He woke suddenly – to pain and pitch darkness, to threadbare sheets and cold steel bindings, a hand over his mouth, and a wand over his throat.

   “Don’t struggle, and don’t speak above a whisper,” his captor whispered, his breath hot and reeking, “otherwise the next ten seconds will be the rest of your life.”

   Severus Snape had been in hostage situations before – although typically in those situations, he was the one holding the wand. He found he didn’t really like the change. But then again, he thought quickly, I don’t have much of a choice, and considering that fight, I’m lucky to be alive –

   “I knew you were a smart man, Snape,” his captor growled. “Apparently not smart enough to avoid getting caught, but we all have our bad days. Some of us have them more than others, it seems.”

   “What kind of interrogation is this?”

   “The impromptu kind, where you don’t see my face, and you don’t say a word about anything when the real interrogators come.”

   “Where am I?” Snape demanded, his eyes narrowing – it wasn’t going to do much good, the entire room was pitch black, and all he could smell was the sickly scent of burnt human flesh, but he was lying on a bed of some sort. Is it possible that the bed was moved… or that I was? “What time is it?”

   “Not your concern, and mid-afternoon,” the other man spat, “but you seem to forget that I’m the one asking questions here, Snape, so shut the fuck up or your blood will be all over these nice clean walls.”

   “You kill me, the Ministry loses a hostage,” Snape said automatically.

   “Fudge only needs a corpse,” his captor shot back. “But then again, you have information I need, and I’d rather justify the pain I’m in with something valuable, so let’s talk.”

   “I don’t have to say a word,” Snape spat.

   A second later, there was a crack, agonizing pain erupted through his right hand, and he could barely restrain a shout. The rational part of his mind, however, was unaffected: this man is professional, and he wants something you have. That gives you power… and odds are, I’m still in the Ministry, and that means it’s only a matter of time before some comes to check up on me.  So I either give him the information now and deal with the consequences later, or…

   He felt the hot breath on his face again. “Oh, you really should start talking before I run out of fingers.”

*          *          *

   “Mr. Cassane, look –”

   “Forget it, Harry, I’m not letting you fight,” Cassane cut him off sharply, slamming the last of the locks on the front door closed with a wave of his wand. The brass instruments were streaming through the air like a machinist’s nightmare, and Harry could see something flashing bright orange from the drawing room door…

   “I could help –”

   “Not against this many of them, and just because they stayed out of Azkaban doesn’t mean they’re weak,” Cassane replied swiftly, giving his wand a skyward flick. Taking Harry by his shoulder, he pulled him back as what looked like a massive iron portcullis dropped from a hole above the doorway that Harry hadn’t even noticed,

   “A portcullis?” Harry asked, amazed as a dozen massive locks magically crawled from the horizontal bars to the stone surrounding the oaken door, drilling themselves in with a harsh grinding noise.

   “This house has been under siege before, Harry, and they’ll get one hell of a rude surprise if they try to hit the windows,” Cassane replied distractedly, pulling Harry back towards the sitting room as he pointed his wand at the small brass chandelier suspended in the foyer. Before Harry could say another word, the chandelier began to rotate, the chains to the ceiling vanishing to leave the flaming brass circle hovering in the air.

   “Right, that’ll hold them when they force the front,” Cassane muttered, striding into the sitting room, pointing his wand at the dozens of shelves along the walls, and throwing tiny bags onto the floor at their ends. Before Harry’s astonished eyes, the shelves tilted on hidden hinges, dumping all of their contents into the bags, which seemed to absorb everything into their bottomless depths. “And considering I’ve already sealed the library, I just need to handle the drawing room and get you out of here and I’ll be set. Grab those bags for me, will you?”

   “Look, it’s not just about getting me out,” Harry protested as he grabbed the bags on the floor and tossed them to Cassane, who tucked them deftly into his jacket pockets. “Something’s wrong with Sirius, he shouldn’t be here!”

   “Why?” Cassane said with a disgusted snort as he sent the electrical equipment flying into a final bag, where it landed with an audible crash. “He threw in Voldemort, I’m not entirely surprised he’s leading this posse.”

   “But he’s innocent!”

   Cassane paused before giving an even louder snort. “If I remember the paper correctly, he attacked you on the road to Hogwarts not too long ago –”

   “Something’s wrong with him!” Harry said frantically, desperately trying to come up with something – anything – that would convince Cassane, a man who Harry guessed was more than capable of murder. “He’s not in his right mind –”

   “Obviously,” Cassane muttered, more to himself than Harry. “Grab that book I gave you and follow me to the back patio, we don’t have much time.”

   “But –”

   “No ‘buts’, Harry, we don’t have time for them, and if we want to escape, I’d prefer to do it from there.”

   “Wait… you’re running?” Harry exclaimed as he followed Cassane through the narrow hallways. It looked like the entire house was locking down around him – the doorway to the library seemed to have been bricked over and covered in cement in seconds. “I thought you were going to kill those Death –”

   “That,” Cassane said curtly, “would be obvious.”

    Harry nearly stopped in mid-step. “What the –”

   Cassane spun around abruptly and fixed Harry with an angry gaze. “Listen to me, Harry Potter, and listen well: I’ve already told you that I am not getting involved in your little war! Coupled with the fact that the Ministry is always watching this residence, any magical conflict here would not be conducive to that aim! So, I’m leaving to go for a drink at the Hog’s Head, where you will get back to Hogwarts with all due haste, and where I will enjoy a few shots of Firewhiskey.”

   “But… but everything that you’re doing here –” Harry protested.

   Cassane gave Harry a frank look. “Harry, I am not my house. If those fools want to enter a residence that is more murderous and hostile than they are… well, I can’t be held responsible for what might happen to them! All that being said, if you do not want to be victim to the load of Garroting Gas that will be pumped in through the air conditioning in approximately ninety seconds, I suggest we head to the patio.”

   “All right, all right, I get the point!” Harry said quickly, wondering how on earth Cassane managed to get air conditioning working in a house that was almost as magical as Hogwarts. He didn’t have much time to think about it, though, as they stepped out of the modest back door and onto a whitewashed, surprisingly large patio. It certainly wasn’t like Harry expected a wizarding patio to be: there were several ice buckets were strewn about the deck, and what appeared to be a large Muggle gas barbeque tucked away in the corner.

   “Hello, Carmen,” Cassane said cordially, giving a swift nod to the barbeque, which, to Harry’s absolute shock, made a peculiar whistle in what could only be a greeting.

   “Did you… I mean, did you –”

   “If there’s one thing those damned Texan wizards can make well with magic, it would be their barbeques,” Cassane said contentedly. “Backwards, utterly contemptible folks otherwise, but Carmen is a very special lady. Lay some good meat on her and she never disappoints.”

   Harry was lost for words, and only went bright red at Cassane’s salacious wink.

   “In any case, Harry, it is key you do not linger in Hogsmeade,” Cassane continued, abruptly serious. “I suspect Dumbledore will be looking for you, and it might not be a bad idea to pay him a visit and tell him what you know – even if you cannot trust him.”

   Harry shot him a sharp look. “What are you implying?”

   “I don’t trust Albus Dumbledore either, but for entirely different reasons,” Cassane replied tensely, looking into Harry’s eyes. “You, on the other hand… well, I’m sure you know that Dumbledore would do anything and everything in his power to make sure Hogwarts is safe, and in that, you share common ground. Build your partnership based upon your differences, not your lack of similarities.”

   Harry closed his eyes against the rush of emotion in his gut – the distrust, the resentment, the frustration, the fear – but after a few seconds, he found it didn’t matter.

   “Just because I don’t quite trust him,” he said finally, opening his eyes to see the sprawling, untamed lawn, and Cassane’s crafty smile, “does not mean I can’t work with him towards a common purpose.”

   “Now that’s the spirit!” Cassane said with a beaming smile. “Now grab my arm so I can get a drink.”

   “Didn’t you just –”

   “Harry, why stop a good thing?”

   Harry felt Cassane’s arm wrench away from him, and they Disapparated with a crack.

*          *           *

   The echoing crack split the air, and Sirius Black lowered his wand from the hole he had been drilling through the solid stone wall, his eyes blazing.

   “He Disapparated,” he growled, “and that means he left his house as a deathtrap.”

   “Disapparation was around the back!” Amycus Carrow shouted. “He was off his patio –”

   “Then he had company,” Sirius finished, an evil smile creeping onto his face. “Amycus, you take the two recruits and follow them – the Trace I planted in the Apparition Charms surrounding this place should give you a reasonable way to track them like I showed you. Avery, Alecto, you stay with me.”

   Amycus paled. “My lord, I… Cassane is….”

   “Beyond your abilities,” Voldemort hissed. “But not mine. Send a message with your location, and use the Mark to alert me when you’re ready – and only when you are certain. Then I will take it from there. Until then, I will be looking for what Nathan Cassane feels he has to hide.”

*          *          *

   “So when they were found –”

   “I already told you, I wasn’t even there at the time!” Snape snarled. “By the time I returned to Hogwarts, the Ministry’s flunkies and that bad excuse for a hag known Umbridge had already been evicted. I arrived on the scene when they were cleaning up. I wasn’t even there when they captured those imbecilic Hit Wizards who had been left behind.”

   “Where are they kept within the castle?”

   “Hogwarts has many dungeons,” Snape replied stiffly, “and the castle is very good at keeping her prisoners well-guarded. After all, if the room didn’t move continuously, it would make it easy for someone looking to free them.”

   “And you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you –”

   “More of my own choice, than anything else,” Snape snapped. “This is my last term at Hogwarts, and I have no interest in further involving myself in any more –”

   “Complications,” his captor hissed. “Other loyalties, Snape, other than your Headmaster?”

   “None that you’ll be able to take advantage of, if that’s what you mean,” Snape replied in a low voice.

   “You were once a Death Eater –”

   “As was Lucius Malfoy,” Snape retorted, “but he has made it quite clear where his loyalties lie.”

   His captor’s grip tightened, and Snape could feel the wand digging into a particularly uncomfortable part of his throat. “So you have not been the one funneling information to Sirius Black regarding the location of Harry Potter?”

   “I loathe Black,” Snape replied curtly. “The only thing I would be sending in his direction is a well-deserved Severing Curse.”

   “Potter was working with Black – he rescued that criminal in the fight over the train,” the captor growled, more to himself than to Snape. “Could Black have tutored Potter in that sick brand of magic –”

   Snape’s eyes narrowed, and for once, he was thankful that it was extremely dark within the room. “While Potter is as arrogant as Black and his father, he wouldn’t have the skill nor the fortitude to utilize that form of magic that cursed those girls.” And this fool doesn’t need to know it’s not a curse…

   “And what was the curse?”

   “How on earth am I supposed to know?” Snape snarled, his own patience starting to fray, the searing pain in his hands not helping his condition in the slightest. “I am not privy to whoever enacted that curse –”

   “So, in other words, you know nothing of that magic –”

   Snape’s eyes flashed. “Your guesses are as good as mine regarding that! Dumbledore does not even know the whole truth!”

   “I doubt anyone at this point knows the whole truth,” his captor muttered. “At least your motives are clear.”

   Snape could hardly restrain a snort, even as his heart was hammering in his chest. “I think that’s enough questions – you have what you wanted. Now give me the means to free myself or leave.”

   The wand dug into Snape’s throat. “I have one more question, and if you lie to me, I’ll know.”

   Snape was about to spit a response, but then light spilled from the tip of the wand, flickering upward. It wasn’t the cool yellow light that usually came from the spell – this light was hot, bright, and very orange, enough to throw the man’s face into sharp relief.

   So it is him after all, Snape said, his lips curling slowly into a sneer. Why am I not surprised? Although why he is here begs an entirely different set of questions…

   “You know who I am.” It was a statement, not a question.

   Snape fixed his captor with a hard stare, filled with cold loathing. “Of course I do.”

   The man’s face was criss-crossed with burns, turning an already ugly face into something truly hideous. He was wearing crude, badly made robes, the type an underfunded hospital like the Auror Infirmary would give to a convalescing wizard. The man still looked like he hadn’t totally recovered – Snape could see the horrendously charred flesh around the man’s hands and forearms, and every one of his motions were halting and stiff, as if the painkillers he was undoubtedly on were only partially effective.

   “You see this face,” the man hissed.

   “I’m amazed you’re still alive, much less holding me captive,” Snape replied icily. “You look like an Inferius reject –”

   He couldn’t strain out any more words, because his captor had just snapped Snape’s middle finger with a brutal twist.

   “Round the clock nerve repair, so I wasn’t permanently paralyzed when I fell four stories and broke my spine and both my legs,” the captor growled, grabbing the collar of Snape’s robes, holding the wand an inch away from Snape’s eye. “Sub-par painkillers, because that hag wants me alive, but under her thumb so she can have her own revenge. Bad skin grafts that barely conceal the damaged nerves. And enough scars and burns, most completely impossible to heal, to turn me into a monster. They should have let me die, Snape, but I’m too damned valuable for my own good, so they postponed it.  They want to give me one last purpose, but I’m not going to stand for that any more – too many questions to die and not have answers.”

   “Then what do you want?” Snape whispered, his eyes meeting the dark, horrifyingly sane eyes of his captor.

   “I want revenge. I want Potter to fucking suffer. But most of all, I want to know that the Ministry’s not going to war on a lie, against the wrong person.” Dmitri Kemester leaned closer. “So what about it, Snape: have we been played for fools? Is Voldemort really back?”

   A moment later, the door was wrenched open, and Snape could only blink at the blinding light spilling into the room – and the shadow in the doorway.

*          *          *

   “So this is the Hog’s Head,” Harry said, wrinkling his nose as they approached the grimy wooden door. “What is that smell?”

   “History,” Cassane said shortly. “There’s a lot of it in places like this.”

   “It smells terrible.”

   “Well, in bars, history tends to accumulate,” Cassane said after a few seconds, giving the door a good shove. To his clear surprise, it didn’t even budge.

   “Can’t be accumulating much if the place is closed,” Harry noted. “I mean, all the windows are shut and covered.”

   “That’s insane, he wouldn’t close this early,” Cassane replied immediately, giving the door another shove with his shoulder, this one with a considerable amount of force, enough that Harry expected the tattered faggots of wood to easily break. But the planks refused to bend even an inch.

   Cassane stepped back and drew his wand. “Someone spelled this – and it wasn’t the owner.”

   “Do you think –”

   “I want a drink, and answers wouldn’t be bad either,” Cassane replied, angling his wand at the door with casual elegance. “Alohomora.”

   There was a rattle, but when Cassane went to put his hand on the doorknob, there was a yellow flash and the older man yanked his hand back, swearing under his breath.

   “What was that?” Harry asked, stepping a bit closer, only to meet Cassane’s outstretched arm.

   “Sealing Charm,” Cassane replied, a serious look on his face, as he raised his wand again, “and the owner would never cast one – hell, I doubt he knows how. And that means I want to know what the hell is going on in there. Saepio fractus!”

   There was another yellow flash, and Harry could smell the pungent odor of smoke and burning rubber. Cassane was smirking, and he tucked his wand back into his jacket.

   “That should do nicely,” he said, moving towards the door, “and you should get back to –”

   The door opened beneath his fingertips, and Cassane was standing nose to nose with a drawn wand.

   “Would you mind?” Rufus Scrimgeour hissed. “The door was sealed for a – what the hell…”

   Before the Head Auror could say another word, Cassane had Disapparated with a loud pop – leaving Harry in plain sight.

   Harry could see Scrimgeour’s eyes widen with shock, but Harry wasn’t willing to stay around and talk – without Cassane, he knew he was overmatched. He broke into a run, moving towards the other, more respectable shops –

   Only to run straight into Scrimgeour, who had Apparated right into Harry’s path.

   “Oh, no, Potter, you’re not getting away from me that easily –”

   “I say, what is going on here?”

   Harry yanked himself out of Scrimgeour’s grip as Cassane reappeared from one of the side alleys, a large bottle of Firewhiskey in his hand. There was a winning smile across the man’s face.

   “Nathan Cassane, what is going on?” Scrimgeour snarled, seizing Harry’s shoulder before he could dart away. “And I don’t have time to chase you around, so cut to it.”

   “Well, I was just getting a bottle of fine Firewhiskey from Aberforth’s stash behind the bar,” Cassane replied innocently, hefting the bottle. “His scotch supplies are sadly lacking, so I figured a few sniffers of this wouldn’t be too bad, and I didn’t want to get in your way.”

   “Or pay for anything,” Scrimgeour growled. There was a funny note in his voice, one that Harry really couldn’t recognize. It wasn’t exactly fear, but it wasn’t anger either…

   “And then I saw you accosting this young man,” Cassane continued blithely, “so I was curious about your intent.”

   “He and I,” Scrimgeour said through gritted teeth, “need to talk. And there was a reason why there was a Sealing Charm on that door.”

   “And a good one too, I might add,” Cassane replied with an easy smile. “So who is this fine young fellow here?”

   Harry nearly snapped with surprise, but then he saw the warning flicker in Cassane’s eye, and he understood. “My name is Harry Potter, Mr. Cassane –”

   “And he’s not saying anymore, not until we’re under cover,” Scrimgeour snapped, taking a stronger hold on Harry’s arm and steering him back towards the Hog’s Head. Harry didn’t struggle, though – he knew Scrimgeour wouldn’t hurt him. He wants to talk more than anything…

   The inside of the Hog’s Head was hardly prepossessing. The entire bar was small, shabby, and smelt strongly of goats. At first, Harry thought that the floor was dirt, but then he felt the stone beneath and realized that the floor beneath hadn’t been cleaned in a very long time.

   The bar was also nearly empty, with the exception of a hooded figure standing in the corner – a hooded figure that Harry recognized instantly. He didn’t dare say anything, though. Can’t jeopardize her cover…

   “Do you want the door closed and the charm restored?” Cassane asked calmly, as he followed the two inside the Hog’s Head.

   “Yes,” Scrimgeour said shortly, “and you on the other side of it.”

   “Rufus, we’re old friends, there’s no need to be so curt,” Cassane said with a small grin. “We’re on the same side, after all.”

   Scrimgeour tensed, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Tonks tense as well. He felt uneasy – he knew Cassane was trying to say something to Scrimgeour, but what?

   “In any case,” Scrimgeour finally said, turning towards Harry, a hard glint in his eyes, “you should sit down. Dumbledore’s on his way, and I’d like to… address a few things before he gets here.”

   Harry gritted his teeth and took the seat opposite Scrimgeour. One glance at the Auror told him all he needed to know – the Head Auror did not want to be here, and the set of his jaw told him that Cassane’s arrival was the last sort of complication that Scrimgeour needed. I can sympathize there, at least, Harry thought as he slid his chair closer to the table, considering this is the last sort of complication I need right now.

   “You’re meeting with Dumbledore,” Harry began slowly, meeting Scrimgeour’s shrewd eyes. “And I’m guessing it’s in direct violation of recent Ministry –”

   “When you’re the one who makes the policy, you can do whatever the hell you please – within reason, of course,” Scrimgeour cut him off, narrowing his eyes. “And that’s the reason why I’m here. Everything went to hell after that damned vote – a victory for you, I should add – and I’m here to clean up the mess before everything gets blown wide open.”

   “And you want to talk to me because –”

   “Don’t play games with me, Potter,” Scrimgeour growled. “You’ve been involved in this since the beginning, and I’m sure if I was watching this from a more objective position, I would laughing at the horrific irony of it all – that everything you’ve done has made things worse for everyone.”

   “This hasn’t all been me, and you know that,” Harry said coolly.

   “And that is one of the many reasons why I am here instead of working with Fudge to push a declaration of war through the Wizengamot’s bureaucracy,” Scrimgeour returned, fixing Harry with a penetrating stare. “There are too many coincidences for all of this to be you, Potter. And while Kemester connected some of the dots, the bastard never got close to the whole truth.”

   “And now he never will,” Harry said grimly, matching Scrimgeour’s stare with one of his own. “You’re welcome.”

   “We both did our part there,” Scrimgeour snapped. He turned to the bar, where Cassane was rooting around behind the counter. “Cassane, would you do me a favour, for… old time’s sake?”

   “Yes?” Cassane replied brightly, coming up from behind the bar with two bottles of Firewhiskey.

   “Get out.”

   Cassane’s eyes went abruptly cold, and there was an edge to his usual cheery tone. “And I cannot enjoy a drink here because…”

   “It’s private,” Scrimgeour said tightly.

   “Which means absolutely nothing to me,” Cassane returned. “After all, I probably know more than you think –”

   “You’re a liar, and you always have been,” Scrimgeour snapped. “Serves you well, but I know better. Get out – please.”

   Cassane’s eyes flashed, but tossing a few coins on the counter, he hefted the bottles and Disapparated with a crack.

   “Now we can speak candidly,” Scrimgeour said, drawing his wand and a few pieces of parchment, “without… interference.”

   “I thought you and Cassane were on the same side.”

   Scrimgeour’s eyes flashed. “There are things I’d rather Nathan Cassane does not know, thank you very much – much like there are things I’d rather you didn’t know either.”

   “Well, we can’t change that, now, can we?” Harry replied with a shrug, drawing his own wand.  “Well, what do you want?”

   “Probably something very similar to what you want,” Scrimgeour said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Answers.”

   “An exchange, then, as before?” Harry said, a cool smile spreading across his face. “I give you want you want, you give me what I want. Everybody wins.”

   “Well, with the mild exception that you’re in no position to be demanded anything, I’m interested in what you might want,” Scrimgeour replied.

   “Access to the international journalists that Fudge is keeping sequestered until he can give a complete statement declaring war against Dumbledore –”

   “It’s not going to happen,” Scrimgeour interrupted. “Fudge or members of his little ‘cabinet’ have been meeting with them daily, easing the way for his big announcement. He’s not going to let you or Dumbledore anywhere near them.”

   “I said ‘access’,” Harry replied evenly. “Not necessarily legitimate.”

   “The law is there for a reason, Potter, and I’m not about to break it,” Scrimgeour said flatly.

   Harry gritted his teeth, but he had expected this. “Fine, then if we plan to work within the law, I want Barnabus Cuffe arrested for violation of contract and extortion.”

   Scrimgeour’s eyebrows rose slightly, but his scarred face betrayed nothing. “Excuse me?”

   “The articles he published in the Daily Prophet were not what Dumbledore requested, and that’s a breach of contract – not to mention the fact he used blatant extortion to raise the price of the pieces.”

   “From the sounds of Cuffe’s ranting, Dumbledore double-crossed him,” Scrimgeour said, interest growing in his expression. “But that fat fool has been… irritating for a long time, so I will only say that I am interested. But why do you want this?”

   “Cuffe’s not an idiot,” Harry said after a few seconds of thought. “From what I’ve been told, he worked too hard to get his position to lose it and his fortune in the courts. He’ll want to settle, and from that position of weakness, we give him what we agreed: a full statement, from Dumbledore and I, regarding everything.” And if that doesn’t work, Skeeter could always sneak Fleur’s statement into the Prophet while Cuffe’s arrested – it won’t be as effective, but it could work, and Scrimgeour doesn’t need to know about that…

   “Everything?”

   “The Ollivanders’ attack, the Sirius Black complications, and the fight at Hogwarts,” Harry said, ticking off the options on his fingers. “I was framed, and Umbridge ran with what she saw.”

   “From what she’s told me –”

   “You know I could never have orchestrated something like that, nor would I have reason to,” Harry finished, “if Umbridge has told the truth.”

   “I’ve correlated her responses with those of my people, and she wasn’t lying,” Scrimgeour replied curtly, “but your abilities… well, assumptions are dangerous in this world.”

   “Right,” Harry said, slightly uneasily, “well, I’ll give the statement, with Veritaserum if I have to –”

   “It would be irrelevant,” Scrimgeour replied coldly. “Veritaserum confessions are inadmissible in a court of law, I thought you knew that. Resistances, allergies, and other… legal… principles make such confessions worthless – the First War proved that.”

   “Fine,” Harry snapped, “a regular statement, then. The international journalists will see the copies of the Prophet, and they’ll have second thoughts. They’ll start asking questions, and that’s all we’ll need. They’ll be looking for Dumbledore to give the other side of the story –”

   “And when they discover the truth, it stands that there is a very good chance civil war will be averted,” Scrimgeour continued, looking at Harry with a new expression – not quite admiration, but not quite surprise either. “Fudge will be humiliated –”

   “He’ll be thrown out of office, and you’ll get what you want,” Harry finished. “And as we agreed, your campaign will have my vote.”

   “This entire plan rests upon Cuffe getting arrested and cutting a deal,” Scrimgeour said after a few seconds of thought. “What if he takes it to court, and gains the same sort of ‘sentence’ you received last time? Not to mention that Fudge will attempt to block any article or editorial such as what you are suggesting.”

   “That’s if he can,” Harry replied coolly. “We have some allies in the Wizengamot, and I’m sure Cuffe has made plenty of enemies. And if all else fails… well, the Prophet isn’t the only communication medium in our world. The Quibbler, or perhaps –”

   “A radio broadcast, on the WWN,” Scrimgeour said suddenly. “An live interview. There will be those who don’t believe or won’t hear it, and it’s unlikely that the international journalists will hear it, but there’s a chance –”

   “If Fudge doesn’t order a raid to shut it down, there could be a chance,” Harry finished, his face lighting up. “It could work…”

   “Of course, this is all based upon the assumption,” Scrimgeour said icily, “that you are not lying to me. That you will not lie to me. I only agree to this if I get answers.”

   Harry glanced over at Tonks. Her face was impassive, but he got the gist of what she was trying to say with her eyes and changing hair colour to a muted grey-black: you asked for this.

   “I... likely won’t have all the answers you are looking for,” Harry said carefully.

   “Undoubtedly,” Scrimgeour replied icily. “but you’ll be willing to give them, unlike others.”

   Dumbledore’s unspoken name weighed heavy in the room, and Harry took a deep breath. “He doesn’t have all the answers either.”

   “Perhaps, but you and I think on a similar wavelength,” Scrimgeour retorted, “and you’re far more willing to cooperate as equals, if we can say that. So I’ll start with the questions: what happened to those girls?”

   “I have… I have a few ideas, but I’ll need proof before I can say anymore,” Harry replied hesitantly, swallowing hard.

   “Will they recover?”

   Harry let out a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I doubt it.”

    Scrimgeour swore softly and made a motion as if to get to his feet, but a second later, he looked back at Harry.

   “What were their ties to you?”

   Harry shifted uncomfortably. Tonks coughed quietly in the background, and Harry tried to ignore her, focusing only on Scrimgeour’s intent face.

   “I… I liked Cho Chang, last year,” he admitted. “We never really socialized, though – I only saw her on the Quidditch pitch. Su Li was in my year, but she wasn’t social, so I really don’t know much about her. The other two girls…. they were younger and weren’t in my house, I never paid any attention to them.”

   “Do you think it is ‘just a coincidence’ that the attacker chose four Asian girls?” Scrimgeour pursued, his eyes glittering.

   “I don’t… really think so,” Harry said after a few seconds of thought. “I think there’s more to be thought of that they’re all Ravenclaws rather than anything else.”

   “Really?” The skepticism was clear in Scrimgeour’s voice.

   “It was a blood magic ritual of some kind, Dumbledore and I figured that out, and that kind of magic requires intelligence,” Harry said tersely. “I don’t think members of any other house could have pulled it off –”

   “But why would they do something so dangerous, so self-destructive? And why would they blame you for all of it?”

   Harry took a deep breath, and threw another look at Tonks. “Because I suspect those girls were possessed by something that forced them to do it – and the fact that Su Li was at least sane enough to give me a clue suggests that she resisted it the most.”

   “Possession?” Scrimgeour demanded sharply. “By what? There are no malevolent ghosts in Hogwarts –”

   Harry could see Tonks swear silently, and he knew that she understood. But I’m still missing something…

   Suddenly, a very peculiar – and sharply familiar scent caught Harry’s nose: the smell of smoke and burning rubber.

   Scrimgeour was on his feet, and pointing his wand at the door, the frame suddenly glowing a burning red. “What the –”

   “Get down!”

   Harry could only dive beneath the table – a table Scrimgeour flipped a moment later, nearly clipping Harry’s legs – as the roar of flames blew the door clean off its hinges.

*          *          *

   Kemester yanked himself away from Snape and leveled his wand at the figure in the doorway.

   “I thought I told you –”

   The figure’s cane tapped twice against the ground, and Snape could not help but feel a rush of surprise at the man’s voice.

   “Mr. Kemester, when the time comes that I begin listening to your commands, I will inform you,” Lucius Malfoy said smoothly, drawing his own wand smoothing from its hidden location in the cane and pointing it at Snape’s restraints. There was a flash and Snape pulled himself free, gingerly trying not to move his fingers more than he had to.

   “You can’t take him out of here!” Kemester snarled. “You can’t just –”

   “His presence in this infirmary jeopardizes an entire operation, and I cannot afford for him to be contained in this location any further,” Lucius said briskly.

   “We made a deal.” Kemester’s eyes blazed with fury, and Snape could hardly restrain a snort. And he expected Lucius Malfoy to uphold a deal? He’s more naïve than even I imagined…

   “A deal that said absolutely nothing about Snape staying here,” Lucius retorted, grabbing Snape’s arm roughly and pulling him into a sitting position. “And besides, you still have not provided what we agreed upon –”

   “I sent the dossier to your accountant before everything went to hell,” Kemester spat. “Everything that you need is there, including the legal precedents –”

   “Good,” Lucius replied primly. “I’ll have Yarone process the paperwork.”

   “And the goblins?”

   “We already have a scapegoat, and it’ll be a rude surprise for him indeed,” Lucius said, a cruel grin rising on his face as he drew another wand from the pocket of his black robes. Snape recognized it instantly.

   “My wand, Lucius.”

   “In a moment, Snape. Kemester, one last question: why you torturing one of my friends?” Malfoy’s voice was abruptly cold. “It looks like Snape’s hands are rather damaged.”

   “Only six broken fingers,” Kemester replied through gritted teeth. “Nothing you can’t handle.”

   “I’m not a healer, Kemester,” Lucius said icily, already pointing his wand at Snape’s broken fingers. A muttered word, and Snape felt the bones in his hands crunch sickeningly. The pain, however, seemed slightly muted, enough that he could curl his fingers around his wand.

   “You get the job done,” Kemester growled.

   “Of course I do, but if others learned of your actions…”

   “And what of yours?”

   Lucius abruptly stiffened. “What did you say?”

   “I’m not an idiot, Malfoy,” Kemester snarled, raising his own wand, “and I’m better at pattern recognition than most of our kind. So let’s bargain: you keep your mouth shut, and I won’t tell Amelia Bones that you were at the Zabini manor when Aphrodite Zabini was killed.”

   For one of the first times in Snape’s life, he saw raw fury cross Lucius Malfoy’s face. “You dare threaten me?”

   “Do we have a deal?” Kemester retorted.

   The two men matched glares, but before Snape could say a word, Lucius had spun on his heel and stormed out the room, his cane a rhythmic hard tap against the stone.

   “The bastard thinks he can threaten me –”

   “You don’t need him alive,” Snape said coolly, moving beside Lucius.

   “If that were only true,” Lucius replied, his knuckles white as he gripped the head of his cane. “Nevertheless, Kemester will serve his purpose, and like it or not, he and I are allies.”

   “Allies?” Snape hissed, looking back at the door behind them. “You’re using him –”

   “As he uses me,” Lucius spat. “That’s all an alliance ever is. Both of us have skills the other requires… and both of us are united in purpose.”

   Snape gritted his teeth as he heard the door slam behind him, already envisioning in his mind the look on Harry Potter’s face when Lucius’ plan would be put into effect.

   “Revenge.”

   “Exactly.”

*          *          *

   Harry didn’t even see the first curses streak over the table where he and Scrimgeour had taken cover, but he could hear the sounds of exploding bottles. It’s too fast, the door hasn’t even –

   It hit the wooden table with a shuddering crack, and Harry ducked low as shards of flaming wood peppered the bar, lodging in the dirt and in the rickety chairs.

   “We need better cover!” Scrimgeour shouted. “Tonks, now!”

   The pink-haired Auror was a blur, her wand spraying light against the floor. Tables toppled over, as if an invisible hand had flipped them on their sides. Harry’s eyes widened as Scrimgeour moved with unnatural speed, his wand hardly visible as he muttered spell after spell. He heard a rattle, and he could only watch in astonishment as a dozen chairs rose into the air, their legs angled sideways towards the door…

   “Incendio!”

   Harry scrambled back as the spell whistled through the door, igniting his makeshift barricade. Blinking back tears from the smoke already starting to fill the bar, he could see figures already rushing through the narrow opening –

   “Depulso!” Scrimgeour roared. With a single shivering rattle, every single chair shot towards the door in a flurry of flying wood –

   “Protego!”

   “Scuti fractus!”

   Harry could only watch in amazement as Tonks’ spell hit the erupting Shield Charm, shattering it in seconds. The hooded caster could only look up with alarm as three chairs smashed into him, sending him tumbling into the street. But the other two figures were moving, and Harry just barely got a Shield Charm up in time. He felt his wand vibrate sickeningly in his hands as the charm shuddered, but held against the cascade of magic...

   “Don’t just cower and shield, Potter, they’re after you!” Scrimgeour yelled, deflecting a curse with a slash of his wand.

   In that second, Harry knew that Scrimgeour had made a terrible mistake, as realization hit him like a heavy boot to the gut. They weren’t after me before… they tracked Cassane, they were after him! But not anymore…

   Dodging a white-hot hex that scorched its way clean through the bar, Harry stumbled behind another flipped table and peeked over the edge. The smoke was making it hard to see, but he could only see two cloaked figures attacking them – and for a few brief seconds, it didn’t look as if they knew where he was…

   He slid closer to the wall and raised his wand, pointing it at the closest table to one of the attackers. I’ve only got one shot at this…

   “Duro! Vercundus!”

   The hooded figure – a rather squat figure, Harry couldn’t tell much more – didn’t even see the table moving, struck by Harry’s spell. Skidding across the slick floor, the heavy wooden table hit the person at full speed – and kept moving, slamming her with a sickening crunch into the stone wall. Harry couldn’t help but wince at the sound of the impact. But he wasn’t done yet.

   “Incendio!”

   The figure began to scream as the table crushing her against the wall erupted into flames, and for a moment, Harry’s blood ran cold. It didn’t last long, though – the other figure was still launching spells, and Harry nearly avoided something red-hot streaking by his neck.

   “It’s three on one, fool!” Scrimgeour shouted though the smoke. “Throw down your wand, and I might let you live!”

   CRACK.

   He suddenly felt the tip of a wand pressing against his throat, held with a delicate hand.

   “You let us leave freely, and I won’t have Potter’s brains sprayed all over these walls –”

   Harry’s foot snapped up, catching her hard between the legs. He felt her grip loosen, and he spun, raising his elbow high –

   The young woman’s hood flew free, and Harry would have even considered the girl attractive if she wasn’t trying to kill him and he hadn’t just backhanded her across the face. She staggered backwards a step, but a second later she sprawled on the floor, victim of a chair that Tonks had sent magically flying across the room –  

   “Tonks, get rid of those fires!” Scrimgeour shouted above the screaming still echoing across the room. “Potter, take her wand and –”

   But she was already moving, her wand not rising to meet Harry’s but moving towards her own arm –

   “Avada Kedavra!”

   There was a flash of green light, a rushing sound, and a second later, the woman flopped to the floor, her eyes lifeless.

   Harry looked around wildly, only to see Scrimgeour lower his wand, a dark look on his face, and a strangely flat look in his eyes.

   “You –”

   “They communicate through the Mark,” Scrimgeour spat, stepping over the shattered glass and broken wood. He rolled the body over with a shove of his foot and sliced open the sleeve on her robes – to reveal a swirling, blood-red tattoo. “More of Black’s ex-Death Eater friends, no doubt.”

   Harry looked quickly at Scrimgeour. “You know it’s not him –”

   “Harry, get over here!” Tonks shouted. “I need you to dispel this Hardening Charm you used!”

   “I’m sure you could handle –”

   Tonks grabbed Harry’s sleeve and pulled him close. “Do you want that girl’s body?” she whispered quickly. “Scrimgeour will have other things on his mind –”

   “Do it,” Harry replied quickly, thinking as fast as he could. He had considered finding a second simulacrum – and it was a golden opportunity. “What about this one?”

   “She’s lucky to be alive,” Tonks whispered back, magically shoving the table back to reveal an unconscious, badly burned woman, older and much uglier, the look of shock and pain frozen on her face. “And she’s a Death Eater, that’s for damned sure –”

   “Do you have an ID on that one yet?” Scrimgeour said grimly, a small jet of water spraying out of his wand and extinguishing one of the larger flaming piles of debris.

   “Looks like Alecto Carrow, sir,” Tonks replied carefully. “Ex-Death Eater, brother is –”

   “I know who she is,” Scrimgeour said, looking down upon the woman, a cold smile upon his face. “She got away from justice once – but not again. What about the one outside?”

   “Disapparated already, from the looks of things –”

   Scrimgeour swore. “I thought you jinxed him before he could –”

   Tonks visibly fumed. “I was busier trying to prevent us from being killed than –”

   “Forget it,” Scrimgeour cut her off, coughing once in the smoky room as he extinguished another fire with a pungent hiss. “What’s done is done.”

  Harry could suddenly smell the reek of charred flesh, and he felt his stomach churning. “What about this Carrow woman, and that other one –”

   “Take the dead girl in the back to the Auror morgue, and for Merlin’s sake, try to be discreet – the last thing we need is the Prophet to find out about this now,” Scrimgeour ordered curtly, his eyes fixed on Tonks. “I’ll have another group come along to pick up Carrow –”

   “With all respect, Rufus, I would like to ask her a few questions first.”

   Harry spun around and nearly stumbled on the still slick floor as Albus Dumbledore entered the room, wearing midnight blue robes and a very grim expression upon his face.

   “Well it’s about damn time you showed up!” Scrimgeour said angrily.

   “Where is Aberforth?” Dumbledore asked, completely ignoring Scrimgeour’s rising anger, his eyes landing on Harry.

   “I paid him off so we could have some privacy – something we really didn’t get! We could have used you five minutes ago, Dumbledore!” Scrimgeour snarled, furiously gesturing for Tonks to get moving. “This place was attacked –”

   “I can see that.”

   “– By three of Black’s goons!” Scrimgeour finished hotly. “You should have been here fifteen minutes ago! That was our deal, where the hell were you? I didn’t think you sent Potter in your place!”

   Dumbledore frowned. “Right on time, Rufus, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I Apparated from the gates of Hogwarts at quarter past three –”

   “It’s three-thirty, Dumbledore!” Scrimgeour said furiously, his yellowy eyes blazing. “And now someone’s dead, because you were late.”

   “You were the one who killed her!” Harry said angrily.

   “Well, it wasn’t like you were going to, now, was it?” Scrimgeour snarled, rounding on Harry. “That’s the way war works, Potter!”

   “Rufus, we cannot meet here, people are already coming to investigate the smoke and the noise,” Dumbledore said, his shrewd eyes darting across the damaged bar. The old man raised his wand, and with a massive sweeping motion, every single table and chair righted itself. Shattered bottles leapt back onto the shelves, and even the thick haze of smoke that filled the room seemed to fade away. “You must leave, and leave quickly. I’ll take Harry back to Hogwarts –”

   “Professor, not yet.”

   Dumbledore looked at Harry very quickly, and he had the unnerving feeling that he was being x-rayed by those bright blue eyes.

   “Harry, this isn’t safe –”

   “I have one thing I want to handle first, then I’ll get back,” Harry lied, throwing a quick glance at Scrimgeour. The Head Auror gave Potter a small, almost imperceptible nod in return. But Harry knew that Dumbledore had noticed the glance, and the old man’s expression hardened, if only for a moment.

   “Harry, be quick, I have the feeling that time,” he said softly, tapping his strange golden watch, “may be running out. Please come to my office as soon as you return – we may have some answers.”

   “Answers?” Scrimgeour said suddenly, his eyes lighting up. “Well, what are you waiting –”

   CRACK.

   “Oh, for the love of fucking magic!” Scrimgeour exploded, slamming his fist on the table. “We don’t have time to –”

   “Mr. Scrimgeour, you’re right: we don’t have time,” Harry interrupted, sliding away his wand. A quick look under the table found him the book Cassane had given him, amazingly still undamaged. “Dumbledore probably doesn’t want to risk it –”

   “I know how he operates, Potter,” Scrimgeour growled.

   “Then you should know he’d want to tell you, if anyone!” Harry retorted. “I can’t believe I’m defending Dumbledore here, but it’s too dangerous right now, and you and he both know that. And if I know Dumbledore, he didn’t intend to be late – something must have gone wrong.”

   “And what do you think that was?”

   “How the hell am I supposed to know?” Harry snapped, as Tonks reappeared in the room, immediately Disapparating a second later. “Look, I’ll pass along anything I hear, if you adhere to the deal I suggested.”

   “I want information,” Scrimgeour said immediately, his eyes blazing. “I want to be kept in the loop. If you want my trust, you’ll have to earn it, Potter. And I’ll be in touch.”

   He took a firm hold on Carrow’s unconscious figure, pulling it into a rough sitting position and a departing glare, the Head Auror Disapparated with a crack.

   A second later, Harry looked around. “Tonks!” he called out into the open bar. “You can come out now –”
   “Not here, around the back!”

   He followed behind her towards a small shed that smelt strongly of manure. He wrinkled his nose, but Tonks waved her wand and a blast of fresh air filled the space between them.

   “Where did you bring the body?”

   “The morgue, what do you think?” Tonks replied, running a slightly shaking hand through her hair. “Needs to be entered into the records first, then I’ll get it out.”

   “They weren’t here for me,” Harry whispered after a few seconds. “They were looking for Cassane – and Merlin only knows where he went.”

   “He’s unreliable, I told you that from the beginning,” Tonks replied tersely. “So where do you want to do the ritual? You’ll be out for a few days –”

   “Not in Hogwarts,” Harry replied immediately. “That strange magical… thing that surrounded Hogwarts happened the night we did the ritual, and with something evil loose in Hogwarts, I can’t afford to be possessed or… or something happen to me.”

   “Then where?” Tonks asked simply. “And that’s not the only thing – this won’t be cheap either.”

   Harry swore under his breath as he pulled whatever coins he had left from his pockets and into Tonks’ hands. “The sooner I get good relations with the goblins, the better – that way I’ll actually be able to get my money.”

   “Harry, this isn’t enough –”

   “I know, I know, just… cover me just this once, Tonks,” Harry said, breathing fast, his gut clenching. “We can’t afford to wait. Do you think you can get the body ready?”

   “Harry, I can do it – it’ll mean a few more sleepless nights, but it’s not like I’m sleeping much these days anyway – I just need to know where,” Tonks said intently. “Not at Hogwarts, and Grimmauld Place is out –”

   “Fine, the Shrieking Shack, then,” Harry said, his breath hitching as his thoughts whirled. “There are no ghosts there, it was just Lupin years ago.”

   “You’ll need to explain it to Dumbledore, a reason why you’re leaving.”

   Harry sighed with exasperation. “I’ll figure something out, Tonks. And by the way, when you do those diagnostic spells, try and get a look at that Dark Mark – we don’t want any of its magic fouling up the ritual.”

   “Harry…” Tonks raised her hands helplessly. “Look, I learned a lot the last time we did this, and if anything, the most important thing was that I don’t have a damned clue about everything in this ritual! I can’t promise anything.”

   Harry let out a breath, a sudden wave of tiredness surging through him. “I know, I know… I’m sorry, it’s just…”

   “I know,” Tonks replied, hesitantly putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Hell, even I didn’t expect Scrimgeour to be that ruthless. Can’t say I’m surprised, but…”

   “He’s gambling with high stakes, like both of us,” Harry muttered. “At least I’m getting better –”

   “It was a nice trick with that table,” Tonks said, a small grin appearing on her face. “Caught between two stone walls, right?”

   “If one of the walls could be on fire, sure,” Harry replied with a shrug. “Hell, that Hardening Charm was off that list you gave me – surprisingly easy to cast, though.”

   “Limited in use,” Tonks replied, her hand sliding to Harry’s other shoulder, so her entire arm was across his back. “But damned useful at the right time. I’ll have to remember that trick.”

   “Thanks.”

   “So…” Tonks’ other hand suddenly began playfully sliding up Harry’s side. “Is that the only thing that charm can harden?”

   “Well, I haven’t –”

   His words were cut off – Tonks’ other arm had snaked around him, and she was kissing him deeply, hungrily, cutting Harry’s words and rational thought in twain…

   She broke the kiss first, a strangely satisfied smile on her face. “Interesting.”

   Harry struggled for words, as his mind struggled to catch up with the past few seconds. “Tonks, you just –”

   “You’re getting better, I think,” she mused, tapping her chin. Then an insufferable smile came to her lips as she gestured downwards. “And I’ve just proven one place where you won’t need a Hardening Charm any time soon.”

   “Tonks!”

*          *          *

   He watched from the shadows, back behind the trees. They hadn’t even bothered to look – they had relied on seclusion to protect them.

   But they had been wrong, and he had heard every word. When he saw them kiss, a twisted smile crossed his handsome face – that was new.

   “A ritual… in the Shrieking Shack,” Sirius Black whispered to himself. “Heh… they didn’t tell me all about this before they left… must be new…”

   The smile on his face grew wider, and an insane light lit his eyes. “The Dark Lord will want to know… ah, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”