Author's Note: Thank you, this-is-not-lyra and livvylane, for reviewing! All reviews have been positive so far, and of course I'm very happy you like my story! However, I invite you to write some constructive criticism as well. I always want to improve my writing, and I know there's still a lot of room. Thanks! Enjoy Chapter 10!

The Ministry of Magic was in a state of pure chaos. It had slowly leaked that in response to Francois Simiol's intrigues, the Metamorphmagus Teddy Lupin had been sent to France as a spy. By now, it was common knowledge that he had been caught; Simiol's party, the Front Magique, hadn't exactly made a secret out of it.

As if this wasn't enough, the 16-year-old Molly Weasley, Percy's daughter, had committed suicide by throwing herself from the Gryffindor tower at Hogwarts. Percy still seemed to be too shocked to fully realize his loss; like a robot, he kept working day and night.

At the Auror office, the atmosphere was especially heated up. Harry was discussing with Ron and Proudfoot how to handle the situation.

"I will go to France immediately, to free Teddy," said Harry. "Ron, you want to undertake the investigations at Hogwarts? According to Professor McGonagall, everything points to a suicide, but we still have to examine this more closely."

"Sure," said Ron.

"No," said Proudfoot. "Think about it, Harry, that's completely irrational. Teddy is your godson, Molly is Ron's niece."

"Exactly!" shouted Ron. "That's why I have to go and solve this case! What do you have to do with it?"

Proudfoot rolled his eyes. "Do what you want, the poor girl is already dead anyway. But Harry, you won't be able to think rational, if your godson's life is at stake. You really should send someone with no personal connection to Teddy. That has been a basic Auror principle for -"

"I absolutely don't care about your old Auror principles," interrupted Harry irritated. Proudfoot's eyes widened.

Harry sighed. He shouldn't have lost his temper. "Look," he said in a more conciliatory tone of voice. "I understand your point, Peter, but there are some things you have to do by yourself. It was I who sent Teddy there, and I will be the one to free him, take my word for it!"

Proudfoot shook his head and leaned back in his chair, but did not argue. Harry got up.

"You're in charge, while we're gone," he said, clapping Proudfoot on the shoulder. "Ron will return quite soon, though. I hope so, at least. We'll stay in contact as usual, I might need Ernie's and Percy's help as well."

"Good luck, Harry," said Ron. "Take Teddy back with you."

"Don't go any unnecessary risk," contributed Proudfoot unhelpfully.

Harry rolled his eyes and left.

O

Albus was devastated. Molly's suicide had been entirely his fault, he knew it. After losing the duel with him, Molly had sobbed and apparently run straight to the top of the Gryffindor Tower, from where she had lunged into death.

Quentin and Scorpius desperately tried to comfort Albus, but to no avail. The whole school knew about their duel before Molly had jumped, and many had told Albus it wasn't his fault. Starting with Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, through to his brother, almost all of his cousins and many of his classmates, everyone had tried to convince Albus that he hadn't done anything wrong and that he wasn't responsible for Molly's suicide. Even Lucy, Molly's sister, didn't blame Albus; strangely enough, she didn't seem particularly bothered by her sister's death, on the contrary.

"She was a pretty useless Squib, anyway," she said calmly, shrugging, when Albus wanted to apologize to her. "In the end, she just went completely insane. Ah, well, she was just a millstone around my neck. Don't kick yourself because she was such a pathetic duellist."

All that didn't comfort Albus at all. He was withdrawing so much, ashamed of his guilt, that he almost forgot about his next lesson with Professor Arrington on Saturday morning. He was already half an hour late, when he finally reached Arrington's office.

"Sorry, Sir," murmured Albus, avoiding his teacher's gaze. "I forgot about our appointment."

"For once, it's okay, Albus," said Professor Arrington in a neutral voice. "Now look into my eyes and tell me everything that happened on Thursday."

Albus looked up into Professor Arrington's piercing, blue eyes. Forcing himself to hold his gaze, he told Arrington the about the events before Molly's death.

"And it was my fault," he finished desperately. "If she hadn't lost the duel, she never would have…"

Straight-faced, Professor Arrington drew his wand and pointed it towards Albus, who already tensed his muscles in preparation to dodge. For the first time, Professor Arrington smiled.

"Please stay still," he said. "I want to help you, Albus. Trust me."

Albus nodded hesitantly and relaxed a bit.

"Induco Patronum!" murmured Professor Arrington, describing a complicated movement with his wand.

Suddenly, warmth and comfort flooded Albus from inside. The sorrow, the guilt, the shame he had felt were forced back by happier memories and love.

"Do you feel better?" asked Professor Arrington.

"I - yes - thank you!" said Albus sincerely.

"Listen to me, Albus. I know how you feel, and I know that it doesn't help if someone just tells you 'it wasn't your fault'. Although it might be sincere, you know. But let's stay with the facts. You disarmed Molly, after she attacked you. Then she committed suicide, let's face it, possibly because she was ashamed of losing a duel to a first year. We don't know that for sure, of course; your uncle, Ronald Weasley, is currently investigating the circumstances. It's entirely possible, however, that your duel was the final reason for her suicide."

"Yes," cried Albus, feeling some desperation rise again inside him. "So it was my fault, after all!"

"No," said Professor Arrington calmly. "There lies your mistake. Think about it, Albus; all you did was disarming her. Do people usually commit suicide, just because they are disarmed? Of course not. If anything, your duel was just the last straw that breaks the camel's back. There is absolutely no way you could have known she would kill herself, if she lost the duel, so you are not to blame. Not at all. Everyone would have reacted the way you did in this situation."

Albus hesitated and nodded reluctantly. Of course, it made sense what the Transfiguration master said. Still, even if it wasn't his fault, if it wasn't for him, Molly would probably still be alive. A terrible numbness remained, even though the feeling of guilt had somewhat diminished after Professor Arrington's spell and his words.

"I know there remains a wound inside you," said Professor Arrington. "But time will close it, trust me. The most important thing is that you stop blaming yourself for her actions. It would destroy you, Albus. The best way to distract yourself, is concentrating on your schoolwork and having fun with your friends. Do you agree?"

Albus nodded.

"Excellent. Then we'll start now with our second lesson."

O

Teddy Lupin was sitting in a cell. It was just like he had always imagined prisons to be; cold, grey, naked stone walls, and a tiny, barred window. Jean-Marie Mensong, the French equivalent of a Head Auror, had brought him here personally, after he had stunned him from behind. Teddy was angry about this; it had been his first Auror mission, and he had failed completely.

It was still a riddle to Teddy how they had gotten on to him, though. He hadn't done anything risky, anything that could have revealed his identity. On the contrary, he had been extremely careful, making contact with no one, and he had always stayed out of sight, heavily disguised through his Metamorphmagus ability. There was only one possibility: Someone must have betrayed him.

If there were really traitors in the Ministry, he had to warn Harry, as fast as possible. The only problem was that at the moment he couldn't warn anyone. The French Aurors hadn't even questioned him, so far; Teddy had no idea, what was going on outside of his cell.

As if on cue, the door of his cell opened, and Jean-Marie Mensong's belly preceded him out of the door. Mensong was a fat, hulky man with a malicious countenance. When he saw Teddy huddling on the floor, he creased his face into a cruel smile.

"Teddy Lupin. What are you doing in France?" he asked in perfect English.

"I wanted to visit my girlfriend's grandparents," said Teddy.

Mensong laughed. "Liar. You were spying on us, commissioned by Harry Potter. Why?"

"How did you know that?" asked Teddy in return, dropping the masquerade.

"Oh, thankfully someone gave us a hint," said Mensong. "But that wasn't the question, Lupin. Who are you spying on?"

Teddy decided that there wasn't any point in lying to Mensong.

"Francois Simiol," he said. "He is responsible for an attempted murder, Mr Mensong, the murder of Bill Weasley. He ordered a goblin to assassinate him. You should arrest Simiol, not me."

Mensong laughed again. "Arrest Francois?" he said disbelievingly. "You don't seem to know as much about me as you should, boy. I am vice chairman of the Front Magique. I support Francois' campaign to become 'President Magique'; I will definitely not arrest him."

Teddy swore inwardly. Mensong was hand in glove with Simiol. That was not good…

"Now tell me, m'boy, what have you already found out? And especially, what did you tell your godfather about us?" asked Mensong, colossally failing in trying to sound paternally.

"If I tell you, will you release me?" asked Teddy.

Mensong cackled only. "No, m'boy, but maybe you'll get a fair trial. Although, thinking about it - probably not. I could use the blood of a Metamorphmagus… Now, I really enjoy talking to you, m'boy, but unfortunately I haven't got all day. Well?"

Teddy remained silent. He had given Harry some information that could prove very valuable, should the conflict between their countries escalate any further. He wasn't just going to give that advantage away.

"Crucio!"

The curse struck him, for the first time in his life. Teddy screamed; it was like burning alive, and drowning, and a thousand daggers stabbing his body - all at once. Twitching, he lay at Mensong's feet.

"Well? You're going to give in sooner or later anyway, m'boy, spare yourself the pain," said Mensong.

Teddy breathed heavily, but did not answer.

"Crucio!"

O

Harry and Ernie had decided on a two-pronged strategy. Ernie would contact the current President Magique and ask him to negotiate about Teddy's immediate release. At the same time, Harry would advance the French Ministry, search for Teddy and evaluate the chances of freeing him.

He didn't go straight to Paris, though; although he deemed it unlikely that someone was following him, one couldn't be careful enough. While Ernie tried to communicate with the President Magique, he would pay the Beauxbatons Academy in the Pyrenees Mountains a visit, more precisely the Headmistress, Madame Maxime, and fill her in about the latest happenings. If there was really a serious British-French conflict arising, it would prove very important to maintain a good relationship to Beauxbatons. Besides, he fully trusted Maxime; as a half-giant, she would hardly be on the side of a pure-blood racist like Francois Simiol. Maybe she could even help him.

Regarding Ernie's negotiations, he was less optimistic. The current President Magique was in Harry's eyes a coward; he would hardly have the courage to release Teddy against the will of a big part of the magical community. Furthermore, he suffered from catastrophic popularity ratings; most likely, Francois Simiol would succeed him in a few months. Politically, Simiol was forcing him further and further to the right. Thus, Ernie's tries were in Harry's view more of a diversionary tactic.

Harry had never been at Beauxbatons before. Madame Maxime had readily agreed to meet him when he had asked for a personal conversation. Now he stood in front of a beautiful chateau in the midst of the Pyrenees Mountains. It was surrounded by majestic gardens and fountains. The whole atmosphere of the place was completely different from the more rustic, powerful magic at Hogwarts.

He didn't enter the chateau, but turned towards an especially arcane garden that was somewhat more contorted than the others. He didn't want the whole school to know about his presence in France, so Madame Maxime had offered to meet him in this garden to guarantee privacy.

It wasn't difficult to find Madame Maxime, who was towering high over many of the plants and bushes. She was wearing a navy blue cloak and looked most elegant, in spite of her monumental size.

"Arry Potter," she said, smiling at him. Her appearance had hardly changed since the Triwizard Tournament more than 20 years ago. "Welcome to Beauxbatons."

"It's an honour to be here," said Harry, slightly bowing his head. "Thank you for meeting me."

"It's always a pleasure to see you, Mister Potter" said Madame Maxime, waving one of her dustbin-lid-sized hands. "Ow can I 'elp you?"

"Muffliato," murmured Harry. Without further ado, he told her about the goblin's memory, his encounter with Francois Simiol and Teddy being captured.

"Well, I 'ave to say you made several terrible meestakes there…" said Madame Maxime when he had finished. "But what do you expect me to do?"

"Firstly, I just wanted to fill you in about what's going on," said Harry. "Secondly, I don't know about your influence on the French Ministry… But your word surely has weight in the French magical community, and there are election campaigns going on… Can you help?"

"I don't know if I even want to 'elp you with this," shrieked Madame Maxime. Harry remembered that Hagrid had once called her 'temperamental'. "It was most illegal to send a spy! An imprisonment would be appropriate!"

"Madame Maxime, we didn't exert any influence on France at all," said Harry soothingly. "Remember, there are murders going on in Britain. We were only concerned about our safety. Besides, Teddy is completely innocent. He only followed my orders. He is my godson," he added desperately.

Madame Maxime sighed. "Your godson? This is getting more and more complicated." She paused. "Very well. For you, Mister Potter. I shall talk to the President immediately. Your godson is 'eld captive by Jean-Marie Mensong, an outrageous personality. He's probably badly off."

Harry had to suppress the desire to hug her. "Thank you so much!" he said, failing in hiding how grateful he was.

"Don't thank me too early," said Madame Maxime. "I can't guarantee you anything. Although, our President may be a coward, may be under pressure from Simiol, but thankfully 'e is also corrupt. I will try to influence 'im, but at the very least you'll 'ave to bring a fat purse with you, Mister Potter."

O

Albus enjoyed his lesson with Professor Arrington. They started with Transfiguration; Professor Arrington taught him how to transform animals into objects.

"Can you imagine, why this is much easier than the other way round?" asked Arrington.

"That's obvious," said Albus happily. "In Transfiguration, you always concentrate on the result. Of course, an object is much easier to create than an animal, because it's not so - er - complex."

"Ah, but how do you explain that animate to inanimate is still clearly more difficult than inanimate to inanimate?"

Albus thought about it. "In a way you also have to - er - vanish the animal? But Vanishing is easier than Conjuration?" he asked.

"A fair guess, but no," said Professor Arrington. "You don't have to vanish the animal; Transformation and Vanishment are completely different things. In addition to the obvious, physical changes, when performing animate to inanimate transformations, you are also changing the mind and soul of the targeted creature. Essentially, what you are doing is concealing its consciousness and life force within the transfigured object. It's a rather philosophical question if the animal is still a living being after being transformed, in principal. Most magical theorists answer with yes, but I prefer a no. It doesn't really matter for our purposes. But my question wasn't trivial. As always, we have to take a look at our formula. What do you think?"

Albus wrote the formula on a piece of parchment. "It can't be wand power or bodyweight. Viciousness is only depending from myself, so we can exclude that, either. That leaves concentration - and the unknown variable."

Professor Arrington gave a satisfied nod. "That's pretty much as much as I know. It's a never-ending debate among Transfiguration-theorists if there is such a thing as 'life-force' and if that could be a component of the fifth variable. We know for sure, however, that with animate to inanimate transformations, the concentration factor will need to be larger due to the complexity of our animate targets. There are inherently going to be more differences simply due to the fact that one of our objects is alive. What makes things a little easier, though, is the fact that with these transformations we are simplifying our target. We are taking something that is constantly moving and changing and turning it into something static and solid. Going in the opposite direction, from inanimate to animate, requires even more concentration due to the fact that there is a lot more detail that needs to go into creating a living being."

"What about the willpower? Is it significantly higher than with purely inanimate transformations, as well?" asked Albus.

"You really have the mind of a true Transfiguration researcher. You always ask the right questions. In addition to the inherent will made up by the matter in the creature, there is also a much stronger natural resistance to change that comes from the mind of the creature. In order to successfully complete the transformation, you must overcome both of these forces with your own willpower. In short, yes, you will need a higher level of willpower, but as experience teaches, that won't be much of a problem to you, will it?"

"No, Sir," said Albus, smiling. "Willpower has always been my strong suit."

"Alright. So summarizing it all, physical complexity is altering the level of concentration needed. The required willpower relies mainly on the mental complexity of the creature at hand. Now tell me three reasons, why it's practically impossible to transform a dragon."

"Okay… A dragon has both great physical and mental complexity. And, of course, quite a bodyweight," said Albus confidently.

"Exactly," said Professor Arrington. "What about a human?"

"A human?" asked Albus incredulously. "Well, I suppose the bodyweight and the physical complexity might be manageable - er - in theory. But the mental complexity should be too high, right?"

"Yes, by far. No one could ever hope to summon up this amount of willpower. Alright. Now you've understood the theory, you can try it out in practice. This beetle here is to be transformed into a button. The general incantation is Fera Verto; this is the incantation of all animate to inanimate transformations. There are some more specific incantations, but they are also depending on the target and thus far more complicated. In addition, there are so many different kinds of beetles that it's ridiculous to memorize them all anyway. That goes for practically all animals, of course, so you will always use Fera Verto."

"What about the wand movement, Professor?" asked Albus, who couldn't wait to try it out.

"Tap the targeted animal three times sharply with your wand, then point your wand directly at the animal," said Professor Arrington shortly.

Albus did as he was told and confidently said "Fera Verto!", concentrating deeply on changing the beetle, overcoming his resistance and clearly imagining a Ravenclaw-blue button. And, sure enough, a split second later exactly this button was in front of him on his desk. The beetle, on the other hand, was gone.

"Nice colour," commented Professor Arrington drily. "Excellent. I give you the permission to practice this alone, but you won't transform anything bigger than a mouse without the presence of a teacher. Remember your responsibility; you are working with living beings here. Mistakes could prove disastrous. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Sir," said Albus quickly.

"Okay. Then I suggest we practice dodging once again for a few minutes, then you can enjoy the snow outside with your friends."

The training was as exhausting as the last time, but Albus' anticipation had significantly improved, so he succeeded much more often in dodging Professor Arrington's spells. When they were finished and Albus was already about to go, something came into his mind.

"Professor? What was that spell you used on me?"

Arrington smiled. "I induced a Patronus inside you. You know, what a Patronus is?"

"Yes, I've seen my father cast one many times," said Albus. "But he always conjured a silver stag, it was never inside another person."

"That isn't the same," said Professor Arrington. "I invented that spell myself; probably your father has never heard of it. I'm glad it worked that well."

"Could you teach me this spell, Sir?"

"Not in the near future, it's too difficult and too dangerous," said Professor Arrington. "You really have to be a very experienced and skilled wizard to induce something in another object, let alone a human. What I will teach you pretty soon, however, is the corporeal Patronus you have seen your father cast. Most people underestimate it; it's extremely useful for many things, it can do much more than only chase dementors away. It is, however, advanced magic, and I doubt that anyone was ever able to cast it in his first year at Hogwarts."

O

Teddy was nearly unconscious. Mensong had continued the torture for what felt like hours. The pain was unbearable, but Teddy hadn't given in. Right now, Mensong seemed to give him a break, which seemed unusual. Teddy looked up. The door to his cell opened once again, and Francois Simiol personally stepped in.

"Greetings, Mr Lupin," he said. "Has he said anything?" he asked Mensong.

"No," hissed Mensong. "I tortured him for more than an hour, but he wouldn't give in."

Simiol didn't seem surprised, but frowned. "He is an Auror, so Legilimency or Veritaserum will be useless as well. Anyway, the President is going to release him; Maxime is just convincing him."

"Release? No way! Firstly, he hasn't told us yet what he reported to Potter. Secondly, I didn't have the intention to let him go at all. He is a Metamorphmagus, Francois! His blood is worth thousands of galleons on the black market," protested Mensong.

"Idiot!" hissed Simiol. "Don't you have any sense of honour? I'm not draining the blood of this boy, and surely I don't deal at the black market! Of course we will release him. Don't you realize that this is the perfect opportunity to attack the President in public? The population will be outraged that he just lets a British spy go. We can accuse him for being corrupt, for being a traitor of our country! After this, the election is as good as won for us! And now stop torturing the boy, if the public gets wind of this, you'll only seem cruel, you fool. Besides, you'd do well to remember that this is Harry Potter's godson. I don't want to provoke a war with Britain."

Mensong turned red. "I just could keep him, regardless of what the President says. He's not in the position to force me to do anything."

"I want to win an election, not to stage a coup, you blithering idiot!" shouted Simiol. "Why should we do that, with our popularity ratings? The election is as good as won, and you are taking such risky actions. What do you expect Lupin to say, anyway? What could he have found out, after all? We weren't doing anything potentially explosive or illegal, until you started acting like a sadistic torturer! In the next hour, a representative of the President will come and ask you to release Lupin, and you will damn follow this order!"

Mensong dropped his gaze. "Very well," he murmured reluctantly.

Simiol threw him an angry look and turned towards Teddy. "Mr Lupin, I want to apologize sincerely for the treatment you have endured. I didn't approve that. Your injuries will be healed before you are released. However, I would advise you strongly, not to meddle in French affairs ever again. You might also want to tell this your godfather. I have nothing to do with Bill Weasley being attacked, if you believe me or not, and I don't want a conflict with Britain. I just want to be left alone, and I won't accept being spied on, even less when I'm finally President. Am I understood?"

Teddy, who was cowering on the floor in a fetal position, only whimpered.

Simiol only nodded and rushed out of the cell.