Harry Potter and the Fabrication of the Devoted

by MattyMorse

Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is presented with a series of impossible murders. Harry is distracted by his pursuit of obscure magical knowledge, Hermione is settling into her new position in the Ministry, and Ron is suffering with the end of his relationship. They must come together to find the killer.

CHAPTER ONE: CONTRABAND

"This document is not authentic," complained the cruelest-looking of the three men huddled around a weathered parchment. He spoke with an air of authority. These wizards had gathered in the darkest corner they could find in Knockturn Alley to examine the sheet. The one holding it looked furious under his bowl-shaped mop of black hair. He was dressed in robes so dark they blended into the shadows around him. The baby-faced wizard with the shaved head standing to his right was wearing robes only slightly less black, mainly because they were so shabby, and because they had been stained from what appeared to be a year's worth of food spills.

The third wizard was wearing bright orange robes. These were much worse for sneaking purposes, but they did dramatically convey his allegiance to the Chudley Cannons, his favorite Quidditch team. "It can't be fake," he argued, "This was obtained seven years ago by Mundungus Fletcher himself, from the home of the wizard who created it."

"Read it for us," came the contemptuous response.

"I know what it says…" the debater demurred.

"I can read it!" their shabby companion offered eagerly, "It says: 'Every dog has his day.'" He smiled cheerfully, certain that he had contributed something to their scheme.

"Thank you," seethed the black-haired wizard.

The orange-robed wizard rubbed his hands across his bald pate and through the wild tufts of brown hair above his ears. "There's no way this map is a forgery," he insisted, "My contact is completely reliable. There must be some enchantment on the parchment, disguising it." He poked at the map with his wand. "Aparecium!" he attempted, with no effect. "Revelio!" he tried, with increasing exasperation. "Specialis Revelio!" he struggled desperately. The purported "map" did not alter.

"It can't be a fake map," the shabby wizard assured him.

"How can you tell?" the wizard in orange asked, jerking his head up in the hope that he was about to be proved correct.

"Because it's not a map at all," the shabby wizard responded, chuckling at his own little joke. It was not a good joke, but it made the black-haired wizard grin, as it frustrated the man contradicting him.

"It's authentic, I tell you!" the orange-robed one insisted.

"It is real," a new voice announced. The three men looked up and saw a wizard standing quite casually in the shadows across the alley from them. He watched the three calmly as he continued, "Unfortunately, it is illegal to possess it. Even if it wasn't stolen property."

"It's an Auror!" the black-haired wizard exclaimed. He and the other two drew their wands from their robes so fast that the shabby wizard's wand flew from his grip and rolled across the alley. The intruder picked it up and handed it back to him.

"Thanks," the shabby wizard responded automatically. His companions winced.

"Mobilicorpus!" the orange-robed wizard shouted, and the interloper floated up several feet off the ground. It was unsettling, however, to see him sitting up there in the air so comfortably. Ordinarily that spell greatly unbalanced it victims.

"Where's your wand?" the wizard in orange demanded, intending to disarm the wizard before interrogating him.

"I left it at home," the wizard told him, unconcerned.

"Who are you?" the dark-haired wizard asked, warily.

"I'm an Auror. Just like you said."

"What kind of Auror leaves home without his wand?"

The wizard said nothing, but leaned forward, bringing his face in the light. The three possessors of the stolen map froze. This was one of the most recognizable faces in the Wizarding World, even without the lightning-bolt shaped scar on its forehead.

"Harry Potter!" the orange-robed wizard exclaimed. His concentration broke, and so did his spell. Harry should have dropped roughly to the ground, but with a subtle motion of his hand he floated gently down to his feet.

"It's Harry Potter!" the shabby wizard yelled, having nothing new to contribute. "The Boy Who Lived!" he reiterated, as though the others were unsure whom he meant.

"I think I'm a bit old for that moniker," Harry pointed out.

Thinking quickly, the dark-haired wizard cast a spell: "Petrificus Totalus!" and Harry stopped moving. His body became rigid, his arms pinned to his sides.

"Did it work?" the orange-robed wizard asked meekly.

The shabby wizard pushed on Harry, who swayed slightly but remained rooted in his position. "Search for his wand," the black-haired wizard urged. The shabby wizard rummaged through Harry's robes, but—as promised—there was no wand.

The orange-robed wizard gestured at the parchment still in his accomplice's hand. "It's real! Just like I said! He's confirmed it!" With that, he pointed over at Harry, still motionless.

A smile broke out across the black-haired wizard's jowly face. He was so pleased with their success that he almost did not mind his associate being proved right. He stared down at the parchment. It still read, "Every dog has his day," but past some hidden enchantment was the map that the three had been hunting.

"What should we do with him?" the orange-robed wizard asked, gesturing toward Harry.

"Kill him," the black-haired wizard concluded flatly.

"No way!" the shabby one objected, "He's a good bloke. Saved all of us, didn't he?"

"Do you have another idea?" the black-haired wizard countered spitefully, "Your first idea ever?"

"If we kill Harry Potter," interjected the orange-robed wizard, "The Ministry of Magic will never stop looking for us."

The three glared at each other in almost total silence, with only a distant rumbling audible. As they continued staring, the rumbling became louder. The black-haired wizard was glaring at the orange-robed one, who was glowering back at him. The shabby wizard appeared to have forgotten why they were all looking at each other. By this time, the rumbling had become a roar.

"What is that noise?" the black-haired wizard asked, looking up. A bright light hit his face from above. The noise, now almost deafening, was a flying motorbike, charging toward them from out of the sky.

An angry voice called out "Stupefy!" and a wand in the motorbike rider's hand blasted the orange-robed wizard to the ground. "Expelliarmus!" the voice called again, and the shabby wizard's wand flew from his hand, bouncing down the pavement of the alley. As he chased after it, the motorbike landed.

A ferocious-looking woman with bright red haired dismounted the motorbike. She was wearing a green T-shirt with the team name "Holyhead Harpies" and the year "1203" printed on it. Her pants appeared to be Dragon-hide, but on closer inspection were actually Muggle leather. As the orange-robed wizard rose from the gravel, he stared at her in shock. "Weasley!" he blurted out, "Ginevra Weasley! You're the best Chaser in the League!"

Ginny blasted him down to the ground again. "You're wearing the wrong colors," she commented, "Is that a Dragomir Gorgovich jersey? What a duffer."

"Incendio!" cast the black-haired wizard behind her. Ginny spun as a column of fire burst from his wand. She instantly Apparated five feet to her right, safely avoiding the flames. "Everte Statum!" she cast, and the black-haired wizard was thrown backward into a wall.

As Ginny turned back, she saw that the shabby wizard had recovered his wand and was running back toward her. "Impedimenta!" she cast, and he tripped over himself, sprawling onto the ground. She followed up with "Deprimo!" and he was pinned to the pavement, crushed by the pressure.

The orange-robed wizard was still amazed by her appearance. "The Cannons are my team," he admitted, "But I still adore the Harpies!" Ginny aimed her wand at him. She intoned "Fulgari," and his robes began winding around him, restricting his limbs with their fabric. The robes wrestled their wearer into a supine position and bound him firmly.

The black-haired wizard had recovered, and seeing that he was the last of the three remaining, he sprinted behind Harry. He pointed his wand at the famous Auror's head and commanded Ginny, "Don't make a move!"

She looked in his eyes and intoned grimly, "If you cause Harry even the slightest discomfort, I'm going to Transfigure you into a smear on that wall." Her gaze was so intense that drops of sweat began running down his brow.

"Potter's petrified!" he shouted, "And you've got to get through him to get to me! I'm the one in control here!"

Harry pivoted, snatching the map out of the wizard's right hand and the wand out of his left. "You shouldn't spread misinformation," Harry said wryly, "I never claimed to be petrified."

"That's true," the shabby wizard agreed from the pavement across the alley, "We just assumed."

As Ginny looked at Harry, the fierce snarl on her lips slowly curled up into a warm smile.

"Impossible!" the black-haired wizard declared.

Ginny looked at him, and the smile was gone again. "Depulso brick!" she called out, aiming her wand at a loose stone nearby. It flew away from her, striking the wizard squarely on his head and knocking him into unconsciousness.

"Nicely done," Harry complimented Ginny. He looked down to his hand and smiled. "I'm glad to finally have this back," he said. Ginny walked over to Harry, wrapped her arms around him and kissed him warmly. "I'm a little peckish," she mentioned.

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement will send someone over to pick up these three," Harry told her, "And then we can get something to eat."

An hour later, they were. Ginny leaned across the table of the all-night café and asked Harry, "What were you thinking back there?"

Harry chewed,swallowed his food, and replied, "I was thinking, 'I'm glad that Ginny came to rescue me.'" He smiled.

"You hardly needed saving."

"I don't know about that. Those three were such bunglers that they might have hurt me by accident."

Harry thought it was amusing, but Ginny looked upset. "Don't worry about me," he told her, "I'm worried about you. The Harpies have been having a grueling season."

"We've always played a very physical game of Quidditch," Ginny told him proudly, "But Gwenog has turned up the intensity. If she was merciless when she was captain of the team, she's absolutely brutal as the coach. I didn't do very well against Wimbourne, and you know how charged those rivalry matches can get."

"I read the summary in the Daily Prophet," Harry told her, "You played fine. Most of the problems you had were caused by fouls."

"Well, Coach Jones wouldn't let up on me in practice after that. I really took it out on Puddlemere in the next match. I was so sore after…" she trailed off. Harry looked up from his food. She was looking back at him, deep in thought.

"I think maybe this will be my last season," she mused.

"Really?" Harry asked, honestly surprised.

"It's not too early in my career; Quidditch is a rough game. Viktor Krum only started playing professionally five years before I did, and he retired last year."

"After that Quidditch World Cup embarrassment, I can't say I blame him."

"I've been thinking about stability," Ginny explained, "I'm in love with you, and I want to plan our future together. I want to get married, to have children, and I can't do any of that while I'm still playing professionally."

"I want those things, too," Harry assured her, smiling at her tenderly.

Ginny laughed. "Oh, I know. If it was up to you, we'd already have our own pack of little witches and wizards running around. For now, I hope you're content playing with Teddy Lupin."

"I see him often, but not as often as I'd like."

"I'm sure you're a wonderful godfather, and I'm sure that Dromeda appreciates all the help. But how can you be there for Teddy, or for anyone you care about, when you act with so little regard for your own safety?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked innocently.

"Your recklessness!" Ginny exclaimed, "We're sitting here, talking about having children, when little more than an hour ago you were risking your life, unarmed, in a three-on-one fight."

"Those three weren't much of a challenge. And I had you to protect me. Incidentally, how did you know where I was?"

"Ron told me. And why exactly was he not with you? Why wouldn't you bring your partner? For that matter, how can you go to work without your wand? How can you even leave home without it? It's daft!" Ginny's cheeks were flushed.

"When my parents were killed," Harry recalled softly, "They were defenseless. Because they didn't have their wands. I never want to be that helpless. I'm trying to train myself to perform my spells with no words and no wand. It's something that I'm determined to work toward."

"You're good," Ginny told him, "You're great. And you've got an innate talent for nonverbal spells. But even Dumbledore took years to get skillful enough to perform powerful spells without a wand. And he still carried one!"

"Back when my wand was broken in Godric's Hollow," Harry continued, "I knew what it felt like to be powerless. And it came at the time of greatest danger in my life; I was being hunted. My chief goal now is to free myself from dependence on a wand. It's not carelessness; this is important to me. But I promise you that I will be cautious." This last part Harry spoke with a gentle smile. "I'll keep myself safe for you."

"You know, at Howarts, they used to call you Harry Potty," Ginny teased, somewhat reassured.

"Did you think I was potty?"

"I thought you were dishy," Ginny flirted. She motioned toward the parchment that Harry had recovered. "So what is it?" she asked.

Harry picked it up. He told the object, "Llewellyn was wrong," and began unfolding it. As he laid the map out on the table, writing appeared. At the top was a title, "The Ratcatcher's Map," and below that was sketched a detailed diagram. Small labels on the map noted the position and movement of the people there.

"Homonculous Charm?" Ginny asked.

"This is a map of Azkaban prison," Harry informed her.

"Azkaban? Where did it come from?"

"Sirius Black made it. When he decided to escape. He had learned how at Hogwarts, with his friends. Mostly Remus, but my father had some contributions."

Ginny inspected at the parchment. Although the handwriting was different, the design was very similar to the Marauders Map that Harry had used to navigate Hogwarts during his time there. Ginny looked at the layout of the cells, the location of the guards, and she realized what it meant.

"Were those three planning to break someone out of Azkaban?"

"I doubt it," Harry speculated, "I suspect that someone hired them to acquire the map. That person would be the one planning the breakout."

"Who?"

"Who are they breaking out? We have a long list of people in Azkaban to choose from. Who is doing the breaking out? We have an even longer list of people not in Azkaban to choose from. But I'm finished with work for the day. I'd prefer to enjoy your company." Harry leaned over the parchment and told it, "No fun for one." The writing on the map vanished, replaced once again by the simple phrase "Every dog has his day." He folded it and placed it in his pocket. He and Ginny rose and left the café.

"I think we can leave it parked here," Harry said, motioning toward Sirius Black's motorbike, which Harry had long since lent to Ginny, perhaps permanently. Hand in hand, Harry and Ginny strolled back to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. They walked in peaceful silence, and Harry felt an incomparable sense of contentment.

When they reached Harry's home, Ginny looked around with a cheery smile. "Every time I come over," she remarked, "The place looks better and better." They walked through the front door, which was painted scarlet and gold, with a gold door-knocker of a lion's head.

Years ago, when Harry and his friends first saw the Black family residence, it had been a filthy relic. Now, as Ginny entered, she marveled that the hallway which had always been so eerie was bright and welcoming. The serpent-shaped chandelier had been replaced by a brace of floating candles, which lit themselves as the couple entered.

"You've gotten rid of the Walburga portrait!" Ginny exclaimed cheerfully. Then she added curiously, "But it had a Permanent Sticking Charm."

"I used the Muggle method," Harry explained, "I had the wall torn out and replaced. I've done the same with the Black family tree upstairs."

"This place is unrecognizable," Ginny said happily.

"The doorknobs on the bedrooms are still shaped like serpents," Harry pointed out, "But they look quite beautiful now that they've been cleaned and shined. I've been thinking that I might keep them. I really should learn to overcome my aversion to snakes.

"You know, we always associated the dark feel of the house with the Black family, but I think most of it was the disrepair it fell into during the ten years after Walburga Black died. Kreacher's grief led him to neglect his duties."

"Is he still here?" Ginny asked, "I thought you had freed him."

"Of course I freed him," Harry assured her, "Hermione never would have let me hear the end of it if I hadn't. I had some nice little robes made, presented them to Kreacher, and off he went."

"Where is he now?"

"I heard he volunteered his services to Narcissa Malfoy. She was always a favorite of his when she was a child."

"And how are you carrying on in this big place all by yourself?"

"I manage fine, and I'm rarely alone. Your brother's always over here eating my food. But if you're so worried about my solitude, you could join me."

Ginny paused and smiled. "I'm thinking about it," she said.

CHAPTER TWO: AT THE LEAKY CAULDRON

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, should have stood between Number Eleven and Number Thirteen, but to the Muggles who passed every day, there was nothing there. On July 31, however, a man stood there, looking around uncomfortably. He was overweight, and although he was still in his early twenties, his hair was thinning. He was holding a crudely wrapped package. His name was Dudley Dursley.

Dudley looked back and forth up the street, which was empty this evening. He had been standing there for almost twenty minutes when a car pulled up and stopped in front of him. It was a sky-blue Ford Torino. The driver stepped out, a tall red-headed man. "Dudley, right?" the driver asked.

Dudley looked back at him cautiously. "You're Ron," Dudley confirmed.

"Yeah. Harry's not here yet?"

"No."

"Been here long?"

"A bit."

"Come on," Ron said, "Let's go get a drink. Harry can catch up with us when he gets home."

Ron pulled a scrap of parchment from his pocket. As he did so, Number Eleven and Number Thirteen began inching away from each other, making room for the missing Number Twelve. Dudley stared at it with his mouth hanging open, although he had witnessed this multiple times in the past.

Ron wrote down a brief message for Harry and slipped it under the door. He stepped back down to the sidewalk and Number Twelve receded back into its hiding place. Ron slapped Dudley on the back. "Have a drink?" he asked, and Dudley did not have the fortitude to decline.

As Dudley sat in the passenger seat of the Torino, Ron told him, "I usually fly the car. I don't actually have a Muggle driver's license. But if you'd be more comfortable, I can operate it on the, um, groundway."

"Yes, please," Dudley responded shakily.

Ron drove through London, and although Dudley could detect no magic at work, the trip was remarkably short. Ron parked at Charing Cross Road. At first, Dudley was immensely relieved that their destination was a pub on a normal street. His relief ended the moment they stepped inside the Leaky Cauldron.

"These are all magicians!" he whispered loudly to Ron as they sat, "Won't they be out of sorts if they notice I'm normal?"

"Hard cheese for them," Ron said dismissively, then reassured Dudley, "Nobody will notice you, or they'll just think you're just a Squib."

"What's that?"

"Your aunt Lily had parents with no magical abilities, but she was a witch. Sometimes it goes the other way. A wizard and a witch will have a child with no magic. It's not unusual. They're called Squibs."

Dudley nodded, not completely understanding. The explanation had not made him any less nervous. He was finally able to relax somewhat after his first pint.

"It's nice of you to come see Harry on his birthday," Ron commented.

"Least I can do," Dudley said, "Seeing as how terrible I was to him when we were kids. It's about the only time we catch up, really."

"So what do you do, in the Muggle world?"

"My job? I work at a firm called Grunnings. We make drills. My dad got me the job. I don't particularly like it, but since I got married, I need to keep making money."

"You're married? That's great!"

"Yeah," Dudley said, less enthusiastic about it, "We live next door to my parents. But they're thinking of moving."

"Are they?"

"Yeah. People interested in Harry are always coming by to gawk at their house. You know, they want to see where he grew up or whatever. It's like a tourist destination, but they're all dressed like you lot."

Ron was amused that intense scrutiny was the punishment the Dursleys received for their years of mistreating Harry.

"Does your wife know?" Ron asked, "About Harry being a wizard?"

"No," Dudley admitted, "But I guess I'll have to tell her about it sometime. Especially now that we have a baby on the way."

"Congratulations!"

"Yeah. I reckon I'd like my son to have the right kind of friendship with Harry's kids. You know, the way cousins should be, instead of…" Dudley trailed off sadly.

"I'm sure Harry will be thrilled," Ron told him.

"So what about you two," Dudley changed the topic, "How's your work going? Some kind of police, aren't you?"

"We're called Aurors," Ron told him, "We prevent the misuse of magic, and we hunt dark wizards."

Dudley shivered, but Ron continued excitedly. "It's a three year training. We have to learn all sorts of disciplines: concealment and disguise, stealth and tracking…for someone who was always eager to get done with school, I ended up doing so much studying. Harry got it done in two years, of course. He took that tour around the world; that was about a year. And then he finished with the training at the same time Neville and I did."

"We've had all kinds of interesting adventures," Ron reflected proudly, "There was a suit of armor that had been raging ever since the death of its owner. It had been entombed for centuries, but when the crypt was opened, the armor ran wild. The armor had so many enchantments on it, it was hard to even contain. But then we figured it out: the wizard who owned the armor all those years ago had become a ghost. All we had to do was reunite the armor with the ghost, and all was settled." Ron smiled proudly at Dudley.

"We were assigned to apprehend a vampire here in London," Ron continued, "It looked to be a pretty dangerous case. There was a solicitor who helped this vampire with a real estate deal so he could move to London. The vampire hypnotized and killed a woman, and we heard she had been turned into a vampire as well. Then he started going after the solicitor's girl. When we got involved, he fled the country, and we had to follow him back across the bloody continent! Well, it turned out he was no vampire. He was just posing as one to intimidate the solicitor and get to his girl. Now that took the biscuit! Anyway, he had killed that other lady. She was no vampire; just dead. So he's sitting in prison now."

"Let's see," Ron said, oblivious to the look of concern on Dudley's face, "There was that militant group. They were looking for Pandora's Box. We foiled that one. But the case that really made our reputation was The Occult. Two years ago, they were planning to kill everyone in the Muggle government and take the whole thing over. We stopped the plot, and we caught the leader. Pretty sad, though; it was an old friend of ours, a classmate. That one's not really completely over, though: we never got her co-conspirators. But the point is, we saved all those Muggles lives and prevented the exposure of the Wizarding World."

"Do any normal people know about this?" Dudley asked shakily.

"Well, we always brief the Muggle Prime Minister."

There was silence until a young woman came to the table and asked, "Another round?"

"Hannah!" Ron exclaimed, "Dudley, this is Hannah Abbott. We went to school with her. You work at the Leaky Cauldron now?"

"I'm actually studying to be a healer," Hannah told Ron, "But Tom is a family friend, and he's getting pretty old to be running this place. Until he retires, I'd like to lend him a hand. Besides, my studies in healing have gotten me interested in researching rare herbs, and the job here gives me lots of free time for my studies."

"Herbology was never my subject," Ron responded, suddenly as unenthusiastic about the conversation as Dudley.

"So how's Hermione?" Hannah asked, "I expect I'll be invited to the wedding?"

"Um," Ron paused, crestfallen, "Actually, Hermione and I aren't seeing each other anymore."

"Really?" Hannah asked, shocked, "You were in love with her forever! I can't believe you broke it off!"

"I didn't."

"Oh," Hannah said awkwardly, "Well, I'm sure she had her reasons. I'm really sorry, Ron."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Ron said, not convincingly, "She thought it would be better this way, and she's always right."

"Well, it was really great to see you," Hannah said, "I'll have someone fetch you another round."

Ron looked over at Dudley, who was trying not to look at him. Ron tried to resume his storytelling, "There was the time that—"

"Do you know what Dementors are?" Dudley asked.

"Of course," Ron told him.

"I got attacked by one once."

"Yeah, I know."

"That was when I really found out how dangerous you magicians are. That thing came at me for reasons that had nothing to do with me. I couldn't even see it. It made me relive the worst experiences and feelings of my life. It would have killed me, but Harry…"

"Yeah, I know," Ron repeated.

"I saw things in the news. Terrible things, like when the Brockdale Bridge collapsed. And that so-called hurricane in the West Country. And then later on I found out they weren't natural events. The magicians had caused it. There was a whole secret nation who could kill all of us normal people, and there was no way to defend ourselves. We just had to trust that there were enough Harry Potters to keep us safe. I don't know if it's better that I know about it, or if I'd be happier not knowing the constant danger."

"It's not constant danger," Ron tried to convince Dudley, "Most wizards and witches are good people. There's only a small number who want to harm Muggles."

"How many would it take?" Dudley asked, "You're telling me about some group that wanted to kill everybody in the government."

"That's why I'm an Auror," Ron said seriously, "I've seen how bad wizards can go, and I won't let it happen again. As for ignorance being bliss, I think the reason you're so afraid of us is that you don't know enough. If you knew what the Wizarding World was really like, you wouldn't worry like this."

Dudley thought about it. "Can I see your magic wand?" he asked.

"We just call it a wand," Ron laughed, pulling it out of his robes. It was a large, gnarled piece of smooth wood. "I broke two of my wands before I finally got this one. It used to belong to my uncle Bilius. My whole life, I always resented being stuck with hand-me-downs, but this wand really is perfect for me."

"So you can't just use any wand?" Dudley asked.

"The wizard and the wand are paired. The worse the match, the worse use you get from it. But when you get a good match…" Ron looked down at his wand, "That's magic."

Dudley considered it. "I never really asked about it before," he said, "You could be right. If normal people knew more about magicians, they wouldn't be so frightened."

"It goes both ways," Ron told him. "My father adores everything about Muggles, so he's passed that interest down to my brothers and sister and me. But most wizards know very little about Muggles. For some wizards, the ignorance causes bigotry. But for most, it's just fear. All they know is history: Muggles persecuting and killing wizards and witches."

Dudley had no response; he seemed incapable of believing that a "magician" could be afraid of a normal person like himself.

"I have to put this away," Ron told him, tucking his wand back into his robes, "It's very rude to have it out in a setting like this."

"What about that guy?" Dudley asked, pointing over Ron's shoulder, "He has his wand out."

Ron turned in his seat. Across the room, an unkempt wizard was arguing loudly with four others. He had his wand in his hand and was aiming it at his companions. Ron looked over at Hannah, who was watching the exchange with concern. She turned to look at Ron. Ron nodded at her. He rose from his chair and crossed the room.

"…and if you don't like it, see how you'll feel after a curse," the wizard was telling the others menacingly, "I don't let people disrespect me!"

"The Leaky Cauldron isn't the place for this conversation," Ron said to the wizard's back. The wizard stood and turned to face Ron. He was unshaven and looked as those his features would be the image of wrath even on his happiest day. He was even taller than Ron. And he smelled terrible.

"I suppose you didn't hear what I just said," the wizard told Ron, "Nobody disrespects me."

"I'm not disrespecting you," Ron said, "But you shouldn't be drawing your wand in here. Or threatening to curse people."

The wizard glared at Ron as though he might curse him right that moment. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"My name's Ron."

The wizard paused a moment. He looked up at Ron's red hair. His face began to fall. "Ron…" he repeated. He began looking around the room.

"Potter's not here," Ron told him, "It's just me. And my wand is in my robe, where it belongs. So what are you going to do now?"

The wizard was stuck. If he backed down, his companions would know how empty his threats were. Yet this was Ron Weasley. He knew what that meant, even if Harry Potter was absent.

Ron continued looking at him calmly and repeated, "What are you going to do now? You have a wand. I don't. But I can tell you what's going to happen if you make the wrong choice."

The wizard stared into Ron's eyes, and Ron gazed steadily back into his. Ron held his hand up, his palm open. The wizard placed his wand into Ron's hand. "You can get this from Miss Abbott when you're ready to leave," Ron told him. Ron handed the wand to Hannah and returned to his seat.

"I thought I was about to see a massacre," Dudley told Ron, his face glistening with sweat.

"He wasn't much of a challenge," Ron told Dudley.

Before Ron could get comfortable again, an owl flew into the Leaky Cauldron and landed between him and Dudley.

"Pig!" Ron said.

"That's no pig," Dudley challenged, "That's an owl."

"His name is Pigwidgeon. He belongs to me, but I've been letting Harry borrow him. Harry could never really settle on another owl after Hedwig."

"What's that he's got?"

"It's a note from Harry." Ron read the note with a look of concern on his face. When he was done, he looked up at Dudley. "No birthday celebration for Harry this year," he said, "There's been a murder, and we're assigned to investigate."

Dudley's eyes widened.

"He sends his apologies," Ron said, "It's too bad; you came all the way from Little Whinging. Let me give you a ride back before I go to the scene."

"It's a murder…" Dudley did not know how to respond, "If you need to go…"

"This investigation will take all night," Ron told him, "I can spare enough time to get you back to Grimmauld Place. Do you mind if I fly the car?

"I suppose…" Dudley responded, still with some reservation.

CHAPTER THREE: THE CRIME SCENE

When Ron arrived, Harry was waiting in front of the nondescript building. He had already placed the Repello Muggletum protection on the area, and passersby would pay no attention to the two Aurors speaking on the front steps.

"Her landlady found her dead on the stairs," Harry told him.

"What makes them think it's murder?" Ron asked.

"The victim was very young, and she had been completely healthy until two days ago. The symptoms of violent illness came on suddenly, with all the indications of being a curse."

"Who's the victim?"

"We're not sure yet. Her landlady says her name's Etta."

"Happy birthday, by the way," Ron inserted.

Harry smiled. "When I got home, an owl was waiting for me. I got this investigation notice even before I read your note."

"It's fine. I spent the time visiting with your cousin."

"I have a hard time picturing that," Harry laughed.

"Well, let's have a gander," Ron suggested, back to business.

Ron and Harry walked through the front door. "The victim was renting the flat on the top floor," Harry briefed Ron, "Earlier today, the landlady heard a loud banging noise on the steps, but she didn't check on it. In the evening, she went up to see if the victim was feeling better. She found the body on the stairs."

"Have you inspected the body?"

"I was waiting for you."

They climbed the stairs to upper floor. The body was sprawled across the top stairs. It looked as though she had exited her rooms and collapsed after her first few steps. Ron cast "Appare Vetigium," but there was no trace of recent magical activity on the body.

"Let's have a look at her, then," Ron suggested, gently dragging the body up to the landing. He rolled her onto her back, then jerked back slightly with surprise after seeing her face.

"It's Marietta Edgecombe," Harry observed, equally shocked. She had been a schoolmate of theirs at Hogwarts, and during the clandestine meetings of Dumbledore's Army, almost a friend. Marietta's disloyalty had actually cost Harry his first girlfriend.

"This doesn't really shorten the suspect list," Ron pointed out, "She was well known as a sneaky little informer, remember?"

Harry remembered.

"She informed to Umbridge about the meetings of Dumbledore's Army," Ron reminded him unnecessarily, "And Seamus told me that when the Death Eaters were in charge at Hogwarts, Marietta was one of the students telling the Carrows about Muggle-born students to hunt. Then, after she sat out the Battle of Hogwarts, she turned around and informed on Death Eaters to the Ministry during the cleanup. She was a member of The Occult herself, and she sneaked out of that situation by informing to us."

Harry nodded, recalling each of the betrayals. "That makes it much more likely that it was murder, rather than a spell gone wrong."

"We have our work cut out for us, narrowing down the potential suspects," Ron grumbled.

"Why don't you go check her rooms," Harry suggested, "And I'll examine the body."

Ron stepped inside the tiny living quarters. There were only two rooms, and they were almost bare. He got to work.

Ron began as usual with "Aparecium," but there were no concealing charms to undo. He then walked routes around the rooms, waving his wand and intoning "Aberto" and "Dissendium" and "Revelio." Nothing appeared. Drawers and cabinets opened and closed, but nothing significant changed about the room.

Ron crawled around on his hands and knees, diligently inspecting every inch of the flat. He found nothing of interest. After an hour of scrutiny, he returned to Harry. "Nothing," he reported, "Do you want to take a look?"

"I doubt I'll find anything if you didn't," Harry responded.

"I found a Charm Choc wrapper in the waste bin," Ron joked, "I wish I had some candy about now. I'm starving."

Harry smiled and observed, "I'm due for some birthday cake."

Harry stepped into the flat. He stood in the center of the room and turned around, contemplating the walls, ceiling and floor. He stepped over to the edges of the room and began running his hands over the walls. Ron, of anyone in the world, was least skeptical of his friend's eccentricities. He knew better than to expect loud noises and flashes of light from Harry's magical genius. Ron half expected Harry to conclude the touching of the walls with the name of the murderer.

"Nothing," Harry announced instead.

"That's disappointing," Ron said.

They stepped back to Marietta Edgecombe. "What about her?" Ron asked, "Did you find anything?"

"She seems to have had severe, violent digestive symptoms before her death. But the means of her murder are completely undetectable by magic."

"How can that be?" Ron asked.

"I'm not sure. I would conclude that we're dealing with someone very clever or very powerful, or else some magic so simple we can't see it for ourselves yet."

"Could she have been bitten or infected by some kind of magical creature?" Ron questioned.

"No," Harry said, "The symptoms are very similar to the effects of Weedosoros, but the only potion in her body is a healing one that she or her landlady applied to her after she first became sick."

"Did you check her wand?"

"I did," Harry confirmed, "Prior Incantato told me nothing. The spells she had been casting were nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, the wand was barely used during the past few days."

"Could it have been a natural death?" Ron wondered, "If there's no evidence for anything else, I almost think it must have been."

"We won't know until the postmortem examination," Harry said, "But I doubt it somehow. Marietta had so many enemies that a natural death would be too much of a coincidence."

"I think we're done here, then," Ron announced, "All we can do now is wait for the physical examination. I'll clean up the scene, by the way. The best birthday present I can give you is to let you go home."

"I appreciate it," Harry said, "I feel bad that Dudley came all that way for nothing, though."

"He had a present for you. I left it inside your front door."

"I'm glad Ginny didn't try to come down from Anglesey. That really would have been a wasted trip. Especially since we just saw each other last week."

"Last week? Why didn't she drop by to see me?" Ron asked, annoyed.

"It was a quick visit," Harry told him, laughing. Ron was often offended by his sister's preference for Harry's company. "All right, then," Harry said, "If you've got this, I'm going to head home."

"Happy birthday," Ron told him, "See you at the Ministry."

"See you at the Ministry."

CHAPTER FOUR: THE WORK DAY

Hermione Granger cleaned the dishes that she had used for her breakfast and tidied her sink. She filled a bowl on the floor with cat food for Crookshanks. She put on her jacket and gathered her bag and notebooks. Carrying all these in her left hand, she scooped up a handful of Floo powder with her right hand and threw it into her apartment's fireplace. She stepped inside and said clearly, "Ministry of Magic." Hermione instantly vanished.

She reappeared stepping out of one of the many fireplaces installed in the Ministry for the witches and wizards who were employed there. She strode down the brief walkway to the atrium, during which time she was examined invisibly by the many spells of protection designed to prevent unwelcome intruders. Hermione stepped into the atrium with the same feeling of confident resolve she had felt every day for the past four years, ever since beginning her career at the Ministry.

The atrium was dominated by a single, immense statue. It depicted an elf, over twenty feet high, carved from bright marble. The elf had features that might normally have been comical: large, round eyes, a long, sharp nose, and flappy, pointed ears. But his face had a solemn smile conveying dignity and grace. The elf was dressed in clothes carved from the same slab of marble: a raggedy knit jumper, oversized shorts cinched at the waist with a tangled cord, four socks on one foot and three socks on the other. The statue stood on a pedestal, on which was carved the inscription: "Dobby—A Free Elf—He died so that we might be free."

Hermione was quite proud of the monument. It had replaced a brutal and fanatical installation entitled "Magic is Might," placed there by the Death Eaters during their reign at the Ministry. After the Ministry had been stabilized under Kingsley Shacklebolt, that sculpture was destroyed. However, there had been a movement to restore the previous dominating feature of the atrium: the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Even as a new employee, Hermione had struggled against this. The fountain was a condescending depiction of a witch, a goblin, a centaur, and an elf all admiring the wizard who clearly dominated them.

As a girl, Hermione had founded (and did everything else for) an organization called the Society for the Protection of Elvish Welfare. It led her to begin working at the Ministry of Magic, where she started in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She had worked tirelessly, improving conditions for beings, beasts, spirits, and any other creature she could help. She had been able to completely eliminate questionable branches like the Committee for Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. In doing so, she developed a strong reputation for herself in the organization.

Ultimately, Hermione realized that her influence was limited to policy decisions in her department. She decided that to affect law-making, she needed to climb her way up the ranks of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Therefore, she transferred earlier in the summer. After looking up at Dobby's image approvingly, Hermione continued on to the office she had only recently occupied. As she entered, the secretary for her section approached her and gave her a handful of memos. "Thank you, Ethel," Hermione said, smiling. It was not an ironic statement. Hermione loved work.

Hermione sat down at her desk and set the memos in front of her. There were framed photos on her desk. Some were moving, some were not. The still pictures depicted her parents and her Muggle friends. Those in motion were taken magically. The most prominent had been taken at her graduation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, four years earlier. On her left side was her best friend Harry, his chin covered with a rough beard he grew during his tour around the world, which ended just in time for Hermione's graduation ceremony. On her right side was Ron, who had been her boyfriend at the time, his hand resting on her shoulder. In the picture, she was beaming. Hermione looked away from the photo and back at the documents in front of her.

Within an hour, Hermione had finished reading the memos. She had a quill in her hand and was drafting a response to one questionable dispatch. A knock came at her office door. "Come in," she called out, without looking up.

The door opened and a nice-looking, neatly-dressed young wizard entered. His name was Anthony Goldstein, and he also worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Unlike Hermione, who worked in the prosecutorial office, Anthony was assigned to legislation.

Hermione peeked up, then back to her papers. "Have you seen this?" she asked.

"Your questions are never very specific," Anthony responded, with a kindly, tolerant smile.

"This new decree: it limits Muggle visiting hours in St. Mungo's Hospital."

"That can't be," Anthony said, and he picked up the memo and read it. "It's only during construction," he told her, putting the sheet back on her desk.

"I know why they want to limit visiting hours," Hermione insisted, "I just don't understand why this only affects Muggles."

"Security is more difficult with Muggles," Anthony shrugged, "Secrecy is a constant issue."

"I know that. But can't we make some kind of special accommodation for Muggles? If I was injured, why should you have more access to me than my parents?"

"I appreciate that. I'm half-blood; I always have to consider that balance. But the primary mission of the Ministry is to keep Muggles ignorant of the existence of magic. The Statute of Wizarding Secrecy is too big to be affected by our personal inconvenience."

"We'll see about that," Hermione muttered, not joking.

"Why didn't you just come over to the legislation side of the Department?" Anthony asked her, "It seems you're more interested in that than prosecution."

"It was Harry," Hermione explained, "He asked me as a favor. He said the section needs an overhaul, and he's entirely right. I told him he might be the one to fix it, but he refuses to leave the field. Once I straighten all this out, I intended to move into legislation." Again, she was not joking.

"That's what I like about you," Anthony told her, "Your determination."

Hermione had looked back down to her parchment and was writing furiously. Anthony waited for a moment, then interjected, "I came here for a purpose, you know."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione apologized genuinely, looking back up, "What can I do for you?"

"I don't need you to do anything," Anthony answered, "I just wanted to know if you'd actually be done on time tonight, so we can go out to dinner."

"I'll probably get off on time," she speculated.

"You say that every day, but it's rarely true. We've been dating for two months, and I don't get to see you outside of work more than once a week."

"I'm sorry," she apologized again.

"All right, then," Anthony declared optimistically, "I will keep hope alive and plan on seeing you at the end of the day."

"I'll do my best," Hermione promised, and Anthony left her office.

Hermione got back to three of the things she did best in the world: reading, thinking, and writing. Over the next few hours, she did more work than most of the employees in her section would complete in a week. Then she abruptly rose and rushed off to one of the many meetings she had regularly scheduled. Almost any committee she was eligible for, she joined. And if possible, she chaired them. This particular meeting was being held over lunch.

After much talking and little eating, Hermione headed back toward her office for more thinking and writing. On the way, she was flagged down by an old friend: Winky the elf. "Miss Hermione!" Winky called out. Hermione walked over to Winky, who was flanked by a human and a troll holding a bottle of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. "This here is Miss Hermione!" Winky announced delightedly to the other two, "She is friend to all of us! We couldn't be here without us; at least, Winky wouldn't be!"

Hermione understood Winky's zealous enthusiasm. Winky was now the head of Magical Maintenance for the entire Ministry of Magic.

"Thank you so much," the human told Hermione, "My name's Zigi. Zigi Sulianis. I'm a Squib, and I don't think I could have been hired here before you reformed things. But Winky's been doing great with hiring all kinds of Beings. Look at my friend Barny."

Hermione looked over at the troll, who was regarding her with what almost amounted to fear.

"I sorry," he said slowly (trolls had difficulty with even simple speech), "In bathroom, I did bad."

Hermione, hoping to encourage him in his profession, told Barny, "Keep at it, I'm sure you'll do just fine."

"No," Barny insisted, "Long ago. Far up north. I was bad."

Hermione smiled at him. "Trolls and wizards haven't always been good to each other. I think understanding each other will help that. I'm happy to see that you have a job here, and I hope I'll be seeing you lots in the future."

Barny wanted to say more, but Winky interrupted him. "Winky hears you moved to a different section now!"

Hermione nodded. "It's a longer walk, but a larger office," she told the elf.

"You deserve it! You deserve everything! Hermione Granger is the reason that Winky is now in charge of the cleaning."

"You have some big shoes to fill," Hermione said, "Bernie Pillsworth was a genius."

"Your office will be the cleanest one in the Ministry," Winky promised Hermione, before ushering off Zigi and Barney to attend to some waiting mess. Hermione was sincerely proud of Winky's accomplishments. House-elves had always been enslaved to wizarding families. In the past half-decade, their freedom and opportunities had expanded farther than Hermione had hoped.

Hermione thought of Winky and the times she had seen the elf gazing up at Dobby's statue with tears bubbling down her rubbery face. Hermione's eyes welled up themselves. A smile spread across her face, and she returned to her office.

Hermione's quill had been hard at work for over two hours when Ethel knocked and opened her office door.

"They want you over at the Pest Advisory Bureau," Ethel said flatly.

"Again?" Hermione asked, "Don't they know I have work to do right here?"

"They asked for you," Ethel told her.

Hermione left her office and walked back to her old department. "Don't you know I have my own work to do?" she asked her former coworkers, but with a friendly smile.

"We need you," came the answer, "You never should have left us."

"What's the problem?" Hermione asked.

"Here in the building. The Muggle Relations office. A mob of pygmy Alizors have started pouring out of the walls."

Hermione sighed. During the time when Pius Thicknesse was Minister, the Death Eaters had inserted dark pests into various parts of the Ministry. Years later, workers were still finding deposits of these creatures. When Hermione first started, she got a reputation for dealing with the outbreaks efficiently. The downside was that any time a new nuisance appeared, she was expected to deal with it.

Hermione took the elevator to the Muggle Relations office. The door had been barricaded. Hermione drew her wand, cast "Aberto," and walked though the open door. Taking care that none of the little creatures had slipped out of the door, she cast "Colloportus," and the door was locked behind her.

"Fianto Duri," she whispered, strengthening her shield spell so that she could observe the Alizors. They had pointy heads, with bony arms and legs hanging from their round bodies. They were running around the room as though lost, and they kept bouncing off each other, comically.

Hermione stared at them. They were increasing in number at a substantial rate, but she could not see where they originated. The others had said that the pests were "pouring out of the walls," but there were no openings that she could detect. Hermione looked closely at the tiny creatures. They all looked identical, precisely identical. Hermione stood perfectly still and watched the creatures as a mass. After a few minutes, she nodded.

"Finite!" yelled Hermione, waving her wand across the room. The Alizors turned to regard her, and then began vanishing rapidly. They popped out of existence so quickly that within a minute, there was only one Alizor left. Hermione flourished her wand at it. "Immobulus!" she said, and it was stopped in its place.

Hermione retrieved a large envelope and placed the Alizor inside. She carried it back to the elevator, pausing only briefly to acknowledge the gratitude of the Muggle Relations employees. She carried her parcel back to the Pest Advisory Bureau.

"Is this all?" they asked on seeing the envelope.

"There were hundreds of them," Hermione explained, "But there was really only this one. Someone put some kind of multiplying curse on him. Whenever he was discovered, he began producing copies of himself, which in turn produced copies of themselves. I've restored him back to his proper, single self." She handed over the envelope. "He's frozen now. I hope you can get him comfortably back to where he belongs."

They assured her that they would and complimented her on her outstanding performance.

"They weren't much of a challenge," Hermione told them, and then she returned to her own office to finish her day.

Hermione entered her office to find Harry Potter waiting there. "Harry!" she exclaimed, hugging him, "I'm so sorry I had to cancel dinner last week. I had some work I had to get done."

"On Saturday?" Harry asked, but it was easily believed.

"Don't make fun," Hermioned told him, "I have important work to do."

"I know," Harry said, picking up one of the books from her shelf. Its title was "Guidelines for Relations with Non-Wizard Part-Humans." Its title before Hermione rewrote it had been "Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans."

"Don't neglect your personal life," Harry cautioned her.

"My personal life is perfectly satisfactory," she retorted.

"How many hours a week do you work?" Harry asked.

"I'm not sure," she admitted.

"And how are things with, um, Anthony?" Harry inquired awkwardly. He clearly felt she had made a mistake by ending things with Ron.

"Our relationship is perfect," Hermione informed him self-assuredly.

"I'm glad," Harry said, but he had doubts. "How are you settling in here at Magical Law Enforcement?"

"You were right; there's so much work to be done getting this place to run properly. Even before the Death Eaters reorganized everything this place was a mess."

"If anyone can do it, you can. What you accomplished in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was astounding. I heard it's going to be renamed at the new year."

"Yes: the Department for Friendship with Magical Creatures."

"I can remember back when Minister Scrimgeour asked you whether you were planning a career in magical law. You told him you'd prefer to do some good in the world. And here you are, a lawyer, and yet still doing more to make the world a better place than anyone I know."

"I love working when it's something I care about."

"I know, just save some time for yourself."

"I am. In fact, I have dinner plans tonight."

As if on cue, Ethel knocked and threw open the door. "Message," she said. A folded piece of parchment flew in through the door and landed on Hermione's desk. "It's for you," Hermione said, looking at the name on the outside.

Harry opened it and read it. "A murder," he said succinctly.

"Do they have someone in custody?" Hermione asked.

"No; this one is a problem."

"How so?"

"Do you remember Marietta Edgecombe's death, about three or four weeks ago?"

"Of course. Was that a murder?"

"It was undetermined. The physical examination revealed nothing, and all traces of magic were absent from her body and from the crime scene."

"And now?" Hermione asked, nodding toward the note.

"A wizard named Arnold Peasegood has been found dead, in almost the same mysterious condition as Marietta."

"So now you think Marietta was killed, and that the killer has struck again."

"I was always convinced that Marietta had been killed, but now that there's another victim, I'm concerned about how blind we are to the means."

"No signs of curses? Of potions?"

"None. No sign of magic at all."

"What can disguise all evidence of magic?"

"I'm not sure. It worries me. But I hope that there's something at this crime scene that might open my eyes."

"Should I be accompanying you?"

Harry did not want to ask her to give up her evening. Hermione answered her own question, "I suppose when the killer is apprehended, I'll be responsible for preparing the case against him or her. And I'm sure you'd appreciate some fresh eyes on the matter." Harry looked at her, grinning, and she sheepishly admitted, "And I'm intrigued."

"Come along then," Harry invited her.

"I'm not saying that I'm going to find anything out that you couldn't."

"But you might."

As they left Hermione's office, she paused and asked Ethel, "Can you send a message to Anthony Goldstein in legislation? Let him know I won't be available for dinner."

Hermione's day at the Ministry was over. She left with Harry for her evening at the crime scene.

CHAPTER FIVE: UNDETECTABLE

Harry and Hermione walked along the narrow road between two lines of old brick buildings with no signs and obscured windows. The way, hidden from Muggle intrusion and not very inviting to wizards, was a manufacturing district. The buildings were all workshops: some were large concerns producing sizable runs of magical products, others artisanal spaces where a single witch or wizard might produce rare inventions. Items of all type were designed here and offered for sale elsewhere. It was late enough in the evening that most of the occupants of the road had left for home, but there were a few sounds from others, still hard at work.

When they reached one of the humblest edifices, Harry informed Hermione, "This is it." He opened the door and called out, "Are you in here?"

Ron walked out of the back room with a smile on his face. It disappeared when he saw who had accompanied Harry.

"Hi," Hermione said, tersely.

Ron looked at her silently, unable to respond to the greeting. He turned to Harry instead. "It's the same as Marietta," Ron explained.

"No traces of magic? Not on the body? Not in the workshop?"

"There's plenty of magic in the workshop, but nothing that Peasegood himself wasn't performing."

"Arnold Peasegood…" Hermione mused, "I know that name."

Harry filled her in, "Ron and I know him because he helped us with 'the Trial of the Era.' You might recognize him by his nickname: 'The Master of Memory.'"

"That's right!" Hermione said, her memory rehabilitated, "He used to work at the Ministry, training obliviators. And obliviators weren't his only students. He ran a side business giving private lessons to clients who had enough money to make it worth his while. Not very ethical, really."

"I don't see anything wrong with making a few Galleons off your talents," Ron objected.

"He trained Gilderoy Lockhart at memory charms," Hermione snapped back, and Ron winced. Lockhart had tried to erase Ron's mind when he was only twelve years old. Hermione continued, "When Lockhart began destroying the memories of other wizards to claim their achievements, Peasegood should have recognized what was happening. Either he didn't care, or he was unforgivably ignorant."

"He seemed to be a good person," Harry pointed out, "After Dennis Creevey's memory was damaged, Peasegood put in a great deal of work looking for a cure."

"He also tutored Rita Skeeter," Hermione responded, and it was Harry's turn to wince. Skeeter had made a career of coaxing out memories and misrepresenting them to suit her purposes as a scandal-monger. "Rita was his protégé," Hermione continued, "His greatest accomplishment. She mastered Legilimency, as well as every other way of summoning memories that Peasegood could teach her."

"If she was really that good, she wouldn't have needed all that sneaking around," Harry said, but the revelation about Skeeter had soured him on Peasegood somewhat.

"So what is he doing here?" Hermione asked, referring to the victim.

"This is his shop," Ron told her, "He opened it when he retired from the Ministry. He wanted to spend the rest of his days designing Pensieves."

Harry looked around the work area. "There's only one item in here that looks like it might have eventually been a Pensieve," he said, pointing out a broad metal dish at the end of a bench. Eventually it could have been polished and enchanted into a bowl capable of replaying stored memories, and then filled with a fluid concoction able to contain them.

"The Pensieve business didn't work out for him," Ron explained, "There's just not much of a market for them anymore. People don't want their private memories so exposed these days. I guess it makes them feel vulnerable."

"The only Pensieve I've ever seen was at Hogwarts," Hermione said, "Did it used to be a common possession?"

"Sure," Ron informed her, "If you had the money. It became a point of pride to own a nice one, back in the old days. Posh wizarding families would buy them even if they had no plans for reflecting on the past. They just wanted to have a nice Pensieve on display."

"So what changed that?"

"I think it was back when Gellert Grindelwald was running around, trying to take over the world. People who were sympathetic to his cause didn't want their opinions to be publicly known, and a Pensieve could have revealed their hidden prejudices. It's not a good idea to have one if you've got dirty secrets."

"Or they could have felt genuine guilt for those beliefs after they saw where it led," Harry offered.

"I don't know about that," Ron told him with a cynical look, "If all those Muggle-haters felt remorse, where did all the Death Eaters come from?"

"So what did Peasegood do here if he wasn't designing Pensieves?" asked Hermione.

"Remembralls," Ron answered simply.

"Oh, those are a cheap gimmick," Hermione said, scrunching her face, "What a waste of the Master of Memory's talents."

"People buy them," Ron shrugged, "I've looked at Peasegood's ledgers. He probably made more money selling Remembralls then he ever could have selling Pensieves."

"Where is Peasegood, anyway?" Harry asked.

"In the back room," Ron answered, and led the way.

Peasegood's body was lying prone in the center of the small room. On one wall was a shelf filled with tiny vials, each containing what appeared to be an extracted memory. On the other wall was a shelf full of books. Hermione perused the collection. Almost all of them involved memory charms, Legilimency, or Occlumency. The more advanced works described the fashioning of magical items to aid with memory.

"There are a few exceptions," Hermione pointed out, "Three books here, off the side. He has Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions, The Healer's Helpmate, and Asiatic Anti-Venoms."

Harry and Ron were not sure what that signified. "They're medical books," she explained, rolling her eyes.

"He's been pretty sick the last few days; maybe he was looking for a cure," Ron suggested.

"Look at this one. It's lying on it's back and looks as though Peasegood had been going through it recently."

"What is it?"

"The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection."

"That's something. Maybe he knew he was in danger."

"This book wouldn't really do much for him. It's the one by Quentin Trimble." When Harry and Ron showed no sign of recognition, Hermione sighed and continued, "We read it at Hogwarts; it's a fairly elementary volume. Although if Peasegood was out of practice defending himself, he might have been trying to polish up his old skills."

Hermione picked up the book and paged through it. A scrap of paper fell out. It was an article that had been clipped from the Daily Prophet.

"What is it?" Ron asked.

"It's the article about Marietta Edgecombe's mysterious death. It looks like the two might be related after all."

"We already knew that much," Ron told her with some confidence.

Hermione, Ron, and Hermione circled around Arnold Peasegood's body.

"The same symptoms?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Ron told him, "Violent digestive distress for the last few days. Although that might be because of his sweet tooth. The cupboard over there is chockablock with chocolates, any kind you can think of: Chocolate Frogs, Choco-Locos, Charm Chocs, Chocolate Cauldrons, and Shock-o-Chocs. Maybe it wasn't murder after all: he might have died from gluttony."

"That's not very funny," Hermione told Ron disapprovingly, "Chocolate has great power to soothe painful memories. Interacting with memories as much as Peasegood did, he might have needed all those to keep his sanity. It can be dark and difficult work."

"Let's have a look at him," said Harry, rolling Peasegood onto his back.

"Him!" Hermione gasped, "I know him! He was a witness for you against the Occult! I saw him at the trial!"

"Along with who else?" Ron asked smugly.

"Marietta Edgecombe," came the quiet answer.

"Now you can see why we're convinced Marietta's death was a murder," Harry told her, "And why we're confident that these two were related. Same motive, same means."

"What means?" Hermione asked, "All traces of magic involvement had been expunged. How were these two killed?"

"We still have no idea," Ron admitted, "But our first priority is preventing any future murders. They weren't our only witnesses. Thorfinn Rowle is still out there."

"I don't understand why he's not in Azkaban right now," Hermione protested.

"He claimed to be infiltrating the Death Eaters. The Ministry bought his story because he killed that other Death Eater, Gibbon."

"Remus told me that was an accident," Harry dissented.

"Of course it was! We know Rowle was no double-agent; we saw him fighting against us at the Battle of Hogwarts. But he claimed to be another Snape, earning the Death Eaters' trust so he could undo them."

"Evil or not, we still need to prevent his murder," Hermione concluded, "Where is he?"

"I have no idea. It was hard enough finding him during the Occult case."

"So what's our next step?"

"We can always work on finding the culprit," Ron urged.

"How?"

"Whose trial was it?" Harry asked rhetorically, walking over to the shelf full of memories. There was one vial out of place, sitting in front as though it was recently been reviewed. It was labelled "PATIL."

Harry led Ron and Hermione to Peasegood's personal Pensieve, situated in the back corner. He tipped the contents of the vial into the shallow stone circle, and the trio leaned forward. "Budge up," Ron told Harry, maneuvering so he wouldn't be standing next to Hermione.

At once, they were transported back in time, to an unfamiliar room decorated with garish curtains and blankets and curtains surrounded in unrestrained fringe. There was a low, black stone table in the center of the room. In the center of the table was a crystal ball. The room was dimly lit.

The trio looked at the witch on the far side of the room. It was their old classmate Parvati Patil. Two Parvatis, as a matter of fact. The real one, standing with her back to them, and her reverse image in an overly baroque mirror. Attached to the frame of the mirror was a parchment titled "Catoptromancy," with instructions beneath it on how to see the future in a reflection. Parvati was glaring at her image with a look of frustrated concentration. After a while, she turned away and read the instructions over. She then turned back to her reflection and stared with even greater intensity. When it was clear that nothing was happening, she turned back again to the instructions. She followed this pattern of activity several more times.

"I wonder just how long this memory is," Ron said, somewhat irked.

After a particularly strenuous round of staring, Parvati exhaled deeply and relaxed her shoulders. She finally appeared to have given up on her effort. Parvati looked at her reflection again, but without the exertion. She knew she could not force a vision. Having accepted this, she seemed quite at ease. In fact, she was almost dazed, watching herself languidly.

"Does she seem all right to you?" Ron asked.

"I think we're about to see why this memory was preserved," Harry told him.

Parvati began speaking out loud. She did not appear to be speaking to herself, but there was nobody else around. Her eyes were open but empty. Her words came as if from a trance. "Muggle machines marginalized magic…" she began, "Now Muggle machines are ready to extinguish the Wizarding World…and not just our world, but all worlds…the world that we all share…Without resistance, Muggle machines will soon annihilate the spirit of the world…A leader must guide us away from the end of all that is…"

Parvati stopped speaking and swayed slightly. She steadied herself and looked again at the mirror. "What just happened?" she asked herself. She left the room, then returned carrying a small glass vial. It was the same one that Harry had poured into the Pensieve. Parvati held her wand to her temple and extracted the memory of the last few minutes from her mind. As she did so, the memory ended for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and they were standing again in Arnold Peasegood's workshop.

Ron said what they all were thinking. "I suppose it's time to pay a visit to Parvati Patil."

CHAPTER SIX: THE PROGNOSTICATOR

The next day, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking in the area of Piccadilly Circus. Ron did not look right; he had never quite mastered adopting Muggle attire. "Your belt shouldn't be on the outside of your jacket," Hermione told him, gesturing toward his waist.

"Details, details," he dismissed her.

They found Parvati in a Muggle area a few blocks away. They knew they were at the right place, because the writing on the front window of the shop announced to them in bright, bold neon letters: "MADAM PAVARTI, Mistress of Fate."

"Is she a Madam or is she a Mistress?" Ron asked.

"Be polite," Hermione chastised him.

They stepped into the lobby. The wall was covered with grateful letters from satisfied customers, pinned up in a proud display. Apparently, Parvati had solved all their problems. The trio sat on a sofa barely big enough for all of them. It reminded Harry of squeezing all three under his Cloak of Invisibility after they had grown. It felt odd to be sitting between Ron and Hermione, who had previously been attached to one another constantly.

"Open your mind and enter my chamber," an unseen voice commanded them. It sounded like Parvati's voice, only scratchier.

"What kind of spell is that?" Ron wondered aloud.

"It's not a spell," Hermione informed him, "It's called an intercom. Muggles use them to communicate from room to room."

"Don't Muggles have the ability to yell?" Ron asked her innocently. Harry laughed; Hermione did not. They walked through thick curtains into the adjoining room. They immediately recognized it as the room from the memory they had watched in Peasegood's apartment.

"Harry! Ron! Hermione!" Parvati exclaimed in delight.

"You didn't know we were coming, then?" Ron joked. Hermione elbowed him.

"Many things can cloud the view of coming events," Parvati informed him, much less delighted, "And skepticism is one of the primary obstacles. Only when the Seer and the subject are both open to viewing can there be any chance of Divination."

"Sorry," Ron mumbled.

"I'm so glad you've come," Parvati told them, her cheerfulness restored, "This is the first time you've visited my shop, isn't it?"

"How does the Ministry permit you to operate?" Harry asked her, "Wouldn't they see this as a violation of the Statute of Secrecy?"

"In this case, close-mindedness has been an asset to me. The Ministry regards Muggle fortune-tellers as valueless. As long as I restrict my magical activities to Divination, I am free to help all the Muggles I want."

"Why Muggles?" Ron asked, "Wizards and witches need help, as well."

"Because Muggles are going to destroy the world," Parvati announced, with complete confidence. Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at each other, remembering the cryptic prediction in the Pensieve.

"Actually, that has something to do with why we're here," Hermione tried to explain.

"We're investigating the murder of Arnold Peasegood," Ron announced.

"Oh, no!" Parvati replied, "That's terrible! He was a great man. I recommended him to everyone I knew. He was a great help to me when I was starting out."

"How so?" Harry asked.

"I didn't know how to store my prophecies properly," Parvati explained. She gestured over to a display case exhibiting several small glass spheres filled with a swirling, blueish-gray mist. Harry recognized them as Prophecy Records. "When I first began making prophecies, I was unaware of what I had foreseen. I would extract my memories and take them to Arnold so that I could view them and preserve them."

"We know," Harry told her, "We saw one of them. It involved something about Muggles destroying the world?"

"Oh, that," Parvati said dismissively, "I have dozens of those predictions. But now I'm certain that the crisis will be averted."

"There's more," Harry went on, "Peasegood wasn't the only victim. We believe the same person who killed him also killed Marietta Edgecombe."

"Edgecombe? From Dumbledore's Army? And…" Parvati did not complete her thought.

"The main reason I haven't stayed in better touch with you over the last couple years is that I feel strange, having put your sister in Azkaban."

"It had to be done," Parvati said quietly, "She lost her way."

"You can understand why we're here, then?" Ron asked.

"You think Padma was responsible for these murders?"

"Marietta and Peasegood both testified against her at the trial."

"But Padma can't do anything from a prison cell," Parvati protested.

"We think it could be the other members of the Occult Elite."

"I can't help you there; I never knew who else was involved. Believe me, I tried everything I knew: cartomancy, astrology, tessomancy, but nothing could reveal Padma's secrets."

"Did you try your crystal ball?" Ron asked, pointed over to the centerpiece.

"That's just a decoration," Parvati said, surprised at Ron's seeming gullibility, "I have it there because the Muggles like it. That bauble won't tell anybody anything."

Harry made a suggestion, "I wonder if you might tell the story of Padma and the Occult as you know it. There may be some detail there that could help us."

Parvati became gloomy again. "I don't like to think about it. I share a great portion of the responsibility for Padma doing what she did and being where she is now."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"Although I meant to do only good, my predictions put my sister on her path. If I hadn't shared my visions of the future, she might have been able to enjoy a happy life."

"I don't think you can credit your predictions with so much influence," Hermione consoled her, "Divination is far too vague to have any real weight on the future. With Arithmancy, in contrast, predictions are made logically. The intuitive, er, senses of Seers wouldn't be reliable enough to affect the beliefs of someone as intelligent as Padma."

Parvati looked at Hermione scornfully. Ron's jesting was one thing, but Hermione seemed to have spent serious thought in dismissing everything that Parvati believed. Hermione realized her mistake almost immediately. "I mean, of course," she corrected herself, "Other than the proven methods of Divination. Centaurs have developed some fascinating methods."

Hermione had not done well at disguising her disdain, but Parvati was staring off into space happily. "Ah, Firenze," she said quietly, "Fascinating, indeed."

"Can you tell us about what happened with you and Padma?" Ron interrupted.

"I suppose I can," Parvati replied, brought back to reality. "It began not too long after we were finished at Hogwarts.

"I had decided to devote my life to Divination. I can still clearly remember Professor Trelawney's words to me when we first met. She told me that I had 'the makings of a true Seer,' and her vision of the future was always clear. Padma, meanwhile, had been inspired to study wandlore. She always had a deep understanding of wands. I know that—uninterrupted—she could have become a wandmaker to rival Arturo Cephalopos.

"While Padma and I pursued our intended professions, we stayed in close contact, seeing each other regularly. Unsurprisingly, I shared all of my early predictions with her, many of which involved the Muggle destruction of the spirit of the world. The Muggles themselves refer to it by other names: 'environment,' 'climate,' things like that. These prophecies always showed me the same outcome: factories, machines, and industries created by Muggles devouring the world. Padma was sympathetic, but did not give the visions enough credence. Although she was always open-minded, it is difficult for those without the Sight to know how clearly the future can be seen.

"That all changed one day when Padma was present to witness one of my prophecies. I was not conscious of my words, but when I came out of the trance, my sister was frozen by dread. She had listened, and she finally knew that what I predicted was bound to happen: Muggle machines would destroy the world. After that, it became her obsession. Every time I saw her, she wanted to know whether I had any further details, but I had nothing more to give her. Padma began neglecting her studies. She was preoccupied with the coming cataclysm.

"Padma's formation of the Occult began innocently, even before I shared my predictions with her. I'm sure you're all aware of what 'Bowtruckles' are?"

Ron chuckled and said, "Yeah." Hermione could not see any humor in the question. Her unsure response was, "Aren't those the creatures that live in wiggentrees?" Ron laughed harder.

"Those are literal bowtruckles," Parvati informed her, "I mean the witches and wizards somewhat dismissively referred to as Bowtruckles." Hermione shook her head.

"Long ago, a legendary philosopher known as The Root originated a creed of respect for plants. They are a source of so much of our magic, and The Root's followers felt that they were being taken for granted even when they were not obviously mistreated. These followers studied Old Magic, ancient spells derived from the veneration of trees. In other practices, they took special care to seek the approval of the trees and plants and grasses. These believers would not kill a plant to use it as a potion ingredient. They would prostrate themselves before the plants and beg for the use of some leaves or seeds. They refused to use wands made of wood. They would only use wands made from metal, or rock, or in some cases, bone. These wands were not as skilled as ours, but they spared the trees from disfigurement. This group called themselves the Occult, in an ironic reference to Muggles' perception of magic in general.

"By modern times, those extreme beliefs had faded. But there were still witches and wizards who believed that plants deserved much greater respect than they were being given, especially when it came to wandmaking. Now, the actual creature called a bowtruckle is known to guard its home tree against wizards seeking wood for wands. Therefore, these witches and wizards who were championing the trees were mockingly called 'Bowtruckles' by wizards who dismissed them as eccentrics. The plant supporters appreciated the name, however, and were soon using it to refer to themselves. Padma, during her time studying wandlore, came to share their beliefs and considered herself a dedicated Bowtruckle.

"After my prediction placed the seed of apprehension in her mind, Padma began associating with the more uncompromising of the Bowtruckles. Some of these were fanatical, valuing plant life more highly than human life. Padma always avoided causing harm to anyone, but her fears about my prophecy led her to listen to and consider even the most extreme ideas.

"One day, Padma came to me with a different request. Before, she had always asked me for more predictions about the destruction of the world. This day, she asked me to foretell her future. I was relieved; I thought it might calm her mind. And so I looked into her future. I summoned her destiny, and it told us that Padma was heir to The Root, and that she was meant to become a great leader, who would unite wizards to combat a threat to the entire world. I knew what the threat was; I had been predicting it for years. But Padma pushed me for another prediction. And I gave her the disappointing truth that Muggles would be the humans who would continue to dominate the world for countless generations.

"For my part, I was overjoyed. In that one afternoon, I felt I had inspired Padma to become a great leader, and to intervene agaist the coming destruction of the world. I accomplished every Seer's greatest dream: to detect doom and wrestle fate away from it. I wasn't pleased that Muggles would continue to dominate the world, but I was so happy to learn that 'countless generations' would actually exist, I couldn't be too upset.

"Padma was less pleased. She believed, as I believed, that she was the leader destined to prevent the end of the world. But she was now suddenly burdened with this colossal duty, and she didn't know how to proceed."

Parvati looked at her listeners. Her last words had struck Harry deeply. It had not been so long ago that he had been trapped by a similar destiny. His had ended in success, bringing him happiness and a fulfilling life. Padma's had gone so wrong. She had been moments away from becoming a mass murderer. For her crimes, Padma had spent the last two years languishing in Azkaban.

"Padma found her answer among the Bowtruckles," Parvati continued, "Among the fanatics. She established a new group, and she resurrected the name 'The Occult.' She recruited a secret cabal of lieutenants. These are the witches and wizards you know as the Occult Elite. Nobody knew their identities, not even the members of the Occult. Padma wanted to hide them, to protect them, because what she had in mind was a terrible undertaking. I had predicted that Padma would become a great leader, but I forgot that what is terrible can also be great.

"Padma's ultimate goal was the revelation of the Wizarding World to the Muggles, and the simultaneous subjugation of the Muggles. I don't know how she could ignore my revised prophecy: nothing could prevent the Muggles from dominating the world. The rest of the story you know: you were tipped off by Marietta Edgecombe, either out of fear or conscience, and you apprehended my sister and foiled her plan. And now she will never leave Azkaban."

"And now Marietta Edgecombe is dead," Ron pointed out.

"And Arnold Peasegood," added Harry, "Another witness at Padma's trial. She had gone to him to have a Pensieve made, probably on your recommendation. She had intended that her preserved memories would justify her actions to future generations after her plan succeeded. Instead, Peasegood was able to recover enough memories to assure Padma's conviction."

"So you see why we're thinking about her right now," Ron chimed in.

"I wish I could tell you more," Parvati told them sincerely, "But my Sight has become unreliable when it comes to my sister."

Ron looked around at Harry and Hermione. "All right, then," he told Parvati, "I guess we'll be going."

Parvati hugged Harry, then Ron, and then Hermione. When she released Hermione, Parvati told her encouragingly, "I have seen that you and Ron will share a long and happy life, with talented, remarkable children." Hermione stiffened.

"Yeah, we're not together anymore," Ron said bluntly, "So I'm not sure whose children those are."

Hermione clenched her jaw. "I wish you wouldn't treat me like one of the Muggles you swindle," she said, taking her anger at Ron out on Parvati.

Parvati retorted defensively, "My great-grandfather's sister was Pallavi Patil!" When the trio showed no sign of recognition, Parvati described, "She was acquainted with all the notable witches and wizards of her day, including Cassandra Trelawney! And I personally had the privilege of studying under Sybill Trelawney!" This was not so impressive, since Harry, Ron, and Hermione had also "studied under" Professor Trelawny.

Look!" She picked up a book and thrust it into Hermione's hands. It was My Eyes and How to See Past Them, written by Sybill Trelawney. Inside the front cover was an inscription to Parvati, declaring what an "inspirational Seer" she was. Hermione set it back down between Cassandra Vablatsky's Unfogging the Future and Inigo Imago's The Dream Oracle.

Parvati then turned to Ron. "Lavender was devoted to Divination!" she reminded him. Ron was slightly shaken by the mention of his first girlfriend. "Did you know that she foresaw her own demise?" Parvati asked him, "But she didn't question her fate. She knew that her sacrifice would be necessary for victory in the Battle of Hogwarts. So she went willingly to the death she knew was waiting for her."

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized for the silent Ron and Hermione, "It's still a sensitive subject. I'm sure you understand."

"I do understand," Parvati told him, somewhat mollified, "That seems to be all we've talked about today. Sensitive subjects."

"I'll do better at staying in touch," Harry promised, "Hopefully we'll see you soon."

CHAPTER SEVEN: OUT OF THE ARCHIVES

Hermione did not bother looking up when she heard the knock at her office door. "Come in," she told Ethel, bracing herself for more assignments as she put the finishing touches on her current project. When she finally raised her head, Hermione found that it was not Ethel who had knocked on her door. It was Ronald Weasley.

"Oh, hello," she said uncomfortably. She was acutely aware that it was the first time they had been alone together since they had stopped seeing each other romantically.

"Hi," Ron greeted her, with a smile that was somehow mixed with a frown.

Ron looked as though he intended to say something, but when this took too long, Hermione asked, "How can I help you?" It sounded too professional, and nowhere near friendly enough. "It's nice to see you," she added incongruously.

"It's your birthday," Ron notified her.

"Yes, I know," Hermione answered, not intending to sound sarcastic, but wondering what was coming next.

"I brought you a present," Ron told her. He reached into the satchel he had been carrying and produced a brightly-wrapped box.

Hermione took it from him with a "Thank you." She looked at the box. It was poorly wrapped; the wrapping was crooked and an excess of paper had been used. Somehow that made the gift more special. Hermione knew that Ron had wrapped it himself. His effort touched her, but she quickly reminded herself that it should not. "Thank you," she said again, looking up from the box. This time she said it with too much warmth.

Ron smiled at her. He did not speak, but he was waiting for something. Hermione realized that she was supposed to open the box immediately. The atmosphere had become uncomfortable again. Ron furrowed his brow and shifted his feet. He was thinking of leaving the office when Hermione began peeling the paper off the box.

"Rip it," Ron prompted her teasingly, "You always try to remove wrappings with no damage. They all end up in the trash anyhow, don't they?"

Hermione smiled slightly at Ron's insight. To satisfy him, she tore a straight line down the center of the paper. She removed the box from its wrappings. "An antique chess set," she announced, pleased with a gift that she was sure to enjoy.

"Not so much of an antique," Ron said, "Maybe only fifty years old or so. Don't you recognize it?"

Hermione shook her head. Then she looked closer at the set.

"This is the same one from Hogwarts!" she recognized.

"Not the same one," Ron corrected her, "But an identical one. I found out who made the set in the Gryffindor Common Room and what year it was made, and I got one for you."

"Thank you," Hermione told him a third time. This time it was said with undisguised affection. When they had been at school, Ron and Hermione had spent many happy hours together playing chess on that set. They were each too inhibited to admit how they felt about the other, and that made any kind of conversation between them problematic. But when they were playing chess, the talk became more casual. It was the time when they first opened up to each other. It was when they had actually gotten to know each other, just the two of them, away from Harry Potter. It was the period of time when Hermione had truly fallen in love with Ron.

Hermione and Ron had spent too long not speaking. "Anyway," Ron said, breaking the silence, "I just wanted to say 'Happy Birthday.' I'm off to the Aurors' office."

"Wait," Hermione said, and Ron wondered what was coming next. "I was going to give this to Harry," Hermione continued, "But as long as you're here…"

Hermione handed Ron a file folder. It looked just like Ron's own investigative files, but much older. He took it from her with a look of curiosity.

"Winky brought it to me," she explained, "One of the cleaners found it in the basement, behind one of those gargantuan storage cabinets."

"How did anyone find anything behind one of those things?"

"His name's Barny; he's a troll. I think he just lifted it."

"What it is?"

"It's an old Final Investigation Report, from 1945."

"What was it doing down in the basement? These are all supposed to be filed in the clerks' closet."

"That's why Winky brought it to me. She thought maybe someone had stolen it."

"I guess so. These are pretty tightly controlled, even ones this old. They're not supposed to be moved out of the reading room next to the clerks' closet, not even by an Auror."

"I thought you boys might want to investigate it," Hermione said, smiling at the thought of her two detectives.

"Will do," Ron told her, smiling back. He left her office feeling good about what had been a pleasant visit. He went to the Department of Magical Law Enforcements clerks' office. The chief clerk had no idea how the file had gone missing, but was much aggrieved at its absence. She wanted to take it straight from Ron's hand and return it to its proper place. Ron, however, explained that he had to inspect the file first. As if to prove her diligence, the chief clerk insisted that he use the reading room, the only place other than the clerks' closet that files were allowed to be.

Ron sat in an uncomfortable chair, put the file on the table in front of him, and began reading. The file was labelled "Final Investigation Report."

Source of Complaint: At the above date and time, I (Bob Ogden) was assigned as Commander of Investigations at the Auror Office, Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I was directed to a complaint initiated at a wedding outside Buckie, Banffshire that had been violently disrupted by a ghost. Normally, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Spirit Division, would have jurisdiction over this type of investigation. When they were informed that several of the guests at the wedding were currently under observation by the Auror Office, the Spirit Division referred the investigation to us.

Complainant Interview: Hornby, Olive. Olive stated that she was currently a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She advised that for the past two years, she had been regularly harassed by the same ghost that upset the wedding proceedings (the groom was Olive's brother). Olive stated that it was the ghost of Myrtle Warren, a student who was killed by an acromantula at the school two years prior. Olive had been the first person to find Myrtle's body, and since then Myrtle's ghost had been a repeated nuisance to Olive. Olive stated that Myrtle followed her unceasingly and also tampered with her possessions. Olive advised it appeared that Myrtle had even read Olive's diary while she was sleeping. On the occasion of Olive's brother's wedding, Myrtle followed her from the school. During the reception, Myrtle violently attacked the guests, overturning tables, upsetting the cake, and tossing wedding presents about the grounds. Olive's father notified the Ministry.

Olive stated that she believed one of her fellow students might have encouraged the ghost to follow Olive to the wedding. Olive was recently the victim of an unusual prank. Olive had been near the school's Quidditch Pitch for a rendezvous with her boyfriend. She was struck from behind by—most likely—a bludger and rendered unconscious. She woke in what she believed was the school's Hospital Wing. However, some time after that, she found herself in her own bed in Ravenclaw Tower. The school's healer informed Olive that she had never been to the Hospital Wing. The entire incident appeared to be a hoax to convince Olive that she had been unconscious for several weeks. Olive believed that whoever played this prank also had encouraged Myrtle to follow Olive beyond the grounds of the school.

Olive advised that she suspected two of her fellow students: Margot Droope or Alphard Black. Olive described Margot as the only friend Myrtle had at the school. Olive made a stronger accusation against Alphard. She believed that he was responsible for releasing the acromantula that killed Myrtle. The completed investigation into Myrtle's death concluded that a student named Rubeus Hagrid had been caring for the acromantula, and it had escaped from his control. Rubeus was subsequently expelled from the school. Olive, on the other hand, shared a popular belief that the acromantula had come from the legendary "Chamber of Secrets," a hidden location within the school itself. Olive believed the apocryphal suggestion that only a Parselmouth could open the Chamber. Alphard was the only known Parselmouth at Hogwarts around the time of Myrtle's death. Olive's assertion was that Alphard's feeling of guilt over the girl's demise caused him to urge Myrtle's ghost to latch onto Olive, rather than himself.

Subject Interview: the ghost of Warren, Myrtle. Myrtle was difficult to interview. Her agitation did not seem to have reduced from the time she destroyed the wedding. She was evasive in answering questions and often lapsed into mournful moaning. When Myrtle did respond, she made excuses for herself that were highly unlikely. Myrtle accused Olive of having murdered her by intentionally teasing her until she fled into the bathroom where she was killed. Myrtle also made imputations against Olive's father, whom Olive accused of being an international weapons salesman, offering the world's deadliest device, which had been smuggled by Olive out of the school where it had been built. I tried repeatedly to question her about the incident at the wedding and the events leading up to it, but she was unresponsive.

Witness Interview: Droope, Margot. This interview and those that follow were conducted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in the office of Headmaster Armando Dippet, which he lent for our purposes. Margot denied that she and Myrtle had been friends, but she did verify that she was the only student who had shown Myrtle any kindness while she was alive. Margot was aware that Myrtle was frequently the subject of torment by the other students. Myrtle would regularly respond to these incidents by retreating to the second-floor girls' bathroom. Whenever she was able, Margot would go to that bathroom, to comfort Myrtle. Her efforts were consistently rebuffed.

Margot stated that after Myrtle's death, her ghost quickly made itself known in the school. The ghost approached Margot in the second-floor bathroom and informed her that she had been intentionally murdered. She did not know who killed her, but she was certain that Olive had chosen to tease her so that she would retreat to that precise bathroom at that precise time. Margot suspected that Olive had known about the monster in the bathroom and positioned Myrtle to be attacked.

Margot admitted that after hearing Myrtle's accusation, she began spying on Olive herself. Margot became convinced that Olive had acquired three deadly devices, which had been created in the legendary Chamber of Secrets. One day, Myrtle informed Margot that Olive was taking one of these devices to the owlery. Margot rushed up the school's West tower, but Olive had already gone. Instead, Margot was confronted by Rubeus and Alphard, who arrived at the same time. Rubeus was initially suspicious of Margot, fearing that she was working with Olive. When Margot explained her actions to him, Rubeus accepted the explanation and verified the existence of these deadly devices. He insisted that the acromantula (which he had named Aragog) was innocent of Myrtle's death. Rubeus believed that Aragog had been wrongly accused, and the deadly devices were meant to place further blame on the creature. Rubeus had fetched Alphard and rushed to the tower, but Olive had already sent off a package by owl, most likely containing one or more of the devices.

Margot advised that Alphard's motivation differed from those of Rubeus and herself. While Margot belonged in Hufflepuff House, Alphard was a Slytherin. In the time since Myrtle's death, Alphard had become deeply concerned with protecting the legacy of Salazar Slytherin. Alphard was another believer in the Chamber of Secrets, and he did not want it associated with the monster that had killed Myrtle. He felt that it reflected badly on the memory of Salazar Slytherin, who was already unfairly villified.

Margot suggested that she, Rubeus, and Alphard should take turns watching the owlery, to prevent Olive from mailing any remaining devices. This activity, however, was discovered by the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Galatea Merrythought. She would not permit the students to maintain their watch of the owlery. Nonetheless, Professor Merrythought told Margot that she had learned to be more cautious, even in her last few months before her retirement. She agreed to secure the owlery, so that Olive would have to receive special approval to send anything larger than a letter.

Margot was still convinced that Olive would find another way to smuggle the devices out of the school. She and Alphard were able to infiltrate Ravenclaw Tower. While Olive was sleeping, they read her diary. Margot learned that Olive was romantically infatuated with a student she called "Sir Rosier" of the organization "The Knights of Walpurgis." There was a student named Rosier in Slytherin House, and Margot thought he might be responsible for opening the Chamber of Secrets. This caused Margot to suspect that Rosier might have convinced Olive to maneuver Myrtle into the second-floor bathroom, to be attacked by the Chamber's monster. There were obscure references to the deadly devices in the diary, but nothing that helped Margot discover how they would be moved from the school.

After this intrusion, Margot developed another plan. She and Alphard tricked Olive into coming to the Quidditch Pitch. Margot used Stupefy Maxima to render Olive unconscious. She and Alphard brought Olive to a counterfeit Hospital Wing (Margot did not know where this was; Alphard arranged it, and Margot had never been there, before or since). Margot then used Polyjuice Potion to impersonate the school's new healer, Poppy Pomfrey. Disguised as Pomfrey, Margot informed Olive that she had been unconscious for weeks. Olive went into a state of panic and complained frantically about missing her brother's wedding. Margot administered a Sleeping Draught, and once Olive was slumbering, Margot and Alphard returned her to her own bed. After this interaction, Margot became convinced that Olive would use her trip to the wedding as an opportunity to smuggle out the remaining deadly devices.

Not long after, Margot watched Olive depart for her brother's wedding. She was carrying a nicely-wrapped wedding present, which Margot was sure concealed the devices. Professor Merrythought assured Margot that the present had been cleared by Dark Detectors, and nothing malicious was found. Margot was unconvinced. She shared her concerns with Alphard, Rubeus, and Myrtle. Myrtle volunteered to follow Olive to the wedding. Alphard discouraged this, warning Myrtle that any haunting away from the school could risk the attention of the Ministry. Myrtle believed that Ministry involvement would be a good thing, and she told the others that she was willing to risk her freedom to impede Olive. This was how Margot explained Myrtle's presence at the wedding.

Witness Interview: Black, Alphard. Alphard stated that he had been attending Hogwarts when Myrtle was killed. He was offended when students began blaming the Chamber of Secrets. Alphard believed that the Chamber of Secrets was real, and he also believed that it contained a Beast. However, the Beast was only intended to protect the Chamber from trespassers. It was not meant to ever leave the Chamber, and certainly not to attack innocent students. Furthermore, Alphard was certain that the Beast was some form of serpent. He would not accept that it had been a spider, and to verify this belief, he introduced himself to Rubeus. Alphard initially spoke Parseltongue to Rubeus, and when Rubeus failed to comprehend him, Alphard was convinced that Rubeus could not possibly have opened Salazar Slytherin's fabled Chamber.

Rubeus suggested that Myrtle might be able to shed light on what had happened to her. He was committed to clearing Aragog's name. When Rubeus and Alphard finally managed to contact Myrtle (who rarely was away from Olive), Myrtle told them that Olive was headed to the West Tower with some horrible weapon she intended to send off. Alphard and Rubeus rushed to the owlery, but they found only Margot. Olive had accomplished her objective.

Alphard verified that he and Margot then conspired to spy on Olive. During that time, Alphard became convinced that the Chamber had been opened, and Olive was somehow in league with the person who misused the Chamber's Beast. Alphard admitted that he helped Margot break into Ravenclaw Tower. Olive had a secure box, which Alphard was able to open using an advanced form of Aberto. The box contained two wooden puzzle-boxes and Olive's diary. From the diary, Alphard found that Olive had been beguiled by Rosier, who belonged to a clandestine group who referred to themselves as "The Knights of Walpurgis." Alphard advised that the organization was much more sinister than its name suggested. He had seen them in Slytherin House, saluting each other with a strange, rigid raising of their left arms.

Alphard stated that Margot developed a scheme to use Olive's unreciprocated infatuation with Rosier against her. Alphard forged a note from his fellow Slytherin, urging Olive to meet him at the Quidditch Pitch. Alphard and Margot abducted Olive by knocking her out, which Alphard was sure would be blamed on a bludger. Alphard was aware of another mythical location within the school, known popularly as "The Come and Go Room." Some property of the room allowed Alphard to disguise it as the Hospital Wing. Margot used an expertly brewed Polyjuice Potion to pose as the school's attractive young healer, Miss Pomfrey. When Margot notified Olive that she had been unconscious for weeks, Olive was terrified that she had missed her brother's wedding. Margot used a Sleeping Draught to return Olive to unconsciousness. Alphard agreed with Margot that Olive would be taking the deadly devices from the school using the wedding as cover.

When Alphard was surreptitiously returning Olive to her bed in Ravenclaw Tower, he was reminded of his previous intrusion there. It came to him that the puzzle-boxes he had seen near the diary were, in fact, the deadly devices themselves. That night, Alphard made two duplicates of the puzzle-boxes. The following day, he infiltrated Ravenclaw Tower yet again, and he substituted his replicas for the actual puzzle-boxes. Believing that he had the true devices, Alphard discouraged Myrtle from following Olive to the wedding, but she ignored him.

Follow-Up Interview: Hornby, Olive. When Hornby arrived at the Headmaster's office, I showed her one of the puzzle-boxes that I had recovered at the scene of the wedding. She became visibly disturbed. I informed her that Margot and Alphard had accused her of smuggling deadly devices from the school. She emphatically denied this and insisted that her brother was a fan of puzzle-boxes. I began manipulating the one in my hands, and her tension visibly increased. She warned me that it was fragile, and that if it was not solved in the proper sequence, it would break. I assured her that I was skilled at solving puzzles. She persisted in her warning, telling me that the puzzle was so complicated that it required at least two people working simultaneously to solve it. I continued, and as Olive had predicted, I broke the side of the puzzle-box. Olive gasped. My hands turned a green color. Olive's face then turned a green color, and I could tell from the look in her eyes that mine had as well.

Olive then spontaneously and rapidly gave me her confession. She stated that the puzzle-boxes were indeed the deadly devices to which Margot had referred. Olive's father was a merchant of magical weaponry, and they were intended for him. After Olive sent her father the first device, it was tested in Westphalia, with impressive results. When Professor Merrythought restricted Olive from sending packages by owl, Olive knew that she was under suspicion. Her father arranged for the occasion of Olive's brother's wedding to serve as a cover for his auction of the devices to interested parties (this explained why there were so many guests present who were under investigation by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement). Myrtle's interruption of the reception prevented the bidding from ever taking place. Olive explained that we were turning green because we had been infected by a very powerful biological agent. She warned me that the devices were also designed to produce a powerful explosion, and she expected it any moment.

At this point in the interview, I calmed Olive's fears. I explained to her that the box I had been handling was a fake built by Alphard. This was why Olive's wedding gift had not agitated Professor Merrythought's Dark Detector. I informed Olive that we were never in any danger. I had merely used Transfiguration to make our skin green, which I could easily undo. I then directed the other Aurors present to take custody of Olive.

Evidence: two wooden puzzle-boxes. I recovered the actual deadly devices from Alphard. These closely resembled the old-fashioned children's toys known as "Squbes." However, they were of the more sophisticated variety prized by adult collectors of puzzles.

Olive, having learned that she was in no physical danger, shared no further information about the devices. I studied her school records, and those of Rosier. Neither of them appeared to have the knowledge or skill to create such sophisticated magical weapons. I inquired whether they could have been designed by one of the professors, possibly to help in the ongoing war against Gellert Grindelwald. There was no evidence of any such research. I have been unable to determine the origin of the devices at this time. I recommend that the Ministry pay attention to the fact that there might be a student currently at Hogwarts who is extremely powerful with dark magic.

The devices were examined as well as they could be without activating them. They are simultaneously an explosive and a biological weapon, just as Olive described them. The explosive component is made from an Erumpent horn, which can inflict damage that multiplies itself in the target area. The biological component is a fast-acting form of weaponized dragon pox. I learned from Professor Horace Slughorn that he had received a shipment of dragon's blood at the start of the school year, for use in his Potions class. Unfortunately, he found the supply to be tainted with pox. Professor Slughorn directed an advanced student to dispose of the infected blood. That student was Rosier. The most likely conclusion is that Rosier kept the pox-filled blood and provided it to the person who built the devices.

Under the Decree for Justifiable Confiscation, the two existing devices have been impounded in the Department of Mysteries, until such time as they can be rendered safe.

Disposition: Olive's father has not yet been apprehended. I found one of Alphard's fake devices at the scene of the wedding, but the other was discovered by one of the prospective buyers. When the criminals involved found that the device was fake, they formed the opinion that they were being defrauded. Olive's father, therefore, has fled the country and is currently in hiding in parts unknown.

Olive is incarcerated in Azkaban prison, having been convicted of possessing and transporting a Massively Fatal Weapon.

I have been unable to locate Rosier for interrogation. He no longer attends Hogwarts; his parents abruptly decided to send him abroad to complete his studies. I have not been able to discover any more information about "The Knights of Walpurgis," or whether they were involved in the development of these devices.

The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Spirit Division, has limited Myrtle to the Hogwarts grounds. Myrtle is entirely satisfied with the arrangement and advises that she intends to spend most of her time in the room where she perished.

Since his expulsion, Rubeus has been living in a shack near the Forbidden Forest, adjacent to Hogwarts. This investigation raised enough doubt about Aragog's involvement in Myrtle's death that suspicion has been raised from Rubeus. Transfiguration Professor Albus Dumbledore recommended that the school offer Rubeus employment. Rubeus has since been hired as an assistant to Ogg, the Keeper of Keys and Grounds for Hogwarts. Rubeus performs mainly as a gamekeeper for the school. He will likely soon be able to vacate his humble shack.

Margot provided a parchment to the school to apologize for the many rules and regulations she disregarded in her pursuit of Olive. In turn, Margot received a special award for her services to the greater Wizarding World while in attendance at Hogwarts. Alphard declined to disclose his involvement, and as a result, received no such award. He also declined to apologize.

Ron leaned back in his stiff chair. It was an interesting case, and one of which he had been unaware. However, there was no indication why it had been removed and hidden behind the basement cabinet. Ron returned the file to the chief clerk, who eagerly restored it to its proper place in the clerks' closet.

Ron considered the weaponized Dragon Pox. The use of a disease as a weapon made him think of the murders of Marietta and Peasegood. But both bodies had been thoroughly examined, and there were no traces of magical ailments. Not all such illnesses were as obvious as Dragon Pox or Spattergroit, but they all left some magical trace. His mind wandered, and Ron wondered if the inventor of the deadly devices had ever been apprehended. His mind continued wandering, and he wondered if the chess set meant the same thing to Hermione that it did to him. Was it something she would treasure, or would she put it away in some closet and never look at it again?

Ron's mind suddenly stopped wandering. He was at work, and he would focus on the assignments he had waiting for him. He left to find Harry.

CHAPTER EIGHT: INSIDE THE WOODPILE

Halloween was cold, but Doris Crockford was prepared. Months earlier, in anticipation of the coming weather, Crockford had obtained a large quantity of firewood, to supply the squat stove which heated her home. This firewood was stacked several rows deep at the back of the cottage. As the chill moved in over the past few weeks, Crockford had slowly started putting the wood to its purpose. Each evening, returning from the Leaky Cauldron, she would pass by the woodpile, and with a quick "Locomotor Logs" she would bring a few pieces into the cottage with her. This evening, she retrieved a few logs which were stacked at eye level.

Once the wood had been removed from the stack, Doris Crockford jumped back, inhaling sharply with dismay. The logs she had been levitating fell to the ground. Inside the cords of wood, Crockford could see the body of a man who had clearly been dead for quite some time. Crockford instantly sent an owl speeding toward the Ministry. The first Aurors to respond saw some similarity between this body and the murders being investigated by Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, so Ron was summoned to the scene. Harry was unavailable. When Ron received the notice, he noted that there was no sign of any magic on the body. He decided to enlist Hermione's assistance again. When she arrived, Ron had just finished his cursory inspection of the body.

"Is it Thorfinn Rowle?" Hermione asked.

"Can't say," Ron told her, "The body is too decomposed. I can't even really tell if he's the same height and weight as Rowle. The remains are too far gone."

"He must have been killed a long time ago, then. Even before Marietta was."

"I think several weeks before Marietta was killed," Ron confirmed.

"Was there anyone else the Occult had reason to target?" Hermione asked.

"Not really, unless you count me, Harry, and Neville."

"Let's hope they stick to the witnesses and not the investigators," Hermione wished out loud.

"There is something here that might help us to identify him," Ron pointed out, opening the victim's coat. On the lining of the jacket was stitched a scrap of fabric. The word "Zigdano" was sewn onto the fabric. "It could be his name," Ron posited.

"First or last?"

"Don't know."

"What if it's a place name?"

"Don't know."

"It could be a second-hand jacket."

"Don't know," Ron repeated, this time grinning.

"That's not very helpful," Hermione told him coolly.

"Come on, you know you like to work things out for yourself by asking questions nobody can answer."

Hermione smiled at the accuracy of Ron's assessment of her methods.

"Anyway," Ron told Hermione, "It's probably not related to Marietta or Peasegood."

"I thought there was no trace of magic at the scene?"

"That's true, but the cause of death is pretty obvious."

Ron rolled the body onto its side, and Hermione could see the handle of a knife protruding. The blade was still in the ribs. She shuddered with distaste. "That does seem to contradict any connection," she agreed, "But why was no magic used?"

"Maybe the killer deliberately chose to stab him so we couldn't trace the magic. Or maybe the killer couldn't use magic."

"You mean a Muggle?" Hermione challenged, "I doubt any Muggle could have been on this Wizarding street. Repello Muggletum keeps them out of all these areas using mental distractions. And these roads are Unplottable on Muggle maps."

"I was thinking maybe a Squib," Ron replied.

"That would fit. But why wouldn't the victim use any magic to defend himself? Or at least treat himself with Vulnera Sanentur, so the wound wouldn't kill him…" Hermione trailed off.

"I was thinking maybe the victim was a Squib as well; he had no wand. Of course, it could have been taken by the killer. His robes were. His wrist is bruised, and his hand looks broken: that could have been someone taking his wand from him."

"Perhaps the victim was a Muggle. He could have been killed elsewhere and brought here."

"These aren't Muggle clothes he's wearing."

"I suppose," Hermione agreed, "But it's impossible to tell the difference between a Muggle and a Squib just by looking."

"It would have been an impressive achievement," Ron reflected, "Getting the body here without magic."

"Is there any sign of recent magic on the cords of firewood?"

"None since the witch who discovered the body first stacked them."

"Well, that's quite a feat, as well," Hermione pointed out, "Whoever the killer was, he or she had to move all that wood aside, place the body there, and replace the wood, all without using magic."

"This'll take some solving," Ron declared, "But I think Harry and I can manage it. It'll get easier once we properly identify the victim."

"Where is Harry?" Hermione asked.

"It's Halloween," Ron reminded her.

"Oh." Hermione and Ron were both aware that over the past few years, Harry made an annual tradition of traveling to Godric's Hollow on Halloween. It was the anniversary of his parents' deaths, and he would spend the evening visiting their gravesites. Harry would also stop by the ruins of the family home. It had become a monument to the murdered Potters and their infant child who survived. Harry appreciated the plaque which designated the location's significance, and he was touched by the many inscriptions left there by sympathetic witches and wizards. However, he was uncomfortable that the house was left shattered and overgrown. As the owner of the property, Harry harbored a dream that he might one day tear down the structure and build a new home there, one for himself and his own family. Harry spent each Halloween like this, in Godric's Hollow, his thoughts suspended between the past and the future.

When Hermione recalled the reason for Harry's absence, she was heavy-hearted. She had offered in the past to accompany Harry on his vigil, but somehow he seemed to prefer solitude on that night. Her head full of these thoughts, Hermione asked Ron, "How is Harry?"

"He's fine," Ron said confidently, then added more uncertainly, "You know as well as I do. I guess he's fine. He's always up to something strange."

Ron was used to managing crime scenes by himself, or doing legwork on investigations by himself, or even solving cases by himself. Harry often wandered off, conducting his own studies into arcane forms and uses of magic. He would discuss his research with his friends, but they were usually filled with references that were obscure, even to Hermione.

"I worry about Harry sometimes," Hermione expressed to Ron, "Some of his behavior seems precipitous."

"I wouldn't say that," Ron told her.

"Why not?"

"I don't know what 'precipitous' means," he joked.

"Stop kidding! Ginny agrees with me. She thinks Harry is getting careless, and maybe a bit overconfident."

"Ginny said that?" Ron asked, "When did you talk to Ginny?"

"We talk all the time," Hermione said, surprised at Ron's surprise, "We send owls back and forth. I visit her, she visits me."

"I didn't know you stayed in such close touch with my sister."

"You weren't the only link between us," Hermione retorted, "She was my closest female friend at Hogwarts. I enjoyed spending all my time with you and Harry, but sometimes it's nice to be with other girls. That's why I joined the Witches' Council sixth year."

"What's the Witches' Council?"

"It was a coven I started with some of the other witches in our year. It kind of took the place of the Dumbledore's Army meetings in my schedule."

"I didn't know you did that," Ron divulged.

"Of course you didn't," Hermione responded, "It was while you were dating Lavender."

"That wasn't so long," Ron muttered.

"It was months!" Hermione objected.

"I'm sorry for it." Neither of them said anything after that. Lavender Brown would have been a touchy subject, even if she hadn't been killed at the Battle of Hogwarts. Since then, Ron did not feel comfortable criticizing his ex-girlfriend.

"I was still in love with you," Ron said emphatically, "The whole time I was dating Lavender."

"I wonder how she would have felt about that."

"I think she knew. That's why she dumped me. She was in love with Firenze, anyway."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "All the girls thought he was handsome," she confirmed, "But Parvati and Lavender were really obsessed with him."

There was silence again. There was more warmth between Ron and Hermione than there should have been, given the weather and the presence of a corpse.

"I'm still in love with you," Ron declared courageously.

Hermione did not seem surprised at all. "I've told you," she said after a slight hesitation, "It doesn't make any sense."

"Who told you that love is supposed to make sense?" Ron asked, "You always think that everything is a question and you have to find the answer. Sometimes things are the way they are."

"We're adults now," Hermione insisted, "Anyone can see that we couldn't work as a couple."

"I thought we could. But looking at it now, I do have my doubts."

Paradoxically, it was Hermione's turn to defend the relationship she had previously termed "impossible." She probed Ron, "What doubts?"

"If you expect a relationship to be perfectible, maybe you would never be happy with me. Or with anyone. Because I could never be perfect."

"I never said that you had to be perfect," Hermione protested.

"I never asked you to be perfect," Ron echoed, "You're perfect for me. But you think you can make everything in your life perfect. It's not natural."

"But you still love me."

"Yes."

"It doesn't make any sense."

There was nothing left for either of them to say. But they were not able to go their separate ways: there was a dead body on the ground. Hermione tried to get the conversation back on track. "I had a thought," she told Ron, as if the previous exchange had never happened.

"I've been researching the Bowtruckles," she informed him, "In six days it'll be their annual bonfire. You and Harry have always suspected that former members of the Occult would likely attend these celebrations, regretting the failure of their plot. You caught Padma on that same date, didn't you?"

"Yes," Ron answered curtly.

"I was thinking that you and Harry should attend the bonfire near London. If you could identify any Occult members there, they might be able to lead you to any members still active. Perhaps even the Occult Elite. This is your chance for an event that could draw Occult members. You might be able to discover who killed Marietta Edgecombe and Arnold Peasegood, and you might be able to prevent the murder of Thorfinn Rowle."

"Harry actually wanted to go to the bonfire last year, but then the Ministry hallways were flooded with Stinksap. Remember?"

The sour look on Hermione's face showed that she remembered.

"Suddenly, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement gave all its focus to locating that culprit. I guess they thought vandalism needed more attention than locating the outstanding members of the Occult. We never did find who did it. I'm still not convinced it wasn't my brother."

Hermione's grimace became a smile. It was the kind of prank that George would have played, back at Hogwarts.

"Fine," Ron acquiesced, "On Monday, Harry and I will work out an action plan for the Bowtruckle Bonfire. And on Wednesday, we'll be there."

CHAPTER NINE: THE ELITE

Harry and Ron stood at the edge of the open field. It was quite a sight. For decades, Bowtruckles had celebrated their love of plants with woodless bonfires. It was apparently meant to symbolize how wood was used wastefully for so many purposes that could be otherwise performed by magic. If this year was any indication, the turnout was amazing. The field was filled with witches and wizards, playing music and dancing around seven giant bonfires, which hovered several feet above the ground.

Various members of the crowd would proclaim, "Incendio!" and jets of fire would shoot up into the air from their wands. Ron wondered if it was safe for people who loved trees to be producing so much fire in a pasture so close to wooded land. As he looked at the forest around the field, he noticed a group of people who were not dancing. In fact, they did not seem to be in a celebratory mood at all. Ron nudged Harry and nodded his head in the direction of the group.

"That was easy," Harry observed, "I wish we had done this last year."

"We can't be sure it's them," Ron dissented.

"There's six of them. With Padma, that makes seven. I always felt that was the likeliest number for the Elite. Seven is the most powerful magic number."

"I thought Marietta was one of the Elite. Wouldn't that leave five?"

"If the Occult Elite remained active after Padma's trial, they would have to have replaced Marietta."

Ron considered this, then commented, "They do seem suspicious. Look how their hoods are pulled up, obscuring their faces. Why would they be so obvious?"

"There may be some pride at work here. They might want to be recognized by the Occult sympathizers in the crowd. I'm sure there are plenty here."

"What now?" Ron asked.

"We keep our senses attuned to them."

Ron did keep his senses attuned to the group, mainly his watching sense. It was tedious, since the group did almost nothing the entire evening. At one point, Ron was grabbed by a group of Bowtruckles and dragged into a frenzied dance. It was out of his control, he explained to Harry afterwards, but it was also the only enjoyment he got out of the evening.

As the celebration wound down, the mysterious group began moving deeper into the forest. Harry and Ron followed. The six approached a boulder. They walked directly toward it and through its surface, as though the stone was not there. However, they did not emerge on the other side.

After a few minutes, Harry and Ron approached the boulder. Harry pressed on the surface, which was firm. "Alohomora!" Ron called out jokingly. Harry smiled. Then he waved his hand across the stone. A shimmer appeared on a portion of the surface. Harry stepped through it, then so did Ron. They were standing inside a dark enclosure, at the head of a flight of stairs leading down into the ground.

"What was that?" Ron asked, referring to Harry's ability to expose the hidden entrance of the boulder.

"It's similar to Aparecium," Harry answered, but his thoughts were on the darkness down the stairway.

"You'll have to teach me that someday."

Harry reached into his robes and pulled out a handful of something. He handed it to Ron.

"Ah, your Cloak of Invisibility," Ron recognized, "But I don't think we'll both fit under here."

"You can use it," Harry offered, "I've learned a Disillusionment Charm so robust that I can make myself unseen without the Cloak."

"Then why do you carry it?"

"So I can protect others," Harry explained very simply.

"Thanks," Ron said, pulling the Cloak around his shoulders, "I've got something for the darkness myself." Ron pulled out the Deluminator that Dumbledore had invented. "I've been studying this thing more; it has all kinds of abilities. Did you know it could function like a Hand of Glory?"

"That's interesting," Harry responded, although it was not the best time for him to start inspecting the implement.

"Better than a Hand of Glory, actually," Ron considered, "With this, I don't have to carry around some mummified arm."

"That really is an amazing invention," Harry said, impressed.

"I'm still not sure why Dumbledore left me such a cracking bequeathal. They only time we spent any time with each other was when I went to the Hospital Wing, usually as your collateral damage," Ron recalled, "Come to think of it, I guess that was a lot of time."

"I think it was a symbol of his gratitude to you," Harry theorized, "I think he was thanking you for being my friend. I'm sure Dumbledore felt some guilt for leaving me alone with the Dursleys, and I think it made him happy to know that I had such a good friendship at Hogwarts."

Ron liked this explanation and hoped that it was true.

"The only problem with the Deluminator," Ron explained, "Is that it has the same limitation as a Hand of Glory. It gives light only to the person holding it. I guess we could both try to hold it at the same time."

"No need," Harry assured him, "A wizard I met in Egypt taught me how to transfigure my eyes to cat's eyes, so I can see in the dark."

"Be careful with that," Ron warned him, "I can still remember second year when Hermione accidentally gave herself a cat's head."

Harry and Ron proceeded down the stairs. At the bottom, there was a tiny room. The roots of trees were dangling down from the ceiling. The walls on either side of them were solid earth. In front of them was a barrier of solid stone. Harry walked forward and patted the obstacle. Nothing happened, so Harry patted it again, more insistently. Ron saw words appear, carved into the stone: "Leaves but stays, Rings with no bell."

"It's a riddle," Harry announced.

"Of course it is," Ron replied, "A bad one. I think I heard this one when I was six years old." Ron leaned forward and told the barrier, "A tree." The barrier vanished.

Harry nodded. "They aren't very good at secrecy, are they?" he noted, with a perplexed smile.

In front of Harry and Ron was a long corridor. In the center of the corridor, the ground was divided into seven rows. At the start of each row was a brick inscribed with winding characters. Harry and Ron crouched down and looked at the seven paths.

"I recognize this kind of trap," Ron told Harry, "The ground has been divided into these walkways. One of them will support us when we walk on it. The others will dump us down into some kind of trap, or whatever's beneath us." Ron leaned close to look at the bricks. "I bet these symbols mean something to indicate the safe path," he guessed.

Harry said, "Power, Revenge, Glory, Wealth, Rescue, Preeminence, Fury."

"What's that?" Ron asked.

"That's what the bricks say. They're words in the Marathi language, written in Balbodh script."

"You don't say," Ron responded sarcastically.

"Padma Patil speaks Marathi," Harry explained, "She put these here so that her followers would choose the right path."

"'Rescue' is the right path," Ron inferred, "That was Padma's motivation. Any of those others would have been a betrayal of her mission, from her point of view."

"I agree," Harry said, and walked to the fifth path from the left. He stepped forward onto it. He did not fall.

"I'm glad I guessed right," Ron said, following Harry ahead on the path.

As they reached the end of the path, it widened to the tunnel's previous dimensions. It led in three directions: straight ahead was another stairway leading down, to the right and left the walkway branched into a curved rim around an oblong pit. There were voices coming from the bottom of the cavern, so Harry and Ron walked along the rim, to get a look down.

When Harry and Ron were able to clearly see the group they had been following, they were stunned. All six had been at Hogwarts with them, and half of them had been members of Dumbledore's Army. The leader appeared to be Zacharias Smith, who was addressing the others. He had aged to look quite similar to his father, and just as haughty.

"…to a celebration," Zacharias was saying to the others, "A celebration, indeed! Where was the somber remembrance of the Fiendfyre Plot?" Harry and Ron had never heard this name for the incident before, but they knew exactly what Zacharias meant. Two years earlier, Padma Patil had arranged a magical attack on the Muggle Parliament, to be launched while the Muggle Prime Minister was addressing both Houses. Padma intended to Apparate into the assembly. Once her appearance had exposed the existence of magic to the Muggle media present, Padma would launch the second phase of the operation. She planned to release Fiendfyre, killing everyone present and clearing her way to seize power over the Muggle government. As they eavesdropped on Zacharias waxing nostalgic about the scheme, Harry and Ron learned that the other six members of the Occult Elite had been assigned to simultaneously assassinate key Muggle figures. All that had been spoiled by Marietta Edgecombe's betrayal.

"She was a coward," Zacharias accused, "And she destroyed everything we had labored toward when she went to those Aurors. So who do we have to thank for her death?"

Harry and Ron leaned forward in anticipation, but there was silence.

"None of you?" Zacharias asked.

"I thought it might have been you," a smooth female voice told Zacharias. From her profile, Harry and Ron recognized Romilda Vane. She was very well dressed. They were aware that Romilda had founded a glamour shop, which had expanded and prospered. Neither expected her to be aligned with an organization planning to save the world from destruction by mass murder.

"Not I," Zacharias responded.

"I should have known," Romilda teased him, "I doubt you'd do anything without letting me know." The others tittered, and Zacharias looked a bit offended, but he was not inclined to rebuke Romilda.

"Would Padma have planned something without us?" a worried voice asked. It was Michael Corner, Ginny's first boyfriend.

"Never," Zacharias declared.

"How do we know?" Corner went on, "None of us has seen her since she was arrested."

Zacharias defended himself (and by extension the rest), "She wouldn't want us coming to Azkaban. She would want us to remain concealed."

"So how do we know she's not going off on her own?" Corner insisted.

"She wouldn't need to," a powerful voice told him. It was Eloise Midgen, another schoolmate from Hogwarts. She was the most imposing figure of the group, tall and muscular. Her jaw looked as though it had been carved from stone. The only part of her that showed any weakness was her nose, which she had accidentally detached in her youth. Although it had been reunited with her face, it was permanently asymmetrical. "If Padma had needed anything done, I would have done it. Anything," Eloise informed Corner forcefully.

"Hear, hear," joined in a younger wizard named Malcolm Baddock. He had been at Hogwarts at the same time as the rest, but he was sorted into Slytherin House, so Harry and Ron had very little contact with him. Blaise Zabini, another Slytherin, was standing beside Romilda. He was smiling proudly at Malcolm's enthusiasm, and Harry felt that Blaise might have been responsible for recruiting him.

"We need more killing," Malcolm held forth, "Two years, and we do nothing but these meetings. Talking won't accomplish anything. We need to water the growth of our organization with blood."

Zacharias was uncomfortable with Malcolm's sadistic sentiments. "When Padma founded this group," he explained to Malcolm, "She made it clear that killing was necessary, but only in extreme circumstances. You shouldn't regard it so lightly." Malcolm snorted.

"You were admitted to the Elite only as a replacement for that weakling Marietta," Zacharias reprimanded him, "You should show the proper respect."

Zacharias obviously meant respect toward himself, but Malcolm's eyes turned to Blaise. Blaise clearly disapproved of Malcolm's insolence. Malcolm apologized to Zacharias with an acceptable amount of sincerity. Blaise smiled at him, then looked to Romilda. She nodded at Blaise with a pleased countenance, tacitly sanctioning how he handled the exchange. As for Zacharias, he smiled obliviously, evidently believing that he had inspired the apology.

"We may not have started this campaign," Eloise told the group, "But we can carry it on. You know who I mean: Thorfinn Rowle. And those three Auror prats: Weasley, Potter, Longbottom. Everyone who opposed us."

"I don't think we should be provoking the Auror Department just now," Zacharias demurred, looking over at Romilda. She considered the matter, then nodded in agreement with him. Relieved, he turned back to Eloise and continued, "Our plans could be disrupted if we were to expose ourselves now."

"Plans?" Malcolm blurted out, but then caught himself and asked with much greater humility, "You weren't as concerned with exposure last year, when you sent me into the Ministry with all that Stinksap."

"It was a necessary distraction," Zacharias told him, "As well as a salient way for you to prove yourself to us."

"Happy to be initiated," Malcolm told him, genuine pleased to have caused discomfort to so many Ministry employees. "What about Rowle, then?" he asked, suggesting that perhaps the Occult Elite might attend to their remaining bit of vengeance.

"Whoever's killed Edgecombe and Peasegood seems to be having fairly good success. We should give them time to attend to Rowle. Wouldn't want to disrupt their machinations, would we?" Zacharias again looked to Romilda. She shrugged, not yet having made a decision. Zacharias frowned slightly. Blaise looked at him disapprovingly, then turned back to Romilda. None of the six were speaking, and they were all looking to her. Zacharias may have been the leader in Padma's absence, but it was clear that Romilda had all the influence.

"I think there's someone in here," she said suddenly, "Men."

"Are you sure?" Michael asked, looking up to the edge of the pit, "I cast Cave Inimicum!"

"I'm not entirely sure yet," Romilda said, holding her wand above her head. She called out, "Homenum Revelio!" Ron was safe under the Cloak of Invisibility, but Harry suddenly became visible.

"Harry Potter!" Zacharias yelled in disbelief.

"Bloody Hell!" Ron yelled in reply, pulling the Cloak off. There was no need for it now that Harry had been exposed, and he would fight better with his hands free.

"Ron Weasley!" Eloise bellowed. She raised her wand and angrily cast "Defodio!" The ground at Ron's feet burst apart in chunks. He jumped back to avoid falling into the pit.

"They're not going anywhere," Romilda smiled, "Blaise's Anti-Disapparation jinx will prove much more reliable than Michael's detection spells."

Zacharias, Blaise, and Michael all cast spells toward Harry. He deflected them wordlessly. "Where's his wand?" Zacharias wondered aloud, as Harry counterattacked with what appeared to be Stupefy.

With a furiously gleeful look on his face, Malcolm screamed "Avada—" but was silenced when an unspoken Petrificus Totalus spell took him out of the fight.

Eloise strode forward, her eyes focused on Ron. "Expulso!" she yelled. Ron ducked down as the wall behind him exploded. He was knocked down to the ground when the large pieces of wall ricocheted onto his back.

"Back to the corridor!" he directed Harry. Harry paused to cast Immobulus on his remaining foes, but Romilda and Blaise were able to avoid its effect. Romilda told Blaise calmly, "No need to chase them. We're ready for this." Ron and Harry did not wait to see what she meant. They began sprinting down the corridor as Blaise yelled, "Oppugno!" somewhere behind them.

As he ran, Ron could hear something following him from a distance. It was an unfamiliar, scratchy sound. He did not look back until he reached the divided path obstacle again. The bricks had repositioned themselves on this side of the walkway. Ron wished he had memorized "Rescue" in Marathi. He turned to see where Harry was.

Ron saw Harry a short way behind him, but Harry had turned back toward their pursuers. Ron was not sure what he was seeing. It was a mob of humanoid creatures, seemingly made of sticks and mulch. They moved like Inferi, but Ron doubted they had ever been human. Harry was disintegrating them one at a time, but there was no shortage of replacements. "Get down!" Ron ordered Harry. Harry threw himself to the ground, and Ron cast "Confringo" over his head. The stick creatures at the front of the ground were engulfed in flames. They struggled forward but collapsed as they were consumed by the fire. Ron hoped that they had not actually been alive.

The stick creatures behind those that were burning pushed on, ignoring the danger. They, in turn, were caught in the conflagration. The tactic had bought Ron and Harry some time. "Come on!" Ron said to Harry, "Which one is it?" Harry ran onto the correct path, and Ron followed him. "Come on! Come on!" Ron urged. The flames had burned themselves out, and there were still dozens of the stick creatures after the pair.

Ron and Harry finally reached the end of the corridor, and the base of the stairs leading out. The stone barrier reappeared behind them. Ron doubted it would affect the stick creatures. He began bounding up the steps, but when he looked around, Harry was no longer with him. Ron dashed back down the steps. He found Harry in the grip of the tree roots. They were winding around his body, while Harry tried to cast some kind of spell at them. As Harry motioned, the roots would recede slightly, but then went on binding him. Ron aimed his wand at the roots. "Relashio!" he cast, and Harry was liberated.

"That's what I was trying to do," Harry remarked, somewhat irked by his unimpressive showing.

Ron led Harry of the stairs. By the time they reached the top, the grotesque creatures were crawling up the stairway. Ron pushed Harry out of the way and yelled, "Glisseo!" The stairs were converted to a slide, and the pursuers slide back down to the bottom.

Ron led Harry ran out to the forest floor in front of the boulder, then hurried to the thickest cluster of trees and hid. They watched the boulder, but the stick creatures never emerged. Ron and Harry kept the boulder under observation until the other Aurors they summoned arrived. However, by that point the lair had been emptied. None of the Occult Elite were still inside, and nothing remained of the stick creatures except a thick layer of ash in the tunnel corridor.

"What were those things?" Ron asked Harry after the lair had been cleared, "I've never heard of anything like them."

"I think I might have," Harry said, "But that was from a long time ago. I'll have to research it."

"Research it, research it," Ron agreed, "As for me, I'm going home and getting some sleep. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

Harry didn't respond. He was considering something.

CHAPTER TEN: THE BATTLE OF THE IMPERIAL FOREST

When Harry arrived at the Ministry the next day, he was holdling an envelope very gently in his left hand.

"This is a letter written to my father twenty-five years ago," he told Ron, carefully handing over the envelope, "It was from his mother, my grandmother, Euphemia Potter, just before her death."

Ron held the letter gently, wondering why Harry had handed it to him.

"I read it over last night," Harry continued, "I think it can shed some light on what we encountered at the Occult Elite's lair last night."

"You never knew your grandparents, did you?" Ron asked, fairly certain that he was right.

"They were dead before I was born," Harry confirmed, "The Dursleys certainly wouldn't have let me learn anything about them. But I've read all their correspondence I could collect from my parents' house. You know, trying to get to know them better."

"How would your grandmother know anything about those… stick figures?" Ron asked, for lack of a better descriptor.

"Read the letter and see if it doesn't sound exactly like those creatures."

Ron read.

Dear James,

I know I've been sending you far too many owls these past few months, but as your begin your own life, with a family of your own, I want to keep my close connection with you, which has always been such a joy to me. I hope by sharing my life's experiences with you, you will be able to share it with your own child, my granddaughter (grandson, as your father insists). I know that our advanced age and poor health will mean that we won't have as much time with her as I would like, but we still want to be a part of her life ("his" life, as your father butts in).

The story I would like to share with you today is how your father and I first met. I know you're well aware that we first encountered each other while volunteering as intelligence operatives during the struggle against Grindelwald's forces. It was the beginning of February 1945. I was in the employ of the Ministry of Magic's War Department. Grindelwald himself had his hands full, but his forces were still obstinately defending several fortified areas around Europe. They seemed to take their lead from the Muggle conflict being conducted during the same time. Grindelwald's supporters knew that if they kept themselves in areas near Muggle fighting, we would be hard-pressed to repel them without revealing ourselves (and our magic) to the Muggles.

At that time, there was a regiment of Bulgarian wizards trying to expel an especially tenacious group of Grindelwald's forces from the Imperial Forest. The Bulgarians, although struggling heroically, were having little success. From prisoners, they had discovered that the group they were facing specialized in experimental armaments. Not necessarily spells, but implements designed to restore power and give some new momentum to Grindelwald's dwindling forces. Likely these inventions had been responsible for the defenders' stubborn success. The Bulgarians at long last achieved a breakthrough when they seized the military commander of the group they were facing.

That commander, however, impressed upon the Bulgarians that he was only in charge of the martial operations. His confederates in control of the unconventional weapons section were still in defensible locations. Moreover, the commander was supremely confident that the armorers had a defensive "contrivance" that would wipe out the Bulgarian troops and eventually ensure the victory of Grindelwald's followers. The commander must have been prepared with some countering potion, because Veritaserum had little effect on him. Yet it did enough to convince the Bulgarians that he was telling the truth. The Bulgarians became terribly concerned with this unknown "contrivance," and they sent news of it to all entities opposing Grindelwald at the time. This included my section of the War Department.

For reasons that made no sense even at the time, it was not politically appropriate for our group to conduct joint operations with many other organizations, including the Bulgarians. However, this contrivance could be a serious threat to our ultimate victory. This was a substantial inducement to keeping it contained, as it seemed to be, to the Imperial Forest. My superiors wanted us to take action, but were trapped by the fact that such action was not technically permitted. Only the intercession of Minister Spencer-Moon permitted some movement on our part. I was selected to travel to the Imperial Forest in secret, to give the War Department deniability. I was to be their spy. I would determine whether the contrivance existed, whether it was a threat of the suspected magnitude, and then either seize it or destroy it, whichever was possible.

I reached the Imperial Forest on February 8. Because the contrivance was hinted to involve a fair amount of magical brewing, I was assigned two potioneers to assist me. They arrived later in the day. One was named Abraxas, and the other was named Fleamont. They were both members in good standing of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. Unfortunately, that commonality did not ensure mutual esteem. Abraxas and Fleamont bickered from the moment they arrived. I introduced myself to them and explained our mission: Abraxas and Fleamont were to advise me on the nature of the contrivance, and to render it safe if necessary.

Fleamont was displeased by my explanation. Although he detested Grindelwald and his cause, he had no desire to be anywhere near combat. Years later, I know this came from his desire to cause no harm to any other living being. At the time, however, his attitude was vexing. He knew it was his duty to contribute, but all he really wanted was for the conflict to end, so he could return to his life's calling: hair potions. Abraxas and I learned that we were in the presence of the man who, nineteen years earlier, had invented Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Although it seemed a silly accomplishment to me, Fleamont had made quite a fortune with it.

Abraxas was also wealthy, but his opulence came from his ancient family. He had volunteered for the war effort due to his deep hatred for Gellert Grindelwald. His reason for that rancor, I came to find out, was the main source of friction between Abraxas and Fleamont. Abraxas was insulted that Grindelwald had the temerity to oppose Wizarding families far more distinguished than his own. Grindelwald's disregard of class, social and traditional positions was a personal affront to Abraxas. Abraxas was also scandalized at Grindelwald's vision of joining the Wizarding and Muggle worlds. Although Grindelwald espoused achieving this union through conquest, it was still bitterly distasteful to wizards likes Abraxas, who considered themselves far above Muggles.

Abraxas, Fleamont, and I spent our first evening planning. I took this to mean that, as leader of the operation, I would be developing a plan and soliciting their input as needed. The other two were of a different opinion. Fleamont opposed me at every turn. He wanted to avoid direct conflict. He did not see me as a spy; in fact, he referred to me as a "commando." I was certain it would be easy enough to subdue the outlying defenses and penetrate close enough to collect information on the armorers and their contrivance. Fleamont urged for more stealth. Abraxas had a broader plan.

There were frequent rains in the forest (the ground was intolerably muddy!), and Abraxas intended to seed the clouds with a Draught of Living Death. It was a bold proposition, but I was all for it if it could work. Fleamont was utterly opposed. For one thing, it would work on friend and foe alike. Fleamont also worried about the Muggles in the area. If the amount of the Draught was not carefully regulated, it could result in death, rather than its intended deep sleep. Fleamont did not wish this on anyone, not even Grindelwald's armorers.

I agreed with Fleamont that the risk was too great, but I could not understand his resistance to my original plan. Fleamont wanted to avoid any violent confrontation. When I asked for an acceptable alternative, he suggested infiltrating the defenses with an invisibility cloak. This was a tonic to Abraxas and myself, inasmuch as we shared a good laugh at Fleamont's idea.

"You are an axe!" I can vividly recall Fleamont telling me, "To you, every problem is a log to be split! This is not a log; it is a tail-twig. If you use an axe instead of clippers, you will destroy your broomstrick. This is a situation requiring subtlety and stealth."

I agreed with the stealth part, but insisted that an invisibility cloak would never work. Abraxas and I both explained to Fleamont all the reasons its could never work. Even the most expensive cloaks did not guarantee complete invisibility. None were invisible to Secrecy Sensors, of which they were bound to be several in the area. In the absence of Secrecy Sensors, Probity Probes would detect Fleamont instantly. And what if they had a Foe-Glass? Not to mention the many protective spells that we knew existed around the armorer's defensive position.

As the person in charge of the mission, I selected my plan. We would surreptitiously approach the outer defenses. Some Darkness Powder or similar distraction would get us close enough to subdue the wizards and witches we encountered there. Then, we could employ Polyjuice Potion to enter the armorer's compound, and hopefully steal or destroy the contrivance.

Fleamont said that he had the basic components of Polyjuice Potion, but it would take a full day for even a master potioneer to brew a batch. Abraxas agreed. They both felt that a form of Darkness Powder and a Sleeping Draught could be completed the very next day. Fleamont then asked Abraxas whether Abraxas could brew those potions unaided. Abraxas arrogantly verified that he needed no assistance for such rudimentary potions. Fleamont asked me if he could use the next day to try his Cloak of Invisibility. I flatly refused. Fleamont would be essential to me once I found the contrivance. Fleamont pleaded with me to at least test his cloak, so I agreed.

When Fleamont produced his Cloak of Invisibility, I was somewhat impressed. The fabric was much finer, and at the same time sturdier, than any invisibility cloak I had encountered. I was convinced, however, after Fleamont put it on. He was invisible in a way I had never experienced before. My Sneakoscope detected nothing. No spell could locate him, and I was quite adept at spells. Abraxas was engaged by the mental exercise of trying to find Fleamont, and it became something of a game to us. The Cloak of Invisibility was beyond belief. Fleamont himself did not know its origin. He only knew that the cloak was a family heirloom.

I agreed to allow Fleamont to make his attempt, as long as he did not endanger himself. The mood between the three of us had lightened. I even heard Abraxas teasing Fleamont by singing part of the Sleekeazy jingle, "…two drops tames even the most bothersome Barnet!" Never did I think I would ever hear a Malfoy using Cockney rhyming slang. There was a happy mood in the tent now. We were all confident in our success, and if Fleamont was able to gather any additional information using his cloak, so much the better.

I spent the next day learning from the Bulgarians. I absorbed everything they knew about the enemy position, and about the number and types we were likely facing. They were helpful details, but I could not understand how the armorers hoped to hold out when their numbers had dwindled so low. The Bulgarians could not explain why there had been no retreat. The only thing stopping the Bulgarians from overrunning their foes now was the threat of this new Contrivance. That had become the weapon's informal name, carrying with it a feeling of dread.

Abraxas started the Polyjuice Potion, and once it was brewing, moved to his other concoctions. The Sleeping Draught was completed quickly. The source of the synthetic Darkness Powder was also finished in a good amount of time. However, it required a period of cooking-down before it could be transformed into powder. Abraxas then impressed me by finding a way to combine the two potions. This would obscure the vision of the outlying sentries, and before they noticed that the darkness was artificial, they would be knocked out.

Fleamont returned late in the evening. He inspected the Darkness Powder-Sleeping Draught hybrid and heartily approved of it. After congratulating Abraxas, he was able to helpfully tell us the positions of the sentries around the armorers' compound. He seemed to have been won over to my plan. However, he requested that we begin well before nightfall. I, of course, asked him to explain.

Fleamont had been able to get closer to the armorers than I anticipated. By listening to their conversation, he discovered that they were planning some ceremony on the next night, February 10th. The armorers were convinced that the results of that ritual would guarantee the defeat of the Bulgarians hounding them. I agreed that we should target this ceremony, as it most likely involved the Contrivance. As Fleamont continued, he had a different opinion. The Contrivance we knew to contain some kind of potion. The ritual, as he understood it, would not involve any potions. It would be some type of Inanimatus Conjurus and some magical process similar to the way a human corpse is transformed into an Inferius.

Fleamont did not want to give the armorers the chance to perform the ritual. He considered it at least as sinister as the Contrivance. I agreed. Abraxas dissented. Abraxas was dedicated to understanding all the secrets magic had to offer, and those included studying the Dark Arts. Fleamont questioned whether that study was truly for defensive purposes, but Abraxas pompously dismissed the insinuation. For my part, I felt that Abraxas had a point. If this ceremony was as dangerous as Fleamont thought, shouldn't we know what it involved? As a warning to others? It was a difficult choice. In the end, the balance was swayed by the fact that Darkness Powder would be too obvious in the daylight. I decided that we would start after twilight.

Fleamont was nervous about allowing the ceremony. Abraxas chided him that there was only one invisibility cloak. This had a greater effect on Fleamont than I expected. He was deeply concerned with the safety of Abraxas and myself, more than he was with his own. In a conversation later in the evening, I learned that Fleamont was far from a pacifist. His father, Henry, had argued energetically that the Wizarding World should involve itself in the Muggles' previous great war. When the struggle against Grindelwald began, Fleamont was eager to take part. His sluggishness toward action was only because he felt he could serve our cause without unnecessarily harming other wizards and witches.

Abraxas returned to the tent in time to interrupt this line of thought. He wanted nothing held back in the campaign against Grindelwald. Abraxas pointed out that Grindelwald's motto plainly stated that all his actions were taken for the greater good of the Muggles. Abraxas took this as a great offense to wizards. Fleamont argued that Muggles were no lesser than any magical beings, and the bickering resumed. I hoped they could restore their harmony before our mission the following night.

With the benefit of hindsight, I wish that I had listened to Fleamont and prevented the ritual from ever taking place. I almost would have preferred the plan to make it rain Draught of Sleeping Death instead of what actually happened. However, we proceeded exactly as I intended. In the darkness, the substance brewed by Abraxas worked as a perfect combination of Sleeping Draught and Darkness Powder. Even Fleamont was happy that we had been able to subdue all the sentries without harming them. We moved forward toward the location of the armorers. Fleamont insisted that I wear his Cloak of Invisibility. He claimed that it was because I was the mission's leader, but I was sure he just wanted to protect me.

When we arrived, the ceremony was already beginning. We hid ourselves away and watched. One of the armorers said something about it being the sixth day of the moon. Abraxas recognized this as being the waxing crescent, but was not sure of its significance. We watched as some of the armorers climbed the surrounding oak trees. Each of the climbers was carrying a curved blade made of gold. Beneath them, the others held billowing white cloaks aloft. The climbers cut branches off the trees, and the branches fell into the cloaks below. There were dozens of piles of sticks and leaves arranged in the compound. Each pile had one of the branches placed on top of it. We watched the armorers repeat this activity until a branch had been added to each pile. The climbers then returned to the ground.

Next, the armorers led two white bulls into the middle of the compound. I wish I hadn't seen what happened next. They killed those poor animals. There was no way I could have successfully stopped them, but witnessing that horrific act still haunts me. I was so distracted by the fate of those innocent creatures, I hardly noticed what was happening to the piles of sticks. They were coming together, sticks twining around sticks, leaves filling in the empty spaces, and all of it collecting around the branches. And then they began standing. I say "standing" because those piles had assumed a humanoid shape. They had arms and legs, and they could move and walk. They moved awkwardly, like the Inferi Fleamont had mentioned.

I saw them gather in the compound, bizarre unliving thralls. It was a platoon of expendable soldiers who could be thrown against the Bulgarians with devastating results. "We have to stop this," I told Fleamont and Abraxas. Without pausing a moment, Fleamont rushed from cover toward the armorers. He then began throwing spells at them with an alacrity I have not seen since. Abraxas and I were stunned enough to hesitate a moment, but then I noticed the stick figures advancing toward Fleamont. I told Abraxas that we needed to destroy the creatures, but he yelled "The Contrivance!" and ran in a different direction.

As I joined Fleamont, I gave him a quick "Well done!" I can remember his response clearly: "You can't have a name like Fleamont without becoming an accomplished duelist in school!" We stood our ground there and fought side by side. He was eliminating the armorers, one by one, while defending both of us against their attack spells. I, on the other hand, was throwing every Bombarda, Deletrius, and Reducto I knew against the stick figures, usually with a Maxima! It was the fiercest battle I ever experienced, and in my younger days, I had known quite a few.

The remainder of the armorers eventually tried to flee, but they ran straight into a shield spell of incredible might and enormity. I realized that it must have been cast by Abraxas, and I hoped that he had been able to locate the Contrivance. Fleamont and I still faced some resistance, but the fight was won. Soon, he and I were the only ones left standing. He collapsed, but I caught him before he fell to the ground. The fight had taken a lot out of him. Although the armorers had all fallen by this point, I noticed that Abraxas was still maintaining the shield. Something must be wrong.

I led Fleamont to the main tent of the compound, which I could see was the focal point of the shield. As expected, Abraxas was inside, generating the shield. The concentration was obvious on his face, yet his eyes were aimed down to his non-wand hand, which was holding a wooden box. When he saw us enter the tent, Abraxas weakly said, "Help," the last thing I would expect to hear from such a proud wizard. I rushed forward, and he handed me the box. Inside it I could see an intricate maze of carved channels, created by interlocking pieces of wood.

Abraxas turned all of his attention to maintaining the vast shield. He told us that the box was the Contrivance. He had examined it, and it contained an explosive component. It would send shrapnel of Erumpent horn, which would be enough to kill everyone for a mile around. More significantly, it also contained a weaponized form of Dragon Pox. It was potent. Just how potent, Abraxas did not know, but if it was released by the explosion, it could kill every witch and wizard in the Imperial Forest.

I snapped into action, casting Protego Horribilis around the box with all the strength I could muster. "It's not enough," Abraxas insisted. My spell might be able to contain the explosion, but the Dragon Pox would not be confined within the shield. I cast Fianto Duri in desperation, willing the shield to hold in everything.

I thought that Abraxas might use his shielding skills to help me, so I asked him why he was projecting his own. He explained that if he lowered it now, he would never have time to create another. He had thrown it up to protect our Bulgarian allies, and any other wizards present in the area. And perhaps the Muggles, as well, he admitted. It would protect against the Erumpent horn, and hopefully the force of the explosion would destroy the Dragon Pox before it spread. Only those of us this close to it would be infected. I held my shield steady, understanding what Abraxas meant. In case I didn't understand, he told Fleamont and me bluntly that either we three would die, or everyone else would.

Fleamont, suddenly regaining his strength, asked Abraxas whether he was sure it was Dragon Pox. Abraxas was certain. "If Euphemia can contain the force of the explosion, all we have to worry about is the infection!" Fleamont told us hopefully. He pulled a Mokeskin pouch out of his robe. Inside was a small potions set. He began furiously mixing ingredients. Abraxas, strained by the effort of holding his shield, railed against Fleamont for his pointless effort. There was no cure to Dragon Pox.

Fleamont insisted that he was descended from Linfred of Stinchcombe, who was esteemed for his medicinal creations. Linfred had developed pox cures for his Muggle acquaintances, and this led him to innovate similar remedies for wizards. None was a cure, but Fleamont had studied them and found that a "one-eyed witch" had later crafted them into a course of treatment that seemed to stave off the effects of Dragon Pox indefinitely. Fleamont rapidly stirred and poured.

Abraxas held his shield, and I held mine, until something began happening inside the box. Two slats of wood scraped together, and I felt the explosion begin inside the sphere of my shield. My wand vibrated until I thought it would shatter. Sweat was running into my eyes as I pushed against the intense force of the explosion. As the Erumpent horn shrapnel pieces collided with each other, explosions of various strength built on each other. Both of my hands were clenched around my wand, which was shaking violently. I had held in the explosion, but could I last? Suddenly, Abraxas was at my side. Seeing that I would be able to contain the blast, he had joined me, casting his own (admittedly feeble) Fianto Duri to add to mine. As slight as it was, it firmed my own resolve. I bore down on the explosion and held that shield solidly in place until it had burned itself out.

"Is that it?" I asked, "Did the Dragon Pox escape?" I knew my answer as soon as I looked at Abraxas. His face had a slightly greenish hue. I looked down at my hands and saw that they, too, were turning green. Abraxas scanned the area with his wand. He comforted me that most of the Dragon Pox had been burned off by the explosion. We would be the only victims of the biological component of the Contrivance. I turned back toward Fleamont, to warn him to keep his distance, but he was already rushing toward us. He had a slender beaker in one hand and three vials in the other. As he poured the contents of the beaker into the vials, I could see that he was turning green. My face was becoming dry and itchy. Fleamont pushed a vial into my hand, and then gave the other to Abraxas. I sneezed and produced a jet of sparks.

Fleamont tilted his head back and drank the contents of the vial he was holding. Abraxas rapidly followed suit and emptied his vial. I lifted the vial to my lips and poured the contents into my mouth. It was sour, and I felt my jaw clench and my lips pucker. It was no more pleasant going down my throat, and when it reached my stomach, I could almost hear a squeal.

I looked up at the other two and felt an instant sense of relief. Fleamont's face was losing its green tint. The boils that had begun growing on Abraxas' jawline faded into nothing. I felt a warmth run through my body as I returned to normal.

"Impossible!" Abraxas said, in his usual supercilious way. Fleamont explained that it was not a permanent cure. We would have to continue taking the potion at regular intervals, or the disease would reassert itself. Fleamont confessed that we would all eventually succumb to the disease, but with proper administration of the potion, that would not happen until we were quite old. Fleamont estimated that the treatment was so complicated to make, only a potioneer on the level of Hector Dagworth-Granger could hope to brew it. But he expected that Abraxas could manage, and he offered to teach it to his new friend. As for me, he joked that I was have to stay in close touch with him if I wanted to live. I did, of course, and eventually we were married.

We had many years of happiness together, wanting for nothing but a child. And long after we had given up hope, we were blessed with you, my son. Meanwhile, we tried to maintain our friendship with Abraxas Malfoy, although his contempt for Muggles often led to heated debates between him and your father. Unfortunately, the pride Abraxas felt in the Wizarding World led to destructive bigotry. In 1968, he became involved in the plot that unseated Nobby Leach, our first Muggle-born Minister of Magic. Leach was forced out of office when he contracted a mysterious illness. I greatly feared that Abraxas' employment of a biological weapon against our Minster had been inspired by our adventure in the Imperial Forest. After that, we stopped corresponding with Abraxas, and he never reached out to us. I heard that the Dragon Pox finally claimed his life a few years ago.

My reason for telling you this story is to soften what will surely come as a harsh blow: the Dragon Pox is also creeping up on your father and myself. Your father's treatment has kept it at bay for over thirty years, but we always knew it would arrive eventually. I have an honest fear that we will not live long enough to meet our cherished granddaughter (or grandson, as your father stubbornly insists). I don't want to cause you pain, but I want you to understand how this happened. Your father and I will likely die within days of each other, and I don't want you dwelling on the reason why.

I am so happy that you found Lily Evans at Hogwarts. We adore her and are so glad to have her as our daughter-in-law. I am certain that she will bring you the same happiness that your father has brought me. I wish for you that the joy of your marriage will last as long as ours. I have no regret over dying; I have lived longer than most witches. I only regret that I will miss seeing your long and happy life, and that of our granddaughter (as well as her sisters and brothers).

The Cloak of Invisibility that served us so well in the Imperial Forest will be yours when we are gone. I hope you will never need its protection from any violence like we faced, but the way things are going with those Death Eater imbeciles, you can never tell. I would ask that you allow Albus Dumbledore to study the Cloak. Fleamont promised to lend it to Dumbledore ages ago, but somehow always neglected to follow through. Dumbledore is committed to investigating its properties, and I would like for him to have the chance to do so.

Please do not think too much on this sad news. We will most likely be with you for several more months, and I want them to be happy ones. Give Lily our love, and we will see you soon.

Your Loving Mother

Finishing the letter, Ron peered up at Harry. "She called them 'stick figures' too!" Ron pointed out. Harry nodded.

"Do you think Blaise Zabini is out somewhere killing cows?" Ron pondered.

"They seem like identical creatures, don't they?" Harry replied.

"We thought the Occult never did anything after we stopped that…that 'Fiendfyre Plot' because they were too weak without Padma. She was the ones bringing in the followers. Zacharias Smith and those others are probably the only ones left. But if they learned how to make an army of those stick figures…"

"I think it's Old Magic," Harry reflected, "Back when magic was big and unrefined. And amoral. The kind of magic that made Muggles afraid of us in the first place. I don't like to think about what they intend to do with that magic."

"That doofer with the Dragon Pox in it, you think that's got something to do with the murders?"

"No," Harry said, "It's just one more in a long line of implements designed only to cause harm and death."

"How does this relate to the murders? The Elite all claimed not to know who killed Marietta and Peasegood."

"I don't know how much to believe any of that. They don't seem very trusting of each other."

Ron digested everything he had learned in the past half-hour. Harry watched him patiently as Ron thought. Finally, Ron spoke, "Your grandmother really wanted you to be a girl, didn't she?" Ron pointed out to Harry. Harry laughed. This detail made him happy. It somehow made Euphemia more human, and more real to him than a vague name from his family's history.

CHAPTER ELEVEN: IMPRISONED IN AZKABAN

Ron was flying over the North Sea. There was no other way to reach his destination. For over 300 years, Apparating had been impossible. No Portkey was capable of reaching inside the iron walls which ran along the edge of the coast, circling the entire island and its only structure, a decrepit fortress close to five centuries old. Nothing on the island was connected to the Floo Network. Ron took his Ford Torino, which at least gave him some comfort as he flew toward the bleak landscape. "Magic Works" by the Weird Sisters was on the radio. Back when the song had been popular, Ron teased his sister for liking it. Now he was absentmindedly singing along, trying not to think about where he would be spending his afternoon.

Ron landed on the only patch of ground not within the wall. He saw the brooms and other forms of transportation that the people unfortunate enough to work there had used for their commutes. Ron walked toward the gate in the wall. There was a strong wind, but with nothing natural living on the island, it was silent. The only sound was the gravel beneath Ron's feet.

"Name?" came a voice from within the gate.

"Ron Weasley."

"Right," the voice answered, having confirmed that Ron was expected, "Please remove your robe and put it in the drawer." A metal drawer slid forward out of the gate. Ron took off his robe and put it in the drawer. The drawer remained open. "Empty your pockets," the voice instructed. Ron emptied his pockets and put everything except his wand in the drawer. "Your sweater," the voice said.

"Sorry?" Ron asked for clarification.

"Heavy outer garments must be left outside," the voice explained. Ron removed his sweater and placed it in the drawer. "Hold your wand hand open, palm up," the voice said. Ron complied. "Now put your wand on the surface of your open hand." Ron did so. "Do not close your fingers around your wand," the voice warned him, "You will be expelled immediately into the water."

Ron looked behind him at the North Sea. He was cold enough without a dunking. "Yeah, right," he agreed, keeping his hand as flat as he could. In a few seconds, the gate began creaking. It slowly opened inward, the metal gate scraping on the stone floor with a horrible screeching noise.

"Step inside," the voice said. Ron stepped inside. It was a dark atrium, only deep enough for the gate doors to swing open. "On either side of the room," the voice continued, "You will find wand guardians. Deposit your wand inside one of them. Once you have done so, the wand can only be released back to you. This will happen when you are ready to leave the island."

Ron looked on either side of the room. There were bronze statues of various beasts along the walls. Ron chose a Crup; it closely resembled his Patronus, and that somehow made him more comfortable with the procedure. When Ron approached the Crup statue, it turned its head to him and opened its mouth wide. Ron hesitantly placed his wand inside the Crup's mouth. The statue instantly swallowed the wand. "I expect that back," Ron whispered to the Crup.

The double doors of the gate closed behind Ron with the same grating sound. Then a small entrance opened in front of him. It was short enough that Ron had to duck to get through it. When he emerged, he was confronted by one of the guards.

"So that was you giving me direction?" Ron asked in a friendly voice. The guard was looking at a picture of Ron and comparing it to the person in front of him. In response to Ron's question, he shook his head and pointed up. Ron looked up at a tower looming above him. Someone watching from up there had been telling him what to do.

"Can I have my sweater back?" Ron asked. The guard shook his head again. He waved Ron on toward the main building. Ron shivered from a chill, but he did not know whether it was from the cold or from anticipation. Even as an Auror, he had rarely visited this place; he had never been inside.

When they reached the immense stone fortress, the guard tapped on its rusty door. The door creaked open, and Ron entered Azkaban prison. The guard remained outside. "How do I know where I'm going?" Ron asked. The guard pointed at the floor. Ron could see footprints in front of him. They were moving forward. Ron began following them, and the door closed forebodingly behind him.

Each step of the route was gloomier than the one before. When Kingsley Shacklebolt had been made Minister of Magic, he forbade the employment of Dementors at Azkaban. The jail was stifling nonetheless. The air was thick with centuries of hopelessness. The first cells Ron passed seemed far more secure than anything needed for even the most powerful dark wizard. They were, in fact, the mildest holding areas. When Ron reached his destination, he found that this one cell had its own antechamber, where doubtlessly he was being scanned yet again. Once he was cleared, the interior door opened. Ron stepped inside. There was not even a chair for him. He stood in front of the magical barrier dividing the room. He could sense the Repello Inimicum in front of him. If either he or the prisoner stepped too far forward, they would be disintegrated.

"Hello, Padma," Ron said.

Padma was watching him thoughtfully. There was a mattress on her side of the room; nothing else. She was sitting on it. "Ron," she responded, "How have you been since Hermione left you?"

Ron's blood went icy. "Where did you hear that?" he asked.

"I didn't," Padma explained, "I just made an informed prediction. Which turned out to be accurate."

"I suppose Parvati's not the only prognosticator in the family."

"So how have you been since Hermione left you?"

"Gutted," Ron responded with complete honesty.

Padma smiled at Ron, and it looked genuine but felt menacing. "Why are you here, Ron?" she asked, "I haven't seen you in a long time."

"Yeah, I need to interview you."

"Interview? I thought this was going to be a social visit. I haven't seen you since I've been here. I thought we were friends."

"We were friends, until you decided to murder hundreds of Muggles."

Padma frowned. She preferred not to show anger, but Ron could see the irate crinkles at the corners of her eyes. "You can leave now," she told him.

"Harry and I went to your hideout," Ron told her, "The one down under the boulder."

"Still Harry Potter's sidekick?" Padma asked, amused.

Ron ignored it. "We saw the whole operation. Had a nice earwig into your Elite's little meeting."

"I don't remember ever being under a boulder," Padma retorted playfully.

"I don't think the rest of those dodgy plonkers can speak Marathi." Ron looked from some sign of surprise on Padma's face. One of her eyebrows arched a tiny bit, he thought.

"What do you want to ask me?" Padma asked, almost certainly confirming that he had startled her.

Ron decided to be plain. "Have you had your followers kill anybody recently?"

Padma looked authentically confused. "How could I?" she asked, "Why would I?"

"I'm investigating the murders of two enemies of your organization. And possibly a third. These are people who wronged you. Ones you'd be happy to see dead."

"I wouldn't be happy to see anyone dead," Padma corrected Ron firmly.

"The killings were accomplished the same way," Ron told her, without mentioning that he did not know what that way was, "And the common attribute of both victims is that they were people you would want revenge against."

"Neville?" Padma asked, worried.

"No, not Neville," Ron shot back, impatient.

"Who was it? I know you and Harry are all right."

"I'm not here to answer your questions; it's the other way around."

"Revenge is an inexcusable reason for killing anyone. There is no forgivable reason."

"But you were going to commit mass murder."

This time, Padma was not as offended at the mention of her foiled plot. "I never expected to be forgiven," she informed Ron, "And that act was meant as self-defense."

"Self-defense against Muggles living their lives? Isn't that what the Fiendfyre Plot was all about?"

Padma's eyebrow made that same nearly-imperceptible arch. Ron had managed to surprise her again, with the formerly secret title of the "Fiendfyre Plot." Padma responded slowly, "Muggle conduct is dooming us all. If I could guide them, I could save everyone, wizard and Muggle alike. I want to avoid violence, but there are times when it's unavoidable."

"Outside the law?" Ron asked, "Does that fit with your convictions? And wouldn't that permit revenge killing?"

Padma responded with what was clearly a quotation: "Where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more."

"What's that?" Ron challenged her, "The Occult motto?"

"Those were the words of Albus Dumbledore."

Ron was not ready for that.

"He agreed with me," she insisted, "Witches and wizards have greater abilities than Muggles. This gives us the power to rule, but more importantly, the responsibility to rule. Dumbledore knew that wizard sovereignty was the right path. For the Muggles' own good."

"Dumbledore was a kid when he said that rubbish," Ron argued, "Who in their right mind would think that killing and oppressing people was for their own good?"

"You care about the Muggles so much, don't you?" Padma demanded, "What about your mother's Muggle cousin? Accountant, isn't he? You told me he was the family secret. That doesn't sound very open-minded. And your father loves Muggles, doesn't he? But when I met Arthur, he treated Muggles as curiosities, not as equals."

"None of this has anything to do with your friends in the Elite," Ron redirected.

"There is no Elite," Padma told him, as she had hundreds of times previously.

"Zacharias Smith?" he asked.

"Haven't seen him since school."

"Romilda Vane?"

"I seem to remember her. She was in Dumbledore's Army with us, wasn't she?"

"Eloise Midgen?"

"I remember Eloise. You made some mean jokes at her expense fourth year."

"Maybe that's why she was so keen to kill me. What about Michael Corner? Blaise Zabini?"

"Now you're just listing everyone who was at Hogwarts during our time there."

"What about Malcolm Baddock? The new member?"

Padma's eyebrow made that same tiny twitch. "I'm afraid I haven't been keeping up with all the new members," she said sarcastically, gesturing at the cell around her.

"You left Zacharias in charge, didn't you?" Ron asked, "But it looks like Romilda is running the show now. I think you must know as well as I do that she's not very trustworthy."

"Are you still holding a grudge about those Chocolate Cauldrons?" Padma asked, tickled. Back at Hogwarts, Ron had inadvertently devoured a huge dose of love potion that Romilda had intended for Harry. "People don't change much," Padma cautioned Ron, "Did you know that Romilda perfumes her hair with Amortentia?"

"Seems like you know her well," Ron pushed, "If you can smell the love potion in her hair."

"Romilda is a smart one," Padma told him. Ron was staring at Padma's mouth as she spoke. He watched her lips moving, pressing against each other. They were full and soft, and the words that came out of them sounded sweet. "Witches have some abilities that wizards can never know," Padma mouthed slowly. Ron gazed at her lips, transfixed; he could almost feel a kiss on them. He hastily shook off the feeling, forcing his thoughts to something else.

"Well done," Padma complimented him, "Let me guess: thinking about Hermione blunted the influence?"

She was right, but Ron wasn't going to admit it. "You're not supposed to be able to have any mental contact through this barrier."

"That's true," Padma stated, "I studied Legilimency under Arnold Peasegood, and I still can't get any thoughts through. But I just thought I'd give you a peek at some Old Magic. That's where Romilda's interests went after graduation. It gave her quite a bit of professional success. Like I told you, there's a whole range of Old Magic accessible only to witches. But I doubt you'd give any thought to that."

"What does that mean?"

"You really ruined my Yule Ball, Ron. Hermione's too, if I remember correctly. You've never been very perceptive when it comes to witches. Do you even know what the Witches' League is?"

"Don't they publish Witch Weekly magazine?"

"No, they don't," Padma informed him, coolly, "The Witches' League was formed in May of 1899, to address how poorly wizards have regarded witches since the beginning of magic."

"I respect witches!" Ron protested, "I'm in love with Hermione Granger, after all. She's about the top witch there is."

"Yes," Padma said noncommittally.

"So the Witches' League was what the Witches' Council was based on sixth year?" Ron asked, trying to show how much he knew about witches.

"You know about the Witches' Council?" Padma asked, this time willing to show her surprise.

"I told you, I respect witches," Ron said, then apologized, "Sorry about that magazine bit."

Padma softened. "The Witches' League actually does publish Spella Weekly," she confessed, "But it used to be a much more political periodical."

"If Romilda's so keen on Old Magic," Ron changed the subject, "Could that include a ritual to make some… stick figures?"

"Stick figures?" Padma repeated back to him, as if to demonstrate how ridiculous it sounded.

"I dunno," Ron said, figuring out how to explain, "They're like piles of sticks and moss and mulch that move like people."

Padma did not look like she knew what he was talking about.

"You've got to do a ceremony," Ron continued, "You collect bundles of sticks and leaves, you cut the branches off some trees at the right time, and then you kill some bulls, and you've got these… stick figures."

Now Padma looked sickened.

"When we got into your lair, that's what Romilda sent after us. If she knows enough Old Magic for that, maybe some other kind of Old Magic is what killed Marietta and Peasegood."

"Marietta Edgecombe? Arnold Peasegood?" Padma asked.

"Never mind that," Ron said, annoyed that he had shared information with Padma, "Tell me what you know about these stick figures."

"Nothing at all. I think what you described is repulsive. I resent any misuse of wood, and so should anyone who calls themselves Bowtruckles."

"I don't think I'm a bad person just because I carry a wand," Ron defended himself.

"There are alternatives to wooden wands," Padma stated.

"Yeah, wasn't your wand made of bone?" Ron recalled, "Seems like you object to cutting off the branches more than the sacrifice of the bulls. There are plenty of Bowtruckles who have normal, wooden wands."

"I studied wandmaking," Padma reminded him, "There are ways of obtaining wood from trees without harming the trees, and still showing the trees proper respect. But most wizards just want the products made of the wood, without reflecting on where it came from. Everybody wants the newest, fastest broom. So the wood butchers don't care how much they chop off. Even a small nick is unpleasant for the tree, but wood butchers hack off whatever will get them the most Galleons. Money wins out over integrity."

"Then you don't approve of these wood Inferi?"

"Not at all. I think I should do something about it."

"I don't think that's going to be possible," Ron commented, "I'm leaving here alone."

"The morning after Dumbledore was killed, Parvati and I were awakened at sunrise and whisked away by our parents. They didn't want us to be involved if it meant any danger to us. I disagreed, but I was underage and had no choice. Now that I'm in charge, I'll never be distracted by any danger to myself; I want to take action."

"Relax," Ron said, getting a trifle nervous, "If you want to help, share information with me."

Padma turned away from him. "I think it's about time for me to leave this place," she announced.

"If you try to get out of Azkaban," Ron said firmly, "You'll be killed. And if by some chance you could escape, I'd just drag you back here."

"I'll be gone by the vernal equinox," Padma predicted, then resolved softly, "And I'll never come back." She never turned back toward Ron.

Ron left the cell, which was re-secured behind him. He left the antechamber, which sealed itself behind him. He followed the moving footprints as they guided him to the exit. He stepped out of the fortress and encountered the guard.

"Keep an eye on Patil," Ron warned, "She has escaping on her mind. Make sure she's held as securely as possible."

The guard did not respond. Everything Ron had just spoken was redundant and applied to every inmate in Azkaban.

The guard led Ron back to the wall. Ron tried to lighten the mood by waving jovially up at the tower. The door opened for him and he stepped into the atrium. Ron looked around until he found the statue of the Crup, which wagged its forked tail as he approached. The Crup coughed Ron's wand into his hand. Ron looked it over; it seemed fine.

The gate screeched open, and Ron walked outside. The air already tasted better. The gate doors dragged their way closed again behind him. The metal drawer opened. Ron, shivering, took out his sweater and pulled it over his head. He put on his robes. Then he put his personal items back in his pockets. He hiked over to his car. Ron started the engine and flew away from the dismal island. Another Weird Sisters song was on the radio, but Ron wasn't singing along.

CHAPTER TWELVE: UNREVIVABLE

By the beginning of December, Harry and Ron were no closer to solving the murders than they had been when Marietta Edgecombe was first discovered. Their inquiries into the Occult had yielded nothing, except for different things to worry about. They themselves were certain of the Occult Elite's membership, but there was not enough evidence to prosecute.

Ron was demoralized by their lack of progress with the case. His visit with Padma loomed over this thoughts. Ron had success with his other cases, and in large had great success during this Autumn, doing what he could to make the Wizarding World a safer place. On the other hand, assistance from Harry, at his young age already one of the most accomplished wizards in the world, was irregular. Harry still drifted distractedly through his work, more engrossed in his own esoteric pursuits than the apprehension of criminals. As for Hermione, the mystery was only her secondary concern. She was still overhauling the policies of the Department and pushing her changes up the bureaucratic hierarchy. As winter crept on, Ron felt isolated and outmatched.

A breakthrough finally arrived in the form of a mistreated piece of lilac-colored paper. It had once been a paper airplane, and had been intended to deliver itself to Ron. From the look of it, it had been inadvertently trod upon. There was a partial boot-print on the sheet, although that might have happened after the note was already crushed. The paper retained enough of its shape and enchantment to valiantly crawl on, making an epic trek over two days, across the vast Ministry premises to its intended recipient: Auror Ron Weasley. Once Ron received the note, the enchantment finally ended, and it reverted to a creased piece of paper. Ron read it quickly.

"Thorfinn Rowle!" Ron shouted to Harry, "We've found him!"

"That's great," Harry responded, with genuine (but still mild) interest, "Let's fetch Hermione."

As the three raced across town squeezed into Ron's Torino, Hermione asked how Rowle had been located.

"He hasn't just been hard to find," Ron explained, "He's actually been in hiding. He's wanted for several different crimes, ranging in severity. When I found that out, I contacted the Aurors who were monitoring the Owl Post for Rowle. They promised to notify me as soon as they found anything. Two days ago, an owl was addressed to Thorfinn Rowle. One of his associates sent him some money, but they used his real name instead of his alias. I guess he must have been desperate for that money, because he accepted the owl.

"The Aurors sent me this message as soon as they found out," Ron continued, holding up the lilac memo, "Two days ago. Two days! Some prat stepped on it; we're lucky I got it at all. I only hope that Rowle hasn't moved on. He's afraid of being arrested. I doubt he'll be expecting us to save his life."

They screeched to a halt in front of a building that would not quite qualify as a shack. Ron banged on the door and an emaciated wizard opened the door. His robes did not look as though they had been cleaned since they were new. "Octavius Pepper?" Ron asked, using Rowle's alias. The skinny wizard silently looked back at a plump witch sitting in a recliner with threadbare upholstery. "Out back," she grunted, leaning over just enough to get a look at Ron, and then adding, "We don't know anything about what he's done. We just been renting to 'im."

Ron, Harry and Hermione could not have expected a structure more meager than the shack itself, but behind it, they found four tin walls with a fiberglass roof that managed to make it a dwelling. Ron banged on one of the sheets of tin. There was a weak groan from inside. The entire wall swiveled away from the others, making it a type of door in its own right. Inside, an immense wizard with fair hair was lying face-down on the floor, which was only a rug. His breathing was shallow, fast, and weak. There was a puddle of dried vomit near his head.

Harry rolled him over. It was Rowle. His skin was blanched. His forehead was hot with fever, but he was too dehydrated to sweat. His pupils were dilated. Rowle tried to speak but was only able to exhale a faint cough. Harry produced a cup of water and tried to pour it down Rowle's throat. Rowle was unable to swallow most of it, and it dribbled down his chin. Harry cast some diagnostic spells, then began with counter-curses.

"I've summoned the Mediwizards," Hermione told Ron and Harry, "Here, I've been carrying this in case we found him." She extended a small, clear flask. "It's a healing solution, mostly strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles."

Harry tried to administer it to Rowle, but—again—most of it ran out of his mouth. Harry went on muttering counter-curses.

"I've been carrying this around for the same reason," Ron said, pulling a bezoar out of one of the inner pockets of his robe, "You know, because it's probably poison."

Harry took the bezoar. He skillfully wedged it down into Rowle's throat. Rowle's wide pupils turned hopefully toward Harry. But the colossal man's strength was entirely depleted, and he fainted away.

The Mediwizards rushed to the tin room, but after a few moments of examining Rowle, they announced that it was too late. Rowle was dead. There was no need to transport him; his body would be more helpful for the crime scene now.

"Even the bezoar didn't work," Harry commented with a furrowed brow, "Could it be something other than a poison?"

"There are some poisons with no antidote," Hermione pointed out.

"There are also some curses with no counter," Ron added, "Mostly Old Magic. Don't beat yourself up too much. You can't save everybody."

Harry still looked disappointed at his failure. This lasted only a few seconds, and then invigoration took over. "This really is a challenge," he said, with a newfound exhilaration.

"You don't need to enjoy it," Hermione reprimanded him, "People are dying, you know."

"Nobody deserved it more than Rowle," Ron said sternly, "He was a proper villain. I always thought it was a shame he didn't spend more time in Azkaban. You remember him, don't you?"

"Lucchino Café," Hermione recalled precisely, "He and Antonin Dolohov ambushed us on Tottenham Court Road. And now they're both dead."

"He was one of the top Death Eaters," Ron observed scornfully, "But he managed to convince everyone he had changed sides."

"He was at Hogwarts the night Dumbledore was killed," Harry specified darkly.

"Yeah," Ron clarified, "He wasn't up at the Astronomy Tower, but he caused enough of a ruckus down below. Ironically, that became one of the main incidents that saved him at his trial. Turns out he accidentally killed another Death Eater there, a wizard named Gibbon. Only Rowle insisted it wasn't accidental. He said he was trying to rescue Dumbledore. Remus was present for Gibbon's death, he knew it was an accident, but by the time of Rowle's trial, he wasn't alive to testify."

Looking down at Rowle, Harry nodded, his jaw clenched tightly.

"That whole Tottenham Court Road attack was just disregarded," Ron continued in disgust, "He claimed he did it under duress. All Rowle had to do was display his memory of Draco Malfoy torturing him. Made it seem like it was coercion, instead of punishment for his failure to get us. And you know that little session wasn't Draco's idea."

"There were just too many Death Eaters," Hermione contemplated, "Only those guilty of the most serious crimes got anything near the punishment they deserved."

"And not even all of those," Ron amended, "You know Rowle killed Hogwarts students during the Battle of Hogwarts."

"I know that's the rumor," Hermione partially confirmed.

"Did you know he was the one was taught Crabbe how to produce Fiendfyre? That almost killed the three of us."

"And then he went on to teach Fiendfyre to Padma Patil."

"He even squirmed out of that," Ron seethed, "We gave him immunity from prosecution for his testimony against her."

Harry broke his silence in a quiet voice, "Now fate has finally given Rowle the justice that we couldn't."

All three of them stood around Rowle's body, looking down at it, absorbed in their own reflections.

"Still, there's no excuse for murder," Ron spoke up, ready to get back to business, "Hopefully our culprit left us more clues here than he did at the other scenes. I'm going to interview the landlady and her husband."

Ron walked back toward the front of the shack. Hermione began looking around the tiny tin structure. Harry examined the body. They shared what they found with each other.

Ron confirmed that the symptoms matched those of Marietta and Peasegood. The landlady heard Rowle being violently ill the entire previous day. She had seen him two days before, perfectly healthy. He had no recent visitors. He only received two owls, both two days ago. One was some money, which he used to finally pay his rent to the relieved witch. The other was just an advertising giveaway, no personal correspondence. The landlady insisted that she did not know who he was. But she seemed unsurprised that he had been murdered.

Hermione revealed what she found in the shed: nothing but junk. Mainly junk food. In the absence of a garbage container, the whole structure had become a waste bin for Rowle. It was littered with empty alcohol containers. There were eight empty bottles of Berry Ocky Rot, and a pile of empty whiskey bottles: Campbell's Finest, Beetle Berry, Schletters, White Rat, and Blishen's Firewhiskey. "Don't know how he could afford that," Hermione commented, "It must've been stolen. Otherwise, there's just a scattering of junk food wrappers, mainly candy and crisps. He wasn't living a very healthy life. Maybe he killed himself, after all."

Harry and Ron smiled at the joke, which they ordinarily wouldn't have expected from Hermione. Then Harry announced his update: "Nothing. Same as the others."

"There has to be something," Ron insisted, exasperated, "You're the best wizard in the world. Find something!"

Harry grinned in embarrassment at the compliment. "I can't imagine you're surprised," he told Ron, recalling the Edgecombe and Peasegood murder scenes.

"What's the next step?" Hermione asked, not exactly sure of Auror methods.

"I don't know," Ron sighed, "It took us three months to find Rowle."

"At least it took the murderer as long as it took us," Hermione said, trying to cheer Ron, "He or she must have just found Rowle. The poisoning had to have happened yesterday or the day before."

"Maybe he found Rowle the same way we did," Ron pondered, "Maybe it was the Owl Post. Or it could have been the wizard who sent the money."

"It could have been someone at the Ministry," Harry interjected. Ron and Hermione recognized that Harry was right. The paper airplane could have been intercepted, and then delayed purposefully. None of the Occult Elite were Ministry employees, so if the killer had access to the Auror Department, there had to be more Occult members or sympathizers left. Instead of narrowing, the suspect list was continually expanding.

"Is this the final victim, maybe?" Ron asked, "That's all the witnesses who testified at Padma's trial: Edgecombe, Peasegood, Rowle. It could be the killer is done. That'll make it less urgent for us to hunt him down."

"That's it," Harry concurred, "There were only three witnesses."

"So I think our next step is to do some surveillance of the Occult Elite. If we can catch them at anything illegal, or prove that they were part of the Fiendfyre Plot, we can at least get them in custody. We might just apprehend the killer accidentally."

"We'll need to assign more Aurors," Harry said, "Or else do it piecemeal ourselves."

"I don't think we'll be able to do it at all until January," Ron admitted, "All three of us have work that needs completion before the Christmas holiday. Harry, your paperwork is completely lacking. I don't know how you're going to finish all of it."

"I've done some of it," Harry defended himself, fairly sure that he was right. Then he moved on to another topic. "I'll be spending Christmas at the Burrow, as usual," he informed Hermione, "Will you be able to make it?"

"I don't think I will," Hermione answered, glancing over at Ron, "I'm going to be really busy with my family."

"That's too bad," Harry said sincerely. Ron's face was tense, and he looked away. Hermione's eyes darted over toward Ron. Her bottom lip was between her teeth. "I'll have to remember to give you your gift at work, before the holiday," Harry told her.

"If you don't need me, I've got to get going," Hermione said. When there was no response, she said, "Bye," and Apparated.

"Can you finish this up?" Ron asked.

"Sure," Harry offered.

"Thanks."

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine," Ron answered, "Just tired. I wish Rowle could've said who killed him before he popped his clogs."

"If he even knew."

"My head is going to pop from thinking about this case."

"Get some rest," Harry said reassuringly, "I'll see you at work."

"See you at work," Ron responded, and shuffled off toward his car.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE WEASLEY FAMILY CHRISTMAS

There were Christmas decorations on every surface in the Burrow. The Weasley home was always stuffed with cheer during this season, but Mrs. Weasley had outdone herself. It was a rare occasion, after all: all six of her children had been able to come home this year. They were scattered in every nook of the zig-zagging house. It had been tricky enough to squeeze them all in when they were children. Now they were fully grown. Plus, two of them were married, with a child each. And Harry was wedged in, as well. But there was still an empty space in that full house. One of the siblings had died five years earlier, and his absence could not be eased in his family's hearts. Comfort only came from the abundant love that warmed the home.

Harry woke late, as he did every day that he had ever stayed in that house. It was a sign of the deep peace he felt there. He stepped over the still-sleeping Ron. The sleeping quarters had been tight enough when they were kids; now it was a trick to move around. Harry trudged downstairs to have a late breakfast.

When he got to the table, he found that the second-to-last arrival was sitting there. It was Bill Weasley and his wife Fleur, along with their three-year-old daughter Victoire. "Good morning!" Bill greeted Harry cheerfully, "Happy Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas!" Harry returned.

"Mom's really outdone herself this year," Bill noted, looking around at the decorations. Fleur winced slightly, but not enough to be impolite.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "Have you seen your bedding yet?"

Fleur looked at Bill with concern. "Not yet," Bill laughed.

"How are you?" Harry asked, turning his attention to Victoire.

"Very well, thank you," the petite young girl answered politely.

"Are you excited about Christmas?" Harry asked her.

"My grand-maman gave me a new frock," she informed him, "It's very pretty. But I'm not supposed to wear it when I'm playing. I am very rough." She didn't look very rough, but he took her word for it.

"I have a godson who's only a little older than you," Harry told her, "I got him a miniature broom. It can really fly. For a little bit, anyway."

Harry had outlasted Victoire's attention span. She was singing along to the Christmas song coming out of the family gramophone. "…all around the sparkling fire, have a merry Christmas day," she crooned.

"It's not Christmas at the Burrow without hearing Celestina Warbeck belt out some carols," Bill observed happily. Behind her husband's back, Fleur rolled her eyes. She watched her daughter singing along with Miss Warbeck's record and shook her head, but there was a slight smile on her lips.

"She's beautiful," Harry told Bill and Fleur, "She must have inherited some of that Veela beauty."

"Actually," Fleur instructed him, "True Veela actually have demonic bird-heads."

Harry frowned comically.

"How's work going?" Bill asked, "George said Ron's zonked."

"Work's fine," Harry said, not having quite the same level of concern as Ron, "How are things are Gringott's?"

"There's never a shortage of work," Bill shrugged, "The Goblins feel like there's no point in hiring two wizards if you've got one to give double the effort."

"Are they still upset with me?" Harry asked. For the noblest of reasons, he had burglarized the bank five years earlier. With all the public acclaim given to Harry, Ron, and Hermione after the Battle of Hogwarts, the bank had felt compelled to publicly forgive them. But Harry could sense palpable tension whenever he conducted business at the Diagon Alley branch.

"It's not human nature to be completely forgiving," Bill replied, "And it's definitely not Goblin nature."

"Have you seen George yet?" Harry asked.

"Not yet," Bill said, "He went out early with Angelina and Ginny, to play with Wee Fred."

Mrs. Weasley emerged from the kitchen. "Good morning, Harry!" she greeted energetically, "Is Ron up yet?"

"I don't think so," Harry said, "I'm headed back upstairs to get dressed. I'll wake him."

"Let him sleep," Mrs. Weasley urged in a sympathetic voice, "You boys work so hard at catching criminals. You both deserve a good rest."

Percy Weasley walked into the dining area. "Good morning, Harry," he said, "Errol's just dropped this off for you, mom." He handed his mother a small scrap of parchment.

"Errol's still alive?" Bill asked, in feigned amazement, "He was ancient when I was living here!"

"It's from your brother," Mrs. Weasley announced, ignoring the jest, "He'll be in Ottery St. Catchpole by late afternoon. Just in time for supper!"

"Which brother?" Bill joked. Percy and Harry chuckled.

"You know it's Charlie," Mrs. Weasley said gruffly. The rest of the room was still amused. Fleur's laugh tinkled like bells.

The front door of the Burrow opened, and George entered, carrying his son on his shoulders. His son was named Fred, but the family had taken to calling him Wee Fred, in deference to his namesake uncle.

"Angelina!" Fleur called out as George's wife entered, "I hope you are not too tired to take a walk with me!"

"Not at all," Angelina told her, "Let me change Fred's diaper first."

"Bless you," George told his wife.

When the necessary task was completed, Fleur and Angelina left for a stroll. Weasley Christmases were joyful, but those who had married into the family might need a respite every once in a while.

The afternoon was spent in pleasant visiting. For the siblings to catch up took many happy hours. Ron and Ginny saw each other frequently enough, and they used to spend plenty of time with George, but now between his baby and his business, every minute was spoken for. Bill and Fleur had transferred to the Paris branch of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Bill understood Fleur's homesickness, and he was, as always, thoughtful and accommodating. His only condition was that Victoire should attend Hogwarts when she was old enough. Fleur readily agreed, having long ago developed a very positive impression of the school.

Harry and Ginny sat close together on the sofa. Ginny chatted with Percy, while Harry had rotated in the other direction to talk with George. "Is Lee stopping by?" Harry asked, referring to George's best friend, Lee Jordan, whom Harry had also befriended at Hogwarts.

"I hope so," George said, "But he has to work tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Doesn't he get a holiday?"

"It's an impressive event," George described, in a voice aping the greatest seriousness, "He's announcing the annual Mobilarbus snowball fight for the Wireless Wizarding Network. It's going to be knees up!"

"It won't be so impressive on the wireless, will it?" Percy joked.

"Lee enjoys his job," George assured the room, "But it keeps him pretty busy."

"What about you?" Harry inquired, "Are you still thinking about opening a second store?"

"Ahhhh…" George moaned, "I can't even think about it. So much extra work! I need that like I need a hole in the head." George had resorted to his joke of choice. Six years earlier, his left ear was blasted off his head by a Death Eater; now there was only a hole. And an endless series of puns.

The door opened, and Mr. Weasley entered, leading his second eldest son, Charlie. The family was finally all gathered. Everyone rose to embrace Charlie after his long trip. Mrs. Weasley was thrilled that Charlie had cut his hair short, but he explained that it had been burned off by one of the dragons he was working with. Charlie spun around to show everyone the burn marks on the back of his neck.

"Why can't the rest of my children choose sensible, safe professions, like George?" Mrs. Weasley asked. The sentiment was a source of amusement to everyone, since George and Fred's career choice had been condemned by their mother less than a decade earlier. However, nobody had the heart to chide Mrs. Weasley about her reversal of opinion.

"I'm glad you got my message for Dad to pick me up," Charlie told his family, "Errol was half-dead by the time he got to me; I was worried he might not make it back here."

"I can't believe Errol's still with us," Ron agreed.

"He got a bit of a rest after you got Pigwidgeon; maybe that kept him going. How is Pig, anyway?"

"Harry uses him most of the time," Ron answered.

"I never had the heart to buy another owl after Hedwig," Harry admitted, "It's good of Ron to let me use Pig."

"He was used to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place," Ron shrugged, alluding to the fact that Pig had been a gift from Sirius Black, the previous tenant of that address.

"Don't you need an owl?" Angelina asked Ron.

"I do what Dad does," Ron explained, "I use the Ministry owls. There's loads of them, and they're available for any Ministry employee."

"How is the Ministry these days?" Percy asked, tentatively. His time there was not a pleasant memory for anyone, especially himself.

"I always wondered why Dad kept so much to his own Department," Ron recalled, "Now I think he does it the right way. There's too much bureaucracy, there. I must write a hundred memos a day!"

"It's easy to get around when you know how," Mr. Weasley chuckled, then addressed Percy, "There's an opening coming up in the Department of Transportation. I can put in a word for you, if you'd be interested."

"I don't know," Percy said reluctantly. He had spent the past three years helping George run Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, after Ron left. Plus, Percy's previous time at the Ministry brought out the worst in him. "I'm not sure I could go back to all that paperwork," Percy deflected.

"Honestly, I write so much I feel like I'm turning into Hermione," Ron agreed, then froze. In his good humor, he forgot that his ex-girlfriend was a topic he wanted to avoid.

"Will she be coming this year?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"I don't think she'll be able," Ron mumbled.

"How are her parents?" Mr. Weasley asked, excited for information. Mr. Weasley adored the Grangers. To him, they were the perfect epitome of Muggles, embodying all the fascinating minutiae of Muggle lives.

"I think they're doing well," Ron said quickly and quietly.

"Have a heart, Dad," Ginny said, "Can't you see Ron's still upset about the breakup?" Ron frowned. In a large, tightknit family discretion was mostly impossible.

"I'm going to see if Mom needs any help in the kitchen," Ron muttered and wandered off.

Ginny followed and cornered him. "Don't mind Dad dropping that clanger," she comforted Ron, "You know how absent-minded he gets. He just wasn't thinking about how much it bothers you to talk about Hermione."

Ron said nothing. Apparently Ginny also wasn't thinking about how much it bothered Ron to talk about it.

"I don't understand why you two can't work things out," Ginny continued, "I can tell she's still in love with you."

The thought made Ron happy, but the effect quickly faded. He did not doubt that Hermione loved him; the question was whether she would allow herself to see a life with him. It would not be perfect; there would be rough patches along the way. Hermione was unlikely to accept that.

"I think Hermione just needs to realize that relationships are never perfect," Ginny said, reflecting Ron's own thoughts, "Every couple has some friction. Every couple fights."

"Do you and Harry?" Ron asked, actually distracted by the idea.

"Not really," Ginny admitted, "But he's kind of an exception. An exception to everything, actually. He's not exactly the usual wizard."

"You're telling me?" Ron laughed.

"Do you think he's all right?" Ginny asked, with real concern.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know if he takes danger seriously enough," Ginny said, "I told you about that night in Knockturn Alley. He didn't even have his wand."

"He never takes his wand with him," Ron said, as exasperated as his sister.

"I worry about him. He died, Ron! He died in the Forbidden Forest!"

"Not exactly," Ron said, "It was just the Horcrux in him that died. That's why he was able to come back to us."

"But what if when he came back, he lost something? Like his own instinct for self-preservation?"

"That's not what's happening," Ron told her, "The reason he does all these bizarre things is because he's trying to operate at a higher level of magical skill. To put it simply: he wants to be like Dumbledore. But even Dumbledore wasn't as powerful as Harry when he was Harry's age."

"I guess you're right," Ginny said, contemplating what Ron had said, "He's always trying to master some new field of study." The thought that this was responsible for Harry's outrageous actions calmed her, but it did not fully alleviate her concerns. "Whatever the reason is," Ginny declared, "He needs to take the danger of his work more seriously. You're his partner: it's your job to protect him."

"I will," Ron protested, "I do!" His tone softened. "I'll take care of him," He promised his little sister. Ginny smiled fondly.

"Everyone to the table!" their mother announced, "Dinner is served!"

They were all crowded around a table which never meant to hold quite so large a number. Wee Fred and Victoire had to be satisfied with sitting on their parents' laps. The family squeezed in and enjoyed one of Molly Weasley's generous and comforting meals. Whenever any mouth was not filled with food, conversation was flying back and forth across the table. Between bites, Mr. Weasley was telling children about the planned retirement party for his partner, Perkins. It was sure to be well-attended, and Minister Shacklebolt himself had promised to make an appearance.

"I'm going to be retiring myself, after this season," Ginny mentioned casually. The table went silent.

"Sorry, sis," George said, tapping the hole where his left ear used to be, "Couldn't quite hear you."

"This is going to be my last season playing Quidditch," Ginny clarified, "I've accepted a job offer to become a sportswriter at the Daily Prophet."

"Whoa!" Bill exclaimed, impressed, "How did manage that?"

"I have a connection with the publisher, Barnabas Cuffe, through Professor Slughorn," Ginny explained, "Cuffe was a member of the Slug Club back in his day. I got in touch with him, and he told me there would be a position opening on the staff in the Spring. And I've taken it."

"Oh, no!" George bemoaned, "I'll lose all that extra money I get gambling on the Harpies!"

"I'm sure they'll do fine without me," Ginny said, with a faint trace of guilt.

"You're the best Chaser in the League," Bill told her wholeheartedly, "It's a loss to the entire sport."

"I'm not leaving the sport altogether," Ginny expounded, "I'm going to be a Quidditch correspondent."

"Good," Angelina chimed in, "Then you can make George's bets more informed." The family laughed as George nodded his head vigorously.

"What provoked this decision?" Mrs. Weasley asked, smiling but still suspicious.

"I guess this is as good a time as any to announce this," Ginny said, darting her eyes over to Harry and then standing. "Everyone at this table was in Gryffindor House. Everyone who attended Hogwarts that is," Ginny said, with a nod of the head to Fleur. "And Gryffindor is the house of courage. I tried to always live up to that model, even if sometimes I fell short.

"My first year, I sent Harry a Valentine. Remember?" Ginny asked Harry, who was smiling broadly, "It was a singing dwarf, dressed as Cupid, who warbled some doggerel that I came up with. I didn't quite have the courage to sign my name to it, but I guess it was obvious to everyone who sent it." Everyone at the table was laughing at the story, although most of them had heard it before. "It was quite the embarrassment to both of us," Ginny concluded, squinting.

"I found a bit more courage than that last night," Ginny continued, "When I asked Harry to be my husband." The table went silent again. Only Mrs. Weasley seem unsurprised. "Not only did he say 'yes,'" Ginny announced, "But he revealed that he had been carrying around an engagement ring for the past two years." Ginny reached into her pocket and produced the ring, which she held up for everyone to see.

Harry rose and stood beside Ginny. He took the ring from her and slipped it on her finger. "It's the ring my father gave to my mother," Harry told them. Ginny held out her hand to show the table. There were tears on the cheeks of Angelina and Fleur, and it looked as though Ron might be struggling to keep his in.

"Harry," Bill asked with mock sincerity, "Do you mean to say that you've been dating our sister?" The silence was broken with laughter.

"Congratulations!" Ron blurted out, to both of them, his sister and his best friend.

"I can't believe my ear!" George joked.

Mrs. Weasley's eyes were welled up. Percy mentioned to her, "Now Harry can finally call you 'Mom,' Mom." The tears came pouring out. Mrs. Weasley rose and came around the table to the couple. She wrapped her arms around Ginny and Harry. She rocked back and forth, hugging them and crying with joy.

Arthur Weasley rose and raised his glass for a toast. The rest of the table did the same. Even Victoire hoisted her cup of juice. "There is someone here tonight who was fated to be exceptional," Mr. Weasley began, "And I'm not talking about any lightning-bolt scar. Before Ginny came to us, the Weasley family had not had a daughter for generations. Tradition suggests that the seventh child of a family is something special, but Ginny, you would be special to us no matter what order you were born in. You have always been gifted, kind, beautiful, and intelligent. And we are very proud of you. What I wish most for you is happiness, and I am sure that you will have it with this young man.

"Harry, like most wizards, I knew of you before I knew you. But you always meant more to me as a friend to my youngest son than as a character in Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. I have watched you grow from a mysterious child of destiny" (the table laughed) "into a man I'm grateful to know. You have saved all of our lives, and perhaps even the Wizarding World itself. But to me, your greatest accomplishment will be filling Ginny's life with love. Bless both of you."

The family drained their cups. Now the tears were running down Ginny's cheeks, the same Ginny who never wept. She dabbed the moisture from her face. She walked over to her father and embraced him.

The rest of the meal was dominated by talk of the engagement, and of the wedding. What a wedding it would be! Everyone had visions of the event. None were the same, and each one was grander than the last. Harry and Ginny nodded and laughed at the suggestions, but it was too early for them to have given any kind of consideration to the nuptials yet.

In the evening, the family gathered around the Christmas tree to open presents. Ginny, as the youngest, had been stuck with the perennial job of distributing the gifts. Soon the room was in chaos, with colored paper and thank-you's flying everywhere. Wee Fred and Vicotoire played with their toys in the center of the room, as the adults displayed their loot to each other.

George held up a small wrapped box and shook it. "If it's earrings," he said, "I really only need one."

Ginny opened her gift from Harry. It was a dragon-hide jacket. "Wicked!" she said, slipping it on. It fit perfectly. Ginny held up her fists, giving her face the toughest look that she could. Victoire giggled. "Now I have something to wear on my motorbike!" Ginny remarked, although technically it was not her motorbike.

From Mrs. Weasley, Harry received a fob for his pocket watch. "Ron told me your chain had broken," Mrs. Weasley told him.

"Just a bit tweaked," Harry replied, "But I'm happy to have a new one." He pulled out his pocket watch, which was old but sturdy, despite its dented case. Mrs. Weasley had presented it to him on his 17th birthday. It was a traditional gift for a wizard when he came of age.

"You know, that was my brother Fabian's watch," Mrs. Weasley commented. Harry nodded. She had told him this before. "The Prewett brothers, Fabian and Gideon, were remarkable young men. They were known for their bravery and their abilities. But they were not known to be cautious. The damage on your watch case can attest to that. They thought it was more important to do what was right than to do what was safe. They were correct, of course, but they never considered that you can do the right thing in a safe way."

Harry started to suspect a message. He wondered if it had been Ginny or Ron who mentioned his lackadaisical tendencies.

"My brothers were killed by Death Eaters," Molly Weasley continued, discussing a topic she usually avoided, "In a fight that was five wizards against two. Perhaps they could have found a wiser way to fight, but rushing into danger was their way. I hope that you can be wise enough to give thought to danger and keep that watch undamaged."

Harry nodded, wordlessly promising to keep himself safe for Ginny, and for their future children.

Everyone in the family received the same gift from George. He had commissioned it from the best magical toymaker in England. It had a circular wooden baseplate. In the center was an unusually stiff figurine depicting George himself. In the span between that axis and the edge of the base was a grinning figurine of his twin brother Fred, bent at an odd angle.

When the owner tapped the toy with a wand, it activated. The figure of Fred began a comical dance as the base rotated. He rose and ducked, alternately crooking and flailing his lanky arms. As the miniature rotated, the mouth on the figure of George grew from a noncommittal line to a wide smile as it watched Fred gamboling around him. The figurines were caricatures, but Fred's was so true to his spirit that it sobered the audience. Although everyone was amused, none could avoid some melancholy thinking of their lost brother.

"That's your uncle," George said to his son, "That's Big Fred."

"Not big," Wee Fred objected. Everyone laughed.

Soon Wee Fred and Victoire were sleeping deeply in their beds. The adults were cleaning up after the celebration.

"Harry, I've been thinking about something," Ron said, stuffing some paper into a bag. Harry turned his attention to Ron. "We've been going by the witness list for Padma's trial to account for our victims."

"It seemed to fit," Harry said, "Edgecombe, Peasegood, Rowle. Testified in that order, died in that order. We only put three witnesses on the stand."

"There were only three witnesses, but four people testified," Ron objected, "The investigating Auror was the fourth and final person to give testimony. Neville."

"You think the killer would target Neville?" Harry asked, "All three of us had an equal hand in the investigation."

"He was one who wrote the report," Ron pointed out, "So he was the one who testified."

Harry nodded and added, "It was his last case before he left the Ministry."

"If the killer is following the order of the trial, mightn't he target Neville next?"

"What do you want to do?" Harry asked.

"I already sent Neville an owl, warning him of the danger. But I think we need a protection detail for him."

"It's not a bad idea. Hogwarts has been on break since Rowle died, so the killer wouldn't have been able to find Neville since then. I know Neville loves his grandmother, but I can't picture him staying at her house over break. If we don't know where Neville is, the killer shouldn't be able find him too easily. It's much likelier he or she will wait until the good Professor Longbottom is back at work."

"I thought we'd accompany him on the trip and take the first few days of guarding him," Ron told Harry.

"Agreed."

Charlie, having overheard a bit of the conversation, approached Ron and Harry. "Are you talking about a case?" he asked, very interested, "Is this about that string of murders?"

"We're not talking about work on Christmas!" Mrs. Weasley yelled from the kitchen.

They knew better than to disobey their mother.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE RIDE TO HOGWARTS

Ron looked around Platform 9¾ at all the children boarding the Hogwarts Express. "We were never that small," he insisted. Harry, who was also watching all the student, smiled.

"The day I first rode the Hogwarts Express had to be the best day of my life," he reflected, "I met you. I met Hermione."

"You met Ginny," Ron reminded him.

"I did!" Harry said, remembering the tiny redheaded girl who had wished him luck.

"Most importantly, you met me," said Neville, who had walked up behind them.

Harry turned and hugged Neville tightly. "How are you?" he asked.

"I'm great," Neville answered, and he certainly seemed very happy.

"Shall we?" Ron asked, motioning toward the train. They boarded. Neville found a compartment for them, and they sat.

"So what are you protecting me from?" Neville asked, his spirits undampened by the threat of imminent attack.

"We don't know," Ron admitted.

"Then who are you protecting me from?" Neville asked.

"We also don't know that," Ron admitted again.

Neville nodded. "Sounds like one of our adventures, all right," he observed.

The train pulled away from the station. Harry watched King's Cross Station recede as their journey began, and he felt wistful. It had been over seven years since he took this ride.

"How was your break?" Ron was asking Neville.

"Tremendous," Neville responded enthusiastically.

"What did you do while you were in town?"

"I spent Christmas with my Gran, of course. She hasn't lost any of her vim, I'll tell you that. I went to visit my folks, of course. I was able to see them almost every day I've been here."

"I heard the construction is a mess at St. Mungo's," Ron commented.

"It's not so bad," Neville told him, "They're really not doing anything big on the fourth floor, and there's nothing happening in the Thickey Ward." He thought for a bit, then remembered, "Oh, yeah, I stopped in to see Dennis Creevey."

Ron frowned, then asked, "How is he?"

Neville also frowned. "He's the same," Neville explained, "He's in a room near Gilderoy Lockhart. All the memory charm victims are in the same corridor. He's not responsive, but there's something in his eyes that I can see. He recognizes that he knows me, even if he can't really tell who I am."

Ron was uncomfortable responding. He understood that Neville knew this because it was the same vague kind of recognition that his parents gave him. "Well," Ron finally said, "You two spent a lot of time together in Dumbledore's Army."

"Yeah," Neville agreed, "I didn't really know him as well as Colin. He was quieter than his brother."

"To be fair," Harry joined in, "He was a second-year."

"He did pretty well for that," Ron pointed out.

"His father was there when I visited," Neville added.

"Had you ever met him before?" Ron asked.

"No. Colin and Dennis were Muggle-born, remember?"

"Of course! That's why everybody thought Harry tried to kill Colin during our second year!" Ron and Neville found the memory humorous, but not enough time had passed for Harry to be amused.

"Every year!" Neville chuckled, "Every year it was something with Harry! And we were always pulled into it! It was hard for me to have any peace at Hogwarts."

"And now?"

"I love it," Neville told them earnestly, "Teaching is my true calling. I enjoyed my time as an Auror with you guys, but that's not what I was meant to do."

"I spent all my time at school trying to be done with it," Ron said, "I couldn't picture going back to work there."

"I love everything about it," Neville assured them, "From the moment the Sorting Hat starts singing."

"Has its songwriting gotten any less cryptic?"

"Of course not," Neville shook his head, "This year it spent fifteen minutes singing a song about how safe the students were. It should have been reassuring, but all the lyrics were about how they wouldn't be burned up, or crushed by falling bricks, and they wouldn't choke on their own breath. Strange song. Some of the first years looked like they were about to cry."

"How is McGonagall as Headmaster?" Ron asked.

"Brilliant, of course," Neville said, "The only criticism anyone has of her is that she's not Dumbledore. But who can compare to Dumbledore?"

"I guess when we were in school, we all just pictured him being Headmaster forever."

"To me, he is the spirit of the school," Neville stated, "And as long as I'm there, I'll keep his memory alive."

"I'm happy to hear that," Harry told Neville, "Dumbledore will only truly have left Hogwarts when nobody there is loyal to him."

"So you don't miss the Auror's Department?" Ron asked.

"Look who's talking," Neville chided Ron, "Three years ago, Harry and I had to beg you to come back. You thought you'd spend the rest of your life helping your brother run his joke shop."

"I was wrong," Ron admitted, "Being an Auror is my true calling."

"I'm happier teaching," Neville insisted. When Ron looked a little hurt, Neville added, "But I did have a great time. Remember the armor with the ghost? How about Warty Harris? Harry, that was while you were still circling the globe."

"I don't think you guys ever told me that one," Harry said, trying to remember a Warty Harris.

"Warty Harris had a toad ranch," Neville began.

"That's being generous," Ron interrupted, "Warty bred toads in his yard."

"He still did a pretty good business," Neville continued, "But several of his toads were disappearing. At first he thought it was some kind of illness that made toads disintegrate, but he eventually figured out that they were being stolen. He went to the Auror Department, and since Ron and I were still in our first year of training, we were assigned the case.

"We checked out the ranch and couldn't find any evidence of someone breaking in."

"Come on, Nev," Ron interrupted again, "We knew it was Warty's brother from the beginning."

"We suspected it was Warty's brother Will straight off," Neville agreed, "But there was no proof. It's just that he was the only other person who had access to the toads. So if there was no break-in… Anyway, we developed a plan."

"You did!" Ron challenged, laughing out loud, "You developed the plan!"

"You went along with it, didn't you?" Neville asked, grinning.

"It was a good plan," Ron said, shaking with laughter, "It worked, didn't it?"

"What was the plan?" Harry asked, wondering what was the cause for the hilarity.

"He sent Trevor in undercover!" Ron blurted out, roaring. Trevor was Neville's toad.

"Oh no," Harry said, starting to catch the infectious laughter, "Poor Trevor."

"He performed admirably," defended Neville, "Warty thought it was a brilliant idea. We slipped Trevor into the group of toads that were ready for sale. As we expected, the toads were stolen. Including Trevor. And I had put a trace on him."

"How did it go?" Ron asked, guffawing because he already knew the answer.

"We traced Trevor, and we found him right outside Warty's front door."

"He had escaped from the toad-napper and found his way back!" Ron said, barely able to breathe, "We thought one of us was going to have to get an Animagus license to become a toad!"

"Warty still liked the undercover Trevor idea," Neville went on, "So we decided to try it again. But first I tried Legilimency on Trevor."

"Legilimency works on animals?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"Kind of," Neville told him, "I had a bit of a view of where Trevor had been. It was filled with all kinds of animals, not just toads."

"It's a good thing Trevor never studied Occlumency," Ron howled.

"I could see the opening that Trevor escaped through," Neville continued, "So I cast a spell on him that was sort of like Appare Vestigium, except instead of illuminating the traces of magic, it would… illuminate Trevor's tracks. That way, if he escaped again, we could follow his footprints back to the other toads."

"Did it work?" Harry asked. Ron could no longer interrupt. Laughing had made it impossible for him to speak.

"Yeah," Neville confirmed. He had to wait for Ron's laughter to subside before he could continue, "Trevor was stolen again, along with the next batch of toads. And he did escape again, and he did come back to Warty's ranch. So we went outside and saw his illuminated footprints there. And we started to follow them backward. But as we walked, we noticed something unusual. There were other toads along the route. And rats. And Nifflers. And chickens. We even saw a few snakes. The further we went, the more small animals we found, milling around near Warty's footprints.

"It turned out those animals didn't like their captivity any better than Trevor did. And this time, when he escaped, he left them a path to follow with his glimmering footprints. So all those animals started filing out of the opening in their enclosure. Without any real idea of where to go, they all just followed along behind Trevor, in a single file line. When we reached the end of the footprints, it was a boarded-up house. It had abandoned much earlier, and Warty's brother Will had been using to it store stolen animals, which he would sell for a tidy profit."

"We were heroes!" Ron informed Harry, recovering his composure only somewhat.

"That's true," Neville agreed, "Some of the animals Will had stolen were rare or protected, and several of the others had been people's pets. Will Harris had been engaged in his illegal animal trade almost as long as his brother had been raising toads. The only people who didn't love us were the Ministry employees assigned to collect up all those loose animals."

"It was an inter-Departmental effort," Ron said. It was not a joke, but that only made it more amusing.

"It took a task force to control all the animals along Trevor's footprints," Neville concurred, "So tons of employees from the involved Departments resented the two novice Aurors who started the whole thing. We got dirty looks for months."

"Agatha Timms loved us! She baked us a pie!" Ron reminded Neville.

"Yeah, an eel pie," Neville specified with a disgusted look on his face, "I guess her family owned an eel farm, and she felt especially sympathetic to Harris."

"I never heard that story," Harry said, "That must be why they assigned us to question Mortlake that time. It was about some peculiar ferrets."

"We didn't talk about it much back then. The embarrassment of the incident was still pretty fresh when you got back to London," Neville explained, "But I can laugh about it now."

"Not as much as I can," Ron declared, "So what about Trevor? Doesn't he miss being an assistant Auror?"

"I think that adventure was enough for him," Neville speculated, "He proved everything he needed to, and so did I. After the Battle of Hogwarts, something happened to me I never expected. People started treating me like I was a hero. I wasn't ready for that. As a kid, I had been convinced I was a Squib. I never thought I'd have any magic, until one day I was dropped out of a window by my Great-Uncle Algie."

Ron inhaled sharply. "Not on purpose," Neville quickly followed up, although there were magical families who would have taken just such a risk with a young child, in order to provoke the magic out of him. "He was distracted and lost his grip on my feet."

Ron wondered why Algie had been holding a child out of a window by his feet, but Neville never explained it.

"When I first came to school, I felt like I was only one step above a Squib," Neville recollected, "And I guess I was. But I came into my own over the years, largely thanks to you, Harry. Dumbledore's Army was the best thing that ever happened to me. I think that's why I kept it going while you three were off hunting for Horcruxes. I mean, I kept it going to resist the Carrows, but my personal reason was because it made me feel good about myself. That good feeling was just magnified after the Battle of Hogwarts. Historians were interviewing us, you remember? One year after graduation, and we were being taught in school."

"Harry and I never graduated," Ron reminded Neville.

"You know what I mean," Neville said, "You got whatever honorary diploma they gave you, and you were already legends. The only natural step that I could see was to keep fighting dark wizards. So when you two suggested that I become an Auror with you, I jumped at the chance. You know, my first five years at Hogwarts, I used my father's wand, but it was destroyed by our fight with those Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries. The one I purchased from Ollivander's to replace it was great, but that's not what I carried while I was an Auror. I used my mother's wand.

"My mother was an Auror, just like my Dad. Using her wand, I felt like I was carrying on for her. I was still trying to make them proud. But when I actually started working as an Auror, it didn't feel like the right fit. It was something I did to meet other peoples' expectations, or what I thought their expectations would be. The more I recognized that, the more I knew it couldn't be my career. But I didn't have the fortitude to leave until a conversation I had with my grandmother. We were having tea, and she mentioned that she had a talk with Headmaster McGonagall. She went on to mention that there would be an opening the next school year for a Herbology professor.

"My grandmother was never good at showing affection, but I understood was she was telling me. She was proud of me, but she knew where I really belonged. I expect that she told McGonagall to hold the position for me. Anyway, that convinced me to leave the Auror Department. I stayed around long enough to finish out that business with Padma Patil attacking the Muggles, and then I moved on to Hogwarts. I retired my mother's wand, and I reverted to the one I bought at Ollivander's. It's mine, and it suits me. It's the ideal wand for a Herbology professor."

"That case with Padma is actually the reason we're here," Ron told Neville.

"You wrote as much in your note," Neville acknowledged, "But where's the threat coming from? Padma's still in Azkaban, right? You said we had known her followers, that they were all at Hogwarts while we were there. Are they coming for me?"

"We don't know," Ron briefed him, "Because we don't know which one of them killed the other three victims. Or if it was somebody else. But I think there's a good chance you're the next target, and I don't want to risk anything happening to you."

"Plus," Harry added, "Even if the Occult Elite weren't the original killers, it seemed as though some of them would be happy to carry on the crusade. So you might have to worry about two different threats."

"Why me?" Neville asked, "You two contributed just as much to the investigation. And you're the ones who physically subdued Padma."

"I think it's the witness list," Ron explained, "The first witness was Marietta Edgecombe, and she was our first victim. She had been part of Padma's plot. In fact, it turns out she was one of the Elite, but she informed on Padma to protect herself. The second witness was Arnold Peasegood, and he was the second victim. He had taught Padma memory charms, and he built her a Pensieve, and then he used her own memories to testify against her. The third witness was Thorfinn Rowle, and he was our third victim. He trained Padma how to summon Fiendfyre, which confirmed everything we knew about her plot. And the fourth one to testify was…you."

"Couldn't the order just be a coincidence?" Neville countered, "Rowle was the hardest to find, so maybe that's why he was the last one killed. Marietta and Rowle had plenty of enemies, not just the Occult. Marietta could never stop stabbing people in the back. I head Rowle killed a student at the Battle of Hogwarts. Maybe the killings aren't related to Padma's group."

"We're keeping an open mind," Ron promised him, "But right now, we're trying to focus on any connections we can find. And I'm not risking your life on the chance of a coincidence."

"I appreciate it," Neville thanked him.

"I'm just glad you've been hard to find since Rowle was killed. Where did you stay during the holiday?"

"I took a room at the Leaky Cauldron," Neville told them, "You know, Hannah Abbot is working there now."

"I know," Ron said, "I saw her there last summer."

"I saw a lot of her this holiday," Neville mentioned.

"You did? I wasn't aware you spent any time with her when we were in school."

"She sought me out," Neville said happily, "She's become really interested in rare herbs, and it happens to be my field of expertise."

"Why is she studying rare herbs?" Harry asked.

"She's training to become a healer," Ron was able to explain.

"She never mentioned it when we were at school," Harry said thoughtfully.

"Which of us could have predicted our future when we were at school?" Ron asked.

"Well, I had a prophecy about mine," Harry told him, smugly.

"Fine, smarty," Ron begrudgingly accepted, "But that only covered you up to the Battle of Hogwarts. What about after that?"

"I'm still not sure," Harry said, "I knew my destiny back then, and now I've fulfilled it. Sometimes it makes me wonder if I still have a purpose."

"I think you might be struggling with some of the same things I was," Neville told him, "But I wouldn't let it weigh on you too heavily. There are some wizards and witches who hit their peak while they're at Hogwarts, but that's not you."

"Thanks," Harry replied.

"Except maybe on the Quidditch Pitch," Neville joshed him.

"Right," Harry said in mock anger, "Just let me fetch my broom and we'll see who peaked at Hogwarts."

All of a sudden, there was a knock at their compartment door. Ron's hand flashed over to his wand, although it seemed unlikely that an attack would come from within the Hogwarts Express. It was not an attack. It was four students, about twelve years old. Neville slid open the door. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"Professor Longbottom," one of them explained, "We heard a rumor that—" She looked over at Ron, and at Harry, and froze.

"It's true," twittered the other three to each other.

The spokesman of the group regained her nerve and continued, "We are members of the history club at Hogwarts. We hoped to meet Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, because they are historical."

"Oh, I feel old," Ron groaned.

"Come in," Harry summoned them, "History club? I'm afraid I wasn't very good at history. I had Professor Binns, and there wasn't much of a chance to fall in love with history in his class."

"Professor Binns is our club's faculty advisor," one of the boys said defensively.

Harry looked at the boy and saw that he was wearing Slytherin House robes. The girl who had introduced the group was from Gryffindor. The other girl was from Hufflepuff, and the other boy was from Ravenclaw.

"This is nice to see," Harry told them, "All the houses working together in one club."

"That's how it was supposed to be, historically," the Ravenclaw boy enlightened them, "The four Houses were always supposed to be in balance with each other. Each of the founders was a champion of one of the four elements. Gryffindor was fire, Hufflepuff was earth, Slytherin was water, and Ravenclaw was air. That's why our House is up in a high tower. The four houses were meant to work in combination, not close themselves off from each other."

"Are you related to a witch named Hermione Granger?" Ron joked.

"Is Miss Granger here too?" the Hufflepuff asked, looking around excitedly.

"What's the name of your club?" Harry asked.

"The Fortescue Four," the Gryffindor answered.

"After Hogwarts Headmaster Dexter Fortescue, not the ice cream parlor," the Slytherin emphasized. There must have been some confusion in the past.

"Fortescue Four?" Ron asked, "So this is all of you?"

"For now," the Hufflepuff admitted, "We've had trouble getting members."

"What can we do for you, Fortescue Four?" Harry asked kindly.

"It might help to legitimize our club if you could autograph this for us," the Ravenclaw told him, holding up a book and a quill.

Harry took the book. It was a copy of The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. It was a new edition, revised to cover the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the Death Eaters. Harry took the quill and signed the inside cover. The Ravenclaw took the book back, then held it out toward Ron hopefully. Ron looked over at Harry, then took the book. He signed on the title page.

"Would you mind signing it as well, Professor?" the Hufflepuff asked Neville, "You were part of it! You destroyed the final Horcrux!"

Neville signed the book as well.

"I hope that helps your club," Harry told them, and turning to the Slytherin, he apologized, "I'm sorry if I didn't show the proper respect to Professor Binns."

"He is quite boring," the Slytherin admitted reluctantly, "But his subject isn't. The problems in history can show us how to solve the problems of today."

"Very wise," Harry said, looking around at the Fortescue Four. The students thanked Harry, Ron, and Neville, then exited the compartment. As they walked away, they passed the book around, examining the autographs excitedly.

"Those ankle-biters are the future," Ron told his companions, "We're just broken-down codgers now. If they're second-years, they probably weren't even born when we started at Hogwarts."

"It's nice to see kids who really care about learning," Harry noted, then—thinking of his own second year—added, "And who don't have to worry about a giant serpent petrifying them."

"Kids like that are why I love teaching," Neville beamed.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: HOGSMEADE SHOWDOWN

Harry sat by the fireplace in the Hog's Head pub. The room was empty. A little more than ten years ago, the proprietor had been convicted for misuse of magic. Allegedly he had developed some kind of prohibited charm, which he insisted had been intended to keep a goat's horns curly and clean. During the trial, he had been held in custody, and the pub fell into disrepair. Even more disrepair than it had originally been in, that is. The appearance of the pub hinted that it had not been washed since. The only thing clean in the establishment was the goats' curly horns.

Harry gazed calmly into the fireplace, until a face appeared. "Sorry I'm late," Hermione's visage apologized from the flames.

"No trouble," Harry said, "I've just been enjoying a nice butterbeer."

"How's Hogsmeade?"

"It hasn't changed much."

"A few extra layers of dust in the Hog's Head, I see."

"I had to stay here, out of gratitude to Aberforth," Harry explained, adding, "I might be the only customer he's had this year."

"I really don't know how he stays in business," Hermione sighed, then got back to the matter at hand, "How long is this protection detail?"

"I don't know. We've requested a team to relieve us. The rest of our cases are falling behind. This is really more of a job for the Magical Law Enforcement Squad."

"Have you seen Hagrid yet?"

"No, I'm supposed to visit him tomorrow. Ron and I will have to go separately, unless Neville's going to come with us."

"Give him my love," Hermione said.

"Hello, Hermione!" Neville called out, walking up behind Harry with Ron.

"Hi, Neville! It's been too long!" Hermione greeted sweetly.

"Any word on the Occult Elite?" Ron asked her bluntly.

"Are you staying at the Hog's Head as well?" Hermione asked Ron.

"No chance! This whole place is a botch job; I don't want my lodgings to fall down around me. I'm at the Three Broomsticks!"

"With Madam Rosmerta," Hermione observed archly.

"You look very nice this evening," Ron told her, which was a nice compliment until he added, "On the pull?"

"You can't see anything but my face," Hermione told him angrily, "And that's in flames."

"You still look very nice," Harry tried to intercede.

"So what about the Elite members?" Ron returned to the original topic.

"We don't have enough to convict them for anything, I've told you. We can't prosecute based on assumptions and conclusions," Hermione insisted, sounding irked, then amended more quietly, "Even when they're right."

"What's the recommendation from the prosecution section, then?" Ron demanded.

"I don't know," Hermione argued, "You're the Auror. You're supposed to gather evidence on people."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Harry appeased both of his friends, "Those six are bound to make some dumb mistake, and then we'll have them."

"I've got to go," Hermione said shortly, and before Ron could make any snide comment, she added, "I'm meeting my parents for dinner." Her face vanished, and the flames subsided back to their original embers.

"Still not going too well with Hermione?" Neville asked.

"I must be crazy. Nobody else can get me that shirty. Crazy."

"Crazy in love," Neville taunted him.

Ron glowered at Neville, then asked Harry, "Can we please go to supper? This place is desolate."

Ron, Harry and Neville left the Hog's Head. They walked down High Street, and Ron planned his feast. Suddenly, they heard a distant voice behind them yell "Oppugno!"

"Ambush," Harry noted, nonplussed.

Ron spun around and growled, "You've got to be kidding me!" Zacharias Smith was standing on the roof of a shop down the block.

"You could have just cursed us from behind if you weren't afraid of getting closer!" Neville taunted Zacharias.

"Oppugno?" Ron asked Harry, "What's that spell again?" In a moment, he could see for himself. A legion of the stick figures was marching down the street toward them.

"It's fine," Harry told Neville, "They're not really alive. Feel free to wipe them out."

"Okay," Neville agreed, "But that's a lot of wiping out."

It seemed to be an army of the stick figures advancing on them. The other pedestrians on High Street all fled. Zacharias laughed menacingly. At the head of the stick figures was Malcolm Baddock and Eloise Midgen.

"Eloise?" Neville called out, "Is that you? What are you doing?"

"This isn't about you!" she roared, "I'm after Ron 'Weaselly!'"

"What did I do?" Ron wondered aloud.

"You weren't very nice to her at school," Neville told him.

"You're dead, Longbottom!" Malcolm threatened.

"She just said this wasn't about me!" Neville protested.

Harry waited calmly for the army to approach. He looked over their numbers. When he thought the time was right, he extended both of his arms. This time, he spoke his spell aloud, "Engorgio!" The twelve stick figures at the head of the mob grew until they were size of giants.

Malcolm and Eloise looked behind them in surprise.

"That's not very helpful," Ron told Harry.

"We can't use fire," Harry said, "We'd burn down Hogsmeade." He kept his arms extended and cast a spell Ron had never encountered, "Arborem Pare!"

The twelve stick giants turned around to the hundred behind them. They began crushing, tossing and stepping on their followers.

"Now that's helpful!" Ron remarked.

Malcolm had been watching events unfold in shock. He turned back with a murderous look. He raised his wand, and Ron and Neville prepared to duel him. Ron never got his chance, as he was thrown backward roughly by Evarte Statum. Eloise advanced toward him, her spells echoing down the empty street. "Stupefy! Stupefy! Bombarda!" Ron deflected the spells with all the strength he could summon. He was on his back in front of the entrance to a magical clock shop. As the curses rushed past Ron on either side, the store was torn apart. Ron checked that there were no occupants in the business, and then turned his attention to countering Eloise.

Neville was deftly dueling with Malcolm. "Do you need help?" Harry asked.

"Strange question," retorted Neville, brushing aside one of Malcolm's curses.

"It's going to take more than those big ones to finish off that army without destroying the entire village."

"Go ahead," Neville told Harry, "I'll see that this one's finished off."

"You're the one who's going to be finished," seethed Malcolm, "I may not have been able to start this campaign, but I'm going to complete it."

Neville sent a spell beneath Malcolm's shield, doubling his opponent over. Malcolm aimed at the roadway in front of Neville's feet and cast "Defodio!" A wave of dirt and rocks exploded upward, raining down on Neville. When Neville was able to see again, Malcolm was gone.

Ron ran up to Neville. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"It was a doddle," Neville told him, looking Ron up and down, "Are you all right?"

Ron looked severely beaten. "That woman has it in for me," he said, "But I was able to get the upper hand. I thought we'd have to duel it out, but Malcolm signaled her and she scarpered. Where's Harry?"

"I think he's dealing with the 'stick figures,'" Neville said.

"He's over there," Ron pointed out. Harry was standing on a bench, breaking an icicle off of the front of a business.

"How's it going?" Ron asked, striding over to Harry, "You know, we're still in a battle."

"Did you see their wands?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, they're made of stone. Probably why they're so bad at fighting."

"But also why they generate such direct power," Harry noted, "You won't get much delicate handling from a stone wand, but it has its own unique aspects."

"Hmm, interesting," Ron commented, watching the army of stick figures push back their enormous adversaries.

"Wands are made of wood because wood wands are the best wands. But wands only focus power, so anything could be a wand."

"The icicle?" Ron asked. He was going to make a sarcastic comment, but he had seen Harry perform some unusual magic.

"Not just the icicle," Harry explained, "It needs a core." Harry reached into his robes and pulled out something that Ron couldn't see.

"What've you got?" Ron asked.

"It's a strand of Padma Patil's hair," Harry answered, "I brought it in case we were attacked by anyone affiliated with the Occult. I thought it might help."

"Sure," Ron agreed, without knowing what he was agreeing to.

"I'm going to use it as the core of this wand." Harry laid the hair across the icicle. He waved his palm back and forth over it, and the ice opened to let the hair sink in. Harry picked up his frozen wand and stepped out into the street. He turn his hand palm upward, holding the wand loosely. He spoke "Evanesco" so quietly that he was almost speaking to himself. An energy poured out of the wand. It moved forward, engulfing the stick figures. As it did so, they vanished. The momentum continued forward until all of the stick figures had been eradicated, and then it receded back to the ice wand, like the tide flowing back to sea.

Neville was speechless. Harry waved his hand over the wand, and it melted, leaving only the strand of hair. He let it fall out of his hand, commenting, "I don't think it has much magic left in it."

Neville goggled at Harry in amazement. "Don't think on it too much," Ron advised him, "Harry's on another level of magic than we simple wizards."

Harry sat on a bench to rest. The other two joined him. "You're a true warlock," Neville admired Harry.

"No," Harry objected, "It's true I'm able to use my abilities in combat, but my real interests are in a magic that is constructive, not destructive."

"You're not even out of breath," Neville observed, "I'm exhausted, and look at Ron."

Ron did look bad, all bloodied and bruised. "Look at you," he told Neville, who was filthy from the dirt that had poured over him. "You look great, though," Ron told Harry, with an assumed air of admiration. Harry did look great. Nobody would have been able to tell he had just been in a battle. The three of them sat on the bench in silence, resting. Neville pulled a chocolate out of his robe and unwrapped it.

"Hermione's going to be happy," Ron announced ironically, "We have something to arrest those three for, now." He looked over at Neville.

"Hey!" Ron yelled, and slapped the chocolate out of Neville's hand, which was on its way to his mouth.

"What?" Neville demanded, annoyed at losing his chocolate.

"That's a Charm Choc!" Ron said, "Where did you get it?"

"It was a promotional giveaway," Neville answered, "It was free, or you'd be buying me another one."

"That's poisoned," Ron insisted.

Recognition came over Harry's face. "Ron's right," he agreed, "How was it delivered?"

"It came by owl during mail delivery," Neville said, "I don't know which owl it was. I thought it belonged to the Charm Choc company, or their marketing department, or something. What makes you think it's poisoned?"

"There was a Charm Choc wrapper in Marietta Edgecombe's flat. There were multiple Charm Choc wrappers in Arnold Peasegood's waste bin. And I'm sure there must have been one in all those junk food wrappers Hermione found around Rowle's hut. The landlady told me the only mail Rowle received other than his money was a promotional mailer. I think the killer has been sending 'free samples' of Charm Chocs to his victims. That's how he's been getting them to eat the poison."

Neville looked down at the chocolate on the ground apprehensively. "Thanks," he told Ron.

"Just doing my job," Ron said breezily.

By midnight, Ron and Harry had completed their respective investigative duties and were reporting back to each other and to Neville.

"I can't make the poison tell me anything," Harry proclaimed in frustration, "I can't find any trace of poison. No magic that I've ever seen, and that's quite a selection, if I may say so myself."

"Did you use Scarpin's Revelaspell?" Ron asked. It was a needless question; that was always the first step in identifying a potion's ingredients.

"I did more than that. I took the entire Charm Choc apart. I isolated all the original ingredients."

"You did all that in the past six hours?" Ron marveled.

"I bought a regular Charm Choc, and I took that apart, for comparison."

"In six hours?" Ron repeated.

"The Charm Choc Neville received was tampered with. There was an extra ingredient, but it was a simple, non-magic seed. I'm trying to work out theories of how it could kill someone and leave no trace. Right now I'm theorizing that it might be a carrier for some magic that rides along inside the seed, inhabiting it, and then retreats once its job is done."

"That's impossible," said Neville.

"It's the likely explanation we've got," said Ron.

"What about you?" Neville asked Ron, "Were you able to track down the owl that delivered the Charm Choc?"

"Yes!" Ron announced, "But it just leads to more problems. It was a Ministry owl."

"Those can only be used by Ministry employees," Neville half-said, half-asked.

"As far as I know. I won't rule out that somebody else figured out a way to use our owls, but it's almost certainly a Ministry employee."

"That is a problem," Neville agreed darkly.

"We already suspected as much," Ron shared, "The note alerting me to Rowle's location was intercepted at the Ministry. I hoped it was an accident, but now it looks like someone was trying to delay or destroy the message. It worked. He was able to get to Rowle before us."

"Well," Neville told his friends, "Have fun going back to work where the killer is."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: MARAUDING

The Law Enforcement Squad's Hit Wizards responded from the Ministry the next day to begin their protection detail for Neville. "Day late, aren't they?" Neville had asked Ron and Harry jokingly.

Harry was waiting at the Three Broomsticks for Ron to finish packing his things, so they could return to the Ministry. Neville entered, flanked by his guards. "They need to clear off and give me some room in the Herbology greenhouses," Neville insisted, then added, "Or at least learn how to pot some plants."

"We've got to keep you safe until we can get the Elite," Ron told him flatly, "You saw what they can do."

"And catch the killer, too," Harry reminded Ron.

"Oh, yeah," Ron said, "That too."

"It's going to be a long time before I eat another Charm Choc," Neville shivered, then returned to his original purpose, "Before you leave, Harry, I have a surprise for you."

"Just for Harry?" Ron asked, pointing at his own blackened eye.

"You can see it too," Neville said, "But it's really for Harry. I found it last term, and I've been waiting until you visited Hogwarts."

Neville reached into his robes and produced a small glass vial. A handwritten label pronounced "Wednesday, October 26, 1977" and nothing else. "Madam Rosmerta has a Pensieve," Neville told them, "And she said we could use it; I've already asked."

"Rosmerta owns a Pensieve?" Ron asked, "She doesn't seem the type."

"She's a reflective person," Harry observed, comprehending the Three Broomsticks proprietor with the same perception he had for most people these days.

The Pensieve at Hogwarts had belonged to the school itself. As such, it was set in an elaborate pedestal, which was a fixture of the Headmaster's office. Rosmerta's Pensieve consisted simply of the shimmering concave disc, supported by three wooden pegs on a side table. Harry and Ron stood on either side of it. Neville reached between them and poured the contents of the vial into the fluid. Harry and Ron leaned forward and were pulled down into the memory, to be unseen witnesses to someone's recollections of that day.

As Harry and Ron looked around themselves, they recognized their surroundings. They were standing in the middle of the Hogwarts school grounds, near the Whomping Willow tree. Their heads turned at the sound of someone approaching, but they saw nothing. Then Harry noticed something odd at ground level. He could make out three pairs of feet, which seemed to end just at the ankles. He watched as they shuffled closer. The feet came to a stop just outside the reach of the Whomping Willow.

The air itself seemed to flap and billow as three boys were revealed. They had just pulled off the invisibility cloak that had been covering them.

"I'm telling you James," one of the boys said, "We could barely fit under that rag fifth year. We're in our seventh year now and still trying to squeeze under a tiny square of cloth."

Harry became a bit unsteady at seeing the three students. The speaker was a young Sirius Black, with Peter Pettigrew standing to his left. Sirius was addressing James Potter, Harry's father. Harry stared at them, trying to drink in each word and nuance.

"We would have an easier time if Peter would transfigure himself into Wormtail in the castle," James pointed out, "Instead of waiting until we got out here."

"I couldn't!" Peter protested, frightened at the idea, "What if the spell was detected? I'd be expelled! They'd send me off to Azkaban! You know they have Dementors there, don't you? I heard they eat your happiness!"

"I think my happiness would need a dash of salt," James joked, then suggested to Sirius, "Maybe we'd fit under the Cloak of Invisibility better if Peter just stayed behind."

"You don't mean that!" Peter exclaimed. The thought of his friends leaving him behind terrified him more than being expelled or imprisoned.

"We'd never leave you behind," Sirius promised, and Peter beamed. Then Sirius explained, "You're the only one who can open the passage."

Instead of acknowledging the joke, Peter whipped his head around. "Do you hear someone?" he whispered.

"You're so nervous," Sirius told Peter, "I can't understand how such a mouse was sorted into Gryffindor."

"I can be brave," Peter defended himself grumpily.

"Sure you can," James agreed, "You asked Veronica Smethley to the Yule Ball, didn't you? I mean, she may have said 'No,' but asking her took some nerve."

Sirius barked a sharp laugh. "It's easy for you to snicker," Peter said, "You don't seem to be interested in any witches."

"That's true," James pointed out to Sirius, "You only have eyes for Muggle girls these days."

"Look who's talking," Sirius parried, "You've been in love with Evans since we were first-years."

James ignored Sirius and instructed Peter, "Let's get going."

Wormtail began to Transfigure. His face pulled back into itself until his head was a tiny bulb on top of a body that was rapidly shrinking. His arms and legs pulled themselves in, and his hands and feet became claws. In a few seconds, he was completely changed into a rather plump rat.

Meanwhile, James and Sirius had conducted their own Transfigurations. James had taken the shape of a powerful stag, and Sirius was a rather intimidating black dog. Peter, who had now become the "Wormtail" Sirius mentioned earlier, scurried along the ground toward the base of the Whomping Willow. He reached up with one of his little front feet and pressed a knot in the tree trunk. The Whomping Willow instantly stopped moving. The stag and the dog that had been James and Sirius moved forward. The three animals moved through the entrance to a secret passageway at the base of the tree. Once they were inside, the tree resumed its motion.

The area was quiet for a minute, and then two figures emerged from their hiding places behind nearby foliage. They were each immediately recognizable to Harry: one was Severus Snape, and the other was Harry's mother, Lily Evans.

"I can't believe it!" Lily exclaimed in hushed tones.

"I imagine not," Severus said, "Absolutely criminal. They use the aliases 'Prongs,' 'Padfoot,' and 'Wormtail.'"

"How is this possible?"

"You saw for yourself. Those three are unregistered Animagi."

"I can't believe it!" Lily repeated.

"Yes, how could they think they'd ignore the Animagus Registry."

"I mean, how did they do it?" Lily asked, almost admiringly, "This is really advanced magic. For part of it, you have to hold a mandrake leaf in your mouth for a full month!"

"That must have been difficult for a group of oafs who love to talk so much," Severus observed.

"What about Remus?" Lily asked, "Those four are always together. Is he an Animagus as well?"

Severus contemplated what to say. "The night is not over," he finally offered.

Lily kept watching the Whomping Willow, wondering if the three would reappear. Severus, on the other hand, was looking around in annoyance. "Where are they?" he muttered to himself.

"I thought you'd appreciate some time for us to visit, just the two of us," Lily said warmly, "The only time we ever see each other these days is at Professor Slughorn's get-togethers."

"Of course," Severus replied, thrown a little off-balance by Lily's friendliness.

"I don't really care to see your friends, anyway," Lily added disapprovingly, "Avery has a disgusting cruel streak. And Mulciber is entirely bigoted against Muggles. He should have been expelled for the way he treated Mary MacDonald."

"It is not bigotry," Severus argued, "He has legitimate concerns about what Muggles have done to wizards in the past, and how to address those wrongs. MacDonald provoked him."

"I would expect you to defend him," Lily said crossly, "If I remember, you're the one who called me 'mudblood.'"

Severus's face contorted. It had happened during their fifth year, and their friendship was never quite intact since then. Severus would have given anything to take it back, but he did not have the nerve to tell Lily that.

"That group has been a terrible influence on you," Lily lectured him, "You used to be a start member of the Gobstones club, and now you spend all your time with aspiring Death Eaters."

Severus turned his eyes down to the ground, ominously. His right hand unconsciously grasped his left forearm.

"At least, I hope it's only 'aspiring,'" Lily commented, "That organization has been growing like Flitterblooms the past seven years."

Severus and Lily's attention was turned away from their argument by the Whomping Willows sudden stillness. They darted out of sight.

Wormtail emerged from the secret passageway, having already reached out with his claws to push the knot that stilled the tree. He was followed by Prongs, Padfoot, and a fourth figure. It resembled a wolf, but with a shortened nose and a bushier tail. Its movements had a trace of something human in them. Harry recognized it to be the werewolf form of Remus Lupin.

Wormtail darted forward, squeaking nervously. Prongs strode off the side, disregarding the rat's noise, but Padfoot gave some attention to it. Padfoot raised his snout and breathed in, smelling for anything suspicious. His eyes were thoughtful, but then his canine shoulders shrugged, almost in a human way, and he loped after Prongs. Padfoot tilted his head to the side, motioning for the werewolf to join them. It did, and the quartet wandered away.

Severus and Lily reappeared in the open. Lily's eyes were wider than they had ever been.

"We've missed them!" hissed Severus, looking around again for his missing associates.

"Was that Remus?" Lily asked in amazement, "Has he become a werewolf?"

"He's always been a werewolf," Severus informed her plainly, "Since before he came to Hogwarts. He's the reason they planted this hideous tree on the grounds. That secret passageway leads to the Shrieking Shack."

"How can they go to the Shrieking Shack? It's the most haunted building in Britain!" Lily said, in real concern.

"That is a falsehood," Severus said, impatient with her ignorance and with his allies' absence, "It keeps students away from the shack so Remus won't kill them."

"He wouldn't," Lily insisted.

"He tried to kill me once," Severus notified her, "Werewolves are a menace to any community of wizards, much less a school."

"Is he why the others became Animagi?" Lily guessed, "To help Remus?"

"Help him?" Severus retorted, "They're making things worse for everyone. Unlike those other three, Remus Lupin is a relatively humble, intelligent person. At the full moon, he always had the sense to remain in the Shrieking Shack until he was no longer a threat. Now the others have him roaming the grounds every month. I'm amazed he hasn't killed anyone yet."

"What do they call him?" Lily asked.

"Moony," Severus answered, not understanding why Lily wasn't focusing on the important parts of this revelation.

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs!" Lily exclaimed, with sudden recognition, "They also call themselves the Marauders."

"So you're aware of their misdeeds?"

"When I was a Prefect," Lily explained, "I confiscated a few questionable inventions from students that were purported to be the creations of the Marauders. They described themselves as 'Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief Makers.' Nobody would tell me who the Marauders were, but one student referred to them as Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs."

"How is it they haven't been expelled?" Severus asked with visible anger.

"It was just practical jokes," Lily said, not understanding the scope of Snape's question.

Lily and Severus were interrupted by the appearance of five cloaked figures wearing masks. "I told you when to be here!" Severus confronted them angrily.

"Calm down, Half-Blood," said one of the figures, "We've got a good reason for the delay."

"Wilkes?" Lily asked, recognizing the voice. The ghostly mask turned to look at her.

"This is no time for romance, Half-Blood," Wilkes told Severus.

"What was more important than catching a werewolf?" Severus demanded, "I've been planning this for a year!"

"We've got something good for it," the smallest of the masked figures said, "But we need your help getting it here."

"Regulus?" Lily asked.

"Oh. You're good with voices," Regulus responded, with some dismay.

"Ignore the mudblood," said one of the other figures, with the voice of Avery. It was no feat of deduction to conclude that the other two were Mulciber and Rosier. All five were acquaintances of Severus from Slytherin House.

"Don't call her that," Severus defended Lily, "She's a witch, and the best of our year. It's not her fault her family is…" He trailed off, not knowing what to say without insulting Lily.

"How could you be with these people?" Lily asked, but she was addressing Regulus, not Severus.

"I wanted to do something to protect the Wizarding World," Regulus answered, trying to make his voice deep and imposing.

"You seemed like such a nice person at the Slug Club meetings," Lily said, shaking her head.

"Come on, give us a hand, Half-Blood," Wilkes told Severus.

"Don't call him that," Lily defended Severus.

"He asked us to, last year," Wilkes laughed.

"I said 'Half-Blood Prince!'" Severus corrected him, "Let's just get on with it."

Severus followed the other five away. Lily was left alone. She took a seat on the grass and leaned back, supporting herself with her arms. After a few minutes, she heard movement behind her. She turned, expecting to see Severus and the others returning. Instead, she was looking into the deep eyes of a deer.

"James?" Lily asked, then corrected herself, "Prongs?"

The deer stepped toward Lily tentatively. She stood to greet it. Lily reached her hand up and patted the deer's side. The deer turned to regard her.

"I suppose you can't understand what I'm saying," Lily told it, "But this is astounding." She considered him for a minute, then added, "I wish you four would put this much effort into your schoolwork."

Lily and the deer stared into each other's eyes. "You're really beautiful," Lily commented, "It's as though James put everything good of himself into you, and none of the bad. You have strength, but no malice. I can see that it's strength of character. You know, If you could just be like this as a human, you might have a chance with me."

The deer lowered his head.

"Oh!" Lily exclaimed, a thought striking her, "You need to leave! Go on! Severus and his friends have something planned for you!" Prongs tilted his head and looked at Lily, but he did not move. "It's for Remus, really," Lily continued, "Moony, I mean. They're trying to expose him. It's not safe for you to come back here."

Prongs raised his head in alarm, and then bounded away. Lily watched as he left. "Oh, I hope he couldn't understand everything I said," she told herself.

Lily's warning had come just in time. Severus and his group came stomping back. They were lugging an enormous cupboard. It took all of them casting Locomotor at the same time to be able to transport it to the Whomping Willow.

"I hope you don't expect my help arranging your furniture," Lily told them. She could hear a shrill noise coming from the robes of one of the group. When they set down the cupboard, they all caught their breath. "It's a Vanishing Cabinet," Severus informed Lily.

"Really?" she replied, a little impressed, "I've never seen one. Where did you get it."

"Lucius Malfoy lent it to us," Mulciber announced proudly, "He wanted to protect his alma mater from being prey to a werewolf."

"You're going to Vanish him, then?" Lily asked.

"Not quite," Avery said, giggling.

"This is one of a pair," Mulciber informed her, "We've managed to get a Dementor into the other one. I think that should be enough to exterminate one werewolf."

Lily was horrified. "That werewolf happens to be a student," she said, "You can't possibly—"

"Actually, we can," Wilkes interrupted her, sliding his hand into his robes, "We have the key to finding him, right here." He pulled his hand out of his robes, and Lily could see a rat dangling from his fingers.

"Wormtail!" she exclaimed, then challenged Wilkes, "I'm not going to help you with any of this."

"We don't need any help," she was rebuffed, "You're only here to legitimize the hunt. We needed to have the Head Girl with us to explain what we were doing out of the castle so late. Once we explain that we were catching a werewolf, I'm sure the infraction will be forgiven."

Lily looked over at Severus, and her eyes became angry slits.

"I thought you'd support us," Severus said, almost pleading, "You must see what a danger this werewolf is, no matter who he is the rest of the month."

Wilkes pointed his wand at Wormtail and performed the Homorphous charm. Wormtail turned back into Peter Pettigrew. "Let me go!" he yelled at Wilkes, who was now holding him by the back of his trousers.

"Sure," Wilkes agreed, "Just tell me where the werewolf is."

"I'm not telling you anything!" Peter gasped, struggling to get free.

"We don't have all night," Mulciber menaced Peter. He, Avery, and Rosier gathered around Peter.

"Leave him alone," Lily demanded, and began stepping toward the group. Severus stood in front of her. "Please don't interfere," he asked firmly.

Severus was blocking Lily's way, and Regulus was keeping watch. The other four had surrounded Peter and were tormenting him with little jolts of pain from their wands.

"Stop it!" Lily called out.

"Are you going to tell us?" Wilkes asked Peter again.

"Nothing could make me tell you where they are," Peter responded defiantly.

"Nothing?" Wilkes repeated, and then told the others to stand back.

"Crucio!" Wilkes roared, and Peter fell to the ground in agony.

Lily could not believe what she was witnessing. "You're going to Azkaban," she said breathlessly to the gleeful Wilkes.

"Lily, please…" Severus said uncomfortably.

"I won't tell you where they are," Peter maintained weakly.

"Crucio!" Wilkes called out again, his face contorted into a leer of sadistic joy. Peter rolled around, screaming.

"That's brilliant!" Avery complimented Wilkes, "How'd you learn the Cruciatus Curse?"

"Bellatrix Black taught it to me before I graduated," Wilkes explained happily.

"Wish she would've shared it with all of us," Mulciber commented.

"It's a really difficult spell to perform correctly," Wilkes told them, clearly proud of his accomplishment.

"I heard that Bellatrix is dating Rodolphus Lestrange," Avery gossiped, while Peter lay on the ground crying. Regulus looked a little wobbly behind them.

"Yeah," Wilkes nodded, "But he always liked her more than she liked him." Then, as if it was an afterthought, he added, "Crucio!" again.

Peter was wailing, and Lily pushed Severus aside. Avery turned to face her. "I may not know the Cruciatus Curse," he told Lily, "But I think I can prevent any interference." Lily reached toward her robe to fetch her wand, but Avery grabbed her wrist.

"Don't touch her!" Severus commanded harshly.

"Such a gentleman," Avery commented as he released Lily, "He'd make a much more suitable match than those Gryffindor idiots, don't you think?" Then he snatched her wand out of her hand.

Peter was lying face-down on the ground. His body heaved with his sobs. Wilkes crouched down to address him. "Bellatrix said that if you suffer too much of the Cruciatus Curse, you can lose your mind," Wilkes instructed Peter, "I hope that's not true, though. I really want your mind intact. So you can tell us where to find that filthy beast."

Wilkes stood up again and aimed his wand at Peter again. Before he could cast the spell, his arm was violently knocked aside by a powerful hoof. Prongs had made a stealthy approach, and was kicking all of the masked figures to the ground. Padfoot was close behind him, and he leapt onto Mulciber's chest.

"I thought you were supposed to be keeping watch, Regulus!" Avery screamed at the youngest member of the group. Padfoot whipped his head up at these words. He climbed off of Mulciber, and within a few steps had been restored to his human form.

"Regulus?" he asked, standing squarely in front of the smallest masked figure. Meanwhile, Prongs was keeping the rest of the group discombobulated. Severus and Lily were watching from the side.

Regulus removed his mask. "Sirius?" Regulus regarded his brother, "I didn't know you'd be here."

Sirius snatched Regulus' left arm. He pulled up the sleeve, revealing a freshly-applied Dark Mark. "Death Eaters," Sirius growled contemptuously, "This is a new low for the Black family."

"What do you care about the Black family?" Regulus demanded, "You left us. Mother had to remove you from the family tree."

"She 'had to,' did she?" Sirius responded laconically.

"We don't even know where you've been living, outside of Hogwarts," Regulus said, with what seemed to be real concern.

"With the Potters, of course," Sirius informed him, "I was curious to see what a happy family looked like. Fleamont and Euphemia have shown me more kindness in the past year than mother has in my entire life."

"They're just part of the problem themselves," Regulus said with conviction, "Every wizard who is willing to live under the Muggle yoke is just contributing to our oppression. And there you are, putting around on your Muggle motorbike."

"Naïve little idiot," Sirius dismissed his brother, and then cast Fulgari. Regulus was instantly bound with magical cords. He lay on the ground, unable to get free.

While Sirius had been dealing with Regulus, Wilkes had been able to get some distance from the rearing Prongs. Wilkes took hold of Lily's arm roughly and pulled her away from Severus.

"If Pettigrew can hold out during the Cruciatus Curse," Wilkes yelled at Prongs, "I'm sure Evans can. But I doubt you'd like to see that!" The deer immediately stopped kicking. "Back to human form!" Wilkes commanded. Prongs obeyed, and a defiant James was standing in their midst. "You too, mangy!" Wilkes told Sirius, "Get over here!" Sirius took his place beside James.

Severus looked crestfallen at Lily's peril, but apparently lacked the resolve to defy his "friends," even for her.

James and Sirius helped Peter to his feet. "I never told them where you were," Peter told them, "I would never have told them."

"I know you wouldn't," James said reassuringly.

"What are we going to do with them?" Avery asked Wilkes, "I don't think they know where the werewolf is. Otherwise, that fat mouse would have given him up."

"I've got an idea," Wilkes announced, "The werewolf seems to like these three. That Dementor was meant for him, but if we give these three to it, maybe the beast will come to their rescue. Then we've got him."

Mulciber rotated the Vanishing Cabinet so it was facing the three Marauders. "Don't let that thing get near you," he warned the others. Everyone except James, Sirius, and Peter moved back behind the cabinet. Lily glared at Severus, and he lowered his head at the unspoken reproach. Mulciber and Avery pulled open the doors of the closet, and a terrifying, ghostly being emerged. It floated directly toward its prey.

The Dementor took turns feeding on James, Sirius, and Peter. It drew the happiness out of them, and soon all three were slumped on the ground reliving their worst memories. The Dementor was feasting rapaciously on their misery. Lily turned and looked at Severus with tears of anger in her eyes. Severus looked around at the rest of the group, who were distracted by the Dementor's display. He reached into his robe and produced something. It was Lily's wand. He had been able to slip it away from Avery. He handed it to her, with an apologetic look.

Lily stepped out from behind the cover of the cabinet and aimed her wand at the Dementor. "Expecto Patronum!" she cried out, and a bright shield pushed the Dementor back, moving it away from the three boys on the ground. The Dementor pushed back and was soon torturing the Marauders again. "Expecto Patronum!" Lily tried again, but with her vigor somewhat reduced. The masked group looked anxious to reach her, but none were brave enough to leave their concealment behind the cabinet. "Expecto Patronum!" Lily persisted, and she finally bothered the Dementor enough that it turned its attention to her.

The Dementor glided toward Lily, and she took a step back. All at once, he face hardened. She exhaled, and her features assumed an expression of deep concentration. She raised her wand and let a smile broaden across her face. "Expecto Patronum!" she shouted again, and this time, her shield began to solidify into the outline of an animal. It grew a muscular body with slender legs. Her Patronus came into shape. It appeared as a doe.

Severus was watching the spell with a look of inconsolable grief.

The doe rushed at the Dementor and drove it back, back, and back again, until it was in front of the doors of the Vanishing Cabinet. It kicked at the Dementor until it was pushed back into the cabinet, and then Lily slammed the doors shut.

The young Death Eaters rushed out to confront Lily, but the Marauders had drawn their wands. Regulus remained bound, but it was still five against four, if the Death Eaters could count Severus. However, Severus made no move.

Lily and the Marauders began dueling with the Death Eaters. Severus watched as the advantage in the fight moved back and forth. The Death Eaters attacked brutally, but their spells lacked any finesse. James and Sirius were excellent at dueling, but Peter was a liability to their side. His magic was crude and unpracticed. Lily was a highly accomplished witch, but she had no experience with brawling, and it put her at a disadvantage.

Severus, unsure what to do, never joined in the fight. But a close observation could show him raising his wand slightly and muttering "Confundo." At once, the Death Eaters began losing ground. The efficacy of their spells plummeted, and the Marauders began pressing their advantage. The Death Eaters, sensing that they were outmatched, and not sure why, quickly decided that the wisest course was to retreat. They freed Regulus and sprinted off into the darkness.

James, Sirius, and Peter began crowing and congratulating each other. Lily ran her hands through her hair. "I've never been in a real fight before," she opined.

"You were brilliant," gushed James, "Born to it!"

"I don't want to use magic to fight people," Lily said glumly.

"Neither do I," James responded sincerely, "But isn't it better to know that you can?"

"That was quite an Impedimenta," Sirius said, patting Lily on the back.

"Are you kidding?" James said, "That was quite a Patronus!"

The celebration was interrupted by footsteps. James and Sirius spun around with their wands pointed in front of them.

"Don't aim those wands at me," a gruff voice ordered. It was the voice of Argus Filch, the school's caretaker, "Who is that?"

James jerked his Cloak of Invisibility out of his robes and draped it over Lily before she knew what was happening. A woman's voice cast "Lumos!" and the area around the Whomping Willow was illuminated. The light was coming from the wand of one of the professors' wives, who was following close behind Filch.

"You three!" Filch said, with an equal mix of distaste and joy at having apprehending them breaking the rules. James and Sirius looked at him innocently, as they had so many times before. Peter was quivering. Filch lit his lantern. "I'll need some helping herding this lot into the castle," he told the witch behind him.

"I'll summon my husband," she said, "I'm sure we can have some Prefects handle these students; no need to wake anyone else." She strode away, leaving Filch to guard the violators.

"We heard the commotion and came to see what was happening," Filch told the three, "Glad we did. You three are in real trouble."

Peter was shaking, but James and Sirius seemed unconcerned. "Head Boy?" Filch asked James, and James nodded. "Not much longer, I think," Filch predicted. James did not flinch. Filch turned to Peter, the weakest of the bunch. "Turn out your pockets," he demanded. Peter removed the contents of his robes: his wand and a folded, well-worn piece of parchment.

"What this, then?" Filch asked, taking the parchment out of Peter's hand. Peter was so frightened, he did not respond.

Filch unfolded the parchment and looked at it. There were only a few words visible at the top: "Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs offer their sympathy to Mr. Argus Filch. If he needs our map to find his way around Hogwarts, perhaps he is not qualified to be its caretaker."

When he finished reading the insult, Filch looked up at the three. "Cheeky!" he said, then asked, "What map?"

James and Sirius shrugged innocently. Peter was trying not to make eye contact with Filch.

"Fine," Filch said, clutching the disguised map, "But I'm confiscating this! You'll never see this particular parchment again."

For the first time since Filch arrived, James and Sirius looked somewhat unhappy.

"What's all this?" a booming voice asked, walking up behind Filch. The witch from earlier was leading him.

"Professor Norris," Filch explained, "I've caught these students out of the castle after hours."

Professor Norris was being followed by two Prefects. One girl, with a square jaw and short hair, was from Hufflepuff. The other, chewing noisily on a wad of Drooble's Crazyberry gum, was from Ravenclaw. They were looking curiously at James.

"What's all this?" the professor repeated at a higher volume, "What are you doing out here by the Whomping Willow? Davey Gudgeon almost lost his eye playing here, and that was in the daylight!" The Hufflepuff Prefect nodded seriously. The Ravenclaw Prefect looked bored.

"What is all this?" Professor Norris asked a third time, this time directing the question at James, "You are Head Boy. What are you doing out of the castle?"

"He came to catch us," Sirius spoke up, pointing at himself and Peter, "He found out we left our beds, and he chased us down. A bit heroic, really."

Professor Norris looked skeptical.

"He's lying," Filch assured Norris, "They're all friends. I know them. I've been watching them for years."

"I hardly think that is within your job description," Norris told Filch condescendingly, "But I do find the explanation highly suspicious."

"It's true," a voice announced from out of the shadows. Severus stepped into view.

"Severus Snape?" Professor Norris asked, "Are you telling me that this boy is telling the truth?"

Sirius was staring at Severus, trying not to show any shock on his face. Peter's mouth was hanging open.

"I came out with my…friends," Snape explained, looking uncomfortably at Sirius and Peter, "To engage in some midnight mischief. We were enjoying ourselves thoroughly until Potter found us. He stopped all our misdeeds, then and there."

Professor Norris looked from Severus to Sirius and Peter. Sirius had a foolish grin on his face. "Professor Dumbledore mentioned you were associating with a bad crowd, Snape," Norris commented, "I think a month of detention might change your ways."

"You can't trust them," insisted Filch.

"And what about you?" Professor Norris addressed Filch, "From the school's first caretaker, Hankerton Humble, to your exemplary predecessor, Apollyon Pringle, I've never heard of a custodian as unreliable as you. Don't you think it's strange for you to be wandering out here on the grounds so late in the evening?"

Sirius commented, "No stranger than your wife being out here at the same time, Professor."

Norris spun around to face Sirius. "You have some nerve," he said sharply, "For your information, Mrs. Norris takes a walk every evening at this same time, for her constitution."

Sirius looked at Mrs. Norris and then at Filch, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Professor Norris turned and eyed his wife suspiciously. He then turned his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

"Alice," he told the Ravenclaw Prefect, "Please escort Mr. Black to the Headmaster's office. Amelia, can you do the same for Mr. Pettigrew?" The Prefects nodded and began leading the boys back toward the castle.

"James," Professor Norris continued, "I'll entrust Mr. Snape to your custody. No need to take him to the Headmaster. He is an exemplary student, and I'm sure that the month's detention I've given him will be sufficient punishment."

James nodded. Professor Norris turned back toward his wife. "Come along, dear," he said, and as they walked away, their voices were heard arguing. Filch looked around uneasily, and then excused himself.

Now James and Severus were alone, or so it seemed. Lily pulled the Cloak of Invisibility off and started breathing normally again.

"Thanks for covering for me," James told Severus, "I thought I was finished."

"That was really nice of you, Severus," Lily said, resting her hand on his shoulder. Then she questioned him, "Why did you do it?"

Severus seemed like he did not know exactly how to explain his actions.

"I might be able to explain that," James said, guiltily, "I think Sniv—uh, Severus was trying to repay me for saving his life."

"Saving his life?" Lily asked, confused.

"Shall I tell her what you were saving me from?" Severus asked, finding his voice again, "I had noticed that Remus Lupin was sneaking out of the castle every month on the full moon. I reasoned that he might be a werewolf. One month, I watched as Madam Pomfrey led Lupin to the Whomping Willow, which was being uncharacteristically still. Although I abhor Sirius Black, I thought that he would be the best person to confirm my suspicions, which he did. And ever so helpfully, he explained exactly how I could enter the secret passageway at the Whomping Willow. Of course, when I got there, I was trapped in the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack. I was almost eaten. My life could have ended in that place. But then Potter had some pangs of conscience and rescued me."

"That's not exactly true," James objected, "I had no idea what Sirius had done, and as soon as I found out, I rushed to warn you. And Sirius wasn't trying to hurt you, really, he never thought you'd be foolish enough to trudge all the way to the Shrieking Shack if you really suspected that Remus might be a werewolf."

"The point remains that he could have killed me," Snape told Lily, "Sirius Black should be in Azkaban for the rest of his life. Instead, Professor Dumbledore swore me to secrecy. Their untamable pack has uncanny luck when it comes to staying out of trouble, and tonight I've just contributed to that luck by providing Potter with an excuse. But it wasn't to repay him for saving me from his friends."

"Then why did you do it?" Lily repeated.

"I saw him throw that invisibility cloak over you," Severus answered, "He could have saved himself, but he chose to save you. I suppose that merits some kind of reward."

"Oh, Severus," Lily exclaimed, "You do care about me!" and she hugged his uncomfortably stiff frame. Severus seemed torn between delight at Lily's affection and anger that James Potter was intruding into the moment.

"Shall we return to the castle?" Severus asked.

James looked around the area. "I'm worried about Moony," James mentioned, "We always stay with him until he's safely back at the Shrieking Shack. I don't like to think of him out here alone."

"You and Severus go back to the castle," Lily offered, "I'll wait for Remus."

James smiled at her admiringly. "Thank you," he said, "Remus is always his only victim when he's in his werewolf form."

James and Severus left, headed back to the castle. Lily sat again, waiting for Moony to return. She wrapped herself in James' cloak, more for warmth than disguise. Eventually her watchfulness dwindled, and she dozed off. She was awakened by the approach of a lanky creature, clumsily plodding toward the Whomping Willow. It was Remus, restored to his human form. Lily pulled the Cloak of Invisibility off herself, and Remus looked up, startled.

"Lily?" he asked, "What are you doing here? Where are—Is there anyone else here?"

Lily smiled. "Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are all back in the castle," she reassured Remus, "But I expect Sirius and Peter have some detention coming their way."

Remus smiled in relief, then told Lily, "I'm not sure there's enough time left in the school year for all the detention that Sirius has amassed."

Lily wrapped Remus in the cloak, to warm him. "Are you all right?" she asked, noticing scratches on his body.

"When this happens, I separate myself from humans, so I have no victims to bite. But that causes me to bite and scratch myself, instead. The shrieks that everyone attributes to the Shrieking Shack are actually mine."

"That's terrible," Lily said, wrapping her arms around Remus as he shivered.

"I'm afraid that sometimes I agree with the rest of the world: a werewolf does not belong at Hogwarts."

"You're a top student," Lily objected, "And a really good person. This is…this is just once a month."

"Thank you. You're actually the first person to discover my secret since James and Sirius. They sniffed it out second year."

Lily nodded, but she was thinking of Severus. "How did they become Animagi?" Lily asked.

"So you do know about that," Remus said, then recalled, "They didn't want me to suffer alone, so James came up with the idea that they should turn themselves into animals as well. It took them three years to do it, but they never gave up on me. As soon as they were able to transform themselves, my life instantly improved. Instead of torturing myself in that tiny shack, I would roam the grounds of the school with them. When they were with me, I had no viciousness. We've even been exploring Hogsmeade. I would still give anything not to have my…condition, but they've made it tolerable."

"Have you ever tried a Wolfsbane Potion?" Lily asked.

"It's not really an option for me," Remus said dejectedly, "The ingredients are much more than I can afford. And I don't have the skill to brew it. The Aconite in it is poisonous, even in moderate amounts, so if the wolfsbane isn't brewed perfectly, it could kill me."

"Maybe I could ask Severus to make you some," Lily suggested.

"Snape?" Remus asked, "No thank you, that's not very likely."

"He helped James."

"That's really unlikely."

Lily thought of something. "Can you remember what you did while you were in your werewolf form?" she asked.

"Not really, not fully."

"What about an Animagus?" she followed up.

"Oh, yes. They can remember everything as clearly as if they were in human form."

"Oh, no," groaned Lily.

"What's wrong?"

"I think I really embarrassed myself in front of James."

She explained the exchange that she had with Prongs, not realizing that he could understand her.

"James likes you a great deal, you know," Remus told her.

"He's been pestering me to go out with him for the last two years," Lily said noncommittally.

"He doesn't just fancy you," Remus continued, "I think he's really in love with you."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you've been uncommonly kind to me. Most witches would run screaming from a werewolf, not take care of it."

"You think I feel something for James," Lily asserted.

"I think so, and I'm usually fairly perceptive. It's my heightened werewolf senses," Remus said, making a rare joke at his affliction.

"I conjured a full-bodied Patronus tonight. It was the first time I've been able to do it."

"What has been going on here?" Remus asked.

"Well…James and the others can tell you," Lily deflected, "My point is, I've only ever been able to create shields with Expecto Patronum. Tonight, when I finally produced an actual Patronus, it was a doe."

"Oh. I see."

"What do you think that means?"

"Expecto Patronum is powered by a happy memory. Which one were you using?"

"Being with James when he was a deer," Lily admitted shyly.

"Then I think you know what that means," Remus told her.

They sat quietly together. Lily was smiling, but Remus was still quite cold. "You should get back to the Shrieking Shack," Lily told Remus.

"And you should get back to the castle," Remus admonished, "The Head Girl should be setting an example to the rest of the students."

Lily saw Remus into the secret passageway, and then she walked off toward the castle. Yet, even after she had left, the memory continued. There was no person in the area. Some birds darted through the dark sky. A cold October breeze bent some lighter branches. Dead leaves swept along the grass.

Harry and Ron pulled themselves out of the memory. They were back in Madam Rosmerta's quarters at the Three Broomsticks. Neville was watching them happily. "It was your parents!" he told Harry, as if Harry had not recognized them. Harry sat down, trying to digest what he had just witnessed.

"I heard Wilkes never finished Hogwarts," Ron remembered, "This must be why he left. He used an Unforgivable Curse! On school grounds! He must have been a fugitive from then on."

"This was probably what inspired my parents to join the Order of the Phoenix," Harry commented, still stunned by what he had seen.

"Was that Mrs. Norris the cat?" Ron asked Neville, "Did she used to be a witch?"

"Yeah," Neville nodded, "Professor McGonagall told me the story. While Professor Norris was teaching here, he was not very kind to his wife. Neglected by her husband, Mrs. Norris fell in love with Filch. When Professor Norris found out, he brewed a potion that duplicated the effects of the Maledictus curse, and he slipped it into his wife's tea. Mrs. Norris was Transfigured into a cat. When you're Transfigured into an animal, as opposed to doing it yourself as an Animagus, your mind also becomes the mind of that animal. Mrs. Norris was lost in her cat form. Professor Norris spent the rest of his life in Azkaban. Filch took care of Mrs. Norris, but being a Squib, had no magic to restore her. Others tried, but the potion was incurable.

"Filch has taken good care of her over the years, and she seems to recognize her affection for him. From time to time, Professor McGonagall will Transfigure into her cat form and spend some time with Mrs. Norris. From what she says, Mrs. Norris has been quite content with her life as a cat."

Harry had barely been listening to the bizarre life story of Mrs. Norris. His mind was on a different puzzle. "Whose memory was that?" he asked Neville, "At the end, the area was completely empty. I couldn't see anyone there."

"That's the wildest part of finding that memory," Neville revealed, "The memory was taken from the Whomping Willow!"

"The tree?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Isn't that incredible? I always believed that plants had some kind of consciousness and feelings, but this proves it. The Whomping Willow has actual memories!"

"Makes me want to take the Bowtruckles a little more seriously," Ron reflected.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE NATURALIST

"Who lives here?" Ron asked, looking up at the splendid domicile in front of him. It was lavish, ornate, and obviously expensive.

"Don't know," Harry said, "Luna just said she was staying with one of her friends from Ravenclaw."

"You mean somebody our year owns this house?" Ron goggled.

"I suppose so. I don't know who it could be. Luna never seemed to have any friends when she was in Ravenclaw. They always gave her such a rough time."

The door opened, and Luna motioned them inside. She was dressed oddly. Luna had a pair of heavy boots on her feet, her pants were made of rugged material with flaps on each side, and she was wearing a vest with seven pockets. She looked as though she was on a jungle expedition.

Luna smiled at them and said, "You're wondering about my clothes. I've been on a jungle expedition, you see. All my normal clothes are back at my father's home. That's why I'm dressed so oddly."

Ron wondered what normal clothes Luna meant. He had never seen her when she wasn't dressed oddly, one way or another.

In the hallway, there was a large portrait of Cedric Diggory. It came as a shock to Harry. It was still a difficult memory. Watching Cedric tilt his head and give a confident smile brought Harry back to a very dark time in his life. Ron was surprised by the portrait, although a bit less than Harry. Cedric had been from Hufflepuff, not Ravenclaw. "Whose house is this, anyway?" he asked Luna.

As if in answer to his question, Cho Chang came down the stairs. In contrast to Luna, she was dressed impeccably. She looked as though she could be a model for a glamour company, rather than the executive she was.

"Harry! Ron!" Cho said cheerfully, although she was looking only at Harry.

"Good to see you," Harry said. Cho looked thrilled to hear this, so Harry tried to think of something else to say. "Nice house," he finally settled on. Cho accepted it as a heartfelt compliment.

"I've just finished moving in," she shared, "Work has been going so well, I felt like I needed a place that reflected my success."

"You work for Romilda Vane, don't you?" asked Ron.

"Yes," Cho affirmed, in a tone of self-congratulation, "We're now the leading glamour business in Britain. I'm head of marketing."

"Be careful with that one," Ron warned Cho, who had turned back to Harry, "She's involved in some shady doings."

Cho turned her head toward Ron, frowning almost imperceptibly. "I doubt it," she responded, and was immediately beaming at Harry again.

"I wish I could stay and visit," Cho told him, "But I'm already late for my date. I don't want to keep Cormac waiting."

"MacLaggen?" Ron asked, with a tone of distaste. Cho did not respond. She was still looking at Harry, searching for some reaction in his face. She seemed disappointed to find him unaffected by her information.

"I think you could do better than that git," Ron told Cho, "Look at this house. Look at you! You are fit! Look in this closet! Is that a vintage Silver Arrow broomstick? You're doing all right, aren't you?"

Cho did not seemed pleased with the compliments. She turned to face Ron. "I was so sorry to hear that Hermione left you," Cho told Ron in a pitying voice, "I remember how fond you were of her in school."

Ron's face crunched up.

"Sometimes young love lasts, and sometimes it doesn't," Cho posited, with a trace of authentic sadness.

"Mind if I have a look around the place?" Ron asked, rather surly. He wandered off into one of the many adjacent rooms of the opulent manse.

"I shouldn't have said anything," Cho told Harry conspiratorially, "I'm sure it's a sore subject. That was always such a dramatic love triangle."

"Triangle?" Harry asked, not comprehending the reference.

"That romantic dilemma Hermione always faced between you and Ron."

Harry looked confused.

"You don't need to keep secrets from me," Cho assured him, "I always knew how you and Hermione felt about each other. When she ended up with Ron, I suspected it was just a way to make you jealous. And then, when you went chasing after Ron's sister…" Cho's tone showed that she was caught up in the pathos.

"I never…" Harry tried to say.

"I care about your happiness," Cho soothed him, "I always cared about you. I seem to recall that you and I even dated for a while. Remember?" There was no question that Cho remembered. "I just hope that you can find the right woman to make you happy."

"He has," Luna informed Cho encouragingly, "Harry and Ginny are the happiest couple I know. I don't think you need to worry about him."

Cho became silent.

"Harry," Luna said, "I didn't know you were ever attracted to Hermione. You two always seemed like brother and sister."

Harry was still silent, but he smiled at the plain truth coming out of Luna.

"I'd better be off," Cho said finally, "But I really do want to catch up sometime. It's been, what, nine or ten months? We should try to get together more often."

Harry nodded, but the meaning of the nod was obscure.

Cho gracefully mounted her vintage Silver Arrow and whisked off for her date with Cormac MacLaggen.

"Are you really in love with Hermione?" Luna asked Harry.

"No," Harry replied, "We never felt like that about each other."

"I thought not," Luna said happily, "I didn't realize that Cho was joking. I have a problem with jokes sometimes. They're very similar to dishonesty, aren't they?"

"Yes they are," Harry agreed.

"Maybe Cho still has feelings for you," Luna suggested to an unsurprised Harry, "She can have any man she wants, but I think Harry Potter is 'the one who got away' for her."

Harry did not know what to do with that information.

"You need to come see this room," called out Ron, who had been listening to the conversation, waiting for Cho to leave.

Harry and Luna joined him, and they took their places on an elegant sofa.

"How is the life of a wandering naturalist?" Harry asked Luna.

"I love it, except the parts that are unpleasant," Luna declared.

"Found any Kacky Snorgles?" Ron joked.

Luna furrowed her brow. "I don't think that's a real creature," she said, concerned that she might be disappointing Ron.

"I think Ron means Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," Harry explained with a smile.

"Oh, those aren't real either," Luna announced, unconcerned.

"You and your father have been looking for those things your whole life!" Ron exclaimed, "Now you don't believe in them anymore?"

"Now that I'm out in the field," Luna explained, "I have to admit that some of my father's conclusions were mistaken. It doesn't bother me, though. Curious minds sometimes take wrong turns."

"So you don't believe in Crumple-Horned Snorkacks anymore?" Ron repeated for verification.

"Of course not," Luna said calmly, "They are a myth." Then she added, "Real Snorkacks never come with a crumpled horn."

Ron smiled broadly. He was relieved to find that Luna had not completely regained her sanity.

"Are you in London on holiday?" Harry asked.

"Sort of," Luna answered, "Although I'm hoping to find some Heliopaths while I'm here."

"What are Heliopaths?" Ron asked, straining to remember whether he had come across them in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

"They're creatures made of living fire. They measure about ten feet high," Luna informed him placidly.

Ron stifled a laugh. "I think maybe the Ministry would have heard about any ten-foot-tall flame creatures running around London."

"They're dormant this time of year," Luna tutored Ron, "So their fires go out, unless someone reignites them. When the Heliopaths' fire is gone, they're almost impossible to detect. They come to the city for warmth; the winters are terrible on them. I'm hoping to help them if I can."

Ron had no response.

"What are you two working on these days?" Luna asked, "Anything interesting?"

"We just came from Malfoy Manor," Ron said, vexed, "Draco stood us up. We made this appointment weeks ago, and he wasn't there. He'd already been putting us off. I think he's just trying to avoid us."

"I'm not surprised. You two never really got on with him."

"We got what we needed," Harry told Luna (and reminded Ron), "His wife helped us."

"Is Draco Malfoy married?"

"Yes, he married Astoria Greengrass. Her sister, Daphne, was in our year. She was in Slytherin House."

"I supposed so," Luna nodded, "What is Astoria like?"

"Surprisingly nice," Ron commented, "Don't know how she ended up with a prat like Draco. She had a touch of a cold today, though."

"Yes, she did seem ill," Harry agreed, with a deeper concern in his voice than Ron.

"Why were you going to see Draco?"

"We wanted to borrow his grandfather's diary from 1945. Astoria fetched it for us, from a hidden compartment under their drawing room floor, no less," Ron described, "I wonder how many dark artifacts are buried down there."

"Abraxas Malfoy had an experience in 1945 that seems relevant to a case we're working on now," Harry explained to Luna.

"Oooh," Luna responded in rapt interest, "Tell me all about it."

Ron tried his best to relate all the facts of the case, with Harry providing occasional additions and corrections. When they were finished with their summary, Luna began to concentrate. She was hoping that she could help her friends by solving the case for them.

"I've heard of a magic bean named Rizenus Commonus," she told them, "It's supposed to cause those same kind of symptoms.

"I've never heard of it," Ron objected.

"No, you wouldn't have," Luna said, "It's not in any potions book." Ron shook his head, wondering how Luna had heard of it.

"The seed added to Neville's chocolate wasn't magic," Harry pointed out, "In fact, there was no sign of magic at all."

"If it wasn't done with magic," Luna reasoned, "Couldn't it have been done without magic?"

"That stands to reason," Ron agreed in a patronizing way.

"Muggles have poison, too," Luna offered, "Couldn't a wizard use some Muggle poison if he wanted to avoid any detection of magic? Muggle substances wouldn't be detected by Specialis Revelio, or any spells like that."

Harry was astounded at Luna's insight. "You're right," he said softly.

"That's not so crazy," Ron added in, "Fred and George used to learn Muggle skills, like lock-picking, in case they were in a situation where they couldn't use magic."

"Muggle poison," Harry mused, "I don't know how we're going to learn about those. There must be as many Muggle poisons as wizarding poisons. Maybe we can find out if any witches or wizards have been researching Muggle poisons."

"Maybe the killer is a Muggle," Luna theorized.

"Can't be," Ron told her, "All the murders were done in locations hidden away from Muggles. Could be a Squib, though."

"Or a Muggle pretending to be a Squib!" Luna added, excitedly.

"Why would a Muggle pretend to be a Squib?" Ron asked, although he didn't want to shoot down her ideas completely, "Besides, I doubt any Muggle would follow Padma Patil. She wants to conquer them."

"Couldn't there be more than one bad person?" Luna asked, "Padma and somebody else, too?"

"Maybe all the murders were committed by different people," Ron joined in, surrendering to his impulse to tease Luna.

"I don't know about that," Luna said doubtfully.

"What are your ideas on the stick figures?" Harry asked Luna, engrossed by the workings of her mind.

"That sounds like Old Magic," Luna thought out loud, "That's back when spells lasted. You know, like the Deathly Hallows. So I think you should probably consult the world's oldest person."

"Isn't Nicholas Flamel dead by now?" Ron asked.

"I don't mean Flamel," Luna corrected him, "I'm talking about The Root."

Ron looked over at Harry, to see if this was another impossible being invented by Luna's imagination. Harry seemed to know what she was talking about. "The Root is the legendary founder of the philosophies that guide today's Bowtruckles," Harry elucidated, "But I don't think The Root was an actual, single person."

"Of course it was," Luna insisted, shaking off Harry's ignorance, "The Root lived ages ago. There was a man who loved a woman deeply, but she transfigured herself into a tree so completely that she couldn't change back into a woman. Since the man couldn't live without his love, he did the same. But his magic wasn't as strong, and he became half man and half tree. He was trapped with his thoughts over the years, but he didn't mind because he was with the woman he loved, even though she was a tree."

Ron looked over at Harry, wondering if even Luna could believe such an outlandish tale.

"When people learned about the half-man half-tree," Luna continued, "They would seek out his wisdom. And he would teach them about Old Magic. The Root was the one who originated the movement for the proper treatment of plants. Now they call themselves the Bowtruckles."

Ron and Harry continued watching Luna expectantly. She thought that they would obviously draw the same conclusion she had. "I think Ron should go talk to The Root," she finished finally.

"Why me?" Ron asked, "Harry's the one who's always studying weird magic nobody ever heard of."

"You should go because you're the main one now," Luna explained.

"What do you mean?" asked Ron.

"In school, you were always tagging along after Harry. But now Harry's your sidekick."

Ron shook his head, but Harry smiled and nodded. "I can see that," Harry told Ron, "You're the one doing everything, and I'm not as involved as I might be."

Ron got the joke and brightened up. "As usual," he observed, "Luna sees things as they truly are."

Luna was happy to have solved all of her friends' problems. They visited for several enjoyable hours, and Luna regaled them with stories of her field work. Many of her adventures seemed as likely as the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, but she had pictures to back them up.

When Luna finally said her goodbyes to Harry and Ron, she noted, "Today is Friday the thirteenth. That's supposed to be unlucky, but it isn't. Not for us. You have your case solved. And I have a Valentine's date tomorrow. His name is Rolf. He's a magizooligist. I like him. I think maybe we'll spend the rest of our lives together. Or maybe we won't."

Ron nodded, not sure how to respond to that. "Enjoy your stay at Cho's," he said politely.

"I will. I'm learning all kinds of interesting things. Did you know that some people at school used to call me Loony Lovegood? As a joke?"

Ron was not sure how to respond to that.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE THICKET's ALLEGIANCE

The Leaky Cauldron was having a slow night. That is, all the regulars were there, but not anyone else except for Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, who were sitting across from each other (but offset) at one of the tables. Ron was devouring a sausage with some chips on the side.

"Haven't lost your appetite, I see," Hermione said.

"Nah, I'll never gain weight," Ron predicted, "I mean my father did, and his father, and his father, but…I think I'll be the one to beat the odds."

"I've heard the Hogwarts kitchens have been suffering with a surplus of food since you left."

"Hah!" Ron coughed out a laugh between bites. Then he remembered that friendly banter might not really be appropriate and became more reserved.

"Is Harry ever on time these days?" Hermione asked.

"He always is, except when he isn't," Ron shrugged, gulping down another mouthful.

Just then, they heard Hannah Abbott's voice call out a greeting of "Harry! Good to see you! They're over there."

Harry came and plopped down next to Hermione. "I can't wait for Spring. It's freezing out there," he said.

"You're not even wearing a jacket," Ron shot back.

"Oh, yeah. Well, I'm pretty good at keeping a warming charm on myself."

"You just said it was freezing outside?" Hermione half said, half asked.

"I meant for everybody else," Harry explained, "I feel bad for them."

"This is what I have to deal with," Ron told Hermione, gesturing at Harry.

"I'm glad you could make it," Harry told them, "I have something I want to go over with you."

"I was glad you invited me," Hermione told him, "I don't see you nearly as much as I used to."

"I'm surprised you didn't have plans," Ron told Hermione, who let the comment go unacknowledged.

"What's on your mind?" Hermione asked.

"Do you remember when we were rescuing Buckbeak from the axe third year? Remember how we hid behind that thicket?"

"I remember," Hermione told him, "It was the perfect concealment. Even for a Hippogriff."

"I agree. In fact, at the time, I thought it might have raised itself up as we ducked down. I wondered if…I thought maybe it might have done that consciously. To help us."

"I remember that it was moving," Hermione agreed, "But I think that kind of bush usually moves."

"Do you remember when we were going to find Aragog second year?" Harry asked Ron.

"How could I forget?" Ron replied, contorting his face into a mixture of several unpleasant emotions.

"You remember how you got me out of those branches that grabbed me?"

"Nope," Ron said, shaking his head. He took another bite.

"You remember when that bush was scratching at me. It caught me up in so many places I couldn't move."

"Oh, yeah," Ron nodded, barely able to speak with his mouth full.

"You got it to release me."

Ron swallowed and said, "I didn't do anything. I was going to try to help you, but you got free."

Harry took a moment to choose his words, and then told Hermione and Ron, "I think that might have been the same cluster of plants. That maybe they remembered me."

"Is this because of that Whomping Willow memory?" Hermione guessed, "That was a special case, Harry. Whoever collected that memory had a special talent with plants. I don't think that regular plants can remember the way we do."

"Maybe it was those bushes from detention, first year," Ron threw out as a suggestion.

"Which bushes?" Harry asked, as Hermione's eyes widened. Harry noticed this and asked again, "Which bushes?"

"You weren't with us…" Hermione murmured, rummaging through her memories.

"We rescued a bush, like a thicket," Ron remembered casually, "It seemed grateful. Maybe it was the same one."

"Where was it?" Harry asked, with an intense interest.

"It was in the Forbidden Forest, like you said. Pretty close to Hagrid's. It wasn't too deep in; we were only first years, we didn't really like the idea of going into there."

"Can you tell me what happened?" Harry asked.

Hermione shared the story: "For detention, we were supposed to be looking for that wounded unicorn. After Hagrid sent you and Draco off with Fang, he led us in the opposite direction. Almost as soon as we entered the Forbidden Forest, we found drops of unicorn blood. Hagrid was trying to follow the trail, but it was difficult; it looked as those the unicorn had been running as fast as it could. Like it was being hunted. As we searched, we saw that a fire had begun in the forest. Hagrid was suspicious. He thought that maybe somebody had started the fire as a distraction. Right that moment, a centaur came galloping past us. It was startling. I'd never seen one before, of course. From your description, it must have been Firenze, coming to rescue you. Anyway, Hagrid told us to wait there and rushed off after the centaur. But the fire was still burning. Ron…" Hermione's voice softened as she continued, "Ron said we had to stop the fire. He didn't want any of the creatures in the forest to be hurt if it spread."

"It would've been okay if it got to the spiders," Ron speculated, in hindsight.

Hermione ignored the comment and looked at Ron admiringly as she went on, "Ron jumped into action. He ran at the fire, trying his best to cast Aguamenti. But it was our first year, and he couldn't produce much more than a few drops of water. Ron's headlong plunge into danger inspired me, and I was able to perform a proper Aguamenti, which extinguished the fire."

"It was my first time," Ron defended himself.

"Mine as well," Hermione said smartly, then reflected, "A Flame Freezing charm would have been more effective, though. I wish I knew one at the time."

Ron rolled his eyes at Hermione thinking of ways to improve something she did fourteen years ago. He continued the retelling, "Once the fire was out, we could hear something coming at us. There were pairs of shining eyes all around us. It was a pack of wolves, and they looked angry. It was eerie; they seemed like they thought we caused the fire. They started coming toward us. I thought we'd had it; I didn't know what to do."

"He stepped in front of me," Hermione remembered wistfully, "To protect me."

"Some protection!" Ron scoffed, "I would have been the appetizer, then you would have been the meal." Ron paused, noticing Hermione's affectionate smile. Then he resumed the story, "As the wolves got closer, they got caught up in the brambles of the thicket that had been on fire. The harder they tried to get at us, the more the branches pulled at them and scratched them. The wolves backed off, had some kind of growling chinwag, and decided that we were all right. They trotted off, and we ran off in the direction that Hagrid had been going."

"The plants were defending you," Harry clarified.

"I didn't realize it at the time," Hermione said, "But they must have been. What happened with you two second year?"

"It was while you were petrified," Harry told her, "Ron and I followed the spiders out of Hogwarts and into the Forbidden Forest. As we made our way into the forest, I was slowed by some bushes. I was having a hard time getting through the dense branches. The more I tried, the more they held me back. I got to the point where I felt they had to be clutching me and scratching me on purpose. It reminded me of the Devil's Snare we encountered the previous year. Except I didn't have you there to tell me what I was dealing with.

"I was so busy trying to free myself, that I hardly noticed Ron. He had gotten past the thicket with no resistance. As soon as Ron tried to pull the branches back to help me, they loosened their grip. When it was obvious that Ron was trying to free me, the bushes released me completely. I wondered how Ron had been able to influence the plants, but after almost being eaten by a tribe of acromantulas, I forgot to ask."

"Was it the same thicket?" Hermione asked Ron.

"I guess," Ron said, "It was in more or less the same place."

Hermione turned back to Harry and deduced, "You think the bushes remembered Ron saving them from the fire a year earlier. And after they realized you were his friend, they let you go."

"I'm considering it," Harry nodded, "And if so, I think they were the same bushes that helped us hide Buckbeak."

"They did move," Hermione confirmed, "And I think they were trying to conceal us again when Lupin was pursuing us in his werewolf form."

"I saw that, too," Harry said, "But I thought it was an enchantment you were doing."

"It wasn't me," Hermione told him, "That is, it wasn't me casting any spells. But it might have been that the bushes recognized me as the one who finally doused the fire. They may have been trying to reciprocate by saving me. And maybe they remembered you as Ron's friend."

"That's a pretty good memory for a clump of leaves and twigs," Ron remarked, finding it hard to believe.

"I think they might have cleared a path for me the next year, as well," Harry added, "When I was going to have a look at the dragons they brought in for the Tournament. Hagrid had to jostle his way through the greenery, but I got through with no problem. At the time, I thought it was because of his size. But now that I think about it, it's unlikely I wouldn't be caught up in any of the nettles. They must have sensed me, even with my Cloak of Invisibility. They allowed me through."

"You remember what happened with Umbridge fifth year?" Hermione asked, invested in the pattern, "What a hard time she had as we entered the forest? She was caught up in the brush. And it scratched her vigorously. She was so angry. Yet you and I were fine. We were able to walk right past."

"It's always good to have friends," Ron threw out, "Even when it's shrubbery."

"I wonder if the plants could sense how much we disliked Umbridge," Harry contemplated, "She had a much worse time of it than Hagrid or I."

"There might have been another example," Ron said hesitantly, "Sixth year."

Harry and Hermione listened attentively, but Ron seemed reluctant to share. Finally, he managed to get out, "I was on a picnic…with Lavender…Brown" (he added her last name as though there might be some confusion which Lavender he meant) "But she was being a bit of a pest. Really needy and possessive. As we were packing up, I used a little Wingardium Leviosa to make it seem like one of the napkins had blown away. I told Lav I'd see her up at the common room, and I ducked into the forest. Lav, being Lav, wouldn't leave me alone. She waited a minute, then came looking for me. I hid behind some bushes, and then I got a bit of luck. The leaves and branches seemed to get thicker. She couldn't find me, and she finally gave up. But it wasn't luck, was it? The bushes closed ranks to hide me, didn't they? As a favor."

"I'm pretty sure," Harry agreed.

"Plants have memories," Ron said for all three of them, "The Whomping Willow, and these Forbidden Forest shrubs. It looks like the Bowtruckles were right all along. We should be a little more considerate when it comes to our flora."

"It's not unheard of," Harry commented, "Any herbologist will tell you that Screechsnap is semi-sentient."

"I hope those stick figures don't get any smarter," Ron remarked.

"We should go to Azkaban," Hermione said unexpectedly.

"I've been there," Ron told her, "There's no plants at all."

"Chopping up trees to make those…stick figures is really a cruel waste," Hermione explained, "It could be the thing that gets Padma to turn against her Elite."

Ron thought about it and agreed, "Zacharias, Eloise, and Malcolm have been in hiding since that incident at Hogsmeade. And we have no proof against the other three. Maybe it's worth it to appeal to Padma's plant-loving side. It's been quiet the last couple months, but that also means our investigation is stalled. I'm willing to take the trip to Azkaban."

"I'll come with you," Hermione offered, "Padma might listen to me. We were friends. Harry?"

"Yes?" Harry asked, absent-mindedly.

"Are you going to come with us? To see Padma?"

"If you need me," he offered.

"We don't need you," Ron said, a little crossly, "But you're my partner. You need to be more involved."

"Off to Azkaban, then," Harry said, smiling as though he was planning a quiet afternoon outing.

CHAPTER NINETEEN: BREAKING HER SILENCE

The approach was not as dispiriting since Ron was not alone, but the chill was still palpable as they stepped out of his parked car. Ron led Harry and Hermione toward the gate in the wall. The March winds were strong enough to muss their hair, except for Harry's hair, which was always mussed.

"Name?" came the familiar voice from within the gate.

"Auror Ron Weasley."

"Hermione Granger, Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Hermione stated, copying the authority in Ron's tone.

"I'm Harry. Harry Potter," Harry said in a friendlier voice.

"Right," the voice answered sternly, then paused and added, "Did you say Harry Potter?"

"Yes," Harry verified, still quite relaxed.

There was another pause. Then the voice began giving commands, with an almost imperceptible slip in its composure, "Please remove your robes and put them in the drawer."

Hermione and Ron did as they were told, depositing their robes in the metal drawer. "I'm not wearing robes," Harry told the voice, in case it couldn't see him, "The weather's quite pleasant in London today."

"Empty your pockets," the voice instructed.

Hermione and Ron emptied their pockets into the drawer. "Just the parchment," Harry offered, placing a folded piece of nearly blank parchment into the drawer.

"Place your sweaters in the drawer," the voice continued.

"No sweater, either, I'm afraid," Harry said apologetically.

"Wait a minute," Hermione objected, "I have nothing on under my sweater."

"Heavy outer garments must be left outside," the voice insisted.

"Ronald, give me your shirt," Hermione told Ron.

"I'll be freezing in just an undershirt," Ron argued.

"I have nothing on under my sweater," Hermione repeated.

"You've got a bra, haven't you?" Ron grumbled.

"You can borrow my shirt, if you'd like," Harry offered gallantly.

"You're only wearing a T-shirt," Hermione observed, "Ron was the one who forgot to mention I couldn't wear a sweater in Azkaban. He can give me his shirt."

Ron put his sweater in the drawer, then grumpily gave Hermione his shirt. He stood outside the gate, shivering in his undershirt.

"Hold your wand hands open, palm up," the voice said. All three of them complied. "Now put your wands on the surface of your open hands."

"No wand either," Harry informed the voice. He kept standing there with his wand hand open, palm up, while the voice decided what to do. The voice finally continued giving Ron and Hermione the standard warning, "Do not close your fingers around your wand; you will be expelled immediately into the water."

The gate creaked open with its customary grating sound. "Step inside," the voice said, "On either side of the room, you will find wand guardians. Deposit your wand inside one of them." A pause, then, "Except for you, Mr. Potter." Another pause and the voice went back on script, "Once you have done so, the wand can only be released back to you. This will happen when you are ready to leave the island."

Ron once again sought out the bronze statue of the Crup and fed it his wand. Hermione followed his example, placing her wand inside a statue of an otter. It was the only non-magical creature depicted in the room, and it happened to be Hermione's Patronus. Ron wondered how random the statue selection was. Harry, meanwhile, examined some of the wand guardian statues with great interest.

The double doors of the gate closed behind the trio with the same rusty grinding noise. A small entrance opened in front of them. Harry strolled though it. "Mind your head," he warned Ron. When they had passed through, they assembled in front of the guard.

Harry looked up at the tower and waved genially. The guard was watching him and looked as though he wanted to say something. Instead, he performed his duty and led Ron, Hermione and Harry to the main building. They coul all feel the sinister chill of the place.

"They'll never be able to cleanse this island of all the dark magic that's soaked into it," Harry commented.

The guard saw them into the prison, then waited patiently outside. Ron followed the moving footprints, and the other two followed him. They squeezed tightly into the antechamber of Padma's cell. They were able to exhale as they poured in through the interior door of the cell. They stood there, regarding Padma, who was seated, unmoving, on her mattress.

"Padma," Hermione said, pained to see Padma in this place, no matter how much she deserved to be there.

Padma did not respond. She sat completely still, gazing off in the distance, not even acknowledging their presence.

"We're here to help you," Ron exaggerated, "The people you think are your friends are treating trees worse than any wandmaker or broom engineer. I know you don't want to help us, but don't your beliefs demand that you help the plant life?"

Padma did not respond.

"You thought plant life was more valuable than human life," Ron pressed her, "You were willing to kill all those Muggles for it. Now your followers, the Occult 'Elite,' are tearing up trees and turning them into wooden Inferi."

If Padma had any reaction, it did not show on her face.

"This was a wasted trip," Ron fumed, "If she doesn't care about plants, she's not going to care about anything."

"I can't believe that Padma would be a hypocrite," Hermione insisted, "For all the wrong she's done, she never wavered on her principles."

Ron and Hermione jumped when Padma suddenly moved, although it was a very gentle motion. She crawled over to the edge of the mattress and picked up a cup. She took a deep drink from it. Whatever beverage the guards had provided must have been distasteful, because her face flinched on swallowing it. Once the gulp was digested, Padma's face regained its impassive stare. She crawled back to the center of the mattress and sat facing them. She was completely motionless again.

"She's barmy," Ron commented.

"Is this how she was acting last time?" Hermione asked.

"No," Ron shook his head, "She was completely mad, but in a different way. Must change with the seasons."

Harry turned to face the exit.

"Are we going?" Ron asked his silent partner.

"Accio map," Harry said.

"I thought you were only using nonverbal spells these days," Ron heckled, then informed Harry, "You're not going to be able to do any of that in here."

The words had barely left Ron's mouth when Harry's folded parchment shimmied its way under the door of the cell. It flew into Harry's waiting hands. Harry spoke clearly, "Llewellyn was wrong," and unfolded the parchment. A diagram came into view.

"Is that the prison?" Hermione asked, clapping her hand to her mouth, "You shouldn't have that in here. You're going to get yourself into trouble."

"This is not good," Harry commented, but he wasn't talking about Hermione's wariness. He stared intently at Padma and said, "Surgito." Nothing changed.

"I'm impressed you could do magic in Azkaban," Ron told Harry, "But nothing's getting through that shield."

Harry concentrated harder and repeated, "Surgito!"

"We're all going to get into trouble," Hermione said nervously.

"We're already in Azkaban," Ron joked.

"What am I doing here?" Padma called out.

Ron turned to observe the change in Padma's demeanor. "I told you," he said, shaking his head, "Barmy."

"Harry!" Padma exclaimed, "Ron! Hermione! How did we get here?"

"We got here in my Ford," Ron explained, "You got here by trying to kill a bunch of people."

Padma stared around the cell.

"Let's go," Ron told Harry and Hermione, "This crazy thing is just an act."

Harry looked down at the Ratcatcher's Map and up at Padma.

"This is Padma's cell," said Padma.

"Third person, now?" Ron asked sarcastically.

"Something's wrong," Hermione said, clenching her jaw.

"Tilt your head back," Harry requested of Padma. She did so, offering her neck to him. Harry pointed two fingers of his right hand at her and cast, "Finite Mutato." Nothing happened. He gestured again and tried, "Impervio Boomslang." Padma began coughing deeply. This went on for several seconds until she spit out a mouthful of dirty liquid. Ron and Hermione stared at her, wondering what Harry had done.

Padma's face began twitching. Her nose changed shape, and her cheeks and jaw altered slightly. The transformation did not produce a vast change in her appearance, but the difference sent a jolt through Ron and Hermione.

"Parvati," Hermione gasped.

"You don't usually need Polyjuice Potion to make twins looks the same," Harry quipped.

"What happened to me?" the restored Parvati asked, rising to her feet.

"Don't step forward," Harry cautioned her, "The Repello Inimicum shield is still in place."

"Can't you get rid of it?" Ron asked Harry, "You were just casting all sorts of spell through it."

"That was very difficult," Harry explained.

"Difficult?" Ron parroted, incredulously, "Supposed to be impossible, isn't it?"

"What day is it?" Harry asked Parvati.

"Wednesday," she answered, and when she saw Hermione shaking her head, added, "February the 18th."

"That was weeks ago!" Ron revealed indelicately.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Harry asked.

"I was in this room," Parvati recalled, "But I was standing where you are. Padma was in here. I had come to visit my sister for Maha Shivratri; it's an annual celebration."

Harry and Hermione nodded. Ron took Parvati's word for it.

Parvati struggled to remember. "I had made some thandai, which is a traditional drink for the occasion. There was nothing wrong with it; it was examined thoroughly by the guards before they let me bring it in. The last thing I remember is drinking the thandai."

"What's in it?" Harry asked, "The ingredients?"

"Rose petals, almonds, spices, and some seeds: watermelon, fennel, vetiver. There's some saffron and cardamom. Most of it is sweetened milk."

"I think it was the vetiver," Harry postulated, "It's known as a calming agent and a sleep aid."

"You're sounding like Professor Longbottom now, with the Herbology," Ron said.

"I've been studying Muggle herbs," Harry told him, alluding to their conversation with Luna, "The vetiver roots have a deep aroma. I think Padma might have summoned the essence of those out of the beverage to ensnare you."

"And then?" Padma wondered, "I don't remember anything."

"I think it's been the Imperius Curse and Polyjuice Potion since then," Harry surmised.

"We'll have to ask Padma when we get her," Ron declared, ready to start the hunt. He was incensed that Padma had been able to slip out of Azkaban. Ron thought for a second, then asked, "When is the vernal equinox?"

"Don't know," Harry shrugged.

"It's on the twentieth this year," Hermione answered, as though it was common knowledge.

"Blimey," Ron growled, "She did it."

"I've made a prophecy," Parvati piped up, "I don't know what it was, but I can tell that I've utilized my Sight."

"Don't worry yourself about it," Hermione said dismissively.

"Did Padma ask for it?" Harry asked, willing to listen.

"I don't know," Parvati answered, "Who else would have?"

"May I have a look?" Harry asked.

Parvati was not sure what Harry meant, but she agreed. He pointed his hand at her again and cast, "Legilimens!" After two silent minutes, the pair came out of their trance.

"Did you see it?" Parvati asked, blanched with fear.

"It doesn't sound good, if it's accurate," Harry said.

"What was it?" Ron asked eagerly, although he was usually skeptical about Divination.

"First she warned Padma to beware Muggles," Harry said.

"No surprise there."

"Then she predicted that no wizard would ever defeat Padma again."

Ron's mood deflated. "That's a problem for us, isn't it?" he pointed out.

"And Padma will be 'safe until the Forbidden Forest shall become friend to Hogwarts,'" Harry concluded.

"Maybe we can convince Hogwarts to do the forest a good turn," Ron joked weakly.

"I wouldn't waste time with something spouted out by a woman whose profession is ogling Muggle palms,"' Hermione said bluntly, trying to summon her friends back to reality.

"I notice you're wearing Ron's clothes," Parvati said defensively, gesturing toward the shirt Hermione had on, "Back in love, I see. Just as I predicted. A long and happy life together."

Hermione didn't bother arguing. She, Ron, and Harry trudged out of the cell, and back out of the fortress. The guard was standing outside. He seemed to have been struggling with something while they were inside.

"I'm sorry for this," he spoke, "I know it's very unprofessional."

"You can talk!" Ron exclaimed, only partially joking.

"Mr. Potter, you are an inspiration to me. What you did…you save us all. You're the reason I chose a life protecting people from dark wizards. And Stewart feels the same way."

Ron wondered who Stewart was, then remembered the disembodied voice coming from the tower.

"You should be proud of the work you're doing," Harry said, taking the guard's hand and shaking it warmly.

"By the way," Ron cut in, "That's not Padma Patil in Padma's cell. It's her sister Parvati. Cut her loose when you get the chance, yeah?"

The guard's face fell.

"Don't waste time reproaching yourself," Harry said, trying to cheer up his admirer, "But I'm sure Parvati would like to be out of there."

"We'll see ourselves back to the wall, shall we?" Ron proposed.

As the guard hurried inside the building, Ron, Harry and Hermione strolled to the wall. "You didn't have to be so mean," Hermione criticized Ron.

"After that clanger? What kind of prison are they running here?" Ron asked.

"It was the same way the Crouches managed their escape," Hermione pointed out.

"My point exactly! You think they would've learned from that."

The trio had to wait a good while for the door to be opened, and when it was, Ron could hear a commotion in the background of the tower and panic in the formerly officious voice. Ron and Hermione recovered their wands from the guardian statues. They walked out through the noisy gate. Ron and Hermione had their sweaters back, but Hermione kept Ron's shirt on, and he did ask for it back. Hermione and Ron recovered their personal belongings (there was no need for Harry to do so, having already reclaimed his parchment). The three of them walked back to Ron's car, each considering what they had just learned.

"I'm going to stand outside Romilda Vane's manor until I find something," Ron announced once they were flying away, "I'm tired of going nowhere with this case."

"I think I'll try to discover where Padma learned her Old Magic," Harry said, "She's quite powerful. I wonder if her skills are at a higher level of refinement than mine." It was an alarming thought, but Harry merely seemed curious.

Hermione did not share what she was thinking.

CHAPTER TWENTY: STREET FIGHT

Ron was down the block from Romilda's manor, hidden from view by a neighbor's towering stone gate.

"Butterbeer?" asked a friendly voice.

Without turning around, Ron recognized Hermione's lilting tone and the smell of her perfume mixed with the aroma of hot butterbeer.

"You really are the greatest," he said, without taking his eyes off his target. He reached over, took the butterbeer, and sipped it.

"How's it going?" Hermione asked.

"The same," Ron grumbled, "She goes and comes with nothing unusual about her schedule. It seems like all she does is run her company and go out on dates. There's no sign of Padma, no sign of the Elite, no sign of any Occult affiliation. All her means of communication are being monitored by the Ministry, and there's nothing out of the ordinary."

"Are you giving up?" Hermione wondered.

"I'll stay here until my beard looks like Dumbledore's," Ron proclaimed. He heard Hermione laugh that beautiful chirping laugh of hers. Ron's eyes strayed over to her, and he smiled. Then he turned his attention back to the manor.

"So how are things going with you?" Ron asked. It was the first time in months he'd talked to her about her personal life, at least without bitterness.

"I've adopted another animal," Hermione shared, "I thought maybe I should have a non-magic pet, to keep in touch with my Muggle roots. It's a hamster. Her name is Millie."

"How does Crookshanks feel about it?"

Hermione laughed, amused by Ron's perceptiveness. "I'm not really sure yet. I think Crookshanks is still waiting to see some magic out of her. He's going to have a long wait."

Ron took a longer sip of the butterbeer and told Hermione, "You're the best. I've been dying for a cuppa."

"So what's happening?"

"Cho Chang's come over. They're inside, discussing her campaign for next month's issue of Challenges in Charming."

"Fascinating."

Ron turned to face Hermione, realizing that he was unlikely to miss anything if he failed to keep his eyes intensely fastened on the estate.

"So why've you come, then?"

"To bring you the butterbeer," Hermione answered plainly.

"No, really."

"Yes, really."

"I didn't know you cared," Ron joked, but with a little too much meaning to the words.

"I always cared," Hermione insisted, also referring to more than the butterbeer.

Ron was awkwardly quiet for a bit, then said, with more sincerity than he was used to, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"You don't have to wait around here," Ron told Hermione, "I know you've put in a hard day's work. You always do."

"I hate to think of you out here alone. It's got to be tedious. I can spend some time keeping you company."

"What about Anthony?" Ron hinted tentatively, "Won't he mind?"

Hermione frowned at the mention. "I stopped seeing Anthony months ago."

"Really? Why?"

Hermione did not feel like answering.

"I'm sorry I've been giving you such a hard time," Ron apologized, "It's been really difficult for me. I'm not made of the same hard stuff you are."

"I'm not made of it either," Hermione admitted.

"You're cracking!" Ron contradicted her, then added soberly, "You deserve to have a boyfriend who's not always annoying you."

"You didn't always annoy me," Hermione said, smiling at how vexed Ron could make her.

"It's got to be hard to find a proper match when you're the best at everything," Ron teased her.

"I've always been impressed by you, by your dedication, by your loyalty, your selflessness…" Hermione had unintentionally moved out of complimenting Ron and into listing the things that attracted her about him. She tried to redirect the conversation, "It's inspirational to me the effort you're putting in here."

Ron stepped closer to her. "This is what I was meant to do," he declared, "I want to help people. I can't do what you do: you're going to change the whole Wizarding World. Just look what you did in three years in the Department for the… proper treatment of… beings… or whatever they call it now. I can't do what Harry does; he'll end up making Dumbledore look like a Squib. I can only do what a regular wizard can do. And I want to protect people. As long as I know there's dark magic out there, I need to keep people safe from it."

Hermione reached up and took hold of both sides of Ron's head. She pulled his face down and raised up on her toes. She pressed her lips against his. Ron had a moment of startled unresponsiveness, and then his lips softened against hers. Ron ran his hand through Hermione's think hair and held the back of her neck, wanting to hold the kiss as long as he could. When they allowed themselves to think about the future, they both would be overcome with nerves. But when they were joined like this, there was no need to worry about the future. It was a perfect moment, and nothing could—

"Ron! Hermione!" a cheerful voice interrupted.

The two detached themselves and turned to face Luna Lovegood. She was still in her exploring outfit.

"That's nice to see," Luna said, referring indelicately to the kiss, "I always thought you two should be together."

"We're not…" Hermione started, but could not figure out how to say what they were not.

"What are you doing here, Luna?" Ron asked, thrown off by her sudden appearance.

"I'm coming to meet Cho for lunch. She's meeting with her boss right now. Did you know that's Romilda Vane's house?" Luna pointed at the manor.

"I know it!" Ron exclaimed, "I've been keeping it under surveillance!"

"You have?" Luna asked, "Would you like me to ask Romilda if you can come inside?"

"No!" Ron said, "That is, I'm trying to keep this a surprise."

"Okay," Luna agreed, then turned to Hermione, "Did Ron tell you I'm in love as well?"

"That's nice," Hermione nodded, still self-conscious about the kiss.

"I'd really like to have twins," Luna contemplated breezily, "I wonder if there's anything I can do to encourage that." Luna read Hermione's face, then said, "I'm sorry that I interrupted. That kiss looked very passionate, and I'm very much in favor of you two being a couple again."

"How's your holiday been going?" Ron changed the subject.

"I found those Heliopaths," Luna informed him.

"Good for you," Ron said.

"Heliopaths?" Hermione asked, "Is this like the Wrackspurts and the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks?"

"There's no such thing as Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," Luna instructed Hermione.

"Real Snoracks don't come with crumpled horns," Ron added, in an approximation of earnestness.

"But there are Heliopaths?" Hermione wanted to know.

"I thought you might doubt it," Luna said, expecting no better from Hermione, "But this time I've brought proof." She waved her hands around in the air.

Hermione and Ron instinctively looked around, as though they were actually going to see something.

"You can't see them right now; they're dormant," Luna said, "But can't you sense their presence?"

"There are Heliopaths here, right now?" Hermione asked.

"They've been following me," Luna explained, "They've really taken a liking to me, ever since I warmed them up. But I'm not good enough at Confringo to keep them ignited in this cold."

"Heliopaths are tall creatures made of flame," Ron informed Hermione, amused at her expression, then shared with Luna, "You know, Hermione has a real talent for conjuring fires."

Hermione whipped her head around to Ron, with a look that warned him to stop his joking. Suddenly, she noticed something over his shoulder. "It's Romilda," she said, and Ron spun around.

Romilda was walking Cho to the front gate. Although Romilda was quite pleased with the new advertising campaign, she was urging Cho to handle an irritating personnel problem. One of Cho's subordinates, Vicky Frobisher, was proving to be unreliable. Ron and Hermione remembered Vicky as rather flighty when they were in school, but they had not known her well. Romilda was in favor of sacking Vicky straightaway, but Cho had some reluctance, since they had been in Charms Club together at Hogwarts. The discussion of Vicky's fate was interrupted by Luna calling out, "Cho! Over here!"

"I'm having lunch with Luna Lovegood," Cho explained to Romilda, who had glanced down the street, "You remember her from Dumbledore's Army?"

"I remember Looney Lovegood," Romilda confirmed, "Who's that with her? Ducking behind that gate?"

Ron and Hermione had both dived out of sight at Luna's unexpected shouting. Luna looked down at the pair, huddled behind the pillars, and asked in confusion, "Don't you get on with Cho?"

Cho walked over to Luna, with Romilda striding quickly behind her. "Ron Weasley?" Romilda asked, "I can see you, you know. It is you, Ron."

Ron stepped out in front of Romilda. "What are you doing here?" Romilda interrogated.

Ron looked over at Luna, and then decided to take the direct route. "I've been watching your house," Ron explained, "So I can catch you doing something dark and arrest you."

Romilda laughed, truly amused. "I would never do anything… dark," she assured him.

"You tried to kill me and Harry in your bunker," Ron disagreed.

"That was really you?" Romilda asked, feigning surprise, "I assumed it was some imposters. Why would real Aurors be trespassing in a private auditorium?"

"Auditorium? It was a cave under a rock! And it was on public property!"

"Well, I'm sorry for the misunderstanding. I had been celebrating the Bowtruckle bonfire and ran into some friends I hadn't seen in ages. I think most of them are friends of yours, as well, aren't they? Anyway, they invited me to visit with them, and we went into an assembly room they knew, for some privacy."

"Past obstacles and deathtraps?" Ron challenged her.

Romilda ignored him and continued, "We were so startled by the disruption that we lashed out at you. Of course, if I knew it was really you, you would have been welcome to join us."

"What about your friends attacking Neville Longbottom?" Ron demanded.

"I wouldn't call Zacharias Smith a friend, more of an acquaintance, and I knew nothing of his criminal inclinations. If I hear anything about his activities, I'll be sure to let you know."

"And Padma?"

"Padma? I don't think I know anyone by that name. Oh, you mean Padma Patil? Isn't she in Azkaban?"

"She was."

"Well, that's the best place for her," Romilda stated, and she seemed to mean it, "I'll feel much better once she's back in her cell. I know I can count on you to accomplish that."

Ron felt unexpectedly grateful to Romilda for the faith she was putting in him. He could see it in her eyes. Her deep, dark eyes. They looked like pools of a death potion, and Ron might fall into them and remain there forever, inside Romilda's eyes. "You're an astounding Auror," Romilda praised Ron, and as she raised her flawless eyebrows, those dark eyes flashed, setting Ron a little off-balance. "I hate to think of you wasting your time here when you could be detecting dark wizards," Romilda counselled, forming each word carefully with her sumptuous lips.

Ron managed to look away from Romilda and off to his left. He looked back at Romilda with his resolve restored and told her, "I think I've detected one just fine."

Romilda looked around the stone pillar and saw who Ron had been peeking at. "Hermione Granger," she said, unimpressed, "What a surprise to see you here. I thought you were finished with this one."

"I'll never be finished with him," Hermione countered, but she was not exactly sure what she meant by what she had thought was a clever rejoinder.

"You're quite good at vamping," Luna told Romilda, impressed by her attempt to influence Ron, "Did you know the origin of that word came from the fact that vampires perfected the vamping Jinx? Female vampires, that is."

Romilda regarding Luna darkly, then turned her attention back to Hermione. "Let's have a look at you," she said, "Still haven't been able to do anything about that hair, have you? Even with a best friend who's heir to the Sleekeazy empire. And those robes… off the rack at Madam Malkin's, I believe?"

"Romilda," Cho interrupted, finding the insults inappropriate.

Romilda turned to her employee and said emphatically, "Surely it can't be a surprise to you that Weasley is a mudwallower."

"That's enough," Cho defended Ron and Hermione, "What's the matter with you?"

"I'll tell you the matter with her," Ron held forth, "She was part of the plot to kill everyone in the Muggle government. Then, when Padma went to Azkaban for it, she took over Padma's organization. But she didn't have the guts to call herself the leader. And she didn't show any real leadership. Her little group has dwindled down to nothing but the so-called 'Elite.' Is that about right, Vane?"

Romilda glared at him furiously.

"I heard you at your little meeting," Ron continued, "You weren't sure whether you should carry on the revenge killings. But you made up your mind, didn't you? When you sent your lackeys to kill Neville Longbottom?"

"Ron…" Cho tried to intercede, unable to believe that any of these things were true.

"What kind of plant-lover makes a horde of mindless soldiers out of chopped-up trees? Does that sound like something Padma would do? Of course not! She had integrity! Not like you!"

Romilda was speechless with rage. "Ron, please," Cho said, trying to defuse the situation.

"WonderWitch is still the top cosmetics company, isn't it?" Ron derided Romilda, "They make products that bring out a witch's beauty. You make products that cover up ugliness. But you can't cover up your ugliness anymore. Your hungriness for wealth and power, and nothing of substance."

Cho put her hand on Romilda's shoulder comfortingly, but Romilda clenched her fist.

"You make all the decisions for the Occult now, don't you?" Ron pressed on, "Zacharias might look the part of the leader, but you have him wrapped around your finger. You were the one who sent him to Hogsmeade, weren't you? To kill Neville?"

"To kill all three of you!" Romilda howled. Cho quickly withdrew her hand.

"Crikey!" Ron blurted out, not expecting such a sudden admission of guilt. He looked over at Hermione and said, "To think I spent all that time on surveillance! I guess all I had to do was provoke her!" He turned back to the seething Romilda and asked, "So you confess? The attack in Hogsmeade was your idea?"

Romilda was silent, except for her deep, quick breaths.

"I guess we'll just take you back to the Ministry—" Ron started to say. In a flash, Romilda whipped our her wand and yelled "Ascendio!" She was swooped up into the air in a graceful arc, and deposited back in front of her own manor's gates. Ron drew his wand and deflected the Everte Statum Romilda cast at him. He, Hermione, Luna, and Cho all ducked behind the stone column. They heard Romilda shriek "Oppugno!"

Ron peaked out. He could see dozens of stick figures lumbering across the front yard of Romilda's estate, toward the street. "Bad news," Ron said, hiding behind the column again, "It's the stick figures."

Luna gazed at him in interest. Cho asked, "What are stick figures?"

As Ron tried to give a quick explanation, Hermione charged into the street. She began blasting spells down the roadway at the approaching mob. Cho listened to the description with shock and concern. She looked down at her robes, which were couture and probably cost more money than Ron earned in a month. Then she shrugged and ran after Hermione, to join in the melee.

As Ron moved to follow her, Luna took his arm. "I think I can help," she offered, "Didn't you say Hermione was good at producing flames?"

Hermione and Cho stood shoulder to shoulder, bombarding the approaching creatures. But the followers simply crawled over the remains of the destroyed. The years had not reduced Cho's proficiency at defensive spells. Hermione, for her part, chopped down the attacks as quickly as they advanced. The stick figures launched wooden spikes at the two witches. Hermione put up a shield, and as the spikes bored through it, they were reduced to sawdust, which snowed down on Hermione and Cho. Hermione was wondering about a safe course for retreat when Ron grabbed her from behind.

"Can you hold them on your own for a minute?" He asked Cho. She nodded, a single drop of sweat beading on her knitted brow.

Ron pulled Hermione over to Luna. "I've talked to the Heliopaths," Luna told her, "And I think they're willing to help."

Hermione looked over at Ron. "You've got to be kidding me," she said.

Luna ignored this and continued, "Fire works well against wood, doesn't it? It saved Ron and Harry in the Occult's lair."

"We don't have time for this," Hermione said, again directed at Ron.

"I only need you to ignite them," Luna promised, "And then you can go back to sparring."

"Stuff it," Hermione said, seeing this as the fastest way to get back to action, "What do you need me to do?"

"They're just behind me," Luna said, "Can you set them on fire, please?"

"Incendio!" Hermione cast. Blue flames darted from the tip of her wand. They spread through the air, and then flared back. A few patches of fire remained floating in the air.

"Ooh, I was using Confringo," Luna nodded, impressed, "That's much better."

As Hermione and Ron watched, the blue flames in the air began spreading across the surface of something invisible. The flames crawled down to the ground, and up to define what appeared to be a humanoid torso. Once they were finished spreading, the resulting shapes exhibited what appeared to be heads, arms, bodies, and legs, all made of fire. They pivoted and began lighting similar creatures behind them, until all the members of the herd were in their fiery forms. There appeared to be about forty of them, warming the entire area.

The largest of the Heliopaths, standing at the front of the herd, nodded to Luna. He strode forward, and his herd followed him.

"Cho!" Ron hollered, "Clear off!"

Cho looked back over her shoulder and saw the approaching blazing mass. She dashed out of the roadway, joining the others behind the protection of the stone column again. There was not much for them to do. The Heliopaths were unleashing all their might against the hapless stick figures, which were quickly becoming a mountain of ash. Cho looked down at her robes. They were filthy. She sighed and turned to watch the end of Romilda's defenders.

All at once, a familiar voice sounded. It was Padma. "You little scrubber!" she was upbraiding Romilda, "Is this what the Occult means to you? We're meant to be saving the world, not ruling it! And what are those things?"

Ron ran forward, trying to find a way around the Heliopaths to get to Padma. Before he got there, Padma seized Romilda by the back of her neck and Apparated. Ron was left standing in the empty gate to Romilda's manor.

Luna walked out into the street and thanked the victorious Heliopaths. The head of the herd bowed to her, then began leading the group away from where they might be seen. Their flames were already diminishing.

"Don't worry," Luna called after them encouragingly, "Spring is almost here!"

The others gathered around Luna. "Well done, Luna," Hermione complimented her in disbelief.

"Well done, Hermione," Cho echoed, "I think those spikes would have gotten me if it hadn't been for you." Hermione smiled at her unreservedly, but Cho had something she needed to get off her chest, "I've always had the greatest respect for you, Hermione, and it's really good to see you. I hope this isn't awkward, you know, since I'm dating your ex-boyfriend."

Hermione looked at Cho in confusion.

"You know, Cormac," Cho admitted uncomfortably.

"Ohhhh," Hermione responded, "Cormac. No, no. You and I have been though too much together for me to be bothered by something like that." Hermione gave no sign of how ludicrous an idea it was that she might be jealous about Cormac McLaggen.

"I'm so glad," Cho said, hugging Hermione in relief. Then Cho told Ron, "I'm sorry that my boss is trying to kill you."

"Not your fault," Ron consoled her.

"Now I'm really ready to eat," Luna told Cho, "I think I'll have some pudding. Would you two like to join us?"

Ron and Hermione politely declined. "Watch out for the Rotfang Conspiracy at the Ministry, Ron," Luna warned as she walked away, referring to another one of her improbable pet theories. Ron had a harder time dismissing it as rubbish now. Luna called back to Hermione, "Give Ron another chance!"

"That was something, wasn't it?" Hermione asked as Luna and Cho wandered out of sight.

"Yeah, it was," Ron agreed, "But then again, you were always a corker at snogging."

"I meant the fight," Hermione said, her face flushing, "Not the kiss."

"I suppose the kiss meant more to me than proving that Romilda was guilty. And in league with Padma. And one of the most dangerous witches in England."

"So what now?" Hermione asked. She was asking the question of Ron and also herself.

"Are we back together, you mean?"

"I love you. I'll always love you. That didn't change, even when we were broken up."

"I'll always love you," Ron repeated back to Hermione.

"I want to make it work if we can," Hermione said, her eyes tearing up with regret at the months she had spent trying to prove she could live without him.

"Parvati thinks so," Ron joked, "And she can see the future."

"I'm scared," Hermione admitted, "You know I'm no good with things I can't control."

"You just have to accept that you'll never be able to fix me. I can't be changed."

Hermione wrapped her arms around Ron in a tight embrace. "I don't want you any different than you are," she whispered to him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: TEDDY'S BIRTHDAY

"Who is it?" a child's voice said very seriously from behind the door.

"It's the 'Hairy Bother,'" Harry announced.

"Harry!" the voice squealed excitedly. It was the voice of Harry's godson, Teddy Lupin. Harry could hear latches being fumbled with. Teddy was apparently having trouble getting the door open.

Harry waved his hand at the door, and it swung open. Teddy leapt up into Harry's arms, and Harry swung him around. "Happy birthday!" Harry cheered.

"Alohomora's not supposed to work on that door," said a woman's voice from the next room, "But I suppose nothing's really beyond the abilities the Chosen One."

Harry put Teddy down and hugged Teddy's grandmother, Andromeda Tonks.

"So how old are you today?" Harry asked his godson.

"Six years old," Teddy answered proudly.

"No way," Harry said, shaking his head, "You can't be that old. I would know."

"Yes, I am," Teddy insisted, smiling.

"I was never very good at Arithmancy," Harry said, "But I think… Hmm… one, two, three, four, five…six! Why, you're right! You are six years old!"

"I told you! Can we play Quidditch now?"

"Don't you want to open your present first?"

"Yes!"

"Supper first," Teddy's grandmother announced.

"Awwww," Teddy whined.

"Fine, you can open Harry's present," she gave in, "But the rest have to wait until supper's finished."

Teddy shredded the wrapping paper. When he lifted the lid of the box, the head of a Norwegian Ridgeback poked itself out.

"It's a dragon!" Teddy exclaimed excitedly.

"Not a real one," Harry said, quickly reassuring Andromeda, "It's only a toy. It'll always stay this size, and there's no fire. Or dragon dung."

Teddy burst out with hilarious laughter at the mention of dragon dung.

"And when you want it to stop moving," Harry directed, "All you have to do is say 'dragon, sleep.'" When the Ridgeback heard him, it rolled itself up on the ground, in tranquil slumber.

As Harry, Andromeda and Teddy enjoyed their dinner, Teddy had a difficult time eating. His free hand was wrapped around the sleeping dragon, clutching it closely to him.

At the end of the meal, Harry offered to clean, but Andromeda refused him. "Scourgify!" she cast with a flick of her wand, and the kitchen began cleaning all the dishes and itself. Andromeda had always been good at cleaning charms.

Harry and Andromeda took seats in the living room and watched Teddy wrestling with his new toy dragon. Whenever the dragon made a menacing expression, Teddy would imitate it. And when Teddy pretended to be vicious, his face took on a shape that was decidedly canine. Harry could see that it bothered Andromeda.

"Are you sure you don't want Bill Weasley to come give you some advice, Dromeda?"

"Teddy's no werewolf," Andromeda assured Harry, "He's just got his mother's shape-changing. I think he has a special comfort with dog forms. That's from his father."

"Is that some green I see in his hair?" Harry asked.

"Blue's more like it," Andromeda corrected him, "It comes and it goes." Teddy's mother, Nymphadora Tonks, was a metamorphmagus, and could alter her appearance. She had been especially fond of switching her hair color. Andromeda watched her grandson rolling around happily on the floor.

"You're very good to him, Harry," Andromeda said, "You know, you're his favorite person in the world."

"I want him to be happy. I want him to have the happiness I never did. Both of us were left without parents, but I want Teddy to always feel that he has a family." Teddy's mother Nymphadora, and her husband, Remus Lupin, had been killed at the Battle of Hogwarts.

The mood had become morose, but it was interrupted by a knock on the door. Teddy jumped up to answer it.

"Who is it?" Teddy demanded sternly.

"It's Nigel Wolpert, from down the street," the wizard outside said.

"Gran," Teddy called to the next room, "It's Mr. Wolpert."

"Let him in," Andromeda gave her assent.

Teddy managed to get the door open, and Nigel stepped through it. "It's my birthday!" Teddy announced.

"Oh," Nigel said, caught off-guard, "Happy birthday," and then to Andromeda, "Is this a bad time?"

"Come in," Andromeda invited, "Teddy's just playing with his presents."

"I didn't bring anything," Nigel told Teddy, then amended it to: "Here, many happy returns."

Nigel fished a Knut out of his pocket and handed it to Teddy. "Mr. Wolpert gave me money!" Teddy announced, then asked Nigel, "What can this much buy?"

"Probably just a piece of candy," Nigel admitted.

"Candy!" Teddy marveled, examining the currency in his hand, "Thanks!"

"Nigel, good to see you," Harry said, rising and shaking Nigel's hand.

"Have a seat," Andromeda urged Nigel.

"I saw you earlier when you arrived," Nigel told Harry, "I figured I'd come see you after I finished supper."

"What can I do for you?" Harry asked kindly.

Nigel took a moment to compose his thoughts. "I heard that Thorfinn Rowle's dead. Is that true?"

Harry looked down at Teddy playing on the floor. Andromeda told her grandson, "Why don't you put these presents away in your room? You can choose one to keep playing with."

Harry, Andromeda, and Nigel watched as Teddy gathered up all his gifts and waddled out of the room with them.

"It's true," Harry finally answered, "Someone poisoned him. We're still working on finding out who."

Nigel looked upward with a look of soulful release on his face and whispered, "Oh, thank goodness."

"Are you all right, Nigel?" Andromeda asked.

"When you catch the killer," Nigel told Harry grimly, "Tell him I said 'thanks.' I've been waiting for this for six years."

Harry watched Nigel, waiting for more of an explanation. Nigel waited for a minute for his emotions to subside, then explained, "Rowle killed Colin."

Harry digested this, then commented, "I didn't think Colin's killer was positively identified."

"I saw it," Nigel stated, staring into Harry's eyes with an awful look of sadness and anger.

"Did you tell the investigators?" Harry asked, "Rowle hardly spent any time at all in Azkaban."

"There was some other student who thought that a different Death Eater had gotten Colin. But I know what I saw. We were fighting outside the Great Hall. There weren't really any witnesses there, except us. I don't know what that other kid thought he saw, but I was there. Rowle killed him. And he never faced justice for it. Rowle finished his sentence at Azkaban before I even graduated from Hogwarts."

"Rowle did plenty of crimes that he never answered for," Harry agreed, "But when you live like that, in secrecy and darkness, it catches up with you. It did with Rowle."

"I heard a rumor that he'd been killed. And now that you confirm it, it's like a weight is lifted off me."

"Who do you think killed him?" Andromeda asked, although it made little difference to Nigel.

"We suspect it might have been members of Padma Patil's group," Harry said, expecting that Andromeda and Nigel would be familiar with that incident. Padma's trial received more coverage from the Daily Prophet than any event up to that date. Hermione had been the only person who refused to be caught up in the extravaganza. "There are some other victims," Harry continued, "And they all testified against Patil."

"Marietta Edgecombe?" Nigel asked.

"Yes, she was killed as well," Harry confirmed.

"She's barely better than Rowle," Nigel commented, but without the wrath that he felt for Rowle, "She informed on Muggle-borns for the Registration Commission. She was probably the reason Colin spent his last year alive on the run. Dean, as well. And Dennis, of course."

"Then she deserved what she got as much as that Death Eater," Andromeda contributed. Harry was shocked at the viciousness he was hearing from two people he had come to know as gentle and kind. Of course, Andromeda's husband Ted had also been on the run from the Muggle-born Registration Commission that same year. And they killed him.

It was difficult for Harry to look at Andromeda when she was angry. She looked so much like her sister, Bellatrix Lestrange. Her hair was brown; that made it easy to tell the difference. But the real contrast was the softness in Andromeda's eyes. When they narrowed angrily, she resembled her older sister to an uncomfortable degree.

Harry sat there contemplating what everyone had lost while the Death Eaters were in control. Andromeda and Nigel's thoughts were stirred up in unfamiliar choler. It was a long time before anyone thought of anything to say.

"Do you see Dennis often?" Harry asked Nigel. Dennis was Colin Creevey's brother, and had been Nigel's roommate. Dennis had looked up to Colin almost as much as Nigel did.

"I try to go to St. Mungo's at least a couple times a month," Nigel reported, "He doesn't change, but I think there's some recognition there."

"That's what Neville told me," Harry said.

"That's right: Neville stops by whenever he visits his parents there," Nigel confirmed, "Do you know if he's ever seen Emmett Creevey?"

"He didn't say," Harry said.

"It's a terribly uncomfortable experience any time I run across him. Emmett is Dennis and Colin's father," Nigel explained, "And he's a Muggle. I hear he comes to St. Mungo's every day. One son dead, the other in the hospital, and as a Muggle, he'll never really understand what it was all about."

"That truly is awful," Andromeda concurred, "Ted's mother was still alive when he was killed. Trying to explain something like that to a Muggle… It's really unfair to them."

"You know, you've got a lot of compassion for someone from Slytherin House," Nigel remarked, breaking the mood. Harry, Andromeda, and Nigel all needed the laugh.

"And from the Black family, as well!" Harry chimed in.

"Oh, tosh!" Andromeda laughed.

"That's reminds me, I was at your sister's house a couple months back," Harry mentioned. He was referring to her only living sister, Narcissa, and her home, Malfoy Manor.

"I didn't know you kept in touch with Draco," Andromeda responded.

"We were just going to pick up some investigative materials. Draco wasn't even home. His wife helped us."

"That poor girl. Her health is frightful."

"I wondered about that."

"Narcissa worries that Astoria will never be able to give her any grandchildren."

"Do you talk to Narcissa, then?"

"After what happened," Andromeda answered, referring to the Battle of Hogwarts, "Her pureblood views have softened. She was never quite so dedicated to that malicious prejudice, and now that Lucius is in prison, I think she's too tired for any more hate."

Teddy came bouncing back into the room, carrying the miniature broom Harry gave him for Christmas. "Can we play Quidditch?" he asked his godfather.

"I think I'd enjoy that," Harry said. Teddy careful set up three hoops against the wall. He got out a soft, spongy Quaffle and challenged Harry. Teddy would play Chaser, and Harry would have to be Keeper. As Teddy zipped down the length of the room on his broomstick, Andromeda watched him lovingly.

Andromeda finally commented, with a loving voice, "For everything we've lost, we've kept something. For me, it's Teddy. He has his grandfather's name and his boisterous charm, he has Dora's metamorphing and spirit…"

"And his father's teeth," Harry chimed in.

"And his godfather's flying skills," Nigel added.

Andromeda laughed. Teddy scored a goal.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: THE CONVERSATION

Hermione stepped out of her fireplace and into her flat. She dropped her bag on her desk and checked whether any owls had left mail for her. Then she checked her Muggle mailbox. It was the start of April, and all her quarterly reports had been finished by the end of March. So she was actually able to leave work on time, at least until next week. Hermione really felt that she should be spending her free time with friends, but as tired as she was, she was in her pajamas before the sun fully set. She peeked in on her hamster, then plopped down on the sofa with a book in her lap.

A few chapters later, Hermione looked over at Crookshanks. "Time for a bite, don't you think?" she asked rhetorically. The cat became agitated. "Not hungry?" Hermione asked, taking a seat in the nearest chair, "I bet you'll feel differently when you see me eating." Crookshanks began hissing at the empty center of the room.

Hermione sat up at attention in her chair. She tried to see the cause of the anxiety. There did seem to be some tremor in the air. And, suddenly, Padma Patil Apparated in front of her. "Petrificus Totalus Sedore!" Padma cast, aiming her wand at Hermione. Instantly, Hermione was frozen stiff in her chair.

"Hello, Hermione," Padma greeted, "It's been a long time." When no response came, Padma told her, "You can still speak. I wanted us to have a talk."

"How did you get in here?" Hermione asked, proving that her mouth had been exempted from the binding spell.

"I Apparated," Padma said straightforwardly.

"That's not supposed to be possible," Hermione said, "We put a lot of protective charms on this place."

"I guess you'd have to," Padma observed, "Living in a Muggle building. Don't worry, if anybody notices me, I'll just Obliviate them."

"What are you doing here?" Hermione demanded.

Padma walked slowly toward her. Hermione struggled to free herself from the spell's influence. Padma stared into Hermione's eyes. "Don't you know?" Padma asked. Hermione waited.

All of a sudden, Padma flung herself down onto Hermione's lap and threw her arms around her in a friendly hug. "I missed you!" Padma said warmly, "I haven't seen you in so long!" Padma stood and walked around Hermione's home. "You've made so many improvements since I helped you move in," she observed.

"Ron told me you helped Romilda escape."

"I had to."

"And you left poor Parvati in Azkaban."

"I'm really sorry for that, but I knew I could count on Ron to notice."

"It was Harry, actually. He has some kind of map of the prison. It has a Homonculous Charm on it."

"That sounds like a suspicious device," Padma commented, "But Harry was never afraid to do something wrong if it meant doing something right."

"So what now?" Hermione wanted to know, "Am I a hostage?"

"Of course not!" Padma said, smiling, "I'm here to recruit you."

"Recruit me!" Hermione didn't know what to say to that.

"You were raised by Muggles," Padma explained, "You can guarantee that we won't mistreat them. It might help people understand what we're doing."

"I would say that killing them counts as mistreating them."

"I'll even follow you in that," Padma promised, "I never wanted to kill anyone. I just couldn't see another way. We need to rescue the Muggles, and the only way to do that was to reveal ourselves and take control of their governmental institutions."

"Rescue the Muggles from what?"

"Themselves."

"Padma," Hermione pleaded, "I really think you need help. Your mind is not…"

"My mind is fine! Better than yours, now, and that's saying something!"

"This extremist philosophy, it doesn't make sense, all this 'magic gives us the right to rule.'"

"You've got it wrong, just like everyone does! Magic doesn't give us the right to rule, it gives us the obligation to rule. That's what we owe the world for the gift of magic that we've been given. It's our duty."

"And killing? Is that part of our duty?"

"Don't tell me you didn't kill anyone in the Battle of Hogwarts," Padma reprimanded Hermione, "We believed in what we were fighting for. We were saving the world. And if that meant we had to die, we died. And if it meant we had to kill, we killed."

"That's different. We were defending ourselves."

"I am defending myself! I'm defending all of us! You're Muggle-born; you know what the 'environment' is. None of us can live once it's destroyed, magic or no magic."

"I worked so hard to get the House Elves freed," Hermione told Padma, "What makes you think I'd help you put chains on anyone else?"

"The House Elves," Padma shook her head imperiously, "Does your generosity stop there? Anything below Beings? Do you care for Beasts? Anything below Beasts? Have you done anything for plant life? It seems like you have your own opinions about who deserves to be liberated."

"I can only work on one problem at a time," Hermione responded quietly.

"Work on this one!" Padma said excitedly, "With me! Save the world! Are you worried about the Muggles? We can greatly improve their living conditions. We can end their needless suffering. We can bring them all the benefits that magic can provide."

"At what cost?"

"They'll just be trading one government for another," Padma insisted.

"That's rubbish. You forget that I'm a Muggle."

"You're a witch."

"I was raised a Muggle. I have a Muggle family. I have Muggle friends. That's who I spent my childhood with. That's who I spent my holiday with every Summer, between the academic years. Muggles want their freedom just as much as any witch or wizard."

"I think it's fair to say that—based on the way they're managing the world—they've given up that privilege."

"Listen to yourself. This is crazy. These are the kinds of things a Slytherin would say. And even they wouldn't be cruel enough to act on them."

"It's ironic for you to suggest that I was in the wrong house," Padma remarked, "Everyone thought it was funny that the Sorting Hat mixed you three up."

"What are you talking about?"

"You, and Ron, and Harry. Do you think you were supposed to be Gryffindors? Harry, through no fault of his own, should have been placed in Slytherin with that Horcrux inside him. Ron was obviously a Hufflepuff; probably his legacy allowed him to slip into Gryffindor. And you were meant to be a Ravenclaw. Gryffindors are supposed to have courage. And courage doesn't mean fighting monsters. How long were you in love with Ron without having the courage to say anything to him?"

"That's personal," Hermione tensed up, "That's got nothing to do with what House I was in, or whether I'm sympathetic to your crusade."

"You joined with me sixth year," Padma reminded her, "We founded the Witches' Council, you remember? Why did you do that?"

"To address the inequalities still remaining between witches and wizards, both institutionalized and in perception," Hermione explained by rote.

"That was the mission of the club," Padma agreed, "But that's not why you joined. You wanted something to do so you wouldn't have to watch Ron and Lavender's disgusting displays of hormones at work. And do you think it was just you?"

"No," Hermione agreed, "I know that Parvati joined up because she was missing Lavender. Those two were best friends, and the only students who could stand Divination class."

"They were wild for it," Padma laughed, remembering, "Then, all at once, Lavender's time was spoken for. I had wanted to form a club, something to take the place of the DA training. So when you and Parvati were feeling neglected, and had lots more free time, we formed the Witches' Council. You remember? We named it that so when people asked where we were going, we could tell them we were headed to the W.C. We thought it was so clever. You showed us the secret passage under the Whomping Willow, so we could meet three times a week in the Shrieking Shack."

"I know all this," Hermione interjected, not the least bit nostalgic, "What does this have to do with anything?"

"It was great to work with you. If I had you, instead of twits like Smith and Vane, I could really save the world. It would be just like the Battle of Hogwarts, but it could last forever."

Hermione considered this, and said slowly, "Some people never came back from that battle."

"I know," Padma said sadly, "I don't want anyone to die. If you'll join me, maybe nobody has to."

"I'm not talking about the ones who died," Hermione said, "Talking to you now, I'm worried. Do you still think about the Battle?"

"Don't you?"

"You used to think about it all the time. You told me you couldn't go back to visit Hogwarts because it bothered you too much. Do you still have bad dreams?"

"I just spent two years in Azkaban!" Padma burst out, clearly on edge, "Sleep was hard to come, and when it did, there was nothing except nightmares."

"I think maybe what you experienced at the Battle of Hogwarts has you mixed up."

"I'm not Dennis Creevey!" Padma yelled.

There was a knock at the door. Padma walked over and opened it. Hermione struggled to get free, but the spell bound her as tightly as ever.

"Is everything all right?" she heard her neighbor say, "Where is Hermione?"

All Padma answered was "Obliviate." Then she closed the door, walked back to Hermione, and said calmly, "He won't remember anything."

"Maybe you could use some of that," Hermione suggested, "A Memory Charm might relax some of these conquering tendencies of yours."

"I don't have any problem with my memories. It's true, I've always been interested in the past, just like Parvati has always been interested in the future. While she was looking forward, I was looking back. And it's served us both well. She has the Sight, and I've mastered Old Magic."

Hermione was more convinced than ever that Padma had lost her mind. Padma stared at Hermione for a few moments, then sat in Hermione's lap again. She kissed Hermione's forehead. It was the most disturbing interaction between them yet. "You're my sister, too," Padma confided, "You must be the third one, the one looking at the present."

Still perched in Hermione's lap, Padma whispered to her, "You know, I was in love with Ron, too."

"I… didn't know that," Hermione responded, her voice almost as stiff as her body.

"You have to stop looking for perfection in love," Padma advised her, "I think after everything you went through at Hogwarts, you've got this trauma crushing down on you. The only way to feel like you've got any power in this world is to control all aspects of your life. But if you don't find a way to overcome that, you'll lose everything."

"That's good advice," Hermione nodded.

"If you don't join me," Padma whispered in Hermione's ear, "I'm going to die at the end of this."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't do this without committing terrible deeds. And I know they're evil. I have to do them to protect the world, but I know there will be a price to pay for my actions once everything is done. I will have saved everyone, but I'll have to die."

"You can just stop right now," Hermione pleaded with her, "I won't join you, but let me help you."

"I think I knew you wouldn't join me," Padma said, but there was disappointment in her voice, "Maybe I just came here to see an old friend before I started."

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked uneasily.

"I'm going to expose magic to the Muggles and take over their society."

"Don't," Hermione pleaded softly.

"But first I'm going to find out who's been framing the Occult for all those murders, and I'm going to deal with him. Or her," Padma added archly.

"Please don't," Hermione repeated, but Padma ignored her.

"Before that…I'm going to prevent any resistance."

"Are you going to kill me now?" Hermione asked, with steely resolve.

"No, never you. We're best friends," Padma assured her, "But you might not ever want to talk to me again after today. I have to kill Harry. And Ron. I'm so sorry."

"I don't think that's going to be quite so easy," Hermione contradicted Padma.

"Romilda didn't have the sense to use her functionaries properly. She kept them clustered up. They weren't very useful like that. I've found a better way."

"Functionaries?" Hermione asked, "You mean the stick figures? You approve of them?"

"Of course not! I don't approve of any of the evil things I've been forced to do! Do you know I studied Fiendfyre with Thorfinn Rowle for three weeks? Have you ever spent any time with that person?"

"Not much," quipped Hermione.

"I'll put those 'stick figures' to good work, so they'll never have to be summoned again."

"You know they require animal sacrifice?" Hermione asked.

"Plants are living things, as well."

"How many trees are they ripping apart to make those creatures? The one thing I always defended you for was that you were no hypocrite. How can you do this?"

Padma jumped to her feet.

"Hermione, we are constantly threatened by imminent danger. And being witches, we don't have the luxury of being blind to that danger, the way Muggles are. The difference between you and me is that I'm willing to make the sacrifice. There's no hypocrisy; I know what I'm doing is evil. But to save this world, I'll pay the price. Who else will? There's no Chosen One for this. Harry Potter's not going to get blood on his hands; I have to do it. I have to do it so you can all enjoy the peace I buy with my life and congratulate yourself afterwards that you're better than me.

"There's not going to be any statue of Padma Patil. My monument will be the future of the world. You say you won't join me? Fine. Then stay out of my way. But don't think you're superior to those of us who fought beside you and under you at Hogwarts, those of us whose names nobody knows. Some of us are still fighting to save the world."

Still in the midst of her frenzy, Padma Disapparated.

Hermione was sitting so upright that it took her a moment to realize the binding spell was lifted. She rose to her feet. Crookshanks poked a perturbed head out of the closet.

Padma's exhibition of mania was still swirling around in Hermione's head. She tried to sort out the portions of the speech in order of importance. In a matter of seconds, she regained her hardiness. She grabbed her wand from the side table. "Ron and Harry," she told herself resiliently.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: THE FOX HUNT

Ron and Harry huddled under the bronze statue of a horse. Its rump protected them from the barrage of wooden spikes raining down on them. The horse's rider shielded his eyes, as though the statue was seeking the source of the attack. He would not have had far to look. Above Ron and Harry, a swarm of the stick figures were mounted on brooms. This was the cloud raining crude darts down on them.

"How are we going to get out of this one?" Ron asked Harry thoughfully. He was doing his best to disintegrate the spikes that were falling too close to him.

"This might be a good opportunity," Harry suggested.

"You don't say," Ron replied drolly.

"The Occult Elite members are flying around up there," Harry pointed out, "I think I see everyone except Padma. This might be our chance to take them."

"Good thinking, mate," Ron complimented his partner, "I think all we have to do is not die, and we'll be set."

"Let's split up," Harry recommended, "We'll be harder to pin down. Go ahead; get on Physical Energy."

Ron gave a broad shrug, then realized that Harry was referring to the statue they were using as cover. "You mean the horse?" he asked.

"I'll shield you," Harry told Ron.

Ron jumped out from under the statue, behind the shield Harry had conjured. He leapt onto the horse, behind its bronze rider. "Piertotum Locomotor," Harry said, then slapped the horse on its hindquarters and told it, "North!" The horse galloped away northbound. Ron pressed himself against the statue of the rider, using it to block any projectiles aimed in his direction.

"Stay with Potter!" Ron heard Romilda's voice yell out, "We'll get Weasley!"

Ron looked back and saw Romilda zooming after him on her broomstick. Blaise Zabini was right behind her. Ron noticed that Zacharias Smith had stayed behind to direct the stick figures' assault on Harry. He wondered how many of the Elite he would have to deal with alone. The bronze horse charged forward.

As Ron approached a sand-colored obelisk, he heard Romilda's voice behind him cast "Defodio!" The horse was torn apart underneath him. Ron tumbed across the path and scrambled toward the cover of the monument. "Defodio!" Blaise yelled, mimicking Romilda's spell. A large chunk was torn out of the obelisk, and the top of it tipped over onto Ron, send him sprawling across the ground and pinning his right leg down.

"Expelliarmus," Romilda murmured, and Ron's wand flew from his hand, bouncing out of reach.

"I think this one's earned the Killing Curse," Romilda told Blaise wolfishly. Blaise seemed a little nervous, but he nodded.

Romilda raised her wand. "Avad—" she began.

"What are you on about?" Ron challenged her, "Don't I rate as good as Harry?"

"Don't worry," Romilda growled, "I'll have him soon enough."

"Had him last week, didn't you?" Ron asked, "And you let him go! Why does Harry get special treatment?"

"What is he talking about?" Blaise asked Romilda.

"I don't know," Romilda said, "I haven't seen Harry Potter since November."

"That's rubbish," Ron exclaimed, pushing his lie, "You had Harry at your mercy, and you let him go."

Blaise was frowning at Romilda. "Keeping secrets from your associates now, are you?" Ron persisted, "I guess they wouldn't approve of your feelings."

"Enough!" Romilda barked, and tried again, "Avada—"

This time it was Blaise who interrupted her. "Hold on," he challenged Romilda, "What are you up to?"

"She adored Harry in school," Ron said, this time truthfully, "Obsessed with him, really. If memory serves, I was caught in the crossfire of one of her love schemes. Set a trap for him, but snared me, isn't that right? Not that I didn't enjoy it. I'm crazy about Chocolate Cauldrons even without the love potion. I can't even remember exactly what happened. To be honest, I was sozzled."

Blaise, clearly irritated, asked Romilda, "What happened to not letting personal feelings interfere with our mission?"

Ron, who had managed to free his leg while he was feigning helplessness, scrambled from the monument to his wand. "Bombarda Maxima!" he hollered, and the obelisk exploded into fragments that pelted down on Blaise and Romilda. In a precise reversal, Romilda was pinned down under a chunk of stone. "After him!" she snarled at Blaise, who had been trying to help her. Ron was sprinting away from them on the path that led northeast.

Ron had just reached a fountain that depicted two bears embracing each other when he heard a familiar voice roar, "Reducto!" It was Eloise Midgen. Luckily, her spell missed Ron and hit the fountain, which exploded, sending pieces of itself flying everywhere.

Ron pointed his wand at a length of pipe in the rubble and cast "Engorgio!" The pipe grew in size until it was large enough for Ron to crawl inside, which he did.

"You can't hide from me, Weaselly!" Eloise roared, "I'm coming for you!" She crawled into the pipe after Ron. There was not enough room in the pipe to cast a spell without the chance it would rebound, so Eloise lumbered toward Ron on her hands and knees. She clawed at his feet as she got closer, trying to drag him back.

As Ron reached the end of the pipe, he managed to cast "Reducio," and roll out into the open air. The pipe began shrinking behind him. "I'll kill you, Weaselly!" Eloise bellowed again, baring her angry teeth. The pipe contracted around her, binding her until she was caught fast.

Unable to move, she pushed guttural words out of her mouth, "Kill…you…"

Ron delayed for a moment to address her. "I'm sorry I told jokes about you in school," he apologized earnestly, "I didn't know that you heard me, but that doesn't make it any better. We were just little kids. But look how you grew up! You're big and strong, stronger than most blokes, stronger than me, anyway. And you're quite good-looking now. Don't go around killing people to make up for the fact you were a late bloomer."

Eloise stared at Ron, regaining her senses. "Will you accept my apology?" he asked with fervent kindness.

"Padma's right," Eloise wheezed, not answering the question, "Stop interfering, or you'll be the first casualty of this war."

"Agree to disagree," Ron quipped and hurried away eastbound, leaving Eloise trapped in the pipe.

Ron entered an ornate water garden nearby. He walked along the edge of the pools, scanning the garden for any threats. As he walked, he passed a row of stone urns. "Auror," a voice hissed behind him. Ron looked back and saw Malcolm Baddock emerge from behind one of the urns. It trembled as Malcolm left its cover. Malcolm began to back away from Ron, and Ron advanced a few steps.

Ron waved his wand and mumbled an incantation. Malcolm threw up a defensive spell, and nothing happened. Malcolm continued stepping backward, and Ron continued walking toward him. As Ron closed the distance, a bloodthirsty smile creeped up Malcolm's face. When Ron reached the urn where Malcolm had originally been hiding, Malcolm screamed, "Excitante!" Malcolm seemed shocked when the urn next to him exploded violently. A jagged stone tore across the right side of his face, and Malcolm clutched both hands to his eye socket as he fell to the ground.

"Thought you'd play a little game of cat and mouse with me?" Ron asked, then said sternly, "I guess the cat's out of the bag."

Malcolm groaned at the pain to his right eye.

"Wrong one exploded?" Ron continued, "I thought casting a Switching spell on those two urns might be a good idea. What kind of potion did you put in there, anyway? Something with Bulbadox juice?"

Malcolm rolled on the ground. The pain to his eye made him insensible to anything else happening.

"Bulbadox juice, I bet," Ron said down at Malcolm's crumpled body, then looked up and asked, "Who's next?"

There was a stone edifice just outside the water garden, and Ron could see Michael Corner standing inside the semi-covered seating area. Ron decided on a direct approach. He walked toward Michael, not so much at a quick pace, but purposefully. Ron had to cross open ground, and if Michael attacked, Ron had nothing to protect him except his own defensive skills. However, Michael did not attack. Ron marched all the way to him, until they were face-to-face under the giant archway.

"I defended you," Michael pleaded in a trembling voice, "I said we should let you go."

"But here you are," Ron said. He cracked his knuckles and raised his wand. Michael, shaking, looked off to his left.

"Thinking about rabbiting?" Ron asked. As soon as the words left his mouth, Michael dashed away. Ron looked at the back of the fleeing Michael and called after him, "Coward!"

Michael was already too far away to hear anything, but Ron still called after him, "Back to the warren, then!" This made Ron wonder whether the Occult had really found another underground cave for their meetings.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron noticed Blaise prowling around on a broomstick. Ron began jogging along the east side of the lake until Blaise noticed him. Then Ron ran at top speed until he was under the bridge that spanned that lake.

"You can only hide for so long," Blaise taunted Ron, landing and dismounting his broom. Blaise aimed his wand ahead of him and strode toward the bridge. His shadow fell in front of him like a great black hound. Blaise flattered himself that it resembled The Grim. And that it signified Ron's imminent death.

When Blaise stepped under the bridge, he found Ron reaching down into the water. Blaise was ready for anything, but Ron did not attack. He just splashed around frantically.

"What are you doing?" Blaise demanded, "Get up!"

Ron rose with a dejected look on his face.

"What were you doing down there?" Blaise asked. When Ron failed to answer, Blaise said, "Lumos!" and the tip of his wand illuminated. He looked down at the water and saw what Ron had been searching for. "Your wand!" Blaise exclaimed triumphantly, "You dropped your wand!"

Blaise aimed his own stone wand directly at Ron's heart as he stooped down. "Don't move," he commanded, and reached into the water. Blaise only turned his eyes down for a moment to locate what he was looking for, but it was enough for Ron to draw his actual wand and yell, "Glacio!"

The water froze around Blaise's arm, trapping him, and the curse he tried to send at Ron went over Ron's head. "Expelliarmus," Ron cast, and Blaise's wand flew out of his hand and into the lake. "I'm sure it'll be fine down there," Ron said, "Right next to that twig that looked so much like my wand."

Blaise pulled with all his strength, but he could not free his arm. "I'll be back for you soon," Ron promised, "But first I need to see that Harry's all right."

Ron crossed the bridge and ran west toward the cloud of flying stick figures. He knew that Harry must be in the middle of them somewhere. As he came closer, he saw Harry up in the air, standing on what appeared to be a levitating plank of wood. From the proportions of Harry's platform (and the fact that it had a knob), Ron realized that it must be a door. Harry was doing well at repelling his attackers, but he was surrounded. Ron needed to get up there to help, and he had an idea how. All he needed to do was disintegrate one of the stick figures without disintegrating its broom, and he would have transportation.

It was trickier than it seemed. It was hard to hit fast-moving, flying objects from a distance, and when he succeeded, the broom was always destroyed along with its rider. Ron's opportunity to keep trying was hindered when he was spotted by Zacharias Smith, who had been directing the creatures. "Weasley!" Zacharias shouted overbearingly, "Still alive?"

Ron started running again, this time to the northwest. He had reached the playground by the time Zacharias caught up. Ron jumped up onto a play structure shaped like a ship, but Zacharias headed him off.

"That's it, Weasley, you're done," Zacharais announced.

Ron panted and nodded. "You win," he said breathlessly, "You can have it."

"What?" Zacharias asked.

"It's in the tree," Ron managed to get out, trying to catch his breath. He pointed over to a nearby oak tree.

"What's in the tree?" Zacharias asked, suspiciously.

"Are you kidding me?" Ron gasped, "Padma's not here; you don't need to pretend. I know you're not a 'true believer.' You're not in the Occult for any noble cause. You want the power. Which will bring you the wealth your family used to have. And then you'll finally have the influence you've always wanted."

"This is flummery," Zacharais declared accurately, but he still showed strong interest in the tree.

"I would never try to flatter you," Ron assured him, "At least no more than you do yourself. I've never heard anyone praise anyone the way you lionize yourself."

Zacharias frowned at Ron, not understanding exactly what he had said, but mostly sure it was an insult.

"Padma sent you here to get it, didn't she?" Ron asked.

"Padma sent us to kill you two."

"Isn't a bit of a coincidence that she sent you to confront us at the same time we were hiding it?"

"Hiding what? I don't believe you. You're trying to trick me."

"Have a look for yourself," Ron told him, "If I'm lying, the tree's empty. You've been chasing me this whole time. I didn't have the chance to set any trap."

It made sense to Zacharias. And if there was any chance of something valuable being hidden in that tree, it was worth a look. Zacharias kept his wand aimed at Ron and walked backward to the oak. Keeping the wand trained on Ron, he leaned over to the open knot in the tree and peered inside.

"Intruder!" a voice yelled out from the interior of the tree. Suddenly an Elf sprung out of the tree and onto Zacaharais. While the first Elf was clutching his face, two more rushed out of the tree and grabbed his wand arm, wrenching the stone wand out of it. "What are you doing, you burglar?" another Elf, leaning angrily out of the knot, wanted to know.

Ron trotted over to the oak that the Elves called home. The Elves eyed him suspiciously. "Hey, I'm Hermione Granger's boyfriend."

The Elves looked around at each other, still wearing dubious expressions. "He does have ginger hair," one of them commented.

"That's me!" Ron said, pointing to the top of his head, "Can you hold onto this guy for me, just for a few minutes? I'll be back to take him to jail once I fetch my partner."

"Fine," the Elf in the tree agreed, "But we're going to search his pockets, to be sure he hasn't stolen anything."

Ron ran back to the playground and retrieved the broom Zacharais had been riding. He mounted it and flew rapidly up to the remaining stick figures. He pulled up close to the first one he saw, took close aim, and yelled, "Deletrius!" It distintegrated, but its broom was undamaged. As the broom fell, Ron called out, "Accio broom!" and it flew up into his hand. Ron tucked it under his arm and zoomed off toward Harry.

Harry was still standing on the floating door. He swayed a little, but kept his balance as adeptly as a surfer enjoying himself off the shore of Australia. Harry kept himself adequately shielded, and he picked off his attackers one by one. The number of stick figures had greatly reduced, but it was a slow process.

Ron flew up beside Harry and called out, "No more messing around!" He threw the spare broomstick to Harry. Harry mounted it, and it was like he was back at the Quidditch Pitch. With the speed of the Seeker he was, Harry zipped through the cluster of stick figures. As they tried to follow, he turned them around on themselves. Harry shot up higher, and they tried to follow. Then he plummeted down toward earth, and the stick figures looked like a funnel, plunging after him.

Ron began blasting at the widest part of the cone formation, wiping out the bulk of the remaining stick figures. Those that were closest to Harry had been reeled in by his performance of the Wronski Feint. Harry was quick enough and strong enough to pull out of his dive before crashing into the ground. The stick figures were barely able to stay on their brooms. One by one, they impacted with the ground and shattered into splinters.

When Ron and Harry were sure that there were no remaining attackers, they landed. "These brooms are atrocious," said Harry.

"Speak for yourself," Ron told him, "I got mine from Zacharias Smith. His father still spends money as though he's got some."

"Where is he?" Harry asked.

Ron led Harry to the Elves' tree. Unfortunately, when they arrived, the Elves had bad news for them. An "angry lady" came and took Zacharias from them.

"Thanks, anyway," Ron told them.

"What are they doing, living in that tree?" Harry asked as they walked away.

"Former House-Elves have trouble finding a good place to live," Ron explained, "The interiors of trees in Muggle parks are ideal for them. You'll find them all over London. Kensington Gardens was just the first."

"Speaking of Muggles, we'll need to call in the Obliviators."

"First let's see if any of the Occult Elite are still where I trapped them," Ron suggested.

They went to the Speke Monument, but Romilda had managed to extricate herself from the fallen obelisk. Harry cast Reparo, and the memorial was mended. They went to the Two Bears Fountain. The pipe was shredded, and Eloise had vanished. Another Reparo, and the bears were hugging each other again. At the Italian Gardens, Malcolm had absconded, leaving only a smear of blood on the ground. Reparo, and the urn fixed itself. Under the bridge, there were chunks of ice floating in the lake, but Blaise and his submerged wand were gone.

"So we've gained nothing," Ron grumbled, "Except our lives, I guess."

"I should return that door," Harry said.

"Where did you get it?"

"The Serpentine Gallery."

"Slytherin has a museum? Here in a Muggle park?"

"I don't think it has anything to do with Slytherin."

"What were you doing with that door, anyway?"

"I couldn't get any of those stick figures off their brooms without damaging the brooms. I learned about flying carpets from a wizard named Ali Bashir in Arabia, and I thought I could apply the concept to any solid plane. It worked pretty well, but it didn't handle as well as a carpet. Certainly not as well as a broom."

"I appreciate your skill," Ron told Harry, "But your experimental approaches to practical situations aren't very efficient. Or logical." Ron's face suddenly grew serious, and he said, "We need to check on Hermione. That's probably why Padma wasn't here."

As if on cue, a familiar figure Apparated beside them.

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed.

"Ron! Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, "What happened?"

They told her, as succinctly as they could. She then described her disturbing encounter with Padma.

"She'll get hers soon enough," Ron vowed, then asked, "Do you think there's any more of these stick figures in the works? They haven't worked out too well so far."

"If what I guessed from my grandmother's letter is correct, they won't be able to do the ritual to produce any new ones until the sixth night after the new moon," Harry said.

"I trust your guesses," Ron said emphatically, "We should figure out the next time that happens."

"April twenty-fifth," Hermione told them, "The waxing crescent moon."

"You're a human Lunascope!" Ron said in amazement.

"I have an acutal Lunascope," Hermione said, holding it up for him to see.

"I want to learn more about Old Magic," Ron said, "These creatures are making it impossible for us to apprehend any of the Occult. Do you know anywhere I can go?" Then he added to Hermione, "And don't say the library. I want to talk to someone."

"There is an expert, right here in England," Harry told him.

"Do you know him?"

"Sure," Harry told Ron, "I think he knows your family, too. I can set up a meeting for you, if you'd like. His name's Doge."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: RON'S PREDECESSOR

The pub in Godric's Hollow was 300 years old, crowded, and eminently comfortable. "Mr. Doge?" Ron asked, finding his specialist.

"Have a seat, Mr. Weasley, and call me Elphias," the friendly old man in the oversized robes told him.

"Call me Ron."

"Harry's owl said that you wanted to discuss Old Magic?"

"He said you're the local authority on the subject, and I thought I'd ask you about it."

"I feel as though I should be asking you. You've had more recent experience with Old Magic than I have."

"Harry told you about the stick figures," Ron guessed.

"I meant the Horcruxes. It was only a few years ago that you came into contact with some, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Ron answered, chilled to think about it.

"That particular Curse can't properly be called a Curse. It's darker and older. It comes from Old Magic, which gave little value to human life. And the Deathly Hallows? You had some contact with the objects that inspired the children's story?"

Ron nodded. He had spent a good portion of his school years sneaking around under one of those priceless artifacts. It had only been five months ago that he used that very Cloak to sneak into the Occult's lair.

"Old Magic. Magic from the time when spells lasted. And also when witches and wizards didn't really understand the power that they were controlling. Have you ever heard anyone performing Old spells?"

"No."

"They weren't accomplished with words, just sounds. Much less precise than today's spells, but in some ways more powerful. Recklessly powerful."

"Don't tell Harry; he'll be grunting all his spells from now on."

Elphias gave an understanding laugh and said, "Albus was the same way."

"Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes, he used to mutter in some strange language while he was using magic. I can recognize most of the dialects in the world, and that wasn't one of them."

Ron laughed and said, "Harry mentioned that you were friends with Dumbledore."

"Albus and I started at Hogwarts together. The friendship that started that first day lasted until the end of his life."

"Plenty of us meet our best friends at Hogwarts," Ron nodded.

"In many ways, your experiences and mine parallel each other," Doge noted, "The relationship I had with Albus was quite similar to the one you share with Potter. It's a strange mix, isn't it? Having a friend who exposes you to wonders that most wizards never have a chance to see, but paying for it by living in his shadow?"

"Doesn't really bother me," Ron said. He had overcome that feeling years ago.

"I learned to accept it, too," laughed Elphias, "It's funny, but Albus always thought I was the one bringing him into the Wizarding World. His family had kept to themselves when they lived in Mould-on-the-Would, and they really secluded themselves after Ariana's affliction…and the troubles it caused their father. In a way, by being an average, regular wizard, I was a ticket to normalcy for Albus."

"I guess I did the same for Harry. He wasn't raised with any magic. I suppose he felt more comfortable with me showing him around. It can't have been easy, being famous before he even walked in the door to Hogwarts."

"Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. He never had the longing was glory that cursed Albus during his youth. By the end of our Hogwarts education, Albus was dedicated to making a name for himself. He wanted to leave a lasting impression on the Wizarding World, and that's not a temptation you or I have ever had to know. Only someone with his abilities would be gnawed at so badly by ambition."

"Were you able to help him?"

"I'm afraid not, Ron. Back then, it was customary upon graduation to take a tour of the world. The idea was to meet witches and wizard of other lands, and to learn foreign practices in magic."

"Harry took that trip just a few years ago."

"Yes, he's told me. So Albus and I planned to make that journey together. If we had, maybe I could have moderated some of his more fantastical ideas. But, instead, his mother died. I attended Kendra's funeral, and then I departed for the tour alone. Albus was obligated to remain in Godric's Hollow, caring for his sister, Ariana. Standing on Platform 7½, waiting for the Orient Express, was the loneliest I've ever felt. The isolation stayed with me all through the Continent. I don't think I really started enjoying myself until I reached Egypt. There was a fascinating Alchemical Conference in Alexandria."

"I've been to Egypt myself, eleven years ago," Ron offered, "Loads of alchemists over there."

"There are some regions that adhere to it more than others. At Hogwarts, there's rarely enough demand to offer an Alchemy class. But the students at Uagadou could pass the N.E.W.T. in Alchemy by their third year."

"Did you stay in touch with Dumbledore?" Ron asked.

"He would write to me frequently, briefly, and excitedly. He had become very close to Bathilda Bagshot's great-nephew. I think you know who that was."

"Gellert Grindelwald."

"Right. I distrusted him from the beginning. Before he came to Godric's Hollow, he had been expelled from Durmstrang. Or maybe I was just jealous that Albus found someone he liked more than me." Elphias chuckled at the simplicity of his younger self, then continued, "Albus and Grindelwald were inseparable for two months. And then Ariana died."

"Yeah, I heard that story," Ron said, trying to spare Elphias the heartache of repeating it.

"I was in India at the time," Elphias recalled, "In Maharashtra. While Albus was falling in love in England, I was falling in love there. Her name was Pallavi, and she opened me up to a new way of seeing the world. She was the first person to kindle my interest in Old Magic, although to her, it was just magic. Ancient, but maintained in many of its antique forms."

"Pallavi?" Ron asked.

"Yes."

"I feel like I've heard that name before. It's not very common, is it?"

"It is in India. But Pallavi herself was one of a kind. I was ready to end my tour right there, to stay with her. But a terrible event intruded: Ariana's death. Albus was devastated. I could feel it in his letter. The parchment was stained with his tears. I needed to return home, but Pallavi and I hadn't discussed it. It's not that she wouldn't leave India; she had a brother in England. But she had a calling, and to her it was more important than her personal happiness."

Ron watched Elphias sympathetically. These memories, from so long ago, still affected him deeply. Elphias found the words and continued, "She was starting a retreat for people from around the world to come and study what we call 'Old Magic' and its relationship to plant life. It became more than a retreat. People came, but they didn't leave. It became a colony, and a philosophy that carried around the world. Nowadays, in England, they're called 'Bowtruckles.' A belittling term to my mind, but they've adopted it for themselves. Pallavi achieved everything she wanted and more. And all she had to do was renounce love."

"Wasn't there anything you could do?" Ron asked, concerned.

"I loved Pallavi, so I abided by her decision. I returned to England, alone, to attend Ariana's funeral. It's was awful. Aberforth broke his nose, right over the grave."

"You never went back to Maharashtra?"

"I loved Pallavi, so I abided by her decision," Elphia repeated, "Now… Now, I regret that I didn't oppose her. It would have been a truer expression of my love. She was wrong. She could have accomplished everything she wanted and still allowed herself love." Elphias threw up his hands in a dramatic shrug and said, "She could have been Mrs. Doge and still been The Root."

"The Root?" Ron asked, astonished.

"Yes, that's what the modern Bowtruckles call her. I doubt they know her real name."

"The Root?" Ron repeated, "I thought that was hundreds of years ago!"

Elphias laughed, "I'm not ready for St. Oswald's Home for Old Witches and Wizards yet!"

Ron asked Elphias, "What was Pallavi's last name?"

"Patil," Elphias answered. He did not notice Ron's expression of shock. "Albus took his tour eventually," Elphias continued, "And he went on to formulate the twelve uses of dragon's blood. Formulate, mind you; he never claimed to discover them. Many of those uses had been guessed at since the Middle Ages. But Albus codified them, proved some of them, and debunked others. Nonetheless, there are still people who believe that drinking dragon blood will allow them to converse with animals. Albus took his tour, all right, but his ambition for glory was gone. He went on to receive the Order of Merlin, First Class…"

"I got that, too," Ron inserted, "Second Class, though."

"Well you deserved it," Elphias congratulated Ron, "Saved the Wizarding World, you three. If you hadn't been schoolchildren, it would have been First Class, mark my words."

"There's still time," Ron joked.

"Albus went on to great things. Did you know he was Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederacy of Wizards? But I honestly think he would have been happier if he had been able to come on that Grand Wizarding Tour with me."

"Harry went on his tour alone," Ron said, "It makes me feel bad, now that I hear you tell how lonely you were. But he made plenty of friends along the way."

"You weren't interested in joining him?"

"After the Battle of Hogwarts, the Ministry told Harry, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom and me that we would be accepted immediately for Auror training. Neville had finished his seventh year at Hogwarts, but the other three of us hadn't. Griselda Marchbanks herself gave us special dispensation that our education could be considered completed, and Hogwarts could present us our diplomas. But Hermione wanted to do it properly, so she reenrolled for another year. Neville and I started our Auror training, and Harry left to see the world. He promised to join us when he got back."

"So you stayed to start your career," Elphias commented, "That seems reasonable to me. I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind, no more than I minded Albus staying to care for his sister."

"I did start my Auror training," Ron said, "But that wasn't the real reason I didn't go." Elphias waited for the explanation, but it took Ron a minute to put the words together. "I'm in love with Hermione Granger," Ron said plainly, "I have been since we were first-years."

"I've heard that," Elphias said, "But I thought maybe it was just a rumor. If you believe Rita Skeeter, Ms. Granger has been involved with every notable wizard her age."

"I was in love with her all through school, but I never had the nerve to tell her. I was afraid she'd reject me. I was afraid that she'd be right to reject me. I tell you, I'd rather have jumped into a pit of spiders than admit how I felt. When it finally came out, and I found out she felt the same way, it was like a dream come true. I didn't want to go tour the world. I just wanted to spend time with Hermione."

"That's very admirable," Elphias said, smiling.

"She was the most important thing in the world to me," Ron stated, "And she still is. I don't care about any doubts I have whether our life together would be happy. I just know that my life will never be happy without her."

The smile on Elphias had settled to thoughtfulness. "Hold on to that feeling," Elphias advised Ron, "Keep it fresh in your heart. If Pallavi had felt that way, if I had seen things as clearly… I wouldn't have had to spend my life alone."

"I need to talk to Hermione," Ron said out loud, but to himself. He stood up from the table.

"I thought you had questions about Old Magic?" Elphias asked.

"Oh, right," Ron remembered. He sat down again.

"According to the Daily Prophet, your Hermione is the most intelligent, clear-headed person in the Ministry these days, even at her young age. But in Old Magic, that intellect would likely be a liability. These spells are intuitive. You cannot learn them by reading about them."

"I wish they had an Old Magic class at Hogwarts," Ron joked.

"I take it you weren't much of a student, then? But you have talents of your own, which may lend themselves to Old Magic. You have a creative mind, certainly. That's what allows you to make unseen connections in your investigations. You might take to the practice. What is it that you want to gain through Old Magic?"

"I want to learn about trees," Ron admitted, somewhat timidly, "I'd like to know how much they can think, and whether we can communicate with them, and how to fight them when they become monsters with human-shaped bodies."

"Learn about trees, eh?" Elphias repeated, passing over the rest, "Let me get a look at your wand."

Ron handed his gnarled piece of wood over to Elphias.

"This is very old," Elphias remarked.

"Yeah, it used to belong to my Uncle Bilius," Ron said, "But I'm used to hand-me-downs. Story of my life, really. It looks bog-standard, but it suits me, no matter how old it is."

"I think it may be older than you suspect," Elphias said, impressed, "I believe that I recognize this wand. Have you ever heard of Avalon?"

"Yeah. I thought it was a myth, though?"

"Yes and no. There was a place called Avalon, and there was an idea called Avalon, named for the place. The place no longer exists, and the idea is too fanciful to be taken seriously. But the place called Avalon was full of trees. Fruit trees, mostly. They were ideal for wandmaking, and in centuries past, there were many wands made from the trees of Avalon. Very few survive. I believe that this is one of them."

"So you're saying this wand is worth a few galleons," Ron said, trying to be witty while he was feeling a bit intimidated.

"It's the core that makes this one special," Elphias continued, "If I recognize it properly, it is a feather taken from the legendary rooster Chanticleer, a proud fool who was outwitted by the distant ancestor of your family, Renalt de Westle."

"You know more about my family than I do."

"Your family has been in England for a very long time. They came from Normandy soon after the Norman Conquest of 1066."

"That's pretty good. We conquered England and a rooster."

"I don't know exactly what happened in reality," Elphias said, "But in the legend, Renalt convinced Chanticleer that the sun would not rise unless Chanticleer crowed first. Chanticleer, being full of self-importance, believed. Renalt grabbed the rooster's beak and held it closed. Chanticleer was terrified, thinking that the world would end with no sun. So he agreed to give Renalt a tailfeather, to use in making a wand. Once Renalt extorted the feather, he released the rooster's mouth and allowed him to crow, thus beginning the day."

"What does it mean?"

"Let's go outside and see what this wand can do."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: THE HOSPITAL VISIT

Ron bounded into Hermione's apartment with an urgent energy. Hermione, still holding the door open, was delighted to see him. "Ron!" she greeted. Her cheeks flushed, and her mouth transformed from a straight line of calm composure to a beaming smile that curled across her lips.

"You remember a couple weeks ago, when I went to Godric's Hollow?" Ron asked hurriedly.

"Yes," Hermione answered, her smile growing wider and a happy blush coming to her cheeks.

"When I was talking with Doge," Ron continued, "He made a joke about predicting the future. He called it 'Muggle Divination.'"

"Okay," Hermione said, not sure where this was going.

"It's not Divination at all. It just means looking at what happened in the past, and using that to predict what's going to happen in the future."

"Much more reliable than actual Divination," Hermione judged.

"We need to go to St. Mungo's," Ron announced. There was a leap in logic that Hermione wasn't seeing, so she waited for an explanation. "Harry's down there right now, waiting for us," Ron told her, without shedding any more light on the issue.

"Do you need me?" Hermione asked, gesturing at her book on the sofa, "It's my day off."

"Padma Patil isn't the only person the victims have in common," Ron explained hurriedly, "It came to me this morning."

Hermione threw on her robes, ready to leave instantly. "Who is it? What's at St. Mungo's?" she asked, grabbing her purse.

As they walked to Ron's car, he explained his theory, "I think Dennis Creevey is behind these murders."

"Dennis Creevey? But the Occult has been trying to kill you," Hermione objected, "Surely he's not in with them?"

"The Occult only got involved in this after the murders. And only because the murders happened. If nobody had been killed, the Occult Elite would have stayed a social club. And Padma wouldn't have had any reason to escape from Azkaban if she hadn't heard about the murders." Ron gritted his teeth for this last, blaming himself for giving away the identities of the victims.

"But Harry caught those thieves with the stolen map to Azkaban before anyone was killed. Obviously someone was already planning to get Padma out of there."

"I'm not sure how that fits in, yet," Ron admitted, starting the car. He pulled away from the curb rapidly, anxious to get to the hospital.

"So you think Dennis is faking his condition?"

"He must be."

"And why would he kill the victims?"

"Marietta named the Creevey brothers to the Muggle-born Registration Commission. She's the reason they had to go on the run when the Carrows had taken over Hogwarts. Dennis and Colin were constantly hunted, fearing for their lives. That's why he wanted to kill her."

"And the others?"

"Thorfinn Rowle killed Colin Creevey."

"Are you sure?"

"Harry said that Nigel Wolpert witnessed it. He's pretty sure. And I think Dennis blames Neville for Colin's death, as well. Neville was the one who kept Dumbledore's Army going while we were away. He called Colin back to the school for the Battle of Hogwarts. I'll bet Dennis blames Neville for getting Colin to fight."

"But they were trying to kill all three of you."

"No. The Occult was trying to kill all three of us. Dennis was only responsible for the poison. And only one of us got a Charm Choc: Neville."

"What about Arnold Peasegood?"

"He tried to restore Dennis' mind after the accident. I think he succeeded. Then Dennis pretended to still be out of his mind. He stayed in his bed at St. Mungo's while he planned his revenge. I think he had to kill Peasegood to cover up the fact that he was cured."

"And that stabbing victim?"

"I don't know."

"And how did he do it? Why wouldn't Dennis use magic?"

"I don't know."

"This seems far-fetched," Hermione remarked, but they had already arrived at the hospital.

Harry was standing in front of an old, abandoned business. The bricks on the front had been plastered with advertisements and posters. The words on the sign ("Purge and Dowse Ltd.") were barely visible. One of the display windows had been broken, and the glass was replaced by boards which were now marred with graffiti. Inside one of the other display windows, a lone mannequin trumpeted a sale that would never come. Harry, Ron and Hermione stood in front of the mannequin. "Dennis Creevey," Ron told it.

They stepped forward, passing through the glass as though it didn't exist, and disappeared from the view of anyone who might walk past the vacant department store. On the other side of the façade, Ron rushed to the welcome witch. "Dennis Creevey," he said, "We're here to see Dennis Creevey."

"Do you know where he is?" the welcome witch asked helpfully.

"Janus Thickey Ward," Ron nodded.

"Please sign in," the welcome witch said, turning her book to face Ron, "Only one of you needs to sign per group."

While Ron was finding the correct line and scribbling their names, Hermione whispered to Harry, "What do you think about this theory?"

"It's interesting," Harry said noncommittally, "It seems like most of it is probably right."

"Most of it? What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"Right!" Ron exclaimed, handing the quill back to the welcome witch. He led Harry and Hermione to the lift. They rode to the fourth floor, with Ron fidgeting the entire way.

"He's down this way!" Ron said, motioning for the other two to follow him.

A healer approached and requested, "Lower your voice, please. The patients can be disturbed by loud noises."

"Janus Thickey Ward?" Ron confirmed.

"Yes," the healer confirmed, "My name is Miriam Strout. I'm in charge of the Ward."

"We'd like to see Dennis Creevey."

"That's good of you," Strout said, and led the trio to Creevey's bed.

Ron looked down at Dennis and his theory fell apart. Even without inspecting him, Ron could see that there was barely anything left behind his eyes.

"No change?" Ron asked.

"No, I'm sorry," Strout told him, "But I think it makes him happy to have visitors."

Harry examined Dennis thoroughly, but there was no question that his mind was still emptied. What was left of Dennis smiled up at Harry, with the vaguest hint of recognition.

Hermione spoke to Dennis for a while, believing that conversation might improve his day. It was mostly a dull description of the functional aspects of her job. Harry sat on the other side of Dennis, resting his hand on Dennis' shoulder. Ron stood by, bitterly disappointed that he had been so wrong.

Hermione, Harry and Ron stopped by to see the Longbottoms, then they went to the fifth floor. They got a bite in the tearoom. Harry and Hermione were silent, noticing how frustrated Ron was. Ron was silent because he was frustrated.

"Do you think Lockhart's still in there somewhere?" Hermione asked at length.

"I'm sure he is," Harry speculated, "I don't think Azkaban is equipped to handle someone who's so emptied-out mentally."

"Azkaban used to be the reason people were emptied-out mentally," Hermione said, shivering at her memory of the Dementors.

Ron took a sip. On one side of the cup was a portrait of Dilys Derwent. On the other side was a description of how she revolutionized healing at the hospital in 1722. Ron looked absently at the cup, then took another sip.

"Did you know that Dilys Derwent went on to become Headmaster of Hogwarts after her time here at the hospital?" Hermione offered.

Ron shook his head. He did not know that bit of trivia. It was probably on the side of the cup, though. They finished their tea in silence, then took the lift back to the first floor.

As they walked back toward the welcome witch to sign out, a voice called out from the Admissions Department, "Mr. Potter?" Harry turned around with a generous smile on his face. Over the years, he had become accustomed to being approached.

"My name's Augustus Pye," the approaching healer told Harry, "You arrested my brother last July." Harry looked a trifle uncomfortable, until Pye took his hand and shook it energetically. "Thank you," he said, "Best thing for him. He's not too bright, and he always fell under the influence of the wrong sort."

Pye shook Ron's hand as well. "Mr. Weasley," he greeted Ron, "I think you might remember me. I treated your father a few years back."

Ron nodded distractedly. He didn't listen as Pye described for Harry all the problems his brother had through life. Something else was on Ron's mind. When Pye had finished with his profuse gratitude, Ron continued on his way to the welcome witch's desk. She turned the book toward him, and he started to flip through the pages.

"I'm sorry," the welcome witch said, "But those are private." Ron ignored her and kept looking.

"It's okay," Harry said, "We're Aurors."

The welcome witch saw the scar on Harry's forehead. Then she looked more intently at Harry's face. "You're Harry Potter," she gasped.

"It sounds more impressive than it is," Harry said, with a self-deprecating smile.

"Dennis Creevey's father comes every day, doesn't he?" Ron asked the welcome witch, "And he's a Muggle, right? Emmett Creevey's his name. I don't see him in here."

The welcome witch took the book back. "Dennis Creevey has a visitor every day," she informed Ron, "But he's not a Muggle. He's a Squib. And his name is not Emmett Creevey. It is Zigdano Sulianis."

"Zigdano!" Ron exclaimed. He looked over at Hermione and Harry. It was the name sewn into the lining of the jacket that the unidentified murder victim had been wearing.

"Zigdano…Sulianis," Hermione muttered, then opened her eyes wide, "Oh, no!" The last name had meant something to her it didn't mean to the other two. "Zigi Sulianis," she remembered, "He works at the Ministry. He's in Magical Maintenance!"

"When's the last time Sulianis visited Dennis?" Ron asked the welcome witch.

"He was just here," she said, referring to her book, "He went up after you; I'm surprised you didn't see him. Didn't spend very long, though. He went to the fourth floor, then came right back."

"While we were at tea on the fifth floor," Hermione realized, "Strout must have mentioned we'd been there."

Ron's eyes widened to match Hermione's. "We need to get to the Ministry!" he said nervously.

"He's not going to be there," Hermione objected, "It's a Saturday."

"We can find out where he lives," Harry suggested.

"No," Ron said, "I think he knows we're on to him. And I think he's up to more than these murders. We need to move fast."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: DEFUSING THE SITUATION

Harry, Ron and Hermione squeezed into the telephone box. There was barely enough room to move. Harry was accepting the situation with his customary relaxed attitude, but Hermione demanded, "Can you tell us what's going on?"

"I'm not sure yet," Ron said, dialing 6-2-4-4-2. A voice asked them their business. "It's Ron Weasley!" Ron yelled, and when there was no answer, he added, "And Harry Potter!"

"And Hermione Granger," Hermione spoke up, shaking her head at Ron.

They were whisked away, into the Ministry. Hermione had been right; the atrium was empty.

"Down," Ron said tersely, rushing to the lift. They went down one floor, to the Department of Mysteries. Although the rest of the Ministry was empty, there was always an Unspeakable on duty at the ninth level. The Unspeakables were the secretive researchers of the Ministry's impenetrable Department of Mysteries. This Unspeakable was not open to the idea of the trio entering the section.

"Croaker!" Ron said to the Unspeakable in an attempt to be recognized, "Saul Croaker, right? You know my father."

"I like Arthur Weasley," Croaker confirmed, "He knows to keep to his place."

"I think there's going to be an attack," Ron said. Hermione and Harry looked at each other in surprise, "I need to see where you keep dangerous artifacts. It should be from 1945."

"Is this about the stick figures?" Harry asked.

"No," Hermione figured out, "This is about the Squbes."

If Croaker knew what they meant, he did not show it.

Ron turned to Harry and Hermione, forced to take time to explain, "The Maintenance troll—"

"His name's Barny," Hermione interrupted.

"Barny," Ron corrected himself, "He found a file that had been smuggled out of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was about a weapon. A weapon that's stored here, in the Department of Mysteries."

"The puzzle-box," Hermione nodded, "The Sqube."

"It's the same Contrivance your grandmother encountered in the Imperial Forest," Ron told Harry.

Croaker showed no hint that he might admit them, but he was listening with some interest.

"Zigdano Sulianis is dead," Ron explained, "I think Emmett Creevey killed him and took his identity. He pretended that he was Sulianis, because he wanted to infiltrate the Wizarding World. Squibs have access; Muggles don't. It's been that way since 1692.

"Emmett took a job at the Ministry, posing as Sulianis. He used the Ministry owls to send poison to his victims. But revenge on those few wizards and witches wasn't his final goal. I think he wants revenge on the entire Wizarding World. I think he stole that file because he was researching a weapon that could kill as many wizards as possible.

"Tomorrow is May 2. It's the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. It would be the perfect time for Emmett to take his revenge by setting off one of those Squbes."

"Nobody's going to be here on a Sunday," Hermione objected.

"Okay, I don't have it all worked out," Ron admitted, "But I need to see if the Squbes have been stolen."

"The only people who have access to the Department of Mysteries are the Unspeakables," Croaker assured Ron.

"And Magical Maintenance," Ron reminded him, "They still do repairs and cleaning in here."

"We keep them under proper watch," Croaker said defensively, but he no longer seemed so sure of his position.

"I just want to see if the Squbes are still here," Ron pleaded.

Croaker thought a long time about his decision and the ramifications it might have. At long last, he asked, "Do you have the investigation number?" Ron nodded excitedly.

"If this is a deadly device, it will be in the Imminent Doom Storage Facility," Croaker said, and led the three into the Department of Mysteries.

Ron, Harry and Hermione glanced around. The first time they came to the Department of Mysteries, they had caused a bit of a mess.

"Here we are," Croaker said, gesturing to a door. The portal swung open at Croaker's command. The interior was not very impressive.

"Imminent Doom Storage Facility?" Ron blurted out, "This is a closet!" On the walls of the tiny room were shelves containing a few dozen old-looking boxes. Croaker consulted the investigation number. He directed Ron to the correct box. As Ron lifted it, he could feel how light it was. He pulled the lid open. The box was empty. "Gone," Ron announced, "Both of them."

Unspeakables were known for their aura of secrecy, but Croaker was not attempting to hide the anger on his face.

"We need to search the Ministry," Hermione insisted.

"Right," Ron agreed, "I'll take levels one through three. Hermione, you take four through six; you used to work up on four. Harry, you take seven, eight, and ten, and don't forget the basements off the courtrooms; Magical Maintenance is always there. Croaker, you have a good look around this level."

Croaker had already taken it for granted he would be the one searching the Department of Mysteries.

Hermione started with the fourth floor, the Department for Friendship with Magical Creatures. It had changed a great deal—for the better—since she started there five years ago, back when it had been called the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Still, it was physically familiar enough that a thorough search did not take long. Satisfied that neither of the Squbes was there, she moved down to level five and searched the Department of International Magical Cooperation. This took quite a bit longer. There was at least one desk for every region on the globe. There were numerous gifts and artifacts of foreign cultures, given in friendship, which were scattered all over the shelves and display cases throughout the section.

Hermione went through the department meticulously. She checked and double-checked, until she was satisfied that there was no way a Sqube could be hidden on the fifth level. Then she prepared to move down to the sixth level, the Department of Magical Transportation. Hermione remembered that Ron's brother Percy had recently taken a job in that section. As the lift opened to take Hermione down, a paper airplane zoomed out and smacked into Hermione's forehead. She picked it up from the floor and read it.

"LEVEL THREE," read Ron's handwriting, "QUICK!"

Hermione took the lift up to level three. As she exited, Harry was walking out of one of the other lifts, holding an identical note. They entered the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, where they found Ron crouched on the floor, inspecting one of the Squbes.

"It's set to detonate," he told them feverishly, "But it looks like we've got at least a day."

Harry put his hand on top of the Sqube and muttered something incomprehensible. Ron jumped back instinctively.

"Pull yourself together," Hermione scolded him, "Harry's not going to blow us up."

"Self-preservation is a valuable instinct," Ron defended himself, "If you ask me, Harry needs a little more of it."

Harry had apparently finished examining the Sqube, because he looked up at Ron and Hermione and said, "It's going to explode on Monday."

"Monday?" Ron asked. That did not exactly fit in with his theory.

"I think we should be able to defuse it, though," Harry said serenely.

"Defuse it?" Ron asked, "I was always terrible at puzzle-boxes."

"I've never even done a magical puzzle," Hermione said nervously.

"The Sqube has a glaring weakness," Harry encouraged his friends, "Whoever built this thought it was unsolvable. But that's only true for someone trying to solve it alone. The maker clearly didn't understand the value of teamwork. Working together, we should be able to manipulate all the pieces without too much difficulty."

It was not quite that simple. But Harry was right: while one person could not have simultaneously manipulated so many moving pieces, three people together had a much more manageable experience. After several minutes of delicate, nerve-racking manipulations (and buckets of sweat), the Sqube was inert. And the trio was still alive.

"Teamwork," Hermione panted, finally allowing herself to breathe.

"Yeah, teamwork," Ron repeated, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with a blotter he appropriated from some unknown employee's desk.

"Well done, guys," Harry commended them, with no visible sign that he had just prevented the destruction of the Ministry of Magic. "We should finish searching," he recommended, "To see if the other Sqube is here."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, wishing he could have a minute to rest first, "Where do we still need to look?"

"I still have to search the Department of Magical Transportation," Hermione informed him.

"I need to search level seven," Harry said, "And I still haven't finished with the basement."

"Go, do the basement," Ron told him, "I'll take level seven: the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Maybe Creevey's planning to attack a Quidditch stadium."

The trio returned to their search, and eventually met up back in the atrium. "Nothing," Ron reported.

"I didn't find anything suspicious," Hermione relayed.

"No Sqube," Harry said, "But I did find something interesting in the basement."

Ron and Hermione went down in the lift with Harry. He led them down a corridor. There, they found Barny eating what appeared to be room-temperature stew.

"Barny!" Hermione asked, "What are you doing here on a Saturday?"

"He's been living down here in the basement," Harry explained.

"I don't think… that's… permitted," Hermione responded uncomfortably.

"Want apologize," Barny told Hermione.

"No need," Hermione cut him off, "If you need a place to live, I'm sure I can help you find someplace suitable…"

"Zigi bad?" Barny asked. It was hard to find any emotion on a troll's face, but it seemed that Harry had told Barny what was happening, and Barny was sad about it. Zigi was his friend, after a fashion.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Hermione told him.

Barny thought about it.

"Go his house," Barny resolved.

"You're right," Hermione agreed, "But we don't actually know where he lives." Ron and Harry looked at her curiously. "I looked in the employee records," she explained, "He gave the address of 17 Cockspur Street. It's a Muggle tour company."

"There's got to be another way to find him," Ron insisted, "The other Sqube is still out there."

"I'm worried about that, too," Harry said, although he never actually looked worried, "The Sqube we found was in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and it was meant to explode on Monday."

"That's right," Hermione agreed.

"That's the Department where everyone would be gathering if there was some big disaster," Harry continued his line of thought, "Like a massive attack. Like the other Sqube exploding."

"You think the Sqube we got was a secondary device," Hermione comprehended, "Emmett planned to set off one of them tomorrow, on the anniversary of Colin's death, just like Ron said. Then, when Minister Shacklebolt and everybody else assembled on level three, the second Sqube would explode there, killing them all."

"I'm pretty sure that was the idea," Harry said.

"There's got to be a way to find him," Ron repeated.

"Zigi?" Barny asked.

"Yeah," Ron told Barny, "But his name's not really Zigi."

"Barny show you."

"You know where he lives?" Hermione asked, stunned.

"Yes," Barny said, digging around in a pile of his possessions, "Tea there once."

Barny pulled out a scrap of parchment that appeared to be a torn portion of a menu. He then retrieved a charred stick, which he was able to use as a pencil. He labored over his writing for a while, then handed the parchment to Hermione. There was an "X," another "X," and several crisscrossing lines. Barny pointed at one of the X's and said, "Ministry," then pointed at the other X and said, "Zigi."

"It's a street map," Hermione told Ron and Harry, "Thank you, Barny."

"I want apologize," Barny told Hermione.

"You have nothing to apologize for. You wouldn't believe how much you've helped us." Hermione, Ron, and Harry ran back toward the lifts. They were closing in on the killer.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: THE APARTMENT

Emmett's room (or more properly, Zigdano's room) was dreary. And it was empty. Emmett was gone, and more importantly, the Sqube was nowhere to be found. There was a messy table on one side of the room, and a bed on the other. There was a small table beside the bed, one chair, and nothing else in the room.

Hermione picked up a comic book that was on the table by the bed. The title emblazoned across the cover was "The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle." She leafed through the page with a distasteful look. "This is dreadful," she commented.

"Martin Miggs is great," Ron insisted, "I had tons of those comics as a kid."

"All he seems to do is toy with the affections of these two girls, drive around in his car (not very realistically), and torment his French teacher."

"Ah, Monsieur Pudubec!" Ron said enthusiastically, "He was hilarious!"

"Emmett is a Muggle," Hermione said seriously, "He's reading this because he thinks this is what wizards and witches think of Muggles."

"It's just a cartoon."

"Before you came to school and met Muggle-borns, did you think this was how a normal Muggle behaved?" Hermione challenged Ron. He had no comeback.

"There's some heavier reading here," Harry said, perusing a collection of books on the big table, "Dominating Dementors: A True History of Azkaban, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts (original edition), Confronting the Faceless, From the Netherlands to the Alps: The Campaign to Thwart Grindelwald, Magical Draughts and Potions (autographed by Arsenius Jigger), Muggles Who Notice, and a beat-up copy of The Healer's Helpmate."

At the other side of the table, Ron reported, "Here's an issue of The Practical Potioneer. And a moldy old book titled… Moste Potente Potions."

"That's a restricted book," Hermione said, recognizing the title.

"I thought Muggles couldn't brew potions," Ron commented.

"They can't," Hermione told him, "The simplest potion still requires some amount of magic."

"Look at this stuff," Ron said, gesturing at all the beakers and vials and mixing bowls on the table.

"Hermione," Harry asked, "Do you recognize this plant?"

Hermione and Ron walked to the potted shrub. "Why are you only asking Hermione?" Ron asked, "I might know what it is."

"Do you?"

"No," Ron admitted, grinning.

"I've read volumes on Herbology," Hermione stated, "But I don't recognize that."

"It's Ricin Communis," Ron announced.

"How do you know that?" Hermione asked.

"I thought you said you didn't recognize it," Harry said.

"It's written on there," Ron said. Harry rotated the pot, and they were all able to see the folded piece of paper that had been facing Ron. It was taped to the side of the pot. The only words on it were RICIN COMMUNIS. Harry pulled it off the pot and unfolded it. There were notes scribbled inside the paper:

"Castor Bean. Biological cytotoxin. DEADLIEST mixed into food/drink. 2-8 hours: nausea, stomach pain, vomiting, release of bowels. 36-72 hours: DEATH."

"'Release of bowels,'" Ron reread out loud, "What a way to go."

Harry pulled one of the castor beans off the plant and examined it closely. It color was spotted tan and dark brown. "This is no bean," Harry declared, "This is a seed. I expect it's the same seed that we discovered in Neville's chocolate."

"Muggle poison," Ron said, "We should make Luna an Auror."

"Now we know how he killed the others," Hermione observed, "But our main priority should be finding where he plans to put that other Sqube."

"Where's all his Muggle stuff?" Ron asked, "My dad has a shed full of Muggle stuff: computers, radios, light bulbs…"

Hermione explained to Ron, "None of that works when there's too much magic in the air. Once Emmett decided to operate in the Wizarding World, he had to give it all up."

"That's dedication," Harry mentioned grimly. He remembered how much the Dursleys prized their technology and gadgets.

"We should look for any other notes he wrote," Ron suggested, "Maybe that'll tell us where he's going."

"Here's something," Harry said, pulling a slip of paper from under a miniature cauldron that was between mixing bowls. He read it, "The simplest potion still requires some amount of magic."

"That's what you said," Ron told Hermione, "Word for word!"

"I know," Hermione responded, "It's a quote, from Magical Draughts and Potions."

"Oh," Ron said, mollified.

Hermione slid open the drawer on the table by the bed. She removed a leather-bound book and opened it. "We should probably read this," she said.

"A book Hermione hasn't read!" Ron slapped his forehead in mock amazement, "What is it?"

"It's Emmett's journal." Hermione began reading aloud: "I met my first sorcerer over ten years ago. A man with a long, white beard, wearing was looked like a cross between a dressing-gown and an overcoat, came to my home and told me that my son Colin had magic abilities. I asked him to leave, and he made an envelope float out of his pocket and fly over to me. I was impressed so easily, and it makes me feel I am the one who deserves the blame for everything that followed. Colin's mother had taken Dennis for a doctor's appointment that afternoon, so I was alone to decide. The man told me that he was a teacher, at a school for magic. He told me how special Colin was, which flattered me. He told me that Colin had been accepted to the school, without even applying. It was located in Banffshire, Scotland, near Dufftown. The professor told me that there was financial assistance available for people like us (although at the time, I thought he was referring to us as 'muddles').

"Colin was thrilled, and I admit that I was, too. I let him go, never thinking he might be in danger, surrounded by all those sorcerers. Colin promised to take plenty of pictures, so that he could show them to us, and to his brother. During the year, I was notified by the school that Colin was sick. I volunteered to go bring him home, but they told me he had been petrified. I had no frame of reference to know how serious this was. The way they talked, I thought it must be as common as spraining an ankle. When Colin came home for the summer, he seemed fine. In fact, he adored the school. And he worshipped the sorcerers.

"Then they came for Dennis. It was a great honor, they told us, for a Muggle family to produce two wizards. A rarity, they said. So I let him go with Colin. Before he even reached the school, Dennis almost drowned. He told us he had been rescued by a 'giant squid,' and he wasn't disturbed at all. But I started to worry. When Colin and Dennis were home on break, I asked them if they'd be interested in attending a school closer to home. They wouldn't even listen. They were completely won over by that cult.

"After that, they started keeping secrets from me. Colin had a hero he revered at the school, a boy a year older named Harry Potter. According to Colin, Potter had survived an attack on his life when he was an infant. I wasn't sure this was a good reason to idolize someone. Also, it confirmed to me that magic people were in danger from a young age. I argued with Karen about taking them out of the school, but she sided with the boys. I later learned that Colin and Dennis had risked expulsion by joining an underground organization led by Potter. By that point, I would have been relieved to have them kicked out of school. But I was very upset to hear that the group was called the 'Dumbledore Army.' I didn't need my children to be signing up for some unsanctioned military group.

"My fears were validated during Colin's sixth year of school, but it was too late for me to do anything about it. From what I understand, the sorcerer government had decided to eliminate any magical people whose parents were not sorcerers. And another student at the school implicated Colin and Dennis. Now they were in real danger, on a scale that their mother and I couldn't help with. They went into hiding, two teenage boys on their own. Karen and I didn't have a regular night's sleep again. It did make me understand a little better why they had joined the underground paramilitary group. The sorcerer government was pure evil. But I didn't think it was their place to fight. Why shouldn't adult wizards take on that responsibility?

"As I came to find out, that wasn't possible. There was a recruiter from the Dumbledore Army who had been keeping in touch with Colin using an enchanted coin. She told Colin that the government was planning to attack Potter, who was in hiding at the school. This recruiter was calling everyone she knew, convincing them to come take up arms against the government. The Dumbledore Army had a new general, and he had decided to commit the children to fighting, to protect Potter. Colin returned to the school, to join the fight.

"I don't criticize Colin for his decision. It was later proven that the government was fundamentally corrupt, controlled from the very top by some criminal sorcerer organization. From the histories I've read, I expect they intended to take over the world of normal people, as well. So Colin's choice to fight was brave. My son was a hero. But that wasn't enough to protect him. A few short years later, and the incident is now just a historical event. They named it after the school: The Battle of Hogwarts. That's where my son died. Is there any memorial to what he did? I'll never know. Muggles aren't invited to participate in the sorcerer's world."

Hermione's face was pale as she looked up from the journal.

"That's a pretty warped view of what happened," Ron objected. Harry couldn't speak.

"Does it talk about Dennis?" Ron asked.

Hermione cleared her throat and continued reading: "Colin saved Dennis. Before giving up his own life, he had the sense to hide his brother in a village near the school. Dennis was safe. At least, from physical danger. But when the fighting was done, Dennis went back to the school. He learned what had happened. He saw Colin's shattered body. The Dumbledore Army's general had dragged it back into the hall where the bodies were being piled up. The sight of that broke Dennis in a way he couldn't fix.

"Karen fell into a deep depression after Colin's death. I think I contributed to it. I blamed her for not letting me pull the boys out of school. When I told her how I felt, she stopped speaking to me completely. As for Dennis, I couldn't convince him to come home. I didn't know what to do. He had magic powers, and I was just a normal person. He stayed there, at the school where his brother had been brutally killed.

"His roommate told me later that during the insomnia that came with his grief, Dennis wandered every inch of that school. And he found a magical mirror, called 'Erised.' He began spending every minute in front of that mirror. He wouldn't eat, he wouldn't attend classes. I don't know what he was looking at in that Erised, but it took over his life. And the school had the nerve to call me, to see if I could talk to him. Finally, they just got rid of the mirror. And Dennis ran away from the school. I went from a minimum of contact with him to none.

"The rest I learned from the sorcerer Dennis found after running away. He was an expert at manipulating people's memories. This person actually fed my son the venom from an animal called 'Swooshing Evil.' Things like this have led me to understand that every magical person is insane, even if they aren't as depraved as most sorcerers. This poison was intended to remove all of the bad memories about Colin. But Dennis was Colin's brother. You can't separate good and bad memories when it comes to your family. That makes no sense. But it must have sounded good to this memory expert, because that's what he did to Dennis.

"I had gone months without any news about Dennis when I was visited by another wizard. To his credit, he was as compassionate as anyone could be in that situation. He told me that Dennis was in a hospital. He explained how Muggles could get in to see him. Karen and I went, still not speaking to each other. What we found crushed the last bit of spirit we had. Dennis was completely insane. That venom had destroyed his mind. He would never leave that hospital bed.

"I felt that the only thing I could do was be there for Dennis. I swore to visit him every day. Karen did the opposite. It was less than a week before she took her own life. Now I was truly alone. I had been working as a delivery driver for a dairy company. I had moved up to supervisor. But I couldn't go back to that after everything that happened. I used up all of my leave, and when that was gone, I quit. I only left my house to visit the hospital."

Hermione paused again and breathed steadily. Harry sat on the bed. "It's not your fault," Ron comforted him, "Emmett's looking at everything crooked. This is the brain of the person who was going to blow up the Ministry."

"I think he meant Swooping Evil," Hermione said quietly, "That's the one that erases bad memories. He must have been talking about Peasegood."

"Yeah," Ron nodded, "That makes sense, if Peasegood was the reason Dennis lost his mind in the first place."

"Sulianis comes next," Hermione said, peeking ahead.

"Go ahead," Ron encouraged her, "We've got to catch this guy before he plants that other Sqube."

Hermione continued reading: "One day, I was at the hospital visiting Dennis when I was approached by a wizard carrying a bag of money. He told me that he knew about Colin and Dennis, and that a group of wizards had organized a fundraiser for them. He handed me the bag and told me that it could help. But it wasn't real money. I couldn't pay for anything with it. The donations were a generous thought, but what could a Muggle do with this sorcerer currency?

"Another man, who had been watching this exchange, offered to help me. He said that he understood how ignorant wizards could be. He told me that his name was Zigdano Sulianis, and he was what he called a Squib. Just as our Muggle family had produced magic kids, some magic families produced kids with no magic. But for some reason, these accidents were accepted into the sorcerer's world. Usually doing menial or demeaning tasks that the sorcerers didn't want for themselves.

"Sulianis offered to guide me into the sorcery world. He would take me past all the distractions that usually cloud Muggle minds. I could deposit my magic money into a magic bank. I followed him. As I did, I saw a different London. There were traces of magic tucked away everywhere. I couldn't see any of them until Sulianis pointed them out. Once I learned to open my eyes, though, my eyes were truly opened! Soon, without Sulianis saying anything, I noticed hidden magical sites. I was preoccupied enough by this that I didn't notice how long our walk was taking.

"I asked Sulianis how far the bank was, and he promised me it was on the next street. We walked down a road that I could tell was only for wizards, and behind a rundown hut. I suddenly realized that something was wrong. Sulianis stopped next to a woodpile and told me, 'Galleons.' I didn't even know he was referring to the money. But when I looked down and saw the knife in his hands, I knew that he was robbing me.

"I gave him the money. I let him have it. But he still tried to kill me. For nothing. He had the money. Sulianis tried to stab me right in my guts. I grabbed his wrist, forcing the knife back with all the strength I had. It was a battle of wills, and the only thing fueling my will was the anger I felt, at the way the sorcerers had treated me. They had taken both of my sons away from me, and my wife, and now they were going to take my life. I was so full of rage, I must have broken Sulianis' wrist as I yanked the knife out of his grip. I saw in his eyes that he was defeated. He tried to give back the money, and I slapped the bag out of his hand. All the anger I felt at every sorcerer who had duped me and victimized me lashed out at Sulianis, and I jammed the knife into his side. And then I stood there and watched him bleed to death on the ground.

"When I got my bearings, I had to decide what to do. I knew the sorcerers would kill me when they found out what I'd done. Initially I felt that this would be a fitting end for me. But the anger had transformed me. The anger and the powerful feeling I got from killing this son of sorcerers who had expected that I would be weak. I had no reason to live anymore, and if I had no reason to live, why couldn't I strike back against every sorcerer who had wronged my family? I had suffered so long feeling powerless that it surprised me how quickly I developed my plan.

"I stripped Sulianis of his possessions, and I hid his body. I disguised the blood on the ground, mostly by kicking dirt around. I found the address of Sulianis' residence, and I went there. I cleaned the blood that had splattered on the money. Then I went to a bank run by grotesque, twisted people. I claimed to be Sulianis, and when I told them that I was a Squib, there was no resistance to me making a deposit. By being the lowest class, I was below notice. I could go anywhere I wanted in the sorcery world. And so I settled in to my new life, and I planned my revenge."

Hermione began flipping through the pages. "He goes on for a long time," she said, skimming, "Mostly it's about wanting to kill all those people. Here's the part where he got a job at the Ministry. He says it will fit into his plan perfectly. He did use those seeds; they are a Muggle poison. It's called ricin." Hermione kept flipping pages and reading. "He wanted to kill Rowle because Rowle killed Colin. He wanted to kill Peasegood because Peasegood erased Dennis' mind. He wanted to kill Edgecombe because she set the Muggle-born Registration Commission on Colin and Dennis, just like Ron thought. There was no particular order to the murders, just whoever he could get to easiest, and whoever ate the chocolate first."

"The order was why I thought it was the Occult originally," Ron reflected, "I think it took me too long to realize that was just a coincidence. I mean, it's only four people. Does it say in there why he wanted to kill Neville?"

"Yes," Hermione answered, "Apparently Neville is the 'general' Emmett was referring to, since he was in charge of Dumbledore's Army that year. But even though he condemned Neville to death, it looks like the person he really wanted to get next was Padma."

"Padma?" Harry and Ron asked simultaneously.

"She was the 'recruiter,' I guess," Hermione answered, "She was the one who kept in touch with Colin using the Galleons with the Protean Charm. Emmett was incensed that she convinced Colin to come back and die. If you read on, Emmett found out about Padma and what she was doing with the Occult, her whole plan to conquer the Muggles. I think he projected a little more responsibility on her than she deserved for Colin's death."

"That journal's not especially fair-minded," Ron stated.

"Yeah, it keep calling Padma an 'enchantress' who 'bewitched' Colin. Oh, look here. Last summer, Emmett hired 'three sages' to get a map of Azkaban for him."

"The word 'sages' is pretty generous for those three," Harry commented, remembering Knockturn Alley.

"Emmett was trying to find out if there was a way he could get into Azkaban to kill her."

"I guess it wasn't going to be a breakout," Ron decided, "Is there anything in there about the Squbes?"

"Right here, he talks about a combination explosive and biological weapon. That must be it. He says he had a hard time obtaining the information. That must be when he took that file out of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Does it say what he's going to do?"

"It's not really specific. The writing is more and more disjointed and rambling the further you read. He thinks that 'sorcerers' are a threat to the world, in need of exposure and destruction. He agrees with Padma that a war is inevitable and desirable. It's the only way to save normal people from the sorcerers. Here, he's celebrating that he finally was able to get the weapons he needs. He must have written that this weekend!"

"Where is he going?" Ron asked, being eaten up with suspense.

"It doesn't say," Hermione answered, disappointed, "Here's the last bit: I'm on my way. By the time this is read, I'll be reunited with Colin and Karen. And if everything goes as planned, I will have crippled the sorcerers for our coming conflict, and I will have erased their future."

Hermione held up the page for Ron and Harry to see. There was nothing else written.

"Barmy!" Ron summed up, "He's crazier than Dennis."

"I know how much Muggles can hate wizards," Harry muttered, his thoughts being informed by some very unpleasant memories.

"And I know how much wizards can hate Muggles," Hermione said, "But that's a small percentage on either side. Most people want to get along."

"Emmett is just one person, but he has the ability to get some big results," Ron grumbled.

"It's Hogwarts," Harry announced, "Emmett's going to Hogwarts."

"Of course," Hermione agreed, her blood chilling.

"If he wants to erase the future of the Wizarding World," Ron concurred, "That's where he needs to go."

"That's where it started for him, and that's where he plans for it to end," Harry said grimly, "On the anniversary of Colin's death."

"Let's go!" Ron urged, "Can we get there before the morning?"

"Yes," Harry said. He reached into the waste bin and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. It was a discarded Charm Choc wrapper.

"That's not funny," Ron said.

Harry set the paper in the middle of the floor. "Can I borrow your wand?" he asked Ron.

"This is why you should be carrying your own wand," Ron lectured Harry, handing over his wand.

Harry pointed Ron's wand at the paper and intoned, "Portus!" He handed the wand back to Ron and told him, "Your wand likes me. It feels very old." Harry lay on his belly, facing the paper.

"It's not that easy to make a Portkey," Hermione protested, "The object needs to be prepared first, and the spell takes much longer than its one-word incantation. Plus, you need Ministry authorization for a Portkey."

"It's an emergency, Hermione," Ron said, rolling his eyes. He crawled down next to Harry and told Hermione, "You shouldn't doubt Harry. I've seen him do magic that would make Merlin look like Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said, as Hermione knelt down.

"All together, now," Harry directed, and they all reached out and touched the wrapper. The room began spinning around them. It felt as though they were tethered at the waist to an axle that was whipping them around in circles. The light faded, and it began to look as though the rotating scenery was dotted by stars. As the spinning stopped, Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves next to Hagrid's hut, just outside Hogwarts, on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"It was the place I knew best on the grounds," Harry explained to his dizzy friends.

"Where do you think he is?" Hermione asked, "How is he going to get on the grounds?"

Harry paused. "The Whomping Willow isn't moving," he said, "That's where we should go."

When they reached the tree, it remained unmoving.

"How would Emmett know about that? Colin and Dennis never knew, did they?" Hermione asked.

"The real question is, if Emmett managed to get on the grounds through that passageway, where is he now?" Harry asked.

"Do you have any spells you've been holding back?" Ron asked Harry.

"Nothing that would help us here," Harry said, concerned.

Ron looked at the Whomping Willow. "I think I might," he pondered. He withdrew his wand and pointed it at the tree. In his sight, the darkness of the sky that had been tinted indigo faded into green. His thoughts became sluggish. His body felt heavy. His wand arm was stuck in place, barely able to move.

Ron gradually became aware of Hermione calling out his name. "Ron! Ron!" she continued, until he was able to turn and face her. "Are you all right?" she asked, trembling.

"Yeah," Ron mumbled. His limbs and his body were losing that weight.

"What happened?" Hermione asked.

"Were you talking to the Whomping Willow?" Harry asked. Hermione gave Harry a strange look, then turned back to Ron.

"You pointed your wand at nobody," she recounted, "And cast Legilimens. But there was nobody there. And then you just stood there for ten minutes, not moving. We thought you had been jinxed. I thought you had been jinxed. Harry thought…" Hermione trailed off.

"Ten minutes?" Ron repeated, "I lost track of time. Harry's right, anyway. I was talking to a tree."

Hermione gave Ron a bit of the same strange look she had been giving Harry.

"It was Legilimency," Ron verified, "I was using Legilimency on the Whomping Willow."

"Pretty soon the Janus Thickey Ward will be full of people I know," Hermione remarked.

"Did you learn anything?" Harry asked, interested.

"Yeah," Ron nodded, "It was Padma. She knew about the secret passageway from the Shrieking Shack. She came through it. Brought her so-called Elite with her. They're looking for Emmett. Padma thinks he's framing them for the murders. She wants to shut him down."

"Why does she think Emmett is at Hogwarts?"

"He sent an owl. From the Ministry. Told Padma he'd be here. I guess she didn't think he could set a trap that she couldn't beat."

"Is Emmett here?" Harry asked.

"He's here, too," Ron confirmed, "He was looking for a way onto the grounds, and Padma gave it to him. He saw the Occult going into the Shrieking Shack, and he followed them. They're supposed to be hunting him, but they led him straight to Hogwarts. The Whomping Willow saw him go into the castle."

"This makes things more complicated," Hermione commented, "What if Padma—?"

"Not who I was looking for, but I'll take it!" a voice shouted behind them. Padma was standing between them and the castle. The Occult Elite was gathered behind her. "In one night, we can remove all our obstacles!" Padma rejoiced.

"She's really lost it," Ron mentioned.

"I told you so," Hermione whispered.

"You know what you have to do," Ron muttered to Harry.

Harry turned around and bolted toward the Forbidden Forest.

"What is this?" Padma asked, "Is he leaving you here?"

"We can get him later," Romilda commented.

Padma turned on her. "Your time for giving orders is over," she reprimanded Romilda.

"What do you want us to do?" Blaise asked Padma. Romilda gave him a scornful look.

"Let's kill these two first," Malcolm hissed. He had a patch covering the eye that had been damaged by his own trap.

"I don't see that happening," Ron taunted him. Malcolm raised his wand.

"Lower your wand," Padma commanded. Malcolm lowered his wand.

"See what I mean?" Ron asked Malcolm. Malcolm was biting the inside of his cheeks so hard, he must have drawn blood.

"I would never hurt you," Padma told Hermione, "You're my best friend."

"Thanks," Hermione said uneasily.

The Occult looked around at each other, equally uncomfortable. Padma's mind had deteriorated during her time in prison, but she had come out more powerful than ever. What's more, she was the only thing uniting them anymore, and their only real chance at success. They were trapped following her, in spite of her bizarre behavior.

"Go get Harry!" Padma yelled to the group behind her.

"Who are you talking to?" Zacharias asked.

"All of you!" Padma bellowed, "Go!"

The Occult Elite ran down the hill toward the Forbidden Forest. As she passed Ron, Eloise looked over at him guiltily.

"What about me?" Ron asked Padma once the group was gone, hinting that he deserved the same leniency she extended to Hermione, "I could be your best friend, too!"

Padma smiled at Ron. "I thought I could kill you," she said, "But I can't. I think you know why."

Ron glanced over at Hermione. He wasn't sure where this was going, but he was hoping for the best.

"We've searched the grounds," Padma announced, "Creevey must be inside the school. I've accepted his challenge, and I'm going in there. I'm going to kill him."

"You don't need to kill anyone," Hermione pleaded, "Just let this all go."

"And go back to Azkaban? I've told Ron, that will never happen."

"We can't let you go," Ron told Padma, "We have to stop you. And Emmett. He's not here for you. He's planning to destroy the whole school."

Padma's face contorted with fury. "I'll take care of him for you," she promised.

"You're never going to get out of here," Ron insisted, "Think about Parvati's prophecy. Harry didn't go into the Forbidden Forest to escape. He's drawing you in. If I could beat those nitwits you call your Elite, what do you reckon Harry's going to do with them?"

Padma looked toward the forest with some foreboding.

"Yeah," Ron reinforced, "Sounds like the Forbidden Forest is a friend to Hogwarts, after all."

Padma looked down at Ron and Hermione. She raised her wand and yelled, "Petrificus Totalus!" Ron and Hermione became rigid and tipped over, falling stiffly to the ground. They stared up, seeing nothing but the night sky, until Padma leaned over them.

"Remember the rest of that prophecy," Padma told Ron, "There's no way you can defeat me."

She marched away toward the castle, leaving Ron and Hermione lying on the ground.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: A FRIEND

A short way after entering the Forbidden Forest, Harry paused. "I wanted to say 'thank you,'" he told the bushes there, "I didn't realize what you were doing at the time, but it was very gracious of you." There was no reaction from the thicket. "Do you recognize me?" Harry asked, "I'm friends with Ron. Red-haired wizard? Anyway, I appreciate your help."

Harry kept running. It had been a long time since he had been in the Forbidden Forest, and he had a difficult time finding his way. He felt fairly certain about his path, and his instincts were confirmed when he heard a pompous voice demand, "Who are you? These are centaur lands!"

"Magorian!" Harry greeted politely, "It is I, Harry Potter!"

"Harry Potter," Magorian confirmed, trotting over to Harry, "I thought you wand-carriers knew better than to trespass on—What's happened to your eyes?"

"Oh," Harry responded, realizing how strange he must look, "A wizard I met in Egypt taught me how to transfigure my eyes to cat's eyes, so I can see in the dark."

"Remarkable," another voice said behind Harry. Harry turned and saw Firenze. He expected that Firenze would be an ally, but unfortunately, he did not have much influence over the other centaurs. Harry smiled and waved. Firenze commented, "Your eyes are looking quite feline, Harry."

"What do you want?" Magorian demanded officiously, "What are you doing in our home?"

"Sorry about that," Harry said, "I'm being hunted, and I'd like to subdue my pursuers as quickly as possible. I need to prevent Hogwarts castle from exploding."

Magorian considered these words, then replied, "None of that is any concern to the centaurs. Do not come here seeking favors."

Another centaur stepped forward toward Harry, but he addressed Magorian, "The centaurs abide no tyrant. If you would lead, do not disregard our feelings about your decisions."

"One wand-carrier is the same as another," Magorian stated, "Would you help him? Would you leave our forest and carry explosives out of that school they built here?"

"This is Harry Potter," Ronan argued, "If nothing else, we know him to be a friend of Granger Wildmane."

"She has been a greater friend to the centaurs than any wand-carrier in recent history," Magorian solemnly agreed.

"We will help Harry Potter," Firenze announced.

Harry turned to face Firenze, but Firenze was looking up at the sky. The other centaurs looked over at Firenze, then followed his gaze up to the stars. They read what he read in the stars, although a bit slower.

"Yes, we will," Ronan confirmed happily, then asked Magorian, "Do you deny the truth?"

"Not at all," Magorian agreed, "The stars are clear: the night will end with death, but not with yours, Harry Potter. Tell us, what can we do to help you, friend of Granger Wildmane?"

"I just need you to delay them for me," Harry said, "I'm off to gather some more help, and I think they'll be in the forest soon. There should be six or seven of them."

"Six!" a voice called from the distance.

"You've seen them, Bane?" Ronan asked.

Bane galloped up to the herd and reported, "Six of the wand-carriers entered our lands. They were slowed when they got stuck in some brambles at the edge of the trees, but now they've extricated themselves. They've scattered themselves in the forest, searching for—What's wrong with your eyes?" It was the first time Bane had bothered to look down at Harry, and the sight was unsettling.

"Cat's eyes," Harry explained.

"They are hunting for you," Bane continued, looking away from the abnormal sight.

"Shall we kill them for you?" Magorian asked.

"Just delay them, please," Harry requested, "I'll be back."

Harry ran off into the darkness.

An hour later, Eloise was searching that same darkness. She had been forced to make a wide arc in her hunt; every route she tried had been blocked by centaurs. Eloise knew she was getting close now. Padma had taught the Occult Elite a good enough command of Homenum Revelio to hunt one person down. Eloise crouched down and kept completely still. She waited for any sound, for any slight movement.

All at once, she heard crunching in the leaves. Eloise stormed forward and into the clearing. She halted and her jaw slackened. There was a person in the clearing, but it was not Harry Potter. It was her. It was Eloise Midgen, as she looked at fifteen years old. The color flooded out of Eloise's face. A trap was sprung on her from behind: a thick strand of stick twine looped around her, but she could not remove her eyes from her younger self. Young Eloise looked so pathetic to her: weak, afraid, and ashamed of herself. The twine circled around Eloise until she was secured, but her mind was trapped more than her body.

"I'm sorry, Eloise," Harry said, stepping between her and that incarnation of her schoolgirl self, "It's just a Boggart."

What had appeared to be young Eloise Midged transformed into a young red-haired woman receding from sight. The woman moved further and further away, into the darkness.

"A particularly heinous type of Boggart," Harry specified, "It's called a Blood-Sucking Bugbear. Riddikulus!"

The red-headed woman rushed forward, back into their sight. Only now, she was surrounded by two dozen infants, who were tugging on her, climbing on her, and drooling on her.

Harry chuckled, then yelled, "Away!" The Boggart faded into a wisp as it flew off, back into the forest.

Eloise took notice of her bonds for the first time. She was completely wrapped up.

"I wish to eat now," a sinister voice said behind her, "It is only fair."

"No," Harry insisted, "Your mother has already agreed. There will be no feeding on these."

Eloise swiveled her neck to look behind her. There was an immense Acromantula perched in the tree over her. Eloise wished to herself that it was another Boggart. She never knew that an Acromantula could grow so large. It was larger than a bathtub.

"Shall I tell Mosag that you've failed me? That you lacked the strength for your guard duties?" Harry asked the spider.

"I shall not feed," it promised, chastised.

"Do you know where Hagrid lives?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

"Deliver her there," Harry directed, "Then your task is done."

Some distance away, Michael was making his way through the dense trees. He was torn about whether to use his wand to light the area. He did not want to reveal his location, but it was a dark night. Eventually, the choice was forced. "Lumos!" Michael whispered, and the way in front of him was illuminated. He had given himself light just in time. In front of him, the ground dipped down into a recessed clearing bordered by a mossy felled tree. Michael climbed down carefully, keeping his wand as dim as he could safely keep it.

When Michael reached the bottom of the incline, he could see moving sparkles in front of him. They were difficult to discern, but they could have been some kind of insects with shiny bodies. Except that they moved in perfectly choreographed pairs. Michael was nervous to give any more light, but he was afraid of what might be in front of him. "Lumos Maxima," he finally spoke up.

Michael found himself surrounded by a semi-circle of wolves; the sparkles were their hungry eyes. Behind Michael was a steep climb. To his left was the felled tree. In front of him, and to his right, was a hungry pack of wolves. They were staring at Michael piercingly. A low growl vibrated from the throats of some of the larger wolves. Michael's wand hand was shaking.

"They're just wolves," a smug voice called out from off to the right. Michael (and the wolves) looked over. Malcolm was poised there, watching Michael with amusement. "I'm not afraid of those mangy things," Malcolm declared. He began strafing the grassy area with spells. As the wolves clambered away, divots were torn out of the earth. Malcolm prowled past Michael, cackling. He chased after the wolves. Michael ran off as fast as he could in a different direction.

The wolves were not as easy to destroy as Malcolm first thought. As he sent spell after spell toward them, he came to realize that all of his curses were being dodged. "You're smarter than you look, aren't you?" he growled, but kept up his pursuit. The wolves pulled away from Malcolm, but any time they seemed ready to disappear into the darkness, they would stop and look back at him. Malcolm charged forward, pushing his way through the bushes and branches.

All at once, his feet fell out from under him. He was on his back, careening down a muddy slope. He only slid a short way, but at the bottom, his feet thudded into something solid and misshapen. It smelled foul. Malcolm tilted so that his good eye could see what was there. He suddenly encountered the fear that he had so recently derided in Michael. The creature at his feet was one of a kind, so it had no name (Hagrid had called it a Blast-Ended Skrewt, which was as good a name as any). It looked like a cross between a scorpion and a lobster, but it was twice Malcolm's size. Its writhing clearly demonstrated anger at being kicked. It reared up, as much as its twisted body could, and advanced at Malcolm with sparks bursting out of its abdomen on the opposite side, pushing the beast forward into its attack.

Michael, meanwhile, had fled from one predicament into another. As he tore away from the wolves, he hadn't kept his wits enough to look where he was running. By the time Malcolm's screams were audible, Michael was trapped in a vast spider web. Michael's impulse was to scream, but he didn't want to invite predators, but he needed help, but he might alert the spider who had spun the web, but there was no way for him to get free. Michael slumped his head forward and began to weep.

Elsewhere in the forest, Romilda and Blaise had found time to bicker. Romilda was furious about his apparent change of allegiance to Padma. Blaise protested his innocence, but he admitted that he was impressed with Padma's leadership. Romilda stormed away, completely forgetting the hunt for Harry Potter. Blaise chased after her, pleading with her to forgive him. Just as Blaise caught up to Romilda, however, she plummeted downward. Trying to grab Blaise's hand, she stripped the wand from it, and it fell with her, down into a dank pit.

"Get me out!" Romilda called up to Blaise.

"My wand is down there with you!" Blaise shouted back, "Use your wand!"

"I can't reach it! There's something on me! Ow! Ouch!"

"What's happening? Are you all right?"

"Owwww!" Romilda howled, "It's slugs! It's flesh-eating slugs! They're biting me! Come down here!"

"I can't go down there! I don't have a wand!"

"I need you to—Ow! I need you to boost me up!"

"I can't!"

"Please! You have to save me! Please!"

"I can't!"

Romilda lowered her voice and said calmly, "Please, Blaise. You have to save me. I love you."

Both of Blaise's hands clutched frantically at his head, but he did nothing.

"Please!" Romilda screamed, "They're killing me!"

Blaise leapt into the pit. He grabbed Romilda and lifted her out of the mass of slugs. They were up to Blaise's waist, and their bites were excruciating. Romilda climbed up onto Blaise's shoulders, and she was able to reach the edge of the pit. With some effort, she managed to pull herself up.

Romilda drew her wand, incanted "Lumos!" and used the light from her wand to look herself over. Her robes were ruined, but that was to be expected. More importantly, there were no wounds deep enough to leave scars. And the slugs had not touched her face, or her hair.

Romilda noticed Blaise's screams and pointed her wand down to illuminate the pit. Romilda shuddered to think that only a few moments earlier, she had been down there, half-buried in that dense pool of ferocious slugs.

"Have you found your wand?" she asked Blaise tranquilly.

"No! Help me!" Blaise yelled back.

"Try and find your wand," Romilda suggested.

"I can't! You have your wand! Save me!"

"Hm," Romilda responded, "Maybe Padma will come and save you." She strolled away blithely.

Romilda had only moved a few paces when she was confronted by Zacharaias. "You are cold, aren't you?" Zacharias proclaimed.

"If you think so, why don't you go and save him?" Romilda replied flippantly.

Zacharias did not move. Neither he nor Romilda were troubled by Blaise's nearby screams.

"You're blocking my way," Romilda announced finally, "Aren't we supposed to be finding the Chosen One?"

"Do you love Blaise?" Zacharias demanded.

"Don't believe everything you hear."

"Is that how you show your love?" Zacharais said, pointing toward the pit.

"I'm not sure if you mean Blaise or you," Romilda said, with a clearly mocking frown.

She had pushed him too far. "Diffindo!" Zacharais thundered, slicing his wand down through the air in front of Romilda. The spell slashed across her face, leaving a deep cut.

Romilda's left hand flew up to her face and held the laceration. "You pathetic urchin!" she raged at Zacharias, feeling blood dripping down her fingers. "Duro Maxima!" she cast, but Zacharias already had his wand raised. He deflected the spell, and it rebounded on Romilda. In no time at all, she was transformed to solid stone, a lovely statue with a cruel sneer and an unsightly gash across its face.

All the anger left Zacharais, and he was horrified by what he had just done. Now he became aware of Blaise's shrieking. "Shut up, will you?" he shouted back at the pit. Sensing movement behind him, Zacharias spun around. There stood a huge, monstrous three-headed dog. It was one horror too many for Zacharias. He fell to the ground in a faint.

Harry approached the three-headed dog and petted it behind one of its pairs of ears. "Well done, Fluffy," he said, then shouted to something behind him, "Wrap them up!"

Zacharias woke on the grass near Hagrid's hut. The first hint of dawn had turned the sky violet. Zacharias found that he couldn't move his arms or legs. Ropes had been wound around his entire body. Ropes that were sticky and rough. Zacharias suddenly recognized the cable-like webs that were covering him. "Acromantulas!" he exclaimed.

"Actually," said Harry, who was petting a pack of wolves at the edge of the forest, "I think the plural is Acromantulae." Harry thought for a second, then added, "Maybe not."

Zacharais looked around him. All the rest of the Occult Elite were piled around him, restrained in a similar fashion, even Romilda's statue.

"Don't worry," Harry told Zacharias, "Acromantulas or Acromantulae, they've all gone back to their colony."

"Did she need to be tied up?" Zacharias asked, gesturing toward Romilda with his head.

"I'm not sure," Harry said, "Duro isn't supposed to be permanent, but she cast it powerfully. We'll see if she reverts to normal or not."

Harry looked around at the Occult Elite. "You should have known," he scolded them, "That no forest would ever be safe for you. Not the way you treat trees. And this one… They call it the 'Forbidden' Forest for a reason."

"Are those… werewolves?" Michael asked, regarding the nearby pack fearfully.

"Werewolves?" Harry replied, "The moon won't be full for another couple days. Besides, there are no werewolves in the Forbidden Forest."

Michael relaxed slightly, until Harry finished the thought, "Those are just extremely clever wolves descended from werewolves." Michael tensed up again.

Harry walked back over to the wolves. "Thank you," he said to the pack, "I'll have to bring Teddy here to see you someday." The wolves bounded happily away into the trees. Harry returned to his prisoners.

"I have to go," he told them, "It's almost daybreak. I'll have to leave you here. But don't try to escape. It's very impolite."

The Occult Elite turned as one toward the sound of approaching footsteps. It was a herd of Hippogriffs, intimidating already by their size, by made even more so by their overbearing manner.

"Will you do me the favor of guarding them, Buckbeak?" Harry asked the lead Hippogriff courteously.

Buckbeak bowed lowed in acquiescence, demonstrating a well-cultured attitude of noblesse oblige.

"Thank you," Harry said graciously, and with a loud cracking noise, he vanished from sight.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: BACK AT HOGWARTS

"Can you talk yet?" Ron asked. He was still so stiff that he couldn't look over at Hermione.

"Yes, now that you mention it," Hermione answered, "Good to know that the Body-Bind is finally wearing off."

"How long do you think we've been stuck here?"

"I don't know. I've been trying to trying to identify the constellations, to keep my mind busy."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, "I've been trying not to think about the school exploding and giving everyone in the area Dragon Pox."

"Petrificus Totalus can be terminated by a counter-spell, by the caster's abnegation, or by… just waiting," Hermione listed off, "But the duration of the effects vary depending on the effort with which it was cast."

"So you don't know how long it's been," Ron concluded.

"Not really, no," Hermione admitted, "But I think I can wiggle my fingers now."

"Harry might be on to something," Ron commented, "If I didn't need a wand, I could be free now. We're pretty much helpless for the next dark wizard who comes along. Or one of Hagrid's meat-eating pets."

"My hand is definitely moving," Hermione updated him.

"My nose itches," Ron quipped, "Is that a good sign?"

"Finite Incantatem!" Hermione said.

Instantly, Hermione was on her feet and leaning over Ron. She aimed her wand at him and repeated, "Finite Incantatem!" Ron rolled over and climbed up to his knees. "I'm so sore," he grumbled.

"Let's go!" Hermione urged. Ron sprung up to his feet and started for the castle.

Once they were inside, they realized the immensity of their task. "How are two people going to search all of Hogwarts?" Hermione wondered aloud.

"To be fair," Ron told her, "The school looks a lot smaller than it did when we went here."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Maybe we don't have to search alone," Ron suggested, "Let's go to the Grand Staircase."

When they got there, Ron started looking around at all the paintings.

"The portraits!" Hermione realized, "Brilliant! They can help us find everything we're looking for: the Sqube, Padma, Emmett…"

"Yeah," Ron nodded, "I'm trying to find one that's awake. It looks like they're all sleeping."

"I'm awake!" a proud voice announced from one of the frames, "Constant vigilance! If you seek a joust, I welcome the challenge!"

Ron and Hermione approached the portrait. It was a knight in full armor. "Sir Cadogan," Hermione recognized, "Didn't you used to be in the North Tower?"

"Insolence!" Sir Cadogan fumed, "Those poltroons were undeserving of my protection! A knight of the realm knows when he is unwanted."

"How did you know you were unwanted?" Ron asked.

"They told me," Sir Cadogan admitted.

"You're wanted right here, right now," Hermione informed him.

"I see!" Sir Cadogan responded, suddenly in a much better mood, "You've come to seek a boon, fair lady!"

"We're looking for somebody. Some people. And a thing one of them was carrying."

"I saw a young woman of violent temperament storm past me only a short while ago," Sir Cadogan informed them, "She had the look of madness about her! Also the look of angriness!"

"That's one of them," Hermione confirmed, diplomatically tacking on, "My good sir knight."

"The other guy's the one with the… the thing," Ron said, "Do you know where he put it?"

"I do not know," Sir Cadogan announced, "But I shall discover it in a trice!" He abruptly ran out of view. The portrait was empty. Ron and Hermione started to hear activity in the surrounding portraits. They looked around and saw that Sir Cadogan was charging from portrait to portrait, demanding information from his neighbors.

"I bet this is the kind of thing that got him kicked out of the North Tower," Ron commented.

"Are we supposed to just wait here?" Hermione wondered.

Before Ron and Hermione could decide whether to resume their search, Sir Cadogan was back in his portrait.

"I have gleaned the information you requested, my fair maiden!" he proclaimed.

"You've got to hand it to him," Ron said, "He gets results."

"There was a man wandering these corridors," Sir Cadogan reported, still a little out of breath, "He entered the Great Hall, carrying a diminutive wooden chest. When he emerged, the box was no longer in his hands."

"The Great Hall!" exclaimed Hermione, "Thank you, good sir knight!" She and Ron sprinted toward the nearby hall. The lack of any lighting increased its vastness. Ron withdrew his Deluminator. He clicked it and every candle and lamp in the room brightened. Ron and Hermione rushed in, scanning the immense room. Ron ran from place to place, looking for anywhere the Sqube might be hidden. Hermione stood in one place, contemplating the likeliest place that Emmett might have concealed it.

She made up her mind and walked purposefully toward the front of the hall. Ron noticed and followed her, trusting Hermione's deductive process. Hermione took a seat in the Headmaster's chair.

"Up here, you think?" Ron asked, searching around.

Hermione leaned forward toward the podium in front of her. Its main feature was a carved owl. Behind that owl was a dusty shelf. On that shelf was a wooden puzzle-box, identical to the one they defused in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

"It's here," she told Ron quietly. He ran to her side.

"Don't move it," Ron said unnecessarily, "We need to defuse it. Look outside. It's almost dawn."

Hermione nodded, but expressed some concern, "We're only two people. Last time it took all three of us, and it was still a onerous challenge."

"Look at it this way," Ron reassured her, "This time we have experience!"

"Are you ready?" Hermione asked, looking up at him.

"I have to be," Ron said, "The sky is getting light."

Hermione pointed her wand at the Sqube and used it to tilt the top surface. Ron used his wand to delicately move the first two interior slats aside. Ron felt a little better about the task; it was easier now that they had done it before.

As if timed to spoil Ron's confidence, Padma suddenly made herself known at the back of the Great Hall. "I thought I heard something in here," she told them, "Up and moving again, I see!"

"Get out of here!" Ron responded, waving Padma away with his free hand. Whatever reaction Padma expected, that was not it. Looking perplexed, she strode forward toward Ron and Hermione.

"She's going to kill everybody," Ron muttered to Hermione.

"Go take care of her," she prompted him, "I can do this first part myself."

Ron moved to the center of the hall, to intercept Padma. "You don't know what you're doing," he told her.

"I still haven't found that… person. Emmett Creevey, is that his real name?"

"Yes."

"Any relation to Colin and Dennis?"

"He's their father."

"Their father was a Muggle," Padma corrected him.

"He is a Muggle."

Padma considered this, then asked, "Why does he care about the Occult? Why set us up for these murders?"

"He didn't do it to set you up. Those were not very good people. He had his own reasons for killing them."

"And Neville? Neville never hurt anyone. Neville never did anything to deserve being killed."

"Creevey blames Dumbledore's Army for Colin's death. That's why he planned to kill Neville. He's hoping to kill you, too, incidentally. I think that's why he lured you here. So you'd be killed when the bomb went off."

"I have done things to deserve being killed," Padma reflected quietly. Padma looked over Ron's shoulder at Hermione, hard at work. "That's what Hermione is doing?" Padma asked, "Trying to stop a bomb?"

"It can destroy Hogwarts, kill all the students, and probably spread to Hogsmeade. And maybe further."

Padma stared deeply into Ron's eyes, probing. "So what now?" she asked, "Are you going to waste time dueling with me?"

"I can't let you go," Ron told her.

"But I'll kill Creevey for you!" she promised.

"You're too dangerous to go free. You're sacrificing animals to build yourself armies of walking tree-slaves that you throw into battle as expendable wand-fodder."

Padma's face twisted. Ron could not tell if she was angry or sad. "The sacrifices I made," Padma tried to justify, "Were for the greater good."

"Then surrender to me," Ron prompted her, "Make that sacrifice. It's for the good of everyone in Hogwarts."

"I'm not going back to Azkaban," Padma reminded Ron.

Ron tried another approach. "Parvati told us that your great-grandfather's sister was named Pallavi Patil."

"That's right," Padma acknowledged, not knowing why it would matter.

"Did you ever know that she was The Root?"

Padma paused, then concluded, "This is a trick."

"It's true. True as if I took Veritaserum. She was the one who founded the belief system that you took and warped, and used to menace Muggles, and then betrayed with those insane stick figures!"

"Pallavi Patil was The Root?" Padma asked, ignoring the rest of Ron's admonition, "Parvati was right. I'm the heir…Are you certain?"

"Yes," Ron affirmed, "I met someone who…knew her."

Padma closed her eyes, considering the implications of this family connection. Ron took the opportunity to cast, "Expelliarmus!" and Padma's wand flew out of her hand. He tried to immobilize her, but Padma dove under the nearby tables, chasing her wand. As Ron tried to move in closer to get a better shot at her, a jinx flew out from under the table at him.

"Flattery!" Padma yelled as Ron ducked behind a nearby bench, "You can't catch me with flattery."

"This isn't a trick! I'm trying to get you to see what you're doing! You've never killed anyone. It's not too late for you!"

Padma's voice softened as she spoke next, "As a small girl, I used to enjoy Jataka stories. There was once a crow eating fruit up in a tree. A jackal came by and praised the crow's voice. The crow felt that the jackal's good taste in recognizing her excellence showed that the jackal himself was of good quality. So as a reward, she threw some of the fruit down to the jackal, giving away her own food to an animal who only complimented her in the first place to get that fruit."

Ron didn't respond. He was looking for an opening to hit Padma with a spell.

"That's you and me," Padma explained, "From the beginning. Our whole relationship."

"Relationship?" Ron repeated incredulously, "We went to one dance together, nine years ago!"

Padma went silent. Ron wished she would keep talking, so he could determine exactly which table she was currently hiding under. At length, Padma announced, "I'm leaving now. I'm going to kill that Creevey. I trust you two to save the school. Be good to each other."

"I'm not going to let you go," Ron called back.

"You can either follow me or help Hermione dismantle that thing," Padma asserted, "I heard her say that two people would barely be enough for whatever you need to do."

Padma dashed to the doorway. Ron sent a stunning spell at her, but it missed and dissipated on the wall. Ron rushed after her. From the Great Hall's entrance, he could see that Padma had been running in the direction of the courtyard. Ron looked back at Hermione, then back in the last direction he saw Padma. He realized that Padma had been right. She won. He had to stay to help Hermione. He doubled back to the podium.

Hermione was concentrating on the Sqube. Beads of sweat were on her forehead. She took a fraction of a second to look up at Ron. "Where's Padma?" she asked, "Did you get her?"

"No," Ron admitted, "I had to come back to help you."

"You have to go get her," Hermione insisted.

"How many people will Emmett kill if this thing explodes?" Ron asked Hermione.

"How many Muggles will Padma kill if she escapes?" Hermione asked Ron.

Ron nodded. Hermione was right. "Can you do it alone?" he asked.

"I don't know," Hermione said, then revised her answer to "Yes. Yes, I can do it."

Ron kissed the top of Hermione's head. He ran out of the Great Hall, in pursuit of Padma.

"I have to do it," Hermione said to herself. But she recognized that for once, she might have taken on a mission that was beyond her abilities. She focused, but she only had two hands and one wand, and each piece that moved made the entire device more precarious.

As Hermione peered deeper into the Sqube, four shadows moved over her. Hermione halted her progess and looked up. There were four children standing in front of her, only eleven to thirteen years old. They were still wearing their pajamas. Hermione had not expected any students to be up so early.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, "The sun's not even up yet."

One girl stepped forward to speak for the others. "We're the Fortescue Four," she introduced them, "We want to help you, Miss Granger."

Ron, meanwhile, had reached the courtyard. Just as he bounded through the portal, he heard Padma's voice, "Petrificus Totalus!" Ron's body became stiff again, and he tipped backward until he was leaning on a column around the perimeter of the courtyard.

Padma approached Ron and looked at his face. He did not look happy to be caught the same way twice. "It's my signature spell," she told him, tracing his chest with her wand. She had designed her own wand. It was made from the shinbone of a dragon.

"I haven't been inside Hogwarts since the Battle," Padma shared with Ron.

"Sorcerers!" a voice boomed across the courtyard. Padma turned, and Ron could see a man walking toward them. The man looked enough like Colin Creevy that Ron knew it must be Emmett. He had the same wiry frame and high cheekbones as Colin, but Emmett looked drained, haggard. His face was unshaven, and his eyes were sunk.

Padma turned back to Ron. She pressed a kiss against his unmoving lips, then implored him, "Please don't tell Hermione about that. She's my best friend." She walked toward Emmett.

Emmett had stopped in the middle of the courtyard. Ron saw that he was dressed in a bizarre ensemble. His head was covered by a Shield Hat, his hands were covered by Shield Gloves, and his coat appeared to be Dragon Skin. Hanging from his neck were a pair of Omnioculars and a Probity Probe. Dangling down from the right side of his belt was a pocketknife. The design looked identical to the knife that Sirius Black had given Harry for Christmas during their third year at Hogwarts; that knife had been able to open any door. On the right side of the belt was a mokeskin pouch. There was no way to tell what it contained.

Padma reached the center of the courtyard. "You look ridiculous," she commented to Emmett.

"This gear didn't come cheap," Emmett told her.

"You can't escape me."

"That was never my plan. At sunrise, we'll all be gone. Along with this… place. And the next generation of sorecerers. The Muggles will have a fighting chance."

"I doubt it," Padma said, "I have my best witch in there, dismantling your little weapon."

"You're going to stop me?" Emmett asked, doubtfully, "You made all this possible. You thought your little conspiracy was threatened, so you kept the magic police tied up for months, chasing you. I told you I was coming here, and you showed me the way in; I followed you through that tunnel. You hunted for me in all those secret places where you thought I was hidden. But I was out in the open, in your Great Hall, preparing to strike the first blow for the mudbloods."

"I've never used that word," Padma asserted. But it was clear that Emmett's speech had affected her. She looked infuriated that she had helped his efforts.

"Any minute now," Emmett announced, exhausted but triumphant.

Padma and Emmett stared at each other. "I should kill you now," she told him.

"Yes," Emmett agreed.

"There's something I want you to see first."

Emmett said nothing.

"Look to the East," Padma directed him. Through the archways on the east side of the courtyard, they could see the sun appear. "Daybreak," Padma told him, "Hogwarts is still here."

Padma looked around the courtyard and up at the castle. "Hogwarts is still here," she told herself, but she was talking about a different Hogwarts, one from this same day six years earlier. It filled her mind as much as it filled Emmett's.

Ron's body suddenly went limp. The Body-Bind had been released. It occurred to him that Padma must have needed all her strength for a powerful spell. "Padma!" Ron yelled, jumping to his feet, "Don't do it!" He charged toward the center of the courtyard.

Padma stepped directly in front of Emmett. He was as motionless as Ron had been, with no curse needed. Emmett inhaled deeply and held that breath. Padma aimed her skeletal wand at his heart.

"Don't do it!" Ron repeated, still only a quarter of the way across the courtyard.

"Avada Kedavra!" Padma screamed. Emmett collapsed forward into her arms, breathing his last breath into her face. Padma looked down at the corpse she was holding. She could hear Ron's footsteps approaching. Then she noticed her hands.

Her fingers were darkening. The backs of her hands turned an unsettling shade of green. Boils began appearing on her skin. Emmett had infected himself. Muggles were not susceptible to Dragon Pox, but they could be carriers of the disease. Padma understood what was happening. With his last breath, Emmett had taken his revenge on her.

Padma sneezed, and sparks erupted from her nose and mouth. She looked back and saw Ron still rushing toward her. "Protego Horribilis!" she cast, and a powerful domed shield went up around her. Ron was safe on the other side.

"You didn't have to kill him!" Ron shouted at her.

"Neither one of us ever moved past the Battle of Hogwarts," Padma told Ron through the shield, "Now we're both finished with it." She looked down at Emmett's body. "Parvati was right," Padma reflected, "I should have been more careful of Muggles."

"What's wrong with your skin?" Ron asked. Padma's arms had turned green, with specks of purple.

"Hermione saved the school," Padma announced, "Now it's my turn. Rowle taught me Fiendfyre. You remember?"

"Don't!" Ron yelled.

Padma raised her wand. Flames poured from the tip, circling around the interior of the shield. The fire looked almost alive, drinking in the air in the dome and circling faster and faster. It reduced Creevey's body to ash, devoured Padma, and burned away all traces of the Dragon Pox before finally consuming itself.

With Padma's death, the shield fell. The only sign that anything had happened was a mark of soot on the ground. Ron stood standing at it.

Within a minute, Hermione burst out into the courtyard. "Here you are!" she called, and she ran up beside Ron. She was holding the inert Sqube.

"You did it," Ron said to Hermione proudly, "How were you able to do it?"

The only explanation Hermione gave was, "I have to be the guest speaker at a history club meeting next weekend." Hermione looked around and asked, "Where's Padma? Did you ever find Emmett Creevey?"

"They're gone," Ron told her, nodding, "They're both gone."

Hermione looked at the ash on the ground and pieced together approximately what had happened.

"Padma proved that Muggles were a deadly threat, and Emmett proved that magic was a deadly threat," Ron pronounced, dolefully.

"They were both wrong," Hermione said, trying to cheer Ron up, "Look at me. I'm a Muggle and a witch. And you love me."

She earned a smile from Ron. "You know, Padma kissed me," Ron revealed, grinning as he pretended to reveal this terrible secret.

"What?" Hermione asked.

With a loud cracking noise, Harry was standing beside them.

"Harry!" Hermione yelped.

"The Elite?" Ron asked.

"Down by Hagrid's hut," Harry said, "The Sqube?"

"Rendered safe," Hermione reported, holding it up.

"Emmett?" Harry asked.

"Gone," Ron answered.

"Padma?"

"Gone," Ron answered, with some weight. Harry nodded.

"How did you get here?" Hermione asked, "It's not possible to Apparate anywhere inside the Hogwarts buildings or grounds."

"It's good to be me," Harry answered.

CHAPTER THIRTY: THE FUTURE AND THE PAST

Harry walked into Hermione's office carrying a stack of papers.

"I thought I'd find you here," he said to Ron, who was sitting on the edge of Hermione's desk.

"All the reports are done," Harry informed his partner, "The Occult, the Creevey murders, everything. All done."

"It hasn't even been a month," Ron said, in exaggerated amazement, "This must be a new record for you. And it's only Monday! Everything's in there?"

"Almost everything," Harry said in a deadpan voice, "Did you know what the centaurs call you, Hermione?"

"Shut up, Harry," Hermione said. She knew.

The door swung open. Ethel poked her head inside. "You're supposed to check in with me before you enter the offices," she instructed Harry. Ethel noticed Ron and added, "You too, ginger."

"It's fine, Ethel," Hermione told her. Ethel peered at Hermione over her glasses. Then she looked down at Hermione's left hand.

"What is that?" Ethel croaked, then added an unenthusiastic "Congratulations." She turned back to Harry and Ron. "Next time, check in," she told them. Ethel went back to her desk.

Harry was looking at Hermione's left hand now. It was adorned with an engagement ring.

"When did this happen?" Harry asked, looking back and forth at Hermione and Ron.

"Just this weekend," Ron answered.

"It was perfect," Hermione sighed.

"That's great!" Harry exclaimed, "Congratulations! Is that a…diamond?"

"Yeah," Ron told him proudly, "My dad helped me find a Muggle engagement ring."

"We have a lot to catch up on," Harry commented.

"You're telling me?" Ron responded, "Barely back from your honeymoon, and Ginny's already expecting!"

"Have you been thinking about names?" Hermione asked.

"Molly if it's a girl," Harry answered, "And James if it's a boy."

"Bill tried to name Victoire 'Molly,'" Ron commented, "But Fleur wouldn't go for it."

"How are you going to balance your work and a new baby?" Hermione asked, "And Ginny has her new job. I don't know if I could do it."

"You can do anything," Ron said, rolling his eyes at Hermione's modesty, "You could be Minister of Magic if you wanted to."

"Look who's talking," Harry commented to Ron, "You're the only one of us who's actually been promoted."

"That's right," Ron nodded proudly, "I'm your superior now, and don't forget it. I expect these reports a little more promptly in the future." Harry laughed. "If you had wanted a promotion," Ron told his partner, "I'm sure they would have given it to you. You could be Head of the Auror Department. Then you wouldn't have to write any reports."

"No," Harry demurred, "I value my free time."

"So should we start working on the invitation list?" Ron asked Hermione, returning to the conversation that Harry had interrupted, "It's going to be hard to invite everyone we should without it getting a little overwhelming."

"We'll be able to save a couple seats," Hermione mentioned, "Ginny tells me that Neville and Hannah Abbott are finally dating."

"Neville and Hannah?" Ron asked, "I didn't know they were interested in each other."

"Of course they are," Hermione said, "They've been flirting for ages. You know, for detectives, you two aren't very observant."

"Should we invite Parvati?" Ron asked tentatively.

"She already knows how it's going to end," Hermione joked, but the reference to the Patil family affected everyone in the room.

Harry broke the silence. "There's a new ghost at Hogwarts," he said, "It wanders the Forbidden Forest. They call her 'the Lady of the Wood.'"

Ron and Hermione considered this development. Their reverie was interrupted by Hermione's office door flying open with a "Bang!" Harry, Ron and Hermione looked over and saw Barny squeezing himself into the office.

"I apologize," he told Hermione haltingly.

"That's okay, Barny," Hermione said kindly, "What can I do for you?"

"I want apologize."

"There's really no need. I know that human-sized doorways must be difficult for you."

"Listen, please," Barny begged her.

Hermione finally took the time to listen to Barny.

"Hogwarts long time. You little girl. I come bathroom. I try hit you. I not know. I confused. Hat wizard trick. I sorry. Maybe I hurt you."

"That was you?" Hermione exclaimed.

"Yes," Barmy admitted, hanging his head, "You want me no work here now?"

"Of course you can still work here," Hermione assured him, "That wasn't your fault. You were deceived and misled."

Ethel hustled through the open door to reprimand whoever had entered the office without checking in. At first, Ethel was startled to be looking up at a troll, but she soon regained her customary grumpy appearance. "You're supposed to check in with me before you enter the offices," she scolded Barny.

"I apologize," Barny responded penitently.

"Are you from Maintenance?" Ethel followed up.

"Yes," Barny verified.

"You need to fix my chair. I've had a request in for two weeks."

Barny left with Ethel, to fix her chair. Possibly while she was sitting in it.

"What was all that about?" Ron asked, referring to Hermione's conversation with Barny.

"Barny is the troll who attacked me first year!" Hermione exclaimed, "The one you two saved me from? Professor Quirrell led him into the school, remember?"

"I remember," Harry reflected, "If it wasn't for him, the three of us might never have become friends."

"He doesn't need to apologize, then," Ron noted, "We owe him some kind of a reward. My friendship with you two led me to everything good in my life."

"Me, too," Harry agreed.

"Me, too," Hermione agreed.

Harry, Ron and Hermione reflected happily on what their friendship had meant to them over the past thirteen years.

"Well," Ron resolved, "We're still not inviting him to the wedding."