The Peverell Dilemma

by deadwoodpecker

Harry slowly begins to realize that he doesn't know his best mate's little sister very well at all.

25. chapter twenty-five

Earlier that morning

"You're sure about this?"

Neville's voice was threaded with anxiety. Harry couldn't blame him. "Yes. I'm sure."

"I'm sure, too," said Ginny.

They stood at the Apparition point just outside the church. Luna had her most normal-looking outfit on (it was only slightly outlandish), and her hair was pinned to her head. It gave her a rather severe look, like a young Professor McGonagall. She held Harry's invisibility Cloak in her hands and was twisting it. Harry was lucky it was virtually indestructible.

Harry himself had also undergone a transformation, though it was magical, not fashionable. He was smaller, and blond. It had been judged best that he not look a thing like the "Gus Polkiss" who'd been to the Ministry and been seen by Yaxley and Rosier. The only problem was the height. "I can see why Dumbledore said a height difference is the hardest thing to get used to," said Harry, as yet another tree branch whacked him in the face. "I'm going to look like a nutter."

"You'll be fine," said Ginny. It was odd to look at her from this vantage point. Their eyes were nearly level.

"Let's go over the rules again," Neville said. "Nothing dangerous—"

"—nothing flashy," said Ginny. "We can't get over-confident."

As all of them looked as Harry felt — slightly sick with nerves — he didn't think over-confidence was going to be an issue. "The most important thing is getting proof to Dumbledore," Harry said. He looked at Luna. "If you can get to Tonks, do it. But if it looks too dangerous..."

"I will do my best," Luna said.

"I will too," said Ginny.

"I hope they relax the restrictions," Neville said. "What if I can't get into the Wizengamot meeting? That could ruin everything!"

"You'll get into the meeting. Felix will help you. And even if you don't… I know I'll be able to find proof. Once I've got that, I'll send a patronus to Dumbledore if I have to," Harry said firmly. "He'll manage it."

"And remember, we can't acknowledge each other!" Ginny cried. "None of us know each other, not really, remember?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah, that's key. We can't even look at each other."

"Oh, wait!" Luna said. Her fingers shook as she pulled out a spray bottle, and began spraying herself with it.

"What's that?" Neville asked.

"It's a potion Daddy used to make for me before I'd leave for Hogwarts," said Luna. "Daddy says it would give me a boost... make people want to be friendlier..."

"You don't need that, Luna," said Ginny.

"It's not the exact potion, anyway, I had to improvise some of the ingredients." She offered it to them. "Want some?" When Harry, Ginny, and Neville shook their heads, she put it away.

They all exchanged looks. Ginny passed out their doses of Felix Felicis, which would give them six hours of extraordinary luck each. It was nearly time to go... Harry's stomach clenched. Then, still eyeing each other, they each downed their dose in one swallow. At first nothing happened. Then — a most unusual feeling swept up Harry. It was bubbly and it tickled, and he couldn't help but grin.

"Right," he said cheerfully. He pointed his wand at his leg and jinxed himself. "I think I've got to have a limp, don't you?" Everyone was smiling at him and Ginny squeezed his hand. She was to go first.

"Excellent idea, Harry," said Ginny. She winked at him. "Good luck."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

8:48 AM

It was the day of the solstice vote, so Erik Parthenis decided not to add a splash of firewhiskey to his tea. Most days he did, though he would deny that quite vehemently should anyone ever ask. But no one ever had, or had even hinted at asking, so he was quite safe.

He leaned back and shuffled everything on the small podium in front of him. A silver scale to measure wands had the prominent place, along with his badge, and a scroll and quill to mark down guests. That was all he needed to officially do his job, and all the space on the podium allowed. Fortunately, there was a small cubby carved into the wood that had enough space for his entertainment: three issues of Witch Weekly, and one of The Turnip – though that was disguised as the other. Erik had a feeling he'd lose his job if he got caught with it.

"Gotta make sure…" he muttered. Did The Turnip still have a couple of creases from the way it was always folded up rather cleverly, Erik thought, in the shape of an actual turnip? (He'd kept calling it a radish, until his grandmum had whacked him over the head with it, and said The Turnip was folded in the shape of a turnip, of course. She'd left the "idiot" unsaid, but Erik still heard it).

The truth was that Erik did not want to lose this job. His less than stellar marks on his OWLS had limited his career options, but Erik hadn't cared until he'd left Hogwarts (a year early – why bother staying if he wasn't taking any NEWT courses?) and realized how much of a drudge it was to work. His parents, his grandmum, his aunts and uncles… all of them kept prodding him to get to work.

"But what's the job that'll pay me the most for the least amount of work?" Erik had asked.

The reaction to that had been fairly volcanic, in Erik's opinion: it was an honest question. And somehow, someway, he'd fallen into a job much like the one he'd dreamed of at the age of seventeen. As one of the security guards at the Ministry, his job was to stand there until someone new came in, and then weigh their wands and give them a little badge and directions to where they were going. Erik was nearly thirty-five now, and he'd never had an exciting day.

It was brilliant.

"'Lo, Erik."

Erik turned, smiling. "Hullo, Mal."

Of all the people who worked for the Ministry, Mal was easily his favorite. She was short, brash, loud, and in charge of scheduling Quidditch games. She was free with information, as well, and Erik had known weeks ago that the Department of Magical Sports and Games would start selling tickets to the Quidditch World Cup – this time, Ireland was hosting – in two days.

"Busy day today?" he asked.

Mal used his podium as a rest for her elbow. "Not likely," she said. "We've got everything sorted for now. The emergencies won't start happening until they actually go on sale." She grinned. "Today is going to be a bit of a party, actually." Then she widened her eyes. "Shhh, though, don't tell."

He smiled at her. "Of course I won't tell."

"How many times have you entered the drawing?" Mal asked.

The Ministry was hosting a Christmas drawing, where the winner would receive an all-expenses paid vacation to the magical location of their choice. It was only open to Ministry employees, and Erik entered every day.

"Every day since they started it," Erik said.

"Do you even have anyone to take?" Mal asked with a wink.

"My grandmum," Erik said promptly.

"She's a lucky lady," said Mal. "Almost time. Off I go, then."

It was nearly nine, and the Atrium got busier. Of course, the higher-ups had their own private entrance and exit, but a lot of Ministry workers took the floo. Erik greeted most of them by name – he'd been here quite a long time, of course. A husband-and-wife pair of Magical Maintenance workers hailed him; more of Mal's coworkers trickled in; and two Unspeakables – who had their own private entrance in the Department of Mysteries itself, but never took it – nodded to him.

"The gas is nearly ready," the one said to the other.

"You don't know that," the other said. Erik had never heard him say anything that wasn't an argument of some kind.

The clock way down at the end of the Atrium, hidden by the Magic is Might statue, began to chime the hour. A steady stream of people went by him. He knew all of them. Maybe you could've had that firewhiskey after all, Erik told himself. Maybe he'd been wrong about the solstice vote drawing a crowd.

Ah, well, tomorrow.

9:04 AM

Erik was humming to himself when Ginny Weasley stepped up to his podium.

"Hi, Erik!" she said.

"Hullo, Miss Weasley," he said. Her smile was rather infectious. "Are you here to see your father?"

"Right you are," she said cheerfully.

Erik folded a paper airplane. It was protocol to send a note along if family was coming to visit, just in case whoever they were visiting was in the middle of something sticky and couldn't meet just then. His quill scratched along the parchment. "Ginny's here to see you, Arthur. Shall I send her up?"

With a whisper, the paper airplane floated up into the air. Erik flicked his wrist, and it disappeared. Ginny chatted with him a bit, about who they favored for the Quidditch World Cup, and whose chances were slim. "Aw, Miss Weasley, Puddlemere isn't that bad," he told her, just as a paper airplane popped into existence next to him. "Your dad says it's his lucky day, you're to go right up."

"It's my lucky day, actually," she said cheerfully.

The Weasleys were a nice family, Erik had always thought. There'd been no trace of artifice on her face when she'd said it was her lucky day to visit her dad. All of them came to visit Arthur fairly often, always with a smile and a kind word to say. And they were close with Harry Potter; the whole world knew that. Some people might not like the bloke much, but Erik remembered that he'd rid the world of He Who Must Not Be Named. Yes, the Weasleys are a nice family.

Erik recalled his warm feelings toward the Weasleys just a few minutes later when one of the Weasley twins arrived, bleary-eyed and yawning. "Are you, er, here to see your dad?" he asked. He could swear the other wizard – Erik had never been able to tell him and his twin apart – wore his pajama pants under his robes.

"Yeah, I – yeah," said the twin.

"And you are... which Mr. Weasley?" Erik asked, tentative.

"George," he said promptly.

Erik scratched the name George Weasley on his list. It was just then he noticed that George had an old wireless tucked under his arm and an odd, oblong shaped black thing in his hand. "Can I tell your dad, erm, why you're here?" He'd not asked this of George's little sister, but honestly, the man was a bit of a mess.

"Yeah – I – Fred and I have been working and working on this." George lifted the wireless up over his head. "We were up all night, trying to get it to do what we wanted it, and I got maybe an hour of sleep before it was like something jabbed me, and I had to come down and have my dad look at it." He propped himself up against Erik's podium and yawned hugely. "It's important, you see."

"I see," said Erik.

He wrote out another note to Arthur, and watched it disappear.

George started to snore.

There was a scurrying motion out of the corner of his eye. Several blobs of fur bounced along the Atrium floor, making a bid for freedom. He eyed George, suspecting they'd escaped his robes. He was about to ask, when Arthur's return message informed him, yes, of course, George could come right up.

He prodded George in the shoulder and sent him off.

It was as he suspected: bits of fluff were leaping out of both pockets in George's robes.

"Excuse me?"

Erik dragged his attention from George. There was a woman wearing the oddest spectacles and bright green robes. Her blue eyes were rather protuberant and popped at him. "Erm, hi, sorry about that." He said a quick spell, and all the things George dropped came to rest on his podium. The little bits of fluff were held still, and what looked like three ears – really, they were remarkably life-like – clung to their puff.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Erm, can I get your name? And your reason for being here?"

"I want a job at The Daily Prophet," she said, very earnest. "I'm going to walk in for an interview."

His lips twisted. The folk over at The Daily Prophet didn't have much of a sense of humor when it came to fashion, and Erik could tell straight-away that this witch did not stand much of a chance. This made him feel very kindly toward her. "Good luck," he told her.

"Thank you," she said, unblinking. "Don't you need to measure my wand?"

"Right you are," he said. "Already thinking like a reporter, are you?" he added kindly.

"Thank you," she said. Then, blinking, she pointed at the puffs. "What're those?"

"Ah, I'm not sure!" he said. They'd broken free of his spell and were gamboling about. They were quite cute, in fact. "You know…" He leaned forward and winked. "After you're done with The Daily Prophet, you could go up and take these back to the wizard they belong to." He withdrew something from the drawer in his podium. Erik was not supposed to give out these all-access badges – they were used only for visiting foreign dignitaries and the like. The box they were kept in was quite dusty. But there was an innocence about – he checked the parchment – this Luna Lovegood. She reminded him of the unicorns they'd studied in Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts.

In fact, weren't her eyes almost exactly the same color as a unicorn's eyes? The same shade.

Erik had always loved unicorns.

"Here," he said, beaming at her. "Once you're done with The Daily Prophet, why don't you go on up to take all this to George Weasley? He'll be with his dad, in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. He'd like his – erm – pets back, don't you think?"

"Oh, that sounds lovely," she said. "Thank you."

Erik was nearly over-whelmed by the sense of well-being he had, helping her. They were vicious over at The Daily Prophet. They'd mock her for everything about her, from her bright robes, to her spectacles, just… everything. She'd need the kindness of the Weasleys after that.

He only hoped no one would notice she'd been accorded a badge given only to visiting Ministers and the like.

9:27

"Um, hello?"

A man with golden hair so fair that it looked like dandelion fluff and eyes blue as the sky approached him. Erik's eyebrows raised. Other than a rather pronounced limp, he looked a bit like the dolls his grandmum bought from Muggle stores and enchanted to create all sorts of scenarios: boy dolls in short pants with glass faces pouring tea for little girl dolls in pinafores. As a child, these dolls used to frighten him – they always seemed to be everywhere, and would follow him about the house, holding hands with each other, and staring at him – but now he had a begrudging affection for them. The man limping toward him – Maybe one of his little porcelain legs is broken? – had the same pale skin, too perfect to be human flesh, and rosy cheeks.

Angelic, his grandmum would call him.

"Can I help you?" Erik asked kindly.

"I'm, um, I'm Gus Polkiss," he said.

Erik drew back with a start. This was Gus Polkiss? The man the Ministry had labeled a person of interest? Yaxley himself had made The Daily Prophet print an article. A Person of Interest for several different reasons, Yaxley had said. Erik was to contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement right away should Gus Polkiss turn up…

…except no one had expected he actually would.

"That's me, I'm afraid," Polkiss said. "My Auntie, um, Podiemma told me I'm in a spot of bother."

"That's – I'll say!" Erik gaped at him. If Erik were in the spot of bother Gus Polkiss was in, he'd be halfway to America. "How'd you get the limp?" he asked, lowering his voice. Really, he had to know—

"I got cursed when I was younger," Polkiss said. "Couldn't never heal from it."

Erik nodded wisely. Cursed legs could limp forever. Then he shook himself. You've got to do your duty, he thought sternly. But he couldn't help murmuring an apology as he gestured for Gus to step to the side, "I've got to let them know you're here, I'm sorry." They didn't use paper airplanes for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. No, they couldn't. Yaxley couldn't abide anything as Muggle as that, and he was in charge. Instead, he tapped a button on the side. Within moments, the plain brown wood in front of him began to shift and bubble. Mist formed over it. When the mist burned off, Erik was looking into a rather handsome office and up the nostril of a wizard.

"What is it?" Yaxley asked briskly.

"Erm…" Erik cast another look at Gus.

"Speak up, and make it quick. I've got to be down at the meeting of the Wizengamot," Yaxley bit out.

He was a harsh man, Yaxley.

"I've got Gus Polkiss here," Erik said, helpless.

There was a great thump, as Erik presumed two booted feet hit the floor. The rather hairy nostril disappeared, and two coal black eyes appeared. "Did you say Gus Polkiss?" Yaxley demanded.

"That's me," Gus said cheerfully.

"Keep him there," Yaxley ordered. "I'll send someone down for him."

A second later, the podium was wooden again, and Erik's insides were squirming. It was never good when someone was on Yaxley's list. There was an innocence about Gus, made all the worse because of that cursed leg. Erik's cousin had been cursed. Every other Tuesday he could speak only in limericks, which wouldn't be so bad, except all of them were very naughty.

Erik took a deep breath. "I'd better weigh your wand," he said.

Gus handed it over without a protest. Erik took it; it was a whippy little thing, smaller than most… delicate, even. Erik knew the protocol. He had to keep it; he could only give it back once Yaxley was done with him. But what would he be able to do with his wand, anyway? Erik asked himself. There was a serene look in Gus's eyes as Erik weighed both the wand and his options.

Erik looked at the wand.

Then he looked at Gus.

"Here," he said, making his voice as light as possible. "You can have it back. Keep it in your pocket, mind you."

"Oh, thanks, wouldn't want to be without that," Gus said cheerfully. The moment he pocketed it, Erik felt a sweep of relief. It was the right thing to do, he told himself. The right thing to do.

Erik proceeded to ignore Gus as much as he could. Between this and giving that all-access badge to the Lovegood witch, he might face an inquiry and a reprimand. They'll never find out, he reassured himself. His instincts were quite good, and they were telling him that he couldn't find two more trustworthy people in the entire world. He'd seen all sorts, after all, standing at this podium, and seeing all the witches and wizards coming into the Ministry.

He was just reassuring himself of this once more when something so unusual happened that Erik quite forgot about his indiscretions. All the fireplaces flared green, and people began to tumble out of them. They all wore black, and all had hard, angry looks on their faces. Erik gaped… there was the owner of the Hogs Head Inn moving through the sudden crowd, handing out badges. Rosmerta from the Three Broomsticks helped him.

"What's going on here?" Erik called.

"We're here to bear witness," Rosmerta said. She was usually quite warm in nature, but there was a glint in her eye that promised trouble. The back of Erik's neck began to sweat.

Ignoring this, he strode over. "What's the meaning of this?"

"We're here to find out what happens when the Wizengamot votes today," Orlan Zonko said. "We're the ones who were all nearly murdered by a pack of werewolves." The angry mutter from the crowd swelled and broke over Erik.

"We want justice!"

"If Albus hadn't set a ward, we'd all be dead, or worse."

"The Ministry has to do something."

Erik spread his hands. He'd not been trained to soothe large crowds of angry people. Best be as soothing as you can. "The Wizengamot is voting on something this morning, I'm sure they're going to take into account all that – that nasty business."

"Nasty business?" one witch asked incredulously. "Is that what you call almost being torn apart and ripped to shreds?"

"Well, no," Erik admitted. "No. But I know—"

"What I want to know is how they're going to protect us!"

"Yes!"

"They'll need to do a better job of it!"

The angry words battered at Erik and forced him back to his podium. There, he stood, eyeing them.

"What're those?" Gus asked.

Erik jumped. He'd nearly forgotten him. It took a moment to process that Gus was pointing at the bits of puff, who were now making pyramids atop the podium. "Oh… they just fell out of some blokes robes…" he said. He was regretting his decision not to lace his coffee with firewhiskey. Oh yes, he was. "Here, you want one?" He plucked off the top puff, the one with the slender string attached to an ear wrapped around it.

"Oh, sure!" Gus said happily. "Blimey, thanks!"

At least Erik could make one person happy today. The Ministry had better make a decision the Hogsmeade citizens agreed with, that was for sure.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

9:31

Felix Rosier adjusted his robes and looked at the witch again. "It's in your best interests to tell me," he ordered. "It's dangerous—"

"He's not an 'it', he's a little boy," Nymphadora argued. Frustration bubbled up inside him. How many days had they had the witch, and she was still arguing with him? His fist clenched around his wand. His father and his older brother would've been able to make her talk. But their methods were not quite sanctioned by the Ministry – damn them – and even Yaxley couldn't make them see sense, that the Cruciatus Curse could be quite helpful.

"This is your last chance," he warned her.

"Oh, toss off," she said. "You always were a little prat, Felix."

Anger threatened to choke him. It didn't help that he'd gone to Hogwarts with her. He remembered her – pink hair, and daughter of some Mudblood, she'd been a thorn in his side. Bellatrix Lestrange had loathed her, and Felix understood why. Her mother had betrayed the entire Black family.

"How is it we're cousins?" he asked.

She tapped her chin. "Is reading a family tree difficult for you?" she asked.

"I don't mean how is it we're related," he bit off. "I mean, I know your father was a filthy Mudblood, but you're still a Black."

"Mum told me she was burned off the tree when she married Dad," she said so casually Felix nearly ignored the danger and used the Cruciatus. "So I don't really consider myself a Black, if you know what I mean."

"None of us wanted you," he said in disgust.

"I didn't want you, either," she informed him.

"Just tell me where the filthy werewolf is," he said. It'd been days of this. Yaxley thought Felix stood the best chance to break her. "Like it or not, she's your cousin. If she's going to talk to any one of us, it'll be you." As much as Felix didn't want to let Yaxley down, he was afraid this was the end of the line. His eyes dragged around the room. Tonks was settled in a cell that had been specially created just for her. There was nothing in here that would help him.

When he looked back at her, he felt a punch in the gut.

She was doing it again.

Instead of Nymphadora Tonks, it was a different woman, the one person Felix loved. Her long black hair fell in waves down her back, and wide blue eyes stared at him. "Why are you keeping me locked in here?" It was Electra's voice, even. "You don't want to keep me locked in here."

In fact, Nymphadora Tonks was wrong about that. Felix would gladly keep Electra locked in a cell if he could be with her. The last time they'd broken up, he'd even considered it. He could find someone to make him Amortentia… make her love him again… If she ever even loved you, a nasty thought intruded. She wouldn't have left just because of a little pain if she truly loved you.

"Don't you turn into her," Felix ordered. "Don't you dare."

"Still gone over her, are you? You always were trailing after her at school."

"Shut up—"

"How you ever got her to be with you, I don't know."

It'd only taken a little bit of persuasion.

"You shut up about her," Felix said, breathing heavily.

Just then there was a soft knock at the door. Felix growled as the witch's face returned to normal, and he strode over and wrenched open the door. "What," he said, when he saw a small, blonde witch staring at him with wide blue eyes. "What are you doing here, I don't know you." He started when he saw the badge pinned to her chest. It was large and ornate… and told him she could go anywhere she wanted. He forced himself to calm. "I'm sorry," he said. "That was rude of me."

"It's all right," said the witch.

Felix took a step back at the warmth in her tone. Warmth exuded from her, in fact, reminding him he'd been spending quite a lot of time around Dementors. "I'm sorry," he said again, this time he tried to sound like he meant it. She was probably inspecting him; it happened like that, sometimes. For all he knew, this could be Minister Crouch, employing the use of Polyjuice to check on his staff.

"It's all right," she said again, moving forward to pat him on the arm.

Deuce take it, she had the exact opposite effect of Dementors.

"Did you need something?" he asked diffidently.

"Just directions," she said cheerfully. "I'm a bit turned around, I'm afraid."

Felix was unable to help himself. He smiled at her. "Where to?"

"The Department of Mysteries," she said.

He told her where to go – poor thing had got rather turned around if she'd ended up here. She left, and the warmth left with her. Not two minutes later he was angry again. But now he had an idea. He was authorized to make a transfer, and he did it. There was another cell, where the Dementors stood guard every hour of the day. The man in there had not spoken for quite some time.

"Enjoy having company," he said nastily, ushering Nymphadora Tonks into the room with Kingsley Shacklebolt. He'd finally scared her. Her eyes were round with shock, staring at Shacklebolt. Felix hoped she was contemplating her future. Felix gave her a little push into the cell. It was freezing in here… there was only the light from the open doorway… when he shut it, she'd be plunged into darkness.

With the Dementors, who were undulating against the walls, their cloaks whispering as they drew closer. A few hours with them, and she'd be begging to tell him where the filthy werewolf was.

Felix shut the door. He couldn't wait to tell Yaxley his brilliant plan.

9:54

"Get in here, I need you." Yaxley yanked him into his office.

"I had a brilliant idea, sir, I've—"

"Never mind that," Yaxley waved him off.

His office was as busy as ever. Mounds of reports sat on his desk. Felix caught sight of one: An Increase of Squibs Born to Magical Parents Possible Result of Dark Activity. Another three dozen were about the werewolves. They tumbled all over each other, threatening to spill out. Yaxley grabbed a very slim file and thrust it at him.

"Gus Polkiss," he said.

"Gus Polkiss…" Felix repeated slowly. He had a moment of doubt. Why would Yaxley – today of all days, when they were about to win the Wizengamot over to their side in the matter of werewolves – be concerned about him? He opened the file and looked at it. Gus Polkiss had been there the day the Hall of Prophecy had been breached. Yaxley had taken the intrusion as a personal affront. It'd been him that had come up with the curse that would keep everyone who had not had a prophecy made about them out.

In honor of the Dark Lord, he'd told Felix privately.

What Yaxley saw as his failure had eaten away at the older Death Eater, Felix knew. A Gus Polkiss – who'd delivered some sort of Muggle item covered in a dangerous potion – had been one of the three unaccounted for people who'd been at the Ministry that day. Yaxley had fixated on him, possibly because of the fact Polkiss had been trying to save Muggles. Meeting up with him in Carn Alley when they'd taken the werewolf bitch had just stirred him to further anger.

"Sir, I just don't think we're going to find him today," Felix said.

"Oh, but he found us."

Yaxley delivered that with a smile that stretched from ear to ear.

"He – what?"

"The security wizard at the public entrance has him down at his podium," Yaxley said.

Felix was astounded. "Did someone bring him?"

"No, he came himself, I think," said Yaxley.

What an idiot, Felix thought with astonishment. If Gus Polkiss knew how much Yaxley suspected him, he wouldn't have set one foot at the Ministry. It was personal for Yaxley. There was nothing either one of them could do for the Dark Lord – who appeared to have suffered the final death, against all odds – but Yaxley had wanted to honor him in some way. The destruction of the Hall of Prophecy had proven him a failure.

Yaxley hated Gus Polkiss nearly as much as they both hated Harry Potter.

"I want you to go down and retrieve him," Yaxley said.

"Me?" Felix asked. "But surely you want to…?"

"I have to be down in with the Wizengamot, you know that, Rosier," Yaxley said. "Stay with him. Make sure he doesn't go anywhere." He cast a glance around his office. "Keep him in here, actually. If you have to leave, set up the wards. You know the ones."

"All right," Felix said, nodding. "You can count on me." Then he faltered. "But are you sure you haven't got time? It doesn't start for another hour, does it?" Everyone knew the solstice meeting was to start at eleven sharp.

"No," Yaxley said. "Damn it, but no. I've got to be my sharpest. You know that old fool will fight me every step. You know how Dumbledore is. I've got to keep all my attention on this. No distractions." He looked at Felix. "You're the only one I can trust in this matter, Felix," he said. There was a moment of hard camaraderie between them.

"You can count on me," Felix said again.

10:13

Felix was grimly happy to see the Atrium filled with the citizens of Hogsmeade. While they'd been disappointed at the lack of deaths, the anger in the room – directed at werewolves – was palpable. Rage was writ on every face. Perhaps their plan hadn't been foiled at all by Dumbledore – though, honestly, Felix wished the old fool would give up and die. Though probably we'd still have to deal with his ghost, Felix thought. Dumbledore wouldn't want to give up power like that, he'd haunt them.

He shoved thoughts of Dumbledore away.

The security wizard stood at the podium, greeting an old witch in a most ridiculous hat – upon it was a stuffed vulture that eyed Felix with beady eyes.

"—yes, Mrs. Longbottom, yes, of course," the security wizard was saying.

"I'll have you know—"

"He is my grandson and expected to take my place on the Wizengamot when I'm gone," said the witch. Longbottom, Felix supposed. The name was familiar.

"I can't authorize him to go down to the meeting," the security wizard said firmly.

"It's all right, Gran," said her grandson. "I'll just stay right here and wait for you, shall I? That seems like the thing to do."

"But Neville—"

Felix cleared his throat. Member of the Wizengamot she might be, but Felix had a prisoner to take care of. "Pardon, but I've come to collect Gus Polkiss."

The witch looked down her nose at him and harrumphed.

"An Auror, are you?" she asked. "My son was an Auror. So was his wife."

The sense of familiarity grew.

"Mr. Rosier—" the security wizard said.

The vulture squawked. "Rosier? Are you Felix Rosier?" the witch asked.

"Now, Gran," her grandson said.

"He's Bellatrix Lestrange's cousin," she said flatly. Felix froze at the sharp hatred that sparked in her eyes. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. His throat worked, but he couldn't say a word. He remembered where he'd heard the name Longbottom before; Frank and Alice Longbottom had been tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange and a few others. There was one, mad second that he thought she could read his mind… could see that he'd laughed over that story…

"Just because she was his cousin, doesn't mean he was culpable," said the grandson.

This gave Felix the ability to clear his throat. "I'm here for Gus Polkiss," he said.

"That's me!"

From behind the others, a most ridiculous looking wizard stepped forward. His hair floated about his head like a cloud and his eyes were wide and blue. The limp he had completed the image of a wizard who was weak… childish even. His insides squirmed, this time with pleasure. This one wouldn't hold out on telling them what they wanted to know.

"Follow me," he ordered. He hid a smile when Polkiss stumbled into the Longbottom grandson, and had to be righted again.

"Steady on, old son," Longbottom said.

"Thank you, so sorry about that," Polkiss stammered. "Well, I'd best get on with it."

"Good luck!" said Longbottom.

Frankly, Felix thought Polkiss needed not luck but a miracle.

10:35

Of course, the lift was crowded with witches and wizards. Felix kept a tight grip on Polkiss's arm. "Can you step back, please," he said through clenched teeth. Unfortunately, everyone stepped back, and pressed against him. "Watch it," he growled.

A young, red-headed witch gave him a reproving look. "That wasn't very nice."

"Ginny," Arthur Weasley muttered. Cold eyes looked into his. For the second time that day, Felix had the disconcerting feeling that someone else was looking into his mind and not liking what they saw. This was common with Weasley, however. There had been an incident with Muggles that Felix had reacted a shade too callously to, and Weasley had been looking for ways to trip him up ever since.

"Listen to your father," Felix sneered.

"Not Ginny Weasley?" said Gus Polkiss. He leaned around Felix's arm. The smile on his face was quite at odds with how in trouble he was. This irritated Felix, as though sandpaper were scrubbing at him. The man shouldn't look happy.

"Yes, that's me!"

"You played Quidditch for Hogwarts, didn't you?"

"What's this, Ginny's famous?" Another red-head, this one in pajamas, looked over.

Both Ginny and Gus ignored this.

"I did!"

"I've seen you play, you were brilliant—"

The doors of the lift finally shut, and they were all stuck together. Felix tried to ignore the ridiculous prattle, but it was impossible. And he couldn't shut Gus up with all these people in here… there'd be an inquiry, for sure. He and Weasley's daughter seemed to hit it off immediately.

"Oh, look! I forgot I brought it!"

Felix was jabbed in the stomach by an elbow as she dug around in her robes for something. She held it out; it was a Golden Snitch, embossed with her name, and quite dingy. He'd heard that the Weasleys were poor enough to be a disgrace to their pureblood ancestry, and their daughter's old toy just proved it.

"Is that the one you caught when – you know – the thing happened?"

"I can't believe you remember the thing!" Ginny cried.

"Settle down," Felix muttered. Weasley cut a glare at him, and Felix pressed his lips together. The lift jolted to a stop at the very next floor and Felix repressed a sigh. If they stopped at every floor, it would be a long ride indeed to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It wasn't until the third floor, when Mal got on, that Felix saw a way out.

"Mal!" he boomed, cutting across the conversation that was becoming increasingly annoying.

"What do you want, Rosier?" she said. There was something dark in her tone; too late, Felix remembered she was one of Electra's old friends.

"This delightful young lady has just been entertaining all of us with how much she loves Quidditch," Felix said, ignoring the way her father and brother were now watching him. Honestly, the witch hadn't shut up since she got in the lift. And she was jabbering with a soon-to-be prisoner. "Why don't you show her around the Department of Magical Games and Sports?" The words were perfectly cordial, but everyone cast him a sideways glance. Anger prickled at him.

"That sounds lovely," said Ginny. "Do you mind, Dad? George?"

"I don't mind," said Weasley. "Come back up to say goodbye before you leave?"

"I will," promised Ginny. "Will you still be here, George?"

"Yeah, I've got to have Dad take a look at the transmitter thingy," said George. "Usually it's Lee who figures all the Muggle stuff out, but today I thought… you know, Dad might have an idea or two."

"Good luck!" said Ginny.

Felix grimaced.

The lift lurched and stopped. Mal glared at him, then led Ginny to the front, squeezing between other witches and wizards.

"Bye, Ginny!" Gus called.

"Shut up," Felix hissed. "You've no idea how much trouble you're in."

Once they finally exited the lift, Weasley gripped his arm. Felix glared down at the offending hand, then at Weasley. Blue eyes were leached of all warmth. As it happened, Weasley had chosen to close his fingers around Felix's forearm right where his Dark Mark was. Even after all this time since the Dark Lord's murder at the wand of Harry Potter, it was tender. It ached.

"I can't stop you when you're rude to my daughter," Weasley said. "Or your little glares or the petty way you comport yourself around other Ministry officials. I certainly can't do anything about the rumors of your private life, though I wish I could." He jerked his head toward Polkiss. "Harm this man on Ministry ground and I will personally see to it that you face an inquiry. Yaxley won't be able to help you then."

"I'm sure you'll find everything I do quite in order," Felix said. Yaxley did not allow anyone near his private files; his office was warded for a reason. There were no official reasons for the Ministry to be anything but satisfied with Felix's work. Yaxley had buried the work they did on their own.

Weasley stared at him a moment longer then walked away down the hall to his useless Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. Filthy blood-traitor, Felix thought.

He gripped Polkiss's arm and marched him down the hall to Yaxley's office. "You might want to think about what you're going to confess to me," he ordered.

"Confess?" Polkiss blinked at him.

There was a knock at the door.

Felix swallowed a curse. "Enter," he said. He didn't take his eyes off Polkiss, who was looking back at him. The loose, guileless expression on his face scratched at Felix's temper.

"Erm, the Department of Mysteries is requesting a senior staff member," the intern said. "They asked for Dawlish, but he's downstairs, you know, and I thought you—"

"They asked for Dawlish?" Felix swung around. The intern stammered something, seeming to have realized he'd offered Felix an insult. Polkiss scratched idly at his nose, which made Felix take the intern by the shoulders and turn her around.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Quiet," Felix ordered. "I have to go down to the Department of Mysteries. I'll be back as swiftly as I can. Your orders are to remain here, and watch this door."

"Yaxley's door?" the intern asked. "But I'm supposed to patrol the corridor where we keep, you know," she lowered her voice, "the other ones."

Damn. Felix didn't want to countermand his own orders because he'd forgotten a detail. Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks are guarded by Dementors, he reminded himself. Human guards are superfluous.

"Don't question me," he said. "I said I want you to guard this door, and I meant this door." When she nodded, he continued. "The man in there hasn't got a wand," Felix said. "He can't escape. However, no one is to open that door. I am quite eager to question him."

The intern's mouth twisted downward and her gaze shifted to the right. "All right," she said. "I'll make certain he stays right where he is."

Felix went back into Yaxley's office. Damn the wizard, but Polkiss was relaxed in his chair, as though he were there for a job interview, not for an interrogation and whatever it was Yaxley had planned for him. Whatever that was would not be pretty. "I wouldn't get too comfortable," he said softly. "You are in very serious trouble." He let a smile grow across his face.

"But I haven't done anything," Polkiss said. His pale eyebrows drew together, and the pink in his cheeks deepened. "My auntie said, come down here and tell them everything and come home—"

"Polkiss, I very much doubt you'll be going home," Felix smiled.

"But—"

"I've got business to attend to, and then we can chat," Felix drew away. "And you're going to tell me everything I want to hear." The truth was that Felix liked eliciting confessions. He was damned good at it; nearly as good as Yaxley. It was an intense thing, to batter at someone's truth until it became the truth Felix wanted to hear. Electra never could understand why he loved making her tell him her shameful secrets, how it never mattered to him whether she really had fingered herself after dancing with that bloke at that club in Carn Alley, just the fact he got her to say it, and apologize for it was just as sexually satisfying as an orgasm.

"See you in a bit, then," Polkiss said. He gave a little wave. "Then we'll get this all cleared up, just like auntie wants."

Shaking his head with disbelief, Felix left the room and raised the wards.

11:23

This time, the lift was deserted. Felix leaned against the wall, arms folded. The floor tilted as the lift shot downward. There were no stops this time… he checked his watch. The Wizengamot meeting had just begun. I don't understand why they need me down here, Felix thought. The intern hadn't specified what was going on – interns rarely knew what was going on, anyway.

Felix got off the lift on the floor just above where the Wizengamot met in the great circular room. Yaxley would be at the center of the amphitheater, waiting to tell everyone the story he and Felix had concocted between them. As no one was in the hall just then, and Felix was quite alone, he allowed himself to smile.

Felix was rather younger than the more senior Death Eaters, and it hadn't been until after the Dark Lord's murder that Yaxley revealed the Dark Lord's plan for the werewolves. He knew exactly what sort of place the werewolves – filthy creatures – should have in the world he was building. The lowest place, along with house-elves. It'd taken quite a long time to unravel all the spells that kept house-elves in their place, but it was finally done.

And it couldn't have been done without the help of the Unspeakables, and this was why Felix was in a rather charitable mood when he spotted Bode and Croaker leaning up against the wall, waiting for him to be escorted into the Department of Mysteries.

"Good morning," said Felix.

"Good morning," said Croaker.

"Where's Dawlish?" Bode asked, peering about, even examining Felix's robes, as though Felix had somehow hidden the burly Auror inside them. "We specifically asked for Dawlish."

"It's fine, Bode—"

"—but we asked for Dawlish. Rosier is here instead. But we asked for Dawlish."

"Dawlish is currently occupied," Felix said coldly. Dawlish had seniority over him – not much, but he'd joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement four months before Felix had.

"Ah, well, no harm done," Croaker pushed himself off the wall, drew his wand, and drew a glowing sigil in the air. The door in front of them opened.

The Department of Mysteries made no apology for being, well, mysterious. The different offices in which Unspeakables performed their experiments and pushed the understanding of magic itself to greater heights were protected by a Labyrinthine Ward. Most people had to set foot in a spinning room, where they may or may not find the door they were looking to open. "I'm the head of the Office of the Propagation of Truth," Croaker explained. The door opened to reveal a small office that was laid out like a U.

Felix murmured something non-committal. The Department of Mysteries had all sorts of odd names: Office of the Propagation of Truth, the Committee on the Misunderstanding of Time, and the Quintessence Commission.

"We wanted Dawlish to come have a look because we've had a theft," Bode said, once they'd stepped inside.

"We don't know if there was a theft," Croaker said.

"I know," Bode insisted.

"What is it you think was stolen?"

"Well, we aren't sure, but—"

"I'm sure," Bode said, exasperated.

"We don't have an official record of it," Croaker reminded him.

A headache began to pulse just above Felix's eyebrow. "Why don't you show me what you think was stolen?" Just to make Felix's headache worse, it seems, there was a muffled bang and scream coming from the other side of the wall. "What was that?"

Croaker shrugged. "The Office for the Study of Possible Benefits of Night Terrors and Other Miscellaneous Fears is just next door. They're always screaming about something."

"Not always," Bode said. "Sometimes they're quiet so long, we've got to go check, and they're all frozen and terrified of their own experiments."

Felix regretted ever bringing it up. "Let's get this over with," said Felix. "What do you think was stolen, and why do you think it was stolen?"

"Veritagas," Croaker said. He beckoned Felix up the left side of the U. There was a tiny door that had no knob halfway down the hall. It was made of iron, and there were shimmery designs on it. Croaker inserted a key, and it swung open.

"See!" Bode said triumphantly. "Look!"

They were in a tiny storage room filled with shelves. On each shelf were hundreds of dollops of a mostly clear liquid, though it had hints of a silvery blue. Felix saw his own reflection a thousand times in those tiny dollops. "What is this?" Felix asked.

"It's Veritagas," said Croaker.

"It actually isn't gas yet, but tap your wand to it, and it'll expand to cover an entire room," Bode said.

"And no one will be able to lie," said Croaker. "We've been working on it almost six months—"

"It's been seven months and thirteen days," Bode corrected. "It's magically significant."

"We've been working on it a little over seven months," said Croaker. "Each of these is slightly different, slightly more perfect."

Bode pointed down at the ground, where there were more shelves, and dollops that were bruised and scarlet. "We started with those, and we've worked our way up."

Felix stood a good distance apart from them. There were subtle differences in the coloring. Veritaserum was odorless and colorless; he couldn't help but wonder why Veritagas was different. The undersides of his arms tingled and he began to sweat. Most every other follower of the Dark Lord Felix knew had relied heavily on the antidote to Veritaserum — some took a dose every day with their porridge. Even this long after the Dark Lord's murder, the danger was real. I'll have to start keeping some in my pockets, Felix thought. He had some in his desk... but if, let's say, he needed it if he took unexpected journeys to the Department of Mysteries…

"Veritagas is much more powerful than even the serum," Bode said. "We've developed it so it can engulf an entire room… We've worked out nearly all the details—"

"We've worked out how to neutralize the poison – it poisons someone who tries to tell a lie under its influence," Croaker said. "At least – we think we have."

"St. Mungo's has got beds with our names on it," Bode said. "But we think we've got it managed."

"And you think someone's stolen some?" Felix asked.

"I know it," said Bode. He made an impatient gesture at the shelves. "Four of them were taken."

Felix looked at the shelves. "You've got a magical defense system?" he asked curiously. "How is it protected?"

"We don't need one," said Bode. He tapped his forefinger to his temple. "I know how many we have, and what we're missing." His eyes grew wide, and one pupil dilated. "We've made them in sets of magically significant numbers, you see? Sets of three? Sets of seven? Sets of thirteen?" He took a deep breath. "We've done 2,999 different sets, but four are missing!"

"Four sets?"

"Bah, no," said Bode. "Four dollops. We're meant to have 38,997 different variations of Veritagas, but we only have 38,993."

Felix looked back at the shelves. The dollops floated there, bobbing almost imperceptibly. It seemed impossible that the man could miss four tiny dollops. And why would he miss them, anyway? Intellectually, he understood why someone with limited means would want to force the truth upon an entire room of people. They were limited by their understanding of the importance of objective truth. With magic, they could make anything true enough. There was no need for Felix to use something like this with Polkiss, for example. He and Yaxley would extract the truth they wanted, and that would be enough in the sight of the Ministry. No wonder the Office of the Propagation of Truth had only two staff; it was nearly as useless as the Office of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts.

Felix rubbed absently at his forearm, where it was still tender from Weasley grabbing at his Dark Mark.

His musings were interrupted by another thump and a long, drawn-out scream.

"More night terrors?" he suggested.

Bode yanked on his flyaway white hair. "No, no, that's another department," said Bode.

"Which one?" asked Felix.

"Does it matter? We've got to help them!"

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

11:37

Erik stood at his post. Hogsmeade citizens milled around, staring balefully at the end of the Atrium. But they were mostly polite and well-behaved and muttering amongst themselves. Erik could hardly blame them; their lives had been imperiled. But for the intervention of Albus Dumbledore, they would have died.

Neville Longbottom, whom he'd had to bar from the Wizengamot proceedings, was not at all put out by having to miss it. Ten minutes ago, when they'd just been starting a particularly ruthless hand of Rabbits and Runes, Neville confessed he'd rather dreaded the proceedings. "I think this is the place to be," he'd said. Erik was very gratified.

Had the Hogsmeade villagers not turned out in force, Erik would've been all alone in this huge space. Everyone who was anyone had already arrived – everyone else stayed home. But they were grim and had their attention fixed on something else. Neville was a solid chap, and entertaining.

"Parthenis," a voice hissed. It sounded like Yaxley.

Erik startled and blinked.

"I think your podium's talking to you," Neville said cheerfully.

Erik hurried over to it. The smooth wood had once more transformed into a clear picture; instead of Yaxley's office, however, it showed the Wizengamot amphitheater. As was his first horrified thought, it was Yaxley. He stared down at him; his features were cold and remote, and other people pressed in close behind him. "What can I do for you, sir?" Erik asked.

"We've been told that the Hogsmeade villagers have shown up," Yaxley said. His lips turned up in a smile, though it never reached his cold eyes. "I've persuaded them it would be in our best interests to allow them to watch the proceedings—"

"Which I still don't believe necessary—" a witch interrupted.

"—they were affected most by what we can only accept as Ministry negligence," Yaxley interrupted smoothly. A witch behind him – the one who had spoken – made a disgruntled face behind his back. "I realize we don't want to accept culpability for what happened, but we have allowed the threat of werewolves to continue for much too long."

"Albus, what do you think?" someone else asked.

There was a very long pause. Dumbledore spoke from out of sight. "I hesitate to allow the possibility of mob rule to intrude upon the proceedings of the Wizengamot vote."

"We all know how tender you are about the werewolves—"

"Remember that you are not Chief of the Wizengamot, Mr. Yaxley," Dumbledore said. Chills erupted on Erik's arms. "It is not your duty to persuade us. It is your duty to present the evidence you have gathered." There was another long pause during which Yaxley's face turned a mottled shade of red. "However, I will allow the Hogsmeade villagers to listen in on our vote today."

Yaxley's face turned an even brighter red. "Parthenis!" he snapped. "Can you do a Sonorous Charm on the podium, or do I need to send someone who finished Hogwarts with more than two O.W.L.s?"

Erik wished very much that Neville had not wandered over to listen. His neck and ears got rather hot. "I can do a Sonorous Charm, sir," Erik said. Why had it seemed like such a good idea not to put firewhiskey in his coffee?

"See that you do it!" snapped Yaxley. "You have five minutes."

"Nice bloke," Neville said cheerfully, once Yaxley's face had been replaced by a murky blue mist. "I can do him one better, you know. Why don't we enlarge that podium and put a Sonorous Charm on it? That way the villagers can see and hear everything?" Erik forgot his embarrassment. Neville's excitement was infectious, and soon they were carefully adding charms to the podium.

"We've got a way that you can have a look at what the Ministry's going to do for you," Erik said happily. He and Neville were stretching a screen directly in front of them. It was twice again the size of the tallest wizard in the room and floated in mid-air. Neville'd done most of the work, but Erik had added the charm that would make it heard from one end of the Atrium to the other.

Yaxley appeared on the screen again only a few moments after the final charm had been cast. "Have you managed it? I can send up Dawlish—" His words cut off and his eyes widened. He could see the vastness of the Atrium below him, and the huge crowd of villagers staring up at him. "Impressive, Parthenis!" he said. "Most impressive. The villagers can both see and hear us… they'll be able to hear the testimonials I've lined up and everything…" An extra note of a slippery sort of diffidence slid into his tone. "As long as this is acceptable to you, Dumbledore."

"As much as I am opposed to mob rule, I believe I am convinced to allow it," came the voice of Albus Dumbledore. "Under these circumstances."

"Why, Dumbledore, that's very reasonable!" said Yaxley.

There was a bit of configuration on the other end. The Wizengamot blurred, then came into focus, blurred, widened, and finally showed the entire amphitheater in exact, loving detail. Fifty witches and wizards sat in identical chairs in widening circles around the center. Dumbledore sat in a prominent place, above and between the Minister of Magic and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Erik's eyes wandered over familiar faces: there was Amelia Bones and Porpentina Scamander seated beside one another; Neville's Gran sat just behind Dumbledore's left shoulder, Elphias Doge sat beside her; Daedalus Diggle twirled his top hat in his hands and spoke with old Apollyon Bulstrode. One by one, they looked up. Their faces hardened and became more resolute when they saw the villagers.

Erik had to admit Yaxley had a good idea.

"We'll have to thank Arthur Weasleys daughter for the idea, she mentioned it down in the employee cafeteria – not that she's got a job here, thank goodness. Imagine if every child Weasley had worked here. We'd be over-run by red-heads," Yaxley said, amused. "Maybe next time he's up for a seat on the Wizengamot, this will be remembered." His tone said this was hardly likely.

A couple of nasty chuckles were magically enhanced by the Sonorous Charm.

"Pardon me," said Muriel Prewett. "It's Yaxley, is it? Yaxley, kindly keep your commentary restricted to the matter at hand. After all, you aren't a member of the Wizengamot."

Erik remembered that Muriel Prewett was related to the Weasleys through marriage. He kept the smile off his face, for Yaxley was known to be vindictive when he was humiliated, but he couldn't help but enjoy watching him be given set down in front of the entire Wizengamot.

"Yes, ma'am," Yaxley said.

The lift doors down at the end of the Atrium opened and George Weasley, still in his pajamas, trudged toward them. "What's all this?" he asked loudly, once he got close enough.

"We're watching the Wizengamot proceedings," Neville said.

George peered at him, and his eyes widened. "Neville Longbottom?" he asked, incredulous. He dropped his wireless equipment with a thunk. "I haven't seen you since – since—"

"I left Hogwarts at the end of third year," said Neville. "Because of—"

"Right," George said, scrubbing at his face. He clasped Neville on the shoulder. "It's good to see you, mate. We should—"

Just then a rather disheveled looking wizard, whom Yaxley introduced as Luken Bulstrode, a world-renowned expert on werewolves, took the stage at the amphitheater. He launched into an explanation of how the curse was passed from werewolf to non-werewolf, the differences between werewolves and Maledicta, and the differences between those two and Animagi.

"What's all that?" Neville asked, pointing.

"Ah, a project my dad helped me figure out," said George. "I don't know if you remember, or heard of it, but a few years back, Fred and I had a radio program—"

"Potterwatch?" Neville interrupted. "I remember it."

"Well, we let the magic on it lapse, and damned if we could figure out how to get back on the air," said George. He cast Erik a surreptitious look. "We wondered if – if we finally got banned from the airwaves by – you know, something official." He shrugged. "But Dad helped me untangle the charms. It should work now."

"Have you tried it?" Erik asked.

"Not yet," said George. "But Dad knows what he's doing – my little sister helped – between the three of us, I think we managed it."

Neville squinted up at the screen. "Why don't you try it with this?" he said. "You could try it out. Could you do that?"

George looked up, took a deep breath, and cast a glance back at the villagers. "I don't particularly – I'm not—" His voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't like what's happening here."

It was a bit of a relief for Erik to hear those words spoken. The three men exchanged a glance.

"It's still a bit of history," said Neville. He shrugged. "My gran is supposed to give a speech, though, so maybe I just want people to know why I'm so proud of her."

"All right… well… for your gran, then," said George. It only took him a few moments to set up something that was surprisingly elaborate. A conch shell twisted onto the oblong thing Erik had noticed earlier. "That captures the sound," George explained. "It's charmed, of course, so anyone who is listening will only hear what's coming out of that screen. Then it goes out on the airwaves." Erik only understood about half of this; what mattered was that it worked.

Aberforth Dumbledore wandered over. "You're putting this on the radio?" he asked.

"Yes," said George. "I mean… Neville asked me to." His eyes unfocused. "You know, I ought to give Remus a warning… he might want to listen to this."

"I'm going to send messages as well," Aberforth said, nodding. There was quiet anger like low thunder in his voice. He went back over to the villagers, who all looked at George, nodded, and began muttering in low voices as yet another werewolf expert explained how filthy their curse was, and how – once cursed – they were hardly human at all anymore, and not just at the full moon.

There was a loud popping sound that made Erik wince.

"Hold on, sorry," said George. "I wonder if that was on my end."

The expert on werewolves cleared his throat. "As I was saying, there have been countless studies done that show that even if a werewolf has been given the use of a wand – even if certain countries are so misguided as to allow them to use it – they are proven to be substantially more likely to do dishonorable things with said wand. This is proven fact."

Another loud bang had the man cowering, as though a werewolf were about to burst in on him.

"And what about their breeding habits?" Yaxley prompted the man to continue.

"Ah, yes, well, I hesitate to bring up such a matter in front of the esteemed members of the Wizengamot, but—"

BANG!

"I'm afraid I must ask, what is that noise?" Augusta Longbottom, vulture hat and all, stood up.

There had been a loud banging sound every minute or so for the last ten. Erik was surprised it took them this long to mention it, but he supposed members of the Wizengamot had to be cool under pressure.

"I'm afraid I don't know, ma'am," Yaxley said smoothly. Dawlish leaned toward him and whispered something in his ear. "Dawlish reminds me that the Department of Mysteries often has… mysterious things going on in it." He let out a laugh. His laughs had been come more and more frequently, and each one seemed colder than the last. Or perhaps Erik was catching George Weasley's mood; the more the experts spoke of the werewolves, the grimmer he looked.

"And I am telling you to find out," Neville's gran said. "I'll not be distracted anymore."

Neville shook his head. "Trust me, she won't be thwarted."

"They aren't supposed to open the door during the vote," Erik volunteered.

"She won't care," said Neville.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

12:17

Felix switched his wand to his left hand. His right forearm had been cut by a shadowy talon and was dripping blood. The ache around his Dark Mark – started by Weasley gripping him – had increased until Felix was forced to take short, swift breaths. It hurt worse than when the Dark Lord had gifted him with it. The pain had seemed like nothing compared to the knowledge that had been given him: how to conjure the Dark Mark, where several different hiding spots were around the country, and other things. The pure wonder of having all that information granted to him by the Dark Lord had masked the pain.

It was not masked now, and Felix glared at the night terror. It had soared through the Department of Mysteries, causing grown witches and wizards to wet themselves with fright. Even Felix had frozen with terror… until he'd remembered one of the spells he'd learned the night he'd been given the Dark Mark.

"Frikembrjo," Felix had said.

It left him able to move after the night terror, who looked like a large menacing bird made of shadows and hate. It glared at Felix, malevolent, and led him down the hall toward the stairs. Damn it, Felix thought. The Unspeakables never should've been so afraid that they couldn't think. They'd let it out, for fuck's sake, right during a meeting that would see some of his and Yaxley's plans coming to fruition.

It squawked, and a ripple of dread went down Felix's spine. "Confringo!" he shouted. A chunk of stone carved out of the wall and tumbled to the ground.

Pop!

The night terror vanished and reappeared five feet down the hall.

Blood thundered through Felix's veins as he chased it. Not used to not terrifying everyone, are you? he thought grimly.

Its wings spread, and Felix stopped, transfixed. It was his worst nightmare – it was Electra – she was doing – oh, Merlin, why is she looking at me like that? Come out of it, fool. It was the Dark Lord's voice in the back of his mind, and Felix drew up the strength to shove the fear aside. "CONFRINGA!" he shouted again.

The whole corridor shook with the force of his spell, but the night terror winged away.

The door at the other end of the hall – which had been shut an hour ago for the Wizengamot meeting – opened with a crash. "What is the meaning of this?!"

It was Yaxley, and his furious shout filled the corridor.

The hairs on the back of Felix's neck stood up. Some instinct told him he was in very real trouble… it'd felt almost physical, as though someone had walked by him, brushed the side of his body as they passed, and whispered "You're in trouble" in a high, sing song voice. Felix jolted, and hurried after the night terror. "Yaxley! Sir, watch out!"

"Rosier?" Yaxley asked in disbelief. "What are you doing down here? You're supposed to be up taking care of – ARGH!"

Felix was close enough to watch Yaxley's face crumple as the night terror mantled its wings. A hideous sound came out of the night terror's beak. Yaxley warbled something; Felix stopped short, gaping. Yaxley – one of the last of the Death Eaters still working toward the Dark Lord's goals – started crying like a small child. Contempt singed him.

"Frikembrjo," Yaxley stammered, still sounding about three years old. When he said it again, it was more like the Yaxley Felix knew. He picked himself up off the floor. There were others standing in the doorway. Dumbledore was making complicated gestures with his wand; the night terror was growing smaller and smaller.

"What's going on?" Yaxley muttered.

Felix opened his mouth. There was a suspicion he had about that blonde witch; she'd said she was going to the Department of Mysteries, hadn't she? But she hadn't been in sight – instead, the Department had descended into chaos. What if the inspector had deliberately set this up? In fact, what if—

The night terror bucked and mantled and fought Dumbledore's spell. It broke free and its talon slashed Felix's shoulder. He screamed and stumbled into someone. "Get out of my way—"

"Obliviate," someone whispered.

"What the fuck is going on, Rosier?" Yaxley grabbed his elbow and pulled him over against the wall.

"I was summoned down to the Department of Mysteries," Felix said. His thoughts felt fuzzy and weak. "Something was missing."

Yaxley's lip curled. "Pull yourself together, wizard."

Felix narrowed his eyes. The night terror had obviously muddled his thoughts – splotches of his memories were missing – but he remembered tears streaming down Yaxley's face as he saw whatever the night terror forced him to see. It was very hypocritical of him to look at Felix with such disgust.

The door to the Department of Mysteries opened, and Bode and Croaker poked their heads out. "Ah!" said Croaker. "It looks like they managed the night terror."

"It looks like Albus Dumbledore managed it, you mean," said Bode.

"It was chaos in the Department of Mysteries today," said Felix. "It's a good thing there wasn't an inspector making the rounds…"

Yaxley gave him a stiff nod. "You need to get back upstairs. I've primed them enough, I don't think we need much more before we're ready to introduce our solution."

1:15

Felix watched the door close once more. Cold air wafted from the Department of Mysteries. Felix turned in time to see Bode and Croaker disappear behind the heavy door. He shook himself at last, and headed back toward the stairwell. That night terror… he wondered at how they might be able to apply it toward their goals. The Unspeakables might be an insane lot – judging by Bode and Croaker – but they came up with the most useful things.

At last, he set foot on the top step that led out of the subterranean part of the Ministry. There was one lonely figure waiting for the lift: a small, blonde witch with the kind of robes that hinted toward the ridiculous. There was a familiarity to her that tantalized…

"Have we met?" Felix asked.

She turned to him, and blinked wide blue eyes. "I don't think so," she said. Her voice was soft.

"What are you doing down here?" he asked coldly.

She arched her brow and showed him her badge. It was an all-access badge… she had every right to be here… Felix's brows drew together. Hadn't there been someone else with an all-access badge today? Highly unusual, that. They must be together. Inspectors, Felix thought suddenly.

It was suddenly imperative that he take the stairs all the way up to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He did not want to be stuck in an elevator with an inspector, and also, it would be beneficial if he took the time to clear his head before he sat down to interrogate Gus Polkiss. Conducting an interrogation took a lot of mental effort.

Especially the way I do it, thought Felix.

"Decided to take the stairs," Felix grunted.

"Probably a good choice," said the blonde. "I've been waiting here five minutes, I wonder if I was supposed to meet you here."

"I don't think so," Felix said coldly.

"Ah well," she said. Then she gave a little wave.

Felix opened the door to the stairwell, and went in. He stood there for a few moments, breathing in through his nose and blowing out through his mouth. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

1:17

A paper airplane fluttered down to him. Erik looked at it, surprised. He hardly ever received any sort of correspondence on his own; the airplanes were usually meant for others. It wasn't until it repeatedly poked him in the eye that he grabbed it out of the air.

He unfolded the parchment, and instead of written words, Mal's voice spoke to him. "Erik, please seal the stairwells," she said. Her words were slightly slurred and there was a definite edge of hilarity in her voice. "All the old equipment got out somehow – hahaha – and we – haha – lost them. They're in the stairwell."

"Oh, that's odd!" George Weasley's little sister Ginny peered over at him. She was on her way out, and had stopped to say goodbye to her brother. "I was just up there an hour or so ago, wasn't that Mal?"

"Yes, that was Mal," said Erik. He tapped his wand in a rhythm against the podium, and pulled a key out of his pocket. "Hold on, I've got to do this." It was slightly complicated, locking down the stairwells. By the time he looked up, Ginny, George, and Neville were all gaping at the screen that showed them the Wizengamot proceedings.

A very frustrated Yaxley pointed his finger at the expert on werewolves in the center of the room. "What do you mean, you aren't sure?" he asked. "You were sure ten minutes ago."

"I'm not sure," said the expert. "I've no idea if the werewolf curse is passed down to the children. In fact, I've never met a werewolf who has had a child—"

"You had three accounts you were certain of just ten minutes ago," Dumbledore said. He leaned forward. There was a bit of a silvery blue mist adding a sheen to his features. Erik blinked at it, wondering if it was a sign the charm was about to explode or something. "Two of them were particularly harrowing."

"They're rumors," the expert admitted.

"That's – that's – that's—!" Yaxley's face turned an alarming shade of red.

"Yaxley, calm yourself," Dumbledore cautioned.

Everyone in the Atrium stared at the screen, their attention rapt. This expert had just told them of the terrible things werewolf cubs did to their mothers – the witches stolen by male werewolves and kept for breeding purposes. But now that suddenly wasn't true? Erik's brows drew together.

"It's all rumors, and I made up the bit about witches being forced to breed," said the expert. Then a look of horror came over his face.

"What is it?" Yaxley asked eagerly. "What have you remembered?"

"I haven't remembered anything," said the expert. "I've just got the urge to pass gas…"

A giant sigh went through the Atrium as two hundred or more people nearly laughed. Ginny Weasley was the only one who openly did so. "Well, that took an odd turn," she said cheerfully. "George, are you staying? I have to head out… those kneazles need me, you know…"

Erik waved, attention riveted.

1:41

Just as Erik was starting to wonder what was happening (was Dumbledore interrogating Yaxley?) a blonde woman sidled up to him. "Ah, Miss Lovegood," he said. He blinked several times, as she was carrying two radishes — minus their pots — in her arms. "How was your, erm, interview?" Her hair was coming out of her pins, and tumbling down in thin curls down her back.

"I didn't get the job," she said cheerfully. "But I did get these two lovely plants." She gave them a little pat.

One of them looked rather sick.

"That's wonderful," said Erik, glad her spirits were not damaged by the harpies over at the Daily Prophet. "Are you headed out then?" Like Ginny Weasley, she did not appear interested at all in the drama being unfolded this moment in the Atrium.

"Oh, yes, can't keep these two waiting. They'll need decent care," she said. She handed him back the all-access badge he'd given her. He took it, careful not to show it to anyone else. He needn't have worried — everyone else's attention was fixed on the screen. By the time Luna Lovegood waved goodbye and headed toward the public entrance, Erik, too, was engrossed.

"Mr. Yaxley, it appears that you were leading us to something," Dumbledore was saying pleasantly. "All this information — engrossing though it was — is now revealed as being less than truthful. What measures were you going to suggest we take against the werewolves? Slaughter, perhaps?"

"Not slaughter," Yaxley grunted. He looked distinctly unwell. Sweat made tracks down his florid face. "Werewolves would be too useful to me for me to want to slaughter them."

As one, everyone watching sucked in a breath. Angry mutters broke through the crowd, before Aberforth quieted them.

"What then?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly.

"The Unspeakables have unraveled the charms done to grant us wizards ascendancy over the elves," Yaxley said. "I can have them do the same thing to the werewolves."

"Ah," said Dumbledore. There was a dull roar of sound from the members of the Wizengamot. "Interesting." The wisps of silvery blue were now even more evident. Ropes of them seemed to have wrapped around Yaxley. "How fortunate for you and your schemes that such an attack on the Knight Bus and Hogsmeade occurred at the full moon just prior to this solstice meeting. Especially given that there hasn't been a true werewolf attack since Fenrir Greyback died."

"Bah," Yaxley spat. "It's not a coincidence, if that's what you're getting at, you old fool—"

"Yaxley, you idiot—"

"That is the Chief of the Wizengamot you just called a fool—"

"Silence."

Dumbledore's order thundered through the Atrium. The angry buzz coming from the villagers could not be quieted.

"I gathered up all the werewolves on the Registry, there were a few who escaped... didn't update their addresses... disappeared like the criminals they are," Yaxley said. "I didn't allow the others their precious potion and I set them on their course."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," George Weasley said loudly.

Shocked silence fell over the crowd as Yaxley revealed his entire plan. The werewolves were to have been subjected to the same type of enchantments as the elves. Their tracking prowess, their might, their savagery was to be made available to the Ministry... to Yaxley... The words battered into Erik. Only Dumbledore seemed able to speak.

"Forgive me, Mr. Yaxley," he said courteously. "But I have known you since you were eleven years old. You have never struck me as — dare I say it? — intelligent enough to come up with this sort of ingenious plan on your own. Tell me, who first set this in motion."

"It was the Dark Lord who began it," Yaxley said. His eyes were narrowed in slits. "The Dark Lord. But you're wrong — I was the one who implemented it—"

"In the name of your fallen master, I presume? Does he have your loyalty even now, so long after his defeat?"

Yaxley bared his arm. The Dark Mark was a shifting, ugly shape that writhed over pale skin. "Loyal forever," he snarled. "I'm loyal forever."

Many different voices shouted as one. Yaxley was thrown to the wall and pinned there. It took Erik several long moments to realize the majority of the shouts were coming from the Atrium — where the villagers who had nearly been murdered—

The Magic is Might statue was blasted off its plinth. It crumbled apart in mid air, and the pieces were blasted. Erik ducked — his head had nearly been bashed in by a flying stone. His hand scrabbled against the podium, finding purchase against the key that kept the stairwells magically locked — and in his confusion and mindless terror, Erik turned it.

BANG!

BANG! BANG!

A section of the wall ripped open, and a single wizard staggered out. Ten — Bludgers? — were pounding on him. Hundreds of specks of gold zoomed into the room, adding to the chaos that surrounded Erik. He huddled against the podium as more spells punched through the air around him.

"THAT'S FELIX ROSIER! HE'S YAXLEY'S FRIEND! HIS COUSIN TORTURED MY PARENTS!"

It was Neville Longbottom who shouted that. It broke through the tumult. As one, everyone stopped and looked where Neville was pointing.

"I'll bet he's one of them, too!" George Weasley shouted. Gone was the affable man; in his place was someone quite formidable.

The crowd swelled toward Rosier. For a moment, Erik couldn't move. They were nearly on him, ignoring the Bludgers, Snitches, and Quaffles that were so absurdly moving around them. Then, without even thinking about what he was about to do, he surged toward them, and performed the charm the Death Eater had been so certain he could not.

"WE AREN'T LIKE THEM!" Erik shouted as loud as he could. "STOP! WE AREN'T LIKE THEM! WE'RE BETTER THAN THAT!"

And it was true. Erik had feared He Who Must Not Be Named his entire life. It wasn't until just now he realized he hated what they stood for more than he feared them.

There was a lull. Rosier was bound and gagged, his arm bared.

"It's there!" shouted Aberforth. "The Dark Mark is there!"

"We're better than this," Erik said, helpless. "Don't just kill him..."

"Well said, Erik," said Dumbledore.

It felt like a benediction, and Erik looked down at his shoes, feeling an odd rush of pride.

"A wise man told me once — and by once, I of course mean yesterday — that what is the point of Voldemort being defeated if his principles remain championed by those within the Ministry and without," Dumbledore said.

One by one, each villager stopped what they were doing and turned their attention back to the screen.

"Voldemort is dead. Many of his followers remain at large," Dumbledore said. "We have seen proof today of their plots and schemes. We have seen proof of how far they are willing to go in order to further their aims. I speak now to both the Wizengamot and the people of Hogsmeade. I urge you to protect yourselves from hate. For surely there has been an attempt by Voldemort's followers to stir both hate and fear in order to subjugate our fellows, to make decisions based on these emotions." He paused then. "It was a very near thing today."

The Minister of Magic himself came to stand next to Dumbledore. He looked tired and worn and shocked. "If I thought my resignation would do any good, I would resign at this moment," he said. He seemed to choose his words carefully. Wisps of silvery blue obscured parts of his face. "I consider this place — this building — my home. I am heartsick that this evil was nourished here." He took a breath. "But going forward, we must work together to stamp this out. I myself will make inquiries as to what other projects the Death Eater had a hand in. This will be our mission moving forward."

"We want answers!" shouted Rosmerta.

"As do we," the Minister told her. "I have sent word to an Auror I trust that he is to enter the Death Eater's office. I will leave no stone unturned, I promise you this."

"He's got someone in his office!" Erik said loudly, remembering. He flushed when everyone turned to look at him. "He has a Gus Polkiss in his office..."

"Ah, so we need to be delicate with how we enter," said Dumbledore.

"They'll need a warning," said the Minister. "I advised them to do what they could... famous for warding his office, Yaxley is..."

"With good reason."

Erik looked at Yaxley. He was crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Blood dripped out of his ear. Still alive, though.

He couldn't believe it, honestly. Death Eaters in the highest offices of the Ministry...

2:57 PM

"We're sorry, Mr. Polkiss."

Erik watched, glum, as various members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement escorted Gus Polkiss down the Atrium. His limp was even more pronounced than it had been that morning. There were bits of plaster in his hair, and his robes were filthy. It seemed everyone at the Ministry had had the kind of day Erik had. I should've had firewhiskey in my coffee, he thought, mournful.

When Polkiss limped closer, Erik saw he had a rather cheerful look on his face.

"I'm glad we got that all cleared up, I am," he said. He paused thirty feet from the fireplaces. "My aunt didn't like seeing my face in the paper, thought I should head straight down here and straighten it out."

"We're sorry again for the inconvenience," Robards said, and shook Polkiss's hand with great vigor.

"It's no trouble," Polkiss said. "Have you got the time, though?"

"It's a hair short of three," Robards told him.

"Hasn't felt like six hours," he said. "Well, I'll be off."

Erik watched as they all parted ways. No one had mentioned that Polkiss kept his wand or did anything naughty with it. None of the DMLE folks had even looked at him. It was just about the only thing that had gone right for Erik today. The clock down at the other end of the Atrium began to toll the hour. Two more hours and I'm free, Erik thought.

Something struck his as off, though, as the clock continued to chime. It was Polkiss, still walking toward the fireplaces. His limp was straightening out – limps just didn't do that, did they? Especially if they were the cursed kind? Erik straightened and moved forward. A foot away from the floo, Polkiss's limp was entirely gone.

"Wait!" Erik called.

Polkiss turned, winked at him, and grabbed at the floo powder.

Just then, a Snitch bobbled past him. Polkiss reached for it, but it slipped out of his fingers. Erik watched, transfixed, as the fingers lengthened—

"See you," said Polkiss. Then he turned and shouted "THE LEAKY CAULDRON" before Erik could ask why his hair was suddenly turning auburn…

"You know what?" Erik muttered to himself, once Polkiss had vanished in the green flame. "I don't even want to know. I don't want to know."

By the time he'd got back to his podium, however, Erik had decided that the wink had been a trick of the light, and the limp was… something else. The hair was just… the flames, reflecting oddly. He just pushed through the pain, Erik said. It's silly to think he was faking a limp. That's just silly. And I bet I was dead wrong about the fingers.

Erik cleared his throat and pushed all thoughts of Polkiss out of his mind.

It was easy to do. The wreckage of the Atrium was immense. You just got paranoid because you think someone's going to point their wand and say 'This is all Erik's fault,' he told himself. It was a shrewd thought, he felt, and was proud of that. Terrible days just happened sometimes. Catastrophes happened.

It was silly to blame just one person.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Hours later

Erik sagged against the podium. The sturdy wood propped him up; he'd never noticed how supportive it was. "I just don't understand," he mumbled. How had so many things gone wrong today? He looked around at the damage in disbelief. The Magic is Might statue had been dismembered by angry villagers. Its fragments littered the atrium like little pieces of hate. The unseeing marble eyes stared at Erik from across the wide space.

The fires in the floo turned bright green. Erik gave a small scream.

A man and his house-elf tumbled through the flames. For a moment, they just stood and gaped at the wreckage. "Merlin's beard," the man said, awed. "What's happened here?"

"Nothing good, Master," the house-elf squeaked.

"I don't know what happened," Erik said, when they both looked at him. The raw honesty made him want a drink. "I… don't know what happened."

"Well… all right," the man said. "Come, Bobbins, let's go."

"Wait, I've got to get your wand, and—"

He was interrupted just then by a Snitch spinning in frantic circles around his head. Erik stared at it, forcing himself not to cower. Those Snitches… the havoc they'd wracked… his grandmum was not going to believe it when he told her about his day. I may have to bring home some of that Veritagas, Erik thought. Then a shudder rippled over his body. It was much too soon to think about the Veritagas. Much too soon.

Fingers snapped in front of his eyes.

"You were frightened of the Snitch?" the man asked, incredulous. The little golden thing was fluttering in his grasp as though trying desperately to escape. They didn't usually do that – once they were caught, they were complacent and still. But Erik had to admit that – after today – he didn't know much about what Snitches could and couldn't do.

"It – they did thing," Erik mumbled. "Things."

"This one has a name on it," the man said, puzzled. "Ginny Weasley."

There was quite a long pause. Erik thought the man would move off, but he continued to stand there, brow furrowed, and looking at the Snitch in his hands. "Bobbins, where have I heard that name before?" he asked.

"It was at the party, Master!" she said.

"The party…"

"She's… quite a nice witch," Erik offered.

"I'm sure she is," the man said. But there was something in his tone that made Erik take a closer look at him. He was non-descript in every way; his hair was tidy, brown, and neither long nor short; his eyes were wide-set (and also brown); and his nose was long. "I'll keep this for her, shall I?" he pocketed the Snitch.

Erik's hand trembled. He wanted to snatch it back. Calm down, he told himself. "I could give it to her," he said. "She comes in a fair bit."

"No, no," the man said. "I've got a feeling I'll see her again. I'll give it back to her when I do."

He was halfway down the Atrium, Bobbins the house-elf trailing behind him giving a little hop every third step, when Erik realized he had not asked this man's name, weighed his wand, or given him directions to where he needed to go within the Ministry. Unease filtered through him and he took a deep breath. "Wait!" he called. "I've got to get your name – your wand—"

"I'll be right back, you can do it then," he said.

Erik sagged against the podium. He had an odd, fuzzy feeling. You want to have a drink. You can conjured a bottle of firewhiskey here. Right now. Without even questioning it, Erik conjured up a bottle, opened it, and took a swig. It burned down his throat. The odd feeling went away, but the fuzziness lingered and grew more pronounced with each swig. I shouldn't have let him just walk in like that. Even today – especially today, what with all the dramatic events – Erik shouldn't have let him do that. At least they never found out I let that Gus Polkiss fellow in with his wand.

It was Yaxley who would've been mad about that, though, and Yaxley was likely to enjoy a brief stay in St. Mungo's before being transferred to Azkaban.

Making werewolves attack people, Erik thought, shaking his head. Terrible thing to do. He couldn't even really blame the citizens of Hogsmeade for losing their cool and tearing down that statue.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"See, Erik? Didn't I tell you I'd be right back?"

The man had returned.

Time had passed; Erik didn't know how much. Just that there was significantly less firewhiskey in the bottle than there had been. Why'd I do that? he asked in disbelief. Firewhiskey in his coffee was one thing, this was another. Why did I drink it?

"I'm afraid I made you," the man said. "I do apologize for that. I'm leaving now, and you're to stay where you are."

There was part of him that wanted to follow… Rosier's head didn't look right, all floppy, and his eyes were as glassy as one of Erik's grandmum's dolls. You need to help! Instead, he was rooted to the floor. Bobbins was singing a song in warbly little voice as Rosier's head flopped around. "Wait… I don't… where are you… going with him?" Erik said thickly. He held his wand out – except it wasn't his wand, damn it, it was the bottle of firewhiskey. He dropped it, and it shattered. Amber liquid laced with flames spread out across the floor.

"Damn," Erik muttered. A fog settled over his mind and he floated away from the action. People were leaving, he thought blissfully. He thought he knew them, but couldn't be sure. They in the shadows… they left through the public entrance, the one that would take them out to the street.

One small corner of his mind nudged him, telling him something funny was going on, that he ought to follow the men and that house elf. But it dwindled away until Erik no longer remembered seeing them, could only see the damage the angry villagers had wrought in the Atrium. It was selfish, but Erik was glad he was not a Magical Maintenance worker.

What a day. What a day.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Later that night

Felix couldn't open his eyes. A squeaky voice sang a song near his ear. It was a song that came and went; the notes landed on him like flies he longed to swat away.

"All right, Bobbins, you can wake him up," said a low, smooth voice.

Felix's eyes flew open and he immediately began to struggle. Magical bonds dug into his arms and ankles, lacerating them. His lips moved but he couldn't make a sound.

"I'm afraid you won't be able to move for a bit."

"Where am I."

"You don't need to know that just yet," said the wizard.

The room came into focus. It was small and cramped. There was enough moisture in the air that Felix guessed they were deep underground. He looked to the left—

-and drew back with a start.

A body lay near him. Freshening spells had been cast on it; Felix couldn't smell it, a fact for which he was grateful. It wore black robes, and a mask of the Dark Lord's face, as it had been after he'd come back lay next to it.

"I'm afraid he didn't answer my questions properly. He'd been enchanted – my work, of course – to actually be the closest thing to the Dark Lord I could get. Unfortunately, he failed me."

The threat sank into Felix. "What is this about, then? Revenge?" he asked thickly. He didn't understand…

"Oh, no." The wizard shook his head. "No." He bared his arm, and Felix saw the Dark Mark emblazoned there. It was twin to his own. "I continue the work of the Dark Lord," he said. "You will be my follower. You will be loyal to me."

His Dark Mark prickled, goading him. It'd been hurting all day…

"You want loyalty," Felix said. "To you?"

"To the Dark Lord," said the wizard. "To me. I am the Dark Lord now…"

Felix took a breath, and made a choice.

HPHPHPHPHP

Author's Note: Scrappy8, this one is for you.

With this chapter (and not counting the 15,000 words of the next chapters that have already been written), The Peverell Dilemma has become my second longest fic! This is insane to me, especially since even up to a few months ago I didn't think I had another long fic in me. The fun thing about writing chapters that are more like standalone episodes is that I can do that - give them a mystery to solve within one chapter, and the story grows. Have I mentioned I love writing this story?

That said, I will freely admit this chapter was a real challenge to write. I hope you enjoyed it! (Next chapter has a scene that some of you have been waiting for - any guesses as to what that is?)

Author's Note 2: I meant to tell you guys that I won't be publishing the next three or four chapters on right away because I need to make sure that I get the arc of what's going on right. I'm publishing them on the discord server, however, so if you want to read them, feel free to join up.