“So he just left?”

   “Don’t sound so damned incredulous, Blaise, he had no choice,” Draco Malfoy said with irritation, slamming his book shut. “From what my father’s told me, your Mark burns, you go.”

   “He didn’t come back, though.”

   “Maybe he’s on a mission – look, how the hell would I know where Snape is?” Malfoy snapped. “I’m not his keeper!”

   “I just think that if he’s supposed to be undercover here, it’s damned inconvenient for all of us that he doesn’t show up to his classes this afternoon!” Zabini retorted. “Dumbledore’ll know –”

   “And if the rumors are true, Dumbledore’s got Snape on retainer, so he undoubtedly has some kind of answer,” Malfoy grumbled. “Frankly, I wouldn’t mind knowing where he is.”

   “Look, we both know he doesn’t know enough –”

   “I don’t know how much Snape does or doesn’t know!” Malfoy exploded, slamming his fist on the desk. “He wants to be kept in the loop so he can protect us, but what if he’s captured? If he gives something away, the fingers point back to us!”

   Zabini grabbed Malfoy’s wrist and looked at him intently. “Then we make sure we point the finger where it belongs – and that’s firmly at Nott. He’s the one who’s running this whole mission –”

   “And don’t you forget it.”

   Both Malfoy and Zabini looked up to see Nott swagger up to the table, a supremely self-satisfied look on his face. His eyes, though, were still mirror-like and hard as steel.

   “We have,” the weedy young man said slowly, pulling a small envelope from his robes, “new orders.”

   Zabini’s eyes narrowed. “That’s quick.”

   “Too quick,” Malfoy growled. “What’s the orders?”

   Nott leaned close, and Malfoy could see the familiar unnatural gleam in the young man’s eyes. “We’re going to give Potter a taste of the horrors the Dark Lord has planned for him. Tonight.”

   “Tonight?” Malfoy exclaimed incredulously, swiping the letter from Nott’s hand. “Nott,  there’s no way the Dark Lord wants us to –”

   Nott snatched the letter from Malfoy’s grasp and shoved it back within his robes. “I’m sorry, Draco, but it’s for Marked Death Eaters only – and you’re not one of them.”

   Malfoy shot to his feet and grabbed Nott by the collar, his eyes blazing with indignity and fury. “I’ve just about had it with you, you insufferable piece of –”

   “What, Malfoy, you can’t handle the fact that suddenly you’re not the most important person in the room anymore?” Nott replied, his twisted grin filled with satisfaction. “In fact, these orders specifically mention your role in this operation.”

   Malfoy tensed. “What?”

   Nott’s eyes twinkled with malice. “You’re the scapegoat.”

   “That’s a fucking lie!”

   “Oh, is it?” Nott shot back. “I think you’ll find that, once again, you’re wrong. The job’s mine, and I’m looking forward to making Potter suffer. But don’t worry, Draco, you’ll be able to take all the credit for my hard work – just like you wanted.”

   Malfoy froze. Suddenly, Snape’s words were vivid in his mind: the one wizard in your year who is capable of murder….

   Nott’s smile grew larger by the second. “Oh, what’s the matter, Draco, are you scared Potter’s going to come and fry your balls the same way he fried your father’s?”

   “You little –”

   “All right, stop,” Zabini snarled, getting to his feet and yanking Nott free of Malfoy’s grip. “You know what, I can actually see why the Dark Lord assigned me to work with you two – because both of you are fucking idiots! The only reason why I’m still here is because that rat-bastard Potter killed my mother, and I don’t think he’s suffered enough yet for his actions. I might prefer a bit of a more direct approach,” he added, throwing a disgusted glare at Nott for a few seconds, “but if the Dark Lord is willing to provide me with resources and allies, then I’m certainly not going to be a fool and not use them!”

   “Glad to know you have such a high opinion of yourself, Zabini.”

   “Shut up, you power-hungry little shit,” Zabini snapped, turning to Nott with a plainly disgusted look on his face. “The only reason you’re on this mission at all is because you know the magic to make this plan work. And the only reason you’re on this mission,” he continued, glaring at Malfoy, “is because your father has influence, you’re halfway competent, and yes, you’re the most obvious target. It’s the perfect fucking decoy, I thought you understood that!”

   “Clearly, Malfoy doesn’t like being second best to anyone, even his betters,” Nott said smugly.

   “And don’t you have a fucking job to do, or something?” Zabini returned angrily, rounding on Nott. “Why don’t you go get off on your sick twisted fantasies and make Potter rue the day he was born?”

   Nott threw Zabini a murderous glare, but he stormed off.

   “He’s going to try and kill you,” Malfoy said quietly.

   “He doesn’t dare countermand the Dark Lord’s orders, and he bloody knows it,” Zabini replied icily. “Now what the fuck is your deal? You knew what was going to happen the second you signed up for this.”

   “I was supposed to be in –”

   “No, you weren’t,” Zabini cut Malfoy off in mid-sentence. “Honestly, you didn’t expect that Nott was going to be the one running the show? Are you really that blind –”

   “I knew it was going to happen, but forgive me if I’m a bit concerned about characters such as Potter having free run in this Merlin-forsaken school!” Malfoy snapped. “And with Snape gone, we can’t afford any mistakes that might give us away.”

   “You can control that.”

   “I can’t control Nott’s bloody lunacy!”

   “You don’t control little fiends like Nott,” Zabini muttered, looking at the direction where the weedy Slytherin had left. “Sure, they seem docile, but they’re little fucking demons in disguise, and the Dark Lord’s exploiting that. And you and I both know we couldn’t – wouldn’t – do what he’s doing, am I right?”

   Malfoy was silent, and Zabini snorted with exasperation.

   “Glad to know we’re on the same page, then.”

*          *          *

   “Come in, Harry.”

   Harry tried to keep the tension out of his gait when he walked into Professor Dumbledore’s office, but it was difficult. His mind was working furiously, trying to process everything that had happened in only a few short hours. His head was literally aching from trying to fit everything together – presuming it all fit together somehow. Too many factors, too many variables… damn it, why can’t things be simpler?

   “I think, from your expression, that you can understand why I gave you a Pensieve, Harry,” Dumbledore said, looking up from a book on his desk. “As I told Miss Tonks, too much knowledge never makes for simple decisions.”

   “If I could make a decision, it would make things much easier!” Harry snapped, slumping in the chair closest to Dumbledore’s oaken desk and putting his hand to his temple. “All I have right now are a bunch of ‘facts’ and ideas bouncing around. Hell, a coherent answer would make this all so much easier.”

   “It appears, then,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully, looking back down at his desk and picking up a very delicate-looking rod, “that we have a similar quandary.” The Headmaster prodded something carefully on his desk with the rod, producing a strange tinkling noise with every poke.

   “Is that your watch?” Harry asked, frowning and leaning a bit closer, to see the Headmaster’s watch partially disassembled upon the desk, with tiny screws and gears strewn around it.

   “Indeed it is, Harry,” Dumbledore replied with a frown of his own, giving the rod in his hand a slight twist as he prodded deeper within the mechanism. “It is enchanted to keep perfect time – in a manner of speaking – but for a reason that I do not, as of yet, understand, it appears to have slowed down. Yet when I arrived at the Hog’s Head, it was showing the correct time.”

   “Does it, I don’t know, need some sort of magical battery replaced?”

   Dumbledore chuckled. “If magic came in batteries, Arthur Weasley would likely have a great many more working inventions than he already does. No, what is strange about this is that when I returned to Hogwarts, it appeared as though the watch had reset itself, going backwards even to reflect a smaller time interval in which I was absent from Hogwarts.”

   Harry raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Professor, that sounds impossible. Are you sure –”

   “When a person’s life rode upon my arrival at the correct time, I feel that its importance cannot be overstated,” Dumbledore said grimly. “I can only hope that it is a problem with the mechanism itself, and not from an outside source.”

   “As if we don’t have enough problems already,” Harry muttered, running a hand through his hair as he fought to push back the headache.

   “Indeed,” Dumbledore said, setting down the tool and sliding the half-assembled watch aside. “Did you learn anything new from Cassane?”

   “He didn’t agree to help us, if that’s what you meant.”

   “I didn’t expect that he would,” Dumbledore replied heavily, “but did you acquire any useful information?”

   “I’ve got some ideas,” Harry said, a bit defensively. “Did you manage to find something?”

   “As a matter of fact, I did,” Dumbledore said, his eyes sparkling as he pulled a small, rather battered book from the top of the pile on the edge of his desk. Then, drawing his wand, he pointed it at another book wedged into the shelf. The book, bound in dull crimson leather, glided through the air and landed with a heavy thud on the center of the desk.

   “That’s a blood magic book,” Harry said sharply, immediately spotting the thin, razor-edged blades between the covers.

   “Indeed it is, and one of a collection a Headmaster acquired in the early nineteenth century,” Dumbledore replied, giving Harry a penetrating stare as he opened the book with a wave of his wand. “You see, Cassane’s mention of vampires was enough for me to remember Abraham Stoker’s biggest accomplishment – the Muggle novel Dracula, an interesting treatise that began an obsession with vampires that carries over in Muggle culture to this day. What is considerably more interesting is the fact that such a cultural phenomenon occurred within the wizarding world nearly a hundred years earlier – and with considerably more bloodshed.”

   “Yeah, Cassane mentioned that the vampires started leaking phony magical rituals that only boosted their own power,” Harry said slowly. “He had a book like that one, too –”

   “Likely from the same collection,” Dumbledore said with a nod. “One of the old vampire ‘lords’ was particularly prolific with his work, and he produced many volumes filled with these rituals. In any case, I was able to find a ritual described in this work that is nearly identical to the one that occurred with those poor girls.” He tapped the page lightly with his wand, ignoring the faint rustling of the book’s blades. “It is called ‘Petals of the Nymph’, reportedly able to give the users incredible beauty and sensuality.”

   Harry frowned. “Obviously not its true purpose.”

   “Most certainly not,” Dumbledore agreed, reaching within his desk to pull out what looked like a large pink eraser. “Harry, this is a Revealer, one of the most interesting inventions to come out of the Department of Experimental Charms in the past ten years, and now sold commonly in Diagon Alley. Rub it hard on the page, like so, and…”

   Harry let out a low whistle, for as the Revealer skidded across the page, directed by a few lazy flicks of Dumbledore’s wand, it revealed line after line of black gothic writing within the margins of the page.

   “I still can’t read it, Professor.”

   “That is because it is in Russian,” Dumbledore said solemnly, “a language I found fortuitous to learn about sixty years ago, when Grindelwald was gathering power on the continent. The true purpose of the ritual still appears to enhance the beauty and sensuality of the users, but it also leeches blood and free will from the users at an alarming rate, directing it to the nearest vampire.”

   “But I thought there aren’t any vampires in Hogwarts,” Harry said cautiously.

   “There aren’t, and that is not the only thing that does not add up in this puzzle,” Dumbledore said, scanning the Russian text, his frown deepening. “There are also two essential components of the ritual which cannot be done without: the casters must use the magic of their own free will; and that the book –”

   “Must be present,” Harry finished, his mind whirling. “It would have had to be there…”

   “And yet it has not left my office,” Dumbledore said, closing the book and looking at Harry more intently than ever. “Not since it was removed from the Restricted Section in the early nineteenth century, according to this journal.” He tapped the small, battered book that he had selected earlier. “Each Headmaster keeps a record of what books are added to his personal library, and from where it came.”

   “Wait a second!” Harry exclaimed suddenly. “You’re telling me that book was in the Hogwarts library prior to being up here? That’s insane, that book’s dangerous!”

   “According to the journal, it was donated to the school anonymously,” Dumbledore said, his frown growing deeper as he consulted the journal. “Forgive me, Harry, but I do not hold a high opinion of this Headmaster – he likely made the decision without considering the consequences.”

   “But why would he have made the decision to move it?” Harry asked, getting to his feet and glaring at the book. “Unless…”

   It hit him, so suddenly he nearly staggered at the terrifying weight of the possibility and the implications. Of course… I was so close before…

   He looked up at Dumbledore, and it seemed that the same understanding that had hit Harry had also made contact with the Headmaster as well.

   “Unless this has happened before,” Harry whispered.

   “There was no mention of it in the journal,” Dumbledore said, giving the journal a disgusted glance, “but I am not surprised. Most Headmasters would not want to leave such an embarrassing bit of information in a book that they know would be read by a future Headmaster.”

   “Everything points to this ritual having happened before,” Harry said tersely, beginning to pace, “and there’s only one real way that the Ravenclaw girls would have found out about the book or the magic, not to mention being able to work the ritual without the book altogether.”

   “They would have required help of some sort,” Dumbledore said slowly, his eyes meeting Harry’s. “And not a help they would have accepted voluntarily.”

   “Moody was right all along!” Harry said, his voice getting faster and faster as he mentally kicked himself for not seeing it. “And we were so close too – we just didn’t make the connection with the source!”

   “Possession,” Dumbledore finished, his eyes flashing. “And not by Lord Voldemort, but by the very perpetrators of the ritual all those years ago, in spiritual form.”

   “It makes sense!” Harry exclaimed, pacing faster and faster. “Take the ghosts at Hogwarts – I know for a fact that Nearly-Headless Nick likes to reenact events from his past life – particularly surrounding his death! It’s a poignant moment for them – so why would it be so hard to believe that the ghosts of those girls possessed the Ravenclaws and forced them to redo the ritual! They wouldn’t have needed the book at all!”

   Dumbledore did not respond, only drawing his wand. Pointing it at one of the delicate silver instruments on one of the spindly tables around the room, he muttered a few words. Instantly, the device began to whir and click, sending tiny little puffs of smoke into the air… which formed the shape of two parallel circles: one a deep crimson red; the other a startlingly bright azure.

   “Of course,” Dumbledore mused, a small hint of surprised satisfaction in his voice. “And the reason why those poor girls were driven to madness was not due to the possession, but due to the dichotomy of the ritual itself.”

   Harry frowned. “I’m sorry, what?”

   “Such a requirement as free will is a powerful restriction to place upon magic, Harry,” Dumbledore said, looking intently at the rotating circles of smoke, growing more pronounced with each whir of the device. “An extremely powerful one, but one that can generate powerful conditions. The paradox of the possessing ghost having the free will to perpetrate the ritual and the Ravenclaw girls not having such a will would destroy both minds – the magical paradox would tear the two apart.”

   “Then why did Su Li remain somewhat sane?”

   “She must have begun to understand what the possessing ghost was attempting to do, and perhaps her own interests were more in line with the spirit than those of the other girls,” Dumbledore reasoned. “Either way, we cannot be sure.”

   “Wait a second,” Harry said quickly. “Su was always in the library – hell, she was worse than Hermione – she must have recognized something about the ritual, recognizing that it was vampire blood magic –”

   “And she warned you in a way that would allow you to come to understand the terrible history behind such magic,” Dumbledore finished, waving away the smoke. “A very smart girl.”

   “Shame she couldn’t tell us who the ghost possessing her was,” Harry muttered, his pacing slowing as looked back at Dumbledore. “Or where the ghost came from, or how the hell all that blood got on the walls.”

   “A calling card, this we can be quite sure of,” Dumbledore said, his eyes scanning the bookshelves lining the walls as he raised his wand. “Something compelled the ghosts to leave those marks – something very powerful, and very Dark indeed. Possession, the stripping away of free will, is nearly always considered Dark magic, but compelling a ghost to possess another to relive its death is both Dark and exceedingly dangerous. Such malevolent spirits are extremely difficult to control.”

   “I wouldn’t exactly call those possessing spirits evil,” Harry said hesitantly. “I mean, from the sounds of it, they were misguided more than anything, and if they were compelled, they didn’t have a choice either.”

   “Agreed,” Dumbledore said, striding over to one of the far shelves and pulling two extremely thick books free. “And this means we are dealing with magic that has not been practiced in hundreds of years, and only once within Hogwarts, according to legend.”

   “What do you mean?” Harry asked, cautiously sitting down.

   Dumbledore placed the books upon his desk and pointed to a corner of his study with his wand. A second later, something black, patched, and very shapeless zoomed out of the shadow, landing neatly on one of the piles of books.

   “The Sorting Hat?” Harry asked incredulously.

   “It saved your life before, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a hint of a smile as he sat down. “And now, if my hypothesis is correct, it will tell us of what we need.”

   “If only it was that easy, Professor Dumbledore,” the Sorting Hat said unexpectedly, with more than a hint of sadness. “And you are far from the first Headmaster to attempt this. Armando Dippet himself tried the tactic when the Chamber of Secrets was opened.”

   “He wanted to see… if the Hat remembered anything from the time of the Founders,” Harry reasoned slowly. “But I thought Godric Gryffindor only put intelligence in the Hat for Sorting students, not of advanced Dark magic!”

   “Mostly true, Mr. Potter,” the Hat said suddenly, the rip turning abruptly to face Harry, “except in this, I have a bit of knowledge. I could have known nothing about the construction or location of the Chamber of Secrets – that was entirely Salazar Slytherin’s project. But this… ah, it required all four Founders to work the magic.”

   “What you are saying?” Harry asked cautiously. “Are you saying the Founders… I don’t know, that they somehow sealed something away that prevents this from happening?”

   “Have you ever wondered, Harry, why there are no… malevolent ghosts within the castle of Hogwarts?” Dumbledore asked suddenly, fixing Harry with an intent stare.

   Harry was slightly taken aback. “I… I hadn’t ever thought of it. But then again, Hogwarts is a school, right?”

   “Like most of the rest of those who attend Hogwarts, Harry, you have never been forced to encounter what many would consider an evil spirit,” Dumbledore began slowly, “but that does not mean there has not been evil done at Hogwarts. No, there have been many terrible events within Hogwarts and which will never be mentioned in Hogwarts: A History. This school has been around for nearly a millennium, and while such events may be rare, they are not unheard of. Take, for instance, the Triwizard Tournament – students have died in such events, and not all have died completing the Tasks.”

   Harry swallowed hard at the implication. “Right…”

   “People have died in this school, Harry,” Dumbledore said, his voice quiet and deadly serious. “And not all have died justly. And even if they have, those individuals may not have believed they have died for the right reasons. Those spirits linger in our world – and many are quite dangerous.”

   “Then why don’t we ever see these ghosts?”

   “Because the Founders predicted this possibility,” the Sorting Hat said suddenly. “And so they crafted powerful magic into the stones of Hogwarts, that any ghost with the intent to harm others would be sealed away within the depths of Hogwarts, unable to harm or endanger anyone.”

   “And you think… you think whatever magic the Founders used… it might have been weakened?” Harry asked, a small surge of fear making his hands shake.

   “It is the only hypothesis that explains why we have never seen those girls’ ghosts before now,” Dumbledore replied seriously. “And that is not all – such magic would have also sealed away the elements of personality that the active ghosts of Hogwarts do have that could harm the students.”

   “The Founders were thorough,” the Hat agreed.

   “Not thorough enough,” Harry snapped, rising to his feet. “Someone’s found that magic, and is destroying it!”

   “Only weakening, I would think,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully, running a hand through his beard. “And without a great deal of skill, at that.”

   “One of the three Death Eaters in the school,” Harry growled. “Voldemort has to be behind this – he causes chaos for us, so he can enact other plans!”

   “That certainly seems the most likely possibility,” Dumbledore agreed. “The only question that remains is how he has weakened this binding magic…”

   “Well, if the Founders hid something in the ‘depths of Hogwarts’, it’s probably in some sort of hidden room or something,” Harry said quickly, thinking aloud. “Like the Chamber of Secrets –”

   “No,” the Sorting Hat said unexpectedly. “Most certainly not. If the legend is true, Slytherin wanted his Heir to find the Chamber – no Founder wanted the dangerous ghosts of Hogwarts to be unleashed. If there is some secret chamber, it is hidden far better.”

   “And even I have not discovered all the secrets of Hogwarts, Harry,” Dumbledore finished. But despite his words, a bright fire was returning to his eyes.

   “If Voldemort found this place, so can we,” Harry said, matching Dumbledore’s expression. “And we can’t afford to waste time – with the Ministry the way it is, and with Voldemort on the move, we don’t have time to waste. We need to find those Death Eaters in Hogwarts and get them out of here.”

   His eyes narrowed. “And that includes Snape.”

   “Professor Snape, Harry, but I fear that choice has been taken out of our hands,” Dumbledore replied, rising to his feet. “He was apprehended by the Ministry a few hours ago – the Floo Network is being watched.”

   “So that leaves two…” A sudden thought struck Harry. “Professor, we’re forgetting about Peeves. He went... evil before any of the other ghosts –”

   “Peeves is a poltergeist, Harry,” Dumbledore said, opening the first heavy book he had pulled down and scanning it closely. “Different rules apply – and thankfully for us, he is incapable of possession. An ability forfeited so he could manipulate physical objects.”

   “But if the Founders’ magic breaks completely, would it be possible for Peeves to possess people?” Harry asked, swallowing hard as he remembered the impossibly insane expressions on the poltergeist’s ghostly face. “Merlin only knows what he was before…”

   “I do not know, Harry,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes completely serious. “This magic is beyond both of our ken, and until we can find this mysterious chamber – if it even exists – we must concentrate our efforts on fending off any future attacks and identifying the culprit.”

   “Cassane told me that there are some books on exorcism in the Hogwarts library –”

   “Every professor will get one, and I will make sure you have one as well, Harry,” Dumbledore replied with a nod.

   “Professor –”

   Dumbledore looked up, and once again, Harry felt like he was being X-rayed by Dumbledore’s stare. But there was something else in the old man’s eyes – regret. Regret and something else Harry couldn’t quite recognize…

   “I know you are keeping secrets from me, Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly, “and while I may not know all the facts of what has happened in the past few months, I know enough. I am concerned for your safety, Harry – things have happened far too quickly. I also know that you don’t trust me the same way you once did.”

   “Things have to be mutual, Professor,” Harry replied, the small lump in his throat interfering with the coldness he was trying to keep in his tone. “You haven’t told me everything, and you have not let me get all the answers I need. So until that happens… things won’t be the same.”

   “Perhaps not, but we share common ground, and Lord Voldemort views both of us as enemies,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “We do not have to completely trust each other to work together, and while each of us may do things that might offend the other –”

   Like keep filth like Snape here, Harry thought darkly.

   “– We can still fight on the same side,” Dumbledore finished. “Lord Voldemort is the greater evil, Harry, and I do not desire a parting of the ways between us.”

   Harry considered this. Dumbledore knows more than he’s telling… but then again, he always has. And as an ally, I couldn’t ask for a better one. And… and it seems like he genuinely cares, and wants to make this work…

   “I know you don’t agree with all of my methods,” he began slowly.

   “If you knew the full extent of mine, you would likely disagree with them as well,” Dumbledore replied fairly. “And as neither of us knows the whole about the other, and given our current time constraints and predicaments, it is wise not to draw conclusions.”

   I’m still not telling him about simulamancy, Harry thought to himself. That’s… well, it’s too close to whatever the hell is happening at Hogwarts right now, and I still don’t know if you can consider it Dark or not…

   “Fine,” Harry said finally after a few moments of silence. “Does this mean I’m a honourary member of the Order of the Phoenix or something?”

   “Not yet, Harry, but you will kept informed,” Dumbledore replied. “I can promise that.”

   “You won’t tell me everything, though.”

   “And vice-versa,” Dumbledore returned. “Although,” he added, “you’ve already been quite effective in starting your own little... circle, so to speak.”

   Harry could barely hold back his tension. He either knows something… or he’s just extraordinarily good at guessing. Knowing him, probably both.

*          *          *

   There were four of them who sat around the ornate mahogany table, a table spotlessly clean other than the rims from the glasses of water upon the desk.

   “You could have at least brought a bottle for this discussion, Mr. Malfoy,” a portly, bespectacled man said regretfully, holding up his glass regretfully with fat, slightly misshapen fingers.

   “I don’t drink when I do business, Yarone,” Lucius Malfoy growled, drumming his fingers upon the table. “Not even wine – besides, one requires a clear head for this sort of business.”

   Considering how complex and convoluted it is, Snape thought darkly from his position at the end of the table, a glass of wine would probably help… 

   “Is there, ah, a reason Mr. Snape is here, Lucius?” Willard Parkinson asked, his squinty eyes narrowing with distaste. The man was startling handsome for his fifty-three years, a definite asset when it came to his role as Malfoy’s personal legal consultant and joint owner of Parkinson & Baddock, but his personality was abrasive at best and downright hostile at worst. He also loathed Snape with a passion.

   “It would likely be best that Dumbledore does not know that Snape is out of Ministry custody at this time,” Malfoy replied curtly. “The less that old fool knows, the better.”

   Yarone cleared his throat. “You do know that the bank has opted to remain strictly neutral in this conflict –”

   “Yarone,” Malfoy said warningly. “This is a personal matter between me and the other party – the people in Gringotts who matter will not be drawn into this conflict.”

   A crafty smile crawled onto Parkinson’s face, and Snape could barely hold back a grimace of revulsion.

   “I will not tolerate murder in this conference room, Lucius,” Yarone said curtly.

   “I’m sorry, I believed I hired you, not the other way around,” Malfoy replied coldly, draining his glass and setting it down with a hollow clink, “so if you don’t mind, I would prefer you did not dictate terms to me.”

   “We are on Gringotts property, Malfoy!” Yarone said angrily, half-rising to his feet. “And that means you abide by our terms!”

   Malfoy’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but he said nothing, only refilling his glass of water with a wave of his wand.

   “So it’s just Welmon we’re waiting for?” Parkinson asked impatiently.

   “The goblins will likely send someone,” Yarone muttered.

   Malfoy shot to his feet. “What?”

   “Oh come on, Lucius, you didn’t think they knew?” Yarone retorted, rising to his own feet, although the effect was greatly diminished due to the man’s rotund shortness. “Of course they knew – they’ve been scanning every bit of mail that passes through our walls, trying to find any leaks. They knew about this plan before I did.”

   “And you’re only telling me this now?” Malfoy said furiously.

   “It’s not that important anyways,” Yarone replied dismissively. “Odds are, we’ll get a mid-level administrator who will soon realize he’s in over his head and dealing with customers who are sizably more powerful than he is. Thus, you get what you want.”

   “That’s assuming they don’t call Ragnok,” Parkinson growled. “We know he’s negotiating with Dumbledore –”

   “Even Fudge knows that, Parkinson,” Snape snapped. “But goblin business negotiation law guarantees a degree of protection even the Ministry dares not violate at the moment – and that we don’t dare violate either.”

   “He’ll make our lives difficult, though,” Malfoy said tersely.

   “Not for long,” Parkinson said coolly. He exchanged a glance with Yarone, who grinned greedily and rubbed his fat hands together.

   “So you’ll be going through with that plan,” Malfoy said, a hint of surprise creeping into his tone.

   “It’ll be just what the Ministry wants, and what we’ve all wanted for decades,” Yarone said, licking his heavy lips in a manner Snape found utterly repulsive. “Our money, our investments, in the hands of wizards, not wandless filth –”

   The door opened, and before Yarone could utter another word, a man in an outdated grey suit sidled in, a very nervous expression upon his face.

   “Welmon,” Parkinson said crisply. “You’re late.”

   “If anything, I’m early,” Welmon replied quickly, sitting down next to Snape and folding his hands, if only to keep them from nervously twisting in his lap. “And you should be happy I showed up early – Ragnok’s coming.”

   “Damn it,” Malfoy swore. “How much does he know?”

   “If the right terminology is used –”

   “The devilish bastard will still pick up on absolutely everything,” Yarone snapped. “He’s too smart for his own damned good. And you know that he’ll try and veto everything.”

   Malfoy leveled his wand and pointed it at the door. “I think that he’ll be more… persuadable.”

*          *          *

  Harry rubbed his temple wearily as he walked down the corridor. I need that damned Pensieve, just to clear my head…

   “Harry? Harry!”

   Harry closed his eyes and tried to blot out the high-pitched, annoying voice, but he could hear running footsteps behind him. He heard a soft meow, and a second later, he opened his eyes to see Mrs. Norris scampering away down the hall, darting around a pillar.

   “Harry, can you help me? I mean, I know you’re busy and –”

   “Not now, Colin,” Harry cut him off as Colin Creevey came into his view. He still found it hard to believe the Gryffindor was somehow a fourth year. And I faced the Horntail when I was his age…

   “Why weren’t you at dinner, Harry?”

   “Meeting with Dumbledore,” Harry replied brusquely, moving to shoulder past Colin. “And that’s exactly where I’m going –”

   “Ron Weasley told me to come find you.”

   Harry’s eyes snapped open, and for the first time, he met Colin’s eager gaze. “What does Ron want? Is he in trouble?”

   “He just wants you to come to the Quidditch changing rooms as soon as you can,” Colin replied quickly. “Apparently it’s urgent.”

   Harry swore under his breath. He had completely forgotten about Quidditch – but then again, he had had more important things on his mind. “I… damn it, I don’t have time for this…”

   “What’s wrong, Harry?” Colin asked anxiously.

   “Nothing, nothing,” Harry muttered. “Did Ron say what he wanted?”

   “He just, uh, wanted someone to find you, and I volunteered,” Colin replied, shifting a bit uneasily. “Harry… people are saying some strange things about you –”

   “I bet they are,” Harry said to himself. He looked at Colin penetratingly. “But from the look on your face, I’m guessing you don’t believe any of it.”

   “Oh, heck no, Harry!” Colin said with a smile. “You saved my life, and you’ve been a real hero! I’m not gonna forget that!”

  Harry could hardly restrain a shake of his head at the incredulity of it all. One of the few people that actually believed him was a person Harry couldn’t stand. Talk about bloody ironic…

   “Is there anything else?” he asked, trying to inject some friendliness into his voice.

   Colin shifted suddenly, and his face fell. He suddenly looked very scared. “Harry, have you seen my brother Dennis?”

   “No, I haven’t,” Harry replied, slightly nonplussed at the question. His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

   “I just haven’t seen him all day,” Colin replied nervously. “And… well, the other boys pick on him a bit, so I don’t know if he’s been pranked. Either way, I don’t know where he is – I didn’t see him when I went down to grab some dinner, and I’m a little worried.”

   “I’m sure you’ll find him,” Harry said with a small smile. He almost wished that he could have the same cares that Colin Creevey did – no goblin negotiations, no Ministry entanglements, no evil possessing ghosts, no Voldemort…

   “Well, if you see him, can you let me know?” Colin asked anxiously.

   “If I see him, I’ll let you know,” Harry replied with a nod. “Thanks, Colin.”

   He walked away, heading towards the stairs, all the while not noticing Mrs. Norris’ lamp-like eyes resting on him, filled with the unnatural gleam of complete, paralyzed terror.

*            *          *

   “Well, that went well,” Lucius Malfoy said primly as he entered Yarone’s office, his cane rhythmically tapping on the hardwood floor.

   “As well as it could be expected,” Snape replied curtly, folding his arms across his chest as he stood next to the fireplace. “I’m assuming I have leave to go now?”’

   Malfoy smirked. “Snape, you did a fine job, and I’m quite certain you will profit handsomely from all of this.”

   “You didn’t answer my question,” Snape said sharply. “Are we done here? Can I go back to Hogwarts?”

   “You seem to be in a hurry –”

   “The sooner I’m back at the school, the better,” Snape said bitingly. “Dumbledore will have enough questions for me as it is, and the more I delay –”

   “Make sure you don’t give away too much, Snape,” Malfoy said, his voice suddenly harsh. “I don’t want certain parties finding out about this before it’s far too late.”

   “And I don’t need you telling me how to do my job,” Snape snapped. “Anything else?”

   “Other than not to take the Floo Network, that’s nearly it,” Malfoy replied, reaching into his robes. “I would prefer not to have to free you from the clutches of the Ministry again.”

   Snape gritted his teeth. “And that note is?”

   A small grin crept across Malfoy’s face as he extended the tiny, well-folded note towards Snape. “Give this to my son.”

   “What is it?”

   “Just some… instructions,” Malfoy said lightly.

   “Instructions for what?”

   “Just so we can have, ah, all the pieces back in the game.”

*          *          *

   “There you are,” Ron said with an impatient huff. “I’ve been waiting for you –”

   “I’ve had a very busy day, Ron,” Harry cut him off, rubbing his eyes. More than ever, he wanted to get to his Pensieve, unload his memories, and get some sleep. “You’ve had no idea…”

   “You don’t look great,” Ron admitted. “Can you come inside?”

   Harry’s curiosity was piqued – why on earth was Ron calling him all the way out onto the pitch for this? Rubbing his eyes again, he pulled open the door to the male end of the changing room, only to see Neville, Fred, and George leaning against the shelves.

   “Well, the princess returns –”

   “Fred, it’s still not funny,” Harry warned.

   “Maybe to you it’s not,” George said with a snort. “I must say, Harry, your newest scent of smoke and charred wood is much more becoming.”

   “Although I think I smell a trace of something else,” Fred added, a grin spreading across his face. “A little something feminine –”

   Harry glared at them and turned to Ron. “What’s this all about?”

   Ron shifted uneasily. “Well, you told me that I should… well, you know when I said that I wanted Umbridge gone, you told me that I should come up with my own plan to get rid of her?”

   “Right…” Harry said cautiously.

   “Well, we did,” Fred said cheerfully, “and now she’s gone.”

   “I thought Dumbledore told you to get those fireworks,” Harry said with a frown. “At least that was my impression…”

   “Nah, we volunteered for that,” George added. “Gave him the safe-word, though – damn shame he gave it to Professor Moody, though.”

   “Anyways, once Umbridge was gone, I started thinking about what we could do to, you know, make sure the damage she did was mended,” Ron said, swallowing hard. “And she took a Weasley before she left.”

   Harry understood in a second. “You want to bust Charlie out.”

   “Dad already knows what we’re planning on doing, and he’s planning his exit strategy in case the Ministry tries to do something against him.” Ron took a deep breath. “And we’re trying to get Bill on our side too.”

   “What about Percy?” Harry asked blankly.

   Fred and George exchanged dangerous glares. “Let’s just say,” Fred began, “that when we see that arrogant, stick-up-the-arse brother of ours, he’s going to get what he deserves.”

   “Percy signed off on the warrant for Charlie’s arrest,” Ron said in a low voice. “He’s disowned the family, siding with the Ministry. Look, none of us want to go into details on that, but the fact remains is that Charlie’s in Ministry custody, and we want to get him out.”

   “So we’ve been training,” Neville finished brightly. “Ron picked up a decent bit of magic while he was helping you train for the Triwizard Tournament –”

   “That’s not going to be enough against Hit Wizards or Aurors –”

   “And I might have nicked that list of spells I saw in your bag a bit ago,” Ron mumbled.

   Shock raced through Harry’s veins, and he nearly grabbed the table. “When… but I thought –”

   “You were asleep, and I didn’t recognize any of the names,” Ron said hastily, “so I figured they were new spells that you had found!”

   “Ron, some of those spells are lethal!” Harry exclaimed. “Tell me you haven’t been practicing them!”

   “Only a few, and mostly on the chalkboards that Wood left here,” Fred added with a smile, pointing at one of the massive boards on the wall. To Harry’s shock, there were several holes the size of his fist in the board, and scorch marks all over the chalk rack.

   “Problem is, a couple of the spells didn’t seem to do much to the board,” George finished with a shrug, “so we figured you might be able to help a bit.”

   “That’s because some of those spells only affect humans!” Harry said exasperatedly. “Why didn’t you take the pages with explanations of the spells?”

   Ron winced, and Fred and George both rolled their eyes.

   “Knew we were missing something…”

   “Merlin, Ron, why didn’t you just ask me about it?” Harry asked, very real anger creeping into his voice – and he didn’t miss the hypocrisy of it all either.

   “Harry, so much has happened so bloody fast… I would have asked you, but –”

   “You’re just lucky that you haven’t been trying any of those spells on each other!” Harry exclaimed, silently cursing his own stupidity for leaving the paper visible. Thank Merlin Tonks has the simulamancy papers… the last thing I need right now is them knowing about that… “Some of those spells can kill!”

   “Now Harry, a Levitation Charm can kill a man if it’s cast at the right time –”

   “That’s not… that’s not the point, Fred!” Harry said with frustration, raking a hand through his hair as he sat on one of the old benches. “Some of those spells… you can kill someone easily with one of those, that’s the only purpose they have! And you’re all bloody crazy if you think you can easily get away with using them against trained Aurors and Hit Wizards!”

   “You did,” Neville said quietly. “I saw you.”

   Harry closed his eyes before looking up at Neville. “And take a good look at me, Neville. Why are you even here, anyways? You’re not a Weasley –”

   “Doesn’t mean I don’t care,” Neville interrupted defensively. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to fight. Doesn’t mean I don’t admire what you’re doing, with Dumbledore.”

   “Harry, you have to realize that we’d all be helping you if you’d let us,” Ron said angrily, “but you’re not. You won’t even tell me where you’re going, or who you’re working with!”

   “And I’m not telling you for a reason, Ron!” Harry finished, rising to his feet and fixing Ron with a glare. “Do you really want to know what I’ve had to do in the past few weeks? Are you prepared to deal with people like Kemester, who will beat the living shit out of you if you stand in his way?” He took a deep breath. “Are you prepared to deal with the monsters that Voldemort’s unleashing in Hogwarts, that not even Dumbledore – not even Dumbledore – can trace?”

   “You see, there’s a funny thing about that nebulous ‘unknown’,” George said after a couple seconds. “And that is that if you don’t know anything about it, how can you have justification to fear it?”

   “Could be bad, sure,” Fred added, “but it could be great. Could be fantastic. Could be a game-breaker, even. It makes much more sense to fear something or someone that you know and deserves the fear, not something that you don’t know that you don’t know.”

   “That… that makes no sense at all,” Harry said after a few seconds.

   George looked crestfallen. “Really? It made sense to me –”

   “George, let me ask you something, and we can toss the damn jokes out the window because what you’re planning to do is a hell of a lot more dangerous than starting a joke shop,” Harry said, walking straight up to the twins.

   “Easy for you to say,” Fred muttered. “You haven’t met our mother.”

   “Yes, I have, and that’s why I’m asking you this question,” Harry replied, taking a deep breath and looking into George’s eyes. “If you get into the Ministry, you’ll have to fight your way out, there’s no working around that. So I ask you this: can you kill?”

   “What?”

    “Can… you… kill?” Harry asked, clenching both hands into a fist. “If it was between his life – Charlie’s life – and that of a Hit Wizard or an Auror, could you kill them?”

   Ron swallowed hard. “Harry, it won’t come to –”

   “With the Ministry as it is, I can bet it will,” Harry said dangerously. “You too, Ron, Neville. Could you two kill if you had to? It’s not as easy as it might seem.”

   “You couldn’t –”

   “I have,” Harry growled. “And you really don’t want to know what it took to get me to that point. You lose something, Ron, something you’ll never get back. How do you justify it – how can you ever justify it? How can you tell your parents, your brothers or sisters, your grandparents? Fred, George, Ron, have you told Ginny what you’re going to do?”

    “Are you crazy?” Fred replied incredulously. “Mum would kill us if she found out we were doing this, but we aren’t getting Ginny mixed up in this – it’s too dangerous, she’s already been through enough with that whole Chamber of Secrets thing.”

   “Don’t think I don’t know, but do you plan to tell her?”

   “Well, maybe when we’ve gotten Charlie out –” George reasoned.

   “And what about you, Neville?” Harry continued, turning back to Neville, a hard look on his face. “Have you told your grandmother what you’re planning to do?”

   “N-no, but I –”

   “Well, after the way your parents went, she might want to know.”

   Harry regretted the words the instant he said them: Neville’s face went white as snow, and his breathing suddenly grew laboured, as if he was holding back something in his chest.

   Ron looked at Harry with confusion. “Harry, what are you talking about?”

   “My parents,” Neville whispered, blinking rapidly, “were… were tortured with the Cruciatus Curse by … by a bunch of Death Eaters after Y-you-Know-Who died. They were Aurors… and, and the D-Death Eaters thought they knew how h-he died…”

   “Are… are they dead?” Fred asked tentatively. Neville couldn’t answer, as he swallowed back tears. Ron threw a quick look at Harry, who only responded with a quick shake of his head.

   “Shit,” George whispered, sudden realization filling his voice. “That’s why you flipped out on Malfoy the other day when said something about St. Mungo’s – ”

   “And in fourth year, when Moody was showing the curses…” Ron’s voice trailed off as a horrified look crossed his face. “Oh god, that’s just… that’s just….”

   “Yeah,” Harry agreed grimly. “Pretty fucking sick, if you ask me. So is that why you’re doing it, Neville, going on this mission? Revenge? Living up to a legacy?”

   Neville didn’t respond, only looked at Harry. There was something in Neville’s eyes that he couldn’t quite recognize…

   “If anything,” Harry said finally, “Neville’s the most ready for this, even if he’s doing it for the wrong reasons.”

   Ron shifted uneasily. “So, will…”

   “Will I what?” Harry asked sharply, turning to face Ron and trying to keep the scowl off his face. “Will I help you?”

   “That’s it,” Fred said brightly. “Will you help us?”

   Harry took a deep breath and began to pace, walking towards the damaged chalkboards, his mind whirling in a haze of tiredness…

   Suddenly, he paused in front of one of the storage lockers, where a few extra practice brooms were always kept. He took a deep steadying breath as he slowly drew his wand. And I almost believed them…

   “Who else knows?”

   “Pardon?”

   “I said who else knows what you’re doing here?” Harry asked quietly. “Who else have you told, Ron?”

   Ron’s eyes went wide. “I haven’t said a word to anyone, Harry, you know –”

   “Really?” Harry asked, flicking his wand at the locker door.

   The door sprung open, and a cascade of old brooms fell onto the dirty floor – along with a very surprised, very disheveled Hermione Granger.

    “So…” Harry began slowly, raising a hand with a beckoning gesture, a dangerous look appearing on his face, “why don’t you starting explaining this – now.”

*          *          *

   They were simple incantations, and it only took him moments to commit them to memory. Simple, inelegant, but singular in purpose, and brutally effective.

   “Just like Harry,” Dumbledore murmured, closing the book with a snap and setting it down on his desk. “So much like Harry –”

   CRACK.

   His wand was out in a second and pointing at the shattered glass case containing Gryffindor’s sword – and the hideously grinning apparition above it.

   “Oops,” Peeves said, his voice faintly mocking as he delivered an exaggerated bow. “My apologies, Headmaster.”

   “You are not permitted in this office, Peeves,” Dumbledore said coolly, raising his wand. “Although that has not stopped you this year, has it?”

   “I’m afraid, ah, not even the great Albus Dumbledore can tell Peeves where he can and cannot go,” Peeves said with a wink. “Only one’s got the power to do that.”

   “I never thought you would serve as a lackey to Lord Voldemort, poltergeist.”

   The cackle rang across the office, and Fawkes trilled in protest as Peeves howled with insane glee.

   “Him?” Peeves asked, laughing through his words – something that sounded far too eerie in Dumbledore’s opinion, but understandable as he realized that Peeves didn’t have to breathe. “Why would I waste my precious time catering to his whims?”

   “You’re telling me you’re not working –”

   “Dumbledore, if I’ve learned anything in this next round is that I only have to do what I want to do, and nothing more,” Peeves said, his voice ominously dropping an octave. His eyes narrowed into slits as his grin spread wider. “You know… Headmaster’s a funny term, particularly considering one in your position…”

   Dumbledore’s eyes flashed. “Do not try my patience, Peeves, or you know –”

   Peeves howled with laughter again, and Dumbledore’s ears began to ring from the echo. All around the room, the candles flickered.

   “One of these boys is not like the others…” Peeves sang, every note minor and sinisterly melodic. “Isn’t that what they say? Isn’t that the rule of the game?”

   “PEEVES!”

   The voice boomed across the room, and even the poltergeist seemed startled at the massive sound from Dumbledore’s mouth. The candles roared to flickering life, and Fawkes trilled again, offsetting Peeves’ dirge.

   Dumbledore removed the wand from his throat and pointed it at Peeves again. “What do you want, Peeves?” he asked softly, his voice deadly serious.

   “Just to tell you a little something, Headmaster,” Peeves said, with the horrifyingly familiar air of someone cradling a massive bombshell in his hand. “An old, ah, friend is back at Hogwarts, a caretaker of sorts… that is, to say, he’s good with his hands…”

   Dumbledore frowned, his mind whirling through the possibilities.

   “Of course, you killed him twenty-six years ago,” Peeves added with a demonic smile. “Here at Hogwarts, no less, keeping it very quiet all the while. Good thing too – wouldn’t have wanted him to get his hands on any more of those pretty little boys…”

   Dumbledore’s blood ran cold, the feeling of déjà vu falling over him like an avalanche. His hands clenched in to white-knuckled fists as the weight of what Voldemort had unleashed pressed down on him.

   “This nightmare has been beaten before.”

   Peeves gleefully cackled as he finally met Dumbledore’s gaze. “You know, you should really tell Argus Filch and Dennis Creevey that one – I’m sure they’ll appreciate!”

   The candles blazed brighter, and the door of the office flew open with a glance. With a flutter of his cloak, Dumbledore was gone.

   But even as phoenix song filled his ears as Fawkes flew ahead, he could still hear Peeves’ howls of laughter behind him.

*          *          *

   “Harry, I can explain –”

   “I’m sure you can,” Harry cut Hermione off in mid-sentence, without looking back, “but I’d prefer to hear this from Ron.”

   “Harry, I didn’t know she was here, I swear it!” Ron said, his face growing paler by the second. “I – I know how you feel about this whole mess, and I didn’t tell a soul –”

   “Harry, he didn’t tell me anything,” Hermione said, her eyes fixed on the back of Harry’s head. “I overheard Ron tell Neville about it, that you were going to meet here, so I got here ahead of time –”

   “And you didn’t even check, for security’s sakes,” Harry finished, not able to prevent the note of disappointment from filling his voice. “Merlin, Ron –”

   “Look, we chose to have the meeting out here because it wasn’t close to the school!” Ron replied heatedly. “We weren’t trying to be overheard –”

   “I’m sure,” Harry replied, spinning around to fix Hermione with a glare. “So what are you thinking about Ron’s plan, Hermione? He didn’t tell you about it, but you heard everything we said, so what’s your opinion?”

   Hermione pressed her lips together as her eyes met Harry’s.

   “Come on!” Harry snarled. “I know you’ve got an opinion, so spit it out!”

   “It’s suicide!” Hermione burst out, breathing quickly. “It’s madness, Ron, you can’t expect to break into the Ministry and not get caught –”

   “Or fight your way out,” Harry growled.

   “It’s insane, Ron, you don’t even have a plan –”

   “I was working on it!” Ron replied angrily. “Damn it, we’re not just going to let Charlie get shipped off to Azkaban because that bitch wants to prove a point!”

   “A suicide mission isn’t the answer, Ron!”

   “For once, she’s right,” Harry said curtly, slamming the storage locker shut with a wave of his wand and a flash of sparks. He didn’t even need a word – the rage burning in his stomach provided all the power he needed. “It is a suicide mission, Ron – and this is coming from me.”

   “He would have had the rest of us, Harry!” Fred said angrily. “We aren’t useless, you know!”

   Harry ran a hand through his hair as he tried to rein in his temper. Kemester’s ugly face erupted into his vision, and he could feel the remnants of the bruises on his face twinge with pain. They don’t know, he thought grimly, they have no idea…

   “Hermione, why did you follow us anyways?” Ron asked with a frown. “I mean, you’re not one for Quidditch –”

   “Oh, please, Ron!” Hermione snapped. “I saw you use that spell in Charms, I can put two and two together!”

   Harry’s stare snapped to Ron. “You used… you used one of those spells is class?”

   “It was to get me out of a tight spot with Flitwick, nothing else –”

   “You don’t even know the full power of that magic, Ron!” Harry erupted, his temper finally breaking. “You could have killed someone!”

   “Well, I guess that would have made me more prepared then, eh?” Ron shot back. “At least by your reckoning!”

   The rage flooded out of Harry in an icy wave. He stepped back, leaning against the storage locker, shaking his head. He didn’t understand the sudden emptiness – only that the feeling was gone, and he wasn’t sure he would get it back.

   “Harry?” Neville asked tentatively. “Are… are you all right?”

   “Huh…” Harry muttered as he ran his hand through his hair again.

   “Harry?”

   “You don’t get it,” Harry whispered. “None of you do. Not even close. And the scary-as-shit part is that you think you know. You think you’re ready to fight, to kill, but you’re not. Not even fucking close.”

   “Then teach us something, for Merlin’s sake, Harry!” George said suddenly, stepping forward. “Ron called you here so you can help us!”

   “This is something I can’t help you with,” Harry murmured. “Rather, something I won’t help you with.” He stood up straighter and surveyed the group, a look of mingled scorn and grief crossing his face.

   “I’m sorry, Ron, but you’re on your own.”

   “Harry, please –”

   “I’m not going to be a party to this!” Harry said, almost to himself as he moved towards the door, his footsteps ringing on the wooden panels. “Keep the list of spells - I don’t need it anymore - but for Merlin’s sake be fucking careful where you point them.”

   “Do you not even care anymore, Harry?” Hermione exploded as Harry’s hand touched the doorknob. “You don’t give a –”

   Harry paused, and turned to face Hermione. He saw her eyes wet with tears, her expression full of mingled pain and anger.

   “Look at me, Hermione,” Harry whispered, his voice full of disappointment and disgust. “The reason I’m still here is because I still do give a shit! I don’t want to watch my friends die, Hermione!”

   “You don’t seem to have the same problem with other people!” Hermione replied, swallowing back tears. “How many people have you killed this year, Harry? How many innocents? One? Two? Four? A –”

   She didn’t get out another word, because Harry’s wand was pointing an inch away from her face.

   “You’re going down a path you really, really don’t want to go down, Hermione Granger,” Harry whispered dangerously. “And at one time I thought you would have been with me till the end.”

   “I would have, Harry. Dear God, I would have,” Hermione replied, blinking rapidly as her voice lost its steadiness, “but you’re not the Harry Potter I knew a few months ago!”

   “I think we both have come to realize that,” Harry snarled, “but unlike you, I’ve accepted it.” It was a lie – mostly – and he knew it, but he didn’t care. “So I ask the question: why are you here? Is it because you want to save me, tell Dumbledore and bring me back? He already knows most of it, Hermione, and what he doesn’t know, he suspects – and the more I get to know him, the more I begin to think that he has a laundry list of atrocities longer than my own! So what is it, Hermione? Why are you throwing away Ron’s trust like this, while trying to destroy whatever’s left of mine?”

   Hermione couldn’t speak – her eyes darted from the tip of Harry’s wand, to the haunted coldness in his eyes. She was right – he had changed. It’s not like I had a choice, though, he thought to himself. I didn’t have options…

   “I… I…”

   “What, Hermione?” Harry asked coolly.

   “I… I want m-my friend back, Harry!” she cried, tears now flowing unchecked down her face. “What happened to you?”

   “What, am I suddenly not good enough for you?” Ron asked scathingly. He didn’t get anything else out, because George had just smacked him across the back of the head.

   Harry was silent, his eyes still fixed on Hermione’s tears. Unlike before, there was no weight in the back of his throat. It was like he was at far away, watching himself from a high tower.

   “I don’t owe you an explanation, and you’re not getting one.”

   “Harry –”

   But Harry was already walking away, wrenching the door open with a swipe of his wand. He paused, and turned back to see the five of them watching him.

   “Voldemort and I… we’ll be going to the same place, and if you want to walk with me, you need to get on a different road,” he said, his voice almost emotionless, echoing bleakly across the room. “Otherwise…”

   He met Hermione’s eyes again, and his own gaze hardened.

   “Otherwise, I won’t be seeing you.”

   He turned, and walked into the twilight, the door slamming shut behind him.

*          *          *

   It was an arc of steel, all in a single piece. Dirty, rusted, chipped along the edge, one could hardly dignify it by calling it a knife, but it was enough.

   It served its purpose.

   The door was shut, and the lock clicked. A single twist of the key had ensured that. The room was dark, but not dank. Lit only by two candelabras, by the wall. No windows, no other doors. One way in.

   No way out.

   They stood there, shivering, nearly naked. They didn’t dare look at each other, for they didn’t know who would be the next. It had easier than even he had expected to get them this far. Coercing surrender was as easy as holding a knife with a practiced grip.

   He did not look internally, for he had no need to. The man had no magic, but he needed none – not for this. He had no desire to look inward and see the screaming figure of an embittered old fool, his only solace in a subhuman creature that was worth less than nothing. Now that figure was less than a shadow, locked behind implacable purpose and the hot flames of passion.

   No… this was better. Looking only outward, eyes roaming across the cool room. Cool was good – cool meant there would be hardness in all the right places, and delicate softness where it was required.

   The overcoat was shrugged off effortlessly, revealing a tattered brown shirt and an even worse pair of trousers. For a moment, his nose wrinkled in disgust at his own appearance, but there was nothing to come of it. He had been given another chance to savor his pleasures – he was not going to delay on account of cleanliness.

   He turned the knife over in his hand, running the flat end along the unshaven stubble on his blockish chin. He was unsurprised that the wiry hair did not fall away – it had been uncut for so long, it had taken up permanent residency.

   His lip curled. It was time.

   But who to pick? He had gathered five – the most he had dared at this time – and all of them looked most appetizing. Fresh, nubile bodies, devoid of imperfections… those that he could see, that is. His hands itched for the chance to tear it all away, trace every line and contour, but he mustn’t be hasty. Not this time – after all, why take an unworthy pleasure?

   He cleared his throat as he raised his knife.

   “My little friends, I’m going to conduct a bit of an… examination, so to speak. You will stand, and you will not move, and you will not speak.” He took a step closer, reveling as the five quaked at his every step. “When the Healer finds what he is looking for, he will… collect. And if you prove unwilling to pay that debt…”

   His voice trailed off, as his eyes traced the tracks of tears cascading down their faces. He wasn’t surprised.

   His eyes landed on the first boy, his beautiful brown eyes still wet. Those beautiful eyes only widened when he stepped closer, the knife moving as gracefully as his arthritic fingers would allow.

   “I think… I’ll start with you.”

*          *          *

   The scream split the hallway, the torches went out in a second, and Harry’s wand was out in a second. He looked wildly around the deserted corridor, trying to trace the echo, a horrifying feeling of déjà vu filling his gut –

   “Oh, Harry?”

   Harry’s eyes snapped up and instantly narrowed with fury as Peeves casually floated down from his seat on what was once a lit torch.

   “I don’t have time for this, Peeves –”

   “It’s a shame you never really listened to Colin, Harry,” Peeves said, a disturbing note of cheer in his voice. “You should have gone looking for Dennis –”

   The blood fled from Harry’s face. “What are you talking about, Peeves?”

   “Dumbledore already knows, and even now he’s racing up to a room in Gryffindor Tower to correct an error decades in the making, but I wouldn’t have you miss this for the world, Harry,” Peeves added, a gleeful smile on his face. “But that’s just it – if you go there, you’ll miss the little fracas in the dungeons even now. So here it is – you’ll have to choose your poison and only one, a drink from a giant’s goblet, if you will…”

   “What’s going on in the dungeons?” Harry growled. “Tell me, Peeves, or I fucking swear to Merlin I’ll –”

   “No, no, no, no, that’s not part of the game, Harry,” Peeves replied with a demonic smile. “I’m not going to tell you that – you’ll have to make the choice and you’d better hurry. Or else…” Peeves’ grin grew impossibly wide as his voice dropped two octaves. “Else Dennis Creevey might wish he had never been born.”

*          *          *

   The door cracked open, flooding the roughly hewn room with light, and Reed Larshall was on his feet in seconds.

   “It’s past dinner –”

   “Get your partner up,” a cold, yet surprisingly young voice echoed in the room. Larshall’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the cloaked and hooded figure, silhouetted against the light.

   “He’s not my partner –”

   “I don’t care. Get him up – you’re leaving.”

   Larshall’s mouth fell open. “Leaving? What the –”

   Even the darkness, he could see the wand pointing at him. “The way is open, and I’m the gatekeeper – now move.”

   “Who sent you?” Larshall asked suspiciously, nudging a sleeping Sanders with his foot.

   “It’s better that you don’t know.”

   “How do I know this isn’t a trap?”

   The figure tossed two wands on the floor, along with a tiny bag that Larshall recognized instantly.

   Floo powder.

*          *           *

   “Professor Dumbledore, the door is sealed –”

   “Please step aside, Miss Johnson,” Professor Dumbledore said grimly, pointing his wand at the bolted door. The location of the room only began to confirm his suspicions. Even the words I speak here… to different people, but history does indeed repeat itself. “Did you see who entered this room before the screams started?”

   “Just a bunch of second years and Filch,” Alicia Spinnet said, swallowing hard as she looked at the door. “All the second year boys in Gryffindor, really –”

   “Did the caretaker bring anything with him into the room?”

   Angelina exchanged a glance with Alicia. “I – I thought I saw a flash of metal, might have been a…”

   Dumbledore closed his eyes against the rush of the memory. He was barricaded in the laundry room in Gryffindor Tower, and with the flash of metal…

   The portrait hole burst open, with a shuddering crash as the Fat Lady’s portrait bounced off the wall with an agonized squeal. But from the expression on Harry’s face, Dumbledore suspected that the young wizard didn’t care.

   “Peeves told me you’d be here,” Harry gasped, clutching the stitch in his chest as he wrenched his wand free. “It’s happening again, where’s Dennis Creevey?”

   “Dennis is in there?” Colin said with rising horror, the colour draining from his face. “Professor, is he –”

   “He’s in the laundry room,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes fixed on the bolted door. “And yes, Harry, it is happening again.”

   “Then what the hell are we waiting for?” Harry demanded. “Force the bloody door, break the Sealing Charm!”

   “Not until he screams,” Dumbledore replied, a haunted look crossing his face as he looked back at the door. “Or else every boy in that room will be worse than dead.”

   “Are you insane?” Harry yelled. “We can’t afford to wait, something’s happening in the dungeons as we speak! There’s no time!”

   “Harry –”

   “Vercundus! REDUCTO!”

   The twin curses, propelled by Harry’s fury, hit the door with incredible force, shattering every board, leaving the hinges twisted on the frame. Girls began to scream and run for their dormitories, but Harry barreled straight into the room, Dumbledore right behind him…

   Into the scene of a nightmare.

   The bloodstains crawled up the walls and across the floor. In the corner, the bodies of four boys were piled in the corner, blood seeping across the stone…

   And in the center was Argus Filch, his trousers undone, holding a rusty knife to Dennis Creevey’s naked quivering throat.

   “Hello, Dumbledore,” Filch said, his eyes flashing. Something was wrong with his voice – it was deeper, as if it was used to coming from a heavier, thicker throat, not Filch’s weedy rasp…

   “Apollyon Pringle,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes flashing with fury as he stepped around Harry to face the man. “It appears history is going to repeat itself tonight.”

   “Perhaps for you, but not for me, it’s nearly completed,” Filch growled, a horrifyingly husky note in his voice. The knife pressed tighter against Dennis’ throat, and Harry could hear Colin’s strangled cry outside. “Except this time, you can’t kill me without sending the soul of poor little Argus Filch to his justly deserved hell. I can hear him screaming your name, you know, in here.”

   “I don’t need to kill Argus to dispose of you, Apollyon,” Dumbledore said menacingly, pointing his wand squarely at Filch’s face. “Did you kill the other boys?”

   The caretaker shrugged ominously, and a cruel grin crept on to his face. “They were imperfect.”

   Harry’s breath nearly caught in his throat, but he could see a trace of breathing from the pile. He held back his sigh of relief – only unconscious, but by the spreading bloodstains, he wasn’t sure for how long…

   “You have nothing to win here, Apollyon,” Dumbledore said coldly, “and as you have already harmed my students, there will be no mercy for you.” He raised his wand an inch higher. “But you know this already, Apollyon – you’ve been here before.”

   “Except you didn’t wait until the screams started this time,” Filch said, with a growing twisted smile. “And I have nothing left to lose –”

   “Expelliarmus!”

   “Harry, no!” Dumbledore shouted, but it was too late – the knife had already been ripped free from Filch’s hand. The caretaker’s pouchy eyes landed on Harry, and the smile grew even wider.

   “I’ve always whispered in my deepest pleasure,” Filch whispered, “that one good body deserves another.”

   The bloodstains went matte black, and Filch began to howl with pain, knocking Dennis sprawling as he began to thrash wildly. Harry’s eyes went wide as he saw a shadow erupting from the caretaker’s mouth –

   It was like he had been hit in the head with an invisible Bludger. Harry felt his thoughts and vision vanish in a flash of pain as the shadow hit him full on in the face, a wild discordant humming filling his ears as he struggled to shield his mind –

   CRACK.

   His vision cleared, and he could see the shadow recoiling. Harry’s eyes widened – it looked like golden lines were traced across the coalescing apparition –

   “Harry, get out!” Dumbledore shouted, his blue eyes shining in the darkness as a rush of silvery fire erupted out of his wand, streaking towards the howling shadow, which was forming a wretched face…

    “I’m not leaving them!” Harry shouted, snapping his wand up to face the face. For a strange second, the face reminded him of Uncle Vernon – flabby, with hardly any neck or chin. But this face had a full goatee instead of a mustache, and his eyes gleamed with far more cunning, the cunning of a man who had managed to hide his depredations of Dumbledore himself, if only for a short time –

   “Flirting with a new brand of darkness, Harry Potter?” Apollyon Pringle’s deep, watery voice roared across the room. “But no matter, there are always others!”

   A second later, the apparition vanished - and Dennis collapsed to his knees, screaming wildly and clutching his head. Harry’s eyes widened as he raised his wand towards Dennis, already knowing where the deranged specter had hidden –

   Dennis Creevey’s face snapped up, and for a moment, Harry was struck by the sheer malevolence of the stare, all the more horrifying coming from Dennis’ innocent face.

   “Are you going to kill me, Harry Potter?” Pringle hissed, his voice coming from Dennis’ mouth. “Are you going to kill the innocent little brother of your greatest fan?”

   “Dennis!” Colin screamed, finally wrenching himself free of Angelina and Alicia and running into the room. “Don’t let him do this, fight him!”

   “I’ve already crushed little Dennis’ soul,” Pringle said gleefully, “and come to think of it, he will be an excellent toy to play with –”

   The rage filled Harry, burning away the shreds of his reason. In a second, he was back in the collapsing Zabini house again, his eyes meeting Aphrodite’s remorseless gaze. The words of the Killing Curse were on his lips, the power seething in his body –

   “Harry, please!”

   Colin’s agonized scream sliced through Harry’s rage like a dull knife, but it was not fast enough.

   But Harry hadn’t been planning to kill this time.

   “Mens fragor!”

   A massive blue globe of crackling energy erupted out of Harry’s wand, slamming headlong into Dennis, crushing the boy into the floor. He began to scream, but Harry could see the shadow bleeding out of Dennis’ eyes, flooding away in dollops of sparking energy, coalescing into another howling face…

   “Go back to hell, you perverted MONSTER!” Harry roared, as blue sparks erupted around his wand. He tried to ignore Dennis writhing on the floor in pain, at the implications of what he had done –

   “You can’t break a mind that’s already broken, Potter!” Pringle shrieked. “So send me to Hell, I’ll meet you there –”

   But not another word came from the specter’s mouth. Silver cords, flooding from the tip of Dumbledore’s wand, shot through the face, coiling and knotting in an incomprehensible pattern as the Headmaster’s eyes blazed. Harry stumbled backwards, his eyes going wide – this was power Harry had never seen before, beyond what he had ever expected –

   “May the powers beyond my ken that will judge us all when we pass beyond,” Dumbledore intoned, his voice filled with raw emotion and booming above the screams, “forgive my soul.”

   The scream stopped, and horror crossed Pringle’s ghastly face. “No…”

   “Cassus… phasmatis… ETERNUS!”

   White-hot light snaked down the silver cords, and Harry did the only thing he could think of – grabbing Dennis, he closed his eyes and dove for cover.

   There was a flash that he could see through his eyelids, a single, long horrible scream, and then… nothing.

   Not even a single word.

   Harry didn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t – he wouldn’t. It felt like a desecration – that his very presence in the room was something ineffably wrong…

   “H-Harry…”

   His eyes snapped open, to meet Dennis’ tearful gaze, filled with emotions that Harry couldn’t quite read and that he was sure he didn’t deserve…

   “It’s all right, Harry.”

    He looked up, and he saw Dumbledore’s face, filled with pain. His own blue eyes were filled quiet, yet pained, triumph.

   “What did you do?” Harry whispered.

   “I destroyed Pringle’s soul.”

   Harry could only gape at the pronouncement. “W-What?”

   “Magic… of obscene power, bur with a terrible price,” Dumbledore murmured, and Harry could see the old man’s hand shaking. “A spell I had never dared to use before now… and one that I do not feel I could ever use again.”

   There was a sudden scrabbling, and Harry’s eyes snapped across the room – to where Argus Filch was sitting, staring at his hands, tears running unchecked down his haggard face.

   “He was innocent,” Dumbledore whispered. “Voldemort has shown his utter contempt for both of us in this attack, and by attacking innocents in this way, he has made it quite clear that there are no boundaries he will not cross.”

   Harry didn’t really know what to say, but the sudden feeling of guilt filled his heart like a lead weight. He had treated Filch worse than Snape, but not even he had deserved this. Worst of all, it didn’t seem like anyone would comfort him…

   “Meow.”

   Harry could only look on with a lump in his throat as Mrs. Norris walked tentatively across the room. Filch’s eyes widened slightly as the cat sidled up next to him, and it was with shuddering, shaking hands that he took the scrawny animal into his arms.

   “Dennis!”

   Harry slid away and got to his feet as Colin ran into the room, pulling his brother into a tight embrace, choking back sobs as he helped his brother to his feet.

   “Get your brother to the hospital wing, he has been through a traumatic ordeal,” Dumbledore said kindly. “Mr. Filch, I would ask that you go there as well, and take as long as you need.”

   A minute later, Harry and Dumbledore were alone in the room. Harry had closed the door, but not before catching a glance at the rest of the Gryffindors outside – and from the looks and tears on their faces, they had seen nearly everything.

   He looked down at the bodies and had to take a steadying breath. Naked, bleeding… dying…

   “We will need to get them to the hospital wing –”

   “In a moment, Harry.”

   “There’s no point to leaving them here, Professor, their position is not going to show any clues to the man behind this –”

  “This… this was no work of man,” Dumbledore said grimly, his eyes filled with cold fury as they moved from the bodies to the bloodstains still climbing up the walls. “And even you, Harry, cannot command this power yet.”

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

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

   A door that should never have been opened…

   He sucked in a breath as realization crashed down on him. I’ve seen this already…

   “Is there something wrong, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, turning to meet Harry’s eyes.

   Harry met Dumbledore’s eyes for a long few seconds before turning away and shaking his head.

   “It’s nothing, Professor.”