Dumbledore’s expression was pensive as he looked at Harry, who was breathing very quickly as they stood in the bloodstained room.

   “I’ve never seen magic worked in this manner before,” Dumbledore murmured, his gaze moving to trace the walls and the bleeding letters hanging in the air, their enlargement halted by a muttered spell. “Although there are clues here that we might be able to utilize.”

   Harry’s breath hitched. “Clues? It’s a pretty damning indictment –”

   “These words were formed with blood, Harry, and that narrows our field of magic considerably. Admittedly, not all blood-related magic is dark, but much of it is, and it concerns me greatly that four Ravenclaw girls would be involved in it.” Dumbledore raised his wand and with another word, the letters flickered turquoise for a moment before fading back to their gristly red shade. “Yes, this is very curious indeed…”

   “What’s so curious?”

   “The fact that the blood not only matches that of those four girls, but that it was drawn by their own hand – a worrisome sign, but we cannot rule out the Imperius Curse,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he waved his wand again, this time at the bloodstains on the walls, which flickered green before returning to their original shade. “That blood, on the other hand, was not drawn from or by any of those girls.”

   “So you’re suggesting that someone else did this?” Harry asked hesitantly, swallowing hard as he cautiously stepped around the circular stains spreading on the floor. “If that’s true, why would they leave blood on the walls, and why would the stains be travelling up instead of down?”

   “A calling card,” Dumbledore replied simply, “to use a Muggle phrase. What left those bloodstains did so intentionally, to make its presence known – which makes me suspect that this message had a double meaning.”

   “Voldemort,” Harry growled, both of his fists tightly clenched. “He did this – somehow.”

   “That is my suspicion,” Dumbledore agreed, raising his wand again. The room suddenly glowed with white light as the Headmaster traced symbols in the air, which burned vividly in the starkly lit room. “He intended both to slander you and to send a message – and it appears indeed that Lord Voldemort has an ulterior motive in his pursuit of you.”

   Harry frowned. “What?”

   “He is attacking innocents, knowing it will provoke you into dangerous action,” Dumbledore said grimly. “It is a tactic he has used before, and it is a terrible one.”

   “We can’t just let him do this!” Harry exclaimed, running a hand through his hair as he began to pace. “I mean, how could he have even done this?”

   “Acting through agents,” Dumbledore replied, dispelling the white light with a wave. The symbols he had drawn in the air turned bright silver, and Dumbledore nodded with satisfaction. “There are Death Eaters in the school.”

   “Three of them,” Harry muttered.

   Dumbledore froze, and turned quickly towards Harry, his blue eyes widening. “Three, you say?”

   Harry cursed himself under his breath – he had not intended to let Peeves’ insane warning slip, much less that he had believed it. “Yeah.”

   “That explains Miss Tonks’ report,” Dumbledore said, more to himself than to Harry, “and she got the tip from you?”

   “Yes,” Harry replied curtly.

   “And who told you that there are three Death Eaters here?” Dumbledore asked, his eyes narrowing. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

   “You let Snape teach here,” Harry spat, “and I figured if there were Death Eaters in Hogwarts, you’d be aware of it. And you and I both know we haven’t been on the best of terms.”

   “Terms we will not be on if we are not honest with each other,” Dumbledore replied, a note of sincere disappointment in his voice. “And before you even ask, Harry, it is not my place, nor do I possess the knowledge, to explain the issue regarding the Potter Vaults to you.”

   “Of course,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “Professor, if it means anything, Peeves told me.”

   That answer seemed to surprise Dumbledore, and Harry could see the old man’s eyebrows shoot into his long hair for a brief second before narrowing again contemplatively.

   “Peeves, you say?”

   “Yeah, Peeves,” Harry replied defensively. “Haven’t you noticed the damn poltergeist is acting odd?”

   “As a matter of fact, Peeves has been extraordinarily quiet this year, according to Mr. Filch,” Dumbledore replied with a frown. “Perhaps the most quiet he has ever been. Needless to say, Mr. Filch was both elated and suspicious of the poltergeist’s absence.”

   “Every time I’ve seen him, he’s been acting bizarre – darker than I’ve ever seen him,” Harry said, swallowing hard. “And… and he was the one that led me here in the first place! Professor, could Voldemort be doing something through Peeves? Could the poltergeist have done this?”

   “Ghosts cannot cast spells, Harry, and their power in Hogwarts is limited,” Dumbledore replied, scratching his beard as he turned back towards the bloody letters with interest. “Peeves could not have cast a spell to create this, and neither could Lord Voldemort –”

   “But I remember Percy saying back in our first year that Peeves wasn’t really a ghost anyways – isn’t there a difference between poltergeists and regular spirits?”

   “There are several, Harry, and many not easily observed,” Dumbledore replied, carefully examining the runes still burning in the air with great interest. “A poltergeist shares much in common with a ghost in terms of basic composition, but they vary widely from that point onwards. Where a poltergeist gains unprecedented freedom to manipulate physical objects, they cannot use magic of any means, nor can leave the place where they were bound – in Peeves’ case, Hogwarts. Furthermore, Peeves has been further restrained within Hogwarts, given the presence of students – namely that he cannot kill or cause serious, life-threatening injuries to any students or legitimate teachers.”

   “The Peeves that I saw seemed plenty capable of murder,” Harry replied darkly. “Isn’t there a way you can, I dunno, summon him or something so we can find out what we know from him? I mean, I’m sure there’s a way we can compel him to tell us the truth – he told us when Sirius broke into the castle –”

  “Only to incite more chaos,” Dumbledore murmured, tapping the runes floating in the air with a frown. A second later, their light faded, leaving nothing but grayish, smoky symbols hanging in the air, which Dumbledore examined closely. “Now this is most intriguing.”

   “I never took Ancient Runes, but I don’t think they should have gone dark like that,” Harry said cautiously, moving for a closer look.

   “Correct, Harry, they should not have, and that they have proves most worrying,” Dumbledore replied, Vanishing the symbols with another wave of his wand. “The colour suggests that the actions here were committed by the same entity – both the bloodstains and the words.”

   “But the last spells that you cast said that was impossible!” Harry protested.

   “Not exactly, no.” Dumbledore answered, his frown deepening. “Although this is most certainly very Dark magic.”

   “Hell, I could have told you that,” Harry muttered.

   “It could be one of several things, and that worries me immensely,” Dumbledore continued, his expression grave. “Worst of all, it could be something created by Lord Voldemort himself that I have never seen before – and for which there may be no counter.”

   Harry took a deep breath as he looked at the bleeding letters for a few seconds. “Can you get rid of all of this…?”

   “I will require Professor Snape’s assistance, but I should be able to get rid of the message,” Dumbledore replied, turning back towards the words.

   “Good luck with that,” a new, gravelly voice said from the doorway. Harry heard the audible clunk of a wooden leg, and Harry knew that Moody had already drawn his wand.

   “You could not contact him?” Dumbledore asked grimly.

   “Damned Death Eater dropped off the face of the earth,” Moody growled, taking in the grisly room with a clinical expression. “Again. He’s getting as unreliable as Sturgis Podmore, he is. Any luck with this?”

   “I have a number of leads I want to investigate. Did you have any luck with those girls?” There was a definite note of concern in Dumbledore’s voice, along with something that Harry couldn’t quite catch.

   Moody closed his mismatched eyes, and for a brief second, Harry saw a flash of weariness cross the old Auror’s face, as if his job had taken too much out of him. “Only one’s even slightly responsive. The other three…” His voice trailed off and Harry felt a sick feeling well up in his gut.

   “What happened to the other three?” Dumbledore asked quietly.

   Moody looked at Harry. “The diagnosis… isn’t promising. Madam Pomfrey’s still working on it, but…”

   Harry felt sick. “How… how bad is it?”

   Moody didn’t respond. He only looked at Dumbledore, whose eyes had grown very hard very quickly, as if he was hiding something beneath –

   “You have still not managed to contact Severus?”

   “Snape’s a lying bastard, and almost certainly one of the three Death Eaters at Hogwarts,” Harry spat. “For damn good riddance he’s gone –”

   “I’d be inclined to agree with you, Potter, but Snape’s knowledge would be useful right about now,” Moody cut him off curtly, crossing his arms over his chest. “The girl who’s responsive isn’t cooperating with us, and I’d be tempted to use Legilimency on her, but –”

   “You know that doing that could be disastrous,” Dumbledore finished, his expression grave as he slid his wand away. “You don’t know what safeguards have been left in her brain that could shatter her sanity completely.”

  “And she refuses to even speak to me, and it’s not like I’m going to be using Veritaserum any time soon, considering Snape’s not providing and my leftover stockpile was in Headquarters,” Moody growled with frustration, his magical eye spinning wildly in his head. “We need her memory of what happened here.”

   “What girl is it?” Harry asked quickly. “Is it Cho Chang?”

   “Potter, it’s one of the older ones, and that’s all I can really tell you,” Moody replied warily.”It’s not like I was teaching last year and I would know.”

   “Let me talk to her,” Harry said, thinking fast, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. “I might be able to get through to her.”

   “And what makes you think you can do that?” Moody asked suspiciously.

   “Cho and I… well, there’s a bit of history there, and maybe I can say something that might get through,” Harry replied, desperately searching for ideas. “We were friends of a sort, and if you need a memory from her, maybe I can help.”

   “Harry, she’ll have to give up the memory willingly,” Dumbledore said slowly. “And coercing it from her will not be easy, particularly of such a traumatic event.”

   “Who said anything about coercing?” Harry snapped. “I’ll talk to her.”

   “Potter, she’s uncooperative,” Moody said flatly.

   “She was probably scared of you,” Harry retorted, heading towards the door, leaving the grisly scene behind her.

   “And if she thinks you were behind the attack on her, do you think she’d be more cooperative with you?” Moody snorted with disgust. “Think, Potter.”

   “Then I’ll clear the air,” Harry replied, his voice low and difficult to hear as he left the room and began heading down the darkened hall on the long path towards the Hospital Wing. “For once, I’m actually innocent.”

*          *           *

   “He’s not going to make any headway with that girl if he goes in wand blazing,” Moody muttered. “I thought you taught him to be subtle, Dumbledore.”

   “I did, Alastor, although he does not know it – perhaps too subtle, even,” Dumbledore replied softly, his blue eyes taking on a steely appearance as they traced the walls of the room. “Thankfully, Harry is still untrained in Legilimency –”

   “Definitely a double-edged sword, that skill,” Moody said with a grimace. “From the looks of things, he’s got a good grounding in combat, though –”

   “Your protégé was most likely responsible for that.”

   “If that was all she was responsible for, I’d be happy with her progress,” Moody growled. “Starting to regret your ‘hands-off’ policy on Potter, yet?”

   “Why should I? He’s progressing far better than even I expected. Somehow, he managed to convince Castellan Zabini to support him, along with Nathan Cassane – two feats that even I would have had difficulty doing without resorting to dire measures –”

   “Which Potter did do,” Moody interrupted. “I saw them bringing that bastard Kemester out on a stretcher – and he wasn’t moving. I’m not assuming he’s going to be moving ever again, and you know what that implies. And you saw the little light show surrounding the castle on the night Potter went on his mission.”

   “That was less of an intended magical spell, I think, and more of a coincidental effect,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully, raising his wand again with a frown. “And the magic is indicating that the blood was drawn by the same entity – but by both the girls and by something… else.”

   “Possession,” Moody said immediately. “Voldemort’s used that tactic before –”

   “But that would imply that Voldemort’s in the school, and all our sources say he’s not…”

   “Except for the tiny little coincidence that Snape’s not here either,” Moody pointed out, his voice ominous as his mismatched eyes moved faster and faster, his gaze zooming around the room. “Voldemort could well be here –”

   “Except for the tiny little fact that four girls, under your hypothesis, would have been possessed to some degree,” Dumbledore finished, his frown deepening. “A feat of which even Voldemort is incapable.”

   “That we know of,” Moody growled. “Snape’s absence is no coincidence, Dumbledore – he was ordered not to be here.”

   “Regardless of Severus’ ability to provide us with reliable information, the fact remains that even Voldemort would be incapable of utilizing broken pieces of his consciousness simultaneously,” Dumbledore replied, moving towards the tiny window, his tone measured and guarded as he looked out the window. “Furthermore, our intelligence suggests that only he is able to possess human beings at this time – none of his Death Eaters, even his most capable, can accomplish this feat. Finally – and this is just a guess – this attack does not seem to be Voldemort’s style.”

   “What, you don’t think he would stoop this low?” Moody’s voice was incredulous.

   “While Lord Voldemort is a master of psychological warfare, he does not grasp certain subtleties of human behavior – most specifically, friendship,” Dumbledore murmured, his long fingers carefully tracing symbols in the fogging glass that Moody didn’t recognize. “A much stronger message would have been to attack Harry’s friends – not four girls he barely knows.”

   “So instead of being a committed sociopath, he’s a bloody terrorist who doesn’t care who he hits as long as it sends a message!” Moody snarled, banging his scarred fist on the table. “We’re lucky those girls weren’t magically raped and that the attack was only made to look like it!”

   “That only proves supports my hypothesis, Alastor,” Dumbledore said firmly, turning away from the window, his eyes flashing with barely controlled anger. The old Auror stepped back at the terrible look on Dumbledore’s face, and he knew that Voldemort had indeed crossed a line by utilizing such tactics if he had been responsible. “Voldemort does not understand the effectiveness of sexual attacks, and if Severus’ reports are correct –”

   “A big ‘if’, there,” Moody muttered.

   “ – then Voldemort would not have attempted such an attack, simply because it would never have occurred to him. To Bellatrix Lestrange, or Evan Rosier, or Damian Mulciber, perhaps, but not to Lord Voldemort.”

   “You seem awfully certain of that,” Moody replied suspiciously. “What if you’re wrong, or misinformed? Snape doesn’t exactly have a sterling record.”

   “Perhaps not, but his information has been reliable,” Dumbledore replied, his voice iron as he completed a symbol with a single twist of a long finger. To Moody’s surprise, the symbol gleamed golden for a few seconds before fading. “And this confirms my suspicion – the elements of the magic that protects Hogwarts from hostile spiritual attack have remained intact. Voldemort has not penetrated the school since before the beginning of the term.”

   “I assume you’re ignoring Snape and the would-be Death Eaters in Slytherin in that analysis,” Moody replied bitingly.

   “It requires a phenomenal amount of energy and effort for Voldemort to possess any human in any way,” Dumbledore countered, “and if my research is correct, it puts his new mortal body in great peril if there isn’t already a stable connection present – a connection nonexistent in these girls –”

   “But present in one individual,” Moody said sharply, his voice gravelly. “Dumbledore, we can’t overlook the possibility here, the water under the bridge.”

   “I am certain that is not the case.”

   “Dumbledore, we know the connection is there, even if we don’t understand it!” Moody snarled, his patience already out. “All I’m saying is, what if Potter is –”

   The door opened, and Moody’s wand was already up and pointing at it with surprising speed. Dumbledore only sighed.

   “I’m glad to see you’ve made somewhat of a recovery, Minerva.”

   Professor McGonagall huffed. “None of H.A.I.T. – with the exception of Umbridge – was aiming to kill, so I’m quite all right. I can’t say the same for those four girls in the Hospital Wing, though.”

   “Madam Pomfrey’s made no progress?” Dumbledore asked.

   “I didn’t want to say it while Potter was in the room, Dumbledore, but it’s not likely she’s going to make any progress,” Moody replied roughly. “Whatever made them try this certainly didn’t have a clean exit.”

   Dumbledore’s eyes flashed.

   “I’ll write the letters to their parents –” McGonagall began.

   “Minerva, I will handle that,” Dumbledore cut her off. “Is there any news of Professor Snape?”

   “None, but I do have news, and neither of you will like it,” McGonagall finished grimly. “We have a nasty situation regarding H.A.I.T.”

   “Did they leave something behind?” Moody asked sharply.

   “Yes.”

    Moody swore under his breath, while Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed. “Some sort of safeguard, or Portkey?”

   “Neither,” McGonagall replied curtly. “They left behind two members.”

*          *         *

   For the sixth time that night, Larshall cursed Dolores Umbridge and her terrible contingency plan, even as he wiped away the thick sheen of sweat coating his head.

   “So much for a bloody evacuation plan!” he exploded, slamming his fist against the table that he had shoved in front of the door of the deserted classroom he and Sanders had hidden in. “We should have been informed, damn it! This is a disaster!”

   “It’s Umbridge’s fault, not ours, so just keep quiet, will you?” Sanders snapped, adding a chair to the pile of furniture stacked against the door. “The last thing we need is to be found in here, and even though this school is big, it won’t be long, especially if Dumbledore’s leading the search.”

   “And of all the people that she left behind, it just had to be us two!” Larshall finished furiously. “The two that are heading up vital investigations!”

   “Yeah, you know it’s because of those investigations that we’re still here, you know,” Sanders replied with a snort as he pulled out another chair and stacked it roughly against the door. “Talk about irony.”

   “Don’t make that pile too high; we’re still going to have to get out of here –”

   Sanders snorted. “Think for a second here, Reed, what do you think the Floo Network is for?” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tiny bag and tossed it to the other Hit Wizard. “Make the call to the Ministry first for orders – we’ll only have a few minutes until that damned bitch McGonagall gets back with Dumbledore.”

   “I know the procedures as well as you do, if not better,” Larshall shot back, tossing a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. Taking a deep breath and trying to calm his quaking stomach, he stuck his head into the fire.

   “Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones’ office!”

   He could feel the grates roaring past his ears, and suddenly –

   “Action must be taken immediately, Amelia! If Dumbledore is already mobilizing his army –”

   “For the last time, Cornelius, we don’t have an iota of proof that Dumbledore even has an army!” Amelia Bones replied sharply, a definite note of anger in her voice. “And by law, I cannot authorize the full deployment of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement without giving Dumbledore a chance to show his case –”

   “He evicted me, H.A.I.T., and a large complement of sanctioned Ministry wizards without authority!” Dolores Umbridge exclaimed, her toad-like face livid as her high shrill voice cut through the din. “He’s a traitor –”

   “Traitor to whom, Dolores?” Rufus Scrimgeour snapped. “By the report I was given from one of my Aurors, your conduct was beyond bounds, and if half the information I’ve heard is true, the Ministry will have another inquiry on its hands –”

   “You have no litigation to make those kinds of accusations, Rufus!” Cornelius Fudge shouted. “Dumbledore’s actions have made his intentions clear –”

   Larshall loudly cleared his throat, but nobody even heard the noise through the argument.

   “We have to follow the dictates of law if we want to have this dealt with in a way that won’t rip the Ministry apart!” Scrimgeour snarled. “And with Cassane – who just happens to be one of the most powerful wizards in the world, not to mention the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards – deciding to breathe down all our necks for his own depraved amusement, our actions are under tighter scrutiny than ever. Make no mistake, the foreign press will be here in minutes once something leaks out –”

   Fudge harrumphed. “The Prophet has been under control –”

   “Cornelius, I’m not talking about the damned Prophet, I’m talking about the French, German, Russian, and the Merlin-cursed American journalists who are going to hear about this story!” Scrimgeour snapped, and Larshall could see the Head of the Auror Department barely controlling his formidable temper. “Dumbledore was a wizard known on the international stage, and if he really has set himself against the Ministry, people are going to ask why.”

   Fudge went red. “I’ll issue a press statement –”

   “Cuffe’s already on his way to hear your exclusive interview –”

   “Won’t be enough, Umbridge, and you know it,” Bones added curtly. “Minister, the foreign press is fickle at best, and vindictive at the worst. Some will go straight to Dumbledore –”

   “We’ll cut off his communications!” Fudge shouted, his face now a glowing shade of crimson.

   Larshall could barely restrain a snort. “Good luck with that.”

   The room fell suddenly silent, and Larshall felt the gaze of his superiors and the Minister upon him. He swallowed hard – it looked like Fudge was ready to kill something, and his head was in a very bad position.

   “Hit Wizard Larshall, why are you interrupting our meeting?” Scrimgeour said, his tone dangerously brittle.

   “Sanders and I are still at Hogwarts, sir, and we need orders,” Larshall said in a rush, blurting out the words, knowing that he had already lost precious seconds. “Do you want us still at Hogwarts, or do you want out or –”

   “Why didn’t you leave with the rest of them, you –”

   “Rufus, he’s in my Department, I’ll deal with this,” Bones cut Scrimgeour off, even though the Head Auror looked ready to explode. Well, from what I heard of his argument with Fudge, I can’t really blame him, Larshall thought uneasily as he looked at the Minister for Magic.

   “Both Sanders and I were on investigation at the time, and we didn’t know H.A.I.T. was evacuating until McGonagall found us and tried to bring us to Dumbledore. It’s a bloody miracle we got out of there –”

   “Then what are you waiting for?” Fudge exclaimed impatiently. “Get out of there! The last thing we need is a hostage situation –”

   “Hold a second, Cornelius, we might be able to salvage this,” Scrimgeour said quickly, moving closer to the fire. “Is there a way that you might be able to speak with Dumbledore?”

   “I’m going to get caught by Dumbledore in a few minutes, so I guess so!” Larshall replied heatedly.

   “Tell him we want to start negotiations,” Bones added, pulling a sheaf of parchment from her briefcase and scribbling frantically. “We can’t let this get out of England, and Dumbledore’s always open to reason –”

   But Fudge snatched the parchment out from underneath Bones’ quill and, with a loud rip, tore it in half.

   “Cornelius, have you lost your mind?”

   “Minister, listen to reason –”

   “One does not listen to the reasoning from the mouth of a devil!” Fudge snarled. “One shuts his ears and pushes away the corruption inherent in his words! Dumbledore’s been able to talk his way out of too many of these debacles, and I won’t stand for it any longer! I am the Minister for Magic, and the leader of the witches and wizards of our nation – not Dumbledore! His loyalties have been set, and I will not tolerate his treachery!”

   “Well said,” Umbridge said, a small grin creeping onto her face. “I’ll call Cuffe immediately.”

   “Contact my press secretaries next, we need to prepare a statement to the foreign press,” Fudge continued briskly, his eyes filled with a dangerous light. “Then send an owl to Cassane with all haste – we’ll need him and his power now more than ever.”

   “Minister –”

   “Madam Bones, the negotiation is past, and our days of protecting and avoiding confrontation with Dumbledore are over,” Fudge snapped. “If you won’t abide by Ministry policy, I will ask you to clean out your desk.”

   Bones rose to her feet, her eyes narrowed. “I might just –”

   “Sit down, Amelia,” Scrimgeour growled, sending her a pointed look. “It’s too late for this.”

   “Well said, Rufus,” Fudge said with an approving nod. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I must inform the Department of Magical Law that they have a whole new section of books to examine. Madam Bones, Rufus – mobilize the Department.”

   And with a supremely confident sniff, the Minister strode out of the office, Umbridge at his heels.

   After a few seconds of stunned silence, Bones swore an uncharacteristically vile oath under her breath and began scribbling madly. “Fudge has lost his mind,” she muttered, her quill skidding across the paper. “Absolutely bloody lost his mind… he’s going to destroy the Ministry with this madness –”

   “Not if I have anything to say about it,” Scrimgeour replied, and Larshall could tell that the Auror was thinking faster than he had ever in his life. “Cassane will never condone a war without even an attempt at negotiations –”

   “Wait, you want me to negotiate with Dumbledore –” Larshall began.

   “Cassane won’t give a damn about this plan!” Bones said furiously, her signature a furious scrawl on the paper. “He’s never cared before, so why should he care now?”

   “Because he knows the stakes are higher than ever right now, and he’s currently the only one with anywhere close to Dumbledore’s political power,” Scrimgeour replied, adding his signature to the paper and rolling it tightly into a scroll, his hands moving with a calm deftness born of extreme pressure. “And unless you believe Dumbledore’s call that the great Lord Voldemort is back –”

   “I believe it more and more every day,” Bones muttered.

   “You want me to negotiate on your behalf?” Larshall exclaimed. “I’m not qualified –”

   “Since when has that stopped people?” Scrimgeour spat. “Take a bloody look at our fair Minister! Now put your bloody hand in the fire to take this damned paper, we’ve wasted too much time already!”

   For an agonizing second, Larshall felt his hand flying through grate after grate until it finally poked out of the fireplace, taking the scroll in trembling fingers.

   “Just be thankful you’ve got Sanders with you,” Scrimgeour added grimly, “instead of Kemester – at least you’ll have a chance.”

   “But I –”

   Agonizing pain rocked his body, and he felt himself yanked backwards, through a while of green flames and grates…

   There was a bang, as if he had crashed into a massive gong, and before he could regain his senses, Larshall found himself sprawled on the floor, looking up at the wands held by Professor McGonagall, Mad-Eye Moody, and Albus Dumbledore himself.

   “That was not an intelligent thing to do, Mr. Larshall,” Moody growled, grabbing the Hit Wizard by his collar and yanking him up. “Who were you communicating with?”

   “It was the Ministry!” Larshall yelled, panic taking over the second he met Moody’s mismatched eyes. “Bones and Scrimgeour – they want to parley!”

   “An easy excuse,” Moody said darkly.

   “But one that has the ring of truth to it,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes flashing. “What is their proposal?”

   “I have it right here –”

   Except Larshall’s hand was empty. The scroll was gone, torn from his hand in the Floo Network.

   “I don’t see a proposal, Mr. Larshall,” McGonagall said icily.

   “I had it!” Larshall gasped wildly, looking around frantically. He saw Sanders, pressed against the wall, Flitwick’s wand pointed at his back. “I… I must have lost it in the fire –”

   “Of course you did,” Moody said with a disgusted snort. “And I trust you completely. Where should we take these two, Albus?”

   “Hogwarts does not have prison cells, Alastor,” Dumbledore replied. “Take him and Mr. Sanders to the dungeons – Professor Snape and I will interrogate them there when he returns.”

   “I swear, I’m telling the truth!” Larshall shouted, his eyes widening as Moody yanked him up with a sharp wave of his wand. The Hit Wizard scrabbled for his wand – only for it to fly from his hands with a crisp spell from McGonagall.

   “Telling the truth while going for your wand isn’t entirely intelligent, Larshall,” Moody snapped, pocketing Larshall’s wand with a scowl. “And recently, I’ve found it difficult to trust the words of a Hit Wizard.”

   The old ex-Auror turned to Dumbledore, giving him a pointed, disgusted gaze. “Or Death Eaters.”

*          *          *

   The Hospital Wing looked as scrupulously clean as always, but Harry didn’t notice it this time. He noticed that the white marble seemed too bright, the stone sinisterly muted, the moon suspiciously gone. He noticed the shadows cast by long curtains hung over beds – four beds precisely. He swallowed hard, despite himself. He could hear a faint rustling and squeaking sound coming from the beds, and he wondered for a second what was causing it.

   “Mr. Potter, what are you doing here?” Madam Pomfrey asked suddenly, nearly dropping the potion in her hand as she emerged from her storage cupboard.

   “I… I’ve come to see Ron,” Harry quickly lied, looking around at the beds. “Is he here?”

   “You mean for his eyes?” Madam Pomfrey gave a forced laugh. “I fixed that in about a minute, Potter.” But Harry saw her look at the beds, and there was something desperate in the white-knuckled grip around the potion bottle…

   “So he’s back in Gryffindor Tower?”

   “I would assume so, yes, so off to bed, then.” Madam Pomfrey’s tone was very quick, and Harry saw her steal another glance at the curtained beds. “On your way, please.”

   “That’s not the only reason why I’m here, though.”

   “There’s nothing to see here,” Madam Pomfrey said hurriedly, giving the beds another look as her hands trembled. “Those girls will make a complete recovery, yes, I’m sure of it –”

   “Madam Pomfrey, I saw them… and I heard what Dumbledore said.” Harry swallowed hard. “Please don’t lie to me or make this difficult –”

   “Did Dumbledore say you could see them?” Madam Pomfrey asked suddenly.

   “He said I could talk to them – actually, I volunteered to try,” Harry replied with another swallow, and he could feel the bile in his throat. “I – I want to see if I can through to the one who’s still… still…”

   Madam Pomfrey understood, and Harry watched the blood drain from her face.

   “You’re sure Dumbledore would condone this?”

   “We need answers, Madam Pomfrey, and any lead would be better than none at all.” Harry’s fist clenched tightly. “Please – we need to stop this… look, whatever this is, we need to stop it before it happens again.”

   Their eyes met for a long few seconds, and finally Madam Pomfrey took a shuddering breath.

   “The bed on the end, Mr. Potter. Do not cast any magic on her, please – the last thing we need is a side-effect none of us have seen before destroying her sanity forever.”

   Harry closed his eyes, and holding back a surge of rage at the bastards who had done this to get to him, he pulled open the curtains, expecting to see Cho lying on the bed.

   He had been wrong. It wasn’t Cho – and she certainly wasn’t ‘lying’ on the bed.

   Su Li had been strapped to the bed, almost brutally. Her long black hair was wildly tousled around her head, even as she thrashed feebly against the pillow. Some sort of vice held her throat pinned to the mattress, and to Harry’s horror, he could see that she had been placed in some sort of straitjacket that had been built into the bed itself! Even her legs had been tightly strapped down. Yet despite the restraints, Su was still fighting to free herself, and the sheets rustled and the bed creaked as she tried to pull herself free. Yet all the while, she didn’t even scream or make a noise – not a word was escaping her lips.

   Harry felt a wave of sick revulsion surge up in his stomach. “What did you do to her?”

   “We had no choice,” Madam Pomfrey replied sadly. “The other girls are worse – I was only bringing a sedative to her when you arrived.”

   “But why is she strapped down like this?” Harry asked, fury filling his voice. “This is wrong!”

   “Before she was, she was trying to claw out her own eyes and reopen the wounds on her wrists,” Madam Pomfrey replied with a slight shiver as she emptied the remainder of the sedative bottle into a small cup. “The other girls… it was worse. At least poor Su has some sanity left…”

   And indeed, as Harry took a closer look, Harry could see the flicker of cool intellect in Su’s eyes – there was at least something left after all. And that means she might remember…

   He moved closer and looked at the girl. “Su, do you know who I am?”

   She stopped thrashing suddenly, and her eyes narrowed in suspicion and outright hostility.

   “I’m Harry Potter,” Harry said, trying to pull some gentleness and compassion into his voice as he looked into the girl’s dark eyes. “You know me, right?”

   She stared at him for a long few seconds before giving him a short, curt nod.

   Harry breathed a little easier. “You see, I’m making progress already. Can we get some of these restraints off of her, at least?”

   “Harry, they’re there for her safety –”

   “And they’re making her more hostile than ever! No wonder Professor Moody couldn’t get anything from her!” Sitting on the edge of her bed, he carefully undid the latch of the neck vice, so she could at least free her head.

   Immediately, the girl attempted to sit upright, but with a snap, the straitjacket pulled her back to the bed, pressing her against the mattress. Harry threw a glare at Madam Pomfrey, but she only shook her head and walked away.

   “Merlin only knows where they got these beds anyways,” Harry muttered. “This is just wrong. Anyways, Su, I need your help.”

   Her eyes were hostile, and Harry could see himself reflected back in their icy, mirror-like surfaces. She did not speak a word – her lips were shut.

   After a few seconds, Harry frowned. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

   The disdainful expression on her face pretty much answered that question, and Harry could feel his patience beginning to ebb.

   “You know I’m trying to help you, right?”

   The expression that met his was not one of disdain this time, but one of disgust. The kind of look that accompanied the words ‘you have no fucking idea what you’re facing.’ Harry couldn’t see Su saying those words, but the look certainly conveyed the idea.

   “Look, I’m trying to find out what happened to you and the other girls – can you tell me what happened to you? Do you remember?”

   Su seemed to relax, and Harry began to breathe a little easier – maybe he was going to get an answer –

   It happened suddenly, and Harry was knocked off the bed. Reeling from the impact, he looked up to see Su sitting as upright as the restraints would allow, her eyes impossibly wide, her mouth open in a silent scream, blood spilling from her ears. Dark stains were erupting across her straitjacket –

   Harry scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with horror as Su’s head twisted sickeningly towards him, jerkily, as if she had no control of her muscles at all...

   A single sound escaped her lips, from deep in her throat, as if she was exerting every bit of effort to claw the word from her mouth –

   And without another word, she collapsed back on the bed. The neck vice snapped again around her throat, holding her in place, and the blood trickling down her face slowed… before vanishing entirely. The bloodstains in the straitjacket remained though – a damning indictment, a diabolic malediction…

    The silence was deafening in the Hospital Wing, as Harry put a hand to his head, the word burned into his memory as if by a branding iron.

   “Mr. Potter, are you okay? Mr. Potter, respond!”

   He waved off Madam Pomfrey as he moved towards the door, his feet listless, his expression blank. Like it or not, he would not forget the name that she had given him, the only clue he had.

   “Stoker,” he whispered to himself. “The word is… stoker.”

*         *          *

   Lord Voldemort’s red eyes narrowed as they met the dark eyes of Severus Snape.

   “Are you absolutely certain of this, Snape?”

   “The first stage of Nott’s plan appears to have been a success,” Snape replied, his voice rough beneath his mask. “And the smear attempt seems to have had a rather… unexpected result.”

   “H.A.I.T. has been evicted from Hogwarts,” the Dark Lord hissed. It was a statement, not a question.

   “Nott has confirmed it.”

   “Who has Dumbledore brought to his side?”

   “My suspicion would be either Kingsley Shacklebolt or Alastor Moody, but given current circumstances, his likeliest candidate is Moody.”

   “And the Ministry?” the Dark Lord asked, turning to another Death Eater, with a newly crafted mask and very clean black robes.

   “I was there,” the man replied, his smooth tones easily filling the shadowed room. “Fudge has mobilized the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It will take some time to bring the entire department together from their various assignments, but it has already begun.”

   “Can I rely on your information, Wilson?” the Dark Lord growled.

   “If you can give me what I want, I’m at your service,” Rogan Wilson replied, his eyes gleaming with long-concealed greed and lust. “That’s how these deals work, don’t they?”

   If only you knew, Snape thought bitterly.

   “Of course,” the Dark Lord replied, a lipless grin crawling onto his face as he turned to face a third masked figure in the circle. This figure clutched a silver cane, and his bow was nearly broken by a stumble and a gasp of pain.

   “Forgive me… that I do not kneel, my lord,” Lucius Malfoy whispered, every word filled with pain.

   “It has not healed?” the Dark Lord’s voice was abruptly cold.

   “Parts have healed, but others…” Malfoy did not remove his mask, but Snape suspected the older man was flushed with shame. “I will not be able to bear another son to serve you, my lord.”

   There were hints of mocking laughter around the circle, but the Dark Lord silenced them with a stare. He looked around the circle, an expression of satisfaction on his face.

   “My plans are succeeding, my friends, but we are moving into a critical stage, and I will not tolerate a lack of information. Snape, Wilson, I want reports on all developments, regardless of any perceived significance. My efforts with the giants have already been necessarily slowed, but I predict their arrival by the winter. Yaxley, have the Dementors replied to my offer?”

   “Azkaban will be handed over to you on the eve of Yule,” Yaxley replied swiftly. “There will be resistance, as Dumbledore undoubtedly has agents there, both in the prison and out of it, but I predict the transition to be smooth.”

   “And the werewolves, Greyback?” the Dark Lord asked, his eyes landing on the only figure in the circle without a mask – and without a Dark Mark. He wore tattered and patched robes, and his face was bestial beneath his hood. “They will support us?”

   “They want something tangible, my lord,” Greyback replied, his raspy voice savage as he inclined his head with a hint of a bow. “I need something to fulfill the promises we’ve made them – something bloody.”

   “Of course,” the Dark Lord said smoothly. “That is why they’ll be the front line in the attack upon Azkaban. Anyone that I do not want is theirs.”

   Greyback’s eyes gleamed with bloodlust at the promise. “Generous. Will it be a full moon?”

   “I can ensure it will be,” the Dark Lord said, his lipless smile unfading. “Lucius, have you any word from your international contacts?”

   “Not as of yet, my lord,” Malfoy replied immediately, “but I do have this.” He pulled a rather crumpled letter from his pocket and shakily extended it.

   The Dark Lord took the paper and read it very slowly, scrutinizing every line. After several long minutes, he folded it carefully and gave Malfoy an icy look.

   “Why did he contact you? Does he know?”

   “Not about us, but he undoubtedly has some inkling of my… predicament. And he knows my power in this sector.”

   “I expected him to hold you at arm’s length, considering his previous rejection to our promises.”

   “Things must have changed – there is obvious desperation in his scrawl.”

   “He’s not worth my effort to recruit, as I have said many times before,” the Dark Lord hissed, “but you have clearance to attempt your little scheme.”

   “I will meet with him as soon as I can find him,” Malfoy said quickly, with another awkward bow.

   “Check St. Mungo’s,” Wilson said with a grating laugh. “He’s undoubtedly in there right now. You can go when you go for your check-up on your deep-fried testicles.”

   Malfoy’s wand was ripped free of his cane in a second, and pointing at the chuckling Auror, but the Dark Lord drove them both to their knees with a single, acrid glare.

   “We do not have time for this pathetic behavior,” the Dark Lord growled. “Wilson, our deal can be eradicated in an instant, you realize this?”

   “O-Of course.”

   “Good. Now, all of you – get out of my sight.” The Dark Lord turned slowly, and Snape felt his heart pound in his chest the second his eyes met his master’s.

   “Except for you.”

   There was a series of loud pops, and before Snape could meet the Dark Lord’s eyes again, he was alone. No, that was wrong – he wasn’t alone. Someone was watching them… and chuckling.

   “You’ve been hiding something from me, Snape,” the Dark Lord began dangerously, “and I want to know what it is. And I know it has something to do with Nott’s mission.”

   Snape thought for a few seconds, contemplating his next move. He’ll find out eventually, and I have nothing to lose by divulging this… “The night in which Nott, Malfoy, and Zabini activated their magic, my lord, something happened to Hogwarts. A magical effect surrounding the school unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

   And he told the Dark Lord what he had seen that fateful night with Lupin. The Dark Lord’s silence following his words scared Snape more than even he had expected.

   “Interesting,” the Dark Lord finally said, his voice flat.

   “My lord, do you…”

   “Know what caused this magic?” the Dark Lord asked with a grim expression. “It was a conjunction, Snape, something you would have never seen before, and this only lends credence to my own suspicions – and you have a new job to do.”

   “My lord, I –”

   “Find out what foul magic was worked that night in Hogwarts that interfered with mine, and inform me immediately. Such conjunctions are dangerous in the extreme, and I have no desire to lose Hogwarts and its power to magic beyond my control.” The Dark Lord’s eyes narrowed. “And you know the price of failure, Snape.”

   “It will be done, my Lord,” he whispered, closing his eyes against the expected curse.

   But instead he heard footsteps – booted feet hitting the stone floor. Snape cautiously looked up, only to see another figure standing in the room, hooded and cloaked heavily. He wore no mask, but the darkness shrouded the man’s features. He looked vaguely familiar though…

   The Dark Lord’s smile was insidious. “Strange, I think, how some prophecies are so slow in their fulfillment… one can’t even consider them prophecies. You don’t recognize him, Snape?”

   Snape frowned and looked closer at the figure. He was familiar… long black hair, a strong build, remnants of great good looks…

   He froze, and took an involuntary step back, the icy grip of fear on his heart again as he met the man’s wild eyes. Too dark, yet lit with an unearthly light that wasn’t quite human…

   “It’s good to see you too, Snivellus,” Sirius Black said pleasantly, his expression undeniably mad. “Of course, last time you came after me, you nearly died, so I’ll be short with our introductions.”

   Snape struggled for words, but at the sight of Black’s insane eyes, he could hardly bring together a coherent response.

   “How…?”

   “We all have our secrets, Snape,” the Dark Lord said with a patient note in his voice, the same note held in a viper’s hiss before it killed the rat. “Suffice to say, Mr. Black is now in my service, and I figured you should know.”

   “Also prevents me from killing you, but I figured you could deal with the fact that my reward in the end includes your death,” Black added conversationally.

   That’s not Sirius Black, Snape thought frantically, the cold knot of fear sliding down his gut, even though all the evidence before his own eyes contradicted that statement. It… it just can’t be him…

   “And I have a task for you, Mr. Black, to add to Snape’s little mission,” the Dark Lord finished. “Two tasks, actually.”

   “Of course.”

   The Dark Lord’s smile was filled with cold triumph as his livid red eyes met Black’s. “Kill Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius. Kill your past, and kill your present… so all you have left is your future.”