kishinokurobi: Voldemort kills primarily when it is advantageous or when it will induce terror in the populace; most of the wanton murders were the actions of the Inner Circle, who – unlike Voldie himself – truly are fanatical Pureblood supremacists.

Acaila, bissek, Garbouw Deark: Yes, with Umbridge I'm once again "de-Flanderizing" a character's canon presentation. My personal view is that if she's a career public servant, she should at least be able to keep her bigotry to herself when in public. Her characterization in book 5 felt like it was meant to accomplish two goals: one, make the Ministry out to be a center of bigotry and corruption, and two, pose to the students the question of "Do you support Harry and Dumbledore or the Ministry?", which was rather unfair considering that for many of them Umbridge was the only member of the latter they had ever interacted with.

Lord of Bones: You talk like you think my portrayal of James and Lily was intentional. I've already said that my original plan was to have them flipped, but that just wasn't how their characterizations turned out. That said, the more I thought about it, the more I think James really would have been a 'cliché Gryffindor posterboy', as you phrased it, had he not died before the series began.

This is the third – and hopefully last – chapter that takes place on September first. I really need to stop spending so much time on individual days, or this story will never get done.

Disclaimer: Did Gryffindor house turn on Harry at only the slightest provocation, not once but multiple times? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

Chapter 13
Diverging Opinions

The wall containing the knocker swung inwards, allowing them to see the other Ravens assembled in a loose circle on the edges of the room. Jen nearly groaned when she noticed that they were all watching her.

I suppose I shouldn't be that surprised. Smiling sweetly, she remarked, "Well, this doesn't look too inviting."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Luna could not hold back her snort of laughter. Oh, Jen. Only you.

One of the seventh-years cleared his throat and stepped forwards. "Welcome to Ravenclaw house, first-years. Professor Flitwick will probably have something to say to you in a few minutes. Black? We were wondering if you would be willing to answer a few questions for us."

"Ah, I think I see. All of you are curious about the same things, I'm guessing?" Most of the house nodded, but the blonde could not help but notice that several of the youngest students, the second-years Jen had taken under her metaphorical wing the previous year, were glaring at the upper years. Clearly they aren't any happier about this than we are, she thought, glancing over at Padma and Morag. Both girls had their arms crossed and were radiating their displeasure for all the world to see.

"Very well." Jen crossed the floor and settled into one of the armchairs by the fireplace. With her legs crossed and her fingers absently tracing patterns in the soft leather of the armrests, she looked eminently comfortable, like there was nothing she would rather do more than answer their every question. It was only the tight edge to her little grin and the way her right foot was twitching in the air that revealed to Luna just how stressed she was feeling at this moment. "Go ahead. Ask what you wish."

The other Ravens look at each other, apparently unsure just how to respond to Jen's show of confidence. Finally, one of them spoke up. "So you're the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange."

"As Skeeter revealed and we confirmed."

"And you didn't tell anyone? Why?"

"Look around you," she answered with a sad smile. She waved at the assembled students. "All of you – except the firsties, of course – got to know me at least a little over the past year. Even still, we come back, and you set up this… Is 'inquisition' too strong a word?" The teenagers muttered amongst themselves, uncomfortable with that characterization. "No matter what it should be called, it's clear that there are some of you who distrust me, even fear me, due to my mother. How much worse would your reaction have been if that was the first thing you knew about me?"

"Is there any reason we should trust you?" The ranks shifted until one of the older boys, a sixth-year, was at the front of the crowd. He aimed a baleful glare at Jen. "My aunt and uncle were murdered by that woman. How do we know that you're any better than her?!"

The gathered students muttered at that, but they grew silent when the heiress of House Black stood from her chair. "You have my condolences," the girl said softly, giving the boy a small nod, "and if there was anything I could say or do that would bring your family back to you so that I might heal the wound my own left, I would gladly do so. Unfortunately, since that is not possible, I can only say that you have no reason to fear a repeat of that tragedy from me."

"But how do we know for sure? You're her daughter, for Merlin's sake!"

"Indeed I am, but just because she gave birth to me does not mean I am anything like her." Jen tilted her head. "Do you know how many times I've spoken to her in my lifetime?" When the older boy shook his head in negation, she answered, "Only once; this past summer, in fact, just before the news broke. Before then, all I had were the stories told to me by my aunts, and let me tell you, those were not the happy kind of things your parents likely told you about your relatives. What I grew up with were cautionary tales about her extremism, her cruelty, and her madness.

"How can you know that I am not my mother? Because my House raised me in such a way that they were sure they would not unleash another monster into the world."

"What… What would they have done if you had?" a third-year asked tentatively.

Rather than answer immediately, Jen turned around and walked back to her chair. Only once she was comfortable again did she look at the younger girl. "I won't go into detail – it isn't something suitable for this type of forum – but suffice it to say that if I had been like my mother, none of you would have had any clue that I ever existed. Yet another advantage to raising me in secret," she added with a humorless smile.

The blonde shuddered at those words and the flat tone they were spoken in, as did several others around her. Just a couple of centuries ago, it had been the custom that Pureblood families would smother newborn children should a magic-detecting charm reveal them to be squibs. Witches would rather have it believed that they were incapable of giving birth to living children than reveal that they had had magicless pregnancies. It was only when evidence was discovered that the spell that was so widely used was unreliable on children younger than one year of age that the DMLE cracked down on the rampant infanticide.

From the way Jen spoke, Luna had the disturbing suspicion that it was only because she was sane that her House had not brought that method back. And worse, she doesn't sound like she has any problem with that at all, she whimpered in her head.

"This your main concern, yes? That I would not wake up one day and decide to torture and kill anyone and everyone around me?" The others shared uncomfortable glances, and Jen just rolled her eyes. "And you wonder why I kept my heritage to myself last year. It was to avoid this exact situation."

The door to the common room opened again, and the crowd parted so Flitwick could enter. "What is this? Why is everyone…" He trailed off when he saw Jen sitting in the chair apart from the rest of the house, then he sighed before approaching her. "I take it nothing too bad happened in my absence?"

"Nothing to worry about, Professor. We were just having a little chat."

"Be that as it may…" The quarter-goblin turned back to the crowd. "Let me make something very clear for all of you. In this house, we do not judge others based on the actions of their relatives, near or distant. We do not judge others based on preconceived notions. We judge others based solely on what they themselves have done. The War was cruel," he continued softly, looking about the students, "and many in this room, in this castle, lost someone close to them. I did, too, so believe me when I say that I know exactly how you feel. I will not make light of their deaths, but neither will I allow old grudges to come to the fore so that you may take them out on those who had no part in it."

"But Professor—"

"That is all I have to say on the matter," Flitwick said, cutting off the same boy who had implied that Jen was a future murderess. "I know that I have not been the most… 'hands-on' head of house in recent years, but I am keeping a closer eye on all of you, and I will not permit any of you to cause harm to another or to be harmed in turn. Do I make myself clear?"

Muttered assent came from the assembly; some of it reluctant, some of it grudging, but for the most part it was freely given. Probably because he wasn't just guaranteeing Jen's safety, Luna realized. If Jen, for whatever reason, did lose it, he just said he would protect everyone else from her. That would never happen, but knowing that he wouldn't ignore the rest of them in that situation should put this to bed finally.

The tiny wizard looked over them for a moment longer before addressing the first-years. "Well, this was an unusual start to the year. As you might be aware, I am Professor Flitwick, your head of house…"

Draco fiddled with his wand as he listened to the discussion going on around him. He was not entirely surprised about their subject matter, but still he affected a disinterested air while the rest of Slytherin, in small groups, discussed his newfound cousin.

"…She's a Black, though, and you know how that House has stood for purity for centuries…"

"…But didn't one of them get disowned recently? Marrying a mudblood, I heard. How do we know what she really thinks?…"

"…Sirius Black was a Gryffindor, my father said. Wasn't like the rest of his family at all. I bet he's poisoned her against the proper order of things…"

"…You wouldn't know this, but my uncle sits on the Wizengamot. He told me and my mother that she came in for her Introduction wearing the same style of dress Morgana herself was said to have. No Light idiot would do that…"

"…So what about the blood-traitor? Didn't you read the article in the Prophet? She was raised by Malfoy's mother. She's bound to see how the world really works…"

"…Wasn't she wearing Light colors, though? No self-respecting Dark witch would be caught dead in that…"

"…Stuck-up twat. If she wants to spend her time with a bunch of blood-traitors, that's her problem…"

"…You'd have to ask her, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's planning to continue the club…"

Confused about that last statement, he looked over to the adjacent corner where the voice had come from. Davis, the half-blood nobody, sat whispering with several of the midgets, maybe second- or third-years. Does she think that if she catches them early, they won't realize that she's little better than the rest of the filth? He shook his head immediately after that thought occurred to him; he needed the dirty-blooded chit, much as he hated to think about it. She was his way in.

'The Dark Lord has a mission for you', his father had told him a couple of weeks previously. 'None of us knew that your aunt Bellatrix had had a daughter; not me, not your godfather Timothy, not even the Dark Lord. The only one who has any useful knowledge about her is your mother, but since she abandoned us and the Cause to return to her blood-traitor relatives, we can no longer walk next door and simply ask her. I have tried my best to get back in touch with her, but my efforts have been for naught. Even if they had not been, though, I doubt she would have told me anything; she cares more for her old House than she does for us.

'Your job is simple: find out everything you can about Jennifer Black. I want to know where she stands in the War, what her political views are, what she likes to eat for breakfast. Everything. The Dark Lord thinks she can be useful to him, so anything you dig up is worth the trouble.'

Draco scoffed again in the safety of his mind. I still don't see what's so important about her, but if Father commands it, I don't have much choice, do I? He had made his first overture that very morning, even if it was only acknowledging her as his cousin. Once he had her attention, step two would be wiggling his way into her confidence, likely via Davis if he could not do it on his own.

That would also be the hardest aspect of his plan. Not because she would refuse to trust him; despite the sneakiness she had shown during the Triwizard Tournament the previous year, she was still a Ravenclaw, and they were not exactly known for their people skills. No, the most troublesome part would be dealing with the company she chose to keep. Bones was okay, a member of an Ancient and Most Noble House, and MacDougal was at least a member of a Noble House, even if it wasn't important in the slightest, but the rest of them?

Towler was not only a commoner, he was a Gryffindor. Patil was a wog who shouldn't even be in this country. Davis was only half a witch, but even she was better than the Mudblood Badger Finch-Fletchley. And last but not least, there was Lovegood, the daughter of the nutjob who printed the Quibbler. They weren't sensible, important, or even rich; they supposedly lived close to the Weasleys, for Merlin's sake! Those two Houses could not come up with two knuts to rub together between them.

And if I want to complete the task Father has given me, I'll have to rub elbows with them and pretend that the world wouldn't be better with all of them wiped out. Why is getting Black on our side so important to the Dark Lord?! Because House Black has money? We do, too! Because she's Aunt Bellatrix's daughter? I'm the son of his right hand, but he hasn't paid this kind of attention to me! What's so special about her?

Unless he doesn't want her on his side, he considered then. Father did say that she was there for the Dark Lord's resurrection, didn't he? And that she ran away because she was scared? Maybe the Dark Lord wants her because she was supposed to be a demonstration of what happens to blood-traitors and she escaped before he could kill her. That would make a lot more sense.

Well, in that case I had better come up with a plan to get on Black's good side. And if I'm lucky, the Dark Lord will even kill the rest of the blood-traitors she surrounds herself with before doing her in.

Neville turned away from his housemates clustered in the corner of the common room. When the seventh-year they were interrogating – Towler, he thought the prefect's name was – had tried to defend his friendship with Black, several others had surrounded him to satisfy their curiosity. It had only taken a few minutes' listening to realize they were planning to give the girl an honest chance rather than stand against her as they should.

Thankfully, the rest of the Lions were thinking with clear heads. The house of the brave would not tolerate the daughter of arguably the worst Death Eater who ever lived to walk around as if she owned the castle!

His clenched fist twitched as he thought about that girl. His whole life, his grandmother had told him about his parents, how they had stood firm against the Dark until they had been cruelly cut down by the Lestranges and Crouch. Bellatrix Lestrange especially had been the cause of his life's miseries, since she was in fact the one who had tortured his mother and father until they were little more than mindless husks. Every year, he and his gran went to St. Mungo's Hospital to visit them, and every year he was forced to see the still-living corpses of the people who should have raised him. The only peace he could get on those days was knowing that the monsters responsible were locked away and that there was no way they could ever get out.

And then, this summer, he had learned that their bloodline continued.

Oh, he knew Black was not really Lestrange's daughter; his godparents, James and Lily, had sat down with him, his gran, and Danny the same day Skeeter's article had come out to explain the truth of the situation. How Black was actually Danny's twin sister and his godsister – not that he would ever recognize her as such – and that they had sent her to the Muggle world when she was little because all the evidence pointed to her being a squib. He did not blame them for their actions; Merlin knew that squibs had no part in their world, and it would probably be easier on everyone if sending them to the Muggle world was more commonplace. That course of action had turned out to be flawed, but they had done the best they could with the information they had. Besides, if even Albus Dumbledore thought she was without magic, how were they possibly to know different?

So no, he did not blame them. They were not the ones who had caused Black to take Lestrange as her mother. The big question he and the Potters had was how she could have tricked the Ministry about her heritage; falsely claiming to be a member of a Noble House was line theft, a criminal offense, and trying that with an Ancient and Noble House like House Black would ordinarily see her sentenced to twenty years in Azkaban. The Blacks should have known that too, however, so the only way they would dare pull something like this was if they were sure that they would not be caught. His grandmother believed that they had paid Gringotts to put Black through a blood adoption, which he had to admit would account for the girl's purple eyes and explain why the goblins' magic showed her as being Lestrange's daughter, but none of the rest of them was sure that was truly the case.

He shook his head to get rid of his frustrating thoughts and dropped heavily into a chair by the fireplace, completing the semi-circle made by Danny, Ron, and Hermione. "Well, this year looks to be interesting," he remarked.

"You can say that again," replied Danny with a sigh. "Dad didn't say anything about him being our professor this year, and honestly, I'm not sure how well that's going to go. He's a great dad, don't get me wrong, but Mum was always the one who did the teaching."

Neville nodded; Lily had taught both of them at the same time throughout most of their childhoods, so he was well aware of his godbrother's concern. "Just remember that it could be worse. At least your dad won't have us sit around and listen to him talk like Quirrel and Lockhart, and he won't try to put us under the Imperius Curse like Moody."

"Don't remind me about them," Hermione grimaced. "This is our OWL year. The last thing we need is an ineffective professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Recovering from wasting our first two years has been hard enough, thank you very much."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Hermione, you've probably been ready for these tests since last September."

"The OWLs determine what we careers we can qualify for after we graduate. Excuse me if I want to make sure I have plenty of options open to me—"

"Both of you, please stop," Danny moaned. "We have the whole year to get through before then, so can we put this argument off at least until January? Besides, with our luck, we'll have much bigger problems to worry about by the end of this year."

"You just had to jinx it, didn't you?"

"So we're all agreed?" Cedric asked, looking at the other five representatives seated at the table. Unlike the rest of Hogwarts, which depended entirely on the prefects to uphold order, Hufflepuff had a student council that handled the majority of intra-house business. Any issues that came up were first deliberated by the seven members, one from each year, before they passed the problems they could not solve themselves on to Professor Sprout.

Normally the council met once a month to discuss any pressing business, but the revelations about Jen that had come out that summer meant they needed to come to an agreement quickly. It was also why they were a member short; with the first-years arriving that very day, there was no time to explain the inner workings of Hufflepuff house and have them choose a representative from their number.

Two seats down, the fifth-year Hannah Abbott answered slowly, "Yes, I think we are. Unless Jen Black does something to make us think she is a danger, Hufflepuff house will not shun her."

That's as good as she'll get, I suppose. "Very well. Unless there's any other business that needs to be taken care of immediately…?" No one volunteered anything, and he continued, "Then this meeting is adjourned. We'll reconvene at the end of the month for our normal meeting and the induction of our first-year member."

The rest of the council nodded as they left, leaving him alone in their reserved room. "And I thought I would have this much stress to deal with only after classes actually started," he groused to the empty chairs. Normally the first night of the new school year was a time for relaxing and catching up with friends he hadn't seen over the summer, not stopping a brewing storm directed at his youngest friend.

Then again, never before have I had a friend in this kind of situation. Several of the other Badgers, the older students especially, had wanted to censure Jen as they had Potter the previous year; nothing physical like the pranks the Weasley twins liked to pull, but more ignoring the person, throwing out minor insults, and overall making it clear that his actions were not welcome. Those kind of sanctions did not sound like much at first, but when an entire quarter of the school was snubbing someone, the peer pressure could cause quite a bit of distress.

Potter had learned first hand what that felt like the previous year. By the time March had rolled around, he was avoiding the roving packs of Badgers altogether and double-checking in the library to make sure there weren't any Hufflepuffs gathering around him to voice their displeasure with his cheating to enter the Tournament.

In hindsight, we probably did go a little overboard on that front, Cedric noted to himself ashamedly. It's one thing to make him regret breaking the rules for a chance at glory; it's quite another to actually make him concerned for his safety. I better talk to the others tomorrow and make it clear that his punishment ended with the final Task.

Still, I'm glad I could talk Michaels out of trying to take her on. I get that he has a grudge against her mother, but she wasn't the one who killed his grandfather and grandmother. Merlin, she hadn't even been born then.

Thankfully, that sixth-year was the council member most against Jen, and if he decided he wanted to settle things with her himself, it was now limited to a personal conflict rather than a fight with the whole house. It was the least Cedric could do for her; after all, she had saved his life multiple times during the Tournament, not just in the graveyard where her actions had created the life debt formerly between them. Before the first Task, she had revealed that they were expected to steal a golden egg from a nesting mother dragon; without that little titbit of information, he would have walked into the arena without a single plan on how to survive the encounter, let alone complete the challenge. Then, during the Ravenclaw Task, she had overwhelmed the juvenile acromantulas that had tried to swarm him and Katie Bell, and furthermore she was willing to assist him in getting back to the maze's entrance instead of searching for whom she thought was her own hostage. What kind of friend could he call himself if he didn't defend her?

And if Michaels did wind up challenging the fifth-year to an honor duel anyway? Well, Cedric just hoped they allowed enough time for him to buy a ticket. He had heard through the grapevine the previous year that Viktor Krum, in addition to being one of the best fliers Dumstrang had ever produced, was also a skilled duelist, and he had had the good fortune of watching a copy of Krum and Jen's duel during the Hufflepuff Task. Any fourth-year who could compete on near-equal ground with a seventh-year experienced in a fight was not someone he wanted to tangle with. Michaels, on the other hand…

Well, the other boy always had made boasts his wand couldn't back up.

At least I've done my part, he thought decisively. Bones and Finch-Fletchley are close to her, which is just further proof that she's a good friend if they'll give her a chance. It's just disappointing she was Sorted into Ravenclaw rather than Hufflepuff. With her sense of fair play, she'd fit right in with us here.

Jen pushed open the door to her personal dorm, or at least the room that had been hers alone. Unlike last year, she was now going to be forced to bear with a roommate.

Thankfully, though, she knew she would be able to tolerate living with said individual.

"This will be interesting," Luna remarked, making her way to the bright orange trunk sitting at the foot the beds closer to the door. "I haven't had to share a room since my first term here. The girl I was with decided she would rather share space with two of the others than deal with me."

"I know the feeling; Brocklehurst told me on the first night last year that she was too comfortable with Li and Turpin to bother moving her stuff around." After checking that their door was securely locked, she flicked her left hand to open her own black oak chest and levitated her belongings to their proper places. Clothes in the wardrobe, books to the shelves, and her ritual kit to the bottom drawer of her desk where she could ward the hell out of it. Not only was it dangerous to keep her black magic tools where just anyone could stumble upon them, her precaution was also a bit of common courtesy to her roommate.

Luna had reacted… poorly the one time she had left her dagger out, and she had no desire to deal with that every day.

The blonde huffed while watching her unpack her trunk. "Life really isn't fair, is it? I'd do almost anything to be able to do wandless magic like that."

Go through a near-suicidal ritual, and maybe you can. Finishing with her task, she asked, "Do you want me to help you with your things, too?"

"No, no, leave the mere mortal to use her hands for this." Luna hefted a large clay statue out of the space-extended compartment, the creature depicted looking like a cross between a dragon and an octopus, and stationed it next to her bedside table. The rest of the artwork she produced were likewise fanciful, even if they all had a disturbingly lifelike quality as well.

She shook her head and looked at her bed. The previous year, she had been able to splice the two beds together to give her a queen-sized; though she doubted Luna would mind her doing that again – she was well aware of the crush the little blonde was nursing for her – going full-speed after the younger girl now would take all the fun out of her plans for the year.

It had been a while since she tried her hand at a drawn-out seduction.

Of course, there are other ways to stay comfortable. Clapping her hands together and slowly spreading them, she stretched the material of the bed wider until it was the size she was accustomed to. She then held onto the strands of the spell in one hand while using the other to etch a reflected nauthiz rune into the wood. A quick manipulation then had the loose ends of the transfiguration bound to the stability rune, using the free magic of the world to maintain her spell.

It was an interesting little trick she had found in one of her books over the summer. Since the footboard had been altered after the transfiguration, the rune would vanish once the spell fell apart, but when properly used it could also keep the bed in its new form for a longer period of time than just casting the spell. Unfortunately, this method could not be used to make inanimate transfigurations permanent; changing an object's structure induced a metaphysical stress that consumed ever more magic the longer it was kept up, and eventually the demand would exceed what the single rune she had carved could supply, causing her bed to revert to its original state.

Until that time, however, it meant a more pleasant sleeping space.

Luna had paused in her efforts to watch her roommate, and now her eyes narrowed in playful jealousy. "Just had to rub it in, didn't you?"

"If you're nice, maybe I'll do the same to yours tomorrow," she teased back. Checking her watch to find that they, along with Morag and Padma, had chatted until after midnight before they all split up for the night, she turned her back on the girl so Luna could not see her grin. Let the fun begin. "For now, however, I think it's time I went to bed."

"Sure, I'll be going to sleep in just a couple— Jen!"

Her wicked grin grew wider as she straightened from her previous position, her trousers dangling from one hand. Considering she had not worn knickers since she was a young child, Luna had just gotten quite the eyeful. She twisted around to shoot the blonde an innocent sidelong look. "What? I was just changing."

"Just… warn me next time," Luna muttered, her flushed cheeks nearly hot enough to set her whole face alight. "And why didn't you get out your nightgown before doing that?"

She tugged off her blouse before tossing her clothes into the basket in the corner and stretching a bit; by now, Luna was quivering as if unsure whether to run away screaming or pounce on her. "Oh, I never told you, did I? I always sleep in the nude. It's a much more… pleasurable experience."

The younger girl's response sounded suspiciously like "Meep."

And that's enough for tonight. Give her one big hit to get her hooked, and then just keep stringing her along until she's as desperate as a junkie needing her next fix. Slithering between the sheets, she faced the wall so that her smirk would not give the game away and waved her hand vaguely to dim the lights. "Good night, and sweet dreams." Especially the ones starring me.

"…Y-Yeah, good night."

A soft crack could be heard in the Ministry atrium, though there was no visible cause for the sound. The lone guard present, dressed in the navy robes common to the members of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, snatched his wand from his pocket and hastily cast a Lumos charm to light the dark room. Nothing. "Must have just been my imagination," the wizard eventually said as he returned his focus to his pocket.

That action left him utterly defenseless to the pale green spell that stole his life away.

"Idiot," Voldemort hissed quietly from under his invisibility cloak, one he had purchased in China decades earlier during his travels. He had hoped that the Ministry would be undefended as it normally was, but it seemed that he was not going to be that lucky this night. Jogging to the other end of the room, he vaulted over the welcome desk rather than step through the golden arch right next to it.

Freeing Rookwood from Azkaban this soon after his resurrection was already proving to be a good move. The Unspeakable had only been in his service for a year prior to his fall, and he had not had the chance to pick the man's brains for all the useful information the wizard had acquired over his years in the Department of Mysteries, a state of affairs he was now working to correct. One of the factoids he had learned today, for instance, was that the arch leading into the bowels of the Ministry would lock down the Floo and the designated Apparation area and alert the DMLE of an intruder should a wand not keyed into it pass through. Ministry workers had their wands added as a matter of course, and the entire reason visitors had to have their foci weighed was so that they could enter the building without setting off a constant stream of alarms.

And unfortunately, tonight I have to be especially careful. If I set off an alarm now, I'll be up to my armpits in Aurors before I can say 'busted'. He knew sneaking through the building was a risky proposition, especially now; he had stationed Gregory Goyle Sr. on the road leading to Azkaban after breaking out the imprisoned Death Eaters, and the man had returned at half past two to report that a mixed group of Aurors and Hit Wizards had appeared and rushed to the prison. He could only presume that that was in response to the guards, all of whom were long dead at that point, being unable to provide a routine check-in.

With the guards dead, the Death Eaters free, and the Dementors missing, the DMLE would be frantic as they looked for the cause of the breakout. Though neither of his ears in the Ministry had yet heard anything to indicate that they knew he was back, releasing his imprisoned soldiers was a pretty big hint. The DMLE would search the prison top to bottom for any clues, and it was for that reason that he was risking infiltrating the building tonight. So long as they were otherwise occupied, they would not leave behind the normal complement of security, which gave him the opportunity to track down the never-sufficiently-be-damned prophecy.

There's something to be said about killing multiple birds with one stone, he noted as the grille of the elevator opened in front of him. I regain my most loyal servants, take control of the Dementors, and find out what secrets Dumbledore is intent on hiding from me – provided the information Severus gave me is correct, of course – and all with only a dozen deaths and a few hours' wait. I couldn't ask for a more productive day.

The elevator rattled to a stop, and a chipper female voice said, "Level nine, Department of Mysteries." The hallway ahead of him looked empty, or at least it did except for the slightest ripple in the air to one side; after another moment that waver parted slightly and allowed a pale face topped with red hair to be seen.

"Who's there?" the unknown wizard demanded, slipping his wand arm out of the security of the invisibility cloak. "Show yourself!"

One of the Order of the Phoenix?, Voldemort wondered. If so, I'm extremely disappointed. This is an example of the force Dumbledore assembled to stand against me? Their quality has diminished drastically during my time as a wraith. He slipped just the tip of his wand through the edge of his own cloak and prepared to cast the Killing Curse again when a thought struck him. I can't trust the information Severus is giving me, not entirely at least, but another member of the Order should know just as much or possibly even more than my spy does. Why kill him now when I can first squeeze out all the information he is privy to?

Instead of the Unforgivable he had planned to use, he whispered, "Stupefy." The stunner soared through the air like a scarlet lance and smashed into the middle of the other wizard's chest; the redhead did not have a chance to utter a single curse in response before dropping unconscious to the ground. Just as he was congratulating himself, though, the fallen Order member vanished without a trace.

Portkeys set to activate automatically upon their bearer's incapacitation? Not a bad precaution, you old bastard, Voldemort thought with grudging respect. Though the Order might be filled with incompetents, it seemed their leader was still clever as ever.

Pushing his irritation away, mostly because he just did not have the time to deal with it, he ran down the hallway, the black door at the end of the corridor opening on its own to let him through and then slamming shut behind him. The walls began to move, spinning faster and faster until the burning tapers were just streaks of blue on a black background, until after a few dizzying moments the identical doors slowed to a stop.

Normally this security feature would have disoriented anyone trying to break into the department, but once again having a former Unspeakable under his 'payroll' was paying dividends. He glanced up, noting the Ministry crest painted on the ceiling, and circled around the room until it was right-side-up from his perspective. He then found the door located two doorways to the right of the one directly in front of him and opened it.

'Dark and dusty' was his first impression. Rising in front of him were rows and rows of shelves, and each shelf was filled with numerous blue balls. There were entirely too many prophecies for him to search for them manually, but thankfully, he had a way to cheat. He laid his wand in his left palm and commanded, "Point me prophecy about the Dark Lord Voldemort."

The wand spun in a lazy circle once, twice, before coming to a stop. Though the tip pointed further into the room, it did not feel like the spell had been successful. He took three quick steps to the side, and sure enough, the wand did not so much as twitch. Perhaps the prophecy isn't under my name?, he thought, though he was fairly certain it would have been. From the lines Severus had relayed to him, it was more likely to be under his name than Potter's. Nevertheless, he tried again. "Point me prophecy about Danny Potter." Once again, the results were inconclusive.

This is odd. Maybe they're charmed so that a basic Four-Point Charm can't find them. "Point me prophecy about the end of the world." Much to his ire, his wand immediately jerked around, pointing to each of the many, many orbs his spell was sniffing out.

This makes no sense; if the spell works, why can't I find the prophecy? Unless it's no longer here, he realized with a silent snarl. If it wasn't here, or even more, if someone destroyed it, of course I wouldn't be able to find it. And since the only people who can remove a prophecy orb from its shelf are those named within, that means…

"Dumbledore brought Potter to remove it and then spirited it away." Taking hold of his towering temper, Voldemort only barely managed not to hurl curse after curse at the shelves. Instead, he threw open the door leading to the rotating room and stormed inside. He had wasted his time – and worse, risked revealing rumors of his return to be true – and for nothing. If this was Dumbledore's plan, the wrinkled bastard had succeeded magnificently.

The Dark Lord hissed under his breath as he furiously made his way back to the atrium and the Apparation zone, without even a single Ministry worker to provide a convenient target for his roaring fury. Laugh while you can, old man. Soon enough, I'll come for you, and your precious Boy-Who-Lived, too.

That should be the last of the "You're really Lestrange's daughter?" scenes; I hope so, anyway. It's important, and I'm sure it would be big news for months or even years after the reveal – which is the whole reason why I keep going over the same ground in the first place – but it's so boring to write about again and again.

No, I haven't gone crazy; Neville truly does not look fondly on squibs and wants nothing to do with them. I know he was nothing like this in canon, and he probably had a soft spot for them in all honesty, but with his godparents still alive and taking an active role in raising him, this version of Neville did not grow up to be nearly so timid as he was in the books, so there was no reason for him to be constantly "tested" to see if he would display any magic ability. That means he also has no reason not to internalize the dismissive view his relatives have towards squibs that caused his canon counterpart so much pain and suffering.

And yes, Voldemort did get a second scene in as many chapters. Apparently he thinks he's important or something.

Silently Watches out.