the floor, but could still cast. More spells impacted on the snake, blowing craters into its body. Tonks and Remus!

It wasn’t enough, though. Not nearly enough. The snake was too massive, too tough. And too fast. Harry was still running to his right, trying to reach the closest pillar, when it ripped its fang out of the floor and reared its head up for a strike. At him.

He changed course, but the tail was whipping towards him from behind. He couldn’t dodge both parts of the snake. He tried, anyway, recasting his Shield Charm, knowing it wouldn’t be enough, felt his mother’s power surge inside him, knowing it would be too late…

...and the snake vanished before it reached him. Harry was frozen for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest, then whipped his head around. Dumbledore! The Headmaster had managed to dispel Voldemort’s spell!

But it had cost him, Harry realised. Dumbledore was turning, still, to face Voldemort again, but Harry saw the Headmaster’s floating metal and stone shields shatter under a hail of curses from the Dark Lord.

Harry raised his wand. Dumbledore had told him to wait for his signal, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to intervene!

He was too slow, though. While he was still aiming, still gathering the power dwelling inside him, he saw the Headmaster look at him, smile, even - and saw him get hit by Voldemort’s Killing Curse.

And, a moment later, Harry collapsed to the ground, screaming and feeling as if someone had driven a searing hot spike through his forehead. Blood ran down his face, half-blinding him, as he rocked back, reeling as if from a blow.

Shaking his head, he wiped the blood from his face, then staggered to his feet, his broken, numbed arm dangling uselessly at his side. Dumbledore was dead! He clenched his teeth, panting, as his good eye searched for Voldemort.

But when he saw the Dark Lord thrashing on the ground, when he heard him screaming in agony, Harry smiled. And understood what Dumbledore had done.

He felt his mother’s power swell inside him. Gathered it as he raised his wand and pointed it at her murderer. Focused it as he took a step forward, then another, blood running down his face and dripping on to the floor. Trembling, he pulled his arm back, muttered the incantation, then stabbed his wand forward, towards Voldemort, releasing the power.

The Dark Lord had managed to get to his knees, raising his own wand, when Harry’s spell hit him in the chest and his head was thrown back. Harry kept screaming, kept his wand aimed at the Dark Lord as his enemy howled.

Voldemort didn’t bleed. Didn’t break. Didn’t burn. And didn’t stop howling as he slowly turned to dust. Harry saw his arms disappear, vanishing in a trail of scattering motes, followed by his legs. Voldemort’s torso started to topple over, but faded in mid-motion, and, finally, an instant before it would have crashed to the floor, his head turned to dust as well, and his screams cut off.

Harry stood there, panting, his throat aching, and looked around. There were still Death Eaters around. Traitors. People were still fighting. Ron was on his knees, trying to stand. Sirius was still down. He couldn’t see Remus.

Suddenly, a voice, magically enhanced, filled the Atrium. “The Dark Lord has fallen! The Boy-Who-Lived has vanquished him! Throw down your wands and surrender, and your lives will be spared!”

A familiar voice.

Lucius Malfoy.

*****​