Skeletal, bleach white fingers twirled an equally pale wand between them as Voldemort regarded the man prostrated on the cold floor in front of him. "You may rise, Bartimaeus."

Barty fluidly straightened from his bow to lock eyes with the serpentine man before him, gaze unafraid and reverent. "You wished to speak with me, my Lord?"

"Yes," Voldemort murmured. "I plan to have Harry Potter retrieve the prophecy for me tonight. I expect you arrive at the ministry early and wait for him, then return to me once you have prophecy. Do not engage in combat unless absolutely necessary."

Barty did not hesitate. Barty did not stop to ask questions. He merely knelt again at his Lord's feet, head hung low. "Yes, my Lord. I will not fail you."

"I know you won't."

Voldemort knew that Barty was the best man for the job. His most loyal follower—rivalled only by Bellatrix, of course—would give him nothing less than perfection. Barty Crouch Jr. was the only Death Eater who knew of his horcruxes. Not the amount or the hiding places or even the objects, but Barty knew that his Lord had split his soul more than once. And it had been Barty himself to bring the subject matter up! He'd known then that Barty held no lingering affection towards his old family, stuck so foolishly in their light-sided beliefs. Horcruxes were notoriously dark magic, and for Barty to have already read enough about them to bring the matter up to his Lord's attention, well, Voldemort no longer held any doubt of Barty's intentions.

After all, Barty was the one who sought him out. Barty was the one to brand his symbol back into the sky. Barty was the one to keep Pettigrew in check and nurse his fragile body back to health. Barty was the one to orchestrate Voldemort's return to his former glory.

And it would be Barty that made sure that the prophecy was retrieved.

No, Bartimaeus would not fail him. Voldemort was certain of it.

§

️

Harry was in the middle of his History of Magic OWL when his scar began to hurt. That was all the warning he got before the room around him vanished, the desks and faint sound of quills scratching against parchment gone in the face of deafening silence and a long, dark hallway. It was just like the hallway in his dreams, and then he was running, desperate for whatever was at the other, even if he had no clue what it was.

There was a door there at the end of the hall now, and Harry's heart picked up. He burst through it only to zero in on the scene before him with unconcealed horror.

It was Voldemort. Not only that, but he had Sirius. Voldemort was torturing him.

"I'm going to ask you one last time." Voldemort began as he relinquished the curse. He was prowling around Sirius like a predator circling prey.

"You'll kill me before I tell you where it is." Sirius rasped out fiercely. His voice was hoarse from screaming and his entire body was trembling in exhaustion.

"Oh, I will. But first you will fetch it for me." Voldemort lifted his wand once more. "Crucio."

Sirius let out a choked yell, and Harry's insides twisted violently. Harry choked out a furious shout, and then he was falling out of his chair, in the testing room once more. Eyes wide and wild, he looked up to see a sea of concerned and perplexed eyes on him, and the Professor crouched in front of him. Harry's chest heaved and his blood raced with adrenaline.

"Mr. Potter, are you alright?"

Harry hastily scrambled to his feet. "I-I...I don't feel well. I think I just need to lay down for a bit."

With that, Harry flew out of the room like a bat out of hell, determined to get to the hospital wing and inform McGonagall about what he'd seen. She could tell the Order and then Sirius would be saved, and everything would be fine. It had to be.

Only when he arrived at the hospital wing, all the beds were empty. Madame Pomfrey was turning down the sheets to the cot that had held an over-stunned Professor McGonagall not long ago.

"Where's Professor McGonagall?" Harry blurted out loudly.

"Don't shout!" Madame Pomfrey scolded at once. She huffed and smoothed down the covers. "She was admitted over at St. Mungos this morning. What on earth could you need her for?"

Instead of answering Harry let out a panicked noise and left the hospital wing to track down Hermione and Ron. He nearly ran into them while bolting around a corner.

"Harry! We've been looking for you." Hermione exclaimed, but before she could continue, Harry interrupted.

"He's got Sirius," He breathed. "I saw it. There's a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in these little glass balls and they're at the end of row ninety-seven—he's trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there."

Ron went deathly pale by the end of Harry's rant, but Hermione's brow furrowed. "Harry, are you sure? Are you completely positive that you weren't just dreaming?"

Harry bristled, his panic ratcheting his other emotions to new heights. "I know the difference between a dream and reality, Hermione. And even if it is, am I supposed to just ignore it on the off chance that I had a vision—in the middle of the day—that turns out to be wrong? What if I'm right and Sirius is being tortured this very moment? Hermione, Voldemort said he'd kill him. He's the only family I've got left!" Harry shook his head, anger dissipated into anxiety. "I can't take that chance."

Ron bit his lip. "I'm with Harry, 'Mione. Sirius's brother was a Death Eater, wasn't he? Maybe he told Sirius the secret of how to get the weapon!"

Clearly torn, Hermione sighed. The furrow between her brows had yet to smooth. "Then we have an even bigger problem on our hands. But we need proof. We can't just go galloping off without a plan. No offense, Harry, but you do have a saving-people thing, and Voldemort knows it. He might be using this to get to you."

"So what if he is?" Harry burst out, angry. "I'm just supposed to let Sirius die? I don't remember you having a problem with my saving-people thing when it was you I was saving from the dementors!"

Before Hermione could respond, a familiar head of red hair popped out from around the corner. "So you admit you have saving-people thing then?"

Harry blinked as Ginny rounded the corner with Luna at her side. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Enough," Ginny replied as she crossed her arms. "And if Sirius is in trouble, we want to help." She finished firmly, as if daring Harry to disagree.

Harry didn't.

"We need to contact the Order." Harry said immediately. A quick glance at Hermione showed that she was, however reluctantly, on board as well.

"If we firecall the Order's safe house, that'll be the easiest way to tell if Sirius is really been taken." Ron answered with a grim nod.

"Umbridge has the only floo that isn't being monitored. We'll have to sneak into her office." Hermione pursed her lips in displeasure.

Ginny grinned. "Sounds like fun. I'm in."

§

️

It was three hours later, after an unhelpful and frankly terrifying conversation with Kreacher, a close call with Umbridge's expertise with the Cruciatus, absolutely nohelp from Snape, an ingenious plan from Hermione, and a run-in with the centaurs, before they left for the ministry. After, of course, Harry and Luna helped everyone, and Neville—who'd been caught by the Inquisitorial Squad as well—onto their thestrals.

Though they tended to be more timid, thestrals were fast. Harry couldn't help but compare it to his Firebolt, and was both impressed and disappointed to find that it just...didn't measure up to the speed of the thestrals.

Soon, because even though Harry protested that it was dangerous, they had all stated firmly that they were coming with him whether he liked it or not, all six of them were racing down the Department of Mysteries, little tags that declared 'Rescue Mission' stuck to their shirts. They passed through some very odd rooms—one was full of time-turners, and another held only an archway with a tattered veil hung in it that Harry felt strangely drawn to—but eventually they found the one they were looking for.

Harry couldn't help but freeze when he stepped into the room full of glass orbs. It was dark and eerie in his dreams, yes, but it felt much more ominous now.

He swallowed and forced his feet to move. "Row 97. C'mon!"

The group of teens bolted down the columns of luminous orbs, wands at the ready with Hermione, Harry, and Luna lighting the way. Harry's eyes locked onto the plaques on the end of the shelves and he counted them off under his breath as he walked.

"91...93...95…" He skidded to a stop at between shelves 96 and 97. There was nothing there. Harry's heart thudded loudly in his ears, his entire body feeling cold and bloodless. "H-He was right here. They were right here!" Harry turned back to the others desperately,

Hermione's expression had become stony, while Ron and Ginny just looked confused. Neville wasn't looking at Harry at all. Harry followed Neville's gaze to the shelf, at the very end of which was another orb, except this one seemed to be whispering. "Harry," Neville breathed. "Harry, it's got your name on it."

Now that Neville had drawn his attention to it, Harry could make out a voice there. It sounded strangely like—

"Harry…"

"My name?" Harry murmured as he wandered closer, unable to help himself. He peered at the glass, and then at the tag beneath it, which read 'S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D | Dark Lord and (?)Harry Potter'. As he drew closer, the whispering cleared until a raspy voice was emanating from the orb

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

Entranced, Harry shivered as the voice trailed off into a hiss at the end. He slowly reached out, hefted the orb into his palm, and watched as its glow dimmed slightly once it had left the shelf.

Hermione's panicked voice came from behind him. "Harry—!"

Blinding red light erupted from every side of them, and in seconds Harry was standing alone, his friends slumped unconscious on the floor. Harry snapped back the present and raised his wand, but it was too late. They were surrounded by Death Eaters, who quickly took hold of all his stunned friends, wands to their throats. Harry whirled around on the spot as he tried to pinpoint all of them at once, but it was useless. There was no way he could take them all at once, especially not by himself.

"I appreciate your cooperation, Potter." A familiar voice hummed.

Harry spun on heel yet again, the glass ball cradled close to his chest. His eyes widened as he saw two more Death Eaters emerge from the shadows; one was a woman with a wild mane of black, curly hair, and the other was—

"Barty Crouch," Harry gaped, shocked. He shook his head to regain himself as the man smiled at him.

"Junior. Though I don't suppose that matters much now, seeing as the Senior is dead. But I didn't come here to chat, I'm afraid." Barty motioned to the orb. "I'm going to need you to hand that over, Potter. Now." He extended a hand, palm up, while the other held his wand threateningly towards the other five teenagers.

"Or what?" Harry challenged with narrow eyes. "What is this thing? Why does Voldemort want it so bad?"

The woman who stood beside Barty went still. "You dare speak his name?" She hissed, eyes wild and crazed. "You aren't worthy of it, you filthy half-blood!"

Harry bristled, the adrenaline now laced through his blood making him bold. "You know that Voldemort's a half-blood, too." When the woman's face contorted into something ugly, Harry continued, tone entirely too nonchalant. "Yeah, his mother was a witch but his dad was a Muggle—or has he been telling you lot that he's a pure-blood?"

The woman yowled out something fierce, her wand abruptly raised in his direction. Barty lost his blithe demeanor and snarled as he yanked her arm back down. "Shut up, you banshee!" He bellowed as she hissed and spat in his grip. "Need I remind you of what awaits you should you mess this up, Bellatrix?"

That seemed to do the trick. The woman—Bellatrix—abruptly went still and quiet, eyes wide. She yanked her arm out of Barty's grip with a growl, but didn't move again. Barty nodded in satisfaction and turned his attention back to Harry.

"Now give that to me, Potter. Or else." Barty demanded cheerfully, his smile back now that he didn't have Bellatrix screeching in his ear.

"Or else what?" Harry repeated scathingly as he tried to discreetly look for an opening. There was none.

Barty tipped his head at Harry and stared at him for a moment. Then, with a jerk of his head, Ron was manhandled until he was front and center, the Death Eater's wand now dug harshly into Ron's neck. Barty hummed as Harry's gaze zeroed in on his friend, antsy. "That one dies, of course."

Trapped and panicked, Harry shifted his feet and snarled. He gripped the orb tighter. "Do anything to him and I shatter this!"

Gleaming brown eyes flashed in something like pleased surprise, but Barty's grin was anything but pleasant. "I refuse to negotiate with children who can't tell dreams from reality." He smirked when Harry went pale. "You do anything to that and they all die. I imagine they mean a bit more to you than that little ball does."

Harry's mouth twisted, frustrated at his own helplessness, because this was one of the very few times where his friends were in danger and he couldn't do anything.

"Where's Sirius?" Harry asked in return, determined to get some information, at least.

"Give it to me," Barty replied easily. When Harry opened his mouth again to protest, he narrowed his eyes. "Give it to me. I will not ask again, Potter."

Licking his lips nervously, Harry glanced at his unconscious friends once more before letting out a shaky breath. Ever so slowly, he extended his hand until it was directly over Barty's, then dropped the orb into it. It went completely dark.

Barty grinned and looked the ball over once, just to make sure it truly wasn't damaged, then pocketed it. He twisted his wand idly and laughed. "Sirius Black is under the Order's protections—we had no way to get to him. Bellatrix had the elf lie to you to make sure our Lord's story was sold well. Your beloved godfather is safe, Potter." Barty assured him. He glanced up with a smirk. "I can't say the same for you, however."

Before Harry could react, Barty had jerked his wand to the right and fired a blast of red light into his face. The world went dark.

The Order would arrive fifteen minutes later, to find not a trace of any Death Eaters or Harry Potter, save for four unconscious bodies lying between shelves 96 and 97, the prophecy gone. Thanks to Barty, it would be fifteen minutes too late.