APTER TITLE: EVERYBODY WANTS TO GO TO HEAVEN

Accompanying Song: "Reaper" by Silvreberg

The very first thing he did was haul out any and all books that contained so much as a footnote about the Trace. He may not be forced to defend himself this time round, but damned if he wasn't gonna find each and every way he could to wiggle around that stupid blasted annoyance.

Once he'd done that, he settled down to actually go looking through his newfound material for said ways. The Black library being the Black library, his search took him a grand total of half-an-hour to actually complete. As he'd thought; Muggle neighborhoods were the target, not the actual wands sold to students. Made things blasted difficult for anyone who wasn't a Pureblood, all things considered. And even if some random tosser was caught "defending himself against some bloodthirsty Muggles", student or not, all it would take was a few bribes and the bugger would be off scott free.

That the Blacks had kept a list of the best people to go to for said bribes tucked between the pages of one of his unearthed references was more than he could've hoped for. Sure, it was probably outdated, but at the very least, it gave him somewhere to start if his lawyer couldn't find a way to get him off legally.

Still, it was always a good idea to test things before actually relying on them for the real thing. He held his wand out in his palm, and softly whispered "Point Me West."

Slowly, his wand spun to orient itself in the indicated direction.

Too slowly.

He sighed. He'd been afraid of that; his wand wasn't really attuned to him anymore. Whether that was more the fault of the Mark, or just having nearly thirty years of somebody else's life jammed inside his head, he didn't know. And he really didn't care to find out; the end result was the same. Looked like he was gonna have to add a trip to Ollivander's to his Diagon Alley "To Do" list. And who knows? Maybe all those online quizzes his host had taken on "Which Harry Potter Character's Wand Would You Wield?" would pay off, if his new wand materials gave any indication about the cause of his problem one way or the other.

It probably would've been a good idea to grab a second wand anyway; the phoenix feather one to keep old Voldemort locked in place, and the other one to actually nail the bastard. Not to mention he probably needed to tell Ollivander about the Prior Incanteum; the less the Dork Lard could wring from him about the Elder Wand, the better.

That matter settled, he turned his attention to something almost, if not just as, important: magical contracts. Occlumency was all well and good, til someone let something slip after one too many drinks. Of whiskey, or Veritaserum; take your pick. Outcome was the same either way. If he could dig up a good enough contract outline, then maybe, just maybe, he might actually be able to let other people besides Sirius in on some of what he now knew. Hermione was a possible; Ron was not. Tonks, maybe…depended on what Mad-Eye's opinion was on Dumbledore. Whatever it was, odds were he'd passed it on to his latest apprentice. Luna was a definite; odds of anyone ever taking something she said seriously were pretty much zero, not to mention the pain they'd be in for if anyone got the bright idea to go poking around in her mind. Neville, possible. Mad-Eye himself, also possible. Remus, no; Albus, no; Fred and George, big, big, "if". They did owe him for their shop, after all. It depended on how loyal they were to the rest of their family.

Bingo; jackpot. He began copying the contract down on some parchment he'd pulled off the shelf. Man, but he loved the Blacks. Well, some of them, anyway.

Which reminded him, he really needed to do something about that crappy shouting picture. And said crazy lady's House Elf. If Kreacher didn't come around to his way of thinking after he took care of the Locket, then he was gonna go with Sirius' suggestion to add him to the Display Wall. Permanently.

Continuing his train of thought on House Elves, he should probably see if he could call on Dobby. Where nobody else was liable to notice him, of course. Just because he was a Win…A Potter, didn't mean he couldn't be sneaky. Damn, but it was gonna be awhile before he stopped doing that.

Right; Dobby. There were quite a few things he needed to grab in Knockturn Alley, and having a fanatically loyal House Elf on call would be awesome. Especially if he introduced the little guy to blunt weaponry. He got the feeling that if he offered Dobby the opportunity to remove a pair of rather important somethings from his last master using a rusty mace, the Elf would probably swear undying fealty or something like that.

One more thing that spending any amount of time in a hunter's head also tended to do was grant an excellent sense of when you were being snuck up on.

Not that Dumbledore was all that capable of being sneaky in the first place; come on, have you seen what the guy wears? Sides, it was kinda hard to be taken by surprise when they literally walked up to you and waited for you to notice how their shadow was blocking your reading light.

"Something I can help you with, Headmaster?"

Now, to be fair, Dumbledore's always been far better at sounding dangerous than looking the part. Unfortunately, the effect was kinda ruined once you went toe-to-toe with something that actually managed to pull off both scary looking and sounding at the exact same time. Like oh, say, a Knight of Hell, for instance. And as bad as Dumbledore was, there was no way on Earth he could ever top something like that. That being said, his voice was still perfectly capable of convincing you it could freeze Fiendfyre.

"Was it true, Harry."

Right, time to play things cool. "Was what true? You're gonna have to be a bit more specific than that."

"What you said about Severus. Was it true."

He shrugged. "Does it matter? Voldemort would've come for me sooner or later; or did you conveniently overlook the fact that those infamous blood wards lost their market value the moment he used my blood to resurrect himself? All he needed to do was have Lucius Malfoy traipse into the Ministry, pull my address from the Underage Magic office, and wham-bam-shang-a-lang, you got another kid's death on your conscience."

Or a (yet again) disembodied Dark Lord. Two outcomes Dumbledore probably would have been just fine with, seeing as how one way bought him time to plan (not do), and the other voided that blasted prophecy altogether.

Dumbledore's grating condescension pulled him from that particular line of thinking. "My dear boy, I was quite confident that your mother's sacrifice would still serve to protect you, even…"

"Even with a horde of Death Eaters coming down like an Armageddon flame? Awful trusting of you. Fortunately, I've seen enough in my life to know that it's never a good idea to trust anyone. Whether or not they actually have your best interests at heart."

"…You've changed, Harry."

"Not that much. Or did you forget how I wanted nothing to do with authority when I went to save Flamel's Stone from your ridiculous attempts to protect it? And however much further I've gone down that road you can lay solely on what I was forced to go through last year. And the year before that. And the year before…look; I got a lotta work to do, and not much time to do it. So, if you actually plan to get anywhere with your blathering, you're gonna have to start talking to me like an equal. Which means you sit, hands on the table, and you hand over your wand for the duration. I will, of course, do the same."

"…Must we?"

"You want any chance in Hell if me answering so much as even one of your brain-dead questions? Then yeah."

Dumbledore gave a theatrical sigh, drew the Elder Wand from his robes, and placed it on the table. Harry raised his own from where it had been sitting on his lap, and did the same.

The chair gave an almighty creak as Dumbledore sank into it. "Now, my boy: Severus."

"Snape."

"Severus."

"Snape. Someone refuses to use my first name, I do the same to them on principle, dead or not."

"…Very well. Was Professor Snape truly the one who gave up your location to Tom?"

"Honestly? No idea. Seems like the sort of thing he'd do; he was certainly clever enough to realize just how easy it would be for Voldemort to do what I said he could. And then to cut out the middleman and blab before Riddle figured out the same. If the blood wards held, he could have claimed he was securing his position as the Dark Lord's spy. And if they didn't…I suppose he could've blamed you for assuring him the things would stay up, even with Riddle's resurrection. Does seem kinda odd to you, though, doesn't it? That of all the people to get there first, it was him, when I know for a fact you didn't send him."

"And how would you know that, Harry?"

"You're many things, Headmaster, but stupid enough to send Snape and Sirius to the same place, you are not."

"…I see your point."

"Oh, and I'm still pissed you decided to send the one member of your flaming chicken club that still has a kill-on-sight order hanging over his head."

"I'm afraid he insisted, my boy. He said that he had left you in the lurch once before, and that he would be cursed before he did the same twice."

"…Sounds sus, but okay. Getting back on topic; Snape was the first wizard I actually saw. Whether or not he was hoping to warn me away before anyone else arrived, or was planning to take out a little payback of his own before everyone else wanted in, I can't say. What I can say, is that given the circumstances, odds are pretty high that Death Eaters were watching the house. And like I said, there's only two ways that Riddle could've gotten that information."

"…But you did not personally witness Professor Snape reveal your location?"

"Of my house? No. Of this old place? Yep."

Yet more lies. I wanted Dumbledore questioning each and every word that had ever come out of Snape's mouth.

"And you are quite certain that it was not a false vision Tom allowed you to see, in order to cast doubts on Severus' loyalty?"

"Snape's loyalty, and nope. Only false vision I saw was one for some random door in the Ministry. Also, can I just point out, if you're trying to keep something secret, posting a guard ain't exactly being low-key, you know what I mean?"

Dumbledore went extremely pale. "So…Tom knows."

"Knows? I'll say he does. If I were you, I'd move whatever's behind that door somewhere else, and maybe set a trap for when he inevitably decides to try something stupid like send his snake down there."

"…I will make a note of it."

Translation: stalling tactics.

"So, yeah, pretty sure Riddle knows about this place. Hell, he probably visited once or twice, back in the days when there was more of a Black family for him to court, and when he actually had, you know, a nose."

"…Once again, you have brought an important matter to my attention, my boy. I shall have to make inquiries into better protections; it seems we cannot rely on secrecy as much as we had hoped."

"No crap, Sherlock. At the very least, owl post can probably still get through. One exploding letter is all it would take to give everyone here a very bad day. Now, I'm sure you've got a hell of a lot more questions, and so do I, for that matter. But for now, I ain't trusting you nor anybody else with any more secrets til I get this here contract done. I'd rather not be forced to admit in court that I helped Sirius escape execution, if you know what I mean."

Not my primary motivation, but a good one, nonetheless.

"I completely understand, my boy. I shall return once you have finished with your work."

"…That's it? No remonstrations about killing Death Eaters, no slap on the wrist for resorting to violence, no speeches about how you need to know everything for the Greater Good?"

"Would any of that have any effect on you whatsoever, my boy?"

"…Touché. I'd tell you to write down a list of questions for me for later, but plausible deniability, and all that."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "And all that. Good night, Mr. Potter."

"Good night, Headmaster."

Harry waited for ten seconds past when the door closed behind Dumbledore before clearing his throat. "You can come out now, Mad-Eye."

A ripple of fabric, and the form of the grizzled Auror came into view, a grin stretched over his face. "How'd ye know it was me, lad?"

"Who else would go to the trouble of hiding under an Invisibility Cloak to listen in on a conversation instead of just peeking though the keyhole like a normal person?"

Mad-Eye laughed. "Got me there, son. Though I have to ask, just what you were thinking talking to old Albus unarmed? For all you know, he coulda been someone else under Polyjuice, or had a second wand, or Merlin knows what else."

Harry grinned. "Who says I was unarmed?"

He reached under the table…and pulled out the Mauser from where he'd stashed it. "People always forget that just because they can see your hands, doesn't mean you can't still hurt 'em. And it's ridiculously easy to pull a trigger with your foot, once you learn the trick to it."

"I'll try and keep that in mind, laddie. That's Albus accounted for; what was your plan for dealing with me if I wasn't who you thought I was?"

Sirius' voice came from the opposite end of the room. "That would be me, I believe."

Moody's eye whirled in its socket. "How did…ah. The wards. Noticed three people in the room where you thought only Harry was supposed to be, did you?"

"Something like that. Got all the stuff we need for the tattoos, Harry."

"Good. And Ted?"

"Ready, willing, and able. Says he'll do it for no charge, in fact. That it's the least he can do, considering."

"Nice of him."

Mad-Eye's attention was once more firmly fixed on Harry. "Did I hear right, that the pair of you are getting…tattoos?"

"Yep."

"Not magical ones, I hope. Can interfere with Polyjuice and…other things…if you aren't careful."

Harry snorted. "No, nothing magical about 'em. Except for what they do. And by other things, I take it you mean the Animagus transformation?"

"Got it on one, lad."

"Yeah, well, no danger of this messing up that. All it is is a little symbol designed to keep you from getting possessed, be it by ghost, spirit, or demon. Might even work to keep your soul from getting sucked out by a Dementor; who knows?"

Moody's eyes bugged out. Both of them. "All that, from a single tattoo? No magic involved?"

"None."

"…How much to get one of my own?"

Harry scratched his chin. "Hmmm…let's say, one trip to Diagon without Albus finding out, and maybe a handgun to carry instead of lugging a full-length rifle around everywhere I go. Preferably a Colt; Smith and Wesson or Sig Sauer if you…hold on, take that back."

Damn; he kept forgetting that all the good stuff hadn't been invented yet. And he wasn't about to start carrying around a Glock; Germans made good stuff, sure, but Glocks just had no personality whatsoever. Not like a Mauser, anyway.

"…Stick with the Colt, but if you can't find one in good condition, Browning Hi-Power or CZ-75 will do."

"Colt, Browning, CZ. Got it. Now…what's this tattoo look like?"

Harry flipped over a piece of parchment he'd been using for notes, and began to draw. "First, you're gonna need to make a circle. Then…"

Sirius rubbed his shoulder. "Always forget how much that hurts when you do it to yourself."

"Aw, quit whining, you big baby. You survived Azkaban; a little old needle can't be that much worse."

"You'd be surprised. Now, what other manly acts have you decided to undertake in order to prove yourself a true Marauder, worthy of your own Marauder name?"

"Well for one, I was planning on summoning a demon later."

Sirius ruffled his hair. "Har, har, very funny."

No need to clarify he was being serious. That joke got old the first time you heard it.

"But what I need to do first, is convince you to let me drive that sweet, sweet bike of yours downtown. I got some places to stop in Muggle London; things that'll make it a whole lot easier to do some pranking on both Moldy-shorts and the Order."

"You had me sold the minute you complimented my ride; but what's the catch?"

"The catch is, you have to come along with. It's just barely morning, and having a big, scary dog with you tends to scare off any potential muggers."

"Aw, my godson's not afraid of a few Muggles, is he?"

"Naw, I just don't wanna have to wash any blood outta my clothes after I take care of 'em."

"…Good point."

"Thought you'd see it my way. Well? You coming?"

"…In for a penny, in for a pound. Lead on, Prongs Junior."

"You have got to think up a better Marauder name than that."

"We see what your Animagus form is, then I'll change it."

"And how would one go about doing that, anyway? Hypothetically, of course."

Sirius grinned. "Well…"

"Somehow, I don't think normal Muggle dogs stare at magazines with that much concentration."

"WOOF!"

"Oh, don't give me that. C'mon, let's get out of here. I got what I came for."

Muggles; they were totally fine with throwing around that kind of magazine in public, but show 'em a copy of "Guns And Ammo", and then everyone lost their minds.

He stomped down on the clutch, and pulled the Triumph out into traffic.

"Right; I know you can't actually talk right now, but this is the perfect opportunity for me to explain some things to you without the risk of being overheard. Understand?"

A rather loud "WOOF!" came from the sidecar.

"Good. Now, one bark if yes, two if no. Is your Occlumency good enough to hold up to Dumbledore?'

"Woof!"

"Even better. Right; long story short, what actually happened last night was I went to bed, fell asleep, and at exactly twelve o'clock…woke up in a world at least twenty years ahead of our own."

Padfoot gave him the dog version of a "Sirius-ly?" look.

"Yes, seriously. And on top of that, it wasn't even my body I woke up in. Had to spend twenty-four hours walking around in someone else's head; like Polyjuice, but you get all the memories of the person you're copying. It was freaking weird, man."

"Woof!"

"You said it. So, during said twenty-four hours, I was a bit preoccupied fighting for my life during most of it (because when am I not), but I did manage to squeeze in enough downtime to do some digging on what happened in the past. Specifically, this past. And what I found was nothing but piles of crap."

"WOOF!"

"You're one to talk. So, because I can make a pretty good guess at what's coming, here's what we're gonna do. I got one more stop to make: whatever discount bookstore we can find that doesn't look like it has security cameras. Once we get there, I'm gonna need to you to turn back human, and help me find a book series by the name of "Supernatural". If you find it, pay close attention to the author's name. if it's Carver Edlund, good. Come tell me, then clear out as fast as you can. Leave the keys to the bike with me. Get your ass to America, as sneakily as possible. Head for a town called Sioux Falls; place called Singer Salvage. Bobby's the owner; him you can trust. Tell him you're a hunter slash wizard, and that you can teach him some about British magic in exchange for a place to lay low for a bit. If Bobby's out on a hunt, Sheriff Jody Mills is trustworthy, but to be on the safe side, assume she doesn't know about magic."

"Woof?"

"If she's not married anymore, then sure."

"Woof?"

"if it's not Carver Edlund?...Well then I guess we're all screwed."

Padfoot looked down into the bottom of the sidecar. "Woof woof?"

"Trust me, rock salt is gonna come in real handy. Especially against Peeves. How's that for a first; bet the Marauders never managed to prank a poltergeist before, have they?"

"WOOF, WOOF!"

"Thought so. HEY! STAY OUTTA MY PIE!"

Sure enough, Carver Edlund.

Sirius had taken just enough time to say his goodbyes, and then Apparated away. There was absolutely no chance he wouldn't get into trouble in America, but it was better to have someone like Bobby around to drag him out by the tail.

Before he'd left, he had given up two very important things: control of the wards in Grimmauld Place…and the name of the best place to acquire Firewhiskey underage in Hogsmeade. Which was just awesome.

Harry swung himself over the handlebars of the Bonneville. "Hiya Buckbeak; long time no see."

The attic-dwelling Hippogriff barely looked up from where he was gnawing on an oversize bone.

"…Good talk."

Now; to find out whether or not he'd been missed.

"CONSTANT VIGIL-URK!"

Harry bent down to help the now collapsed Auror. "Geez, Mad-Eye! You trying to give me a heart attack?"

"You trying to break ma windpipe? Where'd you learn to do that, son?"

"A long time ago, in a neighborhood far, far away. Since you were waiting up here, I take it they noticed I was gone?"

Moody rubbed his throat. "Nah, just wanted to test your reflexes. And offer to trade you some hand-to-hand training for any more little tricks like that tattoo of yours. But looks like you already got some somewhere else."

"A bit. But I'll still take you up on the offer; gonna have to train eventually, and I'd rather do it with someone I can learn from. In return, I'll teach you how to make goofer dust."

"Goofer dust?"

"Hellhounds hate it. And it might be good for containing Fiendfyre; haven't had the chance to test it yet."

"Works for me. When do you wanna start?"

"How bout…tonight, after dinner. I got some things to take care of, then I plan to sleep through lunch. Think I been awake almost thirty-six hours by now."

Mad-Eye snorted. "Talk to me when you can go three whole days straight. Tonight, up here. Don't be late."

He couldn't resist. "A wizard is never late, Mister Moody. Nor is he early; he arrives precisely when he means to."

Mad-Eye laughed. "Dumbledore said that to me once, when he was three hours overdue for a meeting with the Minister. Glad to know he's passing his wisdom on."

Dumbledore read Lord of the Rings? Huh; who knew?

Although, now that he thought of it, that did beg the question of what would happen if one were to unironically call him Gandalf.

Probably nothing bad.

Probably.

He made his way downstairs, doing his best to avoid being seen. Invisibility Cloaks really were the greatest things ever invented.

He may not have left any incriminating evidence amongst his piles of study material in the library, but that didn't stop his heart from skipping a beat when he noticed just who was standing over it.

"Whaddya think, Hermione?"

"I don't know, Ron. When Dumbledore said it was an emergency, I was, I don't know, expecting Harry to be actually hurt or something."

"Can't blame you; guy has some of the worst luck in the world."

"Right. Which is why I'm…I'm confused he asked us both to come, when all it looks like Harry's done is decide to run from a direct fight for once, and finally buckle down and study something useful."

Well; that changed things.