A/N: Pretty sure this is the point where I jump the shark.

—ML—

Harry and Krum landed in a heap, Harry still holding the Cup. "Vat is going on?" Krum asked, standing up and drawing his wand. "There is more?"

"No, this is the trap I warned you about," Harry said, dusting himself off and not letting go of the Cup. He wordlessly Switched Krum's wand for a stone from the ground, pocketing the wand. "Catch." He tossed the Cup to Krum, who caught it reflexively and disappeared as the Portkey activated again.

Then Harry dropped to the ground as his scar exploded in pain, the agony battering against his Occlumency shields as he tried to push the pain away.

Through his blurred vision, Harry saw a figure approaching, and heard a muttered spell through the ringing in his ears. Then he was flying backwards, slamming painfully into a headstone, his arm pinned between his body and the headstone. Harry gasped and coughed as the wind was knocked out of him, and he groped for his wand, his other wrist throbbing in pain.

"Don't bother, boy," a voice muttered. "I've got your wand."

"Do not waste time," a shrill voice hissed. "This body will not last much longer. I can feel it."

Harry's vision cleared as he felt conjured ropes tying him to the headstone, and he tilted his head as he saw the two figures in front of him. "Lockhart?"

Sure enough, it was Gilderoy Lockhart in front of him, his usual vapid grin replaced with a blank frown. The man didn't respond, the bundle in his arms wriggling slightly. The other man was pacing nearby, keeping watch with his hood up.

Harry turned his wrist, wincing as he felt the bones grinding against each other, and looked at his watch. The face was smashed in, all three hands gone and the inner workings exposed and mangled.

So much for plan A, Harry thought. The emergency Portkey was almost certainly destroyed, and Harry couldn't activate it with the watch in that condition anyway.

Lockhart deposited Voldemort in the cauldron, before drawing his wand. "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!" Lockhart said, his voice flat and toneless.

Harry watched as the surface around his feet cracked and a fine trail of dust floated up into the air and landed gently in the cauldron. The water immediately started hissing as it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vibrant, deadly-looking blue. Lockhart drew a long dagger from his cloak. "Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master," he said before silently lopping off his left hand. Once the severed flesh made contact with the concoction, it turned a bright red. Lockhart tapped his wand against his stump, the spurting blood stopping immediately, and turned to Harry again.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe," Lockhart said, kneeling beside Harry. At this range, Harry could see his eyes, the man's pupils blown wide and his eyes glazed and heavily bloodshot. Lockhart drew a ragged cut down Harry's arm, taking a vial of his blood and shambling back to the cauldron. When it was added, the liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white.

For a brief moment, Harry hoped whatever ancient magic his mother had invoked would kick in and incinerate the entire cauldron, but nothing unexpected happened. Finally, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished, and a plume of steam billowed from the mouth of the cauldron.

And the outline of a man rose. "Robe me," Voldemort ordered. The voice sent a chill down Harry's spine. It was a voice he had hoped to never hear coming from an independent body again.

Lord Voldemort had returned.

The other man pulled the robes Voldemort had been swaddled in over the newly risen Dark Lord's head, before bowing deeply and stepping back. "Roll up your sleeve," Voldemort ordered. The man exposed a Dark Mark, and Harry watched silently as Voldemort pressed a finger to it. The man threw his head back, whether in pain or ecstasy, Harry wasn't sure. "They are coming," Voldemort said, sparing a glance to Lockhart. "Avada Kedavra." The man dropped, dead.

Voldemort finally took notice of Harry, still tied to the headstone. "Harry...Potter."

"How's it hanging, shitbird?" Harry asked calmly. "Itchy and shriveled? I'm sure you could still find someone to rub it, there must have been some reason you kept Bellatrix around. Or are you a man's man, and that's what purpose Lucius served all those years? God knows they're fucking useless otherwise." Harry choked out a scream as Voldemort casually hit him with a Cruciatus. "You know that really stings?"

"You will speak with respect, boy," Voldemort said softly.

"Never really learned how," Harry admitted. "Frankly, I've sassed everyone else, I wouldn't want you to feel left out." Voldemort hit him with another Cruciatus. "Try again, I think I can hit the high C!" He tried to hide the tremors wracking his body. "You really need to work on your people skills."

The other Death Eaters arrived, Apparating between graves, behind trees, in every shadowy space, all of them hooded and masked. Harry listened with half an ear as Voldemort addressed his Death Eaters, groping for the coin in his pocket.

The other man who had been there from the beginning spotted the movement and approached, and Harry swallowed hard. "Barty Crouch Junior," he murmured. "I thought you were dead."

"I was," the man rasped. "Now be quiet."

"Ah, Bartemius," Voldemort said softly. "You truly are loyal. You sought me out after my fall. Without you, this would have been impossible."

"I live to serve, my lord," Crouch murmured.

"He lived because of his father's foolish sentimentality," Voldemort explained to the crowd. "His mother begged his father to allow her to switch places with him in Azkaban, you see, and for a man who clung so staunchly to the idea of fighting against Dark wizards, he was remarkably quick to allow it. He kept his son under the Imperius for years, and until a few years ago he had no way of escape. But then, ah, then..." Voldemort smirked. "After that idiot Pettigrew was exposed and captured at Hogwarts, his father faced an investigation. He was distracted, his focus weakened, and my faithful servant broke free of his control, seized his wand, and killed him with it. An impressive feat, truly. When Quirinius's body failed me, I returned to Albania to recover. This man followed the path Quirrell had taken through the country, searching for any sign of me. That is dedication. It is what all of you should have done."

"And Gilderoy," Voldemort said, toeing the carcass. "Poor helpless, brainless Gilderoy. He sought me out too. The man was a fraud, and assumed I was a mere beast some local would destroy and wanted to take credit for it. I burned his mind to nothing, took his person and made it into a servant. He had his uses these past few months. With Bartemius away, he kept my makeshift body from collapsing until the time was right. Until young Harry here could be brought to me."

"Hi, everyone," Harry said dully, fighting the shivers that were only partly from the cold. "Why don't we go around the circle and introduce ourselves?"

"Yes," said Voldemort, a grin curling his mouth as the eyes of the circle flashed in Harry's direction. "Harry Potter has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honor."

One of the Death Eaters spoke. Harry recognized the voice as Lucius Malfoy. "Master, we crave to know, we beg you to tell us…how you have achieved this, this miracle…how you managed to return to us."

"Ah, what a story it is, Lucius," said Voldemort. "And it begins – and ends – with my young friend here." He walked lazily over to stand next to Harry, so that the eyes of the whole circle were upon the two of them. "You know, of course, that they have called this boy my downfall?" Voldemort said softly, his red eyes upon Harry. Harry was focusing on his Occlumency, trying to block out the throbbing in his scar. "You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in the attempt to save him – and unwittingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not foreseen. I could not touch the boy." Voldemort tilted his head slightly, as if examining Harry. "His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice. This is old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it, but no matter. I can touch him now."

When Voldemort laid a hand upon his face, Harry was sure his skin had split open. He shoved the pain away, trying not to scream as his flesh felt as if it was searing under Voldemort's icy touch, but he thrashed against the ropes nonetheless. Voldemort laughed softly, then took the hand away and continued addressing the Death Eaters.

Harry kept a glare focused on Voldemort as he tried to slow his pounding heart. He had almost gotten his hand to his pocket and the signal coin, but his writhing had moved his hand away, and Barty Crouch Jr. was keeping an eye on him.

"It was Bartemius's untiring work, you see," Voldemort was saying. "He took great pains to ensure young Harry was entered in the Tournament, and I will admit, the boy acquitted himself well in the tasks. But the moment he touched that Cup, that Portkey, he was brought here. And here he is. The boy you all believed had been my downfall." Voldemort moved slowly forward and turned to face Harry, his wand raised. "Crucio!"

Harry was very rapidly learning that the Cruciatus did not impart any sort of resistance with repeated exposure. When Voldemort finally let up, Harry lay there, panting, preparing himself for what he knew was coming next. The night was ringing with the sound of the Death Eaters' laughter.

"You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me," said Voldemort. "But I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind. Harry Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger."

"Insecure much?" Harry asked, panting. He paused, spitting out a glob of blood from where he had bitten his tongue. "Murdering a tied-up, fourteen-year-old boy to prove how much of a big bad Dark Lord you are?"

"Untie him, Bartemius, and give him back his wand."

A few moments later, Harry was on his feet, nervously spinning his wand in his hand.

"You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked softly.

"Not enough that I feel confident trying to fight you and your butt-boys," Harry replied. "But I have to warn you, fighting me would be a really bad idea for you."

Voldemort smirked, and a few of the Death Eaters laughed. "Is that so?"

Harry shrugged and stretched, Switching his wand for Krum's with a flick of his hand. "Go ahead, flip that coin. You almost died the last time. Do you want to try again?"

"Arrogant boy," Voldemort hissed. "You think you stand a chance in a duel?"

Harry pushed the pain and tremors down in his mind, burying them under an iron resolve. "I think I'm going to find out one way or the other. But you doubt, don't you?" He nodded at the Death Eaters. "You're not doing this to reassure them. You're doing it to prove it to yourself. Deep down, you worry there might be something about me that you can't beat. That a teenager might be stronger than you. So you're going to try to kill me to prove you're the strongest. So let's get this over with. We bow, right?"

"Yes, yes, the niceties must be observed. Dumbledore would like you to show some manners. Bow to death, Harry," Voldemort coaxed.

Harry choked on a laugh. "Death? I've seen Death, looked him in the eyes. Had a pleasant conversation with him. You don't scare me half as bad as he did."

"Crucio!"

Harry batted the curse aside. "That's your idea of manners? We haven't even bowed to each other yet."

There was a momentary flicker of uncertainty in Voldemort's snakelike eyes. "You have talent, boy."

"And a fuckload of luck," Harry added. "Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough."

Before Harry could move an inch, three bludgeoners were headed his way. Rather than block, Harry twisted between them, sending a barrage of piercing hexes back at Voldemort and landing on his feet. His broken wrist was throbbing, but Harry hit the dirt, rolling behind a headstone as a blasting curse zipped over his head and reduced a statue to stone splinters. Taking a precious second to numb his wrist, Harry pulled his feet under him and sprinted for new cover, sending a mess of offensive magic over the row of headstones – bone-breakers, incendiaries, freezing spells, and a strong concussive wave that ran low as a feet-sweeper.

Several Death Eaters cried out in pain, and a single Killing Curse blew apart a headstone Harry was diving for. Voldemort shrieked as Harry tucked and rolled, bleeding from a half-dozen places he had been cut by flying pieces of stone. "The boy is mine! Do not interfere! Serpentsortia!"

Harry broke out an Albus Dumbledore special – a firewhip the style of which he'd seen Dumbledore use in several practice duels he had had with the Headmaster. Voldemort flinched, and Harry pressed the advantage, lashing the whip through Voldemort's conjured snakes and through several headstones, knocking more dust and smoke into the air. Under the cover of the cloud of vaporized marble, Harry Transfigured and animated a dozen Hufflepuff badgers from debris, sending them scrambling towards the Dark Lord at different angles. A pair of Ravenclaw eagles came soaring down from above as Harry sent a roughly transfigured lion loping through the smoke, before his instincts screamed at him to duck.

A bolt of lightning came spearing through the smoke cloud, followed by the eagles' death shrieks and cries of pain from the badgers. The downside to animals conjured or Transfigured from debris was that they tended to be fragile.

Harry wrapped a duelist shield around his off hand, before sending a spray of blasting curses and distracting jinxes downrange, trying to saturate Voldemort rather than get a precision shot in. The lion roared, and Voldemort grunted in pain as either one of the curses or the lion made contact. Thrusting his off hand into his pocket, Harry activated the coin, feeling it warm up as the message was sent.

Harry sent a twisting helix of fire through the smoke. A screech of pain told him he'd managed to hit something, and Harry ducked again as a mass of Dark magic came screaming back at him. Acid sprays, shredder curses, bursts of flame and lightning soared back and forth as Harry dodged what he could and blocked what he had to. "Come on!" Harry taunted. "I'm right here!" As Voldemort turned, locking on to the sound of his voice, Harry turned on his heel, breaking out his trump card. He vanished, appearing several meters away and unleashing another spread of curses before fake-Apparating again.

"The boy is Apparating somehow!" One of the Death Eaters shouted as Harry switched behind Voldemort. "My lord, behind you!"

Harry's ice spear shattered as Voldemort turned, the Dark Lord blocking the attack almost contemptuously. "It will do you no good," he hissed. "You are mine to kill!"

"Then do it!" Harry shouted, switching himself with the space behind Voldemort and hitting him with a point-blank Banishing spell that sent him flying ungracefully into a headstone. He wasn't prepared for the fiery ball of concussive force Voldemort left behind, and Harry hit the ground, his clothes smoking. Both sat up, battered and bleeding, and Harry Switched wands again. "Oh, we'll be at this all night."

"It will only take me moments to end you," Voldemort spat.

"You've been trying for fourteen years, and it hasn't stuck yet!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!" The two spells met, and the wands linked, just as Harry had expected.

The cage of light appeared, and Voldemort shrieked to his Death Eaters not to interfere as the phoenix song began. "Do it, then!" Harry bellowed over the song. "Kill me if you can, you worthless maniac!" The beam of light blossomed into the beads Harry remembered, and Harry focused his will, shoving the beads back toward Voldemort. The beads connected with Voldemort's wand, and Harry could hear echoing screams of pain as the memory of the Cruciatus Curses Voldemort had used were expelled from the wand.

The coin heated up in his pocket, and Harry broke the connection, the Phoenix song abruptly cutting out.

"My, my, Harry, this is impressive," Voldemort remarked. "So what now? Are we to continue dueling for eternity?"

"Or you could surrender," Harry suggested brightly as the Death Eaters closed in.

At the darkest hour of the story, when hope seems lost, it's good for the hero to dig deep and find a reason to keep going.

It's even better for the hero's friends to show up with lots of help. There were multiple cracks signaling incoming Apparation, and half the assembled Death Eaters went down immediately as they were caught in the back by spellfire. The rest scattered, trying to return fire amidst the chaos.

Sirius Black strode out of the darkness, his face locked in a rictus of fury. "Get away from my godson."

"Ah, Sirius Black," Voldemort remarked calmly, Sirius still walking towards him. "I haven't seen a Black since I killed your brother."

Sirius didn't reply. Instead, his wand flashed, a dozen different curses bursting forth in less than a second. Harry ducked for cover and opened up with several curses of his own as Voldemort parried. Remus came in from another direction, his wand flaring with bone-breakers and bludgeoning curses. A hand came down on his shoulder, and Harry nearly punched the newcomer until he realized it was Ron.

"Come on, we gotta get you out of here!" Ron hissed. Hermione and Neville were waiting a dozen meters away with McGonagall, who had a dozen different animated constructs milling about, standing guard.

"The ruddy hell are you doing here?" Harry asked as he let himself be hauled along, making sure Ron kept low.

"We're your backup," Ron explained. "Come on!"

"Who else is here?" Harry asked McGonagall as the group withdrew from the fight, Remus and Sirius still dueling Voldemort.

"No time to explain, come on," McGonagall urged. Harry shoved her aside, the professor yelping as Harry Stunned a Death Eater. "Merlin, I didn't even see him."

"Bring him along," Harry ordered. McGonagall transfigured him into a coin, pocketing it and sending her constructs to aid Remus and Sirius. "Who else is here?"

"Filius is here, Dumbledore is on the way," McGonagall said, casually batting away a Dark cutting curse and sending several hexes of her own back. Harry disarmed the Death Eater with a murmured Expelliarmus, and Hermione caught him with a Stunning Spell, McGonagall transfiguring the Death Eater and pocketing him as well. "These three grabbed ahold of the Portkey as we were assembling."

"Flitwick is fighting all those Death Eaters alone?" Harry asked.

"He can handle it," McGonagall said. "Our first priority is getting you out of here." The group had backed away from the fight, and McGonagall pulled a cord from her robes. "Everyone grab on. It's a Portkey." The four children seized hold of the cord, and McGonagall ducked as a spell flew by. "Portus."

As the Portkey activated and Harry felt the familiar hook behind his navel, something slammed into his back. The group landed in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, and Harry heard hollering as a heavy weight landed on him, knocking his glasses off. Suddenly, the weight vanished, and Harry rolled over, grabbing his glasses and spotting a Death Eater being pummeled by Ron and Neville, both wizards having forgone their wands in favor of a more direct approach. They kept punching him a good ten seconds after Harry retrieved his wand and Stunned the man.

Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office, brandishing her wand. "What the – what is going on here?"

"Long story," Harry rasped, pushing himself to his feet. "Can you restrain this man?" Pomfrey hit the man with another Stunner, before conjuring ropes and levitating him into a bed. "McGonagall, Flitwick, Sirius and Remus are still there." As he spoke, there was a thump from behind him, and Harry spun, spotting Sirius laying on the floor groaning and holding Remus. Both men were bleeding heavily.

"I'm all right," Sirius insisted as Pomfrey began casting spells. "Remus is hit worse. I think they got an artery in his leg. I put a binding on it."

The werewolf was unconscious, and Pomfrey healed the heaviest of his injuries before putting him in another bed next to Sirius. "Who else am I expecting?"

"Filius was holding his own last I saw," Sirius groaned. "Minerva blindsided Voldemort when Remus got hit, and she was trying to link up with Flitwick."

"So they're on their own now?" Harry asked, pressing a kerchief to a cut over his eye.

"We can't get back there in time," Sirius said. "Are you all right?"

"I'll live," Harry replied. Another Portkey landed, McGonagall and Flitwick landing in a messy heap on the floor. "Oh, thank goodness, that's everyone."

"No it's not," Flitwick grunted as he sat up. "Albus is still there with our reinforcements. They're trying to withdraw."

"Who else is still in the fight?" Sirius asked.

"He managed to bring Alastor, Emmeline, and Dedalus," Flitwick replied. "Albus was taking on Voldemort alone when our Portkeys activated. Is Harry all right?"

"I'm alive," Harry said. Flitwick relaxed. "How's McGonagall?"

"She was Stunned, so I grabbed her," Flitwick said. "Ennervate." The witch sprang awake, grabbing her wand and nearly casting a spell before realizing where she was. "We're fine, Minerva."

"And Harry?"

"Right here, Professor," Harry said.

"Now we wait," McGonagall declared, hauling herself into a bed. Pomfrey finished healing Sirius and Remus and looked McGonagall and Flitwick over. "We're all right. No injuries."

"You made it out of there without a scratch?" Neville asked.

"I am rather good at what I do," the Transfiguration professor said dryly.

Neville sat down hard on a bed, the adrenaline wearing off. "You hurt, Harry?"

"I'll live," Harry said. "Some cuts and bruises. I'm pretty sure my wrist is fractured, and I got hit with a Cruciatus a couple times." Neville flinched. "I think I could live without ever feeling that again."

"You were hit with a Cruciatus?" McGonagall asked.

"Voldemort," Harry groaned. "He was showboating." Harry swayed suddenly and remembered how exhausted he was. His wrist was throbbing, and he winced as he twitched his fingers and felt spikes of pain running up his arm.

"Into a bed, Mr. Potter," Madame Pomfrey said, pulling potions from the storage cabinet.

"Not yet," Harry said. "Not until the others get back. And I need to know what happened."

"Krum appeared at the exit to the maze, holding the Cup," Hermione said. People started cheering, but he…he went to Dumbledore and told him that you were in a graveyard, alone, that it was a trap. Dumbledore didn't even answer him, he just grabbed McGonagall and Flitwick and ran. I've never seen him move so fast, he's so old but he's fast."

Harry raised his uninjured hand. "Hermione. Focus."

Hermione nodded. "They ran back to the castle and we followed them, they had a Portkey ready and we grabbed on before they could stop us."

"You could have been killed out there," Harry sighed. "I appreciate your coming, but…that was way too dangerous."

"We can handle ourselves," Ron said. "C'mon, Harry, you needed help!"

"I don't need you getting yourselves killed for me!"

"Enough," Madame Pomfrey called. "Miss Granger, Mister Weasley, Mister Longbottom, what sort of condition are you in?"

"Tired, but none of us got hurt," Neville reported. "We're mostly just…scared. And worried about the people who are still fighting."

As if on cue, the final four appeared in the Hospital Wing. Dumbledore was leaning heavily on Moody, his left arm badly mangled, soaked in blood, and cradled to his chest. There were a dozen other injuries visible on the old man through the blood-sodden robes. Moody seemed unharmed, but Emmeline Vance was bleeding profusely from a leg injury and had Dedalus Diggle slung over her shoulder.

"Drink this," Madame Pomfrey ordered, shoving a glass into Harry's hand. "I'll handle this. You get in a bed. Now."

Resigned, Harry downed the potion and climbed into a bed. "Harry, what happened back there?" Hermione asked.

The world began to swim. "Voldemort is a twat and a coward who doesn't have the guts to fight me," Harry slurred as the potions took effect.

Hermione blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

Then someone dropped a piano on his head and the pillow came up and smothered Harry.

—ML—

Harry managed to sit up, his mouth dry and his head spinning. "Anybody alive in here?" He coughed.

Madam Pomfrey came out of her office, her face grave. "Ah, Mister Potter. Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

"Like a giant sat on me," Harry mumbled.

"Like a giant what?"

"Sat, sat on me!" Harry repeated, turning slightly pink. "Are the others all right?"

"Misters Black and Lupin are well, but resting. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick are unharmed, as are your friends."

"And the others?" Pomfrey hesitated, and Harry swallowed hard. "How many did we lose?"

"Harry…"

Harry stared her down. "How many did we lose."

"One."

Harry grimaced. "Damn it."

"They knew the risks, Harry," Dumbledore said from a nearby bed. "As did I."

Harry looked over at him. The Headmaster was heavily bruised and bandaged. "Wait, I thought it was you who died! You looked like an ad for death when you got here."

"Well, I survived, for what it is worth," Dumbledore replied. "But…not all of me made it." He raised his left arm, the limb abruptly ending halfway up the forearm. "The last curse Voldemort managed to land on me could have killed me. It was shredding my flesh." He looked down at his injured arm. "An arm is a small cost to pay for what we saved."

"Then who did we lose?" Harry demanded. "I saw Moody and Emmeline Vance still alive. Was it Dedalus?"

"He took a Killing Curse in the back," Dumbledore said gravely. "Emmeline may lose her leg, it's too soon to tell."

"At least you recovered the body," Moody said from the doorway. "Good to see you still alive, Albus."

"More or less," Dumbledore replied.

"Dedalus made his decision," Moody pressed. "Don't any of you start kicking yourselves over this. Especially you, Lefty."

Dumbledore paused as Moody left. "Did he just…"

"You should punch him," Harry suggested. "Oh. Wait."

Dumbledore's jaw dropped. "Harry!"

"Most of us made it out," Sirius chimed in. "High five! Oh. Oops."

"Et tu, Sirius?"

"Don't worry, Dumbledore, I'm on your side," Remus groaned. "Can I give you a hand?"

"Et three, Remus?" Dumbledore asked as Harry sputtered. "I used to say that I would give my left arm to keep you safe, Harry, but this is just silly."

Madam Pomfrey came bustling in at the sound of the four of them howling with laughter. "What's going on in here?"

"Just indulging in a little Black humor," Dumbledore said. Sirius was choking on laughter at this point, and Remus was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

Harry subsided. "What happened to the Death Eaters we captured?"

"They are being held in the dungeons, under the watchful eyes of Professors McGonagall and Flitwick," Dumbledore explained, his eyes twinkling. "I daresay they will have a very difficult time explaining their way out of this particular situation. Minister Fudge and Amelia Bones have been notified. The Aurors are on their way."

—ML—

"This is…difficult to accept," Fudge was saying. He, Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus, and Harry were gathered in Dumbledore's office, Fudge pacing in front of the desk as Harry leaned against the bookshelf, his arm in a sling. He didn't need it, but the appearance was important.

"You now have five Death Eaters in custody, still wearing their robes, captured during Voldemort's rebirth," Dumbledore replied. "Malfoy, Avery, Nott, Macnair, and Yaxley."

"Malfoy?" Fudge repeated, aghast. "Lucius Malfoy? He was cleared! A very old family – donations to excellent causes!"

"Which he used to escape the consequences of his actions," Dumbledore said.

"I come from a very old family as well, Minister," Sirius added. "And I'll tell you, most of them were Dark as they come."

"If you didn't have these men in custody, I would say you were mad," Fudge sighed. "But…Dumbledore, are you sure?" He practically whined. "He just…he can't be back, everyone knows he's gone."

Dumbledore pursed his lips, glancing pointedly down at his missing arm. "Quite sure, thank you."

"Minister, you have a choice to make," Harry said, not looking at Fudge as he stroked Fawkes. "Very few people get to choose how they are remembered. You can be the Minister for Magic who led Wizarding Britain through a crisis, the man who stood against the darkness when nobody else could, or you can go down in history as the man who let evil run unchecked. You had two men working for the enemy in your midst. Lucius Malfoy had a great deal of influence at the Ministry, but that damage can be handled. Walden Macnair was a Ministry employee, but his arrest can be played into the ongoing investigations at the Ministry and rooting out the corruption that persisted from the last war. The question is, are you brave enough to do what needs to be done?"

"What are you suggesting?" Fudge asked warily.

"What we need, what Britain needs, is a strong Minister," Harry said, looking Fudge in the eye. "And to be that strong Minister, you may have to do things that are difficult or unpopular." Harry forced a smile. "Believe me, if I were in your shoes right now, I don't know that I could do it. But history will vindicate you. Step one is to accept the truth – You-Know-Who has returned. Can you accept that?"

Fudge swallowed hard. "Yes. The memories you showed us, young Krum's testimony about the graveyard, the various injured, the captured men…"

"Captured Death Eaters," Harry corrected. "Don't let them convince you that they were bewitched."

"It all looks…unfortunate," Fudge said. "Especially considering Ludo's disappearance."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Wait, what?"

"Bagman? He's vanished. So has that Durmstrang headmaster, Karkaroff. One or both of them was responsible for…" His face curled in distaste. "For entering you in the Tournament, Harry."

"Interesting," Harry murmured. "But not important right now. Step two is to prepare for the dark times ahead. There has already been one breakout from Azkaban, and I promise you there will be more if the dementors remain in control there."

"Preposterous," Fudge scoffed. "Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!"

"The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort's most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join him the instant he asks them!" said Dumbledore. "They will not remain loyal to you, not when Voldemort can offer them more than you can! With the dementors behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard-pressed to stop him regaining the sort of power he had thirteen years ago!"

"Professor, please," Harry said gently. "Minister, you've already removed several of his inner circle from his reach, and a great deal of financial power and intelligence on the Ministry with them. But the dementors are only as loyal as their options. As soon as Voldemort offers them the chance to feed on a larger population, they will take it. They are dangerous, but not reliable."

"I can't do that," Fudge protested. "It would mean the end of my career."

"Not if it's presented well," Harry insisted. "Come on, haven't you got a PR department down at the Ministry? The people of Britain will accept anything as long as you put the right spin on it."

"Where do you find these people, Dumbledore?" Fudge asked, looking to the Headmaster.

"If you think that's bad, you're going to love his suggestion," Harry said.

"The second step you must take – and at once," Dumbledore pressed on, "is to send envoys to the giants."

Fudge goggled at him. "Envoys to the giants?" He sputtered, finding his voice. "What madness is this?"

"Extend them the hand of friendship, now, before it is too late," said Dumbledore, "or Voldemort will persuade them, as he did before, that he alone among wizards will give them their rights and their freedom."

"You – you cannot be serious!" Fudge gasped, shaking his head and retreating further from Dumbledore. "If the magical community got wind that I had approached the giants – people hate them, Dumbledore – it would mean the end of my career!"

"We are at war, Minister," Harry said. "Are you or are you not the man who can lead this country through the dark times ahead? We're not asking you to publicly announce that you're trying to keep the giants out of Voldemort's camp!" He paused, glancing upwards as if pleading for either strength or a convenient spontaneous combustion. "Minister, what goes on in the Department of Mysteries?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you anything about that, seeing as it is top secret," Fudge replied automatically.

"So why can't the same excuse hold true for you approaching the giants, werewolves, and removing the Dementors?" Dumbledore asked. "Surely it wouldn't be too much trouble for you to slap a big 'classified' stamp on the files, block any stories, and let it blow itself out."

"Very few people are given the role of defending freedom in the hour of greatest danger," Harry said. "Will you accept this responsibility, or will the rest of us fight alone?"

"You, a child, intend to fight?" Fudge asked skeptically.

"As you saw, he stated plainly that I'm number one on his to-do list," Harry said. "I'm the first person in his way. I don't shrink from this responsibility. I don't welcome it. I would love to hand this whole mess off to someone old enough to drink legally and go on with my life. But I don't have that luxury, so I'm going to stand in his way and do what I have to do. I dueled him, you know. I fought him myself, and I'm standing here, unafraid, telling you that the time to act is now."

Fudge raised an eyebrow. "We are on the cusp of war, again, and you expect me to believe you aren't scared?"

Harry shook his head. "Believe me? I suppose. Whether you believe in me personally or not isn't really relevant. But believe me when I say we have a difficult time ahead of us. If you're scared now, I get it. Things are going to get much worse before they get better. But I'm not scared, and you can take that to the bank."

"And what makes you so confident?"

"Are you a student of history, Minister?" Harry asked. "I don't particularly pay attention in History of Magic, but when I learned he wasn't quite dead, I started studying. He tried killing me once, and he's tried again since then. Forewarned, forearmed, all that. He graduated from Hogwarts in 1945. He spent the next several decades trying to take over Britain. And you know what? Despite all the atrocities he committed, all the blood he spilled and all the lives he ruined, he failed. He failed then, and we're going to make sure he fails again. We have the chance to make a difference, here, now, and I honestly believe that's why you became Minister. To make a difference. Now you have a chance to stand against the greatest enemy of our time, to make the greatest difference, to be the greatest Minister that ever was, and I dare you to take that chance! To fight back, and to show those that would have us live in fear that we won't be broken!" He paused for effect. "So what's it going to be?"

Fudge was silent for several moments. "I had hoped, hoped, that you were simply trying to start a panic that would destabilize everything we have worked to rebuild," he finally said. "But I cannot shut my eyes to what is in front of me." Harry's heart soared. "I will do what I can, Albus, but there are limits. The dementors will remain in Azkaban. I will make quiet inquiries, looking for anyone mad enough to be an envoy to the giants, but I do not foresee a great deal of enthusiasm for that diplomatic mission." He rubbed his chin. "There's still the official presentation of the winnings, of course."

"Is there any question on who won?" Harry asked.

"Krum insists that you touched the Cup first, and the monitoring charms in place support his claim," Fudge explained. "The ceremony will be tonight. If you'll excuse me."

"Sirius, Remus, there is much to be done," Dumbledore said after Fudge left. "You'll need to alert the old crowd, make preparations."

"Of course, Albus," Sirius said. "C'mon, Moony."

A moment later, Harry and Dumbledore were alone in the office. "That could have gone a lot worse," Harry said, discarding the sling.

"It could have gone better, as well," Dumbledore replied. "I can only hope that Minister Fudge comes through."

"At least he admitted Voldemort's back," Harry sighed. "He called me crazy the last time. Called you crazy too, now that I think of it."

"I have been called worse," Dumbledore said lightly.

Harry gave him an irritated look. "Yeah, I suppose. What do we do now?"

"Prepare," Dumbledore said simply. "But for the moment, take some time and catch our breath."

"Would you just be angry for a minute?" Harry exploded. "You lost your bloody arm, Albus! Your arm! How are you not upset about that?"

"Who said I was not upset?" Dumbledore said calmly. "Make no mistake, Harry. I am burning with anger. But you know as well as I do that you must never let your anger get out of hand."

"Of course I know that," Harry snapped. "You told me yourself once that feeling emotional pain was part of being human." He paused, closing his eyes and swallowing hard as a barrage of memories surged to the forefront. "It wasn't until much later that I truly understood what you meant."

"It is one of the hardest lessons in life to learn," Dumbledore replied. "You can probably guess when it was that I learned it myself."

"And I can guess when it was that you learned to never let your anger get out of hand," Harry said quietly. "I haven't quite gotten the hang of controlling my anger, though. You asked me if I hate Voldemort. I don't. I don't know if I have it in me to hate, truly, deeply, hate, like he does." Harry turned, meeting Dumbledore's eyes. "But I do have a great deal of anger in me. It's like fire, or a hammer. It's a tool. Anger isn't good or bad, it just is. It's what you do with it that matters. Anger, controlled and directed, can be one of the most constructive things on the planet."

"Passion," Dumbledore surmised.

Harry shook his head. "No. Anger, balanced with control. I'm not you, Albus. I don't want to be, either. I'm not fighting this fight because I want to, or because Voldemort killed my parents. It's the job. Voldemort stands to hurt a lot of people. I'm in between him and them." Harry's face hardened. "And that's exactly where I mean to stand."

"Many people will stand with you."

"That's what worries me," Harry said. "The last time…so many people died. Young people. My age, younger even. And the last thing I want is for anyone to die carrying my banner into battle."

"Yet they may have to fight, before this is over," Dumbledore warned. "You do them no service by keeping them unaware of the danger ahead."

"So I'll just let them run off and get killed, shall I?" Harry snapped. "They're kids. Kids who have to choose sides in a war, who sign up to fight it before they've lived any kind of life, are still kids. You yourself kept me in the dark about what I was to face."

"Which clearly was a mistake I have no intention of repeating," Dumbledore said. "Harry, we are at war."

"This isn't a war," Harry insisted. "I won't let it be. Voldemort's back. I can deal with that. But I'm not going to let him take over the Ministry and plunge Britain into darkness. Not this time. No matter what."

—ML—

"Did the Minister believe you?" Hermione asked as Harry reentered the Gryffindor Common Room.

"He didn't like it, but I think he got the point," Harry said. "There's a lot to be done."

"Harry, you've been training with Dumbledore, haven't you?" Ron asked. "I mean, you…you dueled You-Know-Who. A fourth-year just couldn't do that."

Harry looked uncomfortable. "I…yeah. Ever since first year. We knew he wasn't dead, so I had to be ready."

"Can you teach us?" Ron asked. "If he is back, things are only going to get worse."

"Depends," Harry said. "Are you going to tag along on rescue missions again and get yourselves hurt?"

"Not if we know how to fight," Neville protested. "Look, you might be number one on You-Know-Who's list, but I'm probably not that far behind." He took a deep breath. "The Death Eaters…"

"I know," Harry interrupted.

Neville paused. "How long have you known?" He asked suspiciously.

"Years," Harry said truthfully. "I figured you'd tell me when you were ready."

"Does somebody want to fill in the rest of the class?" Ron asked.

"My parents," Neville said. "You-Know-Who's followers tortured them. They…never recovered."

Ron's jaw dropped. "I…Nev, I'm so sorry."

"If he's back, that means that they might come back and finish the rest of the Longbottoms," Neville said. "I'm not going to sit back and wait for that."

Harry sighed, looking at Hermione. "I don't suppose I can talk you out of this?"

"Not a chance," Hermione said dryly.

Harry gave an angry growl. "You are forcing me to be the voice of reason, and it is not a good look for me!" He threw up his hands. "Fine!" He stomped towards the door. "I need some sun. I'll be outside. If you're coming, come along."

As Harry descended the last step into the Entrance Hall, he found Malfoy coming up from the Slytherin common room with Crabbe and Goyle in tow. Malfoy glanced around – Harry knew he was checking for signs of teachers – then he looked back at Harry and said in a low voice, "You're dead, Potter."

Harry raised his eyebrows, unable to pass up the opportunity. "Funny," he said as Ron, Hermione, and Neville came down the stairs behind him, "you'd think I'd have stopped walking around…"

"I'm going to kill you for what you've done to my father," Malfoy hissed.

"Any time you want to try, you just let me know," Harry said coldly. "I dueled Voldemort to a standstill. What's the matter?" he added, as the three Slytherins flinched at the sound of the name. "He's your dad's mate, isn't he? Not scared of him, are you?" Harry stared him down. "Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough. Your boys here aren't scaring anyone who matters anymore – you might want to trade up to a bigger set. I threw down with a Dark Lord, a bunch of teenagers with daddy issues just don't scare me anymore. Your daddy's in prison, your mum's being passed around the other Death Eaters like a bloody Quaffle. Voldemort couldn't out-fight a fourteen-year-old."

"You're just an idiotic halfblood, Potter, you're no match for him," Malfoy scoffed.

"Piss off, Malfoy," Harry sighed.

"You piss off, Potter."

"Malfoy, if I wanted my comeback, I'd have wiped it off your mother's chin." Ron choked on his laughter, but Harry didn't want to escalate things further. "Think about it. He doesn't take failure really well. You father's failed him repeatedly. Do you really think he's going to favor your family much, even if he wins?" Malfoy didn't respond, but Harry spotted a flicker of indecision in his eyes. "You may be a racist berk, but you're not a complete idiot. You're going to have to choose a side. Make sure it's the one that'll keep your family alive. The Dark might benefit you more, but the Light will make sure you're around to enjoy your station."

"What's going on here?" Harry turned, finding McGonagall coming down the stairs from her office.

"Oh, just the usual impotent threats from Malfoy and his flunkies here," Harry said brightly. "Promising to kill me for making his father face the consequences of his actions. He seems to have this delusion that we're arch-rivals, when the reality is, he's just a pain in the ass." McGonagall was glaring at Malfoy, and Harry decided to push his luck again. "I hope he gets anal cancer. I hope he finds himself naked on all fours on a Muggle examination table with a strange man looking up his ass. And I hope that as the oncologist prods at his asshole with a sharp stick, he begins to understand what a pain in the ass he was to me."

"Harry," Hermione said, scandalized. "What are you saying?"

"I never know until I'm finished talking," Harry replied truthfully. "Come on. It's a lovely day and I'm not going to waste it talking to him." He gave Malfoy a nod. "Think about the future."

—ML—

HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS

In a brief statement on Friday night, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned to this country and is active once more. "It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord – well, you know who I mean – is alive and among us again," said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. "We urge the magical population to remain vigilant. The Ministry is currently publishing guides to elementary home and personal defense which will be delivered free to all wizarding homes within the coming month."

The Minister's statement was met with dismay and alarm from the wizarding community. The exact circumstances of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return have not been disclosed to the public…

Harry stopped reading. "I notice they didn't mention either of us," he said to Dumbledore. "How long, do you think, before the wheels come off the trolley?"

"With the Minister at least accepting the truth of the situation, we have a chance to mitigate the damage," Dumbledore said. "But I fear the days ahead will be dark indeed."

—ML—

Harry's trunk was packed; Hedwig was back in her cage on top of it. He, Ron, Hermione, and Neville were waiting in the crowded entrance hall with the rest of the fourth years for the carriages that would take them back to Hogsmeade station. It was another beautiful summer's day, almost ironically lovely considering the fresh darkness that had been unleashed into the world, Harry thought.

"'Arry!"

He looked around. Fleur Delacour was hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Beyond her, far across the grounds Harry could see Hagrid helping Madame Maxime to back two of the giant horses into their harness. The Beauxbatons carriage was about to take off.

"We will see each uzzer again, I 'ope," said Fleur as she reached him, holding out her hand. "I am 'oping to get a job 'ere, to improve my Eenglish."

Harry grinned. "Gringotts, I suppose?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly for a moment, and her cheeks pinked. "Perhaps."

"I appreciate your comment in that article," Harry teased.

She grinned back. "Good-bye, 'Arry," she said, turning to go. "It 'az been a pleasure meeting you!"

"Wonder how the Durmstrang students are getting back," said Ron. "D' you reckon they can steer that ship without Karkaroff?"

"Karkaroff did not steer," said a gruff voice. "He stayed in his cabin and let us do the vork."

"Ah, Viktor," Harry said. "I…appreciate your honesty. I didn't have the chance to say it before, but…"

Viktor held up a hand. "I am no cheat. You touched the Cup first. And I vould fight anyone that vould take your victory from you."

Harry nodded. "Viktor, it's been a pleasure." He waggled his eyebrows. "In more ways than one."

"For me, as vell," Viktor said with a grin, shaking hands with Neville and Ron. "Could I have a vord?" he asked Hermione.

Hermione's eyes widened slightly. "Oh…yes…all right." She followed Krum through the crowd and out of sight.

"You'd better hurry up!" Ron called loudly after her. "The carriages'll be here in a minute!" He glanced to Harry. "What's his angle?"

"They're friends, from what he told me," Harry said with a shrug. "You know Hermione, Quidditch reputations mean nothing. I guess that's refreshing for a bloke like him."

They returned a few minutes later. "I must find Diggory," said Krum abruptly to Harry. "He vos alvays polite to me. Alvays. Even though I vos from Durmstrang – with Karkaroff," he added, scowling.

"Have you got a new headmaster yet?" said Harry.

Krum shrugged. He held out his hand as Fleur had done, shook Harry's hand, and had already started walking away when Ron burst out, "Can I have your autograph?" Hermione turned away, smiling at the carriages that were now trundling toward them up the drive, as Krum, looking surprised but gratified, signed a fragment of parchment for Ron.

The good weather held on the journey back to London, and the first few minutes passed in almost painful silence. "So, when do we start?" Neville asked finally.

Harry glanced down at his trainers. "I had hoped it would take a bit longer before someone asked that question."

"If he hadn't, I would have," Ron said. "Fudge may have listened to you, but he's not going to have kids trained to fight. We're going to have to learn ourselves."

"I still don't like it," Harry said. "You all shouldn't…shouldn't be in the fight."

"But we're going to be anyway," Hermione insisted.

"And that's the problem!" Harry exploded. "You're all throwing yourselves into a fight that isn't yours, and the last thing I want to do is have to watch all of you die!" He barely avoided blurting out 'again.'

"Isn't ours?" Neville asked quietly. "Harry, you're my best friend. It's definitely my fight."

"Harry," Ron said quietly. "Are…are you all right? Deep down, I mean."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, before pausing. "I…" Helplessly, he realized that was the first time anyone had asked him that since Voldemort's rebirth. "No, not really. There were about forty times I could have died this year and now you lot want to put yourselves in danger. But you're right. You're going to be in danger one way or the other, and going in unprepared would be worse. So, I've decided I'm going to be all right for the rest of the week, and then we'll go from there. As for training…well, we're…" He broke off as the compartment door opened.

"There you are," Ginny said, Luna trailing behind her. "We've been looking for you."

"That's why I was hiding," Harry said. "That, and I don't want anybody else asking to sleep with me."

"I know you're going to start teaching them to fight," Ginny went on as if Harry hadn't interrupted. "We want in."

Harry looked at Ron. Neville looked at Ron. Hermione looked at Ron. Ron had nobody to look at, which left him in a bit of a pickle. He settled for closing his mouth and twiddling his thumbs innocently. "I get the idea I won't need to ask how you found out," Harry said. "How do you expect to practice over the summer?"

"What would stop me?"

"A little thing called the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery," Harry suggested.

Ginny smirked. "So I guess I've been expelled for years, then."

Ron gaped at her. "How'd you get away with it?"

Harry frowned. "I'd hoped you hadn't figured that out."

Hermione sighed. "Households in which at least one magical adult resides are exempt from such pesky things as restrictions for underage magic."

"It's because magical guardians are supposed to police their children," Neville explained.

"It's because the laws were written by Purebloods," Luna said serenely.

"I…have to agree with Luna," Hermione said faintly.

"Are you feeling okay?" Harry asked, concerned.

"I-I think so," Hermione replied hesitantly. "But I don't understand how I just agreed with Luna."

"Hermione, are you really sure you shouldn't at least listen to Luna?" Harry asked.

"But there's no proof of half of the things she claims!" Hermione insisted. "Are you telling me you believe her?"

"Well, the Muggles have no proof of real magic existing, and we regularly give life to inanimate objects by turning them into animals," Harry offered. "Where do we draw the line? Is the existence of an animal we simply haven't discovered yet so outlandish?"

Hermione clamped her jaw shut. "Ugh. Fine. Believe her."

Harry shrugged. "It's not that crazy. The seventh years are regularly turning bits of string into elephants, and the Muggles still haven't gotten real proof of Nessie. You have to suspend your disbelief."

"Where do we draw the line?" Hermione parroted. "Do we just believe anything anyone tells us? I put my trust in books!"

"And who says the book is finished?" Harry asked.

Hermione stared at him, an angry tic pulling at the corner of her eye. "You are impossible to argue with, you know that?"

"It's a gift."

"If I might steer this conversation back on track," Ginny said, "as long as my parents don't find out, there's nothing to stop me using magic."

"Most of what you would be learning wouldn't exactly be subtle," Harry said. "And most of it can't be done without a partner."

"I've got two," Ginny said easily, nodding at her brother and Luna. "Any other excuses?"

"Plenty," Harry replied. "I don't fancy dying, and if your mum finds out you're even vaguely involved in anything dangerous, it'll be my head mounted on the mantelpiece, not yours." Ginny opened her mouth to reply, but Harry cut her off. "Look, anything that I'd teach you will have to wait until next year, because I get the feeling a lot of people will be in line after you two. So, for now, read up on jinxes and rest up, because next year's going to be a big one."

Harry excused himself halfway through the train ride, wandering down the length of the train. Finally, he found Cedric sitting with his friends, the new Hogwarts graduates chatting amicably about the Tournament and their plans for the future. Some of the Hufflepuffs in there with him glared as he entered, presumably feeling he had stolen the win from Cedric, but the man rose from his seat, grinning broadly. "Harry! Let's talk outside." The two stepped into the hallway. "It's good to see you."

"Good to see you too," Harry said. Alive and well. That's one who made it. "How's your leg?"

"Madame Pomfrey fixed it in about two minutes," Cedric said. "Didn't even have to stay overnight."

"Probably for the best," Harry muttered.

Cedric's smile faded. "Yeah, I heard…something happened." He gave Harry a wry look. "And knowing what I do of you, I'm betting you were somehow involved."

"Hey," Harry protested. "That's…" He paused and sighed. "All right, that's fair."

"Krum shows up with the Cup hollering about you and a graveyard, You-Know-Who comes back, and Dumbledore loses an arm?" Cedric said. "Harry, what happened?"

Harry gave a brittle smile. "You really don't want to know."

"What exactly did I miss back in the maze?" Cedric asked. "When I saw the Cup, I felt…I don't know. I never put much by Divination, but I felt something weird, like…like something terrible might have happened if I had touched that Cup." He frowned. "Like something terrible was supposed to happen."

"Look at it this way," Harry said. "If you were supposed to touch the Cup, and something terrible was supposed to happen to you, you just proved that it didn't have to happen."

"You think so?"

"The future isn't set," Harry said. "There's no fate but what we make for ourselves."

"That's a comforting thought," Cedric admitted. "Keep it together, yeah?"

Harry nodded. "Be safe out there." The two shook hands, and Harry moved on down the train, looking for the right compartment.

"Fred, George, you got a moment?"

"Of course," Fred said. "We made a bundle on you winning the Tournament."

"Really?" Harry asked. "Oh. Then I suppose you won't need this money," he pulled the sack with the Triwizard winnings out of his pocket and shook it.

Lee Jordan's jaw dropped. "No way."

"Yes way. Take it," he said, and he thrust the sack into George's hands.

"What?" said Fred, looking flabbergasted.

"Take it," Harry repeated firmly. "I don't want it."

"You're mental," George said, trying to push it back at Harry.

"Certifiable, but that's not the point," Harry replied. "You take it, and get inventing. It's for the joke shop."

"He is mental," Fred said in an almost awed voice.

"Listen, if you don't take it, I'm throwing it down the drain. I don't want it and I don't need it. But I could do with a few laughs. We could all do with a few laughs. I've got a feeling we're going to need them more than usual before long."

"Harry," said George weakly, weighing the money bag in his hands, "there's a thousand Galleons in here."

"Yeah, I know. I counted it. I may have even rolled around in it naked. But think about it this way. You two aren't just going to be making joke products, and if you build something saleable, I've got a company that's looking for good products to sell."

The twins stared at him. "Harry," Fred began, but Harry pulled out his wand.

"Look," he said flatly, "take it, or I'll hex you. I know some good ones. Just do me one favor, okay? Don't ever tell your mother where you got the money."

He left the compartment before they could say another word.

—ML—

It was barely two days before the Order of the Phoenix was gathered at Harry's flat. Most of them were gathered around the table, and Harry was leaning against the wall, trying to avoid notice. He was more than a little surprised to see Percy Weasley sitting at the table next to Bill, Snape lurking behind both of them in the opposite corner from Harry. "Thank you all for coming," Dumbledore said. "As you are no doubt aware by now, Voldemort has returned. We are unsure how exactly he avoided death before, but there is no doubt. He has, indeed, returned."

"I had hoped Fudge was full of it," Sturgis Podmore said.

"Alas, no," Dumbledore remarked. "There has already been a clash, and casualties, on both sides."

"I was wondering where Dedalus was," Hestia said. "I had heard, of course, but…" She shook her head, scowling. "Is Emmeline recovering?"

"Slowly, but yes," Dumbledore said. "Several Death Eaters were captured in the fight, but as you can see, I myself was wounded in the battle." Silence reigned around the table for a moment. "I am sure many of you have questions or concerns about the times ahead, so please, feel free to ask."

"Dumbledore, I don't think Harry needs to be here, don't you agree?" Mrs. Weasley said. "He's far too young."

"And less than two weeks ago I threw down with Voldemort," Harry said. There was a collective shudder at the name.

"He's a part of this, Molly," Sirius said. "I don't like it much myself, but it's how things are."

"No one's denying what he's done!" said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. "But it's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!"

Sirius's face went hard. "I think you'll find it's exactly down to me to decide what's good for my godson," he said sharply. "He's not a child."

"He's not an adult either!" said Mrs. Weasley, the color rising in her cheeks. "He's not James, Sirius!"

"I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly," Sirius replied coldly.

"I'm not sure you are! Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!"

Sirius's face darkened further. "I'm well aware that he's not James, Molly. He's my godson, and as far as I'm concerned, he's my son. I don't like putting him in danger. But he's in danger anyway, and I won't have him be blind to what's going on."

"My being at school didn't stop multiple attempts on my life," Harry said. "So, let's stop pretending that we can keep me out of this fight, yeah? We all know I'm not my father. That doesn't make me any less of a target."

"Well," said Mrs. Weasley, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come, "well…I can see I'm going to be overruled. But speaking as someone who has Harry's best interests at heart…"

"My 'best interests' include knowing what's going on," Harry said.

"Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry," Remus said sharply. Mrs. Weasley's lower lip was trembling, and she looked to Dumbledore for a final word on the matter.

"Keeping him in the dark does him no favors," Dumbledore said. "As much as I would like to spare him this, the truth of the matter is that Harry needs to know."

"Might we get on with this?" Snape said from the other end of the room. "Since we've established that the boy does need to be here."

"Yes, of course," Dumbledore said. "As you know, Minister Fudge has acknowledged Voldemort's return. While we were unable to persuade him to remove the Dementors from Azkaban, he has agreed to quietly reach out to the giants to prevent them from joining the Death Eaters' forces. Bill, I believe you've made contact with the goblins?"

Bill nodded. "Ragnok is feeling rather anti-wizard lately, apparently some flap with Ludo Bagman making bets with goblins and welching on paying."

"The Ministry is still searching for him after his involvement in the Triwizard Tournament, but there's been no sign of him that I've heard of," Percy broke in. "There are a great deal of rumors flying around the Ministry, to the point that it's become difficult to separate the truth from the speculation." The young man paused. "I hate to say this, but it appears that he may have had something to do with Harry being entered in the Tournament. There isn't a great deal of proof yet, but for the moment, all fingers point to him. But I'm sorry, Bill, I interrupted you."

Bill nodded. "No worries, Perce. Ragnok seems amenable enough to our side. He knows that we know that if You-Know-Who offered them the freedoms we've been denying them for centuries, they're going to be tempted. But he also knows that they're a bunch of blood purists – their lot in life probably won't be improved if they win. But the goblins aren't a united front, and there are factions who would press – loudly – to side with You-Know-Who if he threw them some crumbs. So, Ragnok's stalling for the moment, seeing who pulls ahead. All I can say right now is it's better than nothing."

"Thank you, Bill. Remus?"

"I've been in contact with most of the other werewolves in Britain and quite a few across Europe for the last several years," Remus said. "Those of us that don't…" He paused. "The ones that don't prey on humans, they just want a fair deal. But with the anti-werewolf sentiment that's been going around the past few years, it's been almost impossible for them to get a decent job in most places. The less dangerous werewolves are neutral, or actively on our side. It's the monsters like Greyback that we have to worry about, the ones who like hurting people. All Voldemort has to do is whistle and they'll come running. Thankfully, those are the minority, but they're the berks who make the news." He looked uncomfortable. "Those who are sympathetic to us are understandably hesitant to get directly involved. If a werewolf is involved in an incident, they know full well what people will focus on. But I've been told by several of them that when we need their help, they'll be there."

The meeting went on, and Harry frowned as various people reported in. Most of the various factions they were trying to keep out of Voldemort's camp were either maintaining a neutral stance or hadn't been contacted yet. Snape's report on Voldemort gaining followers was tinged with his usual snide remarks, but informative nonetheless.

"And Kingsley," Dumbledore finished. "Has there been any news from inside the Auror department?"

Kingsley shook his head. "Nothing yet. No disappearances, no deaths. Most of the older veterans know it's just the calm before the storm, but the rookies are getting antsy, expecting something to happen. We all know it's only a matter of time."

"Keep alert," Dumbledore warned. "When things do begin to happen, they will do so rapidly."

"I doubt he wants to draw attention to himself," Sirius said. "With a handful of his followers captured already and the news out, it would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn't come off quite the way he wanted it to, I guess. You know, Harry not being dead and all."

Eventually the meeting came to an end, and the Order dispersed, Dumbledore lingering as the rest of the Order departed. "The ritual is ready, or as ready as can be expected," he said quietly. "Preparations are underway. I will keep you advised."

—ML—

It took six weeks to have the ritual chamber assembled and for the stars to reach the correct positions. The night before had been a full moon, so Harry was relatively sure Remus and Sirius wouldn't be sleeping lightly enough to notice his departure.

Dumbledore was waiting. "I want to restate how opposed to this idea I am," the old man said. "You realize if this goes wrong, I'm criminally liable."

"If this goes wrong, we'll probably both be dead," Harry replied. "You've seen the projections – you wrote some of them. This is going to work. And if it doesn't, well, we and half of Britain will never know the difference. Let's do it."

"Very well." The two wizards began pumping magic into the crystal arrays, and once they began to glow with excess power Harry took his position in the middle of the chamber.

Dumbledore closed the connection, power flooding into the ritual designs engraved on the floor and walls. Once the magic flowing through the seals reached its peak, the room would be sealed, allowing for the fragment of soul to be removed from Harry, hopefully without killing him.

"Seventy percent," Dumbledore called. "No warning signs yet!"

"Point of no return," Harry shouted back over the magic thrumming in the room. "Keep going!"

"Eighty percent!" Harry twitched as he felt the eddies of magic suddenly shift, reacting to another presence. He turned, spotting the door to the chamber opening.

"Oh, fuck," Harry breathed as Sirius walked in, the man wide-eyed as he glanced over what was happening. Dumbledore was staring at the man in shock, clearly as surprised as Harry was. Harry could almost see Sirius's thought processes and held out a hand, hollering a warning that went unheard as he sprinted towards Harry, grabbing him just as the magic reached its peak.

Time seemed to stand still as Harry reviewed the situation. None of the calculations or theories the two had gone over had accounted for a sudden intrusion of a third magical signature disrupting the ritual at the last moment. The Boy-Who-Lived wrapped his arms around his godfather, squeezing the man tight as he tried to invoke the same ancient magic his mother had used on him.

Harry's last thought as the ritual went out of control was "at least we probably won't take the whole planet with us."

Dumbledore came to first, having been farthest from the explosion. His robes were smoldering and his beard and hair were badly singed, and the stench of ozone hung thick in the air. The headmaster tried to roll over to check on Harry and Sirius, only to find himself too weak to move. A quick attempt at a rejuvenation spell failed when Dumbledore found his magic too drained to react, and the wizard grimaced before flicking open one of his several false teeth, crushing a pellet between his molars and swallowing. The condensed pellet contained a strong rejuvenation potion, and fresh strength surged into his body. The man groaned as he sat up, spotting four bodies in the middle of the chamber. Dumbledore shook his head, trying to clear his double vision, before realizing there really were four unconscious people in the middle of the room, that he recognized all of them, and that two of them should be dead.

A dozen different options whirled through the Headmaster's mind, several of which involved fleeing to a non-extradition country, before he settled on a quick plan of action. Dropping to one knee, he pulled a bootlace free, enlarging it with a tap from his wand and draping it across all four people. Taking a firm hold of one end, he muttered "Portus," and the five of them vanished together.