A First Skirmish and Lessons

A/N: Warning: Very graphic scenes, slightly toned down.


It was midmorning by when they had made even an iota of progress. The earlier effects were back again. This time though, they were prepared. And knowing that they had made more headway, they were now ready for things to get incredibly worse. They had just stopped to take a breather, when a soft pop, the unmistakable herald of an apparition sounded out in the now eerily silent woods. If they hadn't been expecting it, they would have rubbished it off as yet another creature of the forest stepping on a twig. Their Dead-Sense Spell was quickly refurbished. There was no doubt that whoever had come was no friend.

The cloaked figure was nearly silent when it emerged. Whoever it was certainly had some idea about more than just magical ways of hiding. This was not just any cloak. It was delicately patched together in various shades of the woods to imitate the tree trunks. It also hid beneath it a pair of trousers, which were only seen when the person – man – had to take a longer step. There was also no visible problem with motion for him.

There was only one person who knew the area, the mundane clothes and would be so intimately comfortable in both – Tom Marvolo Riddle. None of his followers, bar Pettigrew had ever pursued him to Albania. It went without saying, therefore, that he had a secret in this place which was closer to his chest than a Horcrux. And it didn't bode well at all.

From their vantage point, it was easy to see that their work had captured Tom's attention. Usually, anyone who captured the beast's attention either was recruited, or murdered. There would never be any prizes for guessing what he had in store for them.

Riddle shucked of the cloak as his pallid features took a decidedly cruel and angry expression. Well, that was his default expression, but there was also fear mingled with him.

"We can kill him now and be done," whispered Hadrian. "He can't even sense us!"

"I think he can, here, Harry," Hermione replied quietly. "You aren't thinking like a snake. Each motion, to a snake is a vibration. Each sound is a vibration. Even the slightest of motion on our part will tell him about us. Did you take that into account?"

"Well, I have to learn more. The spell was made with humans and magic in mind. Didn't realise animals would be different in that aspect."

"Will you two shut up?" Alastor hissed.

That really did shut them up.

Voldemort spent about five minutes raging, raving and ranting in a mix of languages including Parsel. He inspected the area reclaimed, and then saw the fireplinth. His rage only spiked up, the magic he had imposed on the area ramping up in resonance with his own.

In a primal manner, the necromancer/Dark Lord raised his head and bared the teeth (now sharpened to fangs) and cried out, "MOODY!"

"Can we attack him now?"

"We will have to do something anyway..."

Mad-Eye stepped out into the open to draw fire. He was one of the few who could buy them all a few seconds if he kept him off balance. They were in a fight, not a duel. So they were going to put him out of commission temporarily. The objective was for Hadrian to make things difficult for Riddle while Jane isolated any link between the dark force (they really needed to understand what it was and rename it) and Voldemort.

"Yes? You called?" drawled Moody. Then feigning recognition, he asked in surprise, "Tom Riddle, is that you?"

It was enough to momentarily throw Riddle of track. "I knew I should have killed you first. Never mind," Riddle hissed, "I will ensure nobody else shall ever know more about..."

What nobody else wouldn't ever know more about he couldn't speak. Riddle's typical gloating gig bought enough time for a large stone to be smashed into the back of his head. Astoundingly, while for a normal person, it would have meant Death, it only was a small bump for Riddle. He had also performed rituals on his body to ensure that he would not be harmed in mundane ways. Well, it was only slightly unexpected.

Even for riddle, though, the impact was not lessened. It didn't crush his skull, but it did make him stagger slightly. That was enough for the two to throw spell after spell at him. The idea was to get him down only temporarily. For one, killing – or rather, disembodying – him while he hadn't reached the limit of Horcruxes would serve no purpose.

Riddle was not for nothing the most destructive Dark Lord he had been in the time that was being overwritten. He retaliated with severe force. There was a reason why he was feared. He could throw a bunch of Unforgivables and intersperse them with high power arcane spells. His fight tactic was to overwhelm his opponents with magics long forgotten, against which they would not think to shield. Very few thought to dodge.

His opponents at the moment were not among those idiots. Not only did they dodge, they were attacking him with the intent to kill. A change, he realised. He didn't care about having worthy opponents. All that any opponent was worthy of was a gruesome death, something he could make an example of. It was why he had travelled the world, killing, robbing and earning and learning. It was why he had learnt and then disposed of his teachers, for there would always be others seeking the knowledge. The Lost Magics of the Sumerians, the occult practices of the Orient adapted to spell forms, several spells that he had himself created, everything flew out of his yew and phoenix feather wand like a well-rehearsed symphony of death.

His opponents were up to the task, however. Their objective was to buy some time for Jane. She wasn't fighting the magical force that they had been fighting for the previous few days. No. Her objective was to isolate the link that the very presence of Voldemort, drawn in by the turbulence around his deepest secret, proved existed.

Mad-Eye and Hadrian were putting themselves deliberately closer to Riddle in the line of fire. Riddle couldn't see Hadrian, but he could feel the vibrations every time he apparated around the place and landed on the ground. Mad-Eye was attacking Voldemort face-to-face, while his younger team member was moving around in random spaces, using pretty much the same tactics they had used against the force, and hurling one particular Unforgivable himself. He stuck to the torture curse. The Imperius and the Killing Curse, if they missed, would cause problems to Mad-Eye and Jane beyond the scope of the Cruciatus.

Unfortunately, the very thing that he feared happened. The slashing hex that Dolohov had used, once again found Jane. This time, Voldemort hadn't aimed it at her, probably, though given her objective, and any success she might have had, one could never be sure. She was slightly protected – well enough to recuperate fast, but in that moment, it was Hermione who was hit with that spell.

Whether 'Love' was the power Voldemort knew not, or whether it wasn't, it didn't matter. Voldemort had never truly felt rage on another's behalf. He had never felt the need to avenge. He was magically powerful and protected, but he hadn't ever gotten over the fear and sheer terror that a physical attack on his person brought. It wasn't a conscious decision, but it was what Hadrian went with, as he suddenly apparated on Voldemort.

That certainly threw the...man (in the loosest sense of the word)...off his game. Mad-Eye took the opportunity to escape with Jane.

For the first time since those childhood years in the orphanage, Voldemort saw hatred, pure hared directed at him. The last time this had happened, Tom Riddle had caused an accident that eliminated his attacker. This time, he couldn't. He was staring into the eyes of his most feared enemy – death.

Hadrian clobbered Voldemort with his fists. It didn't exactly help – if a smashing stone couldn't truly hurt Voldemort, fists would hardly be even as effective as a pinch. But he was leaking magic at a truly impressive rate and was channelling it into his attack, fuelled with tremendous hatred. He would, he bloody would find a weakness.

A greater irony there couldn't have been in the situation. Voldemort had hurt the girl who would be two Dentists' daughter. He had, in his attempt to be more snakelike had actually forked his tongue; had carved his teeth to make them more like a snake's fangs and the rest to emulate the backward curved teeth that helped snakes draw in their dead prey as they swallowed them. He had also split his lower jaw vertically. Snakes, anatomically, have a very special cranial structure. The lower jaw splits two ways into mandibles with a ligament and pivot at the back to enable for an increased ability to swallow prey. That was what Voldemort had aimed for.

Seeing an incoming punch right into his face, he opened his mouth wide to swallow Hadrian's hand whole. His eyes, already achieving the slit-pupils he had achieved once before, and the flattening of the muscles around the jaw and neck to allow the sudden expansion made his face look positively like a snake. He wasn't prepared for Harry to realise that and improvise at the last second and sweep Voldemort's legs out from under him and conjure a mace-head in the punching fist at the same time. The mace stuck into the opened jaws, and while he had performed a ritual to strengthen his bones radically, any such ritual on the muscles and soft tissue would have rendered him rigid – the exact opposite of a snake. More pertinently, it would make his body useless. The mace therefore, easily hurt the tissue inside his mouth.

Hadrian ruthlessly yanked the mace out, drawing blood from the scaled outer skin, the inside of the mouth and the gums. The teeth were broken. Voldemort was, temporarily, defanged. This also elicited proof of the fact that he was human, and not yet completely a snake; instead of hissing and spitting, Voldemort howled in pain.

Now knowing where to hit, Hadrian did what he had to. He sent a stunning spell into the beast's mouth. Given the beast's magical prowess and physical prowess, which had only been temporarily overcome for the moment, he would soon be revived. But that was enough time to subdue him temporarily and remove Mad-Eye from the beast's memory.

Why? Why, when he had Voldemort at his mercy, did the Hand not kill him?

Voldemort would still be alive – his still secret Horcruxes were testament to the fact. However, in their bid to actually uproot the supremacist-terrorist movement, the Hand and his companions had fallen into the very trap that Dumbledore had fallen into. With much more time available and several measures taken, Voldemort was neutralised in the interim. But he was the known devil. He was the best to lead the purebloods. It had become almost necessary for them to make him a puppet, a puppet that still decided its own course of action of course, but whose actions would ensure that they would and could do more to nullify the dying magical society by pruning its gangrenous parts.

Riddle was to be the lightning rod for the public wrath against supremacist terrorism, against the discrimination and the general quagmire that the magical world had become. He had to be the focus for the war that would not bring about a revolution, but an evolution among the magicals.

It had become an exercise in The Greater Good.

That very thought, though, was the measure of their underestimation of the formidability of Riddle as an enemy. Just because they had taken away some of his anchors, it didn't render him at their mercy. Tom Riddle was a very powerful Warlock in his own right and he had enhanced that power by various means, mostly foul. This was a fight they were going to remember – and ensure that Riddle didn't.


A grim-faced Mad-Eye landed in the PTIEC, courtesy of the emergency portkey. Cloaking spells notwithstanding, it was still a crime if he was caught. It had to be a real emergency, for it was in direct contravention of all the edicts by all local governmental bodies – magical or mundane. He was carrying a bleeding Jane.

"JANIE!" cried the grandmothers in unison. "WHAT HAPPENED?"

"Can't stay and discuss. It's a variation of the Flagrante-and-Slashing-curse-mix, best I can tell. We were attacked by Riddle. I must go back and help the lad." The two women immediately started working on her.

He wasted not a second more as another portkey took him back to the closest apparition point. Alastor emerged into the clearing they were, just in time to see Hadrian yank out the mace and temporarily subdue Riddle.


"I want to kill him," Hadrian angrily hissed.

"You know why we can't do that," Mad-Eye replied, though his tone suggested that he didn't exactly disagree with Harry's. He only received a grunt in response. "What are we going to do? How did he know it was my doing in the first place? I never encountered him before."

"It's obvious. One of your Aurors has been compromised."

It was Mad-Eye's turn to grunt.

"I can't use Parseltongue-enhanced Legillimency on him. It would be the same with any other mind magics. He is a master in them. In both cases, he is sure to be stronger than I am." It was true. Irrespective of Hadrian's status as the Hand, Voldemort was still one of the most powerful wizards in the world. The Hand only knew more than Voldemort knew. That didn't mean he could perform better magic than Voldemort could. "I am also pretty sure that he is impervious to potions and poisons," Hadrian continued. "Most snakes are cannibalistic, so the higher they are on the food chain, the greater their ability to withstand various poisons. This one has sought to change to a more ophidian body so he must have taken on the venom-withstanding abilities of the basilisk. Nothing but the best would do for him. And he far supersedes Slughorn in his ability to create potions."

This was where they had miscalculated. How and why did they even think that Voldemort would be satisfied with just Horcruxes? He would always have so many magics added to and acting on his body to make him practically invincible and indestructible.

"Can you undo any of the physical enhancement rituals?"

"Magic has to be countered by like magic Mad-Eye. Didn't you teach me that as well?"

This was a terrible situation to be in. Riddle was too well protected. And they weren't in a position to take countermeasures. Retreating was not a valid option.

"We will have to do what she was doing. Isolate the link."

Hadrian shrugged and got to work. It was the only thing that would keep his mind off Jane for now.

It wasn't an easy task. It was a metaphysical and spiritual link, which in another way could have been used to protect and nurture. This was Riddle's magic in its rawest, truest form – formless. They couldn't. There was no real magical link to isolate. They were fighting over Riddle's attempt to be Nature, to be God of that patch of earth, to be the mind of the forest. That was what had drawn Riddle in. It was as if the attacks on that stronghold of darkness resulted in the transmission of pain to Riddle.

"I can't. There is nothing to isolate." Hadrian looked defeated. There was nothing he could do. Had he not dodged, Hermione wouldn't have got hurt again. Had he not asked for her foolishly, she would have never had to fight yet another war. Once he had stopped attempting to bludgeon the Dark One, the adrenaline and rush of hatred was quickly replaced by an overwhelming fear of failure, and by guilt at having been the reason for Hermione getting hurt yet again. If only he hadn't dodged...

Alastor saw what was happening. He jerked Harry away from the Hand and got the boy back into the game with a stinging slap across his face.

"There. Is. No. Luxury. For. Us. To. Fail!"

"What can I do?" Harry shouted back.

"Do whatever is necessary. You know what you are. You know why you are here. You know why you have to leave him alive for the time being. You know what you can do. DO IT!"

The Hand was left staring at the prone form of Voldemort, knowing that he didn't have long. Voldemort was out for only about the minute and fifteen seconds that Alastor had rightly used to get his mind back online.

There was one way out. There was one more, but that was sure to fail.

"CRUCIO!" yelled Harry. He was fuelling the curse with all the hatred he had for the man, and with the anger about the fact that the thing would have to be left alive.

To a waking Voldemort, the jolt of pain was more than anything he had ever borne before. Even the pleasurable pain of making a Horcrux was nothing compared to this. The crucial component in the Unforgivables was the caster's intent and emotion. And there was a reason why they said that the only way to save oneself from an Unforgivable was to dodge it. No ritual could counter an unforgivable because it was a spell. And no spell had been invented to counter the Unforgivables, even by Voldemort.

The best that this would do, if Voldemort could bear the pain, was that it would only slightly weaken him, physically. There was no guarantee it would cause even a thousandth of the effect that the curse had had on the Longbottoms. But they had to try.

When he finally lifted the curse after a complete minute, they weren't sure what they could expect, therefore.

Voldemort, wheezed slightly, and then broke into a fit of hissy laughter, while also coughing some blood. "You are sssserioussss about killing me, aren't you? I am ffffar more powerrrffffulll. You cannot trullly hope to kill meee."

"Maybe you are," Harry replied in Parsel, "but I am more stubborn. Crucio Horribilis!"

This, more than anything had an effect on Voldemort. This unknown, faceless person with Moody was a Parselmouth, and was willing to break through his body and mind with true hate. It was a spur of the moment addition – the sort that most teachers told their students about as a hack, adding 'horribilis' at the end to make a curse more effective. People were always so scared of the Unforgivables that they never bothered to see what would happen if someone used 'horribilis' with the Cruciatus. And it was cast in a magical language.

This time, it hurt worse. But this time, the force within the forest, tied to him, backed him up. It repelled the curse on the Hand, partially. It caused the Hand to whimper slightly in surprise, for that was the extent to which his body would react to pain, but he wouldn't lose. Mad-Eye took the opportunity of the torture to beat back one more square metre of the force. It immediately subsided, confused. There were several attacks, and it didn't know whom to retaliate against.

The combined effect was that Voldemort slipped. He slipped enough to yell, to let his enemy know that he had felt the pain. That was all the chance Hand needed to break into the mind of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Voldemort, had, thankfully, performed no ritual to protect his mind. That was all natural ability, and it was tremendous. But nobody had truly forced themselves on his mind with the sole intent to destroy it.

Mad-Eye was spurred to work harder as he heard the Dark One's cry of pain. However it was that the forest's presence was tied to him, he had to beat it back. Another square metre was acquired.

This was no action, no adventure or drama that the heroes of any sort would find their selves in. This was a determined assault. It was without honour, for neither did the perpetrator accord any to his...victim...nor did the 'victim' deserve it.

"Yes!" was all that the Hand mumbled before he rushed into the mind of his enemy. Of course, Voldemort, a man who had turned into a Master Legillimancer and Occlumancer before the age of twenty, certainly had no problem regaining some strength to fight the his enemy's invasion of his mind.


In the mind of Voldemort, it was like standing in a snake pit. It was dark, foreboding and reeked of danger. He could see nothing, but there was an all-pervading odour – the one associated with rotting carcasses, quite similar to the – the cavern housing the CHAMBER OF SECRETS!

This was an absolutely new situation for the Hand – he had never entered another's head. What were the rules? Was he trapped? Were his thoughts being taken away from him as well?

"Good," a voice sounded. "A thinking nemesssissss; that is a firssst, compared to the other boring onessss."

"Hiding in the shadows, ready for the ambush; I would ask you to face me like a man, but that would do your efforts to become a snake disservice," The Hand replied.

The darkness gave way to a blank space, with just some light to show relative presence.

"You intrigue me." Tom Riddle Junior, the real human behind whatever it was that Voldemort was, made his appearance and heralded it with a single statement.

"I suppose that would be a great compliment."

"It is. Nobody so much as tried to recognise my efforts. I had to resort to truly plebeian ways of killing them."

"Must be irritating."

"You have no idea."

"Please. I have had insane megalomaniacs gloating at me and telling me how they will have fun killing me. My experiences are not so removed from yours."

Riddle shrugged. "Everyone is a martyr or victim to his own mind's creations."

"And Voldemort is yours? Flee from Death... it's disappointing..."

"Do you know what disappointment is?"

"A muggle father, perhaps?"

"You do realise you know too much, don't you?"

"I do. You have been a person of singular interest for me, Thomas Marvolo Riddle."

"Oh, naughty-naughty! I have my own personal stalker!" He pretended to blush.

"Blushing doesn't rank among your abilities, Riddle."

"You are right. A rosy red...it doesn't really suit me. Now, the crimson of blood, that is a truly interesting colour, isn't it?"

"How very Gryffindor!" the Hand poked back. "You are a Parselmouth, so you are an heir of Slytherin. Wasn't it you killing off others who were our distant cousins?"

"Oh you recognised that?"

"Well, I attributed the sloppiness and the sense of irony to you. You know, setting a basilisk, and then framing a half-giant," added the Hand with a truly worthy sneer, "as the Heir of Slytherin. Or a reticulated python killing a man in Russia. That's disappointing."

"You are exceptionally well-informed. For me to disappoint you twice..."

"Well, my dear cousin Merope was touched in the head. Really, Marvolo mated with his sister. Even snakes choose to traverse wider territories to find mates."

"And they kill of those unfit or too threatening."

"It is nature."

"Very much so." Riddle sighed. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I have never felt truly sorry before killing anyone. You...you are different."

"Quite a charmer, you are," The Hand replied, with his own attempt at a blush. He was only marginally more successful. "Please, try your best. I am sure your cute efforts will be thoroughly wasted." The Hand was goading Riddle into attacking. He had quite forgotten what to not be quite human meant till he was required to step up his game. It was what he would be using.

"Will they?"

"There's no mystery if I answer, is there?"

"No. Of course, there isn't. I will just have to try."

With that they flew at each other. Riddle, was worthy of the tag he had earned. He had created the rule of a purely non-magical realm in his mind. If he got hurt with magic, there was a chance he could have lost control of his magic in the real world. Here, it was just simple combat.

An interesting individual was Riddle, but magic or not, The Hand had no intention of going away with anything but a win. His primary objective was to force away Riddle's link with the magic.

Outside, Mad-Eye was worrying over whatever was going on, because Hadrian was slightly slumped over the snake-man. He stopped with the attempt to disrupt the magical field, not knowing how it would affect the tussle going on within Voldemort's head. It was an accidental stroke of good luck.

As soon as the Mad-Eye stopped attacking the entity, it manifested itself within Riddle's mindscape to aid him. It was disconcerting to see two Riddles, one looking completely bereft of any sense of self, and subservient to the other. If the idea was to confuse the Hand with the doppelgangers, it had abjectly failed.

With full knowledge of the fact that whatever the entity actually was, was not exactly in control, and would react to any attack on Riddle's person, the Hand targeted the pseudo-Riddle. Its first instinct was to move and defend the real Riddle, who had ordered that very thing. So when the punch was directed at it, it didn't know what to do and it also surprised Riddle.

The problem was that the Hand didn't know whether this was a manifestation of the control Riddle had over the power, entity, being, spirit, force or whatever they had been fighting in the forest, or whether it was a manifestation of the power itself. Being unable to understand what one fights would always be the greatest handicap for any warrior.

Whatever it was, there was no point in tarrying. Two against one were horrible odds. In the mindscape, they were playing by the rules of Riddle, who had been physically bullied, and so he would always make the mindscape rules to ensure that he would be the one physically stronger, and with every advantage available. So the only obvious response would be to be unpredictable. If the arena was loaded against him, Hadrian had to take away that advantage on his part.

So he kept attacking the 'other' for a while – a whole thirteen seconds of perceived time. Riddle caught on quickly. It was however enough to significantly weaken the 'other' for the time being. Riddle charged with a sword. That was about as good and as risky and as dangerous as things could get. Every time Harry attempted to hit Tom, the other started to interfere. This became something of a frustration for Tom as well. In a dance of blood (imaginary, of course) the three fought, the 'other' finally catching on when Tom deigned to give orders. This was exactly the opening the Hand was looking for. In a move to draw an attack from Tom, he made as if to clobber the 'other', but instead sold both a dummy. Tom, who had intended to thrust the sword towards Hadrian, ended up impaling the 'other'.

Mad-Eye was still waiting in a tense state for when either would snap out of it and move. Instead he was thrown off his feet as a massive, concussive wave of magic engulfed the forest. All the control, the sentience that the 'power' had borrowed from Tom Riddle was lost in the moment of impaling. There was a sound that scared the Auror out of his skin. It sounded like the long, drawn-out screams of a multitude, as the energy that was bound within was released with the force of a small bomb.

When the screaming ceased, Mad-Eye saw what was within. A hitherto hidden large pit was the secret, yet they were sure it wasn't hidden by the Fidelius Charm. The feeling of hatred, revulsion and dirtiness now returned in full force. There was very little time. He rushed in towards the pit and blanched. Controlling his gag reflex, he rushed away and threw in the contraptions he had made for the light. He observed, even in his hurry, that several trees around were losing life and withering away in the absence of the 'energy'. At the moment, the naming or understanding of power was unimportant. All that was of import was the destruction of the area. Etching containment runes around the pit with carving spells, he readied the setup for Fiendfyre.

Within Tom's mind, the Hand took the opportunity to do what he had to. It was now completely obvious that they had underestimated Tom, so the objective was to make him forget about Moody and knock him out for as long as they could. Tom may have made the rules, but in his shock and anger at having destroyed the 'other', he was losing control of his mindscape. This was the only chance to cause lasting damage to his psyche, and there really wasn't long before Tom would regroup and retaliate.

Ejecting himself from the mindscape, he sent several high powered blasters at the ground around Riddle. It wouldn't hurt him much, but it would make even getting up difficult for him from the odd angle he was lying in, even if he tried to slither. He then forced his will upon Riddle and with the Elder Wand, eliminated all traces of Moody from Tom's memory. Another mace, this time transfigured from a nearby stone, with a slow, continuous engorging charm on it, was once again locked into the open four-pronged jaw.

Alastor saw that it was the boy, and not Tom Riddle, with a simple test – a Patronus. With that, Hadrian approached the trees on the edge of the pit. There really was no time to check, so they did the thing that was both stupid and sensible – they cut off all the trees in the area that exuded darkness after thorough checks, shrunk them all, cast Fiendfyre into the pit and escaped. All this was accomplished at such a high pace, that it would seem that they were using a time-turner and several of their temporal doppelgangers were helping them.

Just a few moments later, when Tom Riddle regained consciousness and coherence, there was no sign of intruders. And there was no sign of his secret either.

The man stood stunned for a few moments, and then in rage and despair, yelled, "NOOOOOOOO!"


"HERMIONE!" This was not Hadrian Jameson, nor was it the Hand. This was Harry Potter, who had somehow remained calm and subdued while fighting Voldemort, in spite of the sheer terror that had gripped him. He had simply deposited all the things in his hands, his cloak which had the shrunken trees, and discarded all his clothes down to just the vest and boxers. Those were his only clean clothes, and he wasn't rushing into the patient's room with any evidence of the fight on his clothes at least.

Jane was sleeping and pale. But she looked alive.

"Calm down, Harry!" scolded his grandmothers, grandfathers and Remus. "You will wake her!" Then as an afterthought, Dorea added, "Where are your clothes, young man?"

"How is she?" he asked urgently, ignoring the question.

"She is fairly well. Once the remnants of magic were drained off, her body started to recuperate off its own accord. Where are your clothes?"

"Shucked them off," he answered. "I got them dirty when I fought him." He still looked anguished and rightly so. Sitting down, he caressed her hand tenderly, before kissing her lightly. "This is still more clothes than she as seen me in," he remarked blithely.

"Have a bath, get dressed and then come here. Now!" ordered Rose.

Jane woke two hours later, to see a whole bunch of people napping in their chairs.

"Harry?" she whispered.

"Hermione!" He instantly tightened his grip on the hand he was holding, and moved to caress her face tenderly. "How are you?"

"Slightly sore, but that's about it. Gran Doe said I would be up and about in a week. I didn't know she was a healer."

"Nor did I. It seems we aren't the only ones improvising."

Hermione smiled. "Did you get him?"

"Yes Love. Got him, and he no longer has anything in Albania."

She smiled weakly. "Good." She closed her eyes briefly in tiredness, before opening them again. "You weren't dressed when you came. I heard."

"I had more important things to worry about. You are making a habit of nearly leaving me, love."

"It wasn't me who wanted to sacrifice myself. You actually did leave me."

Harry inclined his head slightly. "It's painful, Hermione. You are the only one who was always there. What will I do without you?" His voice held a slight whine.

"You will be lost, of course."

Harry chuckled in agreement. "You are right. You are always right."

"Show me what happened." Harry slipped away as the Hand, once again all business, summoned the pensieve. He showed them all his battle with Voldemort.

"We underestimated him," Remus muttered bitterly.

"We got carried away in the Master of Death malarkey," Moody grunted. "But you fought well, boy."

"Riddle surprised me. I was expecting the gloating, sneering git."

"You have never seen the true Tom Riddle," Charlus told them. "He was as charming as they come. He had a way with words like nobody I had ever seen before." He then glared at his grandson. "That was very dangerous."

"He had hurt Hermione. I couldn't kill him because I underestimated him. That doesn't mean that I didn't want to."

Charlus gave Dorea a sidelong glance, and sighed, "I understand."

Moody was up next.

Hadrian had fought. But it was Moody who truly knew what was hidden. No sooner did the vantage point shift to Moody standing on the edge, than everyone heaved and retched as one.

There were several half digested bodies of humans – presumably witches and wizards, of all ages – and all other sorts of magical animals.

"Oh God!" Rose whimpered, cupping her mouth on reflex. Her granddaughter-in-law to be copied her feelings. The others did as well.

"He ate them."

"HE DID WHAT?" cried (rhetorically, really) Matthew in thorough revulsion.

"Remember how he had changed his mouth and jaw to copy a snake? This is why. This is the vilest ritual possible. Even Horcruxes are light magic compared to this. He ate them and assimilated their projected life spans into his own, and the force we were fighting was their magic, which he had locked in to act as a preserver," Hadrian explained looking very, very green. "He could call on this magic when necessary."

"Can he do that again?" Matthew asked.

"He could," Charlus conceded with a grimace. "I am well-versed in rituals myself, and since this lot came along, I have been reading up the darkest ones as well, but nowhere have I found any reference to this."

"Thomas was resourceful, brilliant and extremely vile. He could just as well have created the ritual or whatever it was," Dorea pointed out.

"It is interesting," Rose noted finally, with a stab at objectivism. "Snakes are known to eat their young. You told me that Charlus and Dorea's son became an animal..."

"Animagus," corrected Dorea.

"Yes that," Rose carried on, waving the interruption away impatiently. "Why didn't Riddle become a snake animagus?"

"He is trying to get the best of both. Animagi can't cast magic in their animal form," replied Hadrian.

There was a long silence as they contemplated

"We never knew this the last time," Mad-Eye mused with a grimacing grin. Before he had even gotten a word in edgeways, the situation had been whittled down and dissected. "No wonder he was powerful. He must have done this several times over. Something went wrong when he was resurrected. He wasn't the Riddle I had known and fought against before 1981."

"His servant wasn't committed enough. He only wanted to run away from the law," reasoned Jane.

"Of course," grunted the Auror. "Potter wanted him dead. Black wanted him dead. Lupin wanted him dead. The Death Eaters wanted him dead. Resurrecting Riddle was the only recourse left. Spineless worm!"

"If he has done this once, he must have other places of power," Rose reasoned. "I am loath to call it a power bank, but no term really comes close enough." That was a very sobering thought. Rose was however, not done. "There are a few more things that struck me. I think you have made a massive mistake."

She was immediately the cynosure of all eyes. "What was it?" demanded Jane.

"You left traces of your blood. I have been reading up on snake physiology. Snakes have a Jacobson organ that works on chemoreception, which helps them hunt and track prey. If he is trying to be a snake he will surely try and develop that, because it is practically absent in humans and is a major difference in the smelling and general detection capabilities. Plus, he has human memory and intellect. Even if he doesn't remember the face of Mr. Moody, or Jane, he can track them by their blood."

Her pronouncement was greeted by stunned silence. Finally Remus sighed, "So it just is a slightly buggered up situation."


The shrunken trees were a dead end. They were only anchors for the power to keep it bound to the area. On a balance, their mission to Albania had largely been a failure.


"I shouldn't have dodged that one." Harry's out-of-the-blue statement caught Hermione cold, but she recovered fairly quickly. They were in bed, more than a week later. Soon after she her injury, they had taken to sleeping together, each seeking the physical comfort that being together, even as innocently as they were, brought.

"Bullshit!" scolded Hermione vehemently. "You maybe superhuman, but so is Voldemort. It was instinct."

"I can't understand how self-preservation went above remembering your presence," he replied in self-deprecating anger.

"Don't be absurd. It is ingrained in your mind that you have to dodge anything he throws at you. I was invisible to him. He could just as well have missed you and hit me."

She was not looking at him. Her head was in the crook of his neck. But she could feel the pensive frown he wore, before his expression cleared and he began to shake with silent laughter.

"You always could set me right," he said happily. The tone of his voice comforted her. A brooding Harry was never nice to be with. A happy Harry, though, was one she could fall in love with over and over again. So she had to be the one to balance it all out. "You are the only one who can give me an arse-whipping when I need one."

"Just because I was out for the time being, doesn't mean you shouldn't have expected an arse-whipping later, Potter!"

"You do love to do it, won't you?"

"I have waited for sooo long..." she replied salaciously, with a very cheeky grin.

"Minx," he muttered, as he slid down slightly and captured her lips with his own. She smiled into the kiss and decided that it was time to be just a bit adventurous. A split second later, it was Harry Potter and Hermione Granger who were sharing the bed. Being so close in their young forms was creepy, whatever their rational minds could say.