The two old men – one human, one goblin – stood across from each other, a long, polished mahogany table between them. The room was dark, lit only by a few sputtering candles and smoldering ashes in the fireplace. A few chairs were strewn about the room, all of the same polished mahogany – and none of them were sized to fit a full-grown human. Very few wizards had ever gained access to this very private, very executive conference room, with arched ceilings, high windows, walls of cold tan marble.

   But Albus Dumbledore knew that the future – at least the next few hours of it – would likely be determined by the words that were spoken in this room.

   “You shouldn’t have come, Dumbledore,” the goblin rasped in Gobbledegook. His leathery scalp was lined and covered with patchy white hair, but there was a shrewdness – and a deep-seated rage – that burned in the ancient goblin’s eyes. “Not now.”

   “You know as well as I that we have no time,” Dumbledore replied evenly in the same language, his eyes never leaving the goblin. “And we are alone – no malcontents here to interfere.”

   “They’ve all been expelled from Gringotts,” the goblin growled. “The humans, I refer to.”

   “Even the loyalists?”

   “We do not have a cause in common, Dumbledore – not after what happened tonight. And we are not a peace-loving people.”

   “Abnerak, you do not approve of war – we’ve known each other long enough –”

   “War can be profitable, as you and I both know!” the goblin snarled. “But only if enough infrastructure remains intact. This war… this will not bring Gringotts or my people gold – or freedom.”

   “So you believe me – that Lord Voldemort has returned.”

   “I don’t speak of that,” Abnerak retorted sharply. “I speak of the conflict between you and the Ministry – and of the new bank.” The goblin spat the word like it was poison in his mouth. “The treaties have been broken, my employees have been murdered, and most importantly, gold has been taken from us.”

   “Not by me, or by my actions,” Dumbledore said quickly. “Although I approve of the idea of a competitive market –”

   “It is not the idea I dislike – I understand enough economics to recognize stagnation when I see it. But the traitorous methods in its pursuit are unacceptable, and the deaths of my employees will not be taken lightly.” The goblin’s eyes flashed again, and Dumbledore knew that even attempting to make eye contact for Legilimency with the goblin would be fruitless.

   “It would be easier, you know, if you returned to the table –”

   “I would, but the board has already ruled against me,” Abnerak said flatly, drumming his long fingers on the table. “And despite my rationality, I will not risk my position by blatantly interfering.”

   “So you will attack,” Dumbledore said grimly, switching to English as he looked towards the windows. The sky was only beginning to brighten, sending dim tendrils of light sliding between the velvet curtains. “You do realize that I will not tolerate collateral damage.”

   “Dumbledore, most of your nation has vaults within our walls,” the goblin said, awkwardly switching to English after a few seconds, and pausing after every word. “It would be… unwise to take action that could potentially jeopardize that capital.”

   “Then you must take action to prevent the attack –”

   “Dumbledore, I cannot,” Abnerak hissed. “Despite my preference for cooperation – it leads to better business, and it has kept both our worlds mostly safe for almost a century – I no longer have the same sway that I once did. There are radical elements that I will not be able to control – and besides, Fudge’s death will be beneficial for us both –”

   “Not unless Umbridge falls with him,” Dumbledore said grimly, “else we risk anarchy – and Voldemort’s ascension. The Ministry is in disarray, Abnerak – it will not take much to bring it down. And that,” he finished, turning back to face the old goblin, “is the last thing we both need right now.”

   There was silence in the room for a few long seconds, and then –

   “If you take action against the citizens of wizarding England, I will not stand on the sidelines,” Dumbledore said grimly. “It will not stand.”

   “I will do my best to minimize casualties, but I can promise no more,” Abnerak replied curtly, running a long finger through one of the tufts of white hair on his head. “Is there anything more we need to speak about? The Potter negotiations?”

   “You know as well as… I’m sorry?” Dumbledore paused for a half second as the words sunk into his mind. Merlin, Harry…

   “Your name had been mentioned, I assumed you were one of the negotiating parties,” Abnerak said suspiciously, his brow furrowing. “I was going to tell you – given I won’t likely be seeing the quarter-whore for some time – that the party of Gringotts agrees to the terms set down by the party of Desdame & Vuneren on behalf of one Harry James Potter –”

   Dumbledore felt a chill surge down his spine, and he quickly looked away, keeping his expression carefully blank as his mind churned. He knew as well as anyone that there was no such legal firm as ‘Desdame & Vuneren’ – and given their records, so did the goblins. A clever front indeed, Harry… you’ve done better than I hoped… and one of the last things I had wanted.

   “Excuse me, Abnerak, might I call my phoenix?” he asked courteously. “I have a message that I need to get to Hogwarts, and our Floo is being monitored.”

   “Not in this room you’re not,” the old goblin retorted haughtily. “This wood is extremely expensive –”

   “Not that kind of phoenix, my friend,” Dumbledore said with a hint of a forced smile as he drew his wand. “Expecto patronum.”

   The massive silvery bird erupted from Dumbledore’s wand, and in a second, the room was filled with the beautiful, unearthly sound of phoenix song. Dumbledore waited until the ghostly creature had landed on the table, and then began to speak very quickly.

   “Severus Snape, you are in great danger. Get out of Hogwarts immediately – I will contact you when you can return.”

   The Patronus trilled loudly before sliding through a tiny gap in the window sill, soaring into the night. Abnerak, who had been watching Dumbledore’s every gesture with his wand, did not relax as he put the wand away.

   “How much time do I have?” Dumbledore asked simply.

   “It’s six,” Abnerak said curtly. “The speech is at nine. Three hours.”

   “It will be enough. And as I suspect this room is charmed to block Apparition, might you escort me to some place I might be able to leave swiftly?”

   “The Ministry is under enchantments to block Apparition, we received a message from the Department of Magical Finance this morning about it – likely incoming Portkeys as well by now, they’re trying to lock the entire place down –”

   “Then I will need Fawkes after all,” Dumbledore said calmly. “If you might open a window?”

*          *          *

   Fred and George exchanged glances before looking back at Tonks, identical incredulous looks on their faces.

   “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

   “And I’m not even telling you half of this mess,” Tonks said quickly, her eyes scanning the ruins of the Shrieking Shack for any mysterious shadows not caused by the faint glow on the edge of the horizon. After the attack from Sirius, she wasn’t willing to take any more chances. “In any case, Harry needs to get the international journalists out of the Ministry and into the hands of a more responsible party – preferably the Order. That way, they can hear his piece and Dumbledore’s, and Fudge will be disgraced clear out of office before he can declare his war.”

   “And you’re asking us to help you?” George asked, his eyes widening slightly. “I mean, Tonks, we might be two of the most strikingly brilliant and handsome examples of the human form, but what about the Order?”

   Tonks paused, considering her words extremely carefully as she paced towards one of the few surviving foundation stones that had been blasted free of the ground in the explosion. “Believe me, if we had that option at the moment, I’d use it first, but if there is a fight, the last thing we need is to polarize the Ministry against the Order – it’d be exactly what You-Know-Who wants. Plus, Harry trusts you both.”

   “Didn’t sound like it when he cussed us out earlier,” Fred muttered.

   “Well, that’s Harry these days for you,” Tonks retorted, trying to contain her impatience as she rounded on the twins. “If you knew half of what he’s been through –”

   “I’m assuming that’s the half you’re not telling us –”

   “– Then you’d understand where he’s coming from,” Tonks snapped, her hair going jet black a second later as her eyes flashed emerald green.

   Fred and George exchanged looks again. “Er… Tonks…” Fred began slowly.

   “Sorry,” Tonks said, suddenly noticing the different shades and unconsciously changing her hair back to pink. That’s strange… and entirely too fast…

   HIS NAME IS HARRY POTTER.

   “So you want us to be Harry’s backup in there?” Fred demanded.

   “Look, I caught a glimpse of some of those fireworks that you dropped in the Great Hall when Dumbledore threw Umbridge out,” Tonks said, lowering her voice as a hint of a devious grin crept onto her face. “Do you have any of those left?”

   George winced. “Uh…”

   Tonks’ face fell. “Damn it! That could have actually worked –”

   “Now hang on,” Fred interrupted. “We do have another solution. A lot of those fireworks were made with Combustion Concoction, and that’s a pretty damn good explosive all on its own. If you want us to be blowing things up, all we need is a lot of that potion and we can supercharge it.”

   “And where am I supposed to be getting Combustion Concoction at six in the bloody morning?” Tonks asked exasperatedly.

   “Try one of the goblin shops in Diagon Alley,” a new voice said from the shadows.

   Tonks’ wand was out in a second, and Fred and George were startlingly close behind her, pointing at the silver-haired man in an outdated grey suit approaching them, his lined face tight and strained into a grim mask as he navigated through the piles of debris and ashes.

   Tonks lowered her wand instantly as she recognized the man – he had been the Prophet a fair bit recently. Finally, an ally… of sorts.

   “Considering the goblins are going to be bombing Diagon Alley,” Nathan Cassane continued, raising a hand as a crafty smile crept across his face, “you’ll find plenty of explosives, Miss Tonks, and I’m sure with enough gold, the goblins will have no qualms parting with Combustion Concoction ample for your purposes.”

   “Mr. Cassane,” Tonks said with relief, her breathing easing slightly. “So Harry convinced you after all –”

   “I’m still not interfering in this,” Cassane cut her off shortly, “but it is in my best interests that you and Harry have some success in this matter. Civil war is the last thing our world needs right now, and you have no idea how close to the brink we are. Furthermore, I feel obliged to inform you that the Order has, once again, been compromised.”

   “What?”

   “The Ministry has captured one of the Order’s agents, apparently caught on an espionage mission, and they plan to haul him out to the podium when Fudge makes his grand announcement,” Cassane said, his voice filling with disgust as he stepped closer, charred wood crunching under foot. “And no, I didn’t tell Harry – the last thing he needs is a distraction right now, and this is the Order’s problem.”

   “And what is Fudge going to do when the announcement is over?”

   Cassane shrugged. “Probably have him sent to Azkaban or Kissed after being interrogated for everything he knows. Probably not much, considering Dumbledore would never have let that werewolf try something like this –”

   Tonks’ heart started to hammer in her chest as both of the twins swore simultaneously. They got Lupin… Merlin’s fucking wand, they got Lupin, and when they kill him, every single werewolf will go to Voldemort –

   Suddenly, she realized something and her eyebrows shot together with suspicion. “Wait a second – Lupin was underground with the werewolves! How the hell did he end up in the Ministry anyway?”

   “Well, Dumbledore would never have authorized the mission, and since I’m fairly confident Lupin would rather piss on an electric fence than join Voldemort, my guess he was trying to do something noble – like rescuing that Weasley dragon tamer that’s in the medical ward at the Ministry –”

   “Charlie?”

   “Yeah, that’s the one,” Cassane said thoughtfully. “My guess is he did it as a favour for the rest of the Weasley family…”

   “Hold on, there’s no way he would have directly countermanded Dumbledore’s orders –”

   “Tonks, you hold on!” Fred interrupted loudly. “This is a family issue, and who the hell is this guy?”

   “Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards Nathan Cassane, at your service,” Cassane replied immediately, inclining his head with sudden recognition.

   His eyes hardened suddenly. “So, which of you is Ronald Weasley?”

   The twins exchanged shocked glances now, before looking back at the imposing older man.

   “Uh… he’s our brother…”

   Cassane pulled a small envelope from his pocket and tossed it, leaving George to scramble for the paper and unfold it quickly, scanning every line –

   “Apparently, he and that other writer decided that my attentions need to be drawn to events at Hogwarts that I’ve already stated I will not involve myself in,” Cassane said coolly, “and that it was an extremely stupid move to send that letter with that sort of detail, particularly if the owl had been intercepted –”

    “Definitely true,” Fred agreed, his face paling as he saw the dispassionate expression on Cassane’s face.

   “Except Ron never wrote this,” George finished softly.

   “Of course he didn’t,” Cassane said impatiently. “That’s a girl’s writing –”

   “No, Ron would never write this,” George said, his eyes finally meeting Cassane’s. “He values his friendship too much with Harry… he would never have said things like this…”

   Hermione, Tonks thought, and for a reason she couldn’t quite fathom, her gut inexplicably surged with anger. You stupid girl, what have you done…

   “It doesn’t matter, because if the Ministry has discovered I received this letter, I’m involved in this mess now,” Cassane growled, his brown eyes flashing as his shoe crunched on the remnants of a charred floorboard. He pulled a small sack of gold from a pocket in his jacket and tossed it at Fred, who awkwardly caught it and held it gingerly, as if Cassane had just thrown him a hand grenade. “And that means, I’m going to do what Remus Lupin couldn’t do, while you buy the explosives you need to cripple the Ministry.”

   “What? Cassane, you can’t just –”

   “You stay out of this,” Cassane snapped, his gaze snapping to Tonks for a few seconds. “Harry’s in over his head more than he can imagine, and he’s going to end up dead unless you get back to the Ministry to his side. The magic you two have gotten into – and likely botched, if my assumptions are correct – will be disastrous if he attempts to utilize it in the Ministry, and he doesn’t have the training to fend off the squads that Umbridge has gathered there.”

   Tonks’ breath nearly caught in her chest and she involuntarily took a step back.

   He knows… and from the look on his face, he’s known since the bloody beginning –

   HIS NAME IS HARRY POTTER.

   “What about Dumbledore?” George said angrily. “Can’t he do something at this point –”

   “Dumbledore’s flying straight into a trap,” Cassane cut George’s words off with a wave of his hand, “but Harry seems to have planned for this – or at least not expected his help. And Voldemort really is a fucking clever bastard when he wants to be. But that’s irrelevant. You two get the explosives with that money, and me… well, I’ll go to the Ministry and save the Order again.” Cassane smiled, but this time, his smile was filled with bitterness. “Just like old times.”

*          *          *

   Dumbledore landed a little harder than he had wanted behind the overflowing skip, but he didn’t falter as he approached the red telephone box. Flying through the open sky with Fawkes would normally have been disastrous, but he knew his Disillusionment Charms would suffice, particularly in the red-tinted, cloudless sky.

   He muttered a few words and tapped his glasses, and suddenly the world lit up in blazing colours, shining even brighter than the red-tinged dawn. Solid surfaces dimmed in his eyes, becoming almost translucent in places. Squinting downwards, he could see straight through the concrete, into the massive atrium below his feet.

   The Ministry of Magic.

   Dumbledore frowned as he noted the strange colours of the enchantments ribbing the underground building like columns, particularly the sickly red of the Anti-Apparition enchantment and the sulfurous yellow of a spell he knew would block Portkeys. Clearly, Fudge wasn’t taking any chances…

   He drew his wand as his frown deepened. Something was wrong about those colours – the shades of the enchantment arches were not quite right, a bit lighter than they should be…

   Then he saw it, and despite himself, he smiled.

   “So you did more things than steal the prophecy when you came here, didn’t you, Tom?” he whispered as he tapped his glasses again, this time with his wand. Immediately, the columns darkened slightly in his view – revealing the poisonous-looking veins of a spell that had filled every enchantment like blood vessels in a body.

   Dumbledore immediately recognized the spell – it was very similar to the magic that Voldemort had used to seal away Grimmauld Place, except much more finely crafted – after all, Ministry workers had to be able to get in. But any attempt from him – and from the looks of the spell, Voldemort constructed it for Dumbledore specifically – to enter would be suicidal.

   And if Dumbledore even tried to bring down any of the enchantments from outside, the entire Ministry would be incinerated.

   “Very good, Tom,” Dumbledore murmured as he scanned the threads of the spell for a hint of any weakness. Voldemort was thorough – it looked as though that spell would even prevent Fawkes from getting him in. “Very good indeed…”

   Suddenly, he spotted the flaw – and he shook his head with admiration. Voldemort had planned every second of this, knowing that there would only be one choice for Dumbledore when he arrived.

   “Well,” he said to himself as he tapped his glasses again with his wand and then with the tips of his fingers, “it’s been a while since I’ve used the visitor’s entrance.”

   He approached the tiny booth and squeezed himself through the door, snapping it shut with a flick of his wand. Another flick dialed five numbers into the twisted telephone –

   The first curse erupted from the floor, but Dumbledore had been expecting the rush of flames the second he had stepped into the booth, and was easily prepared for it. The Flame-Freezing Charm, while giving the entire booth the slightly horrifying image of immolating internally, made Dumbledore feel much like he was being tickled all over his body.

   It was more comforting than he was willing to admit, and he shoved away the distracting sensation as he worked to regain his concentration. He didn’t dare dispel the charm just yet – he suspected it was likely the only thing that prevented him from being hit with something far worse.

   He didn’t hear the smooth female voice of the receptionist, but he had expected this – he wasn’t exactly welcome anymore in the Ministry. Regardless, he spoke aloud.

   “Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, to speak with Minister for Magic Cornelius Oswald Fudge!”

   It was a bit of a letdown that the badge didn’t drop from the steadily melting phone – it would have been a nice souvenir – but he paid it no mind as he carefully aimed his wand at the glowing floor beneath his boots.

    There was a rumbling shudder as the booth sank into the ground, and Dumbledore began to mutter the words of the spells he would need to slice through the protective enchantments surrounding the Ministry –

   He froze suddenly as the charm dissolved around him. Something was wrong – terribly wrong.

   The flames were still surrounding him, but he could not hear them crackle and sputter… no, that wasn’t right, he could still hear something faintly, but it was almost as if someone had drawn the noise of a single crackle out, dragging the single discordant snap longer and longer…

   He suddenly remembered the words he had spoken to Snape only hours earlier: my suspicion is that this is a temporal distortion…

   He suddenly realized his error, and he cursed himself silently for the mistake. He had been caught up in Sirius’ sudden arrival, the creation of the new bank, and the rest of the whirlwind of events, that he had not seen the tiny, ingenious trap that Voldemort had created, surrounding the one entrance Dumbledore had no choice but to use, inspired by the very magic now surrounding the school he once cherished… a trap that held him suspended in time, trapped in a tiny booth, as the flames sucked away precious oxygen.

   Well, Dumbledore thought wryly for a moment, it does prove I’m only human.

   But his thoughts were immediately sobered by the image of Voldemort laughing as he approached Harry, who wouldn’t even see the devious mastermind coming…

   Dumbledore’s mind began to race against time – literally, as time was slipping away like water precariously cupped in a man’s hand – as he searched for a solution. Something, anything, which would allow him to escape…

   Time stopped, and only Dumbledore’s mind kept moving in the flames.

*          *         *

   Reg Cattermole did not like his job.

   It wasn’t like he hated it, like some of the members of the Department of Magical Maintenance. Of all of his colleagues, he was probably the least likely to go postal and cause chaos in the Ministry.

   “As if the Ministry needs any more of it,” Reg grumbled to himself, rubbing the sheen of sweat away from his face as he walked away from the three Hit Wizards who had stopped him in the hall and demanded identification. He wasn’t entirely surprised that the encounter had been abrupt – that entire Department had been in a foul temper since midsummer – but there was something about them that seemed different, as though all of them were on edge about something…

   He sighed heavily, twirled his old wand around his finger, and continued down the dank hallway just past the Auror Office, towards the last rooms to clean. He expected it to be an easy job – after all, the make-shift Ministry morgue was seldom used these days, and the rest of the rooms were just storage cabinets. Just a quick Scouring Charm and things would be –

   “Don’t even… you wouldn’t dare…”

   He heard the snatches of raised voices ahead, and he groaned. It was likely an Auror and Hit Wizard arguing again. Just what I bloody need…

   “Just stay out my way –”

   “You have your orders,” a slow, deep male voice said sternly. “Orders straight from –”

   “And I’m telling you to forget it!” the other, female voice said. Reg crept a bit closer – it appeared the voices were coming from one of the tiny meeting rooms that doubled as official interrogation rooms for minimum security prisoners. It was only a quirk that he could hear anything – the heavy door had been left slightly ajar. “I’m doing this my way, and with everything we’ve seen, so should you! His plan is only going to lead to disaster the way you’re telling it, and when this blows up in your face –”

   “You think I’m not uncomfortable with this?” the male voice snapped, his patience clearly straining. “This goes against everything – everything – that I believe in –”

   “Then don’t do it! Even you succeed –”

   “We could stop this whole war before it begins!”

   “I’m sure that was the rationale Dumbledore gave you,” the female voice said scornfully. “You’re smarter than this – you know everything will go to hell –”

   “And what happens if we don’t act? We just let the goblins –”

   “The longer that fool stays alive, the better,” the female voice said evenly. “He’s the devil we know…”

   Reg had heard enough, and he picked up his pace – they had started talking about Fudge, and that was an argument he’d heard eight times already that night. Even though the context was unclear – and more than a little disconcerting – he knew the basic premise: whether Fudge was doing the right or the wrong thing. It had divided most of the Ministry over the past few weeks, and Reg was heartily sick of it. As long as he knew where his next paycheck was coming, he didn’t give a damn.

   A wave of his wand and a muttered ‘Alohomora’ unlocked the door to the Ministry morgue, and he wrinkled his nose at the stench of Muggle formaldehyde and the sickly sweet odor of Preservation formula. Unlike most Ministry rooms, there was much less of the clutter and disorder typically seen where wizards worked. Only a few crumpled paper airplane memos fluttered weakly on the desk, next to several heavy casks of potion and a neatly stacked pile of steel dissection tools.

   Reg ignored all of them. Even despite the thin patina of dust covering most of the tools, he wasn’t about to touch them. Even though the damn things need a good dusting, I just need to take care of the floors, table, cabinets and move on –

   He paused, and squinted down at some of the tools. He’d been wrong – it wasn’t dust at all. Someone had actually cleaned them, planning to use them…

   He looked at the one wall at the end of the room he wasn’t allowed to clean. Heavily enchanted with dozens of Preservation Charms, the wall was covered in dust – except for a small square, surrounding a single drawer in the middle –

   He couldn’t get his wand up in time, and the inch-thick steel plate soaring out of the wall hit him straight in the gut, sending him crashing to the floor.  He opened his mouth to howl in pain, but he shut it a second later in wide-eyed horror, as a pale feminine hand slid out of the pitch-black hole behind the smoking hinges.

   It took him a few seconds to realize the hand was holding a wand.

   “Stupefy!”

   There was a flash of brilliant red light, a screaming pain through the front of his head, the sharp taste of hot blood in his mouth, and Reg Cattermole felt no more.

*          *          *

   “Why won’t the damn wolf get up…”

   “Come on, Lupin, you’ve got an appointment –”

   “I’m awake,” Remus Lupin mumbled, wearily opening his eyes, blinking rapidly as the bright light burned his retinas. At least it was warming the room a bit – the hard stone and even harder cot had made it impossible to stay awake.

   “You’re awake, but you’re not moving,” the first man growled, whose burly silhouette provided merciful relief against the light as he moved closer. “Get up!”

   Lupin glared daggers at the two figures. “Where are the Hit Wizards that brought me in – I demand to see my –”

   “Dangerous creatures don’t get legal counsel,” the second, older man interrupted, shoving back his cloak to reveal a wickedly sharp, short-hafted axe. “About damn time that law was pushed through.”

   “And neither should traitors, but that’s all in good time,” the first man snapped. “Now get the hell up!”

   Lupin didn’t move another inch – his eyes had locked on the axe, a horrifyingly familiar rush of fear surging through his body.

   The silver axe.

   “Ah, recognize this, werewolf?” the second man growled. “You know what it does, you treasonous little dog, and I’ve been waiting for this for a long time –”

   “Greyback took your daughter, Otterson,” Lupin whispered. “It wasn’t me, and you know it. You know me!”

   “Maybe I don’t,” Steven Otterson rasped, his fingers tightening on the haft of the axe. “The werewolf I might have fought with in the First War didn’t run with the wolves and filth like Greyback – like you clearly have been. You reek of the warrens!”

   Lupin tried to keep the blood from draining from his face. Otterson was right – he did still have the distinctive odor of someone who had been in Greyback’s underground hovels. The stench of excrement and blood that was impossible to get out of clothes of any kind –”

   “We’re wasting time,” the first man snarled, tossing back his cloak and taking the axe into his own hands. “Fudge wants him alive, but he didn’t say what condition.”

   Otterson’s gaze snapped to the other man. “Curtis, there’s due process –”

   “Which means jack shit when those filthy animals eat your family!” the other man suddenly shouted, drawing his wand in his other hand and stepping into the tiny cell. “I’ll thank Walden for this when he comes back from vacation –”

   “You can’t maim him, Ryans!” Otterson yelled, grabbing the other man’s wrist before he could raise the axe. Lupin used the second of distraction to inch a little higher off the cot, his eyes not leaving the axe blade. “He’s meeting the Minister!”

   Ryans paused, and Lupin’s eyes had adjusted enough so he could see his face – his haunted, tear-streaked face. For a second, Lupin felt a tremor of fear – and guilt. The pack had gone after the man’s family, and in the insanity, nothing had likely been reported – if the Ministry even knew. I didn’t even know, and I should have…

   But Voldemort would have known about the killings, he thought with growing horror, and if what I heard about Sirius… about Sirius working with Voldemort… well, if it’s true, he knows I’m in the Order and have been spying on Greyback… and it’s the perfect time to get rid of me, getting Macnair to tell these poor men –

   “It’s only if the maiming is visible,” Ryans said slowly, looking down at his axe, his hands steady with terrible purpose. “So I’ll just chop his cock off –”

   “What?”

   “And nobody will ever know,” Ryans finished, a strangely detached look on his face. “He won’t be a father like me – but if I remember his file correctly, such an alteration would be doing him a favour, save him the guilt eventually –”

   “Ryans –”

   “You don’t have to watch, Otterson,” Ryans whispered, a wave of his wand forcibly yanking Lupin to his feet. Another wave, and Lupin began to feel his frayed zipper beginning to slide down. He began thrashing as the axe moved closer, but he couldn’t free – he couldn’t free his hands!  

   “That’s good, ‘cause that’s sick,” Otterson muttered as he retched. “Not to mention wrong in so many ways...”

   “Are you going to stop me?” Ryans snarled, rounding furiously on his thinner partner even as he held back a shudder. “After what they did to Michelle? Are you?”

   Otterson didn’t answer, and for a moment, Lupin’s fevered mind had a glimpse of hope.

   That hope died a second later, when Otterson swallowed hard, turned around, and walked through the heavy wooden door, closing it softly behind him.

   Lupin began to breathe very fast. His eyes never left the axe as it rose, beginning its lazy arc. His heart was hammering as his disbelief grew greater and greater. This couldn’t be happening, no, he wasn’t going to lose his manhood, not like this –

   “Trust me, Lupin, it’ll be better for all of us.”

   “No!” Lupin howled, trying to pull himself away from the trajectory of the silver blade, which had reached the apex and was coming down –

   BANG.

  Ryans stumbled, his momentum fading. “What the –”

   His words were cut off by a piercing scream, and the axe was ripped from his hand – along with three of his fingers and most of his palm. Blood, pumping furiously, leaked from the horrendous wound, and Lupin’s stomach warred with his mind as he fought to vomit.

   Ryans struggled to turn around, but a second later, he was hoisted by his ankles into the air with a single skyward flick of a wand. Another delicate flick sent his head upwards – towards the low, lightless stone ceiling.

   There was an audible, unmistakable crunch, and Lupin swallowed back bile as the body suddenly went limp, hovering like a broken puppet in mid-air. He had heard a crunch like that before – when Greyback had bitten down upon a still-quivering rabbit’s throat.

   His hands seemed to have a life of their own, as he hastily yanked his pants back up and scooped up the wand that had fallen from Ryans’ limp hands –

   The only thing he had time to do, before a black-gloved hand had pinned him against the side wall by his throat, the wand slipping from his fingers.

   “You,” Nathan Cassane said softly, his own wand pointed at his pinning arm, lending him a bit of extra strength to keep Lupin choking on the wall a few feet above the ground, “are an idiot.”

   “I… I –”

   “I don’t want excuses, Lupin, because I know damned well Dumbledore didn’t order you here, he’s smarter than that.” Cassane said curtly. “What I do want to know is why the hell you chose to spring Charlie Weasley out of the bloody Ministry of Magic! And on your own, no less!”

   Lupin gasped for air and tried to struggle, but just like before, he had been magically immobilized. “Just –”

   “Who sent you, Lupin?” Cassane whispered distractedly, pulling his wand from his own arm for a second to wave at the floating body behind him, which fell with a rather sodden crunch to the floor. Lupin fought to control his stomach. “Was it the Weasleys? Were they idiotic enough to send you alone?”

   “I… I… don’t…”

   “You don’t what?” Cassane said softly. The older man’s brown eyes blazed, and for a second, Lupin didn’t need magic to remain perfectly still. He remembered that look – he had seen it before, over fifteen years ago…

   “You don’t know WHAT?”

   “I don’t… remember!” Lupin wheezed.

   Cassane seemed to consider this. Then, after a few seconds, he shrugged and let go of Lupin, letting the werewolf fall awkwardly to the floor.

   “Look,” Lupin panted, as he picked up Ryans’ wand, “the last thing I remember is –”

   “Don’t use that, here’s yours,” Cassane said distractedly, his eyes fixed on the corpse on the floor as he tossed a wand back to Lupin – a wand, to Lupin’s amazement, that was indeed his own.

   “The last thing I remember before here is dropping Snape off at Hogwarts and heading back underground,” Lupin replied, tucking Ryans’ wand into his tattered pocket anyways. “Then I wake up in this cell, and –”

   “Imperiused and Obliviated,” Cassane cut Lupin off, as he cleaned the small stain of blood off his shoes with a grimace and a flick of his wand. “Definitely Malfoy’s style – made sense the bastard was doing something else besides picking up Snape.”

   “What? How did you?”

   “It’s not important. What is important is you getting out of here – I’ve already freed Charlie, so don’t waste your time with that – before you look any worse than you already do,” Cassane replied, finally meeting Lupin’s eyes as the light outside the room began to sputter. Just outside the door, Lupin could see a small trickle of blood creeping around the edge of the doorway, and he shuddered.

   “The memories come back fast, don’t they?” Cassane whispered, as he pointed his wand at Ryans’ body. “Evanesco.”

   Lupin didn’t speak as the corpse and blood vanished.

   “Too fast,” Cassane continued, blithely touching his wand to his temple, drawing a long silver strand from his nearly combed hair. The strand was almost liquid – before the tip of Cassane’s wand burned red, sizzling the strand away to nothingness.

   He turned to Lupin suddenly, his eyes hooded. “It’s better I don’t know, but some people need to know things. Remus, if you don’t come clean to Harry Potter, you won’t be alive long enough to regret it – and neither will Snape.”

   Lupin began to respond, but Cassane was already walking away, not even noticing the headless corpse of Steven Otterson slumped against the open door.

*          *          *

   The Dark Mark burned black, and Snape only barely restrained a strangled yelp as he shot up from his bed, his black hair a tangled mess around his face. His body was soaked with sweat, and he was shaking as the pain rocketed up his arm –

   “Now, that’s awfully unpleasant, isn’t it?”

   “PEEVES!’

   The poltergeist roared with laughter that danced across the entirety of his insane vocal range, the echo banging off the walls of the darkened sleeping quarters like a hundred banging gongs –

   “Too late, too late, too late!” Peeves cackled, spinning around the room. “And the phoenix will never reach here to give the warning!”

   “I swear to Merlin, Peeves, if you don’t get out now I will –”

  But Peeves only laughed harder. “You can do nothing to me, Severus! Nothing at all! Nothing, nothing, nothing! But…”

   The poltergeist suddenly stopped moving, freezing in mid-air, his eyes finally fixing on Snape’s livid face.

   “You have a mission.”

   “I don’t take orders from you!” Snape snarled, seizing his wand and brandishing it at Peeves.

   “But you take orders from Lily, don’t you?” Peeves said, his smile growing only more sadistic every second as he drew himself up into a grotesque mockery of a girl. “Severus, please! Save my son –”

   The false, high pitched voice was nearly cut off by Snape’s first three curses, but Peeves dodged the spells with another cackle.

   “No, but seriously,” Peeves said, his voice abruptly business-like, although the ghastly smile never dimmed. “You might want to get to the Ministry, otherwise Lily’s sweet little Harry Potter is going to die a horrible death, and you will have failed again, and there will be nothing left for you to live for. So you should go save Harry Potter – or just save yourself the trouble and kill yourself.”

   Snape said nothing, as the horrifying realization of his dilemma sunk in, his Mark burning hotter every second.

   “Trust me on this one, Severus,” Peeves said with a wink. “You might want to kill yourself. You’d be doing everyone a big favour – especially yourself.”

*          *          *    

   Tonks fought to control the rising panic in her gut as she looked wildly around the morgue. She had already sealed the door shut – she couldn’t exactly explain to the rest of the Aurors why one of the members of the Department of Magical Maintenance was in a coma on the floor, or why a naked, clearly dead young woman had crawled out of the drawer where her body had been conveniently hidden.

   “Enervate… enervate! Damn it, why won’t he revive? I thought you just Stunned him!”

   “I did!” the woman retorted furiously, hurriedly rifling through a drawer and pulling a set of plain black robes, complete with a full cloak and hood – and then tossing them aside. “It was just a Stunning Spell, I swear!”
   “Harry, he’s barely breathing,” Tonks exclaimed, “and we’re running out of time – what the – Harry, what are you –”

   “You know where the Healers’ robes are?” Harry asked distractedly, wrenching open another drawer with a squeal before slamming it shut.

   “Keep your voice down!” Tonks hissed, feeling hastily for a pulse. She breathed a little easier when she felt the weak tremor, but she knew that if he didn’t get medical attention soon, they’d have a much more serious problem on their hands. “Back cabinet, and I thought we were both going as Aurors!”

   “Change of plans, better idea,” Harry said quickly, shooting to his feet and ripping open the cabinet with a sigh of relief. “You’re going to go as an Auror, I’m going to go as a Healer who was suddenly called to the aide of the injured Italian reporter –”

   “What?”

   “Who suffered a terrible leg injury when an explosion in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes hit the Ministry,” Harry finished, pulling the lime-green robes over his female body and tightening them around his waist. “Convenient detonation for us, particularly considering the Committee of Experimental Charms really ought to be more careful. Thankfully, we’ll be on the scene, and we’ll have an alibi. Get in, give the reporter the file, and get the hell out before all hell breaks loose. Now come on, we need to get to the far service lift by Mr. Weasley’s office –”

   “What about Cattermole here?” Tonks demanded.

   “I don’t know, Tonks, figure something out!” Harry retorted, pulling his hood over his long brown hair and creeping up to the door. Tonks swore under her breath, and with a few muttered words and waves of her wand, she had carefully hidden the unconscious Reg Cattermole inside the Healer robes closet.

   But she couldn’t help but see that Harry’s hands were white-knuckled – and shaking badly. That he was panting very fast, and that his simulacrum’s eyes seemed hollowed and haunted…

   “Ready?” he whispered, drawing his wand.

   Tonks swore again under her breath and pulled her hood up around her hair, which had gone to a short, dull-brown cut. God, Harry, I hope to hell you know what you’re doing –

   “Let’s go.”

   “Alohomora!”

   The corridor was deserted, but neither of them wanted to take any chances, and they reached the lift in seconds, both of them breathing heavily by the time the doors had slid shut behind them. Harry hammered on the button for the fifth floor, muttering under his breath as a few errant memos fluttered around the tiny light.

   “We’re got a few seconds, so you need an update,” Tonks said, not meeting Harry’s eyes as she  watched the door for any trace of an opening. “Kingsley’s here – they’ve called in every Auror and Hit Wizard they can –”

   “Betrayed?” Harry’s voice was sharp and raw.

   “Don’t think so – although Kingsley suspects it. But he’s feeling very betrayed right now anyways,” Tonks murmured. “He knows something’s up with me – we were arguing about it fifteen minutes ago – and Dumbledore gave him new orders, ones he doesn’t know how to take.”

   “What?”

   “Level Three – Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes,” a cool female voice said in the lift. The door began to slide open, but Harry pressed the close door button, and a second later, the lift began to descend again.

   “Dumbledore told Kingsley that he needs to be assigned to Fudge’s guard for the announcement in Diagon Alley this morning,” Tonks whispered as quickly as she could, keeping herself tensed – at any second, it could happen. “That way, if the goblins or Death Eaters don’t interrupt the speech…well, Kingsley’s got orders to take Fudge out.

   Harry’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding.”

   “Nope.”

   “Shacklebolt?”

   “Yeah.” Tonks made a bitter noise in the back of her throat as she shook her head. “I know why Dumbledore did it – hell, somebody has to – but goddamn it if it didn’t make Kingsley’s life a living hell –”

   “Level Four – Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

   The doors got open an inch before Harry’s frantic button presses and a short blast of sparks sent them banging shut. Tonks breathed a little easier.

   “I only Stunned Cattermole,” Harry whispered. Tonks turned, and for a moment could hardly believe how pale the feminine face had become. “I didn’t intend to…”

   “It happens,” Tonks cut him off tersely. “We all give a little too much to spells sometime –”

   “No, Tonks,” Harry said, a strange note feeling his voice. “It happened when I was fighting Sirius in this body too. Something went wrong with the simula–”

   They didn’t so much hear the explosion as feel it, and Harry and Tonks both grabbed onto the handrails of the lift as it began to shudder beneath their feet. The light flickered, and Harry couldn’t restrain a muffled curse as he momentarily lost his balance.

   “That’s the first part,” he muttered. “Now the –”

   BOOM.

   They both yelped as the lift dropped a few feet, landing hard against the fifth floor landing with an agonized squeal. The doors sprung open, and they were both already moving towards the nearest desk they could find…

   The noise began as a splintering crack, the sound of a snapping beam, and Tonks was reminded horribly of the attack on the Shrieking Shack. But this was worse – much worse.

   “Under the desk!” Harry shouted, diving under a massive oaken block just inside the first door, Tonks right behind him. They could smell the dust trickling from the ceiling –

   The oaken desk saved their lives. The first piece of stonework only clipped it, but it was still more than enough to send both of them tumbling away…

   Meters away from the falling stonework that crushed the oaken desk to kindling, as most of the three stories of the Ministry of Magic above them collapsed.

*          *          *

 

   Scrimgeour threw himself away from the edge, his fingers clawing desperately at the ragged carpet of his office. The fissure that had ripped a gaping hole in the middle of the Ministry of Magic was only growing wider, and he could smell acrid smoke and the stench of burning flesh and paper already –

   “I’ve got you!”

   He didn’t need another word – he had already seized Amelia Bones’ proffered arm and yanked himself to his feet. His wand was drawn a second later.

   “What, in the name of fucking magic –”

   “Explosion of some sort,” Bones shouted, her own wand already slashing through the air, yanking screaming people onto the precarious safety of the crumbling stone edges. The explosion had ripped a gaping, flaming hole through the Department, and with so many of the Hit Wizards and Aurors gathered there…

   Forget the casualties, find the attacker, Scrimgeour thought as his rational mind, tempered by decades of training and fighting, took over. Through the flames, he scanned the edges, for anyone remotely suspicious and not falling and screaming –

   His gaze snapped on a single figure running desperately along the edge of his floor, white blond hair spilling from the top of his head as he awkwardly scrabbled across the stonework, trying to flee –

   He stretched out his wand as white-hot realization pounded in his stomach. “Get Malfoy! Take him alive!”

   The few moving Aurors close to Malfoy gave chase – but the floor slanted terribly, and a second later, three more men toppled down into the flames far below. Malfoy himself stumbled, but he caught himself in time, landing awkwardly – and, Scrimgeour hoped, painfully – on the third floor.

   “Somebody get to the lift and stop him!” Scrimgeour roared.

   “Lift cables have been cut, sir!” a Hit Wizard shouted from a nearby edge. “Sabotage –”

   “Then take the fucking stairs and catch him before he uses our Floos to get out of here!” Scrimgeour yelled, seizing the edge of a desk for support as another tremor shook the Ministry. Chancing a glance down, he saw a haze of secondary blasts sprout like orange flowers along the far side of the fissure near the gutted fourth floor – a fissure that was nearly fifty meters across, and growing with each explosion.

   Explosions that were bright purple.

    “More attackers!” he shouted. “Take them down, take them down!”

*          *          *

   It was unlike any hell that Fred Weasley had seen before in his life.

   Fires were exploding everywhere, and he knew that if he stopped moving for even a second, falling masonry would make his life brutally short. He could hear screaming – real, shrill, painful screaming – and although he hadn’t seen any bodies yet, he felt bile rising in his throat.

   Harry was right – he wasn’t ready for this.

   Another crash split the air, and Fred hurled himself away from another falling desk, this one fully engaged in flames. He could hear the banging of curses now, and he knew that to people responsible for setting most of the Ministry on fire, he wouldn’t get a warm reception.

   “Damn it, George, where are you?” he muttered, picking up his pace as he headed over to one of the last casks of goblin explosive. The wick was alight with a prod, and in seconds, he dove behind a filing cabinet as another jet of purple flames rocked the air, filling it with embers and hot smoke.

   He heard another shriek, and he tried to ignore it, even though every nerve in his body was screaming for him to find the source, he kept moving. They all needed to be lit – no evidence could remain, he couldn’t risk the Ministry finding anything and tracing it to his family –

   “Fred!”

   His eyes snapped down to the fifth floor – barely visible through the reeking haze of charred paper and sizzling ink – and he could see his twin waving frantically.

   And George was not alone.

   “Charlie!”

   Their older brother looked terrible – his face was wasted and bruised – but he somehow had a wand, held in his single hand. Strangely, the scarred dragon keeper looked strangely at home amongst the raging fires…

   “Get down here, Fred, we’ve got to get out of here!”

   “Right,” Fred muttered quickly, peering through the smoke for the last few casks of explosive – damned smoke… wait, there they are!

   “Incendio! Incendio!”

   The bolts scorched through the air, and through the two subsequent explosions, Fred dove towards his brothers, counting on his Quidditch reflexes to save him a disastrous landing –

   “Peto terra!”

   He felt his body burn warm for a few seconds, but an instant later, he landed relatively softly on the cracking and breaking stone, tumbling as much as he could to lessen his momentum…

   “Get down!”

   Fred dropped flat as the orange bolt whistled over his head, but before he could respond, Charlie had Stunned the Auror, knocking him into a ruined cubicle.

   “We’ve got to get out of here!” George shouted, his eyes wild as he stumbled over the debris towards his twin. “This place is going to kill us in a few minutes –”

   Fred thought fast. “Brooms!” he shouted. “Broom Regulation Control is just below us on Level Six – we blow our way in! Do you have any goblin explosive left –”

   “There they are! Stupefy!”

*          *          *

   He could hear their screams all around him, but Harry tuned them out. He had to – he had to find one of the reporters. He would know their face, he had memorized as many of their pictures from the Prophet’s Foreign Commentary section as he could…

   But what was worse was that they weren’t just screaming in pain or in terror, as the boulders fell and the fires roared higher and hotter. I’m dressed like a Healer, he thought with growing horror. They’re calling for me… they want me to help them…

   “There!” Tonks screamed, pointing wildly at one of the few clear corridors ahead. Most of them had collapsed under the weight of the explosions, engulfed in flames, but a few were still mostly intact, albeit exposed to the falling stone several meters above them –

   And cowering under a heap of precariously piled debris was a thin man in his nightclothes, with a thin patch of beard on his neck –

   Harry recognized him – Paulus Amoccio, a Sicilian reporter who wrote about Quidditch for a living, and likely living through the biggest nightmare of his sheltered life.

   “Shield Charms, go!” he shouted, a second later, he could hear Tonks screaming spells as they ran across the corridor towards the man. The spells blocked most of the fire, but it didn’t stop the smoke from making him gag, or the sweat from pouring down his back –

   “Are you wounded?” he shouted, trying to pull a look of concern onto his face as he drew closer to the cowering man.

   Amoccio wildly shook his head, tears leaking fast down his face as hot ashes peppered his hiding place in the inferno.

   “Good!” Harry shouted through the noise, as he dove behind the cover where the skinny Sicilian was hiding, pulling out a folder from his robes and shoving it to the man.

   “Take everything in that folder, and tell the story!” he shouted, seizing the terrified reporter by the shoulders for good measure. “Add this in for good measure – the world needs to know the truth!”

   “I can’t keep this up for much longer!” Tonks shrieked as she joined them behind cover, as a shuddering crash split the air. A boulder the size of a hippogriff struck Tonks’ Shield Charm, and it was only a desperate dive that had saved her from being crushed.

   “B-but…”

   “But what?” Harry roared, rounding on the reporter, who blanched.

   “H-how do I know this is true? W-what is the proof?” Amoccio babbled. “I-I… this could all b-be some sort of –”

   Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing. After everything he’d gone through to get this fucking far, the man didn’t even believe him? What the FUCK?

   But they’d believe Harry Potter.

   Tonks shuddered violently, and Harry suddenly realized what the quick-thinking Auror had chosen to do. It was risky – no, it was insane – but they had no choice.

   “The Polyjuice is wearing off!” he shouted, filling his voice with panic as Tonks continued to change. Her hair went jet black. Her eyes went emerald green. Any trace of her femininity vanished.

   And a lightning-bolt scar appeared on her forehead.

   Amoccio’s mouth fell open, momentarily forgetting the danger at the sight of Harry Potter.

   “Now do you believe us?” Harry screamed, the smoke making him nearly double over in pain as he gasped for clean air…

   “Y-Yes, yes!” Amoccio stammered.

   “Then stay under cover and don’t get yourself killed!” Tonks shouted. “And don’t lose those papers – they tell my story!”

   “I won’t, I won’t –”

   Neither of the two were listening anymore – they were already running, racing towards the stairwell they prayed was still open and free from debris –

   Straight into a squad of Hit Wizards – with Rufus Scrimgeour in the lead.

   Time seemed to stop. Harry saw the look of horrified recognition cross Scrimgeour’s face as his gaze fixed on Tonks – disguised as Harry Potter. The look of recognition replaced an instant later by a look of betrayal – and raw, unmitigated fury.

  The order wasn’t even given – Scrimgeour threw the first curse.

  And then it was a blaze of colour, and fire, as Harry’s wand snapped up, and he shouted the first spell that came to his mind.

   “Expelliarmus!”

   There was a blast of light from Harry’s wand, and he felt it vibrate in his hand as the nearest Hit Wizard howled. But not with rage – with pain.

   He felt something hot and warm splash on his face, as he seized the wand out of the air, letting the arm fall with a sodden, sizzling plop to the hot stone floor –

   The arm?

   “Oh fuck!”

   The Hit Wizards were shouting, but Harry wasn’t stopping. Shoving the other wand into his wand hand, he began casting spell after spell – and every single one of them worked to ghastly, horrifying effect.

   A Disarming Charm took the arm off at the shoulder. A Stunning Spell drove his target into unconsciousness that her comrades couldn’t break. A Reductor Curse reduced a man to a bloody, screaming torso and head. A Jelly-Legs Jinx, cast in a hasty moment, caused a hooded Aurors legs to dissolve into fleshy, viscous ooze.

   A Flaming Lash Curse nearly ripped four Hit Wizards in half.

   The wands in his hand shook violently with every curse, and the terror that they were going to explode in his hands rushed through his body. But he didn’t dare stop – he couldn’t, he needed to keep attacking, drive his enemies back –

   -they’re all your enemies –

   -NO, THIS IS WRONG –

   - set them aflame, let the fuckers burn –

   - YOU’RE KILLING ALLIES –

   - all enemies, you knew they were going to turn on you, bring all the treacherous scum to their knees, they never believed the truth from the beginning and now they’ll pay for their ignorance –

   - NO!

   “GELUMORSIS!”

   The black rush of cold exploding out of his wand was a cyclone, and the embers died in midair as the cold seized and froze the blood in their lungs and heads, making them rupture violently, explosively –

   The ground wrenched beneath his feet, and he felt himself flying into the air, the spare wand torn from his hands as he crashed heavily against a flaming desk. He rolled away from the fire, but he could feel it eating hungrily at his robes…

   “Brooms!”

   Harry’s eyes snapped up, and shaking his simulacrum’s long hair away from his face, he saw three brooms soar upward out of the newly blasted hole in the floor –

   And then he saw Tonks, wearing his appearance only a few meters. He saw her wand blasted from her hands by Scrimgeour’s hex, and the words for the second spell already on the scarred Auror’s lips to strike her down –

   White-hot fury surged through Harry’s body, like he had never felt before. It possessed him, drove him to his feet, his eyes blazing silver in their sockets. He wasn’t going to lose her. Not Tonks, not like this, not while she’s wearing my face! She’s not dying for my crimes, my treason –

   “AVADA KED-”

   Something hit him – he didn’t know what,  but he stumbled, his wand jerking up –

   “-AVRA!”

   There was a flash of white-green light, and Harry felt fire in his hand, and the rushing sound filled the entire fissure –

   And then the light faded, and he could see someone falling, toppling like a broken rag doll through the smoke and embers, and he knew, in a moment, that he had done something horribly wrong.

   The figure had a single arm.

   Oh god… oh my god… no…

*          *          *

   In that second, Fred and George knew.

   Both of them knew they didn’t dare stop. They landed on the second floor, charging across the ledge. Their spells were fast, hard, brutal and often explosive, and the Hit Wizards scrambled to counterattack. But the twins weren’t going to fight. With a handful of Floo powder in each hand, they dove into the fire, screaming as tears coursed down their faces.

  They didn’t care that their spells had broken three necks, two collarbones, and shattered a pelvis. They didn’t care one of their spells had set four people on fire.

   Their innocence and restraint had died with their brother.

*          *          *

   And the bells began to ring.

   He didn’t know what they meant – he couldn’t know, he didn’t want to know – but he could see a hooded figure in black erupt into thin air, leaping down across the fissure through the smoke, his hooked nose visible even through the inferno –

   Scrimgeour screamed curses, but Snape blocked every one of them, his eyes icy and stark against the flames around him. Harry wanted to cry out something – anything – but he couldn’t. He could see more corpses falling, but Snape wasn’t paying attention to them – his eyes were fixed on Tonks – who looked exactly like Harry.

   In a second, Harry realized what Snape was trying to do, and he recognized the empty potion vial in his hand for what it was. Tonks knew it too, but Snape ignored her screamed warning as he seized her and slammed the flask into her chest

   There was an echoing bang, and the two vanished, as the Portkey sucked them away.

   Scrimgeour and Harry both screamed wordless cries of rage, but it was for nothing – it was all for nothing.

   “Accio broom!”

   Scrimgeour’s eyes landed on Harry, but it was already too late, he had already soared into the air, flying up to the second floor –

   He wrenched the broom a hard right angle downwards, pulling out of his climb and streaking towards one of the few remaining fireplaces still intact. The curses and hexes screamed around him, but he didn’t care – he only had one target.

   He knew his timing would have to be exact, and that what he was doing was suicidal, but he had stopped caring about that a long time ago. He let go of his broom with both hands, gripping with his legs as he streaked towards the flaming grate –

   Then he let go with his legs

   The broom flew into the fire. Harry’s hand closed around the ripped bag of Floo powder before he rolled headlong into the flames –

   He felt his hand shatter as it hit the stone mantle, but the Floo powder lit the fire green.

   “Hogwarts!”

   And then his head cracked slammed against the back of the fireplace, and everything went black.