CHAPTER FOUR: Momentum

Part 3

"And here I was hoping you had realised you don't belong here," said Malfoy. "I was just about to ask Potter about you."

"Ask me anything you want, Malfoy," said Hermione. "I'll gladly answer all your questions."

With Malfoy and Nott focused on Hermione, Harry crossed his wand with Malfoy's knocking it to the side. Malfoy held onto it, but was too slow to react before Harry pushed him back into the other Slytherins.

A spell erupted right in front of his face, but dissipated without harming him. He felt magic whoosh past his ears towards Malfoy's escort and flicked his own wand - the Banishing Charm scattered the Slytherins across the courtyard.

"Harry!"

He paid Hermione's warning no attention, aiming his next spell precisely, but Malfoy, in a display of speed, deflected it towards the stonework. Harry blocked an incoming hex flying from his flank, but the force made him stumble sideways. Again, someone else's shield protected him from the attack that followed it.

Slytherins used their small advantage in numbers to quickly regroup and launch a concentrated strike that won Nott his wand back. A flurry of spells rushed towards Harry at the forefront of the group of Gryffindors, spelling a certain defeat. With a single lightning-fast thought, acting more on instinct than consciously, he conjured a shield of his own. The magical backlash swept the other Gryffindors off their feet, but Harry wasn't done.

"Tonare!"

The bludgeoner landed in the middle of Malfoy's group, hitting those too slow with their defence. Malfoy, Nott and one other remained standing. Then Ron was at Harry's side, growling an incantation. Nott swatted the spell aside.

"Enough!" Malfoy barked out an order and his housemates, only now picking themselves off the ground, froze with their wands half-raised.

"Malfoy, you're not the boss of me," said one of them.

"Shut up," Malfoy said, without sparing him a glance. "Well, Potter. You must have been itching for a fight."

Hermione pushed Ron aside and whispered in Harry's ear, "What were you thinking?"

"I made a quick decision," he said. "Malfoy's hiding something. We can-"

"Everyone's hiding something!" Hermione countered, gripping his wand arm.

"I don't get why you're defending-"

A slap echoed loudly in the courtyard, snapping his head to the side. Then he felt his cheek burning. He looked back at Hermione, meeting glistening eyes and a face reddened from the chill.

"Don't you dare," she hissed.

Seeing this, Slytherins reacted with laughter, though their wands remained firmly trained on their targets.

"Trouble in paradise, Scarhead?" Malfoy taunted.

"I'm not done with you," Harry snarled. "Wait for your turn."

"No more turns," Hermione whispered. "We're in trouble anyway. You didn't think I'd find out what happened on the train?"

"I must admit, I didn't think the mudblood had such a fiery temper," Malfoy said loudly, "what with her perfect grades and her scholarly trophies…"

Harry shifted the hold on his wand, angling it towards Malfoy, yearning to curse him again.

"You must have a death wish, ferret."

Malfoy's demeanor changed again. "You just have to have the last word, don't you, Potter?"

Hermione's fingers closed around his wrist in an iron grip. Harry glanced down, then back up at her.

"He said-" she began, but paused to swallow. "He… oh God, it was him." She turned to face Malfoy. "You did it."

Harry could hardly discern what happened immediately after Hermione's declaration. The battle erupted anew, lighting the courtyard with sizzling spellfire. He slipped through the chaos to the Slytherins' flank, but Malfoy wasn't there. Harry lashed out with a chain of stunners and jinxes, but Malfoy wasn't hiding behind his housemates either. In short order the Slytherins were disarmed or unconscious – except for Malfoy.

"Where is he?" he growled. "Malfoy, where the fuck are you?"

"Harry Potter!" a thunderous voice rumbled over the courtyard.

Harry turned on his heel, wand going up – he was aiming at Dumbledore. The Headmaster descended the steps, his own wand down by his side, turquoise robes billowing in the cold wind.

"You were warned against attacking other students, Mr. Potter."

"They attacked us!" Ron protested. "They cast the first spell!"

"I'm sure each side has their own version of events," Dumbledore said. "I shall not vindicate anyone for dueling. Perhaps a week's detention is in order for each of you."

"Professor, Malfoy-"

"Don't try my patience, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore interrupted him and waved his wand, dispelling the various magical effects on Slytherins. "If Mr. Malfoy was involved, be assured he will be in detention as well."

"Professor, you're not listening," Harry urged. "Hermione accused him and he ran."

"Professor, I don't know what Potter's blathering about, but-"

"Be silent, Mr. Higgs." Dumbledore turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger?"

Harry silently thanked the higher powers for Dumbledore's inexplicable instinct. It seemed the man needed just a glance from Hermione to somehow understand that the situation went beyond an ordinary fight.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley… please escort Miss Granger to my office," Dumbledore said in a grave tone. "I shall join you shortly."

Without another word, Harry grabbed Hermione's hand and lead her inside the castle, Ron following a few steps behind. The entrance gate closed with a reverberating thud as soon as they stepped inside the Entrance Hall. Harry glanced back towards the giant doors when he felt an overwhelming wave of magic pouring through it, reaching deep inside Hogwarts.

"What was that?" Ron whispered with nervous reverence.

"I have no idea," Harry muttered. "Hermione… Malfoy said something about trophies – what did he mean? You turned on him right after."

Hermione swept her wand over her coat, removing the dust from destroyed stonework. "My awards from school – from before Hogwarts. I've never told anyone about them." She spoke quietly, looking down at her feet. "He couldn't have known, unless... he saw them in my room. I- I need to sit down."

Harry knew he shouldn't let her stop, they could do this in Dumbledore's office and they didn't need more complications if another teacher found them…

Hermione collapsed, back against the railing. She was taking shallow, shuddering breaths, still squeezing his hand.

The gates opened again, just enough for a person to fit in the gap, and a procession of Slytherins came through. They marched in a line, strangely docile, not saying a word, looking straight ahead. They crossed the Entrance Hall at a brisk pace and disappeared into the dungeons. They were shortly followed by Fred and George. The twins passed them by without sparing a single glance, but Harry noticed their absent, glassy stares.

"What the hell…?" Ron muttered.

Harry remembered seeing that look before. "Memory Charm. Dumbledore must have done it."

Ron's eyes widened in sudden outrage. "But why Fred and George too?"

"We all have to make sacrifices," said Dumbledore, suddenly standing a few steps below them on the staircase.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I don't like this," Ron said with a hint of rebelliousness.

"As involved as your brothers are, the three of you are in a singularly unique position," said the Headmaster. He extended his arm. "Hold on."

Dumbledore apparated them to his office and conjured three high-backed chairs in front of his desk.

"I understand your apprehension, Ronald. I only altered their memory of tonight's confrontation. They will remember roaming the castle instead."

"It seems we've got the proof we needed," Harry said. "Only now Malfoy's gone."

Dumbledore raised a hand. "Before we address this development, I must first ask you to promise me that you will not speak of tonight's events with anyone outside your group."

"What if someone asks us how we know for certain that Malfoy… is responsible?" Hermione asked.

"Say that you can't tell them."

Harry was sceptical. "It's that easy?"

Dumbledore leaned over the desk, his fingers forming a series of steep arches. "Yes. It is that easy."

"No one will buy that," Ron protested. "I know I wouldn't."

"And yet, they will have to accept it. Everyone keeps secrets, especially in these times. This one will be ours."

Hermione looked down at her lap, nervously playing with her wand, then back at Dumbledore. "Just this once, Professor."

"Alright," said Harry. "It's not that important, anyway. Malfoy-"

"Not that important?" Ron exclaimed. "My brothers just got their brains messed with!"

"You know that's not what I meant- Malfoy is gone, Ron! This is more important!"

"Please." Dumbledore raised a hand. Ron squirmed under his gaze. "Your word, Ronald."

"Fine!" Ron jumped from the chair and threw up his arms. "You have my word, I won't tell anyone anything."

"What are we going to do about Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Thanks to your efforts, we now have allies in the Ministry, though their support is tentative," said Dumbledore. "I shall send a message to Sirius. Perhaps Rufus Scrimgeour will agree to keep an ear to the ground. I apologise for not being able to do more, Hermione, but we cannot risk compromising the Order."

"He ran," Harry said, planting his palm on the desk with a snap. "It's an admission of guilt. Can't Scrimgeour have him arrested?"

"Unfortunately, it's not that simple. Lucius Malfoy is in a favourable position with the Minister and he will fight for his son. Moreover, the Ministry has only just taken interest in the case, and only because of the late Hestia Jones."

"Of course," Harry said with a bitter laugh. "She was an Auror. That's why they care at all."

Dumbledore seemed to agree, though he didn't comment on it. "If I may… it would be helpful to know what convinced you of Mr. Malfoy's guilt."

As Hermione told the Headmaster about the trophies, Harry thought back to the fight in the courtyard. How could Malfoy have disappeared so quickly? One moment he was there, casting spells, and gone the next.

I didn't even see him leave.

An annoying voice in his head claimed, maybe there's a brain behind his big mouth,, but Harry quashed it. Malfoy was a murderer and coward. He didn't deserve to be called anything else.

They sneaked through the dark, empty halls back to the Gryffindor Tower in silence. There was so much to talk about, but none of them seemed willing to be the first to speak. He and Ron reluctantly parted with Hermione in the common room. Later, lying in his bed, Harry could have sworn Malfoy's face was staring at him from the ceiling, wearing the familiar arrogant smirk.

~~oOo~~

It was long past midnight when the Mark burned him. He hadn't been sleeping – there was no use going to bed when he was going to be interrupted. The summons rarely came when expected, but this time, there was no surprise.

He had mixed himself a calming tonic while waiting, then sat down in front of the fireplace. A chance to prepare before facing the Dark Lord was a rare luxury. Dumbledore interrupted him, coming in with questions, but he'd rehearsed his answers.

"Yes, I'm aware that something happened, Headmaster," he said. "Potter and Weasley have failed to present themselves for detention. Not long after that, a group of my Slytherins returned to their dormitories bearing the signs of memory alteration. And, of course, Draco Malfoy seems to have vanished. I expect to be summoned tonight. The Dark Lord will want to corroborate whatever the boy tells him."

"Draco Malfoy made a mistake," said Dumbledore. "Voldemort is certain to be displeased with that blunder."

"If I may ask, if you're going after Malfoy openly… why spare Nott?"

Dumbledore was an infuriatingly hard man to read.

"As muggles say, never put all your eggs in one basket. Good night, Severus."

I am not at all surprised, Snape thought.

The Mark awoke, searing his skin. He closed a fist around the medallion resting on his right palm and allowed the Portkey to whisk him away from Hogwarts, right through the castle's wards and to an empty, dilapidated boathouse. He followed the cobblestone path that ran along a wildly overgrown hedge. He walked with a deliberate slowness, capturing the last few moments of meditation.

Unlike the estate's grounds, the stone and brick mansion atop the hill had been meticulously restored to the glory of past decades. A proper pureblood household, it was illuminated by soft-glowing lanterns and decorated with crawling vines and sturdy English masonry. Were it not for the tall, blade-topped gate, an artwork of twisted metal, it would look inviting. The gate anticipated him, opening just in time to let him through and closing as soon as he passed it.

He stopped briefly in the foyer to let his eyes adjust to the light.

"You got here fast. I thought you'd be late."

Snape glared at Pettigrew, leaning casually against the wall.

The rat smiled. "Oh, fine. I lied. I hoped you'd be late." He had his arms crossed, fingers of one hand tapping against the other arm. "I had half a mind to delay you."

"Perhaps one of these days you'll become skilled enough to try," Snape drawled.

Pettigrew's smile only grew wider. "You've always been dismissive of others, Severus. Take care that your attitude does not condemn you."

He let the rat have the last word – he was inconsequential – and made his way upstairs. He heard the gathering from down the hall before he saw it. He held back a grimace of disgust – he was not looking forward to an evening with his… comrades.

"Ah, Severus." The Dark Lord was the first to notice him, the others busy talking over each other and pouring wine. "Come. Sit."

His arrival silenced the room. This was no ordinary evening.

"How's Hogwarts treating you, Snape?" Mulciber asked from his seat at the Dark Lord's left hand. "I see you've still not found time to wash your hair."

Snape's lip twitched when the table erupted with raucous laughter. Greyback slammed his cup down, rattling plates in the near vicinity.

A band of buffoons.

"Please, my friends," said the Dark Lord and the ruckus immediately died down. "We have an important matter to address. Severus, if you would…"

Snape sat down at the far end, as far away from Mulciber as possible. "My Lord, it seems one of our junior members has failed to keep his mouth shut."

"Watch your mouth," Lucius sputtered, knocking over his wine flute. "That's my son you're-"

"And he is as poor a spy as yourself," Snape retorted bitingly.

"He's got a point, Lucius," said Mulciber. "You couldn't ask for the time without looking suspicious."

Lucius swallowed the round of laughter at his expense with as much dignity as he could muster in his inebriated state and turned to face Mulciber, his usually stoic features askew in an expression of disgust. "Jumped-up dog…"

Mulciber's face twisted into something ugly for a brief moment. "You're drunk, Lucius. Best you keep silent."

"Gentlemen," Voldemort interrupted. "Enough. I would rather not reprimand you a third time."

Gazes of everyone present scattered as they looked everywhere but at the Dark Lord, all except one. Mulciber's eyes remained firmly fixed on Lucius before he relaxed.

The Dark Lord gestured with his hand and a glass of wine slid down the length of table to Snape. "Severus – tell us what happened tonight."

Snape sipped from the glass – it wouldn't do to outright refuse the drink – and leaned comfortably over the table, hands joined. "I was expecting Potter and the youngest Weasley boy-"

"Hmm. Did you put them... in detention?" Greyback muttered drunkenly. "How dastardly of you."

Another round of laughter burst forth. Snape noticed the Dark Lord's eyes narrow momentarily and then a blindingly fast wand spewed a spell at the werewolf. Greyback grunted in pain as his chair jumped away from the table, his head snapping back and hitting the wall.

"Mhm... Apologies, my Lord," he said over a quiet growl, rubbing the back of his skull.

"Severus, continue."

Snape cleared his throat. "Potter and Weasley didn't come. Later, I came across a group of Slytherins, Theodore Nott among them, returning to their dormitories. Dumbledore used Memory Charms."

"Young Malfoy wasn't with them?" the Dark Lord asked.

"From what I'd gathered, he was already gone by then."

"What else?"

"Five Gryffindor students took part in the confrontation. I was able to overhear Dumbledore talking to Potter and his two friends. Those three were the only ones who kept their memory of the events."

"How many Slytherins?"

"Eight, including Malfoy."

"Eight…" The Dark Lord appeared intrigued. "Potter's progress is fascinating. Jervis – what is your assessment?"

"From what little I've seen from Potter, he's got potential, and the drive to make the best of it."

The Dark Lord's gaze slid over to Lucius, who flinched, but did not look away. "I think it's time to call the key witness." He waved a hand at the double doors at the far end of the room and they flew open, stopping just short of slamming into the wall.

"Draco," the Dark Lord said. "Come in."

All eyes were on the boy as he slowly approached the table, head bowed.

"Sit down."

Draco took the nearest empty chair, opposite the Dark Lord, next to Snape.

"My Lord," he mumbled.

"Pardon? I didn't hear you."

There was the barest hint of mockery on the Dark Lord's face and for a fleeting moment, Snape found himself longing to the days of his youth, a simpler time, when he could enjoy the company of the wizards around him and not think twice about it. Those days were irreversably lost.

"My Lord," the boy repeated.

A derisive snort came from the other end of the table. In the corner of his vision, Snape caught Mulciber smiling behind his glass.

"That's unbecoming of you, Jervis," the Dark Lord reprimanded, though there was more amusement than malice in that statement.

"Apologies, my Lord," Mulciber said, without taking his eyes off Draco, "but I can't help feeling disappointed in my pupil. I taught him better than that."

"Perhaps you're not a very good teacher," Lucius interjected.

"And perhaps your son is not a very good student," said the Dark Lord. "What did you say that convinced the girl of your guilt?"

Draco glanced at him, as if looking for guidance or support, but Snape merely stared back.

"I referenced something I could have only seen in her home," the boy said. "I apologise, my Lord. I should have kept my tongue on a leash."

"Yes, you should have," said the Dark Lord, lip twitching. "Tell me, has your father ever told you about these gatherings? How I would punish for mistakes?"

The boy swallowed and nodded. "Yes."

"Whatever he told you… was most likely exaggerated. He does love to embellish his tales – don't you Lucius?"

Draco smiled nervously, reluctant to join in with the round of laughter the Dark Lord had prompted. Snape himself didn't participate either. He wasn't nearly intoxicated enough to even try to enjoy this.

"Don't think you're yet forgiven, Draco. You've made a costly mistake. You've made yourself a target and put Theodore in a precarious position. Do you understand?"

When the boy spoke this time, Snape could barely hear him.

"Yes… my Lord."

"At least you understand that," said the Dark Lord, waving him off dismissively. "Now leave. You haven't earned the right to dine in our fine company."

"Shall I have the desserts brought in, my Lord?" Mulciber asked.

"More wine!" Greyback thundered among the cheering.

"Father..."

Lucius likewise dismissed his son with a gesture. "Leave, Draco. I'll deal with you later."

Mulciber clapped his hands twice and a pair of house elves appeared, swiftly cleaning up the empty dinner plates and replacing them with a selection of pastries and a full flagon of wine.

"Won't you join us, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked.

"Unfortunately, no, to my regret," Snape said. "I'd rather not focus more suspicion on myself than necessary."

"Of course. A pity. On a weekend, perhaps."

"Perhaps. Enjoy the night, my Lord."

The Dark Lord smiled. Though his features had grown less snakelike since Snape had last seen him, it was still eerie to behold.

"Thank you, Severus. I shall."

~~oOo~~

September went by quickly in a flurry of classes, dotted with passive-aggressive confrontations with Slytherins, now led by Theodore Nott. The relatively unknown fifth-year skillfully filled the void left in the wake of Malfoy's escape. Malfoy himself had become a suspicious figure, spoken of only in whispers in remote hallways. After more than a month, the Auror Office had still issued no arrest warrant, maintaining that Malfoy was a person of interest in the deaths of Hestia Jones and the Grangers, but not a suspect.

Harry couldn't understand why Hermione wasn't bothered by it.

"We've talked about this, Harry. Again and again. I'm sure they'll arrest him once he's questioned."

"It's been a month and we're talking about Malfoy," he said with exasperation, somewhat irritated that he was the one convincing her.. "Scrimgeour is sitting on his hands when he should have searched Malfoy Manor weeks ago."

"He did search it," Hermione replied.

Harry snorted. "He knocked on the door and politely asked if Malfoy was there."

"Harry, enough. Debating this over and over won't change anything. We should focus on things that are within our power to influence."

Thus ended any attempt at discussion. Even Ron gave up eventually. Ginny, on the other hand, didn't let them forget about it.

"The way she's acting, it's not normal," she insisted.

"Look, I'm just glad she's not crying anymore," Ron said.

Ginny punched him in the shoulder. "How tactful of you, you arse."

"What? She's not even here- ow!"

In time, they seemed to fall back into the usual school routine, but outside of class, everything was different now. They were closer than before, but between classes and regular sessions with Moody and Sirius, Harry noticed that they sought out solitude more than they used to. Ginny, naturally, had other friends. Ron could often be found in Fred and George's company. Hermione disappeared for long stretches, hours at a time – Harry couldn't even find her with the Marauder's Map, as if each time she went somewhere different and slipped his notice.

He himself devoted more time to the library than he ever had before, explaining it away as private studies. That was another thing he noticed – they made up excuses, sometimes simply said nothing, and never the whole truth. Everyone keeps secrets, Dumbledore had said, especially in these times. His words were being proved true every day.

Harry didn't pry for answers and neither did they. He trusted them, but he'd rather his 'private studies' remained a mystery. The one mystery he would very much like resolved, however, were horcruxes.

He'd encountered the word several times, spoken and written, in Voldemort's memories. It seemed random, no two situations he'd remembered it from were similar. Summer had been a chaotic time, he had pushed details aside in favour of easily assimilated information. It wasn't until he settled back in at Hogwarts that he realised the theme most of these encounters had had in common.

Horcruxes, whatever they were, constituted a connection between Voldemort and Grindelwald. The one vague reference he'd found in Wiles of Shadow,, an aged tome smuggled from Grimmauld Place, referred to horcruxes as soul-jars. He dived into the depths of the Hogwarts library, scouring tomes of old rituals, treatises on hypotheticals of soul magic and alchemy, but none of them referenced soul-jars or horcruxes. He blitzed through almost a dozen of various Grindelwald biographies, both officially published and those considered less reputable, but it was in vain. Horcruxes stubbornly remained an unsolved puzzle.

It was one such late afternoon at the library. A nearby window captured the last fleeting vestiges of summer. He leaned back, stretching, and yawned. A glance at the watch told him he'd been in the library for three hours already, paging through yet another tome – Alchemical Forms of Dark Arts. It had seemed to carry some promise, but ultimately led him nowhere. He opened Wiles of Shadow where he had bookmarked it and tapped his quill against the title page of a chapter.

Opposite the title page was an old poem, translated – as the author claimed – from a dead Eastern European dialect, transcribed in a decorative script: Silverfeather Crown. In a moment of boredom, he had scribbled a crooked crown above the title. It was strange – he was convinced this fictional piece of headwear was somehow significant, though his reason for that certainty was questionable at best.

He traced the tip of his quill on the cursive letters, then his drawing. He stifled another yawn, his head dipped lower, the quill fell from his fingers. He could close his eyes for just a moment...

~~oOo~~

Tom admired the richly decorated chamber. Like most things, he had little practical use for jewellry or artwork – such things were simply unnecessary when one had magic at their disposal. And like most material things, he appreciated them for comfort and pleasure. After all, magic, for all its splendour, wasn't a goal, but a means to an end. Why pursue any goals if one didn't enjoy the spoils of one's efforts?

One of the many former staff offices, the room was adorned with meticulously selected paintings and sculptures – many of them stolen or 'repossessed' from museums – meant to both delight and overwhelm the visitor. The unspoken message was clear: you were standing in the heart of Lord Grindelwald's domain.

It had been years since a student walked the hallowed halls of Durmstrang.

The door opened and a woman walked in. No, not a woman – a phenomenon.

"Lady Caroline," Tom said, bowing his head.

She was one of Grindelwald's lieutenants, a witch known as much for her brilliant mind as her own brand of insanity. Some said one couldn't exist without the other.

"Tom Riddle, aren't you?" she asked.

Tom held back a grimace. He didn't like being called by his given name, but he could hardly introduce himself as Voldemort to Grindelwald's right hand. He couldn't be Voldemort as long as he was still known as Tom.

"Yes, milady. I appreciate your taking time to-"

"You're not the first young, talented wizard to seek an audience with Lord Grindelwald," she interrupted him. "Though the first from Hogwarts who got this far. Only I stand between you and him."

She sat down on a sofa and gently patted the seat next to her. Tom hesitated for a moment and reluctantly joined her.

I must not fall for her tricks, he reminded himself, keeping his eyes firmly above her neckline.

She smiled, baring her teeth. Pale skin stood in contrast against the black of her dress.

"You're very handsome," she purred, tracing a finger down his cheek. He resisted the urge to grab her wrist and wrestle it away from his face. "How old are you, Mr. Riddle?"

"Why are you asking?"

She leaned in and when she spoke, her breath tickled his ear. "Because I want to know – why else?"

He weighed his options. Loathe as he was to reveal anything, what harm was there in disclosing such an unimportant detail?

"Sixteen."

Caroline's smile faltered noticeably. "What a shame." She turned her head just enough for her lips to brush lightly against his neck. "You have an interesting smell."

Tom pointedly looked away, above her, at one of the paintings. It depicted a tall, willowy woman with dark hair reaching to her waist, standing in an enchanted garden. A raven sat on her arm and she wore a delicate circlet of silver. It had been shaped into a pair of wings reaching behind her temples.

"You have a keen eye, Tom," Caroline said. "Few appreciate this one."

"Who is she?"

Caroline stood up and walked up to the painting. "No one knows. The artist didn't ask for her name. But the person isn't what's intriguing about it. Come closer."

"Her crown…" Tom asked.

Caroline smiled again. "Yes – the Silverfeather Crown. An artifact as desirable as it is mysterious."

"Did it have any magical properties?"

Caroline smiled, assuming a pose similar to the Crown's wearer. "It was said to make the wearer incomparably wise. For that reason, I believe Lord Grindelwald would have little use for it." She returned to him and put an arm around his neck, pulling him too close for his liking. "Speaking of Lord Grindelwald – why do you really want to meet him?"

"My reasons are my own, milady."

"Tom… you're welcome to keep your reasons and go back where you came from. If you want to see him, I must know what they are."

He didn't hold out for long under her gaze.

"Soul magic," he whispered at last.

Caroline released him, crossing arms over her chest. "What interest does a mere student have in the most elusive of alchemical arts?"

Tom considered his answer carefully. "Longevity."

The clear, melodic laugh startled him, shattering the tranquil atmosphere of the room. "Longevity! Such a clever tongue. If you desire the Philosopher's Stone, my master can't help you."

"No, not the Stone," Tom said. "Horcrux."

The smile slid off Caroline's face like water. "Well… That is curious."

~~oOo~~

"-mr. Potter!"

Harry jumped in his seat, shaken awake from the vivid memory. Madam Pince hovered over him, her sharp eyes burrowing into his.

"The hour is late," said the stern-looking librarian. "You should return to your dormitory - after you put everything back in place."

"Er, yes, of course, Madam Pince. I'll get right on that," he said, scurrying to clean up the table.

"What is this?" she demanded, pointing at Wiles of Shadow. "Browsing the Restricted Section without a permission slip-"

"It's not from the Restricted Section," he said, slamming the book shut and stuffing it into his bag. "That's mine."

The librarian's eyes narrowed as she scrutinised him. "I certainly hope so, Mr. Potter. Be on your way, now."

"But what about-"

"Thank you, I shall take care of it. Good night to you, Potter."

"Er, yes. Good night."

~~oOo~~

From his position in the booth at the far end of the lounge, Sirius saw everyone entering and exiting the establishment. The bar was filled to the brim with patrons. Remus slid into the seat next to him.

"He hasn't shown up yet?" Remus asked, positioning himself in a shadowed spot. "How long has it been?"

Sirius glanced at the table. "Roughly three beers. You're not having one?"

"No, thanks. Not the best time to drink for me."

"Right." Sirius downed the rest of his beer. "When?"

"Sunday."

"It's still a few days away."

"I'd rather not risk it."

"Have it your way," Sirius said. "Oh. Our friend has arrived."

Barty Crouch was the perfect image of a muggle, though he stood out in his smartly cut suit. Several of the patrons gave him unfriendly looks. Sirius smiled. To the muggles, Crouch probably looked like the high-strung boss they complained about to their friends.

Crouch located them quickly in the back booth and manoeuvred his way towards their table.

"Gentlemen," he said by way of greeting, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat down.

"Barty," said Sirius. Remus remained silent.

"What are you having?" Crouch asked.

Sirius raised the half-empty bottle. "Muggle beer. Fancy one yourself?"

Crouch knocked lightly on the table. "On second thought, I think I'll pass."

Sirius grinned at him. "So… How's work?"

The agreed upon exchange complete, the older wizard visibly relaxed and leaned back.

"I must say, I'm rather enjoying this," said Sirius. "Even if it's a bit paranoid."

"Paranoia keeps people like me alive, Mr. Black," said Crouch. "Have you any news?"

"Some. Most of it useless. Pettigrew periodically disappears and we can't track him until he pops up again somewhere else."

"An unplottable safehouse?"

Sirius shook his head. "If it were so, we would have nailed him by now."

Crouch put the pieces together quickly. "Fidelius."

"That's our best guess," Sirius agreed. "The implication is obvious."

"He's with… Voldemort."

"Yes. Each time to goes back to the lair we lose him, because there's no way to break through a Fidelius Charm and I'll bet my family's fortune that Voldemort's the Secret Keeper."

Crouch loosened his tie. "Any details could go a long way to narrowing down the search area."

"I know that. I've tried every method possible without frying my brain. The Charm won't let me divulge anything. I barely remember what the place looked like anyway. Each time I think back to it, it gets more blurry."

"Is there a pattern to Pettigrew's movements?"

Sirius rubbed his forehead. "No. He jumps around and he's always gone in time to evade us. I don't think he knows we're tracking him though. I think it's just an operational habit."

"A habit that has so far kept him out of a cell, even with two talented, dedicated wizards on his trail."

Sirius tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "I never would have guessed you thought so highly of us. Would you be willing to put that in writing? I'm not looking for a job right now, but references are always good to have."

Crouch ignored his remark entirely. "Keep me appraised of any developments. Lucius Malfoy is sniffing around. If you get Pettigrew, we'll need to keep him out of Malfoy's reach until a move can be made."

"We'll worry about Peter. Just make sure everything is ready to go on your end," said Sirius.

"Certainly. Do you have an approximate time frame?"

"If the rat keeps doing what he's doing, we'll have him soon."

"Your turn." Remus leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. "We've been very forthcoming with our information. You're not living up to your side of the agreement."

Crouch wasn't intimidated. "Threatening me won't work, Lupin."

"If I wanted to threaten you, we wouldn't be talking here," Remus growled.

Sirius placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Forgive Remus," he said, looking back at Crouch. "The full moon's coming, always makes him cranky. He makes a good point though. You've been straight with us and it's appreciated, but you're not just representing yourself here. What's Scrimgeour been up to? What about Plateau? I read the paper. They haven't done shit about Draco Malfoy."

"I don't think everyone heard you, Black," said Crouch with a telling gesture towards the other patrons.

"And I think time has come for a real threat, Director," Sirius retorted. "Tell Scrimgeour to arrest Draco Malfoy, or I'll do everything in my power to make sure he never even sniffs the Minister's chair. And remind him that I have a lot more gold than he does."

Crouch didn't move and his face remained as calm as it had been the entire time. "Rufus doesn't respond well to threats."

"I don't expect him to smile when he does. I expect him to respond at all," said Sirius. "We must be off, but you stay. Have a drink. Think about what you're going to tell old Scrim."

Remus left first while Sirius finished his last beer. He placed the empty bottle on the table with more force than was necessary. He glanced at Remus' back and back at Crouch, smiling slyly. "He's already pissed. Do you really want to push a werewolf over the edge, Barty?"

He turned to leave, but Crouch grabbed his hand.

"What?" Sirius barked.

"Scrimgeour fulfilling his part of the agreement," Crouch whispered. "There's a well-founded rumour making rounds about Fudge's special unit within the Auror Office. Rufus has been up in arms about it."

"Fudge tries to run the Aurors, news at eleven. Try harder next time."

"That unit is coming to Hogwarts tomorrow to arrest Dumbledore-"

"Dumbledore can handle himself," Sirius interrupted. "But thanks for the tip. I'll pass it on."

"You didn't let me finish," Crouch said. "Fudge wants to bring in Harry Potter as well."

Sirius froze. "When is it happening, exactly?"

"Fudge is playing this one close to the chest, but I wager he wants to do it when both targets are together at an easily reachable location."

Crouch stood up, buttoned his jacket and smoothed it out. "I'll talk to Rufus about the Malfoys. Whatever you do, Fudge can't get his hands on Potter. Lucius will be waiting. If Potter's arrested, I don't expect him to make it to the cell."

~~oOo~~

Harry watched with amusement as Ron piled his plate high with whatever he came upon within reach, missing with the fork half the time. Bleary eyed, he almost poured orange juice over a pile of pancakes, but Hermione stopped him in time. Ron had protested an early wake-up, but Hermione didn't want to have to rush to Herbology later.

"You can stop now, Ron," Hermione said with exasperation. "You've made your point. You don't like getting up early."

His deception discovered, Ron glared at Hermione and turned his attention to the food. Harry shook his head at their antics.

An owl landed next to them. Hermione paid it a knut for the delivery and shooed it away. She unrolled the Prophet, looked at the front page and promptly dropped it, staring at the headline, eyes wide, breath quickened.

"'Emione, wha'z it?" Ron asked.

Harry reached over and took the paper from her lap.

DRACO MALFOY SUSPECTED IN GRISLY MURDERS, the front page proclaimed, LUCIUS MALFOY DEFENDS SON AGAINST "BASELESS ALLEGATIONS".

He quickly read the short accompanying article, including a short statement from the Auror Office, though not Scrimgeour directly.

"Hermione, don't- don't cry…"

Harry looked up. Her hands were shaking.

"That… snake!" she said, gritting her teeth. "What does it say about Malfoy?"

"He-" Harry paused. "Which one?"

"Draco Malfoy!" Hermione snapped.

"Lucius still claims he's transferred to Durmstrang." It was a convenient excuse. Perhaps Malfoy really was in Durmstrang, perhaps not. Given Durmstrang's secrecy, Lucius could make his claim and no one was able to prove him wrong.

Harry cast a surreptitious glance towards the staff table. Dumbledore appeared to be reading something – a letter, or a note. He then rolled the parchment into a ball. A wisp of smoke rose from between his fingers and when he opened his hand, there was no sign of the parchment.

The Headmaster looked at him next. A small nod and a covert gesture, directing him to leave the Great Hall. Harry nodded back.

"Guys," he said, "I have to go. Dumbledore wants me for something."

"But we've got Herbology soon-"

"Ron, who cares about Herbology?" Hermione hissed, hitting his arm.

Ron blinked. "Wait- what?"

"I'll see you later."

Harry made his way outside and, not seeing Dumbledore anywhere, took to the stairs, leaping several at a time. Sure enough, he saw the Headmaster waiting for him on the usual way from the Entrance Hall to his office.

"Harry, you needn't have rushed."

"It seemed important, sir, with the note and-"

"Ah, I should have guessed you saw that."

"Is something going on, sir?"

Dumbledore winked at him. "There is always something going on. Today, I suspect, the goings on will be particularly exciting. You've seen the Prophet, I take it?"

"Well, the front page…"

"Yes, that's what I meant," Dumbledore said. "It's a frustrating matter, but this development is a step in the right direction, though I don't expect Mr. Malfoy to be actually arrested with any swiftness." He fumbled for something in his robes. "Lemon drop?"

With a shrug, Harry accepted the candy. "You seem to be in a good mod, sir."

"I am, in fact. Today will be a testament to the progress we've made."

"What kind of progress?"

Dumbledore popped a lemon drop into his mouth. "I received two messages this morning," he said. "One was from Sirius – they are close to capturing Peter."

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

"The second message," Dumbledore continued, "came from one of our friends in the Auror Office. He's a new addition to our ranks. I believe you've met him. His name is Dellan Grayson."

Auror-in-training Grayson?

"What was the message?" Harry asked.

"Minister Fudge is sending a crack team of Aurors to Hogwarts to arrest us, headed by Auror Captain Anton Robards."

Harry stopped walking while Dumbledore continued on. After a few paces, the Headmaster turned around to face him with a puzzled look.

"Harry?"

"Um, Professor, how exactly is that good news?"

"I don't recall saying it was."

"Then why are you so chipper?"

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Because all we need to do is not get arrested until Sirius and Remus conclude their hunt. Then, the tables turn."

Harry tried to reconcile Dumbledore's reasoning with the fact of Aurors on their way over to handcuff and lock them up.

"Why so grim, Harry? As I recall, you came close to resisting arrest yourself a few months ago."

He almost came out with 'that was different', but instead said, "Whatever you think is best, sir."

"That's the spirit! Now, while we wait, we could use a conversation topic. Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

Horcruxes! the familiar annoying voice screamed at him. What are they?

"Nothing comes to mind." In truth, he wanted nothing more than to ask about the enigmatic horcruxes. The woman from Voldemort's memory, Caroline, called it a form of alchemy. If anyone had answers, it would be a student of Nicholas Flamel, wouldn't it?

Dumbledore leveled a curious gaze at him. "You seem unconvinced of your own words."

He hesitated, and then-

"Have you heard of the Silverfeather Crown, Professor?"

The twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes brightened. "An old legend, though not without grains of truth scattered throughout."

"I actually heard about it… in the summer, if you know what I mean."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rode up, disappearing under the brim of his tiara. "During your nightly forays into Voldemort's mind? If he was searching for it, it would explain… Most interesting. The context would be helpful."

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and drew his eyes up, towards the ceiling. There appeared to be no hidden arcane meaning in the stone arches of the hallway. He felt Dumbledore figuratively piercing him through with that look, the one that made him feel guilty regardless of circumstances.

"Actually, I just used it to start off," he said and took a deep breath, which he then released through his nose. "This one thing keeps coming up. Voldemort went to Grindelwald to learn about it. I saw him dig through the entire Hogwarts library looking for information. I heard it when I took over his body. The latest instance was in a book I took from the Black collection, and there, it was tied to the Silverfeather Crown again."

He stood with his back to Dumbledore, now staring at the floor. "Horcrux."

A long pause, and-

"Are you absolutely certain," Dumbledore said, "that Voldemort sought out Grindelwald because of it?"

Harry turned around. "Absolutely certain? I can't say, but what I saw suggests it. I didn't see much from that period – those memories were among the best guarded."

All trace of humour was gone from Dumbledore's features. "My dear boy… If this is true, you may have just solved for me a riddle I've been tackling for fourteen years."

Before he could speak again, pain split his skull along the line of his scar. He couldn't scream. He couldn't breathe. His head was going to burst into a fountain of gore any second. He collapsed in silent agony, unable to make a sound.

—steps, slow, measured, boots on porous stone—a cell, small, a cot inside, a pot and—brick chipped away, cracked, hidden in dark, but not from his eyes—fingers scrape at the mortar, it breaks—

Locket.

The locket.

Pain, pain, even more pain…

—images, memories, fly past his vision, blurry, can't make them out—house, old—street, large, ugly building, children – hate them – it tastes of salt—

...let it stop, please…

—fortress, high, cold walls—not, not fortress – prison—old man, frail, on the edge of death – not dead enough—

Grindelwald.

...and it stopped, the pain was gone and the scar fell asleep once more. Harry reached for the thread, grasped it, pulled, but it broke. The door closed again and he could breathe.

He gasped for air, hand pressed against the scar, wet with blood.

"Professor – he found something. A locket, I can't-"

"Calm down, Harry, collect your thoughts, Madam Pomfrey is on her way-"

"There's no time!" he exclaimed. "Professor, he just realised something, something of his is broken and he-" He paused for breath, still shaking. "He's going to kill Grindelwald."

Dumbledore only stared.

"He's going to Nurmengard right now."