Thanks to AutumnSouls for beta-ing once more.

So you have decided. As I have told you before, there is absolutely no going back. I hope you understood the gravity of your decision. In that case, let us get into it.

The students at Hogwarts did, on occasion, mock me for being a 'Muggle-born'; these pure-bloods will never understand that my line of sorceresses are far more ancient than theirs, and that their 'magic' is nothing more than a collection of parlor tricks compared to what I can and, eventually, you will do. But firstly, you must understand precisely where our power derives from.

The universe is not our own. You have learned that there are magical settlements scattered around the world, remaining unnoticed for centuries, despite the advancements of technology. Following that thought, it should not be so difficult for you to believe that there are entire dimensions, entire worlds out there that have remained unseen, inhabited by beings of great and terrible power. What are commonly dismissed as fairy-tales and myths were once alive on our Earth. And they are still alive beyond it.

Let us get on with our first lesson; the Thirteen Planes.

We humans reside primarily on the Twelfth Plane. The 'witches' and 'wizards', as we know them, overlap between the Twelfth and Eleventh - Muggles with only the keenest eyes are able to detect doings in the Eleventh Plane, which is why magic, and magical creatures, have remained largely undetected. Think of each Plane being like a layer, veils of fiction to be peeled back until we reach the 'core' of the universe, where we find the pure, unadulterated truths of the cosmos.

As for the 'core', we practitioners have recently adopted a term for it from astrophysics - the Big Bang. This place is so chaotic that all rules are broken; there are no laws, not even the abstract ones that govern the First Plane.

The mana generated in the Big Bang leaks into the lower planes. Naturally, the First Plane has the most of it, while the Thirteenth Plane has the least of it. In all Planes, mana is consumed by and is used as life-force for living things, not entirely unlike plants using sunlight to generate food. For example, witches and wizards, who tap into a greater well of mana, have greater longevity than Muggles do.

Likewise, the higher the Plane, the more long-lived and powerful its denizens. The greatest of beings that we have managed to detect, from the Third and Second Planes, are believed to have existed long before prokaryotic life ever evolved on Earth.

Our ancient art revolves around exploring the depths of the higher Planes. While ordinary, unambitious witches and wizards artificially restrict themselves to the Eleventh Plane, we - that is, you, me, and our ancestors - have long spent our days researching how to look deeper into the higher Planes. Why? It is due to, I suppose, the same curiosity that led mankind from their caves and campfires, to build great ships in search of new land, into space in a vain attempt to sate our ever-present curiosity. We practitioners seek to get closer to the eternal truth, beyond every Plane of Reality. Naturally, we are a long, long way from ever getting there, especially considering how mortal our species is. But that does not mean we shouldn't try.

I believe I am getting slightly off-track. Allow me to tell you about Ptolemaeus and his work regarding the Thirteen Planes…

While he didn't outwardly show it, Albus Dumbledore was reaching the end of his patience.

"I am far more concerned about Iris than I am of your legally dubious activities," Albus said firmly, his hands clutching the edges of the table. "So, tell me, how long were you gone?"

"I, uh, between about half past five and quarter to," Mundungus grunted. "Wasn't gone long, Albus, honest."

"Look at me," Albus said, and Mundungus flinched as they made eye contact; Albus was not in the mood to be particularly forgiving as he pushed into Mundungus' mind, sifting through the man's memories at speeds only possible without the hindrance of a physical body. Mundungus grunted a heartbeat later, clutching his head and looking away; in that moment Albus had the answer he needed.

Two hours. Two hours between half past four and half past six. Albus stood straight, utilizing his height to glower down at the petty crook, well aware that he wasn't particularly approachable at the moment and not really caring. He cast a glance around at the room - Molly Weasley, whose initial rage at Mundungus' failure had been replaced with fear, fear of Albus himself; he briefly watched her shadow reach up and place its hands over her face, as if to hide her eyes; an illusory product of Albus' higher sight, a dream-sight, a glimpse into higher Planes. Arthur Weasley had a tight grip on his wife's shoulder, his mouth set to a thin line; from the corner of his eyes, Albus saw a cancer-like growth slithering underneath Arthur's clothing, constantly forming and rupturing, an image that Albus had learned to associate with disgust.

Albus turned around on his heel and marched towards the door of Grimmauld Place.

"Albus!"

Albus did not look back as he threw the door open; when he did not hear it slam shut, instead hearing a meaty sound that suggested someone was holding it, he briefly turned around and stared at the man.

"Sirius, you are a fugitive," Albus said. "You leave your house and you will be arrested on sight. Likely Kissed as soon as you are found."

"I - bloody hell, Albus, I understand!" Sirius said. Albus did not flinch, internally applauding the man for his feelings for Iris but nonetheless continuing to wear his stern expression. "But I can't just sit around and do nothing when my goddaughter could be in danger! I - I can't lose her. If she's really in danger, I'll gladly sacrifice myself for her."

"What if I told you," Albus said flatly, "that you, an inexperienced Auror trainee, who has spent the last twelve years of his life in Azkaban and accordingly been malnourished both physically and mentally, would only be a hindrance to my work?"

Sirius flinched, and Albus felt some guilt about saying so. Still, it was the truth, and it had to be said; otherwise Sirius would simply sneak out on his own, without even having the first clue as to how to find Iris, and get himself arrested and Kissed.

"So I'm useless," Sirius said bitterly. "All I'm worth is the house I'm staying in. Is that why you've never let me go on missions with the other Order members?"

"Partly, yes," Albus sighed, softening his tone. "But mostly, I worry for you. I worry you will get caught again and I must knowingly subject you to that… torture, that the Ministry of Magic calls justice."

Sirius bristled. "I would go through another twelve years of that if it meant Iris was safe."

"You're not going to back down, are you?" Albus said, raising an eyebrow.

Sirius sputtered, the wind taken from his sails at the sudden shift in tone. "I - yeah. I suppose not."

"Very well. Then you will come with me, and you will obey every single order I give you. Is that understood?"

"Of course, Albus."

"Even if you were to see Iris being tortured by Voldemort and I told you not to try and rescue her immediately?"

Sirius bristled again, but Albus raised his eyebrows in an expectant, reproving manner. The former sighed, resignation rapidly cooling the red coals of his rage. "Fine," he muttered. "You wouldn't even let me help otherwise..."

"No," Albus agreed. "Let us go. Side-along with me."

Sirius grasped Albus' offered arm. "Where to?"

And then they were in Little Whinging, Surrey.

"Iris' neighborhood," Albus said. "I believe the area is familiar to you?"

"Oh. Heh." Sirius grinned sheepishly. "You knew about that?"

Albus approached Privet Drive, Sirius following him. Along the suburbian street, in all its glory, was the perfectly ordinary, bland house of 4 Privet Drive, and the two men went to the front door. Albus paused before knocking, and turned to Sirius.

"They may recognize you. Your face was aired on Muggle television a few years back, after all. It might be best to…" Albus trailed off, as the man morphed into a shaggy black dog. "Try not to play childish pranks on the Dursleys. We have more important things to think about."

The dog gave a soft bark.

Albus knocked on the door. No response came, until a grumbling man, likely Vernon Dursley, came to the door. "Who is it?" he called.

"It is Albus Dumbledore," Albus said neutrally. "Do open the door. We have something to discuss."

"Never heard of you," Vernon growled. "Now get!"

Albus drew the Elder Wand from his sleeve, and pointed it at the lock. The lock clicked, and Albus pushed it open, forcing Vernon Dursley back with a strength that belied his age. Albus stepped inside, examining the living and dining room. At the dining table, there was food laid out for three, but only Petunia's and Vernon's food had been touched, which, if the Order's impression of Dudley Dursley was correct, was an impossibility. Sirius sniffed the carpet as he trotted inside.

"Oh! Who are our guests?" Petunia called.

"A Mister Dumbledore," Vernon called back. "You know such a person, dear?"

"I'm afraid I've not heard of him."

Albus stopped cold. The voice was lacking in the flat, snobbish tone that the infuriating woman so often used to him and others she wished she didn't know. It was genuinely lacking recognition. Albus pushed the man to the side and approached the dining room, where Petunia smiled up at him, a smile lacking in malice and entirely polite. "Hello. Did we invite you for dinner? I'm afraid Ver- V-" She cleared her throat. "The husband and I are getting rather forgetful recently, I apologize."

"There's nothing to apologize for, Mrs. Dursley," Albus said, as he scanned his eyes across the house for any traces of magic, specifically high-powered memory charms. "Tell me, have you seen anything strange recently?" Then he realized the futility of asking such a question.

Petunia hummed. "I don't remember anything unnatural. I won't be much help for you, I'm afraid, Mister…?"

"Albus Dumbledore," Albus said with a brittle smile. "I notice your son hasn't come down for supper. Do you know where he is?"

"Son?"

Albus felt his blood chill.

"Yes. Does the name Dudley Dursley mean anything to you?"

There was no trace of magic in the household, except a lingering sense of wrongness that he couldn't quite place, a sensation he couldn't tell even existed.

"I'm afraid not," Petunia shook her head.

"Yet you cooked for three, I see."

Petunia stopped, looked down at the table; two half-finished meals and one untouched, this portion monstrously large. A look of confusion crystallized on her face, and she stared at the table. Suddenly all her doubt cleared and she beamed up at Albus. "Then it surely must be for you! I must have invited houseguests and forgotten about it. Goodness, I apologize for my forgetfulness, Mister…?"

Albus ignored her. "What about the name, Iris Potter?"

Confusion flitted across her face again, and she was about to respond, until her face froze. Albus glanced back, following her line of sight to the shaggy black dog that was Sirius in disguise, hiding under the coffee table to avoid getting petted by Vernon's stubby, somewhat greasy fingers. Then she screamed, standing up fast enough that she knocked away her chair, and grabbed the steak knife she was using the cut the meat before charging at the bewildered dog.

Albus drew his wand, and a heartbeat later the woman had dropped gently onto the floor, unconscious, and he easily dodged the steak knife flying back his way, letting it impale the wall behind him.

Vernon turned to Albus with murder in his eyes, inhuman wrath from the bottom of his gut, and he roared; a bestial roar, the rage amplified through higher Planes, that froze Albus in place, unable to act in surprise, until Sirius bit down hard on the man's bloated ankle, sending him stumbling. Albus quickly snapped off another stunner and slowing charm, allowing the man to join his wife on the floor.

Sirius returned to human form, shaken. "What the hell? What - what happened to them?"

"I shall attempt legilimency," Albus said, and Sirius nodded his head rapidly. Albus forced Petunia's unseeing eyes open, and gently pushed himself into her mind -

And gasped in pain, pulling away. Sirius helped him back up, the faint, uncertain clouds of worry hovering around his shoulders. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"I - I do not know for certain," Albus said slowly. "But I may have an idea." He gestured to Petunia then. "Her mind - it is being eroded. A strange fog is slowly eating away at her humanity; some strange miasma. Are you aware of those blatantly false stories that children like to tell about the terrifying things that occur in the Department of Mysteries?"

"Yeah, you mean like the Inferi Experiment and so forth?"

"Yes, those stories. I recall one about a flesh-eating miasma. No truth to it, of course, being a story that older students tell the first years to terrify them on Halloween and the like. But if I must compare the effect of this… fog, on Petunia's mind…" Albus paused. "It rather eerily reminds me of that story."

"…Right." Sirius bit his lip. "Can we fix it?"

"The first thing being affected is her memory," Albus said. "She did not recognize my name, or my face, both of which she despises to the point I would have expected her to have branded it into memory. She did not remember her husband's name. She completely and utterly forgot she had a son that she always doted on, and a niece that she always hated. Next is her sanity. She reacted to you in a way that belied normality. Remember Vernon attempting to pet you? By all rights, he should hate dogs after being bitten by one of his sister's dogs. Both of them have acted wholly irrationally - in Petunia's case, I suspect she may even have hallucinated and seen you as something monstrous, rather than how you appear in reality."

"It's going to get worse, isn't it."

"Naturally. Her mind will continue to be eaten away until all memory of being human has vanished. She will no longer be capable of speech, understanding human body language, nothing beyond primal instincts such as hunger, thirst, and the fight-or-flight instinct. Soon enough, even that will disappear, forcing her to forget to feed herself, to clean herself, or forcing her to forget why it is not a good idea to claw out her own eyeballs." Sirius paled at that. "It will reduce her to a wreck not unlike what a man becomes after being Kissed by a Dementor. At the rate it is progressing… she will have between one to two weeks to survive without outside intervention. And there is nothing I can do to help her, except perhaps a mercy killing."

Sirius swallowed, glancing down at the unconscious couple. "I never liked them, but..."

"Indeed," Albus said gravely.

"You said you had an idea of what might have caused it," Sirius said. "What is it?"

"Come."

They went upstairs to where there were two bedrooms, one of which was Iris' room. Inside was... cold, and emotionless, like Iris had done her best to decorate her room in the spirit of her newfound life at Hogwarts, but failed. Gryffindor scarves and banners decorated the walls, small knick-knacks that she'd received from her friends over the years lined her shelves, and Iris had hung up a few of her paintings, a skill she'd picked up after, if his memory served correctly, Miss Granger commented on how good her idle doodles were. But the room was still lifeless. Dark. Like someone had tried to decorate a slaughterhouse.

Albus noticed a few things. There had apparently been bars on the windows, sheared off now, preventing her from using her owl to contact her friends. Albus shook his head to himself. Perhaps it was not such a good idea to isolate her here after all. Hedwig's cage door was open, and some snow-white feathers were left in the cage and on the windowsill, implying the owl's escape. The room smelled stale, and there was a tang of iron in the air too, of old blood.

"What do you smell, Sirius?" Albus asked.

"Blood," Sirius said through gritted teeth. Frustration and anger swirled around the man like a dustbowl. "Fecal matter, probably Hedwig's. Or at least, I hope it's Hedwig's."

"Likely Hedwig, yes... I doubt even the Dursleys would have forced Iris into using a bedpan," Albus said. "Hedwig's cage is clean, though it seems Iris didn't use disinfectant."

"Alright." Sirius calmed down a little. "But you were telling about the possible cause of all of this."

Albus slowly turned to him. "Sirius… you must understand, this is purely hypothetical. I cannot know for certain, because if it is what I think it is, then I will not have the strength nor skill required to investigate."

"But... you're Albus Dumbledore." Sirius chuckled nervously. "The greatest wizard of our time."

"And our opponent here, if my hunch is correct, is not human."

"What, like a house-elf or something?"

"No. Not simply another magical creature, Sirius... With the amount of times you have snuck into the Restricted Section as a student, and as a heir of a dark family, grudging as you might be, I suspect you might know about what scholars and obscure groups call 'Others.' Have you heard of them?"

Albus watched Sirius pause, and his face pale rapidly. Albus strode forward and grasped the man by his shoulders, shaking him once, firmly.

"If you know anything, anything at all relating to this mess," he said, "you must tell me now."

"Lily," Sirius blurted.

"Lily? Lily Potter?"

"Yeah," Sirius said, and Albus guided him down onto Iris' red-and-gold bedspread, and they sat down on the creaky, old mattress. "Lily Potter. I thought she was a fairly normal girl, when I first met her - smart, strong-willed… but normal…"

Albus' blood ran cold. "She was a practitioner of the forgotten arts."

"Her maternal line all were, I think," Sirius murmured. "And now she's passed it down to her own daughter."

"Good God…" Albus whispered. "Where could it have gone so wrong?"

"…The book."

Sirius' voice was so quiet that Albus barely registered it, despite sitting next to him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Lily's book… She told me to give it to Iris when she came of Hogwarts age, if she died, told me to keep it safe until then. I kept hold of it, but I wasn't able to give it to Iris before first year as planned because I was in Azkaban, and I wasn't able to give it to her after third year because I was busy making Grimmauld Place habitable, but I - I gave it to her after the end of last year."

"And do you know what this book contained?"

"I have a suspicion - if it's true, I think Lily made me write several pages of it." Sirius gave a hollow laugh. "She said she was compiling a book of useful spells. Made me write one chapter from the information stored in the Black family library. She couldn't access it herself because many of the books had curses on them that meant only Black family members could read it."

"I see," Albus said. "And what did you write about?"

"Nothing too untoward, actually. Designs for ancient wards, anti-detection charms, everything the Blacks had on subterfuge, survival, evasion, and espionage, to a lesser extent. All of them based around hiding or disguising yourself."

"But the wards were designed to hide one from..."

"Exactly. Oh, Merlin, how could I have been so stupid?" Sirius pressed his face into his hands. "All I knew when I saw that little book was that Lily had asked me to give it to Iris if she died… I thought Iris might be happy to have something that belonged to her mother. I didn't even think once that it might be full of some kind of ancient knowledge to keep Lily's female line going for whatever reason."

Albus stood up but said nothing. Sirius looked at him with mild hysteria in his eyes. "You're - you're not - I mean, I know I messed up bad, but -"

"No, Sirius, I am not," Albus soothed him. "Your reasoning at the time was sound. Giving an orphaned girl a memento of their mother's is hardly an evil act. If I am mad at anyone… it would be at Lily herself." He looked out the window. "We have no time. We must chase after her."

"How? We don't know where she is, especially if the tracks are muddled because of whatever visited this place…"

"We would need to do some scrying," Albus agreed. Sirius looked at him dubiously, but Albus clarified, "Oh, not the hogwash that Professor Trelawney and her immediate predecessor taught, but ancient methods that have worked perfectly fine since the days of the first sorcerers in Mesopotamia. We will need a water-mirror, something that has a strong connection to Iris herself, and a needle."

"Needle?"

"To use as a compass. It may not point us to Iris directly, especially not if she has used any of the charms you indirectly gave her, but it will certainly provide us with a direction to which we can begin our search." Albus looked around Iris' room, looking for something he might be able to use. Hairs were always quite suitable; perhaps a hairbrush somewhere? Anything with magical attachment to Iris - such as pieces of Iris herself, or things she treasured - would work.

A small sample bottle filled with blood was partially hidden behind some of her knick-knacks on the shelf. He snatched it and looked through his Dream-sight; the arcane clouds around it coalesced into a vague, womanly figure, one that had not quite grown comfortable yet due to puberty; his nose detected a subtle phantom scent of wildflowers, Iris' preferred perfume; if he strained his ears, he could almost hear her practicing spells in the dead quiet of the night while the Dursleys were asleep. This would do.

As he pushed open the bedroom door, he noticed from the periphery of his vision that one of the cupboard doors had shattered from the inside, as if something was violently summoned from within. He quelled the brief rage he felt at sight of the broken chain and padlock, and went downstairs, Sirius following. He rummaged inside the Dursley's kitchen, pulled out a stainless steel bowl, and filled it with water before looking for something that could be used as a needle.

"A skewer? No, too big…" Sirius muttered as he went through the drawers. "Can we just use a butter-knife?"

It was a ridiculous notion; in any other situation Albus would have laughed at the absurdity of it, but there was no time. He nodded tightly and took the knife, then he unstoppered the sample bottle and allowed several drops of Iris' blood to stain the water pink, only for the color to immediately fade away, leaving the liquid transparent. Sirius watched tensely as Albus dropped the knife into the water, ripples expanding outward, and then he exercised his power, pushing the knife to the surface and the water suddenly stilling as if it were now ice.

Albus inhaled deeply, then very, very slowly, he exhaled on the water. The knife began to spin, at first lazily, and then faster and faster. The ripples crashed violently against the edge of the bowl but not a single drop was spilled. Albus straightened as he ran out of breath, and watched the knife slow down, and the ripples fade away.

It pointed northeast, and behind the knife, a watery illusion formed of a storm-drain. The picture was exceptionally clear, which meant whatever significance this place had, it was close. Albus looked at Sirius, who looked lost.

"We'll find something there," Albus said, gesturing at the illusion. "Not necessarily Iris herself, but something that will aid us in our search for her."

"That doesn't look like a particularly trustworthy location," Sirius said in a quiet voice.

"No," Albus said, "it does not."

They left 4 Privet Drive, running northeast. Sirius bounded forward in dog form, and Albus struggled to keep up. Robes were not exercise-wear, and he certainly wasn't as young as he used to be. Despite his age, though, it was barely five minutes before he saw the storm-drain, even more eerie during the night. Sirius padded forward near the entrance, but moved back and forth, hesitating. Albus could understand - an aura of pure malice hung about the storm-drain, so thickly that it might as well be a tangible curtain.

"Expecto Patronum," Albus whispered, and a silver phoenix burst from the Elder Wand, circling around them to dispel the evil. It worked somewhat: their hearts lightened and their minds were clearer, and the two of them, still hesitantly, pushed towards the darkness.

Then Albus stopped, noticing something from the gentle moonlight glow the Patronus produced. Sirius took a step forward, and yelped, scrabbling back on four feet towards Albus, morphing back into a human as he did so.

"That's a person!" he said. "What - what the fuck!"

Albus felt blood rushing through his ears as he took a step forward, and shined a light onto the object. It was a disembodied head. One that was… one that was remarkably similar to Vernon Dursley, despite the fact that (it's missing its eyes) it was already decaying, and ants swarmed the orifices, and a particularly large centipede was lounging in one of the eye sockets, undisturbed by the flies and ants and the maggots squirming in the flesh.

Albus drew up his Occlumency barriers as high as they could go, not daring to even glance through his Dream-sight by accident. Who knew what he might witness in the higher Planes.

"Is this our clue?" Sirius asked hysterically. "I'm not touching that. No way, no - no. Abso-fucking-lutely not."

"Let's look elsewhere," Albus said. His phoenix cooed into his ear, helping him feel a little more human despite the numbed emotions that were a side-effect of a powerful Occlumency barrier. "Into the tunnel."

"Are you insane?"

"Did you not come here to try and find Iris?" Albus asked, and Sirius closed his mouth with a snap. He looked supremely uncomfortable, but nodded, and followed Albus into the tunnel.

"Lumos," Sirius said shakily, and a light illuminated the storm-drain. But not particularly far. Shadow swirled and churned, shying away from the light yet still attempting to drown the two of them in darkness. Albus was thankful for his Patronus.

They continued to walk, slowly and carefully, as not to wander into some trap. Albus lowered his Occlumency - he wouldn't be able to see anything without it - and stopped. Sirius hesitated behind him, and slowly peered over Albus' shoulder to look at something he couldn't see.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"A ritual site." Albus knelt down. Droplets of blood - very few had survived, but it was enough to help him identify whose it was. As before, the murky cloud surrounding the blood formed a figure of a young woman, but it was - corrupted, somehow. Like static on the radio, the image flickered and blurred, and never remained constant. "Iris made a ritual with her blood. It… clearly didn't work the way she wanted it to."

"Merlin," Sirius muttered.

"But we have caught her scent, no? And by we, I mean you."

Sirius whined in halfhearted protest as Albus pushed him forward, then morphed into dog form. He sniffed around on the ground, and paused, then trotted forward, rather nervously. To help him Albus sent his copy of Fawkes in front of Sirius, dispelling the darkness of the place. Sirius began to run again, and Albus followed.

Sirius did not hesitate as he turned and twisted through the streets. As if Iris was running from something, trying to lose them. Soon, they came to a library; the glass doors were wrecked, and police had taped it off. Nobody was guarding the entrance, however, so the two of them ducked under the yellow tape and strode through determinedly. Sirius sniffed a couple of times and reverted back to human form so that he could step on the shattered glass without injuring himself.

"Over there," Sirius pointed, and Albus followed his arm. A rear entrance, blasted apart. So hiding had clearly not worked in her favor.

Albus continued through, and, ducking through another set of tape, Sirius morphed back into a dog and began bounding down the street. After two minutes, he stopped, wandering around the area, until he turned human again and looked at Albus. "It stops here."

"Wait." Albus stepped off to the side. "Broken bars?"

Sirius understood immediately. "From her window. She must have Accio'd her belongings and the bars so Hedwig could escape."

Albus nodded. "So she likely summoned her trunk with her school things in them, and her Firebolt…"

"And flew off," Sirius agreed. "Which means that she was planning to travel a long distance."

"A spontaneous plan, but likely," Albus said. "So her options, if she's being chased by something incorrectly summoned into this world through ritual…"

"My place is under the Fidelius, and she doesn't know where it is," Sirius said. "Her friend's house? Hermione or Ron?"

"Not only would have we been notified if they went to either of those places, but Iris would surely not put Miss Granger's parents in danger," Albus said. "Only if it were a last resort. And Iris has only ever been to the Burrow via Floo connection or apparition."

"So she doesn't know where they are. Hogwarts?"

Albus thought for a long moment. "Can you think of other possibilities?" he asked, but Sirius shook his head. "Hogwarts, then. It would make sense. Hogwarts is a bastion of ancient magic, layered with protection from almost everything we know of. If Iris is safe anywhere, it would be at Hogwarts."

"Do you think…" Sirius swallowed. "Do you think she made it?"

"Traveling by broom, even on a Firebolt, would take several hours," Albus said. "Three hours, would you say?"

Sirius shrugged. "Maybe. The Firebolt is fast, though, so I doubt it would take longer than that. Hogwarts is, what, six-hundred something miles from London?"

"About six-hundred and sixty," Albus agreed. "At top speed, it would take her three hours or so. If she left as early as four, then she would already be at Hogwarts, but I haven't gotten any message from Hagrid. If she left as late as six, then she's not bound for at least another hour."

"Should we go look for her?"

Albus raised his eyebrows. "We're not giving up so easily," Albus said. "And…"

"…There's always a possibility that she didn't make it," Sirius said grimly. "How do we do this?"

"Fawkes!" Albus called into the night. After three heartbeats, he appeared, trilling with a song that invigorated him, strengthening his resolve. Fawkes dropped two brooms, which he was carrying in each foot, and they slowed to a hover in front of the two men.

"The school brooms? Really?" Sirius gave a weak smile as he straddled one. "Doesn't the Order have specialized stealth-fighter brooms ordered from Germany or something?"

"If only," Albus chuckled. "Raise your hand. No, your right hand."

Sirius curiously mirrored Albus - who was raising his left hand in the air - and Fawkes suddenly swooped down, grasped their hands, and all three of them disappeared in a blaze of flame.