Mastermind Hunting

by Louis IX

This is a story of the life of Harry Potter. From his disappearance with his friendly relatives to Dumbledore chasing after him around the world, while Voldemort and muggle secret services loom in the background. Technology, Prophecies... one word: power.

25. A Summer of Disturbances

MASTERMIND HUNTING, by Louis IX
Check first chapter for summary, disclaimer, and other warnings.

Chapter 25 – A Summer of Disturbances
posted December 6th, 2005

Remus and Sirius spent a good time in Japan. In Sirius' case, that meant "except for his first trip outside": the pink tee and furred boots had brought him the attention of a particular kind of people, and Sirius was simply not leaning that way. With Harry and Remus smirking behind him, he had quickly bought clothes in a respectable shop and had then thrown what he had thought as typical muggle clothes in the nearest trashcan.

The two of them also met Petunia Dursley again. Yes, again. They had seen her once or twice, many years before, when the Marauders had been to Lily's home as a group. The three of them shared a few tears over a cup of coffee or three, remembering James and Lily.

On the last day of their week-long stay, they also met with Goken, and the three men had a good laugh when Harry recounted the swordfight his mentor had had with Snape. Remus and Sirius knew that Harry was quite proficient with swords, but they had seldom seen him in action. Harry and Goken obliged, bringing them in the outside courtyard. Once there, Harry morphed his ring back into its usual katana shape and saluted his adversary. Goken saluted back, and the two of them concentrated on bringing their mind in the proper state.

"What are they doing?" Sirius asked Remus. "They don't move."

"Shh." the ex-werewolf answered. "It must be-"

He was interrupted by a double shout, coming from Harry and Goken, and his mouth stayed open, a state Sirius' copied instantly.

The two swordsmen had rushed to each other, and were sparring viciously, the weapons clanking on each other. Numerous times, sparks flew from the clashes. Numerous times, one of them jumped high in the air, either to avoid the other's low sweep or to try a high attack. Numerous times, one of them relied on fists and feet to disentangle from a blade lock. Their speed itself made them hard to follow, and Remus had the eerie feeling that the two of them were dancing... a fast-paced lethal dance. Sirius didn't think anything, too shocked to react. After twenty minutes of jumping around, sometimes using the surrounding buildings as props, the two swordsmen came to a halt in the middle of the courtyard, a few feet from each other. They were panting hard.

"Not bad." Harry said, and a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. "Not bad... for an old man."

"Who's an old man?" asked Goken, incensed. He sheathed his sword and concentrated, and, a few seconds later, a bow appeared in his hand. "Defend yourself!" he exclaimed as he was drawing the string.

Harry straightened his hold on his sword, and nodded.

"Wait-" Remus tried to say, but Goken didn't turn around, and released the arrow. Then another. Then several of them at the same time. Then more.

The Marauders' heads swivelled to Harry so fast that they thought they might have cranked their neck. However, instead of seeing a porcupine-looking Harry Potter, they saw a young man concentrating and moving his sword and body to block his mentor's attacks. What was even more daunting was that he was doing so with his eyes closed!

After a couple minutes of doing so, the two martial artists stopped again. Harry opened his eyes and smiled, before noticing the three men's concerned look. He glanced down and noticed that an arrow was protruding from his calf, imbedded halfway through it. Without thinking about it, he grabbed its head and yanked it away, before applying his metamorphmagus powers to heal himself quickly.

When he looked up, he noticed that his two wizard friends hadn't moved. Goken had approached him, though, and was looking at him disdainfully. "Not so perfect, it seems." he stated.

Harry snorted. Now that he knew the man, he knew that it was a play. His eyes caught something, though. "You too, sensei. You too." he said amusedly, pointing at the garb the man was wearing.

While they had been sparring with their swords, Harry had successfully landed a few blows on Goken, and the man had a couple shallow gashes. It was quite harmless, but the blood had been soaked by the man's outfit during the fight, tinting it in a vivid red colour.

Goken shrugged, smiling. "It's nothing, really. It's the first..." he trailed off.

Harry looked at him inquiringly.

"It's the first time you drew blood like that, Harry. I guess that earns you something."

"Something?"

"Yes, something." the man said, now serious. "Be here next Monday at 5pm."

Harry nodded, not understanding what it was about. As his peripheral Legilimency didn't yield anything, Goken being still in the vacant-mind state, Harry had half the mind to fetch the answer by attacking the man's invisible memories, but he refrained. They walked back to the still-gaping Marauders and started making jokes about toads and flies, and the two wizards audibly clamped their mouth shut.

After half an hour of discussion, mostly comprising explanations for the two wizards, Harry, Remus, and Sirius took their leave and Apparated back to the enlarged apartment.

After a quick shower, Harry went to eat with his family, but the phone rang in the middle of the meal. Petunia being the nearest, she answered, and swiftly removed the cordless receiver from her ear when her interlocutor practically yelled something about Hogwarts.

Harry, despite his surprise at having recognized the voice, managed to swallow his large mouthful without choking – intensive sparring meant appropriate diet – while he stood up and gestured to his aunt and adoptive mother to give the offending device to him.

"No need to yell, Ron." he said, wary of what the pureblood wizarding boy would say through such an insecure mean of communication. Remus and Sirius looked at each other and shrugged before helping themselves to the roasted beef again.

"Hi, mate!" Ron answered, still a bit loud. "Nice to hear your voice! Dad brought this fellytone home-"

"Telephone, Ron." Harry tried to interrupt, rolling his eyes while smiling at his friend's enthusiasm. "And you're still loud."

"-and he succeeded in making it work. Can you imagine?" the redhead continued, ignoring the interruption – unless he used the device in an inappropriate way and didn't hear it. "Hermione asked the yellow people-"

Harry heard the aforementioned girl yell "Pages!" in the background, but Ron wasn't done gushing.

"Whatever, she asked for the suffix for Japan and here we are!"

"Great, Ron." Harry said, while hearing Hermione in the background, complaining about something that vaguely sounded like "prefix".

"What?" yelled the redhead.

Harry heard a short scuffle, and Hermione's voice came from the receiver. "Hey, Ha- err... you."

"Oh, that's how it's used!" Ron exclaimed in the background, and Harry smiled at the boy's inexperience considering anything muggle, imagining him holding the phone in front of him. Or upside down. No wonder he had yelled. Especially if he had thought that he had to yell to reach him halfway around the world. He briefly wondered if the twins didn't have an effect there, before reverting to the conversation at hand.

"Good evening, Hermione. How's it going?"

She didn't answer for a couple of seconds. "Evening?"

"Sorry. Good midday, then. It's a quarter to eight here. Different time zones, and all."

"Oh. Right. I forgot."

"So?"

"What?"

"How is it going?"

"Pretty well, considering the fact that my family had been invited by the Weasleys for the weekend. Our dads are discussing about muggle things in Mr Weasley's shed while our mums are cooking together. I just have to be wary of- Hey!"

Harry heard another mad scuffle at the other end, mainly comprising laughs despite Hermione's angry shouts. He smiled, understanding through the low-key sound that the twins had pranked her.

Suddenly, a clanking noise was heard in the receiver, and another voice came from it.

"I'm sorry, but Ron is outside with Percy, and Hermione is trying to get the twins to undo their latest prank."

"Ah." Harry replied, not knowing the speaker's identity. A male, obviously. "We will have to wish her luck, then."

A deep chuckle. Definitely a male. "Too true." the voice said, and Harry suddenly had an impression of déjà-vu. Or déjà-heard, more precisely.

The line fell uncomfortably silent for a couple of seconds.

"You want to speak to Ron again?" the voice asked.

"Err... yes, why not." Harry answered, and he heard the sound of the handset placed on a hard tabletop. For Harry, not having the ability to see the unknown person was quite unnerving, especially as he didn't have the slightest mental contact. He hadn't wanted to ask the person's name either, because then he would have had to say his own, and he didn't know under what name Ron had called him.

Several seconds later, Ron was back. Harry heard the deep voice instructing Ron about how to hold the receiver. It seemed that the young redhead didn't remember Hermione using the thing earlier. "Hey, mate! Still there?"

"Hi again, Ron. So... what's your number?"

"My number? What is it?"

"It's the number I should dial to reach you."

"But you don't need to reach me, mate. We are speaking already."

Harry sighed. "Alright, alright. Can you get me Hermione? Oh, and... Who was it who brought you here?"

"Oh, that was Bill. My Egyptian curse-breaker of a big brother. I'll get Hermione."

Before Harry could react, Ron had dropped the phone... at the place the young redhead thought it best. The cradle. Harry looked at the receiver in disbelief, before shaking his head. Some things would just never change. He stopped smiling when he remembered about Bill and the short interaction he had had with him. The phone rang again, and he pressed the button.

"-and, honestly, Ron, pay attention! I told you-"

It was Hermione. Ranting at Ron. 'Same old, same old.' Harry thought, before deciding to interrupt. "Hi again."

It successfully stopped the girl mid-rant but started a rambling explanation about what the twins – currently barricaded in their bedroom – would look like when she was through with them. Harry tuned it down after a few words, and Hermione stopped quickly afterwards, recognizing his lack of response for what it meant. "Why did I call you, already?" she asked.

Harry chuckled. "Because I wanted Ron's number and he hung up on me."

"Oh, right." she giggled as well, before giving him the number. After catching up on the elapsed week, they wished each other a good summer and repeated that they'd see each other at some later point.

Harry had to explain parts of his phone conversation to his family, making them laugh about Ron's use of the phone. He also had to reheat his plate afterwards.

---

The next day...

On that sunny Sunday, four persons were standing in the large apartment, taking their leave of Harry's extended family. Well, Harry wasn't taking his leave as such, considering that he was scheduled to come back the same day. Remus, Sirius, and Powell weren't, though, and they thanked the hosts before leaving with Harry.

In Geneva, their first stop, Powell thanked him for the ride, while doing some gesture with his hands. Harry caught it, and he nodded. While Harry sat down, recuperating from the long trip, Rupert and Genevieve entered the kitchen. Judging by the couple's state of hair and disarrayed clothes, the two of them had been quite taken in a last snogging session, and they all smiled.

The muggle doctor told him that the two of them had come to an agreement. Since there was no such equipment as the CERN in England, Genevieve couldn't leave Geneva as of yet. They had decided together that Rupert would move in. In order to do so officially, though, he had to take the muggle route from England.

After a last kiss and a promise to come back later, Perkins joined the three wizards heading to England and was whisked away. Harry dropped him at his apartment and enlarged his shrunk luggage again, before bringing Sirius and Remus to their home. After checking that no memory was visible from their vacation, he quickly returned to Geneva, as Powell had asked him.

Unbeknownst to everybody, he and his spy friend had taken advantage of living under the same roof for the old man to teach several things to the boy. A couple of these had been discreet means of communication, including the international sign language and several variations. That's how Harry had understood the man's meaning earlier. When he arrived in the Swiss house, the first thing he knew was Genevieve hugging him rather tightly.

"Err... Genevieve? Weren't you just kissing Rupert?" he asked.

"Thank you, Harry." she merely said, and kissed him on the cheek before retreating. "Thank you so much. He's so handsome, and intell-" A cough interrupted her dreamy tirade and she glared at Powell before looking back at Harry. "Anyways... thank you, Harry."

"You're welcome."

She took her leave, returning to her room to rest. The last few days had been quite tiring, and she needed her sleep to be able to withstand the following week – she would have to work harder to compensate for her absence.

Once they were alone, Harry and Powell headed to the man's room, where Powell extracted a box from a drawer's false bottom. Harry remembered enlarging the drawers for the man, but he hadn't thought that it was, in fact, to dissimulate items using another plank. After all, the plank in place, there was no indication that the drawer contained anything.

"When you told me about stunning opponents rather than killing them, I thought of a few things that could interest you." he said, and he opened the large metal box.

Harry's eyes went wide at the collection of weapons. Powell smiled and extracted a few items before slamming the box shut. The boy started, and looked at the weapons that Powell was handing him.

"That is a crossbow." the spy said. "It is the mix of a bow and a gun, offering a middle ground between the silence of the former and the accuracy and velocity of the latter. This model can also be folded for discreet transport, and it comes with an optional infrared visor. Its ammunition is called bolt, and I have several clips of them here. It's quite difficult to actually make large clips of bolts, which is why there are only five bolts per clip. Each clip has a colour, too, some of them being the reason why I wanted to show you the weapon."

He then proceeded in showing the packs, one after the other. "The black ones are normal, pointy ones. There are black ones with indentations on the side, causing the normally silent bolts to scream like a banshee, eventually causing fear. The red ones have a barbed head and hollowed bolt, causing the wounds to bleed even more. The green ones have a dollop of poison inside them, released upon impact. The light green ones will only incapacitate, while the dark green will kill. The cyan ones are the same, with acid instead of poison – very useful to discreetly make holes in containers, trust me. The blue ones are hollowed as well, but they are empty, meaning that you can put anything inside. Another kind of poison, for instance, or even those magical potions you told me about, once. In fact, any substance that can be injected will do. The purple ones will generate a heavy cloud, useful to block visibility. The yellow ones are coated in magnesium, and will light upon impact, allowing you to put fire on things, or simply light dark places if you shoot on something that's not flammable. There are also orange ones, which are like your pens in that they are filled with explosives, which will be released upon impact. And finally, the grey and white ones. The grey ones are dulled bolts, designed to stun people if you aim correctly. The white ones include a horizontal blade which will spring once the bold is shot. It's quite useful to cut ropes efficiently, even from a distance." Powell stopped there, looking at the assorted packs. He then glanced at his interlocutor. "Don't worry about not seeing those colours in the dark, though. Each clip also has Braille indentations on them, telling you about their use."

Harry nodded, remembering the memories the man had offered him. The Braille, written code for blind people, had been added to his Language package, allowing him to compress it quickly and easily. The sign language had been included there as well. And the supposedly retired spy's memories about reading on lips were there as well.

He looked at the other weapon, a large and misshaped gun, and pointed at it. "What is this?"

"It's a sawed-off shotgun." the spy replied. "It's absolutely not accurate – except at point blank, obviously – but it has the advantage of shooting hunting ammunition on a large area. The dispersion cone has an angle of 60 degrees. Obviously not for far targets."

"Interesting." Harry commented, grasping the thing and turning it over.

The man looked at him uneasily. "Listen, Harry. I don't really like giving you all these weapons, especially considering your age." he said, raising his hand to prevent a heated interruption. "I know that you're in war, though, and these could make a difference between victory and defeat. Between life and death. Remember what I told you in Japan as well."

Harry nodded, his harsh comment relative to his age forgotten. The man had not only taught him means of discreet communication, he had also given him knowledge of how to efficiently gather intelligence, how to follow someone or to avoid being followed, and how to plan a successful attack on a key point or to defend said key point. Harry knew that it could be useful at any time, and Powell wasn't necessarily going to be at his side when he would need that particular knowledge.

After a dozen minutes, during which Powell gave him memories about how to use these weapons efficiently, Harry left, the new weapons safely tucked away in an appropriately transfigured box which was now shrunk and in his pocket.

---

A short time later...

Hearing the knock at her room at the Hog's Head, the woman froze, before putting on her smiling mask. Checking in the nearby mirror that the illusion was still in place, she opened the door and took a glance at the old stranger there.

"What do you want?" she asked cautiously.

The man smiled in his moustache and the twinkle in his eyes intensified. It reminded her of Dumbledore, in a different way. What he said, though, sent her train of thoughts through the proverbial window.

"I want an interview." he stated, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "With the real you. I'm Jerry Homest, by the way."

After several seconds of shock, Amelia Bones remembered about the man's articles and their usual truthfulness, and she stepped back, inviting him inside. After a quick look around, she closed the door and threw a couple charms on it.

"A good Silence spell is better than all the damage control one can hope to do." Harry commented, nodding pensively.

She nodded as well, before sitting on one of the chairs beside the small table her room had been furnished with. Harry sat in front of her, and they started to discuss about what they were going to print.

It would be two very satisfied people who would separate, an hour later. Harry would then head directly to the Daily Prophet Headquarters, where he would be shown an article from that morning's edition. An article that would compel him to add a few lines to his one.

---

That afternoon...

"I can't believe they would print this!" Hermione huffed.

Ron, after having stuffed himself full, was in no condition to play Quidditch right away, and he had sat in the living room, grabbing the morning's Daily Prophet edition in the process. He wasn't such a news addict, but the sport section always interested him – especially Quidditch. He had been halfway through an article about the last defeat from the Chudley Cannons when Hermione, having seen something from her nearby seat, had snatched the paper from his grasp. His annoyed yell didn't attract her attention, though, and she practically devoured the article that had caught her attention.

Resulting in her previous exclamation.

She threw the paper on the table, where Ron quickly grabbed it again. While the redhead tried to find the Cannons article again, she was pacing nervously. "The nerve!" she exclaimed. "How could anyone write such things without even knowing what they talk about. And they call themselves reporters? Honestly!"

By then, Ron had finished his sports article and turned the page to where Hermione had seen the offending article. And he gasped.

The Deception Around the Boy-Who-Lived
by Dee Zhonest

It has been a long time without an article from the infamous Jerry Homest, and this reporter has sought him around the place without any success. I have come to the conclusion that he doesn't even exist and that his writings are to be taken with a doubtful mind. After all, how can we be sure that he's not Albus Dumbledore in disguise?

This reporter finds especially scandalous that some low-level reporter could take advantage of the notoriety of the Boy-Who-Lived by displaying fake interviews. The broken Potter family, whose picture you can see here, doesn't deserve such a harsh treatment. This reporter also heard that Minister Fudge, in a grand act of generosity, was going to award the Order of Merlin, third class, to Harry Potter, as well as a reward of 1000 Galleons for having brought the demise of Voldemort, all those years ago. And this reporter is sure that this recent rumour has nothing to do with the fact that the revered Minister, whose picture you can see right next to the Potters, is going down in the opinion polls.

Ron snorted. "I can't believe they would write something like that about- Ow!" he exclaimed, efficiently interrupted by Hermione's kick to his shins. "Why did-" he started, looking up. He stopped short, though, when he noticed his mother and eldest brother looking at him.

"Everything fine, dear?" asked Molly, concerned that her son could be ill from something he ate.

"We've heard shouts." Bill explained, before noticing the two red-faced teenagers and the newspaper. "You two aren't fighting over the Daily Prophet, are you?" he asked, before taking the paper from Ron's hands and casting a cursory glance at the opened page. His next word, though, made the others jump in surprise. Especially the two youngest.

"Harry!"

He was looking at the smiling face of James Potter.

---

The next day...

The Minister was drinking his Firewhisky-enhanced morning tea with a greasy croissant when the newspaper arrived. As was the case usually, he batted the delivery owl away and it left in a hurry. Fudge never paid for the news. Shoving the remaining half of his food in his mouth, he took a sip from his cup to allow him to swallow it more easily, and he unrolled the paper.

When he saw the headlines, though, he spat his mouthful in shocked surprise, smudging most of the fine-printed article text in the process. He squinted his eyes, but it was to no avail and he quickly stopped trying. He threw it to the fireplace, quickly followed by an incendiary spell, before calling his secretary in. "Bring me the Daily Prophet, Julia." he then ordered, acting his pompous self and forgetting that the woman's given name was Beth.

A few minutes later, the secretary brought the offending paper, and Fudge quickly dismissed her. He was quite sure that the young woman had a smirk on her face when she left his office, and thought about firing her – after sleeping with her over a false promise of advancement, of course. But not now. After carefully swallowing the tea he had just sipped, he opened the offending newspaper again.

The Minister's Law – sexist?
by Jerry Homest

It has been a month since a very important woman had been fired and slandered in a way that shouldn't be allowed. She was, and still is, very competent in managing people efficiently, and that is something that should be taken into consideration when one is appointed Head of the Law Enforcement Department.

Yes, this reporter is writing about Amelia Bones. Since her dishonouring discharge, she had lived on the run, her house destroyed by vengeful people and her family mocked. For what? The answer is appalling: for nothing. Because someone else divulged things from an ongoing investigation, the Minister took upon himself to remove her, replacing her by the epitome of the macho wizard. Not even mentioning his brutal ways with women, we still have to see Mr Derrick prove himself competent in the position Fudge had given him – yes, given: Derrick wasn't elected or chosen by a panel. Did Fudge choose the man because the Minister himself is a sexist? It could be seen that way, especially when one knows Fudge's ways with women.

Our current Minister should be wary that half of the voting people are women. Intelligent witches who are certainly not going to help him pursue this line of conduct when the elections are to be held, this August. It is also to be noted that, contrarily to what the Minister seems to believe, three-quarters of the voting people are muggleborn. Fudge ought to have thought about that when he purposefully blocked the ongoing investigation about muggleborn murders. And as to why these murders suddenly stopped when Derrick took office, one can only offer the suggestion that the man himself has a link to the murderers – after all, no Auror had been dispatched on the cases. Coincidence? Bizarrely, since Derrick's promotion, Aurors seem to be dispatched on Minister's escort more often than actual battles. One can only remember the recent tragedy of Hogsmeade.

In order to defend both sides, this reporter repeatedly asked for an interview from the two men, but they refused each time. This article thus expresses the view of the common wizard and witch, confronted to an administration which ignores them, to the point of belittling when we consider the fairer sex.

Finally, it is to be noted that this reporter has always had memories, testimonies, or proofs for all facts expressed in all of his articles, this one included. It is also to be noted that this reporter exists, and is not a fake construct from people like Albus Dumbledore, as some reporter suggested. People wanting to reach this reporter simply have to send a message to the Daily Prophet – something a particular reporter seems to have missed.

An hour later, just as the man was sweating after having trashed his office in anger, a post office owl came in and he shakily took the proffered missive. While the bird flew out, the Minister squinted his eyes and read the letter. It spurred another round of trashing furniture, before Fudge was too tired to continue. He removed a few splinters from his armchair and sat on it, thinking about what he wanted to do to Jerry Homest when the man would come to interview him.

---

Harry returned to Japan, satisfied of his task. Given the time difference, it was just in time for Goken's appointment and he went there directly.

"Ah, Harry." the man said, seeing him at the door. "Come in, come in. I was just finishing some paperwork."

Harry sat on his knees, and, prodded by Goken, served himself and the man a tea. Quite taken by his martial education last summer, he hadn't learnt the proper ceremony around the tea. However, he had seen Goken doing it more than a couple of times, and it wasn't that difficult to copy the man's gestures. When he finished, he saw his teacher nodding appreciatively. They both smiled before sipping the hot beverage.

"Sensei, you still haven't told me about-" Harry started, before being interrupted by the man's shake of head.

"Harry-kun," Goken started, smiling, "it's time you stop calling me that. I've taught you all I knew, and the rest will come with experience only. See this paperwork?"

"Yes, sen- err... Goken-sama. What is it?"

"It's your registration form as teacher for this summer's kendo classes."

Harry was shocked beyond words, and the man laughed good-naturedly, something which broke through the boy's shock. "Uh... Thank you, sensei. Are you sure...?"

Goken frowned at the use of his teaching title from Harry but let it pass. He stood up and patted Harry's shoulder. "You'll do fine. Besides, you have to honour your Renshi title with actual teaching, don't you think?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

Harry was surprised again. "Renshi?" he asked. "But... isn't that reserved for advanced teachers? I haven't started teaching yet."

The man nodded. "Yet you can wear me out in a fight." he admitted with a smile. "Not everybody can harden their skin to the point of not feeling anything when I score a hit, though."

"I do feel something!" Harry exclaimed. "It's just that I don't bleed from it. I don't think you scored many times, though. Are you insinuating that I cheated?"

"Not at all." Goken replied, chuckling. "I know that you landed more blows than I did. I also know that you are in a tight situation right now, and I find it appropriate that you can strengthen yourself for each fight you might find yourself in."

Harry nodded, the seriousness of the man's comment not lost. After a few seconds of reflection, he nodded again. "Alright. I'll do it."

"Let's get clothed and head there, then." the man said, going to the rack holding the kendo outfits he owned, and motioning Harry to follow him.

Noticing that most of these were for an adult, and knowing that it would be easier to manage a class by being bigger than his 12-year frame, an idea found its way in the boy's mind and he addressed his former teacher. "Goken?"

"Yes?"

"Have you written my name on these forms yet?"

"Not yet, why?" asked the man, his back to his student as he was pulling the vest over his head.

Harry smirked. He remembered that the man knew about his Metamorphmagus powers – after all, Goken had seen him with different forms already – and he morphed into Henry Evans. "I'd like to change it." he said, his voice changed.

Goken froze, before turning around. It took him a full minute to take Harry's new shape in. "Why...?" he asked, before trailing off, not even sure of what he wanted to ask.

"I have been proposed to teach already, next year." Harry said, and his smile receded into a sad expression. He quickly retold the attack on Hogsmeade and the fact that "his" body had been found dead – he also explained him about the transfiguration he had done to a dead body and said body's subsequent delivery in the darkest corners of Knockturn alley. "It could be helpful to have papers showing I taught already, with Henry Evans on them – this form's name." he concluded.

Goken looked at him, before nodding absently. He resumed clothing himself, his moves mirrored by Harry, and continued his explanation about the job. "Due to one of our teachers' sudden departure for the continent, the Wednesday evening course for the intermediate students would have been cancelled if you hadn't accepted."

"Wednesday?" asked Harry, frowning. "But we're Monday."

"I expect that you'll take advantage of this session to learn the appropriate teacher's decorum." Goken said seriously. "After all, you will be in a position of authority and responsibility."

Harry nodded, and, once they were both ready, he Apparated the two of them in an empty stall of the Nippon Budokan – Goken could have done so, but Harry was able to stop before leaving the gaseous reality, and it helped to avoid people in such a public building.

In the course of the hour, Harry mostly sat on the sidelines, watching the teachers and learning their ways. He also determined the level of the students in each group and the things they had to be taught in each case. His only interruptions were when he was called by Goken to demonstrate a difficult move for the advanced students – not that Goken couldn't demonstrate things by himself, but defence moves required a sparring partner to attack appropriately.

In the end, Harry followed Goken to the registration desk, where the man gave Harry's registration sheet to the officials there. As they were coming from him, the clerks didn't make any comment, just verifying that everything was complete before storing the forms in their satchels.

Harry was going to teach.

---

When he returned home, Harry saw Tracey trying to catch an excited ball of feathers.

"Wee! I'm arrived! I'm there! See me? I went far! I'm tired, but I'm so excited! Wee!"

Harry looked at the tiny owl in wonder, before remembering that he could hear birds and talk to them. At that particular moment, though, it was more a curse than a blessing, given Pigwidgeon's excitement.

Tracey finally whipped her wand out and magically Summoned the tiny owl to her. It was her Swiss wand, of course: no need to bring the Ministry here – even if Harry doubted they could know what was happening at the other side of the world and under a Fidelius. The girl retrieved the message and noticed two things at the same time: it was for Harry, and Harry was there. She smiled and gave him the envelope before going to the "zoo" room to put the tiny owl in a cage.

Harry sat on a nearby armchair, before opening the letter. He quickly recognized the first of the two sheets inside – it was the article of that Dee Zhonest person, which he had read back at the newspaper's headquarters – and he pulled it aside to read the second. Parsing it quickly, he recognized the two scripts. Ron and Hermione.

Good afternoon, mate,

How are you doing? Here, we're having a blast. I just played Quidditch and Hermione tried to play Keeper for a few minutes. She stopped a throw from Bill, can you imagine? Anyways, she was quickly tired and abandoned the game to read some more.

Speaking of Bill... We just saw this morning's edition of our favourite newspaper, and thought it might interest you. First, for the obvious reasons we won't mention here. And, second, for the fact that Bill said your forename when he saw the picture. Do you think he's remembering? He seemed troubled, but he shrugged it off and joined the pick-up game with me. Did you know that he took a year-long vacation? And that he offered things to our parents? He must make a big income to be able to do that...

Anyways, Hermione is asking for the quill, so I'll let the two of you. Cheers!

As indicated, the uneven script was replaced by a more delicate one.

Hi, err... I should write "mate" too. And, same as before, I don't know when you'll receive this, so I'll settle for "good afternoon" as well.

How are you doing? Stupid me, Ron already asked. Well. I hope everything is going well... wherever you are. Here – at the Burrow – there aren't many books, so I just read my textbooks, you know, to prepare for our homework. Even Ginny is obsessed by Quidditch. I tried to play, but I'm just too insecure to really participate actively, despite that save Ron told you about – I'm sure Bill threw it softly on purpose.

Speaking of him, I think he is remembering about you (Ron told me about it quickly), but he didn't tell us anything. He didn't tell anything either when I asked him the reason for his vacation. He just mumbled something, but, before I could prod him further, the twins showed themselves and the meal took a chaotic aspect from then on. I don't think my parents will ever return here after we leave.

Speaking of them, they are getting ready to leave, so I'm going, too.

Love from,
Hermione

Harry smiled at his friends' antics, before remembering Bill. He was just thinking about including the man in his circle of friends – after all, he had seen him already, and he had been nice – when a feminine body settled on his lap and a hand snatched the letter from his grasp.

"Hey!" he exclaimed indignantly.

"Hey yourself!" Tracey answered mischievously, making a show of reading the letter. "So, what is Ron writing about?"

"How do you know it's him?" he asked, before snatching the letter. "And why did you sit on me?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're in a one-place armchair, mister, and I can't sit beside you, so I chose the next best thing." she said, smiling innocently. "And as to how I know it's Ron, it's simple: I already remarked the tennis-ball sized feathery screeching object which would best serve as-"

"Alright. I get it, I get it."

"Well... I saw it in Hogwarts already." she finished with a pout, as if he had interrupted a favourite game of her.

A pout...

A mischievous girl...

Sitting on his lap...

A beautiful girl...

Harry's heart started to beat faster as he was noticing Tracey, as if for the first time. Her sandy blond curls were catching rays of the setting sun, giving her head a hypnotizing halo. Her hazel eyes had a twinkling of sort, negating the pouting expression her full lips created.

He unconsciously approached his face from hers, as if to see her smooth skin from nearer. His hand reached up on its own accord, slowly going to her hair to stow a stray strand behind her ear. Surprised at his change of demeanour, she looked at him, her eyes searching his. When his hand didn't leave the side of her head, she gasped silently, showing her pearly-white teeth.

Despite the faint sound and move, he hadn't stopped moving forward, and they were now a couple inches apart. Tracey looked at him inquiringly, and Harry was looking back at her, taking in her appearance as if he had never met her before. Their hearts were beating in unison, but their young minds didn't know why. However, they still knew, intuitively, that they should continue their approach. The two inches gap shortened to one...

"Dinner's served!" Petunia's voice called from the kitchen, and the two teens jerked awake.

Harry stood up suddenly, sending Tracey crashing on the floor with a yelp.

"Hey!" she called.

"Sorry." he said meekly. "I just... reacted."

Her expression became playful again. "Now? Or before?" she asked, before acquiring a sudden blush.

Harry looked at her with a puzzled expression. When he understood, he blushed as well. Thankfully, he was prevented from answering by the rampaging herd running through the lounge towards the dining room. Harry's cousins could give this impression when they were hungry and faced to a meal. Any group of kids could, in fact.

The two teenagers looked at each other silently for a few seconds, before Tracey extended her hand. Harry took it and hoisted her on her feet.

"Sorry-" he started, but he was promptly interrupted by her hand on his mouth.

"Don't be." she whispered. "It's not really your fault. Besides, I'm not hurt. Just a little sore, that's all."

"Want something to make it feel better?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

She looked at him curiously, and he felt his face heat up suddenly. "Is it a dare, Mr Potter?"

Blushing furiously and not knowing what to answer, Harry would later thank whatever deity watched upon him at that moment, because Petunia peeked through the dining room door and addressed them. "If you want to eat something, children, it's now."

They obeyed and took their usual seats, and spent most of the dinner's duration stealing glances at each other.

However, as the spaghettis were replaced by the dessert, their attention was dragged by Vernon standing up.

"Children." he started, including Harry and Tracey as well as his own. "I have succeeded in grabbing two weeks of vacation from the bank, starting in a fortnight." He then took a folder from the nearby counter and gave a couple brochures to each of the persons around the table, Jorg and Ulrike included.

"I initially thought that we could travel around, but I reckon we did that quite a bit before. We can simply visit our new country, for instance. The first prospectus is about a tour of the Japan islands. There's also another one about destinations in the world, and another one on local attractions. We'll choose together, what do you think?"

They all agreed wholeheartedly, and, during the remaining duration of the meal, excited chatter could be heard around the table. As Harry and Tracey were there, the dishes were quickly – and magically – cleaned, and they all moved their ideas and their persons to the lounge right after the dinner was finished.

Harry suddenly remembered that he was taken each Wednesday for the kendo course and he told them so. Among the congratulations he received, he noticed his cousins' crestfallen expression – and "heard" their thoughts about it – and he quickly amended that, thanks to his mean of travelling, he would participate to the holidays nonetheless.

---

At the same time, in Egypt...

Lord Voldemort stretched his 20 feet of scaly serpentine body – when rearing up, he needed a part of it to stabilize himself, and he appeared only 8 feet tall, smaller than his real length – and considered what to do now.

He had just finished a torture session of a group of local muggles, but, despite being refreshing for his soul, they weren't sufficient as long as the thorn in his side hadn't been dislodged. The Boy-Who-Lived.

He slithered toward the Library and addressed his chief researcher. "Jugson!"

The man, startled, jumped at least a foot high in his chair, before answering his master. "My... My Lord?"

"What have you found on the mind link?"

The man straightened up and took his notebook. "It seems that what you told us isn't the appropriate method for closing a mind link, master. It crumbles it, but it's possible to re-establish it by digging the rubble. It can take time, though, especially as you wouldn't want anyone in..." he gulped. "Anyone else than yourself in your own mind, master."

"Spare me the details, then." Voldemort replied, nodding his massive and scaly head. "What about the ritual you told me about last time? Is it useable without digging through the link?"

"Yes, master, it seems so. It must be done on a full moon. The problem is that it can't be tried more than once."

"Once... per year?"

"Once and for all, Master. Once for each link one might have. It eventually destroys said link. However, some effects are more destructive to the link than others. It's possible to do a repetition ritual, after a dozen days of rest, providing the sum of the effects' destructive action to the link reaches 100 percent, not more."

Voldemort thought about it. "Tell me about the effects, then." he asked his follower.

"Master, I have to tell you that... some of these include a backlash of similar intensity."

"Like?"

"The killing effect, master, goes both ways. As well as the love effect, but I don't think you wanted to hear that." Jugson quickly finished, noticing his master's snarl. "There is the illness effect, master, inflicting a serious disease to the other person, but it requires a sacrifice of a limb. There's-"

"Jugson! Tell me only about those which don't require a sacrifice or are detrimental to my health."

The man swallowed and turned a couple of pages from his notebook. "The air effect removes air around the target. It can make the target suffocate, but only if he or she-"

"He."

"Wha- I'm sorry, master?"

"Say "he". It's a boy anyways."

Jugson coughed, before reading his notes again. "Suffocate, but only of he is in an enclosed place at that time."

"Useless, then." Voldemort noted, his tail tapping on the floor in annoyance.

Jugson, remembering what had happened to Dolohov's ankle, tried to find viable suggestions to avoid a similar fate. "There's the fire effect, master. It puts fire around the target, and there's no side effect or sacrifice on your side."

"You spoke about a destructive action for the link?"

"Yes, master. The fire effect has a 10 percent impact on the link. It's one of the most conservative ones."

The Dark Lord tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Hmmm... Is it possible to use the same effect repeatedly?"

"Err... no, sorry, master. Unless we can redesign the ritual, but that would involve-"

"Jugson!" Voldemort exclaimed, instantly stopping the rant of his bookworm of a follower.

The man swallowed before continuing his list of effects. "There's the hate effect, master. For a few minutes, it instils hate in the persons around the target, hate towards the target of course. These people will use whatever means they have to kill him. It depletes the link by 30 percent."

"An interesting one. Continue."

"The flood effect provokes a coastal typhoon which-"

"We don't know where he is. Don't tell me about location-dependent effects."

The man swallowed nervously again, and rifled through his notebook. "There's a pain effect, causing the target a Cruciatus-like pain for several minutes. It takes 20 percent of the link. Another one inflicts boils and disfigures the target, and it costs 40 percent." Jugson continued to search, and quickly neared the end of his long list. "The last one interesting is the natural disaster effect, master. If the target is at sea, it creates a deadly storm. If not at sea, the effect is an earthquake centred on the target. And, if the target is in the air, it generates a thunderstorm with lightning bolts targeting him."

"Nothing else?"

"Err... sorry, my lord. I forgot. The last effect reduces the link's strength by 50 percent." the trembling follower said. "That's all, master."

"You have done very well." Voldemort said, with the smirk he reserved for his most successful servants. "Continue to do so, and you'll be rewarded beyond your expectations."

The powerful hybrid of a wizard and a snake slithered toward the Library's exit, and the Death Eaters working with Jugson started to breathe again. He stopped at the doorway, though, and turned around, frowning.

"Jugson!" he called.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"When do the ritual effects have to be specified?"

The man rifled through his notebook again, and Voldemort restrained himself from punishing him right there for his lack of speed. The Dark Lord knew that no man could know everything and he preferred to have an accurate answer than an immediate but false one. His impatience was only barely contained, though.

Jugson stopped at where the information was and spoke. "They have to be specified during the ritual preparations, my Lord. All of them, since the primary ritual will decide of everything. Should you decide to repeat it, the secondary ones will only trigger the effects."

After a few seconds of thoughtful silence – although his followers found it more foreboding than thoughtful – Voldemort spoke again. "Very well. Since the next full moon is Saturday, we will use that date. I will tell you my choices tomorrow." he said, before leaving the Library. For good, this time.

---

The following Wednesday...

It was Harry's first official course as a teacher, and he spent most of the morning as a nervous wreck – relatively, of course: his ordered mind helped him with this issue. He was more irritable than usual, but at least, he wasn't annoying the others about it. After lunch, where he succeeded in finishing his plate, he locked himself in his room, mentally reviewing all the possible cases of anything going wrong. When the time came, he Apparated to Goken's dojo.

"Ready?" the man asked with a smirk.

Harry looked at him and shrugged. "As ready as one can be."

"Relax." the man said, while opening the closet in which he stored the kendo outfits he owned. While he extracted the two they had used that Monday, he continued to talk. "You'll see that your goal, in that particular group, consists mainly in making them repeat old sequences together. Only a small part of your time will be devoted to actually teach them new moves. Apart from this, you only have to verify that their postures are correct and to check that the students' skill is appropriate. Incidentally, it's the group where you trained last year, so it shouldn't pose a problem to grasp whether their level is appropriate or not."

When the two of them were finished, they Apparated to the sport hall together, a few minutes before the time. Harry went to where his group was going to be taught, and waited for his students to arrive and finish getting dressed. He idly listed their identities – merely skimming their mind to get their names – and got a shock. Two of them, in fact. Unbeknownst to him, James and Tracey had registered for his group earlier, and they were now there, smirking at him behind their helmets.

'You witch you.' he mentally sent Tracey.

'I thought you would like me here, sempai.' she replied, sending a mental wink as well.

Harry reflected about it. He was still nervous, but Tracey's soothing presence and casual mental comments helped him deal with the situation.

The hour flew by without him recognizing it, and he saluted his students a last time before returning to Goken.

"How was it?" the man asked.

"Interesting." was Harry's answer. "Tiring, too. I never thought that there were so many ways to badly handle a bokken... and so many ways for inattentive students to actually hurt themselves."

Goken acquiesced, smiled. "I noticed. You spent an awful time correcting them. That's good, but do you know the best way for a human being to learn something efficiently?"

"Well... importing memories?" Harry whispered, a smirk on his face.

"I didn't speak about you! I spoke about normal people." Goken replied seriously, but his expression betrayed his amusement.

"What is it?"

"It's trial and error." the man answered. "Let them fail, Harry. Let them have a few bumps and bruises now and then, and you'll see that they will correct themselves quickly."

Harry nodded, and the two of them returned to the dojo to remove the heavy garb, before Harry returned home.

---

The following Sunday...

That morning, the sun had just risen above the horizon when an ear-piercing scream woke the whole apartment. It wasn't a one-time scream, and couldn't be ignored and attributed to a passing nightmare. Soon, the inhabitants were congregated in a particular room, looking at the source of the scream anxiously.

Harry was screaming and moving haphazardly around, trashing his bed in the process.

Tracey had brought her wand and tried to Petrify him, but he succeeded in breaking the spell and she had to Silence him for them to discuss about it. Vernon and Jorg tried to hold him on his bed, but, after knocking Vernon unconscious and sending Jorg crashing to the wall, Harry continued to trash around in visible pain. Tracey tried to reach out with her mind, but she couldn't bear the pain that was burning his mind as well.

After a full minute of worried reflection, they noticed that Harry's trashing was starting to bring harm to himself: he had already bitten his tongue forcefully and blood was running from his mouth. Tracey decided that she would Petrify him continuously until he'd get better. It appeared the best solution, because Harry stopped damaging himself and his bedroom.

After a few minutes of continuous casting, despite the glasses of water Petunia fetched for her, her throat began to feel raw and she thought about calling Hermione or Ron or anyone else, even the muggle hospitals. She noticed something, though, which made her smile from the bedside chair where she had taken place: the interval between her spells increased. As it meant that Harry wasn't able to shake the immobilizing curse as easily, she supposed that he was going better, and she sent thoughts of affection to him.

It appeared to calm him even better, and he finally stopped moving. She put him on the side, so that he wouldn't suffocate in his own blood – a position she had learnt when in primary school – and, after dispelling the Silencing spell and her last Petrifying spell, she snuggled behind him. Despite the worry about his ragged breath, the magical exhaustion took hold of her and she fell asleep holding him.

When she woke up, the sun was high already and she was feeling light-headed. And her arms were empty. Disconcerted by the unusual room, she blinked a few times and tried to sit up.

"Morn'ng." an unfamiliar voice whispered nearby and she reacted with a surprised yelp. A throaty yelp, and it made her cough. She felt strong hands helping her, giving her a fuming cup afterwards. "Drink."

She turned her head and finally recognized the person helping her. Harry.

"Are you alright?" she croaked, taking in his haggard appearance and bloodied tee-shirt.

He merely nodded and pointed to the mug in her hands, and she obediently sipped the concoction. It was very sweet, with a hint of alcohol and lemon.

"Grog." she said, and he nodded, sipping his own cup.

The two of them spend half an hour in silence, recovering slowly.

"How-" she started, but he interrupted her.

'Let's use our minds for a while. I don't think my voice box is ready for use yet.'

'What happened, Harry?' she asked.

Several seconds passed by without an answer and she was ready to repeat the question when he finally answered. 'I don't know.'

'You don't know?'

'No. My aunt told me about what I did, but all I can remember is pain. Pain like I never felt before, and like I hope I won't feel ever again.'

'But... you told me...'

'I told you once that I could remove the pain connections in my brain, and it's true, but this time, it went beyond that.'

'And you don't know where it came from?'

'No.' he answered, and she distinctively felt the underlying distress. If anything like that was to happen again...

Their mugs finished, Harry removed them before going back to bed, where he fell asleep in her arms.

---

At the same time, in an old temple...

"Jugson!"

Despite the ritual's success, the Dark Lord wasn't exactly happy.

"My lord?"

"How comes the ritual took away a part of my magic?"

"I think it's because of the scheduled chain of effects, my Lord. The ritual will need your strength for the next steps. The more powerful the effect, the largest the draw."

Voldemort looked at his quivering servant in distaste, before sending him crashing in the side wall with a sweep of his massive tail. "That's your last warning, Jugson. You don't want to fail me again." he hissed to his barely conscious follower, before turning around and heading to his private chambers. He really was tired, and he would need several days of rest before thinking of doing anything else.

---

Hogwarts, a week later...

The Order of the Phoenix was holding a reduced session, and the members present were quite disgruntled by the news Moody was retelling.

"Are you sure, Alastor?" asked Dumbledore. "It's not that we don't believe you, but it's quite... harsh. And sudden."

The addressed man looked Dumbledore and nodded. "Positive. The Minister had personally pushed for this edict to take place immediately."

"What does it say?" Hestia Jones piped in. "And how is it possible to enforce it the same day it passes?"

"That's a mystery in itself." replied the man. "And the decree basically freed the few Death Eaters we caught in Hogsmeade last month, while putting into prison the people who did cast Unforgivables on them."

"WHAT?" they all yelled, jumping to their feet. A cacophony of refusals ensued, several of them having effectively done the now-unlawful action to bypass the Death Eaters' protection fields.

"That's exactly what I thought." whispered Moody, before quickly reinstating silence in the room. "Why do you think Tonks and Shacklebolt got imprisoned? The edict continues in the same direction, making vigilante groups illegal. It even goes as far as granting those Death Eaters a compensation for their imprisonment. In fact, it's almost as if it was directed specifically against us."

That started another round of indignant exclamations, mainly targeting the Minister, and Dumbledore stood up. "My friends, this is dire news, indeed, but we have to continue our work. I will try to meet the Minister tomorrow, and we will find a solution. To promote such laws, he must be quite ill-advised, and I intend to make him see the error in his ways."

That concluded the meeting, and the members slowly filed out.

The Headmaster pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. He knew he couldn't afford the additional preoccupation. He already had his school to run, and, between his search for Harry Potter, the threat of Voldemort hanging, and handling the Ministry, if the three of them fought against him at the same time, he would be crushed, more powerful wizard or not.

Shaking his head, he pulled a pad of parchment and his preferred quill, and started to write a few messages, starting a chain of actions he would never have imagined before.

He needed a swift reaction, too, and, before sending the messages with Fawkes, he also transformed each message into a timed portkey – he was still Hogwarts Headmaster, and knew he was legally able to do so; not that it would have bothered him otherwise anyways. While waiting for the addressees to appear, he summoned a house-elf and asked for the diminutive creature to bring him a school owl – at the present time, he didn't want to send Fawkes to Fudge. The owl arrived swiftly, and Dumbledore was just finishing his message when a woman appeared in his office. He sent his letter before greeting her, conjuring a comfortable armchair for her to sit.

"Rita. It's a pleasure to see you here."

"Dumbledore. To what do I owe this summon?"

The old man looked at her guest appraisingly. "Have you already broken into the Ministry, Rita?"

She smiled self-indulgently. "I have memories of it, yes." she said, frowning. "Even if I remember why I did it, I can't understand how I came to do it." she said, before looking at the old man in puzzlement. "What does that mean?"

Dumbledore could offer several ideas about why the previously greedy reporter was now calm and willing to work for him, but it wasn't today's topic. "I don't know, Rita, but, since you know how to get there, I want you to do something for me."

"Alright. What is it?"

"It's dangerous."

"It's not a problem, Dumbledore. Shoot."

"I want you to make two people escape the Ministry cells."

A pause.

"You weren't joking when you said it was dangerous." she said, before strengthening up. "Alright, I'll do it."

The two of them settled a plan, which involved a beetle flying in the cells and giving a portkey to Tonks and Kingsley. Five minutes later, Rita Skeeter was gone, and Dumbledore was sipping his tea calmly when someone else appeared in his office.

A boy and his mother.

Draco and Narcissa Malfoy.

Dumbledore swore internally, while displaying his largest smile. "Good evening, Mrs Malfoy, and you too, my boy." he said cheerfully, while surreptitiously activating one of his numerous devices – one that prevented remote control or listening. Now sure that no one else was listening in or controlling the Malfoy, he only had to dispose of Narcissa.

"I would like to discuss Draco's achievements in the last year." he started silkily. "Rarely has a pureblood heir succeeded so much. Here, take a look at this." he said, giving them a parchment. The two of them started reading it, and Dumbledore unobtrusively drew his wand and wordlessly Stunned the woman. Draco hadn't moved, being quite stunned himself by what he was reading. His eyes darted between the text and the signature several times, before looking at his Headmaster, puzzled.

Still silent, Dumbledore brought a pensieve on his desk and gestured to it. The blond boy obeyed, taking the memories and putting them into his mind. After several minutes of adjustment, he looked at the Headmaster with a smirk.

"It's a good thing you did that, Headmaster. My new master wouldn't have taken lightly the fact that you'd taken a hold on me before him."

"Yes, Mr Malfoy, I thought so. What can you tell me about Voldemort, now?"

"He has initiated a ritual, a few days ago, but I don't know what it is about. However, it will last a few days, and he is currently resting."

"What is your position in his ranks?"

"I'm with the young teams. We are still unmarked, but several of them are already willing to kill in order to advance in the Dark Lord's ranks."

Dumbledore nodded absently. A brief look at his clock reminded him of his next guests, and he looked at Malfoy inquiringly. "Did you find anything relative to Severus?"

The boy snorted. "All I know is that the first thing he did, right after leaving the school, was visiting the Goblins. Even before reporting to Vol- our master. And it wasn't even because of his vaults. Nott told me that the man has some sort of a contract with the half-breeds, and he has to see them every summer. Since then, he has been brewing potions non-stop for the Dark Lord. The stocks were quite low, and the ritual required some complicated ones."

Dumbledore nodded again, forgiving Malfoy from using expletives against the Goblins – after all, memories modified or not, the boy was still a Malfoy. The old man was remembering the last few days of school, when he had succeeded in breaching the Potion Master's mental walls and had convinced him that he was still Hogwarts' Potion professor. Since the man had been quite taken since then, he supposed that his little charade was still up. He had to see the Goblins, and was suddenly glad of having thought of taking – and magically preserving – a lock of greasy hair from the man.

After making Malfoy empty his memories again, Dumbledore woke Narcissa and Obliviated the two of them, before holding a meaningless conversation relative to the boy's exams. A couple minutes later, he ushered his guests through the fireplace, just a few seconds before someone else appeared behind him.

Dumbledore smiled, recognizing the presence, and, without turning around, he greeted his last guest in the way he had learnt, so long ago. "Good evening, sir."

"Same to you, Albus, although I must say that it has been a long time since I've been so cavalierly summoned."

Dumbledore turned around and had the grace to blush in shame. "I'm sorry, sir. I have a new problem I can't seem to resolve alone."

"What about your little group?" asked the man – a tall man clad in dark blue robes and wearing a cap of the same colour. "Can't they help you?"

"It seems the Minister is targeting us, right now. I already have two members in prison and, even if I planned their escape, I can only hope that they haven't been subjected to Veritaserum already. I wouldn't like the whole Order arrested."

"Albus, Albus, Albus..." the man scolded the Headmaster as if he was a mere child. Without him even looking, speaking words, or moving a wand, an elaborated armchair replaced the one Dumbledore had conjured earlier, and the man sat down before addressing his host again. "What did I told you about truth serums and mind shields?"

"I know, sir. I just didn't want to mess with their minds." Dumbledore answered, before sitting behind his desk as well.

"Is that so, or do you just enjoy reading them easily? Playing the omniscient and slightly barmy Headmaster?" the man asked. He then brought his hand to his lips, and, during the move, a tea mug appeared in his hand, and the man sipped it.

"I truly made several mistakes, sir, and they are coming back to haunt me. I hid young Harry Potter, I placed Cornelius as Minister, and, even before that, I didn't care about the life of a poor orphan as much as I should have."

"And I let you." the man said. "You chose to live on the spotlight, Albus. I didn't. Otherwise, I don't think I'd have lived that long." He then sighed. "However blatant is your current carelessness about certain things, I suppose I can help you somewhat. What do you need?"

Dumbledore's first thought was to ask the much-older man about finding Harry Potter, but he had an urgent problem he had to treat first. Besides, he didn't think he would have reacted favourably to that request. "Elections are going to be held next month, and I think that Cornelius should step down – I hope he will. His last decrees were particularly unfair towards the muggleborns."

"...and your point is?"

"Do you know of someone ready to step up? Someone who will not bow to the Death Eaters who are surely misguiding Cornelius at the moment."

"I might know someone, yes." the other man answered. "Quite a straight man, too. But I warn you, Albus: he won't follow your ideas either."

"Who is he?"

"Rufus Scrimgeour."

Dumbledore scratched his beard pensively. "I've never heard of him."

"That doesn't surprise me. Rufus has always been secretive about himself. He's one of the apprentices I got who resembles me the most in that respect. However, he had fought most of his life against dark wizards in the world, and had learnt their ways and how to protect against them. He simply won't be swayed by anyone."

"Will he be alright, politically?" Dumbledore asked. "I mean... there are some times when one has to make compromises..." he trailed off.

"Judging by your current predicament, I think the time to compromise is over, Albus. You will have a Ministry against you, Albus, or you will have it beside you. It's just too bad that you let Fudge with enough leeway for him to turn his back on you."

Dumbledore acquiesced humbly. The scene was almost comical, the rumoured "most powerful wizard in the world" acting meekly in front of anyone. However, given the fact that he was conversing with his mentor, it was the normal politeness expected from an apprentice.

Especially an apprentice of the famous Nicholas Flamel.

---

The following Monday, in Japan...

Harry's family and friends left the ferry from Hokkaido mainland and set foot in the small island of Okushiri for an afternoon of swimming and sunbathing. The island itself was so small that it was almost completely covered by the town – named Okushiri too.

After a couple of hours frolicking in the waves with the other kids, Tracey noticed that Harry was acting strangely. His face was a little green, as if he was suddenly ill. A mere second later, he fell in the shallow water like a dead body.

Remembering his face from when he had awoken the apartment with his screams, she panicked and hurried toward him, the other kids following her. The four of them managed to bring him to the shore, where the adults were peacefully reading, keeping an eye on the bags – where Tracey's wand was hidden.

Fortunately, Harry wasn't screaming. A mere couple of minutes later, though, he awakened and noticed the worried faces around him.

"What?"

"Harry, you fell unconscious. Are you alright, now?"

The boy checked his body, but nothing seemed to have happened and he nodded absently. Nine days ago, he had had to heal his body and parts of his mind after the pain, but he didn't feel any pain right now. Only a feeling that... something wasn't right.

He stood up suddenly, and looked around, clearly apprehensive.

"What is it?" asked Vernon. The others wanted to ask the same question, but a low rumble came to their ears, intensifying by the second.

Harry had paused, worriedly staring toward the usually flat sea. They followed his westward glance and it took them several seconds to distinguish the phenomenon. The tsunami was approaching fast, though.

"You don't think..." started Jorg.

"Everyone, grab your stuff, now!" Harry exclaimed. He had to repeat himself, because of their stunned state. "Quick! And now, take a hold of me!"

It took Harry a couple of frantic seconds to check that nobody was being left behind, and he Apparated everyone out of the way.

The 30-feet high wave crashed on the beach, destroying structures and lives, before continuing to travel inwards, damaging structures and vehicles.

From the gaseous reality, Harry and his extended family watched the greyish scene of destruction with mouth open in shock.

Tracey looked at Harry. 'Do you think... it's linked to you?' she mentally asked.

He looked back, and his eyes acquired a hard glint. 'I don't know, but I will find out.'

Seeing his family's distraught state, Harry decided to bring everybody at the apartment, and he returned to the island afterwards, anonymously helping the inhabitants clean the rubble and heal the critically wounded. Ultimately, the tsunami of that July 12th would make more than 200 victims, and cause the destruction of a large part of the city. Not only directly, but indirectly as well: the gas pipes broken, numerous fires occurred after the tsunami proper.

It took Harry's family a couple of days before they were able to enjoy their vacation again, and they decided to visit the nearby Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples. Harry, however, didn't want to stay. When he had passed out on the beach, he had had the vague feeling of someone else's magic acting. Someone he had been "close" to in the past. Voldemort.

Not wanting to put his family at risk, Harry told them that he'd move away for a few weeks. Not wanting to scare them, he didn't tell them about the Dark Lord, though. After vowing to phone them at least twice a day, he Apparated out and left Japan. As he was doing so, despite his sadness at being compelled to leave, he was smiling. Among other possibilities, he had chosen a country he had already visited, although briefly, and where he had wanted to spend some time.

Brazil.

---

A week later...

Albus Dumbledore considered his options. In doing so, he also mulled over his life.

The old man was considered by many as the "most powerful wizard of his time." And it had been true, should one calculate power like purebloods did, including one's political weight into the equation. After all, after one and a half century living in the magical world, one ought to have met people, and the Headmaster was at the centre of a carefully-elaborated web of acquaintances, each of them owning the great man something.

Thanks to this, Dumbledore had made it so that Fudge was the only one running for the Minister seat, some years ago. He had thought that he could manage the portly man easily, but, with his mounting obsession about Harry Potter, his control had slipped, and his puppet had acquired other masters. Fudge was now shunning him completely, and, short of physically invading the Ministry, Dumbledore couldn't meet the man alone. Fudge had even been advised – by his current Head of Law Enforcement Department – to put his own house under the Fidelius protection charm.

Factually, Dumbledore's principal magical achievement had been Grindewald's demise. Before that, he had learned to be a competent Alchemist, having been apprenticed by Nicholas Flamel himself. Incidentally, a fact that wasn't widely known was that Dumbledore's long life was a result of him taking a few sips of Elixir of Life when he was helping Flamel brewing it, a hundred years ago. His last work under Flamel's tutelage was his Master Alchemist's thesis, for which he had discovered the 12 uses of dragon blood, something he was widely known for.

At the present moment, though, Dumbledore had other thoughts than his Alchemist's days – even though he had involved his old mentor in his problems. He had finished the after-school paperwork, mainly involving the reviewing, signing, and delivery of OWL and NEWT results, and his obsession flared again.

"Well, Minerva, it had been an interesting year and all, but I have to leave, now."

"Now?" asked the Deputy Headmistress. The stern woman was sharing the administrative tasks Dumbledore was constantly flooded with, and the after-school paperwork was one of them.

"Yes, now. I'll go to Brazil."

"Albus, you don't mind..."

"I will go there, Minerva, and I will bring Harry here. With those Death Eaters on the loose, we will need him here. He needs our protection more than anything else."

McGonagall looked at him inquiringly for a few seconds. She wanted to remind him of the reasons why he had dropped a baby at the front step of number 4, Privet Drive, all those years ago – namely: giving him a proper childhood. She didn't speak up, though, and turned around, her shoulders slumped. "As you wish, Albus." she said, before leaving the office.

The old man looked at the door for a moment. For half a second, he thought of staying, of recalling her, of forgetting Harry Potter and all his intrigues. She had shared numerous years leading Hogwarts with him, and he didn't like the disappointment he had witnessed in her eyes.

But he didn't move, and the instant passed with the office door closing.

---

Brazil, four days later...

Harry strode the street towards the hotel guarding the magical mall. He had started renting a room there when he had arrived in Rio de Janeiro, using a false identity and a morphed face – looking Brazilian, of course. Nothing had happened to him yet, and, despite his numerous phone calls to his family, he was starting to feel the strain of having parted from them. He had seen them twice, on Wednesdays, when he had come to Japan to teach kendo. These visits were short, though: he still had an ominous feeling, and knew he could only wait for the other shoe to drop.

After several evenings sifting through his own mind to build his new defences, he had realized that the collapsed remains of the tunnel leading to Voldemort had almost disappeared. But not completely. He didn't know how to vanish it, though, and resolved to wait, hoping that nothing disastrous would happen.

In the meantime, though, he explored the town a bit, and started to learn the sport called Capoiera, a sport which some called dance, while others sorted it as a martial art. He was quickly remarked as a talented student and invited to nightly contests – where the fighting aspect took more importance than dance or game. During these fights, only his enhanced agility saved him from several harsh defeats – against people more knowledgeable in that particular fighting style, he simply couldn't win all the time.

He was just coming back from such an errand and entering the hotel, when he noticed a faint Legilimency brush against his mind. He couldn't determine where it came from, though, and started to panic: as his mind now had strong defences instead of a fake display, he knew that whoever was browsing his mind would notice the discrepancy between his young frame and his defences. He cursed internally and turned around to exit the hotel.

"Harry?" someone called, and he almost froze. He knew that voice, and, looking at where it came from, he realized that its owner must be magically concealed. Using only a hand, he quickly tested the gaseous reality, and its solidity confirming his hunch about the anti-Apparation field. Harry broke into a run, determined to avoid Dumbledore.

"Harry! Wait!"

The boy didn't stop. He had an ominous feeling about this. However, he suddenly realized that the ominous feeling didn't come from the old wizard. Not at all. He suddenly stopped, panting heavily, and fell on all fours, earning him curious gazes from nearby policemen. A hateful feeling began to take hold of him before rolling off of him in waves. Harry couldn't do much, and, when he saw the policemen grab their firearms and take aim, he took the easy way out. He Apparated out.

---

Dumbledore rounded the corner, cursing his idea of putting an anti-Apparation field in the first place. What he saw, however, made him gasp. Several policemen were aiming their bullet-throwing weapons at the boy he had thought of as Harry. He barely had time to react as the men didn't even speak before pulling the trigger. A cacophony of gunfire came from the place, and Dumbledore barely noticed the boy disappearing from where he was.

The gunshots didn't touch Harry. But there had been people behind him. Poor people, mostly children, who didn't have much choice for a place to sleep. People who, most of them being asleep, hadn't felt the powerful hate wave centred on Harry. They had had the misfortune of choosing to spend the night near the Candelaria church, and eight of them died on the spot, in what would be later called the Candelaria massacre.

Dumbledore was still hidden, and his first thought about Harry's disappearance was oriented towards accidental magic. While it was rarer when people reached 11, it was still possible, especially in such a stressful situation: there had been several cases of threatened teenagers accidentally Apparating out of harm's way.

The old man surreptitiously threw a couple of spells to detect Harry's Apparation destination – such spells allowed a wizard to grasp a global direction and distance from the Apparation starting point. He looked at his wand in wonder, though, when the spell didn't yield any result. It was as if the young wizard had Apparated, without moving. As the boy wasn't there physically anymore, Dumbledore concluded that the boy mustn't have been Apparating, and concluded on a portkey use, something he knew was much more difficult to make, and equally difficult to trace.

What he didn't know, however, was that Harry had effectively Apparated, and that the detection spell had been successful: Harry was still there. The boy was lying in the gaseous reality, though, unconscious from the magical exhaustion caused by Voldemort's ritual.

Dumbledore returned to the hotel, reflecting about his earlier intuition which had told him to wait for Harry there. After all, if Harry used the magical mall's post office toucans, he had to travel there at one point or another. And his relatives were muggles, so they would have been out of place living in the magical place itself. Reflecting about the Dursleys, Dumbledore remembered his last failure in reaching them. He had asked the muggleborn hotel receptionists if there were ways to obtain their address, and, after consulting a large book, the man had told him the address of two Dursley households in and around Rio. Dumbledore had gone there, of course, but none of them were the ones he sought. He had then established himself in the hotel lobby and, knowing that Harry could change his face, he had tried Legilimency on any male teenager. When he had found the boy with the surprisingly strong defences, he had had an inkling that it had been him, but the boy had disappeared. Again.

When he entered the hotel again, the elderly wizard went to the reception desk again and read the employee's minds surreptitiously, trying to see if they had interesting memories about the elusive boy. Surprisingly enough, it appeared that Harry was actually living in the hotel itself. Dumbledore headed to the boy's room and Apparated inside as discreetly as possible. He quickly noticed that the room was empty, and he relaxed enough to search the room for clues. There weren't many of them, as Harry, when not at home, always kept his most prized possessions on himself, in his locket. The only things left in the room were everyday clothes, and a couple letters.

Despite feeling intrusive, the old man browsed the letters and remarked that one of them was Harry's answer to the other, which was from Susan Bones. Susan's letter told about her aunt's interview, and about how she wished he could return to Hogwarts next year. Harry's answer – signed Harold – only told her that he was happy for her aunt, that he wasn't scheduled to return to England anytime soon, and that he will be out of the country for the summer term. Inspecting the bin, Dumbledore found a draft of Harry's answer and read it as well. To his surprise, it was almost exactly the same content.

'Why did he discard this one?' he asked himself, before looking at both letters attentively. There was only one sentence which differed. The final version read "Greet your aunt for me" while the discarded one read "Greet Amelia for me." He frowned. What could it possibly mean? How could Harry know Amelia Bones by her given name? Still in deep thoughts, he pocketed the draft before jinxing the clothes with several tracking charms, not noticing that there came in several sizes. He then donned an invisibility cloak and sat in a corner of the room, one that was overlooking the room's door. After a few minutes of waiting, he also threw a specialized anti-Apparation field, one that allowed entry but forbade departure.

---

Several minutes later...

Harry awoke and looked around groggily. With a start, he recognized the grey tinge of the gaseous reality and the memories of what had happened earlier crashed back in his head. He also noticed the agitation around him, people running left and right, and complaining in Portuguese. Apparently, Voldemort's spellwork – he was now sure it was him – had caused quite the unrest.

Still in the gaseous reality, he slowly returned to his hotel room, with the aim of sleeping his exhaustion away. After all, he had participated in a late session of Capoiera before the magical event, his sweaty shirt being a clear indication of his involvement. Consequently, his first stop was the bathroom, where he Apparated and took a long and hot shower. As the water was splashing on his strong body, soothing his tired muscles, he checked his link with Voldemort, and noticed that it was completely gone. Where there had been an entrance clogged with rubble before, nothing remained. Whistling happily, Harry finished his shower and, using the towel to vigorously wipe his hair, he exited the bathroom.

He would never know that, but his state of undress – he was naked – was what saved him from abduction, that day. In the seconds Dumbledore took to react, Harry had noticed that something wasn't right in the room and had immediately scanned his surroundings. He spotted Dumbledore's aura at once and immediately disappeared. Just as Harry was finally noticing the anti-Apparation field, the red and large beam of a powerful Stunning charm passed through his now invisible and intangible shape.

Dumbledore threw the cloak to the side and looked curiously at the place where Harry was. He had seldom heard of people disappearing without a particular item on themselves, either a portkey or their wand – to Apparate. The only reason he could think of was that the boy had an item of jewellery imbued with a portkey, the activation of which included safety reasons – like someone attacking him: in the old man's eye, that was coherent with Harry's last disappearance.

The boy gone, the old Headmaster wasn't going to waste time waiting an unknown amount of time for a return he thought of as unlikely, now. After a last Legilimency sweep, he grabbed the dropped cloak and lifted his anti-Apparation field before Apparating out.

Harry saw the old man entering the gaseous reality and speeding towards an unknown destination, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He could, now. Even if he didn't have to breathe while being in the gaseous reality, it was still disturbing to be bodily held like that. He had also felt the mental sweep, and had quickly hidden his mind, using the no-mind technique – the one concealing one's mind, not his version of burying everything, which was not only longer but also close to impossible, now, since most of his subterranean space was taken.

Even though Dumbledore was gone, Harry remembered that the old man wasn't the only magical aura he had felt in his earlier scan. He repeated it, only to find that his clothes had been magicked somewhat. Not knowing which spell had been used, he decided to cancel everything in one go – after all, none of his normal clothes were inherently magical, so he had no qualm in removing all the charms. He fished Merlin's wand out of his locket and, after a quickly uttered "Finite Incantatem", there was no spell remaining and he could dress without a second thought.

He then stowed all his clothes in one of his pockets – which inside he temporarily enlarged for this – and grabbed his mail. Remembering something, he checked the bin and, noticing the missing draft, he groaned. 'There was really no need to drop clues.' he thought. 'Especially to him.'

With his senses fully open to detect any hostile – or plainly nosy – presence, he went to the hotel lobby and checked out. Using the Visa card his uncle had given him earlier, he paid the indicated sum, idly reflecting that the telephone calls to Japan were what did cost him the most.

This done, he entered the elevator again and Apparated to Switzerland. After sleeping soundly for a few hours, he went to Gringotts' local branch and moved a part of his money to his Visa account. This done, he left towards Japan, where he was fully intending to make good use of the remaining vacation time he had, mostly by spending as much quality time as possible with his family and closest friends.

---

A week later...

Dumbledore sneered at the goblin in front of him. It wasn't a grimace the Headmaster was accustomed to, and he was tired of showing the world the face – and greasy hair – of Severus Snape. A few snappy remarks and an extremely focused Confusion charm on his wand had fooled the goblin teller, and he had been led to a side room where a pensieve was brought to him.

He scowled at the goblin guarding the door, making the creature tremble in fear. The goblin didn't move, though, and Dumbledore mentally shrugged. After all, a pensieve could be used discreetly. One after the other, he brought the memories to his head, inspecting them as he went.

When he finished, he knew that his job was only halfway done: the pensieve only contained Snape's will, and the actual memories were in another pensieve which was stored in the man's vault. Dumbledore had impersonated the man, but not his identity, and he knew he couldn't enter the vault.

As fifty minutes had flown by already, Dumbledore decided to leave the place quickly, and he did so, doing his best to make his robes billow behind him as he went.

---

Two weeks later...

After the Obon festival, Harry and Tracey returned to England, having decided to establish themselves in the house the girl owned in Newcastle. They managed to get an employee of the phone company on their first day there, and the house was quickly hooked to the phone network again. The rest of the day was spent cleaning the house from its unused state.

The next day, Harry went to Hogwarts for the teaching positions interviews.

While he was travelling through space, he reflected about the last three weeks. James had shown him several interesting things related to computers, and Jorg had demonstrated how to use a foldable antenna to link a portable computer to the brand new communication satellite. It wasn't as efficient as the 56K phone lines, but it could be used from almost anywhere in a very large area, even without access to technology. Harry had immediately seen the possible use of this: is he could find a way for a computer to work in Hogwarts' halls, and for magic to power it, he would be able to contact his computerized alter ego while in Hogwarts. Thinking of Copycat brought memories of the conversations he had had with him, thanks to Jorg's office computers, and a smile appeared on Harry's face at the recollection of his double's commercial ventures. Harry had also discovered the possibilities of information Copycat had: right after having barely mentioned a few things he hadn't had a clue about, most of them muggle, his double had offered him an explanation on each of them. Much faster than Hermione.

His thoughts followed, and he remembered the phone calls he had had with the Ravenclaw girl. The two of them had discussed about the possibilities of lying under a truth serum, and Harry had made a quick dash to the Swiss magical mall – of the three he knew, it was the closest and best furnished – and had bought a couple vials of each truth serum. With Tracey, they had tested each of them, and Harry had discovered that most of them failed against his particular brand of Occlumency. Only the Veritaserum passed through a mind's defences, but even then, it didn't go under the mind's surface, and his underground memories were safe. He had then passed a long time reordering his memories, pushing the inconsequential ones above the "ground" while burying the most secret ones in the depths of his mind.

He put a damper on his reverie when he reached Hogsmeade, and left the gaseous reality at the Apparation point. After pausing to enjoy the morning sun for several seconds, he headed toward the nearby castle and his first official job in England.

As he had envisioned, Dumbledore made him drink a truth serum, although a mild one, and he repeated his fake résumé to a panel made of the Headmaster and his Heads of House – minus Slytherin's, which was still unaffected after Remus' had resigned. When they requested a course summary, he presented a variant of the one done by Remus and Sirius, to which he added fencing classes and duelling. At that moment, he noticed the look Dumbledore and McGonagall shared, and his peripheral Legilimency made him realize something: his weekly schedule was certainly already full, and he wouldn't have time to organize all these activities.

"I don't know about Hogwarts' current curriculum, though." he added smoothly. "If these activities are already managed by the staff, there's no problem."

"Not at all." Dumbledore intervened. "It is true that you will not be able to manage all seven years and these peripheral activities, but I'm glad you proposed your help, and I'm ready to lend you an item that would help you in that regard. You see, we are in need of willing teachers, especially in Defence Against the Dark Arts. It seems that the previous teachers weren't able to stay for more than a year."

"If you are satisfied with my work, sir, I hope I'll last more than that." Harry told him respectfully, before turning curious. "What is the item you spoke about?"

Dumbledore opened one of his numerous and magically-enhanced drawers, and extracted a chain with a small pendant hanging on it. A pendant in the form of a silver hourglass. "This... this is a Time Turner. The school has a special permit from the Ministry, so that we can let teachers borrow it for the duration of the school year. Despite our current disagreements with the politicians, this hasn't been rescinded yet. If you can swear that you'll use it only for testing purposes when out of Hogwarts, I'll let you have it now."

Harry straightened up. Magical oaths were something else he had experimented thanks to Hermione's ideas, and he was able to use his fake reserve of magic as target when he swore that way, thus not endangering his real magic when he broke an oath on it. He was losing a bit of magic, then, but it was quickly recovered, and the mental silo was quickly rebuilt as well. "I, Henry Evans, swear on my magic that I'll only use this Time Turner for testing purposes when out of Hogwarts."

When the wave of magic generated by the oath subsided, Dumbledore smiled and gave him the timepiece. Harry then had to sign the form recording him possessing the Time Turner, and the triplicate recruitment documents too. Dumbledore thanked him, and, as Harry had been the last one to pass, the Heads of House left to inform the other two candidates that the job had been taken.

Harry was looking at the hourglass in wonder. So many possibilities...

"Satisfied?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry looked up and noticed the infamous twinkle in the old man's eyes. "Very much, sir. And I gather you are, too. I was just wondering how the Time Turner worked."

"The hourglass is mounted on a pivot. To return one hour back in time, you only have to turn it once. You can go as far as 24 hours, but I wouldn't advise for it."

"Why so?"

"Are you familiar with the laws of time travel, Mr Evans?" the Headmaster asked, his expression serious.

"Well... no, sir. Until today, I didn't know such an item existed."

"They are simple, really. The gist of them is that you cannot change past events. It can provoke a paradox. And time-travel-induced paradoxes are automatically resolved by the space-time continuum in the most painful manner."

"What do you mean? What's a paradox?"

"Imagine you go back in time, and you kill your parents before your birth. You wouldn't be born, right? If you don't exist, there would be nobody to go back in time to kill your parents. If your parents live, you are conceived and born..."

"I get it, I get it." Harry said, before bringing his hands to his head. "I feel like an aspirin would be good, right now."

"A what?" asked Dumbledore.

"Aspirin. A muggle headache reliever."

The old man chuckled. "True. We can lose ourselves in such discussions. The paradox is solved automatically, though. Several wizards have tried to defy the laws of time already, you know, most of them wanting to prove a point."

"What happened?"

"The moment they made the gesture that would cause the paradox, they died, and their remains found themselves scattered over time itself."

Harry didn't answer, trying to imagine the scene. He stopped quickly, though. "Alright. I'll be careful. Although... could I involuntarily do something like that?" he asked.

"The timeline tries to resist the change." answered Dumbledore. "If you try to change the past drastically, there will be a resistance. Besides, I gave you the Time Turner only for you to be in two places at the same time, which is the most "safe" usage that can be made of it." the man said, before pausing for a few thoughtful seconds. "I guess you will try it later, but there's an advice I can give you right away."

"Yes?" Harry asked.

"It is all about sleep: if you go back in time, say, eight hours to repeat the whole day, you will obviously be much more tired the second time around. What I recommend is to go back far enough to grab time to sleep. There are two main possibilities, there. You can either repeat a whole day, by going back as far as 24 hours, but it raises the possibilities for paradoxes – the further you go, the greater the risk – or you can repeat each period. In the latter case, you'll have to repeat time a few times during the day, in order to include a resting moment when you are tired."

Harry nodded and considered his options. After several seconds, the Headmaster conjured a tea set, and proposed some to his interlocutor, who accepted. They sipped the hot beverage in silent reflection before Dumbledore addressed "Henry" again.

"I just thought of the two situations where you helped us fighting dark wizards." he said. "Since you know of the existence of the Order of the Phoenix, I'd like to propose you an official membership."

"Well, that's interesting. I'm honoured."

"Do you think that you could join us?"

Harry thought about it, and, not finding any reason not to, he acquiesced wordlessly.

"Great!" Dumbledore exclaimed, smiling. "There is a meeting tonight at nine, right in this office. If you agree, we will present your induction then."

"I'm alright with it, Headmaster."

"If we are going to live in the same castle for at least a year, you can call me Albus." the old man said, before leaning forward. "At least, when there are no students around." he finished with a smirk, his eyes twinkling madly.

"Alright, Albus. I guess you can call me Henry, then." Harry answered, and the two men finished their tea in companionable silence. Dumbledore then called for a house-elf to guide Harry toward his quarters.

When he exited Hogwarts, a dozen minutes later, Harry was quite happy. He walked to the limit of the anti-Apparation wards and left Scotland, heading to the southeast, towards Newcastle and Tracey.

During the short trip, his thoughts went, once again, to the previous weeks. Ten days earlier, after receiving fractional information from Copycat – something the entity had been sorry about, but Harry knew that information wasn't always available in a numeric format – he had gone to Mexico, had entered the National Library, and had unearthed anything he could find about Nahuals. He had then read about the protective spirits and shape-shifters they were, and, from what Remus had told him, he had identified his own Nahual as Quetzalcoatl, a feathered serpent. Despite having been quite wary about it since then, he still hadn't received a sudden visit of the feathered serpent in the midst of the night. Since then, he had put that bit of information on the side of his mind and had enjoyed his holidays.

When he arrived, he found a giddy Tracey speaking to the phone and guessed it was Hermione at the other end. The girls quickly finished speaking, and Tracey retold him the discussion.

Apparently, the Weasley had gone to visit their French cousins, and they had all decided to spend a week in Venice – the French had a proverb which meant "see Naples and die" except it was Venice instead. Ron had hinted that, if a few friends could be invited, they would perhaps have a free lodging not that far away from Venice. Mrs Weasley had accepted, and Ron had contacted Hermione, who in turn had just told Tracey when the latter called her to test the phone.

Harry laughed at the far-fetched scenario, before thinking about the proposal. Actually, he wasn't against renting a whole hotel floor in Venice itself, rather than constraining the kids to follow the adults in what was still cross-country Apparation jumps – through the Alps Mountains, no less.

Tracey called Hermione again, and, as Harry had told her he was busy that evening, she told the Ravenclaw that they'd pick her up the next day.

After a quiet afternoon spent in town, Harry left Tracey and headed back to Hogwarts. He entered the Headmaster's office a couple minutes before nine, and noticed that the Order of the Phoenix was already there, its members hidden behind concealing charms. While greeting everybody with the shyness one could expect from a new recruit, he reflected that the old man had certainly discussed his induction with them already. And he was correct.

"Good evening, Mr Evans." Dumbledore said, motioning him to a chintz armchair in the middle of the room. "I already submitted the request for you induction to the Order, and you were accepted through a favourable vote. Now, if you will, I'll give you a few drops of Veritaserum to prove your loyalties. Do not worry; we have always done so to prove our new members' loyalty. You can refuse, but if you opt to leave now, I will have to Obliviate you."

While Harry was nodding, taking place on the seat that had been prepared for him, he couldn't prevent a disturbing thought from reaching his mind: what if Dumbledore's potion was stronger than the ones he had tested himself against?

His fears were put at ease, though, when he answered Dumbledore' first question:

"What's your full name?"

"Henry Liam Evans."

The rest of the questions were quite simple afterwards. Harry had invented himself a childhood and education in America, a house in Liverpool, as well as a string of jobs involving attacking and defending against dark wizards and dark creatures, or teaching.

The questioning done, Harry was recognized as a full member of the Order of the Phoenix, and he was given the appropriate ring: a gold band with a phoenix embossed on the outside. Harry put it on his left hand, from which he had removed Ravenclaw's ring earlier that day – he had initially been wary of removing his spellcasting focus, but he now had enough control over his katana-turned-ring to deal with standard spells. And he still had Flamel's wand in a wrist holster, for those cases where appearance was important.

With the ring, Harry also received a parchment listing its numerous properties – Dumbledore didn't want such tedious repetitions to clutter meetings, and he was issuing the parchment to each new member. While the other members removed their concealment charms, Harry went to a seat that had appeared for him in the U-shaped arrangement of chairs, and quickly parsed the document.

First of all, the ring was keyed to the blood of the first wearer, and was inactive when leaving said wearer's hand, or if the wearer died. The ring also acted as a limited communication device, which allowed quick sending and receiving of requests for assistance or meetings. Those who got the call also received the location of the sender, so as to Apparate as quickly as possible.

The ring was also charmed to be invisible and unnoticeable, except for the other people wearing one. Fortunately, thanks to the ring being keyed to the first wearer's blood, stealing one couldn't expose the whole order.

Hearing people talk around him, Harry looked up at people there. He already knew most of them, but played the surprised one, when he noticed that they were there. Several of them were quite haggard, though, as if they were living on the run. He already knew about Amelia Bones, but he noticed that Tonks and the black man beside her were, too. Tuning out the reports about some spying action in Wales, he focused on Tonks' mind to get the reason behind her dragged state, and gasped mentally when he found that the young Metamorphmagus Auror had been wrongfully imprisoned and badly treated. The black man, whom he now knew as Kingsley Shacklebolt, had had the same treatment – the sexist comments being replaced by others about his skin colour – and was now sharing her room at the Hog's Head.

Harry noticed Sirius and Remus as well and mentally greeted them, before asking why Tonks wasn't living in Grimmauld place with Remus. Seeing their querying gaze, he understood that they didn't know about her runaway state. Visibly, Dumbledore wasn't having full meetings all the time, and the information about Tonks' captivity and ensuing escape hadn't reached them.

Since, as a new member, he wasn't supposed to know things like Sirius' address, he kept his mouth shut, only mentally nudging a suddenly blushing Remus to offer her a room in the Fidelius-hidden house at Grimmauld Place.

When the meeting ended, Harry smiled when he noticed a pink-faced Remus approach Tonks. He grinned even more when she readily accepted, blushing herself. Harry let the members leave slowly, discussing together about common interests before taking the Floo home. As he was a new member, it was only common politeness to let the others take the Floo before him. And it left him with a suddenly interesting occupation: watching the Headmaster.

Dumbledore was currently thinking about his visit to Gringotts and Snape's vault, wondering about how to illegally enter the man's vault, and inadvertently displaying these thoughts for any master Legilimens to read. After all, with Snape gone – Dumbledore had remotely deactivated the ex-double agent's ring –, there was no such master in the Order, right...?

As he was taking the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry smiled. He had decided to help the old man once more. He couldn't do it openly, though, and he was ready to give Jerry some work.

---

At the same time...

Mentally thanking the Time Turner, Jerry Homest exited Gringotts with the appropriate memories safely stored in his Unbreakable bottles. As he was descending the marble steps, he reflected on his recent actions.

After entering the Goblin bank as Severus Snape, body and mind, he had subjected himself to the Goblin form of Legilimency to get a duplicate of his vault key. Once done, he had discreetly checked that his current action wasn't going to be reported to the real Severus Snape anytime soon, before taking the chariot ride to said vault. After entering, he had spent an hour digging through the man's possessions for the pensieve, and sorting through the memories to remove the ones incriminating the Headmaster. And the ones incriminating other people too, while he was at it.

Once at the Apparation point, he Apparated to Hogwarts and waited behind the door for his "younger self" to leave the Headmaster's office, while morphing into Jerry Homest. Once he was sure that he wouldn't meet himself, he Apparated in and pushed the door.

"Good evening, Headmaster." he said to the surprised man.

"Good evening, Jerry."

"I have something that could interest you." Harry directly said, taking the bottle containing the swirling mist from his pocket.

"What is it?"

"I couldn't help but notice your little stunt, two weeks ago." he started, basing his reflection on the memories the old man had unconsciously broadcasted earlier. "Highly illegal, by the way. Thanks to several connections – which legality are as doubtful –, I managed to obtain what you sought."

"Is this..." Dumbledore trailed off, unable to finish, looking at the bottle with round eyes.

Harry smirked. "Yes."

Seconds appeared to last longer as a tensed pause settled between the two immobile men.

Dumbledore was the first to break it. He shook himself awake and addressed Jerry. "I don't suppose you'll give it to me?"

"I'm perfectly willing to give it to you." Another pause. "But I want something in return."

The Headmaster looked at him inquiringly. "What is it?"

"A truthful answer to two questions."

"Answers, again..." Dumbledore said, before sighing, looking at the memory. After a couple of thoughtful seconds, he frowned. "How can I be sure that you aren't going to fool me? This could be a copy, or there might be copies of it anywhere. In your mind, too. And you'd be able to blackmail me afterwards."

Harry sighed. This was going nowhere. "Are there means to identify copies from originals?"

"Yes." Dumbledore answered guardedly.

"Are copies useable as proof in the justice system?"

"Well... no, since they have the same tinge as modified memories."

"So, get a pensieve out, now, and we'll find out if my bargain offer is valid."

The old man obliged, and got the stone basin out. Wordlessly, Harry emptied the memory inside, and Dumbledore erected a small privacy screen to check the memory and its authenticity. Once done, he looked at Harry with wide eyes. "How... how did you..."

"It's no bother, now. Are you willing to give me the answers I sought?"

"I guess it depends on the question, but go ahead."

"You know I am in contact with Harry Potter, and I told him about our last conversation. He also told me about your last attempt at kidnapping him, and he had those two questions which I want the answers to: how he is supposed to be protected from Voldemort while at the Dursleys, and why you are stalking him like that."

Dumbledore stared at the man in front of him, thinking hard. Was he trustful? He tried to read the man's peripheral thoughts, but found none. To his surprise, the man smirked, as if he had detected his attempt. Refocusing on the questions, he thought he might as well tell something, even if it wasn't the whole truth. He took a deep breath, preparing the answer.

"Harry's mother, Lily, has sacrificed herself for her son. In doing so, she gave him a protection against Voldemort. A protection based on blood, which shielded him against the Dark Lord's most powerful curse. By staying at least a month a year with his aunt, his aunt's house will benefit from the same kind of protection the whole year."

Harry looked at the man in wonder. Was it all? "You are telling me that a mother sacrificed herself for her son and that this sacrifice blocked a Killing curse? How about all these mothers around the world, whose such sacrifice didn't ensure their progeny's life?"

"Well, since you know that there's a prophecy made about Harry, you'll understand that this part I cannot answer. And that's also the answer to your second question. Harry will be instrumental in this war against Voldemort, and I intend to train him as much as possible for the Light to win."

"Train him, you say?"

"Yes."

"Under your tutelage?"

"Of course."

"Why? I mean... what are you going to teach him?"

Dumbledore stood up and quickly stored the pensieve away. "I'm sorry." he said curtly. "This isn't a part of your original bargain."

"What would you do if he presents himself to you? Try to stun him again? Don't you find him sufficiently able to protect himself?"

The Headmaster had a sudden epiphany. This man, who seemed to know Harry so much... It was evident, now...

"You!" he exclaimed.

A pause.

"Me?" asked Harry, not a little worried at the man's sudden look of understanding, but hiding it well in the depths of his mind.

"You trained him?"

It took Harry most of his willpower not to breathe a sigh of relief. "Perhaps." he simply said.

"What does he know?"

"Am I required to answer this question? As you said earlier: "This isn't a part of your original bargain." Since you seem so wary of answering me, despite my gesture of good will, I don't think I have anything to do here anymore."

With this, Harry stood and turned toward the exit, his senses in full alert. He noticed the old man standing as well. As he was taking his last step towards the door, he noticed him taking his wand out. As he extended his arm towards the handle, he noticed the curse heading his way...

He disappeared.

Dumbledore looked at the empty space and, in frustration, he threw several anti-Apparation charms on his office. The old man stayed up late that night: using a complicated ritual, he tied the wards he had just created to a magically-altered diamond, which would now act as anchor for the spells. His job done, he looked at the new trinket with satisfaction, before remembering that Jerry could already Apparate through Hogwarts' permanent anti-Apparation field. His own spells, in comparison...

The old man went to bed, but, despite the late hour, he didn't find sleep until even later.

---

The next day...

Harry had spent a troubled night, his dreams involving Voldemort's evilness and Dumbledore's manipulations, and he woke up as grumpy as a prodded porcupine. Tracey sensed that he wasn't his usual self, and she left him simmer for a couple of hours before getting fed up. Thanks to her better link to Harry's mind, she had already understood the reason behind his current mood, and she tried to use it to her advantage.

"What do you prefer, Harry?" she asked suddenly, planting herself in front of him, her fists to her sides. It grabbed his attention, but she didn't allow him to start speaking. "You'd rather stay in that grumpy mood all day? Or, do you prefer spend the day unwinding with your friends? With me?" she added the last part as an afterthought, but it helped her case immensely. Especially as she changed her stance from defiant to puppy-eyed just as he was watching her.

Harry didn't know what to do. On one side, there was his ongoing strife with the Headmaster, and he wanted to find a way to end that without putting himself under the man's thumb. On the other side...

On the other side, he was scheduled to spend a year teaching, so his Harry Potter persona was going to be hidden already. He looked at Tracey with a hesitant smile. "Alright." he said, and extended his hand for her to pull him upright. When she took it, though, he pulled hard, and she fell beside him on the couch.

"What the...?"

"Tickle war!" he exclaimed, and started to tickle her madly. The "war" finished less than five minutes later, with the two of them sprawled on the rug in front of the couch. They were lying face-to-face, Tracey on top of Harry, and their four hands were being held under his body.

Tracey suddenly realized how close they were, and how muscled his body was. She suddenly recalled several specific memories: how he had always been there for her; how they had been so close lately... Looking at him in surprise, she wondered when he had changed from a brotherly friend to... something more?

She gasped, and, blushing, she disentangled herself quickly and stood up. He followed suit, standing and blushing as well. Both of them were unsure of what to do, and Harry spoke first.

"We'd better get going." he said, before turning around. His voice was different, and she shivered, her whole spine tingling. It was deeper and held an undertone which she couldn't grasp yet, but which promised much in the future.

"Ri-ight." she whispered, and she noticed that her voice was different as well. And it made him stopping mid-stride, her voice affecting him as much as his was affecting her.

A couple of seconds later, both of them shook themselves awake, and the moment passed.

They got themselves ready, and Harry gave a couple phone calls to reserve a set of adjacent rooms at the hotel Danieli, using his credit card. He knew that the hotel would cost him quite a bit of money and decided to make a stop at Gringotts to withdraw enough muggle cash for the stay. With Tracey still holding his hand, he then Apparated to Hermione's place, where they paused just enough time to grab her and to salute the parents before leaving towards Italy.

Once in the hotel lobby, Harry checked in, and the three of them discovered the expensive rooms facing the bay with all the gondolas parked nearby. Harry left the girls at their discoveries and he went to Brittany to fetch the Weasleys, changing his appearance in the way. He used his mind to reach Ron, and noticed that they were all in the garden, visibly waiting for him – as they had been instructed earlier. He also noticed that they were laughing about something and he mentally queried Ron to know what it was.

'Hi, mate. It's just Percy who's acting like an ass.'

'What did he do?'

'He brought his girlfriend Penelope over, and he's now drooling over that other girl, and Penelope isn't that happy about it.'

'It's not funny.'

'It was a dare, initially. The twins learnt that the other girl is a part-Veela, and they dared her to show her power.'

'Part-Veela?'

'Yes, it's these girls who have a power to woo boys. I think her name's Flower, but I'm not quite sure. She's cousin Amaury's girlfriend. Anyways, the twins said they would resist, but they are now perfectly impersonating lapdogs, it's hilarious. And poor Percy, who's barely resisting.'

'Alright. Well, anyways... the girls are waiting. I'm coming in.'

Ron had barely time to warn his family before Harry Apparated in the middle of their circle, and he immediately felt the power coming from the blond girl. It wasn't anything else, though: he just felt the power originating from her, trying to ensnare his mind, but failing – for obvious reasons.

They jumped at his arrival, though, and the girl stopped her display, allowing the boys to recuperate their fallen jaws and wipe their mouth. She looked strangely at Ron and Harry, though, as they had both resisted her power quite well. Ron had been quite far from her from the start, being on the other side of the circle made by the large family. Harry, however, had Apparated nearer, and he had visibly felt her power, but hadn't reacted as men usually did.

Said "man" raised his hands to calm the surprised adults, who seemed ready to curse him. "Don't shoot! I'm Harvey Jefferson, your host and transport today. And I'm also pleased to meet you."

The part-Veela reacted first, and approached him. She went very close, and kissed him on the cheeks. "Fleur Delacour." she said, before returning to her place.

Blushing, Harry distractedly brought his hand to his face, shocked that a girl could kiss him like that without even knowing him. However, he sensed Fleur's thoughts and understood that she was genuinely curious about him, and also that kissing each other on the cheek was a common French custom – except between straight and unrelated males. Fleur's curiousness disturbed him, though, because she was quite close of noticing a discrepancy between his resistance to her powers and his apparent ingenuity concerning girls – apparently, only mated males could resist a Veela.

He retook control of his body and his blush receded. He greeted everybody, and was introduced to the Prewett families. After the round of introduction, he told them that the transportation was going to be made through a special kind of portkey. After producing a transfigured length of rope, everybody put a finger on it and he Apparated the sixteen persons in the largest suite of the Venetian hotel. Ignoring the curious glances about the portkey's unusual smoothness, he left Tracey and Hermione to take care of them and stumbled to his room to take a short nap.

The next days went like a blur. A mostly red-haired blur. The group visited the sights and enjoyed the relaxation in the high-end hotel. Two days before they were scheduled to leave, though, Harry's senses picked something unusual.

Well... it wasn't that unusual, especially given the fact that he was surrounded by magical people most of the day. It was just another one, a witch, and she was just walking briskly through St Mark's piazza, not even interested in them as she was scolding her young son in Italian.

As he wanted to see it there were places wizards could visit, Harry decided to follow the woman and he warned Tracey about it before disappearing. After copying the woman's olive complexion and raven hair, he reappeared behind a corner and walked around it, missing her by a fraction of an inch.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Madam." he said in Italian. "I haven't seen you there."

"It's nothing." she replied absently, before trying to sidestep him.

"Wait, please!" he exclaimed. His Legilimency had picked her will to leave, as well as something akin to... fear? "What is it you run from?"

She stopped and stared at him, seeming to assess him. As she opened her mouth to answer, Harry caught one of her thoughts and had the presence of mind to interrupt her. "I'm a wizard too." he whispered, leaning forward.

She looked around, apparently afraid of something, before dragging him towards an alcove nearby. "Are you mad?" she demanded in a whisper, oblivious to her son's surprised expression at her vehemence. "Do you want to be found out, walking in the outside like that?"

It was Harry's turn to be puzzled. "What do you mean? I'm not from here... I'm just a tourist. Speaking of which, is there a place that wizards and witches could visit?"

Her appraising look returned full force and she nodded suddenly. "Follow me." she merely stated before turning around and walking away rapidly. To Harry's surprise, she walked in a brightly lit ice-cream parlour, through which she went to reach the stairs to the upper levels. They passed the parlour's second floor and stepped over a red and white plastic chain before she opened a door, entering a storage room.

That's what it seemed, though.

Harry had caught the last of her thoughts before she went through the doorway and he paused briefly. It seemed that she wanted to trap him, but he was curious about her. Something about her face and demeanour wasn't quite right, and he wanted to know more about it. He reasoned that her aura hadn't felt particularly powerful, and he quickly used his ring to cast a shielding spell on himself, the kind of those which absorbed enemies' spells discreetly. He then took a last step through the illusionary doorway.

To be continued in next chapter: The Masquerade and the Apocalypse...

Getting arms and meeting friends,
Printing the truth and teaching...
It's a busy summer-thing
Which mysteriously ends.