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.

37. Hunting Grounds

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

PART 5 – The End of an Era, the Beginning of Another
This is the last part of this story. It is about Harry Potter's entrance in the wizarding world. As himself. And what happens afterwards.

Chapter 37 – Hunting Grounds
posted June 10th, 2006

The international trip was long and fast, and, upon landing, Dumbledore had to use all the tricks he knew not to fall from the backlash. His personal struggle overcome, he looked around and recognized the large room as the Hall of Universal Business, or HUB. He knew the room belonged to the rather new AGE – comparatively to the millennium-old British Ministry of Magic, the century-old American Government for the Enlightened was quite new – and that it was the arrival destination for all portkeys issued by official governments, the only ones allowed entrance in America in these times of war, actually.

Looking around, Dumbledore noticed something and started to worry. It wasn't the people milling about, nor was it the AGE officials behind their counters or the security officers standing around the room. In fact, it was something that wasn't there. Two someones, in fact: Harry and Tracey hadn't arrived.

His mounting panic abated as suddenly as it had occurred when the two missing teenagers appeared at the same time another couple did. The two teenagers looked around and promptly headed towards him.

"You could have told us that you were going to a warded place." Harry whispered.

The old man smiled genially, his own worry forgotten. "Ah, yes, but where would be the fun in that?" He then frowned. "How did you manage?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"Since the key must have been the portkey itself, we waited for another arrival and hijacked them." Harry replied sotto voce.

Dumbledore's eyes opened as wide as saucers at the revelation that portkeys could be seized while in transit, but he quickly remembered that only Harry was able to do so. The three of them headed for a counter and answered the usual question before being given a leaflet entitled "Manners for Magic-users to Mingle with Mundanes Moderately". After wondering about who would alliterate that much, they studied the text and transfigured their robes into appropriately muggle-looking clothes. Tracey wondered if the instructions were up-to-date, but a date printed on the document showed that it was a recent edition – which meant that, here, at least, the wizards were trying to stay in touch with the world around them.

This done, the old man led the two teenagers to another service of the same building, where Harry and Tracey witnessed Albus Dumbledore playing his politic games with others – something that could help them later.

They left the building soon afterwards, Dumbledore clutching a precious slip of paper in his hands.

"Can you transport us to…" he looked at the paper and finished "Montana?"

Harry looked at the old man with an enquiring gaze. A few years before, he had spent a term in Illinois, and, as a student from the local school, he had had to memorize the States by heart – the rest of the world be damned. As a result, Harry knew what "Montana" was and what it wasn't. He knew it was a State and not a precise address, far from it.

"Is the paper more precise?" he asked, looking at the paper pointedly.

Dumbledore looked nonplussed. "I thought that you'd transport us there and we'd be able to find that park on foot."

"Which park?"

"Some glacier park… wait, here it is: Glacier National Park."

Harry stared at the old man for a second, before erupting in peels of laughter, drawing surprised gazes from the passer-bys.

Tracey and Dumbledore looked at each other in confusion.

'What is so funny? I want a free laugh too.' the girl sent.

Harry drew a mental map of United States, of the Montana, and added a mental imagery of the sheer size of the aforementioned park. When the two others received it, they chuckled as well.

When they were calmed, Harry addressed Dumbledore. "So… is it more precise than that or not?"

"The paper says: Montana, Glacier National Park, Blackfoot Reservation." A pause. "That's all. But I have been warned: the man is slightly paranoid-"

Harry coughed, a sound that sounded suspiciously like "Moody."

"-and it is possible that his place of residence is heavily warded." Dumbledore finished, seeming not to have noticed Harry's interruption – but his eyes told another story.

"Fidelius?" Tracey asked, and the old man nodded.

"Hmmm. An Indian reserve…" Harry mused, trying to remember all he knew about them. Not finding much, he asked around and was pointed to a nearby store where they could buy maps.

A short time later, the three of them exited the place with a detailed map of Montana. Harry grabbed Tracey's hand, and the girl took Dumbledore's. Then, following the map in his other hand, Harry Apparated to the edge of the Blackfoot territory.

It was starting to be late in the evening, though, and the excitation of the day pushed them to search a place to sleep first. Thankfully, the reserve was large enough to contain several towns, the largest of which being Browning. There, they found a quiet hotel and settled for the night.

---

Meanwhile, in England…

"I want to know who attacked the wards!" Voldemort was angry, but, once again, he was refraining from cursing his followers. They felt the danger, though, and trembled accordingly. "Jugson!"

"Master?"

"You will organize a permanent guard around the house. Four people will always be there. Visibly, your new wards weren't exactly up to task, and it will be your responsibility that they aren't attacked again."

The man bowed low, his head almost touching the floor. "I'm at my Lord's command."

"Unless there's more, you are all dismissed, now." Voldemort said and watched as they readied themselves to leave. They seldom spoke without him asking first, and, despite his obvious invitation, none wanted to be singled out.

Almost.

A woman straightened up. "If I may, my Lord?"

Voldemort frowned at the obviously new recruit. A few seconds later, his memory gave him the woman's name and her job in the outside world: Selina McPherson was assistant to the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation. In the Ministry.

"You have something interesting to add?" he asked, his voice implying that the consequences for uninteresting ideas were dire.

She nodded. "We received a request for an international portkey, master. To the United States. From Dumbledore."

The Dark Lord looked at her, his brow furrowed in thoughts. What was the old man doing there? After a while, he turned to the other Death Eaters – he knew he couldn't ask Ministry employees to leave their jobs for long-term missions.

"Avery!" he called, and his faithful follower approached. Despite his father's demise, the man belonged to the small group of survivors from the Egyptian disaster.

"My Lord?"

"Take Crabbe and Goyle with you and investigate. You are to stay discreet. Avoid international networks of magical transportation like the Floo or portkeys."

"How are we going to go there, my Lord?" the man asked, rather confused.

"Either fly, Apparate, or take muggle means. Be careful about magical means, though: the American wizards have strengthened their borders."

Avery wasn't a good flier and wasn't keen on taking the muggle things that flew either, but he knew Apparating to America was way out of his league. With a defeated sigh, he realized that he would have to act muggle for a while, something he abhorred.

"As my Lord wishes." he said simply.

"Use your secondary wands, too." Voldemort added. "We wouldn't want an international incident."

Avery exchanged a brief glance with the two gorilla-like men who were going to accompany him. "We… we don't have them, my Lord."

The Dark Lord had been pacing, trying to build his plan on the fly, and the man's interruption disturbed him somewhat. "What?"

"They have been lost… in Egypt. My Lord." he finished, trying to act as obsequiously as possible in order to avoid punishment.

Voldemort huffed. "Go get replacements, then!"

Avery looked at his shoes, obviously having something else to say. "My Lord…"

"What is it? Do you need money to go to Ollivander's, now?"

"No, my Lord. It's just… The wand shop is empty."

"Empty? Good old Ollivander sold all his wands?" the Dark Lord asked, half-amused and half-irritated.

"No, my Lord. It's more like he left." A pause. "It was in today's Daily Prophet, my Lord."

The last sentence could have avoided Avery a torture session, should he have kept it to himself. After reddening for a few seconds, Voldemort exploded. "DO I LOOK LIKE I READ THAT RAG? CRUCIO!"

After a dozen seconds of excruciating pain – always an eternity for the cursed –, the Dark Lord lifted the Cruciatus and dismissed everybody. Now calmer despite the old wandmaker's reaction to his threat, he sat and stayed pensive for a long time, wondering about two old men's whereabouts.

A few minutes later, he called one of his on-site followers. "Jugson!"

"My Lord?" the man replied as he arrived in the room a few seconds later.

"Who do we know in America?"

The man's analytical mind pondered on the problem for a while before answering. "Among the wizards and witches who dared opposing you, several succeeded in fleeing before we got to them. Some went there while others went to the Continent."

A pause.

"That's quite a number." Voldemort commented absently.

"Given the rumours around a particular someone, it is also largely possible that he's there too." Jugson added, still deep in thoughts.

"Who?"

"Harry Potter, my Lord. There have been some reports that he was posing as a Hogwarts student under the name of Harold Thomson. Whatever the case, Thomson went to Brazil. That's South America, my Lord." the man added off-handedly.

"I know where Brazil is!" the Dark Lord exclaimed, before turning pensive. A few seconds later, he spoke again. "Go and tell Avery to make a trip there and to get the brat here."

When the Death Eater left, Voldemort returned to his thoughtful mood. Despite having succeeded in transforming his ancestral home into an open-sky temple for Wadjet and increasing his ranks, his goddess hadn't returned his power yet. And he really needed it for the next phase of his plan.

---

In America, the next morning…

A cup full of tea in front of him, Harry looked at the folded newspaper without seeing it.

"A penny for your thoughts?" a familiar voice asked, and Tracey sat beside him, putting her own tea on the table.

Harry smirked. "Did you get that tea at the bar?"

"Why, yes." she replied, bringing the cup to her lips. A second later, she was grimacing and Harry was laughing. "What are you laughing at, mister?" she asked, motioning the cup as though she wanted to throw its content on him.

He raised his arms in defence. "I yield, fair lady. I yield. Besides, I tasted it as well."

"You could have warned me!"

"Children, children." Dumbledore admonished, sitting at the seat in front of them and taking the journal. In front of the two teenagers' expectant gaze, the old man brought the cup to his lips and sipped it serenely.

Several seconds later, he noticed that they were gawking at him. "What is it? Do I have something in my beard?"

"It's… the tea, sir." Tracey said.

"It's pretty good, if I may say so." Dumbledore replied. "Well… I had to tweak it, of course." His eyes were twinkling, now. "I wouldn't trust Americans about that, now would I? They did burn a perfectly good shipment of tea, back when they were known as the Colonies. Only few places sell good tea, now." After a pause, he extended his hand towards their cups. "Let me."

Under their gaze, the mixture swirled and changed into something different. Something tasty. Something they were used to.

"That's Hog-" Tracey started, before closing her mouth as a hotel employee was closing in, his face set in a disapproving frown. 'Dang! He noticed.' she thought.

'He noticed, alright.' Harry sent her. 'But not the tea.'

In fact, the employee was here to scold Dumbledore about something the two teenagers were used to and hadn't noticed until now.

"Sir? Hotel policy forbids customers to enter public places in their pyjama." the man said, causing Harry and Tracey to chuckle.

The Headmaster was clothed in his usual robes.

"Oh, right. I'm sorry." he said, not sorry at all. Like the two young students, the old man was considering this as highly amusing. The three of them took their improved tea with them and headed to the old man's room.

It took several tries for Dumbledore to be clad in appropriate clothes, and Harry had to provide mental images to prove the inadequacy of some of the old man's choices. Albus Dumbledore was not a biker.

Despite having unparalleled mental powers and magic on their side, it appeared that Horace Slughorn was under a Fidelius charm, at the very least: no spell could locate him. The three of them resorted to the usual methods and, after drawing his face from Dumbledore's memory and Duplicating the paper, they asked around.

When they got no success and realized that it would take them some time, the three of them decided to spend a part of their evenings discussing about something else, and the topic of the school came naturally. Harry's unusual abilities came forward quickly after that.

"I'm not that powerful." Harry started, but Tracey's snort interrupted him. "What? I only have three particular powers: Apparation, Shape-shifting, and Mind Arts-"

"Don't forget that Mind Arts is Legilimency and Occlumency, and that the first usually needs a wand, not the simple intent you use. It also helped you acquired numerous memories, before sharing them." the girl pointed out.

Hearing the stressed word, Dumbledore looked at Harry. "Sharing? As in not teaching?"

"Why, yes." Harry replied. "In the same way I can acquire memories, it seems that I can give them to people as well."

"That's interesting. Have you done so for everyone or just your friends?"

"Only my friends." Harry told his Headmaster. "You have to know that it's quite taxing, for all parties involved. It would be too much an unusual way of teaching, and it would get to the ears of unsavoury people."

A pause ensued.

"I always thought you needed a pensieve to do this kind of job, but that item, despite being quite powerful, only works for memories that can actually be gathered as a whole. Skills and abilities are not that easy to gather in our minds."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know why I can. I always have. I mean… As I said earlier, I have been able to remember what I did as accidental magic and repeat it afterwards."

"Could you enlighten me?" Dumbledore asked. "Can you show me how you share thoughts?"

Harry nodded, and Tracey Summoned the bottle of aspirin tablets that was never leaving Harry's possessions.

A couple of hours later, Dumbledore was shaking his head in wonder. "That's… interesting, to say the least."

"Thank you as well, Headmaster." Harry said, contemplating his new memories.

After Harry had shown the old man how he was copying memory slabs, the two of them had agreed to a mutually profitable barter. In exchange for all his memories about Voldemort, the old man received information about how Harry did wandless and silent Apparation and Legilimency. Those two were the strangest of Harry's powers since, even when copying these memories into Tracey's mind, she hadn't succeeded in reaching his level. Harry held the hope that Dumbledore would be able to pinpoint why it went that way so that the girl would be as safe as possible.

---

A dozen days later…

The old wizard and the two students were back in Browning with no more information about the elusive Potion Master, even after spending the entire daytime of the last twelve days interrogating people around several towns in the reservation.

On their nights, they had spoken about the search, but also about magic in general, and both teenagers had learnt several aspects of magical means of transportation. Despite the fact that he knew how to Apparate in his own way, Harry didn't know how the widespread theory behind Apparation or portkey making.

Since they had spent almost two weeks working non-stop, and despite their lack of success, the three of them decided that they had earned a rest and spent the afternoon in the local mall.

Just for the fun, Harry and Tracey bought some Weasley-red hair dye, before heading to the local movie theatre with Dumbledore. After discussing for a while, the Headmaster agreed to follow the teenagers to see a brand new animated film: The Lion King.

The following night, Harry dreamed. Despite the fact that he hadn't consumed illicit substance, his dream was quite… special.

He was at the movies again, and was watching Simba meet his insect-eating friends, when a fourth animal appeared in the scene. It wasn't one that belonged there: no badger was starring in this movie.

The animal motioned Harry forward, and the two of them floated to a dusty road in the middle of nowhere. Since he knew it was a dream, Harry didn't find it weird, nor did he find strange the badger's new census uniform – it was a dream, and Harry just knew that.

The badger was counting houses. Farms, in fact. Upon reaching the last and 355th, the house disappeared, leaving the animal perplexed. Finally, it turned to him and told him to investigate.

At breakfast the next day, Harry told Tracey about it and she opened wide eyes mere seconds into the retelling.

"I had the same dream." she said, interrupting him.

The two of them looked at each other for a while, mentally comparing their dreams and reaching the conclusion that they had exactly the same dream.

Suddenly, they sensed someone sitting at their table, and jumped when they noticed that it wasn't Dumbledore.

"Enjoying your visit, kids?"

It was an old man, for sure. But it wasn't their Headmaster. Sitting in front of them, the face tanned by outdoors activities, sat an old Native American.

"What… what can we do for you?" Harry asked.

"I overheard you speaking about animals in your dreams." the man said, and Harry silently vowed to be more careful in the future. "I also know that you travelled the town in search of a man. If it can help your quest, know that dreams are tools for the Spirits to guide us. Whatever the animals said, follow their advice."

And, leaving the two teenagers quite stunned, the man simply stood and left. When Dumbledore came down – this time in proper Muggle attire –, he found their gobsmacked expressions particularly amusing and told them so.

It took them a couple hours to interpret their dream correctly and they quickly found the local office of the census bureau to "investigate". With that particular task, their unusual abilities helped greatly, ensuring that the employees wouldn't find their request strange, and that they would promptly forget about them afterwards.

Unfortunately, in their glee of obtaining the list of the 355 farms, they forgot to remove the memory of their request from the census employees' minds, and that would lead to unfortunate consequences later.

---

Six hours later…

"I'm tired." Tracey said.

"Me too." Harry replied.

"I have to say, I'm exhausted as well." Dumbledore finished.

The three of them had spent a long time going through the list of farms. Since it was a part of the census information that hadn't thought to ask, the list didn't contain information about the number of occupants or their activities, only their address. And they were quite tired to find beef cattle everywhere they went.

His magic intact despite his physical fatigue, the Headmaster Conjured seats for them to rest their limbs, as well as a light meal. It was only an hour later that they were able to continue the list.

And they found the missing farm quite easily – or rather, the lack thereof. And, no, it wasn't the last in the list: they had checked that one first. Since they knew for a fact that something was there, they could focus on that idea and sense the magic fields there.

They called for the man but nobody answered – and they felt a little stupid to call for someone in a barren area. Not losing hope, Harry decided to visit the nearby town to see if he could get additional information on the man. Tracey agreed and went to follow him, but Dumbledore stated that he had a better chance at meeting Slughorn if he waited outside his protected property.

Wishing each other good luck, they parted ways.

Harry and Tracey approached the rural town and started to interrogate people. Despite the fact that the sun was starting to set, there were many people around, and Harry finally got a lead… to someone else. Apparently, the last times the Potion Master had been seen, he was always accompanied with a very tall and muscular black man.

Getting the picture of the man from the memory of the passer-by he was talking to, Harry was so shocked that Tracey felt it from the other side of the street.

'What is it?' she sent.

'I have a lead.'

'So?'

'It's a man.'

'And?'

'It's the spitting image of Dean. Dean Thomas.'

A pause.

'So what?' she sent. 'It may be a relative of him.'

'When we were introduced in first year, he said he was muggleborn.'

'Well… just to cover all angles… the man might not be magical.'

'And be friendly with Slughorn? I'm not sure.'

'We'll see when we'll meet him.' she answered with finality. 'Where is he?'

Harry looked around, but the old woman he had been talking to had left. Noticing that she was still nearby, he entered her mind again and found out – from her memory of reading the local newspaper – that the man had been arrested by the local sheriff and was in prison. For dealing drugs.

"It doesn't fit." he told Tracey, who had walked up to him. "How comes a drug dealer mixes with a Potion Master?"

"Slughorn was perhaps making money by fabricating drugs?" Tracey proposed. "Come on." she added, pulling at his arm. "We'll never know if we stay here, and the police station is this way."

They entered a small building where a lone sheriff was listening to the radio and smoking a cigarillo, his eyes on the ceiling. When they entered, he merely threw them a glance and exhaled another blue cloud in the already smoky office.

"Whaddaya want?" he called, showing his yellow teeth in a grimace that wasn't really a greeting.

"Pardon us, good sir." Harry enunciated, using his best British accent. "We are on a school trip, and we would like to ask you about the duties of a remarkable sheriff such as you are."

Tracey tried not to laugh as the man's mixed emotions showed on his face: annoyance at being disturbed by kids warred with pleasure at being described as remarkable and… irritation about the kids' origin?

Tracey sent a short mental message to Harry, who nodded, and she escaped. Despite being free of the smoke in the office, she didn't want to laugh anymore. Her Legilimency ability – not reaching Harry's but still better than their friends' – had intercepted thoughts from the man. Dirty thoughts. Thoughts of xenophobia and sexism. And she really needed to "clean" her mind. And lungs.

Meanwhile, Harry was "interviewing" the man. His body would clean the smoke easily, and his mind was strong enough to stomach the man's dirtiness. Harry quickly realized that the drug dealing motive he had used to imprison the black man had been a pretext. The sheriff had simply not wanted a black man in "his" village. Angered by the man's attitude, Harry grafted a Guilt core in his mind before asking to see the prisoner.

Unfortunately, the man wasn't there anymore. Following the rules for drug dealing in the area, he had been shipped to the nearest federal prison: the Federal Detention Centre "SeaTac", near Seattle. After obtaining the prisoner's name from the sheriff's mind, Harry confiscated the few belongings that the sheriff had seized for himself and not sold or used yet – including a foot-long cedar wand.

By now, it was quite late. The two teenagers left the town proper to find Dumbledore, and the three of them discussed their options. Knowing that parts of their search would be difficult, the Headmaster had prepared a stash of potions, and he offered to share a vial of Pepper-Up potion so that they could function at one hundred percent for a few more hours.

The three of them Apparated to Seattle and sought a hotel to settle in.

---

At the same time, in Browning, Montana…

The census office was supposedly closed for the night, but four persons were still there. Three were wielding wands and sneers and the fourth was on the floor, writhing and screaming in pain. It didn't pass the Silencing dome around them, though.

Avery lifted the Cruciatus and approached the bald man. "I am sure you see who I'm talking about, now. Besides, people told us that they entered here. What did they want?"

The Muggle didn't remember who his torturers were talking about – hence the previous torture session. But he had an idea about that particular question. Trembling so much that even speaking was difficult, he barely spoke coherently enough for the three Death Eaters to understand that it was about a list.

"What list? What did they wand to do with it? Answer me, filthy Muggle!" Avery exclaimed, kicking the man's kidneys while his two goons smiled stupidly.

The man didn't know why they called him Muggle, but he supposed that his life depended on his answers. "They… searched… farm… empty."

"Give us the address!" Avery shouted and the man recoiled in fright.

The wizards advanced menacingly and he cried. "I will! Please!"

He went to a computer and typed several SQL requests, the results of which he printed out. The wizards were impressed about the thing and surprised when the printer started to hum – Goyle almost cursed it – but none of them would admit something like that to the others, or even to themselves. The sheet in his hand, Avery smiled sardonically, before applying his own memory charm on the man. A definitive one, which nobody could counter.

"Avada Kedavra!"

---

Meanwhile, 435 miles to the west…

Harry Apparated to the prison, and, hidden in the gaseous reality, he inconspicuously took some data from the guards' minds.

And he swore.

Apparently, the man had moved again, but the guards didn't have the slight idea where he went, for the simple reason that the secret services agents who had taken him hadn't told them. Searching deeper in the guards' memories, Harry found out that this particular prison was quite modern, and that DNA charts were made for each and every new inmate. And it was soon after submitting the chart of Robert Thomas that the "men in black" had shown themselves.

Harry swore again.

If the CIA had means to identify magic ability from DNA charts, all his and Powell's job at maintaining the Secrecy would inevitably fail.

Harry sent a burst of words to Tracey to inform her about the situation before heading to the opposite coast. He knew where he was going: he had been there already.

In the Headquarters for the CIA, there were always people milling about, working on top-secret projects and whatnot. Once there, Harry quickly found the one with the highest clearance and took control of her body – it was a woman – before making her log on her computer.

Looking at the screen through her eyes, Harry was quite shocked. It appeared that the Muggle secret service had been quite inquisitive in their operations, and numerous magical individuals had been screened already. All of them were held in some rural zone that held the number 51, under heavy watch and sedation.

After a brief pause to consider his actions and their repercussions – trying to raise the minimum wave, that is – Harry made her destroy all the evidence of the CIA ever finding about the wizarding world. He followed his action by taking control of a computer technician and making him "inadvertently" demagnetize the appropriate backup tapes. He took control of everybody who had the slightest power on the Plan of Identifying Genetically Magical Individuals and Extract their Secrets – codename PIGMIES – and made them act against it. Genetic data and samples were destroyed. Memories were removed. Printouts were shredded. Automatic orders for prisons to send DNA charts were rescinded. Having the address of the most influential persons in the program from the first files he had witnessed, he even visited them and updated their memories in their sleep.

He was past picky scruples. It was about survival. If the files were right, the secret agency wanted to put all wizards and witches in America under its thumb. And the pictures from Area 51 weren't good-looking. If they had been in black and white, Harry would have thought of World War II.

It was past midnight already, but he knew he had to act fast. He knew that there were only two sites concerned about this: the Headquarters and the infamous Area. Knowing that it would be faster than any other mean of transportation, he Apparated to Seattle himself and fetched Dumbledore and Tracey before heading to the south.

Once hidden in the gaseous reality of the Area, he took control of the guards' minds one after the other, erasing memories and planting the order to leave the place at three o'clock. He had quickly finished doing all the guards and was short-circuiting the cameras and computers when the time arrived and the Muggles left. Harry finished his job with the surveillance devices before Apparating in with his two friends.

…in front of a nightmarish vision.

There, men, women, and children were parked like in… some historical example of managing unwanted population. Due to the sedatives, many of them had lost a large part of their muscle mass.

"These… I can't even find an expletive strong enough… they did that to magical people? They target us?" Dumbledore asked.

"Apparently." Harry replied sombrely. "I made sure to remove all tracks they had about this, though."

"How can we help them all?" Tracey enquired. "They are like… hundreds in here."

"247." Harry supplied.

Dumbledore was silent, scratching his beard pensively. Despite his thoughts about wars and such, he knew that, being vastly outnumbered, the magical population couldn't win the fight should the Muggles discover and hunt them. It was thankful that Harry had stopped the mechanism before it went too far – he had dark thoughts about Hogwarts being targeted by those "flying fortresses".

Thinking about Hogwarts brought a smile to his lips, though, and he turned to Harry. "Can you fetch Madam Pomfrey here?"

"Yes. Although I could do with another Pepper-Up."

Dumbledore complied and gave Harry a list of potions that could be helpful. Harry left soon afterwards, after a deep kiss to Tracey and a reassurance that everything would be fine.

---

During these events…

"Nobody around?" the man asked.

"No." his bodyguards answered.

"Lumos."

Avery looked at the small device his master had given him. It came with a booklet written by Jugson – who had judiciously noted that the original Muggle instructions weren't easy for the standard pure-blooded wizard to understand.

He restored the weapon turret to its original size and oriented it towards the missing place. After the conscientious application of a Silencing charm around it – Jugson's idea again: better not to drag Muggles more than necessary – they activated it and watched, mesmerized, as the charm fell slowly, in time with the house.

Between their arrival and the Fidelius' collapse, it still took an hour, and the robotized weapon was red-hot. After stopping it, cooling it magically, and shrinking it again, the three dark wizards went to inspect the ruin. Only unsteady ruins remained from the structure, and there were no blood stains at all – meaning that the house had been empty or emptied while they were firing on it.

Avery was still inspecting the house when he noticed something of interest: in the remains of a study, several papers were floating in the night breeze. Some of them with stamps. And, on one of them, there was an address:

H. Slughorn
666 Cemetery Road
Glenwood Springs CO 81601

"Got it!" Avery crowed, and the three of them left the place. After much intimidation inflicted on nearby families, they got the meaning of "CO 81601" and headed to the south.

---

At the same moment, in Nevada…

To say that Madam Pomfrey was sadly impressed by the number of patients and their state would be a gross understatement. Under the conditions, she accepted to use Duplicated potions instead of the normal ones: she had only few of these anyways. Thankfully, Harry had experience casting Duplication Charms and the potions were of good quality – having been made by Flamel during the school year.

While Harry had been travelling and collecting Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore and Tracey had sorted the patients and had found Mr Thomas. They had used the Headmaster's own potions to bring him back among the living, and the man had told them the address of the Potion Master. The two of them were close friends, to the point of being each other's Secret Keeper.

When Harry arrived, Robert repeated the address for him to find it, and Harry took the physical location from the man's mind before disappearing.

While he was gone, Dumbledore and Pomfrey were treating the patients as quickly as possible, assisted by Tracey and Mr Thomas. They stayed on their guard, though: several of them had been taken from federal prisons, after all, and only the old man's "all-clear" signal after a bout of Legilimency made Madam Pomfrey use anti-sedative potions on the patient.

---

666 Cemetery Road, Glenwood Springs, Colorado…

Harry arrived to the edge of an anti-Apparation field.

He supposed that it was the job of a particular paranoid Potion Master and Apparated in.

He then noticed a couple of things.

First, he was seeing the house, which was a good sign, since it meant that the Secret Keeper had given him the appropriate information.

Second, the house was in flames, and it was not a good sign.

Third, a cursory scan of the house showed that there was someone in there. Someone unconscious, and, therefore, probably dying.

Harry ran to the house to fetch the poor man – certainly the sought-after Potion Master – when he heard an incantation shouted behind him and ropes tied his arms and legs to his body. As, propelled by his momentum, his body tumbled across the doorway, he mentally swore at his lack of forethought.

It was intriguing, at the same time: wasn't Robert Thomas Slughorn's Secret Keeper? Was it him who sent an arsonist against his friend?

He had no time to ponder on this, though, as he was now distinctly seeing Slughorn's prone body next to him, blood leaking on the carpeted floor – and flames around them. As he was crawling to the man, he evaluated his options.

He couldn't Apparate because of the anti-Apparation ward – well, he could, but Slughorn would bleed to death if he waited for the fire to subside or for the anti-Apparation field to drop.

He could break his bounds thanks to the fire. After strengthening his skin, he did just that.

The smoke was debilitating. He wasn't seeing his assailant, and nothing proved that said assailant was alone. He could Levitate, but staying atop a blazing inferno wouldn't be good either – levitation wasn't allowing directional movement. Wings, on the other side, would allow him that movement, but had the drawback of being extremely flammable.

His eyes lit up, suddenly realizing that he could do both.

Acting quickly because of the fire around them, he grabbed the Potion Master and hauled him through a gap in the ceiling. Then, using an ability he had trained many times before the school year ended, he extended his wings.

Thankfully, the three Death Eaters had been monitoring the doors, and almost no one had witnessed him escaping the flaming house. Just one person.

---

A couple miles away, Eddie Mad Wolf had been drowning his girlfriend-related sorrow in firewater, and had just noticed the flames from the burning house. Fetching his binoculars, he had the surprise of seeing something he took for a very large bird shoot out of a burning house and cast lightning around the place.

Eddie's background made him fall to his knees in awed recognition. "Wakinyan." he breathed, using the Lakota Sioux name of the mythological Thunderbird. "I promise… I won't drink anymore."

And, after throwing his bottle in the nearby bushes, Eddie climbed on his unsteady legs and left this story forever.

Harry wasn't casting lighting around, though – not exactly, that is. Remarking that the Death Eaters hadn't noticed him, and wanting to interrogate them, he had Summoned his staff and had promptly Stunned them. Grabbing everyone, he Apparated back to Nevada and the Area 51.

Tracey lunged at him, and, noticing his singed state, she gasped.

Pomfrey lunged at Slughorn, and, noticing his wounds, she gasped.

Dumbledore lunged at the Death Eaters, and, noticing their identity, he gasped.

Mr Thomas didn't need to move to gasp: Harry's wings were impressive by themselves.

It took a long time to stabilize Slughorn and treat the remaining unsteady patients from the room. Harry made sure that even the ones who had been falsely imprisoned before where innocent – or that it was only a minor offence: lack of respect to a Muggle police officer is laughable, but only if the wizard doesn't lose his wand in the process. The very few who were criminals, he instilled a core of Guilt again and let them free.

In the Area was a room with all their belongings, and Harry helped to return them to their owners as well, his inherent Legilimency allowing him to discern whether a claim was genuine or not, thus preventing the slightest theft. The stranded wizards and witches, upon recovering their wands and after thanking their rescuers, Apparated back to their homes. The families waited for all of their members to be equally furnished before leaving together.

When the sun started to rise, Harry had downed a fourth Pepper-Up potion, emptying Dumbledore's stash, and there weren't many people remaining. Only thirty-odd adults and a dozen children. Some of them were squibs, and the others simply didn't know how to Apparate or hadn't had their wand when they had been arrested.

Harry told everyone to hold hands and Apparated the group to the successive hometowns of its members, one after the other.

Once back in their hotel room in Browning, Harry fell on the bed, asleep before hitting the pillow. He hadn't even retracted his wings.

---

On the steeps hills outside Glenwood Springs…

The house had long since collapsed, and the fire was now licking at the surrounding vegetation. Over the course of a few days, it would continue to grow and evolve into a dangerous wildfire – aided at some point by some alcohol bottle carelessly thrown in the desiccated undergrowth.

When the fire department would finally take notice of it, the fire would have developed so much and so quickly that it had become incontrollable. On July 6th, fourteen fire-fighters would die in their heroic struggle against it.

Once again, the news wouldn't reach the ears of those responsible for the initial fire.

---

That afternoon…

Since he had been dosed in Pepper-Up potions several times, Harry didn't need that many hours of sleep, and he awoke just as the afternoon was drawing to a close, scratching his head in confusion.

He had dreamed about animals again.

This time, the vivid scene contained two pigs sleeping peacefully. Suddenly, one disappeared. A mere second later, the second one woke suddenly before running around in panic. Harry had thought it funny until he had noticed that the panic wasn't due to the first's disappearance. The second pig was growing. Inflating, even. Just before it exploded, Harry noticed a huge snake far from the pigsty, a lit wand in its mouth and a pink shape resembling another pig at its feet… figuratively. Once again, a badger had appeared and told him something: "It's his magic."

After unsuccessfully trying to understand what it was about, he decided to let the matter drop for the moment. Looking around, he noticed that someone, probably Dumbledore, had enlarged the room and Conjured a row of beds for everybody. Tracey had the one next to his bed – she hadn't dared sleeping near his wings, in fear of breaking them. Dumbledore was next, followed by Pomfrey, Slughorn, Thomas, and the three Death Eaters – Stunned and bound to the bunks they had been given.

As he was staring at the three dark wizards, absent-mindedly shrinking his wings at the same time, he suddenly heard a distinct and ominous noise.

His stomach rumbled.

Leaving his friends, he left the room quietly to see if the restaurant downstairs had some take-away food. Apparently, they didn't.

He was in line at the fast-food next door when he heard someone calling for him. He absently glanced in the caller's direction and found that it was the old Blackfoot native again. And the man was gesturing at him to come and sit.

"So," the man said as only preamble, "was your dream informative enough?"

"It was." Harry replied. "Can you explain, now? Who are you, by the way?"

"I'm Wapasha Kaneonuskatew, wakan of my people. Or shaman, or medicine-man, if you must call me that."

"I'm Harry Potter. Nice to meet you." Harry replied. For some reason, he felt compelled to show respect to the old man.

The self-described shaman nodded and continued his story. "We Blackfeet have several myths in our religion, and we share a few of them with the other tribes of the Great Plains. One of them involves an animal spirit guiding us through dreams."

"Again!?" Harry exclaimed. Seeing the man's disgruntled look, he tried to explain and apologize. "Sorry. It's just that I have already met an animal-shaped guardian… spirit, of sorts, and I thought… Sorry again, please continue."

At that moment, though, the man was staring at him. "What kind of animal is it?"

Harry looked around but no one was interested in their conversation. "A feathered snake." He paused when Wapasha jumped in surprise, but the man stayed silent, so he carried on. "And, in my most recent dreams, it was a badger."

It took a few seconds for the shaman to collect his wits. "Understandable. Badgers are fairly common around here, and it is one of our favourite totem animals."

"Speaking of which, I'm always interested to learn all kinds of… cultural aspects of countries I visit and people I meet. What can you tell me about totems?"

"Well… let's just say that they regroup the animal spirits of a clan. Most people have one… had one, in fact: the young generation has forgotten how to let themselves merged with the Great Spirit, and there are less and less guardian spirits in the tribes. Nowadays, totem poles are erected for artistic value!" the man exclaimed with a shudder, before taking a long swallow from his beer. "They think these poles are describing a tribes' history… and they aren't entirely false. Initially, a single animal spirit was enough to guard a whole tribe. When tribesmen started to marry women from other tribes, the spirits mingled as well. At first, it was two or three, but it quickly reached a dozen animals. Since it was a sign of spiritual power to have a tall totem, greater and greater trees began to be felled to build the highest possible ones. Competition stopped short, though."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Some spirits thought this to be conceited and frivolous, and departed the tribes. The great Thunderbird, for instance, may be shown on today's totems, but the spirit had left a long time ago."

"What is a Thunderbird?"

"It was a large bird, with huge wings." the man answered absently. "They were so large that, when they flapped, clouds congregated underneath and a thunderstorm erupted." A pause. "Another spirit stayed with the tribes for a very long time, before being forced out, too."

"Forced out? I don't understand."

"The bison, it was. Many of our ancestors were warned about the fact that white-faced people would invade our hunting grounds, but the tribes continued to squabble about inconsequential things instead of uniting as a nation. It wasn't because we didn't have firearms that we had to be deprived of our whole way of life!"

The man's last exclamation had drawn uneasy glances from some customers nearby, as well as glares from others. One of them, a tall and strong – and potbellied – white man with a NASCAR cap, stood up and approached the man from behind. Harry saw the lumberjack's approach and thunderous expression and his peripheral Legilimency caught his intentions easily. His motives were a little trouble, but it didn't really matter. Harry didn't want a fight to erupt and, in the man's mind, he planted the suggestion that he'd continue on his way, head outside, and kick something to calm himself. Something hard, preferably.

The would-be intruder gone, they continue to discuss Native American traditions, and Harry learnt more about spirits, dance rituals, and shape-shifters.

He completely forgot his friends.

---

Meanwhile…

Avery was in trouble. He had awoken in a slightly darkened room, and had tried to jump to his feet, only to find solid and magical bounds holding him down. That's when he also noticed the bodies sleeping around him, and Crabbe and Goyle's tied shapes as well. Patting himself where he could, he noticed that he had been deprived of his wand and his other magical artefacts.

After tentatively feeling his mouth with his tongue, his face broke in a wide smile: they hadn't checked his teeth! Apparently, the fact that his master had links with those strange Muggles had brought fruit. All important Death Eaters had been fitted with new dental services, the most useful being the safeguard portkey. There was poison, too, either to spit on eventual captors or evade interrogation. Permanently.

"Crabbe!" Avery whispered intently. "Goyle!"

He heard the grunts of someone awakening, but, to his dismay, it wasn't his friends. It was Dumbledore. Not wanting to be Stunned again, Avery sneered at the old man's scrunched face and slammed his mouth shut. Hard.

Since the three dark wizards had been subdued and dispossessed of their items, no ward had been raised against portkeys, and, as predicted, Avery reappeared in Wadjet's temple, in Little Hangleton. The night had already fallen there, and only Voldemort was there, mulling on some dark plan or another.

The ropes hadn't followed Avery, and the man went to his knees to salute his master. "Master…" he started unsteadily. "We have succeeded in our mission, but were taken by Dumbledore. They took everything I had but didn't check my teeth for portkeys, and I escaped as soon as I could. I don't know about the others, though. They were still unconscious when I left, and-"

"Avery!" Voldemort called.

Trembling, the man tentatively answered. "Yes, my Lord?"

"You're rambling."

The man raised his hand so fast that his neck made an ominous noise. He winced, but that didn't change the surprise in his eyes. The Dark Lord's was… smiling?

"You see, Avery, I have conducted research on the Dark Mark. Well… I had Jugson do that, really. And I have incorporated a few charms in your marks. Since it was my magic all along, it was quite easy. And nobody but me can remove them. Nifty, no?"

"Yes, my Lord." Avery automatically answered, before asking "What kind of charms?"

"That is for me to know, Avery, and you not to find out until it is needed that you know."

"Yes, my Lord." the man, humbled, bowed even lower.

"Now, Avery, I want you to look at me. Look me in the eyes. Remember what happened. Legilimens."

It took some time for Voldemort to sift through the unordered mind of his follower. He was quite glad that the target had been burned in his house, especially given who it was. However, he was so surprised at a particular memory that he rewound it a few times. Apparently, Avery had seen a man sleeping between him and Dumbledore – because of his lying position, he hadn't seen the others – and the man's identity was the surprise.

Getting out of Avery's mind, the Dark Lord was thinking to himself. 'Well, well, well… it seems that Robert Thomas didn't die like he was supposed to. Did Bellatrix lie to me?' A pause. 'I won't know, now. But it doesn't matter. Now, what is the most interesting? Getting two followers back with the portkey in their arm? Or make them explode and get rid of Dumbledore and Thomas? Perhaps I can compromise…'

Not even throwing a look at Avery's crumpled form – the Dark Lord's Legilimency wasn't kind and considerate for one's health – Voldemort headed to his private study. There, on one of the tables, was an opened a box where thirty-odd small orbs of reinforced crystal rested. In each of them was a drop of blood from one particular follower, and three balls were out already. He returned Avery's orb to the box and aimed his wand at the two others, before stopping.

It was a difficult choice, really. Crabbe or Goyle? Neither was more interesting than the other, or more powerful, knowledgeable, or particularly skilful. They were good bodyguards, though.

Making his mind up, he decided to keep Goyle. After all, Crabbe went always first. It was always "Crabbe and Goyle", in that order. Crabbe would go first.

He spoke the required words, his wand touching the orb linking him to the Dark Mark on Goyle's arm, and the man appeared a minute later. He was still sleeping, snoring solidly, and Voldemort scowled before kicking him in the ribs.

"Huh? Wha?" the man sure wasn't a light sleeper. Perhaps that's why he wasn't in the front lines in the fight in Egypt. Perhaps that's why he survived. "My Lord!" he finally exclaimed, his three neurons now activated.

"Leave." Voldemort said, pointing at the appropriate door – he didn't want the lumberjack to… lumber… through his ordered study. Once alone, he pointed his wand at Crabbe's orb and spoke a particular set of words. With a smile, he noticed the magic in the blood drop flare before it went completely inert.

The orb now useless, he threw it in a pit he had designed to absorb all failed and possibly explosive experiments. It deactivated the magic in everything thrown in it before disintegrating them.

He then left the room and proceeded to give Avery his next mission: to return to America and get information to see if anyone escaped the explosion. He knew Dumbledore was powerful, but doubted that anything could have escaped the mass-to-energy explosion having just taken place.

Given what had actually happened, he should have kept Crabbe's sphere.

---

Just a bit earlier…

Dumbledore was fully awake, now, and was magically awakening his companions. "We may have a problem." he told them. "Avery just disappeared."

"How is it possible?" Tracey asked. "We removed everything magical they had on themselves."

"I don't know." the old man said, before looking around. "Where is Harry?"

"I'll see." she said, and left the room – it was more to be alone when grasping her pendant than actually fetching him.

Meanwhile, the four adults tried to understand what had happened, and Madam Pomfrey was the one with the right question. "Since it can't be an item, perhaps they have a charm on themselves, or something. I'll check."

She went to Crabbe and started a series of diagnostic spells. Medical diagnostics picked several things, and she immediately noticed that something was wrong in the man's mouth, and on his Dark Mark. She had treated Snape enough times, when he seemed to be Light-aligned, to know what the mark felt like under her diagnostic spells.

"Albus… this isn't good."

"What isn't good?" a voice asked from the doorway. Harry had heard Tracey's call and, after thanking the shaman for the discussion, he had hurried there.

"They have a charm in their mouth, I don't know what is it exactly but it isn't a Stay-Fresh charm-"

Tracey snorted. "That much is obvious."

Pomfrey smiled before continuing her explanation. "The Dark Mark seems to have been modified in some way, too. Enhanced, I would say. The tangle of spells around it is larger than what it was when… before."

"Is it dangerous?" Dumbledore asked.

"I can't say, but I know that You-Know-Who has made his mark to bring pain to his followers. It was already-"

"For us, I mean." the old Headmaster corrected himself.

A pause ensued, and Pomfrey launched into another string of diagnostic spells on the arm. "I feel destructive magic, yes."

"Hmmm… What kind?" Dumbledore asked. "It's just so that we can cast a shield around him or something."

"I don't really understand." the medi-witch whispered. "It's too advanced… and disgustingly evil, on top of being powerful."

During the discussion, Harry as returned to their room, his mind still on the native's words. When Pomfrey had started her examination of their captives, he had entered the witch's outer mind ss discreetly as possible, and he had witnessed her observations, comparing with what he knew. Like herself, though, he was stumped by the strange construct. Back in his own mind, he tried to understand the magic patterns he had seen. He was sure that the Mark was now a receptacle for several spells, but it hadn't been possible to identify these.

While he was pondering about this, looking at the two large men with thoughts of Voldemort in a distance, a memory was tugging at his mind. He closed his eyes briefly, wanting to remember what was so important. His eyes opened suddenly, though, and he looked at the two pig-like men in front of him.

"He's going to explode!" he blurted out, interrupting Dumbledore and Pomfrey's discussion about shields.

"What?" asked Madam Pomfrey. "What do you mean?"

"We don't have time!" he argued. "How can we… Can we remove their magic?"

It was Dumbledore's turn to be perplex. "Why do you want to remove their magic?"

"Believe me! Can we, or can we not, remove their magic? Even temporarily?"

Dumbledore frowned, and Harry could almost see mental wheels turning. To his surprise, the old man wasn't only thinking about how he could do it. He was also reflecting about whether someone else could be better than him to do it. Harry recognized then an important difference between Dumbledore and him: the old man knew how to delegate jobs.

And he did, right now, as he turned to Slughorn. "Horace?"

"What do you want, Albus?" the man asked.

"Can you do it? I recall you did something like that before."

The man frowned. "I… suppose." He paused for a few seconds before turning to Madam Pomfrey. "Do you have some Calming Draught, Poppy?" he asked the hospital matron. "And some copper and sodium hypochlorite, as well?"

"Bleach?" Tracey piped in, drawing everyone's gaze. "Why would you want bleach?"

"Young woman, I ask no question, you ask no question. You know where to find some?"

"Err… well… perhaps." she answered. After all, they were in a hotel, and bleach was surely available somewhere. Harry had caught up, though, and, being faster and more inconspicuous since he could inspect minds and snatch objects from the gaseous reality, he disappeared.

When he came back with the bottle of detergent, Slughorn was still asking several other potions and ingredients from Madam Pomfrey, emptying them into a cauldron Dumbledore had conjured. With a fire underneath it, the cauldron's strange mixture was bubbling already.

"Copper, anyone?" Slughorn asked, before remembering something. He fished a dime out of his own pockets and, after a focused Vanishing spell to get rid of the nickel, he dropped the coin in the cauldron. "Done! But we need to awaken them for it to work."

"Are you sure about this, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, looking at the mixture. 'Personally, I don't know anything remotely similar to this potion, and Horace seems a bit different from the last time I saw him. Wilder.'

'That's America for you.' Harry mentally replied with a smirk. 'I picked his thoughts at different moments. He seems fine to me.' Noticing Thomas' raised wand, his voice returned and he exclaimed "Wait!"

"What?" the black man asked. "Horace said we ought to wake them."

"I know. We just have to wait. I guess."

"You guess? You guess?" the Potion Master asked indignantly. "Who do you think you-"

At that precise moment, something happened, interrupting Slughorn.

Goyle disappeared.

Harry immediately woke Crabbe magically before pushing the portly Potion Master towards him. "NOW!" he exclaimed, before entering Crabbe's mind and making sure the man was compliant.

Slughorn was too surprised to resist again and he fed the man a cup of the potion.

Crabbe shuddered and dropped backwards, unconscious again.

"There. Gone for an hour." Slughorn commented before rounding on Harry. "Now, I want an explanation."

"It's Voldemort." Harry said, and he noticed the wince in the Pomfrey's expression. He rolled his eyes mentally and spoke to her. "I'll call him Riddle if you prefer."

"Riddle?" she asked, perplexed. Two others looked at him intently, although he didn't perceive the same kind of surprise from them: Slughorn's mind was pondering shrewdly, while Thomas' was full of anger – not at him, at Riddle/Voldemort.

"We'll see later how you can possibly know the Dark Lord's identity." Slughorn said pompously, throwing a meaningful glance at Dumbledore – who answered by a genuine smile. "Who might the two of you be?" he then asked Harry and Tracey. "You are just students… Hogwarts, I presume, since Albus and Poppy are here. And… what the hell happened in the last 24 hours?"

"You might want to sit for this, Horace." Dumbledore said warmly.

"Nonsense! I'm better standing." the man replied, looking at Harry and Tracey intently.

The two of them were looking at each other and nodded at seemingly random times. Horace Slughorn frowned. Were those two playing an act, or were they genuinely… discussing somehow?

"Well?" he enquired, noticing that he had really interrupted something.

The two of them turned to him and, while Harry was looking at the Potion Master fixedly, Tracey answered. "I'm Tracey Davis, third year Slytherin in Hogwarts. And this is my boyfriend…" She turned to Harry. "Is he ready yet?"

"Just a second." the boy replied. After a slightly longer pause than that, he smiled at the man. "What is my name?"

The man huffed automatically. "What are you speaking about? How could I know that you're named Harry Potter if you don't… introduce… yourself." The two words were drawn out and the man's eyes widened. "Potter? The Harry Potter?"

The addressed boy smiled sheepishly. "For all I know, there might be other Harry Potter around the world, and my undue fame prevents them from rising. I'm really sorry for them."

Tracey snorted. "Undue fame!"

"Why, that's true!" he replied. "What am I known for? Defeating a Dark Lord? Firstly, he was not, and still is not, defeated. Yet. Secondly, I was fifteen months old, for Merlin's sake! And my parents died. I'm perhaps known for that, but I am not a glory hound and I certainly don't want the fame."

"We know, we know." Dumbledore interrupted gently. "If you were, you would have entered Hogwarts under your real name from the first year."

Harry grunted. "What a joy that would have been! With Voldemort there and whatnot, I wouldn't have lasted a week."

The two of them knew they were digressing from the original subject and they turned to the Potion Master… only to find him on the floor, barely held in a sitting position by his friend Robert.

"We did advise you to sit down, Horace." Dumbledore said amusedly. He then turned to Harry. "You gave him everything?"

"Just the bare bones. I have one more vault to make, though." the teenager replied, before looking towards Mr Thomas.

"What is happening here?" the black man asked, before hanging his head. "I realize I haven't thanked you all for your help… So… thank you. Now, what's happening? And why is Horace so shocked to see a boy named Harry Potter, who, incidentally, is currently not a student at Hogwarts, actually?" A pause. "And how do I even know this?"

"Calming Draught, Poppy?" Dumbledore asked. The medi-witch didn't move, and Harry groaned.

"Alright, a third vault for today. Keep in mind that we have our dear fellow to treat afterwards." he said, pointing his thumb at the unconscious body of Mr Crabbe behind him.

When the hospital matron was updated on his identity and fitted with the appropriate mental safe, Harry, Tracey, and Dumbledore launched into a retelling of their trip. As they summed things, they were able to finish under the hour, and everyone went to check the prone Death Eater.

Harry tried to find the place in the man's mind where the Mark was active, but found none. He knew it had been a possibility, though, since the Mark was controlled by Voldemort. And there was nothing the Death Eater could do to prevent it, hence the lack of presence of the infamous Mark in the man's mind.

Being in a mental landscape, he took some time to inspect what was there – in case Voldemort had let slip something in his follower's presence. Nothing came up, but Harry confirmed the lack of intelligence of the fellow whose mind he was browsing. Thinking about his current problems, Harry decided that, since the man basically owed them his life, he had the right to do something about his mind.

He thus went digging under the man's consciousness building to create a vault there. But it wasn't to store his identity. It was to store directions.

Basically, Harry made Crabbe overlook and forget the fact that he was accompanying a party of Light-sided individuals from now on, and he gave him his knowledge of wards with one goal: sabotaging the Fidelius around the Death Eaters' lair. Just before cleaning up and leaving, he added a condition to his command: the man would do so only after receiving a coded owl. Harry and his friends had to be ready for an attack or the dark wizards would react and re-establish the wards. And he would kill Crabbe, too.

While he was doing his work, Pomfrey had been inspecting the man's Mark closely, followed by his mouth. With Dumbledore's help, she had been able to identify and neutralize the spells on the man's teeth. She had also concluded that the spells on the Mark had been deactivated as well, although she didn't know how – it wasn't written on the man's Mark that his controlling orb had been destroyed.

While she was storing her wand and rearranging her depleted potion supply, Dumbledore and Slughorn were discussing the Potion Master's recruitment.

"I wanted to return, Albus." Slughorn was saying. "I really did. Only, I wanted to wait August to do so. I didn't know they would find me here. Do you still have that spot at Potion Professor?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"What do you mean, unfortunately? You don't want Horace Slughorn teaching your students?"

"It's not that, but the fact that my mentor, Nicholas Flamel, is dead."

A pause.

"Flamel is dead?" Slughorn asked incredulously. "I thought he was immortal."

"He was stuck in an ambush against the Express, and he fought fiercely, but the opposition got him."

"I'm sorry, Albus. I'm still volunteering for the job, though. Hogwarts must be the safest place on the planet, right now. However…"

"Yes? You have conditions, Horace?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling amusedly.

"Yes, and it's for the safety of the students, principally." the portly man stated. "You know that Masters ought to have Apprentice to spread their knowledge. I had some myself, when I was teaching. Young Severus, for instance, didn't have so much in social skills, but his brewing ability was without peer in his years. By the way, what happened to him?"

"He is dead." Dumbledore replied, having heard the story from Harry before. "He fought alongside Voldemort and has been killed there."

"It's sad." Slughorn shook his head, before noticing that a few people were looking severely in his direction. "I mean… it's sad that he had to turn to a dark lord. And it's a loss to the trade, too."

"Better him off than brewing Morgana-knows-what for that monster!" Pomfrey exclaimed, before turning away, huffing.

"So…" Dumbledore pacified. "To return to our topic: you want an apprentice."

"Yes." Slughorn replied, turning his gaze to Harry briefly. "Without Apprentice, a Master can be caught in his own mishaps. Not that a Master should have potion accidents, no… but it can happen. Besides, an apprentice can help teaching. I distinctly remember instructing my apprentices to inspect the students brewing potions while I was teaching. I can't impart knowledge and verify the non-explosiveness of student-brewed potions, can I?"

"I happen to agree." Dumbledore said pensively. "When I hired Sev- Snape, I thought his genius in Potions would compensate his… lack of social skills, as you said it. Retrospectively, it was a bad idea."

"Well, you know, hindsight is always twenty-twenty, as the Muggles say." Slughorn replied. "So?"

"So? Ah, your apprentice." A pause. "I have several names in mind, and-"

"Albus!" Slughorn exclaimed intently, nodding towards Harry.

"I cannot tell you if Harry will accept."

"Why won't he?" the Potion Master asked, genuinely surprised. "Aren't you his Headmaster?"

"As you already know, Harry is quite special. He and I made a deal, and I can't force him into a situation he doesn't want."

"Bah! He's only a student, right?"

"Well… to tell the truth, I didn't know he was at Hogwarts for two years and a half until his identity slipped."

"Don't you see through concealment spells, Albus? I thought your glasses-"

"It wasn't a spell. Harry posed as a different person each of the last three years, and the last was as Defence teacher."

"WHAT?!?"

Harry had been emerging from his trip into Crabbe's mental facilities, and heard the last couple of sentences. "I'm a Metamorphmagus, Mr Slughorn."

"And he's quite skilled in the Mind Arts, too." Dumbledore added. "How is Mr Crabbe, by the way?"

"Quite fine. We can wake him up, now. He'll sabotage the wards on our command."

"Did you cast an Imperius?" Slughorn asked doubtfully. "Because, if you did…"

"No." Harry replied, but he didn't elaborate. For him the Unforgivable nature of the spell most resembling his mental power was still difficult to think about.

"Alright." the Potion Master said, before straightening up. "I offer you a place as my Apprentice, Mr Potter. With me, you will learn to bottle fame, and even put a stopper on death."

Harry and Tracey smirked to each other when they recognized the words: they now knew where Snape had got his inspired start-of-first-year admonishment from. It was all the late greasy-haired Potion Master had said that had been inspired, though.

After thinking about the man's offer, Harry decided to be blunt and honest. "I already was Apprenticed by Master Flamel, and I have reached the level where I can already teach the first years of the Alchemy curriculum. What does that make of me?"

"You can continue your Alchemy Apprenticeship under your own steam, or under my supervision." Dumbledore said, earning himself a burning glare from Slughorn. "Finding another Master would be too difficult in the current timeframe. I'm quite taken by my other duties, though, and it would take some more time in both cases, but, eventually, you'll be a Journeyman in Alchemy."

"On the other hand," Slughorn interrupted, "if you come with me, you'll be a Journeyman in no time, and I'll even help for your Mastery. And I'll introduce you to my numerous acquaintances, too."

"Thank you for the offer. Both of you." Harry said, trying to appease the Potion Master. "I will think about it and give you my answer as quickly as possible."

He was thankful for the offers, but Flamel's death had been hard for him, and he didn't want to engage in such a relation with people who were high-priority target of Voldemort's. Not yet, anyway. Not until the monster was dead. Besides, wasn't Potion a subset of Alchemy already? Given the greedy look he had felt earlier and having perceived the intent behind it, Harry was quite sure that Slughorn would love to have someone like Draco as Apprentice. Or Tracey. Or any of his friends, since they were all quite talented. He resolved to speak about that to Dumbledore as soon as they returned to England. In the meantime…

"What do you know about Voldemort?" he asked the Potion Master and soon-to-be-Professor-again.

Slughorn seemed surprised by the question. "Well… everybody thought you defeated him when you were a baby. Apparently, everybody was wrong. Everybody but me. That's why I left, you know? I knew he would come back! And his Death Eaters were scouring the countryside to either exact vengeance on their lord's behalf, searching for signs of his presence, or hunting his… his…"

"His what?" asked Dumbledore, surprised at the man's sudden lack of words.

Slughorn threw him a pointed look. "Is it really safe to speak of those things, Albus? They are but youngsters."

"As Riddle reappeared, it's your duty to inform his fated executioner about them." Dumbledore said, knowing that all memories relative to Harry – like the Prophecy part he had just imparted – would be lodged in the vault in the man's mind. "Besides," he added, "if you don't, I won't allow you to restart your little club in the school."

It took the Potion Master several seconds to realize the meaning of the older man's first sentence. When he did, his head swivelled to fast that his neck made a snapping noise. His eyes were wide and his mouth gaping.

"What?" Harry asked. "It's not like I don't know the beast. I don't remember how many times we fought but it's quite a handful. And I had a part of him in my head for some time, too."

"You…" Slughorn whispered. "A Horcrux… That's impossible!"

"Why is it impossible, Horace?" Albus asked. "You know I never dabbed in the Dark Arts more than I was forced to, and information about Horcruxes became classified even before Riddle's first years at Hogwarts. Tell us about them." he coaxed the round man gently.

The Potion Master was still breathing hard, and Harry transfigured one of the beds into an armchair in which the man plunked down gratefully. A few minutes later, he was gifted with speech again.

"Horcruxes are an evil invention." he started. "I found out while I was an Apprentice, and my Master nearly cast me out before I told him I was just curious. Since I was insanely curious at that time, he agreed to let it slip." A pause. "A Horcrux is a part of someone's soul – or rather, the container for it. To make one requires a ritual sacrifice under the form of a killing, and the caster's soul is separated in two. It makes the caster almost immortal since the soul is anchored by the Horcrux: whenever the original body dies, the soul is left to find another body. Of course, the process of finding another body is complicated and different from the Horcrux part, but it can be as ghastly."

Harry absorbed the knowledge like a sponge, but a question was nagging him. Taking advantage of a break in the man's retelling, he spoke up. "I had a part of him in my mind. It disappeared, though. But I recently thought I killed him and he came back nonetheless." A pause. "Did he break his soul in more than two parts? Is it even possible?"

"This is a part I didn't want to remember, and I never thought about it until now." Slughorn said, before pausing, wincing at the memory. "While he was a student, Tom Riddle came to me. He was as curious as I was at his age, and asked question about many things. Naturally, I answered. He once told me that he had found an old tome in some library and that it dealt about splitting one's soul to become immortal. Looking back, he was quite obsessed by immortality."

"Remember what you said about hindsight, Horace." Dumbledore said softly.

Slughorn acquiesced. "Anyways… He came to me, one day, proudly presenting a plan where a supposedly abstract person split their soul in seven fragments. The plan was to have a perfect balance in the choice of Horcruxes too: a balance between artefacts and living beings. When I asked him whether that abstract person existed, he panicked and I seldom saw him at our club's meetings from then on."

While the Potion Master was drawing a large intake of air, Harry asked. "How can we kill him, then?"

"You ought to destroy the Horcruxes before."

"And… what are they?"

Slughorn looked at him, his eyes round. "I don't know. I really don't know."

While the three of them continued to discuss about it, throwing ideas and counterarguments, Tracey left with Mr Thomas and Madam Pomfrey to get some food to eat. It was during the meal that Dumbledore came to a startling realization. He almost gagged on his mouthful before speaking excitedly – an astonishing view for the usually calm and collected old man.

"Look at it this way: even before leaving Hogwarts, Tom Riddle had acquired a taste for grandiosity. If he had to choose items to store fragments of his souls, he would choose great things. The kind of artefact that even we would have second thought about destroying. And don't forget, Horace, that he built quite an obsession about the Founders since his first year." A pause. "Thinking about it… I remember him wearing a particular ring in his seventh year but he stopped after Easter. I remember because I saw it when I taught transfiguration and, when I asked about it, he told me it was a family heirloom… Quite strange for an orphan, don't you think? I didn't have time to ask more because someone made a scene about a failed self-transfiguration, and it slipped my mind." Another pause. "I think that his most obvious targets for Horcruxes might be things from the Founders."

"Easter?" Horace asked. "That's when we he told me about his plan. I remember, he hadn't slept all night and was ecstatic about it. I don't think he would have told me otherwise."

Harry frowned. "Speaking about his plan… you told us that he wanted a perfect balance between living and dead. How is that even possible? I mean… splitting in seven parts?"

There was a long pause, and Dumbledore eventually spoke. "It's merely a conjecture, Harry, but the murder of your parents might have held enough importance for Voldemort to consider making a Horcrux out of you."

"Why did he want to kill me, then?" Harry asked, before his previous question came back to his mind. "Oh. Right. He wanted a Horcrux on my dead body. Is that possible?" he asked, turning to Slughorn.

The Potion Master shrugged. "I don't know. But I know there are ways to animate a dead body, making it half-alive half-dead. Inferi, for example… but I don't want to talk about that. Let's just say that he'd have his symmetric parting, then."

"Thinking about it, it would have filled Voldemort's need for portentousness. Foiling a Prophecy and making a move towards immortality at the same time. We all know how it finished, though." Dumbledore paused, eyeing Harry pensively. "Besides, it is entirely possible that the Horcrux actually messed up with the Killing Curse. After all, Killing Curses don't leave marks. Perhaps, after having made you a Horcrux of his, he couldn't kill you."

"That's too bad that I'm not that sort of thing anymore, then." Harry smiled.

Down the table, someone hadn't lost a word of the conversation. Tracey had had little to say until now, but her own experience gave her material. "Headmaster?" she asked. "I remember writing in the cursed diary and it answered something about his soul. Do you think that it could be one of these… Horcruxes?"

Dumbledore thought about it and a smile graced his features quickly. "It is a valid thought. Thank you, Tracey. We will investigate it as soon as we come back to Hogwarts."

"You still have it?" Harry blurted out. "I thought you gave it to the Unspeakables."

"As I told you, Harry, I am a busy man, and the diary hadn't occupied the front of my mind until now."

They all smiled at the feeble joke, and reverted to light discussion, knowing that the topic of Horcruxes would come back as soon as they'd come back to Britain.

As soon as the meal ended, they readied themselves for the trip back. Dumbledore restored the room to its proper state and Slughorn proved his skill in reversing temporary transfiguration by returning the furniture to its original shape. Harry and Tracey were packing their trunks again when Harry noticed his communication notebook in it.

On a whim, he opened it, and immediately noticed a new message from Powell, and it reminded him of something else.

Harry,

First of all, Josh and Alison stopped by. Apparently, you told them that you were going to Switzerland around this date and they were a tad bit disappointed not to see you. Since you were scheduled to meet a certain Mrs Klein, they went nonetheless and came back with the woman's approval for whichever request you made. They sent you an owl, by the way.

I also told them about your current predicament with the wards. They happen to know several wizards in the USA with links into specialized wizarding military forces, but lost contact a few months ago. Quite inexplicably, they said.

Before they came, I had already thought about your problem, and there is something that can help you. It can be programmed like an automatic turret and can attack from farther away. Much farther. It's called a Howitzer.

Here are some interesting places in Europe where military forces store this kind of weapon:

And a list of addresses followed.

Despite being thankful of the spy for the work, Harry had a card in his sleeve. A card named Crabbe Sr. That particular card could fail, of course, in which case he would try to procure the weapon.

Meanwhile, he had something else to say. Grabbing the pen that was always stuck in the book, he scribbled an answer.

Max,

Thanks for reporting about Josh and Alison. If they are still there, tell them I am on the move – poor owl – but that I'll be there tomorrow. Thank you for the addresses, too. I'll check them if the need arises. I'm on something else right now, and I need your help to investigate secret services again. All of them, starting with MI-6 and GRU, but not the CIA (I took care of that).

Apparently, the Americans found a way to determine if someone is magical… through a DNA chart. They parked those they found in a secret area, and were conducting god-knows-what experiments on them. I want to know if that information has travelled through the counterespionage paths already or not, and where to strike if it has.

As always, I don't force you or anything. Just tell me. Tell me if you need something, too. I can be anywhere in minutes – if I'm not busy myself.

Take care,
Harry

---

Interlude…

The Centre for Research on Concepts and Cognition was a research lab on artificial intelligence, and it was connected to internet. As such, it had been an interesting place for Copycat to visit and hang out. It was also one of the places which had suffered a massive power failure at some point, meaning that parts of the digital entity had been lost to the world.

Apparently, it hadn't been completely lost, because, by inspecting the traces left on their hard disks, several clever researchers got interesting ideas and created another kind of cognitive entity…

…which they called Copycat, too.

---

Hogwarts…

The mismatched group landed in the Headmaster's office, most of its constituents looking at Harry in awe.

"Apparation in Hogwarts?" Slughorn whispered after a few seconds.

Harry went to answer but the fireplace flared green and Minerva McGonagall's head showed. "Albus? Is that you? The device for intrusion sounded, and-"

"It was only us." Dumbledore replied amiably.

The Deputy Headmistress noticed the identity of the people accompanying her boss. "Horace? It's really… nice, to see you." She turned to the Headmaster. "I gather that your trip went well."

"Indeed, Minerva. How is everything here?"

"Filius is back from St Mungo. He uses a cane but is his usual cheery self otherwise. Mr Ollivander is settled with his tools already. Only Poppy went missing, but I see that everything is fine, now."

"Yes, Minnie." Pomfrey answered. "I'm alright, and these gentlemen are, too."

"I am, too!" Tracey piped in, earning chuckles from everyone.

"Perhaps you can come through, Minerva. It might be more comfortable if you want to hear the whole story."

"Yes, but… it's just that Mr Ollivander is here, and…"

"Bring him through as well, Minerva." Dumbledore replied. "After all, the more the merrier."

When the stern woman's head had disappeared after nodding, the Headmaster turned to the two teenagers. "You had something to tell him, I think."

They caught the underlying meaning and nodded as one, just as the Transfiguration professor and the wandmaker stumbled through the fireplace.

"Make yourself comfortable." Dumbledore said, conjuring couches for everyone before calling for a house-elf. He told the diminutive creature to lead a subdued Mr Crabbe to the guest quarters, where he was to stay until stated otherwise, and to bring back some tea. He then went behind his desk to sit on his favourite chair – his own. The huge pile of mail on his desk earned a disgruntled look and a sigh, but the old man left it for the moment and launched into a quick retelling of the last two weeks. After an hour, one explanation leading to another, Ollivander began to stare at Harry with a disturbed expression.

"Can I ask a question?" he asked.

"You just did, but go ahead." Dumbledore replied.

"You came to Hogwarts three times." the wandmaker stated, turning towards Harry. "Under which identity? And what about your wand?"

'Here we go.' Harry thought, before answering both questions at once. "A different one each time, of course."

"Of course?!?" the man exclaimed. "A wand is something private, young man, and it requires time to fully adapt to your potential."

A pause.

"I think that, rather than telling you to check your ideas about wand-making against the new schools," Harry started, noticing that the man bristled at the thought, "a demonstration might be in order."

"A… demonstration?" Ollivander asked.

"Err… Harry?" Dumbledore intervened. "I happen to like my office the way it is."

"Don't fear, Headmaster." Tracey butted in, turning to her boyfriend. "If he does the same thing that he did with us, we are safe…" A pause. "More or less."

Harry showed his wands to the famous wandmaker, who was quite impressed at the array. He proceeded to explain that, yes, the wand was adapting to its user, but just as much as the user adapted to the wand. It was the best explanation he had to the fact that he had such success with Marig Klein's spell: he was adaptable, much more so than the average wizard.

After this, he proceeded to test a simple Lumos spell with different wands, ending, to the surprise of the venerable wandmaker, with his staff. This time, he chose to direct the Light spell to the outside of the Headmaster's office, and they all saw the castle grounds and a good part of the Forbidden Forest and Hogsmeade illuminated as though it was noon.

To answer the man's first question, Harry also gave him his alternate identities as well, and the wandmaker gasped, remembering the incident with Riddle and the brother wands.

And Tracey nailed the coffin shut by showing that she could cast spells through her wakizashis.

It was a quite shaken Ollivander who accepted to meet his Swiss counterpart the next day, before heading out of the office. It was still night time, and everyone went to follow the old wandmaker. Once in the corridor, and despite being as tired as the others, one man summoned his courage and grabbed Harry by the shoulder.

"Can we…" Mr Thomas started, but his voice failed.

Harry had perceived the intent, though, and he nodded. "Of course, Mr Thomas. We can talk about Dean. I think that, as his Head of House, Minerva should be included. After all, neither Tracey nor I are Gryffindor."

The man's shoulder slumped. "I wanted to write, you know. To stay in touch. When the Death Eaters attacked, all those years ago, I barely escaped with my life, and I decided to spare my son this fate. I fled. Now, I want to learn about him a bit, to see if he'd like me to enter his life again."

"If you want to know, Dean's housemate Ron told me about him searching about you. I think he would be pleased to see you. And surprised. He thinks that you're dead, you know."

"Perhaps you can help me meet him? Introduce us? I'm sorry to ask this on top of everything, especially as you saved me already, but… you being his age and all…"

"I understand, Mr Thomas. What about tomorrow afternoon? I will already spend the morning in Switzerland."

"I heard. It would be fantastic."

Harry nodded, and the three of them – Tracey was there too – headed towards the guest quarters.

---

Anether Road, the next day…

Harry and Tracey left the wand shop with a smile on their lips. Apparently, Ollivander had been surprised to find the wand relics among the comparatively small supply of wand, and even more so when the woman demonstrated the spell. Mrs Klein was suitably impressed by the Master Wandsmith's experience. After a quick introduction, the two teenagers had felt like a fifth wheel and had escaped. Harry had then been attacked by an exhausted and frustrated owl just as they prepared themselves to Apparate to Genevieve's place.

When they arrived, Harry braked just before leaving the gaseous reality, his face reddening at the sight before them. Apparently, Josh and Alison were there, and were "going at it" like rabbits. The teenagers moved to outside the door, and, sharing a mischievous smile, they banged on said door.

"Open! Police! We know you're here!" Harry shouted in a deep voice, after applying a Silencing spell on the side of the corridor: no need to call the neighbours in.

The mad scramble inside made the two teenagers giggle insanely, but they really erupted in laughter when Josh opened the door, unsuccessfully trying to get in one of Alison's shirts.

After magically repairing the torn shirt and finishing clothing at a more sedate pace, the two Americans welcomed the youngsters inside, and the four of them caught up. They had so much to say that it extended way into lunchtime, and they continued over a quickly whipped up meal of frozen food.

They learnt that Genevieve wasn't there: she was taking a vacation with Rupert, her doctor of a boyfriend. Powell was absent as well, a coded note telling Harry that he was on his way to Eastern Europe to investigate the possible leaks on the Secrecy.

It was soon time to part, and Harry brought Tracey to Hogwarts where Mr Thomas was waiting with Minerva McGonagall. Harry started to apologise for their lateness, but the two adults told him that they had taken advantage of the time to discuss about Dean's achievements.

The four of them exchanged ideas about how Harry should appear and finally settled on him showing up as… Harry Potter. The second best choice would have been the Defence teacher's guise, but, since Harry was making his "come-back" this year, he thought that Dean's house was as good a place to start as any. On top of that, it would explain Tracey's presence better.

"Well… if you have the address, Minerva?" Harry asked, and the woman gave it to him, along with focused thoughts about how to head there – she had been there once, after all: if only to deliver Hogwarts' acceptance letter and explain magic to Dean's mother and stepfather.

The four of them linked hands and were promptly whisked away.

It was quite a sum of surprises for Dean. First, his Head of House visiting and requiring a private talk with him. Once in the boy's bedroom, McGonagall told him that Harry Potter was going to attend Hogwarts next year.

He didn't see why she was telling him this, but the woman's speech had a goal.

She told him a shortened version of the Headmaster's tribulations in America, finishing by telling the black boy that they had found someone on their quest. Someone that had been thought of as dead for the past thirteen years: his father.

Dean was utterly shocked at the revelation, but, when the man Apparated in, a glance was enough to confirm his identity and he jumped to hug him. The three other visitors left and, after requiring a private time with the boy's mother, they repeated the story so that she wouldn't be kept in the dark. For her not to head to Dean's room and slap the boy's father, they had to explain that his flight had been caused by his want for her and Dean to stay safe from the vengeful Death Eaters.

When she finally accepted the fact that the man wasn't dead, she still had her own feelings to sort through. After all, how could she tell the rest of her family about her former lover?

After quite some time, Dean and his father had finished catching up for the time being, and Harry entered the boy's room with Tracey to tell Mr Thomas to Apparate to the bedroom of Dean's mother for some face-to-face explanations.

Eventually, Dean and his mother were sufficiently settled with the news to be ready to break it to the rest of their family. His stepfather was quite miffed at seeing a potential rival entering the lounge with his own wife at his side, but relented when the two assured him that they were nothing more than friends, now.

And the wizards repeated the explanations about Mr Thomas' reappearance.

This took some more time and extended into the evening, and the four visitors were invited over dinner.

And, right as the dessert was brought on the dining room's table, the back door exploded inwards.

---

Earlier…

"Point me, Dean Thomas." the young man said to his wand, and the device turned on his palm until facing west. He looked to the direction, squinting his eyes to find points of reference, before Apparating there, his two minders following.

They had spent some time jumping around the country that way. The three of them were purebloods and hadn't heard about Muggle phone directories – not that it would have helped, because Dean Thomas wasn't registered – or accurate maps and triangulation. The young man was a new recruit on his way to his initiation mission, and the other were older Death Eaters, only there to follow and ensure that the rookie was doing his job.

Finally, they were in front of a house where they were sure the boy was. Since it was late already, it was easy for them to hide in a shadowy alley to slip their infamous garb on. They then Apparated to the back garden and the young man stepped forward, his wand held in front of him.

"Reducto!"

The kitchen door exploded and he stepped in. Repeating his locator spell, he saw that his target was through the door on his right and headed there fearlessly. After all, a mere student from Hogwarts was no match for a junior Death Eater with experience in Auror training, wasn't he? He conveniently forgot that he had been kicked out of the Aurors for irrelevant conduct.

Before he even lifted his foot to head there, though, a curse beam struck him and he flew through the door and in the garden behind, landing in a heap at the feet of his minders.

'Uh oh.' they thought, before drawing their wands and casting incendiary and explosion spells through the destroyed door. They had the surprise of seeing their spells hit something beyond but without any effect. That something moved and headed out, and they noticed a teenage boy heading their way, aiming a sword at them. Only one of them had the presence of mind to slam his mouth shut in a particular fashion before Stunning spells headed their way.

Harry, because it was him, Apparated out to follow the departed Death Eater through the gaseous reality. Portkeys being faster than regular Apparation, they disturbed the gaseous reality sufficiently for their track to stay for a few seconds. Harry hurried in the man's wake, but he quickly found himself in front of the usual wards around a particular place in Little Hangleton. Scowling at it, he returned to Dean's place.

Meanwhile, Tracey and Mr Thomas were making sure to remove the Death Eater's robes, masks, and anything magical they might have on them, before binding them tightly. At the same time, Under Dean's family surprised gaze, McGonagall liberally applied her considerable skill in Transfiguration to repair the damaged kitchen.

Harry returned and immediately noticed the activity around him. He went to the older Death Eater here and, after stopping Tracey from finishing her job, he quickly built a vault in the man's mind with the same knowledge and instruction he had given Crabbe. The main difference with Crabbe was that Voldemort wouldn't be suspicious if this particular Death Eater returned to the Dark Lord's hideout.

Explaining his reasoning, he returned the man's possessions to his pockets and woke him. Sure enough, the man noticed the now "unfair" odds and activated his return portkey. Harry then examined the prospective Death Eater's mind and, noticing that it was clear of actual crimes, he just decided to insert a Guilt core there. Besides, he wasn't even Marked yet – that had been scheduled that very night.

He then cancelled the rope spell and awakened the man before giving him his wand back. The man fell to his knees in tears when he noticed the assembled people and asked for Dean's forgiveness. Quite shocked by the unfolding events, the boy agreed and the young man thanked him profusely before Disapparating to head a Light-aligned life outside of this story.

"What… what just happened?" Dean's mother asked, quite shocked by the events.

Her husband was less kind, though. "Is this the sort of things we have to endure when we house a wizard? Terrorist attacks?"

"Don't worry." Harry said, sending soothing waves to their minds. "We will spell your property so that they won't come again."

"Fidelius, again?" Tracey enquired.

Harry nodded. "Kind of. I think that, given the similarity between the Fidelius and the Notice-me-not Charms, we can apply the reasoning of one onto the other."

"…meaning?"

"I think I can target the Fidelius to wizards. Especially Death Eaters." A thoughtful pause later, he nodded decidedly. "I can."

McGonagall stopped him before he started. "I think that we ought to ask the inhabitants' permission before doing any long-lasting magic on their property. Besides, you might need assistance with it… and Filius would be delighted."

"Alright." Harry paused, before looking at Dean's family. "I'm sorry about all this. I think that these dark wizards were on a mission to get to Dean as a vengeance on Mr Thomas. And, despite my best efforts to reduce their numbers, it is largely possible that they will come back. Do you want us to use magic to protect your property against them?"

"What kind of magic?" the Muggle man asked.

"It is a hiding magic. They simply won't find it again."

Dean's mother and stepfather looked at each other for long seconds before nodding. "Alright."

"Alright." Harry repeated. "Then, I'll just go fetch-"

Filius Flitwick Apparated with a pop and Harry threw a querying glance at McGonagall, who held her communication notebook up smugly.

"-our Charms expert." he finished.

"Speaking about me?" Flitwick asked with a smile of his own.

"Our prodigy here thinks he can make a Fidelius customized in the same way a Notice-me-not is." McGonagall said good-naturedly. "I thought you'd be interested to watch."

Despite not having been a good Occlumens in the years before, Flitwick had spent a few months being instructed by Dumbledore, and he had built quite a good defence. After the train wreck where he had been wounded, the old man had given him a rundown of Harry's story. It didn't surprise him, then, that the stern woman was only suggesting him to watch. It surprised the assembled family, however, although Dean had remarked something. Something that Harry was using to do magic, which he shared with a particular Defence instructor. His whirling thoughts caught Harry's attention and he quickly conversed mentally with Tracey before going to the boy.

Sensing that it was the quickest and most efficient way to share his knowledge securely, and knowing the other Gryffindor boys would be glad not to have to hide from their dorm mate to speak about Harry's secrets anymore, he created another of his mental vaults. When it was done, the boy's eyes had glazed over but they quickly returned to their usual mobility and the boy approached him.

"Thanks." he said, before frowning. "Hey! I'm the last one?" he asked, referring to the fact that he was the last of his dorm to be "in the know".

"Sorry, Dean. Your case just didn't pop up until now."

"Thanks anyway. And go on with the charm. I'm sure that, with your experience, you aren't going to botch it." A pause. "Are you the reason why I briefly thought Seamus had a twin, at the Quidditch tournament?"

Harry blushed under McGonagall's suddenly inquisitive gaze. "Might be."

"Great! I mean… That's interesting." Dean stated, before concluding. "You should have a go at real sports, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Football!" the black boy exclaimed, grinning, before turning to his stepfather. "Is the terrain free, tomorrow?"

The man hadn't followed everything, but the change of conversation was in his direction. After all, as a professional coach for the local team, he had the responsibility of the field. "Not this week, son." he said, before noticing the endearing term. An approving glance from Mr Thomas made him continue, though. "But, next week, the team is on vacation, the players going in places all over the world. I'd be, too, if I was earning as much as them."

"Let's do it that way, then." Harry said. "I'll bring our friends to play, Sunday next week, and, when the dark wizards are definitely vanquished, I'll invite everyone and their families on a cruise around the world."

That raised a whoop of joy from Dean and approving glances from everyone else.

It was McGonagall who killed the mood – somewhat. "In the meantime, young man, you have a ward to cast."

"Ah yes. Forgive me, fair lady." Harry replied with an amused gleam in his eyes, before Disapparating.

The woman huffed, and Tracey could hear something about sweet talkers, Dumbledore, and twinkling eyes.

A minute later, they could all feel the ripple effect coming from the centre of the house, and it shimmered out. Harry Apparated in a second later, and, ignoring the gasps at the house's disappearance, he pointed his wand at Dean and finished the incantation.

Once the Secret Keeper was designated and the conditions enumerated, the house reappeared and the Muggles breathed in relief.

"Let's just hope that no neighbour was looking this way or the Secrecy is toast." Tracey deadpanned.

"Tell that to the Death Eaters." Harry replied in the same tone. "They aren't that inconspicuous, after all. And not the sharpest bulbs in the box, either." He paused, frowning. "Or something like that."

They all laughed.

---

A second later…

They all cried in pain.

"Crucio!" the Dark Lord repeated, his anger on his unsuccessful followers fuelling the spell better than a power outlet.

Nowadays, Voldemort was less concerned with his troops' well-being, for two main reasons. He had required that random Muggles be abducted and parked in the cells downstairs, so that he could pass his nerves on some living beings when he wanted to. However, when the Death Eaters failed at whatever task he assigned them, his punishments on them went up at the same time. Additionally, he had also successfully reopened discussions with several werewolf clans and a few vampire covens. He was far from obtaining their unconditional support yet, but he knew that the Muggles stashed downstairs would soon help him in that regard.

Voldemort stopped thinking about prospective allies, and his thoughts returned to the punishment at hand.

The two Death Eaters had returned from their little foray with bad news, and, after inspecting their memories, Voldemort knew that there was a new player in the field – he just didn't know that it was a veteran player, though.

Thus, his anger at losing a prospective follower added to his disappointment, and the two dark wizards at his feet writhed in response.

However, this was nothing compared to the beating Avery would receive a couple of days later, when reporting about the lack of mass destruction in Montana.

Voldemort had had contacts with the Russian secret services at some point before the Egyptian debacle, and he knew, from a particular discussion with a team of scientists, that the conversion from mass to energy was the highest energy output one could get. With the spell he had devised, he didn't reach 100 percent of this, but the victim's magic supplied the missing part, on top of furnishing the initial spark and a temporary containment device.

Theoretically, when the 250 pounds of Crabbe Sr. had supposedly been transformed into energy, the explosion should have yielded the equivalent of almost 50 times the largest nuclear weapon ever tested: the Tsar Bomba.

Needless to say, the whole reservation would have been levelled to the ground.

To be continued in next chapter: Hotel California...

Ever since I started this,
I wanted Sioux to appear.
Horcruxes I didn't miss.
I couldn't: the end is near.