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Chapter Seven
Will the Real Harry Potter Please Stand Up

First updated 10/17/2014

Last updated 1/13/2015

=ooo=

"Hi Hermione!" Harry said cheerfully. "Long time no see."

"Shut it," Hermione snapped. "So which are you, real or fake?"

"If I was a fake I don't think I'd admit it," Harry pointed out. "What makes you think I'm a fake?" he asked, curious what reasons she would give. Hermione was supposed to be the smartest witch of their year — he could see the Head Girl badge pinned to her robes, but her anger at him, for whatever reason, was messing up her reasoning.

"Oh, I don't know," she answered sarcastically. "I suppose it's the fact that there's someone buried in that tomb out on the grounds with your name on it who isn't Harry Potter!"

The Gryffindor table was instantly in an uproar again. "How d'you know that?" Dean Thomas was yelling at her. "All the teachers said it was Harry Potter! Don't you think they checked?"

"They didn't," Hermione retorted. "I checked, and it wasn't him!"

"That's impossible!" Lavender was saying. "You can't tell whether a person is using Polyjuice unless you ask them something only the real person would know and they don't!" Well, that wasn't the only way, Harry thought. But not many people other than Aurors were taught the Polyjuice Reversal Charm.

A few people, Harry noted, weren't participating in the shouting matches going on between the Gryffindors and the other Houses, or at the Gryffindor table itself. He could see Neville Longbottom, who'd grown up quite a bit in the past five years, staring curiously at him. And there was a red-headed girl who looked like Ron Weasley staring very curiously at him. One of the Patil sisters seated at the Gryffindor table was glaring daggers at him; what was her problem?

Across the table Ron was busy defending Hermione's claim against Seamus, Dean and Lavender. "I was with her when she checked the body!" he was shouting at them. "She's right! Whoever's in that tomb isn't Harry!"

"Then who is it?" Lavender demanded.

"I don't know!" Ron yelled, throwing up his hands. "The spells don't tell you who it is, only who it isn't!"

"QUIET EVERYONE!" An amplified voice shook the rafters of the Great Hall. Headmistress McGonagall had entered the room and cast Sonorus on herself to restore order. "EVERYONE SIT DOWN NOW!"

The noise died down a fraction, and students hurried to retake their seats. "Is this how you conduct yourself when I'm not around?" she demanded, her voice back to normal but still carrying throughout the Hall, whipcrack sharp. "Shame on all of you! I've half a mind to cancel the feast and send everyone to bed right now!" The room went silent at that, as students looked at each other in horror. Cancel the start-of-term feast? That was unthinkable! No one could remember it ever having been done before.

Now with silence restored, McGonagall took her place in front of the center chair at the High Table, staring out at the students disapprovingly. "That's better," she said. "Now, let's straighten a few things out.

"I've recently learned that the 'Harry Potter' who attended Hogwarts from 1992 to 1997 was not the real Harry Potter, but a person or persons unknown who were impersonating him. No, I do not know who it was! Put your hands down," she ordered as dozens of arms flew into the air for permission to speak. "This is not a question and answer period!" McGonagall paced back and forth at the front of the room like an angry lion.

"As far as I know, the young man sitting at the Gryffindor table is the real Harry Potter. I have the word of a wizard I have known for a long time now, one of our new professors, Mr. Remus Lupin, who was in America with Harry during the five years he was absent from Hogwarts. Mr. Lupin is seated next to Professor Flitwick. Please welcome him to Hogwarts as your new Transfiguration professor, and the new head of Gryffindor House!" There was scattered applause, mostly from the Gryffindor table and Harry, as Remus stood up and bowed; it died quickly as he sat down again, leaving Harry clapping alone for a few seconds before he stopped.

"Next to him," McGonagall continued, "is our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Sirius Black." More whispers broke out among the students as Sirius stood up, flashing a brilliant smile and waving. "As you may recall, Professor Black was released from Azkaban Prison in late 1992 after being found innocent of the charges brought against him in November 1981 by the Ministry for the deaths of Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggles during an altercation on the streets of London."

"An altercation?" Harry heard Sirius mutter to Remus as he sat down again. "It was a bloody war zone after the rat got done with it!"

The doors to the Great Hall suddenly swung open again, and in walked Hagrid, as large as ever. "Perfesser?" he said, ducking as he came in, "Are yeh ready for the firs' years now?"

"Oh, yes. Of course, Hagrid," McGonagall said quickly, realizing she'd forgotten all about them in her haste to bring the room to order. "Please bring them in!"

Hagrid gestured behind him, then led a group of children up between the House tables to stand in a row in at the front of the room. While he was doing that, McGonagall hurried out of the Hall and returned moments later with a three-legged stool and the familiar Sorting Hat.

Harry smiled, thinking about his conversation with the Hat six years ago this very day. The Hat had wanted to put him in Slytherin, but Harry had convinced it to let him go to Gryffindor. Of course, all the Hat really did was to get you to think about what characteristics of your personality were most important to you, then point you toward the House that would be the most helpful in achieving what you wanted to do. Ironically, there was no way for the Hat (or Harry) to know that years later he would be one of the world's deadliest assassins. Well, potential assassin, he reminded himself. He had yet to take on an actual assignment and get paid.

Hagrid was leading the Sorting Ceremony now, reading off the names of students and having them come up and put the Hat on. It was amazing how boring this was if you were just watching rather than participating, Harry discovered. He let his attention focus on the students at the four House tables, discovering that many of them were also interested in something other than the Sorting Ceremony — him. Harry could feel the pressure of several hundred pairs of eyes on him. There were smatterings of applause as students were Sorted and took their place at their House table, but it died quickly as everyone watched to see what Harry Potter might do next.

Hermione and Ron, both sitting across the table from him, were staring at Harry as well. The two of them had grown up quite a bit in the past five years. Hermione had developed into an attractive young woman, Harry noticed — her hair was no longer quite as bushy as it had been, and she had become quite pretty. Ron was — well, still Ron, tall and gangly and red-headed, though Harry had surpassed him in height. While Hermione's expression was still flinty — she was inexplicably mad at him because Dumbledore had tricked everyone for five years! — Ron's eyes kept going back and forth between Harry and the Head Girl. I wonder if something happened between her and "me," Harry speculated to himself. Ron seems to think something did, at least.

"So, Ron," Harry leaned toward him, speaking softly so he wouldn't disturb the Sorting. "How have things been for the past five years?"

"Uh," Ron looked at Hermione, then back at him. "It's weird, you know?" he said. "I mean, knowing that I wasn't really talking to you all those years."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Hermione suddenly hissed, leaning forward. "You just up and disappeared at the end of first year!"

Ron immediately jumped on that. "Yeah!" he said, leaning forward as well. "I must've sent you a hundred owls! You never replied to any of them!"

"I sent Hedwig with letters to both of you," Harry said, calmly. "I never got a reply. Remus and I finally figured out that Dumbledore somehow put a spell on her that kept her from delivering letters to either of you — or anyone in wizarding Britain, for that matter." It would have been very impressive magic if it hadn't pissed both him and Remus off something fierce at the time.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "Why would Dumbledore do something like that?"

"He didn't want anyone to know I'd left Britain," Harry explained. "Probably so Voldemort wouldn't take advantage of me being gone." Several people who were listening in flinched at the mention of the Dark Lord's name.

"He wasn't even around back then," Hermione pointed out. "He didn't come back until 1995."

"No," Harry said. "He was possessing Quirrell during our first year." Both Hermione and Ron looked startled. "I guess Dumbledore never told anybody."

"How come you didn't tell anybody?" Ron snapped.

Harry sat back. That was a good question. "I don't know," he finally said. "I guess I thought Dumbledore would let everyone know…" Actually, Harry hadn't thought about it at all since he'd left Privet Drive.

"He didn't," Hermione informed him curtly. "So why are you back now?"

"What do you mean?" Was she serious? "You've got Moldyshorts kicking your butts all over the place. You need help."

"What do you care?" Hermione said, her voice getting louder. "You got out, so what do you care what happens to us?"

"Hermione…" Ron put a hand on her arm. She pushed it off.

"This is my country, too," Harry said, beginning to get peeved at her attitude. "I don't want some Dark Lord death-demon wannabe fucking it up!"

"Language!" Hermione said automatically.

"Really?" Harry laughed at her. "Some people around here think saying 'Voldemort' is worse than saying the word 'fuck.'"

"Then you probably shouldn't say either!" Lavender, a few seats away, cut in.

"Excuse me!" Hermione looked indignant. "This is our conversation, do you mind staying out of it?"

There was a loud bang from the front of Hall. "Excuse me," Professor McGonagall, who had her wand in the air, was giving the Gryffindor table a very severe look. "For those of you who haven't been paying attention, the Sorting Ceremony has been concluded." Hermione flushed — everyone in the Hall had turned to stare at her.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Hermione said, getting to her feet. "I was just —"

"Never mind what you were doing, Miss Granger," McGonagall cut her off. "You should have been keeping order during the Sorting Ceremony, not disrupting it. Ten points from Gryffindor." There was a collective groan from the Gryffindor table and Hermione sat down, her face burning.

"Nice going," Dean muttered to her. "We're in negative House points already." She threw a smoking glare at him but said nothing.

"I think that will be all for now," McGonagall said. "Let the feast commence!" She clapped her hands, and the empty golden plates on the four tables suddenly filled with food, hot and freshly cooked, with steam wafting toward the ceiling. Harry leaned back, breathing as little as possible. The stench of fat and beef juices permeated everything.

Ron was happily filling his plate with slices of beef covered in gravy, a heaping pile of mashed potatoes, corn and thick slabs of buttered bread. Hermione was eating light, making a salad for herself from a bowl of lettuce, tomatoes and red onions, which she drizzled with oil and vinegar. She looked up at Harry. "What, is the food not good enough for you now?" she asked in an exasperated tone, seeing him just sitting there.

"Actually, it's not," Harry said. "If I ate any of this it would make me sick." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Are you kidding?" Ron was incredulous. "This is almost as good as Mum makes! You ought to know that, you —" he cut himself off. "Oh. Right," he said, remembering. "That wasn't really you, was it…"

In spite of her disdain for his predicament, Hermione said, "I suppose we can call one of the house-elves and see if they can prepare something you can eat. Dobby!" she called out. "We need you!"

There was a crack and a small creature appeared next to her. Harry had seen pictures of house-elves in one of his textbooks, A History of Wizarding Britain, but had never come across one in person. The creature looked like a small, very ugly human, but with large, bat-like ears and bulbous green eyes. He was also, Harry saw, dressed rather uniquely: he was wearing socks on his ears, a different color for each one, and had on a T-shirt with a long red-and-gold scarf wrapped around his neck. Over this was a blue cooking apron with the words World's Greatest House-Elf embroidered on it. Normally, according to his books, house-elves did not wear clothing; instead, they fashioned coverings from pillow cases or curtains. Why was this elf wearing socks and scarves?

The house-elf bowed to Hermione (Harry noticed she looked uncomfortable about this, for some reason) and said, "Dobby is here, Hermione Granger! What may Dobby do for —" the elf caught sight of Harry across the table "Harry Potter!" he exclaimed. "Harry Potter is alive!" He vanished with a crack and reappeared next to Harry on the other side of the table. "They told us Harry Potter was dead!" he said, tears forming in his eyes as his small body trembled with excitement. "We hoped it wasn't true! Oh, this is a wonderful day!" The little fellow literally began dancing for joy.

"Thanks," Harry said, not knowing quite how to respond to this outburst. "I'm happy to be alive, too. But I've got a problem, Dobby."

The house-elf stopped dancing and his large green eyes focused expectantly on Harry. "A problem, Harry Potter? Dobby will do whatever he can to help!"

"It's the food," Harry said. "I can't eat anything here."

"Dobby can fix anything Harry Potter desires," Dobby said immediately. "What does Harry Potter wish to eat?"

"I can eat long-grain brown rice," Harry said. "Well boiled, along with organically-grown radishes and cabbage, served raw. Seaweed is good, too. I usually have some fish with that, boiled and unseasoned, no more than about two ounces."

"Eurgh," Ron said. Harry looked around. Everyone nearby had been listening to him tell Dobby what he wanted to eat. Most of them looked rather … discomfited … by Harry's food choices. "How can you live on that?" Ron asked.

"I might ask you the same question," Harry pointed to Ron's plate filled with meat, potatoes and gravy. "A plateful of all that and you'll be comatose the rest of the night." Ron shrugged and went back to shoveling food into his mouth.

"Dobby will bring whatever Harry Potter wants," Dobby said, bowing deeply, and vanished.

The rest of the meal passed in an uncomfortable silence, with other students talking quietly among themselves around Harry. The rice, vegetables, seaweed and fish appeared after a few minutes, and Harry took an appreciative sniff. It was actually quite well-prepared, he decided, chewing his food slowly and meticulously, as Chiun had taught him, letting it liquefy in his mouth before swallowing.

As Harry finished the last of his seaweed the food on all the tables vanished, replaced by platefuls of pastries, confections and sweets. The sickening odor of fats and meat juices was replaced by the sweet stench of sugars, creams and baked dough. In Harry's estimation it was an equally bad trade, but the other students dug into them with relish, including Ron, who smacked his lips as he took a huge spoonful of apple cobbler and plopped it onto his plate. Hermione was watching this as well with small frown on her face. She had taken a very small slice, barely a sliver, of chocolate meringue pie. Harry silently congratulated her for her restraint, though not eating the pie at all would have been better.

Dobby popped in again. "Was Harry Potter happy with his meal?" the small being asked, eagerness shining in his large green eyes.

"It was very good, Dobby," Harry nodded. "I thought everything was very well-prepared."

"But did Harry Potter enjoy the food?" the house-elf wanted to know, looking expectantly at Harry.

"Well," Harry said truthfully. "I don't eat food for enjoyment, I eat it for nutrition." Dobby slumped in disappointment. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Dobby has failed Harry Potter," Dobby wailed. He turned and slammed his head against the bench Harry was sitting on. As he tried again Harry cast an Impediment Jinx, pushing the house-elf back. Dobby turned and ran toward the wall, but Harry hit him with a Body-Bind before he could reach it.

"What the hell?" Harry said, looking around as other Gryffindors were staring at them. "What's this little guy's problem? I didn't say the food was bad…"

"It's not that," Hermione spoke again from across the table. "House-elves are somehow compelled to please witches and wizards. If they think they've failed, or a wizard orders them to, they will punish themselves very harshly. They don't have a choice, they have to do it."

Harry stared at her. "It sounds like they're magically enslaved. Why haven't wizards found a way to free them?"

"Are you joking?" Dean said, incredulously. "Only rich wizards can afford to keep house-elves, and those bastards aren't going to give up a good thing like free labor!"

Harry frowned. "Why doesn't the government step in and do something?"

"You mean the Ministry?" Dean shook her head. "Who do you think is controlling the Ministry from behind the scenes? As long as the richest wizards in Britain can make policy through the Ministry, things are never going to change around here."

There was a clinking of glass from the High Table. McGonagall had stood and was tapping on a crystal goblet for attention. The noise in the Great Hall died away, and she spoke. "I have a few announcements before you are all dismissed for the evening.

"As usual, those of you wishing to play for your house Quidditch team should give their names to their Heads of House," she began. "I should note that Professor Slughorn is the new Slytherin Head of House —" there was enthusiastic applause from the Slytherin table as Slughorn waved to them; from the other tables there was a respectable amount of clapping, as Slughorn was regarded mostly positively by the students "— while for Gryffindor, as I mentioned earlier —" she gave a short, unconscious sigh at this point "— I have asked Professor Lupin to step into my shoes."

Applause sprung up from the Gryffindor table again, starting mostly as Harry began clapping happily. He was once again the last person clapping several seconds later.

"Also," McGonagall continued with her announcements. "I will make no bones about the problems we face with You-Know-Who's terror campaign against wizarding Britain endangering all of its citizens, including Muggles. You noticed the increased security at the gates of Hogwarts — everyone was searched for contraband upon entry to the grounds. You were also checked for enchantments such as Polyjuice Potion and other methods of concealment. Any student caught with contraband items will be dealt with quite severely — expulsion is not out of the question, mark my words! I strongly caution you to observe all new security regulations; they will be posted on the announcement boards in your common rooms. Now, if you all are finished with your pudding, you may retire to your —"

The doors to the Great Hall suddenly opened again, this time admitting several men in red robes, led by a man in black. "Shut the doors," he said to the men behind him; the last two men through closed the doors and stood in front of them. From their movements and body language Harry could tell these were the two men who had been concealed in the entrance hall, but who the others were he had no clue.

McGonagall apparently did, however, and she was incensed. "Minister!" she cried. "What is the meaning of this intrusion? The wards did not announce you —"

"I didn't want you to know I was coming, Headmistress," the man in black said as he strode up to stand in front of her. The other teachers at the High Table had stood and were staring at the unexpected arrivals. Harry noticed Sirius was giving the man in black a particularly hostile glare. Harry stared at the man as well. He had a slight limp, but despite it walked with a loping grace, like an old lion. In fact, with his long, tawny hair, streaked with bits of gray, he looked like an old lion. "We are here to determine —" he pointed directly at Harry "— whether that student is in fact the real Harry Potter or not."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Minister, your men were stationed at the gates when the carriages brought the students through. You have examined every student as they came through the gates —"

"And Potter was not among them," Scrimgeour cut her off. He handed her a parchment sheet filled with the names of all the students who were expected to attend that year. Only one name wasn't crossed off, she could see: Harry Potter.

She turned to Harry. "Harry did you come through the gates when you arrived at Hogwarts?"

"Not exactly," Harry said, smiling. "I sort of went around them."

"Around them?" both Scrimgeour and McGonagall said at the same time.

"That's impossible," McGonagall said.

"How did you do it?" Scrimgeour demanded.

"He couldn't have," McGonagall told the Minister. "There are anti-intruder spells on the walls."
"Not that they could stop me," Harry interjected casually. Both the Minister and McGonagall stared at him unbelievingly.

"Then you admit that you haven't been screened by the Aurors at the gates," Scrimgeour demanded.

"Sure, why not?" Harry shrugged. "But I don't have any 'contraband' on me. Just my school books and supplies, in here." He held up his pouch filled with his books, his cauldron, writing supplies, and enough gold to last him the school year, including some special items he had brought along, just in case.

"That needs to be thoroughly checked," Scrimgeour declared, pointing at the pouch.

"Oh no it doesn't," Harry said, putting it away again. "Nobody goes through a Master of Sinanju's personal items." He didn't mention that, strictly speaking, he was only an apprentice, but Chiun would berate him if he allowed wizards to dictate terms to him if they weren't paying for his services.

"Confiscate that pouch," Scrimgeour ordered two of the men in red robes, and they moved toward Harry, wands raised.

"Minister, stop this!" McGonagall demanded, aghast that she had lost control in her own school, but Scrimgeour and the two Aurors ignored her. Harry, for his own part, simply stood there as the two men approached him, covering him with their wands and reaching for his pocket as they came within arm's reach.

And suddenly Harry wasn't standing there any more. The two Aurors spun around, looking about wildly for their target, and Scrimgeour began to look around the Great Hall when a hand on his spinal column suddenly froze him in place.

"Trust me, Minister," Harry said from behind him. "You do not want to treat me badly. If my father heard about what you just tried, you would be in a world of hurt, and I mean that quite literally."

Every Auror in the Hall had instantly trained their wands on Harry, but he didn't appear concerned. "I'm going to release your vocal cords," he said, conversationally. "Tell your men they don't need to keep me covered." He manipulated the nerves in Scrimgeour's back.

"Put your —" Scrimgeour squeaked, then cleared his throat. "Put your wands down," he said in a more normal voice. "Now what?" he said to the young man who had paralyzed his entire body, apparently without using magic.

"That depends on you," Harry said. "You want to make sure I'm me, right?"

"Yes," Scrimgeour ground out.

"I'm willing to be tested for Polyjuice and other magic that could alter my appearance," Harry went on. "But I want either Remus Lupin, Sirius Black or Professor McGonagall to perform the spells."

"They are not employed by the Ministry —"

"You're supposing I think Ministry employees are trustworthy," Harry said matter-of-factly. "Well, I trust those three, not you. But you and your men can watch, to make sure the spells are done correctly. Deal?"

"I don't make deals with lawbreakers," Scrimgeour said automatically, trying to turn his head to look at Harry but finding his neck still paralyzed. "You do realize you're hindering an official Ministry investigation. You could be arrested!"

"Arresting me would come under the heading of 'treating me badly,'" Harry pointed out. "And like I said, Minister, you do not want to do that if you want to get out of this with all your bones intact. Now, I'm going to let you go, and you decide which way we're going to play this." The hand released his back, and Scrimgeour almost toppled to the ground as his legs started working again. Managing to catch himself, he took a step away and turned to face the young man.

If this was the real Harry Potter, Scrimgeour debated with himself, he was unlike any wizard the Minister had ever come across before. The Headmistress seemed to believe he was the genuine article. Of the two other men Potter had mentioned, Lupin and Black, neither was considered trustworthy by the Ministry; Lupin was a registered werewolf, a Dark creature by Ministry standards, and Black was from a family known for its blood purity bigotry and potential affiliation with the Dark Lord. He had been found innocent of the murder charges from 1981, but the blame for that fiasco fell upon Bagnold and Crouch, the Minister and Head of the DMLE at the time. Dumbledore had been there as well but the old wizard was dead now. If he was going to avoid open conflict here in the school, he would have to do something, and quickly.

Scrimgeour was known for his hard line on certain matters: not yielding to demands from lawbreakers being a particular point of pride with him. But there weren't many options open to him at this point.

"McGonagall can check you," he said in a low, resentful tone, unhappy at having to capitulate in front of his Auror detail. "Headmistress," he said, gesturing toward Harry.

McGonagall stepped forward, taking out her wand. "Harry," she said, looking apologetically at him. "I wish there was another way."

"Well, there was," Harry said cheerfully, "But the Minister decided on the better part of valor, so test away, Headmistress."

McGonagall moved her wand in several patterns, letting the detection spells envelop Harry. "He is not Transfigured to look like Harry," she said. "There are no glamour spells or illusions on him either." After a half-minute she stopped. "I'm afraid I don't know how to test for Polyjuice, Minister. Perhaps Professor Black could —"

"No," Sirius said before Scrimgeour could object. "I'm not lifting a finger for that man or his corrupt government." There was bitterness and hatred in his voice. "He and his kind owe me eleven years of a life they took from me."

"We owe you nothing, Black," Scrimgeour growled. "It was an honest mistake."

"No trial was an honest mistake?" Sirius growled back at him. "Like I said, you're corrupt and covering your arse to protect yourself and your corrupt government!"

"If we can't test this person for Polyjuice," Scrimgeour thundered, "then he will be taken away!" And he and his top officials would have to think of another way to bring in their hole card, he added to himself. But it looked like there would be little choice —

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Harry said, exasperated. "Here —" he took out his own wand, and everyone instantly tensed. The Aurors targeted him again, many of the students shouted or gasped, and McGonagall put up a hand to try and stop him, but —

"The spell is Polyfluis Reverso," Harry said, making the wand motion she would need to cast the spell. "Watch, I'll cast it on you." He repeated the words, this time with the wand motions, and a mirror-like glow shot from his wand to surround her. For a moment McGonagall glowed like a reflection of herself —

Then the glow faded and she stood there, unchanged. "How do you know that spell?" Scrimgeour demanded. "Only Aurors and Hit Wizards are supposed to be taught that spell!"

"Good thing that's not true," Harry said, waiting for the Headmistress to cast it on him. Minerva raised her wand and repeated the words and wand gestures Harry had taught her. He glowed mirror-like for a moment.

And remained Harry. "Satisfied?" he said evenly to the Minister.

"It looks like you're the real Harry Potter," Scrimgeour said. A cheer went up around the Great Hall, though predictably the Slytherin table did not participate.

"You don't sound very happy, Minister," Harry said, seeing the sour look on Scrimgeour's face. Scrimgeour said nothing, only allowing a half-sneer to cross his features. The little bastard had ruined his plans —

"I wonder if that disappointment has something to do with the Cloaked person standing near the doors, between those two Aurors," Harry said, pointing in that direction.

Scrimgeour stiffened. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said in a dismissive tone. How in Merlin's name could he know —?

Harry was suddenly gone from where he'd stood. "Don't try to lie to a Master of Sinanju," he said, now standing near the door between the two Aurors, then reached out, grasped empty air and pulled.

The "empty air" became a silken gray cloak, revealing the person who'd been hidden beneath, who stood upright, staring at Harry in frank amazement. Interestingly, the man looked identical to Harry.

"Oh, so that's what was going on," Harry said, figuring out what the Minister was up to. "You were going to bring this ringer in if I turned out to be a fake, too." He gave Scrimgeour a disappointed look. "A fake Potter to replace a fake Potter? What was up with that, Minister?"

Scrimgeour, visibly angry by now, pointed accusingly at Harry. "You were gone, Potter! You left us to take care of You-Know-Who on our own! When your double died we decided we could to use the situation to our advantage, to bring in someone who would support the Ministry and give people hope against the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters! How were we to know you were going to show up out of nowhere again?!"

"You told us that body was Harry!" McGonagall exclaimed, firing up herself. "The entire Order believed it! Why would you lie to us after we protected Harry for all those years?!"

"Protected him?" Scrimgeour said harshly. "Dumbledore dumped him with a bunch of Muggles who hated him, even though they were his own kin! That was hardly protecting him!"

McGonagall didn't care much for that fact, either, but Albus had tried to keep the wizarding world from turning Harry into an object of hero-worship. "It was to keep him safe! His aunt's blood reinforced the blood protection his mother put on him when she died! She was Lily's only living blood relative!"

"It doesn't matter." Harry said, coldly.

"Of course it matters!" McGonagall said without hesitation. "You were just a child —"

"As far as Albus Dumbledore was concerned," Harry cut over her. "I was nothing more than a tool, to be shaped and molded for his own ends, something he could use against Voldemort when the time was right."

The entire Hall had gone silent. Even Scrimgeour's Aurors were listening. "I screwed up Dumbledore's plans when I left the Dursleys with my father and brother. Everyone here, and many others as well, were deceived by Dumbledore into believing I was still here for all those years, while in reality I was with them, learning the secrets of the sun source, the perfect art of bringing harmony and balance into the world — by removing that which destroys harmony and balance. I can use what I've learned to eliminate the Dark Lord and his threat. But being given the benefit of that learning comes at a price."

Harry turned to look at Scrimgeour. "Minister, do you wish to be rid of Lord Voldemort?"

Scrimgeour had flinched at the Name as Harry spoke, but straightened himself and nodded. "I — we do."

"Then we should talk," Harry said in a crisp, businesslike voice.

"What is there to talk about?" McGonagall asked. "Harry, you told me you were going to help us!"

"That was before the Ministry started playing games with me," Harry said.

"What games?" a high, squeaky voice at the entrance to the Great Hall asked. Harry turned, his face all smiles as he recognized it.

"Hello, Chiun, Remo," he said, seeing them framed in the doorway. Everyone in the Great Hall craned to get a view of the two men who had just entered. The two Aurors in the doorway instinctively raised their wands, then started as those wands were suddenly gone from their hands, now being held by Remo and Chiun.

"It's not nice to point," Remo said to the Aurors as Chiun glided toward Harry.

"My son, I wanted to see this school of yours before I retired for the evening," Chiun said to him. "But things here are not as I had expected. Who are these men who have threatened you?"

"Not a real threat, Little Father," Harry said quickly. "They believed I wasn't who I said I was, and they wanted to make sure I really was Harry Potter."

"They might have asked me," Chiun said, reprovingly. "I have been with you the past five years, have I not? I have nurtured you and cared for you, teaching you Sinanju and allowing you to learn your magic. Why would they doubt who you are?"

"It's complicated," Harry said, not really wanting to get into it. "But I was about to negotiate a deal with the Minister of Magic here, to take care of Tarakasur for them."

"Who?" Scrimgeour said blankly.

"Ah," Chiun beamed at Harry. "Good! It seems you are not as useless as I believed. I will join you in the negotiations," he added. "In order to ensure you are given a fair price."

"Price?" Scrimgeour said blankly. He was beginning to get a bad feeling about this.

"Let's go somewhere and discuss it," Harry said, gesturing toward the door. He'd wanted to do this on his own, but you didn't say no to the Master of Sinanju. He looked toward the High Table. "Remus, Sirius, can you come with us?"

The two professors both looked startled, but — "Of course," Remus said quickly, and he and Sirius made their way over to the doors to stand next to Harry.

"Headmistress, may we use your office to conduct our business?" Harry asked, respectfully.

"Business?" Scrimgeour said blankly. He was definitely getting a bad feeling about this.

"Er, yes, of course," McGonagall said, a worried feeling beginning to form in her chest. "Please follow me." She hurried to escort them to the Head's office.

At the doors she paused, looking back at the other students. "You are dismissed — everyone have a pleasant night's sleep," she said hurriedly, then led Harry, the two men who'd joined him along with her two professors, and Scrimgeour and his men out of the Great Hall.

All the students looked at one another, at a loss as what to do next. A sudden BANG from a raised wand brought their attention back to Hermione.

"Listen up!" she said loudly. "You heard what the Headmistress said! Fifth- and sixth-year House prefects, escort your students to their common areas! Slytherins leave first, then Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors last! Seventh-year prefects, meet me in the antechamber —" she pointed to the door in the southwest corner "— after everyone has left the Great Hall! We're going to discuss what need to be done about these new developments!"

As everyone began forming up groups and waiting their turn to leave, Ron sidled up to Hermione and quietly asked, "What do you think needs to be done?"

"No idea," Hermione muttered. "But I'll think of something…"

"Hey." Ron leaned toward her conspiratorially. "Why don't we follow Harry, see what he's getting up to with the Minister?"

"What? With a half-dozen Aurors guarding him? That sounds like a bloody stupid idea, Ron."

"Language," Ron reminded her. "Besides, you got a better one?"

"Actually, I do," Hermione said evenly. "A much better idea."

"Which is what, actually?" Ron demanded.

"We'll wait for Harry in the common room and ask him when he comes in."

"Oh. Er, okay … that should work."

=ooo=

A bewildered Headmistress McGonagall led the group to the entrance for her office, now on a third floor corridor concealed by a gray stone gargoyle. Scrimgeour, Harry, Remo, Chiun, Remus, Sirius and six Aurors, including the Auror who still resembled Harry himself, followed her as she made her way up staircases and a twisty, circuitous route that avoided most, but not all, of the nosier portraits placed in the school, who watched the assemblage of thirteen witches, wizards and Muggles pass by with immense curiosity. By the time they reached the gargoyle the corridors were abuzz with murmured conversations along the walls about what such a varied group of individuals could be up to.

"Dialectical materialism," McGonagall said to the gargoyle, naming one of her current topics of interest in the philosophy of nature, and the gargoyle immediately leapt aside as the wall behind it opened, revealing a spiral staircase whose steps were magically moving upward.

"Wait," Scrimgeour said as she started to move forward. McGonagall stopped and turned to the Minister with a raised eyebrow. Trying to reassert his authority, Scrimgeour addressed the six Aurors. "Everyone except Dawlish remain here," he ordered them. To a tall wizard with short, wiry gray hair he said, "You're with me while we get things straightened out with Potter. Let's go, Potter," he commanded, moving toward McGonagall.

But Harry didn't move. "They're with me," he said, indicating Remo and Chiun. "Them, too," he added, pointing to Remus and Sirius.

"Out of the question," Scrimgeour said dismissively.

"Then no deal," Harry said, his voice as firm as the Minister's. "We can leave now, Little Father," he said to Chiun, and started to walk away.

"Wait," the Minister said quickly. Harry stopped, an expectant look on his face. "Fine," he said at last, his teeth gritted in frustration. "But not these two," he pointed at the two professors. "This should be a private — eh, negotiation."

"That is true," Chiun agreed. "Sinanju's agreements are made only with the client, Harry. Our contracts should not be common knowledge."

"Fine," Harry said in turn. "I just wanted witnesses in case there were — problems — down the line. Sorry Remus, Sirius," he said to them, shrugging.

"The contract itself will serve as witness," Chiun said. His hazel eyes fell on Scrimgeour. "I am sure no representative of the Empress Elizabeth would sully her reputation with Sinanju by making false promises in her name. We would be … distressed if we had to tell her of the failure of her Minister to follow through on a contract made in her name."

Scrimgeour wasn't sure but it sounded like the old Muggle had just made a reference to the Muggle Queen, Elizabeth II. "Are you insinuating you know Queen Elizabeth?" he asked warily.

"I am saying it outright, o wizard," Chiun retorted. "It has been several decades, but she and I had a very nice talk back when I was negotiating with her father to deal with the Austrian painter, Hitler."

"Are you saying you were hired to kill Hitler?" Scrimgeour asked, incredulous. Chiun nodded. "Rubbish. Hitler killed himself!"

"When he heard I was coming for him, yes he did," Chiun agreed. "A very subtle assassination. Its only flaw was that the Emperor George refused to pay afterwards because Sinanju had not carried out the assassination in person."

"Let's get this over with," Scrimgeour said, stepping toward McGonagall.

"As you wish," Chiun agreed, following the Headmistress and Minister onto the moving stairs along with Remo, Harry and Dawlish. They ascended the staircase in silence, stepping off at the top into the small foyer outside the Head's office. The polished oaken doors of McGonagall's office was illuminated by a continual Lumos spell on the ceiling, casting a soft yellow light into the foyer.

McGonagall tapped the door handles with her wand and the doors opened on their own, admitting the group inside.

The office was a large circular room (which made sense since they were at the top of one of the towers, Harry knew) lined with shelves containing what looked like hundreds of books and other objects. There were several windows of varying sizes and heights throughout the room, and in places along the walls were numerous portraits of who appeared to be previous Headmasters and Headmistresses, the largest of which was a sleeping Albus Dumbledore, directly behind McGonagall's desk. On a nearby shelf was the Sorting Hat, looking as old and shabby as ever, and in a corner (if there was such a place in a circular room) sat a golden perch, empty.

McGonagall walked around her desk, sitting down and regarding the two groups of Harry, Chiun and Remo, and Scrimgeour and Dawlish, with some apprehension. "Now that we're here," she said carefully, looking at Harry. "What is it we're here to discuss, exactly?"

There was a cough and the sound of a throat clearing. "Ah, there you are," a deep voice spoke behind her. "I suppose you are all wondering why I have asked you here today."

Minerva spun around to stare at the portrait of Dumbledore, who had awakened from his slumber and was smiling down benevolently on all of them. "Now you wake up?!" The portrait had not spoken to her since it appeared in her office after Dumbledore's funeral. "Go back to sleep, Albus!"

"Fascinating," Chiun murmured, staring at the portrait of the former Headmaster. "Would it be possible to have one of these painted of me?" he asked Harry. "So I could remain with you after I have passed on from this life."

"No, Little Father," Harry said. "It only works for wizards."

Chiun frowned in disappointment, glaring at Remo as he breathed a sigh of relief. He then turned to Scrimgeour. "You wish to employ the services of Sinanju to rid your empire of the death demon Tarakasur, correct?"

"No," Scrimgeour said. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"He means Voldemort," Harry supplied. "My father believes them to be the same being."

"They are the same being," Chiun insisted. "The human you call Voldemort is possessed by a powerful asura, a malefic spirit at war with the gods. The asura Tarak is the most powerful of these, and not even Shiva himself can prevail against him.

"It is whispered," Chiun added, "that while the father of Tarak was the demon Vajranaka, his mother was Kali herself, making him immune to Shiva's power."

"Kali again," Remo muttered. He'd had a couple of dealings with the death goddess in the past several years, and he had managed to come out on top. Or, according to Chiun, thanks to Shiva. "She's not mixed up in all this, is she, Chiun?" he asked, in Korean.

"We should prepare for the worst, Remo," Chiun answered. "Harry will able to defeat Tarakasur, I believe. Hopefully before Kali becomes aware his life is in danger."

"What if she already knows?" Harry asked, in Korean as well.

"Then we will do what we can," Chiun said, shaking his head. "But we may have to abandon these Stick Wigglers to their fate. Kali is quite formidable."

"Little Father, that is not acceptable!" Harry said fiercely. "Would you abandon the village of Sinanju to Kali?"

"Abandon my home? No," Chiun answered. "But I would not throw away my life in a foolish endeavor that had no hope of success, either. And neither should you, my son."

"I don't intend to," Harry said, switching back to English.

"Intend to what?" Scrimgeour asked, having listened to the conversation without understanding it.

"Make any premature decisions," Harry said. "For now, however, we're here to negotiate the terms of an agreement with the Ministry of Magic for me to defeat Lord Voldemort."

"Which you've already agreed to do, according to the Headmistress here," Scrimgeour pointed out.

"I agreed to return and help," Harry said. "That's not a guarantee that I'll do it. With a contract, you get a guarantee that the target will be eliminated for the agreed-upon price."

"And what is the price?" Scrimgeour asked warily, not wanting to spend more than several hundred Galleons, tops.

"The current rate for Sinanju to dispose of an invincible asura is 5000 troy ounces of gold," Chiun said. "7500 for a rush order."

Scrimgeour looked confused. "How much is that in Galleons?" he asked.

"Gold closed in London today at £201.19 per troy ounce," Chiun said.

"How do you know that?" Scrimgeour demanded.

"When it comes to the price of gold anywhere in the world, Chiun is an expert," Remo said.

Scrimgeour did the math for 5000 troy ounces of gold and blanched. "That's over a million British pounds sterling!" he sputtered.

"One million, five thousand nine hundred and fifty pounds, to be exact," Chiun corrected him. "What is the rate of exchange from pounds to these gallons?" he asked Harry.
"It's Galleons, Little Father," Harry said, and the rate is fixed at five British Pounds per Galleon."

"But — but that's over 200,000 Galleons!" Scrimgeour cried, aghast at the amount the old Muggle Chinaman was demanding. "That's too much!"

"I am willing to forego the extra 5950 pounds," Chiun said magnanimously. "An even one million pounds."

"That's still too much!" Scrimgeour sputtered.

"How much is the safety of your subjects worth?" Chiun asked pointedly. "By allowing Tarakasur to live you are endangering all of them."

"But Harry," McGonagall said to him, "I thought you were going to do this for us! Now you're asking for money? Where is your loyalty to Britain?"

"That's the biz, sweetheart," Harry said, with a shrug.

"Hey," Remo warned him. "That's my line, kid. Get your own."

"Even if I do agree to that amount," Scrimgeour argued, "how do I know you can deliver on your promise to get rid of You-Know-Who."

"I believe I can answer that," the picture of Dumbledore spoke up again. "The Masters of Sinanju are an elite group of assassins, renowned the world over for their skills. If you hire them, you are virtually guaranteed your intended victim will be eliminated."

"Fairly stated, image of Headmaster Dumbledore," Chiun agreed. "In addition, we are willing to accept only 10 percent of the fee up front, as a deposit, with the balance payable upon delivery of proof of the assassination. If the target should perish before being removed by Sinanju, we will cheerfully refund 50 percent of the deposit. The other half will of course be considered as 'expenses.'"

"This sounds like extortion," Scrimgeour grumbled. He appeared to think furiously for several seconds. "But … I don't see any other way if Potter won't take on You-Know-Who as he originally promised. I … agree to the contract."

Chiun beamed at the Minister. "A sound decision," he said happily. "Harry will not fail you — he is quite advanced for his age. It took Remo nearly ten years to advance as far during his own training."

"Gee thanks, Chiun," Remo said dryly as Harry grinned at him. "Your confidence in me is overwhelming."

McGonagall had sat down in her desk chair, looking devastated. "I can't believe it," she was saying to herself. "Harry Potter selling out for money!"

Harry turned to Remo, who had been listening to the Headmistress along with Harry. "She don't know me very well, do she?" he said, quoting a well-known cartoon carrot-munching rabbit.

"Kudos for making the deal, kid," Remo said, with grudging admiration. Harry had learned Sinanju from Remo, but the art of the deal was something he'd gotten entirely from Chiun, who was also the Reigning Master of Contract Negotiations.

"But you know," Remo added matter-of-factly, "it sure seemed like your reasons for coming here in the first place had more to do with offing this Voldymort bozo than getting money for Sinanju."

"Well, I love it when a plan comes together," Harry said airily. "Especially when I don't have to plan for it." He jerked a thumb at Scrimgeour, who was working out gold transfer details with Chiun. "The Cowardly Lion over there ticked me off trying to bring in a ringer to fool everybody here if it turned out I wasn't the real Harry Potter."

"What was he thinking?" Remo wondered.

"Probably that he could pass someone off as me saying that I'd returned and that everything would be okay, that the Ministry and I were working to defeat Voldemort and there was nothing to worry about if they kept their heads down, didn't make waves, and stayed out of the Ministry's way. Idiots, all of them."

"Doesn't seem very proactive," Remo suggested. "I mean, at least with me and Smitty, if he comes up with a problem for me to investigate, I know he's had his 'Folcroft Four,' those big computers in the basement of that place, working to figure out the best course of action. They don't always get it completely right," he hastened to add. "But at least I've a lead or two to go on."

"Speaking of that," Harry remembered, "you said you had to go back to Canada on some assignment for him. What's that about?"

"Oh," Remo waved a hand dismissively, "Smitty wants me up there to check on some problem, he didn't say what. There'll be a packet waiting for me at the Savoy tomorrow morning. I'll fly back to Canada from there."

"How long are you going to be gone?" Harry asked, thinking he was going to have to take training from Chiun while Remo was gone. "Maybe I could come with you."

Remo chuckled. "Not after the stink you made coming here, kid. I'll only be a week or two — Chiun's training isn't gonna kill you in that amount of time."

"I don't know," Harry said, shaking his head. "I just came of age, you said he would be a lot tougher on me now than before."

"Yeah, well, so will I," Remo smiled evilly. Harry rolled his eyes.

Something else occurred to him now that Remo would be leaving for a while. "Did you get the satellite link set up to record his soaps?"

"Well, yeah," Remo said, giving Harry a look. "I got the dish on the roof, the line run down to the room and hooked into the receiver, the receiver hooked up to the VCR, and the VCR hooked up to the TV. But there's only one little problem with all that."

"What?"

"There's no electricity," Remo said.

"Oh, crap!" Harry slapped himself in the forehead. "I forgot there's no electricity in Hogsmeade! Magic interferes with it!"

"But it's mighty useful for running TVs and VCRs," Remo said, deadpan.

"Dammit, dammit dammit!" Harry cursed softly. He was in trouble — Chiun always watched his soaps, without fail, every day. If there was no electricity to power the equipment —

"Tell me you've still got that service recording all his shows in case he misses some!" Harry moaned pleadingly.

"Don't worry, kid, that's still set up," Remo said. Long ago he'd hired a guy to tape Chiun's shows in case of just such a scenario as this. "You'll have to arrange having the tapes sent here from Pittsfield."

"Whew," Harry breathed a sigh of relief. It was going to be bad enough telling Chiun he would have to wait until Saturday to watch his beautiful dramas, but he really didn't to tell him they wouldn't be available at all! "Remus and I will try to work out some way of getting electricity into the room," he said, wondering just how he would be able to accomplish that. Hopefully Remus would have some idea. Maybe he should take Muggle Studies — he could get the problem assigned to him as an extra credit project!

At McGonagall's desk Chiun was reading the freshly-signed contract between the British Ministry of Magic and the House of Sinanju, providing their services for the elimination of one Lord Voldemort in return for two hundred thousand (200,000) Galleons, to be paid in two (2) installments: one (1) installment of 20,000 Galleons to be paid immediately; the second installment of one hundred and eighty thousand (180,000) Galleons to be paid upon delivery of Voldemort's corpse, or at a minimum, his head, to the Minister of Magic. The first installment would be transferred to a vault at Gringotts Wizarding Bank by the close of business on 2 September 1997. The second installment would be transferred to the same vault within two (2) days of verification of Voldemort's death. If Lord Voldemort should die before the contract is fulfilled, the House of Sinanju will return the amount of fifty (50) percent of the first installment, or ten thousand (10,000) Galleons to the Ministry of Magic and the contract will be deemed null and void. This Contract agreed upon and signed this first day of September in the year 1997, by Rufus MacDougall Scrimgeour and Chiun of the House of Sinanju.

"The key to the vault will be available to you at the security desk in the Ministry of Magic atrium by the morning of the third," Scrimgeour said, stiffly. He was not happy about this contract at all, but with Dumbledore gone and things getting worse in wizarding Britain there seemed no other choice.

"Thank you for your business, Minister," Chiun said with a very small bow. "And remember, if our services are ever required again, the House of Sinanju gives repeat customers a discount of 10 percent."

"I'll remember that," Scrimgeour said sourly. "Let's go," he said to Dawlish, who followed him through the door of the office and down the spiral staircase.

Chiun carefully folded the parchment document and slipped it into the folds of his kimono. "Remo, we should return to the inn and I will place this contract with my other papers. Harry, since Remo must attend to an errand for Emperor Smith, I will conduct your training. Please come to my room tomorrow at ten a.m."

"Um, Little Father," Harry looked uncomfortable — it was never a good thing, having to refuse a request from Chiun. "I'm supposed to attend classes all day tomorrow. I probably won't be done until around four p.m."

"Ah, yes," the old Korean shook his head disapprovingly. "Already you are becoming lazy and neglectful of your training. Very well," he sighed. "We shall begin after I have watched my beautiful dramas, then."

Harry glanced at Remo, who gave him a this-is-your-dance-not-mine-kid look. "Yeah, about that… there was a, er, problem with the equipment, Remo told me. We aren't going to be able to receive your soaps until Remus and I figure something out."

Chiun did not look happy. "You neglect your training and deny me my beautiful dramas? I suppose next you will tell me there is no food for us to eat, that the Stick Wigglers plan to starve us to death!"

"Little Father, it's not like that," Harry said hurriedly. "Don't worry, I'll train every day I'm here, whatever you want me to do."

"What about my daytime dramas?" Chiun asked petulantly.

"I'll figure something out. Remo, tell him he'll get to see his shows —"

"Leave me out of this, kid," Remo said, putting his hands up. "I've got other work to take care of."

"I cannot believe this," Chiun muttered crossly, folding his arms and turning away from them. "Both of you desert me, after everything I have done for you…"

Remo rolled his eyes. He'd heard this kind of carping for over 30 years now. "Don't worry, Chiun, you'll still get to see all your shows. I'm having them taped. Harry will get the equipment fixed and you'll be able to see them in a day or two. No pressure, Harry," he added with a smirk.

Chiun spun around, pointing a long-nailed finger at Harry. "Very well, I am holding you responsible, Harry. We will train for at least three hours every afternoon after your classes are over. And I expect to see my shows as soon as possible. And don't forget," he added as Harry nodded agreement. "We have a contract to kill Voldemort now, so take care of that as soon as possible!"

Headmistress McGonagall, who'd been watching this exchange, shook her head in amazed disbelief. "How can you simply order this young man to go out and kill someone like that?" she asked, horrified.

Chiun turned to her with an imperious look. "Do I tell you how to teach students magic, woman?" he said to her. "Do not tell me how to assassinate someone."

McGonagall pinched her nose, trying to forestall a headache. "Excuse me," she said, gesturing toward the door. "I have some work to do. Mr. Potter," she added, as the three turned toward the door to leave. "May I have a word before you retire, please?"

"Yes, Headmistress," Harry said, then turned to Remo and Chiun. "Take it easy," he said to Remo, who nodded back at him.

He then looked at Chiun, who still looked like he wanted to carp some more. "Little Father, I'm sorry for shouting at you earlier today," he said apologetically. "I know it's not the best situation right now —"

"It is abysmal," Chiun carped. "Those rooms at the inn smell funny. And they are too small."

"Yeah, well…" Harry wasn't sure what he could say to that.

"But I will put up with it," Chiun went on, his voice taking on a long-suffering tone. "If it makes you happy to be here."

Ouch. Can you say guilt trip? "Thanks, Little Father," Harry said, trying not to sound sarcastic. "I appreciate your sacrifice."

"It is what any parent would do for their child," Chiun said bravely, smiling and patting Harry on the shoulder. He glanced at Remo. "Some children, that is. Some children, however, prefer to run off on useless missions and neglect their own students."

"Oh, give it a rest," Remo said as he and Chiun walked out of the office and down the spiral staircase. "You know how much I've done for you, Chiun."

"I know how much you're done to me…" Chiun's words floated up from the staircase, and the oaken doors slowly shut.

Harry turned to face the Headmistress again. She was giving him that look, the look he remembered from five years ago. He remembered thinking the first time he saw her that she was not someone to cross.

The way she was looking at him now made him think he'd crossed something.

"Mr. Potter," she said, leaning forward and clasping her hands together. He remembered that move as well. It meant he was in for a lecture. "While I do not personally approve of the agreement between your, ahem, father and the Minister, I do not dictate Ministry policy nor do I concern myself overmuch in their affairs.

"However, I do run this school, and I have heard some things this evening that lead me to believe that your heart is not completely in this as far as obtaining your last year of education here at Hogwarts. Do you have anything to say about that?"

Well, since she'd asked… "Professor, I wouldn't be here at all if the Ministry hadn't forced this situation by dictating that N.E.W.T.s next spring would only be available to students currently attending Hogwarts."

McGonagall nodded curtly. "I don't agree with that policy, either, but you are here, Mr. Potter, and I expect you to abide by the rules while you attend Hogwarts."

"I hope I can, Professor."

Her expression became even sterner. "You must do more than hope, Mr. Potter. Like any other student, you will be subject to points and detention if you step out of line. If things become untenable, you may even be expelled. I admit I do not want that, but if it becomes necessary…"

Wow, she was really laying it on thick. "Professor," Harry told her. "I'm not here to cause problems. I'll attend classes —" when it's convenient "— and take whatever tests I need to —" and I'll ace all of them "— to get through the year." And kill Voldemort and collect my fee, so take that, Scrimgeour!

As if she'd read his mind, McGonagall leaned forward, regarding him seriously. "Harry, I was disturbed by the rather cavalier attitude your 'father' displayed when talking about murdering another human being —"

"Excuse me, Professor," Harry stopped her right there. "My father does not 'murder' people."

McGonagall stared at him. "What do you call assassinating people in cold blood?"

"A profession service," Harry answered.

"That is merely a rationalization," McGonagall scoffed.

"Is it? Kings and emperors have hired the House of Sinanju for thousands of years, Professor. We restore order from chaos and return harmony where there is discord."

"Harry, your father and that Remo person kill people!" McGonagall said, shocked.

"Professor, how many people have you killed?" Harry asked her, unexpectedly.

"I —" McGonagall shook her head. "None. Not — not since the Second World War."

"Was it okay for you to kill people during the war?" Harry asked.

"Well — yes," McGonagall stammered. Of course it was! That was war!

"How many Death Eaters have you killed?"

"We don't kill," she answered automatically. "Albus didn't approve of it."

"And Dumbledore's dead," Harry pointed out. "How many people have Voldemort and his Death Eaters killed in the last two years?"

She thought for a long moment, then looked away. "Too many."

"Damn straight," Harry agreed. "That's got to change if you want to win this war. I assume you do want to win it, Professor."

"Of course!" McGonagall answered sharply.

"Then you and the Ministry had better start acting like it," Harry warned. "That's why I wanted a contract and a fee to take care of Voldemort — to see how serious the Ministry was about getting rid of him." And it makes Little Father happy to see me contributing to the village, Harry added to himself.

"Now, if there's nothing else," Harry said. "I should make sure Remo and Chiun get back to Three Broomsticks, then go get settled in Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady wouldn't let me in earlier."

"Very well," McGonagall murmured. She looked rather subdued now, after their talk. "I should tell you that the new password for the common room is 'Old Nick.'"

Harry smiled. "Is that reference to our House ghost, or the devil?"

"It could be either, I suppose," McGonagall shrugged distractedly. "By the way," she said as Harry turned to go. "I should think your father and brother would have already left."

"No," Harry said as he went to the door. "They're waiting for me down by the gargoyle." He opened the doors leading to the spiral staircase.

"How do you know that?" McGonagall asked, curious.

"Because they wanted to know what we talked about," Harry said.

"Why would they care about that?"

"Because they're nosy," Harry said, and shut the door.

McGonagall sighed, rubbing her face tiredly. "Albus," she spoke to the portrait behind her. "What am I to do with this Harry Potter? He seems much more unruly and rebellious than the young boy we met all those years ago." But a soft snore was the only response she got.

=ooo=

11:47 p.m.
Gryffindor Common Room

The Gryffindor common room had been filled with people only a few short hours ago. McGonagall had sent them off to bed but nobody had actually gone to sleep. They had all, every one of them, waited up for Harry Potter to arrive from wherever he, McGonall, and Minister Scrimgeour had hurried off to. Smuggled bottles of butterbeer were passed around, students guessed, speculated and theorized on where Harry Potter had been and what he'd been doing while his impersonators had replaced him at Hogwarts. What had he been up to? Why had he left? Why had he come back to Hogwarts now? Eyes throughout the room kept glancing toward the portal expectantly, waiting and hoping he would arrive soon to answer their questions.

But as the hours dragged on people began trickling off to bed. Morning would be there soon enough, and most had full days in store for them. Butterbeers had caught up to some; even though only mildly alcoholic, the warm beverage tended to be relaxing and several students had nodded off after imbibing a few bottles. The fifth-year prefects, going off to their eleven o'clock hallway patrol, had told Ron and Hermione they would watch out for him and send him to the common room if they saw him.

And now the room was empty except for Ron and Hermione, with everyone else off to bed. Hermione was going over notes for her classes tomorrow ("You've already got notes?" Ron said. "Unbelievable!") by the light from the fireplace while Ron was slumped in his chair, softly snoring. Seeing the time on the clock on the mantelpiece, Hermione reached out with her quill and tickled the tip of Ron's nose. Ron jerked upright, muttering," I'm awake, Mum!" then glanced at Hermione and slumped down again. "What's going on?" he asked her.

"It's almost midnight," she said briskly. "I wonder if he'll make it in time for curfew."

Ron stared at her warily. "I hope you're joking," he said, slowly. "You're not going to take points from Gryffindor just 'cause he's late —"

"All the students are supposed to obey the rules," Hermione said firmly. "Even if you're of age you're still a student here." She patted a particular sheet of parchment on her lap. "He has some explaining to do."

"Is he back at Hogwarts yet?" Ron asked, nodding at that particular piece of parchment on her lap.

Hermione picked it up. It was a large piece of parchment, with intricate drawings covering it, drawings of every floor, every tower, every room and every passage of the castle and grounds of Hogwarts. At the top of the parchment were written, in great flowing green ink, the words

Messrs Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers

Are proud to present

The Marauder's Map

Hermione was scanning the parchment carefully. "I don't see him," she said, after nearly a minute. "I don't think he's going to — wait, here's something."

A dot had appeared at the gates of Hogwarts labeled Harry Potter, moving at a leisurely pace across the grounds to the front doors. From there they watched as Harry made his way toward Gryffindor Tower. This didn't take nearly as long as they expected.

In a little over a minute Harry's dot was outside the common room and they could hear him giving the Fat Lady the password. He stepped into the room, then stopped and looked around for several seconds, smiling in recognition and reminiscence. Seeing Ron and Hermione, he walked over to where they were sitting. "Hi," he said, looking at the piles of parchment in Hermione's lap. "Up late studying for your first day of school?" he asked, grinning.

"Harry, have a seat," Hermione said, pointing to an empty chair next to Ron. "We should talk."

Harry looked at the chair but didn't sit down. "I don't know if we should talk," he said quietly, "but we can talk, if you like."

"I'd like that," Hermione said, biting back a sarcastic tone and gesturing toward the chair again.

"Sure," Harry said, sitting down and making himself comfortable. "What would you like to talk about?"

Ron and Hermione glanced at one another. "First of all, there's a lot of unanswered questions between us," Hermione said in her sternest McGonagallian tone.

"Probably," Harry agreed. "But what makes you think I'm going to answer any of them?"

"Harry, come on!" Ron said, surprised by Harry's hostility. "We're your friends! I'm your best mate!"

"Yes, we were," Harry nodded. "Five years ago, when we met on the Hogwarts Express and spent our first year together here. After that I got sent back to the Dursleys and never heard from you two again, until today. So whoever you think you're best mates with, Ron, it's not me."

Ron sat back, looking hurt, and Hermione leaned forward. "You're being rather unpleasant to a couple of people you once regarded as friends. Is that the kind of person you've become, Harry Potter?"

Harry leaned forward as well. "No, Hermione Granger, it's not," he said. "But you've had a chip on your shoulder since the moment you walked into the Great Hall and saw me, and I wonder what bug's got up your ass."

Hermione sat back, looking insulted, and Ron covered his mouth so she wouldn't see him smiling at Harry's last comment. "I don't have a bug up my — my whatever, Harry, but we're trying to make sense of this situation. As far as I can tell, every Harry Potter who's come to this school in the last five years has been someone impersonating you, while you were off somewhere doing lord know what —"

"Learning Sinanju," Harry said.

"Whatever that is," Hermione sniffed. "The whole school was devastated when we thought you died, there were nearly as many people at your service as there were at Dumbledore's funeral. We had no idea what was going to happen, what with Voldemort — stop it, Ron! — out there killing people and the Ministry telling us to keep our heads down and not doing anything useful about the killings themselves.

"Then tonight you show up and act like nothing's wrong, like everything's a big joke! I hope you can see how I might have a problem with an attitude like that!" she finished, tartly.

Harry had listened to this in silence. "I see your point," he answered. "But I don't think that gives you free rein to blame me because Dumbledore decided to deceive you and everyone else for the past five years."

"You could have contacted us," Hermione pointed out immediately. "You said you removed the enchantment from Hedwig that kept her from reaching us."

"I probably could have," Harry agreed, "if I hadn't been incredibly busy learning both magic and Sinanju during the past five years."

"That's no excuse," she objected.

"Then what's yours?" Harry asked. "Why didn't you ever try to get in contact with me during those past five years?"

"Well, you were in America, McGonagall told us earlier tonight," Hermione said. "I couldn't have sent an owl to you there, they can't fly that far."

"But you didn't know where I was before that, did you?" Harry suggested. "Remus has an Owl Post Box in Diagon Alley. He set it up to accept owls for me as well. I never got any, so I have to conclude that you never tried to contact me, either."

"I thought I would see you at Hogwarts in September," Hermione said. "And we did! Both Ron and I thought that was the real you, and so did everyone else! Why would I send you an owl post when I could just walk up and talk to you?"

Both of them feel silent after this. Ron watched the two of them; they were both acting stubborn, he thought. Neither of them wanted to give in and admit they wanted to be friends again. It looked like it was up to him, then.

"So now what?" Ron said. "Do we just shake hands and call it quits, then? I mean, you're never gonna see eye-to-eye on this, are you?"

Harry and Hermione glanced at one another but neither answered immediately. Harry finally shrugged and said, "Well, it's not that bad, I suppose. Hermione has a few valid points. And I'm not trying to be a jerk here; I just don't want her thinking I'm just going to do whatever she demands without question."

"I'm not trying to make you do anything," Hermione retorted. "I just want some answers about why you've come back to Hogwarts now. Is that so unreasonable?"

"I suppose not," Harry mumbled. He put his hand out toward her. "Friends, okay?"

Hermione looked at his hand for a moment, then nodded. "Friends," she said, taking his hand and shaking it.

"Friends," Ron agreed, putting his hand on top of theirs.

"Now, what's this?" Harry said, his hand was suddenly gone from hers and holding the Marauder's Map.

"Wait, now! Give that back —!" Hermione grabbed for the Map, but her fingers closed on empty air. She grabbed at it a second time, but came up empty again. Harry appeared not to be paying attention, but somehow he kept moving the Map out of her reach! "Harry! You just said we're friends! Hand it over!"

"Real friends let others play with their toys," Harry said, looking the Map over carefully. "Interesting," he said. "This map is showing every person on the grounds of Hogwarts, even animals and ghosts. There's Mrs. Norris," he pointed to a dot moving slowly along near two dots that were identified as Colin Creevy and Ginevra Weasley." Harry looked at Ron. "Ginevra would be your sister, right? Long, red hair?" Ron nodded. "Is Colin her boyfriend or something?"

Ron went nearly white-faced with horror. "They're our sixth-year prefects," Hermione quickly said. "They're out on patrol detail, probably looking for you, in fact. Colin is a big fan of yours, for some reason."

Harry ignored the implied jab. "Where'd you find this?" he asked, patting the Map. He'd recognized the names of the Marauders, of course, but he wasn't going to say anything if Hermione or Ron didn't know who they really were. He'd already noticed the hidden passages in the walls of the castle, the shortcuts between different areas — including a shortcut outside leading from near a tree labeled "the Whomping Willow" to somewhere off the map in the direction of Hogsmeade. Harry vaguely remembered seeing the tree from the greenhouses during his first year Herbology classes, but they had been told never to go near it. Perhaps he would find out why sometime.

"Fred and George gave it to her two weeks ago," Ron answered. There was an undercurrent of resentment in his voice, Harry thought, probably because his older brothers hadn't given it to him instead.

When Ron didn't continue, Hermione took up the story. "They were in Filch's office after Professor Umbridge kicked them — and you, or your doppleganger, rather — off the Quidditch team for fighting with Malfoy," she said. "Filch left the office for a while to chase Peeves, and they picked the lock on his file cabinet and found it in there. It took them the rest of the time they were here to figure out how to make it work. It's been sitting in their shop in Diagon Alley for the past two years." Hermione gave Ron an apologetic look. "When we were at their shop and they were talking to me before I left, they figured out I'd been made Head Girl and gave me the Map as a, well, sort of a congratulatory gift."

Harry looked at the Map again. He found the Gryffindor common room on it; there was a dot with his name, Harry Potter, next to two other dots that were labeled Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. "So you used this to tell where I was on the grounds," he said.

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "We watched you running around the outside of the castle while those two men watched you. You called them Remo and Chiun, though we saw them on the Map as Remo Roam and Nuihc."

"Really?" Harry remarked, in a casual tone that hid his surprise. "Roam" was Remo's real last name, though the nuns had given him the name of Williams since he was left on the orphanage doorstep with a note that said only, "Please take care of Remo — William S." "Nuich" was Chiun's birth name, the same as his father and nephew; he had reversed the sound of his name when his nephew Nuihc abandoned Sinanju to use his skills for personal gain, forcing Chiun to come out of retirement.

Being visible on a map like this wasn't good. Practitioners of Sinanju prided themselves on being undetectable, but here was magic that could detect them, at least on the grounds of Hogwarts. He would have to talk to Remus and Sirius about this, figure out some way to make himself invisible to the Map.

"Cute little map there," Harry said, handing it back to Hermione, who took out her wand and tapped it, making the map of the castle disappear. She had mouthed the words "Mischief managed," probably so Harry wouldn't hear her deactivate it, but he had read her lips. "So, how do you make the Map appear again?" he asked, casually.

Hermione looked at him with raised eyebrows. "I'm not sure I want you to know that," she said, pointedly. "I need a way to keep track of you."

Harry put on a disappointed expression. "I suppose we're not really friends then, are we?"

"Nice try," she snorted, folding the parchment and putting it in her book bag. Harry glanced at Ron; the expression on his face told Harry he might not agree with keeping the password from him. He might have to see if he could wheedle it from Ron.

"But we're going to tell him sometime, aren't we?" Ron asked her, confirming Harry's guess.

Hermione gave him a slow-down-Ron! look. "Sometime," she said vaguely. "And don't you tell him before I say so, Ron!" she added, poking him in the arm.

The Fat Lady's portrait swung away from the portal doorway, admitting Colin and Ginny. "Oh my gosh!" Colin exclaimed as he saw Harry. "Harry Potter! It's really you this time! Can I take your picture? Will one of you take my picture with Harry!"

"No," Harry, Ron and Hermione all said at the same time.

"Colin," Hermione went on, "You've got about a hundred pictures of Harry already!"

"But not the real Harry," Colin said, raising his camera. It was suddenly gone from his hands and Harry was standing next to him, opening it and taking out the film. "Harry, what are you going to do with my —"

Harry held the film up and said, "Evanesco." The film disappeared.

"Aww," Colin said, disappointed. "There were some really nice pictures in that roll, too. Weren't there, Ginny?" he asked his co-prefect.

Ginny, however, was studying Harry with the same look he'd seen on her face in the Great Hall earlier. "Ginny!" Ron said sharply, and she started in surprise.

"Uh, yeah," Ginny said, answering Colin, then held out a hand toward Harry. "Hi," she said, smiling. "I'm — I'm, um…"

"Ginny?" Harry helpfully supplied, taking her hand and shaking it. "Nice to meet you. You're Ron's sister, aren't you?"

"Yes…" she said, slowly. "Nice… to meet you, too…"

She was giving him that dewy-eyed look women had in his presence, Harry thought. He could tell she was aroused, even though he'd never met her before. Well, not the real him, anyway. There was no telling what might have gone on between her and his imposters over the past five years. He was going to have to be careful around Ginny, he could tell.

If Ron had been uncomfortable about the looks going between Harry and Hermione, he appeared positively horrified by the expression on Ginny's face as she stared at Harry. "Right," he said, loudly. "Time for bed, then!"

"That sounds like a good idea," Ginny said, smiling broadly at Harry. Yep, Harry thought. I'm definitely going to have to watch this one.

"Goodnight, everyone," Ginny said, walking toward the girls' dorm staircase.

"Goodnight, Ginny," Colin called, staring after her. He flinched as he saw Ron staring at him. "Goodnight, Ron," he said, in a more subdued tone. "Goodnight, Hermione," he said to her. "Congratulations on making Head Girl!"

"Thank you," Hermione said in a friendly manner. "Goodnight, Colin."

Colin started to walk away, then stopped. "Goodnight, Harry," he said, smiling.

"What are we, the freaking Waltons?" Harry said. "Goodnight!"

Colin disappeared up the boys' staircase, leaving Harry alone with Ron and Hermione again.

They all stood there for several seconds, waiting for someone to say something. Ron smothered a yawn.

"Are you going to bed?" Hermione finally asked Harry.

"Eventually," Harry answered, vaguely. He was still thinking about what to do about that Map.

"Breakfast starts at 7:30," she reminded him, then tapped her watch. "It's after midnight now."

"I only need an hour of sleep," Harry said.

"Only an hour?" Ron goggled at that. "Blimey, I'd pass out in class if I only got an hour of sleep!"

Nobody moved. When it became obvious Harry wasn't going up to bed, Hermione sighed and took out a small pouch, into which she shoved her books and parchment folders. Harry watched with interest. He had a similar pouch in which he was carrying all his school books and supplies; it was quite a lot handier than lugging a school trunk around. "Ron and I are going on patrol for an hour," she said briskly. "There's a midnight curfew for all students, so if I see you out in the halls I'll have to deduct points, Harry."

"I understand," Harry said. He smiled. "Don't worry, you won't see me out in the halls." At least not until I figure out how that Map works.

"Let's go, Ron," Hermione said, and led the way to the portal exit. As Ron stepped through he stopped for a moment, giving Harry a small wave, then disappeared through the doorway.

Harry had the common room to himself again. What should he do now? he wondered. He really wanted to talk to Remus and Sirius about that Map, to learn how it worked so he could find a way to keep from being seen on it. But Remus, unlike Harry, needed several hours of sleep a night, and tomorrow would be the beginning of a busy week. He'd better let him sleep.

Harry went over to the fireplace, settling onto the rug in front of the flames, which were beginning to die down a bit. He could meditate for a while before going to bed, he decided. Maybe even get in a run in his head, to wind down from the actual runs Chiun and Remo had him doing earlier tonight. Harry had run from one end of the grounds to the other dozens of times in the past few hours, as well as scaling the castle walls in several places, from the base to the top of the Astronomy Tower a couple of times. It had been a good workout.

Afterwards, Chiun and Remo left to go back to Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks, with Chiun promising that his training regimen would be even more demanding the following night. As Harry began his meditation, he couldn't help wondering if this Hogwarts business was going to be worth it, beyond the million pounds or so Sinanju was going to be paid for killing Voldemort.

Well, he would find out how things went tomorrow, and then they'd see.

=ooo=

A/N: Fixed the Galleon amounts in the contract, thanks to reviewer Elim Garak for pointing that out!

A/N 2: Fixed the incorrect year in the contract, thanks to reviewer opopanax for pointing that out!

A/N 3: Here are the answers to the questions opopanax asked in his review:

1. Polyjuice. Since the hairs taken were from an eleven year old Harry, wouldn't any imbibers of the resultant potion also be eleven?
I thought about that a while. It would mean that Harry would look thin and scrawny for year after year while he was being impersonated. What I decided was that, magically, the Polyjuice makes the imbiber look like the person as they currently are, which is why you can't impersonate someone using Polyjuice once they've died. So fake Harry got taller because the real one did. Also, I decided that while Harry's Sinanju knowledge wouldn't be passed on to the doppleganger, his physical attributes would, so the fake would be able to do physical things the real Harry could, like his natural ability riding a broom. Of course, that would still depend on the impostor's mindset, so someone who felt they were lousy at broom riding probably wouldn't do as well as someone who was comfortable on a broom.

2. The Horcrux in Harry's head. Learning Sinanju requires you be in tune with your body to a rather ridiculous degree. Any external or internal influence can disrupt your balance and rhythms. Therefore, having a fragment of soul and life force not your own would throw off Harry's training. Unless of course you have Harry automatically compensating for it. I just wonder if you have plans to address that.
Up to now I haven't made a point of the fragment of Voldemort's soul in Harry's scar. For most of the time in question, Harry has been far away from Voldemort, in America and other parts of the world. Now that he's back in Britain, we've learned that Voldemort is not back in his own body, but in Barty Crouch Jr's body, and he's keeping himself hidden, so there hasn't been much chance for interaction. In the canon stories from book 4 onward it seemed like you couldn't swing a dead Kneazle without hitting both Harry and Voldemort, they clashed at least once per book (well, except Book 6) and got close a couple of time in the 7th book. The Horcrus will start to make itself known as the impending confrontation with Harry and Voldie becomes more imminent. In the Sun Source fanfic, Clell had the soul fragment sucked out of Harry at the beginning of the story, but I think it will make an interesting plot point in future chapters.

3. Would Muggles actually show up on the Marauder's Map? I'm pretty sure it reads magical signatures. Squibs have enough magic to interact with the magical world (Filch), so they would show up on the map. Remo and Chiun had to have spelled cast on them before they could comfortably interact with it.
I think the MM deals with souls rather than magical signatures per se. In the HP universe Muggles have souls but not magic, which seems to be linked to their body. Rowling was pretty vague about this, necessarily so. How the MM works and how it was drawn for an Unplottable area like the grounds of Hogwarts is never explained by Rowling. That gives me a bit of wiggle room in who shows up on the Map. In other stories I've speculated about how the Map was drawn (by having Peter in his Animagus form trace all the rooms, stairs and secret passages while being magically located by Lupin, and having those tracings placed on the Map along with the enchantments to magically locate someone using very ancient magic that somehow detects their soul. Lupin was a very gifted student, so he could have found the spell in the Restricted Section of the library). Even if you don't buy that, it could be that the enchantments on Remo and Chiun that let they enter the castle and see it normal make them visible to the Map.

4. In the last chapter, you got the years mixed up on the contract. It's 1997, not 92.
I fixed that, thanks for pointing it out! I gave you credit for noting that in A/N 2 above.

Thanks for reading! Anyone that has questions feel free to ask, I'll answer as I can.

John