Disclaimer: Standard statement of non-ownership, praise and chocolate frogs to JKR

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Darkness Falls

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As the days passed, it was a common sight to see the ghost of Sirius flirting outrageously with the Hufflepuff ghost, who would tease him and flirt back almost as outrageously. More than once, one of the Professors would ask them to tone it down as their double entendres grew more and more blatant, highly distracting any students they passed.

Harry and his friends walked past the flirting pair, earning a wink from his godfather and a promise to talk to them later. "So Moldy Shorts has lost both Lucius and Wormtail," mused Ron. "I bet he's plenty upset."

Nodding, Harry replied, "I bet. And I'm sure glad I have the familiar bond, or I'd prolly be in the Hospital Wing from the pain."

Hermione, however, was chewing on a lock of her wild, bushy hair. "He's been too quiet, otherwise, though."

"Why d'ya say that, 'Mione?" asked Ron.

"Because I've read all about the last War, and it was nothing like this at all," she huffed. "He'd have six or seven plans all working at once, and even if two or three got foiled, he'd still have another three or four that succeeded."

"Maybe he's spread too thin?" asked Ginny. "You know, he DID lose most of his inner circle at the attack on Hogwarts, not to mention the things that happened the past few days."

"Maybe," the brilliant witch replied unconvincingly. "Or maybe he's doing something we'll have no warning about."

"Like what?" asked Harry. He sent a mental note to Hedwig to be on the lookout whenever she could, just in case, because what his friend just said seemed to click somewhere inside him.

"I don't know. An assassination attempt, or maybe something horrid like he did last Christmas."

Remembering the first and most horrific of all his visions, Harry shuddered. "Oh, I'm sorry, Harry," apologized Hermione. "But... but we have to be prepared if he is."

He sighed. "I know, Hermione. I just don't like thinking about those kids."

Ginny leaned into him. "Sorry to break this up, but that's the Charms corridor," she grumped. "I'll see you after class!" she called, breaking away to head to her classroom.

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"So this is the famous Harry Potter," growled Mad-Eye Moody, leaning over ever so slightly to look the young man eye and magical eye to eye. "Doesn't look like much. A little rangy, but we all know that ain't got nothing to do with power."

Harry's eyes hardened slightly. The last time he had met this man, he was actually an imposter - the Death Eater Barty Crouch Jr in disguise. "Of course not, Mr. Moody. After all, if the appearance of the body belied the power of a wizard, one would assume you have little power left at all," he snarled, glancing down at the wooden leg and then pointedly looking at the twirling magical eye and the chunk mising from his nose.

"Potter!" admonished Headmistress McGonagall.

Moody suddenly laughed, a hard and grating sound. "Now that's spirit," he said. "Let him be, Minerva, good to see he's got a strong will. Now, I've been told some things about you, Potter, I simply cannot believe, and Lupin told me you'd be willing to prove them to me."

"And what exactly would that be?" asked the Boy Who Lived. "First, Second, Third, Fourth, or Fifth years?"

"All of it," declared the retired auror. "Well, except fifth year. There's photos and eyewitness accounts that you fought side by side with Albus Dumbledore and held your own, Not many wizards and witches alive can say that, you know."

Harry nodded slowly, knowing that the three of them in the Headmistress's office could all say the same thing. "Then... then I guess you'll want to see the memories, huh?"

Moody nodded. "Know how to use one, do you?"

"Grampa Albus showed me how during our... private lessons last year." Thinking of those lessons, Harry almost cursed himself. He needed to find those horcruxes soon. Voldemort was laying low for now, but who knew how long that would last.

"Alright boy, get to it," grumped Moody.

Stepping up to the stone basin, Harry placed his wand to his temple, and then drew out specific memories, one by one. Encountering the possessed Quirrell in the Forbidden Forest, feasting on Unicorn blood. The entire quest for the Philosopher's Stone, from the moment they put Fluffy to sleep until he passed out. Going after Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets. Facing off Wormtail, the time turner, and his magnificent Patronus. All three tasks of the Tri-Wizard tournament, including the Battle of Little Hangleton. The nightmare from Last Christmas - all of the green eyed children being slaughtered for a "Christmas Gift" from Voldemort to Harry. And finally the Battle of Hogwarts, from when they landed on the tower until the smoke had cleared. "There. That's the most significant ones, I think," he grumbled back.

Moody stepped forward, and placed his hand into the pensieve. His face went slack, and the magical eye stopped spinning in its place. His blinking slowed down, and he seemed to go into a trance.

Harry leaned over to the Headmistress. "Is that what it looks like when someone enters a memory?" he asked.

"Yes, Harry," she said, then put one arm over his shoulders, idly noting he was taller than she was now.

Harry noticed three things at this point. The first was that she was referring to him by his first name, something she had almost never done before. Second, she was attempting to give him some sort of support, knowing how hard those memories were on him. And third, that he was grateful for it. Somehow, the old transfiguration teacher had managed to work her way into his heart, like a strict maiden aunt that would always be there for him.

They waited for nearly two hours, before Moody came back to himself. He gasped aloud, and fell back onto one of the tall wingback chairs placed neatly around McGonagall's desk. "Merlin's ghost," he wheezed, then reached into his coat pocket for his flask. Harry could smell the overpowering odor of double-strength firewhisky wafting from the open top, but the aged auror simply chugged it back like water.

"There, now," snarked Harry. "Believe it?"

"Harry," warned McGonagall.

"Sorry, Aunt Minerva," he grinned at her.

As the Headmistress tried to recover from being flustered by Harry's appelation for her, Moody looked up at the young man. "Twelve years old, and you killed a basilisk! And that patronus! By Merlin, if I hadn't seen those memories, I'd have denied it 'till the day I died!" His eyes were wide, and the magical eye had stopped spinning in its socket, and was looking directly at Harry.

This made him slightly uncomfortable. "There's... there's one more memory you both should see," he admitted. First, he used his wand to return the memories to his mind, wincing as the emotions associated with them suddenly grew stronger and more despairing. Steeling himself, he remembered the summer after his first year, when Dumbledore had revealed the Prophesy to him, then placed that in the basin and swirled it around a bit.

"What... what is it, Harry?" asked McGonagall.

"This is why everything seems to happen to me," he said. "The other core members of the OGL know, but I don't think you do."

He tapped the silvery liquid with his wand, then willed it to play back. The ghostly image of himself facing Professor Dumbledore, a pensive between them, rose up above the real pensieve.

"Brace yourself, Harry, what I am to show you is something no one else, not even your Aunt and your many Uncles, must know." The ghostly Dumbledore touched his wand to his forehead, and dragged a tenebrous silver strand to the penseive. A scene appeared, floating above, of a roughly appointed room. The headmaster was there in the memory within the memory, as was a woman who might have been attractive, except for her horrendously overcolorful outfit, caked on makeup, and buglike eyes bulging behind huge glasses.

Suddenly, the woman in the image stiffened, and a voice that no human throuat could utter began speaking with her mouth. "THE ONE WITH THE power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies"

As the images faded, leaving Harry, McGonagall, and Moddy alone in the office, he became quite aware of the deafening silence that filled the room. He wished Fawkes was there at the very least, as he saw the gazes of the two adults, because phoenix song always made him feel better.

"Well, now that's a bit of a shock," admitted Moody. "So THAT'S why Albus had us guarding the prohpesy room at the Department of Mysteries."

Harry grinned, trying to break the ice. "Yeah, until Tonks' clumsiness broke it."

"At... at least you didn't have to bear this knowledge alone," admitted McGonagall after a bit of a pause.

Moody seemed to snap to attention, then began pacing around Harry. "Ye've shown good reflexes," he admitted,"but not much tactical sense. You rely too heavily on your friend Ron Weasley for that. And too much on Hermione Granger for research."

"One of the things Grampa Albus said to me, right after he showed me that, was that I may be the one to strike the killing blow, but I don't neccessarily need to be alone when it happens," retorted Harry. "I'm like the tip of a spear. Ron and Hermione and Ginny, and all the rest of the OGL, are the haft and blade. I don't NEED to do it all myself. I just need to be a better fighter, and I need to..."

"Need to what?" barked Moody.

"I'm sorry, sir, but... but that's a Need To Know bit of information," he admitted, then glanced at the sleeping portrait of Dumbldore.

"He hasn't woken yet," said McGonagall, noting his gaze. "It often takes as much as two years for a Headmaster's Portrait to awaken."

Moody glared. "Then starting next term, you're getting an extra class. You and all the so-called OGL, in school or not."

"What sort of class?"

"Auror level combat training," rumbled the man. "And every little dirty trick I know just this side of the Dark Arts."

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The demonic form paced around the room, thirty pair of eyes focused entirely on it. Red, slitted eyes balefully regarded every single one of them, and the hand that gripped its want twitched like a dying tarantula. "This issss... not pleasing to hear."

A lone man, wrapped in black robes and wearing a skull-like half mask shook on his knees. "M-my Lord, I may only offer my life for my failure. I only beg that you..." the man paused in thought, then continued. "Th-that you allow me one chance to kill a mudblood before you destroy me... and that you permit me to continue to serve you after death, as Wormtail did."

With an almost inhuman speed, the white-skinned thing suddenly crouched before the man, grasping his quivering jaw in bony fingers. "You beg, do you... but not for your life? How... fascinating. Perhaps you think that if I killed you, you would be free of any punishment I could inflict, eh?"

"N-no, Master! I only wish to serve, and I deserve whatever punishment you choose to inflict!" chattered the Death Eater, taking great care not to remove his jaw from his master's grasp.

The Dark Lord gripped ever so tighter, tight enough that those nearby could hear the creaking sound of the man's jaw beginning to crack. "You... disgust me," he spat, tossing the man nearly thirty feet across the floor, sliding with a sickening thump into the wall. "Alcipeter! Take this filth to the second room on the third floor. I shall deal with him later."

As the so named Death Eater rushed to carry out his master's will, the Dark Lord continued, speaking to the rest. "Wormtail's spirit has been destroyed. That blood traitor, Sirius Black, denied Lucius Malfoy the opportunity to serve me after death by sending him through the veil. Tell me, would I be better served by you incompetant lot of wizards and witches? Or should I simply slay you all and convert you to inferi, that I may at least know you will be able to carry out the simplest of instructions?"

Silence met his supposedly hypothetical question. "Cowards, the lot of you!" roared Voldemort, the volume sending more than one of those gathered to their knees, grasping at their ears. "I have lost control of Slytherin House, and most of your children. Half of my Inner Circle remains in Azkaban, while the rest seem incapable of even the simplest tasks. Dumbledore is dead! Potter is just a child! I should be able to take this nation at my leisure, but I am betrayed by your incompetance!"

As Voldemort spoke, the temperature of the room began to chill. Upon the conclusion of his rant, several Death Eaters close to the door began to tremble, and more than one actually slumped to the floor, murmuring jibberish. The Dark Lord looked up as they did so, and his mouth straightened to a long, thin line that would have passed for an evil smile on a more human face. "Ahh, it appears my guest has arrived. Thomlinson! Open the door for my new ally!"

One of the Death Eaters stood, ad braved the chill long enough to open the door, then scurried as fast as he could back to his spot. Wafting in, cloak blowing in an unseen breeze, a form from the nightmares of a thousand men made itself known. It superficially resembled the Death Eaters, but its black robes and cloak were ragged and stained with an unknown foulness, while its hood completely covered whatever it may have had for a face. Hands comprised of bone, tendons, and rotted flesh emerged from its sleeve, and frost formed on the ground beneath it wherever it went.

"Welcome, welcome. Please, join me here at the head of the room," invited Voldemort, seemingly immune to the physical and spiritual chill emanated by this abomination. "We have much to discuss, you and I."

The monstrous thing floated forwards, not caring about the forms that toppled over in terror and memory as it passed, before stopping directly in front of the thing that had once been Tom Riddle. It bowed once, at the waist, then gestured back at the humans who remained.

"Oh, most certainly, my friend. All of you!" he barked, sneering at the Death Eaters. "Begone! Take your... friends.. if you must. But any who remain in a minutes time will be gifts to the Master Dementor!"

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"Gah, of all the time for Binns to fully wake up and remember what it is he was supposed to be teaching," griped Ron as he flipped pae after page in his History of magic textbook, trying to find anything he could about the Chinese Alchemist Sun Ssu-Miao, and the contributions his book "Tan chin yao chieh" had on modern useage of Mercury in potions and as a componant for rituals.

"Well, the loss of Sir Nicholas, Myrtle, the Fat Friar, and the leaving of the grey Lady was probably a bit of a shock to him," admonished Hermione. "Besides, now we can actually learn something in that class."

"Not to mention get House Points awarded to the correct house," smirked harry. "But why start all the way back with Chinese Alchemy? Weren't we supposed to cover that back in Third year?"

"Did someone say Chinese Alchemy?" came a voice behind the three Sixth years. They turned to see their new House ghost, Nicholas Flamel. "I happen to know more than a little about the subject," he added with a sly smile.

"Err, yeah, we did," admitted Ron, who then outlined their assignment.

"Hmm... You do know that was Fifth Year material when I was here, right? The curriculum seems to change every few decades or so. Still," continued the ghost as he metaphorically rolled up his sleeves, "let's see what I can contribute."

"Hey, no fair!" called out another voice. Turning, they saw the ghost of Sirius. "Nearly Headless Nick never heped us with OUR homework!" he joked.

"That's because, and no offense to the man, he was never the best of students," admitted Flamel. I taught him when he was here, and also learned how he came about his most unfortunate initial demise."

"Oh?" said Harry, eager to hear about something other than alchemy. "How'd it happen?"

"Well, word got out in some of the local Noble courts that Sir Nicholas was a practicing wizard. One young noblewoman approached him, wanting him to correct her crooked teeth. Well, he miscast the spell, and turned her teeth into those of a warthog's. Despite his constant claims he could fix the situation, the woman's husband immediately sent him to the chopping lock, and deliberately blunted the axe to be used. And the rest, of course, you know."

"Wow... Well, at least he was a good man," admitted Hermione, unwilling to say anything bad about the deceased dead.

"That he was. But those were different times, as well. And sad to say, if he had not been executed by the Lord Grieve, he would likely have ended up being imprisoned by the Wizard's Council, for breaking the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy." Flamel sighed. "Now, back to Alchemy. I assume you're researching Sun Ssu-Miao because of his various treatises on elixers made from mercury, sulfur, and arsenic?"

Before they could continue, the portrait hole burst open, and Parvati, Ginny, and Cho rushed in. "Have you heard?" asked Ginny in a breathless rush.

"What? What happened?" asked Harry as he bolted to his feet and snatched up his wand.

"The Dementors - they've attacked the Crouch Estate, and taken all the prisoners with them! The warden is the only survivor, and only because his Patronus was too strong for the Dementors to overcome!"

"Wonderful," groused Harry.

"Ayup," said Sirius. "Looks like your break time is over, oh Chosen One."

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End Of Chapter

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A/N: Sun Ssu-Miao is an actual Chinese Alchemist in history, though the veracity of his claims in 'Tan Chin Yao Chieh' is of course dubious. And coming up in the next few chapters? Why, the actual war will begin, of course!