“Larshall, do you have a minute?” Sanders asked bluntly as he shoved his way into the secluded classroom corner. Larshall sighed heavily and placed the copy of the Daily Prophet he had been reading back on the desk. He didn’t expect to get anymore reading done, particularly with the sour expression on Sanders’ face.

   “Not especially, but you’re not going to leave until I hear you out, so start talking.”

   “You’re a hard man to find, you know,” Sanders grunted, sitting on one of the unused desks.

   “Dumbledore did say we have free run of the castle, and as long as we don’t interfere with any classes, we are allowed to use the unused classrooms –”

   “So you just had to go to the most out-of-the-way room of the lot now, did you?” Sanders replied with a snort. “Honestly, sometimes I can’t believe you weren’t sorted into Ravenclaw back when we were here.”

   “Hufflepuff suited me just fine, thanks,” Larshall replied stiffly. “Now what do you want? From the looks of the Prophet, you haven’t turned up any new information about Black’s whereabouts.”

   “I have people combing these mountains looking for him, for your information,” Sanders growled, “and Black’s been in hiding for a long time. He’ll be a tough one to find, particularly considering the… difficulties we’ve been having.”

   “You can speak freely here,” Larshall replied bluntly, absent-mindedly drawing his wand and dragging it across the desk. “We know that the Aurors are being uncooperative little shits about this whole mess.”

   “It helps, at least, that Shacklebolt’s here,” Sanders said, getting up and beginning to pace. “I mean, he’ll at least be open with the information that he knows. Problem is, since he took the position on H.A.I.T., he can’t say much about the Auror investigation or he risks breaking investigation confidentiality.” He shook his head. “And one could only guess what they’re hiding.”

   “Oh, come on, you’re saying that the Aurors are hiding valuable information about Black that could –”

   “That confiscated motorbike went missing from the evidence files, and so did all the paperwork regarding it,” Sanders spat. “And something that big doesn’t just go missing, Reed. Somebody took it – somebody inside the Auror Office.”

   “You’re getting as bad as Kemester here,” Larshall said tiredly, rubbing his eyes. Too much was going on, and he hadn’t been getting nearly enough sleep recently. “And I’ve heard his wilder theories about what Black’s really up to. Hell, I don’t know what to believe now.”

   “Speaking of Kemester, how is that rat-bastard son of a bitch?” Sanders growled. “Haven’t seen much of him, recently.”

   Larshall groaned with exasperation. “He hasn’t been talking much to anyone. He’s just been spending a lot of time in the Hogwarts library, looking through a bunch of old papers and moldy books nobody gives a damn about.”

   “At least he’s not causing trouble,” Sanders muttered. “And given how close he is to Potter… well, it’s only a matter of time before something explodes.”

   “Kemester’s already told me that he’s not going to interfere in H.A.I.T.’s investigation,” Larshall replied tiredly.

   “He told you that?” Sanders’ voice was skeptical. “Really?”

   “What, you think he’s lying to me now?”

   “I think he’s telling you what you want to hear,” Sanders said curtly, sitting back down on the desk. “And it’s a damn shame you’re so straight up and down to not see it.”

   “See what?” Larshall was starting to get irritated now. “Are you calling me stupid?”

   “Just listen, all right? Kemester’s a head case, Larshall, and we’ve both seen his psych profile after that inquiry to confirm that. He has difficulties controlling his anger, and he makes rash judgments. It’s too out of character for him just to sit back and watch as H.A.I.T. investigates this.”

   “So you think he’s just acting.”

   “I think he’s telling you what you want to hear so you can put in a good word for him and Umbridge can put him on the interrogation team,” Sanders replied grimly. “And knowing Umbridge, she’d probably put him on just to spite Dumbledore.”

   “Oh come on, that’s ridiculous. She can’t show that kind of obvious bias, the Wizengamot would have a fit about it. And she knows that if she wants H.A.I.T. to have any vestige of legitimacy in the public eye, it has to at least be fair.”

   Sanders cocked an eyebrow. “This is Dolores Umbridge we’re talking about, Reed. You think she gives a damn about being fair?”

   “She’ll put Shacklebolt on the interrogation team, I’ll bet.”

   “Yeah, but not doing so would just be moronic. Considering Shacklebolt’s background with Black, it only makes sense to have him there.”

   “Fair enough, but I still don’t think that Umbridge will put Kemester on the team anyways. She knows he’s a hothead as much as we do. And she knows as well as anybody that he’s uncontrollable.”

   “But who else is she supposed to pick from the Hit Wizards, Reed? I’m occupied with the Black investigation, and I wouldn’t trust Lassion or Barkley with a job like this. And she probably thinks you’re too level-headed to be of use to her.”

   “Thanks for the compliment,” Larshall replied sarcastically.

   “Her only real choice, right now, is Kemester,” Sanders finished, “and that’s why I need a favour from you. Two favours, actually.”

   Larshall cocked an eyebrow. “Oh really? Don’t you owe me favours, Sanders, for all those shifts I took for you?”

   “This is more important than that, Larshall,” Sanders snapped, a flush creeping into his face as he bent closer and lowered his voice. “I want you to be the Hit Wizard representative on the H.A.I.T. interrogation team, not Kemester.”

   Larshall’s eyes went wide. “I’m hardly qualified –”

   “Qualified enough for this.”

   Larshall snorted. “Yeah, compare Kemester’s sterling record with a shitload of arrests and convictions to my record, which is only impressive for its utter blandness, and I’m sure Umbridge will find me a better choice. I’m not an interrogator, Sanders, you know that!”

   Sanders clenched a fist. “Listen to me, Larshall, we can’t – and I’m speaking for other Hit Wizards here – have Kemester represent us on that team. He’s volatile, unstable, and anything he says will reflect on us. The last thing we need is a bad reputation, which we’re well on our way to having, thanks to that goddamned inquiry. People are going to start asking questions if Kemester heads this up.”

   “Try convincing Umbridge of that – or the Prophet. Hell, they’re probably going to want Kemester on the team simply because he’s at least accessible to them. They like him.”

   “Probably because his investigation and that damned inquiry gave them a shitload of headlines to work with,” Sanders growled. “He shouldn’t be on that interrogation, Larshall, and he’s not the only one.”

   “There’s no way we’re going to be able to prevent Umbridge from leading –”

   “I’m not talking about Umbridge!” Sanders snapped. “I’m talking about Snape. You and I both remember him from Hogwarts, don’t you?”

   “And…”

   “And what? You know what he’s like!”

   “And from everything that we’ve heard, he hates Potter as much as Kemester does,” Larshall replied coolly, picking up his paper. “Just what Umbridge wants.”

   “But why would Dumbledore place a teacher on the interrogation committee who is bound to sympathize with us and want Potter facing trial?” Sanders pursued, slamming his fist into his palm with frustration. “It doesn’t make any bloody sense! He has to have some sort of ulterior motive here!”

   “He could just be trying to placate Umbridge –”

   “And why on earth would Dumbledore try and do that?” Sanders snarled. “The old man’s got more brains than that! He doesn’t need to placate Umbridge!”

   “He might be trying to salvage his relations with the Ministry,” Larshall reasoned. “After all, the Minister’s planning on meeting him personally this afternoon in the Three Broomsticks.”

   “I hadn’t heard that,” Sanders said suspiciously. “Was that in the Prophet this morning?”

   “Four or five pages in. They are supposedly discussing Potter and the interrogation – which reminds me, has anybody seen fit to limit that boy’s movements, or at least have him watched? He is a potential suspect.”

   “We don’t have the manpower – at least not yet – and I only can imagine the controversy that would present – and the editorials. The parent’s will be protesting that ‘the privacy of their youth is being invaded’ or some bullshit like that –”

   “They have a point.”

   “Not enough of one,” Sanders snapped. “We’d be doing this for their protection – and considering how volatile Potter is, we’ve got plenty of just cause.”

   “Still, best not to risk it, at least not until we have Umbridge’s explicit permission,” Larshall said seriously. “And I mean that, Sanders, don’t even try.”

   Sanders huffed. “So are you going to help me then, Reed, with my other requests?”

   Larshall sighed, rubbing his temple as a headache began to throb beneath his fingers. “I do what I can, Sanders, but I can’t guarantee results. And you know I can’t control Kemester.”

   “You’ve got the best chance of all of us,” Sanders replied curtly, moving towards the door. “At least he listens to you.”

   “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Larshall muttered, as Sanders left the room. Dmitri Kemester only answers to one person – and that’s Dmitri Kemester.

*          *          *

   “Come in, Draco.”

   Draco Malfoy’s eyes were burning as he entered the room, breathing very quickly, as if he was trying to control his temper. “You summoned me, Professor?”

   “I did,” Snape said coolly, lightly turning the page of the book placed next to the stack of papers on his desk. “I wished to discuss something quite important with you while you have a few spare moments.”

   “This is my lunch period.”

   “And perhaps you should be planning on skipping it more often, if this is the quality of work you’re going to be handing me,” Snape snarled, pulling a paper off the top of the file and shoving it to Malfoy. The young man only needed one glance at the paper to see Snape’s reasoning – a large, jagged ‘P’ was scribbled across the top.

   “What is this?” Malfoy demanded.

   “Your moonstone essay,” Snape growled as he slowly withdrew two more papers from the stack. “And these are Zabini’s and Nott’s. You can have the pleasure of delivering them.”

   “I know what these are!” Malfoy snapped. “A ‘Poor’, Professor? Did you happen to mix my essay up with Potter’s?”

   “Potter at least scraped a pass,” Snape replied icily, “which is more than I can say for you, Draco. Frankly, I’m disgusted I even graded this, and you should be ashamed to have written your name on it.”

   Colour was flooding into Malfoy’s face. “Sir –”

   “You’re slipping, Malfoy!” Snape snarled, slamming a hand on his desk as he slowly rose to his full height. “And so are your other coconspirators – oh yes, don’t think that the Dark Lord has kept me ignorant. I’m here to keep a ready eye, in case something goes wrong. Your father specifically requested it.”

   Malfoy’s pale eyes blazed with rage as he stepped closer, his voice lowering. “It’s nearly in place, Professor, and as soon as the final lock is tripped –”

   “Weren’t you listening when the Dark Lord gave you this assignment?” Snape hissed dangerously. “Tripping the locks will be the simplest thing, Draco! Control, on the other hand –”

   “We’ll follow the Dark Lord’s plan,” Malfoy cut him off, his voice barely above a whisper, but Snape could hear the bitterness in his voice. It appears he needs… convincing. A shame – I actually thought he was smarter than this…

   With a deftness born from years of practice, Snape reached across the desk and seized the front of Malfoy’s robes with one hand, pulling him close.

   “Listen very carefully, Draco,” Snape growled. “What you three are dealing with is dangerous beyond anything that many have seen at Hogwarts. Not even the famed monster of Slytherin can compare to this insidious threat. And that means,” he lowered his voice even further, to barely above a whisper, “you must follow the Dark Lord’s instructions to the letter.”

   “I know what I’m –”

   “Shut up, Draco, and listen! You’re not in command of this operation, and the Dark Lord has a very specific reason for that – namely that you’re not expendable. The Dark Lord does not care about your avarice – he requires that you follow his commands, and you are not to let your ego get in the way!” Snape shoved Malfoy back. “And in the end, you will be very grateful you are not the one in command.”

   “Then why aren’t you talking to him, then?” Malfoy challenged.

   “Calling upon a favoured student is an easy way to avoid suspicion, Draco, you know this,” Snape replied, his voice suddenly taking a hard edge. “Of course, avoiding suspicion also means keeping your grades to their usual standards. Your friends as well.”

   “I understand,” Malfoy muttered through gritted teeth. “Sir.”

   “Watch it, Draco,” Snape said sharply, his eyes glittering. “The last thing we need is for you to be exposed. The fact the Dark Lord is attempting this under Dumbledore’s nose is one thing – but with H.A.I.T., it’s a different Quidditch game entirely. And that means absolute secrecy, and no mistakes. Got it?”

   “Yes, sir.”

   “One more thing, Draco.”

   Malfoy turned, resentment and disgust mixing on his face as he looked up at his Professor. “Yes?”

   “You and I both know that Professor Umbridge’s course will be completely useless through the course of this year. Please make sure that you do learn enough to pass your O.W.L. After all,” Snape added with a grim expression, “the Dark Lord does not tolerate useless Death Eaters.”

*          *          *

   “So, you have the list?” Harry asked eagerly as Tonks pulled the door shut behind her.

   “Enough of one, yes, and the one message I managed to sneak to Sirius gave me a bit more information,” Tonks replied quickly, unrolling a tightly wound scroll and nailing it to the table with two jabs of her wand. “What you’re about to see is highly confidential, Harry, and you definitely don’t want to let on to anybody that you know what I’m showing you.”

   “Got it,” Harry said, leaning close to read the names. “You colour-coded the entire thing?”

   “Hey, I needed something to do on those debriefings when Sanders is droning on and on about how he’s not able to find Sirius in the mountains,” Tonks retorted, tapping the paper twice, causing the colours to dance and shimmer. “I’ve developed a sort of spectrum here, with green representing the governors we know won’t support us, and red representing the one who are on our side. And with a simple charm,” she added, tapping the list again, causing the names to shift so quickly that Harry couldn’t even follow their motion, “I can rearrange them in order.”

   “Nifty,” Harry said with a grin as he looked closer. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he noticed that there seemed to be more names in the ‘green’ than in the ‘red’. “There’s that many people against me? Already?”

   “Four out of twelve we won’t be able to touch, Harry,” Tonks replied with a weary shake of her head. “Two are Ministry sympathizers with positions close to Fudge, recipients of some very big government grants for their projects. They’ll stick like pustules to Fudge. And those two – Felix Nott and Garrick Harper – are suspected to be either Death Eaters or sympathizers, so we can’t rely on them supporting any measure among the school governors to protect you.”

   “Something about your voice tells me that you think the situation is worse than even this,” Harry said suspiciously. “Come on, spill it Tonks.”

   She sighed, and her hair slid to a rather dull grayish black. “That one, Castellan Zabini, is responsible for a lot of the magical transportation over the Channel, and he makes enormous amounts of Galleons doing it. Unfortunately, he’s married to one Aphrodite Zabini, who is a known friend of Lucius Malfoy.”

   “So you think his wife will make him sympathize with the Ministry?” Harry asked with a sinking feeling.

   “Unfortunately, yes,” Tonks replied grimly, “and if he doesn’t, I’m sure Aphrodite will just have him killed. After all, rumor has it she’s murdered six husbands before – I’m sure she wouldn’t have any problem doing it again.”

   Harry shivered. “That’s… that’s a little creepy, if you don’t mind me saying.” His eyes brightened as they moved over to the ‘red’ area of the page. “Why is Dumbledore’s name on the page? He’s not a school governor!”

   “Ah, glad you caught that,” Tonks said with a growing smile. “Ordinarily, the Headmaster doesn’t have a lot of influence with the school governors – of course, considering Dumbledore’s other positions, he typically has as much influence as he wants, but things are a bit different now, considering the way the Prophet’s painting him. The governors are typically supposed to serve as a check on the power of the Headmaster, even to remove him if necessary. However, such major decisions require a unanimous vote.”

   “That doesn’t explain why his name is here, though.”

   Tonks smiled. “Well, in the rare case where the school governors can’t come to a consensus – and on a highly charged issue like this, I doubt they will – and the vote is split six to six, the Headmaster is allowed a vote. It has rarely ever happened, but if we can get six of the governors solidly on our side, Dumbledore will be able to swing the decision.”

   “Do you think, though, that the Minister will –”

   “Allow it?” Tonks finished, chucking a bit. “Harry, he won’t have a choice. Fudge may be changing laws, but he can’t erase a four hundred year legacy with the drop of his bowler. Trust me, Harry, as long as we can get six of them on our side, we should be fine.”

   “From the looks of this list, though, it only looks like we have three in the ‘red’,” Harry replied, concern filing his voice as he read the names. “Wait a minute… ‘Elphias Doge, I know that name…”

   “Newly appointed a few years ago, taking Malfoy’s seat, and he’s also a member of the Order,” Tonks replied. “And Samson Prewett is a known sympathizer with the Order – hell, his sons died fighting the Death Eaters, and they went down like heroes. And Tiberius Ogden is an old friend of Dumbledore’s from the 1920’s, or so Sirius thinks. He’s also on the Wizengamot, and from his experiences, he’d likely support your actions.” Tonks shook her head wistfully. “After all, he actually believes Dumbledore, unlike the majority of that group.”

   “That’s only three governors, though,” Harry said heavily. “What about the other four?”

   “Let’s see here… Erasmus Moon is a rich wizard theorist, responsible for some of the new advancements in the Nimbus series of brooms. Apparently, he was the one behind the whole Firebolt model, and he’s raking in the Galleons because of it.” Tonks frowned. “In fact, I think he might have mentioned a desire to meet with you.”

   “What?”

   “It was in the Prophet last year, I think. He heard from Skeeter’s article that you flew a Firebolt against that Hungarian Horntail and he wanted you to advertise for him. You didn’t hear about that?”

   “Not at all!” Harry exclaimed. “Do you think he’s still interested?”

   Tonks pursed her lips. “It would all depend on whether you actually got off on these charges or not, but frankly, even attaching your name to a broom would be an immediate money-spinner. He could stand to make a lot of Galleons from this.”

   “Can you contact him?” Harry asked, his eyes shining with exhilaration.

   “Probably,” Tonks replied, making a tiny mark beside the man’s name. “Okay, so that’s one. Let me see…hmm, there’s Gertrude Marshbanks, younger sister of Griselda Marshbanks. You’ll become familiar with Griselda, she’s an O.W.L. examiner. Gertrude apparently holds the position of school governor along with a Ministry ambassadorship to Russia.”

   Harry whistled. “So she’s probably out of town at the moment –”

   “And the only way she’d be getting information about this case would be from the Prophet,” Tonks finished, looking disgruntled. “Damn it, we’ll need a way to get her informed about the situation!”

   “A letter?”

   “It would take Hedwig ages to get to Moscow, and we don’t have that kind of time,” Tonks replied tersely. “We’ll need to somehow bring her back early… that one might take some more digging.” She circled the name on the paper and glared at it, as if Gertrude Marshbanks had personally deeply offended her.

   “What about this one… Barnabus Cuffe?” Harry’s eyes narrowed. “That name sounds familiar too…”

   “I’m not surprised,” Tonks replied bitterly. “That’s the editor for the Daily Prophet.”

   Harry’s face twisted into an ugly scowl. “So why, exactly, isn’t he deep in the ‘green’?”

   “Primarily because Sirius still thinks he’s a possibility,” Tonks said, crossing her arms over her chest. “The man is reportedly amicable to bribery, and he’s a nasty little social climber too. Rumor has it that the only reason he’s a school governor is because he threatened one with nasty publicity until they resigned.”

   “And Sirius thinks this Cuffe can be convinced?” Harry asked skeptically.

   “No, but he thinks that Cuffe can be bribed,” Tonks replied with a smirk. “And here, we have help. Dumbledore sent a message to me saying that he’s willing to put some of his own lesser known investments on the table if we need to… convince anyone.”

   “That’s awfully generous of him,” Harry replied tonelessly.

   “You should thank him,” Tonks replied with a hard look at Harry. “That’s a lot of money Dumbledore’s willing to give to you.”

   Harry didn’t reply as his eyes moved to the last name on the list. “Nathan Cassane… I’ve never heard that name before –”

   “I’m not surprised,” Tonks replied seriously, tapping the man’s name with her finger. “Currently, he’s the new Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards – he replaced Dumbledore after he was demoted.”

   Harry’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know about him?”

   “Unfortunately, not a lot,” Tonks admitted. “He’s filthy rich – the Cassanes have had money for centuries, but it’s been a long time since one’s been to Hogwarts, primarily because Nathan Cassane was an only child and he’s never married. Apparently, the man made even more money from his ‘archeological expeditions’ to magical sites across Eastern Europe and the Middle East.”

   “So he’s an archeologist?”

   “Well, that’s the polite term for what he’s doing, but Sirius calls him a ‘tomb raider’,” Tonks replied wryly. “I think there was some conflict between the Blacks and the Cassanes a couple decades back, and I don’t think Sirius is particularly fond of that family. However, besides Nathan, I don’t think there are any Cassanes left alive.”

   “So who does he support?” Harry asked sharply. “Me, or the Ministry?”

   “Honestly, Harry, I don’t think he even cares,” Tonks replied with a shrug. “He only took the job as Supreme Mugwump as a last favor for Fudge, and otherwise I don’t think he has set foot in the Ministry for decades. I think the key with him will be getting more information – at least enough so we can find out what he wants, and how to give it to him.”

   “Sounds like a good plan,” Harry said thoughtfully. “So we’ve got at least three people to convince – ideally four, so Dumbledore doesn’t have to break the tie and further infuriate the Ministry… It might be worth contacting Fleur, she might have some information on this Cassane character, particularly if she has seen any of his files…”

   “But why would she have seen any of his files?” Tonks asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Harry, she doesn’t work at Gringotts anymore, and I just told you that Cassane hasn’t set foot in the Ministry for decades, so why would she see his files?”

   Harry frowned. “But considering Cassane’s position as Supreme Mugwump, doesn’t he have to have his finances as a matter of public record, in case of corruption allegations?”

   Tonks laughed openly at that, and Harry went red with embarrassment.

   “What, it was an idea!”

   “I know, Harry, I know. If anything, it’s not a bad one. It’s more like such a measure would never get through to the International Confederation. Not a chance – too many of them are likely running little operations on the side that nobody wants to see.”

   “Okay, it was just a thought!” Harry retorted, pulling his bag out and dropping it onto the table. He began rooting around in it. “Fleur probably could still come in handy…”

   “Harry, can I ask you something?”

   “Sure, go ahead.”

   “Aren’t you supposed to be in, I dunno, class?” Tonks asked, a smirk crossing her face. “It’s the middle of the afternoon.”

   “And?” Harry replied, pulling out a rather squashed sandwich and biting into it.

   “Don’t you have class?”

   “Just Defence Against the Dark Arts, but don’t worry, I’m not planning on going.”

   “What?”

   Harry gave Tonks an exasperated look. “Why would I go to a class where I’m going to learn nothing and be placed in a situation for Umbridge to have power over me? I’m sorry, it’s not worth my time –”

   “She’s going to use this against you!” Tonks interrupted, her eyes wide. “Harry, think for a second about what you’re doing! She’ll be sure to tell Fudge that you’re skipping her class, not to mention the rest of H.A.I.T.!”

   “Skipping class isn’t a crime,” Harry pointed out, “and I’ll probably be better prepared for my O.W.L. by working on my own than by wasting my time there.”

   “She’ll take away house points, you know.”

   Harry snorted. “And that matters how?”

   “She’ll probably give you detention too.”

   “She’s already tried that – I just haven’t shown up.” Harry shrugged. “And it’s not like McGonagall or Dumbledore are going to force me to go to her detentions. Are you going to force me to go, Tonks?”

   Tonks sighed as she looked back to the list. “Sometimes, I hate my job.”

   Harry patted her on the shoulder. “I could suggest alternatives –”

   “Oh, shut up. What we need now is some way that we can make our moves to influence the governors without being directly identified.” She tapped her lips thoughtfully as she eyed the paper. “And you, Harry, are going to have to do some of this yourself – I’ve got my H.A.I.T. duties to handle, and for the most part, you’ve got freedom to do as you wish.”

   “At least until the interrogation,” Harry muttered grimly. “The key here will be getting a disguise and leaving of the school without being identified –”

   “And with H.A.I.T. patrolling the grounds, it’ll be a lot harder than you think,” Tonks replied seriously. “I can give you some of the patrol routes, but the odds are against you there, Harry.”

   “I’ve got other ways out of the school,” Harry replied with a secret smile, thinking of the secret passageways that Fred and George had shown him. “I think the disguise becomes the real problem here, considering that I’m going to need one that’ll both last and be effective.” He sighed. “I almost wish I was a Metamorphmagus.”

   “Don’t,” Tonks muttered. “Trust me on this.”

  “What else am I supposed to do, then?” Harry asked, frustration leaking into his voice. “Snape’s bound to have protections over his store cupboards, so Polyjuice Potion is out. And frankly, I’m not sure I want to try using that stone and Visual Expectations Charm again. It’s too risky.”

   “Agreed there,” Tonks said, frowning as she picked up one of the books she had brought over from Sirius’. “Although, I might have seen something that could help us here…”

   “I thought you said those books wouldn’t be of any use if you weren’t a Metamorphmagus,” Harry said suspiciously as he looked over Tonks’ shoulder.

   “We had a bit of a time problem there,” Tonks replied, elbowing Harry playfully in the gut, “and though we don’t have a lot of time now, we might just have enough to try something from in here. The real problem is that this book references a bunch of other books that I know Sirius doesn’t have.”

   “They could be in the Hogwarts library,” Harry pointed out.

   “Yeah, but Kemester’s practically made that place his second home,” Tonks muttered with disgust, violently flipping another page. “It’ll be tricky getting something out of there without him noticing, and anything I’m thinking about is bound to be in the Restricted Section.”

   “I’ve got my Invisibility Cloak,” Harry said with a grin. “We can get past him. Hell, I’ve done it before, I can do it again. Any ideas on what we could try?”

   “Maybe this,” Tonks murmured, flattening the page as she leaned closer. “According to this, back in the sixteenth century, a group of pureblood wizards tried to use Metamorphmagi blood to…” She frowned. “This can’t be right. That’s impossible.”

   “What?” Harry asked curiously, leaning closer.

   “They tried to use Metamorphmagi blood to transfer their consciences into a non-functioning human body in order to animate and control it as if it were their own,” Tonks read. “I don’t know how they came up with that, but it just sounds disgusting.”

   Harry frowned. “You’re meaning to tell me that those wizards tried to possess a dead body to control it? That’s just bizarre.”

   “Apparently,” Tonks continued, “notes confiscated from the experiments stated that preliminary trials were… were successful and the triumphant wizards dubbed the new art ‘simulamancy’.” She snorted. “Should have called it necromancy, if anything –”

   “Wait a minute, you’re telling me those wizards succeeded?” Harry demanded, looking closer. “Whatever happened to them?”

   Tonks elbowed Harry out of the way and looked closer at the book. “According to this, the notes were confiscated by the Ministry and after considerable examination by the Department of Mysteries, the conclusion was drawn that the ‘extraordinary drawbacks and limitations’ of the magic made ‘simulamancy’ little more than a curiosity. The wizards responsible for the research were reprimanded, with their files were confiscated, and shipped to…”

   She stopped reading, hardly able to believe the words on the page. “No way, that’s too coincidental.”

   Harry smiled. “They were shipped to the Hogwarts library, as the leading storehouse of esoteric magic in England,” he finished, his eyes gleaming. “This is brilliant, Tonks! It’s probably in the Restricted Section, but this ‘simulamancy’ magic could be the key!”

   “Hold on a second, let me get the book titles referenced here,” Tonks said quickly, yanking out her quill and scribbling the titles on a scrap piece of paper. “Looks like a fair amount of reading –”

   Suddenly, bright silver light filled the room, and both of them shielded their eyes as a lynx bounded in. Tonks’ eyes narrowed as she recognized Kingsley’s Patronus – but what was it doing here?

   “Tonks, the Order’s having an emergency meeting, and you need to get to the Entrance Hall immediately. The Ministry’s arrested Sturgis Podmore.”

   Harry frowned. “Why the hell –”

   “Shh!” Tonks hissed, looking at the Patronus with confusion. “But why would they have arrested Sturgis, he’s not guarding it any more –”

   “It’s not that,” the Patronus replied, as if expecting Tonks’ answer – which, knowing Kingsley, it probably had been programmed to do so. “The Minster’s already interrogating Dumbledore, and a larger group’s on his way here. Tonks, Sturgis confessed to murder – murder on Dumbledore’s orders.”

*          *          *

   “You must understand, Cornelius, that making any sort of allegations here could prove disastrous –”

   “Podmore claims that he was acting on your orders when he killed Laertes Rawling!” Fudge shouted, slamming the message down on the table. The owl that had just delivered the message squawked twice before flying straight out the window. The two grizzled Aurors standing behind Fudge tensed and kept their eyes firmly on Dumbledore, who was sitting calmly across from where the Minister for Magic had taken his seat. “And there’s a written confession!”

   Dumbledore met Fudge’s eyes. “And?”

   “Don’t feign ignorance here, Dumbledore, I don’t have the patience for it!” Fudge snarled. “I only agreed to this meeting because –”

   “Because you wish to convict Harry Potter of a crime he could not have committed, or because your recent actions within the Wizengamot were unconstitutional?” Dumbledore asked innocently, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “

   Fudge went red. “You are no longer a member of that court, Dumbledore, and you have no authority to countermand any decisions I might make regarding it!”

   “Forgive me, then, Minister,” Dumbledore replied diplomatically. “A slight slip of the tongue, nothing more.”

   Fudge slammed both of his pudgy hands on the table and looked straight into Dumbledore’s eyes. “I want you to give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you arrested for conspiracy to commit murder, Dumbledore.”

   “Would you listen to it if I told you?” Dumbledore asked calmly, stifling a sigh. “Cornelius, surely you can see the pattern already emerging here. Dementors in Little Whinging, the break-ins at Gringotts and the Department of Mysteries, the Ollivanders’ explosion, the reported increase in the activity of Sirius Black, and now this: the murder of an Unspeakable in the Ministry itself. The pattern echoes one years older – when Lord Voldemort was on the rise.”

   Fudge flinched at the sound of the name, but his expression was still hostile. “And all we have to support that conclusion is your word and that of Potter – and I’m currently disinclined to accept anything Potter says as fact and not a lie to save his own skin!”

   “Have I ever lied to you, Cornelius?” Dumbledore asked quietly, a somber note creeping into his voice. “If I ever have made an attempt to deceive you, I apologize, but I do indeed believe Harry, and he has the scars to prove the nightmarish journey he took through that Portkey, where he witnessed Lord Voldemort’s resurrection –”

  “And so what do you have to prove, Dumbledore, that you weren’t involved Podmore’s murderous intentions?” Fudge said with a sneer. “Once again, all we are relying on is your word, and your word only, against a dearth of evidence otherwise!”

   “Is there really a dearth of evidence, Cornelius?” Dumbledore asked, his tone a mixture of tiredness and curiosity, as if he had already heard what Fudge was about to say, but was curious if anything was to be presented. “Or have you become so blind to the truth that you take the dubious word of one man over any evidence presented to the contrary? Let’s consider my ‘motive’ – why would I seek to have Podmore murder anybody, much less a high-ranking Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries? Furthermore, Rawling and I were on excellent terms – what evidence would indicate that I would have any desire to murder him?”

   Fudge looked as if he was getting more and more flustered with each passing second. “Look, Dumbledore, Podmore already confessed –”

   “And perhaps he did confess to Rawling’s murder – a confession I sincerely hope was not made under duress or Veritaserum, for you know as well as anybody the legal implications there – but an attempt to connect me to the killing is an indicator is finger-pointing at best and outright fraudulent at worst.”

   “So do you have any ideas who may have compelled Podmore to kill?” Fudge snapped, trying to regain his composure. “Besides your obvious whims?”

  “Several, many I know you will reject immediately because of their connections to the Death Eaters,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “I’m inclined to believe that Rawling was killed because of his position within the Department of Mysteries – and because of his research into the metaphysical mechanics of prophecy and temporal flow.”

   “A good reason for you to have him killed,” Fudge snarled, “considering the next leading expert in that field is you.”

   “Be that as it may, Cornelius,” Dumbledore replied calmly, “let us consider one final point. Why didn’t Podmore Apparate away once he was cornered? Furthermore, why did he allow himself to be caught to implicate me? Finally, why was it so easy to coerce a confession from him? These questions remain unanswered, Cornelius.”

   “Perhaps he was looking for a deal,” Fudge growled. “A Galleon for a Knut.”

   “Cornelius, if I wanted to have somebody killed, the body would not be found, and nor would the killer,” Dumbledore said, his voice abruptly cold. “The person would simply be there one day and gone the next – and nothing would remain to tie the incident back to me. And you know this better than anybody.”

   The Minister for Magic went deathly pale, and both of the Aurors tensed, their hands drifting to their wands. “Are you… are you threatening me, Dumbledore?”

   “I am stating a fact, nothing more,” Dumbledore replied, a hint of a grin crossing his face. “Cornelius, I did not have Sturgis Podmore assassinate Laertes Rawling, and I suggest you allow the Aurors and Hit Wizards to examine the case and suspect, if only to prove my innocence.”

   Fudge stood abruptly. “You’re taking this far too lightly, Dumbledore, and you will be watched.”

   “Of course.”

   “And this business with Potter – the interrogation will be public and as soon as possible. Legal counsel will be provided by the Ministry –”

   “Oh, I would not want to inconvenience the Ministry’s pocketbook any further,” Dumbledore replied airily, also rising to his feet and giving the Minister a respectful nod. “I can aid Mr. Potter in his finding of legal counsel. And, as it has been set down in the agreements between the Ministry and Hogwarts, the school governors will define the terms of the interrogation when it occurs.”

   “When it occurs,” Fudge growled. “It will occur, Dumbledore, or Hogwarts will not be under your control for long. And if you keep blaming Potter’s crimes on the nebulous of You-Know-Who…” He let his voice trail off, attempting to sound ominous. Dumbledore only smiled patiently.

   “Of course, Cornelius.”

   Dumbledore waited in silence for an entire minute after Fudge left the room, and his voice was hard as granite the second he spoke.

   “Do you have an explanation, Alastor?”

   There was a shimmer, and the harsh, bitter visage of Alastor Moody came into view. The old Auror shoved his Invisibility Cloak into a pouch that Dumbledore knew was extended before meeting the Headmaster’s gaze with his mismatched eyes.

   “Fudge moved too fast,” Moody growled, limping over to the seat Fudge had vacated a minute earlier and slumping into it. “We couldn’t get Sturgis out in time.”

   “He confessed very quickly –”

   “Of course he did, he was paid off!” Moody growled, his electric-blue eyes spinning in its socket. “He was always a lazy, scummy bit of filth, just like that walking trash heap Fletcher, and now he’s going to rot in Azkaban.” He snorted. “Bloody serves him right, for being so careless. He didn’t even ask to borrow my spare Invisibility Cloak!”

   “Sturgis is a good man,” Dumbledore replied quietly.

   “He should never have been trusted with this job, Albus, and you know it,” Moody spat. “And the only reason you let him do it is because –”

   “We don’t have the manpower, Alastor, you know that,” Dumbledore finished. “At least we had the Aurors on our side last time.”

   “You’ve got the Aurors that matter,” Moody said grimly, “and that’s what’s important.”

   “Lord Voldemort’s moving more quickly now, and with the financial resources at his disposal, he can outspend us as well. There will only be so long that we can rely on personal investments and the Hogwarts reserves. Has there been any luck with Cassane?”

   “He’s claims that he doesn’t want to get involved,” Moody replied darkly, “and with his fortune, who can blame him? It’ll only be a matter of time before Voldemort takes a shot at him, though – or makes him an offer he can’t refuse.”

   “We need to cut off Voldemort’s funding,” Dumbledore said quietly, as he rose to his feet. “With Malfoy’s accounts on the table, coupled with those from the other affluent Death Eaters, he can bribe anyone he wishes and purchase foreign magic – some that even I have not likely seen. It is essential this flow of gold stops.”

   Moody groaned with frustration. “Goblin security is getting better than ever, Albus, it’s not going to be easy to meddle with that kind of money without alarms being raised. And before you even ask, I’m running out of favours I can call in, particularly with auditors.”

   “And given my precarious position, I cannot afford to leave the school at this time,” Dumbledore finished with a heavy sigh. He felt wearier than ever. “Do you have any news from Charlie? Do we have any international wizards coming?”

   Moody shook his head. “The Quidditch World Cup incident didn’t do a lot for England’s reputation – and most wizards can’t be bothered to leave and deal with a threat that hasn’t even been publicized. And with the Prophet running wild –”

   Dumbledore sighed heavily. “We have no choice then. We must curb the bad publicity with something new, and bribing the Prophet will not work forever.”

   “Cuffe’s a greedy bastard, and the fact he’s only giving us editorial space for our articles –”

   “Is to be expected, considering the Ministry and the public mood,” Dumbledore said, a small note of disappointment creeping into his voice. “If we want to change the public mood, we’ll need to give Harry open press – preferably before the school governors have their vote. And the public is only as stalwart as yesterday’s headline.”

   Moody’s expression was disgusted, as if he has stepped in something foul. “You want me to call Skeeter, then?”

   “The Prophet wouldn’t want to refuse to publish something from her,” Dumbledore reasoned, “and with a sizable enough payment, we’ll make them an offer they can’t refuse.”

   “And Harry?” There was skepticism in Moody’s voice. “He’s trusts you enough to tell that kind of truth to the public?”

   “We have an understanding,” Dumbledore replied, a note of wistfulness creeping into his voice. “Hopefully that will be enough. And I’ll make sure to speak with Sturgis as soon as I get a chance.”

   “That assumes Fudge’ll let you anywhere close to the prison,” Moody growled.

   “I won’t need to deal with Azkaban yet,” Dumbledore replied grimly.

   “What? Why not?”

   “Because, by the end of the year, Lord Voldemort will make his move.”

*          *          *

   “You should have seen Umbridge today,” Ron grumbled, running a hand through his hair as he sat down next to Harry. “She was livid that you didn’t show up.”

   “So?” Harry asked with disinterest, as he shoved a generous helping of pork onto his plate and added potatoes and gravy.

   “She said that ‘the Minister will hear about his delinquency’.” Ron chuckled as he loaded his own plate. “Honestly, I would ditch the class myself if I didn’t know that my mum would kill me if she heard.”

   “What about the tiny little fact that you’re a prefect?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow as he cut up his meat. “Ron, don’t blow that chance just to support me. You could be Head Boy in two years.”

   Ron snorted. “I can only wish. Oh, and did you hear the news about Malfoy?”

  “Besides the fact that he’s a tosser?”

  “Well, apparently something happened over lunch earlier that pissed him off so much he skived off classes too! Nobody’s seen the prat all day!”

   “And since when is that a bad thing?” Harry said with a shrug. “Not even that bad for him, he would have only missed one or two classes.”

   “Well, the news is that Crabbe and Goyle didn’t go with him, but Zabini and Nott apparently did,” Ron added with a frown as he shoveled food into his mouth. “You see, that’s strange. Malfoy doesn’t typically hang around with either of them.”

   “He’s with Zabini a bit, and nobody hangs around with Nott,” Harry agreed. “I swear, he spends more time in the library than most Ravenclaws.”

   Ron looked around carefully before lowering his voice. “Do you think… you know, they’re doing something?”

   “Can’t imagine what,” Harry replied with disgust. “None of them are competent enough to pull off one of his plans –”

   “They’re up to something,” Ron muttered. Harry shrugged and continued eating.

   “Harry, is there something up? You look tired, mate.”

   “Didn’t sleep well last night,” Harry replied quietly. “Now drop it, nobody needs to know.”

   “You didn’t get back until late. What happened –”

   “Not here, not now, Ron,” Harry growled. “If I get a chance, I’ll tell you later.” He checked his watch. “And she should be back by now, so I’ve got to run. Later, Ron.”

   He quickly got up and left the table, leaving Ron with the distinct feeling that Harry wasn’t telling him something.

*          *          *

   “Well?”

   “Well what?”

   “Is Dumbledore in trouble? What happened? Did he get arrested or –”

   “He met with Fudge earlier, and he came back to Hogwarts, so I’m assuming he didn’t get arrested,” Tonks muttered as moved towards the side entrance of the library. “According to Kingsley, he’s being watched.”

   Harry’s eyes narrowed as he followed closely behind Tonks. “And?”

   “And what?”

   “Did he do it? Have Sturgis kill someone?”

   “Kingsley wouldn’t say, Harry!” Tonks hissed. “I can’t see Dumbledore doing it, but I can’t exactly see myself sneaking around with you trying to break into the library!”

   “Sneaking around with me? Tonks, we only just met –”

   “Hey, I’ve got the monopoly on making sexual innuendos here, not you,” Tonks replied with an exasperated smirk. “You have your Invisibility Cloak?”

   ‘I wouldn’t be here without it.”

   “Good. Knowing Kemester, he’s probably lurking somewhere in the Restricted Section, and we’ll have to be careful if we want to find the books we need.”

   “And how many do we need?”

   “Five.”

   Harry whistled softly as Tonks carefully slid the door open and began moving inside. “This ‘simulamancy’ thing must be more complicated than I thought.”

   “What, you didn’t think it would just require the blood of a Metamorphmagus to possess corpses now, did you?” Tonks asked with a snort. “Harry, it took a team of five very intelligent wizards years to make this work, and they probably had years of magical theory training behind them. And we’ve got… well, you.”

   “And you,” Harry added with a wink. “You’re sort of the key ingredient, here.”

   “Bite me.”

   “Where?”

   Tonks groaned. “You’ve been spending way too much time around me and Sirius.”

   “So what books do we need?”

   The Metamorphmagus pulled out the tiny scrap of paper where she had scrawled her list. “Let’s see… The Book of Inversion and Duplex… well, that should be in the magical theory section, I think I remember McGonagall mentioning it before… Consciousness Conjunctions will definitely be in the Restricted Section. So will Blood and Astral Projection: A Thesis –”

   “That sounds more like an essay than a book.”

   “Harry, it probably is an essay.”

   Harry whistled again. “That’d be one hell of a long essay.”

   “Oh, you’re just going to love your N.E.W.T.s,” Tonks muttered, metamorphosing into a short blonde with extremely close-cropped hair and wide eyes. “And the last two… well, The Study of Age and Magic shouldn’t be hard to find, that’s a fairly common book, but I’ve never even heard of Metamagical Extrabiology: An Examination. Where do you think that is?”

   Harry raised his hands helplessly. “Good thing the Restricted Section is sorted alphabetically, isn’t it?”

   “Harry, I’m starting to think we aren’t qualified to work with this sort of magic. These titles are starting to scare me a little.”

   “We can’t exactly back out now, Tonks,” Harry muttered, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out. “I’m sure that the two of us will be able to puzzle it out. After all, this ‘simulamancy’ thing sounds a lot like some form of Transfiguration, and didn’t you get top marks in that class?”

   “Yes, but –”

   “Then I’m sure we’ll be okay,” Harry reassured here. “Now let’s get this Cloak on before Pince sees us. And remember that I’m leading here, so keep close, quiet, and your hands to yourself. Remember – you were the one who nearly failed Stealth and Tracking, not me.”

   Tonks rolled her eyes, but she only grinned as she joined Harry under the Cloak.

   “Where first?” he whispered.

   “Let’s go to the Restricted Section. With any luck, Kemester will have actually gone to dinner and won’t be lurking in there.”

   But it turned out that Kemester was nowhere to be found within the deserted narrow aisles, and after a few minutes of careful searching, they had found the rune-covered grey book that Tonks said was Consciousness Conjunctions.

   “Are you sure this is it?” Harry asked skeptically as he slid it into his bag. “I mean, I don’t see a title.”

   “It’s used as a textbook in Auror training… well, more for extra reading than anything, but I’ve seen it before. Now let’s find that blood magic book.”

   But when they found it – clearly labeled and shoved deep into the shelf, Tonks did not move to pull it out. Instead, she pulled out a set of what appeared to be barbeque tongs.

   “What are those for?”

   “The book,” Tonks replied briskly, slowly pushing the other books away from her target with a few quick taps of her tongs.

   “I don’t think we need tongs for that kind of book –” Harry began, but then Tonks withdrew the metal-bound book, and Harry saw what appeared to be jagged blades roughly jammed between the covers, rasping slightly together as Tonks carefully pulled open her own bag.

   “Ever seen the Monster Book of Monsters, Harry?”

   He nodded. “It was our textbook for Care for Magical Creatures. Hagrid assigned it.”

   “Can’t be surprised there,” Tonks muttered, quickly dropping the book into her bag and sealing it tight. “Well, picture that book, just a hundred times worse. All blood magic books are voracious, but this one looks just plain nasty. Probably could take somebody’s head off.”

   Harry shivered as he looked down the aisle. “We should probably hurry. Do you think we should look for that last book in here?”

   “Metamagic Extrabiology: An Examination? Well, I’ve never seen the thing, but it couldn’t hurt. You’re right, though, we should hurry.”

   It took another fifteen minutes before Harry and Tonks finally found the book. Like they had expected, it had been buried deep in the Restricted Section. The book was extremely thick, and one glance at the pages made Harry wince – the text was so tiny and so dense that he doubted any usage of it would be disastrous.

   Tonks hefted it with a disappointed snort. “Why should I be surprised this thing is about two inches thick?” she grumbled, shoving it into her back.

   “You’re reading that one,” Harry whispered. “You’re the one with the experience, after all.”

   “The things I do to make you happy –”

   “Shh! Keep it down! Pince is just around the corner over there!”

   They both held their breaths as Madam Pince walked out from between two of the aisles, a suspicious look upon her face. She peered down the stacks of books, her eyes narrowing as she traced every inch of the hall with her beady gaze. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Harry, she turned and stormed away.

   “That was too close,” Tonks muttered.

   “Agreed. Let’s go get those other books.”

   It wasn’t hard to find A Study of Age and Magic, but Tonks insisted they pick up the oldest copy they could find – particularly considering how old her own Metamorphmagi book was.

   “It’ll be easier to reference specific pages,” Tonks said when Harry has quietly asked.

   “It looks like Dumbledore’s even mentioned in the fourth edition of the book,” Harry mused. “That’s impressive.”

   “Not really,” Tonks replied with a shrug. “If I remember correctly, a lot of magical theorists ask Dumbledore to help write or edit their work. It’s common sense, really.”

   “Tonks, keep quiet,” Harry said quickly, suddenly tensing.

   “What’s the problem?”

   “I think I might hear Umbridge…”

   Tonks swore under her breath. “She’s probably talking to Kemester… let’s go take a look.”

   “We’ve got to be completely silent, then,” Harry whispered. “The last thing we want is to get caught eavesdropping – you could lose your job.”

   “Then we’ll be very, very quiet now, won’t we?” Tonks whispered back with a wink. Pocketing the old book, they moved towards a tiny table shoved in a nearby corner of the library. Completely windowless, Harry could see the squat figure of Professor Umbridge silhouetted against the candlelight – speaking angrily to a tall, menacing figure.

   Kemester, Harry thought, his hand sliding towards his wand.

   “What exactly do mean? You don’t want to take the position as the Hit Wizard interrogator?” Umbridge said with a raise of her delicate eyebrows.. “I thought, considering all the evidence, that this would be what you wanted –”

   “I’m not going to deny that I would have no qualms interrogating Potter,” Kemester replied back evenly, “and that he and I have a score to settle. And that’s precisely why you don’t want me on that team.”

   “Forgive me, Dmitri, but I seem a teensy bit confused by this,” Umbridge began after a few seconds of silence. “Don’t you want Potter to suffer the just punishment for his actions?”

   “Yes.”

   “And wouldn’t you agree that you are one of the most skilled interrogators within the Hit Wizards?”

   “That’s not the point.”

   “Dear Dmitri, you can’t forget that that boy was responsible for your brother’s death,” Umbridge said, a consolatory tone dripping from her every word. “Surely you haven’t forgotten him?”

   Harry clenched his fist at Umbridge’s words, but Kemester spoke before Harry could move any closer.

   “Tell me, Dolores, where is Potter going to go? With Black lurking around, he doesn’t dare leave Hogwarts, and Dumbledore can only protect him for so long.”

   “The old fool’s days are numbered.”

   Kemester paused at the vehemence in Umbridge’s words, but when he spoke again, his voice was measured and cold. “I’m not going to lie when I say that I made mistakes when I went after Potter last time. I was angry, wasn’t thinking clearly, and I damaged my department’s reputation because of it. Bones and Scrimgeour personally made me swear that I was not to interfere in any future investigation regarding Potter –”

   “An oath you’ve already broken,” Umbridge said softly, “with my aid.”

   “Well, I wasn’t going to refuse that kind of opportunity to attempt to arrest Potter when he was vulnerable, but the fact remains now is that he’s got nowhere to run. So why should I bother to interfere in his affairs now? If anything, the delay in justice will force him to act more rashly than anything, and we’ll have more crimes to indict him for when he faces the Wizengamot.”

   “That seems extraordinarily rational, coming from you, Dmitri.”

   Kemester’s eyes hardened. “I’m more concerned about Sirius Black than Potter right now – and the possibility of a major leak within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

   “I’ve already assigned Sanders to the case –”

   “And he is, forgive my language, a lazy, negligent bastard who has neither the respect nor the talent to be leading this investigation,” Kemester growled. “I’d rather Merlin-forsaken Shacklebolt be back leading this investigation than him, Dolores.”

   “Shacklebolt may not be spending too much more time in the Auror Department, though, Dmitri,” Umbridge replied smoothly, pulling a paper out of her pink cardigan. “I recently received a very interesting letter from Rufus Scrimgeour regarding him.”

   Both Harry and Tonks tensed. This was not good.

   “And?”

   “Shacklebolt is rapidly growing, ah, too big for his shoes,” Umbridge said sleekly. “Tsk, tsk, he’ll be getting himself into very big trouble soon.”

   “He’s extremely competent, and even you chose to place him on that interrogation team,” Kemester replied suspiciously. “Why give him a position of power if you want… to…”

   His voice trailed off, and his eyes hardened for a second. “I see.”

   “His loyalties to Dumbledore will be exposed, and he will suffer the consequences of such loyalty,” Umbridge said softly, a hungry gleam filing her pouchy eyes. “The old puppet-master will be brought down before the end of this year – you can be sure of that.”

   “You think he’s behind Potter as well?” Kemester asked slowly.

   “What better way to destabilize the Ministry?” Umbridge replied quickly, leaning closer. Kemester slid back an inch, and Harry barely could stifle a laugh in time – it seemed even Kemester was repulsed by the squat woman.

   “I think you’re giving Dumbledore too much credit,” Kemester replied, turning back to his papers, “and Potter not enough.”

   “Potter’s fifteen. He can be manipulated. Dumbledore likely has a role in that.”

   “Not if he chooses to skip all of your classes,” Kemester said sardonically.

  It was Umbridge’s turn for her eyes to harden. “And he will pay for his insubordination, rest assured, Dmitri. I have a plan.”

   “It had better be a good one, because planning doesn’t tend to work too well when it comes to Harry Potter,” Kemester replied. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

   “What on earth are you reading anyways?”

   “Wizarding financial law,” Kemester replied curtly. “It helps to sooth my conscience. Good night, Dolores.”

   “Will you take the position on the interrogation team?”

   “I’ll consider it, nothing more right now,” Kemester said shortly. “Good night, Dolores.”

   Umbridge stared at the Hit Wizard for a few more seconds before turning and stalking away, leaving Kemester absorbed in his book and Harry and Tonks standing in silence a few aisles away.

   “What,” Harry finally began, “was all that about?”

   “I’m not sure,” Tonks whispered, “but we need to get that last book so we can get to work. Something tells me you’re going to be short on free time very soon.”

*          *          *

   His candles had burned low, but Kemester kept reading, his eyes close to the old book as he pored through the tedious records – histories of finance stretching back to the founding of Gringotts.

   All I need is ample precedent to accomplish what I want, he thought to himself, and then Potter will discover that my brother’s life was indeed worth more than that paltry sum he paid…

   He knew that he would probably take the position on the interrogation team, if only to stave off Umbridge’s persistent nagging. He wouldn’t mind looking into Potter’s eyes when he told him he would have to face a trial that would send him to Azkaban. If only for that, it would be worth it.

   He turned away from the book to look at the tiny scrawled note that he had received early in the morning. He would have ignored it, in nearly every other circumstance, but he had a hunch that the writer might actually live up to his – or her – promises. I don’t know what this person’s offering, but it better be worth my wait…

   Suddenly, he froze in his seat. Something had changed in the corner of the library where he had been working… the air was cold and clammy, as if a sudden frost has frozen dew on his skin…

   He slowly rose to his feet and drew his wand, his keen eyes scanning the darkness. He knew something was up – probably some pestilential student playing a trick on him, or –

   “You know, you’re awfully antisocial for such an ugly face.”

   Against his better instincts, Kemester nearly jumped as the ghost slid through the wall, his eyes gleaming with wicked malice.

   “Go to hell, Peeves, and leave me alone. I’m working.”

   “I honestly think they tried sending me to Hell,” Peeves mused, sliding along the wall in midair towards the seat opposite Kemester. “Hmm… must have been filled with all those wasted heroes…”

   “Go pester somebody else, Peeves. That’s all you do, anyways.”

   Peeves cocked his head to the side, and in a second, Kemester could see that something was different about the poltergeist. A thinner face, a wider mouth, sunken eyes looking devilishly intelligent and impossibly mad…

   “I’m actually here to deliver… somewhat of a warning, I think,” Peeves said slowly, settling into the chair and folding his fingers. “Care to hear?”

   “No.”

   “You really should. You really should.” Peeves’ voice dropped an octave as he slid through the table towards Kemester. There was no doubt in the Hit Wizard’s mind now, something had changed about the poltergeist. Something downright evil…

   “I’m working, Peeves,” Kemester growled through gritted teeth.

   “Working to bring down little Potter, I would guess,” Peeves said with a grin. “I know, I overheard your, ah, discussion with the urbane toad. And I wasn’t the only one.”

   Kemester’s eyes widened. Eavesdroppers! Damn it, this is the last thing I need now!

   “You know something, Dmitri… may I call you Dmitri?” Peeves asked, his eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight.

   “No.”

   “You see, Dmitri, you don’t realize just how similar you and Potter really are,” Peeves began, floating closer to Kemester. “Little foils, you both are… both becoming consumed… and both players in the madness that is coming…”

   “What are you talking about?”

   “You see, Dmitri, you used to be that alpha dog, the one with the biggest teeth. But the thing about dogs like you is that you thrive when the explosions and fire break loose and flow in the alleys like blood in the gutters,” Peeves said, his smile widening, revealing yellowed teeth. “You’re playing a very different game now, Dmitri… this hell, you can’t tame, you can’t control, ‘cause it’s all in here!” At that second, the poltergeist shot up close, tapping Kemester lightly on the temple. He stumbled back at the frigid feeling searing through his mind, and Peeves cackled with glee.

   “You see, you see! You’ll see soon enough, Dmitri, because it’s already starting, this game of souls, of little lives and lies! After all, you didn’t start the fire… it’s been always burning, since the world’s been turning…”

   “What the hell happened to you?” Kemester snarled, rising to his full height and snapping his wand up to face the mad poltergeist.

   “Me?” Peeves seemed always shocked at the question. “I just… do things. I’m not a schemer – and you’re not either. Dumbledore… well, there’s a schemer. He’s got plans, Umbridge and Fudge have plans, even little Harry has plans… but you, Dmitri… your plans don’t seem to work, ‘cause you don’t need them. They’re little chains, holding you back…” Peeves’ voice dropped an octave as he moved closer. “And you know it, too.”

   Kemester’s eyes burned as he raised his wand even higher, to point right between Peeves’ eyes. The poltergeist looked at the wand, sighed once, and shook his head.

   “You can’t hurt me, Dmitri, no matter how hard you try. They’ve been trying to erase me from this castle for centuries… but they never could. I admire your balls, though – hope you hold onto them long enough to take out the rest of the trash –”

   “You’re not making any sense,” Kemester snarled.

   “When did I say I was going to make sense?” Peeves replied with an impossibly wide smile. “I’ll tell you one thing, though: you might not be a schemer, but you’re not a traitor either. Something to be proud of. You’re loyal… to something. Find what that is, and make sure you, ah, dispose of that trash when you’re finished. Find a little something to believe in?”

   “And what do you believe in, huh?” Kemester snapped. “What do you believe in?”

   Peeves’ eyes blazed even brighter as the candle flickered. “I believe… that half this school is going to go crazy very soon. Everyone will start losing their minds – even the sane ones. And I believe whatever won’t kill the rest will just make them… a little… different…”

   And with a single wild cackle, Peeves flew straight through Kemester, extinguishing the candle and driving the library corner into darkness.

   Swearing under his breath, Kemester lit his wand and looked around frantically. But all around him was silence. The poltergeist was gone – or at least he thought he was. He hoped he was.

   It wasn’t sudden, but he heard footsteps. Despite his pounding heart, he sat down in the chair, laying his wand down next to the book. It would only be a few moments now…

   The figure came out of the shadows, cloaked, and a hood thrown up, hiding the face. Kemester drummed his fingers on the desk as he tried to calm his heartbeat.

   “I’ve been waiting for a long time, and quit with the cloak-and-dagger theatrics. You’re not impressing anyone. I’m a Hit Wizard, not a moron.”

   “I’m here for all the wrong reasons,” the figure whispered, “but you need to know if something can be salvaged from this mess.”

   “And I’m sure your reasoning is as noble as your intentions,” Kemester sneered. “Sit down – we have to talk, so you can tell me how you can get me Harry Potter.”