Disclaimer: Unsurprisingly, I own nothing. Naruto and Harry Potter belong to their respective creators. Also, I'd like to acknowledge Jeff Vogel and Spiderweb Software for a few concepts.


The Dueling Club was the oldest establishment of its kind. Officially founded in the 13th century, it was rumored to have existed since Merlin's day. It was a very select organisation: invitation only and no Muggle-borns allowed. Of course, the restrictions were in practice slightly looser – after five or so generations, one could be admitted, as long as one had ties to an old family.

Neville had mixed feelings about the institution. It had been very helpful to him, but at the same time it smacked of the kind of bigotry and elitism that led to Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Still, sometimes it was a very useful place for contacts.

He entered. The wizard at the door recognized him immediately. It was that kind of place. "Mr Longbottom! How very good to see you again! Will you be entering tonight?"

Neville shook his head. "No, Squeers. I'm just here to see Mr Lormos."

Squeers seemed disappointed. "Shame, sir. It hasn't been the same without you, really it hasn't. No one has quite the flair sir, if you know what I mean."

Neville nodded absently. He walked through the small door, past the club room where members sipped their drinks and chatted animatedly about the scorecard for the evening. He went into a corridor, then came to the office. The plaque was very discreet.

He knocked once. "Enter!"

Mr Lormos was a man of indeterminate age. He could have been fifty or ninety. He was desperately thin, held together with skin like parchment. He had a smile painted across his dusty face, but that could have been early onset rigor mortis. "Mr Longbottom! How good to see you again! How may I be of service?"

Neville shook the old man's hand with care, worried that undue force might shatter the skeletal appendage. "Oh, it's nothing important. Just wanted to ask some things about history, Mr Lormos."

"Ah, yes, history… the great teacher, eh, Mr Longbottom? You know, I've been the secretary of the Club for almost… well, many, many years. Saw all the greats, you know. I remember your father, you know. Very neat little feller, not so quick on the draw, but good on the counter. Had some good bouts, he did…"

Lormos continued in this vein. Neville didn't bother to interrupt. When the old man was in flow, it was best to let it wash over you. Eventually he'd come back. Besides, there were always interesting facts to pick up.

Lormos was still speaking. "… Alastor was a swifty, you know, but over cautious. Tended to fire blanks a lot, if you know what I mean. Now, Lucius, Lucius Malfoy, he was quite the opposite. Very poor on the draw, not a showman, but tenacious! Used to call him Slippery Lucy, you know. If you didn't get him right off the bat, he'd cause you no end of trouble. His year was quite the vintage, you know. Some jolly talented fellers there. But they weren't a patch on Black. Lovely little scrapper, was old Sirius Black. Very much a showman. Loved to draw second and get the hit in. The old non-verbal body bind was quite his specialty, you know. I say that as it's a move you've tried more than once, if memory serves. Yes, he was very good, that boy. Shame how he ended, eh? I'd say he was the best we had since… well, since good old Albus!"

Neville started. "Albus? Albus Dumbledore?!"

Lormos chuckled. "None other! He wasn't with us long, but he gave some brilliant moments. Very flamboyant. Never a straight line with Albus, always something of the spectacular. Colorful too. I remember the presentation. He wore a purple suit, an orange shirt and an orange sombrero! What a cad, eh?"

Neville waited. It would only be a few minutes more. He listened to Lormos. "… But those days are over. Don't get those types anymore. Now its all fire and lightning, no class. Why, half the club would use the Avada Kedavra if we allowed it. No one cares for the art of dueling anymore, the subtlety and the grace of it, the intellectual challenge, no, now it's all about the finality, the quick end. Not like the old days. Not at all."

Lormos bowed his head, looking almost in tears. Neville would have cared had he not seen it before. Finally, the old man looked up. "Oh dear, listen to me jabbering away, old fool that I am! What was it you wanted?"

Neville grinned. "If it's not too much trouble, Mr Lormos, I wanted to look at the membership lists and dueling records for the past ten years."

Lormos bowed slightly. "Of course, Mr Longbottom, of course. Wait in the reading room, and Rickton will be up with the records."

Neville returned the bow. "Would you mind if I kept him for a while?"

Lormos bowed again, slightly deeper. "For you, Mr Longbottom, of course not.


Rickton was heavy-set and broken-nosed. He brought the files up and slammed them on the desk, then turned to leave.

"Mr Lormos said you are to be at my disposal."

Rickton didn't make a sound. He turned back and waited quietly. Neville stared at him. The man was taciturn, but he was well-informed about all sorts of subjects, from the Ministry to the underworld.

"You're a pretty smart guy, Rickton. I know that. I know you are fully aware of everything that goes on in here."

Rickton didn't move a muscle. Neville continued. "I need to find some information, Rickton. I'm looking for some people."

Finally the man spoke. "Who?"

Neville smiled. "Firstly I want to know everyone who joined Magical Law Enforcement among the members with a positive ranking here. Of those, I want to know who is still there. Especially for Aurors."

Rickton sat down, and began leafing through the files. He drew a pen and began to make marks next to names. There were ten files on the table. It looked like it would take a while.

Neville looked at the list in front of him. Rickton was frowning. "You're sure this is all of them?"

Rickton nodded. Neville pursed his lips in frustration. The records tallied perfectly with the list of Ministry staff he'd obtained a few days ago. No discrepancies at all. Neville sighed. Rickton was still frowning. Finally, uncharacteristically, he volunteered a few words. "Who are you looking for, exactly?"

Neville stared at him suspiciously. He debated the reasons to distrust the man, but then thought of his legendary taciturnity. Pursing his lips, he told the story as it had been told to him. When he was done, Rickton seemed lost in thought. He looked up. "Wrong files. Let me get the right ones."

He was gone only minutes. He returned with a second set of files, and began his duty again. Neville was intrigued. "Which files are these?" Without pausing, Rickton answered tersely. "Members with a negative ranking."

Neville was surprised. A negative ranking at the club meant low skill, which hardly seemed a criterion for selection to a secret agency. "Why negative?"

Rickton continued to peruse to the files. "Negative ranking normally means bad reflexes. Sometimes it means low tolerance for the rules. Violations, penalties, forfeits – they all contribute to negative scores. You wouldn't know this sir, as you're very good with the rules."

It was the longest speech he'd ever made. Neville nodded in agreement.

"Let's begin."


Ron was tired. Since his meeting with the shinobi, he'd slept only ten hours. It sounded like a lot, but the meeting had been over a week ago. He was approaching his physical limits, but there was nothing he could do.

"And that's all you have?"

Ron stared balefully at the worn features of Alastor Moody. "It's a miracle we got this much. You can't expect the impossible, Mad-Eye."

Moody grunted. "I'm getting a lot of problems, Weasley. I've got Thicknesse on my case, demanding access to all our operational files. The Cabinet is still in uproar over the Albardic affair, and I'm under a lot of pressure to deliver. Either bring me something concrete, or…"

His field commander snarled. "Or what?"

Moody didn't answer. Instead, he merely pursed his lips and gave Ron a look. The boy-genius was stunned. "I hope you don't mean what I think you mean."

Moody nodded. Ron stood, and stalked to the door. Pausing, he turned back. "The man I admired would have died before suggesting such a thing."

He left, slamming the door behind him.


Rickton had done well. From two hundred files, he'd culled the possibilities to three. Neville looked calculatingly at the names and addresses. One of them was definitely out. It made no sense for Zabini to help him when he so easily could have refused the request. The second was unlikely. Cormac McLaggen was many things, but he didn't fit the profile for a top-secret Ministry employee. He was too loud, too opinionated, too… dumb. Besides, he was based in America now, running an import/export venture with a number of young professionals. That left one…

Neville drew a lighter from his pocket, and burned the list, scattering the ashes down a drain. The last name on the list was one he wasn't keen on meeting alone, and certainly not without magic. He'd need to get some back-up for this…

An hour later, he waited at the rendezvous, checking nervously for any sign of surveillance. Everything seemed clear. He looked back to the book, re-reading the same page again and again. It barely registered. Finally, he heard it. A low sound, inaudible to anyone not listening for it, a challenge that demanded a response. He withdrew the lighter, and made three quick flashes. The sound vanished.

The Konoha man had arrived.

"What's the deal?"

"Got a lead, and I'm gonna need some back-up. The guy's sharp, real sharp. I don't think I can take him alone."

The Konoha man nodded. "Let's roll."

The two of them walked out of the graveyard, Neville in the lead, Naruto behind.

Neither of them noticed the dog following them.


"You sure this is it?"

Neville didn't answer. They were in an abandoned warehouse, with no signs of civilized life. A couple of tramps had silently made their exit the moment the two operatives arrived, eager to avoid any trouble. "Let's get searching."

It took them a while to find him. Naruto spotted him, and checked with Neville for confirmation. Neville was uncertain. They got closer. There was definitely a resemblance. The features were similar, and once you looked past the filth, the hair had its distinctive coloring.

The man turned round. Nothing in his face gave any hint of recognition; instead, the swamp of an alcoholic stupor stared out at them.

"Wha' you wan? Ah gaht nuffin fer ya, awrite?"

Neville shook his head in pity. "Merlin's beard, Draco, what the hell happened to you?"

Glacially, something resembling intelligence slithered over the once-handsome features of Draco Malfoy. He stared at them vaguely, then, gagging and choking over the words, he spoke. "Ne-ville?"

Neville turned to his companion. "He's not fit to talk now. I'm gonna need a few things. You can probably find them at the market we passed. That ok?"

Naruto nodded. Neville withdrew some paper and a pen. Writing swiftly, he passed the sheet to the blond shinobi. Naruto left wordlessly.

Draco was still disorientated, and was shaking constantly. Neville saw a bottle nearby and passed it to him. He drank gratefully.

Naruto wasn't gone long. He returned bearing the items on the list. Some water, a few common herbs, one or two plants and a large pot. Neville set to work brewing the potion. It wasn't anything special, just something to clear a man's head for a few hours. The work brought back memories. Snape's soft-voiced contempt, Malfoy's constant bullying, Hermione always ready with the answers, Harry always bold enough to challenge their sadistic teacher. He brought the water to the boil, then began to add the ingredients. He tried to stop the thoughts that came to him, but to no avail. Always, they centered on one man. Severus Snape.

His feelings towards the man were mixed. Well, that was an understatement. He used to quake whenever the man's name was mentioned. Then he'd loathed him. Then… The only word was respect. You couldn't help it. All of them felt the same. And after that fateful day, respect turned to admiration. Neville saw again the man's last stand. Hopelessly outnumbered, his gambit in ruins, he had turned to the children and screamed at them to run, then charged the massed Death Eaters and shinobi alone, wand flashing…

Don't think about it!

Shaking his head, he added the last of the crushed leaves. Then he waited. Finally it was ready. "We're going to have to force it down him."

Naruto nodded. Holding Malfoy down, he gripped his nose, then held his mouth open. Neville poured the potion down the Slytherin's throat. Malfoy screamed. Liquid spilled everywhere. Naruto forced his jaw shut. Malfoy had no choice but to swallow.

It took a little while, but he started to look more alert. Ever cautious, Naruto fished out some rope and tied him to a pillar, then withdrew a kunai. "We've got some questions for you. Answer them, and you won't be harmed. We'll leave you alone forever."

Malfoy's old arrogance was beginning to return. "And if I don't?"

The kunai buried itself next to his throat, just piercing the skin. Malfoy shivered, He puked, vomit spilling over his filthy clothing. Naruto said nothing. He didn't need to. Neville took over. "Let's make this quick."


They left him there, unbound, in a drunken stupor. Malfoy wouldn't be talking to anyone else anytime soon. As they left, Naruto felt a slight itching between his shoulders. He could swear someone was watching them…

He shrugged it off, and looked at his companion. He didn't know much about Neville, but the young man seemed competent enough. Rock Lee held him in some esteem, though how much of that was due to guilt was hard to say. Still, the evening had been a useful one, though it wasn't over.

About a mile away from the warehouse, Neville finally decided to talk. "I don't understand. How did he end up like this?"

Malfoy's story had been almost heartbreaking. After his father went to Azkaban, he'd been made a Death Eater, only to be thrown out after the first failed attack on Hogwarts. As a punishment, his mother had been murdered in front of him. Alone, he'd gone to the only person he could think of: Dolores Umbridge. She had been kind at first, asking nothing in return, but eventually she had made clear her price. Malfoy wouldn't talk about what he'd done for her. It was too horrible even to think about. He'd had no choice but to comply. A fugitive, wanted by both sides, he couldn't do anything to offend Umbridge. Finally, she'd found a use for him. He'd been placed in charge of a small group of Snatchers, doing low-level stuff: mostly petty criminals and malcontents. Umbridge was grooming him for a higher purpose, that was clear, but everything went wrong. Botched missions, sloppiness, poor management of his team… the list was endless. Despite his desperation, nothing could go right for him. Nothing had, not since his mother had died. In the end, Umbridge decided enough was enough. She didn't put him away, though what Malfoy had had to do to avoid that remained a mystery, but had taken his wand and sent him into exile. No magic for the rest of his life, no contact with the wizarding world. Homeless, he copied the people around him and turned to the bottle. Then it was all a haze. Days, weeks, months, they were all the same to him. The bottle was his salvation. After a while, as the potion wore off, he'd gone into the same incoherence they'd found him in. By the end, he was unintelligible.

Naruto shrugged. "Some people are just born weak, Neville-san."

Neville closed his eyes. "Maybe you're right… I never liked him, you know. If I'd known then that this would happen to him, I'd have rejoiced with every fibre in my being. Now? I can't help but feel sorry for him. We were never friends, he made my life miserable, but…"

Naruto grinned. "You're a good man, Neville-san. It's right to feel sorry for him. Maybe one day, when this is over, you can do something for him. But not today. Not now. We still have someone we need to meet."

Neville nodded. The two men were silent for the rest of the way.

Later on, it was noted that they both should have noticed that the dog was no longer following them. This is nonsense. Firstly, only Naruto knew of his former teacher's use of the animal, and he had no reason to look out for it. Secondly, this judgment neglects the fact that the teacher was far better than the student. Of all the shinobi on assignment, only Shikamaru would have been able to deduce they were being tracked, and there was no way he could have accompanied Neville. Still, the note stands on the case file, and remains the only blemish on Naruto's evaluation of his time in the West.


"Only him. I don't speak with foreign scum."

Naruto bristled at the insult, and was more than prepared cut the man's throat. Neville pacified him. The man still stared contemptuously at the shinobi. "Had one of yours recently. Wasn't tough at all. Just a little girl. Foreign shithead."

Neville addressed his colleague. "We'll speak alone. Wait here for us."

The two walked away into the night. Naruto grimaced. Whispering, he made a few clones, then changed them into inconspicuous forms. The clones rustled forwards, attempting to get as close as possible to the speakers.

By the time they got close enough to hear, the conversation had progressed far. Neville was considering something he'd just been told, while the informant looked around nervously.

"Are you sure?"

The informant nodded furiously. "At least two hundred. A mix of vampires, golems, and… others."

"What others?"

The informant gulped. "Things. Fair Folk, Lichs, Nagas... Monsters." He spat. "Wyrn is a maniac. Even Umbridge is terrified of him."

Neville looked blank. "Who's Wyrn?"

The informant shivered. "He's… insane. He used to be an Unspeakable, but he was thrown out for… erratic behavior. He worked on a lot of things. Experiments on living beings, teleportation, ancient creatures, other worlds… Everything."

"Why is he with Umbridge?"

"He built the Long House, designed the program, brought the guards in… She owes him. Lets him run riot."

Neville nodded in understanding. "How do I get there?"

The informant goggled. "Don't even think about it. You'd be dead in seconds."

Neville looked him steadily in the eye. "Let me worry about that. Just tell me where it is."

The informant shrugged. "It's not in the country. As far as I understand, it could be anywhere. You need to use the teleporter to reach it. Give the pass word: Owa Tah Ful. You'll arrive about a mile from the tower. Then you'll die. There's a squad of guards waiting on the other end."

"Where's the teleporter?"

The informant was silent for a while. "Room 10, number 52, Quinby Street."

Neville nodded. He was about to leave when the informant grabbed his arm. "Don't do it. Tell someone, tell everyone, blow the whole thing open, but don't go there."

He was shaken of brusquely. "See you when it's over."

The clones vanished. Naruto felt their knowledge rush into him. Some of it was still incomprehensible. He could see Neville approaching, the informant some way behind. He ran forward. The informant drew his wand, alert to any danger. "One question. What did you mean when you said you had one of mine recently?"

The informant smirked. "Snatched the fucker. Bastard had just committed a murder on our soil."

Naruto nodded. Neville looked at him quizzically, but the blond shinobi gave nothing away. The pair began the long journey back to the Embassy. They had plans to make.


Once he was certain he was safe, he whispered softly, and the Henge dropped. He walked a while, then found the tree. His prisoner was still tied there, comatose from the after-effects. He untied the man and dressed him. The poor fool would remember nothing.

He left him there, squinting slightly. He didn't like using his new talents much, but sometimes it was necessary. The slight deterioration was troublesome, but he had enough eye-drops to fix it.

He permitted himself the smallest of grins. Everything was falling into place. He wondered whether Itachi had ever felt the same satisfaction over his manipulation of events. It seemed unlikely.

He had some stops to make on the way, some supplies to pick up. Food, water, everything necessary for the job. It might be a week or more before anything happened. He'd have to wait till morning to begin.

The sun was high in the sky by the time he arrived at his destination. Checking to see if he was unobserved, he opened the door. Nothing. Security was lax. Quickly, he created a seal over the door. He'd know if anyone entered the building. Wandering down a corridor, he found the room. He entered.

The teleporter was six feet tall and two feet wide. Black and red inside it, bathing the room in a dull light, like a dying fire. He unpacked his supplies, and settled himself in for the long wait.

Soon, Obito. Soon, it will all be over. One way or the other.


A/N: we're nearing the end of part one...

This chapter gave me a lot of trouble, and I'm still not quite happy. it's longer than I usually like, and the next one will be longer still. Ah well, so it goes.

The Long House has ended up as being heavily based on some of the dungeons from one of my favourite games, Exile II, specifically Akhronath, with an option on Garzahd's Fortress too. If you've never played the game, I'm sorry. You should have. It was awesome! Great story, simple gameplay, thoroughly absorbing stuff.