“...we’re running out of time...”

   “...every evaluation on his psyche is proving inconclusive... magic is still functional, though we can’t be certain for how long...”

   “...given physical damage, we can’t afford to try a more extensive examination without losing the subject....”

   “...re-examine those charts, the damage to his brain cannot be that severe given his continued functioning...”

   “...don’t know how he survived this long...”

   He didn’t know either. The pain was like a sentient monster, lashing itself to his bones, incinerating tissues with every encroachment –

   “Oh, Dmitri?”

   He stirred on the floor, blinking rapidly as he tried to regain focus. The floor where he was lying was cold and slippery and looked a bit like glass, yet he when he tried to pull himself up, he could only turn helplessly on the floor. The room around him was starkly white and cubical, with light seeming to seep from the surfaces themselves rather than from any lamp. He felt his vision twist sickeningly – for some strange reason, even despite the fact he was lying on a floor, it didn’t seem like a floor. The entire room was one floor, and he was on just a piece of it, staring up at...

   “....he’s moving! Prepare for active monitoring –”

   Peeves only gave his rich, insouciant smile. “Hi.”

   He struggled for breath, to force words free, but something was wrong – it was like he was stuck in an Apparition, with thick bands crushing his chest and throat, preventing him from drawing breath to speak. But even if he was to speak, he had no idea what he would say the poltergeist, just barely visible in a room full of glare and white light –

   “Oh, I’m so sorry, is it too bright for you?” Peeves asked mockingly, his voice shifting abruptly to a terrible American accent, abandoned a second later, spinning in mid-air. “You prove me right yet again, Dmitri – your place was always in darkness!”

   “-HOLY SHIT –”

   The walls went black, and he felt gravity shift, tossing him from one side of the room to another. He tasted blood in his mouth, and fighting against the bands on his chest, he spat it free. The only light in the room was the glimmer surrounding the ghost, gleefully frolicking across the walls – or floors – of the room –

   “...restore the connections, I repeat, restore the fucking connections – I’m not going to lose valuable data because of –”

   “I don’t have much time, Dmitri,” Peeves said conversationally, crossing his arms over his incorporeal chest, “so let me break you down here. Yes, I’m really here – although not for long – and before you even begin to ask questions, let me inform you that you won’t be here for long either.”

   “How...” he managed to gasp, clawing the words past the blockage in his throat...

   “- I’m hearing sounds in there – FUCK! Goddamn it, get that equipment working or I swear I’ll –”

   “The toad is on her way down,” Peeves explained, a cruel smile crossing his face, “and she will have decided that you’ve outlived your usefulness – providing you had any to her to begin with. So... she’ll put you away.”

   The words hit him like a sack of bricks. Even though he could hardly remember his own name through the pain, he realized instantly what the poltergeist was telling him.

   And it terrified him.

   “Not... not Azkaban –”

   “Now listen,” Peeves said reprovingly, drifting much closer to him, the cruel smile never vanishing, “I really need you to survive, Dmitri –”

   “Why... why don’t... just let me fucking die!”

   “ – If you don’t get that monitoring apparatus back up I swear I’m going to take you apart with my bare hands! He’s saying something, he’s talking –”

   “Now, now,” Peeves said with a sniff, “you’re a lot more valuable to me than Snape was, and I don’t think your brother would want you to die in vain. You’re an interesting guy, Dmitri, and I wouldn’t mind have you sane and workable for the foreseeable future. So here’s what you’re gonna do – the caterers around Paradise Island tend to be a little, ah, ravenous, so I need you to keep that polluted soul safely inside you, okay?”

   He couldn’t muster any words – he could only stare in horror as Peeves floated a little higher, the deranged grin returning to the ghost’s face.

   “And once you get settled in, make sure to ask for a friend of mine – you’ll know him when you see him. Terrific guy, great conversationalist, amazing with the truth.”

   “-we’re restoring contact now, sir, in ten seconds –”

   “I’m...” he gasped, fighting desperately to pull the strangled words free, “I’m here... on a... lie!”

   “Maybe,” Peeves said, his smile going impossible wide, “but we should always look forward, Dmitri, remember that – and where you’re going, the truth’s the only thing you’ll have!”

   The lights slammed back on, and Dmitri Kemester tumbled back down onto another floor, and lost consciousness.

   Dolores Umbridge frowned as she stared at the two Unspeakables, both looking harried and extremely irritated as they straightened their robes.

   “So you’re saying we don’t have any more information from him?” she asked disapprovingly.

   “His mind is fracturing badly, Madam Umbridge,” the first Unspeakable said, his tone sepulchral in its intensity. “Any more tests could break him entirely – the physical damage to his head, combined with assorted mental stresses has nearly rendered him catatonic. More tests would kill him.”

   “And we don’t want Dmitri Kemester dead – yet,” Umbridge said softly, scribbling some notes on her clipboard. “And the... you called it a ‘black-out period’?”

   The two Unspeakables exchanged glances. “It was an equipment failure,” the second Unspeakable said bluntly. “It happens with these sorts of experimental apparatuses.”

   Umbridge made a disapproving sound. “Is there any more information that you believe can be extracted regarding his physical, mental, or magical states?”

   “Once again, not without killing him,” the first Unspeakable said grimly.

   “Fine, then put him in Bode’s crates and have him quietly shipped to the disposal site,” Umbridge replied curtly, Disapparating with a crack, to reappear in her office a split second later.

   Before she could even sit down, someone hammered on the door.

  “Come in.”

   The dark-haired and scarred form of Sanders slid into her office. “I’ve got good news and bad news, Madam Undersecretary.”

   “Good news first, Sanders,” Umbridge replied sweetly, gesturing for her Hit Wizard to sit down. “What news from the hunt for Sirius Black?”

   “We just got an anonymous tip that he was seen three weeks ago, on the night the Shrieking Shack was destroyed in a fire,” Sanders said breathlessly. “Apparently, he was critically wounded. My guess is that he hasn’t left Hogsmeade.”

   “Why did it take three weeks for us to get this information?” Umbridge exclaimed, her eyes widening furiously as she began scribbling notes on her clipboard.

  “I’m assuming because it was the same night and morning that the Ministry was attacked,” Sanders said in a low voice. “Wilson’s mustering a team as we speak – do we have clearance to go?”

   “Yes,” Umbridge said instantly. “No Dementors this time – their presence will tip Black off, and if he has recovered sufficiently, we can’t let him slip out of our net.”

  “It will be done.”

   “The bad news, then?” Umbridge asked, not looking up from her clipboard.

   She heard a thump, and saw the Daily Prophet that Sanders had dropped on her desk. Rather, she saw the headline.

   Her heart started hammering furiously. She picked up the paper, certain that she had misread the words.

   A paragraph later, she knew she hadn’t.

   “Madam Undersecretary?”

   Umbridge crushed the paper in her fist. “Get me the Minister – now.”

   “My lord?”

  Lord Voldemort did not look up from his tome. A frown creased his lipless face as he tapped the cauldron delicately with his wand, sending a gush of steam into the dimly lit dungeon. The magic was beginning to take shape, but not nearly quickly enough – the experiment would indeed require more time for the power to coalesce into an appropriate form –

   “My lord, you have an owl.”

   He looked up, and turned to face the haggard-looking Lucius Malfoy. The man leaned heavily on his silver cane, and his robes hung heavily around his shoulders. The past few weeks have not been kind to him, Voldemort noted dispassionately. His loss.

   “The tip has been given to Wilson?”

   “Yes, and the Death Eaters are prepared to converge upon the squad as soon as they get in position,” Lucius replied hesitantly. “My lord, it is unlikely that Black –”

   “If, as I suspect, he remains bedridden from his horrific injuries, and given the action I have taken to deprive the Order of their headquarters, the Order will converge around Black for their meeting,” Voldemort replied smoothly, not even looking up as he scanned his tome more carefully. A wave of his wand sent potions ingredients spilling onto the end of the table, quickly being prepared by animated knives and pestles. “If not, then we will have control of a squad of Hit Wizards and Aurors – a valuable asset in the coming days.”

   “Regarding the magic used to... block the Headquarters,” Malfoy began carefully, “we recently received a letter from the Italians...”

   He extended a very official-looking paper that Voldemort took and scanned quickly. His red eyes narrowed for a few seconds before handing the paper back to Lucius.

   “I see no problem.”

   “They are threatening you, my lord –”

   “Idle threats, nothing more,” Voldemort said crisply, as another wave of his wand sent the potions ingredients in precisely the correct order and amounts into a solid silver cauldron in the corner, under which a crackling bluebell flame immediately lit. “They are demanding another price, and if they wish for me to pay it, inform them to come to my country and exact payment here.” He gave his wand a short flick, and before Malfoy’s amazed eyes, a massive three-dimensional image, composed of flickering green light and ashes, erupted over the table. Voldemort nodded with satisfaction.

   “My lord, what exactly is –”

   “Old plans for a magical...‘device’ that I designed forty years ago,” Voldemort said softly, “complete with necessary Arithmancy and leyline calculations.”

   “I apologize, my lord, for not understanding...”

   “It’s magical theory, Lucius, some of which has not been seen for over three hundred years,” Voldemort said smoothly, making a few adjustments to the image with jets of red ash from his wand before spinning it slowly with a wave of his hand. “News from Hogwarts?”

   Lucius shifted uncomfortably. “There was a letter from my son that I found... disturbing, to say the least.”

   “Indeed.”

   “He has asked for your permission to accelerate the Hogwarts mission, and Nott has consented to agree.”

   Voldemort vanished the image with a wave of his wand, only to replace it an instant later with what appeared to be a stream of Arithmancy diagrams and equations, scrawled in red flaming characters. Lucius couldn’t help but to gasp in astonishment – it was theory beyond him, as even some of the equations seemed to be multidimensional in appearance, crossing each other at bizarre angles and twisting spasmodically as Voldemort watched them.

   “Magic of this scope operates according to patterns beyond even my ken,” the Dark Lord murmured as he rearranged the diagram with delicate brushes of his wand, as if he was completing the finishing touches of a grand painting. “And the temporal distortion is a coefficient I cannot afford to ignore. What prompted this new... enthusiasm from your son?”

   “He was attacked,” Lucius growled. “By Harry Potter.”

   He gave Voldemort the letter, which the Dark Lord read – and then immediately incinerated, with a tap of his wand.

   “Such information is dangerous to be kept in writing,” Voldemort said as explanation, pointing his wand at the silver cauldron and flicking upwards. A second later, a long liquid arc of silvery potion erupted from the cauldron – only to be frozen in midair by a thoughtful tap of the Dark Lord’s wand. Lucius could only watch with amazement – the liquid hadn’t frozen at all. It was still quite liquid, only floating in the air as if paused in mid-arc.

   “My lord... this is...”

   “Give Nott permission to proceed,” Voldemort said as he critically examined the potion hovering in the air before nodding with satisfaction. With a slash of his wand, the potion resumed its arc – landing directly in the cauldron that was set on Voldemort’s massive stone table. “And tell his father that I am satisfied with the accommodations he has provided for me.”

   Lucius’ expression was rigid. “My lord, as soon as Malfoy Manor is rebuilt, I will –”

   “I’m sure you will, Lucius,” Voldemort cut him off briskly as he returned to examining his tome. “Anything else?”

   “Just this,” Malfoy growled, extending a rather crumpled piece of newspaper to the Dark Lord.

   Voldemort read the headline, and his eyes hardened into solid pools of anger.

   “This,” he said quietly, “will not do at all.”

   “My lord –”

   “Bring Snape to me, here,” Voldemort said softly. “His services will be required, now that I must accelerate my own plans.”

   “Y-Yes, my lord,” Lucius whispered, visible fear playing across his face. Though he wasn’t showing it, the elder Malfoy knew that the Dark Lord was livid – and that repressed anger was a terrifying thing indeed.

   “Cassane must be shown – again – that this... behaviour is inappropriate,” Voldemort said coldly, his eyes returning to the complex diagram suspended above him. With a wave of his wand, he inscribed an entire new line of flaming characters encircling the image. “I will be sending him a few appropriate messages shortly, but in the mean time, ensure that Fenrir’s pack, the Transylvanians, and any available Dementors know of his location and anything or anyone our intelligence indicates that he cares about. Tell the Transylvanians first – if I’m correct, they have a score to settle with him anyways, and I wouldn’t want to deprive them of his blood.”

   Malfoy’s eyes widened even further. “I-It will be done, my lord –”

   “I am not finished. I would also speak with Barnabus Cuffe and Rita Skeeter, as soon as possible. Ensure that Cuffe remains alive.”

   “My lord, you s-said you wanted to speak with them –”

   “I am just as comfortable speaking to Rita Skeeter’s head as I am the rest of her,” Voldemort replied calmly as he returned to his work.

   “Not bad, Potter,” Moody said coolly, lowering his wand. “I’ve seen worse. Certainly better than our little fight yesterday – this time, you actually hit my Shield Charm.”

   Harry struggled to catch his breath. He clutched at the stitch in his chest, from dodging the avalanche of curses and hexes the Auror had launched at him. Moody didn’t move that quickly, but he kept Harry easily at bay. If only I could break his damned Shield Charm, or get close enough to tackle him or something... but no, he likes that damned Slickening Charm more than Tonks does...

   “Get some water,” Moody said curtly, moving back behind his desk to scribble some notes in his book. “We’re nearly done tonight.”

   “I’ll be okay,” Harry panted, “just give me a –”

   He didn’t get another word out, because Moody had whirled his wand and sent a jet of icy cold water straight into Harry’s face. He coughed and sputtered against the deluge, but a second later it was gone, and Moody was tucking his wand away, a smirk on his face.

   “Thanks,” Harry spat sarcastically, accepting the towel Moody casually tossed him, already damp with sweat.

   “Potter, when are you going to get it through your thick skull that when I tell you to do something, I’d like to actually do it?” Moody asked conversationally.

   Harry rolled his eyes, but joined Moody at the desk. “So what else have you planned, Professor?” he asked dryly.

   Moody pointed at the wall of papers magically suspended (none of which, to Harry’s surprise, had gotten damaged in the duel that evening). “Tell me what you see here.”

   Harry squinted as he stepped closer. “It looks like a lot of calculations I don’t really understand, and... are these biographies? You’ve got notes here about...”

   “Every student potentially connected to these ghost attacks,” Moody finished, crossing his arms over his chest as he surveyed the wall. “Except for my notes on you, obviously – you’re a different case. But as you know, I’m looking for connections between the situations, ways that we might be able to predict who the next targets could be, or the manner of the next strike. Most importantly, we want to know for absolute certainty the identity of the culprit.”

  Harry’s eyes darkened. “What I told you last night didn’t mean anything did it?”

   “Just because you think it could be Malfoy doesn’t mean we can exactly make a move to strike against him,” Moody retorted, his magical eye whirling as it scanned the wall.

   “Why not?” Harry asked angrily. “I’m a better fighter than he is, and you wiped the floor with me – why don’t you get in here and give him Veritaserum or something?”

   Moody turned to look at Harry, and although his blue eye was still sweeping the wall, he chuckled under his breath. “If it were that simple, Potter.”

   “I don’t see why it’s not.”

   “That’s because you haven’t considered that we don’t know a damn thing about the magic that the suspect is using,” Moody replied, all traces of humour gone as he returned to staring at the wall. “It could be activated with the speed of thought itself, or triggered upon the user’s relaxation of control – Voldemort used that type of magic in the first war to devastating effect.”

   Harry frowned. “I’ve never heard of spells like that...”

   “Understandable, considering that type of magic is on the fringes of what one could consider civilized, and devilishly tricky to utilize,” Moody growled. “He magically plants a trigger in the mind of some hapless dupe under the Imperius Curse, and when that curse is broken either by one of our curses or Voldemort’s whim, the man’s brain explodes in his skull or the flesh sloughs off his bones.”

   “What?”

   “Fortunately, that spell takes a good hour to cast properly,” Moody continued, ignoring the horrified look on Harry’s face. “Still nasty as fuck, but extremely limited, and I think you see my point.”

   “So you’re saying that even if we surprise Malfoy, he could still trigger the magic before we could do a damned thing?” Harry asked with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

   “Potentially,” Moody said darkly. “But even if the magic wasn’t like that, and required time and location and a shitload of other conditions to work and we got the suspect here, it’s not as easy as just a dose of Veritaserum.”

   “It’s the strongest truth potion in the world!” Harry protested. “I don’t see how it isn’t just that easy. Don’t you have some?”

   “Of course I do –”

   “Then we don’t even need to go to Snape!” Harry exclaimed. “One dose and we could solve all of this in one swoop!”

   “In all circumstances, Potter, that would be my automatic solution,” Moody said tersely, “except for one little factor: our resident Death Eater professor.”

   “Snape’s not even here –”
   “I’m not talking about the professor himself, but something that he made,” Moody cut Harry off. “Have you ever heard of Liar’s Heartstone?”

   Harry shook his head blankly.

   “I thought not. It’s one of the greatest innovations in Potions besides the Wolfsbane Potion in the past ten years,” Moody said grimly. “Even I’m not sure of all of the details, but from the reports I read in the Auror Office, the potion is solidified and encapsulated so it can be easily consumed orally, and it builds up in your system the more you consume it. What it does is much more interesting – if the user is exposed to any sort of powerful truth drug or potion, the components in the truth potion will react with the Liar’s Heartstone and cause a powerful heart attack, killing our suspect near-instantly.”

   Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “That sounds... suspicious.”

   “Of course it is, it’s fucking unbelievable, but even Dumbledore has vouched for it,” Moody snarled bitterly. “Makes my life a living hell, but that’s poisons and potions for you – never a straight game when that type of trickery comes into play. And can you guess who the ‘prodigy’ who earned his Potions Mastery by designing it was?”

    Harry went red with anger. “You’re kidding me.”

   “It fucking had to be Snape,” Moody said viciously, slamming his fist on the wall. “As if the shit-eating bastard wasn’t untrustworthy enough, we now have this! The reason I couldn’t force-feed him Veritaserum when he got back from his suspicious absence during the fight at Hogwarts, and the reason we can’t go after any of his ‘favoured Slytherins’ without absolute proof – I’m not going to be responsible for the death of innocent students.”

   “Malfoy’s far from innocent,” Harry pointed out.

   “Doesn’t make it right to kill him – or attempt to drown him in acid, I might add,” Moody snapped, turning to glare at Harry with both of his mismatched eyes, “but that’s not the point. What we can do is get whatever information we possibly can about the attacks, and see if we can draw parallels and make connections.”

   Harry closed his eyes and thought. Besides the ghosts, what tied the attacks together? The victims are different, their conditions were different, the ghosts were different... wait a second!

   “What about Peeves?”

   “What about Peeves?” Moody snapped.

   “He’s been acting weird this year,” Harry said quickly, remembering the deranged grins and disturbingly cryptic warnings the poltergeist had been giving all year. “Saying things... he seems more uncontrolled, and, well, evil than I’ve ever seen him. Do you think –”

   “Dumbledore mentioned that damned poltergeist was acting strange,” Moody muttered.

   “I’ve seen him before every attack,” Harry continued. “In fact...” The realization hit him like a hammer blow. “He’s led me to the site of every attack.”

   “But why you?” Moody growled, his mind racing. “Why not the Headmaster or another student?”

   Harry raised his hands helplessly. “I don’t know, Professor. I mean, how much do we know about poltergeists?”

   “Not enough,” Moody said, yanking open his book and scribbling furiously. “Too much of it is fucking classified by the Department of Mysteries as ‘dangerous, experimental subject material’ –”

   Moody stopped speaking, and it was almost as if Harry could see the idea drifting straight into the Auror’s head, causing a wicked smile to spring up on his face.

   “And we’ve got a way in.”

   “How?”

   “Broderick Bode,” Moody said, his smile growing wider as he set down his book. “He’s the Order’s man in the Department of Mysteries – relatively well-placed Unspeakable, and one who is loyal to our cause.”

   “I think I met him,” Harry said suddenly, his eyes lighting up with recognition. “He got me out of the Ministry with Tonks and the twins, when Kemester had brought me in for interrogation! He’s definitely on our side.”

   Moody nodded decisively – and then swore. “And I can’t go to him – fuck!”

   “I’m sorry, what?”

   “Since Dumbledore disappeared – and Merlin only knows where – we need to keep Order members at the school, in case the Death Eaters decide to get cute,” Moody snarled. “And with Hagrid and that motherfucker Snape gone, it’s only Minerva and I at the school – not nearly enough.”

   “You’ve got Flitwick too – he’s a duelling champion!” Harry argued.

   “Three against any Death Eaters Voldemort decides to send?” Moody retorted. “And with as many students and non-combatants as we have here? I don’t think so.”

   Harry took a deep breath – this was a risk. “Then let me do it.”

   “What?”

   “Let me contact the Order and Bode, get the message out,” Harry said urgently. “I want to help the Order, and I’ve got a way out of the school that will keep me protected and unidentified – it’s a project that Tonks and I were working on.”

   “Does it work?” Moody asked sceptically.

   “As well as can be expected,” Harry replied, carefully ignoring the memory of the fight in the Ministry. I can use my Clarissa Desdame simulacrum, hopefully there won’t be anything wrong with my magic like last time...

   Moody looked at Harry for a long few seconds, and Harry fought the urge to fidget under the Auror’s stare or lose his patience.

   “It’s risky,” Moody finally said.

   “Don’t you trust that I can handle myself?” Harry asked exasperatedly. “I’ve done this before!”

   “No, I don’t trust that,” Moody retorted. “But,” he added, with a sigh he filled with frustration, “we don’t really have much of a choice now, do we? You’ve got tonight, Potter, and that’s it. Hell, consider it your first real Order of the Phoenix mission. Prove to me I’m not wasting my time with you.”

   “You can trust me,” Harry said with a curt nod.

   “No, I can’t,” Moody growled.

   Harry glared at the Auror. “You know what I mean, Professor.”

   “Just don’t die on me – I’d hate to have to tell my protégé I got her lover killed.”

   Harry went red with embarrassment at Moody’s mocking words, but he turned towards the door, heading towards the tiny room that was just outside of Moody’s office. I’ll give him that one, he thought, as he felt a thrill of anticipation.

   Tonks, here I come.

   The orders had been delivered, the owls had been sent, and once again, Lucius Malfoy was alone.

   He stepped away from the fireplace, set in dark stone – so much unlike the panelled mahogany and white marble of Malfoy Manor – and looked around the room. Like most studies in pureblood manors, it was lined with books and art, but he did not feel comfortable in this room. The books were filled with black magic that even he shied away from, and the art was dark and grisly, with gothic scenes and writhing, naked bodies...

   No, he much preferred Malfoy Manor to this. No wonder Felix Nott is a twisted man if he grew up in a place like, and his son is probably worse. I wonder how Draco has handled it...

   “Enjoying the room?”

   Lucius did not turn to acknowledge Nott’s arrival – the man was a bootlicker, and a gutless coward to boot. “No.”

   “Have you heard from my son?”

   “He is all right,” Lucius muttered, glaring into the crackling fire. “The mission proceeds as planned.”

   “The Dark Lord is wise to direct him so,” Nott said with a decisive nod. “Would you mind vacating my study – I need to use the fire for a Floo call.”

   For a moment, indescribable rage filled Lucius. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right that this twisted bastard had favour and he did not, that the Dark Lord had thrown the family of his greatest supporters to the wolves for the sake of convenience –

   “Of course.”

   “Your wife is in my secondary study, if you’re interested,” Nott said coolly. “Now if you don’t mind...”

   “I’m leaving,” Lucius growled, brushing past the man as he stormed out of the room as quickly as he could, his cane thumping against the ground rhythmically with every step. It was shameful, it was bloody disgraceful – if my father could see what has become of our family now...

   “Lucius...”

   His steps had taken him to the dark-walled secondary study, and it chilled him that he did not remember how he got there. Narcissa, his beautiful wife, was standing next to the fire, her normally proud features filled with despair. He couldn’t blame her – in just over a month she had gone from being a proud and rich woman, married to one of the most powerful patriarchs in their world...

   And now I can barely even call myself her husband, Lucius thought bitterly as he sank into the high-backed armchair and stared into the flames. I can’t satisfy her anymore... shit, I can’t even satisfy myself...

   He felt Narcissa’s hand on his shoulder as she sat delicately on the sturdy arm of the chair. “The orders were given?”

   “The Dark Lord is relentless,” Lucius said tonelessly, “and once again, I don’t have a role.”

   “The Dark Lord is likely concerned that one of his greatest assets –”

   “The Dark Lord doesn’t care, Narcissa,” Lucius snarled, not trusting himself to meet her eyes - he didn’t trust himself not to break, but into rage or shameful grief, he didn’t know. “He betrayed me – all those years of service, and what do I get in return?”

   “It’s not good for us to be here,” Narcissa said in a low voice. “We should look for lodging in Diagon Alley –”

   “We’re exiles, Narcissa,” Lucius said bitterly, “and the rest of our world assumed we died when the manor was destroyed...”

   His voice trailed off as he remembered the attack. He had watched the Hit Wizards and Gringotts curse-breakers mercilessly smash the enchantments surrounding the manor with brutally powerful spells. He had watched the goblins brigade, armoured in blackened silver, launch a series of long, metallic barrels into the sky, burning with orange fire. He had watched them gleefully pick off the white peacocks – a Malfoy family legacy for over four centuries – with blasts of fire that cooked the birds to cinders. He had watched as the leading goblin had screamed several guttural syllables and summoned all the remaining gold in the manor into a heap that the goblins descended upon like leathery maggots.

   He had watched as the metallic barrels hit the manor – the Malfoy home for centuries – and flatten it in seconds in a concussive wave that sent even the goblins sprawling. The white marble had been seared black, the gardens burnt to cinders, and all that was left of the Malfoy family legacy was a pile of photo albums and invaluable artefacts hastily packed into two trunks by Narcissa, the articles damp with her tears.

   She deserves better than this, Lucius thought suddenly, and even after everything, she remains by my side. She took our vows more seriously than I ever did, and if I believed in that sort of love...

   He abruptly stood, sudden purpose in his mind. He wasn’t going to let his family die a cowardly death in the twisted manor of a family of freaks – he was a Malfoy, and that counted for something. “Pack your trunk, Narcissa, we’re leaving.”

   “Where are we going?”

   “Anywhere,” Lucius snarled through clenched teeth as he swept out of the room, “that’s not here.”

   In the blackened ruin of the Shrieking Shack, a young blonde woman hidden behind three collapsed beams awoke with a start.

   “Lumos,” Harry muttered, lighting the wand under his simulacrum’s fingers with a touch as she rose to her feet. It was dark, and the faint light was casting eerie shadows across the blasted wreckage, a thicket of bouncing darkness and claw-like beams.

   He shivered, and pulled his robes closer around himself. It was cold, colder than he had expected. It shouldn’t be this cold, he thought to herself as she staggered to his feet and adjusted his robes – surprisingly ragged – around himself. And the way my clothes are... if I remember correctly, Tonks stashed the extra clothes at the Hog’s Head – and Sirius is there too! Hell, if Madam Pomfrey was there, he’s probably back to full strength...

   Harry took a deep breath, feeling his simulacrum’s lungs fill with chill air, and he began to walk unsteadily towards the village, quickly regaining the feel of the simulacrum. On impulse, he threw his cloak over his head – it was late, and the Hog’s Head was likely to be full. Probably better that fewer people know that Harry Potter’s attorney is visiting bars like that...

   He had full control of the simulacrum as he reached the outskirts of Hogsmeade, and he increased his pace. He didn’t have a lot of time, and if he was going to see Sirius and explain everything before going to Cassane, he had to hurry –

   He rounded the corner and froze in mid-step – because about a dozen hooded figures were surrounding the door of the Hog’s Head, blocked by the stubborn, grim-eyed bartender from entering.

   He recognized the cut of their robes instantly – he had killed a number of them at the Ministry in another simulacrum.

   Uh oh.

   Harry’s mind raced as he walked closer. He needed to get inside the Hog’s Head, this was the last thing he needed right now. And why the hell would a bunch of them try to enter that bar anyways... unless they found out that Sirius was here...

   “I told you already!” the bartender bellowed suddenly, his voice echoing down the street. “Unless you’ve got a warrant, you’re not going to be searching my bar for nothing!”

   “Trying to hide something, Aberforth?” one of the Aurors sneered. Harry realized with a jolt of surprise that he recognized him – it was Wilson, the scarred wizard he had fooled back when sneaking into Hogwarts at the beginning of the year. He also had a suspicion that he recognized the bartender’s name – where the hell had he heard that name before? Strangely, a memory of Hagrid came to mind –

   “Look, it’ll be a quick search, and we’ll be on our way,” a stocky Hit Wizard with short, bristly hair and a heavy jaw said anxiously, raising a hand as if that would placate the rising tension. Harry felt another surge of shock – he recognized that Hit Wizard as well. He had been with Kemester back when I was arrested on the road... but I thought those two were partners or something, so where’s Kemester now? “It’s nothing to be worried about, Aberforth, we’re just looking for Black, it’ll be quick –”

   “And I’ll lose half my clientele in about twenty seconds!” Aberforth snarled, “but, of course, you know that as well as anyone, Mr. Larshall! Matter of fact, this isn’t about Black at all! You just want an excuse to round up my paying customers –”

   Suddenly, an idea leapt into Harry’s head, and he ran a hand through the long blonde hair of his simulacrum. It would be risky, that was for sure, and he had no way of knowing that the hard-eyed bartender would be able to follow the bluff, but it just might work...

   “Contrary to your belief,” a dark-haired Hit Wizard – one Harry thought he recognized, as a member of H.A.I.T. – said crisply, “we’re not looking to investigate any quasi-legal activities that may or may not be taking place upon the premise of your building –”

   The bartender snorted loudly.

   “Aberforth, there’s no need to be difficult –”

   “As a matter of fact, there is.”

   Harry was shocked by the crisp, icy authority that emerged from his voice as he stepped forward, tossing back his hood to glare at the Hit Wizards and Aurors with full force, even as a few snapped their aim to him. Even though his heart was hammering in his chest, he didn’t back down – everything was depending on his supreme arrogance –

   “I’m sorry, who are you?” the dark-haired asked roughly.

   “You don’t recognize me?” Harry retorted with a huff. “Let me introduce myself: Clarissa Desdame, of Desdame & Vuneren, attorney of Magical Law.”

   Aberforth’s momentary surprise vanished as he gave Harry a firm nod of approval. “Glad you got my message, Miss Desdame. Hopefully, you can get this cleared up without an issue –”

   “When did you call a lawyer?” one of the Hit Wizards hissed. “We’ve been watching him the whole damn –”

   Aberforth snorted again. “Son, when I saw your posse come up and bang on my door, it wasn’t a difficult move for me to make.”

   “Let me see the warrant, if you have one,” Harry asked, easily feigning disdain as she stepped up to Wilson.

   The Auror stared at her for a long few seconds, as if he was trying to spot a hole in Harry’s words, but then his gaze shifted, drifting downward to rake every inch of the simulacrum’s feminine figure. Harry suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to slap Wilson as hard as he could, but he held his temper, keeping his mask of aloof disinterest and disgust for the Aurors and Hit Wizards to see...

   Wilson slowly reached into his pocket and slapped an official-looking paper into Harry’s waiting palm. “There you go: a legitimate warrant, signed by the Senior Undersecretary herself.”

   Why can’t Umbridge get the hell out my life? Harry thought angrily as he scanned the paper. A sinking feeling filled his gut – it actually seemed legitimate... “Why didn’t you show the bartender this before?”

   “I was hoping to avoid a confrontation,” Wilson growled through gritted teeth.

   Harry’s mind raced as he scanned the paper again. Damn it, damn it, there’s no real way around this...

   “Allow me a minute to converse with my client inside,” he said finally, handing the warrant back to Wilson.

   “Not in your bloody life!” Wilson replied quickly, stuffing the warrant back in his cloak. “As much as your client professes not to believe it, we’re looking for Sirius Black, and we received a tip that he’s here. Now, with the Anti-Apparition Jinxes and some other charms all over this place, there’s no way Black’s getting out if he’s here, but if your client’s in league with Black, he could use –”

   “One of my other clients,” Harry said in a low voice, in the back of his mind savouring the incredible irony of his words, “is the wizard Harry Potter, who Black wants to kill – do you really think I’m going to take on a client who is a co-conspirator to Black?”

   That seemed to stop most of the group, but Larshall was unfazed. “I saw Sirius Black rescue Harry Potter with my own eyes, Miss Desdame, we can’t afford to take the risk –”

   “But the Prophet said –” an Auror began quietly.

   Larshall glared at the Auror. “I’ve heard enough about that damned article today, Barkley –”

   “It’s for your own safety, Miss Desdame,” Wilson interrupted insincerely with a lecherous wink. “We don’t want you to get hurt –”

   “Watch your tone with my lawyer!” Aberforth spat, his own wand beginning to rise –

   “Aberforth,” Harry said warningly, and the old wizard lowered his wand. “All right, supervised conversation with one Auror present...” He let his voice trail off as he scanned the group – which of them could be fooled into giving Harry enough time to inform Aberforth and possibly Sirius...?

   He paused, and spotted a wizard dressed in relatively new Hit Wizard robes at the back of the group. He was unremarkable in nearly every way, except for the fact that his hair was very subtly changing colour...

   Perfect.

   “That one,” Harry said, pointing at the wizard in the back. “He can listen.”

   “I believe I give my men orders, Miss Desdame, not you –” Wilson said angrily.

   “It’s joint, Rogan, let the new guy take it,” the dark-haired Hit Wizard said curtly.

   “Sanders –”

   “Oy! What the hell’s your name?” Sanders shouted, and the Hit Wizard jerked to attention.

   “Ian Perris, sir!”

   “Mr. Perris, you go with the lawyer and Mr. Aberforth inside,” Sanders said roughly, glaring at Wilson as the young Hit Wizard shouldered his way to the front. “You’ve got five minutes, Desdame, and then we’re coming in.”

   “Done,” Harry replied curtly, and without another word, he steered a protesting Aberforth inside the Hog’s Head, the young Hit Wizard right behind him.

   As Harry had expected, the bar was quite full, and a number of hooded figures looked up as the unlikely trio strode behind the bar into a tiny storage room that Aberforth carefully closed behind them.

    The second the latch clicked, his wand snapped up and –

   “Relax, old man, it’s just Tonks!” Harry said angrily, his gaze snapping to the nervous looking Hit Wizard. “Great acting, by the way.”

   “Actually, I-I –” the Hit Wizard began in a quavering voice.

   Harry’s heart immediately began hammering with panic – did he grab the wrong person?

   “– Am glad to see both of you are alive and kicking,” the Hit Wizard finished, even as his figures became feminine, his hair became bright pink, and his face adopted a devious smile.

   Aberforth didn’t relax – in fact, his eyebrows narrowed sharply as he lit a few candles with a tap of his wand. “Not funny at all, young lady!”

   “Oh, I don’t know about that, I thought it was pretty damn hilarious,” Tonks replied breezily as she shook out her hair and ruefully toyed with the over-sized Hit Wizard robes. “In any case, Aberforth Dumbledore, meet Clarissa Desdame.”

   “I’m sorry, Dumbledore?” Harry blurted with shock. A second later, he realized he might have been able to recognize the man if he had gotten to see him in better light – the streets of Hogsmeade weren’t very well-lit around the Hog’s Head. Aberforth shared his brother’s bright blue eyes, but the lines around them told very different stories that those around the eyes of the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

   Aberforth grunted. “Seems your brilliance comes in spurts, girl. You don’t look much like a Ministry attorney, but just the same, nice hustle out there –”

   “No need to mince words, Aberforth, she’s in the Order,” Tonks interrupted.

   “Oh really?” Aberforth asked sceptically. “Dumbledore never told us that.”

   “Sleeper agent,” Tonks explained hastily. “Sirius will back it up, and with Dumbledore, Lupin, and Snape missing, we need everyone we can get right now!”

   Aberforth still looked suspicious. “How much does she know?”

   “Oh come on, Aberforth, don’t be stupid, she knows a lot!” Tonks said testily. “She knows Sirius is innocent, if that’s what you mean – I mean, hell, do you think your brother would let her become Harry’s attorney if she wasn’t in the Order?”

   “I don’t understand half of the things Albus does these days, and right now he’s not here, and we’ve got a situation on our hands,” Aberforth replied tersely. “If that warrant is legit –”

   “It is,” Harry said tersely “Is Sirius here?”

   “Whatever’s left of the Order is here right now,” Aberforth said icily. “They’re in my room, above the bar, and if that group sees them with Black –”

   “The warrant only covered the bar itself, not your personal quarters,” Harry said, thinking fast as his eyes brightened. “They’ll need a second warrant to get up there –”

   “And they’ll get it,” Tonks said quietly. “Sanders and Wilson are taking orders directly from Umbridge, she’ll investigate further... and they’ll keep a perimeter, so Sirius won’t have a chance to get out –”

   “Unless,” Harry said suddenly, an idea leaping to the forefront of his mind, “we can give them what they need to see.”

   He explained the idea, and Tonks smiled immediately. “That could work, if we get the right investigator –”

   “Sanders is too smart to let you look,” Aberforth said roughly. “He’ll do it himself.”

   “Then let’s hope he’s not a Death Eater,” Harry said bracingly.

   The Hit Wizards and Aurors searched the Hog’s Head with methodical precision. Most of the clientele had hastily exited the bar the second the group had entered, and it didn’t take long for the investigators to finish searching the bar’s single room.

   And much to Leon Sanders’ rising fury, they had found nothing. Not even a single Concealment Charm over anything. It was just a filthy, smelly bar – no Sirius Black. So much for following tips three weeks old...

   “So, you happy?’ Aberforth snarled from his place behind the bar, crossing his arms as he glared at Sanders. “You scared all my customers away, and I’m going to lose gold because of this!”

   Sanders felt himself flushing with humiliation – there were very few things he hated more than being proven wrong. One reason Kemester and I got along so famously – we both liked to prove each other wrong. Good thing he’s in Azkaban right now – the last thing I want is to see his face...

   “Nothing’s gotten past the perimeter?” he asked Larshall quietly.

   “Nothing, Leon,” Larshall replied tensely.

   “Son of a bitch –”

   “Sir, we have human presences upstairs!” Perris shouted, waving his wand.

   “What’s upstairs, Aberforth?” Sanders snarled immediately, rounding on the bartender.

   “My poker buddies,” Aberforth replied stiffly.

   “I’m sorry?”

   “We drink, we play cards, we gamble, we have a good time. What’s your damn point?” Aberforth asked angrily.

   “You leave your bar unattended to play cards?” Wilson asked suspiciously.

   “Everyone who steps in here knows not to touch my wares or gold if I’m not here,” Aberforth replied evenly. “I can step out, play a few hands, everything’s fine.”

   “I’m checking upstairs,” Perris said brightly, moving towards the staircase –

   “You don’t have a warrant to go up there –”

   “Let him go, Aberforth,” Desdame said quietly, from her spot next to Aberforth, slightly veiled in shadows. She had remained remarkably quiet for a lawyer as the Aurors and Hit Wizards had searched the bar. “You’ve got nothing to hide.”

   “I’m going with Perris,” Sanders said roughly, glaring at Wilson. “You take the rest of them outside – this’ll be pretty quick.”

   Wilson nodded, clearly unhappy, but he didn’t say anything to Sanders, instead yelling at the rest of the group to get moving.

   “Come on, sir,” Perris said eagerly, quickly moving up the rickety wooden stairs with the exuberance of inexperience. Sanders moved up more cautiously, approaching the heavy oak door at the top of the stairs with his wand drawn.

   He hammered on it twice. “Hit Wizards, open up!”

   There was a scuffle of chairs, and then –

   “Nice to see you too, Sanders,” Kingsley Shacklebolt said in his slow soothing tone as he opened the door. “Might want to lower that wand, though – don’t want to put a man’s eye out.”

   “You – you play poker with Abeforth?” Sanders asked incredulously, stepping into the tiny room. The room was pretty small, but crammed into it was Arthur and Molly Weasley, Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle, and a woman he thought he recognized as Hestia Jones. A large black dog was sleeping in a makeshift bed in the corner, which Sanders could hardly see behind the chairs, table, and cloaks hanging on every available hook. “Who’s winning?”

   “Hestia keeps taking all our money, I’m afraid,” Diggle said disappointedly, tossing a handful of cards to Arthur Weasley, who was dealing. “Think I’m going to make a comeback, though – Elphias is just terrible, and you’d think a man that old would –”

   “Sorry for interrupting your game, then,” Sanders interrupted with a nod, as he quickly looked around the room. “None of you noticed anything suspicious, then?”

   “It’s too damn tight in here for us not to notice anything suspicious,” Hestia Jones said irritably, as she tossed a few Knuts onto the table. “Next time, we’re doing this at my place, and I don’t care what Aberforth says –”

   “All right, all right,” Sanders said, backing away, a hint of a smile crossing his face even as he inwardly swore. “Didn’t know Aberforth had a dog –”

   “He’s a stray,” Kingsley said with a heavy nod. “Poor thing’s getting old – probably have to put her down soon.’

   “Sir, we should probably do a full search –” Perris said anxiously.

   “No, there’s nothing up here,” Sanders cut him off tiredly. “In any case, it’s getting late – go home, Perris. You did well tonight, especially for a new recruit.”

   “A word, Leon,” Kingsley said, as Perris rapidly descended the stairs.

   Sanders sighed wearily, and wiped the trickle of sweat from his face as he felt the clamminess of a burned-out adrenaline rush seep through him. “Look, I didn’t want you to be transferred off the investigation –”

   “It was Scrimgeour’s orders, not from Umbridge,” Kingsley replied reasonably. “You’re putting my notes to good use?”

   “The tip said he was here, Kingsley,” Sanders growled, banging his fist against the wall with frustration. “That he was in this bar, but for fuck’s sake, he’s nowhere in sight.”

   “Old information,” Kingsley replied with a tired shrug of his own. “Or maybe a tip sent to distract you from Black’s movements. It happens, Leon. How’s Wilson?”

   “Tolerable,” Sanders replied uneasily, “but he’s not at your level – hell, there’s not many Aurors at your level, and I don’t he’s taking the rivalry between our groups well –”

  “I’ll talk to him at the office tomorrow,” Kingsley said quietly. “You should get some sleep, you look overworked. Being Umbridge’s man must be exhausting.”

   Sanders bristled for a few seconds, but he didn’t contradict Kingsley’s point – everyone in the Ministry knew it, to some degree. “Good night, Kingsley. Good luck with the game.”

   “Lord knows he needs it,” Hestia said with a chuckle.

   “Well?”

   “Nothing,” Sanders replied tiredly as he left the Hog’s Head, scratching idly behind his ear as he lit his wand. “Nothing broke the perimeter?”

   “All secure,” Wilson said shortly. “Larshall took the rest of the team back to the Ministry for debriefing – where’s Perris?”

   “Sent him home,” Sanders replied with a shrug. “He’s a rookie – I let him off easy, let him brag to his wife that we nearly found Sirius Black tonight.”

   “He should still be debriefed officially.” Wilson said disapprovingly. “That’s bad discipline –”

   “Take it up with Bones later,” Sanders snapped. “He’s new, and I’m exhausted. Is there anything else you need here, Wilson, or are we done?”

   “Just one thing.”

   “What?”

   Wilson’s wand snapped up.

   “Imperio!”

   “That,” Aberforth muttered as he carefully shut the door behind him, “was way too close.”

   “Anti-Apparition Enchantments have been dropped,” Tonks said tersely, drumming her fingers on the table as she shifted back to her usual form. “And since we covered pretty much everything earlier, I guess the meeting’s over.”

   “What about Clarissa here?” Arthur Weasley asked kindly, even as Hestia Jones, Elphias Doge, and Dedalus Diggle disappeared with loud cracks. “If she’s new to the Order, we should give her an introduction –”

   “I’ll handle it,” Tonks interrupted. “Everything will be fine, Arthur, no worries.”

   “It is a little intriguing that you managed to arrive her at precisely the right time to help us, Miss Desdame,” Kingsley Shacklebolt began coolly, crossing his arms over his chest as the Weasley couple Disapparated.

   “Kingsley –”

   “It was coincidence only, Shacklebolt,” Harry replied smoothly, smoothing his robes. “Luck, nothing more.”

   “I see,” Shacklebolt replied, his eyes narrowing as he met Harry’s eyes. “Convenient timing, though. Much... appreciated.”

   “Just see that you return the favour,” Harry replied, his simulacrum’s female voice lending a sweet edge to the words.

   Tonks coughed. Shacklebolt only gave Harry a deeply distrustful look, and a second later, he Disapparated.

   “I’m going to go clean up downstairs,” Aberforth said curtly, sweeping the cards off the table into a neat deck. “You’re going to catch her up?”

   “Yeah,” Tonks replied quietly, carefully watching as the old bartender plodded out the door, closing it with a loud bang behind him.

   The second the lock clicked, Tonks spun around, and before Harry could fully understand what was happening, she had pulled Harry into a tight embrace, pressing her mouth fiercely against his in a hungry kiss.

   “God, I’ve missed you, Harry,” Tonks whispered, her voice hastily cut off by her tongue returning to Harry’s mouth. “I’ve wanted this... and we didn’t get it last time –”

   Harry was about to protest, but something about this experience felt funny. He felt strangely lightheaded and content, as if there were nowhere else he wanted to be, other than in her arms... and the hunger for more of Tonks wrapped around him began tingling through his entire body...

    His hands moved to her back and behind her head as he began to stir her into Aberforth’s spare room, passionately kissing as he moved her back towards the bed, wanting to take her there and then –

   “Uh...”

   They stopped kissing and looked at the bed – only to see a rather bemused Sirius Black sitting at the end of it, a hint of a smirk on his face.

   “Oh, sorry,” Tonks panted, a hint of a grin returning to her face. “Sirius, this is Clarissa Desdame, the lawyer who saved your doggy ass tonight.”

   “And you’re going to return the favour by letting her do you – doggy style,” Sirius replied wryly, complete with an inappropriate hand gesture that left nothing to Harry’s imagination.

   “Sirius!”

   “You know, I thought doggy style was somewhat of my thing –”

   “Oh good god –”

   “Does this mean you’re a lesbian now, or bisexual?” Sirius asked frankly. “Because, since we’re all in the mood, if you’re open to a threesome –”

   Harry’s gut flipped over as a sick feeling rushed through him – a threesome with his godfather? That’s.... oh Merlin, that’s gross!

   “Sirius, we’re cousins!” Tonks began, scandalized.

   “We’re Blacks!” Sirius argued. “That sort of thing –”

   “Is not going to happen!” Tonks replied fiercely.

   Sirius smiled. “I’m just messing with you, Tonks, you know me better than that-”

   “We should probably go,” Tonks said with a huff as she rose to her feet, “as you’re clearly not better yet –”

   “No, come on, stay!” Sirius said, feigning anxiousness. “I can watch and critique your technique! And who says I’m not better?”

   “Perhaps it’s the fact that most of his words are indicative of a brain injury,” Harry replied wryly.

   Sirius wolf-whistled. “Looks like you got yourself a keeper there, Tonks – smart, snarky, and stacked.”

   “Well, only part of the time,” Harry said as he sat on the edge of the bed, with a grin towards Tonks who immediately got the message. “Tonks, I think we should tell Mr. Black here the truth.”

   “What?” Sirius asked with confusion. “Truth about what?”

   “Remember that simulamancy ritual I was telling you about?” Tonks said conversationally, staring idly at her fingernails.

   “Yeah,” Sirius replied cautiously. “Incredibly dangerous, expensive, heinously complicated quasi-Dark magic that you and Harry pulled off with stunning success. What about it?”

   Harry only looked at Tonks, and then looked at Sirius.

   A second later, Sirius got the message, and his face went pale.

   “Holy shit,” he whispered. “Harry – is that –”

    “Yeah,” Harry replied softly.

   “Wow,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “I mean... wow. And when I attacked you that night –”

   “That was my other simulacrum,” Harry replied steadily, “that took you down.”

   “And you suggested a threesome,” Tonks replied, returning to studying her fingernails.

   Sirius went pale, even as Harry and Tonks roared with laughter.

   “Harry, I swear, I didn’t know –”

   “It’s okay, Sirius,” Harry replied as he pulled his godfather into an embrace. “You didn’t know.”

   “How could I – it’s more than a little strange to think of your godson and then realize that he’s possessing the body of a gorgeous woman with incredible –”

   “Sirius, that’s inappropriate!” Tonks exclaimed. “I’m the one who’s –”

   “Ah, so you two are an item, now!” Sirius said triumphantly. He leaned over and whispered in Harry’s ear. “Good catch, mate – very good job!”

   “Uh... thanks,” Harry replied awkwardly, shifting a bit as Sirius reclined on the bed.

    “We’re... not really sure where we’re at with this,” Tonks began hesitantly as she slowly slid her hand into Harry’s. “It doesn’t help we keep getting interrupted –”

   “Hey, by all means, continue!” Sirius said emphatically, pointing at the bed. “I’ll just transform and sit in the corner –”

   “No.”

   “Goddamn it,” Sirius muttered.

   “And either way, I don’t really have time to chat,” Harry interrupted, tugging on his robes. “Tonks, I need to change before I go meet with Cassane –”

   “Is this about the article?” Tonks asked with surprise.

   “What article?” Harry asked, momentarily distracted.

   “The one we were trying to get from the very beginning,” Tonks said with a beaming smile, grabbing the paper from Sirius’ bedside table and tossing it to Harry. “And we made the front page again.”

   Harry looked down, only to see a massive picture of Cassane, seemingly delivering a very forceful speech in the Ministry itself. Below it, he read:

SUPREME MUGWUMP DEMANDS INQUIRY:

‘MINISTRY CORRUPTION WILL NO LONGER BE TOLERATED’

By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent & Paulus Amoccio, International Correspondent

   In an unprecedented move, backed by new, shocking evidence, Nathan Cassane, the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, had demanded the resignation of Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge and a full inquiry into all Departments of the Ministry on charges of conspiracy, bribery, coercion, and gross incompetence.

   “It is high time the truth comes to light regarding the Minister’s bewildering, belligerent, and outright insane behaviour,” Cassane said in a statement yesterday afternoon from his manor, which was then magically broadcast over the Wizarding Wireless Network. “His flagrantly unjustifiable and dare I say illegal actions regarding Albus Dumbledore’s ‘treason’ are unacceptable, and the International Confederation of Wizards will no longer stand for threats of ‘war’ against the most powerful wizard in the world. My patience for Fudge’s stupidity and blind fear has run out.”

   Said actions include startling new information regarding the actions of one Dolores Umbridge, the head of the Hogwarts Analysis & Investigation Team. Miss Umbridge, while under the consent of the Minister, seized and read all mail at Hogwarts, used highly regulated Blood Quills unlawfully during detentions and classes upon students, and accused both the Headmaster of Hogwarts and Harry Potter of treason without substantiated evidence. According to sworn statements from both Dumbledore and Potter, all of these ‘powers’ were obtained through appeals to the Minister of Magic himself.

   The Minister’s hostility, however, towards Albus Dumbledore, has been a well-known fact. Recent information suggests that on the very same day as the opening of the new bank in Diagon Alley, Minister Fudge was going to proclaim an act of war against Dumbledore, an act the Wizengamot is now calling blatantly unjust and unsupported by solid evidence or reasoning. The Minister was unavailable for comment.

   Cassane also elaborated upon a new, very real concern – that a highly mobile gang of former Death Eaters are now operating within England, including the now infamous Malfoy family, who according to new sources, had been receiving gold for this group from the now deceased Aphrodite Zabini.

   “There have been a number of attacks – upon Gringotts, upon Ollivanders, upon the Ministry, upon Harry Potter himself on the road to Hogsmeade in October. These cowards even attempted to raise their wands twice against me within the past few weeks,” Cassane continued. “This group is attempting to stir up the same fear that ran free when You-Know-Who was active – and as Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and as a citizen of this country, I will not allow this to happen again.”

   Cassane has called for a massive investigation into the workings and infrastructure of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, particularly regarding the case files related to the attacks – many of which blame was previously placed upon Harry Potter. Potter has vehemently denied involvement in these attacks, and has instead supported Cassane’s measure to further investigate the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, in particular the questionable actions of one Dmitri Kemester, a high-ranking Hit Wizard. Kemester was unavailable for comment.

  “Having spoken personally to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived,” Cassane added, “I find no case of evil or foul intent behind him, and that the numerous charges levelled against him have no basis in fact or reality. It is the same with Dumbledore – the fact that such charges have been allowed to stand for so long is a travesty of justice.”

   Cassane has also called for a full investigation into the actions of the Departments of Magical Law and Finance, calling their recent actions leading towards the creation of the new bank ‘dangerously unregulated’ and ‘bordering on illegality’.

   “Money has been siphoned from reputable sources to finance the creation of this bank, and only a few unaccountable executives – one who was Lucius Malfoy – know the full extent of these machinations,” Cassane said in his address. “These machinations have already resulted in a number of wizard and goblin deaths, and transparency is required if this bank is to have any vestige of legitimacy in the public eye.”

   Perhaps the most shocking evidence unveiled was the Ministry’s attempts to control this very paper and the truths recorded by the international journalists in this country. It has been revealed that Barnabus Cuffe was in close, highly suspect contact with the Minister, and if not for the Supreme Mugwump’s influence, this article would not be printed here today. Cassane has condemned this, and has sworn to ensure that ‘the Prophet becomes and remains a free paper of our nation, not a propaganda instrument.’

   “While I understand that the Ministry is in a state of disarray,” Cassane stated, “due to the recent attack, we can use this rebuilding opportunity as a chance to ensure that the cancers are eradicated before the walls are rebuilt around them.”

   Further details regarding the planned inquiry on page 9...

   Harry set down the paper and let out a soft whistle. “Holy shit.”

   “Well, this confirms everything we know about Cassane,” Tonks said heavily. “When he takes a side, he takes it all the way.”

   “Voldemort’s going to kill him,” Sirius whispered, shaking his head. “Cassane’s powerful, but even he won’t be able to spot everything –”

   Harry’s eyes snapped up. “He won’t accept Auror protection, but if he participates actively in the inquiries in the Ministry, they won’t have a chance to take a shot without alerting the entire wizarding world –”

   “Harry, it’s not that simple,” Sirius said, leaning back wearily. “Voldemort has people in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

   Tonks’ eyes shot up. “What?”

   “Rogan Wilson’s a Death Eater, Tonks – I saw him in the circle myself.”

   Tonks swore. “Then we all got luckier than we thought – if Wilson had gone up here instead of Sanders, you would have been found out. Sanders is at least loyal –”

   “To Umbridge, not the Department,” Sirius spat.

   “Either way, he’s not an immediate threat,” Tonks replied tensely. “What about the other Hit Wizards and Aurors – do you know if there’s anyone else?”

  Sirius held up his hands helplessly. “Tonks, I saw one meeting, and even then I didn’t get much information – other than that Voldemort plans on attacking Azkaban over Christmas –”

   “And Dumbledore suspected that already,” Tonks finished, swearing again under her breath.

   “What about Kemester?” Harry asked suddenly. “Is he a Death Eater?”

   “No,” Sirius replied emphatically. “That, I’m sure of – I get the feeling that Voldemort doesn’t want anything to do with him – and really, considering what the man’s done, I can’t be surprised. Kemester’s not exactly subtle.”

   “Guess it clears that up,” Harry muttered, running a hand through the long blonde hair of his simulacrum, thinking as fast as he could. “There’s too many variables right now – too many problems, and too much uncertainty.”

   “Yeah, between the Ministry, the goblins, the attacks at Hogwarts, Voldemort, and whether or not you and Tonks are going to get down and dirty any time soon, there really is a lot going on,” Sirius replied seriously, his smile brightening at Harry and Tonks’ glares.

   “What we need,” Harry said firmly, grabbing a scrap of paper from the bedside table and beginning to scribble, “is a plan, and more information, so we can take on the problems one at a time.”

   “I agree,” Sirius replied, winking at Tonks suggestively. “Just keep me informed about when you two are going to – ow, what was that for, Tonks?”

   “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tonks replied with a smile as she elbowed Sirius hard in the ribs again. “Right, so with Cassane in the fight now, we can take the Ministry and goblin problems off the list – Cassane will negotiate on our behalf while Dumbledore’s gone, and he’ll drive a hard bargain.”

   “Do we have any idea where Dumbledore is?” Harry asked impatiently, looking up from the paper.

   Both Sirius and Tonks sobered and shook their heads, and Harry felt a cold rush of fear. Voldemort has an open field with Dumbledore out of the way... and we’re very vulnerable without him...

   “According to the goblins, he was last seen leaving Gringotts,” Tonks replied tersely, “reportedly going to the Ministry. But a lot of things happened that night, so...”

   “We have to make the assumption that he’s gone, and make the best of it,” Harry said briskly, turning back to his paper as he tried to steady his breathing. “Tonks, we need to find out who else in the Ministry is working for Voldemort, because the ways things are going, if we don’t move fast, we won’t see Voldemort’s plans until they hit us upside the head. Think you can handle that?”

   “Harry, the Aurors are already overworked as it is –”

   “Just keep your eyes open, Tonks, that’s all we need,” Harry replied quickly. “Sirius... look, you used to get really good grades in school and all that, right?”

   “It wasn’t like the material was hard or anything,” Sirius replied with a bit of a huff. “Why?”

   “Tonks, did you enchant the room –”

   “It’s been enchanted for the past few weeks, Harry, there’s nothing to worry about,” Tonks replied immediately.

   “Lock the door, then.”

   Once the lock had clicked, Harry leaned close to Tonks and his godfather. “Tonks, I’m sure you’ve figured this out by now, but something went wrong with the simulamancy ritual, and I d-don’t want another disaster like in the Ministry happening again. Tonks, if you could get Sirius the books, he probably could help us understand some of the theory of this magic –”

   “Whoa, whoa, I’m no magical theoretician,” Sirius interrupted, holding up his hands hastily.

   “Yeah, but you know more about Transfiguration than either of us,” Tonks replied exasperatedly. “I mean, come on – you managed the Animagus transformation when you were fifteen!”

   “What about Cassane?” Harry asked tensely.

   “That would mean telling him about the simulamancy –”

   “Wouldn’t matter, he already knows,” Tonks replied tiredly.

   Harry swallowed hard against the sudden rush of fear – the secret, his secret, was out. “Are you sure?”

   “Either that or he’s a damned good guesser or bluffer,” Tonks replied grimly, her hand clenching into a fist. “I’m still not sure I trust him, though – I think we should let Sirius have a crack at it first – and if he gets bored, he can go take a shot at that bloody barrier blocking off Headquarters.”

   “Why would I?” Sirius muttered. “It’s not like I want to go back there anyways...”

   “I need to talk to Cassane, about a potential solution to the attacks at Hogwarts, but I’ll hold off on mentioning simulamancy – we shouldn’t rely on him too much until we know if he can be trusted,” Harry said carefully. “Plus, I wouldn’t mind getting some answers from him on... some things.”

  “What things?”

   “Not important, not important,” Harry said hastily, scribbling quickly as his list took shape.

   “While we’re on the subject of the attacks at Hogwarts,” Sirius said heavily, reaching around Tonks and pulling a bedside dresser open, “I think you’ll want to show Cassane this.”

   He gingerly pulled a small, finely cut piece of polished purple glass from the drawer, and handed it to Harry. The edges of the glass were sharp, and he readjusted his grip to get a better look at the strange object.

   “Weird,” Tonks murmured. “Every time I see that damned bit of rock, I’m amazed.”

   “At what?” Harry asked cautiously.

   “That, apparently, is what allowed me to get possessed by my uncle’s ghost,” Sirius replied darkly. “Kreacher slipped it on me, and old Cygnus leapt straight in. Apparently it’s some sort of focusing crystal – hell, it sort of looks like one of those Muggle prisms they use to make rainbows. Might want to show Cassane that – it could help.”

   “Why didn’t we find any of these around those getting possessed at Hogwarts, though?” Harry asked, utterly mystified as he tucked the purple prism into his robes.

   “Beats the hell out of me –”

   “Wait a second,” Tonks said suddenly. “Harry, if we’re going to fix the simulamancy, we’re going to need money – those potions and the materials aren’t cheap, and Malfoy hit your vault.”

   Harry felt some of the blood drain from his face as his stomach began to squirm uncomfortably. “No problem,” he replied, trying to keep an easy tone as he shifted in his seat on the bed, “we can just –”

   “Harry, I don’t have the money for this either,” Tonks replied, swallowing hard. “I’m barely scraping by as it is right now – the entire Department took a pay cut last week to repair the Ministry –”

   “Okay, that’s fine... Sirius?”

   But Sirius wasn’t saying anything. His entire face had gone ashen, and he looked as though he just stepped out of Azkaban.

   “Oh... oh fuck.”

   “Sirius?”

   “I remember it,” Sirius whispered, blood rushing back to his face as rage filled his voice. “After the Death Eater meeting, Malfoy came up to me just before I went after you – he asked me to sign something... oh fuck, I signed my vault into his bank! Fucking hell!”

   Tonks swore, and Harry felt his stomach squirm a little harder. How were they going to get the money to fix the simulamancy –

   “We could just leave it as it is,” he began slowly. “We – we don’t have to fix the simulamancy yet –”

   “Harry, we need that money,” Tonks said, and for the first time, he saw a strangely haunted look creeping onto her face. “It’s... I mean, I...”

   “Tonks, are you okay?” Harry asked with concern, his hand sliding back around hers.

   “We need to fix it,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly moist. “Harry... it’s scaring me, I don’t want... we need to fix it.”

   “Then we need money,” Sirius said firmly, slamming his fist into his palm. “And if I remember correctly, there’s a pile of it sealed away in Gringotts that belongs to you, Harry.”

   “The Potter Vaults,” Harry whispered, a sudden rush of adrenaline filling him. Finally, he was going to get an answer on that. And it’s about fucking time...

   “The files were incomplete –”

   “Doesn’t matter,” Harry said in a hard voice. “Lupin knows more than he’s telling, and he owes me an explanation. Damn it, if he wants me to trust him, he’ll tell me the truth.”

   Tonks shifted slightly in her seat. “Harry, I’ve already talked to Lupin, two weeks ago.”

   Harry’s eyes went wide as he twisted towards her. “What? Before the attacks? Why didn’t you tell me? What did you find out?”

   “Before the attacks?” Tonks asked, bewildered. “Harry, the attacks on the new bank and the Ministry were three weeks ago.”

   Three weeks... that’s impossible, I wasn’t out in the Hospital Wing for that long... since the Ministry attacks, it’s been four days, by my reckoning...

   But then he remembered sitting on the battlements with Luna, watching as the orb she had fired into the sky soared upwards – and then accelerated a little faster, as if it were moving in another world entirely...

   He remembered Dumbledore fiddling with his dissembled watch on his desk – how the Headmaster had been late, as if something in Hogwarts was slowing him down...

   Except it’s not the watch, Harry thought with a rush of horror. It’s time itself... somehow, time is running slower around Hogwarts... and it all seemed to start right after Tonks and I made this simulacrum... that’s what Luna and Dumbledore were trying to figure out.

   “We might be in trouble.”

   He explained his hypothesis, and a second later, Tonks’ eyes were incredulous.

   Sirius was laughing.

   “Sirius, this isn’t funny!” Harry snarled. “If I’m stuck at Hogwarts, I could lose days outside of Hogwarts!”

   “Harry, I don’t think you’re seeing the other side of this, though,” Sirius said, holding his stomach as he raised a finger with his other hand. “If you’re slowed at Hogwarts, anything your antagonist over there does is slowed too. He won’t be able to execute Voldemort’s orders in time – and I know exactly what happens to those people!”

   “We’ll need more proof, before we can start claiming that our simulamancy messed this up –” Tonks began.

   “And that means you need me to try and work through the magic,” Sirius replied with a nod. “Although even in my hardest Arithmancy courses, I’ve never had to work through a problem like this –”

   “It also means,” Harry interrupted, his eyes slowly lighting up, “that I have more time than just tonight – I mean, tonight inside Hogwarts – to contact Cassane!”

   “Hang on, we need to prove this hypothesis first, Harry,” Tonks said warily, as she rose to her feet and began pulling books from her bag – books Harry immediately recognized as the simulamancy books. “That means you go back to Hogwarts tonight, confirm the truth somehow, give the information about the distortion to Moody, and then get back here. I’ll stay here and start working through things with Sirius, see if we can get some basic parameters behind this whole time distortion mess.”

   “I was planning on talking to Cassane tonight –”

   “Probably better if you don’t wake him up in the middle of the night, anyways,” Sirius added fairly, already becoming engrossed in one of the books. “This is weird stuff, Tonks, how did you manage to get through most of it?”

   “A lot of lucky guesses, and some faith that I’d be able to pull it off,” Tonks replied with a shrug.

   “All right, all right,” Harry said, rising to his feet. “Tonks, just before I leave, you said you talked to Lupin – what did he tell you?”

   Tonks took a deep breath, as if she was steeling herself. “Harry, you’ll want to sit down. Sirius, put the book down – I’ll only want to say this once.”

   “Why?” Harry asked curiously, returning to the edge of the bed. “What did Lupin tell you?”

   “The truth,” Tonks said grimly, “and neither of you are going to like it.”

   Lupin slid the last of his plates back onto the makeshift shelf, nodding with satisfaction.

   “That’s the last of them,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he moved to his chair by the fireplace, picking up his book as he sat down. He didn’t really understand it, but just the act of cleaning up felt good to him – as if everything was finally coming together in its proper place.

   Now all I need is a steady supply of Wolfsbane Potion, and I’ve got the life I’ve always wanted, he thought wistfully, cracking open his book and carefully setting his wand down on the leather arm of the chair. No Fenrir Greyback, no Ministry breathing down my neck, no Order...

   He closed his eyes for a few seconds as the old guilt surged inside of him, but this time, he had something to tamp it back. Now that Tonks knows, she’ll tell Harry and Sirius, and any safety I will have had with the Order will be gone. It was good while it lasted, but now I have to move on...

   He tried to concentrate on the words, but they were swimming in his view, forming into Sirius’ scowling face –

   “He doesn’t want me around,” he said curtly to himself, snapping the book shut and tossing it back on the table. “The Marauders are broken – Sirius and I aren’t going to work things out the way things are...”

   He looked at the dusty bottle, sitting on the corner of the dingy kitchen shelf. It would be so easy – a friend who doesn’t judge, who trusts me, who wouldn’t give a damn about what I’ve done... the best kind of friend... or the worst kind...

   “I can’t keep thinking about that,” Lupin muttered, rising to his feet to prod at the smoldering coals in the fireplace with a poker. “I just have to move on –”

   CRASH.

   He instinctually dove for cover as the windows shattered inwards, peppering the room with hot glass. He rolled towards the wall, grabbing his wand from the chair as he moved –

   Only to watch in astonishment as the door exploded, the thick wood shattering like a ripped, flaming napkin. He squinted to see through the flames –

   “You should have run.”

   He spun on his heel to Disapparate, but the subsequent ringing pain surging through his head as if he had been bludgeoned with a saucepan immediately told him that Apparition wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

   He did, however, have a very good idea where the wand inches from his face were going to get him.

   “I wouldn’t move, either,” the dark, hooded figure hissed, his voice rumbling behind the disguise of a charm, raising his wand a little higher as he pulled a jagged silver knife from a pocket in his robes. Lupin stiffened – the smell of the silver was unmistakable, and every inch it moved closer made him shudder.

   “I’ve done this before,” the hooded figure hissed. “Make one move and you die in agony.”

   “You wouldn’t kill me,” Lupin said as the man deftly disarmed him. “You hunted me – you’ll want what I know.”

   “I already know more than you think,” the hooded man growled, pulling back his hood with an easy grace, revealing lank skin, greasy hair, and dark, furious eyes. “You made a promise, and you broke it.”

   Very real fear was pounding in Lupin’s heart now. “Severus, I can explain –”

   “You told Tonks everything, even regardless of the blackmail I used,” Severus Snape snarled, shoving Lupin bodily into the wall with surprising strength. “Even despite your vow –”

   “I only told her what I knew, it wasn’t the whole story!” Lupin exclaimed, his eyes darting around the room for something – anything – he could use to drive that damned silver knife away. “And it was pretty shoddy blackmail, to be honest –”

   “It worked, didn’t it? For five years?”

   Lupin didn’t have a response for that.

   “You broke your vow, Lupin,” Snape hissed, his eyes glittering with cold malice. “And as I promised, you’ll regret that decision – though not for long.”

   “What – Severus, please –”

   “Regrets, after all,” Snape whispered harshly, “are for the living.”

   There was a flash of light, a sickening spinning sensation, and Lupin only had one thought as he blacked out.

   My god, what have I done?