He still wasn’t sure if it was a liquid or a gas, or even how he could pull the memories from his head with just a tap of his wand, but the Pensieve was getting fuller every day.

   Everything that could be used against him, that the interrogation team could ask him… he pulled it all out, leaving only a shadow of the memory left in his mind – enough that he could remember the basics, but not the details. Hopefully it would be enough…

   He felt the last strand of memory fall from his head, and he lightly batted it down with his wand, towards the small basin Dumbledore had given him. It slid into the substance like oil, and for a second, he could see the flicker of green light…

   Harry closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. He had expected these feelings, Tonks had warned him they would come. But curiously, they felt… muted. Almost as if he wasn’t the one who had cast the spell…

   And he wasn’t sure he regretted it either.

   Opening his bedside drawer, he shoved the basin inside and closed it quickly. Even though there was nobody else in the dormitory besides him – by now, he was considering Umbridge’s class a free period – he was still wary. He didn’t want them finding out about his Pensieve like he found out about Dumbledore’s. And since nobody seems to be sleeping anymore, I can’t use it at night –

   It broke the silence abruptly, and Harry swore under his breath as he got to his feet, having nearly fallen off the bed in panic.

   “Harry, something wrong?” Ron asked curiously, but there was a forced lightness in his voice that immediately made Harry suspicious.

   “Nothing, nothing,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair as he tried to slow his heartbeat. “Just… you startled me.”

   “Huh,” Ron replied, wincing slightly as he awkwardly shoved the door shut with his shoulder. Harry frowned – it seemed like his friend was avoiding the usage of his right hand…

   “Ron, you’re bleeding!”

   Ron closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered, tossing his bags on his bed. “Got to clean that up…”

   “Why are you bleeding?”

   “Umbridge.”

   Harry’s eyebrows shot into his hair – it had been a long time since he had heard such raw hatred in Ron’s voice. “What did she –”

   “Take a look at my hand, Harry,” Ron said through gritted teeth, shoving his arm out.

   Harry stepped forward and swallowed hard at the bloody marks on the back of Ron’s hand. It looked as if somebody careless with a knife had been scribbling all over Ron’s hand… but there were words there…

   “I can’t read it,” Harry said slowly. “What… what does it –”

   “No surprise you can’t read it, it’s my writing,” Ron muttered, closing his eyes tightly as he wiped the excess blood away from the cuts. “Take a look now.”

   Harry looked closer – and froze, a sick feeling welling up in his stomach.

   Written for Harry Potter

   “It’s her new strategy,” Ron whispered, grabbing Harry’s sleeve. “Until you start coming to class, she’s going to make us all write this. Every class, the entire class. She’s got these quills… they make us write in our own blood, Harry! It’s sick… and she said she’s doing this for every Gryffindor class that comes into her room!”

   “That’s wrong!” Harry exclaimed. “She can’t do this – McGonagall will kill her!”

   “I don’t think Umbridge gives a damn, Harry – she wants you under her leash, and she’ll attack us to do it!” Ron swallowed hard. “Look, I know you’ve been doing something secret while you’re skiving away her classes, but you’ll have the entire Tower up in arms if you don’t get to her class!”

   Harry clenched both his fists. “Ron, I don’t have a lot of choices –”

   “Harry, please,” Ron gasped, his hand shaking. “It was hell in there, Harry. The girls were crying, everyone was bleeding, and Umbridge just had this sick smile on her face the entire damn time! I’m asking you as a friend, Harry – if you want any of them to trust or believe you when this is all over, you won’t get it by leaving us high and dry!”

   Harry was shaking now – but not with pain. He turned towards the door and began walking towards it, his entire body trembling with rage.

   “What – where are you going, Harry?”

   “Dinner,” Harry replied tightly. “Dumbledore and I need to have a talk.”

*          *          *

   “Damn it, Kingsley, you’re going to compromise my cover –”

   “Remus, we don’t have time for this,” Kingsley growled, grabbing the werewolf by the collar and dragging him into a different shadow. After all, Knockturn Alley was seldom known by its light, but for its darkness.

   “What’s so goddamn urgent that you need to pull me out of a mission –”

   “New priorities,” Kingsley replied, his voice unnaturally biting as he wrinkled his nose. “God, Remus, you smell.”

   Remus looked down at his filthy robes, caked with grime and heavily patched. A rush of shame and frustration surged through him. “I need to blend with the crowd if I’m to run with them. And I’m close to getting in – Voldemort’s been neglecting the werewolves in his plans, and if I hurry, I can get to them before Fenrir Greyback does –”

   “The reason Voldemort’s been neglecting those plans is because he’s got other ones,” Kingsley said grimly, the darkness making his features difficult to read. “Bigger ones. But that’s not why Dumbledore needs you, and I only have a bit of time as it is…”

   “Did something go wrong?”

   “That would be understating it,” Kingsley whispered quickly – unusual for the Auror. “It’s been a nightmare the past few days. The leak in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has been feeding information to Voldemort – and he has a rough idea where Headquarters is. He sealed it off with some sort of foreign magic that even Dumbledore’s finding difficult to outthink. And on the same day, Potter, Tonks, and Charlie Weasley were attacked on the road back from Hogwarts – by Sirius Black and two Death Eaters.”

   All the blood drained from Remus’ face. “No, Sirius wouldn’t –”

   “Not Potter, he wouldn’t, unless Voldemort did something to him,” Kingsley said tensely. “But that’s not the point – Kemester got Potter, and from Tonks’ report, beat him unconscious in an interrogation room.”

   Remus’ breath hitched in his throat. “The Ministry… they have Harry?”

   “Not anymore, but that’s hardly the concern. What is worrying Dumbledore right now is what Potter’s done already. Remus, there was an attack on Castellan Zabini’s house last night – and Aphrodite Zabini is gone. Castellan won’t say where, but given her connections to Malfoy, it can’t be good.”

   “You think… you think Harry could –”

   “At this point, Dumbledore doesn’t know what Potter will do, and that’s what scares all of us,” Kingsley muttered with frustration. “Dumbledore’s promise not to interfere in Potter’s affairs is going to bite him in the ass, and if Potter goes down, we’re all in trouble. But all the Ministry knows is that their Trace monitors went haywire last night with under-age magic, and the Aurors are trying to figure out the truth – and many of them are already suspecting Potter.”

   “So… so you want me to do what?’ Remus asked. “I, I can’t exactly do anything to stop Harry anymore and I doubt I could protect him…”

   “I know that, Remus, and so does Dumbledore,” Kingsley said grimly. “And like it or not, even though I’m on H.A.I.T., I can’t do a damn thing to stop Potter without jeopardizing my position on the interrogation team, and with Umbridge, it’s a bloody miracle I got the spot in the first place –”

   “Kingsley, thank you for the update, but I don’t have the time for this either,” Remus said tensely. “What does Dumbledore want me to do?”

   “He wants you to find Severus Snape.”

*         *          *

   “Professor, we can’t just sit back and watch this happen!” Harry said anxiously. “Umbridge is bloody insane! Surely, this is against some sort of school rule somewhere –”

   Dumbledore closed his eyes as he began to pace around the small room. Harry had managed to interrupt Dumbledore during pudding, and he knew he only had a limited window of time.

   “And the parents, they wouldn’t stand for this –”

  “I’m sure there probably is some rule against this, Harry, but at this point, any attempt to stop Dolores Umbridge would be disastrous for us.”

   Harry could hardly believe what he was saying. “But sir, we can’t just let this happen!”

   “If I told Umbridge to stop, she would only bring the greater weight of the Ministry to Hogwarts, and my position would be seized,” Dumbledore said quietly, continuing to pace, the firelight casting flickering shadows across the portraits. “It is too soon, Harry – I fully expect to be removed from Hogwarts at some point this year, but it is too soon – there are things that must be done. And I cannot get the teachers to interfere – the last thing we need is to lose our allies here – and given this uncertain time, it would be difficult indeed to find competent replacements.”

   “But, the parents, surely they could do something –”

   “And how are they to discover the truth, through Umbridge’s filter over the communications of this school?”

   Harry could only gape. “You – you knew. You couldn’t stop them?”

   “I tried, Harry, but in the wake of Laertes Rawling’s death, my voice only brings suspicion and mistrust in the Ministry.” Dumbledore stopped and turned towards Harry. “However, as we both now know, you may succeed where I cannot.”

   “Bur how can I…” Harry’s voice trailed off at the knowing look on Dumbledore’s face. He felt a chill surge down his back – it was almost like Dumbledore knew what Harry had been doing… and he was not stopping him.

   “Listen carefully, Harry,” Dumbledore began, stepping closer to him and placing a heavily veined hand upon Harry’s shoulder. “Even if I do not know all the facts, I can appreciate your efforts. And I also know the last man you must convince will be the most difficult. Nathan Cassane is unlike anyone you have ever met, and likely will meet in your life.”

   Harry shifted uncomfortably under Dumbledore’s grip, a leaden feeling filling up his stomach. “Did you know him before he –”

   “He and I have been acquainted with each other over our lives,” Dumbledore replied steadily. “Harry, he lost a great deal during the First War, and his methods of coping with that loss have been… questionable. Your key, Harry, if you indeed find some way to speak to him, will be convincing him to care.”

   “Why wouldn’t he care? I mean, isn’t this part of his responsibilities?” Very real anger began creeping into Harry’s voice. “Isn’t he supposed to care?”

   “He’s capricious by nature, Harry,” Dumbledore said intently, “and his power only emphasizes that trait. If you can convince him to care, on the other hand… you will have made an ally of one of the most powerful wizards in the world.” Dumbledore let go of Harry’s shoulder and moved back towards the fire. “And even though Voldemort did not fear him, he considered Nathan Cassane a threat to be managed.”

   “So he was on our side?”

   “By the year of Voldemort’s fall, Nathan was on nobody’s side, except his own.” Dumbledore seemed almost regretful as he looked into the fire. “It was an arrangement that was safest for us all.”

   “Well, is it even worth my time to go after him?” Harry asked, frustration leaking into his voice.

   “Yes,” Dumbledore replied immediately, looking away from the fire to Harry. “It is.”

   “And what about Umbridge?”

   A small grin slid onto the old Headmaster’s face. “I think that if you manage to win over the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Professor Dolores Umbridge will have a much bigger issue on her hands.”

*          *          *

   The unused classroom was dimmed – lit only by a few flickering candles – when Harry walked in. Closing the door with a trembling hand, he locked it with a wave of his wand.

   “You found everything okay?” Tonks asked quietly, leaning over the five books opened across the table. She raised her wand and flicked it at the second table in the room. This one was made of stone, and a figure covered by a thin white sheet was laying on it. At the flick of Tonks’ wand, the figure briefly glowed orange before fading, earning a brisk nod from the Auror.

   “Yeah,” Harry replied, setting his bag back behind Tonks’ desk. “Nice illusion blocking the door. Diagnostic spells almost done?”

   “Nearly,” Tonks muttered. With a murmured word that definitely did not sound like any spell Harry had heard before, she sketched a symbol in the air. The symbol floated over the body, and Tonks took a deep breath. When the symbol turned green, Tonks let a small grin cross her face as she removed it from the air with a wave.

   “What was that one?”

   “Ensuring that that body is capable of using magic,” Tonks replied, sketching another symbol in the air, this one all jagged lines that reminded Harry strongly of Hermione’s runes. “And this one is to ensure the brain is capable of receiving your consciousness.”

   The symbols blinked three times before disappearing, and Tonks scribbled down a few calculations, her hair shifting colour madly as she did.

   “Is it… going well?” Harry asked hesitantly, eyeing the five books spread in a pentagonal shape on the table. Text was glowing a feral red on four of the exposed pages – except for the fifth book, where the light was spilling from the sheet itself, and was a sodden off-white.

   “As well as can be expected,” Tonks replied with a shrug, pointing her wand at one of the books – from the rustling blades around the covers, Harry guessed it was Blood and Astral Projection: A Thesis. With a muttered word, the glowing text flickered twice, and Tonks nodded with satisfaction. Reaching beneath the table, she pulled a short curved knife from her bag and a very narrow flask.

   “So… can we do this tonight?” Harry asked.

   Tonks took a deep breath as she waved her wand again. The few candles still lit in the room broke free of their mounts, spinning wildly in the air before they came to rest around the bier – uncomfortably close to the white sheet for Harry’s reckoning.

   “I think we can make this work,” Tonks said, breathing heavily. “Now listen, this will be hard enough, considering I don’t totally understand the theory behind this sort of magic. You can only get so far without being a bloody magical theoretician, and I’m not one of those. This is going to be risky, Harry, and I don’t even want to think about what could happen if one of us made a mistake.”

   “I got the potions that you wanted –”

   “All fine and good, Harry, and I already used them to prepare the ritual and allow me to use the final diagnostic spells, but we can’t cut corners with this,” Tonks replied tersely, tapping the page of Metamagic Extrabiology: An Examination a bit harder than Harry guessed was necessary. The entire page went a poisonous, acid green, and Tonks swore under her breath. She tapped the page again, and the glow faded to just over a few lines of text, but Tonks still regarded the page warily.

   “Did you, ah, get the blood –”

   “Got some of it, but not enough yet,” Tonks replied, gesturing to a beaker lying on the edge of the table. Harry winced as he saw the thin red crust lining the lip of the glass. “Enough to change the body into the form that’ll work best for our purposes - but I am going to need more.”

   “Are you up to it?” Harry asked slowly, noticing the heavy circles under her eyes. “None of us are at our best when we’re tired –”

   “We’re nearly through this, Harry, and I want to see it over with,” Tonks murmured, with a subtle skyward twirl of the wand. Before Harry’s amazed eyes, the glowing words seemed to peel themselves off of the pages, growing and spinning as they fluttered towards the stone table. With a sudden hiss, the words burned themselves into the stone, leaving the letters and runes starkly glowing on the dark rock.

   Tonks let out another breath. “Okay, that should be it for this part. Harry, grab the table on the edge of the room and pull it next to the bier – hold on, never mind, I’ll help you move it…”

   “Much appreciated,” Harry grunted, lifting the heavy desk. Gingerly stepping over the dozens of lines traced upon the floor, Harry set the table down in the central circle of the room, traced in cold, dull lead – and roughly at that.

   “Isn’t that circle supposed to be… I dunno, not as rough?” Harry asked worriedly as he stepped away from the table and back towards Tonks’ desk, where all five books were glowing now. The book at the top of the pentagon was still emitting the same weak sodden light, as if a fluorescent light had been covered in dusty rags.

   “Who’s the expert here, you or me?” Tonks asked wryly, slowly walking back behind her desk and nearly tripping on Harry’s bag.

   “Neither of us and that’s why I’m asking,” Harry replied nervously as Tonks raised her wand again. More glowing words flew out of the books, and there was a frantic flapping as the pages began to turn. These words burned themselves into the wooden table, and for a second Harry thought the old desk was going to catch fire – until the dull wooden brown turned the leaden grey of granite, and the words still glowed brightly in the dimming room.

   “You only draw a perfect circle for rituals like this if you want the magical effect inside to be permanent,” Tonks said, blowing out a quick breath as she took a drink from the glass of what looked like water on her desk. “Broken circle equals temporary effects, while a rough one destabilizes the magic to fit the commands of the spell. Perfect circles are very stable magically.”

   “You sound far too certain about that for it to have any truth.”

   Tonks winced. “Yeah, I sort of had to make that leap of faith. The theory behind it is sound, at least. Face it, Harry, this is all theory that we’re working with, because none of the lab notes that I found correspond with the successful experiment – only the failed ones. I can only work with the knowledge of their mistakes –”

   “So you’re saying that I could be stepping into an unstable magical effect that we’re creating based upon theory only?” Harry asked, swallowing hard. “Tonks, I hope to Merlin you know what the hell you’re doing, because this is starting to scare me…”

   Tonks did smile at that, but Harry saw the worry behind her gaze. Reaching below the table, she pulled a rather sheer silvery sheet from a small box and tossed it to Harry.

   “Here you go. Now strip.”

   “What?”

   Tonks sighed with exasperation. “Clothing only gets in the way, Harry, particularly with this kind of magic.” She winked. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to see the Boy-Who-Lived naked.”

   Harry put his hand to his face to cover his rising embarrassment. “Please tell me we don’t have to go through this whole mess every time I possess the… uh, what do I call the body?”

   Tonks raised her eyebrows as her hair settled on a peculiar off-white colour. “Well, the notes call it a ‘simulacrum’, so we’ll go with that. And no – once you establish a stable connection, you’ll be able to ‘hop’ between bodies with a relative minimum of fuss. Of course, distance makes things exponentially more difficult, but we’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

   Giving Tonks a suspicious glare, Harry began to shrug off his robes. In a few minutes, he was wearing nothing but his boxers and the sheet wrapped around him.

   “And here I thought Quidditch gave one muscles,” Tonks said under her breath. “Come on, ditch the boxers, Harry.”

   “You’ll be able to see right through the sheet!”

   “I might just be counting on that,” Tonks shot back with a devilish smile. “Now come on, Harry, we don’t have all night.”

   Harry glared at Tonks, but she only laughed. So, awkwardly holding the sheet around him, he pulled down his boxers and tossed them with the rest of his clothes.

   “What now?”

   “Now we proceed to have kinky sex on top of the desk, which I will transfigure into a bed for good measure,” Tonks replied primly, keeping a completely straight face. “Turns out the whole simulamancy thing was a very well conceived plan just to get you in bed with me.”

   “Tonks!”

   “Of course, I’m kidding,” Tonks continued with a wink. “Nah, just get up onto the table and lie flat on your back. Keep all parts of your body as still as possible – and that includes your –”

   “I get it,” Harry said quickly, his face already bright red – although he doubted Tonks would be able to tell, the candles already having burnt low. Practically the only light left in the room were the words, flickering their neon colours as he warily sat on the bed, struggling to keep the silvery sheet wrapped around him.

   “Lie down,” Tonks murmured, tapping the top book on the desk, causing a cascade of brilliant white light to dance across the ceiling, “and pull the sheet over your head. Try and relax as much as you can, and think only of what you read in Consciousness Conjunctions. My blood will form part of the link from the simulacrum, but you need to form the other half to bridge the gap. Are you ready?”

   Harry shifted on the cold stone as he carefully pulled the sheet over his eyes. He blinked a few times in awe – it seemed that every light, every feature in the room, was lined with silvery stars, dancing across the ceiling…

   “I only have one diagnostic spell to use on you, first, before we activate the magic,” Tonks said, her voice seeming to echo, as if in a high-ceilinged cathedral. “Just to check to see if you’re compatible with the magic, then I’m immediately going to activate the simulamancy magic. Are you ready, Harry?”

   Harry took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever would come ahead. He didn’t know if it was going to hurt or not, but the cold stone beneath his back was starting to get uncomfortable.

   “Yes, I’m ready.”

   He heard Tonks began to chant, her voice melodic. Suddenly, the ceiling flickered, and beneath the sheet, Harry could see circles… vast circles of silver, traced up the walls and across the ceiling, weaving through the air like so many threads caught in the wind. Highlights of red and green and blue traced themselves around the room, crawling around the threads like fish following the line, like shooting stars riding the comets…

   He heard an echoing bang, and walls of silver erupted in Harry’s vision, as the magic took its hold…

   He was standing in a darkened room, the bloodstains climbing up the walls instead of down as he saw them all – naked, bleeding, dying…

   “This… this was no work of man,” he heard the grim tone of Albus Dumbledore echo. He turned to see the old man, his eyes blazing with cold clear fury. “And even you, Harry, cannot command this power yet.”

   “What is it?” Harry whispered, his voice echoing peculiarly in the room.

   “Something that never should have happened… a door that never should have been opened…”

   A whirl of dark colours, and he was standing on top of the Astronomy Tower, sheets of rain and snow pummeling the balcony. The girl looked like nothing more than a drowned ghost, her warm tears mingling with the cool rain.

   “No… please,” he heard himself whisper, stepping out as the winds cut his robes like so many icy, slick, tentacles.

   Luna shook her head. “We’re both too far to come out, Isabelle. You know that as well as I.”

   “Please…”

   “Don’t feel bad, Harry, it’s not the end… the boundaries are down, so I merely… cross over…”

   She turned, and her foot purposefully slipped upon the battlement…

   Harry opened his mouth to shout, but no sound emerged from his mouth. He was standing alone, looking down upon an inferno from a slick black outcropping. Again, rain pounded the outcropping, pressing his hood tight to his face…

   He took a deep breath, drew his wand, and before he could utter another word, dove off the cliff.

   Falling…falling forever… plummeting into darkness…

   A darkness broken by flames, only silhouetting the wasted figure in front of them. Harry felt hot blood in his mouth as he raised his wand.

   “Not nearly enough. What else you got?” Harry taunted, spitting blood.

   The figure’s wand rose, and a long black whip erupted out of the end of it.

   “Ooh. Kinky.”

   The whip exploded with blue-white flames, dripping tongues of fire onto the stained floor.

   “Okay, maybe not…”

   A crack of the whip, a shattering of sound and silence, a break in the world, in reality…

   And in the end, all he felt was pain. Stretched from every angle, everything locked in a searing embrace of pain beyond pain, an agony beyond that of one’s body, only in the soul… he couldn’t move, he couldn’t black out, he wanted to end it, kill this hateful universe he was in –

   And then he heard the voice, echoing everywhere, contemplation tainted with triumph…

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

*          *          *

   “What the hell were you thinking, Snape, trying to breach that barrier?” Lupin said, half-guiding, half-pulling the weakened Potions Professor up the path towards Hogwarts. The man had been gasping and choking on a froth of blood when the werewolf had found him, but a few muttered healing spells had restored Snape to a modicum of health. If it wasn’t for the scorch marks on the man’s dark robes and the unnaturally pallid shade of his face, nobody would have the slightest clue that Snape had only barely escaped death.

   “It wasn’t… I was provoked,” Snape muttered, his eyes glazed as he staggered up the path.

   “Provoked by what, Snape? The fact that Sirius was inside, and you could have killed him?” Lupin asked accusingly. “Damn it, Snape, you’ve got to get over that grudge, I’ve told Sirius that for years –”

   Snape suddenly stopped, and Lupin nearly fell as he tried to keep a firm grip on the man.

   “Come on, what’s the hurry –”

   Snape pointed up the path, towards the school. “It… it’s impossible…”

   Lupin looked up towards the school, and his eyes widened. Silver lines were rising up, into the sky, encapsulating the castle in a webbed hemisphere of magic…

   “What… what is it?” Lupin gasped. It seemed like the very air was tingling, charged with magic…

   “I don’t know,” Snape asked, beginning to tremble. His dark eyes were wide – but not with awe.

   With horror.

   “We have to get up to the school,” Lupin whispered, even as the silvery lines began to squirm in the air, reflecting a dozen colours over the path like a bouncing rainbow. “Dumbledore… he must –”

   “This is power beyond his ken – and beyond mine,” Snape whispered. “No intentionally cast magic could create this….”

   “Create what?”

   “A nightmare,” Snape murmured, shaking as every single thread of light turned a bloody red, coating the sky and path in a hellish glow. “It’s out of control…  multiple spells disjoined, forming a Dark magic that even the Dark Lord dares not contemplate, for the cost is far too high.”

   “But what – do you know what it is?”

   Snape looked down at Lupin, and the werewolf could feel the cold chill flooding from Snape’s eyes surge into his own.

   “Sanity, Lupin. Sanity… and souls.”

*          *          *

   Harry came to consciousness very slowly, and even as he did, everything felt wrong. His eyelids felt too light, his face felt different upon his head, his body felt radically different beneath the sheet…

   The white sheet.

   His eyes snapped wide open, and he slowly pushed against the sheet, pressing lightly against the cool fabric…

   Which vanished at the touch of his hands, revealing the brightly lit room.

   A fire was burning merrily in the grate, and Harry could feel the warmth suffuse the entire room as he slowly sat up. Even the stone felt warm against his body and his hairless legs –

   He froze, and looked down at his nude body – the nude body of a woman.

   “T-Tonks?” he asked hesitantly. Almost immediately, he raised his hand to his mouth, for the voice coming out of his mouth was not that of a young man.

   “And a good morning to you too,” a grumbling voice said from the side of the room. Harry looked quickly, to see a rather disheveled Tonks separating clothes and piling them on her desk. The five books were neatly stacked, and Harry could see the wide bandage wrapped around Tonks’ arm.

   Harry began breathing very quickly – only to discover the strange lumps sitting upon his – or rather, her – chest. This only caused Harry to breathe faster and faster. This is bizarre, this is wrong, something went bad with the ritual –

   “Welcome to the life of Clarissa Desdame,” Tonks said, a grin spreading across her face, even despite the deep hollows under her eyes. “A sexy blonde twenty-something who rose very quickly in her law firm – a firm that is representing one Harry Potter during his legal difficulties…”

   “Tonks, I’m a girl!”

   “No, you’re possessing the body of one. And I must say, I did a damn fine job with the shaping spells too.” Tonks sighed with satisfaction as she dropped a heavy box on the table with an audible thud. “Nobody will have the slightest clue that your body was once Aphrodite Zabini.”

   Harry’s hand went to the long curly blonde hair rolling down his body’s back. He swallowed hard as he began to pull himself into a standing position. It felt extremely strange, his every action – like he was controlling a marionette with exceptionally short, exceptionally fine strings. One thing was for sure – he had never felt anything like this before.

   “So… so this is what it feels like –”

   “Hardly,” Tonks cut him off with a snort. “Don’t go getting any kinky ideas there, Harry Potter, because inside, you’re still a young man that I enjoy messing around with. Now, be careful getting up, because the last thing we need is for you to fall flat on your face and bruise that gorgeous body of yours.”

   Harry cautiously looked around before placing his delicate feet on the floor – a floor strangely glowing with golden lines, linking his table with the one where his body – his real body – was lying.

   “Uh, Tonks, are those golden lines supposed to be there?”

   “What golden lines?” Tonks asked sharply, looking up from her rummaging. “I don’t see any lines…”

   “Well, I do,” Harry replied, cautiously trying to stand on the floor and gain his balance. He didn’t know if this body had the same balance that his own did. “Is that… is that a side-effect of the ritual or something?”

   Tonks frowned. “Probably – if anything, they might only visible to you, linking your simulacrum to your original body, a magical ‘leyline’ of sorts connecting your consciousness…”

   “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

   “Glad we’re on the same page,” Tonks agreed, darting around behind Harry to steady him as he took a few, tentative steps.

   “I can barely balance anything!” Harry said, a note of panic creeping into his voice. “I can barely stand up, let alone walk.”

   “Well, for once somebody’s clumsier than me,” Tonks muttered. “Anyways, that’s not the point, and you don’t have a lot of time. The school governors are meeting tonight.”

   “What? T-that’s impossible!” Harry nearly stumbled in his shock. “How long was I out?”

   “Longer than I expected, frankly,” Tonks admitted, helping Harry walk over to the table – an experience Harry found beyond bizarre, considering he was attempting to control a woman’s body that was also completely naked. “But you should thank me – while you’ve been unconscious, I’ve been using Memory Charms on Madam Pomfrey, making her think you’ve been gravely ill in the hospital wing. And I may have moved your body down there a few times to fool any visitors.”

   “Dumbledore?”

   “All he knows is that you’re on a deep-cover mission, and that it’s in your hands,” Tonks replied with a heavy sigh as Harry finally placed his hands on the table. “The good news is that I managed to arrange a meeting with Nathan Cassane this afternoon – in about four hours, as a matter of fact.”

   Harry couldn’t even stammer a reply to that. All he could remember at that second was Dumbledore’s words: that he had to convince Nathan Cassane to care.

   “Anyways, we don’t have a huge amount of time,” Tonks finished briskly pulling another pile of clothes out of the box. “The key here will be letting your simulacrum’s muscle memory take over the basic actions – like walking in heels, and such.”

   “What?”

   Tonks smirked. “Time to get you dressed, beautiful. Cassane’s a high class man – you’ll want to look your best.”

*          *         *

   “So?”

   “So what?” Draco Malfoy whispered furiously. “You don’t care, Nott? Potter kills, and you don’t care?”

   “There’s no proof he did –”

   “Oh, I don’t know, the lack of a living Aphrodite Zabini might be the first clue!” Malfoy snarled, breathing very quickly as he glared at Nott. Both of them were in one of Nott’s favourite hideouts – one of the ignored corners of the library. “I have this from my father, and he’s not one to lie to me!”

   “So what was his explanation for the supposedly horrible wound he received in battle with Potter?” Nott asked with a cold sneer. “I heard the Dark Lord was most displeased at Lucius’ failure. Probably not as disappointed as Narcissa, but still –”

   Malfoy went red, and he had to restrain himself from seizing Nott’s collar. “Worst of all, Blaise still doesn’t know.”

   “You didn’t tell him?”

   “How could I? It’s his mother, for Merlin’s sake! He might deserve to know the truth –”

   “I’d like to think so,” a new voice said from the shadows between the shelves.

   Malfoy felt the blood drain from his face as Blaise Zabini walked from between the shelves. The dark-skinned boy was breathing very fast, sheer rage on his face. Malfoy fought to keep his own composure – Blaise rarely got angry, and when he did, the targets of his anger seldom lasted long.

   “Your father said Potter was responsible?”

   “Yes. Look, Blaise, I know what you’re thinking –”

  Blaise slammed his hand on the table, a deadly look on his face. “Shut up, Draco. Nott, is it ready?”

   “Well, after that weird magical fireworks display a few nights ago –”

   “I thought you said you triple-checked everything!” Malfoy said angrily. “Damn it, Nott, if you’ve been cutting out on us –”

   “I did triple-check everything!” Nott snarled, slamming his book shut and rising to his feet. “And as far as I know, we’re safe. I can activate everything tonight, if you want!”

   “Do it,” Zabini growled, his eyes blood-shot from grief that Malfoy knew his friend never showed. “Make Potter suffer.”

*          *          *

   “There it is,” Tonks whispered, pointing out at the stately house sitting on the hill, the lawns surrounded by an old black, iron fence casting long shadows in the sunlight. “That’s the legendary Cassane House.”

   “It’s in the middle of nowhere,” Harry whispered back, fidgeting uncomfortably as he stood behind the tree, anxiously smoothing the long blonde hair his simulacrum possessed. “Why would anybody live here? Are you sure that Cassane even lives here? I mean, look at the ivy all over the fence!”

   “Oh, trust me, he lives there,” Tonks replied with a grin. “Good luck, Clarissa – you’re going to need it.”

   Harry reflexively smoothed his neat dress robes – cut considerably tighter than his usual ones, but he guessed that Tonks had intended that. “Do I look good?”

   Tonks snorted. “Forget looks, Harry, that’s not what Cassane will be looking for. Remember your arguments – they’ll be the keys here.”

   “Right,” Harry replied with a nod. “And you’ll be coming to –”

   But Tonks had already Disapparated with a wink. Harry waited for a few seconds, and then, with a sigh, he walked up the cobblestone path towards the massive gate.

   The gateposts were cracked, and to Harry’s surprise, looked like they were made of simple, common stone. Nothing fancy, nothing special – only a stone arch, with simple words carved across it.

Altissimus sublimitas planto vel effrego a vir.

   Harry looked uncertainly around the gate. Nobody was waiting for him – was he to let himself in?

   Slowly, he reached a delicate hand out to touch the gate – which dissolved beneath his hands.

   I guess I’m to invite myself in, then.

   The cobblestone path meandered between the seemingly randomly placed trees, and Harry found himself relaxing. The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and if it wasn’t for the fact he was possessing a woman’s body, he would actually feel like he was enjoying himself.

   “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

   Harry paused, and turned towards the voice. Just next to the path, there was a small, well-worn park bench, sitting beneath the shadow of a tree. And on that bench was a man.

   The man was reaching the end of his middle years, his hair already turned a distinguished silver beneath his faded brown cap. His clothes seemed used, but also well-cared for, fitting very well across the man’s broad frame, not yet bent or broken by age. But it was the man’s face that caught Harry’s attention: lined heavily around the eyes and mouth, it still retained a vestige of the firmness of youth. And the eyes… the second Harry met the man’s eyes, he was reminded of Dumbledore – but while Dumbledore’s blue eyes had danced and sparkled, this man’s brown eyes had a simple look to them that seemed just as magical.

   “I’m sorry for interrupting you,” Harry began reluctantly, still feeling awkward with his new voice. “I’m… I’m just heading up to the house.”

   “As am I,” the older man replied with a hint of a grin on his face. “Would you care to join me on my trip?”

   “I… I guess,” Harry replied uncomfortably as the man rose to his feet. He wasn’t incredibly tall – about the same height as Sirius – but there was something about the man that seemed bigger, as if his presence of personality added an inch.

   They began walking up the stone path in silence, the older man’s pace somewhat erratic as he would slow to marvel at a tree or a particularly well-placed stone.

   “Too few people appreciate natural beauty,” the man finally said, his strong hand caressing a large, slate boulder protruding from the ground. Lined with ivy, it cast a large, but comforting, shadow over the path. “This was not placed by magic, that I can tell you.”

   Harry frowned. “But wouldn’t magic… I dunno, help make things look more to their owner’s liking?”

   “Too much magic never makes for simple landscaping, my dear,” the older man said with a simple smile as he returned to the path and they kept walking. “Would these trees be improved by the addition of a pruning spell or a scented enchantment?”

   “I can only presume you’re the gardener, then,” Harry replied wryly, “to hold such a view. Do you take care of these plants?”

   “Just the lawns, really,” the man replied with a hint of a smile as he ran his wrinkled, callused hand along the tree. “The trees I leave alone – I’m of the opinion that if they wanted us to prune them, they’d tell us.”

   Harry was about to say that trees don’t talk, but catching the man’s gaze, he chose to keep quiet.

   It didn’t take long for the two to reach the house, and Harry could only gape in shock at the building. It didn’t look nearly as impressive close up – indeed, it looked like a building neglected for decades while its owner was doing other things. But the neglect, brought by spreading ivy and cracks in the stone, did very little to diminish the house’s appearance – if anything, it only made the building seem as distinguished as the man walking beside him.

   Harry couldn’t deny it – there was history there, and he respected, at the very least.

   “Come in, come in,” the older man said, stepping up onto the creaking porch and pulling the door open with a tug. “I’m sure whoever you’re here to see will arrive shortly.”

   “You mean… this isn’t the house of Nathan Cassane?” Harry asked, confusion filling his voice, and a sick feeling filling up his stomach. Had Tonks made a mistake about the house?

   The older man smiled. “Oh, he’s here, I’m sure. Go into the drawing room – he’ll be there shortly. Down the hall, second door on the right.”

   Harry nodded, and with his heels clicking on the hardwood floor, he went down the wood-paneled hall and opened the door…

   To step into a room of magic.

   Brass instruments whirled through the air of their own accord, clicking and whistling peculiarly as they formed arches of metal. The tables in the room were strewn with papers and small boxes, all sealed with a strange brass fastening that Harry wasn’t even sure how he could open. The few lamps in the room glowed of their own accord, casting a warm, friendly light over the room. Most of the light came through the massive windows cut in the ceiling, held open by ivy and stout oaken beams, from which hung a massive one-person aeroplane built of wood (and from Harry’s guess, a considerable bit of magic).

   Moving paintings lined all the walls of the huge room, and between the paintings were bookshelves, filled to the brim with papers and massive tomes that Harry guessed were easily a century old. Only a single wall was left free of the paintings – a wall with a massive, incredibly detailed map of the world, complete with tiny moving ships and blinking flags. Harry stepped up to the map which was easily twice his height, his eyes widening with awe as he saw lines trace the map and vanish again as he watched....

   “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

   Harry spun quickly, to see the older man leaning against the doorpost, a wistful look upon his face.

   “It’s… it’s wonderful,” Harry whispered. “I’ve never seen the like of it –”

   “And you probably never will again,” the man replied sadly, removing his cap as he approached the map. “It’s the last of its kind, coveted by many men who would see it destroyed.”

   “Why would a man destroy something this beautiful?”

    “Can you think of no reasons, my dear?” the man said, closing his eyes for a few moments as he turned towards a table. “That map represents a world of magic, Miss Desdame, and the eddies of its flow, if you believe such things.”

   “Do you?”

   The man smiled enigmatically as he opened one of the small chests with a tap of his wand and withdrew a tiny silver spyglass. “There is beauty in fiction, my dear, but there’s always a greater beauty in reality.”

   Harry suddenly froze. “I never told you my name.”

   “I know.”

   “But you knew it anyways.”

   The man smiled a secret smile. “Perhaps.”

   “You’re Nathan Cassane.”

   “And you represent Harry Potter in his legal case,” the man replied, placing the silver spyglass on a tiny bronze stand angled at the map. A second later, a brilliant beam of golden light erupted from the spyglass, tracing a small circle on the map.

   “I am representing him,” Harry replied steadily, even as the man replaced the spyglass in its chest, seemingly satisfied. “But you are not… you are not…”

   Nathan Cassane shook his head with another smile. “Not who you expected, my dear. I’m well aware. Hardly a prepossessing figure, worthy of such titles.”

   “I didn’t say that!” Harry protested, but Nathan Cassane was already laughing.

   “Of course you didn’t, Miss Desdame. James Potter did, nineteen years ago.”

   Harry could barely stop his mouth from falling open. This old man had known his father, and it took all of his self control to prevent him from blurting out a question that would surely have blown his cover. I might have to come back here under my own guise…

   “That, however, was a different life ago, my dear. Tell me about the case set against his son,” Cassane replied, pulling a brass instrument out of the air and carefully screwing onto the end of his wand.

   Harry swallowed hard, and as he watched Cassane weave magic with the brass instruments, he opened the ‘case file’ he had brought and told Cassane the details he and Tonks had agreed were ‘necessary.’

   It was a long ten minutes before Cassane had unscrewed the device from the end of his wand and set it back into its orbit around the room, and Harry waited expectantly – and nervously – as the old man finally set down his wand.

   “It seems like Harry Potter has been through a lot – and it seems that much of his case hinges on whether or not you believe Lord Voldemort has returned.”

   Harry nearly forgot to be startled with Cassane’s casual usage of Voldemort’s name. “So… do you believe it?”

   “It would not be a good thing to believe,” Cassane replied simply, “as you have undoubtedly seen.”

   “Dumbledore believes it.”

   “Dumbledore believes in the best of everyone,” Cassane said somberly, drumming his fingers along the table as he began to pace. “Regardless of… past experiences. He is a good man – although some days, he really begins to worry me.”

   “Would you believe Harry Potter if he told you?” Harry pursued quickly. “If he could give you evidence?”

   “Let me ask you a question, Miss Desdame – is this a matter of belief, or of truth?” Cassane asked unexpectedly. “Because the two are very different, and too many people tend to forget that.”

   “It’s a matter of truth,” Harry said cautiously.

   “Then why are you asking me to believe?” Cassane chuckled a bit as he moved towards the map. “Do you see the lines forming across the map, and then vanishing a second later?”

   “Yes…”

   “Those lines are formed by the motion of powerful magic – typically Portkeys and other methods of magical transportation, or so I have hypothesized,” Cassane said, gesturing to the map. “Now let me ask you this – did you believe, when I told you a few minutes ago, that the lines were formed by ‘eddies of magic’?”

   “I did,” Harry replied cautiously.

   “So what is the truth?”

   Harry frowned. “They both are… aren’t they?”

   Cassane did laugh then. “They could be, my dear, but they also could be completely different. It’s all a hypothesis, and even I don’t know the true ‘answer’. But we can choose to believe… and sometimes, that makes all the difference.”

   “So… who do you believe in?” Harry asked tentatively, trying to follow the rather strange discussion.

   Cassane shook his head wistfully as he looked up at the map. “Do you see the little flags on the map?”

   “I do.”

   “Each flag represents a place I have been, and where I have seen something beautiful – magical or not.” Cassane looked away from Harry for a second, and Harry felt a lump building in the back of my throat. “Some I can return to see again, others were naught but for an instant. So let me ask you this, Miss Desdame: I have spent my life seeking the last fragments of beauty in this world, whether they are in the distant tombs or the highest mountains, so why would I care about such a case, bereft of light and a belief in good?”

   Harry closed his eyes, even as his heart pounded in his chest. In truth, he knew he didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had marveled at the beauty, the mystique, of magic. It had become a tool – nothing more, nothing less. It all seemed so dark, so lost in shadows and fire and blood…

   “Because Voldemort will destroy beauty wherever he sees it.”

   Cassane seemed to consider this for a few moments as he continued to look at the map. “Too true, my dear, too true. Men like him delight in destroying the good – if only because they are terrified to look within themselves.”

   Harry swallowed hard at the implication – was he too afraid to look inside himself?

   “Lord Voldemort does not see the tree when he looks outside, Miss Desdame – and several years ago, in the grim heat of the darkness and the chill of the vacant twilight, neither did I.” Cassane turned to Harry, a contemplative look on his face as he looked deep into Harry’s eyes. “Now I see it. So I ask you this: do you see the tree? Would Harry Potter see it?”

   “I wish I could,” Harry whispered, blinking rapidly as he struggled to control the emotion in his voice, “and deep down, I think Harry wishes it too.”

*          *          *

   “So you’re still not sure with Cassane?” Tonks asked, as Harry sat heavily on the steps of the marble staircase, back in his own body. The Entrance Hall was abandoned – the only reason Harry was ‘allowed’ out of bed was because of Dumbledore’s permission – the meeting of the school governors had gone long into the night. Many of the torches were dimmed, casting the hall with strange, flickering shadows.

   “I wish I could believe he’s on our side,” Harry muttered. “But honestly… I don’t understand him. He’s… different, I think. Powerful, I bet… but different. Reminds me of Dumbledore a bit, really.”

   “I can sympathize, then, because nobody understands Dumbledore,” Tonks concluded, taking a heavy swig from her goblet. “By the way, I hid your simulacrum in that secret passage that Fred and George told me about – you know, the one behind the mirror.”

   “I thought it was caved in?”

   “There was enough room. Not much, but enough.”

   There was silence for a few seconds as Harry toyed with his wand, his eyes hooded as he thought in silence. Cassane had been cryptic in his comments – would he support Harry, or damn him?

   The sound of opening doors resounded through the entire hall, and Harry and Tonks were both on their feet as Dumbledore entered the castle.

   “Well?” Harry asked quickly, moving close to the Headmaster.

   Dumbledore’s face finally broke into a grin. “We won. The counter-measure went through.”

   Harry closed his eyes as relief flooded his body. It wasn’t over yet, but for once, they had won a round. It might have been a hollow victory, but it was something.

   “So when’s the interrogation?” Tonks asked, a small smile on her face. “And given it’s on our terms…”

   “It’s planned for November, at the moment, but that could always change if needed,” Dumbledore said with a hint of a smile. His eyes sparkled as they landed on Harry. “And by the way, Nathan Cassane wishes to meet with you. It may require a bit of clever logistics, but I’m sure we could manage something.”

   “What about Umbridge?” Harry asked eagerly. “Did you get a chance to talk to Cassane about it?”

   “He knows about it,” Dumbledore replied firmly. “Umbridge will not be attempting to intimidate you in this way again. I do expect, though, that she may attempt… other tactics to subvert my authority here, so be on your guard. Now, if you two would excuse me, I must attend to some personal matters, and I look forward to seeing you, Harry, at breakfast tomorrow morning.”

   The second Dumbledore was out of sight, Harry could hardly restrain a whoop.

   “Looks like things are finally going right,” Tonks said with a satisfied smile, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “Come on – maybe we’ll be able to get some sleep tonight –”

   “Oh, I really wouldn’t count on that.”

   Harry’s eyes snapped up, narrowing as they focused on Peeves. “And why won’t I get any sleep tonight, Peeves?”

   Tonks looked up and frowned. “Harry, he’s not here.”

   “What are you talking about?” Harry snapped, pointing upwards at the cackling poltergeist. “He’s right… there…”

   “She can’t see me,” Peeves said with a smirk. “Although it’s a bit of a shame, but I’m not the one who makes the rules – not anymore.”

   “What rules?” Harry growled. “Peeves, what the hell is going on?”

   “Ask him about the Death Eaters,” Tonks muttered.

   “Oh, I was just thinking you’d like to see the, ah, fruit of your labours,” Peeves said with a demonic grin. “Would you care to follow me? Trust me – you’ll really want to.”

   Harry took a steadying breath. “Tonks, I’m going after Peeves.”

   “Well, I’m coming with you. Hogwarts Analysis & Investigation Team, remember?” Tonks tapped Harry on the shoulder. “Let’s go track your invisible poltergeist –”

   And that’s when they heard it.

   A single, shrill scream.

   The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood up, and without a word, he broke into a run, the stairs loud beneath his feet as Peeves cackled and roared with demented laughter as he soared up the stairs ahead of them…

   “Down the corridor, he went towards Ravenclaw Tower!” Harry shouted, pointing at the poltergeist, flying even faster down the narrow hall. “Whoever screamed is probably down here!”

   But there was not even an echo of the scream remaining. Peeves had vanished, and there was no laughter in the halls – only the whistle of wind, and the crackling of torches….

   “Harry, there’s a door open down there…” Tonks whispered. “It might have come from there…”

   Harry drew his wand and cautiously approached the door, preparing himself for whatever might appear…

   He rounded the corner, and his breath caught in his chest at the sight.

   Four girls were sprawled in a circle, legs spread wide, wearing only their underwear. All had pale skin and black hair – and all of them were in Ravenclaw. Two of them looked like first years, one was a girl who looked like she was in Harry’s year, and the fourth –

   “Cho!”

   The girl’s head lolled grotesquely on the floor, and for the first time, Harry could see the circle of blood scrawled on the floor, the bloodstained panties the girls were wearing, the brutal slashes on their wrists, the bloodstains up the walls instead of down…

   And the words, floating and dripping as they hung in the air, words that made a sick feeling well up inside him.

   ALL FOR YOU, HARRY POTTER.