"Get out of my way, newly reinstated Daily Prophet Special Correspondant coming through – oh, for Merlin's sake –"

"Sorry, Ms. Skeeter," the grim-faced Auror said with a scowl, the unsightly scar winding across his nose and side of his face twisting, "no preliminary meetings with the Minister, and no special interviews. He's got a big day today."

"But I can see an area specifically cordoned off for the press –"
"International press only, ma'am. I'm under orders."

Rita Skeeter felt like screaming. She had finally found a way to insinuate herself back into the Daily Prophet's hierarchy – Cuffe had been extraordinarily cooperative when he had arrived back at the office at four in the morning, sweating and shaking. And now she was going to lose it all without an exclusive interview with Fudge.

She masked her mounting rage with a smile she knew to be sickly sweet. "Then perhaps, Auror..."

"Wilson," the Auror replied stiffly, his voice surprisingly audible over the clamour around her, as a dozen other reporters around her jockeyed for position. "Rogan Wilson."

"Perhaps, Auror Wilson, you could provide me a short preview about what is to come in this little presentation?" Rita asked slyly, putting her hand on his left arm. "Something to do with the new building over there –"

"I'm not eligible to give you any sort of information," Wilson said uncomfortably, jerking away from her touch quickly. "As I said, the Minister will deliver his message to the –"

His voice was cut off by another wizard – this one a Hit Wizard, Rita suspected – cupping his hand to Wilson's ear and whispering something very quickly. She strained her ears, but the sudden pallor of Wilson's face said more than enough – something was wrong.

He turned quickly to the other wizard. "Does the Minister –"

"Not yet, we'll inform him after the presentation –"

"That's in two minutes, he's got to know!" Wilson exclaimed. "Get me something to Shacklebolt, Tonks, anybody right now, we need to declare –"

"Declare what?" Rita asked eagerly. "What's going on, what went wrong? Wilson, do you have a statement –"

"Not now!" Wilson snapped, shoving her back rudely. Rita stumbled back, but thanks to the thick crowd and the assistance of her beefy photographer, it was fairly easy for her to regain her footing and regain her thoughts – despite her frustrations, she knew it was time for a new plan.

"Bozo, stay down here," she ordered her photographer. "Get clean shots of the Minister and anyone else interesting. I'm going –"

She spun on her heels, ignored the tight pressing sensation around her, and a second later, she was standing in a tightly packed balcony four stories above the crowd. The old warlocks around her groaned and shouted as she shoved her way to the edge, but she didn't care. They were irrelevant anyways.

Her eyes focused on the low stage, set only a few feet off the ground in front of the new building, a granite behemoth matching Gringotts in height, if not in grandeur. The purple stage spanned the entire alley, doing an admirable job of blocking traffic and creating a large crowd in front and behind it. A thick line of Aurors and Hit Wizards surrounded the stage, and she could already see the repulsive form of Dolores Umbridge scurrying around the podium, making sure all the charms were in place. Rita's lip curled – the woman was wearing blood-red robes. She looks like more of a tumour than she already is... 

Umbridge put her wand to her throat. "Hem hem."

The sound was amplified twenty-fold, and Rita winced as she carefully set her Quick-Quotes quill on the parchment after sucking on it eagerly. It would be any second now...

"Witches and wizards and all magical creatures," Umbridge began, her breathy voice filled with triumph, "I give you Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge!"

There was a storm of clapping and a few hoots, but Rita caught the chorus of groans springing up from the warlocks around her. Interesting... if any of them have any clout, this could be a very interesting day indeed... 

She quickly focused on the Minister, who had stepped out of the new building, a wide smile on his face as he waved his lime-green bowler hat to the crowd. Stepping to the rotating podium – the crowd had spread on both sides of the stage, Rita noted – Fudge pressed his wand to his throat.

"People of wizarding England," he began clearly, with a rehearsed quality, "I have been your Minister for several years, and throughout all of my time as Minister for Magic, I have striven to uphold the highest standards of excellence and quality within our Departments."

Rita could hardly withstand a snort, and she wasn't alone. Several of the old warlocks around her were shaking their heads with disgust.

"This has led to some controversy, but evidence cannot be refuted," Fudge continued, a smile creeping onto his face. "During my term, I have brought both the Quidditch World Cup and the famous Triwizard Tournament to England, which have both been incredible success stories."

There was applause at this, some of it begrudging, but Rita ignored it. Her eyes were on Fudge, who was starting to speak a little more quickly. It was a sign, and she knew it: this was big.

"The eye of the international magical community is fixed upon our nation," Fudge said, raising a finger, "particularly with the resignation of Albus Dumbledore from the International Confederation of Wizards and the appointment of Nathan Cassane to that role. We are the hub of the hub of this community, and any changes within our environment reflect upon the world –"

She saw the movement before even Fudge did, and her eyes narrowed as a cloaked figure stepped onto the stage, approaching from Fudge's side. Umbridge began to shout something, but the figure – wearing the obvious garb of an Auror – put his hand next to Fudge's ear and began to whisper as the rotating platform ground to a halt.

The crowd held bated breath, and even the air felt stiff as Rita tugged on the collar of her robes absentmindedly. Too damned hot for this time of the morning, and it's starting to smell... 

Fudge suddenly turned to the wizard and began whispering back to him. Rita frowned: this was new. What was so important that the Auror had to interrupt Fudge in the middle of his speech – and make Fudge turn as pale as a clean white sheet?

The Auror stepped away quickly, moving back into the line, and Umbridge looked murderous as she glared daggers at the figure, but Rita focused on Fudge. Something was wrong with the Minister, that she could tell. His bowler had become a lime-green blur in his hands as it spun between his fingers, and she thought she could see a shininess on the man's face that looked like sweat –

"R-Reflect upon the world, like ripples in a pond," Fudge said quickly, trying to make up for his lapse in poise. "Every new action, every proposal of change that we proclaim sets a precedent, and thus we must examine them in detail –"

"Sets some kind of precedent all right," a warlock behind her said with a grunt. "At least Bagnold had a sense of just conduct..."

Rita Skeeter turned towards the warlock to hiss at him to shut up, but her eyes caught something else, because outside of the packed balcony, she could see two figures appear inside the building. Both were wearing black, and had black hair, but Rita Skeeter knew the man's hooked nose and sallow complexion anywhere.

The other figure was Harry Potter.

Her quill leapt to her hand as she began shoving her way back towards the doors inside as her thoughts exploded into turmoil. What was Harry Potter doing, outside of Hogwarts and Dumbledore's protection, with Snape no less –

And then she saw something that nearly made her drop everything in her hands.

Harry Potter had just turned and slapped Snape clean across the face. Even through the deafening noise of Fudge's voice, she could hear the tinny scream –

"YOU IDIOT! YOU GOT THE WRONG –"

"And so," Fudge trumpeted, and Rita turned back hastily, as she began pushing her way to the front again, "I give to you the newest instrument of economic and social change delivered to our world in a century, an institution that will redefine our generation and prepare us for a new, shining, financially successful future! I give you..."

Suddenly, the spell cut out. Fudge frowned, and tapped his throat again, restoring the magic, but Rita was already looking frantically back towards the building, hoping to catch another glimpse of Potter and Snape. She couldn't see anything –

"I give you the –"

The spell cut out again. Rita swore with exasperation, even as the Quick-Quotes quill in her hand awkwardly translated the curse into something more politically correct. Something was definitely up, too many things were happening.

And then she heard the whistle.

It began as a tinny shrill sound, hardly splitting the air, but it grew louder and louder with every second. She winced and rammed her hand against her ear, but the noise only grew louder and louder. The Quick-Quotes Quill was not scrawling words as much as a sound across the page, a long line of incomprehensible vowels –

But where is it coming from –? 

And then she saw it streak across the Alley – it had been launched, no, fired from the very end of the road, burning and twirling through the air, moving quickly enough to be impossible to hit, yet lazily enough to be implacable... and then the whistle grew louder and louder, as another projectile spiralled down the alley, flying faster and faster as they gyrated towards the target. Time seemed to slow as Rita felt drawn with horrified fascination, even as the sane part of her brain screamed danger at her -

Fudge's eyes widened the second he looked up to see the strange flaming projectiles twirling in the air above him, only a few feet across and borne on flames of unfamiliar magic. There was a long second of shrill whistle that the artist in Rita knew should be silence in any Muggle show.

Then Fudge dove for cover, as both projectiles inflated to double their size and slammed into the new building, detonating instantly.

The twin explosions blinded Rita for a second, but the plumes of red smoke soaring into the sky drew her gaze as more explosions shook the precariously tall building, the business-like architecture shattering as more blasts exploded within –

Rita's fevered mind told her to look away, to dive for cover, but she couldn't. There was something mesmerizing about the attack as the building continued to crumple and blacken, teetering upon supports that she knew were shattering beneath it... she didn't even hear the screams erupting across the crowd below...

All the enchantments on the building were collapsing, and Rita knew it was only a precious second, but the thought was suddenly clear as crystal across her mind, and she could move, so paralyzing was the revelation. Every bit of evidence, everything suddenly seemed to make sense.

Fudge was warned... and he didn't listen. 

She was blown off her feet a second later, as the third – and largest explosion in five months – rocked Diagon Alley.

--------

"My lord?"

Voldemort did not turn from his book – he knew who was speaking, and from the acrid stench of fear in the room, he wasn't expecting good news. He set down his wand; this would only take a moment.

"Make this quick, Lucius."

"There was a... complication with the Gringotts transfer," Lucius Malfoy said with a slight cough. "We managed to retrieve and move the necessary funds, but –"

"The goblins found out, didn't they?"

He could hear Lucius shift behind him, and for a second, he allowed himself to relish the scent of the elder Malfoy's fear. "Eleven goblins died – and they retaliated."

"I already received a message from you regarding the attack upon the bank," Voldemort said coolly, tapping a charred scrap of paper with a long finger as he slowly turned to face his Death Eater. "It is a setback laden with opportunities to divide the Ministry –"

"The bank wasn't the only place that was attacked," Lucius blurted.

Voldemort's red eyes narrowed and darkened, and the first traces of anger crept into his voice. He had neutralized Dumbledore – who else had gotten involved? "Speak."

"Kemester found out about the goblin deaths," Lucius said quickly, his eyes darting around the tiny room that Voldemort was using for his study, deep in the depths of Malfoy Manor. "He attacked me, and when I came to, the entire Ministry was coming apart around my ears – someone had set off an explosive –"

"How much damage?"

"Multiple stories of the Ministry have been destroyed – the blast was huge –"

Voldemort's hand was slowly curling into a fist with realization. "So Cassane has made his choice –"

"My Lord, I didn't even see Cassane," Lucius interrupted, his forehead gleaming with sweat that he hastily wiped away. "I saw Potter –"

Voldemort paused for a few seconds as his mind digested the new information. "Then either Cassane is working with Potter, there is a third party, or Potter has become a more formidable enemy than even I had planned."

"My lord, I –"

"This changes things," Voldemort said, more to himself than to Malfoy as he turned back to his books. With a wave, the books had been shrunken and placed in a secret pocket in his robes. "An interesting indication, and one that cannot be ignored. Potter is indeed progressing – indeed, he may have become an instigator."

He picked up his wand and turned to face Lucius. "You and Narcissa would be wise to pack your things. Malfoy Manor will not remain standing much longer."

The colour drained from Lucius' face. "What?"

"If Potter has access to that type of firepower, or intimate contact with Cassane, he will use that power again," Voldemort said crisply, sweeping past Malfoy as he ascended the narrow staircase. It was extremely dark on the narrow, railing-less shaft, but Voldemort was not troubled. He could hear Malfoy scrambling behind him, sputtering protestations.

"But what does that –"

"Because you were not discreet, you were identified." The door at the top of the shaft flew open at Voldemort's touch, and he stepped across the marble floors of Malfoy Manor for the last time. "He'll be coming for you – and your son. But Draco's problems are not your own, Lucius."

"I... I can't just abandon –"

"But don't worry, Lucius," Voldemort continued, his eyes rising to a beautiful crystal chandelier hanging above him with cold perfection. "Everything is moving into place. Dumbledore is out of my way for the time being, the Ministry and the goblins are at each other's throats, and my men are poised to strike from every angle." He laughed, and through a nearby mirror, he could see Malfoy wince at the sound. "A shame to lose this place, but that is the price you pay for carelessness, Lucius. And I never considered that the old saying Charlus Potter bandied about had any meaning, but even Lord Voldemort can be pleasantly surprised."

Lucius' face was ashen, and his eyes were pleading, but Voldemort paid them no mind as he approached the massive doors, leading into the gardens. His mind was racing, his plans within plans adjusting to suit the new circumstances. It may require more time, but I have waited fourteen years – I can wait a little more.

"W-What was the saying, my Lord?"

"Simple, elegant, and until today, utterly incorrect." Voldemort replied with a lipless grin. "'Hell hath no fury like a Potter scorned.' You've tasted his anger before, Lucius. Now your home will taste his rage."

--------

It was two nights after the attack on Diagon Alley and the Ministry, but Scrimgeour already knew they were meeting far too late.

The four men and two women sitting around the small conference table were arguably the most powerful Ministry authorities and insiders in England – except for one conspicuous absence. The empty chair at the end of the table was almost ominous in its silence.

A silence Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge broke after a long minute by nasally clearing his throat.

"Do we have a... a status report?"

"Beyond the obvious?" Scrimgeour snapped. "The Ministry has been gutted, and so has the new bank that I conspicuously was not aware of until today."

"And given the nature of your announcements, Minister, our Department should have been notified about the possibility of reprisals," Amelia Bones added through gritted teeth. "Why weren't we told, Cornelius?"

"This was to be kept entirely as a political matter," Fudge replied stiffly, with a nod to the two men sitting at the opposite ends of the table. Scrimgeour regarded both men with absolute distaste. The one closest to him was Kirtan Emerson, a high ranking Wizengamot member and the Head of the Department of International Law, and while he was strikingly handsome, there was an unstable glint to his eyes that many women found mesmerizing. Scrimgeour found it repulsive.

The man sitting next to him wasn't much better – an older, balding man by the name of Peter O'Sanden. He was a Scot, but possessed little of the fiery personality the region was famous for. Indeed, he was in fact one of the most even-tempered and bland individuals that Scrimgeour knew. It was these two traits, combined with startling intelligence that had led him to become the head of the Department of Magical Finance and the interim head of the Department of Magical Co-operation, since Crouch's death. Scrimgeour normally tolerated O'Sanden, but from the look on the Scot's face, the Auror knew that the other man had been keeping dangerous secrets from him.

"I did not predict that the goblins would take offense –"

"Cornelius, you knew they were going to be furious with this!" Scrimgeour snarled. "Don't even feign ignorance, you're not stupid enough to –"

Fudge shot to his feet. "That is an outrageous –"

"Hem hem."

Scrimgeour's anger didn't abate as he turned to where Umbridge was sitting, a maddeningly content expression on her face. "Yes, Dolores?"

"This issue, with the goblins, Rufus, if I remember correctly, was actually brought to the attentions of your Department," Umbridge replied, the sickeningly sweet note in her voice ringing with every word. "I clearly recall one of your Hit Wizards being informed about the attack several hours ahead of time."

Bones went scarlet. "What are you implying, Dolores?"

"I'm not implying anything," Umbridge replied innocently. "I'm just mentioning that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was already in possession of information that could have been beneficial to preventing these attacks –"

Scrimgeour could feel his pulse pounding in his temples, and he fought to control his rage. It had been a long time since he had felt this angry at anyone, but this pustule of a woman, by placing blame upon his men...

"Who was the Hit Wizard?" Bones asked suddenly. "I'm sure you have a name for me, Dolores, and not just making wild accusations."

"Certainly, it was Dmitri Kemester," Umbridge replied promptly, with another sweet smile.

Scrimgeour felt the urge to swear vehemently, but he forced it back. A second later, he realized he shouldn't have bothered – Bones had just cursed badly enough to cause Fudge to squawk in protest.

"Now, really, Amelia, there isn't a need for such language! If we simply get Kemester in –"

"He's off the active duty roster," Bones growled. "He wasn't ready, not nearly recovered enough from his injuries, and I had the forms filled out for him to be sent to St. Mungo's for some long overdue psychological evaluation. I have no idea where he is. Where did you see him, Umbridge?"

"At the Ministry, before the attack," Umbridge replied innocently. "He was rambling on about how the goblins were undoubtedly going to retaliate and that he had to warn the Minister. Naturally, I took his concerns to light and managed to arrange a hasty evacuation...."

"Finding Kemester, while important to uncovering the identities of those who knew about the possibility of this attack, is not the sole priority," Fudge began unsteadily, pulling a paper from his file very slowly. "I have here documentation from the managing partners of the bank –"

"Of course you do," Scrimgeour muttered inaudibly.

" – And they are planning on rebuilding, but they desire the full support of the Ministry with their efforts, and a reassurance that the goblins will not attack again."

"Who are those managing partners?" Bones asked suspiciously, snatching the paper from Fudge's sweaty hands and ignoring the indignant noises from Umbridge, Emerson, and O'Sanden. "We have all their signatures here... Lucius Malfoy, Willard Parkinson, Vesperian Welmon, Barnabus Cuffe, Peter –"

"That's quite enough!" Emerson snapped, yanking the paper from Bones' hands. "I will not have you jeopardize my clients by implying culpability!"

Scrimgeour knew in that second the secret O'Sanden had been keeping. "Wish you would have told me, Peter, that you were on this team," he growled, slowly rising to his feat, knowing that he was terrifying O'Sanden as his golden eyes blazed with righteous fury. "Maybe that's the reason why you did such an excellent job diverting my investigations in the Department of Magical Finance, or preventing me from interrogating Fleur Delacour, who was fresh from Gringotts and in your department!"

"W-We don't even have any evidence she could have been involved –"

"Well, now I'll never know, because she's GONE!" Scrimgeour roared, slamming his fist on the table. His patience was spent, but he didn't care – not now, with his department in shambles, his men dead and dying, and betrayal looming on every side. First Dumbledore's unreliability –where the hell is he now, anyways – then Potter's betrayal and involvement in the Ministry bombing, something I'll handle personally... and now this. "We could have saved a lot of innocent lives, if I had known this was going to happen, and then to hear that you all knew about this before Amelia and I did... this is a scandal of national proportions, and I will not stand for it."

"Rufus, calm down!" Amelia exclaimed, grabbing the Auror's shoulder and yanking him back into his seat. "This solves nothing!"

"Agreed," Emerson growled, his handsome face twisted in a scowl. "We've got a crisis on our hands on several levels. The wizarding world is in a panic. The international journalists are scrambling for information that we can't even give them, which will lead them to poke further. The Prophet is not helping either – the last thing we need is a bitch like Skeeter getting involved in this. And to top it off, we still don't have our statement from Gringotts, with the goblins' terms."

"They're biding their time, the filthy wretches," Umbridge hissed. "They like watching our world in chaos –"

"We can only be thankful that Dumbledore hasn't chosen these moments to make his move," Fudge added.

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

"Why?"

"Why what?" Umbridge asked with a scowl.

"Why hasn't Dumbledore done anything?" Scrimgeour asked, looking around the table as he rose to his feet again. "He's one of the best mediators in our world, he's an extraordinarily powerful wizard, and if anything, we would be in his debt if he chose to help us. And with Cassane vanished," he added, throwing a glare at the empty chair at the table, "Dumbledore would be the one wizard who could assume control and impose order just on strength of will alone – so why hasn't he? It doesn't fit."

"Perhaps he is in hiding, having engineered the blast in the Ministry or collaborated with the goblins," Emerson suggested.

"It doesn't fit, Dumbledore would never have endorsed this sort of attack," Bones muttered, pulling a scrap of parchment from her suitcase and scribbling furiously.

"Dumbledore is irrelevant right now," Fudge interrupted, spreading his hands upon the table. "He'll become relevant when he reappears and begins to interfere in our business, which is already complicated enough as it is. What is relevant is our next plans. I'm placing both of my announcements on hold until we rebuild the Ministry and the new bank, after coming to an agreement with the goblins. I will not suffer any more attacks, and part of that will involve identifying the culprits."

"There's already a warrant for the arrest of the Weasley twins and the werewolf Lupin," Emerson said promptly. "I can draw up the necessary subpoenas when you convene the Wizengamot –"

"I'll contact the Prophet with a press release," Umbridge said eagerly.

"Don't bother," Fudge said, a small smile creeping onto his face. "The reporters will do a better job tracking down information and culprits on their own; they're certainly being paid well enough. Skeeter will have to be silenced – that'll be the second subpoena you issue, Emerson, right after the one to get Cassane here – but other than that, the journalists may help us uncover the truth behind this."

"And the bank partners?" Scrimgeour growled through gritted teeth. "The ones who should be held accountable for this fiasco?"

"That's where the goblins come in," O'Sanden said, raising a finger. "If we can identify the partner responsible for the obvious mismanagement that led to the goblin attacks –"

"Attack."

"Excuse me?"

"Attack in the singular," Scrimgeour said tersely, tapping his finger on the table as he began to pace around the darkened room. It was larger than it needed to be, but Scrimgeour guessed there were normally a lot more people using it. "The goblins weren't responsible for the attack on the Ministry – there may have been goblin explosives used, but that was gratuitous destruction. That's not their tactic."

"You have information supporting this?" Fudge asked quickly.

Scrimgeour exchanged a glance with Bones, who responded with the tiniest nod, hardly even a motion.

"Yes."

"Then you work with the reporters and find our culprits," Fudge ordered. "Amelia, mobilize the Hit Wizards and have them prepared for any more goblin action –"

"Already done," Bones said crisply. "Now all we need is the Goblin Liaison Office to contact Gringotts and –"

"Begging your pardon, Madam Bones, but this will need to go through our Departments," O'Sanden said brusquely. "Mine and Mr. Emerson's – the goblins have long viewed the Goblin Liaison Office as less of an embassy and more of a 'puppet position'. Dealings with Gringotts should go through us."

Scrimgeour could hardly restrain a snort – the cynical poet in his mind could see the sordid irony in allowing one of the partners of the attacked bank to negotiate with the goblins - as he reached one of the few windows in the room. Looking out, he could see the darkened city of London around him. Fiddling with the rusted catch, he shoved the window open –

And not a second too soon, for a horned owl soared into the room. Scrimgeour didn't immediately identify the bird, but he did recognize the official, red-sealed envelope in the owl's talons – an envelope that Fudge cautiously took and slit open.

There was silence as the Minister read the note, and Scrimgeour watched the colour drain from his face.

"So?" Bones asked after a few seconds. "'What does Gringotts have to say?"

"It is a message from Welmon," Fudge said after a few seconds, setting the note aside with trembling hands. "He's being held hostage. 'The goblin nation would like us to be made aware that the Ministry of Magic has been barred from the usage of any wizarding currency. According to goblin philosophy, since they were the ones that minted the gold, it ultimately still belongs to them, and thus they are revoking our right to it.'"

O'Sanden went white, and Umbridge hissed a curse, but Scrimgeour ignored them both as he returned to the table. He moved behind Cassane's empty chair – which was facing Fudge – and leaned over the table, fixing the Minister with his most intense stare.

"What else does the message say?"

Fudge coughed slightly. "'If their initial conditions are not met, I' – meaning Welmon – 'will be executed and another attack will be launched against the wizarding world."

"What's the other 'initial' condition?" Scrimgeour pursued, his gold eyes glittering like a cat about to pounce.

Fudge swallowed hard. "The severed heads of the Malfoy family."

--------

Lupin shook his head wearily as he rubbed his eyes and leaned against a cast-iron fence, the drizzle cutting through the tangled mess that was his hair and stubble. He felt terrible and looked worse, but he was triumphant. He had finally succeeded – his pursuer was gone.

Seven days... it had taken him seven days of running and hiding to finally evade the Hit Wizard. He knew what he was doing, that one, he thought as he walked towards the nearest park bench. Couldn't stand still long enough to get the Tracking Charm off, chasing me all over London, and he was good enough to track me the second I used a Portkey or Apparated... and now I think I've finally lost him under the cover of this mess...

He stretched his shoulders, and winced at the popping noise as his joints creaked. The wave of exhaustion was coming, and he knew it. For a moment, he considered simply sleeping on the bench – Peckham wasn't a nice part of London in any case, and he suspected he'd go unnoticed – but he knew he had to keep moving.

"Grimmauld's obviously out," he muttered to himself as he staggered along the path, the puddles leaking into his torn shoes as he stumbled along the sidewalk. "And if Greyback knows I'm a spy, I can't go back to the warrens... I just go home..."

Home. The very word brought a massive rush of longing to Lupin. His parents were long dead, and he didn't have any siblings, but he knew there was one sanctum that only he and Sirius knew about. It was the wild country, and he would be alone, but it would be worth it. For a few days at least, he thought to himself, rubbing his eyes again. A few men shouted curses and slurs at him – he wasn't surprised, he looked like a vagrant – but he ignored them, focusing instead on his isolated hideaway...

He heard a car backfire, and he Disapparated at that moment.

A second later, he was standing in the untamed wilderness, panting as he tried to adjust to the feeling of Apparition. But despite his aching head and utter exhaustion, he couldn't help but feel at peace.

The forest was rampant, untamed and away from the city, he could hear the sounds of wildlife. He knew there wasn't any magical creatures here – maybe a few Muggle campers closer to the highway, but none this deep into the brush. His cabin was hidden in a small clearing – a tiny, two room affair that was ramshackle, yet comfortable. He could see some clouds above him, but the rain had stopped, leaving everything with the fresh, moist smell of natural growth. Lupin couldn't help himself – for a few moments, he simply stood still in the forest, taking in the beauty of the cold and crisp night breeze and the stars above him, not blotted out by the city glare...

This was the right choice for me, Lupin thought through the haze of his mind as he carefully slid through the bramble patches towards his door. Even the name of this forest – Hope Woodlands... it brings back old memories... times of peace...

His hand rested on the doorknob... and he froze.

The door was already open – and from the sounds of it, someone was already inside, and had lit a fire.

His wand was drawn in a second, as unthinking rage surged through him. How dare they defile his paradise like this? He shoved the door open, a curse upon his lips –

Tonks looked up from where she had hung the kettle over the fireplace and sighed. "'Bout time you showed up, Remus."

Lupin didn't lower his wand – he had nearly been trapped before in the last few days – but as he stepped closer, he knew that this wasn't a ruse. Tonks looked terrible – the bubblegum pink in her hair was badly streaked with black, and she looked more tired than he felt - and the look of ashen resignation and fear on her face was impossible to fake.

"How did you find this place?" he asked instead, pulling off his tattered cloak and hanging it on a rusty iron hook next to the door.

"Sirius suggested it when we were looking for places to hide if Harry had to run," Tonks murmured, poking at the fire absently. "And we would have come here too, if we could have trusted you a few months ago."

Lupin paused from peeling off his shredded shoes. "Does that mean... does that mean you trust me now?"

"Too much has happened, Remus, for it to be that easy," Tonks replied, finally meeting the werewolf's eyes. Lupin was struck, once again, by how bad she looked. "And not just between you and us... things have changed, and I didn't know where else to go."

"How long have you been –"

"Six days," Tonks said wearily. "After Snape screwed up and rescued me instead of Harry from the attack on the Ministry –"

"Wait a second, you were there too?" Lupin interrupted, a feeling of horror rising in his gut. "And so was Harry?"

"Yeah, but that's not important. Well, after Snape fucked up and 'rescued' me, we ended up in Diagon Alley – where we saw the goblins attack." She shivered. "It was like the Ministry attack all over again, Remus. Flames everywhere, people screaming and running, nobody knowing what to do –"

"I missed most of the attack," Remus replied, hesitantly putting his hand on Tonks' shoulder, "but I heard about what happened. I was in the Atrium before the bomb went off – that strange Cassane fellow sprung me in the nick of time, and I managed to get to the Floo before getting spotted by a patrol. They nailed me with a Tracking Charm that I could cut loose, and I've been trying to find a place to hide after getting rid of it. Wasn't going to come earlier – wasn't going to bring the Ministry here."

Tonks was quiet for a few seconds, and then, after taking a long, shuddering breath, she spoke again. "During the confusion, Snape and I took shelter in Dumbledore's little basement hideout in Diagon Alley, and after giving me the usual caustic treatment, he bolted. No idea where he is, or where Dumbledore is. He contacted you?"

Lupin shook his head. "It's strange, you'd think Dumbledore would have said or done something by now."

"It's like what Harry was saying," Tonks muttered. "We were relying on the old man too much... and now he's gone. Voldemort's got a clear field."

"What was Harry doing in... no, I understand if you don't want to tell me, but do you know where he is now?" Lupin asked anxiously. "I... I want to know –"

"Hogwarts, I'm guessing," Tonks said bitterly, viciously jabbing the fire with the poker as the kettle began to whistle. She cooled it with a blast of chill air from her wand as she poured the tea into a small plastic mug. Lupin remembered that mug – James had gotten it for him when they were in their seventh year...

"In any case, I can't go to him. Snape told me there's some sort of strange magical conjunction of some sort that distorts time or something. And with the ghosts acting as crazy as they are, it's probably safer..."

Lupin snapped up. "That's new. But I thought... you and Harry, that you two were –"

"Thought we were what, Remus?" Tonks asked sharply.

Lupin flushed and busied himself with a mug of his own tea. "Nothing, just something Moody said..."

"What did Mad-Eye say?" Tonks asked dangerously. "I know he was my mentor, but that still doesn't mean –"

"He – and I, really – well..." Lupin struggled to say the words even as Tonks was steadily getting redder. "We thought you and Harry were... you know..."

"Lovers?"

Lupin looked away, but Tonks got the message. She swore under her breath.

"Well..."

"Well what?" Tonks snapped, slamming her mug of tea down on the table. A few scalding droplets landed on her hand, and she swatted them away with another curse.

"Are you?"

"Remus, if I knew what was going on between me and Harry, don't you think I'd, you'd know, actually try and be with him right now, or be back with the Ministry maintaining my blown cover? Kingsley's already sent a Patronus after me – he's told Scrimgeour that I'm holidaying in Spain, but Scrimgeour undoubtedly knows that's bullshit... Merlin, as if my life could be any more fucked up right now –"

"Tonks, if you're with Harry," Lupin began cautiously, "there's nothing wrong with just saying –"

"Yes, there is!" Tonks exclaimed, slamming her chair back and snapipng to her feet. "I don't know what's happening to me, but for fuck's sake, I'm seven years older than him! I shouldn't be feeling anything towards Harry besides friendship, considering some of the things he's said and done... but whenever I'm around him, t-things start to change. I support what he's doing without considering how horrible the plan might be. I flirt effortlessly, and he reciprocates in kind. And the night we finally rescued Sirius – oh, yeah, forgot to mention that, to free Sirius from the ghost of what looked to be fucking Cygnus Black possessing him, we had to practically kill him – Harry and I... we..."

She swallowed hard as she stormed towards the only window Lupin had in the sitting room and stared out at the naked wilderness. Lupin didn't rise with her, but he could see the track of a tear tracing down her cheek.

"I don't know why I feel this way towards him," Tonks whispered. "I don't know where it came from. I can't mention it to Harry – fuck, I don't want to mention it to myself, because it feels so damned good when I'm with him, even thought everything in my mind is screaming that something is terribly wrong... and it's getting worse. There's a voice in my head that just keeps telling me, reminding me, of him... I screwed something up, and now I don't know how I'm going to fix it."

Lupin didn't know what to say. He didn't expect this breakdown, not from Tonks. She always seemed so strong, so happy, so devil-may-care... this didn't seem like her.

"Do you think," he began cautiously, "that you might be under some sort of... I don't know, charm or enchantment?"

Tonks snorted. "Remus, I'm an Auror. And who would cast something like this on me, to make me want to... what, are you suggesting Harry would do that?"

"Of course not," Lupin replied quickly, "although from what I've heard recently, he's changed a lot –"

"'Course he has, he's been through hell," Tonks said exasperatedly. "But I know Harry pretty well now, Remus, and while he is good, he's not that good."

"Then maybe it's some sort of magical effect," Lupin reasoned. "Were you experimenting with something that could have caused this mess –"

Tonks was silent, and Lupin felt a surge of worry fill his stomach.

"Tonks, have you been using Dark magic –"

"No," Tonks said flatly, turning back towards the window.

"Because some types of spells from that field of study –"

"I said no, okay?" Tonks snapped. "I can't say anything more."

And just like that, the anger returned, the hurt at being mistrusted again and again and again came back. Sometimes it was for being a werewolf, other times for being accused of selling out to Voldemort, and now this. I've listened to her, I've been honest with her, why the hell won't she trust me?

"I don't understand," Lupin began roughly, getting up from his seat, "why you're still not trusting me. It started right after you and Harry went to Gringotts months ago, and nothing's changed. So I think I've got the right to ask, right about now: what have I ever done not to have that trust? I've always supported you and Harry, and Sirius and I are practically brothers!"

"Perhaps it was because you would have told Dumbledore absolutely everything we would have done!" Tonks snarled, rounding on Lupin. The tears were gone now, and her hair was now matte-black. "Maybe it's because you weren't honest with Harry from the very beginning regarding your little part with the Potter Vaults? Maybe it's because in all of the ten years Harry spent at the fucking Dursleys, you never tried to find him!"

The words struck home.

Lupin could have thrown something at Tonks, and he could feel the beast inside him screaming. But he turned away, the blood leaving from his face. All the old poisonous guilt came rushing back, the frustration, the despair, the aimless rage and hatred... all the emotions he had tried to blot out for years, but never succeeded. In a second, he remembered the spiteful words that Snape had said...

"...you'll keep your muzzle tightly closed, werewolf, and you'll do it, too. But eventually, you'll give in to the pressure. Eventually, you'll have to come clean to Potter in the end. I'm expecting this – I'm planning on it, as a matter of fact – but don't think that little revelation won't cost you dearly..."

Lupin closed his eyes and blinked several times. The time had come – he knew Tonks would convey the truth to Harry in its entirety. The entire pathetic truth.

"Tonks."

"What?" Her voice was raw and abrupt, and Lupin couldn't blame her.

"You want the whole truth?"

"What does that mean?" Tonks asked suspiciously. "What's this about? Why you were at the Ministry before everything fell apart – and what were you thinking, trying to rescue –"

"I was under Imperius, and I don't remember anything, because Lucius Malfoy did a good job Obliviating me – or so at least Cassane says," Lupin replied heavily, sitting back down next to the fire. "No, I'm talking about the Potter Vaults."

"Are you willing to tell me what you know?" Tonks demanded. "Because we – as in Harry and I – need that money. What we're doing –"

"Whatever that is –"

" – It requires a lot of gold," Tonks snapped, glaring at Lupin. "Harry's money is gone, and I'm pretty much broke. I just paid the rent on an apartment with the remnants of my last paycheque, and the way things are going in the Ministry, I'm not going to getting much more from them. How much money's in the Vault anyways?"

"Enough," Lupin said tiredly, staring at his hands and the light dancing across them from the fire, dreading every coming moment, "but that's not the point. Can you sit down, please?"

Tonks' suspicious glare didn't let up, but she sat down one of the well-worn stools leaning against the counter, several feet away from Lupin. From the looks of things, she didn't want to get any closer.

"Do you remember your Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher in your seventh year?"

"Yes," Tonks replied warily. "Professor Chloe Shasbe. Crazy woman – taught me a whole lot of nothing, making my N.E.W.T.s a living hell and my Auror exams a lot worse. Why?"

"Because I applied for the Defense position that year," Lupin replied, picking up the dented and rusting poker and stabbing at the fire moodily. "Dumbledore asked me to – thought it'd be good for me. And I did apply. And through the course of that application, I met Professor Snape. He and I hadn't corresponded in several years – indeed, not since we were on opposite sides of the war."

"How is this relevant –"

"Just listen," Lupin replied, his voice barely rising about the crackling of the fire, yet still audible across the room. "In any case, I asked him, in our conversation, where Harry was, how he was doing. He said he didn't know and he didn't care."

"Sounds like Snape," Tonks said curtly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Lupin let out a long, uneasy breath. "Except it wasn't, Tonks. He was enraged that I even asked. I snapped back, saying that after some of the things I had heard about the Potter Vaults and after I had testified in the closure case, I was surprised he wasn't concerned."

A look of confusion crossed Tonks' face, and her hair began changing colour wildly. "What does that mean?"

"He slammed me into the wall, and then blackmailed me into silence," Lupin continued, completely ignoring Tonks as he stared into the fire, the only real light in the cabin reflected in the hollowness of his expression. "He swore that he would kill me if the truth came out. And frankly, I'm not surprised – he was humiliated that I knew anything about it. But he also knew the one thing that would shut me up."

Tonks didn't say anything, and there was silence for a long few seconds. Lupin knew that she was waiting for him to speak, yet with every second, the lump of guilt in his throat grew even bigger, and his mouth was dry as sand.

"So I didn't reapply, and the year after, Quirrell came back, and I waited until Lockhart was gone before coming back to Hogwarts. But by then," Lupin said with a bitter laugh, "Snape had a much easier blackmail situation when I was at the school. All he would have needed to do was slip some dirty monkshood into my Wolfsbane Potion, and I'd be dead in seconds – or worse, a rampaging monster."

"But that doesn't answer the big question here, Lupin," Tonks said angrily, "and that's what the hell did Snape have on you?"

Here it was. He could feel the shame rising like bile in his stomach, but he choked it back.

"I knew Harry was with the Dursleys the entire time – and I knew what was going on in that house – and I did nothing."

Tonks frowned. "That – that's all? If I remember correctly, so did McGonagall, Hagrid, and Dumbledore, and they didn't give a toss about that."

"Neither of them knew, before Hagrid found Harry, the conditions in which Harry was living," Lupin whispered, his eyes moistening. "But I did. And I swore to James that I wouldn't let his son come to harm. I visited Sirius in Azkaban, and though he doesn't remember it – the Dementors sucked the memory clean out of his mind, I think – even thought I thought he was an murderer at the time, I swore to him that I would make sure Harry came to no harm.

"And I went back to Surrey, and I saw the neglect... I saw how lonely Harry was... and I did nothing. I failed James and Sirius... and I failed Harry. I know that I could have given him a better life, but I held back. I was terrified he would find out that I was a werewolf, that I couldn't save his parents, that they trusted me so little they considered me the spy – and they had reason to believe that. I'm not proud of what I did in the First War –"

"War is hell, we both know that!" Tonks cut him off, her eyes wide with shock and growing disgust. "So you didn't take Harry in."

"And I could have – hell, I should have," Lupin said vehemently, his entire body shaking. "And Dumbledore might not have approved of my act, but he knew I wasn't the traitor, and he wouldn't have stopped me. I could have had the opportunity to raise Harry, shield him from harm... and I didn't take it. Instead... take a look at the plants outside the window, Tonks, and tell me what you see."

Tonks gave Lupin another disgusted look before looking out the window. She frowned for a few seconds, lighting her wand to better see the plants, and then –

"That's Knotgrass," Tonks said quietly. "You grew it – you used to smoke it. So this is where you disappeared to for all those years."

"When I couldn't afford the Wolfsbane Potion, it dulled the pain – along with everything else," Lupin whispered listlessly. "I could close my eyes, reopen them, and see a dream, a beautiful dream... I wouldn't have to feel the pain, I wouldn't have to suffer the guilt. It was easier to be wolf than man, and between the transformations and the Knotgrass... I didn't have to feel... feel anything. Between that and watching Harry, and living off the land... it ages you, Tonks. I could have given Harry a better life, and I didn't. I knew, and I could have done something – I swore to James and Sirius I would do something – and I failed. I'm as guilty as neglect as the Dursleys."

"And Snape found out you were spying on Harry, that you never spoke to him to give him a better life or tell him about his parents, and he blackmailed you with it. He threatened to expose you to Sirius, or Dumbledore... or Harry," Tonks said, finally connecting the dots.

"None of them would forgive me," Lupin murmured. "If they knew that I knew all along, and I did nothing..."

Tonks was tight-lipped – she let Lupin's voice trail off into the silence as the fire crackled in the grate. Lupin knew how he looked – slumped, defeated, a broken man ravaged by his own guilt and self-loathing... it disgusted him, but now she knew.

"I don't know if Harry will forgive you," Tonks said finally, rising off of the stool and looking around the cabin. "I don't think I can forgive you – that's pretty pathetic, Lupin."

"You don't have to tell me," Lupin said, rubbing the moistness away from his eyes with the back of his hand. He wasn't going to show that kind of shame, not now. I've had over ten years to be weak...

"So what do you know about the Potter Vaults?" Tonks asked, her eyes glittering as she drained the last of her tea before tossing the mug onto the floor. Lupin winced as the mug bounced and rattled.

"Snape knows the most – he was intimately involved with the proceedings. I gave testimony to that lawyer Miguel Prince, but I don't know whether it was held admissible in the Wizengamot – werewolf testimony rarely is. Prince is dead now, and so is the prosecuting attorney, but the judge responsible for the final decision is still alive. He's in Azkaban for treason and money laundering – he funnelled thousands of Galleons straight to Voldemort's pockets – but his vault writs were never thrown out."

"Why?" Tonks demanded furiously. "He was a treasonous bastard –"

"The judge worked exclusively with Voldemort, but he still had his own corrupt code of justice. Legitimate criminals and some of the nastier Death Eaters did go to prison under his jurisdiction, and he taught his sons who joined the Hit Wizards the same hard form of justice, following the creed of Barty Crouch," Lupin said bitterly. "Justice, law, and peace – regardless of the means. Fire with fire."

"I need a name, Remus."

Lupin finally met Tonks' haunted eyes. "You already have the name," he said with a heavy sigh. "His name is Claudius. Claudius Kemester."